#'and that makes her better than them for REASONS'

[everythingne]

Little Miss Wingwoman - LN4

With baby Verstappen-Piquet on the way, Penelope's nanny needs a place to move into as she becomes an almost full time employee of the family. No better place than Lando's spare bedroom, only a few floors down from her job, right?

warnings/notes: none particularly? this might be like five parts or two parts, im not sure yet :D!

Penelope's plan to get her two favorite people to fall in love begins to fall into place.

See, Penelope was smart. Kelly made sure she was creative and book smart while Max made sure she had the confidence to speak her mind. Penelope got all she wanted, within reason, spoiled just enough, worked for what she had to. Danced, played, sang, baked... she was kid, but she was smart. She could do it all herself if she wasn't a huge momma and daddy's girl. (Bonus-daddy's girl? She hadn't worked out the wording on that one yet.)

But, on the busy days, you visited.

Taking a summer gig to nanny in your last years of school, you didn't expect to be placed within the Verstappen-Piquet household. Two days in, you never wanted to leave, and Penelope--so so young back then, had refused to let you go. Now, a few years later, you traveled around with the family when needed. Most of the time, staying back to look over the apartment and the cats while they went around.

You were more so an extra set of hands for Kelly, someone who could run and get groceries before dinner, run Penelope to and from practices or accompany her to weekends with her father (the Kyvat's adored you as well), or someone who could stay back with Penelope for date nights or take her out for nights in.

After a few years of steady rhythm, everything was shaken up with baby Verstappen-Piquet on the horizon. A lot of changes needing to be made to prepare for the child, especially the further along Kelly was getting--appointments and classes and errands. A set of helping hands, especially when Max had to go off for work, was almost necessary.

But it was impossible to find apartments in Monaco on your budget. And with the spare room you had been using turning to a nursery for the little bugger coming along, you didn't have the luxury of sleeping in your employers home much longer.

And so, the hunt began.

Penelope had heard the news from Max, offhandedly mentioning it to Daniel during a padel game. The Australian didn't have space for you, as much as he'd grown to love your presence. A week later, he'd run into Charles while out getting dinner with P, and asked if he or Alexandra knew anywhere while Penelope pretended to be distracted by Leo. A week after that, Kelly had gone out to lunch with a bunch of her friends in the and discussed it openly.

A month in, Lando visited to watch Penelope while Kelly and Max went off to a doctor's appointment. Usually, you would stop by, but you were off on an early holiday vacation with family. The way Lando joked with Max, the easy smile on his lips, the awkward stumbles and laughter through his words... it was just like you could be.

Then, when Max asks, Lando mentions having a spare room he'd have to clean out. And the way Lando smiles when Penelope makes her way over to give him a hug, promising Max he'll keep her in line while the two of them are gone makes an idea flare in Penelope's head.

Lando needed a roommate, and you needed a place to stay. So, obviously, you were an absolutely perfect pair, right? It wasn't a new idea to her, you and Lando had met a few times over the course of the years you'd watched her. Mainly for short moments at whatever grand prix she'd begged you to come to, and the two of you seemed to get along...

And, she thinks you're both single. So, Penelope enacted stage one of her master wing(wo)man plan: getting you to move in with Lando.

While Penelope was scheming, browsing through YouTube for videos full of cutesy RomCom ideas, Lando was saying goodbye to Max and Kelly--wishing them luck, and then shutting the door behind him. He made quick work of sneaking a popcorn bag out of his backpack, popping it in the microwave while he scrolled through the countless movies on their smart TV--finding the perfect one for Penelope to watch.

The girl was engrossed, headphones shoved over her ears, watching a 'my top ten romantic moments in movies' compilation, but the smell of buttery goodness made her lift her head.

Lando smiles, holding out a bowl for her, "Too busy watching that for some old fashioned Disney?"

Glancing to the screen, Frozen 2 was paused on the opening screen, and Penelope tutted, "This came out in 2019."

"But thats like forever ago. Were you even born yet?" Lando smirks and Penelope takes the bowl from him with a scowl, but obliges to sit next to him on the couch, putting her iPad away for now, as Lando started the movie up.

But as Elsa is working to tame the Nøkk, Penelope lets out a soft sigh. Popcorn gone, and interest ruined. She wants to get back to studying. She has all winter break to make this love story happen, and with Lando and Max possibly going back for testing as early as January 3rd, she needs to act fast.

Lando glances over from where he's been idly answering emails between watching the movie, his own bowl empty. Penelope pouts while watching the movie, and he hums, looking at her.

"You're not even watching the coolest scene," Lando chimed softly, remembering the countless times little Mila would screech at the TV when she was really young. Penelope just huffed again, and he found himself curiously laying his head on his palm, "isn't this your favorite part?"

"No." Penelope deadpans, sighing again and dramatically slides off the couch onto her back and groans. She knows its a bit overkill, but its also Lando. He was a bit dramatic too. Penelope ends up closing her eyes for more drama as Sassy jumps off the couch and sniffs her head before trying to sneak a bite of corn kernels.

Lando reaches out and waves Sassy away, earning him a hiss and a sulk from the bengal as she stalks off to a far corner in the room. He slides the rest of his way out of the chair, hovering by Penelope's side before asking softly,

"What'sa matter, P?"

Penelope blinks open one eye at his approach, muttering, "The horse thing is Yn's favorite part of the movie."

"Yn?" Lando pops down on the floor next to her, pausing the movie on the TV, "is she one of your friends from dance?

"No, Yn is my nanny." Penelope sits up, a mischievous thought entering her mind, "but she doesn't have a place to live, so she's not my nanny now. Because she can't live in Monaco."

"Oh, that's a shame. D'ya miss her?" Lando asks softly and Penelope nods, leaning over to grab her iPad, pulling up a photo of the two of them squished together into the camera. Lando's smile tells Penelope all she needs to know, obviously he's totally in love with her, that's why he's grinning like that.

"That's a cute photo, P." Lando says. Jackpot. Shifting to lay on his stomach, Lando shuts his laptop on the couch and Penelope spends the rest of their three hour time talking non-stop about you to Lando. Practically making you sound like a damn angel rebirthed onto this Earth, shoving photos of you in his face, giggling like a mad man whenever he asks a question.

Penelope makes sure to have him follow your Instagram, grinning like a madwoman when he agrees to do so. When Max and Kelly come back, Lando stays for dinner, where Kelly informs Penelope you'll be visiting for a few days to do some apartment hunting.

Max seems to remember Lando lives alone and asks once more.

"I could clean the room out if she needs it," Lando says a bit more enthusiastically now. Penelope pats herself on the back as he says, "When Yn gets here, she can come over and take a look--just, just--just remind me to clean up. It's a bit messy."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from you, mate." Max grins and Lando sheepishly tries to defend himself while Kelly watches with a small smile, looking over to where Penelope eagerly grins.

A few days later, you fly in to Monaco. When the Verstappen-Piquet family stops by to visit, you greet them with tight hugs. Maneuvering around your big suitcase laying on the floor, you surprise Max and Kelly with a gift of a few baby items as well as some other much needed items for the couple. Namely, a gift card to Penelope's favorite store, which Max prompty hands back to you with the words, "she'd prefer shopping with her older 'sister'" tossed over his shoulder. The two don't stay long, having a flight to catch to the FIA Awards ceremony. So, Penelope stays in your hotel room while Max and Kelly go off, and you give her free reign to do whatever she wishes.

It only takes about ten minutes into you two being alone for Penelope to ask about the apartment search, almost bursting at the seams with a sense of excitement thats rare--even for her.

"Who told you that?" You spin around to poke your head out of the doorway, hands on your hips. You've spent the last twenty minutes trying to organize the tiny bathroom counter to fit most of your cosmetics and other items for the next few weeks you'd be staying here.

"I heard Maxie talking about it." Penelope looks up with big eyes, emphasizing her sad tone, "You aren't gonna live with us anymore?"

Sighing softly, you make your way across the room, sitting down next to a pouting Penelope on the bed, snatching her bottom lip between your fingers and lightly pulling it to make her giggle and roll away as you call, "keep your mouth like that and your face will freeze there forever!"

"It's gonna stay like this because I'm mad!" She groans, forcing back her smile and giggles, and sitting up and crossing her arms. Now overkill pouting to get her point across, "You aren't gonna live with me!"

"P, I don't fit in your place anymore." You sigh softly, laying across the bed and holding out an arm so the child can crawl over to lay against your side, "we gotta make room for the baby."

"We have to change everything for the baby!" Comes the sharp reply you were expecting. Max had warned you Penelope seemed a little snippy recently. While excited to have a little brother or sister, it was obvious Penelope was also feeling left out.

"Penelope," You soothe, rolling onto your side to prop your head up on a hand, "babies are a big change and unlike you and me, they can't take care of themselves. That's why your Momma and Max have to do all these classes, and appointments and everything. They've gotta make sure they're ready for the little thing."

"But the baby isn't even here yet and it's ruining everything!" Penelope laments, curling into your side, "Momma doesn't play anymore, Max is always busy moving stuff around, we haven't even had a movie night recently because Momma's been so tired!"

"I'm sorry, baby." You sigh. Totally unknowingly feeding right into Penelope's carefully laid trap, "you're allowed to be upset, but you have to also understand this is what has to happen."

"Will it go back to normal when the baby gets here?" Penelope looks up and you give her a little shrug, running a hand through her hair,

"Not for a while, baby."

"Can we go back to normal? Even if you don't live with us anymore?" Penelope sits up now, dragging you to join her and you smile, lifting her up to sit right on your lap as you fix up her unruly hair--another sign of Kelly's growing baby bump, the lack of Penelope hair-dos.

"We'll always be the same, and I'm looking at staying nearby. It'll be an adjustment but it won't be awful." You smile, tucking her hair up into a braid, securing it with a little bow at the end, "Wanna go get something to eat? Max gave me back the babysitting allowance card..."

Hook. Line. Sinker.

"Please!" Penelope gasps, standing up off your lap and jumping off the bed to grab her bag. A little stuffed cat Jelly Cat bag you think hearing Lando had snagged on a trip recently for the little girl. It's cute, and Penelope smiles when she sees you eyeing it.

"Lando got me this!" She proudly exclaims, holding it up as you slip on your shoes.

"Yeah?" You ask, walking to the door as Penelope bounces behind you, grinning wide enough her cheeks puff up, "you two seem to get along."

"He's really cool! You guys could be friends," Penelope laments, dragging you out of the hotel room once you have your shoes, jacket, and purse securely fastened for her little rollercoaster of a personality, "He thinks you're pretty."

Which, isn't exactly true, but it makes your face warm enough for Penelope as you step into the chilly air.

"Well, thats very kind of him," is your reply as you turn towards the coastline, hosting Penelope up into your arms so you don't have to worry about the curious five year old scurrying off.

You end up at one of Penelope's favorites, Costadoro Social. The place is downright adorable, and you manage to snag a window table. While you order, Penelope gets out only the best pages from her sticker book for the both of you to put together. Once you're both settled in, sandwiches and drinks (yours a coffee and hers a hot chocolate), the crowd mills out of the building. Leaving you and a somewhat familiar couple off in a corner, a third chair at their table yanked out like it's expecting someone to swing by.

As you two start on some winter scene in this very exact ticker book, Penelope rattles off countless stories to you about the weekend in Abu Dhabi. When she gasps, asking to show you the stickers she gave to Lando, you notice the curly headed man at the other table peeks over before turning to his girlfriend to ask something.

She shrugs, and the bell dings on the entry door. The woman behind the counter cheerily greeting the newcomer as you look down to where Penelope proudly shows you a picture Kelly had taken with her and Lando, showing off his stickers.

"They made him go fast and win," Penelope happily says, settling back in her seat. You nod, of course it was the stickers. Not because Lando was a professional, but Penelope looks smug like she'd been the reason for the McLaren WCC, so you let it slide. It's cute.

A Laufey cover of 'I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm' begins to play as you pull out your phone to show Penelope your mothers cats back home, as well as some other photos of the short trip back home.

The man at the table stands, walking over, and the motion catches Penelope's watchful eye as the two men give a short hug to one another--wishing happy holidays. You set your phone down, looking over as you sip your drink, and the dimpled smile of one of the men catches your eye.

He's cute.

He turns, as if feeling your gaze, and before you can jerk back he grins widely, "Hey Pen!"

"Lando!" Penelope squeaks, wiggling out of her chair and bounding over to give him a hug. The two share quick pleasantries and an introduction to Lando's friends--Max and Pietra, before Penelope gasps and runs over to you, "Lando, it's Yn!"

You stand at the mention of your name, hustling over with a sheepish smile as Penelope grabs your hand and drags you over like she'll die if she doesn't get the chance to.

"Hi," you squeak, shaking his awaiting hand, "It's nice to meet you, Penelope talks about you a lot."

His cheeks are rosy as you shake his hand, and a tiny grin pokes at Lando's lips as he nods, "she talks about you a lot, too."

"I told you she was pretty!" Penelope chimes, making Max nearly snort out his coffee while Pietra laughs softly. You and Lando are a bit closer to mortified at Penelope's insistence, and you manage to get her to say goodbye so the group can enjoy their lunch together since she does have dance rehearsal soon.

About two hours or so later, you get back to Max and Kelly's post rehearsal. And while Penelope curls up all about tuckered out from running amuck down the shopping districts, learning new ballet moves, and endlessly mentioning Lando like a lovesick teenager, you pull up your phone and scroll through your feed as Penelope fights off a nap.

It's due time for an Instagram post anyways.

liked by maxverstappen, kellypiquet, landonorris, and others...

yourusername: back home for the holidays <3

kellypiquet: the absolute best!

user: YESS YN AND PENELOPE CONTENT WILL RETURN

user2: omg that DRESS i need

⤷ yourusername: its an innika choo dress but im not sure if they're even open anymore :( kelly got it for me for my birthday last yr!!

⤷ user2: OMG THANK U ill keep an eye out!!!

maxverstappen: so thats why theres beads all over the carpet?

⤷ yourusername: i wasnt the cat who decided to try and eat them (jimmy)

⤷ maxverstappen: unsurprising

lilymhe: omg !!! we need to meet up! alex and i have been dying to update you on The Lore

⤷ yourusername: please!! ive been dying to see you guys again :(!!

user3: SO CUTE!!

user4: i would die to be living ur life yn

landonorris: penelope seems to keep you busy

⤷ yourusername: you saw her shenanigans today, it only gets worse

⤷ alexalbon: lando what r u doing

⤷ landonorris: ???????

⤷ maxverstappen: 👁️

⤷ landonorris: ???!!!!

You're halfway through helping Penelope with wrapping a christmas present for her dance teacher when Max knocks on the doorway. You turn around, standing when he beckons you over.

"How's Kelly?" You ask softly, knowing she's trying to sleep off a bout of morning sickness. Max shrugs, sipping his Red Bull.

"A bit ill, but she seems to be getting better. Penelope's fine?"

You nod, looking back as Penelope crosses her arms and scowls at all the options for the bow she could put on the bag.

"Lando's cleaned his apartment, finally," Max watches Penelope with a soft look, before turning to you and leaning on the wall with a tired yawn. He's still adjusting from the season, and the early sun dipping behind the buildings wasn't helping his sleep cycle.

"You should go over, take a little tour." Max hums, "You deserve a break from watching P all day."

"It's quite literally what you pay me to do, Max." You laugh softly, but with a few more pushes of insistence you finally agree. He shoots Lando a text to let him know you're on your way down as you grab a pair of Uggs you wear indoors, and your keys so you don't get locked out.

The elevator ride down is short, and you walk into the warm hallway to see Lando down the hall peeking out. He smiles at your approach and holds open the door for you.

"Nice to see you again," He chimes as you enter. It's been about a week since you've seen him, now teetering close to Christmas, and you smile at him.

"Nice to see you too, Lando." You hum, and he brings you to the spare room. It's spacious, with a big window that looks over the entire Monaco bay. You're drawn to it like a moth to a flame, it's perfect. Everything you could've dreamed of and more. Lando makes sure to show you the ensuite bathroom and large closet.

Everything feels too good to be true, so you quickly ask, "How much would you want me to pay you in rent?"

"Rent?" Lando pauses in the kitchen where he'd offered to get you a soda from his sparse fridge. He shakes his head, leaning on the counter and taking a sip of his water bottle, "Max told me your budgets quite small. I figured I could pay rent and you could pay like... utility?"

"That's gotta be like a quarter of what you pay for this place, Lando. I have a good amount saved up!" You protest and he shakes his head, a tiny smile on his lips.

"Listen, you're honestly doing me a favor. You probably know how to make a house a proper functioning home. I barely know how to not burn leftovers when I reheat them." He chides himself and you break into a tiny laugh, missing the way his face gets rosy at your giggles, "I need a bit of help making this place look... homey. And Max told me you'd be good at that."

"So I'm helping you learn to adult to pay my rent?" You ask and your bluntness makes Lando flush as he rubs the back of his neck and looks down with a shrug.

"If that's okay..?"

"I mean... I'd like to pay, but if you wanna do it this way, fine... But if I end up staying here for a long time, you have to let me help with rent." You hold a hand out like this will seal the deal and Lando grins, his embarrassment forgotten as he darts over to happily shake your hand. You try to ignore how warm his hands are against your cold ones.

"Welcome home, then--oh! I have a spare key for you!" He tries to flash you a charming smile, but the excited expression taking over just makes his face go through far too many expressions in a row. You can't help but laugh, looking around the bare but clearly well loved apartment.

It could use some work, sure, but thats your job now... you suppose.

general tag (open!)

@d3kstar @justalittlejess (jess ur on here now enjoy LMAO)

series specific tag (open!)

@nikfigueiredo

[ceilidho]

fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 5 masterlist

-

The day starts poorly and ends worse.

You sit with Gaz’s words all night and decide by morning’s first light that it is worth worrying about them after all. But for a different reason. The worry you settle on is that your deteriorating mind is now giving you warning signals of troubles to come, manifested in the form of an astronaut outside of the ship. A messenger; a harbinger. 

Breakfast is cold coffee over bit fingernails. You pull at a hangnail until it tears and pain zips up your finger, blood welling up under the split skin. Since you take your coffee in the medical unit these days, bandages and disinfectant are always within reach, meaning your fingers are always wrapped in them. Pigs in blankets. 

You make your way across the ship when morning briefing comes, fingers throbbing by your sides. 

Farah watches you from the other side of the cockpit during the briefing, her gaze inscrutable as ever. It takes a conscious effort not to shake under her stare. You’re not sure what she’s looking for, but whatever it is, it can’t be good. 

In the background, Graves drones on about something that doesn’t penetrate through the thick miasma of your thoughts. It goes on for entirely too long. When he dismisses you all for the day, you stand up on crooked legs and hope they don’t buckle under you on the walk back to the medical unit. Farah’s eyes follow you until the door shuts behind you.  

You make another coffee instead of getting started on your tasks for the day. Your research can wait. That’s what you tell yourself at least, nails tapping against the metal table while the coffee machine spurts out your drink in a short, violent burst. A thin, reedy hiss. No instant crystals this time. It tastes almost burnt when you bring it to your lips. 

The mundanity of work pales in comparison to the events rapidly unfolding before your eyes. Are you sick or well? Is the man outside the ship real or not? Surely not, you tell yourself, pulse picking up again. You know better than that. Occam’s razor: the simplest explanation is most likely the correct one. 

It’s just that you don’t like where your mind is going with this one. 

The alarm goes off when your head is bent over the microscope, the sound so sudden and jarring that you nearly tumble right off your stool. It blares a piercing shriek through the medical unit and the hall outside, so loud that you cup your hands over your ears to hear yourself think. The stool clatters to the ground when you hurriedly slide off, heading towards the door. 

You stumble into the hallway to find it flooded in red light, pulsating in steady intervals for any deaf crew members. It guides you like a beacon down the hall towards the cockpit. Standard protocol is to head to either extremity of the ship, lifepods stored at both the front and back of the ship in case of an emergency. 

The others are already in the cockpit by the time you arrive. Claustrophobia sets in when the doors slide shut behind you, the room smaller with everyone packed inside at the same time. 

You feel someone’s eyes flick towards you before flitting away in the same second. Accounted for and disregarded. Hardly meriting any attention when the alarm blaring overhead is a far more pressing concern. 

Graves punches a button. “Ship, what’s the situation?” 

Micrometeoroid impact 

Damage sustained to starboard quarter

“Some of the photovoltaic cells are cracked,” Alex says, checking the status of the ship on another computer screen. “We have replacements though—could be worse.”

“Could be a lot fuckin’ better too,” Graves grumbles, forehead already pinched. 

Despite not being an engineer or astrophysicist, you’ve gone on enough interplanetary voyages to understand the implications of damaging the photovoltaic solar panels. Much of the electronics on board rely on the electricity derived from sunlight; this particular ship, designed only to venture as far as Jupiter, isn’t equipped with an alternative power source. 

“Should I engage the Canadarm to fix the damaged panel?” Alex asks from his perch.

Graves shakes his head. “We need to preserve as much power as possible while the cruise control is still out. It’ll have to be fixed manually.” With that said, he flips a switch to shut off the droning alarm, though the lights overhead stay red.

You flinch when the chief engineer slaps his hands down on his thighs, the sound jolting you out of your spiralling thoughts.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” he sighs, mock aggrieved. “I fix like usual. No problem.”

“Nothing different than what we trained for.”

“Easy peasy,” he confirms, an easy smile on his face. 

“Okay, Nikolai, suit up—I’ll guide you from the cockpit,” Graves instructs, shifting into a mode you’ve never seen before. “Hadir, there’s a replacement panel in section seven in the cargo hold—get it and bring it back now. Nikolai’s going to have to fix it from the outside.”

The terror that lances through you when Graves says that is immediate and sharp. You know nothing’s out there, but the fear response is as real as if something were. 

It’s an unwarranted response, fueled by paranoia and delusion. This is a scenario the crew has prepared for back on Earth a multitude of times. They wouldn’t have been given clearance to leave the planet without having run through every potential complication and calamity. There are strict regulations to follow, protocols and standards to ensure that nothing comes as a surprise. 

But still—

Your chest is tight. Heart pounding against your ribcage so hard that you wince. There’s no one outside the ship but still you can’t help but think that opening the doors might let it in. 

When Nikolai leaves to suit up for the spacewalk, you trail after him, following Farah’s lead. You didn’t notice that Hadir had already departed, but his absence is glaring on the walk towards the airlock. 

“Smile a little, Farah,” Nikolai says, poking fun at the eternally stern woman keeping pace with him. “It’s good to have some excitement around here.”

“I’m not a fan of excitement,” she responds, voice terse. He laughs at her words, the booming sound echoing through the corridor.

You watch helplessly as Nikolai gears up, Farah helping him lock the helmet into his suit, doing a quick, final inspection of the glass to ensure that there aren’t any cracks or scratches. 

The glass of Nikolai’s visor glints opalescent under the station lights, the glass infused with low-grade aerogel to protect from interplanetary radiation and solar winds. Packets of higher grade aerogel are stuffed into the lining of his suit, protecting the rest of his body as well. 

Hadir returns not long after with all of the requisite parts needed for the repair neatly stored in a rectangular container that attaches securely to the front of Nikolai’s suit, leaving his hands free. The three move in synchrony, a finely-tuned dance practiced repeatedly in the months leading up to the launch. 

You keep to the wall in order to avoid getting in the way. 

The first door leading into the airlock is opened when Nikolai finally gives Farah the word, their checklist run through twice before being met with approval. 

Nikolai deliberately turns away from the door when the airlock door shuts behind him and the chamber begins to depressurize. You wince sympathetically when you notice his shoulders tense. The oxygen in his tanks is specially designed to purge the nitrogen from his blood, but under better conditions, he would’ve spent closer to an hour prebreathing in order to transition from high to low pressure. 

He only gets a few minutes to adjust. When his allotted time expires, the second pair of doors slide open—the last partition between the inner and outer world—and Nikolai takes his first step towards the darkness of space. 

You can’t watch after that. Instead, you hurry back to the cockpit, jaw so tight that it aches. 

Graves looks up when you enter, but otherwise doesn’t say a word to you. Alex flashes you a brief, tense grin. The first couple of minutes of any space walk are always nerve wracking, despite the reassurance of preparation and all times before. There’s an inherent anxiety in seeing the human body go out into the cold vastness of space. 

“Nikolai—you copy?” Graves asks through the transmitter.

The receiver crackles. “Loud and clear, boss,” he rumbles, accent thick even over radio waves. 

A shadow of a smile flits over Graves’ face, the tension in the room briefly relieved. Even your shoulders lower at the sound of his voice. 

“You sound better like this,” Graves teases. “Less nasally.”

“I’ll ask your mum the next time she calls,” Nikolai rebuts, a similar teasing sneer in his voice. 

“Asshole,” Graves laughs, keeping his finger on the button the whole time. 

The camaraderie would usually make your heart ache. Not today though. There’s no space for anything other than worry. 

“Proceeding towards starboard,” Nikolai says, narrating his movements for the benefit of those on board.

There aren’t any cameras on the outside of the ship, meaning the crew can only communicate with the man via audio. On a newer spacecraft that might not be the case, but this ship is old, a relic of times past, her maiden voyage predating the addition of exterior cameras. 

You wait in the cockpit with Alex and Graves while Nikolai repairs the panel outside, nerves shot. A half hour passes by without thought. You dig your nails into the palm of your hands and wait it out, each minute feeling eternal, elongated somehow. Every so often, the receiver crackles and Nikolai gives an update on his work. Each time, the crackle makes you flinch. 

Despite the unease churning in your stomach, the amount of time isn’t suspect; you know he has to disconnect and remove the damaged panel section before installing a replacement panel.

Yet, you can’t quite shake the nausea building in your stomach. The way it cramps and flutters. 

At some point during the wait, Farah slips into the room, and you only notice her when you twist your head from side to side to stretch out the muscles in your neck and find her leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed tight over her chest. 

For someone who has most certainly monitored and participated on spacewalks before, you’re surprised to find her just as anxious as you, albeit better at concealing it. You’d have thought of all people, she’d be the most comfortable. Instead, her eyes stare sightlessly at the flight deck window, finger tapping against her elbow; a nervous twitch. 

The receiver crackles again. “Panel secure. Heading back n—” 

Both Graves and Alex sit up straighter, staring down at the receiver as if anticipating the rest of the sentence. It never comes. You feel a sweat break on the back of your neck. 

Graves presses a button. “Nikolai, we didn’t catch that. Say again.” 

He’s met with a deeper, more prolonged silence. 

“Nikolai?” Graves repeats into the mic, his voice broadcast over the intercom system throughout the ship. “Nikolai, do you copy?”

Silence. Nikolai’s transmitter crackles in response, as if his finger were on the button, but his voice never follows. 

“Kolya?” Graves asks, and you can hear the sliver of desperation, the worry couched in professional concern. You’ve never heard him use that name before. 

Another minute goes by without a response. The tension is thick in the air. 

The sound of the door to the cockpit opening cuts through the air and you turn to watch as Farah leaves without a word. Again, puppyish, you follow after her. You’re not sure why. Her back is ramrod straight as she marches down the hall, tension rippling down her shoulders. She doesn’t acknowledge your presence as you make your way down the corridor together. 

The two of you stare out the first porthole for some time before proceeding to the airlock further down the hall. No sign of Nikolai. Graves’ voice crackles over the intercom, keeping the crew dispersed throughout the ship abreast of any sign of Nikolai. 

“I’m going out,” Farah abruptly announces, punching in the code for the second spacesuit locker. 

“Huh?” you ask dumbly, watching as she rips the zipper down the length of the suit to open it and starts to tug it out of the locker. 

“I’m going to check on him,” she repeats, enunciating each individual word as if you didn’t hear her the first time. 

“Is that—is that a good idea? Shouldn’t you consult the commander before—”

It isn’t your place to question her, but an instinct deep inside of you says don’t go out there, don’t go out. What’s out there should stay out there. 

“This is my job, doctor,” she cuts you off, finally wrenching the second suit out of the locker and jamming her leg into the lower torso component. “I don’t tell you how to do your job and you certainly don’t tell me how to do mine—”

Then, somehow, you both see it at the same time. A hand pressed flat to the airlock window, the fingers spread wide. The body attached to it must still be hanging off the side of the ship because you don’t see the rest of him, just a palm open wide on the far edge of the window. And though Farah breathes thank fuck, Kolya under her breath—the most relieved you’ve ever heard her—your stomach cramps and your palms grow clammy. 

The spacesuit she’d been about to step into falls to the floor in a heap. From the corner of your eye, you see Farah reach for the airlock lever to open the door, and your hand instinctively goes up as well, your fingers closing around her wrist to hold her in place. 

“Wait.” It’s your voice but not your voice. It’s your fingers around her wrist though, staying her hand. It’s your stomach cramped up in a Gordian knot, bile at the back of your throat because this is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong. 

She wrenches her wrist out of your grasp with more strength than you anticipated, pulling down the lever in the next breath. The look she sends you as the exterior door slides open is scathing.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, her repressed fury coming to life. You can feel it now coming off her in waves—the days of doubt and mistrust, so unsettled by your actions to the point that now she snarls at you without a second thought. 

Your lips part but nothing comes out. No way to explain yourself, just the gut feeling of something terribly wrong. 

All you can do is watch as the first set of doors open to the blackness of space, your body frozen where you stand, heart in your throat. The hand briefly disappears from the window just to reappear a second later, gripping the side of the door to haul himself inside. His movements are slow and deliberate, hampered by the lack of gravity. 

You notice the glaring issue almost immediately, but your throat is far too dry for you to speak. You wonder if Farah has noticed it as well. The man in the spacesuit taking his first step into the airlock is leaner than the man who left. Shorter too. Not the bear of a man that stepped out just an hour ago, but someone new. Someone that now flips the switch on the interior wall to shut the door behind him, which it does noiselessly. 

“Farah,” you whisper uncertainly. She doesn’t respond. You wish you could turn your head to look at her, but you can’t rip your eyes off the man in the airlock. 

You wait with baited breath for the airlock to repressurize the first chamber. It takes as long as it did to depressurize in the first place, an agonizing handful of minutes that you can only spend staring at the man standing in the middle of the chamber, his visor still tilted too low for you to make out his face. 

But you know, don’t you? 

With a door separating the two of you, the sound never actually reaches your ears, but you swear you can almost hear the hiss of his helmet unlocking. You’re sweating hard now, heart racing in your chest and still you blink twice, hoping that the man behind the glass will suddenly disappear or suddenly grow in size. 

The man reaches two gloves hands up to twist the helmet out of its locked position and then slowly pulls it off, revealing a face that you’ve become familiar with these past few days. Dark skin and a high fade. A scar high on his cheekbone, the wound long healed. 

“Farah,” you say again, and your voice cracks this time. Beside you, you hear her let out a shuddering breath. 

Through the glass, he smiles at you, full lips pulling apart to expose a row of gleaming white teeth. He waves a thick-fingered, gloved hand and mouths your name.

[thegayallen]

Also, some people are no contact with their parent(s).

Let’s normalize not pressing further when someone says, “I’m not in contact with my bio parent(s).”

Because I stopped bothering with the verbal dance of trying to gently explain, “There was the time my bio mom tried to murder me and all the child abuse.”

Now I just say, “I’m not doing the back and forth of me trying to justify my decision. I’m done with ‘x, y, z on their own isn’t a good reason’. If those reasons weren’t good enough, she tried to murder me. The back and forth always ends in me having to explain my bio mom trying to drown me because I as a toddler splashed in the tube. Would you have preferred knowing x, y, and z as well?”

Then they tell me no, and I move onto telling about my grandma who I see as my real mother because she is the one who was always my safe person to go to, when I had a bad dream or I scraped my knee. She still makes me soup when I’m sick. She loves the flower arrangements I try to make her every Mother’s Day.

They feel a lot better when they hear about my gran, and I don’t have to do the back and forth.

It’s like people see me holding a can, ask what it is, I say worms, and they open it shocked to find worms and not beans. Only difference is now I’m taking the can opener away and diverting them to an actual figurative can of beans, before the can of worms can spill.

These are my worms, I spill them at my therapists office. Or with my gran, who has helped me to become a much more emotionally well adjusted person than I could have ever hoped.

Having a traumatic childhood means you cannot talk even objectively about your basic foundational experiences without it being "venting", even if you're not actually venting. You just straight up have a huge chunk of your life you can't talk about, full stop, without it being trauma dumping.

And it not being socially acceptable to talk about your own childhood is super alienating. Sometimes people want to know why, and any answer you can give them is going to be off putting.

It's to the point I get irritated when something I said is framed as venting when I'm literally just talking about my life experiences, doing my best to keep emotion out of it.

[gravegoer]

DADS FRIEND SEVIKA.... need her... sneaking around w her and stuff , possibly hcs

Secrets 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

i keep saying this but this is one of my favorite tropes... your age gap with her i tried to make somewhat reasonable so its not too extreme, and NOT ILLEGAL , and yes this is hcs kinda i guess. summary: sevika is your dads best friend, and your secret gf...

masterlist , mild nsfw

Sevika never had feelings for you up until the day you got back from collage. You seem to have matured more, at least in her eyes. But to your dad, you were still his little girl.

That's why she felt guilty for the thoughts she was starting to harbor for you. She supressed them as much as she physically could, but the way you looked at her and interacted with her made it near impossible.

The way you brought her water when she was all sweaty and dirty from helping your dad work on his car, your soft eyes meeting hers with a smile on your lips. It was so innocent yet you were drawing her in perfectly.

When you sat on the counter of the kitchen, engaging in conversation with her and your father she eyed the way your plush thighs contrasted against the marble.

You knew she liked you, and you felt the same way, for a long time actually, even when she didnt spare you a glance.

So you made sure to hug her a little tighter, and a little longer before she left. Looking up at her through your eyelashes, and delivering an innocent peck on the cheek.

At family gatherings you would let her pull out your chair for you, making sure she noticed the curve of your ass as you sat down.

Finally, she had enough.

When you were helping her bring boxes into the attic you had your back almost flush to her as you bent over to set down a large box.

"You know what you're doing"

Sevika grunted, pulling you into her warmth and slamming her lips into yours. She wasn't surprised in the slightest when you didn't bother retaliating and pulled her in closer.

The only thing that was holding her back is the scorn of your family. What would they think?

But it obviously wasn't holding her back, as for the next few weeks before you could speak to her in private again, she was always shooting you small glances and smirks.

And of course, you always returned them, brushing a hand down her toned arm when your dad wasn't looking, then switching to a firm pat when he turned around.

About three weeks later was the first time you guys could converse (kind of) privately, away from the rest of your family. She had told your father that she wanted to take you out on a 'girls' night.'

You knew better.

Your face flushed red when she asked right in front of you, knowing your dad would happily agree, overjoyed that his best friend and daughter were spending more time together.

To your surprise, she did take you out, on a nice dinner. You talked for a long time about your feelings for each other, it was mostly Sevika nodding and grunting in agreement. (Sometimes face palming at your eagerness.)

She took you to her home, more specifically, her room. She showed you what you were missing out on in college.

Sevika's hands are definitely more experienced than the women you were with previously, her calloused palms circling your hips and tracing your inner thighs.

You rode her thick thigh as she pressed a finger to your clit, cooing into your ear. She helped you ride out your orgasm until your head was resting on her shoulder, eyes slipping closed.

Sevika pushed your head back.

"Have to get you home at the curfew your dad set, yeah?"

You groaned, remembering your dad wanted you back by 11 PM for dinner. Your whole body protested as she lifted you from your position, helping clothe you.

You felt like a newborn deer, just learning how to walk, as you limped to the bathroom to freshen up.

When you finished, you came back to Sevika on the edge of the bed, her legs spread, and a cigarillo between her scarred lips.

You almost jumped into her lap at the sight before she got up, putting a hand on your waist to lead you to the door.

When you got home, you headed straight to your room, unable to look your dad in the eyes so soon. You could hear his and Sevikas' conversation.

"Yep, took good care of her alright."

From then on you both vowed to never let your family find out, not anytime soon anyway.

When nobody was looking, she would deliver a smack to your butt, but you were unable to do anything when she immediately delved into conversation with your father.

Sometimes, she slept over if she stayed a little too late, and you would visit her in the guest bedroom, trying your best to stay quiet. (Her hand is always over your mouth)

She slings her arm around your shoulder, and nobody thinks anything of it, but you see her small smirk.

When Sevika's fixing your sink, you sit on the counter above her while she lays on her back on the floor, reaching up to fiddle with the pipes. You can't see her upper half, but what you can see is her V line peeking out from under her shirt.

If she saw you bringing any friends over, she would raise an eyebrow before you reassured her with a wave and smile.

But she would still hover around the door of your room to make sure.

Your father trusts you going over to her home, so you linger there often, a lot of your clothes and other items litter her bedroom and bathroom

She appreciates the constant reminder of you.

kinda short??

taglist: @thequeenreaders @hangezoes-wife @thesecondhandwoman @slut4sevika @archangeldyke-all @kylorey25 @sylencr @jinxjinxjinx12 @morphids @aizawasbaeee @ariya13 @tiyawnyana @n39ro-chann

[bonbonly]

If you are such a hore for charles rn, maybe we could get more sugar daddy charles? Maybe him punishing you for some reason?

you're spoiling me so badly right now PUHLEASE

bon's thoughts (18+)

sugardaddy!charles had specifically told you to get back home at 8:00 because he was going to take you out for dinner. you should've known your friends had different plans for you, though. they knew about your arrangement with the older man, and they couldn't stop giggling. you had asked charles to buy you some expensive purses, and he was happy that you were asking him to indulge you so he bought them. only problem was that you had gotten them for your friends who kept pestering you in between classes for those items. every time you’d sneak a new gucci bag for your best friend, you’d grow more worried that charles would one day ask you where all the bags he bought for you were. his money was only for you, not for your friends.

you received a text from charles at 6:30, asking you to finish your last class and head over to his place so you could wear an elegant red dress he bought you, and the gucci bag. you freak out, turning to your friend and begging her to give the bag back just for tonight but she frowned, telling you the bag was all the way back at her house 500 miles from the university. you nearly fainted at her words. charles was going to punish you for this, you were sure of it. so, you decided to do what you always did - ignore his texts because truth be told, you did like the angry sex that followed - but it was better than him not gifting you anything if he found out you’d been giving them to your friends, little miss saint.

“where’s the bag?” was the first question charles asked you when you finally returned home, “i searched all over your closet, mon chérie, i cannot find any of your bags.”

you gulp, awkwardly laughing, “a-about that actually…”

charles is laughing at the dinner table with some of his colleagues. he had been laughing this entire time, which you thought was a good sign but then again, he was never this cheerful. some of the people at the table stand up to grab some extra food, and you turn to face charles, leaning in to whisper into his ear,

"y-you're not mad at me?" you ask.

"mad? no," he responds, and you let out a sigh in relief, "no, i'm fuming, my love."

your jaw drops, and you feel him squeeze your thigh harshly, enough for it to hurt just a tiny bit. your eyes snap down to where his thumb is caressing the fat of your skin before he snickers under his breath, "my money is for your benefit. if i wanted to give money to your friends, i'd be a charity foundation, not your sugar daddy, is that clear?"

you nod your head, "i-i'm sorry, i kept trying to tell them no but they wouldn't listen! i would never try to go against you like that, you know-" your words are cut off as his fingers trail up your thigh, cupping your heat. you stiffen in your seat, making sure no one was looking to see what was happening under the table. charles' fingertips drag along your clothed cunt, and he smiles at the way you're squirming in your seat, begging him to stop, "no, not now. what if someone sees?"

"let everyone see how i use you, how you're mine and only mine. i must fuck you too hard because your brain just can't seem to understand it, hm? ma chérie, you're on the thinnest of ice as we speak right now. you're going to take my fingers for the rest of the night, and not a word out of you. not one sound." charles kisses your cheek, fingers pushing your panties to the side before collecting your arousal around your slick folds. you bite your tongue, trying not to whimper when his fingers push into your entrance, teasing you mercilessly. when the guests start coming back, you squish your thighs together as an effort to stop him but he glares at you, using his free hand to hold your thigh open as his fingers curl inside you.

"dinner's really good, right?" a woman asks you and you moan out loud,

"mhm, so good," you force a smile, narrowing your eyes at charles who's pumping his fingers faster inside you, a proud look on his face,

"my baby loves restaurants like this, i would take her to each one if she didn't want to waste my money so much," his eyes flicker at you, loving the way you're clearly struggling to hold it together. no noise, no sound, those words echo in your mind and you take massive bites of your food to occupy your mouth so you won't accidentally slip out another moan. thankfully, a performance in the background had just ended as the audience roars into applause, you let out a guttural moan that's disguised. you slump against your chair, chest heaving as charles pulls his fingers out and sucks your juices off, licking them clean before staring at you,

"if they ask, i'll tell them you're in the bathroom. they'll leave in a few minutes to the bar anyway," he instructs and you open your mouth to argue but he's quickly shoving you under the table. you want to use his money for your friends, wasting his time and energy to buy whatever you want? you can wait and do what he wants now, he doesn't care. he unbuckles his belt carefully, eyes flickering to his friends whose backs face him. they're too busy watching the singer on stage pour her heart out into a verse. he chuckles as he wraps the table's cloth around your face, only your mouth visible to him and he pulls out his throbbing member, shoving it down your throat without warning. your gags are silenced instantly and charles grips the back of your head, thrusting ruthlessly into your mouth as tears slip your eyes,

"you like it when i use you like this, right?" charles whispers, crouching down to make it look like he's on his phone, "fuck, using my money for your friends? how sweet, so sweet of you, mon chérie. so kind and helpful! i didn't know my little girl was this sweet to her friends at the expense of my money." he hisses, hands going under the table to yank your hair so that your mouth could open even wider for him. his balls slap against your chin, and he has to quiet his grunts as his thrusts become more erratic.

"fuck, i cannot wait to take you back home and fuck you properly. make sure you cannot walk for days so you won't come up with something stupid like this again." he scoffs, groaning under his breath as he shoots ropes of his cum down your throat. when he pulls out, he admires the sight of his cum dribbilng down your neck, dropping onto your full breasts that almost spill out of your dress.

"stay there for 5 minutes." charles says, "in the meantime, make yourself useful for me," and he sticks his thumb in your mouth, watching you suck diligently as he waits for his friends to leave.

[hismercytomyjustice]

Ngl I really enjoyed Via’s arc in Sinsmas. She is just SO MUCH like her father that it both delights and hurts me lol.

Their relationship is an interesting take on struggling to try to break the cycle of abuse/neglect.

Stolas grew up with his father not even knowing his name or showing him a shred of affection. He was a means to an end, a tool. The only way he’s ever received any kind of acknowledgement from his father is by doing his duty. Mastering his powers, entering into an arranged marriage, and producing an heir.

You can just so clearly see how he is trying SO HARD to give Via a different life. He wants them to be a family. For her to never doubt her parents love her. To be the father he never had.

To the point he shoves his own wants and needs so far down that he is barely holding on.

Via going from accusing him of not loving her to realizing that he loves her so much that he forced himself to play the role of a good father and husband. To the point he destroyed himself for her…

And that realization just devastates her.

Stolas getting involved with Blitz was the culmination of decades of forcing himself to be the person everyone else expected him to be. He feels he can’t be loved, but he can be useful. And maybe if he’s useful enough, people will care about him.

The reason his connection with Blitz is so strong is because both of them feel that way. The difference is that Blitz was able to create his own found family (tho it took him ages to realize it lol) while Stolas has always been alone. They’re two sides of the same coin. And while Blitz has spent the past few years healing, Stolas has been descending further into darkness because he doesn’t have that same support.

Via has absorbed so many of his insecurities. Especially the fear of not being loved or wanted despite Stolas trying SO HARD to be the perfect father to her. But he’s not. He can never be because he forgot the old adage of “put your oxygen mask on first before helping anyone else.”

I think that definitely can come across as him being neglectful of her. But to me it speaks to his desperation to be such a good father to her that he tries to hold himself to IMPOSSIBLE standards.

He doesn’t fail Via because he doesn’t care. He fails her because he keeps setting up these unrealistic expectations for their relationship. He massively overextends himself and puts his own wants and desires on the back burner so often that his life is imploding around him out of his control.

He doesn’t miss the stars with her because he doesn’t care. He misses them because he’s struggling to put his life back together after finally taking some initiative for himself. He’s trying to deal with the fallout of wanting a divorce from Stella, but he’s waited so long and he’s so overwhelmed by it all that the date slips his mind. And the instant he realizes what’s happened, he drops everything and goes looking for her.

Via keeps watching him make these promises he struggles with or fails to keep and doesn’t realize until she finds all of the happy pills how much he’s overextended himself for her sake. And because she’s her father’s daughter, she immediately thinks she’s at fault. She thinks he would be happier if he hadn’t forced himself to play house all these years for her sake.

She’s not wrong. If he’d separated from Stella years before, they’d probably all be better off. But he didn’t because of his sense of duty. Stolas’s problem is that he never advocates for himself until he reaches his literal breaking point. By then, the damage is more of a tsunami than a ripple because now his meticulously crafted house of cards is falling down around him faster than he can pick up the pieces.

Via is right that he would have been happier, but not for the reasons she thinks. He did it because he loved her, not out of obligation for her. And also because he is deeply broken and flawed.

Via’s dealing with a lot of complicated emotions too. Her father was willing to sacrifice himself for his affair partner, which she initially believes means he’s picking Blitz over her. But really it’s just Stolas trying to save the only other person in his life who understands him and who maybe cares about him.

How could he live with himself if he let Blitz die?

And it’s not like Stolas has time to sit down and think of a rational plan. He rushes to the trial because Blitz is literally about to be decapitated. And then he saves him the only way he knows how. I think part of him was also convinced that, as much as he loves Via, she might actually be better off without him because he is a wreck. He’s convinced he’s ruined his life and the lives of everyone around him.

I think this is why he doesn’t fight Stella much for custody of Via. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he genuinely thinks Stella is a more stable parent than he is and that Via will be better off with her as a result. The man also lacks a backbone too tho because his self worth is -9000.

But then Stolas doesn’t get executed. And the consequences of his actions hit him like a ton of bricks once the adrenaline and panic wears off. He saved Blitz, but at what cost? And, based on his statement in Sinsmas, it sounds like he would’ve done it all over again if given the chance. Because he’s the one who let Blitz use his grimoire even though he knew it was wrong. Because Blitz was in danger of dying because of him. And because he has a very strong sense of morality and justice too.

Dying in Blitzo’s place was a spur of the moment decision and once the dust cleared, Stolas realized how everything he’s tried to do to keep his shit together has fallen apart at the seams and now everyone knows it.

All Via can see when she looks at him now is that he’s hit rock bottom because of her. Again, not true. But Stolas has tried so hard to give her this idyllic family life, thinking that was the best thing he could do for her. Not realizing that she could see the cracks forming. She just didn’t understand why there were cracks until now.

I don’t think Via actually hates him. I think she hates herself. Convinced she’s the reason he’s hit rock bottom. Why couldn’t she see how much he was suffering? Why would he suffer so much for her? So she’s taking herself out of the equation, just like he tried to with Blitz. If she’s not in his life anymore, maybe he’ll stop killing himself to try to make her happy. Maybe he’ll stop being so miserable.

I think a big part of their arc together has been her going from thinking of Stolas as this perfect and larger than life figure to seeing him start to crumble and now getting a peek behind the curtain and realizing how much of that wasn’t real. And it scares and upsets her that her dad isn’t the perfect person he’s tried to be for her. He’s broken and hurting and she doesn’t know what to do to help because he’s spent her whole life focusing on her.

Not to say that he’s done that well. He genuinely hasn’t. He’s overcorrected so hard that he’s fucked her up in a completely different way because he’s overextended himself. He pushed himself until the illusion of a perfect happy family cracked along with him. He’s also made it difficult for her to know how to help him because he’s sheltered her so much.

I think this sometimes makes Stolas come across as selfish. He seemingly “ruined” his marriage and his relationship with his daughter for Blitz. But really it was just the pendulum swinging wildly in the opposite direction. He was so starved for happiness and connection that now he’s trying to live two separate lives and it’s just not possible and he’s falling apart even faster.

Stolas was so desperate for affection and to be of use that he lets Blitz have his grimoire, under the impression Blitz is attracted to him because Blitz literally tried to seduce him to get it. He also does all of the dirty talk because he thinks Blitz likes it.

I think he initially sets the terms for the grimoire usage because he thinks it’s a price Blitz is more than willing to pay because he showed up trying to seduce him. I think he l also just really wants an excuse to see/spend time with Blitz too. It doesn’t even cross his mind that Blitz might want anything other than sex from him. He’s once again playing a role based on what he thinks is expected of him.

It’s not until Stolas discovers he’s starting to develop feelings for Blitz that he realizes their arrangement is wrong. And the moment he realizes it, he immediately tries to make amends. He hopes Blitz will admit he has feelings for him too, but is willing to step away if not. But he also cares about him so much, he makes sure to give him the Asmodean Crystal so he can freely make the choice.

Meanwhile he has no idea Blitz will just view this as another person trying to abandon him or look down on him. Because Blitz struggles with self worth too and believes the only way people will care about him is if he can be useful. Blitz has a deep seated fear of abandonment while Stolas fears no one could ever love him just for himself. He offers Blitz the crystal to let him know his feelings are genuine and to gauge Blitz’s too.

All of this is to say that I think Via and Stolas will reconcile, hopefully sooner rather than later. I think Via needs some time to process who her father actually is vs who she thought he was. And both of them need to be able to forgive themselves/grant themselves some grace so they can finally meet each other in the middle like Stolas has finally managed with Blitz. Stolas needs to accept Via is grown up now and he can’t shield her from the negatives of the world forever. Meanwhile Via needs to understand everything doesn’t have to be so black and white.

[sparrow-and-seed-scrawls]

They grabbed the silks and jewels, pocketed the gold coins, filled their empty wineskins with the king’s finest, most sapid alcohol. Their old rags were abandoned for warm furs and leathers, and the youngest, barely older than thirteen, threw his too-small shoes to the side for a pair of fine boots.

All that time, they left Lora Isold bleeding on the marble floor, both arms tied so she couldn’t escape and her mouth gagged with an old tunic.

No matter that she’d been the one to get them passed the guards. No matter that she’d healed their sick with her last bottle of medicine. No matter any of it. They hadn’t even had the mind to give her a single coin.

She was used to pain. She’d bled on expensive floors before. It was the fact that she was going to die here, next to a young, naive king with a snapped leg. She was going to die with no payment and no honor, and that made bile rise in her throat.

The band of nobodies cleared the last of the treasure and slung packed bags over their shoulders. One of them, a Skilled young man, drew water from the air with a twist of his wrist and threw it over the fire. Winter chill filled the room almost instantly.

“Sorry, Sweet,” the leader said, leaning down to run a calloused hand through her hair. As if she were a child. “Your help was much appreciated.”

He set a golden goblet next to her face, so close she could feel the metal chill on her cheek. “Hope that’s worth your trouble. Maybe they’ll pity you a few drops of rum at the tavern, if you can make it there.”

His green eyes sparked, and he took her bound hand in his. Then he lit a flame in his palm.

She cursed behind the gag, her free hand grasping for any sort of brace against the heat. There were none.

He held the fire there for several moments, not even caring enough to look at her while he charred her skin. And when he finally did let go, he didn’t say a word. Just shook the fire out and spun on his heel.

He shot the king a sour smile. “Perhaps, if you still had your staff, you’d wouldn’t be dying such a humiliating death. Let’s go, men! The people will be glad to know their Unskilled king is finally dead.”

And then, it was Lora and the King Solari.

The king who’d, apparently, been living alone in the palace for who knew how long.

The king who simply stared at the now-empty throne room, his hair tangled where the people had yanked the crown off his head. His breathing was ragged.

He wasn’t in much better shape than she was.

His leg was broken, she knew that from the sound of his scream and the crack of earlier. But blood trickled down the left side of his face, red staining his lips in a way that looked much like he were a jester instead of a king.

They’d carved a picture into his dark cheek, Lora realized with a start. Intricate slashes gave way to the royal family’s seal, a shield with a scepter in the center and lined with laurels.

She hadn’t seen that seal in sometime. They’d carved it with reason, certainly. But she had no idea what that reason was.

She was a mercenary, yes, but this was far beyond anything she’d seen in her circles. This robbery—this wasn’t the sloppy work of a band of nobodies. This had been planned.

And she’d written them off as innocent and a bit stupid. Even naive.

That was hilarious. Truly, she hadn’t the slightest inkling that they were more than a handful of poor citizens trying to make something of themselves. She hadn’t realized their leader was a Skilled. Which was her own fault. She’d given out the fact that she was Unskilled too freely.

The king finally found her gaze. He used the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his skin, flinching slightly.

And he began to drag himself towards her. Slowly, using the palms of his hands and hissing out sharp sounds every few moments when his leg weighed behind him.

Lora tensed each time he did. A broken bone was a white-hot, screaming ache. You couldn’t move without it shouting its presence. So what was he doing?

He stopped a few steps away from her, eyes unfocused for a moment. When he finally steadied himself, he offered a weak laugh.

“I suppose we’re both expendable, hm?”

What?

She just stared at him. It wasn’t like she could respond very well, and even if she could, how was she supposed to respond?

Yes, they were both expendable to the adventurers, no matter their deeds or titles. They were probably expendable to most of the kingdom.

He reached a shaking hand up behind her head, and Lora was quite certain he was about to grab the knife from her belt and finally end her.

She waited, keeping her breathing steady. He would die soon after her, anyway. Without medical care, he wouldn’t make it for more than a handful of days.

The gag fell away from her mouth, instead.

She sucked in a full breath of air, the scent of blood and smoke and dust flooding her lungs. Her exhale came out on a cloud amidst the winter air. “Loosen the bonds on my hands,” she demanded, doing her best to keep her tone gentle despite her frustration.

He must’ve been too drunk on pain to chastise her for disrespect, because he did it without a word.

He was a bit unsteady in the cold. He pulled the rope over her burnt hand more than once, leaving her to bite her cheek to keep from making noise. It hurt.

But then the rope loosened, and she could see the dark skin of her palm and fingers. A steady burn, halfway up her forearm and fairly deep. It would take a time to heal.

With her good hand, she loosened her belt. Slid the pack and knife off and to the floor. Lifted her tunic to see the wound clearly.

She didn’t care enough to examine it. It hadn’t bled much, and it wasn’t deep. It was the burn she was more worried about.

Still, she pulled a worn map of the kingdom from her pack and laid it carefully over the wound, then wrapped the belt atop it so she had a horribly loose, unclean bandage of sorts.

Actually, she couldn’t even call it that. It was more of…

She didn’t have a word for it. Either way, it was an embarrassingly bad job, especially for her skill set.

“Glad to see you appreciate my kingdom,” the king deadpanned, staring down at the map wrap.

Oh. Oh.

“I’m not considering patriotism at the moment. I can die, if you’d prefer,” she said.

He lifted his stare to her, brown eyes narrowing slightly. His blood-stained lips tightened.

That probably was a bit too harsh, given the situation.

He bit out a half-delirious laugh, then, so sudden it made Lora jump. It seized at his chest and choked from his throat. “Perhaps you should! Perhaps you should, and then I can die without the humiliation of someone seeing me so bloodied with a forgotten seal carved into my face!”

She didn’t find the humor in his words. Yes, she’d wanted a new ruler for as many years as he’d been king. But she hadn’t come here to kill him, especially without a better alternative. That was a fool’s errand.

She’d only come to serve as a guide and perhaps show the kingdom their king wasn’t as powerful as he made himself to be. Then, perhaps, the people would elect a new ruler.

But if Solari died now, there was no replacement. The first to reach the throne would take over the kingdom, and that was certainly a worser fate.

She sucked in a breath. “Let me see the leg.”

“Why? So you can cut it off?”

A surprised laugh broke from her lips. “No, you egg, so I can set the bone.”

“To steal my bone?” He shot her an incredulous look. “You’re going to take that, too?!”

Yes, he was certainly delirious.

“No, just—” How was she going to explain this? “I’m going to fix it for now, until we can get to a healer somewhere.”

“Ah.” He nodded violently. “I know a healer.”

Lora didn’t doubt it.

She didn’t try to converse with him any longer. Instead, she handed him a flask from her pack.

“Drink. It’ll help the pain and bring your head back.”

He looked between her and the flask, then to the goblet at her side. “Give me that.”

She rolled her eyes but obeyed. He poured half the contents into the cup, lifting it in his hand and spinning it like some sort of rich wine. Which it most certainly was not.

His face twisted when the alcohol passed his lips. “This is certainly not wine.”

“It’s cheap alcohol for disinfecting.”

“Cheap?” He drew the goblet away, but she pushed it back to his lips.

“Finish it.”

He did, slowly, his eyes flicking and his hands unsteady. She couldn’t tell if it was the cold or the pain anymore.

“Do you want some?” he asked after several minutes, holding out the empty goblet. He was still pale, but at least his words sounded steady.

“No. I’m trying to fix your leg with the little focus I have left.”

“If you insist.”

She only had one good hand, so the task was going to be immeasurably difficult even without alcohol.

Even so, she took the tunic-gag to use as a splint of sorts. She anchored herself on one side of his leg with her knee and placed her good hand on the opposite side.

“Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t make a sound. This is, more than likely, not going to be enjoyable.”

“Joy,” the king deadpanned.

Lora pushed the bone back into place and wrapped it as tightly as she could manage.

The king cursed, his face going even paler than before. He sucked his teeth.

“Joy…”

Lora sat back.

Now, they simply had to find a healer without either of them dying of infection.

Joy.

——————

Merry Christmas!!! I think I’ll make this into a multi-part story.

Yippie!

Let me know if you want something specific in it. I love requests 🫶

You’re a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, “Guess we’re both expendable, huh?”

[jayktoralldaylong]

One of my favourite things about Arcane is that all the couples can be read as toxic, which is GREAT.

I'm tired of people bringing morality debates into dark media. Let dark media be fucking dark. You guys wouldn't survive a day in the TMA fandom, needing everyone to be as good as gold. How are they going to make for enjoyable complex characters if they're not morally grey. In fact, I wish there'd been more expansion on just how morally black they can become!

"CaitVi is so toxic" According to lesbian statistics, that sounds just about accurate. 💀 Heck, I wish Caitlyn had done more (Not really, but it would have been nice to further explore the darkness in her heart). Isn't it adorable how she immediately folded as soon as Vi called her cupcake? Caitlyn's like one of those villains that will consistently do the most....until it comes to someone else hurting her girlfriend. The only one allowed to hurt her girlfriend is her. 💀

Then let's talk about Vi. Someone pointed out how Vi never cared about Zaun's independence in the first place and many people yelled that they were wrong. But actually, they were right. Vi never wanted Zaun. Zaun was Silco's dream, and Jinx inherited that dream cause Silco would never shut up about it. Vi wanted Piltover to take responsibility for all the shit they allowed to happen in the Undercity. That's a part of the reason she joined up with Caitlyn in the first place. Let's not forget she wasn't dissuaded when she dragged Jayce down to fight with her and he killed a child. Children been dying, it's been her whole life. Someone needed to do something about it, and Zaun would have just isolated the people from all the privileges that Piltover SHOULD have been providing for them. Some people just can't accept that Independence cannot in fact solve every problem, and sometimes independence is colonisers running away from the responsibility of fixing the mess that they started in the first place.

Besides, we all know Vi joined up with the Enforcers because "I feel like I am worthless if I can't be of service." She'd already run out of family members to serve, Caitlyn was the next best thing. She's just like Jayce.

And speaking of Jayce, let's talk about his violent levels of codependency with anyone who'll give him attention. People LOOOOVE to talk about Mel, but it's there with Viktor too. When bro wasn't basing his worth on his inventions, he was centering it around Viktor.

Viktor who decided at some point in his life that he would not LIVE without Jayce. He was fine dying without him, but living without him was unacceptable. Oh how healthy. 🙄😂 Viktor be the kind of toxic ex to threaten divorce 500 times over, then burn the world when you actually leave him. Jayce is no better cause he's the kind of guy to keep going back to his toxic Ex.

Yes, Mel is manipulative. That's what I love about her. How are you guys failing to give this woman the praise of being an outsider in Piltover, but running their entire council. 💀 Girl raises her hand once and the whole government starts spinning. She was the best sugar mummy Jayce and Viktor could ever ask for. She kept the whole city running. Literally the entire of Piltover dancing on her palm. And yes she manipulated Jayce but let's not forget she thought that was a love language. 💀 You wanna be mad at someone, be mad at Ambessa for raising her that way.

I also don't think it's fair to blame her for the Undercity situation, she's not native. Monkey see, monkey do, and not a single one of those Council members actually cared about the situation down there, it was deplorable. 💀 Jayce did way more in his two weeks as Councillor than any of those drug pushing, money laundering, Piltovian heads of government.

And that just covers MelJayVik, we don't even need to get fully into TimeBomb, cause we know what's wrong there. 💀 Surely we have not forgotten the many teammates Jinx has killed, but making sure to never kill Ekko cause that's her man. Ekko has a lot to unpack, like how his consistent and unwavering love for Jinx is an indication of a lot of doors he might not be ready to open. I know they dynamics go crazy and I love to see it.

Ambessa and Sevika are a crack ship but I'm sure we all know bedroom dynamics go crazy with Mrs. Warlord and Miss Liberation. I love it when characters clash in a toxic heap. It's insane and should be explored.

Quit saintifying my toxic ships with your woke morality debates. If you want everyone to be sunshine and rainbows then you should be watching literally anything else. 💀 "It's not healthy." GOOD, I like it that way. 💀 Angst, spice and trauma are the recipe for a plethora of explorative fanfiction. Any of their dynamics can be taken in any toxic direction and I want that EXPLORED.

[timmydraker]

Tim who has never been good at understanding the words of Shakespeare and Dickens.

He can understand metaphors and knows about philosophy, but he’s always struggle to truely grasp the tragedy and helplessness so may of them hold. The idea of someone being doomed from the start, by the author and the narrative or maybe just the world they were set in, just doesn’t really make sense to him.

Part of him knows it’s because he was born with a vintage silver spoon placed delicately in his hands, but there’s more to it than that.

See, most of the bad things that have happened to Tim have either been consequences of his own action or the fact that his friends and colleagues all have the same dangerous job.

To him it just makes sense that bad things will happen and so he can just… prepare for it. He can do what he can to fix it or move onto something else and push away his own feelings because what else is he supposed to do?

So, no, things like Hamlet and Dorian don’t really click for him

At least… until he thinks about Jason.

Born in poverty with a world surrounding him that would not bother to care or offer help to him purely because of how he looks of his parents.

A mother who loves him endlessly, only to fall into the drugs she tried to protect him from.

Finding out that mother didn’t even give birth to him, but the father that never showed anything other than distain and cruelty was still his own.

Being given Robin, hated by the first one for a time, only to die in the suit by the hands of a mad man all because his real mother sold him out.

Waking up in a coffin, digging himself out and roaming around catatonic and the only thoughts he can actually process is that he must be a ghost.

Being taken by a league of killers, lied to and trick and tormented into thing a perfect weapon.

Realise his mentor, who he once thought the father he deserved to have, has failed him and let his killer free because of something as fickle as a moral compass.

Seeing that mentor seemingly replace him with a perfect rich kid who doesn’t swear or complain or sneak off without permission from what he can tell.

Having no real friends in that time.

Having no one to trust because everyone had an ulterior motive. Everyone uses him.

And through out it all, even with all the hate and the bitterness and injustice he had been faced with, his first course of action is to make the home he first had and the only one he will ever have… safer.

To protect the kids like him from becoming statistics and killers, from the pain he felt and the false promises of the Batman.

Jason keeps honesty and integrity, even when no one else offers it to him in return.

Tim can’t understand Macbeth or Antigone or Othello, can’t see why someone would write something so morbid just to try and entertain.

But he can understand, or at least try to understand, Jason Todd.

Because that is someone who had actually been hurt for no reason. Someone who had been tormented by the universe, by fates and coincidence, with no real lesson being taught other than the world hates him.

Sure Jason has Roy and Biz and Artemis and Kori, but what about a brother?

Dick tried, he still does, but he fails Jason over and over by trying to make him ‘better’.

Damian doesn’t really care too much, not out of malice but there’s just not much of a connection between them.

Cass tries, but Jason is always awkward around her and that’s not his fault, you can’t hide a thing from her.

Duke liked Jason a lot, but again, the newest Bat is trying hard to find his place in the world of vigilantes and can’t quite find it in himself to be too close to Jason’s violence.

But Tim…

He’s morals have always been held together by the simple fact of ‘it’s not really that approved of’ and not much else. He won’t kill, but unlike the others he is happy to leave a Rouge in a sinking ship and not feel a hint of guilt.

He adores Jason’s Robin, he knows to some extent how much he lost with that, and now he knows that Jason might not need much more than a few good things.

Small things, nothing that will trick him into thinking the world is apologising because it won’t, but enough to show him that Tim thinks he’s still worth something.

Tim won’t try convince him to become a better person or to stop killing, he might ask him to be a bit more rational and probably won’t be able to stop himself from giving tips on how to run his business, but he wouldn’t ask for his violent brother to change.

Because unlike everyone else, Tim knows that violence exist for good reason.

If it keeps his Jason alive, Tim will gladly hold onto his blood soaked hand.

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 3)

A new murder with a different M.O. has you feeling confused

Word count: 4100

Warnings: fingering, murder

It takes you all of five minutes to leave the motel room after you dig more clothes out of your suitcase. 

You looked everywhere for the clothes you were wearing before your nap, but they’re nowhere to be found. 

It would be incredibly bad if you had stripped down and then left the room to put them somewhere else. 

But you don’t have time to dwell on that right now. 

You go fifteen over the speed limit to get to the location Agatha had texted over after she hung up the phone. 

To the location of another murder. 

You had foolishly hoped that maybe The Witch and Lady Death would slow down once you had gotten to town, maybe out of fear of being caught. 

Clearly you had done little to deter them. 

It’s only ten minutes away from your motel, near a creek on the edge of town. 

Police cars are already parked there, yellow caution tape closing off the perimeter. You slam the door shut to your sedan and hurry over to Agatha. It’s late in the afternoon, but the sun is already setting, making the colors of everything look muted. 

“Was it them?” You ask, a little breathless. Agatha glances up and down and looks like she wants to comment on your outfit change, but doesn’t. 

“Come see and tell us what you think,” she says ominously and you follow her into the trees. “Good doctor’s appointment?” 

You stop walking, forcing her to pause too. “You’re married to Dr. Vidal?” 

She chuckles. “She told you that, didn’t she?”

“Did you know that’s who I was going to see earlier?” You ask, not sure why it matters. 

“I had my suspicions,” is all Agatha chooses to say. She’s taking you further into the woods along the side of the creek and it’s getting colder, but the air starts to feel…alive, almost. 

Like it’s crackling with something. You somehow know you’re getting closer to the body.

Are you imagining it, or can Agatha feel it, too? 

And then she stops so quickly you almost bump into her and she points up ahead. 

In the middle of thin, small trees is a big willow tree. It’s a beautiful sight, if you’re being honest. 

You’re transfixed by the icicles gleaming from the barren branches and it takes you a bit to notice the pool of red snow by the roots. 

You stumble forward to get a better look in the last rays of daylight, eyes traveling up the tree trunk and you gasp. 

A man is tied to it, his pants cut open halfway down his thigh and there's a deep gash through both of his femoral arteries. Most likely the cause of death. The only reason you know what color his pants were supposed to be is because the part near his hips is unstained. 

But that’s not all. 

His flannel shirt has been ripped as well, revealing his bare chest, where a heart has been drawn with a knife. It’s a shallow cut, not too much blood, but it’s clear this was meant to be a message, rather than fatal. His eyes are gray and lifeless.

“I don’t understand, this isn’t their M.O. at all,” you say, the snow behind you crunching as Agatha walks to stand next to you. 

You can feel her eyes on you, regarding you carefully. “So what do you think?” 

You think that you’ve never felt this way before. Something is happening to your body, a heat is spreading through it, and it’s like there’s electricity under your skin. Your scar tingles, but doesn’t hurt. 

“Fuck, I don’t know,” you say in frustration. “Maybe they’re switching it up, it’s like they’re taunting me! It doesn’t make any sense to change tactics now, though. All the other bodies were found in homes and now this one is tied to a tree in the middle of nowhere? Doesn’t seem to be poisoned and they didn’t carve out his heart. I don’t – I don’t know.” 

You’re so suddenly aware of the hot blood pumping through your veins and you want something. You can’t put a name to it yet, though. 

“Do you think it could have been someone else?” She asks and you shake your head immediately. 

“No, this was them. I know it, I can feel it.” There’s a thrumming in your head now, behind your eyes and you just want to get rid of it. 

Agatha’s lips stretch into a slow smile and you can see the darkness in her eyes. “What else do you feel?” 

The question makes you freeze. Maybe you’re not going crazy. “Can you feel it, too?” You whisper; you’re afraid to say it too loudly, like it’ll break the spell. 

She slowly walks around and advances on you and you walk backwards until you hit a tree. Your heart races and you can feel it everywhere, like your entire body is beating in time with it.

“You feel the adrenaline, don’t you? Being this close to death, yet you feel more alive than ever?” She asks, and you choke out an affirmation. “It’s addicting, isn’t it? Tell me how it makes you feel.” 

Agatha leans down again, just how she did in the evidence locker, but this time, she drags her teeth up your neck and nips. The pounding in your head gets worse. “It feels…powerful,” you admit, both to her and yourself, maybe for the first time. 

“There’s an ache inside you, right?” She asks, now sucking bites into your neck and your stance widens just the slightest. 

Hearing her put a name to it makes it ever so clear to you now. “Yes,” you gasp, molten heat growing between your legs. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for, but Agatha does. 

Lips still on your skin, her hands fumble with the waistband of your new pants, trying to unbutton and unzip. She’s finally able to slip her fingers in and when she moves your underwear to the side and cups your pussy, you hiss at the coldness. 

“Fuck,” you swear as she starts to swipe at your clit. You’re so sensitive already, and if you weren’t so needy, you’d take a good, long look at yourself to figure out why you’re so turned on right now. 

“Why don’t you think it was them?” She asks, pushing a finger inside you and your head falls back against the tree. She doesn’t move it, waiting for an answer first. 

The ringing in your head comes back with a vengeance. “They’re messing with me,” you stutter. “They want me to be thrown off their game.” She starts moving, slowly thrusting and curling, and you gasp. The mix of pleasure and pain is a combination you never thought would be a good one. 

“You think they’re doing this just for you?” She muses, shoving another finger inside you and twisting lazily and it pulls a groan out of you. 

“The murders were all the same until I showed up,” you whimper. It feels like your body is about to burst. “Agatha.” 

Her thumb finds your clit again and rubs it. “Shh,” she soothes. “I know, superstar. I’ll give you what you need.” She mouths at your neck, lips traveling upward until she reaches your chin, and then her face pulls away from yours. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

“What if it wasn’t them?” She asks in a low voice, fingers stilling in you. You whine and frantically buck your hips to get some stimulation. You just need more. 

You can’t even think straight. “It had to be them. Who else could it have been?” 

There’s just enough sunlight to see the wicked smirk on her face. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” 

And then her lips are on yours and she’s ferociously kissing you like she’s trying to devour you, and the pain in your head completely stops. 

She sets a bruising pace inside you and you’re panting into her open mouth while her tongue thrashes against yours. Your teeth clash and it’s messy and hot and everything that you need, and her fingers are hitting exactly where you need. Your hands are rough as they scramble for purchase around her shoulders, desperate to keep her exactly where she is. You dig your nails into her and she moans against you, and you’re so close. 

Your orgasm is building, only this time, it’s heightened and feels way more intense than any you’ve ever had before. You’re throbbing around Agatha’s fingers, clenching and trying to draw her in even more, and she fits a third one into you. It makes you keen and you babble nonsensically about how you’re going to cum.  

“Cum for me, pet,” she orders and you sink your teeth hard into her lower lip as you do. It’s like a dam breaks all over your body, tension and pleasure exploding through every crack and crevice and it’s easily the best orgasm you’ve ever had. 

It takes a minute for you to recover and when you’re able to think clearly again after Agatha takes her fingers out of you, you notice that her lip is bleeding. 

“Fuck, did I do that?” You ask and she chuckles, tongue darting out to lick it up. You follow the movements and feel the heat inside you coming back. 

She holds the fingers that were inside of you up to your mouth and you suck on them without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it. Not the first time it’s happened,” she teases with a wink and your stomach sinks. Your head moves back so her fingers slip out of you.

“Oh my god, you’re married,” you say and Agatha raises an eyebrow as if to say obviously. “And we’re at a crime scene, what did we just do? There’s a dead body right over there.”

Agatha raises up her hands to disarm the situation. “Hey, don’t think too hard about it. You have a very stressful job, sometimes you just need to blow off some steam.” 

“How are you so calm? You just cheated on your wife!” You snap, quickly zipping and buttoning your pants. The electricity in the air is now gone, completely replaced by cold and fear. You have to get out of here. The Witch and Lady Death are two steps ahead of you and you need to stop them. This was them, and you know it.

You don’t even wait for Agatha to respond, you pick a direction and start walking. She calls your name a few times before you whirl around, tears in your eyes. “Rio and I…have an arrangement of sorts. Trust me, she is completely okay with this.” 

Her words do little to calm you down, but you’re getting closer to the detectives and officers and the coroner’s car has pulled up. “It doesn’t matter. This can’t happen again,” you say sternly. 

“Whatever you want, superstar,” she says and it almost makes you furious. It feels like she’s teasing you, for being with the FBI. Almost as bad as the guys around the station calling you Miami. 

But you don’t argue, you don’t speak at all, you just stand there, a bone-chilling emptiness inside you as you watch the body get wheeled out from the woods after about twenty minutes. Detectives keep searching the surrounding area for any clues, but they find nothing. 

Which doesn’t surprise you at all. Lady Death and The Witch are clever. It just means you have to work harder to catch them. 

“Alright, we got everything here. Forensics is going to do some tests on the blood, see if maybe we can get a DNA match for the killer. Photos of the scene will be printed and ready for us tomorrow,” Agatha says gruffly, walking over to you, the picture of professionalism after being three fingers deep in you not forty-five minutes ago. “You should get home, get some rest.” 

You shake your head and clutch your jacket tighter around you. “I’ve been sleeping for the past few hours. I’m not tired. I can head into the station, if you want. Get a head start on work for tomorrow.” 

Something flickers in Agatha’s eyes, something you don’t quite recognize. “No, that’s okay. Go back to your motel. Even if you don’t sleep, you should still try and relax. Take a warm bath or something. That always helps me clear my head.” 

You frown, but before you can ask what she thinks you need to clear your head from, she pats you on the shoulder and walks to her car. The scene quickly clears out, but there’s something still nagging at you in the back of your mind. 

You can’t leave just yet. 

Grabbing a flashlight from your bag in your car, you wander back through the woods, desperate to find something the officers missed. 

The night passes while you tear up every single rock and leaf and clump of snow on the ground near where the man was murdered. And then you expand the search, walking along the creek edge, flashlight sweeping right and left. Your hands are bright red from the stinging frost, having taken off your gloves ages ago to better dig around, and you’ve lost feeling in your face. Tears are permanently frozen in your eyes it seems, and as the sun starts to break through the darkness, you defeatedly drop to the ground on the bed of the creek. 

You don’t know what you were expecting to find, it was a stupid idea. You’re just about to call it a day and trek back to your car to go into the station, when you see a log just a few yards away. 

Brows crinkling, you wince when you stand up, your joints aching from the cold, and stumble over to it. You shine your flashlight into the opening of the hole and you gasp. 

The light reflects off something shiny. 

This time, you’re smart about it. You put your gloves back on, flashing between your teeth, and you carefully reach inside and brush away the moss to grab onto it and pull it out. 

It’s a knife. 

The discovery makes your heart leap. You found something! This could be your first real break in the case, one step closer to bringing the pair of serial killers down. 

You turn the blade over in your hands to inspect every part of it. Strange, you think. It seems almost like a kitchen knife. The serrated edge isn’t as sharp as it should be if it were meant to be a murder weapon. But when you hold it closer to your face, you can make out specks of blood on it. 

And then there’s something else, an emblem of sorts on the bottom of the blue handle. It says WM with a circle around the letters. 

The first thing you think of is Wanda Maximoff and terror spikes through you. Has she gotten out of jail and come to find you? 

But you are absolutely certain that Tony would’ve called you immediately, so that helps calm you down. Still, you suddenly don’t feel safe in the woods, almost like you’re being watched, so you pocket the knife before sprinting back to your car. 

You slam and lock the doors immediately and you turn the heat all the way up to coax life back into your frozen body. It’s still early, barely even six-thirty am, so you decide to go back to your motel room and shower before you head into the station. 

Your stomach rumbles and you can’t remember the last time you ate. You just pulled an all-nighter (although, you could argue that because you took a nap for about five hours yesterday, that counts as sleep) and you haven’t showered since you’ve been here. 

Tony would kill you. 

Once you get back to your room, you turn on the bath, still feeling the chill deep in your bones. You carefully take the knife out of your coat pocket with a paper towel and lay it on the counter so you can remember to bring it in so Forensics can test it. 

You strip off your sopping wet clothes and get into the bath, moaning out loud at how good the warm water on your tired and shaking body feels. 

Sinking into the tub so every part of you except for your face is submerged, you lean down to turn off the faucet and settle back down. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing you know, you jolt awake and splash about a gallon of water over the edge. 

“Fuck,” you cough, trying to get out of the tub, but your entire body is sore and your head feels awful. 

Apparently there’s consequences for spending over eight hours out in the snow with no gloves and then falling asleep in a bath with water that’s now lukewarm. 

You manage to maneuver yourself out and you quickly grab the robe that was hanging on the bathroom door to wrap around your shivering body. Your phone is on the sink counter and it starts buzzing. It’s Agatha. 

A hand grips the vanity to stable yourself before picking it up. “Hello?” You rasp, grimacing at the effort it takes to speak. 

“Yikes, you sound awful,” she says, teasing tone in her voice. “You okay, superstar? Get a little too much rest last night?”

“I think I’m a little sick,” you admit. You’re usually able to tough it out, but you feel like you died and barely came back to life. “Is it okay if I–” 

“Yes, stay there,” she orders and you almost collapse with relief. 

But then you remember the knife. If you don’t go in, that means it’s another day that The Witch and Lady Death remain free. “I found something last night, in the woods,” you say. “I really need to bring it in.” 

“Whatever it is, it can wait. You just need to take some medicine and get some rest. Do you have anything you can take?” 

You search through the items in your toiletry bag. “I have some Advil.” You pop two in your mouth and swallow it with water from the sink. 

“I’ll text Rio and ask if she can bring over some medicine and maybe some food, too. Go to sleep. I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” she says, and before you can insist that Rio does not come here, she hangs up. 

Groaning, you find that you don’t have it in you to be petulant, so you make your way into bed and you fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow. 

Snow. 

It’s just started falling, there’s barely an inch on the ground. 

The branches reach for you as you walk through them, trying to grab on and not let you go. The thicket is getting denser and darker, but there’s something calling out to you, so you keep walking. 

There’s a melodic hum, and it lulls you into feeling safe. Is it real? Is it in your head? 

Is there a difference? 

You can barely see three inches in front of you and everything is going black and you can feel wounds being torn into your face and you should really turn back now –

– you break into a clearing. 

Only this time, there’s a willow tree in the middle. You can hear something, it sounds like two women laughing. 

Are they laughing at you? 

It must be the killers, they must be taunting you, rubbing it in how you can’t catch them. 

More people are going to die, and their blood is on your hands. 

The cackling gets louder and louder and then it’s all you can hear and you clamp your hands over your ears begging for it to stop, please, god, let it stop –

– there’s a hand on your shoulder and everything is silent. 

You turn around slowly. Is it them? 

Instead, it’s a man with his eyes closed. He looks vaguely familiar, where have you seen him? 

He opens his eyes and they’re gray and it hits you. 

It’s the dead man. 

He grabs you by the shoulders and his jaw drops to scream, but no sound comes out. And then his hands grab your throat and he starts to squeeze. 

The knocking on the door to your room wakes you up and you fly out of bed, gasping for breath, still feeling the pressure around your throat. It takes a moment to collect your bearings before you realize that you’re safe and the man is dead. 

Still a little shaky, you walk to the door and unlatch it to find Dr. Vidal standing there. 

“Oh, hi,” you greet, stepping to the side so she can come in. It’s hard to meet her eyes after being fucked by her wife the day before. She holds up a container of chicken noodle soup in one hand and a box of cold medicine and a plastic grocery bag in the other. 

“Agatha said you were feeling a little under the weather,” she says, plopping the stuff down on the counter and thankfully avoiding the mounds of photos and case evidence you have right next to it. Including the knife from the woods. “Did I wake you up?” 

You rub your face and feel the pillow indentions in your cheek. “Um, yeah, I was having a bad dream though, so I don’t mind,” you joke and motion for her to take a seat. 

“I would heat up the soup first before eating,” she suggests and you pour it into a bowl and put it in the microwave. “Bad dream? Do you want to talk about it?

“Would it count as a session?”

Dr. Vidal waves her hand. “Not at all. Consider it free advice. So, what happened?” 

The microwave beeps and you open it, the soup steaming. You set it down to cool off a little. “It kind of lines up with those images I had with you and another dream I had yesterday, I think. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I think they’re memories of something? I just don’t remember it. But then there’s some things that change, like today, there was this new dead man. That was recent, so maybe they’re not memories? Maybe I’m just losing my mind.” 

“You’re not losing your mind,” she chuckles. “Dreams and memories, the real and not real, it’s easy to blur the lines. Maybe your unconscious is trying to tell you something, maybe trying to remind you of something that happened to you.” 

That makes you think for a moment. You can see the woods, the snow, whatever you keep seeing, but it’s more of just flashes in time, rather than the whole thing. You can’t see what happens before, or after. “I guess I’ll just have to see if more pieces start coming together,” you say. 

She sighs. “I know it can be confusing and probably really frustrating, but I’ll help you get to the bottom of this. I have some techniques we can try during your session in a few days. I’ll help you claw your way out of whatever this is.” 

“Thank you,” you say gratefully. “What’s in the bag?” You point to the grocery bag and she nods to give you permission. You open it and with a gasp, you find your clothes from yesterday in it, all neatly folded. “How…what…you…” There’s no words. 

“Don’t worry, it’s our little secret,” she says with a wink. 

You have to grab onto the edge of the counter so you don’t pass out. “Wait, did we…” 

“Have sex?” She asks bluntly and you’re too afraid to move. “No, we didn’t. If we did, you would remember it.” 

The thrumming starts to come back behind your eyes, despite the blush at her flirtatious words. “So, how do you have my clothes?” 

“You better eat your soup before it gets cold,” Dr. Vidal sidesteps the question and it’s clear that you’re not getting an answer. 

You slide open the drawer next to the fridge and pull out a spoon from the silverware caddy. A sharp pain sears through your head and your heart starts to race. 

The spoon has the same blue handle and emblem as the knife does. WM. Westview Motel. The spoon clatters to the ground and you begin furiously counting. Six forks. Six spoons. 

Five knives. 

When they were in your room your first night in Westview, they must’ve taken it from here. 

They’re trying to frame you. 

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

Vet here!

I 100% believe that there are situations where rehoming the pet is the kindest, most humane thing to do for the pet and the people involved.

I'm not talking about dumping the animal on the street, but working to find a more appropriate home for that animal's needs, or because your needs are different than you thought.

Here are some reasons I have seen pets rehomed, all of whom thrived afterwards:

A person in the home developed an allergy or other medical issue that made keeping the pet unsafe for them, or made it so they could no longer meet the pet's needs

The family had a child, and the pet was not at all okay with having a tiny screaming, crawling, etc. person in the house

The people did not do their research and ended up with a bad match

The people did their research, but the animal in question did not fit the expected behavioral profile and thus is stressed in the lifestyle they are in. One example of this was, someone who had competition dogs (they did agility, obedience, and flyball) got another member of their breed of choice. This particular dog wanted to sit on a couch and cuddle with someone, and do a nice easy daily walk, and maybe give paw for a biscuit. She absolutely did not want to have to travel every weekend and do intensive daily training, even though 99% of her breed would be absolutely bonkers without all that work. Nor did she want to deal with her rambunctious housemates. She ended up in a pet home and being a lovely companion for her new (experienced) older human

A person wanted to get a cat after their sweet older cat died. They went to the shelter asking for an adult cat, and someone handed them a sweet little wiggly kitten that they promptly fell in love with. They took said kitten home, and he was extremely high-drive, playful, climbing everything and getting into everything. Without daily active playtime, he started biting. The owner did not have the time or desire to do that type of intensive play this cat needed, and didn't want to get him a companion cat due to finances

Pets who have medical issues that the family is not financially (or time-wise) prepared to handle, but someone else is willing to take on that expense/time. This happens often in emergency clinics, and is how I obtained one of my cats and a former dog

This one is controversial BUT often improves safety for the pet: the person gets a new partner, and the partner dislikes the animal or vice versa. While in my own personal ethical code, that would mean finding a new partner, I would rather see the pet rehomed to a loving family that wants them then have to live in a household where they are at risk

Sometimes, recognizing that you are not in fact the best fit for your pet, and finding someone who is, is a great act of love. There are a tremendous number of resources available to help find that better fit, including training groups, online communities (beware though, and make sure you investigate proper homes thoroughly), breed rescue, friends, family members, and even talking to your vet who, presumably, knows your pet to some degree. If you have a pet from a responsible breeder, contact your breeder! If you obtained through a rescue, contact that rescue group! Not all of them will help you, but many will.

hi! can i ask what's ur opinion on giving pets away? not necessarily because u can't afford to care for em anymore but maybe incompatibility of personalities or maybe lifestyles. is it wrong to give ur pet for adoption if u know someone who's better suited for keeping a pet, like emotionally?

This is going to be controversial, but I support making that choice.

There’s a lot of rhetoric lately around how it’s evil and unethical to rehome your pet if you don’t “need to.” And what that does is prioritize human ideology over the actual animal’s well-being.

Pets that aren’t a good match for your home or pets that aren’t really wanted anymore frequently have lower welfare! When caring for an animal becomes a burden or is forced, people end up resenting them, and that means the animal often doesn’t get all of its needs fulfilled. Even if you’re still feeding it and providing appropriate vet care, how likely are you to provide affection or enrichment to an animal you’re tired of being stuck with?

Lifestyle and personality really matter to making sure a pet is a good fit for a home. A dog that alert-barks at every leaf that moves is probably a bad fit for someone who has a chronic migraine syndrome, and they might not know that until the dog has been in the home for weeks and started to open up. A really feisty kitten that requires a ton of play might not do best in the home of someone older who wanted a quiet lap cat. And while you can you do your best to plan to find a compatible animal, you won’t always know ahead of time what issues might arise.

“Forever home” rhetoric is really, really popular and I think it’s very unfair to the animals it is supposed to support. It started with the backlash of seeing animals abandoned inappropriately, and has been heavily reinforced in the public mind because it’s so frequently used to drive fundraising and support for legislation. The whole “forever home” concept communicates to people that getting an animal is an immutable commitment and that if you can’t keep an animal, it is a personal moral failing. It frames human priorities (we think people who get rid of animals are Evil and Bad and should be shunned) as more important than actual welfare needs for individual animals (are they getting the care they need where they are).

Obviously, I don’t support people dumping animals or just getting fad pets they’ll discard immediately, but there’s so many alternate situations that can arise. Even if it’s just “they got a pet and didn’t know what caring for it would take and didn’t want to care for it so they brought it back, how awful” like… okay, I’d like the person to have done more research before they got a pet, but isn’t it better that the animal now has a second chance to go to better home? Knowing what a commitment requires theoretically can be very different than having to actually follow through regularly, and I’d rather see someone maturely acknowledge that having an animal isn’t a good fit than keep it anyway!!

If animals being happy and with all their biological, veterinary, and social needs fulfilled is actually the goal, we need to prioritize their welfare over human opinion. I’d much rather see an animal rehomed responsibly to somewhere it will thrive and be welcomed than see people keep animals they can’t/don’t want to care for out of guilt or shame. 

[lila-lou]

✨Double Trouble✨

Summary: Christmas in the bunker was supposed to be quiet. With the twins finally in bed, Dean and you were ready to enjoy a little “grown-up time”. But as always with these two, nothing went as planned.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 9734

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

The bunker was quiet, the kind of quiet that only came on Christmas Eve when all the excitement of the day had simmered into the promise of tomorrow. You should’ve known better than to trust your five-year-old twins, Ellie and Jake, to stay in bed. But Dean had insisted, grinning ear-to-ear, that they’d be too tired from all the snowball fights and cookie decorating to cause any mischief.

Apparently, that grin lied.

You were leaning against the counter in the kitchen, enjoying the brief silence. The soft glow of the string lights you’d hung around the bunker shimmered faintly, casting a warm, cozy light over the room. It was moments like these—rare, fleeting moments—that made everything else worth it. The chaos, the hunting, the danger. This was home.

Dean walked in quietly, brushing flour off his dark flannel, his hair slightly disheveled. He still had that boyish grin, the one that had charmed you all those years ago and hadn’t lost its effect. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there for a moment, watching you. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze making your cheeks flush.

“Hey,”, he said softly, his voice warm, as he crossed the kitchen toward you.

“Hey yourself”, you replied, smiling at him as he closed the distance between you.

“You look too calm”, he teased, resting a hand on the counter beside you and leaning in slightly. “Makes me think you’re plotting something”.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “For once, no. Just enjoying the quiet while it lasts”.

Dean smirked, his other hand slipping around your waist. “Quiet doesn’t last long around here. Might as well make the most of it”.

Before you could reply, he leaned in and kissed you, soft at first, then deeper, his lips warm and familiar. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and the tension of the day melted away in an instant. For a moment, it was just the two of you—no monsters, no apocalypse-level threats, no five-year-old twins who could rival Sam and Dean in sheer determination. Just you and him.

You smiled against his lips when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “What’s that for?”, you whispered, still feeling the warmth of him surrounding you.

Dean shrugged, though his smirk deepened. “Do I need a reason to kiss my wife?”.

“Guess not”, you murmured, sliding your hands up to rest on his shoulders. “Not that I’m complaining”.

“Better not”, he teased, his tone light. “Otherwise, I’ll have to—”.

Before he could finish, the sound of not-so-stealthy giggling reached you both from the hallway. Dean pulled back slightly, frowning in mock annoyance. “You hear that?”, he whispered, though the twinkle in his eye gave him away.

“I hear it”, you replied, sighing as you glanced toward the doorway. “And I think I know exactly who it is”.

Dean smirked, his hands still resting on your waist. “Think we should let ‘em sweat it out, or should we just go ahead and bust them?”.

“Let’s see how far they’re willing to take this”, you said, grinning as you leaned against him.

Before either of you could move, Ellie’s little blonde head peeked around the corner, quickly followed by Jake’s. They froze when they realized they’d been caught, their identical green eyes wide with a mixture of guilt and amusement.

“Uh-oh”, Jake whispered, elbowing his sister. “Run?”.

Ellie shook her head, whispering back loudly, “No, we gotta play it cool!”.

Dean chuckled, letting his hands drop as he turned toward the doorway. “Alright, you two little troublemakers”, he said, his voice carrying just enough mock sternness to make them squirm. “What are you doing out of bed?”.

Ellie straightened her spine, clearly deciding to be the spokesperson for their operation. “We were just… making sure Santa didn’t need any help”, she said, her small chin lifting with determination.

Jake nodded vigorously. “Yeah, ‘cause, you know, Christmas is important”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at you as he leaned back against the counter. The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried not to laugh. “Uh-huh. And what’s so important about sneaking through the bunker in the middle of the night?”.

Ellie’s confidence faltered just slightly, and Jake’s gaze darted to the floor. They exchanged a quick, silent sibling look before Ellie blurted out, “We were looking for presents!”.

Dean groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face, though the twinkle in his eye gave him away. “Of course you were. You two are worse than I was at your age”.

“Got that right”. you muttered under your breath, earning a smirk from him.

“Did you find anything?”, Dean asked, crouching slightly to look them in the eye.

“Nooo”, Jake admitted, dragging out the word. “But we did see you kissing Mom, so… ew”.

Ellie wrinkled her nose in agreement. “So gross”.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at the twins. They were a whirlwind of mischief wrapped in innocence, and as much as they drove you and Dean crazy, you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

Ellie and Jake padded into the kitchen, their tiny feet barely making a sound against the bunker’s cool floor. Their sheepish grins betrayed their earlier bravado, and you were just about to send them back to bed when another figure appeared in the doorway.

Sam.

He looked like he had just fallen out of bed, his hair a mess, and his flannel pajamas slightly askew. His face carried the same half-annoyed, half-amused expression he always wore when dealing with his niece and nephew’s antics.

“Let me guess”, Sam said, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. “The dynamic duo strikes again?”.

Dean smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. “What gave it away, Sammy? The giggling or the fact that it’s two in the morning?”.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “I was hoping they’d finally give you guys a break. Especially after the sugar high they’ve been on all day”.

Jake piped up, “We weren’t doing anything bad, Uncle Sam!”.

Ellie nodded in agreement, tugging on Sam’s sleeve as if to convince him. “Yeah! We were just making sure Santa’s okay!”.

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking down at them skeptically. “Uh-huh. And you thought Santa was hiding in the bunker kitchen?”.

Dean snorted, clearly enjoying the show. “Give ‘em some credit, Sammy. At least they’re committed”.

Meanwhile, Sam’s son, Caleb, was notably absent, which didn’t escape Dean’s notice. “And where’s the little angel?”, Dean asked, glancing behind Sam. “Still tucked in, dreaming about saving kittens or whatever perfect kids dream about?”.

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide a smirk. “He’s asleep, like a normal kids. Not wandering around trying to play detective”.

“Pfft”, Dean said, waving a dismissive hand. “He’s just too scared to get caught. These two? Fearless”.

Ellie beamed at the backhanded compliment, while Jake puffed out his chest, clearly proud of their escapade. You shook your head, stepping in before they got any more ideas.

“Alright, enough”, you said firmly, placing your hands on your hips. “Ellie, Jake, back to bed. Now”.

“But Moooom!”, they whined in unison, dragging out the word as though it might change your mind.

Dean, however, backed you up, straightening to his full height and putting on his best stern-dad face. “Don’t ‘but Mom’ her. Get your butts in bed before Santa really skips over the bunker”.

The twins’ eyes widened, and Ellie clutched Jake’s arm. “He won’t skip us, will he?”, she asked, her voice tinged with panic.

“That depends on how fast you get to bed”, Dean replied, pointing toward the hallway.

That was all it took. They scurried out of the kitchen, their little footsteps echoing down the hall as they whispered frantically about whether Santa had heard them.

Once they were gone, the silence returned, broken only by the low hum of the bunker’s lights. Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You guys have your hands full”.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, you could’ve had twins too, but nooo, you got lucky with Mr. Perfect”.

Sam smirked. “Caleb’s not perfect, he’s just… well-behaved”.

Dean shot him a mock glare. “Same thing. Next time, send him over here. Maybe some of that ‘well-behaved’ will rub off”.

“Doubt it”, Sam said dryly.

Just as Sam turned to head back to his room, the sound of tiny, pattering footsteps echoed back down the hall. You sighed, already knowing who it was before Ellie and Jake reappeared in the doorway, their little faces full of a mix of defiance and something you recognized as an attempt at innocence.

Sam stopped in his tracks and turned back, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t you two just get sent to bed?”.

Ellie, clutching her favorite stuffed animal—a well-loved bunny missing one ear—padded straight toward you. “Mommy, we can’t sleep”, she said softly, her green eyes wide and pleading as she held out her little hands toward you.

Jake nodded behind her, trying to look equally earnest, though his mischievous smirk ruined the act. “Yeah, we need another story. Just one more”.

Sam let out a low snort, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “I’ll say it again—you guys have your hands full”.

Dean groaned, running a hand over his face, though you could see the small, fond smile tugging at his lips. “You two are the worst negotiators ever”, he said, though there was no real heat in his tone. “Didn’t we read you a story already?”.

Ellie nodded solemnly. “But it wasn’t enough”, she said, her little voice trembling like she was delivering the most heartbreaking news. “I can’t sleep”.

Ellie had been having trouble sleeping the past few nights, and it didn’t take much to see the shadows of her recent restlessness in the way she clung to you now. Jake, you suspected, was just along for the ride, but Ellie’s unease was genuine.

You knelt down and gently scooped Ellie up, settling her on your hip with ease. She wrapped her little arms around your neck and rested her head against your shoulder, her well-loved bunny clutched tightly in one hand. She was already five, and you knew these moments wouldn’t last forever. Soon enough, she’d be too big to carry like this, but for now, you held her close, savoring her warmth and the soft scent of her shampoo.

“It’s okay, baby”, you murmured, running a hand soothingly over her back. “Mommy’s got you”.

Ellie sighed, her tiny body relaxing against yours. “I don’t wanna have bad dreams”, she whispered, her voice trembling.

Dean’s teasing expression softened instantly, and he stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Ellie’s face. “No bad dreams tonight, kiddo”, he said gently. “You’re safe here. Nothing’s getting past me and your mom, okay?”.

Ellie nodded but didn’t lift her head, snuggling further into your shoulder. You kissed the top of her head and glanced at Jake, who stood nearby with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pajama pants, looking both sheepish and protective.

“And you, mister”, you said, giving Jake a soft smile, “are you here to keep your sister company?”.

Jake shrugged, his little smirk reappearing. “She doesn’t like being alone”, he admitted. “And I didn’t want her to cry”.

Dean chuckled, ruffling Jake’s hair. “Good man”, he said. “But you’re still going back to bed after this story”.

Jake rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, his smirk growing as he stepped closer to rest his hand on your arm, as if to reassure Ellie without saying anything.

Sam, who had been leaning silently against the doorway, let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “You’re raising a couple of night owls, you know that?”.

Dean shot him a mock glare. “Yeah, thanks for the observation, Mr. Perfect-Kid. You can go back to your room now”.

“Gladly”, Sam replied with a smirk, pushing off the doorway. “Good luck with bedtime round two. Merry Christmas”.

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Sam”, Jake called after him, earning another chuckle from Sam as he disappeared down the hallway.

With Sam gone, Dean turned his attention back to you and the kids. He reached out and gently took Ellie from your arms, shifting her easily onto his hip as if she weighed nothing. She yawned and leaned her head against his shoulder, her bunny dangling from her fingers.

“Alright”, Dean said, his voice soft but firm. “One more story. But that’s it. No excuses this time. Deal?”.

Ellie nodded, her fingers clutching the collar of Dean’s flannel. “Deal”, she mumbled.

Jake gave a little salute, his smirk still intact. “Deal”.

Dean shot you a knowing look, his lips twitching in a half-smile. “You coming, or do I have to tell this story solo?”.

“I’m coming”, you said, laughing softly as you followed them back to the kids’ room. Jake scampered ahead, already climbing into his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin. Dean sat down on the edge of Ellie’s bed, still holding her as she blinked sleepily up at him.

“What story tonight?”, Dean asked, his voice quieter now.

Ellie mumbled something about heroes again, her words barely audible, and Jake chimed in with, “And monsters! But the good guys win, like always”.

Dean smirked, glancing at you as you settled into the chair beside Ellie’s bed. “Heroes and monsters, huh? You kids are gonna grow up thinking hunting is some kind of fairy tale”.

“Not fairy tales”, Jake corrected, his grin wide. “Adventures”.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, adventures it is”. He adjusted Ellie in his lap, holding her close as he launched into one of his and Sam’s hunts—toned down, of course, with a few embellishments to make it sound like a grand, thrilling tale.

Ellie’s eyes grew heavier with every word, and Jake, though fighting it, began to yawn halfway through the story. By the time Dean finished, Ellie was fast asleep, her bunny tucked under her chin, and Jake was dozing, his head resting on his pillow.

Dean carefully laid Ellie down and pulled the blanket up around her, tucking her in snugly before standing. You leaned over to press a kiss to Jake’s forehead, smoothing his hair back gently.

The next morning, you stirred slightly, still wrapped in the warmth of the bed and the familiar weight of Dean’s arm draped across your waist. You were half-asleep, lost in the haze of early morning, when you felt the soft brush of lips against your cheek.

Dean was awake.

His kisses started gentle, barely brushing against your skin, before growing more deliberate. His lips moved from your cheek to your jawline, lingering there for a moment, warm and lazy. His scruff tickled slightly as his mouth trailed down to the curve of your neck. A soft, open-mouthed kiss followed, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Morning”, he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with sleep.

You made a small sound in response, still too drowsy to form words. Dean chuckled softly, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest as his hand began to move, sliding slowly down from your waist to the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his old, worn AC/DC shirt that barely grazed mid-thigh.

His fingers brushed against the fabric lightly, teasingly, before slipping just underneath, grazing your bare skin. His touch was warm, deliberate, and achingly slow as his hand traveled along your hip.

“Dean…”, you mumbled, your voice still groggy but laced with amusement and warmth.

“Hm?”, he replied, his lips pressing another lazy kiss just below your ear. “Kids are still asleep. We’ve got time”.

You smiled faintly, your eyes still closed as you leaned into his touch. “Barely. They’ll be up in an hour”.

“An hour’s plenty”, he murmured, his hand sliding further under the shirt as his lips found your neck again, kissing a little more firmly this time. His thumb traced gentle circles against your hip, the touch soothing and tantalizing all at once.

You turned your head slightly, your nose brushing against his. “You’re really risking it, Winchester”.

Dean grinned, his mouth brushing yours in a kiss that was as playful as it was intimate. “Worth the risk”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “Besides, it’s Christmas. Can’t I wake my wife up with a little holiday cheer?”.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, finally opening your eyes to see his face inches from yours. His green eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint, his smile equal parts boyish charm and devilish intent.

“You’re impossible”, you said, your voice carrying no real conviction as you reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair.

“And yet”, he replied, his grin widening as his hand skimmed up your thigh, “you love me anyway”.

“Lucky for you”, you teased, pulling him down into a kiss.

Dean’s smirk deepened as he shifted himself between your legs, the soft fabric of his sweatpants already discarded on the floor. His movements were unhurried, his hands warm and steady as they slid along your thighs, gently spreading them apart. The teasing, deliberate way he pulled your panties aside made your breath hitch, his knuckles grazing your skin as he moved.

He leaned down, his forehead brushing yours, his lips hovering just a breath away as he locked eyes with you. His green eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and tenderness, the corners crinkling slightly as he grinned.

“Attempt number three for baby number three?”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His swollen tip brushed against your folds, the sensation sending a shiver through your body. He paused, grinning even wider as he added, “Or should I just wrap myself up? Merry Christmas and all”.

You snorted softly, shaking your head against the pillow. "You're ridiculous", you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep, but the corner of your lips twitched in amusement.

Dean's grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider. He nudged against you with his tip, teasingly brushing against your folds, just enough to make your breath hitch. His hands rested firmly on your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your skin in slow, lazy circles.

"You better answer", he murmured, his voice low and thick with that familiar playful edge, "or I’ll decide for myself". He dipped his head, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "And as you know", he added, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I hate being wrapped up".

A soft laugh bubbled from your lips, your hands sliding to his shoulders as you looked up at him, your gaze warm despite the teasing frustration in your tone. "Oh, poor you", you said, your fingers curling slightly against his skin. "Such a hardship".

Dean chuckled, his lips grazing your collarbone as he pressed closer, his weight settling against you in that perfect, familiar way. "Yeah, it is", he muttered, his tone mock-serious. He nudged against you again, this time with a bit more pressure, his breath hitching slightly as he felt you respond.

"Dean", you whispered, your voice soft but filled with equal parts exasperation and affection.

He rested his forehead against yours, his voice softer now as he murmured, "So, what’s it gonna be? Option one or option two?".

You sighed dramatically, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. "Fine", you said, your hands sliding to rest on his lower back. "Let’s try for number three".

Dean’s grin widened, and he pressed another kiss to your lips, this one filled with both triumph and affection. "That’s my girl".

Dean’s grin softened as he aligned himself, his eyes locked on yours, searching your face as if committing every detail to memory. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed forward, his swollen tip parting you with a gentle ease. His movements were unhurried, savoring the moment as he sunk deeper, a quiet grunt escaping his lips.

His forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with yours, warm and steady. He paused for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his hand sliding up your thigh to rest on your hip, his thumb brushing tender circles against your skin. Then, his lips found yours again, capturing them in a kiss that was both soft and consuming, filled with a love that ran deeper than words.

Your hands moved to his back, your fingers curling against his warm skin as he began to move, his hips rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm. His quiet groans mixed with your soft gasps, the two of you melting into each other in the quiet stillness of the morning. His lips stayed on yours, sometimes breaking away to trail kisses along your jaw or murmur your name in that low, gravelly voice that always made your heart flutter.

Dean’s hand slid from your hip to lace his fingers with yours, pinning your hand gently beside your head as his pace remained slow and steady. He kissed you again, his lips lingering this time, his breath catching slightly as he pressed deeper, his movements careful yet filled with passion.

Dean’s movements were deliberate, his hips rocking against you with a rhythm that was uniquely his—something so unhurried yet devastatingly precise. It wasn’t rushed or frantic; it was intimate, passionate, and filled with a kind of love and care that only Dean could give. Each thrust was measured, purposeful, his body moving with yours as though the two of you had been perfectly designed to fit together.

You felt his breath against your skin, warm and steady, as his lips traced a path along your jawline and down your neck. His low groans vibrated against your skin, sending waves of warmth coursing through you. He tilted his hips slightly, the angle changing just enough to send sparks of pleasure radiating from your core. Dean’s name fell from your lips in a breathless gasp, and his mouth curved into a grin against your neck.

“Right there, huh?”, he murmured, his voice husky and low, as his movements became more deliberate. He hit that perfect spot again, and your back arched off the bed, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. It was maddening how he could find it every time, how he knew your body so intimately after all these years.

Dean pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes blazing with intensity as he watched your reactions. “You’re so beautiful like this”, he whispered, his lips brushing yours. “Every time. Always”.

The way he said it, the raw honesty in his voice, made your chest tighten with emotion even as the pleasure built inside you, overwhelming and all-consuming. Your legs tightened around him instinctively, pulling him deeper, and he let out a quiet groan, his forehead pressing to yours as his hips rocked against you with just a little more force.

Dean’s grin widened, a flicker of pride flashing in his eyes as he felt your body respond to him, just like it always did. He knew exactly what he was doing, and his ego absolutely thrived on it. He never rushed, never stumbled—his confidence in how to handle you was unshakable, and it was maddeningly effective. He knew how to make you come, how to unravel you completely, and for him, it was almost too easy.

His hips pressed deeper, rolling against yours with deliberate precision, each thrust brushing that perfect spot inside you that had your breath catching and your nails digging into his shoulders. Dean’s quiet groans mixed with the soft sounds escaping your lips, and he couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his mouth.

“Look at you”, he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of teasing and reverence. “Already so close, aren’t you? Always so easy for me”. His words weren’t taunting—they were filled with a heady mix of love and cocky pride, the kind only Dean could pull off.

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, to come up with some smart remark, but all that came out was a broken gasp as his hips shifted slightly, hitting you even deeper. He chuckled softly, his lips trailing along your neck, leaving warm kisses in his wake.

“That’s right”, he whispered, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek as he kissed you deeply, swallowing the sounds you made. “Let go for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you”.

It wasn’t just his words or his touch—it was the way he looked at you, his green eyes locked on yours as though you were the only thing that existed in the world. It was the way he moved, deliberate and passionate, completely focused on you. It was everything about him, all at once, that pushed you over the edge.

Your body tightened around him, a cry escaping your lips as the orgasm crashed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

Dean’s hips stuttered slightly as as he worked you through it. His breathing grew heavier, his quiet groans vibrating against your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He pressed deeper, his rhythm faltering as he gave in, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he spilled inside you.

The tension in his body melted away as he stilled, his forehead resting against your shoulder. His chest heaved against yours, his warm breath tickling your skin as he whispered your name, almost reverently. He stayed like that for a moment, his weight comforting and grounding, his hand lazily brushing along your side.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his green eyes soft as they found yours. His lips curved into a tired but satisfied grin, the kind that was uniquely Dean—equal parts smug and adoring.

“Now that”, he said, his voice still rough with lingering passion, “was a hell of a way to start Christmas”.

You couldn’t help the breathless laugh that bubbled up, your hands sliding to rest against his shoulders. “And here I thought the kids opening presents was supposed to be the highlight of the day”.

Dean smirked, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, this one slow and sweet, a stark contrast to the fire from moments before. “They can wait”, he murmured against your mouth, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “This is my highlight”.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “You’re impossible, Winchester”.

“And yet”, he teased, grinning as he kissed you again, “you still married me”.

The two of you were still tangled in the quiet aftermath, basking in the warmth of each other, when the sound of Sam’s frustrated voice carried down the hallway.

“Ellie! Jake!”, Sam’s tone was exasperated, yet with that trademark calmness he always managed to maintain, even in chaos. “How many times do I have to tell you—stop hiding my toothbrush!”.

Dean groaned, dropping his head back against the pillow with a dramatic sigh. “And there goes the peace”, he muttered, though his smirk said he wasn’t entirely annoyed.

You stifled a laugh, pressing your hand over your mouth as Sam’s voice grew closer, clearly still trying to track down the culprits. “What do you think the odds are that they’ll deny it this time?”, you asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

Dean chuckled, sitting up slightly to rest on his elbows. “Oh, they’ll deny it. And then Jake’ll throw Ellie under the bus”.

Before you could reply, another voice joined the commotion in the hallway—Caleb’s, Sam’s ten-year-old son. “Dad!”, Caleb called, his tone half-annoyed, half-panicked. “I can’t find my toothbrush either! Did they take mine too?”.

Dean let out a full laugh now, shaking his head as he glanced over at you. “Well, guess we know what they’ve been up to”.

You snorted, sliding out from under the blanket and reaching for the nearest shirt—still Dean’s, of course. “Should we intervene, or let Sam handle it?”.

Dean leaned back lazily, folding his arms behind his head, his smirk wide. “Let him handle it. He’s got this”.

The sound of Ellie and Jake’s giggling reached your ears next, along with Sam’s resigned sigh. “Guys, this is the third time this week. I need my toothbrush. And Caleb needs his, too. Just tell me where you hid them”.

Ellie’s voice piped up, cheerful and completely unrepentant. “We didn’t hide it, Uncle Sam! Maybe the monsters took it”.

Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his sweatpants as he grinned at you. “Guess I should go rescue Sammy before he loses it completely”.

You laughed, grabbing his arm before he could get up. “You’ll just make it worse, and you know it”.

“Exactly”, Dean said, his grin widening. “What’s Christmas without a little chaos?”.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling as the sound of the kids’ laughter and Sam’s exasperated attempts to rein them in filled the bunker. It was chaotic, sure, but it was also home.

Dean swung the bedroom door open, stepping out into the hallway wearing nothing but his sweatpants. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and his smirk was firmly in place as he leaned against the doorframe. His bare chest caught the dim light of the bunker, and his presence immediately drew the attention of everyone in the hallway.

Sam stood there, arms crossed, his expression a mix of exasperation and long-suffering patience. Ellie and Jake were huddled together just a few feet away, their faces plastered with matching innocent grins that Dean could see through in an instant. Caleb, already taller and more composed than most ten-year-olds, stood off to the side with his hands on his hips, looking equally annoyed and amused.

Dean raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as his eyes landed on his twins. “Alright”, he drawled, his voice still rough from sleep. “Who’s messing with Uncle Sammy’s toothbrush this time?”.

Ellie giggled, clutching her bunny closer to her chest as she tried to look innocent. “Not me!”, she chirped, her tone far too cheerful to be convincing.

Jake, true to Dean’s earlier prediction, pointed at Ellie without hesitation. “She did it!”, he declared, his voice a little too eager. “I told her not to, but she wouldn’t listen”.

“Jake!”, Ellie squeaked, her eyes wide with mock betrayal. “That’s not true!”.

Dean sighted, running a hand through his messy hair as he stepped closer.

Jake pouted, crossing his arms. “I didn’t do it! It was her idea this time!”.

Caleb groaned, clearly fed up with the entire situation. “I just want my toothbrush back”, he muttered, looking at his cousins with a raised eyebrow. “You can’t keep stealing them!”.

Sam shot Dean a pointed look, his expression screaming control your kids. Dean just grinned back, completely unfazed. “Alright, alright”, he said, holding up his hands. “Let’s cut a deal. You two”, he pointed at Ellie and Jake, “tell Uncle Sam and Caleb where the toothbrushes are, and maybe Santa doesn’t hear about this little stunt”.

Ellie’s eyes widened, and she clutched her bunny even tighter. “You wouldn’t tell Santa!”, she gasped, her voice full of dramatic disbelief.

Jake’s resolve faltered, and he glanced at Ellie before mumbling, “Fine. They’re in the cereal box”.

Sam blinked, his arms dropping to his sides. “The cereal box?”.

Dean laughed, shaking his head as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Gotta hand it to ‘em, Sammy. That’s creative”.

Sam just sighed, muttering something under his breath as he turned toward the kitchen. Caleb followed after him, shaking his head as he glanced back at his cousins. “You guys are so weird”, he said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

Dean crouched down to the twins’ level, his smirk softening into something more affectionate. “Alright, you two”, he said, his voice quieter. “What’s the deal with the toothbrush thing, huh? You trying to drive Uncle Sam crazy?”.

Ellie looked down at her bunny, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. “We were just playing”, she mumbled. “It was funny”.

Dean sighed, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “Yeah, it’s funny until Uncle Sam loses it and makes you scrub the bathroom for a week. You wanna deal with that?”.

Jake shook his head quickly, his eyes wide. “No”.

“Good”, Dean said, standing up and crossing his arms. “Now, go help him find them. And no more hiding stuff, got it?”.

“Yes, Daddy”, they chorused, their voices small but sincere.

Dean watched as they scampered off toward the kitchen, and he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Turning back toward the bedroom, he caught your amused expression.

Dean’s grin widened when he saw you leaning against the doorframe, your messy hair and his AC/DC shirt hanging loosely on your frame. He gave you a once-over, then nodded toward the bathroom with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows.

“Wanna take a shower?”, he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the mischievous twinkle in his eye made it clear he wasn’t just talking about getting clean.

You were about to reply when Sam’s voice cut in sharply. “Nope. No way. You two aren’t disappearing on me right now”.

Dean turned slowly, raising an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder at Sam, who was standing there with Caleb and the twins, all three kids looking suspiciously close to starting another round of chaos.

“Come on, Sammy”, Dean said, his voice dripping with mock indignation. “You can handle breakfast for twenty minutes”.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, sure. Because last time I ‘handled breakfast’, I had to explain to Caleb why Jake thought peanut butter went on the stove, and Ellie was using syrup as hair gel”.

Dean snorted, turning fully to face his brother. “You’re telling me you can face down demons and angels, but you can’t manage two five-year-olds and a ten-year-old for twenty minutes?”.

Sam opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue, but Dean held up a hand, his expression turning serious—or as serious as he could manage with his sweatpants slung low on his hips and his hair still sticking up.

“Sam”, Dean said, his tone low and firm, “it’s Christmas. Give us a break. Twenty minutes. That’s all I’m asking”.

Sam sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before glaring at Dean. “Fine. But if I find syrup anywhere it doesn’t belong—”.

“You won’t”, Dean said quickly, his grin returning. “They’re angels”.

Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like yeah, right before shooing the kids back toward the kitchen. “Alright, come on, you three. Let’s see if we can make pancakes without burning the bunker down”.

Ellie and Jake cheered, bounding after him with Caleb trailing behind, looking both amused and resigned.

As soon as they disappeared, Dean turned back to you, his grin now entirely unrestrained. “See? Twenty minutes. Plenty of time”.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “And what exactly are we doing in these twenty minutes?”.

Dean stepped closer, his hands sliding around your waist as he pulled you flush against him. “You agreed to the shower”, he said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that made your knees weak. “I’m just making sure you don’t back out”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile as he leaned down to kiss you, slow and lingering. “Alright”, you said against his lips. “Twenty minutes”.

Dean smirked, pulling you toward the bathroom. “You know I can work with that”.

Behind you, the faint sound of Sam’s exasperated voice carried from the kitchen, followed by Ellie’s laughter and Jake’s declaration that syrup was “just fancy hair gel”.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he closed the bathroom door behind you. “Angels”, he repeated, his voice full of affectionate sarcasm. “Absolute angels”.

After the fourth attempt at trying for baby number three, you and Dean finally emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, the lingering steam from the hot water clinging faintly to your skin. The scent of Dean’s cologne mixed with the cozy aroma of pancakes and syrup wafting from the kitchen. As you walked in, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the kids gathered around the table, the twins buzzing with excitement while Caleb calmly helped make sure everything was in place.

Ellie and Jake had already set the table with plates, forks, and napkins—though not all of them were straight, and Ellie had stacked three napkins on her plate for some reason. Caleb was pouring juice into cups with the steady precision of someone who had been here before, a slight grin on his face as Jake talked a mile a minute about all the presents under the tree.

“We set it up, Mommy!”, Ellie exclaimed proudly, holding her bunny in one hand as she gestured at the slightly messy table with the other. “Is it good?”.

“It’s perfect”, you said warmly, walking over to ruffle her hair before noticing her sleeves. “But let’s get these up, okay? Don’t want syrup all over your jammies”.

Ellie giggled as you gently rolled up the sleeves of her favorite snowflake-patterned pajamas. Just as you finished, Dean’s phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

Dean grabbed it, smirking as he saw Jodie’s name flashing. “Looks like the cavalry’s here”, he muttered before answering. “Hey, Jodie. Merry Christmas”.

Before he could get another word in, Caleb bolted toward the door, shouting, “Auntie Jodie! Auntie Jodie’s here!”.

Dean shook his head, grinning as he hung up the phone. “Guess I didn’t need to answer after all”.

You chuckled as Caleb yanked open the heavy bunker door, his voice echoing through the hallway.

Sure enough, standing just outside in the frosty morning air was Jodie, her two girls—Claire and Alex—beside her, all bundled up against the cold. Donna stood to the side, her signature bright smile lighting up the moment, while Castiel and Jack stood behind them, looking equally festive despite Cas’s usual stoicism. In Jodie and Donna’s hands were several large bags, overflowing with brightly wrapped Christmas presents.

“About time you let us in!”, Jodie teased, stepping forward as Caleb flung his arms around her waist.

Donna laughed, hefting the bags higher. “We were starting to think you guys were still asleep!”.

Jack grinned, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he hugged Caleb. “Merry Christmas!”, he exclaimed, his eyes darting to the twins, who were already bouncing in place at the sight of all the presents. “We brought a lot of stuff!”.

“I can see that”, you said with a laugh, helping Donna with one of her bags. “Did you guys empty the store or what?”.

“Oh, you know”, Jodie said, her tone casual but her smile warm. “Just a little something for everyone”.

Claire rolled her eyes but smiled as she set her bag down by the tree. “You mean a lot of something for everyone”.

As everyone settled into the kitchen, the sounds of laughter, conversation, and clinking plates filled the bunker, the space alive with the kind of warmth that only came from being surrounded by family—both the one you were born into and the one you chose.

An hour later, the bunker’s usually stoic and cold atmosphere had transformed into a scene of warmth and chaos around the glowing Christmas tree. Wrapping paper and ribbons were scattered across the floor, the remnants of enthusiastic unwrapping now forgotten as everyone enjoyed their new gifts. The soft twinkle of lights illuminated the room, casting a warm glow on the smiling faces around you.

Jake sat in your lap on the floor, completely engrossed in his new dinosaur toy, his small hands moving it around as he made roaring noises. You leaned back against Dean, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist, his warmth anchoring you in the midst of the joyful commotion.

Ellie was sprawled on the floor nearby, her bunny nestled by her side as she played with a doll Jodie had brought her, already inventing an elaborate story involving an adventure in a magical forest. Caleb sat beside her, tinkering with a new model kit, his focus intense as he explained the mechanics to Jack, who listened with wide-eyed curiosity.

Dean’s hand rested lightly on your knee, his thumb brushing against your leg absentmindedly as he surveyed the scene. “Look at ‘em”, he murmured, his voice soft and full of pride. “Like a bunch of happy little squirrels”.

You laughed quietly, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “It’s chaos, but the good kind”.

He kissed your temple, his scruff brushing against your skin. “Yeah. This is the kinda chaos I could get used to”.

Across the room, Jodie and Donna were sitting on the couch, laughing together as they admired their gifts. Donna held up a fuzzy scarf that Claire had picked out for her, wrapping it dramatically around her neck as she struck a pose. “How do I look?”, she asked, grinning.

“Like a movie star”, Jodie teased, shaking her head. “A really dramatic one”.

Claire rolled her eyes from her spot on the floor, but a small smile tugged at her lips as Alex nudged her playfully. Castiel, ever the observer, sat quietly in a chair, his gaze fixed on the tree as if he were contemplating the deeper meaning of its existence.

Jack was perched on the edge of the couch, his face lit with excitement as he examined a book Jodie had given him on Earth’s natural wonders. “Did you know there’s a lake that glows in the dark?”, he asked Caleb, his voice filled with awe.

Caleb nodded, still focused on his kit. “Yeah, bioluminescence. It’s pretty cool”.

Dean chuckled softly, his chest rumbling against your back. “Leave it to Jack and Caleb to turn Christmas into a science lesson”.

Jake, oblivious to the conversation, looked up at you suddenly, his dinosaur still clutched in his hands. “Mommy, look! He can roar like this!”, He made a loud, exaggerated roar, his face scrunched up in concentration.

You grinned, smoothing his messy hair as you played along. “Wow, that’s a scary roar!".

"I think he might be the loudest dinosaur in the whole bunker”, Jack said.

Dean smirked, leaning forward slightly to ruffle Jake’s hair. “I dunno, kid. I think your Uncle Sammy might give him a run for his money”.

Sam, who was sitting cross-legged nearby and flipping through a new book, glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “I heard that”.

Dean winked, clearly unapologetic. “Yeah, you did”.

The laughter and chatter carried on, the room filled with the unmistakable sound of family—messy, chaotic, but completely full of love. You glanced around at everyone, your heart swelling as you took in the scene. This was what Christmas was supposed to feel like.

Dean’s arms tightened around you slightly, and when you looked up at him, his green eyes were soft and content as they met yours. “This is a pretty damn good Christmas, huh?”, he said, his voice low so only you could hear.

You smiled, resting your hand over his. “Yeah, it really is”.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you a little closer. “And it’s not over yet”, he said with a grin. “Still gotta watch the twins try to eat their body weight in cookies”.

You laughed, closing your eyes briefly as you leaned into him.

Ellie and Jake suddenly stood up, exchanging exaggerated whispers that had everyone turning to watch them curiously. Jake glanced back toward the couch, giving Ellie a quick nod before the two of them ducked behind it, giggling quietly as they rummaged for something.

“What are they up to now?”, Dean muttered, raising an eyebrow but smiling fondly. His arm tightened around your waist, keeping you close as he watched his kids with amusement.

Moments later, the twins emerged triumphantly, holding a small, brightly colored bag. It was obvious they’d been saving this for the right moment, and their matching grins could barely contain their excitement. Without a word, they turned and marched straight toward Castiel, who was still seated near the Christmas tree, quietly observing the scene.

Cas tilted his head slightly as the twins approached, his usual stoic expression giving way to curiosity. The twins stopped in front of him, their smiles widening as they held the bag out together.

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Cas!”, Ellie declared, her voice bright and filled with excitement.

“Yeah! Merry Christmas!”, Jake chimed in, bouncing slightly on his toes.

Castiel blinked, his piercing blue eyes moving from the twins to the bag, then back to the twins. “This is for me?”, he asked, his tone laced with genuine surprise, as if the thought of receiving a gift hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Of course!”, Ellie said, nudging the bag closer to him. “You’re our favorite uncle!”.

Jake nodded eagerly, adding, “Yeah, you’re funny. Like, the way you talk and stuff. It’s, like… cool”.

Dean let out a quiet chuckle behind you, muttering, “Well, that’s one way to put it”.

Cas’s head tilted even further, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed their words. Then, slowly, a small, genuine smile appeared on his face—the kind of rare, warm smile that made everyone in the room stop for a second.

“Thank you”, Cas said, his voice soft and sincere. He took the bag carefully, as though it were something fragile and precious. “I… appreciate this gesture. Merry Christmas to you both”.

Ellie and Jake beamed, clearly proud of themselves. They stepped back, watching eagerly as Cas opened the bag. Inside, he found a small, hand-painted ornament—a slightly crooked angel with golden wings and a blue trench coat, its expression remarkably serious.

Cas held up the ornament, studying it with that same intense focus he brought to everything. “It’s you, Uncle Cas!”, Ellie explained, bouncing on her toes. “We made it! Well, Mommy helped a little”.

Jake nodded. “Yeah, it’s your coat and your serious face! You can hang it on the tree!”.

Cas stared at the ornament for a long moment, his lips twitching as though he were trying to understand why the kids had chosen him for such a tribute. “It’s… accurate”, he said finally, his voice thoughtful.

The room burst into laughter, even Sam cracking a rare grin as Donna doubled over with a wheezing chuckle. “Oh, Cas”, she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Never change”.

Cas looked up at Ellie and Jake, who were grinning from ear to ear. His expression softened, and he nodded solemnly. “Thank you. I will treasure this”.

Ellie and Jake’s smiles widened, and they darted forward to hug him, surprising the stoic angel. He hesitated for only a moment before carefully placing the ornament back in the bag and returning their hugs, his movements slightly stiff but no less genuine.

Dean leaned over to you, his grin wide and teasing. “They’re right, you know. Cas is basically a cat in human form. Aloof most of the time, but when he decides he likes you, you’re stuck with him”.

You laughed softly, resting your head against his shoulder. “They adore him. It’s kind of perfect”.

“Merry Christmas, Cas”, Dean said, his voice soft but full of warmth.

Castiel’s blue eyes shifted to Dean, his face as calm and serious as ever, though his words carried the weight of a casually dropped bombshell. “Merry Christmas, Dean”, he said, before adding, in the same matter-of-fact tone, “Oh, and congratulations on child number three”.

The room went silent.

Ellie and Jake paused mid-conversation, their heads whipping around to look at you and Dean with matching expressions of surprise and curiosity. Jodie’s mug of coffee froze halfway to her lips, her brows shooting up. Donna’s jaw dropped, and even Claire stopped fiddling with the wrapper of a chocolate Santa.

Dean, for his part, blinked at Cas, his arms tightening around you instinctively as his brain worked to catch up. “I’m sorry, what?”, he finally managed, his voice cracking slightly.

Cas tilted his head, his expression neutral, as though he were oblivious to the bombshell he’d just dropped. “The child you conceived this morning”, he said patiently, as if clarifying something simple. “It will grow strong and healthy. Congratulations”.

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You turned to Dean, who was now gaping at Cas like the angel had sprouted a second head. “Cas”, Dean finally said, his voice strained. “Are you… are you serious right now?”.

Cas nodded solemnly. “Of course. I wouldn’t joke about something so significant”.

Donna choked on her coffee, sputtering as she tried to recover. “Uh, am I hearing this right?”, she asked, looking between you and Dean. “Is this, like, angel-level baby news?”.

Jodie covered her mouth with her hand, clearly trying not to laugh as her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh, this is gonna be good”.

Dean’s eyes darted to the twins, who were staring at you both with wide eyes. “Wait a minute—Ellie, Jake, uh… you guys don’t even know what Cas is talking about, right?”, he asked, suddenly looking panicked.

Ellie tilted her head, her little brows furrowing. “Does it mean we’re getting a baby for Christmas?”.

Jake gasped, his excitement palpable. “Like a baby brother?".

Dean groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face as he muttered, “Oh, for the love of—Cas, you couldn’t have said this later?”.

“I thought you’d like to know”, Cas said simply, looking genuinely confused by the commotion. “It’s joyous news, isn’t it?”.

You finally managed to speak, your cheeks flushed and your voice a little shaky. “Cas”, you said, holding up a hand, “you… you’re saying it worked?”.

“Yes”, Cas replied with a small nod. “The energy surrounding you both was unmistakable”.

Jodie finally let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Well, congrats, you two”, she said, her tone warm but teasing. “I guess we know what you were doing this morning”.

Dean groaned again, burying his face against your shoulder.

Sam threw his head back dramatically, letting out a long, exaggerated groan before turning toward Caleb, who was still sitting on the floor with a model kit in his hands. “Caleb”, Sam said, his voice filled with mock desperation, “we need backup”.

Dean’s hand rested protectively on your belly, his fingers splayed across the fabric of your shirt as though it were the most natural place for them to be. He didn’t even seem to realize it, his focus entirely on teasing Sam as the room buzzed with laughter. But you felt the warmth of his touch, grounding and comforting, and it sent a wave of emotion through you.

As you watched him, you couldn’t help but remember how he had been six years ago when you were pregnant with Ellie and Jake. Back then, Dean’s protectiveness had been a force of nature. He had insisted on doing almost everything for you—cooking, carrying anything remotely heavy, even trying (and failing) to assemble the crib himself without asking Sam for help. He’d hovered over you like a mother hen, always checking if you needed anything, always making sure you were comfortable and safe.

You smiled to yourself at the memory of him sneaking out in the middle of the night to get you a very specific brand of ice cream because you’d mentioned craving it once. Or how he’d built up an entire arsenal of baby books, even if he claimed he didn’t need them because “it’s instinct, babe”.

And now, seeing him so casually yet instinctively protective, even before you were showing or feeling the full weight of the pregnancy, reminded you just how much Dean cared—how deeply he loved his family.

“Sammy”, Dean drawled, grinning as he gestured toward the twins, who were still buzzing with excitement. “You’re just jealous because my kids already have a battle plan for world domination, and you can barely get Caleb to do the dishes”.

Caleb smirked from his spot on the floor, holding up his hands. “Hey, I do the dishes. Sometimes”.

“See?”, Dean shot back, his grin widening. “Meanwhile, I’ve got a baby on the way and two kids already training to take over the family business”.

Sam groaned, rubbing his temples. “Oh, yeah, the family business. Great. You’re turning them into mini versions of you”.

“Damn straight”, Dean said, his tone proud. “Best Christmas gift ever”.

You laughed softly, resting your hand on top of Dean’s where it still lay against your stomach. The motion caught his attention, and his teasing expression softened instantly when he looked at you. His green eyes met yours, a quiet, unspoken emotion passing between you.

“You okay?”, he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“I’m perfect”, you replied, your smile widening as you squeezed his hand. “You?”.

His lips quirked into a softer smile as he laced his fingers with yours. “Never better”.

"Merry Christmas, Dean”, you whispered, tilting your head just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. His hand on your belly tightened slightly, and you felt him smile against your mouth before he murmured back, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart”.

Before the moment could deepen, a loud chorus of exaggerated gagging noises erupted from nearby. “Ewww!”, Jake groaned dramatically, scrunching his nose. “Gross!”.

“Disgusting!”, Ellie added, clutching her bunny to her chest as she made an exaggerated barfing sound.

Even Caleb, normally the calm and composed one, couldn’t resist joining in with a muttered, “Seriously, get a room”.

Dean pulled back from the kiss with a laugh, shaking his head as he looked at the kids, all of whom were now thoroughly invested in making the most dramatic gagging noises they could muster. His hand stayed on your belly, his thumb brushing against you in that comforting, protective way that made your heart flutter every time.

“Alright, alright”, Dean said, his smirk widening as he shot the kids a mock-stern look. “You can stop with the barf noises. We get it—you’re all scarred for life”.

Jake crossed his arms, still pouting. “I’m telling Santa about this”.

Ellie, clutching her bunny tightly, nodded with a mischievous grin. “Yeah, Santa should know what you’ve been doing”.

Dean let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, really? You’re gonna tattle on your own parents to Santa? Good luck with that, kiddo”.

“You’re both impossible”, you added with a laugh, shaking your head as the twins dissolved into giggles, their earlier protests forgotten. Caleb just rolled his eyes and muttered something about needing earplugs next Christmas.

Jodie, sitting on the couch, leaned over to Donna with a grin. “You know, I think this might be the most entertaining Christmas we’ve had yet”.

Donna nodded, chuckling as she sipped her coffee. “Definitely. And the most chaotic”.

Castiel, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange, tilted his head slightly. “I fail to understand why the children find displays of affection so objectionable. It is a natural expression of love”.

Dean barked out another laugh, pointing at Cas. “See? Even the angel gets it”.

You shook your head with a smile, leaning back against Dean as the room filled with laughter and playful teasing. The twins went back to their toys, Caleb resumed tinkering with his model kit, and the rest of the family settled into the warm, easy rhythm of Christmas morning.

Dean leaned closer to you, his voice low so only you could hear. “Crazy, isn’t it? This life, these kids, a new baby on the way…”.

You glanced up at him, catching the quiet wonder in his green eyes. “It’s crazy,” you admitted softly, lacing your fingers with his where his hand still rested on your belly. “But it’s ours. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything”.

Dean smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Me neither, sweetheart. Me neither”.

As the kids’ laughter echoed through the room and the twinkling lights of the tree cast a warm glow over the bunker, you felt a profound sense of peace. This was your family—messy, chaotic, loud, and so full of love it was almost overwhelming.

And as you sat there, wrapped in Dean’s arms and surrounded by the people you cared about most, you couldn’t help but think that this was the kind of Christmas you’d always dreamed of—perfect in its imperfection, filled with laughter, love, and the promise of everything good yet to come.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

[you-know-honey]

omggg i see you are taking viktor x reader requests and i am in desperate need of something relatively cute and fluffy after act 3 🥲

i’ve had this idea for ages where once viktor and the reader starts dating, viktor just generally starts being healthier and a little better? even though his leg is still the same he is stronger and in less pain (he really deserves this come onnn).because he is totally smitten by the reader he is spending loads of time with them which ends up to him getting more rest, eating better, etc. the reader maybe does subtle things to encourage that but in some ways it happens naturally. (although i’ve seen some scenarios where the reader helps viktor with massages/physio and that is so wholesome too)

maybe he is talking to the reader after some months of dating, sharing how he feels better in his body and how he wants to actively try to be better? like, before his work was his whole life and he had kinda given up on his health - he just wanted to make the most progress in whatever time he had. but now he wants to spend the rest of his life with the reader and is willing to fight for it (and come on that will also help him work more anyway)

thought it was a cute idea and i love your work so i’d love to see your take on this!!! ❤️

Hanging in Your Hands

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5K

2/2→→→

Viktor finds in you a love that subtly transforms him: without realizing it, he begins to take better care of himself, rest better and relieve his pain, all thanks to the peace you bring him. Finding a way to show you what he could never do with words.

N/A: English is not my native language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I will update it. Remember to share and comment if you liked it. Endnotes.

The cold of the early morning began to creep in through the window, giving your body chills from head to toe. You didn't want to wake up, you felt like you had barely slept a second after so much work.

You couldn't get anything more than a superficial sleep that ended even with the walking of an ant on your neighbor's floor. The bed felt too big for some reason and there was no pillow to hug that didn't make you feel terribly alone. You sighed, knowing it would be another long night, you went down to the kitchen to get some tea to sleep, if getting high was the only way to fall asleep so be it. While you watched the steam come out of your cup you leaned against the wall of the hallway, looking at your empty room. You couldn't help but let your imagination fly to a corner where you didn't want it to be, the darkness emulated with the shadows a sleeping figure on one side of the bed and your mind quickly gave it shape and name...Viktor.

NO.

You shook your head to get that image out of your mind, being in love with your boss was already a silly thing, you shouldn't even think about something like that. But... you couldn't help it, you liked to imagine him around the apartment, like your own homely fantasy.

The violent knocking from the other side of the front door brought you out of your little daydream. You pulled the blankets tighter around you, it wasn't time for visitors.

“Y/N!” Sky’s voice called from the other side of the door, she seemed agitated and in total panic.

You quickly rushed to open the door, finding your friend and coworker in tears and as pale as a sheet of paper.

“Sky? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You rushed to take her inside and sit her on the couch as she tried to catch her breath.

“It’s Viktor, he’s in the hospital, he fainted and… and he started bleeding! He won’t wake up!”

Sky said something else, but your mind refused to continue listening. You could feel your entire body turning into glass and shattering, your heart had stopped suddenly before beating desperately again.

That night was the worst night of your life. You don’t remember what happened exactly, you just remember dressing up in one of your long work jackets to hide your pajamas, not even bothering to put on shoes, arriving at the hospital and searching every room in desperation only to find him intubated and still unconscious on a stretcher, he looked so pale, so feverish, his hands were cold and stiff as a stone, his hair was wet with sweat and the nurses hadn’t cleaned the stain of dried blood that spread across his cheek and lips like a crimson river. You don’t know how long you cried that night. You only remember clinging to his body until the nurses basically ripped you from his side. It was the first time you truly thought you would lose him, the first time you saw what his illness could do to him.

Time passed, a lot of time indeed. Viktor had a long recovery process after such a hard relapse and was prescribed, in his opinion, the worst of medications. Rest. Instructions that he clearly hadn't intended to follow, but you didn't think the same. He didn't know when or how but you simply kicked the chained door of his heart and like a spoiled child you refused to leave. But he liked it that way. During his long stay in the hospital he hadn't stopped working and the doctors were really considering tying him to the bed, like a guardian angel there you were, reading his books for him and writing in his notebook by the side of his stretcher, making sure he took his medications and vitamins until he was ready to get back in the ring. So, gods! It would have been impossible not to fall in love with you.

You made him feel alive, seeing you filled his face with color, he couldn't help but smile and ignore everything that wasn't you, he loved being able to hold your hand, he delighted in the dropped jaws that left when they walked together through the academy. His mind was an unstoppable machine of chaos that only found peace when you were near.

How did he get to that point? He never imagined that someone like him, with his proud attitude and busy mind could attract the attention of someone like you. You... you simply shined. Everything about you seems so simple, so natural. Your laugh, your words, even the way you look at him as he always wanted to be seen, as something more than a man with a cane and too many ideas in his head.

He couldn't help but wonder what you saw in him. Is it his mind that interests you? Or did you just see something he couldn't see in the mirror? Maybe, just maybe, you've seen beyond the walls he built around himself. Beyond the weight of his ambitions.

And yet, for the first time, he feared something more than failure. He doesn't want to lose you.

When he's with you, when his hands touch yours, when you smile after one of his sarcastic comments, everything seems to fit together. For the first time in a long time, he feels like he's not a stranger in his own skin. He feels like, maybe, there's something more to him than just work.

You give him something he can't explain, something that isn't in any formula or prototype. Maybe, for once in his life, it's enough to just feel.

…Wow, he was a genius in love.

Months Later...

The sound of the lab door slamming open loudly caught Jayce's attention as he stretched out in his chair. They had been working all morning.

You walked in with a tray of breakfast and books under your arm.

“You need to grease that door,” you said, as you walked over to his desk. Jayce held the books you asked for and took one of the steaming cups on the tray.

“I'll write it down,” Jayce said, burying his face in the cup, inhaling the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He looked really exhausted. They would have a conference soon and they had to be prepared, even you and Sky had a lot of work to do.

“Have he eaten anything today?” you asked, nodding at the one you can now proudly call your partner, sitting across the lab without even noticing your presence.

“What do you think?” You sighed, it's common for your boyfriend to forget to eat, if breathing wasn't essential you're sure he would forget too.

“Viktor…” you exclaim as you walk up to his desk, his posture in front of it is terrible, a shrimp would be proud of his posture.

He doesn’t seem to hear you, he mutters things as usual while he quickly writes down in his notebook and fiddles around a bit with a design that releases sparks and steam. You can see the inner mechanism, it’s so complex that it makes your head hurt just thinking about having to fix it like he does. There’s something about that stoic concentration he has that really attracts you, you could watch him work all day. You place the tray in one of your hands, balancing it so as not to spill anything and you use the fingers of your free hand to lightly tickle Viktor’s neck, he quickly adjusts his posture, you’re sure you could hear a joint or two creak, letting out a half-gasp. Which you take advantage of by uncovering the delicious breakfast on the tray.

You know he smiles and his gaze softens when the smell of food reaches him, he stops his work and looks at you.

“Good morning” you murmur only for his ears.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, turning his chair to face you, letting go of his design so easily that even Jayce couldn’t believe it.

“Can’t I take care of my favorite genius?” You shrug, leaving the tray with breakfast on the small mound of leaves on his desk. Changing his empty cup of coffee for a cup of hot tea.

Viktor smiles barely, but there’s something warm in his gaze as he takes the first sip of tea. You’re surprised when he stands up without even making a move to look for his cane, only using his good leg for help. He rests his forehead on your shoulder, you can feel his breath so close that it makes the hairs on your neck stand up. He’s been working since before the sun came up, it’s something you can’t change about him, but seeing you is a huge relief that he doesn’t know he needs until he has you in front of him and can’t help but put everything aside for you. His hands slide under your arms until they grip your back, wrinkling your perfectly ironed shirt and you can feel him finally sigh and let his shoulders slump as if he were carrying lead on them.

That gesture is all he needs to tell you, he is not a man of words and even less so when Jayce is present because he knows that Jayce will use everything he says against him as soon as you walk out the door. He can feel you, the heat emanating from your body makes him feel warm, breathing your perfume is the breeze of fresh air he needs to keep going. If they were alone he would probably kiss you, it is the only motivation he has to make it to the end of the day.

“What? He is your favorite genius? Y/N how do you break my heart like that” Jayce dramatizes from the other side of the room with a huge smile on his face. He loves watching how Viktor basically melts for you but he can’t help but feel like a bad third between the two of you.

You can't help but giggle at the comment. “There's enough room in my heart for both of us.”

Viktor gives a small shake of his head and snorts at your shoulder, it's obvious that he doesn't like the idea.

“Will you have breakfast with me?” he asks as he pulls away from you and drops his weight back into the chair.

You've both had this habit since the hospital, when he barely had the strength to blink and refused to be fed with a g-tube. It was a hard blow to his pride that you had to feed him, but you handled the situation with a lot of respect, and at the end of the day you both always ended up eating all your meals together, it was a moment that you both could enjoy and secretly for you it was a way to make sure he gets something more than caffeine.

You sighed and shook your head. “Not this time.” The look he gave you was as painful as that of a newly abandoned puppy.

“Why not?” he asked, making a colorful gesture with his hands, quite offended.

“Sky and I are still clearing their schedules and getting everything ready for this afternoon’s conference.” You felt guilty and even more so when he gave you that look but if you lied to him it would only make his mind wander to very dark places. “I promise we’ll have dinner together. Will you forgive me this time?” you said, caressing his cheek subtly.

Schedules were something Viktor had very established, something out of that routine irritated him in ways he didn’t understand. Normally and if you were anyone else he would have pushed your hand away and ignored you for the rest of the day but… you weren’t just anyone, he couldn’t get mad at you, he couldn’t even think of a reason that was strong enough to not even look at you with annoyance.

“Just don’t miss it” He replied, enjoying your touch. Forcing you to stay on his cheek a little more for taking your wrist, when it was time for you to leave it was very difficult to let you go.

“Don't forget to take a break, Sabre, if you didn't have lunch.” You walked through the door, giving him one last look before leaving him back in the lab.

“Love is so beautiful,” Jayce mentioned, sighing like a teenager while humming the sound of the newlywed bells.

Viktor rolled his eyes and went back to his table to find his breakfast. The idea of putting it aside and continuing to work crossed his mind, it was what he used to do in the past. Before letting that idea take hold, he stuck his fork in the bacon next to the small bowl of fruit and quickly brought it to his mouth. His taste buds wept with excitement at finally receiving some food after so many hours drowned in coffee, even the breath itself with a certain guilty pleasure. “Shut up, Jayce,” was the only thing he could say before devouring the plate.

“Are you ready? We’re going to be late,” Viktor mentioned, leaning against the outside wall of the lab’s bathroom, with a hanger holding his suit in his hand.

He had been waiting for more than 45 minutes for his lab partner to finish showering and getting dressed. He used to skip all the conferences, especially if they were with the council. It irritated him how certain people with more than limited intellect could have power over his work and what he could and couldn’t do with it. The only reason he started attending was because you were there, both of them could whisper to each other continuously and have a good time being gossips about the other councilors, although of course, there were also times when Jayce called him to the front, when a more raw opinion was needed, without all the flourishes that surrounded Jayce’s speeches.

“Just a second,” Jayce said as he opened the door, in his white and gold suit he finished fixing his hair in the middle of a cloud of masculine perfume.

Viktor just rolled his eyes and made his way into the bathroom, leaving his suit on the rack behind the door, sitting on the closed toilet to wait for Jayce to leave.

“Hurry up,” he said when he saw Jayce smiling at himself in the mirror.

“Someone looks pretty excited to go…” He hummed, “I thought you said conferences were a waste of your precious time…”

“Jayce…” Viktor said in a tone that Jayce understood as a warning accompanied by a stern frown, but the shy blush that crossed his cheeks and the bridge of his nose told him he was right.

“Come on, there’s nothing wrong with saying you like going because your girlfriend is there. If Councilwoman Medarda wasn’t there I wouldn’t want to go either.” Jayce leaned back against the sink. Although it wasn’t exactly the most opportune moment to have a talk.

Girlfriend… Viktor still felt chills when that word was mentioned, he himself wasn’t able to say it yet, it always got stuck in his throat and he blushed like never before, he felt shy just knowing that the one who carried that title was you. When they started dating he was nothing more than a rigid bundle of nerves, holding your hand, hugging you, kissing you or just walking by your side were things he got used to with difficulty, as if he were walking on thin ice, looking for a single rejection reaction from you that would confirm to his anxiety that he had made a false step and should return within his fortified comfort zone. It doesn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy doing those things with you, he did, he loved them, but a part of himself always whispered to him that he didn’t deserve it, that he hadn’t been born for love and that he looked ridiculous pretending he wasn’t like that. It was hard to fight against it, but you never gave up, you knew how to read him like the back of your hand and you knew when he needed time alone and when he needed to melt into you in affection. Now it was clearer than ever that if there was someone who could love him and who he could love back, it was you. Only you.

“Y/N and I know how to separate work from our relationship, our… dating” he savored the words with pride “it doesn’t influence my work.” He couldn’t help but smile silly “Although I admit that her company is always welcome”

Jayce excitedly crossed his arms at his friend and colleague's terrible way of hiding how totally in love he was with you. "Really?" he said raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "So I guess what you've been building for her is part of the 'job'..."

Although Jayce was a little naive he wasn't stupid, of course he had noticed how revitalized Viktor was since he started dating you, he could hardly remember the irritated Viktor who lived all the time in the lab. The night of his relapse he had gone to his mother's house for his birthday, if it weren't for Sky and you he would never have found out what happened and he would never be able to finish thanking you for taking care of him with such love. Jayce knew with total certainty that Viktor was more in love with you than he could ever admit to others or to himself.

“…It’s a gift for her.” There was something of amazement in his words, as if he had never imagined himself saying it. “I read that couples usually give each other gifts sporadically, without reason… I want to do something that does justice to everything she does for me.” He answered as if it were the most logical thing in the world, trying to regain his composure.

“Tell me what it is?” Jayce asked interested, his eyes big like a little boy’s excited to receive a lollipop after the dentist.

“No.” Viktor refused flatly. “I know you, it will come out of your mouth in a some moment.” Jayce felt offended, even more so because it was not a lie.

“But! Come on Victor!” He tried to convince him but the answer was still a constant negative. “Boring.” He sighed giving up. “I’ll wait for you outside, Mr. Romantic.” Jayce managed to escape from the bathroom before Viktor’s sharpness reached him and he walked away laughing.

Viktor sighed when he finally managed to be alone in the bathroom, he put his cane aside, using the sink to support himself and stand up, his leg gave him a small cramp that was reflected on his face and it took him a second to recover and start preparing.

The conference was nothing out of the ordinary, brutally exhausting as always, you felt your feet unbearably tired, avoiding Salo's venomous comments were not for everyone. You should be given a prize for enduring such a thing, you knew that it didn't really matter much to present each project in a thorough manner before the council but according to Councilwoman Medarda, that would make Hextech more trustworthy, being transparent with the creations left no room for doubts or misunderstandings. But that only meant more work for you and Sky, emptying Jayce and Viktor's agendas, planning their speeches and even elaborating the thread of the entire conference, it was definitely the only part you hated about being an attendee.

Jayce had stayed to 'discuss' some matters with Councilwoman Medarda and Sky had taken the first opportunity that presented itself to leave as quickly as he could. That left you and Viktor alone in the hallway heading to the lab for your coats, autumn was already upon the city and the cold was more usual and stronger.

“Is something wrong?” you asked as you saw Viktor’s jaw muttering things to himself, his gaze looking a little lost as you approached the lab.

“Oh, no… I have some things to tidy up in the lab that’s all” He answered trying to lighten the mood. Clearly forgetting that you knew there was nothing to tidy up because… come on… that was your job.

“Can I help you with that?” You said with some disbelief as you reached the door, it was clear from your tone that you didn’t quite believe him.

“No, it’s not necessary. Could you wait for me outside?” Viktor asked, looking a bit nervous, even serious.

“From the door?” you asked, crossing your arms as Viktor left his hand on the door handle. You had never seen him so nervous trying to hide something, especially from you.

“From the academy…” I knew the answer, obviously you would say no.

You sighed heavily, it was late at night and your brain was tired “Viktor if this is a ruse to keep working...”

“No, it’s not that” he interrupted you quickly, his hand moved away from the door handle as if it were a hot iron just to take yours “It will be quick I promise” and there it was, that lazy smile and that sweet look that could convince you to do anything without hesitation, he using his thumb to draw soft circles on the back of your hand. He slowly leaned down to your ear to whisper “I can’t wait to go home with you, this will just be a… slight setback. I won’t take long, I promise.”

The words got stuck in your throat and in your belly millions of butterflies were released and fluttered everywhere, the blush was quick to rise to your cheeks “Fine… But... Don’t take long, okay?”

That act had taken you by complete surprise, but he seemed quite pleased with the way he had completely altered the chemistry inside your brain and he knew it, of course he knew it, behind that look you were sure he was proud of his little misdeed.

Viktor left a small kiss on your forehead before disappearing into the lab. A shiver ran down your spine to help you come back to yourself. The last thing Viktor heard from you was the clicking of your heels at the end of the hallway.

“She didn’t believe it at all,” he said to himself as he leaned back against the door, taking a minute to compose himself, running one of his hands through his hair as if that would work. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face and his brain was still fluttering with your blushing image. What he had done had been a risky act but it felt so good to do it… Viktor shook his head, getting those thoughts out of his mind.

The lab was empty, it felt cold and that didn’t help his leg at all. Holding on to his cane he walked towards his desk, in one of the drawers, the one most full of failed prototypes, the only one you never dared to clean, in the back, wrapped in a somewhat singed piece of curtain, he found what he was looking for. A velvety box, upon opening it he was greeted by the intense glow of a Hextech gem much smaller than the rest, he had worked on it for quite some time, it wasn't the gift itself, but it was the eternal battery that would keep it running, it had already been quite a challenge to get the crystals to stabilize at their original size, he had lost count of how many times he could have died while making it. He quickly closed the box and carefully put it away in his bag, losing it would be a huge disaster. He had kept the rest of your gift in a safe place at home.

Viktor took a moment to look at his desk, years ago doing what he was doing now would have seemed ridiculous and a waste of time. Now there was nothing else he wanted to spend his time on. His hand slid across his desk, feeling papers and the leather of his notebooks under his fingers. His hands wandered until they entered between the swollen pages of one of his old notebooks, opening it he felt a little embarrassed by the content.

The pages were filled with notes and sketches of designs, as the pages turned one had established itself among the others. All around it was filled with details about you, your favorite color, your favorite scent, your favorite sound. Such sweet descriptions of your laugh, your hair… of your essence, there were even small drawings of your face and your unmistakable look, motivating him to continue. There were dates and small appointments that his mind read with your voice while he smiled.

“I really hope you like it…” He sigh longingly.

You hugged your bare arms as you hopped from foot to foot to keep warm, the dress you were wearing worked inside the heated academy but now that you were outside you were freezing, every hair on your body standing on end.

“What are you doing Viktor?” You said into the air.

Since the conference had been a huge success you both had planned to go to his house to hang out. Although well, it wasn’t long before it was your house too, after all half of your closet was in his and you even had matching coffee mugs in his kitchen. Still you didn’t want to push Viktor at all. It had already been a bit difficult for you to get him to dare kiss your cheek in public without making it look like you had a gun on his back.

You panted into your hands, your breath bringing some heat to your fingers that were starting to get cold as an iceberg.

Something brushed against your back, a sudden touch that made you turn around instinctively, almost unnaturally, only to find yourself facing Viktor, who was blinking in surprise at your reaction. His hands were outstretched, holding your coat.

“What were you trying to do?” you ask, your tone more accusatory than you’d like, as you try to calm your racing heart.

“Put your coat on, maybe?” he replies, his tone matching yours, but a sly smile playing on his lips. It’s obvious that your startlement amuses him. “Here, let me put it on you. You’re going to freeze.”

You sigh to release the tension in your body and turn your back to him. You feel his cold hands touch your neck, drawing a gasp from you that you instantly suppress, determined not to give him any more reasons to mock you. There's something about his gesture, the way he gently places the coat over your shoulders and guides your wrists into the sleeves, that disarms you.

When he's done, he gently turns you around to close the buttons, fastening them one by one, while his fingers brush your hair away from the coat. It's a simple gesture, but he does it with such care that you melt a little. Crowning the moment, he puts your bag over your head and lets it rest on your shoulder with elegance.

Your eyes watch him with a tenderness that seems to stop time. Viktor notices it; his hand slides from the strap of your bag to your cheek, caressing it with cautious delicacy before removing it, leaving a cold sensation behind.

A laugh escapes your lips, soft and sweet, filling the frozen air with a warmth that seeps into his bones. He smiles with you.

You take a step closer to him, not expecting it, you see him seek support from his cane, the only thing that stands between him and you really.

His scent envelops you instantly: coffee and honey. It’s such a unique combination that you could identify it among millions.

“Your nose is red,” you comment, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

You can see how his eyes widen at the proximity and your close touch to his face makes the tip of his ears red, his gaze avoids yours nervously.

You barely finish and without waiting for an answer, he began to walk down the stairs of the academy. Leaving you upstairs with a satisfied smile, he seems quite in a hurry to get home.

The icy wind of Piltover forces you to get a little closer to Viktor when you manage to catch up with him while crossing the street. His steps are long and determined, he has barely taken a break since you started walking.

“Why are you so nervous?” you ask, breaking the silence. Normally he takes one or two breaks along the way, excusing himself by looking at the shop windows that you know he has little interest in.

“Nervous? Me?” Viktor arches an eyebrow and looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his tone has a doubtful tone.

“Yeah, even when you’re making fun of me,” you retort, remembering the coat incident earlier. “You seem to have your mind somewhere else.”

He lets out a short, almost dry laugh. “It’s not like that, just, you know… Someone has to keep the calm.”

“Someone? You mean you?”

“Of course. If you’re too busy freaking out over coats.” Viktor looks at you with a glint of amusement in his eyes, “someone has to take charge of looking professional.”

You frown, though you can’t hide the smile that threatens to appear. “If you put it that way it’s okay, I like you like that.” Is it dirty play? Yes, but it’s worth it when you see Viktor’s face.

Heat rises to his cheeks before he can stop it, but he hides it by burying his face deeper into his scarf. You’ve beaten him this time, but like any sore loser, he won’t let things go.

He stops walking abruptly, his body hunched over his knee.

Your triumphant expression leaves your face completely and you don't hesitate to approach him, worried. The weather was cold and that used to increase the pain in his leg, but you didn't expect it to be so strong as to double him over in pain.

“Does it hurt?” you asked somewhat worried, your hand on his back ready to help him stand up if necessary. “Not at all.” He turned his face only to be met with a proud and victorious smile.

The streets are empty, and the shops are beginning to close, Viktor resumes his straight posture while looking from side to side as if he wanted no one to see his next move, you follow his gaze, not quite knowing what to look at or what to look for. You feel the cold handle of his cane touch your chin gently and guide it to make you look up, towards him. He approaches cautiously and you know his pulse is shaking a little from the way the handle of his cane shakes, finally he presses his lips against yours, with an overwhelming softness that at another time would have made you draw him closer, but like all good things, it didn’t last long. The sound of a metal shutter being loudly lowered pushes him away from you like a scared cat before you can properly reciprocate. He tries to compose himself but the blush on his cheeks and the nervous movement of his eyes give him away; even someone as controlled as Viktor isn’t immune to nervousness.

You laugh, like a little child, savoring his kiss at the same time. Giving affection in public is a huge leap of faith for him and you know it, you melt every time he does it.

“Don’t look at me with that eyes.” he says avoiding your gaze, a shy smile forming on his mouth and refusing to disappear no matter how hard he tries.

“What eyes?” You ask, feigning innocence at the subject, searching for his free hand with yours to take it and not let it go.

His eyes meet yours, his pupils dilate quickly like drops of paint in water. That's one of the things you like about him, no matter when he tries to hide his feelings, you know exactly that his gaze will always give you the answer.

“Forgotten” he snorts trying to lighten the subject. This time offering you his arm to walk together.

Both of you walk in silence, just enjoying each other's company for the rest of the way, you look at the shops, some are closing, others still have warm lights on inside and a few people looking through the windows. People from Piltover don't usually go out at night, maybe because for them there isn't much interesting to see when the sun goes down. But you and Viktor are from Zaun, you reject the sun like hermit vampires and the night is the perfect time to go out and to let out certain romantic gestures as you already taste before.

Continue...

[warblogs17282]

I''m busy thinking about how this part of the episode is supposed to directly mirror what's already happened in the show.

Ignoring the obvious s1 e1 reference, let's start with the backstory behind this hit.

Something that this show makes very clear is that she is supposed to represent Stella, for multiple reasons that I will point out in this post.

Instantly starts out with ex-husband, just like with Stella and Stolas.

The next line proceeds to mention daughters, which is obviously the show planting the seeds for the scene yet to come, the Stolitz family scene. The daughters are very clearly supposed to represent Octavia and Loona.

Plus, the whole 'Can't stand my ex-husband enjoying himself' thing is also supposed to mirror Stella in a way, because guess who else purposefully went out of their way to ensure that their husband/ex-husband never was able to truly enjoy himself.

"When he fucking left me for another man!", when he left me for another man who was able to show him actual, true happiness. Just like how Blitz did just that for Stolas.

I also really want to note Blitz's and Stolas' reactions to all of this, for Blitz, even though he knows almost nothing about Stella, you can already tell he's put some pieces together and realized 'oh shit, this is sounding extremely similar to what happened between me and Stolas.', especially considering the way he looked over at Stolas when she finished talking there.

Which explains why Blitz looks so nervous and trying to talk her out of carrying through with the hit, before just outright denying the request, because it hits way too close to home for him as well. With the next thing she says after this scene pictured below just nailing the similarities home to Blitz.

As for Stolas' reaction, you can tell even before this moment that he's also realized just how similar the whole situation is to his own, and that detail tells us that Stolas isn't just talking about the person the client wants dead, but also himself.

Stolas thinks he's selfish for choosing to be with Blitz, Stolas thinks that he deserves death because of his 'selfish' choice to be with Blitz. Stolas likely thinks at that moment that he deserved to be killed by Striker for his 'selfish' choice.

And well, the show definitely doubles down on showing us just how evil the client is, just like Stella.

Then we get to the moment where every single similarity undeniably falls into focus for Blitz. Blitz doesn't see a random gay couple with two daughters he's been paid double to assassinate a member of, he sees himself, he sees Stolas, and their own respective daughters all in the same room as each other, he sees his dreams for the future with Stolas, and their daughters.

He sees a future of domestic bliss with the four of them, the future he's hoping he can achieve some day.

And because of all of these similarities between the family and Blitz himself, he cannot bring himself to ruin a happy family, can't bring himself to ruin what they have, can't bring himself to ruin what Blitz dreams for, can't bring himself to kill the person he envisions as Stolas, and can't bring himself to ruin the family that he envisions as his own as well.

Plus, Blitz would never be able to truly forgive himself if he took that shot, if he killed that man and ruined the family Blitz places himself in. Blitz would see himself as being no better than Striker if he did take the killing shot.

Because, let's compare s2 e4 and this episode for a second.

"Ex-wife hires assassin to kill their ex-husband with a daughter for extremely evil and selfish reasons."

"Ex-wife hires assassin to kill their ex-husband with two daughters for extremely evil and selfish reasons."

Even if Blitz only understands the s2 e4 hit as "Unknown person hired assassin to kill father with a daughter for unknown reasons.", as I've pointed out before, everything about this assassination hits way too close to home for Blitz.

Blitz has probably already realized at that moment that if Striker had killed Stolas in s2 e4, all of his hopes and dreams of having a happy family with Stolas, Octavia and Loona would instantly go up in flames.

So, why would Blitz want to ruin a family that has what he hopes for in the future? Why would Blitz want to kill the person he envisions as Stolas? Why would Blitz want to kill the person he envisions as Stolas, especially when Striker almost very well killed Stolas, which would've ruined the dream Blitz has that we see here if Striker had succeeded?

What I'm getting that with this is simple, the client represents Stella, the ex-husband represents Stolas, the daughters represents Octavia and Loona, and Blitz represents Striker.

But Blitz isn't Striker, Blitz could've very well chosen to be play the role of Striker and kill that ex-husband, ruining the family as a result for some money, but he didn't, Blitz saw the happy gay couple and their daughters, saw himself in it, and decided the money wasn't worth it, stopping himself or anyone else in the team from taking that killing shot, because Blitz simply refused to play the role of Striker, Blitz played his own role, which is himself.

Blitz is not Striker, and I feel like this moment goes to show even further that Blitz and Striker are supposed to be narrative foils to each other.

[alotofpockets]

How strong you are | Jessie Fleming x Chelsea!Reader

5k celebration prompt: "Your scars don’t make you weak, they show how strong you are."

Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

-----

Your first day back in training after your injury. It felt like something big, especially because it was the first major injury you’ve had since the start of your career. Where your girlfriend had been excited for your return to the pitch, you were mainly feeling nervous.

The recovery had been a lot. Both mentally and physically it had been a struggle. Your girlfriend has been with you every step of the way. Without Jessie by your side, you don’t think you would have made it through. She had been your rock throughout the whole recovery journey.

She was downstairs, cleaning up after breakfast while you were getting changed into your training gear. Jessie hadn’t expected you to take so long, so she went up to check on you. She found you in your training top, but still in just your underwear for bottoms. A pair of training shorts and joggers laid in front of you on the bed.

Your eyes moved between them like you were trying to solve a puzzle. She sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for you to meet her eyes. When you finally did, she smiled your way. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

“I don’t know which to wear to training.” Jessie had a feeling of the underlying reason, but she knew it would be better if you talked about your feelings, so she asked you anyways. “Oh, yeah? Why is that?”

With a shrug of your shoulders you sat down on the bed with her. Your eyes settled on your knee, the fresh surgery scar staring back at you. Jessie knew then that her suspicion was right, still she wanted you to be the one to say it, so she stayed quiet and let you take your time. 

She reached for your hand, her fingers interlocking with yours, offering a quiet reassurance as you sifted through your thoughts. Her touch grounded you, like an anchor in a storm, reminding you that she'd be there to catch you if you fell.

Still the words, “Nevermind,” Came out of your mouth, “I’ll just wear the joggers.” You started getting up, but Jessie used your intertwined hands to keep you down. “Baby, you hate wearing joggers for training.”

You shrugged, “I am allowed to change my mind.” Jessie knew you had a point, of course you were allowed to change your mind, but she knew there was more to it than that. “You are allowed to change your mind every day of the week, and I will support you no matter what. But baby, you hate joggers with a passion. You wear shorts even in the middle of Canadian winter.”

Her comment made you chuckle, she was right of course. The tightness of joggers had always been the reason you hated to wear them. Even the cold bothered you less than training in joggers, and that says a lot when you know how cold it can get in Canada.

“I know, I do hate them and I will never change my mind on them. But my scar. Everyone will see it. Everyone will see that my body is weak, that I am weak. I’d rather be uncomfortable than weak.”

You had been wearing your shorts to your gym sessions over your recovery period, but that was just you and the trainer, plus occasionally Jessie who came to check in. The trainer was more than accustomed to injured players and their rehabilitation, so there you hadn’t really minded. This time it would be in front of the whole team, and you didn’t know how to feel about that.

Even though Jessie had guessed that this was the underlying reason, it still hurt hearing you say it like that. Did you really think you were weak? She didn’t give herself much time to think about that though, she wanted to reassure you right away.

"Your scars don’t make you weak, they show how strong you are." She took your other hand in hers as well. “They show that despite something going wrong, you overcame it. You got back up, and took care of your body. That already makes you strong, and what makes you even stronger, is that you are not just recovering from an injury, you’re getting back from it.”

Jessie was so good with her words that you were tearing up a little. “Do you really think so?” She smiled and gave your hands a reassuring squeeze. “I know so. While you haven’t been on the pitch yet, I can tell from your sessions in the gym that you are going to come back stronger.”

You pulled Jessie in for a hug after that, thanking her for always being there for you. Together you stayed like that for a moment, before Jessie pulled away. “Alright, we have to leave in a bit. I’ll go put our stuff in the car. Go put on some bottoms you’re comfortable with today, and I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be right down. Thank you Jess, you’re the best.” You pecked her lips and watched her walk out of the room. Leaving you to choose which bottoms to wear by yourself.

You eyed the shorts and the joggers a final time, now less puzzled than before. Jessie had been right, you despised joggers, and you were proud of all of your teammates and friends you had seen come back from injuries, so why not you?

So, with a new sense of confidence you grabbed the shorts and put them on. You knew you’d still be thinking about what others thought, that wouldn’t just go away of course, but you knew that your scar wasn’t something you should be self conscious about.

Jessie smiled wide when she saw you walk into the living room. “That’s my girl.” She hugged you tight. “I am so proud of you. And I cannot wait to see you out on the pitch again, continuing to take care of your body, and working towards your full comeback.”

With her arm still around your shoulder, she walked you to the car. “You are going to do amazing today.” She said with a kiss to your cheek before you drove off to training.

-----

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[runninriot]

Santa's Secret

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles day 23

prompt: hot chocolate | rated G | wc: 998 | tags: Eddie & Wayne Munson, single dad Steve Harrington

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | AO3 (+bonus epilogue)

Eddie can’t wait to get out of the suit that’s been suffocating him for the past three hours. He’s still sweaty and his hair is a mess after wearing the wig and fake beard combo for so long but he feels better once he’s changed back into his regular clothes.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Eddie stops for a moment. He looked so different dressed as Santa, could’ve been fooled by his own reflection wearing that costume. There’s no way Steve actually realised it’s him. Maybe what Eddie thought he saw in Steve’s eyes wasn’t recognition, but confusion.

They haven’t seen each other in years and apart from that, it’s not like they’ve ever been… close. Sure, Steve probably knew of him – they’ve both been somewhat popular in high school, although for very different reasons. But still. It was silly of Eddie to think the smile he gave him was one of familiarity. More realistically, it was just a silent thanks for how he handled the little girl’s nervousness, brought a smile to her face by playing into her childlike wonder.

And that’s okay.

In the end, Eddie did have a great time pretending to be Santa for a while. He’ll never tell Wayne, though, unless he wants to hear his old man tell him ‘I told you so‘.

With his shift done, Eddie strolls around the still brimming main hall of the community centre, looking at a stand with wooden figurines where a beautifully carved dragon caught his eyes.

He’s so fascinated by it, that he doesn’t notice the person coming up to him, until a hand taps his shoulder lightly.

When he spins around, he finds Steve standing next to him.

   “So, what brings you back to this shithole?“ he asks through a laugh, casual, like it’s normal for the former King and King of Freaks to have a conversation.

   “I, uh,“ Eddie stammers, staring at Steve a little star struck and maybe a little more in love because there’s that smile again and it’s blinding like the fucking sun and this time, he doesn’t have the Santa suit to blame for the fucking heat spreading in his face.

    God, grow up Munson. You’re an adult. Behave like one.

   “I’m visiting my uncle.“

   “How is Wayne? I was a bit worried when I realised that-“ Steve leans closer to whisper in his ear and Eddie’s heart stops for a moment. “-Santa sent someone else to cover for him.“

There are a million thoughts running through Eddie’s mind – since when are Steve and Wayne on first name basis? So Steve did recognise him? And why’s it so fucking hot in here?

   “You were great, by the way. I’d have lost it at some of the parents. They can be worse than their spoiled little brats sometimes.“

Eddie chuckles nervously, shrugs his shoulders and waves a hand at Steve who moves back slowly but stays close, so close Eddie catches a hint of his cologne, mingling with the Christmassy smell of oranges, and cinnamon, and apple tea, and it makes him dizzy but not in a bad way.

“Robbie wouldn’t shut up about Santa,“ Steve winks at him, “said he’s the coolest, even cooler than the tooth fairy. And let me tell you, that’s a real compliment.“

They both laugh and it feels so light and freeing; Steve makes it seem so easy to fall into conversation with him.

   “She’s a sweet kid and she loves you a lot, I can tell.“

    Loves you so much she’s wasting her Christmas wish on your happiness, Eddie thinks fondly, biting his tongue not to accidentally spill their little secret.

   “Yeah, well. She doesn’t have much choice. She’s stuck with me, since her mother decided to-“

   “Dad!“ a voice calls from somewhere behind them and when they turn, they see Robbie running up at them.

   “Speaking of the Devil,“ Steve sighs amused before opening his arms to catch her.

   “Who’s your friend?“

   “This is Eddie. We’ve been to school together. He’s grandpa Wayne’s nephew.“

    Grandpa W-hat?

Eddie must be having a stroke. Or maybe something’s wrong with his hearing because… WHAT?

Steve must realise something when he notices Eddie’s confusion, because he suddenly blushes a deep shade of red and smiles awkwardly at him.

   “S-sorry, I thought you knew that, uh-“ Steve takes a deep breath before he continues, “Your uncle has been helping me out a lot when I moved back to Hawkins a few months ago. You know, uh, setting up the house and watching Robbie when I had to go to interviews and couldn’t find a babysitter. He, uh, he’s been a real help. Robbie’s obsessed with him. Aren’t you, baby?“

   “He’s awesome! And he makes the best hot chocolate in the world! With little marshmallows and sprinkles on top!“

Eddie feels like he’s been hit by a truck, feels betrayed by the man he’s been looking up to his whole life.

   Wayne Munson, you son of a potato farmer, are living a secret life where Steve’s daughter calls you grandpa?

    Oh, Eddie’s going to have a field day confronting him with that.

   “Right?! The best hot chocolate ever! I always have mine with whipped cream on top,“ Eddie answers equally enthusiastic, doesn’t even have to pretend despite his inner turmoil because that little girl’s smile is infectious.

While listening to Robbie’s happy babbling, Eddie watches Steve from the corner of his eyes. He still looks a bit like a kid caught stealing cookies, but slowly relaxes, and that’s good, but-

Wayne definitely has some explaining to do. His uncle has always been a fucking saint, can’t not offer his help when he feels like someone’s in need of it. But it being Steve of all people, really messes with Eddie in a weird way he can’t really explain.

He needs to know more.

   “How about we all go to Wayne’s together? I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you. What do you say?“