#speak to them every again beyond that is like disappointing don't get me wrong I love longship storytimes as much as they next person but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gingerfale · 10 months

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Author's Note: here's my final-ish draft of my fic, I know it's not as polished as the version posted to AO3, but it's what I still had saved to my phone, and with the site down I know we all need some Destiel to get us through. I don't have a screenshot of the tags, but no warnings apply. It's just 13k of mild fluff and crack wrapped up in a get together beach fic.

Xoxo

Ginger

The ancient motel microwave somehow, after much prodding, manages to produce a perfect bowl of melted butter. Dean had grabbed a few fistfuls of butter pats at the diner just for this occasion. It had taken him a full five minutes to unwarp each individual packet and scrape the butter out into the little plastic takeaway container, but hey, every cent counts when you're on the road. Even when you're celebrating avoiding horrific death and dismemberment.

Speaking of death, a hiss of steam and the sound of the lid being removed from the steamer on the hotplate alerts him to some shenanigans going on. Turning around he finds Cas elbow deep in boiling water, one slightly glowing lobster in his off hand. The other hand is removed from the pot with a twin lobster, now returning from bright red to deep brick color with a flare of healing grace. Cas fixes him with a scathing look.

"Dean, these lobsters were near death."

"Uh...yeah?" He finally responds. Steam rolls off the soaked trench coat sleeves as Cas stares at Dean in dismay.

"You were aware of their plight and did nothing?"

Dean doesn't know how to respond to that one. He's never had to explain to Cas where their food came from, and he knows they aren't vegetarians, despite Sam's best hippie efforts.

They were celebrating the end of a four day long rugaru hunt, and when Dean saw the half off special on lobster at the grocery store across from their motel, he figured they'd earned a little treat. Barely $8 for the last two in the tank. Cheaper than a cheese steak. Besides, he's in this 'trying new things' phase. Sorta.

"I mean...I…" he gestures to the pot bubbling away on the hotplate.

"You were the one boiling them alive?" Cas asks, stone faced.

"Yes?"

"That seems like a cruel death."

"Yeah well the 9mm seemed excessive." Dean jokes.

Cas eyes the boiling pot, then the creatures in his hands with a calculating look. Having reached a conclusion he sighs.

"Very well. What were their crimes?"

"Who?" Dean's confused.

Cas holds up the lobsters. Dean isn't sure if this is a joke. This has to be a joke.

"Them? Being delicious I guess." He shrugs.

Cas's eyes widen in horror. He looks down into the faces of the crustaceans like he can understand their thoughts. The lobsters slowly flex their tails, long spider-like legs clicking gently against each other.

Dean, suddenly remembering he's holding a bowl of rapidly cooling butter, puts it down on the table and hesitantly approaches.

"You okay?" He asks tentatively.

"Are you asking me or them?" Cas holds the lobsters up at eye level and turns them so that their tiny black eyes and antenna are focused on Dean. He takes a quick step back, making sure he's well out of pinching range. The claws click quietly as three sets of cold eyes regard him.

They form a bizarre trio of creatures from worlds beyond his, united in their disdain.

He struggles to find his voice, finally feeling out a weak "I'm sorry?" Cas turns the lobsters to regard each other, then himself, then back to Dean, expression still hard.

"I'm very sorry?" Dean tries again.

Cas's face falls in disappointment. Christ, how does he manage to look dangerous one moment and like a kicked puppy the next? Dean can't stand it.

He squares up, addressing the lobsters more directly. "I'm sorry, I was wrong. I should never have tried to eat you." Hoping that would be the end of it.

Cas looks away, his face unreadable. He still holds the lobsters up to watch Dean grovel.

The disappointment sits heavy in his stomach. So what if this costs him his dinner? Maybe Cas will stop ignoring him if he gets this right. "I'm sorry for chucking you in a boiling pot and trying to eat you?"

Cas still pointedly ignores him. That won't do.

"I'll make this right. I'll…" he casts about for something he could offer these weird clanky spiders. He doesn't know what they eat, or what would be a delicacy for a lobster, so he can't offer them that. He doubts they want money either.

"I'll get you home." Is what he settles on, surprising himself.

That finally gets Cas's attention, and he turns back to Dean with a cautious expression. He looks like he is about to say something when he suddenly freezes and turns to stare at the lobster in his right hand. He nods seriously, then turns to the one in his left hand and nods to that one as well. His gaze is resolute when he locks eyes with Dean again.

"You are not forgiven, but the offer is accepted." Cas tells him.

"Come again?"

"You may still have judgment cast against you, but they will advocate on your behalf if you are willing to see that they are returned to their nesting grounds."

"Judgment from who?"

Cas squints at him, like Dean is the one missing the obvious answer here.

"From the council?" Cas says with a tone that just says 'duh'. Dean's lost the plot somewhere in this conversation.

"The council?"

"It's informal, but judgment among crustaceans tends to be absolute." Cas shrugs one shoulder.

Dean nods, biting back a sarcastic response. Because of fucking course he's gone and made another stupid deal. At least this one will only cost him his dignity. Probably. He's still not convinced Cas isn't pulling his leg, but the dude isn't that funny.

So now he's agreed to throw his dinner back on the off chance that Cas didn't wake up today and chose to play the weirdest prank of all time. Dean sighs in defeat.

"Okay, so back to the ocean? I think we're only an hour and a half from Atlantic City. Can't get more ocean-y than that" Dean grabs his coat.

The motel door opens, and Sam lumbers in, a takeout bag in hand. Cas pivots so the lobster in each hand could better observe the scene.

"Alright, I got the biscuits, your coupon was only good for one free soda, and I put in the work so I'm drinking it but…" he trails off, staring at the scene before him.

"Hey Cas."

Cas looks thunderous.

"I should have known you would have a hand in this." He all but growls the words, voice dripping in disdain.

"What the hell did I do?!" Sam blurts out. His gaze flickers from Cas, to Dean, to the lobsters. "Okaaaay." he drags the word out as he slowly puts the bag of biscuits down on the nearest bed. "Why don't you tell me what I've done wrong this time?"

Cas perks up, and Dean's not sure if the malicious flash of his eyes is a trick of the light or something more. "Gladly, I know -"

"Okay, okay!" Dean cuts in. It's best to keep Sam out of the line of fire in case Cas decides to be mad about more than just lobsters. "Let's just go chuck 'em back in the ocean. No harm, no foul." Dean offers.

"You promised to return them to their ancestral waters." Cas states flatly.

"Fuck." Dean forgot that. "Okay, and where would that be?"

The corner of Cas' mouth tugs up into a smug look. Always a bad sign for Dean. "I'll find out." And Cas plants himself down at the table, gently placing the lobsters before him as if they were going to have a chat. Which they are, actually. Cas murmurs softly to the crustaceans, as he removes the remaining rubber bands from their claws.

Dean groans as he and Sam move to the far side of the room. "Cinderella here pulled out dinner right out of the pot and started chatting with it. Now they're all mad at me."

"So what, are they his friends?"

"They're from the fucking grocery store. All I know is that I'm gonna get pinched by one of those things."

Sam sucks on the straw of his soda with a grating sound. "Oh yeah, definitely."

Dean rolls his eyes. "You're not safe either. Twenty bucks says Cas drops one in your bubble bath tonight."

"You don't have twenty bucks."

"Neither do you. You know what, that's not the point. What if Sebastian and Mr Krabs over there are from the middle of the fucking ocean? How the fuck do I drive there?"

Sam shrugs again. Dean glares at him.

"You gonna say anything helpful?"

Sam holds out the takeout bag.

"Biscuit?"

Dean ends up dipping the biscuits into the now mostly congealed butter while he studies Cas where he's bent over plotting with the lobsters. The light from the table makes him glow, and he looks soft as he quietly asks questions to the lobsters now scuttling back and forth on the table. A real life Disney princess, sitting in Dean's motel room. He wonders how the lobsters see him, if they can tell his eyes are ocean blue. Dean hadn't spent much time looking at the real ocean, but he had had plenty of time to study the way the light hit Cas' eyes. Couldn't look anywhere else when the dude spent so much time in his personal space. Dean wonders if it was just the color that made you feel like you were falling into it, if the ocean made you feel the same way.

Cas leans back in his seat and runs a hand through his hair. The neon lights outside the motel window wash him in shades of blue and yellow.

Dean still has about half a biscuit left. He ambles over to the table and holds it out awkwardly.

"Uh, I don't know what they eat, but would they like any?" Dean asks. He starts to lean against the table and jumps when he sees how close those pinchers are to his soft underbelly.

"Christ." Sam groans as he flops down onto his bed on the far side of the room. Dean ignores it.

Cas smiles up at him and accepts the biscuit.

"Thank you Dean. Their metabolism has slowed down a little from being stored in cold conditions, and they have not complained of hunger, but it is a polite offer." He places the biscuit in front of the larger lobster, who reaches out with one terrifying claw to pinch off a small piece.

"Least I could do for trying to eat em, I guess. You guys figure out where they're from?"

Cas nods. "Yes, actually. We believe they were abducted from near the Stellwagen Bank."

"What, were they tunneling in to rob the place?"

Cas narrows his eyes at him, the warm expression gone from the deep blue. At least this felt less like drowning. "I was referring to an oceanic bank. It's a geographic feature, much like a plateau."

"Ah, gotcha." Dean says, getting nothing. He's never given much thought to the ocean beyond what could be pulled from its depths and deep fried. He just kind of assumed it was all like Finding Nemo down there.

Cas squints at him like he can tell what Dean was thinking about. Maybe he can, maybe that's why he looks so pissed and confused all the time. Hell, Dean's mind makes him pissed and confused. It would be nice to have someone else take a look under the hood and diagnose the problem. He wonders why, when Cas rebuilt him, he didn't make Dean better. Maybe only the physical wounds were fixable. Maybe Heaven liked him stupid and broken.

Maybe Cas doesn't care. After all, what is he but a giant, terrifying force wearing a human suit like a finger puppet. Dean is just some ant to him. The lobsters are just as consequential to him as humans in the grand scheme of things.

He almost feels it sometimes. The weight of thousands of eyes on him. It's why the way Cas looks at him feels different than the way anyone else looks at him.

Right now that gaze is going straight through him.

"So get this," Sam cuts in. "The Stellwagen Bank is located at the mouth of Massachusetts Bay, between Cape Cod and Cape Ann. It is known as an excellent whale watching site, and is-"

"Are you reading straight off Wikipedia?" Dean snaps. Sam looks caught out over the top of his laptop.

"Oh my god, how did I think you were the smart one? You're just repeating the computer." Dean scolds.

"You're the one who always makes me do the research! What do you think I do?"

"I don't know! College shit! Citing sources and footing notes!"

"Wikipedia does cite their sources, that's the whole point!" Sam argues, gesturing to his computer in annoyance.

"I'll cite your sources!" Dean shoots back.

"I'll foot your notes!"

"Dean." Cas cuts in. Dean pivots back, a moth to the flame, his argument with Sam dropped without a thought. Cas looks up at him mildly, his big hands folded neatly on the table. The light from the window plays across his features rather than over him from this perspective. Dean waits for him to speak.

"The lobsters are tired and would like it if you could cease your arguments for the night."

"Oh, sorry." Dean apologizes to the lobsters. "So are we leaving tonight, or…?" He trails off, his gaze flickering between the two little xenomorphs and the angel.

"We can leave in the morning."

The greasy guy behind the counter in the motel office gives him a look as Dean puts a third coffee pod into the machine. Dean just flashes a practiced grin as the machine sputters and struggles to turn out a lukewarm cup of something that could pass for coffee. The important part is that it's free. Unlike the stolen towels he has rolled up in his duffle bag.

Cas is sitting in the backseat of the Impala when he returns, the lobsters resting on the seat next to him. They had spent the night in the bathtub, skittering around making all sorts of creepy sounds and watching Dean when he got up to pee. They're lucky Cas likes them, because Dean's still not sold.

Without comment, Dean passes both Sam and Cas's coffee cups in through the window, then slides into the driver's seat with his own in hand. Sam has a paper bag resting on the seat between them open to reveal a mix of sugar packets and coffee creamers collected from motels like this one. Dean digs a fistful of pink paper packets out of one pocket and drops them into the open bag.

"Here you go, weirdo. They only had your Sweet N Low crap." Sam snags two and tears them open with a grin dumping them in his drink.

Cas studiously adds 4 packets of raw sugar from the bag to his coffee before taking a sip. He grimaces at the taste.

"This coffee contains a large quantity of bacteria. I would advise against consuming any." He takes another sip from his cup. Sam frowns down at his cup before opening his door to dump it out when Cas grabs his shoulder.

"I'll take it Sam. It shouldn't affect me. Dean you too." He says it casually. Suspiciously.

"No way." Dean pulls out of reach. "You just want to steal our coffee." Cas leans over the seat, stretching for the cup in Dean's hand.

"Stop being ridiculous, it's for your own safety."

"No!" Dean sinks as low in the seat as he can get, twisting away from Cas' hand. He quickly guzzles half the cup and licks the top of the lid for good measure. It is disgusting. He gags a little against the taste.

"Christ, did they use toilet bowl water for this? Don't tell me." He hastily adds, looking up from his position half in the foot well. Cas scowls at him over the seat back.

"It will make you sick."

"Yeah, and are you gonna refuse to heal me if I don't give you the rest of my crappy coffee?" Dean asked. Cas narrows his eyes even more, letting the tension stretch on a few extra moments. Something in it makes Dean's breath catch.

"I'll keep you from dying, anything short of that is on you." Cas finally decides.

"Sounds peachy." Dean grins, straightening up in his seat and shaking off whatever that was. He turns the ignition and the Impala rumbles to life with a joyous thrill.

"New England, here we come."

An hour south of the Connecticut border Sam gets a message on his phone that he responds to in a flurry. Dean and Cas's eyes meet in the rearview mirror, both suspicious of the excitement on Sam's face. Sam taps out another sentence before putting his phone down.

"What was that?" Dean inquires. Sam sighs in annoyance like the overgrown teenager he is, immediately copping an attitude.

"Seriously, don't you have anything better to do than give me shit for having friends?"

"Oh so you're texting a friend?" Dean reaches out to snatch the phone. Sam jerks away.

"Eyes on the road!"

"Come on, who is it? You looked all excited."

Sam refuses to answer right away. He stares out at the ugly crowded urban sprawl of the Northeast corridor as he turns his phone over in his hand.

"It was a buddy from Stanford." Sam finally answers. "He's at Yale. I told him I was going to be driving through New Haven."

"Sammy, we don't have time to stop." Dean's eyes flickered back to the lobsters riding on the backseat. He hates them sitting right on Baby's upholstery but he doesn't want to piss Cas off again. He's taken to healing the lobsters every couple of hours from the effects of being out of the ocean so long.

Right now Cas was watching him through the rearview mirror, a small smile on his face. Dean smiles back.

"Hey how's everybody riding back there? Everything going swimmingly?"

"Dean!" Sam cut in. "Eyes on the road."

"Shaddup." Dean mutters. In the mirror one corner of Cas' mouth twists up further into a grin. Maybe the angel has a sense of humor after all?

Cas clears his throat. "We're fine back here, thank you Dean."

"Yeah dude, of course. Anything."

Sam sighs loudly.

"I was gonna say you can drop me off in New Haven. My friend offered to get me into the Skull and Bones archives. It's a once in a lifetime chance."

"The who's and what's society?"

"Oh my god, stop fucking around. You know what the Skull and Bones Society is."

"No I don't." Dean scoffs, bluffing.

"Then how'd you know it was a society?" Sam points out.

"Aw shit." Dean groans. "Fine. But I thought that was just some frou frou frat club dressing up in robes? Nothing that would be useful to us?"

"I mean yeah, it's definitely just a club for legacies and douchebags, but the founders bought up all these old occult books for like, the aesthetics, you know? They thought having the books would make them seem legit. They're just hoarding it all with no idea how useful, or dangerous, some of it is."

"So this is like the nerd version of getting a free pass to the champagne room at the strip club?"

Sam rolls his eyes.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean lays on the horn, flipping off a guy in a Lexus who cut him off. Sam looks out the window.

“So how did this friend know you like occult literature?” Dean prods.

“Mentioned it in passing.” Sam says, deliberately obtuse.

“Oh, just in passing?” Dean ribs. “You didn't get drunk at a party and spill your guts, did you?”

“No, Dean,” Sam snaps. “We took Latin together. He was impressed that I could recite the exorcism ritual off the top of my head."

Dean stares at Sam open mouthed. “You took Latin?!”

“I needed credits and I was already familiar with it.” Sam shrugs. Dean feels bad. He hadn’t even considered Sam having to worry about something as mundane as a language requirement. Feels bad that Sam had to grow up familiar with exorcism rituals, that Dean hadn’t sheltered him enough. That Sam is turning down a beach trip to hole up in some stuffy library.

Sam will be fine for a day or two. Dean reasons with himself. Don't want to smother the kid.

Besides, the prospect of a beach trip with just Cas is... compelling. He likes the idea of it in a hazy daydream quality. Daydreams about playing beach volleyball, like that scene in Top Gun. Cas without his shirt, sunscreen on his nose. Maybe a mustache. Yeah.

Dean could use a vacation.

"Alright, where in New Haven am I dropping you off?"

"Really?" Sam sounds surprised.

"If you're fine missing out on the beach." Dean shrugs.

"You remember I spent four years in California? I've seen the beach."

"Right. Yeah." Dean fiddles with the radio. The one good thing about the northeast was the excess of radio stations. Not like some areas of the country where you got a single channel of gospel music or worse: pop country. All he was getting here was top forty. He's indulged Cas's affinity for pop divas as long as he can stand, and finally pops Led Zeppelin II into the tape deck.

"Tell me where we're going. Also I'm bringing you back the worst souvenir I can find."

Sam grins and reads off the directions.

Two hours later Dean and Cas merge back onto 95 North without Sam. Dean hates leaving him behind, but seeing Cas sprawled in the passenger seat is a decent consolation.

He's driven a lot of bad roads, but New Haven is some special hell. Everyone is a bad driver and they've been in bumper to bumper traffic going 75 through construction zones since they passed New York. Being on a major highway is making Dean itchy. But it's nearly summer and the road is packed with snowbirds flocking home. His out of state plates aren't nearly as suspicious as some of these old folks driving cars adorned with weird bumper stickers. Maybe someday he'll take Cas to South of the Border.

Still, it's nice with Cas in the passenger seat. Nice not to worry about a real case for a minute. If an escort mission to get two crustaceans home is important to an angel, who is Dean to deny him that?

Cas reads the list Sam had left for them.

"What's that?" Dean asks.

"Some directions and a suggested itinerary. The name of a whale watching service?" Cas drops the list to his lap, head tilted as he considers the idea. "I had no idea one could run a business watching cetaceans. I wonder how else this could be applied." He looked genuinely thoughtful. Dean laughs.

"Dude it's a boat charter. You take the boat, cruise around, pay too much for cheap booze, and then tell everyone you were out looking at the wildlife."

"Oh." Cas looks disappointed.

"So what's the route? Sam said Cape Cod? I thought that was just a place rich people made up."

"Yes. Sam's route has us driving the length of Cape Cod."

"Do we pass by Plymouth Rock? I could stand to see the birthplace of America."

"Birthplace? The continents were formed by tectonic plate activity- likely Gabriel bashing things around when he was still allowed to do that. I wasn't paying attention- but humans have been here for tens of thousands of years."

"Whatever, I could stand to stretch my legs. Let's be tourists."

Plymouth Rock is the worst roadside attraction Dean's seen in his life, and that's saying something. He's found greater inspiration in the world's largest frying pan. At least that conjured up the idea of fried eggs and bacon. Plymouth Rock is a rock in a hole in a cage. It could be any rock, and it's distance from shore further solidifies Dean's belief that they picked this rock at random. An empty Dunkin Donuts coffee cup sits amongst the cigarette butts on the sand around the rock. Cas is frowning.

"Why is this stone important?"

"It was probably the easiest one to build a pavilion around." Dean sighs heavily. "Let's go."

Back on the road they turn south, funneling into the early season traffic bound for the cape. Dean's glad it's midweek, or he expects the backup before the bridge to cross the Cape Cod canal would be worse.

He hates the bridge to get on to the Cape. It’s too high and too narrow, and the extra high curbs (to keep you from plunging to your death) look like they'd shred Baby's sides up something fierce. He tries to ignore just how high up the bridge climbs, humming loudly along to the Metallica tape now in the deck. Cas is looking out with a smile.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief on the other side. He rolls down the window part way and lets the aroma of salt air fill the stale interior of the car. It's nice to be off a major highway at least. The roads here are hedged with scrubby pines and cedars, and every house seems to have artfully weathered siding and a white picket fence.

They pass an exit sign for a town simply called 'Sandwich' and Dean gets so excited he feels giddy.

"That means there's Sandwich schools. A Sandwich library. Sandwich police." He laughs brightly.

Cas ignores him. That won't do.

"How are you doing?" Dean prods.

Cas hums. "Fine. How's your stomach handling that coffee?"

Dean does feel a bit queasy. A little clammy. Heh. Ocean. Clams.

He's not admitting that to Cas. He'll take anything right up to the edge of food poisoning before admitting he was wrong.

"Fine," He shrugs. "How are Thing One and Thing Two?"

"Fine." Cas shoots back. "And those are not their names."

"They told you that?"

"Approximately. The translation isn't exact. 'Thing One' is um- Bully-Claws, First Daughter of 'Beaut' - that last part is an exact translation." Cas muses. Dean snorts.

"Bully-Claws?"

"Yes Dean, don't insult her. The other lobster's name is...Small Fish?" Cas ponders for a moment, turning back as if to check the translation with the lobster directly. "Ah. Of course. Fry.”

Dean looks over incredulous. "Seriously?"

"Yes. Bully-Claws, First Daughter of 'Beaut', and Fry."

"She sounds pretentious." Dean mutters.

"That's her name."

"Of course you wouldn't think it's weird, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, Warrior of Heaven. That's what you are. I'm just Dean."

Dean looks over just in time to catch Cas rolling his eyes.

"Really? Because ever since we've teamed up, you've been Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, Hunter Extraordinaire and I've just been 'Cas'."

Huh. Dean squirms a little, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I'm not any of those things."

"Neither am I anymore." Cas looks down at his hands. Dean wants to reach over and hold one of them. Offer some sort of comfort.

He can't, obviously. He keeps his eyes on the road. The further onto the cape they get the more traffic seems to thin out. It's getting late in the day, but they have a few hours before the sun sets.

The light casts everything in a hazy golden hue. He wishes the road went along the water rather than down the middle of the spit of land. All he sees are trees and minivans laden with boogie boards and coolers.

"So how far out are we driving?" Dean asks after a while. The cape has to end somewhere. "Or am I supposed to keep driving until I run out of road?"

"Just keep going until you run out of road."

There's a town before they run out of road. It sneaks up on them until they're driving down crowded little residential streets. It's fucking quaint, even Dean can admit that. The houses have brightly colored shutters and flowers out front.

Lotta brightly colored flags too. Like, way more than normal.

Dean's mouth feels kinda dry.

After passing yet another house with a rainbow flag out front Dean finally asks the question.

"This a uh...like a gay town?" He tries to make it casual, lighthearted. Cas is turned around, checking on the lobsters.

"It's a beach town at the onset of summer. I imagine that makes people happy."

That's not even remotely what Dean means.

Did Sam set this up on purpose? Does he know?

He holds the steering wheel tighter, the fresh sweat making the vinyl squeak under his palms. He fights the urge to roll up the windows and turn down his music.

He feels conspicuous. Why did he go with just the black Tshirt? What does he look like rolling into town?

They drive down main street slowly, Cas still looking relaxed in the passenger seat.

Bully-Claws and Fry ride on the rear bench seat. Grands marshals of a one-float parade.

No one looks at them too much as they roll down Main Street. There's some appreciative looks for the Impala, but that's not unexpected. He spots some other classics parked along the street. A white Mustang -'74, he thinks, and a lime green Corvette Stingray he'd like to get a closer look at.

Focusing on the cars and not the people on the sidewalk gets him through town, and soon they're out the other side.

The road forks at the end of the Cape, diverting them back the way they came.

Patches of waving green grass dots the white sandy dunes. Seagulls swoop low. It's almost funny how rarely Dean gets to see them in their natural habitat, rather than fast food parking lots.

Pulled by some greater force he follows the signs for the beach until they reach a long parking lot that butts up against a swell of dunes that blocks their view.

The sand threatens to reclaim the first row of parking spaces, so he parks in the second. He'll have to clean Baby extra good after this trip - sand isn't good for her engine - but he is excited to be here.

The sun is low on the horizon behind them as he and Cas exit the car. The wind blows steady and fierce, flicking tiny particles of sand all over Baby's freshly polished surface.

"Should we bring them with us?" Dean jerks a thumb towards the backseat.

Cas shakes his head.

"You promised to get them home. This isn't that. Although…" he trails off thoughtfully "they might appreciate a swim."

Dean laughs and opens the back door of the car.

"You crazy kids want to go for a swim?"

They each carry one lobster down to the shore. Dean is fairly certain he has Fry. He's the slightly smaller one, a little less red.

The sand is next to impossible to walk on, but Dean is at least faring better than Cas is in Jimmy's old dress shoes.

Jesus, has Cas ever had shoes of his own? Why do they let him live like that?

He feels ashamed. He should be doing more for the angel. Even if he doesn't need to sleep or shower he at least deserves some comfort. Some clothes he chose for himself.

"Tell you what, Fry," Dean murmurs to the crustacean as they watch Cas approach the water. "You and Mrs Krabs decide to take off and I won't stop you. You can let Cas and I enjoy the beach in peace."

Fry tightens a claw around his fingers.

"Ow, ow OW." Dean complains. Cas turns to squint at him.

"My apologies for my friend's behavior." Cas plucks Fry from Dean's hands and sets him gently on the sand where it meets the sea. The two lobsters scuttle into the waves, vanishing from sight quicker than expected.

Dean is forced to jump back when a wave gets close to their feet. Cas just stands in place, seemingly immune to the horrors of wet sandy socks. His expression is blank, and Dean wonders what he's actually seeing as he looks out across the waves.

Looking up to appreciate it for the first time himself, Dean is struck by the expanse of it all. The setting sun casts pink and orange lights across the waves.

He feels small again. Like a kid. Like he did when he learned angels were real.

Cas still somehow looks the same, all focus and calm. The waves will eventually erode the coast, but Castiel could stand there unchanging for all time, while Dean would be swept away by incoming tides before dawn.

Dean staggers back a few feet, until he's out of range of the waves. He flops down onto his ass and toes off his boots and socks, rolls up pant legs that are somehow already damp.

The sand does feel good in his toes, still warm from the sun. He burrows them under the soft white sand until he's buried to his ankles. Digs his hands in too.

Look ma, no hands.

That at least is almost funny. It would make Sam roll his eyes. Cas wouldn't understand the reference.

The water is mesmerizing, and for a few long minutes he just watches, before his gaze flickers over to Cas.

The angel has sunk to his ankles in the sand, completely unnoticing and unbothered by it.

"Cas?" Dean calls hesitantly, pulling his hands from the sand. "You okay, bud?"

Cas drags his gaze away from the ocean, hesitating a moment before coming over to sit next to Dean. It's too close, it's always too close, but at least Dean can reason that the beach is nearly empty.

He's not sure why he feels like he's getting away with something. Why he wants to look over his shoulder like a vampire is going to attack them, or like his dad is going to come crawling over the dunes to see him sitting shoulder to shoulder with another man. His stomach somersaults, roiling like the waves before him.

He keeps his eyes on the horizon. The far off speck of a ship passing in the distance. A shorebird he doesn't recognize wheels overhead.

He should try to fill the silence, but can't come up with anything. As the sun settles low behind them they sit and wait while Dean tries to imagine a version of himself that grew up in a place like this. That Dean wouldn't think twice about leaning against his friend.

Even friends can do that. Why can't he now? Why is he sitting here with the wind whipping through the six inches of space between them?

Cas passes him a small seashell. It's round, flatter than a dime, and a shimmery gold color.

"Looks like a toenail." Dean says stupidly. Cas scowls at him until Dean tucks it into his pocket.

They sit there a while longer, until one of the lobsters scuttles out of the water and Cas goes over to talk to it. After a brief one-sided conversation Cas returns alone.

"They've found a nice spot to stay until tomorrow morning. I told them we would be back at sunrise."

"Alright," Dean stands up and brushes the sand from his backside. "Then let's get out of here and find something I'm allowed to eat."

Touristy towns like this always have an abundance of overpriced restaurants, but Dean's always had a knack for ferreting out dives and hole in the wall places for cheap eats. The longer a place looks like it's been there, the better it usually is.

It's how they end up in some little dive a few streets off the main drag. Here he can try a bowl of clam chowder to go with his burger.

Three bites into his burger his stomach finally rebels and he's dashing into the bathroom.

The bathroom is nice and clean, and if Dean could care he'd be impressed that even the dives in tourist towns are classy.

As it stands he's bent over the toilet in the stall nearest the door, emptying his guts and cursing himself.

"Ya good in there?" A strange voice calls.

"Fine." He grunts back. A moment later he hears the door open and close, followed by the soft rap of knuckles on the stall door.

"Dean? Are you alright?" Cas asks.

"What do you think?" Dean grumbles, clutching his stomach as he heaves.

"I think that I told you that coffee would make you sick."

Smug son of a bitch.

"You can't prove it's from the coffee. I'm not sick." Dean says, his strained voice echoing in the toilet bowl.

The strange voice snorts a small laugh. "Mines the same way." He says to Cas.

"How do you deal with the stubbornness?" Cas asks, and Dean can hear the fucker leaning against the stall door, getting comfortable while Dean's in here dying.

"I let him throw his little temper tantrum and ignore him when he's being rude." The voice says mildly.

"I'd only speak to Dean twice a year if I did that."

"I can hear you out there." Dean snaps.

Cas sighs dramatically, the bastard. He could have healed Dean at any point today if he knew the coffee was that bad.

Dean ignores the fact that he did technically ask for this.

When he's satisfied his stomach is empty Dean flushes the evidence away and fumbles for the door handle.

"Just drag me to the Impala and I'll be fine."

Cas presses a damp paper towel to his forehead and helps him lean against the wall. It feels nice.

"Ooh, that black Chevy out there is yours? It's a beaut." The unwelcome guest says cheerily.

"Thanks." Dean's leaning more on Cas than the wall now, half turned into him so that if Cas wanted to heal him, he could hide it from their audience.

Cas just holds the cold compress to his forehead and pats his back awkwardly. Bastard. Their new friend keeps chattering.

"Actually, on nights like these the car guys all drive up to the beach for a little bonfire and mini car show. If you survive you're more than welcome to join."

Cas chuckles - since when does he do that? - and tells his new friend that Dean will be fine in a few minutes, and that a bonfire sounds nice and they will try to make it.

Dean ducks back into the stall as he dry heaves once more. He hears the click of the bathroom door as the chatterbox leaves.

"Swear to God if you don't heal me ri-right now…" Dean groans. Cas sighs again.

"You're tired of being sick?"

"Yes." Dean says between clenched teeth.

"And you believe me now that the coffee was bad this morning?"

"No." He answers stubbornly, his stomach cramping.

"Mh hmm." Cas doesn't move.

Dean sighs. Maybe he has been too rude, and he'll do just about anything for this agony to end.

"Yes." He admits quietly.

Cas steps into the stall with him, pulls him up from where he's bent over the toilet, and presses two fingers to his forehead. Dean closes his eyes so Cas doesn't catch the way they roll back in relief as cool soothing grace calms his stomach and burns away the chills he hadn't even noticed wracking his body. He slumps against the wall in relief.

"Thanks, that feels," he opens his eyes to see Cas standing too close, eyes blue and soft with concern. "incredible." He finishes softly. Cas smiles a little, his earlier bitchiness evaporated with Dean's food poisoning. It's nice.

It's nice right until Dean realizes that they're standing toe to toe in a bathroom stall, in a gay town, and his stomach churns all over again.

Dean shoulders past Cas out of the stall, goes to distract himself by washing his hands and gargling some clean water.

He needs a drink to get the taste of vomit off his tongue and to steady his nerves.

Their burgers sit untouched at their table, and a waitress stops by to check on Dean as soon as he sits back down. She's pretty enough and so what if Dean flirts a little as he requests two whiskeys, neat, for him and his buddy. His dad's go-to drink order. She doesn't respond to the flirting and Dean has to worry about that now, too. Did she not respond because she thinks he's gay? Or because she's gay?

Or maybe, a more rational part of him points out, you're just not her type. Maybe that's it.

She returns with the drinks and he can't stop himself from needling at it.

"Thanks, and do you think you could find a dessert menu for my handsome friend here?" He winks at her. Maybe Cas is her type.

"Sure." Is the flat response he gets before she's gone again. Dean downs his whiskey and swaps it out for the drink in front of Cas.

"Are you quite alright?" Cas asks.

"Yeah, man. I'm fine."

"Why are you attempting to flirt with the waitress on my behalf?"

"I dunno, thought she might like you better."

"Ah, so it's not for my benefit." Cas says impassively.

"Yes it is." Dean's hands tighten around his glass.

"Really?" Cas cocks his head. "Because I'm not interested in her. I doubt she's interested in me, and you don't want her either."

"How do you know what I want?" Dean puts the drink down, too afraid of dropping it, and dives into his burger like he doesn't care about the answer. Like he isn't terrified.

"I don't know what you want, but I have a pretty good eye for when you're upset." Cas reaches over and steals the whiskey glass from in front of Dean and takes a sip.

"I know when you're trying to be something you don't like. When you're trying to be what someone else wants. You can be so admirable, I don't know why you hide it." Cas contemplates the drink with a judgemental squint and downs the rest of the whiskey as the waitress appears with the dessert menu. Cas turns to her sharply before Dean can speak.

"Can we each get a Sex on the Beach while we look this over?"

The waitress nods stoically and vanishes again.

Maybe she's just no nonsense, Dean thinks, before the rest of Cas' sentence catches up with him.

"Did you just order me a Sex on the Beach?" He hisses out. "That's a chick drink!"

"Don't worry, we can ask them to make it a Heterosexual Sex on the Beach for you." Cas picks at his fries. "It's the same drink, you just make sure everyone knows you're not enjoying it."

Dean's mouth drops open. "You don't even like drinking!"

Cas's lip twitches in the hint of a smirk. "It's nice to have something to do with my hands, helps me blend in. Isn't that why you drink whiskey?"

"I like whiskey!"

"Do you?" Cas asks around a french fry, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Dean swallows hard. Afraid of anything else he might say, he opts to ignore the attempt to rile him up and eats his burger in silence. He thanks the waitress politely when she drops off their drinks but doesn't say a word for the rest of the meal.

It's tastier than the whiskey, but he won't admit to that quite yet.

They wind back up at the beach after they finish their meal.

The sun's low on the horizon as they pull in, and Dean is impressed to see some nice cars in the lot. Most of the action seems to have already moved to the beach though, so he grabs a spare blanket from the trunk in addition to the beer and pie, and trudge down to the fire pit being set up.

A friendly looking guy with wild blonde hair waves to Cas.

"You made it!" He calls, and Dean recognizes the voice of the guy from the restaurant.

"Yeah," Dean waves weakly. "I lived."

"Happy to hear it. I'm Sean, you need a beer?" He gestures to a big cooler a few feet from where a very focused woman works on setting up a campfire on the sand. The rest of the group are scattered around in beach chairs or walk along the surf. Dean holds up his own six pack, and drops it into the cooler as a sign of good faith. He grabs one of his own beers for himself and one of those frou-frou hard seltzers for Cas, who starts chatting with Sean.

The spare blanket from the trunk smells a little like lighter fluid and gun oil, but that can't be helped. When they spread it out on the sand Cas plops down next to him, pressed against his side like it means nothing to him, like they do this every day. Once the sun sets the only light comes from the burning driftwood bonfire stacked in a big stone circle. The same intense woman from earlier feeds it a new log every few minutes then returns to a blanket where she curls up against another smiling woman like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Dean and Cas sit far enough back from the fire that they're getting more heat from each other than the logs. Dean's fine with that, despite making a big show about being cool with fire he really doesn't like it. It's just a reminder of his past, Sam's past. Every single pyre he's ever built. The one someone will build for him someday, however soon that is.

It's not big, as far as crowds go, but it sets Dean on edge anyway. Every so often someone's gaze passes over them as their eyes scan the party, and Dean tenses, waiting to be called out. For not belonging, for sitting too close to the man beside him. No one says anything, this crowd probably wouldn't, but he feels too seen all the same.

Dean pulls away, trying not to get any sand on their blanket, but he can't sit still any longer.

"Gonna get away from the smoke for a minute." He murmurs to Cas before making his retreat down towards the shoreline. The tide has gone out and the hard packed sand is flecked with shells, rocks, and seaweed in the moonlight.

He has to turn his back to the waves to break the wind enough to light a cigarette. The tip of his Marlboro glows in the dark. A lighthouse guiding him home. Despite the moonlight he hears the waves more than sees them. Just a few steps and he could vanish completely.

Dean jumps back as a wave nearly laps at his toes. The inky black water gives him the heebie jeebies, how it stretches on endlessly before him, dotted with the tiny lights of passing ships heading places Dean can only dream of. He has a wild fantasy of just getting on a boat and leaving. Trading the open roads for the open seas.

He'd probably be eaten by a sea monster, knowing his luck. Fighting the Kraken would be a pretty metal way to go out, at least.

His phone buzzes in his pocket with an incoming call, and Dean's careful to step away from the water as he extracts it. Sam.

They shoot the shit for a few minutes. The archive has only one book that's actually worthwhile to get copies of for their own use, but it's full of enough dangerous spells that Sam can't leave it intact for anyone else to find either. He's planning on breaking in again tonight to remove or alter the most dangerous sections.

Breaking into a school, even one as fancy as Yale isn't too risky compared to everything else they've done. Sam's just going to pretend to be a confused grad student if caught, so Dean's on call to play a prissy advisor. It's nice that they're both busy with something harmless for once. Dean doesn't ask why Sam sent them to this town and Sam doesn't bring it up either. Dean just tells him about the beach, how they should have done this years ago, and that they're going on a coast to coast beach tour someday. The conversation flows easily until Sam sees the janitors leaving the hall in question and it's go-time on his mission. Dean wishes him luck before signing off.

It's hard work walking through sand, and Dean pauses outside the light from the bonfire to observe. The party has broken off into smaller groups to chat and drink beer while Springsteen plays off a portable speaker. He almost misses Cas when he looks over the group because he was looking for a man sitting alone, but Cas isn't alone now. A tall man with dark tousled hair and an unbuttoned linen shirt reclines on Dean's spot on the blanket. Cas is discussing something with him and Dean's stomach somersaults when he sees Cas making air quotes as he speaks. The guy on the blanket throws his head back in laughter and Dean hates him. Hates how easy he makes sitting next to Cas look. He's got a six pack and tan skin that glows like polished bronze in the candlelight. He bets the guy only works out to look good. This dude doesn't even know how special Cas is.

Dean's debating storming over and starting a fight versus making a break for the car when Cas looks up and sees him. He smiles and waves him over.

Dean gives the fire a wide berth as he approaches. The guy scoots back like he's leaving enough space for Dean to sit down, but he doesn't see how that's possible, unless he wants to half sit in Cas' lap, and doesn't that thought leave him sweating.

Cas must see the look on his face, because he scoots to give Dean more room. Dean mutters a thanks, somehow fitting himself in between the pair. The new guy holds his hand out for a shake and introduces himself as Sean's boyfriend, Matt or Mike or something like that. Dean's not really paying attention because of the way Cas' arm wraps around his back when he leans over to shake the guy's hand. It's probably just to steady him but it feels nice, and he leans into it a little.

Matt-or-Mike is chatty, and friendly, and so goddamned normal it makes Dean feel like the weird one. He just says things like 'my boyfriend' and 'brunch' and then starts talking about the work he's doing on his classic Mustang that gives Dean whiplash, but he enjoys the friendly (and safely masculine) debate of Ford vs Chevy.

The guy eventually leaves to go grab a beer and snuggle up against Sean's side where he's chatting with another couple, both guys as well. As far as Dean can tell, even though there are a few women present, they're not interested in any of the guys, including him. In fact, Dean's starting to suspect that no one at this bonfire is straight. It feels…well he's not sure. The feeling of watched fades, until Cas turns his gaze from the fire to observe Dean.

Dean ignores it and drinks his beer. He plays with the label, looking anywhere but at Cas. "This is nice," he offers clumsily, "this party."

"Everyone has been very kind." Cas says quietly.

"Yeah, that's non-hunters for you. Life of peace and quiet. They can be nice."

Cas snorts. Dean's head whips around to see a grim smile twisting Cas' features.

"What?" Dean asks.

"I've spoken to a few people here, and no one has had an easy life. Nothing quite like what you and your brother have been through, but they've struggled."

Dean's shoulders slump. "Fine, I get it. I'm an asshole and I should feel bad about it." He moves to leave when Cas catches his wrist and yanks him back into place.

"Do you know what they have that you don't?" Cas presses.

"I don't know?" Dean hisses, "Beach houses, real jobs, little rainbow pins that they can wear cause they live in a town where people are less likely to fuck with them for it?"

Cas looks perplexed for a moment before continuing.

"I was going to say that they have a community of friends. That your anger and fear might stem from a place of loneliness."

Dean pulls away, pissed off at being rightly called out, for revealing so much, for not being good at life the way the rest of the party seems to be. And hell, he's pissed that now they look like the couple that always fights at parties.

Shit, they look like a couple.

"What do you want?" Dean snaps. Cas is silent for a while. The guy with the portable speaker and puts on some 80s pop that even Dean knows. Madonna is playing when Cas finally responds.

"I'd like to be there for you, if you'd let me. If you can be there for me."

Dean finishes off his beer and stands to go grab another. Cas watches with a look of resignation, and declines when Dean offers to get him a beer too.

The conversation has him off kilter, and the sand only doubles his disorientation. Sean laughs when he approaches.

"Still thrown off from the food poisoning?" Sean quips.

"Ha ha," Dean gives him a friendly glare. "I told you both, I was fine. Just not used to walking in this crap." He gestures broadly to the beach.

"This your first time visiting?" Sean asks.

"That obvious?"

Sean laughs again, and Dean wonders how it can come to anyone so easily. "Yeah, sorry. The sand's the worst part, unless you get sea sick tomorrow. They sell anti-nausea medication on the boat, if you ask."

"The boat?" Dean asks, confused.

"Yeah, your boyfriend said you guys were getting up early for a whale watch tomorrow?"

"Oh. Yeah uh, Cas isn't my boyfriend."

"Oh," Sean sounds surprised, "sorry, I just assumed."

"Yeah," Dean scratches his neck awkwardly, "we get that a lot." Sean raises a conspiratorial eyebrow at him.

"Yeah?" Sean takes a sip of his beer. "Me and Matt used to get that too." He grins. Dean shakes his head in a way that could be considered a nod, hiding his expression as he ducks down to root around in the cooler. There are no lights on the beach so he just grabs a bottle at random. He cracks it open and takes a swig. The sour taste of hard lemonade isn't bad, just unexpected, and Dean nearly spits it all out, inhaling half of it as he struggles.

Sean pats him on the back as he coughs it out.

"If you're going to keep dying on him maybe I should set him up with someone else." Sean jokes. It hits too close to home for Dean's taste.

"He's the one you gotta worry about." Dean sputters.

"Sure." Sean smiles behind his beer, watching Dean closely. "So I shouldn't set him up with anyone else?"

Dean shoots him a pleading look and Sean's smile crumbles.

"Sorry man."

"Not it's just…shit, we've been friends for so long I don't know what to do about it." Dean tries to pass it off as a joke, too worried about sounding serious to realize what he's admitting.

Sean watches him carefully. "You want advice?"

Dean shakes his head. "No," he plays with the bottle in his hand. Sean waits him out, and Dean realizes this might be the only chance he gets to talk to someone who has an idea of what he's going through. "I mean, what advice could you even give?" He finishes weakly.

"Talk to him, and apologize if you're being a dick."

Dean grimaces. "That's really not what I was hoping for."

Sean shrugs, "Sorry man, you're the one trapped in the long game. There's no easy way out." Sean pats him on the shoulder as he passes him, heading back over towards a group of friends chatting. Dean finishes the lemonade in his hand and grabs two more bottles without reading the labels.

He sits carefully next to Cas, whose eyes are fixed on the bonfire slowly burning out. Cas accepts the beer without a glance. They sit shoulder to shoulder, listening to the crackle of the fire and the rhythm of the waves rushing in and out. Dean's mouth is so dry it takes him two tries to speak.

"Sorry I'm a shit friend."

Cas tilts his head over to rest on Dean's shoulder. It's good.

Eventually the party winds down, people trailing off back to the parking lot. The fire has burned so low the brightest light comes from the lighthouse some distance away over the dunes. Dean assures the last departing couple that they'll make sure the fire gets put out. Dean's built enough pyres to know how long the coals stay hot for. How long it takes for the wind to sweep the ashes away.

Sean smiles at Dean like he knows what he's thinking when he and Matt leave arm in arm. Cas returns the wave without lifting his head from Dean's shoulder.

The wind even dies down enough that Dean thinks he could sleep here instead of in the car like he had planned. The slow, steady sound of the waves lulls him into a quiet peace. It doesn't feel real, being here. He doesn't have many dreams anymore that aren't nightmares, but it feels like that.

"I'm glad we came here," Dean murmurs, "I'm glad you're here."

Cas lifts his head from Dean's shoulder. He sits up, stiff because he's nervous, not like the way Dean's stiff from sitting still for so long.

"I'm always happy to be where you are." Is Cas's cautious reply.

Dean turns that over in his head for so long he nearly drifts off sitting up. Cas scoots over onto the sand so he can guide Dean down onto the ground and fold half the blanket over Dean. He can't remember the last time someone tucked him in and he can't help it before he reaches out, fumbling to pull Cas closer. His head ends up resting on Cas' knee. He's taking too much and he knows it. He just doesn't care.

The waves break steadily against the shore, an endless metronome. Dean gestures towards the dark expanse.

"Could you part it? Like Moses? The whole thing, so we could drive the Impala to Europe?" He can feel the motion as Cas rolls his eyes, the way his shoulders swing to make it a physical gesture.

"I wouldn't."

"But you could." Dean slurs sleepily, twisting to look up to catch Cas' eye and watching as the spark of humor fades to solemnity.

"I'm not sure. I've never tried. Moses wasn't an angel either, so I'm not sure the comparison is apt. Besides, he asked God to part the sea. Moses had no innate powers." Dean huffs a laugh and tucks in close to Cas' side for the windbreak. He pulls the blanket tighter around himself and closes his eyes.

"Sorry your dad keeps picking human favorites. That's gotta sting." Dean says with a yawn. He reaches out one finger to trace the hem of Cas' coat where it rests inches from his face. Cas fixes the blanket over Dean's shoulder, tucking him in a little tighter before answering.

"I always knew my father would pick his earthly creations over us. Soldiers are not sons, you can't love them the same way or they fail at being both." His voice is heavy in a way that belies the casual tone Dean can tell he's aiming for.

Sharp pain prickles behind Dean's eyes. He can't cry over this. Not when they're talking about Cas' pain. He won't be the asshole to make it all about himself. He tries changing the subject.

"What's the biggest thing you've tried?"

"Hm?"

"Yeah, like what's the most impressive thing you've ever done? The most miracle-y?"

"Do you mean miraculous?" Cas sounds smug. Good.

"Yeah, you dick. What's the most miraculous thing you've ever done?"

Cas is silent for a long minute in contemplation. So long that Dean's nearly asleep when he answers. So quiet that it's nearly lost in the salt spray breeze.

"You. Delivering your unblemished soul back to this earth. Rebirthing you from rot. I felt so blessed to be given such a task." Cas reaches a hand out to cautiously trace the veins and scars on the back of Dean's hand. "As a soldier I had never been asked to build, I could never imagine why such a momentous opportunity had been given to me of all my siblings. Angels are not casually permitted to engage in acts of creation. You brought me closer to God. Or how I believed him to be. I've never felt glory like the first beat of your once-dust heart."

Dean turns his hand over, lets Cas trace the lines of his palms in silence. He doesn't look up, doesn't respond, just watches the ceaseless skate of Cas' fingers as they traverse the whorls in his skin.

Cas put those there. Dean thinks as he drifts off. Cas put me back together perfect.

It's dawn when he wakes. The sky overhead is still a deep lush navy while pink and orange tinges the horizon and caps the waves. He blinks the crust from his eyes, waking up easier than he has in ages. It's still chilly out, but the rumpled blanket under him is warm from his body heat, and whatever is draped over him is nice too. Sitting up he realizes it's Cas' trench coat and suit jacket, and the man himself sits next to him with his knees drawn up, his eyes on the waves, lost somewhere in time as a sliver of the sun peeks over the horizon.

"Mornin'," he croaks, "good night?"

Cas doesn't blink, doesn't turn his eyes from the horizon. "I once spent several centuries standing on a shore like this one, awaiting my next order."

Dean shrugs off the coats, offering them back to Cas with a murmured apology for the sand. It's not pleasant to be reminded of his own insignificance first thing in the morning but he's had worse wake-ups. He runs his fingers through the sand again, realizing this is just sunrise number billion-and-one for Cas. He's still wallowing when Cas continues. "I don't really remember any of those sunrises, not truly. Storm or fair, all I saw was a series of classifiable circumstances. I knew the air pressure and the temperature and the angle of light refraction off the water, but it didn't…stir…anything. In me." Cas' profile is sharp in the pink hue of morning.

Dean swallows. "Does this one?" He asks, edging towards reckless hope, "Does this stir anything in you?"

Light breaks over the horizon, painting Cas like a golden statue. He turns to lock eyes with Dean. After a moment his throat bobs nervously and he nods. Some unnamed emotion wells up inside of Dean, and he has to look away. The sun is rising quickly, burning off the cool dewy haze of morning, and it takes all of Dean's effort to nod back.

They sit in silence until the lowest edge of the sun's disk has cleared the horizon, and the lobsters have scuttled back up out of the surf.

They end up stopping in a little gift shop on the way to the dock so Cas can pick out a tote bag to conceal the lobsters in. It's not very dignified, being stuffed into a tote bag emblazoned with the phrase "One Nasty Sun of a Beach" but Fry and Bully-Claws seem to tolerate it well enough. Dean pays for the tickets and they join the crowd climbing the gangplank onto the vessel.

It's at least big enough to calm some of Dean's worries. Bigger than Captain Quint's Orca at least. Still, he would prefer a bigger boat. The crowd looks to be mostly young families, and he and Cas naturally make their way towards the less crowded rear deck of the vessel.

They settle in on the rail, and Dean breathes in deeply the smell of the salt air. There's brine, salt, and a faint undercurrent that reminds him almost of decay, but it's less unsettling in its natural environment. Just normal fish guts for seabirds, not an open grave. The sun is fucking bright as hell off the water, and even with his sunglasses on he still closes his eyes against the glare.

It's peaceful for once. Unless a sea monster attacks the boat they're just a couple of guys on a boat trip. He's barely thought about hunting since Cas stopped him from chowing down on their crustacean pals and set them down this path. It's a glimpse of the impossible dream: a beach retirement. With the sun on his face and the wind in his hair and Cas by his side it almost seems possible. Not just a 'maybe someday' but a 'someday' thing.

The boat pulls out and starts chugging north. As the town vanishes on the horizon behind them Dean gestures towards the tote bag.

"Think it's time yet?"

Cas leans over the railing to study the waves below. "Not quite. Sam said we would reach the point about 45 minutes north of the Cape. We don't need to be exact," Cas taps the tote bag, "I already checked."

"Cool." They ride in silence for a bit, until Cas forces Dean to drink some water, admonishing him for putting himself at risk of dehydration or some shit. It's fun actually, and as land vanishes behind them Dean can actually feel the weight lift off his shoulders. No angels, no demons, no monsters; just the warm sun and salt air. He lets their arms touch on the rail, enjoying the feeling of comfort. Dean is considering abandoning everything for a life at sea when Cas nudges him with his shoulder.

"This should be a good spot." Cas unshoulders the bag and holds it open to speak into. "It was an honor to meet you both. I wish you long happy lives." With a small smile he offers the bag to Dean, who takes it carefully. The lobsters are both regarding him thoughtfully. He wonders if Cinderella felt this weird talking to her little animal friends.

"Alright, time for the big swim. Stay out of lobster traps now, okay? I'm only doing this once." He looked up at Cas to gauge his reaction and was met with blatant disapproval. Changing tack he schools his face into a more sober expression.

"I am glad we met though, this trip has taught me a lot, about uh, second chances and learning to care more about the people you're stuck with. Cause they're the only ones who will ever really get it, you know? Cause after everything you've been through no one else can really know you as well as the people - er, lobsters - you've been in the trenches with. So don't let them go, okay? Now you two go live your lives and have millions of little baby lobsters, and tell them I'm trying to be a better person. Okay? Cool." Dean clears his throat. "Anything else?" He asks Cas, who shakes his head, expression unreadable. Dean checks that the coast is clear before upending the bag over the railing and sending Bully-Claws and Fry into the waves with a small splash. The last thing he notices before they sink out of sight is that they are holding each other claw-in-claw so that they don't get separated.

It's oddly bittersweet, considering he's never been happy to lose a meal before, and it's not like they could even speak to him. Still, he might even miss the little cockroaches someday. He bunches up the tote bag and stuffs it into his pocket. He did promise Sam a tacky souvenir after all.

A few minutes later a shout from the crowd alerts them to their first whale sighting. They're lucky with their spot on the rail, as the whale is coming up along their side of the boat. Dean moves behind Cas, away from the rail as kids surge forward to get a better look. A small girl clutching a book in one hand squeezes in next to Cas. She's bundled up more than other kids her age and is wearing a sun hat that doesn't cover up the fact that she's clearly lost her hair due to illness. Dean's stomach twists at the sight, but Cas just smiles at her kindly, sharing her enthusiasm as the whale surfaces a short distance away.

"It's a minke!" The girl says excitedly to everyone around her.

"That is the type of whale?" Cas asks her seriously.

"Correct." The girl answers, just as focused. She quickly hands him her book to show him the page that covers the whale in question and starts rattling off specific facts about that species. Dean catches the eye of a haggard looking woman who must be the girl's mom. She's watching the pair on the rail closely.

"Sorry, she can be a lot." The woman apologizes to Dean. He waves it away.

"Don't worry, he loves kids and useless facts."

She relaxes at that, but Dean can't help but note that she looks worn down. Dean knows what constant worry over a kid can do to a person, and Sammy hadn't even been a sickly kid. His heart goes out to her.

They stand by listening as the girl lectures Cas on the evolution of whales, not knowing he was there to see it happen in real time. She only loses her breath for a moment, but recovers quickly. After a few information packed minutes where Cas smiles and nods, the whale appears to swim under them heading towards the open water on the other side of the boat. The girl jumps down from the rail, ready to move to where the action is. Cas quietly thanks her for the lesson, and as he offers back the book he pats her on the shoulder just once before she runs off.

Dean would have missed the golden flair of grace if he hadn't been watching so closely. The sun is so bright it might have passed for a reflection from someone's sunglasses, but Dean catches it.

The mom misses the moment, and gives them a friendly nod before following the crowd to the other side of the boat. Dean can hear the girl's voice over the chatter, stronger now than it was a moment ago.

Cas turns back to the water, his face a careful mask. Dean joins him,closer than necessary now that they're alone on the rail. He bumps their shoulders together.

"Castiel, did you heal that little kid's cancer?" He teases quietly.

"This world needs all the smart people it can get." Cas glares at him, but there's no heat. He's defiant. Heaven's biggest rebel.

"Yeah yeah, you big softy." Dean can't quite describe the feeling. It's like being pleasantly buzzed. A syrupy loose limbed warmth that makes him want to say something he'll regret. He can't help the feeling, Cas just makes everything better around him.

That mom is going to be in for the shock of her life at the kids next doctor's appointment. He lets himself imagine it, the good things that are going to come.

Maybe not for him, but for someone. It's a lovely fantasy. Here out of sight of land it feels safe to bask in hope, just for a moment.

"So what about the council?"

"The what?" Cas hunches over the railing, eyes focused on the water below.

"The lobster council I'm supposed to get judged by?"

"Oh. You'll be tried in absentia. I doubt it will have any impact on your life." Cas deadpans without looking up.

Dean laughs, his head tipped back to watch the bleach blue skies about them. The sun warms his face with all the tenderness of an open oven. "So why did we do this? All this work for two crabs that have no bearing on any fucking destiny or plan with a capital P?"

"Because you thought it was the right thing to do."

"Dude you talked me into it." He accuses, head lolling to the side. Cas' posture hasn't changed, but he watches Dean from the corner of his eye for a long moment before looking back out towards the distant horizon.

"All I did was tell you that Fry and Bully-Claws were hurt by you. You were the one who promised to make it right."

"Thought you were done testing me ten years ago." Dean grumbles. The corner of Cas' mouth quirks up.

"I know you're still the same righteous man. I didn't need to test that. I think we're here because you wanted to do the right thing."

"Just an excuse for a beach vacation."

"We were an hour from Atlantic City. You drove an extra 8 hours to get here."

"I like driving." Dean argues back.

"Why can't you admit you're a good person?"

"I did one good thing for selfish reasons, that's not being a good person."

"What were your selfish reasons?"

"I dunno, I wanted to make you happy. Wanted to be what you think I am." Cas rolls his eyes at that.

"You are."

Dean throws up his hands. "Whatever dude. It's not going to measure up to saving a kid's life. It makes my thing with the lobsters look silly."

"I don't see why one would negate the other. Your act took much more effort."

That's true, but it doesn't feel right. No matter how much Cas argues with him they just aren't proportionate acts. Why would a freaking angel try to compare the two of them? Dean closes his eyes.

"Do you believe me?" Cas asks him.

"Believe what?"

"Just in general. Do you believe I would lie to you?"

"Yeah, dude." Dean laughs.

"Fair enough." Cas grumbles, "But would you trust me now?"

The boat rocks steadily beneath them. A cheer goes up from the other side of the boat and he hears a splash. Dean sighs. "Yeah, I guess. I believe you."

"I think you're a good man, and that I'm better for having known you."

Dean swallows down around the lump in his throat. "You're wrong, but me too."

This time Cas is the one to bump their shoulders together. He leans in and catches Dean's eye.

"I'm glad to be here, with you."

The sunlight catches the lighter shades of brown in his hair, makes his eyes sparkle brighter than the ocean. Dean thinks about how he's the only one who knows there's an angel on board, about how lucky he is to know Cas. He means to say something about it, but that's not what comes out.

"Did you know Sean thought you were my boyfriend?"

"He did ask, yes."

"Wait, you knew?"

"I apologize, I may have implied we were closer than friends."

"Well, I mean. We are. That whole 'profound bond' thingy. We're like best friends. Thelma and Louise, Spock and Kirk. I mean, unless there's anyone else I outta know about?"

Cas smiles, "No, Dean. Only you."

Dean's throat feels tight. He coughs it away. "Okay, good." Cas looks over at him, a nervous glance. Dean continues awkwardly, "I mean - me too, man."

Dean licks his lips, and they taste like the salt air. He wonders if Cas would like that taste. Brine and bar snacks. He didn't mean to say it, not all open and honest like that, but the sun's giving him heat stroke or something. Either way, he feels lighter for it. Like putting down something heavy he's been dragging around for years. It feels good enough to keep going. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and it's not even close. I know I can be a dick, but you…" He shakes his head, "You mean too much to me."

Cas' brow furrows in confusion. He stares at Dean for entirely too long, even as the crowd of whale watchers meander back over to their side of the boat, searching for something in his eyes that he can't seem to turn up.

"What?" Dean eventually asks.

"That sort of speech between friends doesn't usually happen in your movies unless one of them is dying, but physically you're fine."

Dean laughs, relaxing incrementally. "I wasn't aiming for a friendly speech."

Cas’s eyes drop to Dean’s lips, and whether it's the roll of the boat or intentional, he leans into Dean’s space for just a moment, until he jerks back and looks away, his hands tight on the railing. Dean's not sure if it's seasickness or regular nerves, but his stomach is doing somersaults. Cas fidgets, licking his lips as he avoids looking at Dean. The salt air must be drying them out.

"Dean, do you th-"

Dean cuts him off, using two gentle fingers to turn Cas' face towards his. In the same motion he ducks in and kisses Cas, soft and quick, before pulling away quickly. His hands are shaking faintly and the rush in his ears isn't from the waves. It did taste salty, he thinks victoriously. Dean doesn't look at Cas, can't look at Cas, despite knowing that the man is standing next to him, frozen. Whether that's a good or bad thing Dean is about to find out. Either way, the aftershock of having finally made a move has him flying with endorphins. He actually fucking did it. Take that, Dad.

He laughs in surprise at himself which jolts Cas out of his catatonic state. He grabs Dean roughly, having a hard time controlling his strength, and pulls Dean into a kiss. It's not gentle, it's barely pleasurable with the death grip Cas has on him, but Dean presses up into it anyway, wraps an arm around Cas' back to steady the kiss.

It feels safe. For once in his goddamn life it feels safe and good and easy. He wants to giggle and do a little foot pop like a chick in a rom com. He wants to be in the finale of a movie where the camera pulls away and a peppy song plays over their kiss and the audience knows they'll live happily ever after. Roll credits.

Cas finally softens the kiss enough for Dean to pull back slightly. He's still holding tightly, eyes squeezed shut and braced to be pushed away. "Look I know our real lives are total shit, and I don't deserve you, but if you…" He takes a shaky breath and forces himself to keep going. "If you could stan- if you wanted to stick around, I'd do anything dude. I wanna be there for you." Dean is tense, wincing against the rejection he knows is coming. Cas will let him down easy though, he's a good guy. Bit of a bastard but not like this, not with Dean.

He's prepared for anything but the gentle touch of Cas cupping his cheek. So it will be a soft let down then, great. Cas exhales, a soft "Oh, Dean…" nearly lost in the wind. Dean's already trying to pull away, already opening his mouth to apologize, when he realizes there was a third word in that sentence, one his brain didn't cotton on to because it was so unbelievable.

"What?" Dean asks stupidly, eyes blinking open in confusion. Cas' face is close and reverent.

"Yes." He repeats firmly.

"Yes?" Dean feels like he misunderstood, that he said it all backwards. Because his love is hopeless, always has been, and he's known it.

"Yes, Dean. I want to stick around, as long as you'll have me."

Dean grins at him and is rewarded with a return smile, big and toothy. Two miracles on this ship today then, three is you count Dean finally nutting up enough to make a move.

A splash sounds in the distance, and Dean looks up just in time to see a whale, about a hundred feet off the side of the ship, leap up and hit the water with a mighty splash. They're bigger than Dean pictured, and more graceful.

The whale swims closer, and Dean leans over the railing as it dives under the boat. It's not just big, it's massive; its skin is a deep blue black on top and white on the bottom as it rolls to the side. A single massive eye regards him thoughtfully before it blinks and sinks away. Another whale sprays water in the distance, and Dean feels entranced as he watches them dive. Even the breaks between whale sightings are pleasant with Cas standing alongside him. He's aware that he should be scared of what the future holds, but maybe, just maybe he can dare to hope that there's good too.

Maybe even another beach vacation. With tiki drinks and warm water. Cas in the sand. Hell, maybe even Sam will come along for the next one. He can't be worse than the lobsters.

"I'm glad to have them off the car's upholstery, but I am going to miss those little sons of bitches." Dean smiles. "Wish I had gotten the chance to ask them to pinch Sam."

Cas laughs. "I may have enjoyed that as well."

"Really? So am I your favorite?"

"Something like that." Their fingers brush on the railing, and there's a pleasant tension in the air. Dean snakes his hand between Cas' and the rail, intertwining their fingers. The smile the action is met with is proof enough it was the right move.

They stay there on the rail until the boat turns back to shore, and Dean tugs Cas to a bench where they can rest. He's not old, but standing that long on the hard rocking deck has his knee aching. He flexes it once they're seated, and Cas sets his hand on it casually, like any other couple and vanishes the pain. This time when he heals Dean he leaves his hand there on his knee, like it's where it belongs. Dean throws his arm over Cas' shoulders, pulling him snug against his side.

They fit together just right. It's a little click, like the opening of a new door, the moment you're aware you're turning down a new path.

He barely considers the question of if he will tell Sam before he's already preparing the arguments for why Cas will be riding shotgun now. Well, at least fifty percent of the time. He's also very aware of the fact that Cas is going to be it for him. They've been through too much together for anyone to ever come close. They should get matching tattoos. Dean is going to take him out for a real fancy dinner. Olive Garden or some shit. A date night place where they grate the cheese on your food for you. White tablecloths.

Anywhere Cas wants, just as long as there isn't lobster on the menu.

#ao3 #spn #supernatural #destiel #destiel fic #fanfic

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hrkrkrwpfrbrbrlablblblblwhitooap · 1 year

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(i did actually hyperfixate on tom in august of 2021 as well, i just figured that was unimportant as making the point of a dormant hyperfixation becoming active again wasn't gonna change anything). also no offense and god bless amen but there's a big difference between tom taking a break in regards to main channel videos, and tom scott plus. as previously mentioned, plus videos are likely quite anxiety inducing (and time consuming!) regarding whatever it is he's doing and are not his main focus so. yeah. he's gonna take a longer break in regards to that channel. like is this only making sense to me or

i don't mean to come across as argumentative, i truly don't! unfortunately this is just how my personality is sometimes. when i said "don't dunk on tom..." i was mostly speaking in regards to the anon who made the confession (?) in the first place. things you might not know has been going on for almost 10 years. tom quite literally said himself (likely with different words, the video i'm referring to is no longer on his channel) that the series has more or less run it's course and will become an irregular series in april of 2024 (if i remember the dates correctly). so, like i said, it makes complete sense that newer videos are likely not to par with 2017-2019 videos. and like. sure. it all comes down to preference. but when people are still consistently subscribing, and tom hits 1 million views (or more!) on a new main channel upload in one day, the opinion that his content isn't as appealing anymore is likely an unpopular one

i agree that tom should branch out more in regards to where he films. and like you said yourself, it's unfortunately likely language barrier + filming-in-public laws issues. tom schedules when he films his videos waaaay in advance it seems, e-mailing whoever he needs to e-mail like. at the absolute very least a few weeks in advance. for all we know, he could be scheduling to record videos in the three continents he hasn't filmed in right now as a last hurrah for things you might not know! he might not, and we shouldn't necessarily get our hopes up, but he might want the series to more or less retire with videos from places he's never been to before

the criticisms are valid, i just think it's a bit silly to complain over the quality of his content (in regards to the level of professionalism, not location) when he's uploaded every single week for the past almost-decade. like, be grateful he doesn't upload once a month y'know?

1) Tom has said himself multiple times that TS+ has basically become the main channel now in terms of the effort he's putting in, and given that he's decided to wind down the actual main channel, I assume it's only going to become more prominent going forward. Given that, I disagree with the sentiment that it's something he'd disregard so much as to walk away from it for (so far) two and a half months, nearly a quarter of the year, unless something has gone wrong behind the scenes to delay the return well beyond the intended date.

2) I think you are still failing to grasp my point that him saying the main channel format has run its course and he's done all he can do with it is in fundamental contradiction to the fact that it literally has not touched over half the globe yet. Some things you'll start to notice if you follow a lot of Tom's content (over periods much longer than two years) is that he tends to make up some very arbitrary rules for how to Do Content and then hold himself to them for no real reason, and he has a tendency to disavow or even delete anything he made more than about three years ago (with a very small number of exceptions). He's used the ten-year limit as an arbitrary rule for doing content before (Europlop) and this decision, to me, has the vibes of being driven more by these two factors than by an actual objective assessment of the situation. At the end of the day, whatever, it's his choice, but I feel like I have a right to be disappointed that he's making this decision instead of using the momentum he has to start branching out more.

3) It's worth noting that the sub count and views have both been heavily affected by the fact that he won the algorithm lottery with the garlic bread into space video in 2018, partially thanks to a well timed Reddit post. That got over 20M in the first two weeks - far and away his highest view count at the time, and that video is still his second most viewed ever - and there was a clear turning point after that video where his sub count started going up much faster and average video performance went from 100-200K views per video to 500K pretty quickly. (All of these numbers have since been run a lot higher by the 4.5 million subs he's gained in the past five years, but I was there and made note of these analytics as it happened, because they were interesting to me.)

Once you get over that hump to being a popular creator that the algorithm favors, there's sort of a snowball effect: it puts your videos in front of more faces, more people subscribe to you, and those subs give you more views on future videos, which makes the algorithm more likely to put them in front of more faces, etc. Obviously there are some really stupid things you can do that would stop this snowball, like saying "I just want to get dicked down again :/" and leaving forever, but it's a lot easier to keep it going once it's started - i.e. the videos that keep people who already noticed you coming back don't necessarily have to be as good as the one that went viral enough to rope them in to begin with.

All of which is to say: Getting more views and having more subs now than his content got back then doesn't necessarily mean the average person would think it's better content; it just means The Algorithm has decided he's worth putting into more people's feeds (and that YouTube has more users than it did back then - the genZ and genα folks who have gained computer privileges in that time probably watch a lot more YouTube than the old folks who died out of the potential viewer pool, and the pandemic and accompanying push to move all entertainment from linear TV to streaming for many people only exacerbates matters). I think a better metric to get a barometer for how much your audience is enjoying your content is the ratio between view count on a video and sub count on the channel - it's not perfect, but gives you a sense of how likely an existing subscriber is to actually click on the new video and watch it. In late 2018, with ~500K views on most videos in the first few weeks and about 1.5M subs, that was approximately a 1:3 ratio; his recent videos are kinda all over the place but a lot of them are only 1M to 1.5M which (against 5.8M subs) is more like a 1:4 or 1:5 ratio. That would seem to indicate that, while his audience may be larger now, on average they are less dedicated. (To contrast - the lowest of the TS+ videos still hit a view count that is almost 1/2 the subscriber count - ca. 350K views against ca. 800K subs)

I really don't want to get so deep into the rest of this but given he didn't specifically solicit ideas from latam, africa and asia when calling for suggestions for the final year of TYMNK I highly doubt he is planning to branch out any more than usual... and fwiw, making videos every week at the same time is one of those arbitrary rules I was talking about; maybe there is some marginal Algorithm Benefit but there are plenty of channels which upload less frequently or predictably than he does and still do just as well.

#and re. your other message: talk to the people in the replies yourself. I'm not a messenger pigeon and frankly I agree with them.

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properthieves · 3 years

Text

acv should have let you bully Sigurd the same way rdr2 lets you bully John

#like seriously you’re gunna give me a pc with an interesting and complicated relationship with a sibling try and make that one of the focal #relationships of the whole game and then just not let me interact with them outside of cutscenes and designated story missions smh #I mean this in both a joke way and a serious way #serious take: I think in general ravensthorpe could have super super benefited from having a dialogue system like one at the camp in rd #like I don't need to be able to talk to every npc but like the fact that you can't have even brief dialogue exchanges with named important #npcs outside of either designated plot points or like shop keeper interactions is like kinda frustrating to me? idk #I feel like the relationships that eivor has with all the npcs (not just Sigurd) could be so much more dynamic if you could speak to them #like the longship crew for example everyone of them that you can recruit has just kinda gone through a big upheaval in their life and the #fact that you only get one interaction with them when they first arrive that is basically just them going 'happy to be here!' but you can't #speak to them every again beyond that is like disappointing don't get me wrong I love longship storytimes as much as they next person but #pls let eivor talk to her friends #like imagine angsty depth you could get from having even just a brief exchange with birna after [redacted] happens #like once again pls let eivor interact with her friends and loved ones more often #joke take: idk let eivor reach her full little sibling potential and follow sigurd annoying him #look 90% of the time I can't bring myself to pick mean dialogue options of viddy games but ch.2 of rdr2?#the petty older brother spirit of mr arthur morgan does in fact take over and I will follow john around camp #and just button mash the antagonize button until I have exhausted the dialogue options #and eivor should be able to do that to sigurd let her just lightly bully her older brother just a little bit as a treat #oh and one more thing: npcs should be able to interact w/one another b/c birna and vili desrve to older sibling bully the shit out of rollo #anyway i'll shut up now #teabeedee

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yinses · 3 years

Text

he reminds your ex who you belong to

gojo satoru ft. f! reader + exhibition ( technically phone sex ¿) + some hair pulling + unprotected sex wc: 2.3k

a/n: trying to get better with my tagging. i realize the community has it’s own sensitivities and i often fall short on that thought. i still owe some prompts and a few other asks but this has been siting in my drafts for a few weeks and i finally finished it up.

it never fails to come as an interruption in your life, the shrill call of your phone blaring at inopportune times. each one conveniently impeding on time with gojo.

your boyfriend of four months would give you that tight smile, blue eyes swimming with annoyance, but never concern. because not once did you pick up the call, always reaching out blindly to silence it without even acknowledging the accompanying messages.

the number changes, but you learned not to accept any call from one you didn’t recognize. important communications were typically followed by voicemail and that was how you dealt with that. but the duration was becoming more tedious than either of you imagined, reaching above the white noise decibel it had been reduced to.

“maybe i should just change my number, “ you suggest forlornly. it would ensure that he had no way to contact you freely, but it would also force you to reestablish connections with all your friends and family. it seemed like an extreme measure but when push came to shove.

only a few moments pass before the phone picks up again, hammering down the final nail in your resolve.

“i think you should answer.”

gojo’s unexpected intervention comes from the edge of the bed where he flips the said phone carefully from one palm to the next. his fingers brush past the two blinking options just short of selecting.

you shift from foot to foot, not sure how to accept that response. gojo was as irritated as you were but you didn’t expect him to cave first.

frowning, you shake your head. “i’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“why not?” his gaze sweeps over your face, somewhat amused by your discomfort. there is a swirl of mischief alight in those bright blue eyes. “apparently he needs a little more than a simple no.”

he holds out the device, voice taunting but firm.

“if you don’t answer you’ll miss the call.”

as if there wouldn't be a dozen more to follow.

your mouth feels dry, hand heavy with the weight of decision. it wasn’t as though you couldn't deal with the situation, so much as if you were prepared to. ignoring had been the more appealing option over confrontation but perhaps it had been your hesitation that had been the problem all along. ultimately your thumb taps to accept the call.

“hello?”

‘baby, i’ve been trying to reach you for ages.’

the bed creaks but you’re too focused breathing evenly to notice. you weren’t familiar with the etiquette of many break ups, which was why this one was the hardest. it had been a long love that had followed you into the early years of adulthood before spark began to fizzle out.

“i just answered to tell you to stop calling. i’ve already blocked your number once.”

the attempt to revive the romance before it all fell apart had been one-sided. he’d been quicker to discover other fish in the sea before you had. it seemed as though in your patience, you’d found something better while he spent his time chasing minnows without satisfaction.

‘yes, but you didn’t give me the chance to explain. we don’t have to be over.’

you should have seen it coming.

your shoulders tense at the press of his lips at your neck. gojo had a propensity for creating opportunities out of every little divot in life. he lived the role of a jester but held the mind of a genius. gojo had been kind in biting his lip to bare down on the jealousy simmering down beneath.

he gives you a brief grace period as his slender fingers tap the mute button then his lips return to your ear. “if you want this, get onto the bed and place the phone above your head with the speaker on.”

an immediate protest flies to your lips but doesn’t quite make it to fruition. what he’s suggestion goes beyond sexual barriers you’d set up thus far. gojo had a knack for pushing them and helping you discover new fantasies and hidden pleasures.

at the first hint of a pout against your throat, you cave.

so weak for him.

your ex seems none the wiser to the hitch in your voice as you press one knee to the bed, then the other before carefully rolling onto your back. swallowing the waning confidence before it leaks from your body, you seal the deal by placing the phone just above your head after activating the speaker.

“good girl.” the words come whispered for your benefit as gojo crawls onto the bed. as if his intentions weren’t already clear enough, the prominent hardness in his pants as he slots between your legs is. you can’t help but grow dizzy at the thought of your premeditated actions, all while your thighs tighten around his form.

his hands warm the shivers from your sides as he slides up your shirt and kisses down your navel. gojo delivers a sharp nip just before muttering a brisk,” unmute.” in reminder.

the command comes just in time for your expected response though you’re no more prepared to deliver when gojo unbuttons your pants and works them over your hips.

‘maybe if we could just meet somewhere?’

the sincerity coupled with your actions makes it all feel more one-sided with you playing the role of the villain. he’d been an ass, yes, but surely he didn’t deserve this.

right?

“it doesn’t matter, were-mmph.” no part of you expected gojo to play this fairly. you choke on the response when his tongue licks a firm swipe against the fabric of your panties.

‘what does not matter? speak to me. lets talk this out.”

funny how he chose now of all times to acknowledge the issues you had and attempted to resolve in the past.

gojo words feel condescending as he mimics what’s heard against your cunt. there was no doubt in your mind that he’d completely written off your ex from the beginning. the same confidence from your first date dripped from his touch as he worked down the fabric from your hips.

not once did he promise to watch his volume as he sloppily wets his fingers. he’s is ruthless as he plunged in two in on the first thrust, palm curling up to rub friction against your clit. any other time you would have revealed in his ability to make you come apart so easily, now you were more embarrassed by how much easier you felt.

‘is this a bad time? you seem distracted.’

every time was a bad time. that was the point.

gojo’s tongue wet the inside of your thigh, “don’t let him hang up. you want this to be his last call, remember.”

at this rate he was going to make this your last waking moment.

somewhere between a squeak and a whimper, you managed to form words against the friction of gojo’s touch sliding in and out. “no, let’s just-i- yeah, no, we should talk it out now. i’m tired of going back and forth.”

the line pauses briefly. and you almost hope for a second he reaches clarity and saves you from the embarrassment. ‘alright then. are you really not willing to give it another shot?’

your groan of arousal is disguised by disappointment but the opposite warms gojo’s breath against your damp skin. “i didn’t realize you were dating such an idiot. how can he be so dense.” his lips smack, shiny with your stimulation.” you must just really have a thing for pretty faces, willing to look past so much.”

you were willing to look past his deviousness right now, ready to let him desecrate you over the phone like this.

“you’re pretty, toru.” you try to jab but are countered with the addition of a third finger as he starts a relently pace. the sounds are so dirty, reckless suckling sounds that had to carry. gojo made sure of it as he twisted his wrist in retaliation over every shift of your hips.

“i am much prettier than they guy. much better at a lot,” he enunciates sharp smack to your thigh.

then he curls just right and you turn for face into the phone and keen.

‘seriously what is going on you sound- strained.’

gojo’s chuckle vibrates within you. “poor guys don't even know what you sound like on the verge of an orgasm.”

your voice is impossibly hoarse and not very convincing as you choke out,” i’m fine. n-no look … i only answered because i wanted us to-fuck-no sorry.” gojo wasn’t making this easy. “- wanted us to reach some closure and move on.”

gojo pulls out just short of your building orgasm and you gasp breathy at the loss.

‘we were together for two years. surely that amounts to more than just moving on.’

it did. way back when the unexpected break up had torn your hearts to shreds. the misunderstanding and lost connections had eaten you out from the inside. left you failing in the unknowns of what you did wrong and why he wanted to slow down your progress.

now it all seems insignificant in comparison the sight of your current boyfriend slowly fisting his cock.

‘you wanted to use the break to decide if you were ready for a future together and i think we both realized that we weren't-”

gojo had chosen the right moment to intervene in your life and the moment at the head of his cock pushes through the first ring. he follows through in one motion, filling you to hilt as his hand reaches up to fist the short of your hair.

‘baby, no one knows you like i do.’

the sharp sting of his fist clenching as he hips rock back is the last warning you get before he slams back in. there was more to the familiar precision as he ruts into you. gojo was the better man, but even he felt short to the green-eyed-monster.

he was relentless with his pace, fucking into you harder with each new whimper you give up. your consciousness is a fleeting cloud, wafting high out of your reach as your mouth opens up to sharp cries.

‘are you working out right now? your words sound broken.’

gojo’s hand presses into the curve of your back as he leaves over you. “fuck, you should just tell him. get this over with. let him know that you belong to someone else now. someone who is currently fucking you better than he ever could.”

your protests mirror your resolve and you can already feel your lips forming those exact words before you catch yourself. “i-i cant.” that was too much, right?

gojo didn’t seem to think so. he suddenly pulled out just enough to turn you over, hand still holding your hair hostage as he pushed your face into the mattress effectively ruining your ability to speak properly.

“tell him, or i will. and i’ll add in every dirty little thing we’ve done leading up to this moment. you don’t belong to him anymore and he should know it. properly.”

‘hey, should i just come over?’ comes that voice again, a constant glutton for punishment.

“no!” you cry out. “i-we can’t- i’m.”

gojo decides to help you out. no longer willing to be a spectator as if he could be called such. “fuck, baby. make those pretty noises for me.”

‘is that someone else? are you with someone right now.’

gojo snatches up the opportunity, hand curling around the phone to place it against the tacky sweat accumulating against the skin between your shoulder blades. you can feel it teetering with each jerk of your body.

“yeah, she is. apparently she needs help getting her point across. if she wants to contact you she will do so on her terms. “ he huffs peevishly,“ until then fuck off or you can listen to me fuck her doesn’t matter to me.”

his commanding tone shouldn’t sound so hot. you can’t help but moan as he hits that spot just right.

a high pitched ‘what the fuck’ grates unpleasantly against the mood you’re so desperate to build to its peak.

“i take it back, hearing you screech is going to make me go soft. don’t call again.”

‘wait don’t-’ his protest comes a moment too late for gojo’s waning patient as he abruptly cuts off the call and flings the phone somewhere above your head.

“I imagined that going much smoother in my head,” grunts as he picks up the pace.

your mouth falls open but nothing comes out. you’re unable to blink past the flood of light as you melt into the roll of his hips. there is nothing left for you to do but squeeze around him as you absorb each thrust.

“i don’t know what i was expecting thinking you could form coherent sentences when i fuck you stupid like this.” his voice is markedly softer now, still agitated but gentler in his touch as he loosens his grip. your head turns without instruction, eagerly catching his mouth in a sloppy kiss.

the tell tale tremble shudders from one end to the next as you dig your knees into the mattress and gyrate your hips. the angle rewards you with an opportunity to ride his cock straight into nirvana. gojo comes to shatter the already broken cry of release by manipulating speed and precision while you chant his name all the way over the edge.

his breath comes in short rasps as he follows you over, body drawn up taut as his orgasm washes over.

gojo’s weight is unforgiving, but thankfully brief when he collapses on top of you before rolling onto his side. he gathers you into his arms and rolls you in against his chest. his fingers chase yours and he brings them to his lips to kiss each one.

“maybe you should have just gone with your idea and changed numbers.”

somehow you find the air to laugh as your head falls back against his sweaty shoulder. he shares your humor, smile sharp with a new prospect.

“or perhaps we can try again? maybe repeated exposure will do the trick.”

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #gojo sins

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darkorderaf · 3 years

Text

oxytocin

So I don’t have like a canon for any of my fics but the OFC has sort of the same background for each one for the time being, Dark Order-aligned medic type character. They don’t all go together or anything like that and there's no real timeline. It just sort of worked out that way lol. Anyhow, ramble over, please enjoy and lmk what you think!!

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC

Rating: Big ol’ M.

Warnings/Content: Choking, unprotected sex (please be safe!!), hair pulling, spanking, multiple orgasms, jealousy, sort of hate sex. This...admittedly...took on a life of its own.

Word Count: 2028

(I don't own gif; credit to superkickparty!)

---

She didn’t know when cursory check-in glances had turned into check-out glances. Maybe it was after he gave her that side smirk, the one that had her stomach fluttery. He had never looked at her like that before and then one day, one hot night in Jacksonville, he did. It didn’t stop. The expanse of his hands across her lower back, the tease of a tight grip against her waist when she helped him away from the ring. That damn smirk and the slight narrowing of his eyes as he side-eyed her. She helped everyone out, she told herself. Hell, she had helped both him and Adam before...Well, before. She wouldn’t read into it.

Get your shit together, she had told herself. But he was Kenny fucking Omega. A top guy amongst top guys. Keeping her shit together was a Herculean effort.

His hand gripped the tender, red hot flesh of her ass. She panted out as she felt the weight of him press against the length of her naked back. Her arms shook with the difficulty of keeping herself upright. His mouth ghosted by her ear and his low, arrogant voice brushed against her skin.

“How many was that? Did you remember to count?”

He hummed as he took a moment to stop kneading the flesh of her ass. His fingers drifted down her wet slit to tease her clit. Against her own volition, her hips tried to press back into him. He chuckled and gave her cunt a light slap that nearly had her crumbling onto the bed. Her head fell forward and his hand grabbed at her hip to keep her still.

“T-Ten,” she gritted out. “I remembered. Kenny, please.”

“Ah-ah, baby, no. That’s not it.”

His teeth nipped at her ear. Teased against the line of her neck. She could have killed him. Or fucked him through the floor. There was no inbetween. She breathed out through her nose and when his hand slipped back between her trembling thighs, she tried again to seek out some release. With his grip as strong as it was, it was hard to move.

“Please, Mr. Omega,” she said and lifted her head enough to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes burned and narrowed. “Please touch me. I counted like you wanted.”

He was just as affected as she was. Everytime she pressed her hips back, she could feel his erection against her ass. But the man had the patience, the stamina, of someone inhuman. She didn’t. What a match. His eyes flashed and he smirked at her. He shook his head and bit lightly at her shoulder. He trailed his tongue down her spine and she shivered when he blew against the line he left.

“Come on. Don’t you remember why you’re here?”

She nodded. His teeth bit into the meat of her ass and she tried to conceal her moan.

“It doesn’t mean anything, Ke--Mr. Omega,” she said with a shake of her head. “I helped them out. That’s all. I did my job.”

He tutted and feathered kisses up her back. His mouth was against her ear again as the hand around her hip relented and trailed up her chest. He squeezed a breast and groaned. Plucked hard at her nipple and twisted before he let go. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. His fingers gripped the purple medallion that fell between her breasts and she felt the chain tighten against the back of her neck.

“This. This stupid thing,” he said as he flexed his hips and grinded against her in a slow rhythm. “This I could handle. This doesn’t mean anything. But then you--Then I saw you with him.”

For a brief second, she heard it. He was worried. Her relationship with Kenny was, admittedly, a strange one. Kenny was paranoid. About himself, about the people around him, about so many things. Her laugh startled even herself. He growled and flipped her onto her back to look at her. The medallion bounced between her breasts and he leered at her, his errant curls in his eyes. Every muscle in his body was tight. Especially the one in his jaw. A brow rose.

“Is this funny to you?”

“It is,” she admitted as she held his eyes. His hand gripped the outside of her thigh as he frowned at her, his face taking on that look of annoyance that she so often saw in the ring lately. Slowly, she pushed herself up so she was almost face to face with him. Her chest pressed against his as she tilted her head back. “The man who has everything. Jealous of a cowboy and his friends.”

His tongue pressed hard against the inside of his bottom lip and he shook his head. One hand tangled in her loose hair and he dove in to kiss her. Tongue and teeth. Relentless. It was the most he had given her so far and when her tongue slipped into his mouth to take what he offered, he pulled away. When he spoke up again, his voice was a low hiss against her lips.

“Baby, if you’re his friend,” he stared as he trailed his fingers up her back and worked the clasp of her necklace. When he got it loose, he tossed it off the bed. His thumb rubbed circles into the side of her neck. The bulk of him kept her legs spread from where they had fallen open when he turned her over. He shoved her back onto the bed and gripped his length, worked it as he looked at her body on display. Pre-cum glistened in the room’s low light and she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. “Then why’d you come looking for me?”

The head of his cock slipped up her wet slit to press against her clit and she gasped. He wasn’t wrong. She shouldn’t have gone to see him after what he had done and continued to do to Adam. But she had. She had wanted to. Her body trembled with want and anger.

“If you’re that mad about it, Mr. Omega, why’d you let me in?”

Kenny huffed and stretched across her again. His large hand dragged roughly up her chest as he looked her in the eyes. His hand settled against her neck in an all-too-familiar fashion. Slowly, he started to press into her. His head slipped in and she moaned low. He could feel it in his hand. Her thighs tightened around his waist and she tried to pull him in further. He wouldn’t budge, even if she could feel how much he wanted to give in. He glanced down at where they connected and licked his lips. His eyes shot back up to look at her.

The need he found there coaxed a nasty smirk out of him and he pulled out of her with a pop. Slow enough to watch the disappointment flood her face. His fingers replaced his cock and he narrowed his eyes as she squeezed around him. They crooked up and brushed against the bundle of nerves that had her body tightening. His fingers played her expertly and his mouth pressed harsh against hers to swallow her breathy moans. The hand around her neck played with a slightly tighter grip. She tried to tell him to go faster but he wanted to destroy her slowly. With as worked up as she was from his roughness earlier, her first orgasm hit her hard. He bit her bottom lip before he pulled away, a thin light of spit connecting them before he tossed his hair back. Half-lidded eyes looked at her. She wasn’t the only one breathing hard. His large hand, covered in her juices, splayed out across her belly to keep her there. The head of his cock nudged against her.

“I guess we’re both just that desperate.”

He seated himself in her fully with one hard, heavy thrust. Her head fell back against the bed and his grip around her neck tightened. Kenny pressed a kiss to her temple and took a moment to ask her if this was okay. Funny how he could still be sweet when he was being insufferable. That thought didn’t last long in her head as slow, drawn out thrusts quickly picked up pace. The hand not around her neck gripped her hair at the base of her head and pulled. Her legs trembled around him. Lightheaded and climbing higher, she bucked against him with wild abandon. He drove into her just right and her second orgasm rippled around him tight enough to have him sputter out a heavy, startled breath. Not yet though.

Suddenly, he pulled out of her and released her neck. She whined at his absence as she breathed in and in a blink, his mouth and his fingers were on her. His tongue played against her clit with a fury as he slipped one, then two fingers back into her quaking slit. She was barely through her second one when he relentlessly started to coax a third one out of her. Her thighs tightened around his head as she came a third time with a ragged scream. Her body nearly seized. Her fingers pushed and pulled at his curls and she could hear him hum with satisfaction against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. His teeth bit down hard enough to leave a mark.

“Kenny!”

“That’s right, baby,” he huffed out as he grabbed her legs and pulled her towards him. He didn’t correct her. They were beyond that. “That’s goddamn right. Say my name.”

With her ankles by his head, she was nearly folded in half when he surged back inside her. At this angle, he fucked her slow. Ground against her clit as he fucked into that spot of hers that he found every time without fail. Looked her in the eyes as she panted his name and whined. The pace he kept was agony for the both of them. She tried to say something but he couldn’t quite hear her. He angled his ear toward her and smirked.

“What is it, baby? I can’t hear you.”

It took everything in her to speak and when she did, it sounded weaker than she wanted. He was fucking her senseless. Crowding her with everything that was him. He wouldn’t accept anything else.

“Is that it, Mr. Omega?”

Her teeth found his earlobe and he snapped his hips against her. She grinned at him and he flashed his teeth back. The room was drowned in a cacophony of slapping skin and low moans. Her hand snaked up across the broad expanse of his back and dragged her nails down his taut skin. Almost hard enough to draw blood. He jerked and lost the pace he had set.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Goddamn you.”

He pulled out and flipped her over so he could fold her across the edge of the mattress. His hand found her clit as he pounded back into her. Her walls clenched and fluttered around him. She bit into the sheets as her fourth orgasm reared its head and when she came, she screamed into the mattress. Kenny thrust into her three, four times before he stilled and spilled into her with a guttural groan. His hands flexed around her hips as he fought to get his breath back, his hips jerking against her as the final wave of his orgasm passed through him. She wiped at her mouth as she tried to get up but he had fucked her boneless. He slipped out of her with a quiet moan and she felt him climb onto the mattress beside her.

His cum seeped out of her as she rolled onto her back. She glanced over at him, with his dark curls and sharp jawline. The bow of his mouth was still covered in her slick. She used to think he was beautiful once. He reached out to her and she hesitated. His eyes slid over to look at her. He laughed and smirked, set his head back against the bed. She supposed she still did. In a terrible way.

#kenny omega smut #kenny omega fic #kenny omega imagine #aew smut #aew imagine #aew fic #kenny omega fanfiction #// billie eilish's oxytocin had me feeling a way #aew fanfiction

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seijorhi · 3 years

Note

This isn't a request or anything but I had a soulmate AU idea that I think you'd like.... And reminded me of Oikawa. Imagine you find ur soulmate from their name written on your skin on ur 16/18 bday, but.... You're blind. And dating Oikawa. And he /swears/ your name is on his skin... But when your birthday rolls around, he insists you don't show anyone else.... And starts buying you clothes to cover the mark.... And you hear him whispering about his mark to Iwa.... And you begin to worry. 👀

I know it wasn’t specifically meant as a request, but I took the idea and ran with it - I hope it’s okay!! 💕

Oikawa Tooru x Female Reader

TW gaslighting, manipulation, dub con nsfw, blind reader

Part II

Always

“You promise me it’s there?”

Are you sure it’s me?

Rich, warm laughter fills the air around you, and despite the tension gnawing away in your stomach, the corners of your lips twitch into a soft smile.

“You don’t believe me!”

He’s happy. Even gasping in mock indignation Tooru can’t quite manage to keep it from his voice.

He has every reason to be; you’re both home for the first time in a year and a half, settled in the well worn couch at his parents house, your friends sprawled out either side of you. He’s twenty one today and as of five minutes ago the proud owner of his very own soulmate mark.

Or so he tells you.

“Well it’s not like I can see it,” you tease, nudging yourself closer so that you can rest your head against his shoulder and sighing loudly. “It could be Issei’s name for all I know, and you’re all just too nice to break the news to me.”

The choked snort from your left side makes you giggle, but not as much as the sound of your boyfriend fake gagging.

“Please, he fucking wishes!”

“Iwa tell her!” Oikawa demands, and you can just imagine the way that Iwaizumi’s eyes must roll before he ultimately gives in.

He always does.

“It’s yours,” he sighs. “Unfortunately you’re stuck with him, Y/N. My condolences.”

Yours.

It’s hard, even as raucous laughter fills the air around you and Oikawa turns to shout at his best friend, to deny the warm fluttering in your chest. The arm around you eases you closer, a thumb absentmindedly stroking at your side and you allow yourself to relax against him.

It’s your name on his skin. You’re his soulmate.

For the first time in weeks, it feels like you can breathe easy. You wonder if Oikawa knew, if he noticed the way you held onto him just that little bit tighter - like you were scared to let go.

You’ve loved Oikawa for as long as you can remember, but you only get one soulmate. Was it really so outlandish to wonder whether his first love would be his last? Whether you could ever be good enough to be his?

The little blind girl, always following at his heels.

For all your faults, you’ve never been naive. You know how amazing he is - Tooru has always been destined for great things and you were just his highschool sweetheart.

A hindrance, one of his very dedicated fans had once taken the time to inform you, clinging desperately to whatever scraps of pity he felt charitable enough to throw your way.

Neither one of you had realised that Oikawa had heard every damn word.

—

“Can you just…”

Oikawa pauses, the hand he has wrapped around yours squeezes lightly. “Hmm?”

Breathe deep. Just say it.

Tell him.

You’re almost at the gate, your flight’s leaving in twenty minutes (and you would have been there sooner if he hadn’t insisted on dragging you through every overpriced store in the damn airport) and in a few hours, you’ll be home again.

But it isn’t the thought of being back in Japan that worries you. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, your heart thumping unsteadily in your chest. His birthday is in two days, and that’s when he’ll find out who his soulmate is supposed to be. And you trust him, you love him. Even if the name on his forearm isn't yours, it’s not like he’s just going to suddenly toss you aside like yesterday’s trash, but… things’ll change, you know they will. And you couldn’t even blame him for that, because how much effort can you really be expected to put into a relationship if you know they’re not the one you’re supposed to end up with?

The doubts you have, the ones that fester and play on your every insecurity, keeping you up at night long after Tooru has drifted off - you’ve tried to shut them out and ignore them as best you can, but you just can’t get on that plane without having some kind of reassurance.

What if it’s not you?

“Just promise me that if…” your breath catches in your throat, and you try to force a smile on your face even though you know that it wobbles. “If it’s not- if I’m not-”

Soft lips press against yours, cutting you off. It’s only for a heartbeat, enough to get you to stop the panicked tumble of words you couldn’t quite get out, but for you it feels like it lasts a lifetime. You could lose yourself in Oikawa’s kisses, you think. Lose yourself and be happy for it.

A warm palm cups your face. “I love you,” he says, and it isn’t the murmured declaration first thing in the morning, his voice still thick with sleep as he rolls over to kiss you good morning, and it isn’t the cheesy, throwaway line he gives whenever you save him the last bite of the milk bread that he specifically bought for you (because god knows his coach would kill him if he found out he ate the entire thing himself).

It’s a promise.

“You are my soulmate,” his thumb strokes along your cheekbone, and you can’t help but lean into the touch. “You’re the only one I’m ever going to want.”

Standing on the outskirts of your gate, moments away from boarding the plane that’ll take you both home, you’re not entirely sure if he’s trying to tell you that he’s certain that the name on his arm is going to be yours, or that he doesn’t care if it isn’t.

Either way, it’s enough.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, and captures your lips in another kiss - this one brimming with ardent devotion, a love too deep for either one of you to speak.

—

Hours later, Iwa, Makki and Mattsun are all asleep downstairs and it’s just Tooru and you curled up in his bed. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that being back in his childhood bedroom did little in the way of curbing his appetite, but between giggles and breathy moans, Oikawa’s hand clamped over your mouth and his lips at your ear-

‘Shhh, you have to keep it down, cutie. Unless you want the whole house to hear all the pretty sounds you make when you’re about to cum for me?’

- he manages to wring four orgasms out of you before the two of you collapse back against the mattress, all sweaty and panting.

And you think he’s fallen asleep now, an arm slung around your waist, his face buried against the nape of your neck despite the warmth of the balmy summer night. With his chest flush against your back, you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart, lulling you gently to sleep with every beat.

Soulmate.

This, here, in Oikawa’s arms, this is where you belong, where you’ve always belonged. And yet even with happiness and relief and an overwhelming love singing through your veins - keeping you wide awake - you can’t deny that it feels… strange almost, knowing that out of seven and a half billion people, you’re the one he’s marked for.

He’d sounded so sure back at the airport, like there wasn’t even the possibility of doubt in his mind that you were the one for him. And maybe he was just saying it to calm you down and get your ass on the plane, but if the situations were reversed and it was your birthday first… could you really say with one hundred percent certainty that you knew it would be his name that’d show up on your arm?

You love him more than you’ve ever loved anybody else (more than you ever probably will love anybody else), it’s just that you’ve always known that the two of you were on wildly different paths. Tooru’s the starting setter for a pro volleyball team, and there’s already whispers of that national squad, Olympic selection.

He’s talented and driven and sometimes you wonder whether you ever would have left Miyagi let alone Japan at all if it hadn’t been for him dragging you along with him.

You’ve always been so content in your own little bubble. You cling to what’s comfortable, what you know - all your life, you’ve been told that you’re not defined by your disability, but you’ve never tried to push yourself beyond it.

With Tooru, you’ve never had to.

That girl, years ago - she wasn’t wrong. You do cling to him, like you’d clung to your friends and your family. And maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world, but when you compare what Oikawa has to offer his soulmate compared to what you bring to the table, and-

“I can hear you thinking from here,” your apparently not-so-asleep-after-all boyfriend murmurs in your ear. “Tell me what’s bothering my pretty girl.”

You sigh, rolling over to face him. It’s pointless to lie to Tooru - he can read you better than anyone else - but admitting the whole truth, even here under this little refuge of soft intimacy between the two of you, feels harder than it should be.

“You’re not… disappointed, are you?”

The harrumph that escapes his lips sounds almost offended, but the brush of his lips against the tip of your nose is sweet. “How long have I known you?” he asks.

Your forehead wrinkles at the question. “Fifteen or so years, I guess?”

You’d only been six or so when your family had moved in the house next door to his, across the street from Iwaizumi’s, and you can still vividly remember the first time you met him - crying in your front yard with a scraped up knee - always too eager for your own good.

“Hmm,” he acknowledges, “and how long have we been dating?”

“Seven-ish years?”

He chuckles, kissing you again, this time on your cheek. “And how long do you think I’ve been in love with you?”

Your whole face warms, and you fight the urge to bury it in his bare chest, especially when he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place back behind your ear. “Tooru-”

He sighs again, the sound tinged with just a hint of fond exasperation. “Give me your hand.”

You oblige, and you feel his long fingers curl around yours, tucking all of your fingers but your index away and drawing your hand closer towards him. It’s only when your pointer brushes against skin that you realise what he’s trying to do. Still, you don’t offer a word as Tooru slowly traces your finger along the dark letters on his skin - his soulmate mark.

Your name.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Y/N. You’re mine, you’ve always been mine, just as I’m yours,” he vows, and you almost shiver with the intensity that burns in every word. “Any other name would have been nothing more than a filthy lie.”

Any further protests are swallowed up by another kiss, and your boyfriend takes it upon himself to show you exactly how much he adores you, over and over again, until sheer, utter exhaustion drags you to sleep in his arms.

—

Your own twenty-first birthday is a vastly different kind of affair. For one, the two of you decide to stay in Argentina - Oikawa’s mid season and can’t afford the time off training to traipse back home again.

Which means that it is just the two of you alone in your villa when you feel an odd burning sensation start to creep through your left arm. It doesn’t hurt exactly, more like a warm tingling sensation that flows along your skin as one by one the letters of your soulmate’s name come to light.

The sharp little gasp that slips from your lips must have alerted Tooru - hovering as he had been for the better part of the day - because his hands are on your arm within a moment, flipping it over and eagerly dragging it closer for him to inspect. His own breath hitches in his throat, his fingers tightening on your soft skin and a tentative smile works its way across your face.

People have told you before that your boyfriend is handsome - stupidly beautiful, you’d once overheard one of your old high school classmates bemoan. His voice certainly is, soft and pretty and lilting, warm like the first rays of the sun on a cool winter’s morning, though not without its sharpness. Oikawa always has had a wicked tongue. In your head, you picture a face to match, delicate, angular features, warm eyes and a grin that’s just a little impish. Trouble, but the irresistible kind.

You wish you could see it now, watch your soulmate’s eyes widen with delight, or maybe soften with quiet awe. You want to see him happy, deliriously so, you want to look into those lovely eyes of his and see all the love that’s coursing through your veins right now reflected right back at you.

He still hasn’t spoken a word.

The slow drag of a breath, shaky and too sharp, had your bright smile freezing on your face. His grip hasn’t relented, fingers calloused from years of playing volleyball digging into your arm almost painfully. The air between you two is still, he hasn’t moved, not so much as a twitch.

Unease creeps its way into your stomach.

Why hasn’t he said anything?

He’s never exactly been the strong, silent type, and you love him for that. Iwa often complains that his best friend likes the sound of his own voice too damn much (half heartedly at best), and maybe that’s true, but he never realised that it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

It’s different for you, not being able to see.

You don’t exactly blame them for not understanding - how could they, really? Without your sight to help you, your other senses have to work in overdrive just to make sense of things. Tooru’s voice builds the world around you, imbues it with a spark, guides you like a hand stretching out through the darkness. It’s a gap in the void, a reassurance you cling to - because without it there’s nothing. You’re alone with only your thoughts to keep you company.

So when he goes quiet like this, it’s never a good sign.

A lump lodges its way in your throat. Without your sight, his silence is almost impossible to read, but you can sense the sudden heaviness in the air, the tension hanging thick between the two of you.

You expected dramatics. Tears, maybe, or a burst of affectionate cuddles and kisses. Gushing over your mark just as he had when his own had come through. Hell, you thought he’d grab his phone and take a thousand and one pictures just to prove to the world that you were his as much as he was yours - because you loved each other. Because you were soulmates.

Is there something wrong with your mark?

“Tooru?” you murmur, the edges of your smile starting to slip as your panic rises. “I-is everything-”

“You’re mine.”

The clipped words are little more than a whisper, hoarse and choked. It takes you by surprise, making your heart skip a beat, the knot in your stomach tighten, yet just as that paralysing apprehension starts to take root, he clears his throat, and a laugh bubbles to the surface.

Slowly, like ice thawing, his fingers relax on your forearm, gliding up over your shoulder to curl around your neck. “You love me, right?”

Your eyebrows knit together, but you nod anyway. “Always.”

There’s another shaky breath, and suddenly his arms are wrapping around you, drawing you into a tight embrace. You don’t fight it, still bewildered by the sudden whiplash of his tone.

His own heart is racing, you can feel it as he holds you against him. The question burns deep inside of your chest, a thought you don’t want to give voice to, but you can’t seem to stop yourself - it slips out before you even realise you’ve opened your mouth.

“It is your name, Tooru, isn’t it? You’re my soulmate?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Oikawa hums, resting his chin against the top of your head. “Of course it is, cutie,” he chuckles. “Who else’s name would it be?”

He takes you out for dinner to celebrate. You’d originally picked one of his favourite dresses to wear, a strapless white number with a pretty, flowing skirt that fell to your mid thigh, but Oikawa stops you before you can leave, passing you over an old denim jacket of yours.

“It’s cool out tonight,” he says as he eases it over your shoulders before you can protest.

You don’t question it.

—

He fucks you that night, hard, fast and unrelenting, holding onto you so tight that you swear you’ll have bruises come morning.

—

Oikawa likes doing little things for you.

He likes it when you hold onto his arm and let him guide you around when you go out together (you do have a cane - it sits in the back of your closet for ‘emergency uses’ only). He likes to buy you pretty things, jewellery, clothes, little trinkets that remind him of you - spoiling you with every opportunity he can, doubly so now that he has a salary that affords him that luxury.

It’s not uncommon for him to pick out your outfits. For one, you can’t see so you kind of have to rely on somebody else’s help so you don’t end up a mismatched disaster, and Tooru seems to enjoy doing it. He likes seeing you wear the things he buys for you - lacy, soft and demure.

He also likes it when people know that you’re his.

So it doesn’t strike you as odd when Tooru insists on you wearing his club hoodie over your dress the next time you go to one of his games. You might not be able to see him fly across the court, but you can hear the cheers, the roar of the crowd as they stamp their feet and chant like a battle cry when San Juan scores. You can taste the excitement in the air, and whenever your soulmate steps up to the plate to serve, you feel the rabid excitement of the crowd thrumming in your veins.

It’s warm in the stadium with so many people crammed close together, you push the sleeves up without even thinking. It’s not an issue - it shouldn’t be - but when your boyfriend slips his arms around you, fresh from the locker room post match, it’s the first thing he notices. He’s tugging them back down before you can so much as offer a hello, tersely muttering something about you getting a cold when you frown.

There’s a tiny flicker of unease at the odd behaviour, but he’s kissing you before you can linger on it for too much longer.

And if that’s all it was, maybe it would be easier for you to shove that niggling worry aside.

But once you start noticing things - little, inconsequential things you would have just shrugged off before - you can’t seem to stop, and that tiny seed of doubt starts to take root, to sprout and grow.

Your friends stop calling by. Back home your social circle was pretty much limited to Tooru, Iwa and their friends - not that you minded at all, you love them all dearly, it’s just that you didn’t really have any friends of your own outside of that little group. When you moved across to Argentina and Oikawa started training for longer hours, dedicating himself wholeheartedly to his new team, you got lonely, sitting in your new home just waiting around for him to come back to you.

And it took a while, but eventually you started to venture outside of your comfort zone and lo and behold - even with your stumbling Spanish, you managed to make a few friends! Though you can tell that your beloved boyfriend wasn’t exactly thrilled by the burgeoning new friendships you gushed to him about, he’s never begrudged you them. If it made you happy, then he was happy.

Lately though, they’ve been kind of distant. And by distant, you mean… well, nonexistent. They don’t come visit you anymore, when you call their numbers, it just rings out.

You can’t even leave voicemails - there’s just an automated voice telling you their message banks are full. Regardless, not one of them has made the effort to call you back, and it’s not like you can text them to ask why they’re avoiding you. Life gets in the way, you know that, and sometimes people just drift apart but it’s like all of a sudden they’ve just dropped off the face of the planet.

But when you mention venturing out into town one day without them while Tooru’s at practice, he seems strangely resistant to the idea.

“I just don’t like the idea of you wandering around by yourself. It’s not safe out there for you, cutie,” he tells you.

The words are saccharine, as sweet as the kisses he presses against your lips when he coaxes your chin upwards. You love him, you do. And you understand that he worries - even away from the hustle and bustle of the big cities, San Juan isn’t exactly a crime free neighbourhood, but for the first time the strong, muscular arms that wrap around your waist don’t bring comfort.

It’s like they’re a cage, locked around you and dragging you slowly down to the depths, and it’s driving you mad because you can’t figure out why it feels like that.

Biting back your annoyance, you sigh, forcing yourself to relax against him. You love him - this is normal, couples disagree all the time. “I’m not an invalid, babe. I’ve done it before - I can’t just sit around the villa all day moping all alone or I’ll go crazy.”

He hums noncommittally, his fingers trailing idly across your skin as he draws you closer still, and the conversation is dropped.

Two days later, you find your cane snapped in two in the back of the closet. Oikawa has some weights stuffed in an old gym bag for when he can’t be bothered leaving home to work out - the bag must have fallen on your cane and cracked it when he put it back after his session yesterday afternoon.

An accident, it has to be. He’d never deliberately do something so petty, right?

And there are moments where you can forget the doubts that gnaw away at your insides. Tooru has always been a caring, attentive lover - the perfect boyfriend. He seems more determined that ever to shower you in love, whether that’s by waking you up with his tongue eagerly lapping at your cunt, bringing you home bouquets of fragrant flowers and cooking the two of you dinner, or just with the tiny gestures of affection - tucking your hair back away from your face, linking his hands with yours, the little kisses and compliments he lavishes you with on a daily basis.

When it’s just the two of you, lounging around on the couch, his head resting on your lap and your fingers carding through his hair, it’s easy to pretend that everything’s fine. The two of you love each other. You’ve been his rock, his biggest supporter right from the early days, and Tooru’s the one who drew you out of your shell, who makes you feel like you’re actually worth something.

That you’re beautiful, and loved.

It’s not until you come home one afternoon from an impromptu trip to the local bakery just down the road that all the little pieces fall into place, and you realise why.

The craving for something sweet was what drew you out. Truthfully, you hadn’t really thought twice about it. It was a short trip, one you’d made a thousand times before, and it wasn’t like the locals didn’t know you, wouldn’t watch out for you if they saw you about to unknowingly hurt yourself or trip over something.

The alfajores in your hand were supposed to be a surprise, Tooru had been wound up from practice lately, more stressed than he usually was this late in the season, and you knew you weren’t the only one with a wicked sweet tooth. You’d just wanted to cheer him up.

You hadn’t expected to come home to find Tooru pacing in your bedroom, muttering to himself, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to whirl around at the sound of your approach, snatching at your wrist and all but hauling you inside.

You certainly aren’t prepared for the snarling, bitter words he hurls at you.

And yet even as tears fill your eyes, a choked sob bursting free as he berates you for leaving the villa without telling him, Tooru clutches at you so tightly it feels like your arm’s going to snap.

“You can’t leave me! You can’t - you’re mine!”

He doesn’t stop, barely pauses for breath, but those eight words hit you like a freight train, and everything else fades out into white noise. You can’t for the life of you explain how or why, but in that moment, you know with absolute certainty that the name on your arm can’t be his.

Tooru lied to you.

He’s not your soulmate.

It’s all you can do to stand there numbly while your boyfriend falls to pieces in front of you. The angry yells and screams turn into wretched sobs, and suddenly it’s Tooru collapsing in your arms, clinging to your neck like it’s a lifeline as he sniffles against your chest, and when desperate apologies turn into desperate kisses and he starts to lead you backwards towards the bed, you don’t fight him.

He treats you like you’re made of glass, worshipping every inch of your skin, fervent declarations of love spilling out between kisses like prayers of the devout at an altar. He fucks you slowly, lovingly, moaning your name so sweetly as he searches for absolution within the plush walls of your sex.

And with his fingers coaxing at your clit, his lips dancing against yours you fall off that precipice with him.

You have no idea long the two of you lie there in silence, limbs entangled with one other, but eventually you register the warmth of his hand on your cheek, caressing it with a gentle kind of tenderness that makes something deep inside of you ache.

“You still love me, don’t you?” Tooru’s voice is quiet. Hesitant. It reminds you of the little boy you knew, the one who confided all his fears of never being good enough to you, desperately seeking the validation you always gave so freely.

Your eyes flutter shut, another stray tear spilling down your cheek, and your heart breaks anew.

“Always.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #yandere oikawa #tw gaslighting #tw manipulation #tw dub con

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opalesense · 3 years

Text

hopelessly devoted

zhongli & gn!reader

1.3k words • ~10 min. read

summary: in an effort to earn more money, zhongli had sacrificed much of his personal time to go to work for weeks and frankly, you were getting very tired of the solitude. in a blur of emotion, you decide to confront him about it.

warnings: slight mention of cheating, lil bit of angst but i promise it gets better

notes: yes the title is based off of the song and what about it?? also formatting is so annoying oh my godjfjf

DAYS IN LIYUE WERE INEXPLICABLY BORING as of late. It seemed like every day consisted of waking up, eating, occupying myself with small and seemingly meaningless tasks, then sleeping and doing it all over again. Life was usually much more entertaining and enjoyable with Zhongli, but for the past few weeks, he had been busy nonstop with work at the funeral parlor. He would wake up early and come home so late that our usual afternoon strolls, dinner dates, and cuddle sessions were practically nonexistent now. I could tell he was exhausted of working these extra hours and I even urged him to take it easy, but he insisted that he had to keep working.

"[Y/N]," he had told me weeks ago before taking up the extra hours, "I will not allow this opportunity to slip away. Imagine all the lavish robes, divine meals, and antiques that you can possibly dream of being within your reach at all times. It is rare for the parlor to strike such an extravagant deal with the Guild. So a few weeks of extra work for a lifetime of luxury... is that not a life that you wish for us to have?"

"I just don't understand how those kinds of riches can possibly come from the Guild,” I sighed, "Are you sure you really can't tell me the details of this?"

"Have patience, my love," he leaned down to kiss my forehead, "It will all make sense in due time."

For the past six weeks, it never made sense. Instead, each day seemed to get lonelier and lonelier, the hours and weeks blending together and becoming mere fuzzy memories. I often wondered when it would all start to make sense. I was tired of the world feeling so empty and bland without the spark of joy in my life constantly being away from home and ignoring my pleads for him to take a break.

“It breaks my heart to see you like this, dear," Zhongli returned home in the extremely early hours of the morning and caught me staring out the window, watching the stars sparkle in the night sky. "Why do you insist on waiting for me to get home instead of getting the rest you deserve?"

“The rest I deserve?" I sighed. I didn't bother turning to face him. "Zhongli, how about the rest you deserve? How long does this have to continue? I truly haven't felt this lonely in my entire life."

Zhongli's exasperation oozed into his low, resonant voice. "Just a little while longer, my love."

“You say that every week."

“And I mean it this time," his figure appeared from the corner of my eye and slumped down in the vacant space next to me on the bed. "The deal is finally coming to a close."

"Deal?" my eyebrows raised at this sudden new information as he had kept me in the dark this entire time, "Don’t lie to me. I thought the entire reason you were working was because of the deal with the Guild."

“I fear that I have said too much," his face instantly turned into one of regret. He lifted a hand up to massage his temple. "Please do not fret, dearest. You do not need to worry about anything."

"Zhongli, I really need you to stop hiding things from me," I felt tears slowly surface without warning, "You have no idea how much it hurts to be left here all alone without knowing what you're doing.”

He was uncharacteristically silent, just sitting there with his eyes closed, massaging his forehead. He let out a deep sigh, clearly tired. I felt bad for confronting him now, but it was now or never.

“Please tell me... is there someone else? Is that it? Am I not good enough that you have to use work as an excuse not to see me? If you are then I wish you could just tell me the truth instead of tugging me along on a stri-“

He suddenly cut me off by connecting his lips with mine. He kissed me slowly, reaching his gloved hand to my face and caressing his thumb over my cheek. My eyes fluttered shut at his touch, savoring the rare moments that we were both awake at the same time to share a kiss. He kissed me deeply, gently, and lovingly. I was so deprived of him that it made my heart ache to finally taste his lips again. Or maybe the heartache was from the thought of him using those same, soft lips to kiss someone else.

Maybe I was wrong. I surely hoped I was wrong.

“You are the love of my life, [Y/N]. If there are any doubts of my loyalty to you, let go of them immediately. There is no one else other than you and me. I only dedicate myself to strenuous work for our future to be prosperous. I am doing this for us, and us alone.”

Tears travelled down my cheek as he slowly pulled his face away a few inches. Tracing his thumb over my bottom lip, I stared at the way the moonlight highlighted his stoic expression. His exhaustion split my heart apart. This entire situation split me apart.

“Please forgive me when I say my work is confidential. Though, I assure you I am not keeping any significant secrets from you. I deeply hope you understand.”

I dipped my head down in disappointment just for him to lift my chin up with a gentle grip. He stared into my eyes for a moment before speaking again.

"What can I do to distract you from your solitude, dear?" he gently whispered then began planting small kisses around my face. “You are my priority. I will take care of whatever it is you want from me.”

"Then take a break for one day," I watched as he initially sighed in instant rejection, "Fine, then half a day. Please, Zhongli – half a day. You could go to work then come back home early. Just please... I can’t be alone anymore. I can’t take it.”

He thought for a moment, his amber eyes piercing through mine. The silence made more tears run down my face, which he responded to by planting more small kisses on my fragile, trembling lips.

"If half a day will not fully satisfy you, I will call off my entire day tomorrow.”

“Zhongli, I said half a day would be fine-“

“You deserve more than just ‘fine,’” he politely interrupted. “It has already been decided.”

I softly chuckled in relief and gently buried my head into his neck, his arms immediately pulling me into a warm embrace to seal the space between us.

He planted several soft kisses on my head, his fingers caressing my back. I glanced at his face for a moment to see that a tear had rolled down his cheek as well. A sob escaped my throat as I watched the face of a calm and collected man attempt to hold back tears, but failing. The strong façade he always managed to uphold was now broken in front of me.

We didn’t need words to communicate our shared stress and yearning for each other. So we sat in there in silence, bathing in the moonlight as quiet tears stained our collars. His melancholic eyes and tensed jawline shot arrows through my heart.

It hurt when I couldn’t see him for weeks. It hurt even more when I could see he was in the same amount of pain I was in. It was silly to accuse him of treating me poorly when all he wanted to do was guarantee our happiness together.

My heart sunk into the earth’s core. And that’s when he broke the silence once more.

“Never doubt my dedication to you, my love. There is, and never will be, anything that will change how much I love you. I love you more than I can put into words. Please remember that no matter how long we are apart, I promise I will love and cherish you, and only you, even beyond our final moments together. And that is a promise I intend to keep forever.”

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #mine #boom #genshin impact x reader

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leviiattacks · 3 years

Text

Two Faced | Chapter Ten

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it’s all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared, for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au ??? (at this point idek) angst, fluff, slice of life etc ?? word count :: 4k author note :: haha.... wowww it's been long since i last updated. honestly my physical and mental health have just been horrible... that's about it, i lost a lot of motivation but if you're still reading i am very thankful and i will try to deliver the story well. i tried my best but writing whilst sick is very tiresome :-) tags :: @patience-is-here , @chwlogy , @a--nonymousse , @imkumichan

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Keeping yourself cooped up within Levi's estate and never daring to step a foot outside should have been what you had done. Blackmailing him to keep you confined within the walls of your bedroom would be much better compared to the problem you have to resolve now. Perhaps if you had done so you wouldn't have collided face first into this muddle.

Jean fiddles with the ends of his button up, he doesn't take the chance to glance up at any of his superiors. He's either much too embarrassed or has nothing noteworthy to start off with.

Erwin chooses to call the shots seeing as neither you or the Viscount by your side wish to begin.

"You both understand why we're here. Correct me if I'm wrong?" The Commander looks between you, Jean and your unfortunate excuse of a husband. Suddenly it looks as if the gears and cogs in Jean's brain move without warning.

Offering a demure nod you expect for him to follow in your footsteps and do the same only he stands there looking between you and Levi.

"Wait...The two of you are? A couple?" Stunned isn't the word, Jean's completely flabbergasted.

"If you figured that out this late, I do not understand why Erwin sees you remotely fit for my team." Levi's beyond insulted at the fact he's only just understood the situation.

Jean, now more intimidated than ever before straightens his back and coughs clumsily, "Sorry." He murmurs chestnut eyes making contact with the hardwood floors.

The Commander's laced hands sit atop his desk, elegant fingers moving similar to honey on a spoon. He sighs not out of fatigue but pride. Whatever plan he's come up with has to be decent at the very least, his body language is telling you that much.

"We have a number of possibilities we can choose from. We owe that pleasure to Mr Kirstein here." Erwin offers him an almost cynical smile, you can't help but gulp thinking about how this is essentially your fault. With all the constant training sessions and team building tasks it makes sense for Jean to have completely forgot about your unspoken rule. Solely blaming him is incorrect.

Raising your arm above your head to intervene you make it known that you're aware of Levi shooting you a look of warning by returning it. It's best he knows you don't care for anyone's opinion let alone his.

"Permission to speak Commander?"

Your request is agreed to immediately with the wave of Erwin's hand.

"It's my fault for not reminding Jean. I'll take the blame, I hadn't even told him the full story concerning me and Levi."

Levi doesn't enjoy your defense in the slightest. "I don't expect my wife to fling herself at other men and allow for them to snoop around gathering the details of our personal lives."

Scoffing you shield yourself with your arms over your chest.

"Oh dear husband. If you want to get personal do tell me where my family is?" It's an inside joke only Levi will be able to understand.

"If you call those people family your standards are disgustingly low."

"Maybe that explains why I settled for you."

Again, other's opinions are not at the forefront of your priority list. Regardless it's quite enjoyable pushing Levi further into a corner with that sentence. You see the internal struggle play out within him. Jaw clenched, hands balled together. He doesn't have an appropriate response

Jean bursts out unable to hold it in any longer, chest trembling with every quake of laughter that ripples through him you have to shove him with your elbow. For a Viscount his etiquette sure is nonexistent.

"My word, the two of you sound like..."

Levi stares at him most probably expecting something along the lines of "An old married couple."

But, no. It's nothing anyone in the room expects. That includes you.

"It's as if you're unhappy with each other..."

Not a noise is made after that. Jean isn't mistaken, your heart is miserable. You've never had many relationships to begin with, whether it be familial, romantic or platonic and for someone such as your husband to treat you the way he does - it feels futile having to navigate around the complexities. Even if he isn't really your husband it's disappointing to reflect on your marriage so suddenly.

Feeling your face droop a little you bite your bottom lip with your teeth. Hearing the truth from someone you barely expect to hear it from has an effect on you.

You're so caught up analyzing everything it takes you a minute to even register Levi grumbling and lunging forward pilfering the collar of Jean's shirt.

"Every day you prove to be more and more pathetic than I expect." Levi turns to look at you after that. His stare bores into you but he doesn't come off threatening, you assume his last remark is directed solely at Jean.

When he turns back only glaring at Jean now with even more tenacity than before. He's ready to snap but Erwin has clearly had enough of the unwanted altercation in his office.

"Enough. The both of you. This is most bothersome." At the Commander's orders Levi is silenced although it takes all of his resolve to do so.

Finally bothering you take a good look at Jean. He's calm in an incredibly out of character way.

Is this not the man who trembled in his boots the first time he and Levi came into contact? It's almost as if he seems pleased with himself for drawing out such a reaction from his Captain.

Erwin shuffles through stacks of paperwork on his desk. The man needs an assistant at this point. You doubt you could find anything in that haphazard pile. Edges of crumpled paper poke out uncomfortably and Erwin becomes increasingly annoyed when he can't locate what it is he's looking for.

Just as you're about to ask if he requires any assistance it seems he's found what he's been looking for, that's if his eyes are any indication of the relief he feels.

"This." He holds up the paper, all eyes in the room are trained on it. "Under normal circumstances would not have to become an option."

"But these aren't normal circumstances?" Jean's thoughtless question is irksome when the answer is so obviously staring him down in the face.

Nonetheless Erwin nods incapable of losing his cool over something so minor.

"Sign to confirm to my proposition."

The document he places onto the desk isn't what you imagine, you can practically feel the dread climb up your throat once you're done scanning it. Jean's full name placed right next to yours in bold lettering has your stomach lurching. You don't have to read the rest to understand the new circumstances you've landed into.

To make matters worse Erwin places two rings down right in front of the both of you.

A pot of boiling hot water is what you've been thrown in.

Are you supposed to be some sort of replacement for potatoes? What's Jean in this scenario? Carrots?

"It is troublesome to have the two of you put on an act to be involved with one another but I see it as our safest option." Erwin notices your parted lips and slacked jaw. "You need not worry this isn't a marriage contract, you're simply acting."

There's no path out of this pot, you and Jean will simply have to deal with the prospect of being boiled alive.

Ah, you forgot to mention who would act as the hot water but you're sure the suspect is obvious.

Even right now Levi's fury radiates off of him, it's unclear if he was given the details of the Commander's plan beforehand but if his furrowed brow and pursed lips are indicators of the truth he must have had no idea.

Your suspicions are confirmed to be correct once Levi reaches forward plucking the paper away, it just so happens he's snatched it away the very moment Jean leans in to get a closer look at it.

"I was never informed of this."

Erwin gives him a guarded smile. "Do you have any jurisdiction over what I think is best?" Is his freezing reply.

"Yes. When it concerns my wife and another man - Correction. I meant boy."

Jean's taken aback by the subtle jab and shamefacedly shoves his hands into his pockets.

You watch the scene go down with a perplexed look the entire time. Levi's frustration seems to be legitimate yet he has no logical reason for it to ever be present in the first place. Unless he has a plan which outperforms the one you've just been given he's doing this all for nothing.

"I assure you your wife is in safe hands so long as you stop interfering."

Levi's about to bark back until he catches your confusion. He's become aware of your tilted head and telling expression and only then does he silence himself permanently not before sighing deeply, muttering an expletive under his breath.

"I’ll sign it.” That seems to be Jean’s indirect way of asking what your choice will be.

“I... will too.” Is your hesitant reply.

Levi only becomes avoidant after that. Half way through Erwin explaining how you and Jean have to look believable Levi just ups and leaves without a word. Perhaps you've hurt his pride but for what he's done to you it's a small price to pay and so you do nothing to make amends. He has no reason to feel uncomfortable, you aren't really his wife, you're essentially strangers. Does he even know your favourite colour? Your favourite food? Your favourite pastime?

You doubt he does.

Jean and you are rather successful with your act. It feels pleasant having him brush your hair out of your face occasionally or lovingly place a hand on your forehead to check if you've come down with a fever. He laces his fingers with yours when others are around and when they aren't he lets the act go. It's satisfying having a cooperative partner.

Naturally Jean is still a tease, even now he makes the odd suggestive comment or two in passing but you can't say you hate it. In fact it excites you to think of a response that borders the edge of teasing and simple fun between friends.

The increasing openness between the two of you is enough for the cadets to deduce that he's most probably the noble man you wed in secrecy.

It's only been a few days since yours and Jean's newfound behaviour, thankfully you haven't been flooded with questions just yet. The higher ups sit nearby during breakfast, lunch and dinner keeping watch over the cadets. It leaves you able to eat and drink without having to handle the constant inquiring of your comrades.

However, you aren't as lucky today. A meeting's taking place and after yours and Jean's convincing act Erwin deems it safe enough to leave you unattended for a short while.

Of course it doesn't go according to plan because when you're involved when does anything ever go according to plan?

The cadets are flocked around your table at dinner as soon as they notice they've been left to their own devices. The opportunity to sit down without everyone invading your space is barely provided to you. Krista is sat to your right leaning into you rather animatedly, Annie has made herself at home sat across you which in itself is completely out of character and slightly unnerving, Annie never and you repeat never concerns herself with you.

"Why did you and Jean hide it?" Armin hovers over your shoulder as per usual. He can't be blamed for naturally being inquisitive and it does give you the opportunity to lay out the foundations of your plan. Now's your time to muster up one of your rehearsed responses.

"It would interfere with work." You respond immediately wanting to appear natural. Pondering on an answer for too long would raise suspicions.

Armin makes a sound of approval and shuffles into the seat next to Krista, that is until Ymir can be overheard telling him to move if he knows what's best for him.

"I have a question." Says a voice across the table, you don't have to look at the blonde parallel to you to know it's her.

For once Annie’s initiated a conversation with you, she’s not particularly great at keeping her intentions discreet. Maybe she doesn’t care if you can tell what she’s up to? But if that’s the case her plan isn’t all that foolproof, there's no way you're to let any details slip away.

Sharply inhaling waiting for what it is she has to say you find that her sentence never comes. Instead she shakes her head and murmurs a "Never mind.". You don't even have the time to ask her to stick around, she's already rose from her seat taking her unfinished plate of food with her, you let her go assuming she feels unwell.

"So how'd you two meet? Jean already told me earlier but I'd like to hear your side." Reiner's taken Annie's empty seat and his gaze is unwavering. The trap they've set up is a clever one. Surveying the hall for Bertholdt you know he has to be observing too. The two never operate alone.

You suddenly hate Reiner. For whatever reason he and his trio are endlessly obsessed with you, they've caught onto something that's for sure but you don't know what it is and now they've completely ensnared you with a backhanded trick. There's no way out of this, you have no idea what it is Jean said to Reiner, the chances of you providing the exact same answer are slim to none.

"My memory is really fuzzy, I don't think Jean gave off much of a first impression so I've forgot." Your horrible excuse doesn't fly by, everyone simultaneously narrows their eyes in disbelief. What you've said isn't convincing at all.

Husband and Wife yet you've forgot how the two of you met?

Fidgeting with the ring adorning your finger the cool metal isn't doing a great job at alleviating the pressure of the situation.

"Jean said the two of you hit it off almost instantly. Who's being dishonest?"

Reiner's either lying to catch you out or he's saying the God honest truth and right now all you can do is hope and pray for a miracle to sweep you off your feet. Mikasa and Jean still aren't within view. At this point you're hoping for Levi to save you, it doesn't matter how so long as you escape unscathed.

"Hey, I think we're just making her anxious with all the questions." Armin is quick to side with you, deep down you know he only does so due to the respect he holds for his Commander. You thank the Heaven's for Erwin's admirable smile and commendable leadership, it seems to be the only reason Armin believes you and Jean.

"Or she's lying." Reiner's resting his head in one of his palms, he's still boring holes right into your frame.

Your eye twitches, this is all unnecessary and uncalled for, whatever it is Reiner wants out of you it better be worthwhile.

He still eggs you on. "You walked out of the Captain's quarters. I saw you."

Standing up and leaning forward you plant your feet to the ground as firmly as you can you.

"And if she did what's it to you?"

Fighting the urge to sigh in relief you've never been happier to hear Jean's voice but something's off. His breathing sounds heavy - like he fought his way to get inside. Turning only then do you notice Mikasa standing by him. She looks equally as exhausted. There's been some sort of a struggle.

"You think it was funny getting Annie to guard the door?" He heaves and runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

"And you think hiding secrets from the rest of us is any better?" Reiner's adamant there's information that the both of you are hiding, he's not wrong but that doesn't change that he's challenging you unprovoked without a reasonable motive.

"We're hiding nothing." Unlike you Jean is sure of his words, he's confident speaking up and he seems to be able to pull off the role of a protective husband perfectly.

“I came out of the Captain’s quarters because he had access to hot water. He said I could use his shower. That’s all it was.”

Reiner quirks an eyebrow upwards and is pleased with your answer. God you’ve said something incriminating haven’t you? It's not incriminating per se but it's without doubt malleable and easy to twist.

“Jean, you were okay with your wife doing that at the dead of night?” Reiner's still leading the interrogation.

“I was the one who suggested it.”

“I don’t believe you’re a couple." If it were Reiner who said that you wouldn't care much, after all it's pretty clear he never believed it but to your displeasure it isn't him who's spoken. Ymir's lopsided grin is all knowing and you're beginning to lose your footing in this argument any second now if any more people start to side against you.

If Ymir disagrees that almost certainly means Krista has her qualms about you too, you've observed beforehand that Ymir tends to speak for Krista on occasion. This happens to be one of those times.

Krista timidly raises her hand and Ymir gives her an approving nod encouraging her to speak.

"I don't like the conflict going on but it is suspicious..."

"Why have I only ever seen you two hold hands?" She asks.

Ymir slings her arm over Krista's shoulder affectionately. "Yeah, I tell Krista I'll marry her every day of the week."

Mikasa mumbles something unintelligible, Ymir gives her a look of warning but Mikasa doesn't seem to care. Instead she repeats what she has to say loud and clear.

"Stick to only speaking when Krista is involved."

Krista holds Ymir by her arm so she doesn't get up, she knows how she gets when she's been provoked. Even if Krista has her suspicions it isn't worth Ymir gaining a permanent penalty point on her record.

Thankfully Armin cuts in. "There's no solid evidence to show they're lying and even if they are the Commander's most probably told them to. Don't you think there's a reason? Leave it be if that's the case. I trust him with our lives."

"We have a right to know." Annie's returned and insists to keep this back and forth going.

Just as you're about to fire back Jean takes a hold of your waist, you look down and seeing his large hands planted securely around your frame has your stomach bubbling with anticipation.

"What are you— "

And then he kisses you, he doesn't ask and instinctively your arms move to whack his chest but you stop yourself in time. You realize it's for the sake of your plan not falling through and so you gently place your hands on his shoulders attempting to ground yourself. It becomes increasingly difficult when you sink deeper into the kiss than you'd like to admit. Blood rushes to the tips of your ears and the thumping of your heartbeat makes it difficult to articulate any thoughts, all you really know is that you like this, whatever this is.

Jean's hands don't feel like they were made to rest against your back, they feel slightly out of place as if he's a key and you're an unmatched lock. In spite of that the circles he comfortingly rubs into the sides of your waist are appreciated, you almost forget you're in a room full of people until you're flooded by cold air.

You've been dragged off of Jean and something in the pit of your stomach has you wishing Levi isn't responsible for the interruption.

To your relief it's just Hange, they're glowing in mischief, the grin on their face shows they aren't mad. They might even find this entertaining.

"Well I be damned... maybe they weren't bluffing?" Connie's been persuaded by the looks of it and Krista's busy whispering to Ymir, you hear the faint sound of the word "Romantic" escape her lips, she's equally as convinced as Connie.

Hange smacks your back light-heartedly and looks to the door for a second. "We leave ya' both for a while and you decide to give everyone a show?"

Erwin's stood by the doorway with a humorous smile playing at his lips, Levi however is anything but amused, he glares at you with murderous eyes, he looks like he's ready to end your life then and there but you know he won't dare do so and for a second you feel braver than you ever have before. Without much thought you grab onto Jean's forearm.

"Me and my husband will get going now!" You allow your gaze to loiter when you get to Reiner. He grunts an apology and you're oh so tempted to ask him to repeat himself but you'd rather not instigate anything.

With that said and done you and Jean leave after giving the performance of your lives.

Slowly but gradually the sky outside becomes dark.

The will to sleep left your body long ago. It's by pure luck that you even manage to catch three hours of rest. Training is the only available distraction and dying out in battle isn't favourable by any means, your boredom may as well be used resourcefully - Strapping yourself up in your ODM gear is the best option.

A quarter way through your warm up you can sense a presence behind you, the leaves rustle and the wind feels noticeably quieter. You'd bother to turn around to see who's intruded but Levi's snuck close enough for you to be able to smell his perfume from where you're stood.

"Feel disrespected? Embarrassed even?" You jab at him knowing it'll rile him up, you don't face him not wanting to give him the pleasure of seeing your face.

"Watch your mouth." he warns sharply.

Rolling your eyes you go about your business, it stays that way for a few minutes. All the while Levi stares at you darting from tree to tree, his scrutinizing gaze scalding you repeatedly.

"Y/N!" He yells at the top of his lungs.

For some unknown reason you automatically stop and lower yourself to the ground

"I have something to tell you." Comes his tense follow up. A finger of his latches onto one of the leather straps on your back.

You can't believe he's still denying the undeniable.

"You can wait till tomorrow. I'll be going to bed."

Levi doesn't seem to care for your cold response and proceeds with no warning.

"I'm jealous." His voice shakes. The grip he has on your harness doesn't let up. With your back turned to him you're still somehow able to detect the very obvious crack of pain.

Levi, jealous?

Gritting your teeth together you feel deceived.

How much longer will you have to tolerate Levi's push and pull?

“May I ask, what he is to you, my love?”

Your breathing grows heavy, tensing up you're completely shocked by the term of endearment that falls from his lips. You haven't heard it for so long, Levi sounds eerily different.

You hate to admit it but a flicker of foolish hope lights in your chest.

"Levi why would you ask— "

"Why don't you call me Lev anymore?" He whispers sounding strangled. You can't take it anymore and hesitantly look his way.

His eyes are filled with tears "I'm sorry my love, I don't know what went wrong." you falter for a second not knowing what to think.

At that moment the flicker becomes a flame.

The man who stands right before you is meant to be dead, never to be seen again. By all accounts this should be impossible, but Lev has always been a fighter.

Bitterness stings your heart, the wounds you've collected are still fresh but despite your body's protests you don't flinch when he gently takes a hold of your wrist, bringing it closer to his mouth.

"Lev...? Is that really you...?" You ask desperately.

The warm kiss he presses against your pulse point provides you with the answer you've been longing for.

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warlordfelwinter · 2 years

Text

One Sided Conversation

it was only a matter of time before i started writing ffxiv fic. story spoilers for stuff between arr and heavensward

"I know you can't hear me, but I just need someone to talk to."

Fiver sighed, staring across the ravine at the Crystal Tower. It felt like ages ago that he had first stood on this precipice, buzzing with G'raha Tia's infectious excitement at the possibilities that awaited them within. So much had happened in so little time. Looking at it now, he wished he'd never gotten involved in the expedition. There was a lot he wished he had never gotten involved in.

He hugged his knees to his chest. "Moenbryda's dead," he said. "It's my fault." He felt that same tightness welling up in his throat, that same panic that had been present through Moenbryda's funeral. Afterward, when Minfilia was speaking with him, he had wanted to be honest with her. He had come so close, and then she'd said it. You are my pillar of strength. And he'd lost his nerve.

"I have to be strong for them. For everyone. But I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up."

Fiver dropped his legs into a loose lotus, looking desperately to the Tower. A symbol of hope. He almost laughed. He needed it to be a symbol of hope right now, but all it looked like was another of his failures and his laugh died in his throat.

"They all need the Warrior of Light. That's all they see. Even Minfilia. She knows and she still—" he faltered, frustrated. He grabbed a nearby rock and chucked it over the edge, just for something to do.

"They're my friends," he said, almost as if he was trying to reassure himself. "I'd do anything for them, they know that. But is the same true for them? I don't know. I don't want to know, do I? I don't want to think about how angry they'll be if they find out I'm lying to them."

He laughed nervously.

“I mean, the only reason they became my friends is because I was blessed by… her.” It felt wrong to even say Hydaelyn’s name. Was she angry with him? He didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but he didn’t understand why else she would have let Midgardsormr take the blessing from him. He must have disappointed her, somehow.

“I’m no use to them without the light,” he murmured, looking to the side as his chocobo settled down next to him, apparently deciding he wasn’t going to get up anytime soon. His bow was strapped to her side.

He looked back at the Crystal Tower, following its height to the clouds.

“Oh, sure, I’m an archer,” he said, imagining G’raha’s protest. “They’ve plenty of archers. We both know it wasn’t my archery that made Yda and Papalymo ask me to join the Scions.”

“Without her blessing I wouldn’t have been able to kill the primals, wouldn’t have been able to cast Lahabrea out, Thancred would still be—” he faltered again, burying his head in his hands. “Maybe if I’d still had it I would have been strong enough to… maybe Moenbryda wouldn’t be…”

Fiver was quiet for a long time, breathing hard, trying and failing to settle the panic attack that had been crawling slowly up his throat since his conversation with Midgardsormr. He sobbed, finally letting himself cry now that he was alone here, now that no one could see him cracking.

He had gotten to the mark of the Scholar before the rest of the Scions and had been struck with how, when he was standing on that cliff, he could see the Keeper of the Lake and beyond it, the Crystal Tower. Selfishly, he was glad they had been there for a funeral, so that no one would question his hollow expression. And he hated himself for being unable to focus on Moenbryda, his mind too full of memories of Midgardsormr’s words to him, the feeling of the light being stripped away, G’raha turning away as those heavy doors shut between them.

After a while, Fiver rested his head on one hand and started to count on the other. Every death he had been unable to prevent since he came to Eorzea. Too many for one hand. He started over. And over.

“Moenbryda,” he said, flicking a finger out. He glanced at the Tower. “And you,” he said, with another finger. “You might as well be dead. Viera live a long time, but… I doubt I’ll be here when you wake up.” He sighed, ears twitching. “Maybe you won’t even remember me, we didn’t know each other for that long.”

He didn’t want to believe that.

“You never looked at me like they do,” he said, trying to distract himself from his more morose thoughts. “That’s what I liked about you. Your compliments felt… earned. Like I was Fiver, to you, not the Warrior of Light or the Eikon Slayer or whatever else silly name people were calling me that day. I never… felt like I had to be anything around you. I could just be there, just be me. So of course you locked yourself in a tower,” he muttered, and then sighed, ears low. “I’m sorry, that was unfair of me.”

He sniffed, wiping his cheeks of tears. “I should go, before they notice how long I’ve been gone.” He stood up, laying a hand on his chocobo as she got up as well, trilling quietly at him. He hefted himself up into the saddle and sat, looking at the Tower for a moment longer, before he shook himself.

“Sweet dreams.”

#fiver's having a Bad Time #and he's afraid all his friends will be mad at him if he admits he's having a bad time #fic #ffxiv #oc: fiver #i have not finished the stuff between arr and heavensward #but i've just been thinking some thoughts about where fiver is at right now

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1dfangirls35 · 3 years

Text

The Language of Your Soul

An enemies to lovers ballet au in 5 acts

Masterlist // Tell Me What You Think

Banner: @booksncoffee

Act II

Sorry for the intermission guys but I’m back!

Warnings: This story (and chapter) will contain language, mentions of emotional abuse from a parent and eating disorders. Please read at your own discretion.

Eight Weeks Until Opening Night

Giselle's left hand grips the cool metal of the bar, her legs shaking uncontrollably beneath her -a result no doubt, of her five mile run this morning before rehearsals. Maybe that hadn't been the best idea after all.

Giselle hears Teagan enter the studio after her, announcing her entrance with the loud thud of her duffle bag hitting the floor. Giselle watches as Teagan grabs her pointe shoes out of the bag, taking a seat on the floor a few feet away from Giselle.

Giselle hates that Teagan has to be here, taking part in Giselle's solo rehearsals. The role of Odette was challenging enough- a true feat of technical perfection and stamina. She didn't need Teagan, the person who could snatch her dream role out from under her with just a few missteps, to watch her struggle through her early rehearsals. It makes Giselle feel like she is the prey, and Teagan is lurking in the shadows simply waiting for a moment of weakness to swoop in and swallow her up.

"How are rehearsals with Harry going?" Teagan asks, breaking the silence.

"Fine," Giselle responds shortly. But rehearsals are not going fine. They are an all-out disaster.

In the week and a half since the cast list had been announced, Giselle and Harry had yet to practice beyond their scheduled company rehearsals and it was showing. Giselle had tried on numerous occasions to suggest they work on the basics on their own but Harry had pushed it aside saying, "You've just got to know the choreography better." Giselle left every rehearsal feeling like a complete and utter failure- unworthy of dancing with the likes of Harry Styles.

"A dancer like that can make anyone look good," Teagan says with a tone that implies that Giselle needs some help "looking good". Giselle ignores the comment, instead, mentally running through the choreography for the Act II variation.

Anna Elliot interrupts Giselle's mental rehearsal as she enters the room. It's strange to see Anna in a black tracksuit instead of a leotard and tights, her dark black hair falling around her shoulders instead of pulled back into its usually neat bun. Her face looks tired; her usual bright smile absent. Giselle supposes it can't be easy for her to be on the other side of the stage, leading the rehearsal instead of dancing it.

"Ladies," she announces. "We are going to run through the Act II variation today. Giselle, you'll go first."

Giselle nods, pulling up the waistband of her white practice tutu as she positions herself upstage center in the studio. She tries to ignore Teagan's narrow eyes staring at her as the pianist begins to play.

As she dances Giselle thinks through each and every movement. Smooth développé, lifted attitude, airy bourrées. When she finishes her chaîné turns at the end of the variation, she exhales deeply- not realizing how much she had been holding her breath.

She looks towards Anna for approval. "Nicely done Giselle. Now I'd like you to work on those chaînés at the end. Really make sure they are tight and quick."

Giselle nods in understanding.

"But overall, beautiful execution of the choreography. We really just need to fine tune."

Giselle smiles smugly, glancing at Teagan who stands with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Teagan," Anna announces, gesturing for the understudy to take her stab at the variation. Giselle watches as Teagan runs the variation, but mentally she's thinking about all the things she could have done better in her own.

"Well done, Teagan. Now your attitudes were a little sloppy, let's work on really lengthening that back leg and lifting your chest okay?" Teagan nods. "But I loved the emotion that you put into your dancing. Giselle?" Anna calls, grabbing her attention. "Did you notice the emotion that Teagan puts into her movements? It's something that I'd like you to work on incorporating into your variation. The audience needs to feel what Odette is feeling through you. Let's do it from the top."

Giselle runs the routine again. She tries to 'portray the emotion' like Anna wants, but instead her heads caught up in executing her turns and keeping her arms sharp. When she ends the variation, Anna looks over at her with disappointed eyes. "More" is all she says.

Giselle runs it again. And another time. And each time, Anna tells her it is not enough. That Giselle needs to embrace being Odette. That the audience needs to understand the pain of her being trapped in this body of a swan with no escape.

"Teagan, why don't you run again. Giselle pay close attention this time."

Giselle feels her frustration grow as she watches Teagan again. Teagan's movements are still sloppy, and she messes up the step-over turns at the end, but when she finishes Anna looks over at Giselle like they've just watched the most magnificent performance. "That is the emotion I need to see Giselle."

Anna looks down at her watch. "Well I think our rehearsal time is up for today. Keep working on that emotion Giselle, its a very important part of this ballet."

Giselle nods and smiles, but inside her guts are wrenching at the thought of this rehearsal getting back to her mother. She has to do better. She must.

******

If Harry had learned one thing in his time as a professional ballet dancer, it was that relationships and commitments were the hidden poison of a professional dancer's career. He'd watched many sets of partners fall in love, only to ruin their careers in the aftermath of their failed relationship.

That is why Harry chose to remain unattached. Well, the why he chose to accept anyway. He wasn't a man that ignored his needs, but a night with Harry Styles was just that- a night. No feelings and no attachments.

Take for example the girl he took home last week after the party for his addition to the company. What was her name again? Eliza, yes that's right. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Eliza. She was pretty, a fair conversationalist and perfectly good in bed. Harry had supposed she must even be a decent ballerina, considering she was a corps de ballet member at the American Ballet Theatre. But to Harry, Eliza had only been a nice shag and a body to fall asleep next to on a night when a bustling New York City felt a little too lonely.

Apparently, however, Harry had been less than clear with dear Eliza about this, because as Harry chats with the tall, auburn-haired dancer standing in front of him as they warm up for company class, he can see the daggers of jealousy emitting from Eliza's eyes. He doesn't know this girl's name, the new one, but he can already sense the desire wafting from her body. The way she's learning forward to be closer to him as she stretches. The way she's laughing theatrically with every word that Harry says. The way her eyes are lingering on his lips for just a second too long as he speaks. He's beginning to think she might be a little much for him and makes a mental note to choose a different spot at the barre for tomorrow's company class.

He knows he's in trouble when the second the reverence ends, Eliza rushes over to him with and without saying a word slaps him across the cheek with more force than he thought possible out of her thin little arms.

Harry's skin stings from the blow, the corner of his eye watering ever so slightly. He presses a hand to the injured tissue in response to the attack. But this is not the first time Harry's received such an offense, and it likely won't be the last.

"So what are you just jumping on to the next one?" she shrieks. Harry looks around the room, noticing that people have stopped packing up their things and are now staring at him like he's a caged animal at the zoo.

"I'm sorry love, I'm not sure what you mean," Harry says in a low voice, hoping to signal to this highly emotional girl that this was not the time nor the place to have a reaction like this.

His words, however, appear to have the opposite effect because he watches her eyes flair with a new burst of anguish.

"Rachel!" the girl shouts, as if Harry has the foggiest idea who Rachel is. "Everyone in the room could see how much she was flirting with you. Did last weekend mean nothing to you?!" Eliza's thrown her hands up now, gesturing wildly in a way that's anything but graceful. "You said you would call and you never did."

Harry glances at his audience. Mistress Ivanova is standing in the corner with her arms crossed, looking less than pleased. He grabs Eliza's arm, pulling her towards the door and into the hallway. "Let's take this outside."

When they stop in the hallway, dancers bustling past them on the way to their next rehearsal. Eliza looks up at him. Her brown eyes are tinged with red and Harry wonders if she's about to cry. He'd made a mistake with this one clearly. She was too emotional. Too clingy. Too easily attached. "I never said I would call." Harry says softly, trying to keep his voice calm but firm.

"But you said you had a 'lovely time last night. Thank you.' Eliza sniffles.

She isn't wrong about that. Harry thought. And he did have a lovely time. He usually had a lovely time. But that certainly didn't mean he planned to repeat it. "I did have a lovely time Eliza." he begins, watching as her eyes flicker with something resembling hope. "But that doesn't mean I was going to call."

"It doesn't?" the girl sniffed, bringing her hand up to wipe a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

"Listen, love. I don't do dating. I don't do commitments. I don't do relationships. It's nothing against you. I'm certain you're a lovely girl. It's just..." Harry pauses. "How I do things."

Eliza looks at him wide-eyed, like Harry has just burst her forty-eight hour fantasy that they were going to run away together and travel the world and fall in love.

"I'm sorry if you got the impression that that was simply more than a one night thing. That was never my intention."

"Okay," she says timidly, and he can tell she's embarrassed. She shouldn't be- she wasn't the first girl to react like this. Harry seemed to draw admirers to him like mosquitos to sitting water. Some knew it couldn't be more than a one-night stand, others, like Eliza, reveled in the fantasy that they were the one that would convert Harry Styles into a life of commitment. The later were always disappointed.

"Are we good then? This won't happen again?" Harry raises his eyebrow. He's already fearing the repercussions he may get from Eliza's little outburst. He is already on a short leash here at ABT, and this was surely not going to help matters.

"We're good," she replies softly, but her face is filled with defeat.

"Well then, off to rehearsals." Harry adjusts his duffle bag across his shoulder and makes his way towards his rehearsal studio.

Harry already knows he's late when he enters the rehearsal studio. Giselle's standing there with her arms crossed, tapping the tip of her pointe shoe against the floor with impatience. She doesn't scare him, but the face of Mistress Ivanova when he enters the room does.

"Mr. Styles," she announces with a voice that resembles that of a mother about to lecture her young child. "Let me be the first to say that I take little interest in who you choose to spend your personal time with. When the choices made in that personal time, however, disturb my class and my rehearsals, it becomes my business. What happened today was completely unacceptable. And it will not happen again. May I remind you that you are on a very short leash here at ABT. Another incident like today and you will be replaced."

Six months ago, when Harry was at the Royal, he might have argued back. Reminded this instructor that she could replace him all she wanted but that people had bought their season tickets to see HIM- not some understudy. Reminded Mistress Ivanova that he could have a spot at any company in the world, and that it was HER job to make sure he stayed. But that kind of reaction, that thought process, was exactly what had landed him in this position in the first place- half a world away from home. Alone and at risk of losing a career in dance. So he bites his tongue and simply replies, "I understand."

He glances over at Giselle, who has something resembling a smirk across her face. When his eyes meet hers she quickly turns away.

"Now, we are going to work on the Act II white adagio today. I presume you two have spent some time together working on partnering so this should go smoothly." Mistress Ivanova claps her hands and signals the pianist to begin playing the music.

The fact that they hadn't practiced quickly becomes apparent. Their timing is completely off, the promenades are wobbly, and the dancing seems forced and unfamiliar.

"Maybe if you weren't making your way through the entire corps de ballet we could actually rehearse together," Giselle mutters under her breath as Mistress Ivanova leaves the room with a face that looks less than pleased.

"Maybe if you didn't act like I was about to drop you every time we promenade..." Harry begins.

"How do I know you aren't going to drop me when we've barely danced together?!"

Harry laughs. "I'm Harry Styles. I don't drop my partners, no matter how...annoying I may find them."

"Oh please," Giselle rolls her eyes. "Are you trying to make everyone in this company hate you? I mean if you keep at it with the corps and you'll have to skip company class all together." Giselle preps for a pirouette then relevés, feeling Harry's firm grip on her waist as she turns and he stops her abruptly. "Although I don't know, I get the sense that you like all that attention."

"Believe me Giselle," he accentuates the end of her name like it's a bad sound. "The last thing I want is to get emotionally involved with any of these company members."

Giselle preps for a pirouette again, this time Harry stops her smoothly, and she comes to balance in passé before lowering herself back onto her heels.

"Seems like Eliza was emotionally involved this morning. Sex will do that to people."

"Sex is just dancing without clothes, love." Harry replies, and the way his eyes meet hers in the mirror while his hands are placed on her waist sends a shiver down Giselle's spine. "Haven't you ever spent the night with someone just to escape?"

"Of course." Giselle responds, stumbling in her words only slightly. "But I know the importance of keeping my career and my private life separate."

The truth of the matter was, of late, Giselle hadn't had much of a private life. It was ballet this, ballet that. Any hours not spent in the studio were spent icing her achying feet and tired muscles. Giselle had done it once, the whole relationship thing. He was a young businessman who she met at a fundraiser for the company and he had been wonderful. Until she began to spend time with him instead of in the studio, and her mother quickly noticed her regression of skills.

Natalia Korsakova had been quick to express her distaste in the relationship and the effect it was having on her daughter's dancing. But luckily (or unluckily) for Giselle, she didn't have to be the one to break it off. One night she was laying in bed, watching a movie with a man she thought she might be falling for. Two days later, he simply stopped answering her texts or picking up his phone. He simply dropped out of Giselle's life with no explanation.

After that, Giselle knew better then to get involved with anyone who might distract her from her career. She decided maybe it was for the better, after all if there was one theme to be taken from the world of ballet, it was that love rarely ended in happy endings. There were far too many leads who sacrificed their lives in the name of love and for what? A pretty pas de deux in a pancake tutu of the afterlife?

"Hmm," Harry replies, but by the way his lips have formed into a kind of half smirk Giselle doesn't think he believes her.

They run through the variation again. It's better, their timing not nearly as disasterous as it had been a half hour earlier, but it still feels off. Unfamiliar. Like they were two strangers dancing, which Giselle supposed they were.

Mistress Ivanova doesn't return to the studio. Instead, it's Viktor who appears, twisting his hands together in awkwardness as he steps towards the front of the room. "Mistress Ivanova sent me in to run you through the variation again. She says she doesn't want to see it again until it, and I quote," Viktor pauses for emphasis. "No longer looks like it's torture to dance with each other."

Giselle hears a low chuckle leave Harry's lips. Was he amused by this? The fact that his inability to do what was asked of him had pissed off Mistress Ivanova.

"Let's run it. From the top," Viktor gestures to the pianist that has also returned to the room.

Giselle sighs, taking a deep breath before making her way to the starting point. The run the piece once- Giselle falls from the promenade. A second time- Harry doesn't stop her on the last pirouette. The third time is less technically faulty, but when Viktor stops them again, his face looks less than thrilled.

"Look guys, I know it can't be easy, being thrown into rehearsals with someone you've never danced with before. All your issues can be fixed easily once you are more comfortable with each other. More familiar with each others movements. It's going to take time, and rehearsal. And that's going to have to be rehearsal outside of normal hours."

Giselle glances over at Harry. His lips are formed in a straight line- emotionless.

"Just please. Practice before next weeks rehearsal with her?" Viktor's eyes are pleading this time, like he doesn't want to have to be the bad guy in this situation anymore.

Giselle nods, but out of the corner of her eye she notices that Harry remains completely still.

"Well, that's all for today. Thanks guys." Viktor announces before leaving the studio.

Giselle sits down, untying the ribbon of her pointe shoes. "So when would you be available to practice?"

Harry scoffs. "Practice? I don't think I'm the one that needs to learn the fucking choreography."

Giselle is taken aback by Harry's harsh tone. But she wasn't going to put up with this. Like it or not she was Harry's partner. And like it or not, they were going to have to put in some time if they wanted to keep their roles as the stars of the show. Harry was simply going to have to realize that he had just as much to practice as she does.

"No one said anything about the choreography," Giselle replies, her voice strong. "This isn't the Royal, Harry you can't go walking around like you own the place."

"And you can?" Harry scoffs. "Just because your mother's got a spot on the board doesn't make you the star of the show, love."

The word love at the end of his sentence almost cushions the blow of his words. Almost.

"You don't know the first thing about my relationship with my mother," Giselle spit back.

"And you don't know anything about starring in a show-clearly."

Giselle doesn't respond to this one. Instead she just narrows her eyes. "Tomorrow night, after rehearsals. This studio. We have to practice Harry, I won't have Mistress Ivanova storm out of another one of our rehearsals."

"And what are you going to do if I don't show? Are you going to run and cry to your mummy?" Harry taunts.

Giselle stands, slinging her bag across her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow," she states firmly.

She can feel her blood boiling as she exits the studio and makes her way towards the staircase. If this was what it was like to be Odette, maybe she wasn't cut out for it. It was hard to imagine a scenario and which her and Harry's partnership would result in a magnificent performance.

"Giselle!" she turns and sees Viktor from the corner of eye, near the end of the hallway. He rushes towards her.

"Good job today. Harry may not be the most..." he stops, his mind searching for the word, "enthusiastic partner."

Giselle offers a weak smile. "You can say that again."

"If you ever want extra practice, I'd be more than happy to run through any of the variations with you. It may not be the solution to all your problems but..."

"Thank you Viktor, I appreciate it." She smiles and makes a step towards the door. "Sorry to hear about your retirement by the way, I'll really miss watching you on stage."

Viktor shrugs. "I guess sometimes it's just time to let one journey come to an end. You won't miss me too much though, I'm gonna be more involved with rehearsals." He smiles, but Giselle can see that behind his blue eyes, pain hides.

"Good. Well, I better go get some rest. Caleb has been texting me non-stop about our dinner plans for the evening," Giselle gestures towards the stairs.

"Better get on that then, don't want to keep the man waiting. Good night Giselle."

"Goodnight," she replies.

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

Giselle wishes she hadn't agreed on dinner with Caleb as she opens the door to her apartment. But Caleb was her best friend, and after a long day of rehearsals, his company was something that she desperately needed.

As Giselle sets her black duffle bag on the floor inside her bedroom, her phone begins to ring on the kitchen counter. She leaps across the floor to reach it, but when she glances down, the name on the screen makes her pulse quicken. Could this day get any worse?

"Hello mother," Giselle brings the phone to her ear, walking over to the couch and laying down, her feet up in the air.

"Giselle," her mother replies curtly. There's no darling at the end of her name. That's how Giselle knows this isn't a happy check-in motherly phone call. It's going to be the kind of phone call Giselle wishes she could mute. But then again, that's what everyone of mother's phone calls was.

"I ran into Mistress Ivanova this afternoon. I have to say Giselle, I was quite disappointed when I asked about rehearsals and she told me that she had to leave your pas de deux rehearsal because of how much work needed to be done. How many times have we discussed the importance of going into rehearsals prepared?"

Only a million times. Giselle responds in her head, but instead she remains silent.

"Now what on earth is going on between you and Harry Styles? Do you know how hard we worked to bring him here? I hope you are being a good partner. Have you been following that diet I sent you? Getting your extra mile in in the mornings?"

"Yes mother," she responds in monotone. She won't mention the street tacos Caleb is bringing over for dinner. She can't listen to that lecture tonight. "I've been trying to get Harry to put in the extra time, but he seems uninterested."

"Well try harder Giselle. You can't be the reason he doesn't stay at the company. Can you imagine the embarrassment I would get if my own daughter was the reason we lost out on one of the premier male ballet dancers of this generation? I don't know if I could show my face at a board meeting ever again."

Of course it was her own reputation her mother was concerned about. It didn't matter that Harry Styles might ruin Giselle's chances of every making principal. All that mattered was that Natalia Korsakova maintained her legacy.

Giselle hears a knock at the door. Caleb, thank god. She rises from the couch and makes her way to the door. "Find a way to get things going with Harry. Rehearse with him. Next time I speak with Mistress Ivanova I don't want to hear a negative thing about your performance." Giselle opens the door to see a smiling Caleb, brown paper bag in hand. "You have to do better Giselle, this may be your only opportunity to prove you can dance at a principal level."

Caleb mouths "Your mom?" and Giselle nods as he enters the apartment, setting the bag on the table and then making his way towards the white cupboards for plates.

"I know mom. It won't happen again. Listen, I've got to go. Caleb's going to run through Act II with me for a bit. Okay?"

"Okay," her mother sighs on the other line. Like it's a terrible inconvenience for her to have been on the phone for so long. "But don't forget to reach out to Harry about rehearsals too."

"I won't. Goodbye mom."

"Bye," Natalia responds, but Giselle barely hears her words before hanging up.

Giselle slams her phone down on the kitchen table which results in a raised eyebrow from Caleb "What'd she have to lecture you on today?"

"My disaster of a pas de deux rehearsal," Giselle shakes her head, making her way to the sink and filling a glass of water.

"And why was it such a disaster?" Caleb asks, setting a plate and napkin in front of Giselle's spot.

"Because Mistress Ivanova walked out on us,"

Giselle watches as shock fills her best friend's face. He stops what he is doing. "She what?"

"She walked out. And she won't rehearse with us again until we don't 'look like it's torture to dance with each other."

"It's that bad?" Caleb asks, now taking a bite of his taco.

"Worse. I mean it's been almost two weeks since cast posting and Harry has yet to agree to practice with me outside of rehearsals. I mean how our we ever going to dance with each other if we don't practice!"

Caleb opens his mouth to say something but Giselle continues. "I finally had enough today. I told him we are practicing tomorrow night. Doubt he shows though. And then what? My one chance to prove myself and it's a complete disaster."

"Gi," Caleb says, reaching for her hand across the table. "Take a deep breath."

She looks into his brown eyes and follows as they inhale and exhale in unison. It was an action they'd done a million times before, backstage awaiting their first performance as company members, when Caleb submitted his first choreographed routine to a local amateur dance company. It always seemed to bring them back to center, wherever they were, whatever the stressor, one deep breathe and things began to fall back into place.

Giselle would like to say that this worked a miracle. That the thought of failing her mother yet again wasn't racing through her mind. But it still was. Fainter, but still lingering.

"I just don't know what to do with him, Caleb. Harry Styles has to be the worst partner in the world."

"He's definitely proved why he got kicked out of the Royal. Guy's got an attitude."

"Why couldn't you be my partner?" Giselle sighed.

"Because, as Mistress Ivanova would say. I waste too much of my time on that choreography dream," Caleb sighs.

"It's not a waste of time, Caleb. You're choreography is groundbreaking."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But do you know what is groundbreaking? These tacos."

Giselle hasn't touched the fried, greasy mess wrapped in foil in front of her. To be honest, she isn't even hungry. If she had been alone in her apartment, she'd likely have opted for a salad, if anything at all. But Caleb was one of those people who believed food was the best cure after a long day. And Giselle needed his company more than anything, so she forces down the greasiness bite by bite.

Caleb begins to fill Giselle in on his own Swan Lake rehearsals. As well as the piece he is choreographing that he hopes Gregory, the artistic director will consider for the school showcase come spring. Then he updates her as always, on Finn, the coffee shop owner from down the street that he is infatuated with.

As they chat, Caleb's favorite street tacos grow heavy in Giselle's stomach.

Giselle makes her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her with a click. She examines herself in the mirror, bringing a hand up to pull at her cheek. Her chin looks large, like she's had just a few too many street tacos, and her collarbones lack the definition that usually makes them stand out from her shoulders. Her mom's words echo through her mind. "Eat less Giselle. Exercise more Giselle. You need to be a good partner Giselle."

Giselle doesn't want to. She's been so good for so long, but yet- the urge is coming over her and it's so strong she can't ignore it, because she just knows that if she does this she will feel better. Just this once. Just until that heavy feeling of greasy street food is no longer lingering in her stomach.

She flips on the faucet, letting the sound of running water drum in the background.

She walks over to the toilet and kneels down, the gray ceramic tile of her bathroom floor is cold and hard, and her knees crack as she adjusts her weight. She leans over the toilet, her mouth open and her fingers nearby, willing up the strength to just do it. A few moments, and she could forget those tacos happened all together.

Giselle closes her eyes and executes and soon her dinner is staring back at her from the toilet bowl. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, reaching up and flushing the evidence. She then moves to the sink, cupping water into her hands until there's enough to gargle in her throat and rinse the sour taste from her mouth. She reaches for the pink toothbrush on the corner of the counter, applying a thin line of mint toothpaste before beginning to brush.

As she brushes, she tells herself this is just a one time thing. A solution to one poor dietary decision. She wasn't falling back into her old habits. This wouldn't happen again.

As she spit out the minty foam and looked in the mirror once more, Giselle told herself she felt better.

"Gi?" Caleb knocks on the door, bringing her out of her trance. "You alright in there?"

Giselle opens the door quickly, forcing a smile on her face. "Fine, tacos just didn't settle well." She pushes towards the couch, eager to get something else on her mind. "Shall we watch the next episode of The Crown?"

"Sounds perfect," Caleb replies, settling into the couch beside her.

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

Harry's not sure who is more surprised as he walks into the rehearsal studio later the next afternoon- Giselle or himself. He hadn't wanted to show up. But after the events with Eliza and the way rehearsal went, he knew he didn't have much choice. This didn't have to become a regular occurrence, just enough to get the Director off his back - and his obnoxious partner. Plus, dancing was better than sitting in his tiny New York City apartment alone, which seemed to have become even more lonely in recent weeks.

"Look who decided to make an appearance," Giselle says, hands on her hips as Harry slings his duffle bag to the side of the room.

"Yes I'm here. No need to gloat about it," Harry snaps. He wasn't sure what had come over him lately, this newfound bitterness. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that for the first time in his career, he was feeling the pressure of messing up. He could lose everything.

Harry had always been arrogant. He knew that about himself. It was the role he played to protect himself- from getting too close and getting hurt all over again. But as this personality trait slowly burned through his professional life, he began to wonder if it was doing more harm than good.

"Well then," he asks. "Shall we rehearse?" He looks at Giselle, who simply stares at him. The tip of her pointe shoe tapping against the Marley floor. What was she waiting for?

"Look Giselle, you don't like me. I get it. I'm not particularly fond of you either, but I showed up today and I'm ready to figure this out. This partnership. So can we please just rehearse?"

Giselle stares at him, slightly amused by the reversal of roles- the fact that for once Harry Styles was the one begging for her to practice with him. Her lips curve into a half smile. "Okay."

"I think we should go back to the basics. Finger pirouettes, whip turns, the whole lot." Giselle nods in agreement. Where had this Harry come from? She felt like at any moment she might jolt awake from her bed and realize this was all a dream, because this was certainly not the version of Harry Styles she had encountered during their first two weeks as partners. She wants to ask him about his sudden change of heart, but decides to bite her tongue. It didn't matter why Harry was here, just that he was.

Giselle stands in front of Harry her feet in relevé. She reaches for his hands, one above her and one beside her.

"How's that for grip?" Harry asks.

Giselle's startled that he's asking for her input. "Good...ya...let's just see..." She raises her leg to passé, then développé it to the front and turns. "Maybe bring my left arm a little more forward," she suggests, then turns again. "Yes that's better."

They continue this formula through the basics. Whip turns, fish dips, shoulder sits, promenades. Harry tells Giselle when she's not holding enough of her weight. Giselle tells Harry when his grip is too strong, too lose.

He's calmer today- more present. Giselle can see that he actually could be a very good partner- when he tries too. He's gentle with his lifts, steady with his balance, and although she doesn't trust him fully, she doesn't get the sense that he's going to purposefully let her fall on her face.

Giselle even thinks, that as she stares into Harry's eyes after a dip- that there's a glimmer of softness between the strong green hue. She sees why women find him attractive. Why girls in the corps fawn over him. His jawline was flawless- razor sharp. What are you thinking Giselle, she thinks to herself. All the beauty in the world can't hide his personality.

"Shall we run Act II?" Harry asks, and Giselle is shocked. She figured that she'd only be able to convince Harry to rehearse for an hour tops, and two had already passed.

"I think that would be good," she says.

Harry nods as they move to their places. Act II goes smoother than it has before. There's still hiccups. Giselle's body still feels unfamiliar in his hands and he can't anticipate her movements like he could Mia's- but Giselle's confidence has grown and he thinks there's a potential for this not to end in full on disaster.

She's quite good actually. Her technique is near flawless- no doubt due to the hours of late nights she spends in the studio. And Harry realizes that maybe he has been a bit unfair to her. She still was annoying, a perfectionist, too wrapped up in the movement instead of simply dancing- but she was a good dancer. She had potential.

"Think that's enough for tonight," Giselle pants, out of breath from their third run-through of the pas de deux. "Shall we do this again tomorrow?" After the words leave her mouth, she wonders if this is pushing it to far. Maybe she should have settled for one rehearsal with Harry. Getting him to show up for to rehearsals two nights in a row seemed highly unlikely.

"Okay," Harry responds, his answer shocking even himself. "I think we are getting somewhere. It just takes time." He makes his way over to the bar, leaning forward to stretch his hamstrings.

Giselle sits on the ground, unwrapping the silk ribbon of her pointe shoes.

"You know the steps Giselle and I'll make sure you look good out there. Promise," he says, and Giselle thinks that maybe she can see even a hint of a smile.

Giselle pulls her foot out of her shoe, folding her tights back to reveal her stinging blistered feet. She glances over at Harry, his face buried against his leg at the bar- his tights showing off his perfectly toned leg. It makes her think about him- the rumors about his arrival at ABT. She knows she shouldn't ruin the moment but she can't help herself. The words slip out.

"Did you do it?"

"Do what?" Harry asks, but the smirk on his face tells Giselle that he already knows exactly what she is about to ask about.

"Sleep with the director's wife."

"What's it to you?" Harry mutters, placing his other leg on the barre and stretching against it, the muscles of his back growing taunt beneath his white T-shirt.

Giselle shrugged. She didn't know why she was asking. She didn't care. Whatever had transpired at the Royal to bring Harry Styles into her studio was said and done. It's not like she could ship him back there, much to her dismay. "Just wanted to know if there was any fact behind the rumors."

"I could have," Harry says the sharp green of his eyes temporarily dimming. "There are countless women who have thrown themselves at my feet during my career, Mrs. Abbot included."

"But if you didn't... why'd you leave the Royal?"

"Now why would I tell you that when there's such a good story brewing in the company? I hate to kill a good rumor," He chuckles, his voice deep and velvety. He picks up his bag, sliding it across his body in one fluid movement. "Goodnight Giselle. I'll see you tomorrow."

And for the first time Giselle found herself not watching Harry Styles walk away with a feeling of distaste, but a feeling of curiosity.

Taglist:

@tpwkhoney , @swtxel , @stylessugarhigh

#loys #writingby1dfangirls35 #harry au #ballet au #ballet harry #hs #harry styles #1dff #harry fanfiction #harry fanfic #enemies to lovers #tw eating disorders

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thisnoodlewritesao3 · 3 years

Note

hey!congratulations on 50!!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ SO! if possible - can i get a request for Aone? I don't know if people even really write for him but i love him so much (◕‿◕✿) (it's okay if you don't wanna write for him! I know some ppl don't like him). Maybe with that soulmate prompt where there's a telepathic link but like Aone doesn't really speak much cause he's pretty quiet in general and reader is worried that he just hates her already? thank you!! Maybe angst with happy ending !♥‿♥ thxxxxxxxx

Ahhh, thank you so much you angel anon. This one was hard (even though I mostly write angst) But! I also viciously love Aone, so I would be happy to write more because my heart will explode. I hope this does what you wanted justice

----

There was a different kind of pain you feel when you know you have a soulmate and they just seem to disappear. It wasn’t like he didn’t exist, you knew that he at least did exist. Whether that was still the case had you worried. You didn’t know his name, or where he was right now in the world, so it’s nice to be hopeful that he could be there.

Of course, there was always the worry that he hated you - your parents had always told you that you never shut up. Maybe that upset him. Maybe he didn’t like girls who were chatterboxes. You’d heard the rumors that some soulmates just decide to choose someone else, and maybe he’d just chosen to do that.

You couldn’t help but feel jealous when your friends would brag about the nice things their soulmates would say; so you did what anyone would do, and you lied. You told them how he’d say your voice was beautiful (even though he didn’t) and that he’d talk with you for hours (again, he didn’t). Because it was easier to fantasize about the what-if’s rather than focus on your grim reality.

Your soulmate hated you, and that was okay.

Nobody needed to know the amount of times you’d cried yourself to sleep, or the anxious thoughts that wracked your brain for so long and so harshly you were worried he might hear them. They didn’t need to know the way you’d wish for someone else, someone that would love you.

Not even your parents know. How would you even tell them? They’d be devastated. And how do you even go about finding someone to replace your perfect half? You don’t, you could never. It felt like such a betrayal.

You still managed to make friends, put on a brave face and pretend you were okay. In fact, your closest friend is a boy called Aone Takanobu, he doesn’t speak very often - when he does, it’s barely one word answers - but you could talk for hours and he would listen with the smallest smile on his lips.

“Does your soulmate talk a lot?” You asked him one day, more so just curious than anything. He grunted, nodding and you sighed before sending him a big smile, “so does mine! Honestly, sometimes he just can’t stop, but he says the sweetest things.” The words feel wrong coming out of your mouth and you know it; something in his eyes changes, but he turns his head away before you can look deeper into it.

That night you’re hit with another wave of emotional pain; it’s your parents anniversary, and all they can do is talk on and on about how amazing it is to be so close to someone. You bite back your tears and smile at them. A storm outside brews. How the universe has the perfect way of matching your mood, you’ll never know.

You curl up under the cover and don’t fight the tears, because what’s the point?

Are you there? You call out to him, desperate. Maybe he could hear how badly you needed him. Are you alive? Nothing. This isn't fair. Where did you go? What happened? It hurts. Does he not know how badly it hurts? You were supposed to be mine, if you found someone else, then at least tell me. Nothing. Fine, then at least answer this: do you hate me? You’re crying so hard, because even after all that, there is still silence. Does he not even care? What had you done wrong to deser-

No.

You freeze, even your tears pause, because he just replied. For the first time in years, he responded. How are you meant to respond? You can’t exactly scream for joy, even if that’s what you feel like doing.

What’s your name? That seemed like a reasonable enough question.

There was a pause that felt like an eternity. And then it came again.

A-Aone…

Your heart exploded and more tears forced their way through your eyes as you ran around your room, throwing on clothes like your life depended on it. Because nothing else matters right now. You have to see him, to hear him say it, to look him in the face and know that this isn't just some prank. That Aone is your soulmate and you aren’t insane. That this isn’t just some fantasy you’d made up in your mind to satisfy your need for love.

Before you can think, you run out of the door to your house, ignoring the cries of your parents to at least put on a coat because there isn’t any time. It feels like everything will be over now if you don’t go, so what’s the point in wasting time?

There isn’t any point.

You know the way to his house, you’ve only been there a hundred times. It’s like second nature to you.

The rain is weighing you down, your legs are aching and almost numb, you’re freezing. But you’re there frantically knocking like your life depends on it. When he opens the door, your lungs hurt too much to say anything. He looks shocked - definitely not disappointed - but shocked. Because here you are. Right in front of him. Soaked from head to toe.

You don’t move. Not when he tries to usher you inside from the rain. Not when he looks worried beyond relief. Not when the warmth coaxes your body.

It takes you so long to catch your breath, but when you do, you all but yell, “is it real? I’m not crazy. That was you, right?” Frantic and hopeful.

He grunts and nods but it isn’t enough, you have every right to be selfish after all this time. You do, don’t you?

“Say it. If it’s you, and this isn’t some sick joke, then say it.” Panic. Fear. God, your mind is a mess but you just need to know.

Silence, again. You were done with the silence. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

Your eyes are pleading him for something, anything.

And he gives you just. “It’s me.”

Even though it’s only two words, it’s enough.

You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him, because he’s here. And he’s yours. And he doesn’t actually hate you. In fact, he’s your best friend. With him you’d never felt more alive. Even when he doesn't use a lot of words, you can’t help but feel so connected to him. Because he listens and loves your voice, and you relish in the few ones he gives you. Because his actions will always speak a thousand words. Because you are his voice when he needs it; and he is the calm to your raging storm.

----

Taglist: @pies-writes-and-more @satan-ruler-of-hells @realcube

If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a DM or an ask!

#hq aone #aone x reader #aone takanobu #haikyuu!!#soulmate

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barnesandco · 4 years

Text

Family

Drabble

Samtember 2020 Masterlist

Sam gets to know a new member of his family.

Samtember Prompt #1: New Beginnings

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Warnings: Very brief mentions of pregnancy and labor

A/N: I'm going to try to post a drabble for Sam every day of Samtember, and hopefully some one shots, too, when inspiration strikes. Wish me luck!

Also, go check out @samwilsonfest for the prompts list and rules to celebrate Sam Wilson this month!

Sam is a brave man. He thinks he can acknowledge that living his life the way he has required a modicum of courage beyond the everyday. He's faced off against brainwashed super soldiers and frighteningly powerful government agencies gone corrupt, not to mention taking on megalomaniac aliens wanting to destroy life as he knows it, and Sam likes to think he's recovered just fine from all of it.

But this, the strong, sterile whites of the hospital room he holds your hand in, one of his fingers having been fractured by your labor-strengthened grip, and the weight of his newborn daughter on his other arm, supported against his chest, is a feeling even he doesn't think he'll ever conquer. You doze peacefully now, the ordeal of childbirth past, head tilted toward Sam with a faint smile on the lips he knows better than his own.

After taking another second to look at you, he looks down at his baby again -- his. baby. -- and swallows back the lump that grows in his throat. His heart is heavy with love, threatening to burst, and his lungs struggle against the weight of whatever this feeling is, making him lightheaded.

She's a beautiful child. Every parent must think that, he knows, but his daughter really is an angel. Brown skin soft when he strokes a fingertip across her cheek, he suppresses a gasp, becomes breathless instead at the feel of her, all soft and warm and comfortable. He does it again, smile widening and sight blurring with tears.

He doesn't bother with suppressing them. Lets a salty drop slide down, and in his periphery, sees you wake from your catnap. The first thing you see when your eyes open is that watery diamond glinting in the sunlight on your husband's cheek, and you reach out to wipe it off, place a kiss there instead. With his eyes, deep brown full of shining joy, he asks if you'd like to hold your baby, and you say no, and he can tell you're giving him more time to process.

Not that it'll help, with how overwhelmed he is. He takes his free hand and strokes over his daughter's little knuckles, finds the velveteen skin of her tiny palm, and she holds his finger then, tightly. Taking after her mother. He should probably do something about the throbbing in that other finger, the one he's sure is broken, but he's sat transfixed like stone, and happy to stay like this for the rest of his life. With a small hand clutching his, with his wife smiling brightly at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Have you thought about the name, yet?" You ask softly, and he releases a strangled laugh from his aching throat, remembering your last pregnancy induced argument about baby names. Every day nearing the due date had brought more confusion and doubt, and you hadn't been able to pick a name. Hell, you couldn't even narrow it down to a top three.

Sam shakes his head in response. "Just as clueless as you are, sweetheart," he says with a chuckle, shifting his daughter's weight in his arms until you gesture to take her back, and he watches as you hold her close to your chest, her cheeks round and plump and perfect.

"I was thinking of naming her Riley," you say, and Sam meets your eyes, half elated and half disappointed he didn't think of it himself earlier. "Don't do that, Sam, I know what you're thinking," you tell him with a knowing look. "You've had plenty to worry about."

He nods, grateful you understand him so well he never needs to explain himself. "Riley sounds good. Great, actually," he says. "Riley," he repeats, enunciating it clearly, tasting the name, relishing the familiar feel of it, and looking at the lovely girl he's naming after his best friend. There's no one more worthy.

A knock on the door bursts your little bubble, and when Sam grants permission, one of the nurses enter, sheepishly, apology on her face even before she speaks, and when she does, he understands why. "Your friends are asking for you, Mr. Wilson, and rather insistently at that."

Sam nods kindly. "Thank you, miss." Then turning to you, he asks: "You okay with having guests right now, baby? Because if not, they stay out, and I'll go give them the news."

"It's alright, Sam, let them in."

Getting up to open the door, he calls his teammates' attention, and holds the door for the half a dozen Avengers that file in with breaths held hopefully and in wait of the sacred sight inside.

When he closes the door behind him, everyone is murmuring hushed congratulations and looking at Riley as you introduce her, with awe.

"Congrats, buddy, I'm really happy for you," Bucky says, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder with a grin. Sam smiles, nods back with thanks to the chorus that echoes Bucky's sentiment. Wanda asks to hold her, and while she's being transferred to her arms, Sam pulls Bucky back, a little further from the group.

"Hey, listen, man," he begins, clearing his throat. "We only just decided on a name, but both of us agreed a long time ago that we wanted you to be her godfather."

Bucky steps back. Trepidation in his eyes and hope beyond hope in the way his mouth opens and shuts and Sam wonders if he's done something wrong. If he shouldn't have asked. But Bucky's capable of saying no if he wants to.

"Are you sure, Sam?"

"As long as you want to, there's nothing I’d like more." And with a heartfelt yes, that’s settled, and they make their way back to the hospital bed where the baby is finally handed over to Bucky.

The throbbing pain in Sam’s finger has subsided to a dull ache, as he watches Bucky look at his goddaughter with wonder and marvel, before returning Riley to her father, and Sam sits back down in his chair with her in his arms. Your hand covers his available one once more, and his every muscle sings with joy, with elation, at this celebration of light amidst people who have seen so much of the opposite.

Riley, as if on cue at that thought, begins to cry in hunger, and even that sound is a symphony. Accepting his friends’ final congratulations and well-wishes as they leave to give them privacy, he cautiously places Riley in your arms, but does not break contact. Allows her to hold his finger in her hand, eternally connected, and promises to never let go.

#ayesha writes #samtember 2020 #samtember #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson fluff

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daesungindistress · 3 years

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Thoughts on GD's latest insta post? this might seem dramatic but I think this is the last straw for me, all the other things ot5 were seeing seemed like delusions but this one is pretty clear and on the nose. I'm ready to leave if they still support him, and gd is my bias so this is very disappointing... Unless they publicly condemn his actions I don't think I can trust them and continue liking them like before

Interestingly, just last night I was thinking about how he used his personal account to like that pic on IG not long ago when it was posted by an acquaintance. Not only that, he replied with a heart emoji. At the time I was willing to overlook it given the caption that made it less about BIGBANG and more about something else, as if the image was a generic (if clumsily selected) expression of unity, but I thought to myself, somewhat dramatically, if he ever posts it on his public account that’s it. It’s over.

Then I woke up today, saw he’d posted, and there it was. That damned photo that was giving me grief last night staring right back at me this morning.

I don’t know how it can be taken any other way, really. That is one of BIGBANG’s most iconic images; any VIP would recognize it as a symbol of solidarity and unity, and there’s no getting around that fifth hand. Uploading it the way he did today sends a strong message -- and a stupid one. One that’s hard to deny and one I cannot in good conscience stand behind. They may not come back as five, but evidently, Jiyong longs for it. He’s too damn sentimental for his own good. Trapped in his feels or some shit. Youngbae has said he struggles with that sometimes. Making difficult decisions. Dealing with confrontation. Letting go.

The problem is, this shouldn’t be difficult, not anymore. It’s been nearly 2 years. This isn’t just “a bad image” as I’ve seen it said, it’s downright offensive. It’s strange to think that photo of the five interlocked hands used to be one of my favorite representations of BB. Now I can’t fucking stand it.

So, my thoughts are that I am done making excuses for him. If GD intends to lead BIGBANG onward as four he’s going about it all wrong. Any criticism that comes his way is on him; he brings it upon himself and I won’t defend it, not a word. I’m just sorry for the other members that will get dragged through the fire by association. Daesung especially, considering what he went through last year because of Seungri. Any chances he may have had of making that long-awaited solo comeback in Korea are most likely dust. It's BIGBANG or bust.

I will add that GD is the one member of the group who I have always found near impossible to read. We don’t connect. So while I don’t know with certainty what he’s thinking or why he moves the way he does, after this, whatever is going through his head I don’t trust him anymore to make good choices, or the right one. There it is, the truth laid bare, ever since that ridiculous painting of those five figurines back in the spring. I’ve held onto this for so long because I am aware my words are watched and I want to be a source of reassurance for so many of you, meaning that unless you talk to me privately you would never know the doubts that eat away at me daily, many of which are centered on GD. I paint over the cracks again and again but I still feel them. It’s why I’ve been unable to get excited about those rumors of a solo comeback, which feels too much like buying time until the group can be -- brb throwing up -- five again.

FWIW I still don’t think it’s possible, I believe YG will prevent this from happening, what with how they were so quick to disown him once he was gone, but if that’s what the guys want? How is that any better?

Like you, I’m disappointed. Hurt. Angry. To put it lightly. But more than anything, and perhaps worst of all, I’m wary. It feels too much like the guys are playing both sides, trying to retain as many backers as possible. Trying to have their cake and eat it too. They send mixed signals, when they bother to send signals at all. I thought they were better than this. I wanted them to be. BIGBANG have promised us flowers but then GD goes and does shit like this and it looks like he plans to march us through the flames all over again. Like we haven’t gone through hell and back for them and been ghosted all year long as some backasswards reward for our efforts.

Like every other group who lost a member as a result of Burning Sun, I expected them to stand up for themselves and their life’s work and those who want what’s best for them a whole year ago, making it clear they were moving on as-is. I never thought they would handle this so poorly, so evasively, so cowardly, testing the waters to see what they could get away with, never displaying his face outright but relying on imagery that only fans would recognize... all this time they've let elapse in silence and this is where we are. Right back where we started, or so it seems.

If they still support him they need to man up, do what they did with TOP in 2017, and open up about it. We had Youngbae giving interviews in which he spoke freely about how he was helping Seunghyun in the immediate aftermath of his ordeal. We had GD posting pics of himself with Seunghyun, along with the caption “our hyung”. We had fans asking GD directly if TOP was still a member of BIGBANG, to which GD answered plainly, yes.

The support for their bandmate back then was unmistakable. This is not that. But if this is support, it’s so underhanded. Whatever it is, just come out with it already. Stop speaking through imagery and expecting everyone to get it. Let us know beyond a doubt what exactly we’re waiting for so that if it’s not what we want we can make an informed decision to not waste any more time or emotional energy on people who aren't worth it.

All I ask is honesty.

#ask #anon #bigbang #gd

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marsbutterfly · 4 years

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The Scientist’s Gamble - Part 1

Summary: "Attention! Commander Erwin has sent me here today with an announcement! In exactly one month an expedition will take place outside the walls!", Moblit pauses for a second, paying close attention to the reactions in front of him. "The goal of this mission will be..."

Note: I would like to thank my amazing wife for editing this fic for me, I know it wasn't easy and I love her very much. She has been nothing but supportive from the very beginning and her help is extremely appreciated as I try to find own my writing style in a whole different language. She's amazing and I'm very lucky to have her in my life!

Next Chapter

AO3 Version! | Wattpad Version!

"Wait... So we're going outside the walls to capture a titan so that Squad Leader Hanji can experiment on it?" someone asks from the back of the room.

"Well... Yes, but it's for the good of humanity," Moblit says while he holds the bridge of his nose. The expression on his face tells you that he did not agree with this, but he is willing to give it a go so long as life inside the walls could take its next step towards the truth. "The Commander has given his OK, so this operation will be moving forward. Now, how she managed to convince him to agree to this is beyond me..." His voice disappears as he walks out of the room, all the while scribbling on his clipboard.

As soon as his silhouette is out of sight, the room starts to fill with murmurs.

"That's such a waste of resources!"

"We should be out there killing titans, not this!"

From your spot in the corner of the room, you begin to write in your journal everything you might need to prepare for the expedition, such as a new training schedule and what arrangements would need to be done.

"Y/N?" says a disembodied voice, startling you a bit and pulling you away from your to-do list. "Y/N? Are you in there?"

You look up to see Eren waving his hand in front of your face, almost failing to catch your attention.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you say, not looking at him, and not really sorry. "What were you saying?"

He laughs. "You really are hopeless. Would you like to come train with us?" He gestures at the Cadet group as they walk out the door.

"Oh, not today," you say, "I need to head back to my room to collect some of my notes and deliver them to my Squad Leader. I wouldn't want our next expedition to be delayed, you know!" Although you try your best to remain serious, the enthusiasm in your voice is undeniable.

He rolls his eyes and allows his lips to curl into a smirk, "We'll catch up with you later then!" he says while walking towards the door and just like that, you're alone in the classroom. Packing your things, you make your way out. You read the notes in your hands as you walk, making sure you only need to make one quick stop before heading toward the lab.

Once in your room, you look underneath every book, paper, and pile of clothes. You try your best to find your notes on titan deterioration, but quickly realize they are nowhere to be found.

Did you not bring them back after the last expedition? No, you remember seeing them just a couple of days ago. Could they be with old reports? No, you just checked. Did someone take them? At that moment, you realize that just may be what happened. After what happened with Annie Leonhardt, you didn't know who you could trust, and as a result, you've been being extremely careful not to misplace your paperwork.

Yet somehow your most important piece of work is missing. Slowly but surely, panic sets in. "What will I tell Squad Leader Hanji? I don't want to disappoint her," you mutter, taking a deep breath. Panicking won't help right now, so you do your best to pull yourself together, and gather all the other papers you need before making your way towards the lab.

You knock on the lab door rather loudly a couple of times.

"Come in!" Your heart skips a beat at the sound of her voice calling from the inside of the room. You open the door slowly, remembering past instances of her dropping glass beakers when startled. Luckily Hanji is just sitting at her desk, writing reports. Likely about the most recent past expedition, probably where she got the idea of capturing yet another titan to serve as her experiment. At least that would give Eren a little bit of a break. He really needs it.

"Squad Leader Hanji, I brought you all the data I've collected about titans from previous expeditions. The most common sizes, our studies on abnormal..." Your hearts speeds up as you notice her looking at you, but you can't bring yourself to face her as you speak again. "I can't seem to find the papers about their deterioration. All the details we've collected seem to be lost. I'm so sorry, and I'll keep looking for it. If I can't find it until tonight, I'll write you a new report from memory, I swear." You can feel her eyes on you, and it gets a little harder to breathe. Your lungs try their best to keep up with the speed of your rambling.

"Well, Y/N," Hanji says, getting closer as she walks towards you. Tears of frustration well in your eyes, and you expect the worst. You worked so hard to become her assistant, to earn this. The thought of it all going wrong would be enough to break you. You're vaguely aware of her rifling through papers on her desk.

"It's alright, dear! I have them right here. You must have forgotten them here last night. I reminded you to grab them but you seemed to be in quite a hurry." Hanji could sense the uneasiness coming from her assistant, her face softening as she pulls you into a hug, and it's desperately what you need at that moment. You breathe a sigh of relief now that you know you didn't mess this up. At least not this time.

You let your mind wander to last night. You had spent hours copying the indiscernible scribble-scratch of Hanji's field notes. You think of how you called her over to translate a particularly messy section, and you think of the way she gently touched your arm before her hand slid along your skin as she reached for the pen. The hairs on your body instantly rose, and combined with the chills going down your spine, you couldn't help the embarrassment that flooded through you. Before she could've said anything, you got up and ran, wishing her a hasty goodnight on your way out.

Your cheeks burn. No wonder you misplaced your papers.

But realization hit you; Hanji has her arms around you in a warm and comforting embrace. She's holding you, cradling you. The heat in your cheeks spread across your entire face, a dark shade of red replacing your usual skin tone. One of the reasons you wanted to be her assistant in the first place was to spend time with her. Your crush on Hanji isn't something new and has never been a secret. Everyone seems to know about it... except Hanji herself.

"Are you all right? Your heart is beating so fast," Hanji says, breaking the silence between you two. She pokes two fingers against your neck to feel the pulse, but you swat her hand away. You quickly pull away while looking in the other direction, hoping she doesn't notice your embarrassment.

"I'm fine, Squad Leader! Do you need my help with anything today?" you say, gathering enough strength to sound like you aren't melting before her eyes.

"Not for now. Over the course of the next few weeks, I'll be mostly filling out paperwork and preparing the lab to receive our new visitor," she beams, and the stars in her paired eyes with the excitement in her voice is more than enough to bring a smile to your face.

Hanji grabs your shoulders. "All I need is for you to study our past discoveries, but mostly prepare yourself for all the new ones we're about to make!" She begins to gently shake you, rocking you back and forth in her excitement. "Make sure to practice your 3D maneuvers as well, I wouldn't want to lose my favorite assistant!"

You feel your blush deepen, and wonder how she doesn't notice.

"Of course, Squad Leader," you say.

During the next four weeks, you spend your days mostly with your friends in the hopes some of their strongest skills rub off on you.

Mikasa teaches you how she handles her blade. You try your best to learn from her, but handling swords isn't your strong suit. But still, there is a noticeable improvement in your form. Thanks to her, your blades can firmly and precisely cut through a titan's nape without any problem.

Eren and Jean argue over who would help you with 3DM air movements until they finally agree that it would be best for both of them to assist you. This plan lasts less than a week until finally after you break up two fistfights and countless arguments, the two of them come to the conclusion that being around each other is worse than a death sentence. You start to practice on your own, but they manage to teach you a few new tricks, like being able to do a backflip before slicing the titan's neck, that way you would be able to move quickly and proceed to another titan in a matter of seconds.

Armin sits with you every day during lunch and dinner, keeping your knowledge on Titans sharp. He shuffles through bundles of cards as well as notebooks full of information. He quizzes you every day and corrects you when you're wrong. He's the most helpful of them all.

Reiner and Bertholdt do their best to train you in hand-to-hand combat. You won't need it, and Annie was better than they are, but they must have sparred with her enough for some of her moves to rub off, and you figure there's no harm in being overly prepared.

Krista teaches you what she knows about how to care for wounds with ingredients you can find in the forest. She shows you how to wrap an injury and how to do it quickly. Nothing new, but she is very good at helping others. Ymir shows up halfway through Krista's splinting demonstration, and you're pretty sure she only stays there so she can play the part of swooning, Injured Scout. Every so often she would let out a long sigh and moan about her fake injuries. "I'm so hurt Krista, please take care of me," she says. "If I survive this injury, please marry me Krista." You don't ask Ymir for help with anything, you know all she really puts effort into is charming Krista.

Sasha and Connie... well, they're certainly a good distraction when you need a break. Sasha tells you her hunting stories, and when she notices you're interested, her stories become much more dramatically performed. She recruits Connie to help her put on a play, and he plays every character in her stories: Sasha herself, the injured animal, even the sound of the wind as it rushes past the trees. They are exceptionally good at making you laugh.

The night before the expedition departs, while you're in your room packing your bags and triple-checking your list making sure everything you might need is in it. Everything seems to be in order. Flare guns, medical supplies, a toothbrush and comb. A sudden knock on your door pulls you away from your thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Y/N, can I come in?" says a familiar voice, and your heart skips. You nearly give yourself whiplash as you turn your head.

"Yes!" you call out, and the door creaks open. Your eyes meet Hanji's, and a familiar feeling overtakes you.

"I haven't seen you in so long. I miss you," she has a gentle smile on her face, and you feel your cheeks reddening as usual. Why must your body do this to you every time she's around? You signal for her to come inside, and Hanji closes the door behind her.

Hanji sits on your bed while reaching for your hand. She takes it and pulls you closer, excitement in her eyes. As soon as you readjust next to her, you impulsively wrap your arms around her shoulders. It takes Hanji by surprise, but she is quick to return the embrace. If only you had the courage to tell her how you feel before you leave tomorrow... but you can't risk clouding her mind with such thoughts. She needs to have a clear head tomorrow, and you need to be there for her no matter what. She may not know how you feel, but you need to remember her like this, just in case. You touch the rough fabric of her jacket, inhale the scent of her hair, feel the cold and hardness of her glasses press against your cheek. You just hold her, needing to feel her like it's the last thing you'd ever do on this Earth.

You wish you could stay forever in her arms, but you manage to pull yourself away after a few seconds. Hanji gives you a soft look. "What was that about?" she asks.

Your face feels so hot you're surprised you don't burst into flames. That familiar feeling takes over your body while your brain processes everything that just happened.

"I missed you too," is all you can say. "So, did you want to tell me something, Hanji?"

Her slight smile disappears. She takes a deep breath, as if the air in her lungs is about to be stolen, "I'm just a little nervous about tomorrow. I thought you might be able to help me calm down, but it seems like I didn't even need to ask," she says, smiling. "Do you feel ready?"

"Yes, I've been practicing to make sure I will not be killed tomorrow!", you say, forming fists with your hands and positioning them on your hips. You're proud of everything you've accomplished with your friends' help during these past few weeks. Hanji starts laughing, and you beam with pride. You hope this is what she needed.

When her laughter subsides, Hanji lets out a contented sigh. "I honestly don't know what I would do without you around," she says.

Your eyes widen, and you get embarrassed again. You can't help but look away. Her soft hand touches your shoulder, "I should get going now. I need to look over some details before we leave in the morning." She squeezes your shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

You nod. "Of course, Squad Leader."

"Our mission, the expedition to capture a Titan, will now commence! Give up your hearts for humanity!" Commander Erwin's voice echoes clearly throughout the scouts as the gate opens fully. While screaming, he signals with his arms and the horses sprint outside the wall in formation. The gate closes behind them with a heavy thunk.

The sky is a beautiful shade of blue, with very few clouds. The cold breeze against your skin brings chills everywhere it touches. There are goosebumps all over your body, but the excitement rushing through your veins is enough to keep you warm for now. You've been preparing yourself for this for the past month and you feel like for once, luck is on your side.

Right next to you rides Hanji. Her laugh rings out louder than dozens of thundering hooves and yelling Scouts. The Commander had asked you to stay by her side at all times, mostly to keep her from getting herself killed, and judging by the twinkle in his eye, you could tell that your affections were noticed even at the highest level of the Scouting Regiment.

As the formation rides out, Hanji takes a moment to meet your eyes, and you smile at her. Today is going to be a win for humanity, you think to yourself.

You could not be more wrong.

#my sunshine #hange x reader #hange zoe x reader #hanji x reader #hanji zoe x reader #fanfiction #my story #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #attack on titan fanfiction #hanji zoe/reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #snk fanfic #aot fanfic #snk fanfiction

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