Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: "Family Don't End with Blood," takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her, is what happens when she falls in love again?
Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader (past) | Dean Winchester x F!Reader
A/N: That's all folks! Thank you all for reading and for coming on this journey with me. I appreciate all of you more than you know! 💖 I'm sure going to miss these two, but it was fun getting them to where they needed to go.
Huge thank you again to my gorgeous beta: @negans-lucille-tblr I’m not sure this would’ve even been posted without your encouragement, and thank you doesn’t seem like enough 😘
Now… go and grab those tissues!!
You can catch up here!
My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi
Y/N’s POV
The first few minutes in the car are spent in awkward silence and it kills you. The relationship you have with Dean has always been easy and to think it’s been damaged beyond repair makes you sad.
“So…” Dean finally breaks the silence between you when you stop at a red light. “Good lunch?” He glances over at you and you scoff.
“That’s where you wanna go here? How was lunch?” You laugh, but it’s not the humourous kind.
“If you don’t mind, I’d much rather we get to the point and just agree that last night was a mistake and won’t happen again. So let’s do that, let’s pretend it never happened, not talk about it ever again and try to go back to the way things were.” You finish and turn your head to look out the car window.
“Before we do that, I need to say something. Last night meant everything to me,” he looks over at you and waits until you turn back towards him and meet his gaze. “Everything, Y/N. I don’t know when it happened, but I do know when I realised I was in love with you.”
“Dean…” you mutter. His words shock you, that’s about as much as you know right now, and you’re glad Dean ignores the interruption and continues talking, because you have no idea how to respond.
“It was when your car broke down on the hottest damn day of the year,” he chuckles at the memory, “and you called me for a tow. I was driving down the road you were stopped on, and I saw you sitting on the hood of your car, and you looked so beautiful. I swear you were glowing in the sunlight. It was like you had a goddamn halo or something! And my heart just stopped, and I thought ‘shit, I’m in trouble here,’ since then, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the first thing I think of when I open my eyes in the morning and the last before I fall asleep. Fuck… I tried to stop, I swear I did…
“I know this is hard for you to hear and it’s probably the last thing you want to deal with right now and that’s okay. But, I need you to know you were not a mistake, sweetheart. I don’t regret what we did and I never will. I know we have something that could work if you give us a chance, because you can’t fake the kinda connection we had last night. But if you want to pretend last night never happened and go back to how things were, then I’ll do that for you… but if I’m right and you feel something more for me, please, tell me.”
You remain silent and take in his confession. He’s right, you do have feelings for him, the trouble is, you don’t know if you can trust yourself. Are they real feelings, or are you mistaking them for the comfort and familiarity Dean gives you?
And then you ask yourself where this can even go. He’s your husband’s brother; people will talk. And it’s not that you care what they’ll say necessarily, there are other factors involved here. Including how John will feel, and the impact such a “scandal” could have on the family business. More importantly, though, you don’t know if you can do that to Sam.
“You know what? Forget I said anything. Your silence says it all, Y/N. Let’s just sweep last night under the carpet and chalk it down to bad judgement,” you know Dean is hurt because his voice comes out weak and defeated and you despise yourself for it.
“It wasn’t,” it’s barely audible, but at least you got something out.
“Wasn’t what?” Dean asks.
“Bad judgement,” you clarify. “And I do feel something for you, I just…” you sigh, and let your thoughts hang in the air as you try and decipher what this all means and what the best thing to do is.
“Alright,” Dean nods his head. “When we get home, we’re going to talk about all of this, okay?” Dean fixes his gaze on you and you nod in agreement. “We need to lay our cards on the table and hear each other out. It’s the only way we’ll be able to get past this, whatever this is, or ends up being.”
Again, you know he’s right. You need to get it all out in the open and be completely honest with each other because it’s the only way you’ll be able to keep Dean in your life.
“Okay,” you agree with a nod.
You go back to spending the journey in silence, but it’s not quite as heavy and suffocating as before, and you have the tiniest glimmer of hope that everything will work out just fine.
Sitting on your sofa next to Dean, you hand him a tumbler with a decent measure of whiskey and untuck the bottle from under your arm to place it on the table. In a bid for more time, you take a long sip from your wine glass as you desperately try to figure out what the hell just happened and how you ended up in this position. Dean speaks first and you sigh in relief as you’re at a complete loss for words.
“I just wanna start by saying I meant what I said,” Dean begins. “All of it,” he adds before you can question him. “I have fallen in love with you, and last night did mean the world to me.” With that, he downs the whiskey in one gulp and refills his glass. Now, at least you have your first question.
“So why didn’t you stay with me? Why did you get up and drink all night?” you ask quietly.
“We got so caught up in the moment, and neither of us even stopped to think,” he looks down at the floor and you can see and feel the shame radiating from him in waves.
“When we were finished and you were sleeping in my arms, it was like everything came crashing back to reality. I felt guilty for doing that to Sam, I felt ashamed for taking advantage of you when you were upset, I knew I’d ruined things between us and I knew I had no one to blame but myself.
“I didn’t mean to stay away all night,” Dean says, looking at you for the first time since he’d started to explain himself. “I only intended to have one or two to help me sleep, but I got upset and… two became four, and well… you saw me this morning.”
“You know you didn’t take advantage of me, right? That if I didn’t want it to happen, it wouldn’t have?” you ask him, reaching a hand out to cup his cheek and pushing gently to make him look at you. “Dean, I swear to you, I wanted it too…” you begin, but a scoff from the green-eyed man next to makes you frown.
“So this morning was what?” He looks at you pleadingly, like he was silently asking you to tell him that he hadn’t been a mistake.
“One big miscommunication, apparently,” you chuckle sadly. “Dean, when I woke up this morning, the first thing I felt was guilt for doing that to Sam. And when I turned over to seek you out, to get some comfort and to be told we didn’t do anything wrong, I was met with a cold bed.
“Fine, I thought, maybe he feels some of the guilt I do and was awake early, or couldn’t sleep… but when I came downstairs and saw the empty bottle and the bloodshot eyes, I went to the worst thing I could think of. Regret. And I went on the defensive, and for that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left without talking to you.”
“And I should’ve never left you alone. I’m truly sorry, sweetheart. Not once did it cross my mind that you’d feel the way you did. You know, knowing that makes me feel worse than the guilt ever could.” Dean’s words are full of sincerity and you nod, believing everything he’s told you tonight.
“Okay, so we both agree we did nothing wrong and that it wasn’t a mistake, but I still feel like we haven’t resolved this,” you say looking up at him. Dean nods his head in agreement, but remains silent, staring at you intently. You know this part is up to you–he’s already told you how he feels–but you stall by taking a few more sips of wine.
“I know Sam is gone, and no matter how much I want it, he’s never coming back. I know he’d want me to be happy and to find someone to love and who loves me,” you glance up at Dean and see hope in his expression. “But I feel like I’d be cheating on him or something if that person is you. And,” you continue quickly, wanting to get everything out at once, “I don’t know if I really feel what I feel for you, or if I’m confusing your familiarity with Sam for real feelings.”
Dean nods and reaches his hand out to stroke your cheek. “I understand that, sweetheart. I feel the same way, but you’re right, he’d want you to be happy, and if that ends up being with me, then we’ll get through it together. And if it isn’t with me, then I’ll help you get through it.”
You think about what Dean said, your heart filling with hope that no matter what, he’d still have your back. “How do I know if what I feel is real?”
“Well, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “I can’t help with that, that’s gotta be all you. Only you know how you feel and what’s real or not.”
Placing your wine glass on the coffee table, you shift closer to Dean and tentatively place your head on his shoulder. You smile as you hear him sigh happily.
“C’mere,” he opens his arms and lets you cuddle into his chest before putting his arms around you and kissing your forehead. The warmth and safety of Dean’s embrace spreads over you like you’ve just lay down in a hot bath, and it makes you hum in pure contentment.
His arms squeeze you tighter into his body and you find yourself raising your head to look at him. Really look at him. His bright green eyes show you nothing but tenderness. You scan your eyes over the freckles that dust his face like a beautiful, undiscovered constellation; he truly is a stunning man.
Dean licks his lips, bringing your attention to them and your memories drift to last night and how those lips felt on yours and your body. Slowly, you tilt your head and move closer to him, gently pressing your lips to his.
Hesitantly, Dean opens his mouth and you take him up on his invitation, deepening the kiss and moaning as your tongues meet. The kiss is gentle and slow, neither of you in a rush to be anywhere but right here at this moment.
With your lips still attached to his, you straddle him and settle down in his lap. Feeling the beginnings of a bulge in his jeans, you grind your core into it, smirking at his groan.
“Y/N, sweetheart.” Dean is breathless, and you find the effect you have on him intoxicating. “If you want a repeat of last night, I’m all yours, but I need to hear you say it.”
“I want you, Dean.”
Six Weeks Later
“Hey, handsome,” you smile. “It’s been a while and I’m sorry for that,” you say as you sit cross-legged at Sam’s grave. “I’ve had some things going on that I needed to work out,” you pause and pick at the strands of grass around you.
“Something happened that I never thought would. I fell in love again. He makes me happy, Sammy. And I know he’s a good man and he’ll treat me right. If he doesn’t I’ll kick his ass,” you chuckle. “Then I’ll come here and beg you to haunt him!” your smile quickly turns to a sob.
“It’s Dean, Sam. I fell in love with Dean but I didn’t mean to. It just happened. And I need you to know that I never…” you need to stop talking to make way for the tears that won’t stop falling.
“I never felt that way about him when you were here. And I need you to know that. This is new and unexpected for both of us. I’ll always love you, Sammy, and I miss you. So fucking much every goddamn day! It’s just that I love him too. And I hope you can forgive me.”
You sit in silence for a while, just being. You know you should leave soon. Dean and John are waiting and you know they’ll be starting to worry about you. Movement catches your eye and you turn your head to see a butterfly fluttering nearby.
It lands on Sam’s gravestone and you smile, feeling a childlike joy at seeing the red admiral so close and so late in the year, even with the mild fall.
It remains perched and unmoving for a while longer before it flies over and lands on your knee. That’s when you know that this beautiful creature is a sign, and that Sam is with you.
You can feel him next to you, and you have the overwhelming feeling that everything is going to be alright and that he approves of you and Dean. The red admiral takes flight once again and circles your body.
You don’t know if it’s a laugh that erupts or if it’s a sob–maybe it’s a mixture of both–but it’s something, and you feel at peace with yourself and everything around you as you sit by his grave.
All too quickly, the butterfly takes off and flutters back into the nearby shrubs.
“I love you, Sam. Always and forever,” you say as you kiss your fingers and place them on his headstone before standing up and brushing the dirt from your jeans.“I’ll be back soon. I promise not to leave it so long next time.”
Walking away, you feel lighter than you have in a long time, and you know that finally, you’re at peace with your husband's death and with the path that has led you to looking forward to a life with Dean.
“Hey, sweetheart, you good?” Dean asks as you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him tight. You can’t bring yourself to speak, so you nod against his chest and once more you let the tears fall, knowing that this time, they’re happy tears.
“You’re alright, Y/N, I’m right here.” Dean murmurs, and you feel another hand stroking your back.
“Sam would be happy, you know that, don’t you darlin’?” John asks. “For both of you.”
Pulling away from Dean’s embrace, you wipe your tears away and smile, “I know he is.”
You saw a red admiral at every big life moment after that day at his grave. You saw one the day Dean proposed, and again at your small, intimate wedding. One flew in the kitchen window on the day you found out you were expecting your first child, and one appeared on the day you found out about the two that came next! On every birthday and holiday, on the day you gave birth to each of your children, and on their first days at school.
It gave you immense comfort, and though at first Dean, John, and Jody put it down to coincidence, after the first few times it happened, they started looking for the butterfly on the special days too.
Summary: You start to think about other things than your father's death, and Beau helps, without even realising how much. Oh, and there is a first kiss in this one :)
Pairing: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x fem!reader (Iceman’s daughter)
W/C: 9.1k
Rating: PG, age gap, canon character’s death (Tom Kazansky)
TWs: Grief, unnamed ED, Panic attacks.
A/N: It took me a while, but it's here... I think 2, maybe 3 more parts and the story I wanted to tell will be done.
Part 1 | Part 2
Masterlist | List of tags | Eye of the storm playlist
- Cyclone! You there? - the loud banging at the door instantly jolted both of you awake, and you looked at Beau, fear painted all over your face. He only clenched his jaw and went to open the door, ready to deal with all the possible consequences, but you were not... So instead of facing the reality just yet, you hid completely under the covers, making sure that every part of your body was completely hidden. Logically you knew that there were signs that he wasn't exactly alone in the room, but without your face, it would be pretty hard to connect them to you. You didn't know that, but before he opened the door, he took one last look at you and smiled only seeing bundled-up bedding.
- What? - he asked, his voice completely void of emotions.
- You're late. It's 8:20. The call. - a familiar voice said, but you couldn't fully place it.
- Shit. I overslept. I'll be there in 5. - he panicked a little but already had a plan forming in his head.
- Mark that day in a calendar, everyone! Vice-Admiral Beau Simpson overslept! - the faceless voice laughed, and you couldn't help but chuckle. Now that you thought about it, he was always first in the room whenever he had a meeting with your dad. And he was always prepared and ready to go.
- Yeah, yeah... Make all the jokes you want, Sol. But make them from somewhere where you won't see me change. - Sol... Solomon Bates. You were finally able to connect the voice to the name. You only knew him in passing, that's why you didn't recognize his voice at first.
You heard the door closing, and you felt safe enough to peek from under the covers. He was quickly preparing to leave, and you wanted to try something truly evil. When he was still in the bathroom, you took one of his tan uniforms from the wardrobe and passed the folded clothes through the open door. You watched him quickly change from shorts into pants, putting on a t-shirt, but when it came to the beige shirt, you stopped him from doing the buttons and did them yourself, while he diligently watched every move of your fingers. Even though he was already almost late, and he knew that he could do them quicker, he'd much rather have you take care of that. You also pinned his ribbons and wings, as you did so many times in the past for your dad, so you knew the exact placement.
After you finished, he tucked the shirt into his pants and moved past you to find and put on the shoes, while you stood next to the door, patiently waiting on your tippy toes for your chance to execute the evil plan.
He eventually was ready to head out, but before he had the chance to open the door, you took his right hand into yours stopping him for just a moment before he left, and snaked your other hand onto his neck, gently pulling him closer.
He didn't even register what was happening, because he got so used to your presence and your touch. Everything you did with him just felt... right. But then he was out the door and had already taken four steps into the long corridor when it hit him so hard that he instantly stopped. You kissed him... It was quick and soft, just a peck on the lips, but definitely planned and intentional, not driven by overwhelming emotions. And he kissed you back as if he did it million times before... The blood immediately rushed to his face, and he could feel the warmth spilling into his chest. Only when someone saluted him in passing, he realized that in two minutes he was supposed to be deciding the fates of possible new Top Gun recruits. He fought with himself for a good moment, because his whole body was screaming at him to back and kiss you properly, but instead, he clenched his jaw, took two deep breaths to calm himself, and quickly walked in a direction of conference room number one. And while the blush disappeared from his cheeks, the giant smile stayed there for the whole duration of the call, to the point that even Solomon found it a bit unnerving.
And while he started working, you were still standing with your back against the closed door, with your fingers touching the exact place where your lips met, the sensation of it now forever carved in your memory. You honestly thought that he would stop you, but when instead he put his hand on your hip and leaned down to kiss you, you forgot how to breathe for a moment, and that weird feeling in your stomach appeared... Not exactly butterflies, but the one when you're in a car riding quickly, and there was a small hill or a bump... And for a short perfect moment, you felt light as a feather, and you could fly away to reach the heights you never dreamt of. And that’s what it was... A perfect little moment, tucked into months voided of colors…
It took you good twenty minutes to finally peel yourself from the door, but instead of going back to bed, you actually made it. Not to the military standards, of that you were sure, but at least it looked presentable. You took the packet of almonds, and at first, your hand also reached for your dad's journal, but it stopped, only hovering over it... After a moment without movement, you instead reached for a sketchbook and pencils... If you were at your place, you would have reached for watercolors, because for the first time in months, you were more in a mood for something other than blacks or greys.
Well... Postmates existed... Question was, would they be able to enter the base, or would you have to meet them at the gate? You put down the sketchbook back on the desk, took your phone, unlocked it, and immediately got overwhelmed by the number of notifications that appeared on the screen. At first, you froze, but because of the subtle scent of spruce all over you, you were able to start chipping at this giant iceberg. Most of the notifications came from the apps, so they were easy to deal with. Next came text messages. Mostly from your mother, brother, and a few close friends, which were still updating you, even though you were not replying. The majority of other texts contained condolences, but since they were from people you barely knew, you just... Ignored them. It seemed much less weird than replying "Thank you" after over two months.
With a heavy sigh, you finally opened the messages from Nick and scrolled to the first unread one... Which was a meme with his cat containing four pictures of him with his head in the pack of chips, looking in different directions, evidently confused, because he couldn’t figure out how to take the bag off, with the caption "Father...? Father!? Why have you forsaken me...?". You couldn't help but chuckle a bit. After a week of nothing, there was a short video from a hike, showing the landscape from somewhere high up; you didn't recognize it though. Next, there was another video, this time of his cat again, who tried to throw a speaker from the desk, but instead of achieving that, he himself fell off the desk. And message after message, video after video, meme after meme you finally got through the whole conversation. The last one was from just a couple of hours ago when the sun was still hidden behind the horizon. There was a small bonfire with his voiceover. "Hey... I know it's been some time since we saw each other, but mum told me that we'll be clearing dad’s office together. And I just wanted to let you know that I'm here for you no matter what, and I miss you terribly... I hope to see you then, but if you're not ready..." his voice cracked a bit, and that hurt you more than you expected. "If you're not ready, then you're not ready. I just hope you're getting through it...". The video ended and you were left with an emptiness in your heart, because only now you realized that along with losing his dad, Nicky also lost his sister. You were so engulfed in your own sorrow, that you didn't even think about it, cutting everything and everyone off... You instantly pressed the icon starting the video call and straightened yourself in the armchair.
He answered almost immediately. The video was choppy at his end, but you were still able to see that he was somewhere in the forest.
- Siema siostra! - you rarely saw him so excited, and you just couldn't help but laugh a bit. – Finally, rose from the dead? Shit. Sorry. - he realized what he said as soon as the words left his mouth, and if you heard it just a week ago, you would have had a full-blown panic attack, but now, still feeling the gentle touch on your lips, you were... fine.
- Figure of speech, I get it. - you gave him a faint smile, and he finally stopped walking. - And I am slowly getting through it... - you circled back to the last video you received from him.
- That's good to hear, good to hear... - he looked at the camera and smiled. - Where are you by the way? Mum was going crazy yesterday... - you sighed quietly. There was no sense in lying to him because he knew you far too well to believe you when you were bullshitting.
- I'm on base, but I'm... well... in hiding. You know since I'm not exactly supposed to be here. I have help though! And I'm actually eating! - he knew that there were periods when you had real troubles with that because he was usually the first one to notice when you weren't... He was a great older brother, even though you basically hated each other's guts when you were growing up, and it took a lot of time for you to get to the place you were now.
- My sister, a secret agent man... - he genuinely laughed, but didn't dig any deeper, even though you knew he knew you weren't saying the whole trough. - Wha... tr... eve... pl...
- Nicky, you're cutting out... - you tried to refresh the feed, but it looked like he was too deep in the forest to have good reception.
- Recep... it... - and the call dropped. You instantly got a message from him. "The reception is shit, sorry. It was good to see you. I'll call tomorrow evening, pinky promise."
You smiled and replied that it was good to see him too...
And now that your messages were taken care of, you got to the final beast, which was your emails... Again, there were a lot of condolences, but along with them, there were also a lot from your agent, about every single sale, and you couldn't believe how many of them he sent you... Usually, you were able to sell 4, maybe 6 paintings per month, but considering their usual prices, you were actually more than financially comfortable, but you just didn't care about that. And here there were... 80 paintings sold, almost all you had listed. You honestly couldn't believe it... Over 5 years of work sold in just two months. And then you realized what probably happened. Your dad's death was on the news... Since "Kazansky" wasn't exactly a popular last name, more people were finding you because of his death...
And that was enough to make your heart sink deeper into your chest.
In the last email, your agent mentioned that a gallery wanted to contact you regarding a possible exhibit, which under any other circumstances would have been amazing, but now everything was tainted, and you weren't even sure if you wanted to sell anything anymore... So instead of ordering paints and a small canvas, you put your phone down and reached for a journal that you had already memorized and started re-reading it with your knees under your chin; the unopened pack of almonds already forgotten.
Beau came back around noon, and as soon as he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks, the ones you didn't even notice for the last hour, he kneeled in front of you and after putting the tray with food on the desk, took the journal out of your hands, and forced you to look him in the eyes... Which opened the dam, and you started sobbing, finally allowing yourself to break down. You leaned forward and desperately reached for him, and he pulled you closer, allowing your arms to find their way around his body, and your face to hide in his neck...
- Shhh... Shhhh... It's ok, you're ok... - he whispered, slid his strong arms under you, and turned both of you around in such a way, that you were currently sitting on him, while he was sitting on the floor. - Can you tell me what happened? - he asked, not letting you go even for a second, and trying to soothe you by gently rubbing your back and swaying front and back, but you weren't ready to say anything just yet... Seeing you in this state was breaking his heart, and his chest actually ached, because the helplessness was turning into physical pain. He wanted, needed, to help you, but he couldn't do anything except just being there for you.
It took some time, but you eventually calmed down, and he rubbed the tears from your cheeks for the millionth time, but it was the first time you actually were aware that he was doing it...
- Did you know that I paint...? - you asked, your voice still shaky and quiet. He nodded and allowed you to explain. - I even have an agent. And I finally got through the emails from him. Over 250 of them to be exact... 3 per painting... One with all the offers, one with the winning bid, and one with confirmation of payment... Over 80 paintings sold in two months, because people heard my dad's last name on the news... - you started crying again, even the thought of it too heavy to bear alone. And fortunately, you didn't have to say anything more, because Beau understood what you meant.
- Would he blame you for being happy, or would he be proud of your success? - he asked quietly. Logically you knew that your dad would never want to see you the way you were now... All broken, overwhelmed by guilt, and unable to function... Especially if he knew that he was the reason you were like that. He would be ready to do anything just so you could be better... Except not dying...
Did you actually blame him for dying and leaving you alone?
Even thinking that scared you, because that was the last thing you wanted to do... You knew how much he suffered, you were there to witness all the pain, the guilt, the helplessness. You knew it wasn't his fault... But... That accusatory feeling somehow snaked its way into your brain and coiled around your grief unnoticed until now.
Logically you knew that it wasn't his fault, that he didn't choose it. For fucks sake, he fought till there was no hope left... He went through all the treatments, all procedures, and searched for international trials; he didn't just... give up. And yet... you couldn't help what you felt and that made you cry even harder because now you were getting angry at yourself, for even thinking like that. It wasn't rational, you knew that, but those emotions didn't want to just disappear.
- I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm talking about... - Beau whispered and hugged you even harder, almost crushing you in his arms.
- It's... It's not you... It's my fucking stupid brain. - you said in between sobs. - You're amazing... I'm... I don't deserve... - you couldn't even finish that sentence, because another wave pulled you under the surface and you lost the ability to think about anything coherent. There were just negative emotions festering in your head and you couldn't even let them out... You didn't even know how...
- Scream... - his voice managed to get through all the walls you were building up in real-time, and the meaning of it confused you enough, that for just a moment you came back to reality. You wanted to ask something along "what...?" but the word didn't manage to get through the giant ball in your throat - Scream. Just scream. As loud and as you can. - you were still confused, and Beau seemed to read your mind because he added. - There is no one in this part of the base, everyone is either eating or in training. Scream. - and that was enough...
At first, you struggled to get any sound out. Then it was strained and quiet, but after you took a deep breath and opened your mouth again, a full-blown, primal scream left your lungs. It was filled with anger, shame, guilt, blame... All the things that were stewing in your brain packaged not so neatly in one action.
You didn't even realize when you got out of his embrace, but you found yourself kneeling on the floor, screaming at it, as if was all its fault. You stayed like that until there were no more tears left, and no more voices in your brain, not even your own... You simply collapsed and Beau scooped you up again. You wanted to thank him, say anything, but your voice was long gone, and it would be a moment till it comes back.
You were exhausted, so you were more than grateful when he put you under the covers and kneeled, so your faces were on the same level. He wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, and you gently wrapped your fingers around his hand while it was still in contact with your skin, guided it to your lips and - without breaking eye contact - pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. You were ready to let go of him, but instead, he mirrored your actions by pulling both of your hands closer to him and pressing a soft kiss to your hand.
- I hate leaving you... - he whispered against your soft skin and closed his eyes, taking in both the sensation and your scent. - Go to sleep, babygirl... - there was that pet name again... In his mouth, it sounded so soft and full of something you weren't ready to name yet. You definitely didn't mind it, but you were never called that before, so getting used to it might take a moment.
He returned your hand close to your chest but didn't move until your breathing changed to a familiar pattern that showed up when you were asleep. He didn't want to leave when you were still conscious, because he was afraid you might start to spiral again... And considering how much energy the last hour took from you, he doubted you'll be awake when he'll finish working, which wasn't ideal because you haven't eaten today yet, but he knew forcing you to do so right now would not be good. But he still came back in around 10 minutes and brought a thermal mug full of tea with ginger and honey.
Beau was right because when he came back after a full day of working, you were still in the same position and nothing in the room changed. He took his thermal mug from where he left it, and gently cupped your face, trying to wake you up.
When you opened your eyes and he was the first thing you saw, you couldn't help but smile, for a short blissful moment forgetting about what happened earlier. He took your hand in his and placed it on a mug. You wanted to thank him, but your voice was lost, and the memory of what happened flooded back into your brain, and all the thoughts and emotions came back with it. You froze and he seemed to know exactly what was happening in your head.
He helped you sit up, unlocked the mug, gently guided it to your lips, and you took a first sip of a pleasantly hot tea. And then another one... The warmth of it mixed with honey soothed your throat, and you were finally able to say something.
- I'm sorry... - by his expression, you instantly realized that it was the wrong thing to say.
- You have nothing to apologize for. Everyone is grieving in different ways, and yours is not wrong. - he gave you the softest of smiles, and you leaned in a bit to press your foreheads together, a memory from today's morning slithering its way into your brain, but neither of you did anything more. That small gesture was more than enough, and it was comforting you in ways you couldn't even describe.
- I feel like I'm a burden... Like I only take and take from you... - you closed your eyes because it was the only way to break eye contact without putting space in between your foreheads.
- You could never be a burden to me, no matter what... - he whispered so quietly, that if you were just a bit further away, you wouldn't be able to hear it, but you did... And it sounded like something he was afraid to admit even in front of himself, not to mention you. You opened your eyes again, wanting to gaze into his, but they were closed. You wanted to ask why he said that, but you already knew the answer... And you definitely weren't ready to hear it from his mouth...
- It's Friday today, isn't it...? - you asked, and you felt him nodding. - And you're not working on weekends, correct?
- We can stay here, that won't be an issue. - he said, his voice more confident.
- That's not why I'm asking... Can... - you couldn't believe what you were about to say. - Can you take me to your place...? - his eyes shot open, and he leaned back in shock.
- God yes! - he answered with relief before you even finished asking the question. - Don't get me wrong, I enjoy having you here, but everything is... - before you realized what you were doing, you leaned in and kissed him, stopping his rant in its tracks.
Your hand instinctively found its way into his hair, while the other rested lightly on his shoulder. Suddenly you were aware of everything your body experienced... The rough material under your fingers, the smoothness of his hair, the warmth of his neck, the softness of his lips, so ready to invite you in… And you dove deep, without even thinking; chasing the sensation that was both new and familiar. Your heart was galloping faster and faster with every tender touch, the warmth in your chest turned into a roaring fire and your head was among the clouds because, with every breath you shared, you got higher and higher.
He was devouring you in ways you never thought possible, his hands pulling you closer by your hips. He was frantic and delicate at the same time as if he was restraining himself in fear of somehow hurting you, but you didn't want that... You wanted him to be real, to know who and what he was like under this hard shell he shared with the world, so you bit his lower lip and pulled on it gently, a soft smile blooming on your face. He responded with a low growl, followed your movements, and caught you in another kiss, this time more impatient, more hungry, more... messy... And you gave right in, allowing him to lead the dance your tongues shared until you were properly out of breath. But even after your lips parted, your skin was tingling all over, and there was that feeling in your stomach again, while so many colors flooded your brain.
- I need to ask you to do things for me more often... - you finally broke the silence, and he chuckled in response.
- Yeah, it was definitely worth the wait... - he was still kneeling on the floor in between your legs, and you didn't even realize when your ankles found their way around his thighs.
- How long have you been waiting for it... exactly...? - you asked in a joking matter, pressing your foreheads together again in search of the echo of that intimacy.
- I plead the 5th... - he laughed softly in response, but you knew one day he'll tell you everything, but now he was still afraid you would run away if you knew. - Fuck, I feel like a teenager again. - he moved one of his hands to your cheek and gently caressed your skin with his thumb, and you leaned into that touch.
- And I feel more like myself... - you put your hand over his, and moved it slowly, so you could press a soft kiss on his palm. - Can we go now...? - you asked, completely disregarding the fact that you were still wearing the clothes you’d slept in.
- We can. - he pressed a soft kiss to your lips; an echo of passion was still audible in his actions. It didn't take you long to get ready, because you didn't have a lot of things with you, and everything - including the things Beau got for you - fit into your bag. You had to change into your own pants, because you didn't want to walk outside in shorts, or much too big sweatpants, but you kept his gray t-shirt, throwing your dad's jacket over it. When you started searching for your shoes, Cyclone reached for them under the bed, where he left them that first night, he brought you here. But before you were able to put them on yourself, he gently pushed you to sit on the bed, put them on your feet, and laced them tightly for you. He also offered you his hand when he finished, to help you get up. Not that you needed help, but you enjoyed touching him in any way you could, and he seemed to feel the same way.
You wanted to hold his hand while you walked through the corridors, but you knew it would be seen as inappropriate, so you just put up the hood of the jacket and put on the aviators to make yourself less recognizable, although you seriously doubted that it would work if you encountered someone you knew. And fortunately, gods spared you that awkwardness because you hated lying.
You were a bit surprised when the car that reacted to his keys was Jeep Wrangler because you were expecting something more... classic. Not that you were complaining, it was just... unexpected, but considering how little you actually knew about him, you had a lot of catching up to do.
You wanted to curl up in the front seat, but you didn't want to put your shoes on the breathable material, so you sat there, feeling a little bit like a kid, but in a good way. You weren't exactly used to following rules, even the simplest ones, which was surprising to most people who knew your dad from the military.
As soon as you started voicing your opinions, you and Nicky were able to defend your point of view in front of your parents, and if your arguments were sound, you were able to proceed with whatever you had planned; they allowed you to make your own mistakes and learn from them just so you'd be prepared for the hardships of the real world. And even though they didn't always agree with your choices, they respected both of you enough not to force you onto a certain path they imagined for you.
And while your brother went into a more... conventional direction with software engineering and app development, you craved too much freedom for any typical career. And when you discovered painting... Well, everything else was history. You had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously at first, but after the 4th competition won, your father realized that it wasn't just a fluke, and there was a real possibility for you to achieve a lot, even though he didn’t completely understand it. In the end, he was the one who started doing research about fine art colleges, and internships before you were even done with high school. And when you had your first exhibit, he was the one who cheered you the loudest and invited all his friends from the navy, because he wanted to show off his little girl.
And then you realized something... You were able to think about your dad without going into a complete spiral for the first time in ages, and you couldn't help but smile. It was a small thing, but it meant that you were slowly getting back to normal, and that was something that gave you an unimaginable amount of peace.
- Do you want to swing by your house to get something? - Beau asked, and you had to think for a moment before replying.
- House no... - you finally said; you weren't ready to face whatever was waiting for you there. - But my studio... - you looked at him and he just nodded.
- What's the address? - you gave it to him, and he adjusted the route accordingly.
It didn't take you long to actually get there, but you were a little bit afraid to get out of the car and walk up three flights of stairs. And then you realized that you haven't even asked.
- Would it be ok if I painted at your house...? - your voice got almost completely drowned in traffic noises.
- You can do whatever you want in my house. - he replied with a soft smile, and he meant what he said. - Do you want me to come with you? - he wanted to help, but he didn't want to impose. You shook your head for no; you knew how your studio looked and you weren't ready to share that with him just yet, even though he already knew your life at the moment was messy. - If you'll change your mind, I'm here... - he hesitated for a short moment, but he eventually took your hand into his and brought it to his lips to place a small kiss on the back of it, and it gave you enough courage to face whatever was waiting for you upstairs.
You tried not to look around too much while grabbing your gym bag from the closet, because you were afraid that you might start to spiral again, but fortunately, you managed to avoid that. You packed a few more sets of underwear, a pair of shorts, and leggings. In a moment of boldness, you skipped shirts and t-shirts, because his gave you much more comfort than your own, and you were planning on continuing wearing them. You also packed your hair and face cosmetics, and that was it from necessities, but it wasn't everything you packed...
You also took a ceramic pot you used to brew your tea in, the tea itself, your favorite mug made by one of your friends, and a small cat figurine you didn't even plan on taking out of the bag when you were at his place because just the knowledge of having it with you was comforting.
Next, you took a big canvas bag and started throwing brushes, sponges, rollers, different types of paints and inks, primers, varnish, and all the other things you needed to paint and prepare a canvas. The last thing you took, were thin wooden slats you made frames out of, to stretch the canvas on, and the roll of the canvas itself; it was much easier to travel with it deconstructed, and you didn't know what size you'd need just yet. You quickly left your apartment without looking at everything too much, and you carefully walked down the stairs. When you opened the building doors, you saw Beau standing next to the car, ready to help, if you needed it. You didn't, but just looking at him made you smile.
He took your bags from you, put them in the back, and opened the door of the car for you, and before you knew it, you were crossing a border to the gated community he apparently lived in. All the houses here looked... new. And expensive. And not at all like something you were used to.
He eventually stopped in front of a big suburban house with a double garage door in front. It looked like it had at least four bedrooms, which was - again - surprising.
- Do you... live... alone? - you asked while the doors to the garage were opening, because you just assumed that he did, but you didn't know for sure.
- Yeah... - he sighed. - I know it's a giant house for one person, but I've bought it quite some time ago when I still hoped to start a family... Work kind of got in the way somewhere along the way. - he explained - I honestly admire your father for managing to... - he realized what he said, and his eyes instantly snapped to you in search of signs that something was wrong, but there were none.
- Honestly, it was rough... I remember I learn how to count by counting the nights he was away, and the highest I got was 303 when he was deployed. - you said quietly, a weak smile on your face. - When I was a kid, I always put him on a pedestal, but when I learned more about the world and wars... Well, let's just say that our relationship wasn't always perfect, and it took a lot of therapy to get us to... well... to get us where you saw us. - you explained quietly, leaving Beau a little bit speechless. Neither of you said anything when he was parking, but he helped you with your things.
It was weird, because on the one hand, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be, but on the other, you felt a bit like you were intruding, especially when he gave you a quick tour of his house. It was much more modern than you expected, and it lacked... him. As if someone else decorated the house to what they thought a bachelor would like. That was until you got to the main bedroom, and you instantly felt the warmth spilling in your chest.
The bed was massive with dark grey and navy sheets, but it wasn't the main feature of the room, because it was facing a wall filled with books from top to bottom, and the ceiling was high. You couldn't stop yourself from coming closer to check out the titles and run your fingers over the spines. You noticed that they were segregated by genre and in the genre - by the author's last name, which didn't surprise you. What surprised you was the fact that there were quite a few high fantasy books, which caught your attention, and when you turned around to ask, the words got stuck in your throat as soon as you laid your eyes on him.
Technically it wasn't anything special, because he looked exactly the same as he looked over the whole time you knew him, but something changed... He was still in his beige uniform, which shirt you buttoned up in the morning, and to which you attached his ribbons. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed on his chest, but his eyes and the way he looked at you... It almost made you blush because you never saw that expression on his face... The corners of his lips raised slightly in a gentle smile, cheeks just a bit higher, making those beautiful smile lines in the corners of his eyes, and the eyes... You instantly relaxed, and it was an involuntary reaction. Was it even possible to develop such strong feelings so quickly, or was it just a weird reaction to your grief? Will you ever be able to tell...?
- You can take anything you want... - he said, and something in his voice told you he didn't mean it just about books, but you left that as it was. Before you'd have that conversation, you will have to come to terms with whatever was happening in your own head. - I'm going to make dinner. - he said, but you stopped him with a gesture and walked closer to him.
You gently unpinned first the wings, then the ribbon rack, and he realized what you were doing; you were home... He wasn't supposed to be in uniform at home... Well, it wasn't forbidden, but he realized that you wanted him to leave the navy behind closed doors for the weekend, and somehow you managed you fit so many things into such a small gesture... That you wanted him to relax, that you wanted to know him better outside of work, that you were taking the exact amount of initiative you were ready for, that he wasn't forcing you into anything, that you were comfortable enough with him to know that even now, when you were slowly unbuttoning his shirt, he wouldn't assume anything. You were showing him that you trusted him without saying one word...
When you got to the lower buttons, you had to gently tug on the material to get it out from the inside of his trousers, and the movement caused his very subtle scent to surround you, which made you smile just a little.
Under the button-up, there was a white t-shirt. You very slowly slipped your hands under it, letting your fingers graze his skin and chest hair, while he was watching your every move with inhuman intensity. When the material rode up high enough, he helped you pull it over his head, but you were the one to take it off completely.
- How do you do this...? - you asked with your hands still on his chest. - How do you make me feel so safe and so calm...? - neither of you knew that, so the question hung unanswered and then he covered your hand with his.
- Does it matter...? - he eventually answered with another question, and after thinking for a moment you shook your head. - Then it doesn't matter, but I'm happy I can do that for you. - he moved your hand to his lips and place a soft kiss on it. - Would you mind if we ate in the garden today? I feel like grilling something... - it wasn't the warmest of days, but it was still the end of the summer, and there were always blankets. Plus - fresh air would do you good.
He went to the walk-in closet and quickly changed, while you were acutely studying everything that was in it. Which if you had to be honest - wasn't much and barely half of it was filled. But you still clocked one item that you instantly gravitated towards - an old gray hoodie with a washed-out naval academy logo. You run your fingers over the material and smiled. He said that you could take anything you wanted... So you did. You pulled it off the hanger and put it on. It was much softer on the inside than on the outside, the sleeves were too long, it reached halfway down your thighs and the hood covered your entire face... It was perfect.
Beau was the one who gently pulled the hood back, so you could see and for a brief moment, his hand rested on your cheek... He was so gentle with you, but you knew it wasn't because he was afraid that you would break; you were used to this type of behavior from different people, but he... He was just gentle. And soft. And warm... Without any specific reason.
You didn't even have to ask for a blanket, because he already had one prepared when you stepped onto the back porch. It wasn't anything special... Well, there was a currently covered pool, and a fire pit, but when it came to plants... there was almost nothing, and you felt a little bit disappointed, but that was your own fault because when he mentioned the garden, you were expecting at least a few trees and maybe a veggie patch... And some flowers... But that was your problem, not his. He was already kind enough to take you in.
Still wrapped in a thick blanket, you chose to sit on the swing with your knees curled up and a sketchbook in your hands, while he was preparing food a few meters away from you, and you honestly could get used to that... You were happy to just observe him, but after a few minutes a compulsion to draw won, so you cracked the spine of a brand-new sketchbook he bought for you and started sketching.
His face was already committed to your memory forever, so it wasn't hard for you to do a quick outline of the proportions, and after that you cleaned it a bit, looking at Beau from time to time, even though you didn't need to... But you wanted to... You slowly added more details, starting with hair, but they weren't neatly combed like they were now. You used the image from your head, from when he was in bed with you after taking a shower at night; they had much more volume and suited him more in your opinion. Next came the nose, which took you only a minute, but his lips... You spent so much time looking at them and thinking about them, that even the tiniest details were carved in your memory, and you took your time pouring them out on paper because you wanted to do them justice. And lastly - his eyes and everything around them... You had to close yours for a moment to recall and analyze the expression he looked at you with only half an hour ago...
Just as you were finishing, the smell of something cooking hit your nostrils, and you peeked at what he was doing. On a special plate on the grill, there were potatoes with some herbs, bell peppers, onions... And even though you couldn't see it, you could smell it, so you knew somewhere in there, there was also garlic and rosemary. As if he could feel your gaze on him, he turned around catching you in the act and looking at you with the exact same expression that was looking at you from your sketchbook.
You turned the page in his direction, but from his perspective, the light pencil was barely visible, so he came closer, and you passed the notebook to him, so he could take a closer look.
- That's not... - he started, but quickly stopped and thought about what he really meant. - I don't think I've ever seen myself looking like that... - it took him a moment to react.
- That's what I see when you look at me... - you simply shrugged and he shifted his gaze back to you, as if unsure what to say. There were a few minutes of silence before he spoke again, this time much quieter.
- Am I that obvious...? - his voice was almost a whisper as if he was afraid that anything louder would shatter the moment.
- It's... complicated. - you sighed. - And I promise we will talk about it, but I am not ready for that conversation yet, it's too soon. But I... - you hesitated. - I don't want to be anywhere but with you. For now, it will have to be enough, I'm sorry that I can't give you more... - the last part was barely audible.
- You have nothing to apologize for because you don't have to give me anything... - he passed the still-opened sketchbook back to you and you couldn't help but look at your drawing again. - And when you're ready - we will talk. - he didn't even have to say that he was more than ok with waiting, because you were definitely worth any wait. - But first - food. - you technically weren't even hungry, but you knew you should eat... And with Beau cooking, it would be extremely hard to say no without poking a hole in your bag of issues. Plus - logically you knew your body needed it, so you didn't protest when he brought you a dark blue plate with chicken and veggies cut to bite-size pieces even before cooking.
He sat on the swing next to you and very gently started moving it using just one of his legs.
- What's your favorite ice cream flavor? - you asked right after you swallowed the first piece of roasted potato and he looked at you with surprise, but as soon as he realized what you were doing, he shifted a bit, so now his body was facing you, and you did the same.
- Hazelnut... But it's followed closely by salted caramel. You? - he replied and now it was his turn to take a bite.
- Lemon sherbet with basil... - you usually had to make it on your own, because there weren't many companies that carried that specific flavor.
- That's a bit unusual... - he couldn't help but smile, but he wasn't even surprised, because nothing about you was usual. - What kind of music do you like? - this time he asked the question.
- Just... Music... It really depends on my mood. I have hundreds of playlists I've made over the years, so it would be hard for me to choose just one of them. - you took a small break to eat a few pieces of veggies. - Although I focus more on the song itself than on the creator. And sure, there are a few that I'd enjoy no matter what, like House of the Rising Sun or Work Song, but overall - my music taste is all over the place. - your throat still hurt a bit from the screaming earlier today, but not enough to stop you from talking.
- If you let me, I'd love to hear a few of your playlists. Do you have them on Apple Music? - he asked, and you chuckled.
- Spotify. We're an android house because of my lovely brother. - Beau was really easy to talk to and you found yourself wanting to do it more often, and since you were already in his house, it should be easy to do.
- Nicholas? - he made sure he remembered the name correctly, and you realized that you weren't even sure if the two of them ever met.
- Nick. Or Nicky... - you corrected, because your brother hated the full version of his name with a passion, and Beau only nodded once, acknowledging the change. - Do you have any siblings? - you couldn't help but ask and he sighed heavily.
- Yeaaahhhh... Four sisters. One older, and three younger. - you weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't this, and you almost choked.
- That's... - you didn't even know what to say.
- A lot? - he offered, and you nodded. - My father wanted another son after me and well... It didn't go according to plan. - he chuckled.
- Would you mind telling me a bit more about your family? - and he did. He started with his older sister and their rocky relationship due to their parents giving him more attention, and then he moved down, telling you about how he always felt responsible for the younger ones, how he played with them and braided their hair, and how he felt guilty leaving them behind when he joined the navy.
And you listened to his stories from childhood until your plate was empty, and when it was, you put it on the floor next to the swing, brought your knees to your chest, and just... listened. It was your turn to get to know him, since he had a substantial head start in that department, and you were happy to learn every little detail he was willing to share.
The sun was already hidden behind the horizon, and you couldn't help but look around the... so-called garden, and he immediately saw that someone was bugging you.
- What's wrong? - he asked quietly, reaching to touch you, and as soon as his fingers were on your calf, you moved closer to him and awkwardly turned around, draping the blanket over both of you. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer, happy to share some warmth with you.
- Nothing's wrong... - you said, and it wasn't a lie. - There are just a few things I miss, and when you said you had a garden... I just miss nature. - you didn't want to add why exactly you missed it, but to Beau - it was obvious. - It's so quiet here... We're outside, but there are no frogs, no bugs buzzing around, no crickets in the background, no nothing... Well, besides a few moths and mosquitos. - you could feel him chuckle behind you. - And please don't get it the wrong way, I'm extremely happy to be here with you, and it's just something I miss.
- It's ok... I understand what you mean. - he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. - It's... sterile, a blank canvas. - and that was exactly what you meant, so you couldn't help but look back at him. - I'm not spending much time here... Sure, it's my house, but it was decorated by someone else because I didn't have time to do it myself. I paid someone to design the backyard in such a way, that it wouldn't require much maintenance, because I knew I wouldn't have time to take care of it. I always imagined that one day it will change, but... - he didn't have to finish, because you knew what he was about to say... If not for your mother, your house would have white walls and barely any decorations.
- The bedroom... - you whispered, and it suddenly made sense. - You decorated it yourself, didn't you...? - you asked, but you already knew the answer even before he nodded. That’s why you felt so safe and comfortable there; the one room he actually took time to work on.
You yawned, the exhaustion from today finally catching up with you; you knew it would be a while before you'll be at full strength again, but you felt safe enough not to rush that process.
- Do you want to go to sleep...? - he asked quietly.
- Mhmmm... But shower first... - you mumbled in response, but you didn't move to get up just yet, which made him smile. He pressed his cheek against your head, a plan for tomorrow slowly taking shape in his head. It would take him a moment to prepare everything, but it will be worth it.
- Go then... I'll clean around here and join you when I'll finish. - and with a quiet groan you finally started moving. Still wrapped in the soft blanket that now smelled like smoke, you went upstairs to the bedroom, where all your things were.
His shower was abysmally giant, almost a completely separate room with a rain shower and a bench to sit on. He already prepared a set of soft, dark blue towels for you, which you put to good use. You also neatly placed your things on the side of the counter, so they would be within reach, but not in the way. Technically there were two sinks, one completely empty, but... it just didn't feel right.
You peeked out of the bathroom to see if he was already in the bedroom, but it was empty, so you felt more comfortable sneaking into his walk-in wardrobe in just a towel tightly wrapped around your body. You gravitated towards the back of the room, where the older, more worn things were, and you unceremoniously took a black t-shirt with the logo of a band you didn't recognize and put it on. It was so soft against your skin, that you closed your eyes, relishing that sensation.
Since he wasn't in the room just yet, you picked one of the titles from the high fantasy section and started reading it in bed, but the warmth from the shower, and the fact that everywhere you looked, you could feel him, made you doze off before you realized what was happening.
It took Beau over an hour to prepare everything for tomorrow; he even dug through the decoration boxes in the garage to find the fairy lights he usually used to decorate his nieces’ room whenever they visited. The food for tomorrow was already prepared in the fridge, and everything else he would need was already packed.
When he came into the bedroom, you were already asleep, curled around one of his books. He gently took it out of your hands, put it on the nightstand, and turned the lamp off, so the light wouldn't interfere with your sleep.
He took a very quick shower, taking notice of the small trail of things you left in the bathroom with a smile; you were in his house for just a few hours, and he already loved everything about it. It was like you were meant to be there like you fit perfectly into empty spaces in his life.
Curiosity won, and he couldn't help but smell and read the labels of the creams and other things you were using, so he'd be better prepared next time you needed anything like that.
When he finally lay in bed and turned the lights off, he couldn't help the quiet groan. It's not like the beds on base were unreasonably uncomfortable, but he missed his own, even if that meant you were a bit further away. He didn't want to wake you up or assume anything, but as soon as he let out that groan, you started to shift in your sleep. For a short moment, he was afraid he woke you up, but he didn't; you were still sound asleep. But that didn't stop you from shuffling under the giant duvet in search of something, and as soon as your hand blindly found his torso, you let out a deeper breath and pulled yourself even closer to his body, which resulted in a giant smile on his face... even subconsciously you wanted to be near him...
So, he wrapped his arms around you and finally closed his eyes. He wasn't ready to fall asleep just yet; it was too early for that for him, but he just wanted to enjoy that moment of vulnerability with you.
A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :)
Love,
G.
Hiei had never seen you so despondent after losing someone close to you and it put him on edge for a lot of reasons.
Firstly, it didn't matter how strong he was. He couldn't protect you from this pain.
He hated feeling useless. And more than anything, he hated to see you suffer.
You were his to protect and his to take care of. But this was something that was out of his hands.
Hiei wasn't a stranger to loss. He'd felt the sting of rejection from people he'd considered family, and even the ache of losing a comrade.
As much as he liked to claim he was above being affected by emotional ties, he knew very well how bad it could be and wished he could spare you the agony.
Comfort isn't Hiei's strong suit. He knew that he'd never be able to string together the words to make you feel better without sounding cold or detached.
The best he could do was remain close.
Physical affection was something he tended to avoid as well, but for you he would always be able to make an exception.
He slides under the covers with you and holds you tight against his chest, hoping that his arms provide at least a little solace from what you're feeling.
He lets you cry if you need and surprises even himself by pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead, not even realizing he'd done it until it was over.
Despite usually keeping his distance from others, he vows to stay at your side for as long as you need until you can stand on your own two feet again.
got this idea on father’s day but wrote it last night after reading a few too many sad quotes
It’d been a year since it happened.
A year since mother nature decided to be so indescribably cruel.
A year since his heart was torn out of his chest and shown to him; as a wailing bundle with a mop of black on her head.
She wailed; oh, she wailed so loudly, crying out for her mother. For a semblance of something akin to one. And it came in the form of sleeves from a tattered old band tee that cradled her with the most delicate hold, like she was coated with fragile stickers on every surface.
He’d stolen her tears from her, holding her close so that she didn’t have to cry, even when he did, wailing out for the same thing she had.
You didn’t come home that night. Or the day after.
He buried you out by the sea. Behind the hillside beach house you’d always dreamed of together. Where his family now came to visit, to help him care for his newborn as the single parent he’d never hoped to be.
He liked to sit on the porch with her when things got hard, in the rocking swing you used to love. He’d listen to the waves crash below like a symphony of memories of all the times he’d listened with you. The times spent hand-in-hand that he took for granted so easily.
All he had now was her. His baby, your baby that he loved so dearly in spite of what happened. He could never blame her, the remains of your heart stitched together with his that was still beating. She did nothing wrong, so pure and new yet already with such a heavy burden to bear.
She looked so much like him, but her eyes, they were yours. Every time they peered up at him through that innocent soul, that ocean of grief came back to claim him. She was yours. She was yours. You would never know how glad he was that despite your hopes that your baby would be born with his eyes that held the sea in them, she was born with yours.
As long as he was alive, she would be loved. And as long as he was alive, you would be too.
I don't think there is anything I can say that hasn't been said by others but I am truly heartbroken at this news. I can't imagine the pain his family, friends, and fellow members must be feeling. I hope his soul has found peace.
To fans, please take the time you need to grieve. Your feelings are valid. You are not alone.
They say grief is lingering. Like an infection or a parasite. Theres treatment for it, of course, if you’ve got the patience and the time to convalesce until you recover. And maybe it is for those lucky few with the privilege to experience it that way.
I’ve always thought of it differently.
Grief is a blitz attack from behind, the sudden feeling of being pounced upon and torn at. It’s the suddenness of teeth in your hand or arms, mauled with such swift decisive violence. You cry and scream and wail, terrified out of your mind.
But then it’s over.
For all the god awful things you were hit with, you survived.
But at what cost?
You have nightmares, you find tears streaming down your cheeks for no reason, you find that you’re at home in your bed but you don’t remember when you got there or what you’ve done all day. But the world keeps spinning, and you have to keep spinning too.
It hurts and it hurts and there’s nerve damage from the injury, but you don’t have time for physical therapy or pain meds. You have to go on. And in time the ache slowly eases, or at least you stop registering the pain. If you’re lucky you can remember what was lost with fondness, if you’re not then you learn to cope.
Grief isn’t a sickness, it’s a trauma and an injury. Just like you have to be kind to those with the flu, please remember to be kind as well to the people whose scar tissue is still on the mend and whose ghosts linger in their eyes.
I’m lost, Carl…I just wanted us to live in peace, but…everything I touch just turns to dust. I don’t know what to do anymore…all of my options are bad ones…no matter what I decide, I know there will be blood… I just wanted my people to be free…but instead, all I did was lead them to disaster…I’m trying to find answers, but everything around me keeps falling apart. What should I do, Carl? They’re killing us…I don’t wanna answer violence with violence, but what choice do I have?
I miss you, Carl…I miss you so much…
Screenshots from VGS
Related: Markus' Worst Regrets (also Kara's and Connor's, tw for Connor's especially but also gun violence in all)
Grief is a long, unoriginal story. Sometimes you’re sitting there, many months later, and remember that gap where the last thing you should have said is. The hole burning in the back of your mind, wind passing through in whispers of, “I should have said… I should have done…” Sometimes they’re not even dead yet, and the complex mourning process starts when you first realize your grandparents—parents will die. Maybe you panic at age 10, full of love for them, and try to figure out how to handle their inevitable death because you’re autistic and planning your emotions is how you stay in control when everything—everything is out of control. Sometimes you’re 32 and dream about talking to them once more before they die, long after you cut ties with them for pain they inflicted. How do you break down the hurt they caused, when they’re hurting too? Do you scream at their shadow as they pass? Do you hold their hand in their hospital room and try not to think about the fact that it’s just… not the hand they want to hold? And when the time comes, and you’re unwanted, do you say goodbye or just hold it in. Hold your tongue, like you did for worry of stressing a sick friend. You didn’t want to be a bother. They needed time to heal. So that hole is back, whispers slipping through, “I should have said… I should have done.” Who do you tell about being 10, so afraid to lose your grampa and your mom that you promise yourself that you’ll die first. Because that would be better, said the hole. Because you grow older still thinking you’ll never grow older. You’ll be gone—long gone before them. And maybe you’ve been sick the longest, so it just doesn’t make sense that it isn’t you yet. Sometimes they don’t believe in your illnesses, or gender, or skills, or love. Sometimes they believe in you with all their heart, and it still doesn’t keep them safe. I sent a Facebook message that went unanswered because I’m not wanted there. I sent an email that went unanswered because she had died the day before. Sometimes grief is so long you can’t write the story out in full. Sometimes it’s the same story as everyone else. Should have said, should have done. You have to stop before you listen too intently to the murmuring wind.
