#*quietly tosses this idea onto the to be written pile*

[extreme-technicality]

Hhhhhhhhh somehow my cast of OCs gets yeeted back in time to see the ninja and they bOND, specifically Aster gets the chance to tell Zane she loves him to his fACE and it’s not the same, of course it isn’t, this Zane doesn’t know her like her dad Zane does, but she gets to face him with pride and with his last name and uGHHHHHHH IM EMOTIONALLLLLLLLLLL

[roscgcld]

GOJO SATORU || pretty eyes [pt.2]

anime: jujutsu kaisen 

character: gojo satoru

pronouns: she/her 

notes: high-school! gojo x underclassman! reader

the part two of ‘pretty eyes’ is here! read part one here.

“You really do have pretty eyes, senpai.”

Gojo prides himself as a man who just ‘doesn’t do relationships’. Besides the fact that there is a line of women who were just waiting to get with him, he had never really seen what an actual functioning relationship looked like. His parents had an arranged marriage to ‘keep the Gojo clan’s genes powerful’ - his father was barely around, going about his duties to the clan whilst his mother was out and about having affairs left, right and center. 

With that being said though, Gojo was a determined man. He may not know exactly what was it that draws him to a particular junior of his, but he’d be damned if he didn’t get to at least know her better. The problem? He has absolutely no clue on how to woe her. 

“Remind me again exactly what am I doing here?”

It was a Friday afternoon - and classes are always let out earlier on Friday. Usually Geto would spend the free afternoon just relaxing in his dorm after a long week of classes and missions; but before Geto can evens step one foot out of the stuffy classroom, Gojo had grabbed his arm and teleported them both out of campus. That’s how he found himself in a random café that Gojo had graciously dragged them into, narrowing his eyes over at his best friend as he raised his mug of earl grey to his lips. “If this is about copying my essay-”

“How do you ask a girl out?”

“Hah?” Geto asks with an annoyed scowl, to which Gojo just made a noise before he awkward sets his clean cake fork down; the multi-layered cookies and cream cake sat untouched before him. That alone should be concerning, since Gojo is known to have a strong affinity for sweets. “How do you ask a girl out? Like, on a date.” Gojo repeated with the utmost serious expression on his face, and for a few moments Geto just blinks at him owlishly. “Satoru, how the hell have you been asking women out before this? It’s the same damn thing.” 

“Asking a girl you actually like out and asking someone for a one night stand are two very different things.” Gojo stresses whilst Geto actually sets his mug down before him, the situation slowly dawning onto him. “You’re actually being serious right now.” He mutters whilst Gojo tossed him an annoyed look, clearly unamused by how little faith his friend has in him. “Well, first things first, you actually need to get to know them better first before you actually ask them.”

“Yeah, well - I’m trying to work on that.” Gojo grumbles out quietly as he picked his fork back up, digging into the corner of his cake with a soft frown whilst Geto leans back into his seat with a thoughtful look. “But I didn’t even notice her until recently.” He sighs softly to himself as he examined his forkful of cake, a slight pout tugging on his lips. “I am sure Ieiri might help. But knowing her, that means I’ll owe her another debt that she will use against me.”

Geto, for once, actually feels some form of sympathy for Gojo. Whilst he grew up in a functioning household with loving parents, Gojo was brought up in a lonely world, where he was treated like a prized position to be paraded about. So Geto wasn’t shocked at how unsure the usually overconfident Gojo is when it comes to something as trivial as dating. “Well...you can bring her out for coffee like you’re doing with me.” He offered, to which Gojo just made a face at his statement. “Sorry buddy, I don’t swing that way.”

“You little piece of shit.” Geto grunted with a light scowl as he kicked Gojo hard underneath the table, his annoyance growing at the familiar grin that was tugging at the corners of Gojo’s lips; and also the fact that his foot was stop by the Limitless that Gojo had activated before Geto can kick. “I mean an actual cute date dumbass - bring her café hopping about Tokyo or something. Or one of those pet cafes - people love pet cafes.” Geto said with a tired sigh, picking up his mug to take a slow sip from his warm liquid whilst Gojo actually pauses for a moment at Geto’s words. “Wait, that’s not that bad of an idea.”

Geto just rolled his eyes at that, taking soft sips from his mug whilst he watches as Gojo start googling about a few cafes that he can bring her about. “You’re welcome.” Geto said with a tired sigh as he sets his mug down, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks over at Gojo. “Now figure out a way to get to know her better and see if she’s even interested in your annoying ass.” He stated simply, to which Gojo just grins as he pointed the end of his fork as Geto, having eating that bite of cake whilst he typing away on his phone. “Who wouldn’t be interested in me?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

The next time he had gotten a chance to bump into her was actually by complete accident. 

Like usually, he had decided to slack off instead of doing his homework; so it was no surprise to find the young shaman cooped up in the library of the school with a variety of textbooks opened around him. To be honest, Gojo wouldn’t have done this essay if it wasn’t for the fact that it had a heavy weightage on his final grade, determining if he could graduate from high school. 

Even with that threat overhead, he decided to drag it out until the very last day to start writing it. Geto was just annoyed at him, since Gojo is actually really smart - yet he enjoys slacking off. It was infuriating, and since Gojo had already annoyed him enough with his entire ‘crush’ situation, Geto had just told him to go to the library before promptly closing the door in his face.

So there Gojo was, long limbs stretched out all over the place as he twirls his pen between his fingers. He had the most bored expression on his face as he tilted his head back with a sigh, his eyes blinking up at the wooden ceiling. If he was being honest, he had actually finished half of his essay - until he grew bored and wanted a distraction. He was about to get up to go and grab a snack from the vending machines when he heard a pair of soft footsteps and a quiet voice calling out to him.

“Oh, hello there, Gojo-senpai.”

Gojo widen his eyes in shock as he suddenly sat up straight, almost dropping the pen he was twirling between his fingers as he snapped his eyes up at the girl that had plagued his thoughts day and night. The same smile gracing her lips as she curiously walked towards the messy desk, casting a glance over the many opened books and the half-written essay before him. “Am I disturbing your research?”

“N-No.” Gojo said, cringing a little at how awkward he sounded - it was so unnatural and so unlike him, and he hopes that she didn’t notice it. Fortunately she hadn’t picked up on the awkwardness that he was basically radiating as she smiles and nods, gesturing to the free seat opposite from his with her free hand. “Do you mind if I take a seat there? I don’t really like studying alone in the library, it can get really quiet and boring.”

Numbly Gojo nodded, feeling a light blush coating his cheeks when he saw the grateful smile she tossed over at him casually as she made her way to the seat. He snapped out of it when he saw her pulling her own textbook from her bag, quickly shifting his mess into a neat pile so she has more space to work. She thanked him quietly with a smile, settling down in the free seat opposite from his as she started to flip through her book. He pretended to return to his work as well, but in reality he was watching her through his lashes, admiring how she can make something as simple as reading look graceful.

There was no way he was going to be able to do work now.

Closing his eyes a little, he reaches up to rub the bridge of his nose, this action causing his signature rounded sunglasses to fall down the bridge a little more. He was about to push them back when he felt a pair of eyes on him, causing him to look over the rim of his glasses over at the girl before him. When she was caught staring she just smiles at him, causing Gojo’s now calmed cheeks to flare up once more. “You really do have pretty eyes, senpai.” The girl stated simply, tilting her head a little as she casted him another smile. 

And once more, the simple act of a smile caused Gojo’s breath to hitch, his eyes widening even more as he watches how she just casually looked down at her textbook once more. If only she knew just how that one sentence had basically shot-circuited his brain - rendering him useless for a few seconds. Somehow though, he managed to slowly return to his senses and start on his essay, the sound of having someone else studying with him getting him into the groove of things. Without even knowing it, he wrote the last sentence of his essay; smiling victoriously as he picked the essay up and flipped through the sheets of writing. He gave them a quick scan, reading it briefly to make sure everything looks alright before he slipped his essay back into his folder.

He had started to pack his books up when he spotted the clear look of confusion that was splashed across the face of the girl opposite from him. For some reason she reminded him of a kitten, and for a brief moment he just wanted to reach over to gently squish her cheeks in his hands. Instead he gave into his smaller temptation; gently kicking her slipper clad foot with one of his own to grab her attention. “Need some help with that?”

The younger girl gave him an embarrassed smile as she nods, rubbing the back of her head softly as she glances back at her textbook. “I wouldn’t mind...it’s just - I’ve been reading over the same chapter for a few days now, but I just don’t understand anything.” She admitted with a tired sigh as she hangs her head a little, sporting what looks to be a soft pout of frustration that caused Gojo’s heart to skip a beat at how adorable she looked. Wordlessly Gojo got up, grabbing his seat from his end of the table as he made his way towards her. 

Settling down beside her, he leaned closer to scan over the page of the textbook, a memory jostling in the back of his mind at the same lesson he took back in his first year. “Oh, I remember this. I can help you if you want.”

“Really?” The younger girl said with an curious look as she glanced back at the man seated beside her, Gojo widening his eyes when he realised just how close their faces were. He can feel her soft breath against his cheek, and what smelt like mint coming from parted lips. This caused him to blush as he hid his widened eyes behind his sunglasses, wondering how the hell was she not outwardly reacting at how close their faces were. “Y-Yeah. I mean, I’ve already finished my work...I don’t mind killing some free time helping you.”

The girl gave him a grateful smile before she rubs the back of her neck gently, feeling a soft flush appearing on her cheeks that caused Gojo to stare shamelessly. “Thank you, senpai. If you need anything from me after this, don’t hesitate to ask.” She offered shyly as she glances over at Gojo, who blinked before he decided to take his opportunity. “A-Actually, there is something you can help me with.” Gojo admitted after he took a deep breath to steel his resolve, but the tone of his voice was still far too shy for how the third year.

His words caused the girl beside him to cast him a curious glance 

“Would you maybe...be interested on going on a date with me?” He asks her, biting his lip a little as he stared at her from behind his sunglasses. For a brief moment the girl just blinked at him before her face suddenly blossomed in a deep shade of red, her hands coming up to slap over her warm cheeks as she stared at him with wide eyes. “M-Me?”

A shy nod was given before Gojo awkwardly glances down at his lap as well, rubbing the back of his neck with one of his hand whilst the other rested on the desk before them; anxiously tapping against the wood. “Y-Yeah.” He mumbles in a soft voice, and for a few moments there was silence that caused Gojo’s heart to beat painfully against his chest. 

Screw whoever says that facing a Special Grade Curse would be terrifying - Gojo feels like he might just die from the anxiety of asking someone out for something as simple as a date. 

He was about to start babbling about some random reason as to why when he heard her shy answer. “I-I mean...I wouldn’t mind going out on a date with you...”

Cue short-circuited Gojo once more.

“O-Oh.” Gojo spluttered out with wide eyes, having not expected for her to agree so readily as she gave him a shy smile, her face still dusted in a light shade of red as she nodded her. Her answer caused him to smile, biting his lip a little to stop his face from splitting open in a huge grin as he tilts his head a little. “Does 5pm tomorrow sound alright for you?” He asks her quietly, to which she grins softly and nods her head, her action causing her hair to fall over her face in perfect waves; the action causing Gojo’s already poor heart to do another flip in his chest. “We can meet up at the front of the school.”

With a final nod and another shy smile shared between the two, both of them returned to the work that hand. However there was a certain atmosphere between the two; the slightly excitement that was clearly on their faces at the idea of their date tomorrow, the light bumping of shoulders as Gojo reaches over to point at something as he explained it to the girl quietly, soft comments that leads to soft giggles and the shy glances they both share. The soft smiles on their faces sealing the scene for anyone to walk past to know that there was definitely something brewing between the two 

Who knew all it took was a simple complement to land them where they are today.

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform

[xmint-conditionx]

tongue tied | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader, f2l

w/c: 3.5k

summary: you've been best friends with yoongi for almost a decade, and you're hopelessly in love with him. he's the most important person in your life, and you don't want to mess that up, so you can never be anything more... right?

written as a response to a request from the old blog -- the requestor was @yoongi--enthusiast; thanks again for your request, i loved doing it!!! "I had an idea... something based off of the song “tongue tied” with yoongi. I feel like it would be super soft with soft smut... I just think it would be nice to read so can you please wright it 🥺👉👈"

tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, outdoor sex, overall a little angsty but super cute too

a/n: i did not know that there was a song called tongue tied by marshmello before i wrote this so... i hope the person who requested this didn’t mean that song because I wrote this drabble over the grouplove song lmaooo but anyway, here goes! thanks luv, enjoy! also reposted from the old blog!!

Yoongi’s laugh is so beautiful. It’s rare, so when you see it, you soak up everything you can about it. The way his eyes crinkle up into crescent moons, the way his lips curl back putting his gummy smile on bright display. You can swear you see his eyes sparkle.

You are in love with him. You are in love with your best friend.

He makes loving him such an easy thing to do; bringing you into his inner world, showing you the sweet and warm center he conceals from everyone else. The way he looks at you, the way he says your name, the way he pouts when he wants a back scratch, all of those little things that make him who he is only deepen your infatuation with him.

You’re with him again this Friday night, making the drive to Bom’s house. It’s been a long week for the both of you; he’s been wrapped up in producing a track and you’ve been nose deep in college textbooks. His track is completed, and your exams are over. It’s safe to say that you both could use a good break.

It’s the end of the spring semester and the weather is going to be gorgeous tonight. The racing summer breeze coming through the open car windows is exhilarating. The sun is setting, and the warm evening light on Yoongi’s dewy skin makes him appear absolutely radiant as he navigates the highway.

You’re just listening to fun little summer jams as you speed off toward the city’s suburbs. Ones with funky little basslines that are easy to groove and sing along to. Ones that make you shout and laugh into the rushing wind. Ones that make you drink in the moment you’re having with Yoongi; ones that make you soak up all of his joy.

And when he steals a sly look your way, one hand still on the top of the steering wheel, you can swear your heart stops.

You’ve loved him as long as you can remember really knowing him. Since you were both 12, bonding over games of tag and basketball and the spilling of secrets to each other. You’d sit beneath the big tree in his backyard and share the snacks you’d bought at the corner store. He’d always let you have the last chocolate.

The only secret you’ve ever kept from Yoongi is the matter of your infatuation, and you are pretty resolute in keeping it that way.

He is the single most important person in your life. He had been there with you through it all; when your parents split up at 13, when your dad got you your first car at 15, when your long time boyfriend cheated on you at 16, when your dream college denied you at 17, when you got a full ride scholarship to a smaller university outside of the city right after that, when you were drugged at a house party at 20, when you were diagnosed with depression at 21, and when you were accepted into your masters program at 22.

You needed him, and because of that, you could never tell him.

You pull into the gates that surround Bom’s neighborhood. Her parents are pretty wealthy, so they live on a golf course. As you pull up into the driveway, you see some other students milling about, catching Frisbee. There’s Eunha, Ireum, Ji-Ah, and Miyeun that you recognize from some of your classes, but there are a few more that you’ve never met.

After a few rounds of drinks and a few lost games of flip cup, you all head outside to the back patio with all of your schoolwork from the year. Bom turns on the bluetooth speaker and sets it on the railing. You take in the night air and gaze up at the sky, wishing there was a shooting star to wish upon.

“Alright, everyone,” Bom begins, “essays and lab reports first, then tests, then miscellaneous homework.” Yoongi helps you dig through your stack to fish out the cursed papers. You all toss the stapled packages into the fire pit, one by one, each hitting with a soft thud. Once everyone has thrown their woes into the pit, Bom tops it with actual firewood and unceremoniously sets the whole lot of it on fire. You gaze into the center of the flame, watching your entire year catch fire. All the hours you spent doing that research project, all the disappointment when your group members wouldn’t follow through. Gone, like it never existed.

Yoongi’s holding your hand in his, and he’s busy drawing little circles with his thumb on your palm. Your head rests soundly on his shoulder, and you sigh into him, comfortable in where you are. The whole group piles in more papers, as you lament about the shitty professors and the shitty group projects and the shitty caf’ food and the shitty grades. Yoongi turns into you and nuzzles gently on your forehead. You feel his soft lips graze your temple, breath warm on your skin, tingles rising through your body, and you’re right where you want to be. Under the moon’s gaze with the person you love.

Before long, the breeze sends a chill through you that even the fire won’t remedy. Yoongi feels your shiver and unceremoniously removes his hoodie and puts it on over you, pulling up the hood and kissing your forehead. You always love when you wear his jackets; they surround you in his warmth, his smell. A smile plays across your lips until you notice Yoongi’s goosebumps.

“Hey,” you pout, “I don't wanna wear this if you’re gonna be cold.”

“I don’t wanna wear it if you’re gonna be cold,” he snaps back, smiling.

“Here,” you say, standing up from your deck chair. You take the step to get you to Yoongi’s chair, and sit in his lap. “This way we can both be warm, yeah?”

It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms firmly around you again, mumbling a “yeah, that’s fine” when you glance at him over your shoulder.

Your attention is called back to the group with Bom asks if you’re going to the Summer Romance Festival by the river next weekend. She’s been pushing you to get yourself out there more. The last time you were in a real relationship was high school, after all.

“I’d love to go; I hear they have the most beautiful fireworks display,” you start, “but I don’t think I will this year.”

“Well,” Bom says, “Why not?!”

“Because I don’t have a date, Bom!” you say, covering your face in the sweater paws you’ve made from Yoongi’s hoodie. “I don’t think I could find one in enough time.”

“Ya, just get Yoongi to go with you! You already do everything together anyway,” Eunha quips.

You notice that the steady rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest has stopped.

“Hey, you know we’re just friends, right Yoongi?” you look to him for backup.

The man nods, looking down and to the left.

“Okay,” Ireum speaks up, “In that case, do you want to go with me?”

“Wait, what?” you say.

“Do you want to go to the Summer Romance Festival with me? As a date?”

Yoongi tenses beneath you.

“Oh, I don’t know…” you breathe, “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. We can even get dinner before we go. Not too much, though. I’ll want to get us a treat from one of the dessert stalls.” Ireum says with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling back at him, “Okay. We’ll go together.”

Yoongi stirs beneath you. “Hey, can you get off of me?”

“What, why?” you pout.

“I said get off.”

“Yoongi, wh--”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish before he abruptly stands up, forcing you to catch yourself. When you look back at him, he’s walking toward the French doors that lead back into the house.

“Ya! What was that about?”

He keeps walking. You storm after him and slam the door, trapping you both inside.

“Yoongi, I’m talking to you! What’s your fucking problem?”

He whirs around.

“Oh, I have a problem?”

“Well, it sure seems like it.” you spit back, hands on your hips.

“Why don’t you go talk about it with your date, huh?” he says, gesturing out the window to Ireum. “Don’t you have some details to work out? He gonna pick you up? You gonna let him hold your hand? On your nice little extra special romantic date? I guess I’ll just fuck right off and leave you two alone, yeah? That’s what you want, cause we’re just friends and all.”

“Yoongi, we… are friends! You’re my best friend!”

“Did you ever for a second think that I could want more?”

“What?!”

“I fucking love you, Y/N! Isn’t it obvious?! I’ve loved you since the 7th grade. You remember when we played spin the bottle at Ha-joon’s house? Do you remember when you kissed me?”

“Yoongi…”

“No, let me finish. Do you remember the frat party we crashed junior year? Remember when we got up onto the roof and made out until we fell asleep? And then you weren't there when I woke up so I walked back to my dorm and then we just pretended it never happened? What the fuck was that, Y/N?!”

You reach for his arm, but he backs up, flinching away from you.

“I am so in love with you it hurts!”

“Yoongi.”

“But I guess if that guy can make you happy, then whatever,” he sighs.

“Yoongi.”

“Go on your little date and have fun and I’ll just go write some more goddamn songs about you--”

“Yoongi!”

He stills, pain flashing through his eyes.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, easing toward him, “I had no idea. I left the roof to go inside and get you some water. When I came back, you were gone. You had been drinking a lot that night… and I felt really bad because… I thought I had taken advantage of you… Ever since I first kissed you at Ha-joon’s house, I wanted to do it again. And again. And, you looked so good that night and up on the roof when you were laughing about the quarterback I just… I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I thought surely you didn’t want to actually be kissing me.”

“Why the fuck would I have kissed you back, then?”

“You were drunk, and I--” you’re cut off when he grabs your wrist.“I have wanted to kiss you every time I’ve seen you since you first kissed me,” he says, glancing down at your lips. ”I want to kiss you right now.”

You take no time in closing the distance between the two of you, your lips crashing desperately. You’ve tasted his kiss before, but this time feels different. His hands are winding through your hair, pulling you deeper into his kiss. You moan against his mouth, and he responds with his tongue teasing your lips, asking for entry. You grant it, and he explores. One of his hands holds your jaw, the other still intertwined with your hair. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before he sucks it in, drawing out a small whimper from you. Taking his hand from your jaw, he runs it down your neck and décolleté and then down over your stomach and latches it on your hip, sinking his fingers into your skin. He gives your hair a small tug, just enough to break the kiss and expose your neck. He breaks off and trails kisses up your jawline and then onto your neck, speaking in between kisses.

“You have… no idea how… much I’ve… wanted to tell… you everything,” he breathes onto your neck, and you feel a heat pooling in your panties.

“Please, Yoongi…” you say as you begin to run one hand under his shirt. He stops kissing and looks up at you with the softest expression.

“What is it?” he asks as he grabs both of your hands in his, bringing one of them up to his mouth to sprinkle kisses along your fingers.

“You…” you begin and sigh, “you have no idea how much I want you.”

He stills.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to, I’m sorry, I just…” he trails off, eyes getting lost in the way his jacket is draped on your figure.

Him eyeing you up doesn’t make it any better.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” you say, eyes pleading up at him. “I’m tired of waiting.”

After a beat, he sighs.

“Neither of us are waiting another minute,” he says, landing a quick peck on your lips and going across the room to the couch, grabbing the throw blanket that rests on the arm.

“Come on, I have an idea,” he says, grabbing your arm and leading you out of the front door, across the street, through someone’s back yard until you reach the top of a hill on the side of a fairway. You watch as he scans the area, holding the blanket tight. His gaze lingers on two hills near the green of whatever hole this is, where there are a few more trees and hills to block you from the sightline of those second story windows. He looks at you, eyes asking the question. You smile and nod, and that’s all he needs.

He tugs your hand and you both go running down the fairway, laughing along the way. Once you reach your spot, he quickly puts down the blanket and lays on it. You’re still standing at his feet, hands fiddling with the ends of the jacket sleeves.

He smiles up at you and holds his arms up in your direction and says, “come here, beautiful,” while doing little grabby hands.

You slowly walk up to where he’s laying and sit on top of his hips, feeling how hard he already is. His hand rests on your hip underneath the fabric of his jacket, the other holding the side of your face.

“Let me see you,” he says with a tinge of whine in his voice, and that gives you an idea.

You reach under the still zipped jacket and fiddle around. Yoongi looks up at you befuddled, the corners of his lips turning down slightly as he tries to figure out what’s going on. When your hands emerge, one is holding your strapless bra and the other is holding the halter top you had been wearing. You can’t believe you managed to unzip the back by yourself.

You throw the garments to the side, and watch as understanding hits his face. His eyes glaze over and he licks his lips, clearly shaken up by your little trick.

He carefully dips his fingers below the waistband of your shorts and eases them down. You put your weight on him and give him a few kisses as he continues to move them down your legs. Once they too have been tossed to the side, you sit back up, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

He gently reaches up to the zipper of the jacket and begins to slowly pull it down, letting the cool night air in. You feel your nipples harden at the exposure to both the night air and Yoongi’s hungry eyes. He swallows and licks his lips as he runs his eyes over every new inch of you that is revealed. Memorizing your form, your perked nipples, the way your chest rises with each anxious breath.

He reaches back up to the collar and eases one shoulder of fabric off. You move to take the rest off despite the cold, but he stills your hand with his.

“Keep it on, please. I love seeing you wear my clothes,” Yoongi says, intertwining his fingers with yours.

You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing them against his knuckles as you slowly grind your still covered core on his length. He groans in frustration, his pants getting tighter. You let go of his hand and run your fingers up beneath his white cotton v-neck, his ab muscles flinching under your touch. You help him remove his shirt, taking in the way his pale skin shines under the moonlight.

Seeing you look at him makes his cock twitch in his pants, and you think it’s time to provide him some relief.

You scoot back and start to undo his belt, getting low and staring up at him through your lashes. His breath hitches when you make eye contact with him, and then it starts to pick up as you undo the button and zipper. You shimmy down the denim, but leave his black boxer-briefs where they are.

You come back up to the waistband after releasing his jeans, and you take the elastic in between your teeth. You tug them down with your teeth while your hands pull them on the sides. His erection springs free, and he sucks in a fast breath when his cock meets the cool air. You take the opportunity to let your warm breath ghost over his throbbing cock, coaxing a deep groan from Yoongi. He puts his hand to your cheek, and you look up to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think I can last if you put me in your mouth, baby girl. We can do head next time,” Yoongi says, and your heart soars at the pet name. You ease back up so that you’re straddling him once more, and reflexively start to grind on him again.

“Please let me take care of you. Look how wet you are,” he says, running his fingers over your clothed slit, dipping one finger in to collect a bit of slick. He tastes his finger and says. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to need to do head next time.”

You blush at the thought of him buried between your thighs, vulgarly slurping up everything you have to give him. You clench just thinking about it, and Yoongi notices. He pulls your panties to the side, takes the head of his cock and presses it to your clit, teasing your entrance. His precum mixes with your wetness, and you can’t resist him any more. You’ve resisted him for years, and you’re done.

You slowly ease yourself down on his cock, only making it halfway down before you have to wait for you to adjust. You both look at each other; Yoongi’s jaw is set and his eyebrows are furrowed together. Your mouth drops open as you raise and lower yourself again, feeling the delicious stretch that accompanies it. You bottom out and begin setting a slow and gentle pace.

Your body is rolling steadily, moonlight creating beautiful shadows on your body as you take him in over and over. As many times as you’ve dreamed of this, you still didn’t fathom it being this good or it feeling this right.

Yoongi is everything you had imagined he would be and then some. The way he is looking up at you, the way his soft little moans escape every time you bottom out, the way his eyebrows furrow together at the sight of your dripping heat enveloping him. Perfection.

He takes his hands and trails them up the curve of your waist, stopping just below your breasts. He runs his thumbs over your nipples, making you shudder and arch your back, pushing your chest into his hands. He palms them, kneading little circles around your areolas.

You lean forward, putting your weight on him again, and he meets you eagerly with another kiss. He wraps his arms around your back, keeping himself under the jacket, and you pick up the rhythm. Yoongi scratches his nails all the way down your back. Once he gets to your ass, he cups it, squeezing gently. You place your forehead against his, and your eyes meet.

“Y/N,” he whispers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “you look so beautiful on top of me like this. Please let me see this sight for the rest of my life.” You whimper at the praise, and pick up the pace.

“Please,” he continues, small grunts mixing in with his words, “Don’t wake up tomorrow and pretend like this never happened. Please... don’t break my heart,” he pleads.

“Not a chance, Yoon. I can never let you go. You’re everything to me. You’ve always been.”

“Baby, I am so close. Can I--”

“Come with me, Yoongi. Let’s do it together,” you say. Yoongi’s hands are on your hips and he’s thrusting up into you with an unrelenting pace. At this angle, you can feel his head graze against your cervix with each thrust, sending white spots in your vision.

You both reach your end at the same time, breaths mingling as you come down from your highs. You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat gradually slow. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head and sighs into your hair.

“So…” he begins, “do you wanna go to the festival with me?” Yoongi asks.

“Are you gonna pick me up? Let me hold your hand? Have a nice little special romantic date?” you fire back, trying your best to sound like him. You sit up on your arm, letting your hair hang over to one side, and watch the light dance in his eyes as he laughs.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I might even get us a little snack from one of the desert vendors.”

[shyneanon]

So like the skeleton simp community (it’s basically its own fandom) has really changed me, I never used to write romance, but I just... reaaaally love the Bonely Hearts Club thing where Red bakes in secret, so like... @bonelyheartsclub I may or may not have written x reader fanfiction before the full game is even out??? Oh gosh I’m going to write so much fanfiction when the game comes out help me

Anyway here’s Reader finding out about his hobby

----

You were falling asleep on Red’s shoulder when he spoke up.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Mm?” you mumbled, blinking awake. Red had paused his game to talk to you. He was usually fine with speaking over the game, so this wasn’t just casual conversation. You (reluctantly) lifted your head off his shoulder so that you could actually make proper eye contact, and once you did, you realized that he looked strangely serious. “Yeah?”

He seemed to hesitate a moment, breaking eye contact, then said, “I… I was thinkin’ I could show ya somethin’.”

Well, judging from how uncharacteristically tentative he seemed, it wasn’t sexual. “Yeah,” you said. “Anything.”

“But you gotta promise not tah tell anybody. Not the other skeletons, nobody…. Got it?”

You raised an eyebrow. Red, hiding something from everyone? He was always pretty loud about things that most people tried to keep discreet. What could he possibly be hiding that would be private even to him?

“As long as you didn’t murder someone,” you said with a smile. He started to close the game, so thankfully, no, he hadn’t murdered anyone.

When he stood up, you moved to get up with him, but he stopped you. “No, it’s in here, I’ll jus’… grab it.”

You watched as he went over to a disorganized pile of… lots of things. Books, video games, magazines, dirty clothing. His room wasn’t as messy as it used to be, but Red was still a Sans. Lazy was their thing.

He started to dig around and eventually fished out several books. You already knew he was a scientist, so they couldn’t be physics books. Were they… porn or something? Like, some really weird kind? No, that wouldn’t make any sense, why would he show you that? You didn’t really need to know the details of his habits in that department.

When he headed back over, you could see an actual blush on his face. Seriously, what was this? Was it romantic? Was he trying to be romantic? No, you’d seen that before, and it was adorably awkward, not… tense, like this.

“So,” he said, “please, just… promise ya won’t laugh at me.”

Why would you laugh at him? Not that you never had, but it had never been spiteful or condescending. “I won’t laugh at you. I promise.”

“... Cool.” He looked down at the books. You couldn’t even get a good look at their spines. Alright, now you had to know what this was about. If he backed out you were going to be really frustrated.

“So,” he said, “y’know how Rus sometimes likes bakin’ stuff, and ya told me that sometimes it’s better than other times?”

… What?

What did this have to do with Red? Still, you nodded-- albeit slowly, and you were sure your confusion was visible on your face.

“W… Well, the times you said it was better, Rus didn’t bake ‘em.”

For some reason, you didn’t put the pieces together at this point. Probably because you were too busy being confused that he had brought up such a mundane topic when being so secretive. “What?”

He made a small sound of frustration, though it wasn’t directed at you, and then held the books up so that you could see their covers.

Recipes.

Baking recipes.

“Wait,” you said, “you bake?”

He looked like he wanted to bury his face in something. “Yeah.”

You bit your lip, but it was no use; you started to giggle. He looked surprised, and you forced yourself to stop when he shrank back a little in embarrassment.

“N-- no,” you said, “it’s not like that! I’m not--”

“I know it’s lame, ya don’t hafta pretend it ain’t.”

“No, Red, I’m just… This is it? This is the secret you wanted to tell me?” Surely there was more.

“Yeah.”

There wasn’t more. You snorted. “Why is this so embarrassing?”

“I mean… it’s not real on-brand fer me, it’s a real soft hobby.” He kept avoiding eye contact. “Stuff like that.” It sounded like there was a lot more on his mind, but you knew Red had a hard time talking about how he felt. You wouldn’t press him about it.

You shrugged. “I mean, it’s unexpected, yeah, but that’s not a bad thing.” You nodded at the books. “How long have you been doing this for?”

“Started a while after we ended up wit’ all th’ other skeletons, livin’ together. It’s actually… kinda nice, tah do somethin’ soft.” His toothy smile returned. “Kinda like a weird middle finger to th’ Underground. Also, I gotta sweet tooth, ‘n this helps.”

His reasons actually seemed pretty Red-like. “A middle finger is totally on-brand for you.”

He was loosening up, his smile less strained and nervous than it was before. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then you realized something.

“Wait, doesn’t Rus know?”

Red’s smile faltered. “Uh… not exactly.”

Again, what? “Then how…?”

“So, sometimes he fucks up real bad.” His face grew oddly serious. “‘N I mean real bad. Not ‘s bad as Boss’s cookin’, but that’s not sayin’ much. It can be a real disaster. Or jus’ flavorless, ‘r whatever. So, I, uh… I may or may not toss it out, ‘n then bake a replacement.”

You snorted and let out another laugh, this one louder than the giggling from before. “And he doesn’t know?”

Red’s grin widened. “‘E’s got no idea. Thinks it’s just a stroke ‘a genius.” Some pink crept onto his cheeks again. “But… ya can’t tell, OK? The others’d make fun of me.”

“No they wouldn’t.”

“Some’a them would.”

… OK, yeah, maybe some of them would. “OK, I promise I won’t tell.”

“Thanks.”

You stood up. “You said doing soft stuff was a middle finger?”

He looked a bit curious as to what you were getting at, but he answered, “Yeah.”

You headed over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck before kissing his cheek.

“Can we cuddle?” you asked in a small, gentle voice that you knew seemed to crack him every time.

He was surprised for a moment, then dropped the books on the floor in his typical fashion. You wouldn’t tell him to put them up-- not now that he was wrapping his own arms around your waist.

“Ah… d-- doll,” he mumbled shyly.

His face had somehow gotten redder, and the usual edge he had to his smile was gone. His eyelights were large and fuzzy; you always loved when he looked at you like that.

“Y… Yer the only thing I really need tah help my sweet tooth,” he said quietly.

He was always so timid when he said anything romantic. You nuzzled him. “You’re so cute,” you told him.

“Don’ say that, ‘m supposed t’be bad.” You could tell he didn’t mean it-- he was smiling.

“Whatever you say, bad boy.” Bad boy. Psh. He was adorable. So adorable that he was going to be the death of you. “We should bake together sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We could make brownies when no one’s around. And then eat them with ice cream.”

His grin became a bit mischievous. “Yeah. It’ll be our dirty little secret, huh?” It softened again and he placed his forehead against yours. “You said you wanna cuddle, sweetheart?”

“Mhmm. A middle finger to the Underground, right? Screw the Underground.”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling you close and nuzzling you, although it was a bit rougher than necessary. “Fuck that place.”

He was still learning how to cuddle properly, but you didn’t care. You just liked being in his arms.

[zmediaoutlet]

fic: there will be better days

I’m so glad about the ending of Supernatural. It found its way, in the end. This fic is me drawing out that sensation as long as I could. I hope y’all like it, but it was written in a small way for a special group in a special discord, because I’m so glad we got to experience this dumb happy thing together. <3

title: there will be better days pairing: Sam/Dean rating: E length: 9500 words tags: Post-Season/Series 15, Spoilers for Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Heaven, First Time, Pining Dean Winchester

summary: Sam and Dean settle into their heaven.

(read on AO3)

They stand on the bridge, in quiet, for…

How long? It doesn't matter. Dean keeps his hand on Sam's back and Sam's shoulder tucks against his side, Sam being kind enough to slump down against the railing so that the position works, at all. The view's beautiful. Some woods, a river. A place Dean doesn't recognize but that hums with steady life. What a miracle, that death can bring them something new.

He's splitting his attention, though. The trees, the flowing water, the late-summer feel where the bright gold of everything burnishes down toward fall, it's a sweet goad toward peace, but. Dean's eyes drag away, every few minutes, and it's just—Sam. His eyes steady on the rush of the receding water, and his hair tucked behind his ear, and his back, steadily rising and falling under Dean's hand. Not pulling away. Not fidgeting, or impatient. Like he'd be content with this, exactly this, as long as eternity stretches out in front of them.

A bird flits by, blue-and-white against the green of the trees. Sam's eyes follow it and he smiles, just barely, a pull of lips that makes Dean's heart thump sorely against the inside of his ribs. His body keeps thrilling, reminding him, over and over: Sam. Sam. He slides his hand up to Sam's shoulder and squeezes, and Sam's eyes slide to his face. "Ready?" he says.

Sam doesn't ask for what. "Yeah," he says, soft and easy, and Dean drops his head, laughs. Something that had been knotted in his chest, for years and years, loose now—everything in him, free.

He steps back, and Sam turns to keep him in sight. Dean spins the keys to the car in his palm, grinning. "You want to drive?" he says, tipping his head at the car.

Sam blinks. Shakes his head, and swallows, and when he speaks his voice is thick. "No," he says, and clears his throat, and shakes his head again. "No, I want you to drive."

*

On the road Dean gives Sam a version of the same explanation that Bobby gave him. "We can go see him," Dean says, glancing across the seat, and Sam smiles and says, "We will," but he says, "Later," and Dean's—yeah, he's good with that. Later. They have forever, to do anything they want.

It's hard to wrap his head around. He doesn't know how long he waited, for Sam. A lifetime. The length of a drive. It felt—feels—like infinity, like every second is stretched and slow and exactly as long as it needs to be. The roads out here are gorgeous, empty, room for the Impala to stretch her legs, and Dean knows in a strange and centered way that if he wanted he could drive forever, and at the same time if he parks it'll have been ten minutes, as far as his mind's concerned, and he won't have missed a thing.

The radio's playing Zeppelin, quietly. Has been since Sam got into the car. Tangerine, right now—does she still remember times like these?���and Dean looks over to find Sam looking right at him. Dean's not sure Sam's turned his head, the whole time. He could make a crack—it rises to his lips, take a picture or what, got something on my face?—but it feels distant. He gets the impulse. Sam smiles, his back against the passenger door, and Dean smiles back sort of helplessly before he turns it back out on the road, and leans back in his seat, and settles into the drive.

*

Anything they want. Anything they could need, or dream of. There doesn't seem to be any real requirement to sleep, or to eat, or to do—anything. Time, slipping strange, and a stasis of a kind if they want it. That isn't what Dean wants, but he's not totally sure, about Sam.

The world changes around curves. Massive trees obscure the turns and it feels like a new road with every switchback. A short way past and there's—a house. Not a house Dean's seen, but he rolls slower, and Sam finally looks out the window at something that's not Dean, so—a house. Okay, Dean thinks. He can deal with a house.

Two stories, and a basement, and an attic full of dust. Dean goes into a sneezing fit when he opens up the hatch and Sam sniggers at him. It's not perfect, by any means. There's a sagging porch, and the sink in the first floor bathroom doesn't work, and there's some seriously fugly wallpaper that's peeling, and a stained carpet in the rear bedroom that, yikes, did something die on it? Would that even be possible? But Sam says, "This'll work," with content in his voice, and Dean looks around and tongues the inside of his cheek and thinks, well, yeah. This'll work fine.

There's food in the fridge, when Dean opens it. "I'll fix something," Sam says, and Dean looks at him in total surprise. A lifted shoulder, like Sam's been able to make anything other than eggs and bacon and bad, bad pasta his whole life. "What? I learned."

He did. They have chicken, roasted broccoli that Dean admit doesn't taste entirely like farts, these crispy potatoes that are—well, goddamn. There's not a dining table and so they sit out on the porch, a six pack of cold beer between them, watching the night settle in. It's cool but not cold. The lamp on the porch flickers, and Dean smiles, because he's damn sure that's not a ghost and instead that he's gonna have to rip out the wiring and start fresh.

Sam leaves his empty plate on the step behind them. He leans his elbows on his knees, and looks out at the darkening sky. The treetops are shadows against deep purple and Dean wants, very badly, to put his hand in Sam's hair, to feel his neck, his back. To settle himself against the fact of Sam's spine, his ribs and lungs, all of him here. Breathing, and here. "You learned to cook, huh," he says, instead of doing anything else, and gets to watch Sam turn his head, just a little. He's still wearing the same clothes he showed up in. Strange things, that tug a little at something Dean feels like he used to know. Sam turns his head but he doesn't look at Dean; Dean just gets his three-quarter profile, and the shape of his mouth turned a little solemn, and his eyes as they flick over the view of the dark, surrounding trees.

"Yeah, I did," Sam says, after too long. "I…"

That's all, for a few minutes. Dean puts his plate down, too (mostly clean, other than some broccoli he's not gonna be forced to eat), and shifts down one more step so they're sat right next to each other, and presses his knee against Sam's. Sam looks at their knees instead of at him.

"I wanna hear everything," Dean says. He reaches and gets Sam's hand, and squeezes it, and Sam's eyes close. Shit he wouldn't have done before, but hell—he's dead, he gets to. "Everything. Okay? Every—dumbass repair you screwed up on the car, and if you took Chinese lessons at a community college, and who won the World Series, okay, because I remember, we had a bet, and I need to know if I owe you or you owe me."

Sam swallows. "Jesus," he says, under his breath, and then laughs, a little. "Jesus, we did have a bet. That was—uh, that year it was the Dodgers." He swallows again, and when he opens his eyes they're wet, and a tear rolls down very slowly, against the crease of his nose, and his mouth hitches up at the side in a piled-up dimpling fold, and his chin creases, and Dean squeezes his hand very tightly. "Dodgers. But I can't remember which way you bet."

God, Sam. Dean knocks their shoulders together and lies: "Damn, I bet they were gonna lose. How's that figure, huh? I go down and my team does all in the same year? Shitty luck." Sam shudders out another laugh, wet, and nods, looking down at their clasped hands. "Guess I owe you, Sammy. Whatever you want, okay? Figure, we got time up here. I can figure it out."

Sam's chin is still shaking. A tear falls onto the back of Dean's hand, shockingly hot. Sam takes a deep breath. "I'll think of something," he says, when he can get his teeth out of his lip. Their knees grind together, close enough that Dean might get a bruise, if there's still such a thing as bruising. Sam sniffs, hard. He always was a sloppy crier. He looks at Dean a little sidelong, and smiles kind of embarrassed. Like Dean isn't an inch from losing it himself. "I kinda—I watched a lot of soccer."

Dean rolls his eyes, theatrical, and releases Sam's hand. "Of course you did," he says, layering on the disgust, and it's enough that Sam snorts and dashes his hand over his face, and when Dean gathers up their plates Sam's enough together that he can repeat his old dumb argument that there's a lot of strategy to find interesting in soccer, and anyway over the years the U.S. got better so it wasn't even really like rooting for foreign teams. Dean brushes it off, like he always did, and the argument's dumb but it feels—right. Something locking in, something solid. He washes the plates by hand in the sink and Sam dries them, and stacks them in the rickety cupboard Dean's definitely going to build a replacement for, and then he braces his hands on the countertop and closes his eyes again and breathes, slow. Calm, now, but still something built up inside that Dean doesn't know.

It doesn't bug him, like it might have, before. Dean chews his lip, and drains the sink, and tosses the dishrag over the faucet to dry, and says, neutral, "Hey." Sam makes a small noise, so he's not in some other universe. "Just—one thing. How long?" Sam turns his head, looks at Dean, and Dean lifts a shoulder. "It's—with how the time works, up here, I got no idea. How long was it, for you?"

He looks the same, is the thing. The same as he did when Dean was standing there, in the dark, with that strange numbness everywhere south of his spine and a stillness creeping up in his heart. The terror of that moment has already faded but the rest of the feeling is right there—looking at Sam and loving every single part of him. Pinning him into memory, exactly as he was, with his goddamn stupid haircut and his wide mouth. A few greys, at his temples. His body, lean-but-muscled, trim from running. His eyes, beautiful, even as panicked as they were, even as he told Dean that it was okay.

It wasn't. Dean knows that, now. Sam's cheek sucks in, on one side. "I was 68," he says. Dean feels the air go out of himself, a little. That's—jesus. Sam doesn't look sad about it. Not exactly. He slides his hands into his jacket pockets, tipping his head. "I was—I was in bed. It wasn't bad."

Dean bites the corner of his mouth. "Guess that makes you the older brother, then, huh?"

Sam smiles, just a little. "No," he says, and doesn't elaborate more than that.

*

There are two bedrooms, upstairs. That first night they sleep in the living room, watching old movies on an old TV, Dean in a recliner that's ridiculously comfortable when he kicks the footrest out and Sam on the couch. He wakes up at dawn to Sam still sleeping, his arms folded around a pillow like he always used to do, still in that old jacket, that hooded sweater bunched up and twisted around his waist. Dean recognizes it, now. He dreamed it. His heart feels like it can hardly take knowing, but there it is, anyway. His face is soft, sleeping, and Dean gets up with his back aching just a little—turns out that there are still aches—and he crouches down, and he settles his hand on Sam's jaw, and runs his thumb over the sharp-angled turn of his cheekbone. Sam opens his eyes, slow but not like he was even really asleep, and he looks at Dean looking at him, and Dean just—it's enough. If it was just this, for eternity and past it, that would be—that'd be good.

There's a library, in the house. A small office kind of room, off the kitchen, but Sam says the books change, when he goes in and out, so it stays fresh. The fridge always seems to have something in it. There's always gas, in the car, although sometimes little things need fixing, and in the garage there are things that Dean can use to fix it, so he gets to spend afternoons contented under the big black bulk, while Sam hands him things from the toolbox, and is distracted half the time from reading so that he hands Dean the 3/8s wrench instead of the 5/8s wrench, but that gives Dean an opportunity rag on him so it works out, either way.

"Mom and Dad are here," Dean says, one day. He's doing the wiring, on the porch. As good a place to start as any. Sam's helping, kind of—actual electric work apparently wasn't one of the things he learned, over the years. "They've got a house, Bobby said."

"That's great," Sam says, and when Dean looks down he looks like he means it, soft smile and all, but Sam doesn't suggest they visit, and Dean thinks—well, later's still always on the table. They haven't gone anywhere, really, except for drives sometimes through the mountain roads, and Sam's gone for his runs in the early dawn before Dean wakes up, and Dean's found on a path through the trees a good creek, where he's fished with Sam mostly ignoring him, reading again in a lawnchair with his bare feet kicked out into the soft grass, but still paying just enough attention to smirk behind his book when Dean doesn't catch anything.

They don't really stay apart for more than the time it takes to leave a room and come back. Even with those runs, Dean only knows they happened because as he's waking up Sam comes back with sweat in his hair, and Dean gets to make fun of him for stinking up the place before Sam rolls his eyes and clatters into the bathroom to turn on the creaking ancient shower, and he leaves the door open when he does so Dean can hear the water running, and the splashing, and how Sam's apparently started to hum. He doesn't sing, but Dean recognizes the tunes anyway. When Sam comes out Dean has breakfast ready—they take turns on dinner, but for some reason Sam doesn't like to make breakfast, anymore—and they eat, and then there's some project to do or a movie to watch or a book to finish, and—Sam's right there, solidly content. Like he's making up for lost time, and taking his sweet time in doing so.

Whisky, one night. In the cupboard. It's good—some Scottish blend Crowley had left in the bunker, once, sharp and sweet and rolling smoke down the throat—and they're out on the porch again, on the new bench this time, watching the sunset come down. Sam's mostly holding his glass, rather than drinking, but he looks okay. Head leaned back against the wall, and his shoulders relaxed, broad and strong. He doesn't seem to mind that Dean watches him as much as he does the sky, but he's looking thoughtful, and finally Dean says, "Tell me." Sam rolls his head against the wall, and meets Dean's eyes. "It's been on your mind, all day. Spit it out, man."

The corner of Sam's mouth lifts. "You would've made a good therapist, you know that?" he says. Dean raises his eyebrows. "I've been… I had a son."

Dean's jaw drops. "That's—" he starts, and his brain doesn't supply anything else. Shock—bewilderment—joy, and it's the joy that wins out, and he punches Sam in the shoulder and says, "Frickin' mazel tov, dude! That's—what was his name?"

"Ow," Sam says, half-laughing, clutching his arm. "What do you think? I named him after you."

"Great choice, pick the handsome brother," Dean says, nearly automatic, and Sam rolls his eyes like he's supposed to, but Dean's still spinning through it, taking it in. Sam—with a little boy—and Dean wants to know everything, everything, but Sam's gone from content to content-but-pensive, and Dean makes fun of him for going emo a lot, but this is… "He a good kid? Doing the name proud?"

"Yeah, he is," Sam says. He huffs, after a second, like he's remembering something—some memory that Dean doesn't share. There's been a lot of that, really, although Dean's not sure Sam notices when it happens. "You'd hate his taste in music, though. And he drives an electric car."

"Heathen," Dean says, and Sam raises his hands in surrender, and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Dean looks at his back, broad in the grey t-shirt. He sips at his scotch. "We could—probably see him. I'd like to meet him. And you must…" Miss him, is what he wants to say, except that his heart seems to catch up to what it means, what Sam's saying. That he had a boy, a kid, and he was old enough to drive and have shitty taste in music, and it was a whole life—that the kid had a mother, and Sam had a world separate to this one, and of course Dean knew that and Dean always wanted that for him, and that was true, that wasn't ever a lie no matter what else Dean felt, deep inside where he never, ever intended for it to matter, but. Dean misses Jack, sometimes, in a soft sore way—misses Ben, even, when that pain's far-distant and not even truly his to feel—but what Sam's going through, that's different, and Dean doesn't know how to touch it.

Sam shakes his head, though. "I do," he says, answering what Dean couldn't say out loud. "But I—no, I don't want to see him. Not yet. He's living, and I think—I hope he's doing the best he can. I was kind of an old dad. Old-fashioned maybe, too, but I taught him right, I think, and he'll be okay. I want to just—let him live. In my head. You know? And later, when he's finally—god, he'd better be really old—then. I'd want to see him then."

Dean gets it, and doesn't. He's not sure he could've waited another minute for Sam, if he'd been forced to. He picks up Sam's glass, abandoned on the bench between them, and holds it forward. Sam takes it, and accepts Dean's clink when it's offered. "To Dean," he says, and Sam huffs and gives him a slanted look back over his shoulder, but he nods, and repeats it, and they finish the bottle between them that night.

*

Funny, that they ended up in the mountains. Kansas was all flat prairie and farmland and endless horizons, and Dad used to joke sometimes when they'd drive across the country's flat middle that you could roll a marble all the way from Abilene to Lincoln and the only way it'd stop is if someone picked it up. Up here it feels—different. With the hills, and the trees. Like they could be hemmed in, if they were feeling bad about it, but instead it just feels like shelter. A place of their own. A place to make their own.

Sam left the bunker, he says, one day. A fishing day, when Dean's got his cooler full of cheap beer and Sam's working on yet another friggin' book, though this time he's at least enjoying the cool air, watching the birds and the river more than he's got his nose in some old dude's ancient wisdom. "Couldn't stay," he says, and Dean—yeah. That makes sense.

Little revelations, now and then. Sam doesn't seem to be in a hurry to tell them, but he doesn't seem to feel bad about them, either. Like they're sorrows mostly dealt with, or details that don't matter in the grand scheme. Dean never had a place, when Sam was gone from him, but even the car—he couldn't drive it, when Sam wasn't there in the passenger seat beside him. He gets how the bunker could've been less a shelter than a prison, when the halls were empty, and the silence got too thick. "I left it to him," Sam says, after a little while. He tucks his bookmark into his spot, tucks the book under his arms. Dean's just holding onto the fishing pole at this point, barely paying attention to the line, but Sam's watching it for the both of them. "I didn't—take him there, ever, but I told him about hunting, about the job, and I left a letter. Explaining it all, with the key and everything. It's there if he wants it."

"Good," Dean says. Sam glances at him. "Someone should use it. He's a legacy, too."

"Yeah, he is," Sam says, and it's quiet for some reason, and then he nods down at the creek. "You're getting a bite, dude—" and oh damn it, see, this is why Sam's a distraction on fishing trips, and Dean fumbles the rod and cusses at his brother and Sam just laughs, and the afternoon's easy, and Dean finally does get a damn fish and brings it home and considers leaving the guts under Sam's pillow, but instead he fries it up with dill and cornmeal and Sam makes nearly orgasmic noises, eating out on the porch because Dean still hasn't built them a table, and Dean says, "Jeez, dude, get a room," and his ears are pink but—he's happy. Sam's happy. That's been the only goal, this whole damn time. A falling-down house in the mountains, with the two of them totally alone, turns out to be as good a place to be happy as any. Go figure, Dean thinks, watching Sam suck his fingers and then turn his eyes hopefully toward the kitchen for more.

*

A drive. There's a road that snakes up high, ending in an empty lookout point, and Sam convinces Dean to come further—a hike, up to the very top of the mountain, where the trees start to thin and there's a view like—

"Holy shit," Dean says, when he heaves himself up over that last friggin' boulder, and Sam says, "Right?"

A vastness. The forest is thick and the sky's this clear, depthless blue, and the valleys and hills spread out in front of them untouched. Like they're really the only people in all of heaven, nothing but them and the trees and the house. Sam stands with his hands on his hips, looking out, looking like a damn model for that weird orange hiking jacket he's wearing, and Dean sits down on a handy flat rock and feels the sun on his back, takes it in. "You know, I thought the memory thing would've been okay, honestly," Dean says. Sam glances back at him. Instantly knows what Dean means, from the way he's furrowing his massive forehead in disbelief. "I mean, maybe it would've gotten boring, I don't know. Stuck on our hamster wheels forever. But there was good stuff, in there, and we—I mean. We would've been together. Right?"

It had been brutally painful, at the time, but in later years Dean had thought about it. Approached it cautious, like something that would break if he touched it. Soulmates, he thinks, now, deliberate inside his own head, and Sam smiles, like somehow he heard it. "Yeah, I guess so," he says. He tips his head. "Could've watched that memory of you turfing it into the pasture on that wraith hunt about a hundred times, I think."

Dean raises his eyebrows, says, "Ha," while Sam grins at him, but then Sam looks back out at the view. "Would've been some choice ones of you, too, you know," he says, but then shakes his head, even if Sam's not looking anymore. "This is—better, though. Glad Jack did it like this."

"And Cas," Sam says, and, yeah. Cas.

Dean takes a deep breath. He hasn't gone there, in his head, really. Castiel, free of the death he'd cursed himself to, free of darkness. Dean drags his hand over his stubble, remembering. The dark, reaching out. He looks out at the clear, bright day. "He was in love with me," he says.

Sam turns his head, but Dean's focused on the trees—past them—through to that day. All the time after, Dean never said anything about it, out loud or even in his head. They hadn't had a body to burn, and Sam hadn't asked questions, careful and kind in that way Sam had learned to be once he was older, and it had been an old bruise, unhealed, that Dean didn't like to press on because what was the point? It doesn't hurt now, but it's…

"He told you?" Sam says, and Dean nods. A pause, again, and Sam comes and sits down on the rock, too. His hands are clasped between his knees and Dean looks at them instead of the trees. Broad and tan, and big, and calm like everything in Sam is calm, now. "And you didn't know?"

Dean looks up, sharply. "Did you?"

Sam's mouth tilts. "I wondered," he says, and Dean huffs, leans back on his hands, looks up at the clear sky. A breeze, just chilly enough that he's glad of his jacket. Sam shifts, beside him. "Did you want to see him?"

It's asked—a little careful. Like Sam doesn't want to influence him either way. Dean imagines it—praying, and saying—what? He doesn't answer, and Sam doesn't press him, and they sit there for a while, in quiet, with the breeze bringing the smell of the trees.

"I didn't marry her," Sam says, after a while. Dean lifts his head—another revelation. Sam's slowly rubbing his thumbs back and forth, a dry chafing, looking out at something Dean can't see. "She was a really good person. Good mother. I wore a ring so people wouldn't ask questions, but I—I think she would've said yes, if I'd asked, but I didn't ask. She moved across town, when Dean was ten. We got along fine—hooked up a few times, even, after we split, but it just…"

"Never came together?" Dean offers, when the pause has gone too long, and Sam lifts a shoulder, his mouth curling wry as he looks at Dean. "I know the feeling."

Maybe it was some cruelty of Chuck's. To make it impossible for anything else to feel true. Dean tips his leg out so it touches Sam's, and Sam huffs, and touches Dean's knee, and the heat of him sinks right through the denim before he pushes to his feet, and offers a hand to help Dean up, too. They walk back down the trail, back to where Dean parked the car, and they drive down the winding roads with sunset spilling through the valleys behind them, and when Dean parks in front of the house the porch light's on like they left it, and Sam's getting out and saying something about maybe burgers, for dinner, and he'll make potato salad if Dean'll take care of the cooking, and Dean has to pause, with his heart suddenly thick and full in his chest, and thinks—well, if it was intended to be a punishment, then shit if Chuck didn't get it wrong.

They have burgers, and potato salad. Sam doesn't put in enough mayo and Dean tells him so. They watch The Right Stuff, and Sam listens mostly patiently to Dean filling in all the extra details about the astronauts before he tells Dean that he's a nerd, and Dean says, "Oh, if anyone's the nerd—" and they bicker, and wash the dishes, and Sam's beautiful, is the thing. Beautiful. Whole and healthy and content, in the lamplight in the house they're building. Beautiful his whole life, from when he was a little kid and Dean was wiping his snot-nose with the edge of his t-shirt to when he was a bitchy asshole of a teenager to when he was a high-handed and distant adult to when he was just—Dean's brother, paying him half-attention in the mornings, getting all his jokes, being bossy and being kind and being himself, and himself is all Dean ever wanted him to be.

Sam picks up one of the endless books that he's left on the kitchen counter. "You going to keep watching old nerd movies?" he says, a dimple tucked into his cheek.

Dean's chest feels somehow tight and full of molten gold, all at once. "Sammy," he says, and Sam hears the change in his voice, and blinks at him. Dean knows what Cas had meant, those years ago. How it could feel so entirely perfect, just to hold it like this, under your heart. To acknowledge it and know it for true. "You're it, for me. You know that, right?"

A slight tightening, around his eyes. He searches Dean's face but Dean—he doesn't know what expression he's wearing. It hardly matters.

"Our whole lives. I never—there wasn't ever really an option, for something else, but I don't think I ever even really wanted something else. Ever since I was little. It was you and me in my head, no matter how I thought about the future. I wanted you to have more but I never pictured anything else for me, not really. Even when I got the chance. Never came together, you know? But I don't think I wanted it to. All I wanted was you." Sam's lips have parted. Confusion there, but concern too, and Dean smiles at him. "I guess this sounds—this isn't like a goodbye or anything, or a… I don't know. I just… wanted you to know. In case you hadn't guessed."

Sam lays his hand on the counter, like he's looking for something steady. "Dean," he says, and then doesn't seem to know how to follow it up.

Dean shakes his head. "Didn't mean to drop a bomb on you," he says, and it's that loose knot again, an untangled free thing. Easy, when this had never, ever been easy. When he'd died for it, and lived through way worse than dying. Here, looking at Sam's expression—shock but also not quite shock—his other hand still clutched around his book—it feels like nothing but right. He smiles, looking at Sam's eyes. "After the life we had, man, this is the cherry on top. I don't need anything more than this."

He goes to bed. Sam's still standing there, in the kitchen, when he does.

*

Time moves more because they expect it to than because of any rules. Sam's been studying it, sort of, out of curiosity more than anything else, and he says he thinks that if they wanted it to be it could be about two pm in a warm July forever. Dean's noticed, even if he doesn't much care. How long have they been here, and still it's those last days of summer creeping into autumn, where it's cool in the shade and the sun's warm, and it doesn't snow, and if it rains it's just for long enough to make the house feel cozy and right, and then when the sun comes out again the world's washed-new, and he doesn't have to dig his car out of the mud.

It's raining the next morning, and Dean lays in bed with the covers pulled up around his shoulders and enjoys it, knowing there's nowhere to go. His room is his room only because it's the bed he picked, with the north-facing window and the view of the car, if he wants to glance down and see it; they leave their doors open, almost all the time, and they hardly have possessions that need keeping anywhere. He lifts up on an elbow after a while, and looks over the foot of the bed down the hall, and on the opposite end by the stairs Sam's door is open and he's a solid lump, in his bed, still snoozing through the rain, and Dean's heart folds up in his chest, looking. It tends to do that.

He goes through some morning things. Making the coffee, and sipping at a cup while he eats a slice of toast. He goes into the library and picks something off the shelf, and carries it back upstairs, and then it's the solitary, strange contentment of a morning crap (the door closes for that at least, and he'd wondered why that was something that stuck around in heaven until he experienced the weird peace of an unhurried morning), and then a coffee refill, and then it's still raining and he thinks—yeah, back to bed, crawling in with his coffee and his book, his back to the headboard, the house warm, the sifting rain outside nothing but soothing.

"Hey," he hears, and looks up.

Sam—oh. In his flannel pants and one of those v-neck sleeping shirts, black this time, his hair rumpled, leaning in his doorway. He closes his book and lets it fall down by his leg. Sam's eyes follow it, with a small frown.

"You really went for the beauty sleep, huh?" Dean says, as though the clock means anything. Even in heaven, he feels weird when Sam catches him reading. In that time in the bunker—after Jack disappeared—he'd started again, like he used to when he was in his twenties. Dumb stuff, nothing like what Sam would pick, but he liked the stories. Sam's never made fun of him for it, but he still—well, still.

Sam's still looking at the book but the silence has stretched, with the patter of the rain filling the space between. "I stayed awake for a long time, last night," he says, finally. "Thinking about stuff. What you said. Other things, too."

He seems okay. Not bitter, or angry, or even particularly stressed about it. Still, "Sorry," Dean says.

Sam shakes his head, and looks up at Dean's face. "Don't be sorry." He pushes a hand through his hair, sort-of smiles. "Figures, you wouldn't say anything until you knew I was a sure thing."

Dean snorts. He moves the book over to his bedside table, leaves it with his empty coffee mug. He pulls his knees up under the blanket, making room, and Sam comes and sits at the foot of the bed, one knee pulled up onto the mattress, looking at Dean steady and—and okay. They're okay.

"I had a dream last night," Sam says, finally. Dean nods—the dreams come pretty steadily, up here. Never nightmares, just invention, and memory recontextualized. "It was about… when Azazel had Dad. You remember that? Forever ago. All I wanted was to kill him. All you wanted was for us to be together. Remember?"

Of course, Dean remembers. The way he'd dragged Sam away from another fire. Sam looking at him with almost-pity, when he'd finally admitted what he wanted.

There's not a trace of pity in him, now. He pulls his knee up against his chest, comfortable. "You know, I thought about it," Sam says. "After you were gone. How everything felt—incomplete. Half-a-loaf. Even…" He shakes his head, and Dean wonders what goes there. He'll find out someday. "We were always breaking the world for each other. Normal siblings don't really do that. I don't know if you realized."

"I bet Mary-Kate and Ashley would give it a shot," Dean says, and Sam smiles at him, but rolls his eyes, too. "Sam—"

"I wondered," Sam interrupts. He lifts his eyebrows, a little, and Dean hears it as the echo it's meant to be. Despite everything he can feel his cheeks going pink. "If it wasn't just that we couldn't find something that was better, but that we never would. If you'd…"

He trails off. Dean picks at the blue yarn-ties on his blanket, watching Sam's face. Turned now, toward the rain outside, lit beautiful with morning. "I wouldn't have said anything," he says. Sure, somehow. "Even if we'd had—hell. Another decade, just you and me. When I said this was enough, I meant it."

"I know you did," Sam says. "And I know you wouldn't have. Because you wouldn't have wanted to ruin anything for me, right? If I had some outside shot—some kind of normal I might've dug up?" Dean nods. Sam nods, too, and then reaches out and flicks his knee through the blanket, hard it enough that it nearly stings. Dean claps his hand over the spot and smacks Sam's hand away, but Sam's already retreating, hands up, smiling. "Truce, truce. Just saying. I wouldn't have tried for anything, if you'd been there. It would've just been me and you and the dog."

The dog. "Did he—" Dean says, distracted, and Sam says, "Old and kinda fat, and happy as he could be."

Sam's just looking at him, along the length of the bed. "Sammy," Dean says, and chews his cheek for a minute. Sam's patient. "I know it wasn't easy, that I was gone. But I'm still glad you got that shot. Glad I didn't ruin it."

"You didn't—" Sam starts, and then closes his mouth. He smiles at Dean with his lips closed, and then breathes out slow through his nose. "I'm glad you're glad," he says, instead, and maybe that's all the compromise they'll ever get, on the subject. Dean's not sure Sam gets it, smart as he is. That Dean would've always wondered. That there would've been some horizon, distant and gold, that Sam might've always looked to, and imagined something different.

The rain's slacking, outside. Sam looks out the window again, at how the sun's drawing out, the light changing. "Do you want to try to figure out the cabinets today?" he says.

God, Dean loves him. "You can work the band saw," Dean promises, and Sam rolls his eyes again, and stands up, and says, "Let me shower first, before all the excitement," and Dean watches him step into the hall and then into the bathroom and hears the shower come on, through the open door, and he thinks it'll be a good day. Inevitable argument over what color to stain the cabinet doors notwithstanding.

*

It sits between them. Dean didn't feel tense about it but saying it aloud nevertheless makes him feel almost weightless. He knows that Sam's thinking about the conversation—going over past conversations, and things they've done, and choices they've made, over and over, because Sam's an egghead who had to puzzle things out forever before he can come to some kind of peace with them—but that's okay. They're still together and nothing's ruined, and the house comes along. They work on the kitchen for a while, Sam pulling down the horrible wallpaper while Dean does the woodwork, and there's a week nearly where they build a fire outside every night and dinner's what they can rig up over the flames—hotdogs, and kebabs, and mac and cheese even that gets a weird smoky flavor to it, and honestly it's about the best version Dean's ever had.

When Sam starts talking he comes at it obliquely. They're watching a movie—Moonraker, just as dumb and wonderful as Dean remembered it—and right over the top of the scene where Jaws is whaling on the guards, Sam says, "I didn't sleep with anyone for almost fifteen years."

"Makes sense, your game is terrible," Dean says, and grins when Sam sighs. "What do you mean? After the breakup with—"

Sam still hasn't said her name. "It just didn't…" Sam shrugs. "It wasn't important somehow."

"Plus you would've thrown your back out," Dean says.

"Yeah," Sam says, dry. "Plus that." A pause, while they both watch the end of the fight. Roger Moore was a way better Bond than people gave him credit for, Dean's always thought. "How long for you?" Dean makes a sound. "Before… You used to brag about it, you know? But you didn't come home bragging for a long time."

"You trying to get me to say just looking at your goofy mug every morning was enough?" Dean tips his head on the couch to find Sam raising his eyebrows, actually surprised. "Hah. Well, it was."

"Seriously?" Sam says.

Dean shrugs, not sure why it's coming as a shock. He doesn't actually remember himself, even though it's closer in memory for him, when he last had that urge—to just go for a hookup, to let off nervous energy. On the screen, Bond's punching someone, and Holly Goodhead's in trouble. "No need to try to fix what ain't broke, as they say," Dean says, and he can tell Sam watches his face for a while before Sam turns his attention back to the movie.

Later: Dean's peeled back the scary carpet and it turns out there's good wood flooring underneath. Go figure. He's trying to decide whether he wants to cut it out in pieces or roll the whole thing up and see if he can get Sam to carry it. Sam brings him a cup of coffee, while he's standing in the doorway to the bedroom and frowning, and then says, "I never thought about being with a guy."

Dean slops the coffee, a little. Good thing he's tearing out the carpet either way. "Uh, okay."

The corner of Sam's mouth tugs up. "It just never occurred to me," he says. "Not really."

Dean takes a sip from his mug. Even in heaven Sam manages to screw it up, somehow—this time, way too strong like he used three times the amount of grounds needed—but it's Sam's coffee, and Dean's so damn gone for him that he's fond of the sludge, too.

Apparently he's been silent too long. Sam tips his head, leaning against the doorframe, opens his mouth and closes it again.

"Do you really want to know?" Dean says, after a minute. He'd answer, he thinks. If Sam asked. What would be the point of keeping it secret, after all, with what they both already know?

"I think you just told me," Sam says, quiet, but shakes his head, and then jerks his chin at the carpet. "If you think I'm carrying that whole thing downstairs you're insane."

"Worth a shot," Dean says, and they put it away, for another day.

Later: they're painting, in the hall between the kitchen and the living room, and it was a long bickering session to come up with the color but Dean thinks that Sam was really arguing just to argue and not because he cared, at all. It smells like paint, which in theory is unpleasant but which really Dean's always kind of enjoyed—because it means there's a project being done, and progress being made, and that always settles something, in his bones—and Sam's got a full on handprint of slate blue on his ass that Dean thinks somehow he still hasn't noticed, and which should cause some entertainment when he does—and Sam says, standing back and squinting at his edging work, "How did you know?" Dean grunts, not following for once. His brush needs to be cleaned. Sam reaches up and fixes a line, carefully swiping blue away from the ceiling, and says, "About us. When did you know?"

Dean pauses, fingers all tangled with the brush in the murky water. Sam's frowning up at the ceiling, patiently doing his part. That's a question he never really asked himself, and he doesn't know the answer. Too easy to say always, even if sometimes that feels like the truth. November 1983 is another answer, but of course that's wrong, too. From the first time Sam smiled at him. From the first time he guided Sam's hands around a gun and helped him pull the trigger, and they nailed that empty Coke can like it was a vamp, at thirty paces. From the day Sam left, at that shitty house in Utah, and Dean stood in the dark street with his heart bleeding out 'til it was empty. From the night Sam died, and Dean knelt in the dirt with him and understood how it felt to die, too, and yet still be forced to stand up and keep living, and to have his whole body reject it, everything in him knowing: no.

Sam crouches down by him, and nudges Dean out of the way, so he can clean his own brush. "I didn't get it, I don't think," Sam says, when Dean hasn't responded. He riffles his fingers through the bristles, blue blooming up so that Dean can't see his skin. "Not for… Man, I don't know. It might've been when I thought we were going to lose you to Amara. Maybe earlier." He draws his brush out of the water and squeezes the wet out, and Dean watches his hands, like he does so much of the time. Capable and square-palmed and long-fingered. Blue paint stuck under his fingernails. He rests his brush on the side of their paint tray and his hands lace loosely between his knees, where he's still right there, inches from Dean. "Wish it hadn't took me so long."

Dean looks at him. Sam's looking back, not really smiling but with his face soft. He stands up, after a few seconds, and from Dean's crouching vantage Sam looks impossibly tall. "C'mon," he says, easy. "Let's finish this up. I want to watch you fail at fishing at some point today."

Later—

*

There's no real time, and therefore it's no particular day. Days have passed and yet the days are still gold, and beautiful. Sam goes for a run, and comes back, and they have breakfast, and they shower, and it rains briefly midday and so Sam reads in the armchair while Dean watches a movie—Godfather II, and he tells Sam he's a barbarian for reading through it, but Sam calmly ignores him like he always does—and then the rain stops, and Dean thinks, maybe a drive, and so they go for a drive, with the late afternoon sun pouring down. They park, in front of the house, and Dean gets out, and he's thinking about dinner—Sam's turn to cook, but Dean wants steak and Sam's never actually gotten the hang of steak—and Sam says, "Hey," and so Dean turns, and there with the driver door still open on the car, Sam steps up close to him, and takes Dean's face in his hands.

Dean's heart thuds slow, in the base of his throat. Sam's been this close before but he hasn't had quite that look in his eye. He stands still, waiting, and Sam's mouth twitches into a quick smile, like he's had some funny thought that he'll share with Dean, later—and Sam leans down, and when their mouths press together it's...

Sam pulls back, after not long enough. "Is that okay?" he says.

Really asking. Dean's holding Sam's forearms, his lips warm. "You're supposed to be the smart one," he says, and his voice comes out raw. "You figure it out."

His eyes are closed. Sam laughs, softly, and Dean takes a breath, and then there's Sam's mouth, again, soft but insistent, just the right amount of pressure. Sam's very good at this. Who knew. Dean's hand slides to Sam's chest and he parts his lips, and Sam takes the invitation as it's given, licking just barely inside. They're both unshaven but the scratch of Sam's chin feels good. Sam's nose brushes his. Dean pulls back, and tilts so their foreheads are touching, and there's an infinite universe of time around them and he could just stay—here. Right here, with Sam's breath mingling with his, and Sam's hand on his face.

Once they've started, though, Sam doesn't seem to feel the need to stop. "Bed?" he says, quiet, and Dean nods, and then—Sam's room, with the sun coming in the window and the thick blue blanket soft under Dean's hand. Sam sits beside him and leans in and they kiss—again—for ages, Dean's arm around Sam's neck and no sound but their lips meeting and parting, and the breeze soughing against the house.

Sam's—happy. That's the only thing Dean can think, over and over, his heart thrilling for it. "Is it weird?" Dean says, at one point, and Sam touches his cheek with two fingers, and drags them soft along Dean's stubble to his jaw, to his chin, and shakes his head and then laughs and says, "Yeah, but who cares about weird," and Dean says, fervently, "Not me," and Sam laughs again and presses him down to the bed and kisses him, again, and again.

Clothes go away, slowly. Boots, and jackets, and Dean pushes Sam a little upright and unbuttons his shirt, careful, while Sam watches his face. "Do you know what you want?" Dean says, not pushing either way. When the shirt's open he spreads his hands on Sam's chest—god, even through the undershirt, it's—but Sam's shaking his head, and Dean tries to focus, even if focus seems a billion miles from here. "And you never…"

But no, because Sam told him. Sam lays his palm on Dean's stomach, warm. "What did you want?" Sam says. Gentle almost. "The first time you—when you thought about it. What did you picture?"

"Who says I pictured anything?" Dean says, and Sam just smiles at him, and, yeah, okay. So Sam knows him better than anyone. So what.

Naked, Sam is… It's not like Dean never saw it before, but he never let himself look, like he's looking now. Never with the sense of right, that he feels now. Sam's looking right back, which somehow comes a surprise. Dean lets Sam tug off his jeans, his boxers, and he's left on his back on the bed, and Sam stands there and his eyes go all over—from Dean's chest to his dick to his feet, for some reason—and Dean feels himself flushing, but it's more because—

"I didn't think it'd be like this," Sam says, and yeah. Yeah, that's it. Sam's flushed, too, a little red come into the hollows of his cheeks. His dick's half-hard, swinging heavy against his thigh, and Dean wants it. Wants Sam. It should be complicated but it isn't. He spreads his legs, and Sam kneels on the bed and then fits himself there, so Dean's thighs can slide against Sam's, and there's the warm glance of his belly, and his chest against Dean's, and how his nose brushes Dean's cheek and how his hair falls forward, and the dense familiar physicality of him. How he's Dean's brother and how he's—everything, everything else that ever mattered.

They rub together, kissing. Sam's fingers find his nipple and play with it, slow and insistent. Sam's hard, thick, pressing into the crease of Dean's thigh, and Dean nudges under Sam's jaw, kisses his throat, drags his thumb down between Sam's pecs. "Do you want to," he says, against Sam's skin, and Sam's hand cups over the back of his head and he doesn't have to say anything for Dean to know.

There's lube, in Sam's bedside table. Dean laughs, while Sam blinks surprise at it. This perfect house. He pulls Sam in close again, and he doesn't think it'll take much—hell, they might not even have to bother—but he wants it, like this is a first time they might have had, some perfect day that never existed on earth. He drizzles the lube over Sam's fingers and Sam knows what to do, reaching below, and Dean spreads his legs wide and sinks into the pillow, into how it feels. "Do you like it?" Sam says, curious and a little pleased, and Dean hooks his arm around Sam's neck and drags him down for a kiss so Sam won't ask such dumb friggin questions. The slow drag and stretch of Sam's knuckles inside—and he's not going far enough or deep enough, because he's done this to women maybe but never to a guy, but it feels good, anyway.

They don't move from that position. Dean reaches down and tugs at Sam's wrist, and gets a slick dragging hand on his hip, instead. Sam kisses his cheekbone, shifts his weight, and the press inside—ah—thick, and just that first bright sting that makes it count for something, but it doesn't hurt beyond that, and it's just the slow parting drag of Sam, inside him, until he's as far as he can go and stops with his hips pressed right up close. Dean holds him there, feeling. Sam's breath against his cheek, and his weight held tense on one elbow, and their chests rising and falling together. Dean's dick presses against Sam's belly but it doesn't feel important, right now—it's more that they're—finally, they're—

"Please say I can move," Sam says, breathless, and Dean gasps in and then laughs, dizzy, says, "Jesus, you've been waiting on me? Get the lead out, come on—go—"

It lasts—

For the time it takes Dean to curl his hips up and feel how Sam jolts, hard inside. For the time it takes Sam to lift up higher, getting enough space between them that he can see Dean's face, and for him to fit his hand around Dean's jaw and press his thumb against Dean's lower lip and look him in the eyes, startled, like even after everything he's learned something new. For the time it takes Dean to wrap his thighs around Sam's waist and arch, and for Sam to bury his head down into the curve of Dean's throat, and for Dean to hold Sam's shoulders, and for it to be…

Perfect, Dean thinks, after.

They're on their sides. Dean's leg is still caught around Sam's hip. Their heads are on the same pillow and Dean's got his hand on Sam's chest, and Sam keeps tracing some nonsense shape into the skin over Dean's ribs, and the sun's still out, and the breeze is still gentle, and it feels in a way like no time has passed, at all. Like this is still their first day in heaven. That first moment, when Sam appeared on the bridge, and Dean's heart thumped into place, like it was beating again, at last.

Sam's hand settles flat on Dean's side. Dean looks up from Sam's chest, and Sam's waiting there, to meet his eyes. A smile, small. "Good job, tiger," Dean says, and Sam's smile goes deeper, and Dean rolls his eyes, and tugs Sam's chest hair in retaliation. Sam mimes pain but all he does is pull Dean an inch closer, and sigh.

"Do you think we could've made it work?" he says, eventually. Dean hmms, asking. "Before, I mean. When we were alive. It feels like…" He shakes his head, a small movement against the pillow. "I don't know. Like we wasted time."

"Maybe," Dean says. He shifts, stretching out his legs, and lifts up on one elbow. Sam tips his head back to keep looking at Dean's face. Dean looks back, unhurried. The straight line of his eyebrows, and his tip-tilted eyes. His mouth, relaxed in contentment, and the slope of his nose, and that mole that Dean feels the weirdest fondness for. He touches it, and Sam blinks, and Dean smiles at him. "It worked out, though. Don't you think?"

Sam's mouth tips, a dimple peeking up in his cheek. He looks as glad as Dean's ever seen him. "Yeah," he says, finding Dean's hand. Their fingers tangle together, caught warm against Sam's chest. "Yeah, it worked out okay."

[theladyofdeath]

The Perfect Gift {Rowaelin}

Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous.

This has been a hard Christmas for everyone, @snelbz​ and I included, so I apologize for my lack of posts. In years past, Christmas fics have been my favorite to write and post, but this year...I lacked any Christmas spirit, whatsoever. However, as that has been the case for many of us, hopefully these last few holiday fics will give you a little boost of holiday spirit. (;

Written with Shelb, of course.

Rowan got the same gift for Christmas every year: working overtime from the week before Christmas until after the New Year. 

It left him exhausted, hardly able to keep his eyes open as he pulled onto his street. He longed for his apartment, even if he wasn’t sure if he was going to the fridge for a beer or heading straight to bed.

It had been one of those days.

It didn’t help that he had to drive slower, being extra cautious, because of the heavy snowfall. 

He parked in the lot, thankful that there was a spot near the staircase and as he brought the car to a stop, he dragged a hand down his face.

Thankfully, he’d be off tomorrow and would celebrate the holiday with his friends. Before turning right back around to be at work the day after Christmas.

With a yawn, Rowan pulled himself from the car and trudged up the stairs towards his apartment. As he approached, however, he realized he could hear festive music playing from within and he looked up to find a large, and very glittery, wreath hanging on his front door.

He reached for the knob and found it unlocked, which it certainly hadn’t been when he’d left for work this morning.

He slowly pushed it open, and froze.

Aelin Galathynius was up on a stepstool, reaching up high to place a star on the top of a Christmas tree.

It wasn’t his Christmas tree.

Rowan didn’t have a Christmas tree. 

Rowan had zero Christmas decorations, had nothing that resembled the holiday whatsoever. 

Aelin, as she shook her Christmas-pajama-ed ass to the obnoxiously loud Christmas music streaming through his bluetooth speaker, apparently disapproved of that fact.

Rowan cleared his throat, and loudly shut the front door behind him.

She yelped and nearly dropped the sparkling tree topper, but righted herself and turned around to look at him. “Oh. Hey.”

Rowan had to fight off another yawn threatening to take over, but he felt a small delight in unexpectedly seeing his best friend. “What are you doing, Ace?”

“You’re off early,” she said, ignoring his way question and hopping off the stool. She carefully placed the star on the coffee table, which looked like a tiny snowman village. “You don’t usually get off work until, like, ten on Christmas Eve.”

“Lorcan sent me home, said I’d been working too many hours,” he said, leaning against the back of his door.

“Great,” she said, grinning. “Here, go put these on.” She held out a pair of pajama pants, that were identical to the pair she wore.

He blinked at the red and green Christmas trees displayed across the gray, fleece fabric. “Are we really doing this?”

Her mischievous grin deepened. “Oh, most definitely.”

He shook his head, slowly. “You know, I planned on coming home, taking it easy, going to bed early…” He trailed off, taking the pajama bottoms from Aelin, once she shoved them into his chest.

“On Christmas Eve?” Aelin asked, one golden brow raised. She grabbed her phone off the side table and turned the volume down, just a little bit, as some classic, cheesy song played in the background. “You can take it easy, but we’re going to be festive, damn it.”

He sighed, knowing there was no way he was going to win the current argument, and made his way back towards his bedroom. Decorations lined all of the walls and there was some sort of lit up knickknack or garland sitting on every surface of the apartment. He paused and turned back to look at her. “How long have you been here?”

Glancing down at her watch, she said, “I got off work at two-thirty today, like a normal person, so…” She shrugged.

“So two-thirty, then?” He asked, starting his walk back to his room again.

Aelin laughed. “Pretty much.”

Rowan just shook his head as he stumbled into his bedroom. The moment he closed his bedroom door, he stared lovingly at his bed.

His perfect bed.

So comfy, so warm.

With another wide yawn, he kicked off his boots, then his jeans, and slipped on the pajama pants.

He hated to admit just how soft and cozy they really were.

And it didn’t make him want to not climb into bed any less. 

By the time he made it back into the living room, Aelin had forgotten about putting the star on top of the tree and was pulling a tray of gingerbread man cookies out of the oven.

“You need a life,” Rowan announced. “This is…”

“Amazing?” Aelin supplied.

Rowan chuckled. “A bit much.”

She smiled, setting the tray down on the stovetop. “We only get one Christmas a year. Why not make it count?”

He rolled his eyes and turned, finding a festive movie menu on his television, with a pile of blankets on his couch, two mugs of hot chocolate and decorated cookies on the coffee table. He looked back into his room and wondered how he hadn’t noticed his comforter missing from his bed.

“Oh no,” he said, letting his head fall into his hand.

“Oh, yes,” Aelin said, smirking as she moved past him and flopped onto the couch.

“Christmas movies are cheesy,” Rowan muttered.

“Not all of them,” Aelin protested, crossing her arms.

“Yes, all of them, every single one,” he argued.

“You're such a Scrooge,” she teased, picking up her mug of hot chocolate. When she pulled the mug away, she had a thick, whipped cream mustache. 

Rowan couldn’t help his laugh as Aelin’s eyes narrowed. She quickly sucked in her top lip and licked it off, a gesture that made Rowan’s laughter quickly fade.

Rowan and Aelin had been best friends their entire lives. They'd been there for each other through every high and low of their lives, whether that was Aelin graduating top of her class from the University of Terrasen or Rowan’s father leaving just shy of his fourteenth birthday.

Rowan had been in love with her for years.

She had no idea.

“Stop looking at me, asshole,” Aelin muttered, taking another sip from her mug.

Rowan cleared his throat and shook off the moment with a sneaky grin. “If only I had my camera. That would’ve made good future blackmail.”

Aelin rolled. “No need to save blackmail, you already scare every guy I meet away with your looming height and endless broodiness.”

Rowan chuckled. If only she knew. “Alright, Ace. What horrid movie are you forcing me to sit through?”

“A childhood classic,” she said, and pressed play, letting the sound of The Grinch fill the room.

Rowan narrowed his eyes and sat next to her on the couch. “You better be happy Jim Carrey is my favorite actor.”

“Is he?” She asked, with mock surprise. “I had no idea.”

Rowan grabbed a cookie from the plate and bit Santa’s head off. It seemed the best response to Aelin’s sarcasm.

The movie started — Rowan detested movies that spoke in rhyme — and the two settled in to watch. After only a couple of minutes, Rowan was yawning.

“You better not fall asleep,” Aelin said, raising an eyebrow as she looked over at him.

“So bossy,” he said, leaning forward to grab his hot chocolate. He put the mug to his lips and drank. Pausing the movie, he looked over at her. “Is there alcohol in this?”

“You’re asking me if there’s alcohol in it?” Aelin asked, shooting him a grin.

“Of course there is,” he muttered, taking a sip. He could taste a slight hint of rumchata through the cocoa and extensive whipped cream.

Aelin was good at a lot of things.

At the top of the list was a solid mug of hot cocoa.

The titles played, and The Grinch began.

Rowan used to love that movie, back before his father left and Christmas still felt like Christmas.

Aelin had had a hard childhood, too, and Rowan envied her for still loving Christmas. After all those years, she still adored the holiday. Still adored the magic of the day.

Rowan had a much more difficult time getting into the holiday spirit.

That could have been why he chugged the hot chocolate and Aelin was up getting seconds for them both before the titular character was even on screen. That pattern held until an hour later, when Aelin was grabbing a bottle of whiskey out of the freezer, the Rumchata long gone and Rowan was hollering from the living room, voice beginning to slur, “Like, if he doesn’t like Christmas, why doesn’t he just move? I’m sure there’s a community of people somewhere who hate Christmas just as much as he does.” Aelin sniggered as she set down the bottle, but he went on. “And for that fact, the Who’s just need to let the damn man live his life. He’s not hurting anyone up on his mountain.”

“He kind of is,” Aelin argued, closing the fridge and heading back to the living room. “I mean, he scares everyone and makes people miserable on purpose.”

“Yeah, because everyone’s so damn judgmental,” Rowan said, his head falling back against the couch cushions. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you love the Grinch so much,” Aelin grinned, falling onto the couch next to him. “Save for being green, you’re practically the same person.” 

“Not true,” Rowan scoffed. “I would never wear the outfit of a German yodeler.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes. “First of all, it’s called a lederhosen. Secondly, you’re so full of shit.” 

Rowan was unable to control his grin. 

“I could see you in lederhosen, by the way,” Aelin continued, sipping from her mug. Rowan followed her lead, the warm sensation of whiskey trailing down his throat.

“I don’t think it’s my style,” he snorted, propping one of his feet onto the coffee table.

“You’d rather wear the table cloth?” Aelin asked, giggling quietly.

“I think that’s more of your style,” he chuckled, tossing back the rest of his mug.

Aelin cocked her head and looked over at him. “Topless, huh? You think that’s my look?”

Rowan began to backpedal. “No, I mean- I just meant it was a skirt.”

Aelin began to howl, Rowan’s cheeks bright red.

“You’re something else, Whitethorn, you know that?” Aelin asked, downing the liquor in her mug.

“In a good way?” Rowan asked.

Aelin looked at him through his side eye and remained silent as she tossed an arm around Rowan’s shoulder. “You’re an interesting man, you know that?”

The alcohol he’d consumed, coupled with the scent of her around him was nearly too much and he was unable to stop his hand from resting on her thigh. “Interesting, huh? Is that a good interesting or a bad interesting?”

Aelin’s own cheeks darkened, but her fingers began to draw small circles into his shoulder. “Good interesting. You’re never boring.”

She lifted her arm off his shoulder, but was glad when his hand didn’t leave her thigh.

“I’ll take interesting,” he went on, even if all he could think about was his hand. His hand that rested on her thigh. Her thigh, which was warm and unmoving. “As long as it’s a compliment.”

Aelin cocked her head to the side, and golden strands fell into her face. “And what do you think of me? Am I interesting?”

“You’re…” His words trailed off as he turned his head to the side and looked into her eyes. Those turquoise and gold eyes that made his knees weak and his heart ache and made him feel like his chest was going to burst. “...dangerous.”

Aelin took a sip of her whiskey, licking the last sip off her lips. “How am I dangerous?”

“First of all, you have no filter,” Rowan said, unable to hide his smile. “You say whatever is on your mind without the consequences.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Aelin asked, brow raised, still fully aware of Rowan’s hand on her thigh. 

“I say it has both its good and bad qualities,” Rowan followed.

Aelin laughed, quietly, then said, “And what else makes me so dangerous?”

“Exactly what you’re doing right now,” he said, taking a deep breath, regretting it immediately when he realized how close to Aelin he was. The smell of her spice and vanilla perfume him and if he would have been standing, he would have fallen to his knees. “You have to have the last word. It’s impossible to win an argument with you.”

“Some people would call that tenacity,” she said, bringing her legs up and tucking them beneath her.

Rowan’s fingers squeezed gently. “Most people would call that stubborn.”

Aelin tossed her head back and laughed and Rowan was powerless to stop himself from leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

As soon as his lips left her skin and he’d realized what he’d done, his eyes went wide.

Aelin only hesitated for a moment before lifting a beautifully sculpted brow. “What was that for?”

“There has to be a reason?” He meant for it to come out as a snarky remark, to match her tone, but it came out nothing more than a whisper.

Aelin slowly shook her head. “No, there doesn’t have to be a reason.”

Rowan took a moment to try and figure out what that statement meant. Was it an invitation? Something cordial to let him know that kissing her cheek was okay? Did it mean that she wanted something more?

The two fell back into silence and as the movie played, Rowan continued to ponder Aelin’s reaction to his kiss. He was just about to clear his throat and apologize when lithe fingers and manicured nails finger-combed through his hair.

He nearly purred.

Rowan leaned into her touch and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling Aelin move closer as well. He didn’t want to do anything to stop her, didn't want to say anything that would result in her stopping the way she was lightly scratching at his scalp, but he also wasn’t completely positive he wasn’t dreaming.

A thousand emotions rushed him, lust nearing the top of the list. He tried not to let it show, but was certain he was failing as his eyes fluttered shut one more time.

“Feel good?” She breathed.

He made a contented noise, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and settled deeper into the cushions. With a breathy chuckle, she ran her fingers through the front and brushed the stray strands out of his face. He cracked one of his eyes open and looked at her through a heavy lid.

With his pine green gaze on her, Aelin’s cheeks heated. “What?”

He gently shook his head, but continued looking at her, taking her in. “What's on your mind?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Nothing.”

“Liar,” he said, with a grin. 

“Nothing important,” she corrected, her fingers still working their magic.

Rowan watched her for a second before repeating, “Liar.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” She asked, turning the tables on him.

He was quiet for a minute more before he admitted, “I was thinking about how different my night is going than I planned.”

She asked, “Yeah?”

He nodded. “See, I was planning on coming home, downing a beer or two, and passing out.” The smirk he tried to hide broke through. “Instead I find you, dancing around my house, baking cookies and just being all around cheery.”

“Are you complaining?” Aelin asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I’m the luckiest guy in Orynth.”

She rolled her eyes, even though her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “You're full of shit.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “I mean it.”

Aelin couldn’t hide the smile that grew on her face and when she turned to Rowan, she found a similar smile on his own. The hand in his hair drifted down, a thumb brushing over his cheekbone

“Can I kiss you?” Rowan asked, not letting himself think of the irreparable damage he could be doing on their friendship.

With a smirk, Aelin said, “I thought you already did.”

Rowan hesitated before letting out a breathy laugh. “Well, then can I kiss you agai-.”

Before he could finish, Aelin had leaned toward him, and put her lips on his.

That hand on her though tightened and her other hand framed the side of his face, and Rowan Whitethorn forgot how to breathe as he kissed Aelin.

When they finally pulled apart, both beaming at each other, Rowan wrapped an arm around her and they settled onto the couch.

“I hope you have a pretty good present for me tomorrow,” Aelin said with a grin.

Rowan laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He didn’t bother to tell her that no present would ever compare to this night, she was present enough.

[hyperpsychomaniac]

Bonding Exercise - Chapter 2

DT 17 Fanfiction

Summary: Scrooge is sick of Della and Launchpad fighting over the Sunchaser, which is costing him money, so he sends them on a 40 hour flight and orders them to sort out their differences.

Chapter 1

***

Scrooge was right. The flight was too long. Having someone to help share the flying sounded like a good idea, but by the time they arrived in Sydney, Della would have happily risked falling asleep at the controls. She finished the power-down checks and then glared across at Launchpad, where he sat in the copilot's seat. "You going to fuel her up, or do I have to do it?"

Launchpad glanced up from his phone and blinked. "Huh?"

"Never mind. I'll do it." Della could just see them taking off and trailing an entire fuel truck behind them.

Launchpad didn't even offer to do it himself, argue or apologise; he just shrugged and went back to playing with his phone. Seriously?

Della stomped off to arrange for the fuel and left Launchpad hunched over in the copilot's seat.

"Complain about never getting to fly. Then spend half the time playing on your phone… what is your deal this week?" Della waited, tapping her foot, as the mechanic chugged fuel into the Cloudslasher. The metal ring of her fake leg on the concrete seemed to unsettle him; he kept glancing her way warily.

By now, she was sure a few hours together, no matter how much they dragged on, would not fix her and LP's issues. And Launchpad didn't seem keen on cooperating. He'd been more interested in his phone. If it had just been Scrooge complaining about a few cents here and there, it wouldn't have irritated her so much. But they'd upset Dewey as well, and she knew Launchpad cared about her son. He could at least try to have a conversation with her. As frustrating as that sometimes was, it would at least mean he was trying too. They'd never patch things up if it was just her doing all the work.

Della's gaze fell on the gauge on the side of the mechanic's truck, and in her flustered state, it took her a few seconds to comprehend the reading and connect it to Scrooge's words earlier. "Hey, slow down, don't overfill her." She jabbed a finger at the rapidly climbing gauge. She could at least get one of Scrooge's instructions right and not get ripped off buying more fuel than they needed to make it home.

The mechanic raised an eyebrow as he looked between Della and the fuel truck. "You sure…"

"Um, yeah. I know how much fuel my aeroplane takes."

The mechanic shrugged his shaggy shoulders and got back into the truck. Well, at least some idiots wouldn't waste their time arguing with her.

Della climbed back into the Cloudslasher's belly and shut the bay door. "Right, we're refuelled, and… are you still playing on that thing? Better send whatever the heck you've been spending so long on. Once we start heading out towards Scrooge's sheep station, you're not going to have any reception."

"Um, yeah, okay."

Della prepared the Cloudslasher for takeoff. Then slammed the throttle full on. They were both thrown back into their seats, and Della couldn't help but smirk as Launchpad yelped and his phone skittered across the floor.

***

As they approached Scrooge's sheep station, Launchpad was at the controls. Della shuffled over to stand behind his chair and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"We're nearly there," Launchpad muttered. By this point, he sounded more tired than irritated.

Della was pretty sure they were both over it. If anything, whether they worked their issues out or not, they'd plain just be sick of bickering. "Good."

"You'd better land her. You don't want me screwing it up."

Della rolled her eyes. Then she squinted out the windshield. "Wait, what the heck is that?" Ahead of them, a red wall of cloud reared up. Its edges churned, and faint flickers of lightning played at its interior.

"Sunchaser, come in," the radio squawked.

Della's eyes narrowed. Launchpad reached for the radio, but Della leaned over his shoulder and snatched up the handset before he could get to it. "This is the CLOUDSLASHER. We read you…

The radio crackled. "Wait, who? We're trying to contact the McDuck plane…"

"Yes, this is the McDuck plane which is, and always will be, called the Cloudslasher. We… what the heck is going on down there?"

"Dust storm, mate. You won't be able to land. You can go into a holding pattern; she should clear soon. Or you could head back…"

Della groaned. "We can't circle up here for hours!"

"Hey, up to you."

"It'll take twice as long to fly all the way out here again if we go back," said Launchpad.

He had a point, and it was the first helpful thing he'd said all trip. Here for a couple hours. Or adding on a whole pile more, including another landing to try fumble their way through together. "We just refuelled; we'll be fine. We'll hold up here. Let us know when it's safe to land? Please."

"Roger. Sheep station out."

Della slumped into the copilot's seat. "Great. More bonding."

Launchpad glanced across at her. "I don't like fighting with you, you know. Even if it wasn't upsetting Mr McDee. And Dewey, but…. I guess that's kind of important."

Dewey. Della sagged back in the seat and let out a tired sigh. Something, someone, they could agree on. Finally, it seemed Launchpad was ready to talk to her. "Yeah. I suppose we could just pretend, right?" she said. "For Dewey's sake? We don't have to be best buds. Just not fight like we did in front of him in the hanger."

They sat quietly for a moment. And then, or all the things Launchpad could've done, he once again pulled out his phone and started tapping away at the screen. Della's eyes narrowed. They'd actually been talking sensibly about Dewey. It was an important topic for both of them and the stupid phone… "There is no reception out here, Launchpad. But you know that, don't you? I get the message, alright? You're not interested in making this work. And I understand if you've got a problem with me; I know I've been harassing you about the plane, and I'm sorry, alright. But what about Dewey? You're supposed to be his best friend."

That brought Launchpad's gaze snapping up to meet hers. "I am his best friend!"

"So what, you've not been trying to ignore me for the entire trip? What's so important on that stupid phone; you got a new girlfriend or something?"

"Mind your own business." Launchpad hefted himself out of the chair and moved over to lean on the railing. The glow of his phone illuminated his creased brow and the darkened cargo bay behind them.

Della took over the controls. "You know," she said through gritted teeth. "You pretend like you’re everybody's friend, but you really don't seem like you want to put in the effort when things get a little tough."

Launchpad ignored her.

***

Three hours later, and Launchpad was still ignoring her. At this point, it was probably for the best. Della couldn't imagine anything he could've said to her that wouldn't result in an argument. He'd ditched the phone, maybe he'd run out of things to do on it without reception, but that hadn't stopped him making it clear he did not want to talk. Now, he had his notebook out on his lap. He sat in the copilot's chair, scribbling and crossing out what he'd written again and again.

Della called the station. Their reply was garbled and crackling, and the storm still showed no signs of clearing. They were probably getting sick of hearing her voice. She hung up the handset and flopped back into her seat. "Maybe we should have just flown back."

Launchpad looked up, pencil hovering over his paper. "Huh? What, you're blaming me?"

Della sighed. "No." She'd call him on ignoring her, but there was no point snapping at him for something she was as much to blame for. "We both made that decision. At least we have plenty of fuel."

Launchpad scowled at his notebook, then flipped it shut and tossed it up onto the console.

It wasn't just her he seemed irritated at, Della realised. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe his distraction wasn't intentionally directed at her. "What are you writing anyway?" she asked tentatively. She'd try, just one more time. Both to give Launchpad another chance, but primarily for her son. "Darkwing fanfiction?" It was the only thing Della could think of off the top of her head. But why hadn't she thought of this before? Even if Launchpad was trying to ignore her, she was sure he couldn't resist talking about Darkwing Duck. And Della didn't care squat about it, so she'd have no reason to fight with him over it.

"No, I… never mind." Launchpad got up and looked over her shoulder at the console.

Not the reaction she'd expected. At least he hadn't walked away from her, but Della did not appreciate him hovering. "You know what, this is getting boring. It's your turn. "She grabbed Launchpad's sleeve as she stood up and wrested him in the direction of the seat.

Launchpad gave in and sat down, taking the control yoke in his big hands. Then he closed his eyes and frowned.

"What are you doing now? Don't fly with your eyes closed!"

Launchpad's eyes shot open, and he got up and pushed past her. "I'm going to check the fuel."

"The gauge is is right there! It's…" Della frowned "… still full?"

"She feels a bit light."

Della sat down and tapped the gauge. "Launchpad, did you glue the needle in here?" Out of all the annoying things he'd done today, somehow, this wasn't so bad. She just didn't understand why he did some of the things he did. At least she'd put in the fuel herself. If she'd let Launchpad do it, she'd be real worried right now.

"Felt a bit light…" Launchpad climbed down the ladder to the cargo bay and paused above the fuel tank. He opened a panel in the floor, which shouldn't have opened, but he'd probably modified it so he could easily access the fuel tank. Instead of, you know, simply using the gauge which was right there on the console.

Della punched the gauge, not hard enough to break it, but just give it a really good whack. The needle jerked itself free and dropped. She waited for it to settle. They were probably still above three quarters, at a guess. The needle stayed almost smack down on empty. Maybe that's why he'd glued it; it was broken. Unless she'd just broken it, but Launchpad couldn't really blame her after he'd glued the thing. She leaned over the railing. "Launchpad, why did you put glue in the gauges?"

Launchpad popped his head out of the hatch. "How much fuel did you put in?"

"Why'd you glue the stupid needle in the fuel gauge? Now it's broken! At least I know how much I put in, and she should still be nearly full…"

"The tank's nearly empty. I mean, we've still got a bit, but if that storm doesn't clear like now we'll have to go back, and…"

"Good lord, no, we are not going back. And we don't need to…"

"We're nearly empty!"

Della's hands balled to fists at her side. "I know what I put in! We'd both know if you hadn't screwed with the gauge, why, why do you even…"

"Because it reads low!" Launchpad exploded. "And everyone always leans over my shoulder and says Launchpad we need fuel now, and I tell them she still feels right, and they just tell me Launchpad you don't know how to fly the plane! But I know what it feels like! I glued it so everyone would stop telling me how to fly my plane!"

"The Cloudslasher is mine! I know how much fuel I put in her; she's nearly full!"

Launchpad flung his hands at the hatch. "I know how a fuel tank works. That's how I can tell she's nearly empty."

"Urgh! You're as bad as the mechanic. I know how many gallons my own damn plane takes!"

"Liters."

"We're American, LP. I know how many gallons…" Della slowly lowered her arms. Back at the airport, she'd been in such a fluster. "Oh no."

"Nuh, but I think in Australia they use metric. It's weird. So the numbers on their stuff are different… or the fuel fills up a different space in the tank or something. So I normally just tell them to fill it up. It's less confusing."

Della put a hand to her forehead. "The fuel truck was reading litres. The mechanic put in way less fuel than I thought."

Launchpad's shoulders slumped. "Guess we got to go back."

"Yeah. So I'm stuck with you for even longer."

"Hey, I'm trying to be nice. You were the one who screwed up fueling the plane."

"I would've known if you hadn't messed with my gauges! Seriously? People wouldn't keep telling you you don't know how to read them or tell you you forgot fuel… if you weren't… if you weren't such a bad pilot. Why does Scrooge even employ you!?"

The aeroplane lurched. Della's eyes widened. "Who's flying the plane?"

"You're supposed to be! You're just as bad a pilot as I am, you know that, right? But at least no one's going to fire you because… at least you're actually part of the family!"

"Can we raincheck this?" Della ran back to the console, and Launchpad followed. Della slid into the pilot's seat, grabbed the yoke and steadied the plane. Outside was nothing but red. They were practically on the edge of the storm now, far closer than they'd been when Della had left the controls, and she wasn't sure how either they or the storm had moved so much. The engines whined, louder than usual. The dust couldn't be good for them.

Launchpad gripped the back of the pilot's chair. "I think we gotta put her down! She's getting sandblasted up here."

Della squinted through the windshield. "I know… I know… but I don't know where the ground is."

"You gotta feel it…"

"I would use the gauges, but someone put stickers all over them!"

"Decals! You don't need them."

The Cloudslasher bucked again. "Aw, fooey, we're going to crash." The ground could be inches below them, and they wouldn't know. Or centimetres. Because, you know, bloody metric.

Launchpad huffed. "Yeah, we're going to crash. Big deal. So we may as well do it properly. Now, move." He grabbed Della's shoulders, picked her right up out of the seat like she weighed nothing, and placed her to the side.

"Hey, don't you dare pick me up!"

Launchpad sat down and grabbed the yoke. And then he closed his eyes.

"What are you…"

"Shh."

Launchpad's chest heaved as he took in a deep breath, and then he stilled. Della wasn't sure, but maybe the aeroplane was a little steadier. Relatively speaking. Outside the windshield, red dust ebbed and flowed. And, Della thought she saw a shape. A serpentine form; a snake in the sky. Between the red dust, it seemed to glisten with a rainbow hue.

Della grabbed Launchpad's shoulder. "Um, LP? Maybe you should open your eyes."

"It's too distracting."

"But there's a…"

The impossible flying creature was suddenly upon them, a giant rainbow-coloured snake that slammed into the front of the plane. It dwarfed them. The storm roared, the snake hissed and bucked as it tried to tear itself free of the metal beast that had rammed it. It was like they'd collected an angry fluorescent anaconda on their jeep's windshield. But this completely engulfed the nose of an aeroplane with loops of muscle, scales, and sharp spines.

Launchpad's eyes shot open. "Wha…"

The snake hissed and whipped its body free. The harsh motion triggered the prominent spines along its back, and they shot free and pelted like a hailstorm of arrows towards the windshield.

"Launchpad, duck!" Della hit the deck. A dozen spines punched straight through the glass and slammed into the back of the cargo bay. "What the crap…" Della shot back to her feet. The giant airborne snake was gone. The windshield was punctured by a dozen holes like someone had peppered it with bullets, but thankfully, it had not shattered.

"Hey, Della? You're going to need to crash this for me. I… can't reach the yoke." Launchpad clutched his shoulder. One of the spines stuck out near his hand, and the other end had punctured straight through both him and the back of the pilot's chair.

"Oh shit, LP." Della shot to her feet and put her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

Launchpad winced, then took his hand away from the spine and swiped at the yoke. His shoulder seeped red around the spine and into his jacket. "It's okay… I can't really feel it. I just… can't reach. We're losing control again."

Heart pounding, Della moved in front of him and grasped the yoke. Just don't look. She had to concentrate on flying the plane. Landing in one piece was the first priority. But she couldn't read the instruments, and she couldn't see anything… and then she was going to have to deal with that spine in Launchpad's shoulder, and she wasn't even sure how bad it was, and…

Launchpad reached out and squeezed her arm. "Close your eyes. You don't have to keep 'em closed. It'll just give you a chance to feel what the... the Cloudslasher's doing. You can't see outside anyway."

"Okay…" Della closed her eyes. It was certainly less distracting. She tugged the yoke slightly up, lifting the nose of the plane.

"There you go…"

"What about the ground?"

"Hopefully, it's not red too."

Della squinted as she cautiously cracked open her eyes. She wasn't sure, but maybe the hue outside and below them looked darker. She tugged the nose up slightly. The plane let out a crunch of tortured metal, and the impact flung Della into the console.

***

Chapter 3

[quickspinner]

Little Treasures

Written for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Sprint Fic Challenge Secret Santa event! The deadline was Wednesday and I was totally on track to be done by then when everything went crazy. So, a little late, but I hope you still enjoy it @piscesangelina! The prompts I used were first Christmas with baby and decorating the Christmas tree. 

The total silence in the apartment as he entered told him that the sacred hour of naptime had begun. 

The mess in the front room and his slightly wild-eyed wife sitting in the middle of it told him that Marinette had a Project. He paused a moment, a fond smile curling his lips at the focused frown on hers, watching the way her eyes darted back and forth as her amazing, lightning-quick mind worked. 

Even as he watched, her lips pressed together and she made a tiny nod. Smile widening into an amused grin, Luka closed the door quietly behind him and set his guitar down. “Hey.” 

Marinette jumped and looked up. “Oh, hi,” she smiled, but her eyes were quickly drawn back to the pile of stuff surrounding her, and she began sorting it into piles.

Luka allowed himself to pout just a little, ignoring Sass’ hissing laugh as the kwami emerged from the coat Luka was removing. “Do I get to know what’s in the works?” he asked, tossing his coat over the back of the couch before carefully skirting the stuff scattered on the floor to a chair. 

“I just wanted to do this thing,” Marinette said distractedly, sitting back slightly and tangling one hand in her bangs as she tried to think and speak at the same time. “And I’m trying to make a plan.”

“Okay,” Luka said slowly, raising his eyebrows. “Is this a work thing or a passion project or a shut up Luka it’s a Christmas secret thing?”

Marinette dropped her hand and made a face at him, but then she smiled, finally focusing on him, and he softened at once, willing as always to forgive her momentary neglect in the face of something she was excited about. And she was definitely excited, he noted as her eyes took on that familiar sparkle. “Neither,” she said, her fingers clenched on the scrap of fabric she was holding. “It’s just that it’s Erika’s first Christmas—well, her first real Christmas since she was too small last year, and I still want to have a tree, but we need to have things on it that she can’t break or hurt herself with. And one of the bloggers I follow had this really cute idea for an advent calendar full of handmade ornaments, and it seemed like so much fun! So I was looking at patterns on my phone and things while Erika was playing this morning, and I printed out all these ideas, and now I’m trying to figure out which ones I have supplies for and make a shopping list.” She paused, looking up at him. “Is it crazy? Is it too much?”

“Maybe,” Luka chuckled, leaning his chin on his hand as he winked at her. “But I love it. I bet we can make it work. She’s going to bed pretty consistently these days, we should have some time in the evenings. If we don’t take on too much on top of it,” he gave her a knowing grin, and it was Marinette’s turn to pout. “I think we can get it done.” 

Marinette raised her eyebrows slightly. “We?”

“Of course,” Luka grinned, grabbing a ball of yarn from a pile at his feet and tossing it at her playfully. “You don’t think you’re doing all this yourself do you? I know I’m not as handy as you but I can sew a straight line and do some beading.” 

Marinette’s face lit up. “That’s true, you used to make those bracelets and things. I bet we can find something like that!”

“So,” Luka said, sliding off the chair and crawling carefully towards her. “Tell me what we’re working with, and let’s see if we can work out a plan that won’t have you tearing your hair out on Christmas Eve.”  He kissed her nose when he was in front of her, and she moved some stuff to make room for him to fold his long legs and sit beside her. Luka slipped his arm around her waist, and though Marinette’s eyes were going distant again, she snuggled into his side, so he was satisfied. 

“Well,” she began, “the idea is you have this big square with all these little pockets, and the ornaments have to fit inside.” She pulled out a sheet of paper that had been pinned under her leg and showed him the diagram on it. “That part’s easy, I can whip that up today even.” She paused, and checked her watch, then nodded. “As long as she sleeps her usual time. Or if not, I can get it done at the end of one of my work times, if you don’t mind keeping her entertained a little longer than usual.” 

“I can manage,” Luka nodded. “No problem. So what do you have in mind for ornaments?” 

Marinette flashed him a grin, and Tikki popped out of a pile of fabric near his knee, giggling. “That’s the fun part!” Tikki cried, taking flight and making a loop in the air as Marinette pulled out another stack of papers and spread them out in front of him. 

Luka surveyed the drawings and notes and patterns, met Marinette’s eyes, and began to laugh. “Oh, I love it.” 

The next few weeks were busy, but a ton of fun. They had divvied up the projects, and both Luka and Marinette were snatching any spare time they could get away from the eyes of their curious almost-toddler, to finish their respective pieces. Marinette gave Luka a Look when she ran the vacuum over the carpet and dozens of tiny beads rattled up into it. Luka raised his eyebrows and picked several snippets of yarn off the arm of one of the chairs. Marinette pursed her lips and said nothing. 

Luka went to work with a project bag tucked in his guitar case. Marinette knitted and crocheted her way through meetings. Both of them shoved projects under cushions or behind their backs whenever Erika left her playing and toddled near to be picked up and cuddled. 

On the last night of November, after Erika had gone to bed, they hung the large fabric square Marinette had made on the wall, and carefully tucked each of their projects into the twenty-five little pockets she had sewed onto it. Though they’d stayed up late the last few nights trying to finish, a few pockets were still empty, but Luka and Marinette were both confident and determined that they could finish the ornaments before their number was up. Luka bit his lip to keep in a chuckle when he saw the numbers Marinette had appliqued to the pockets were embellished with little embroidered motifs. 

“Overachiever,” Luka muttered, and grinned when Marinette elbowed him. 

“I’m so excited,” Marinette whispered, bouncing on her toes. “I can’t wait. How are we going to wait, Luka?” 

Luka laughed. “Well, we could try going to sleep. That would probably help.”

Marinette turned toward him and put her arms around his neck. “Have I mentioned how much I love it when we collaborate.” 

“Say it again,” Luka laughed, already bending to kiss her. “I love to hear it.” Marinette leaned up to meet his lips with hers and he happily lost himself in kissing her, in the familiar yet thrilling feel of her body against his. 

“Thisss is not ssssleeping,” came a comment from somewhere behind him and over his head.

“Shut up, Sass,” Luka muttered, “Get lost and let me kiss my wife.” 

He barely even noticed Tikki’s giggles blending with Sass’s sibilant laugh as Marinette pulled him back in and they melted together. 

The next morning they could hardly manage to finish breakfast before they were holding Erika’s little hands and helping her toddle over to stare with round eyes. 

“Look, see the pockets?” Marinette pointed, tucking her finger in one to and wiggling it a bit to show Erika. 

“Pocket!” Erika repeated, eagerly. She hadn’t quite figured out what pockets were used for but she knew that she liked pockets. Every time Luka tried to show her how to put something in her pockets, she took it out immediately with a frown and a scolding, but she loved pointing out how many pockets her outfit had. She stared appreciatively at the twenty-five pockets before her. 

“Every day, we look in one pocket,” Marinette told her. “One pocket. Then we put what we find there on the tree for Erika to look at.” 

Erika looked puzzled. 

“Shall we do our first pocket?” Marinette prompted, but her shoulders slumped slightly when Erika frowned and drew back a little. 

“Go ahead,” Luka said, leaning forward and wiggling the small object in the pocket. “Pull it out and see what it is?” 

Still frowning, Erika clung to him. Marinette suppressed a sigh. “Mommy do it?” she suggested, and Erika’s frown pulled into a pout.

“No,” she said firmly. “Wicka do it.” 

“Okay, then go ahead,” Marinette said encouragingly, mostly hiding her frustration. Luka was trying not to laugh and Marinette gave him a look that said she was going to strangle him later.

“Kids,” Luka sighed, and squeezed Marinette’s shoulder gently. “She’ll get it.” Marinette relaxed a little under his hand, and tried again.

It took some more coaxing and Luka’s guiding hand on hers, but finally Erika reached in, her little fingers caught the loop, and she pulled it out as her parents cheered and applauded.

The first ornament was a little knitted ladybug with five spots and blue bug eyes. Erika squealed, lighting up, and danced around with it, showing it proudly to first one of them and then the other. She was so excited that she almost wouldn’t let them hang it on the tree. Finally, she let Luka show her how to loop it over one of the low branches. Delighted, Erika flopped down on her back and wiggled under the tree, looking up at the lights and batting playfully at the little ladybug. Luka grinned at Marinette, who did an adorably wiggly little victory dance that ended with her hopping up and down with a silent scream. 

Marinette smiled radiantly the next night when Erika, bouncing with excitement, reached into the pocket almost before Marinette could get the camera ready, and pulled out the snake made of sparkling beads that Luka had worked so hard on. It coiled around on itself and had a familiar diamond pattern along the back, its glittering red tongue extended. It was worth the eye strain, Luka felt, nearly bursting with pride, as Erika poked around the tree trying to find a place where the light would shine on it just right to show it off in all its glory. Behind her back Luka and Sass did a pinky-to-flipper high five. When Erika went to bed that night, Marinette kissed Luka hard, squishing his face between her hands. “You’re such a good dad,” she giggled.

Of course, no one could be left out. There was a cloth butterfly ornament with gossamer wings, and a little crocheted black cat that bore a frankly impressive resemblance to Plagg (Adrien had seen it and begged for one for his own tree). The rooster was a cooperative effort, with a knitted body and beaded tail. The peacock was cross stitch done on plastic canvas in metallic thread. The little patchwork dog was an especially big hit. 

Of course, there were only eighteen kwamis and twenty-five days until Christmas, so they had to think outside the (Miracle) box for the rest. There was a little baker’s hat to represent Papa Tom, and a tasseled Chinese mystic knot done in red cord accented with gold for Sabine. A pair of pink and purple kittycorn masks made out of glittery paper and sequins dangled from a single cord for Juleka and Rose, and a little wooden boat garishly painted and embellished with turquoise beads represented Anarka. They had debated long and hard for Gina (because Marinette shot down Luka’s suggestion of doing a shrinky-dink motorcycle, which he pouted about for days) and finally Marinette had found a small prism in a thrift shop and repurposed it for an ornament. Erika loved to poke it and watch the way it made light dance on the walls. Luka suggested a stick in the mud for Roland and was scolded harshly (once Marinette stopped laughing). 

It was worth all the pricked fingers and late nights of problem solving every day when they saw Erika, bouncing with excitement, pull each new ornament out of its pocket and exclaim over it in her little baby voice, before gravely examining the tree to decide exactly where the new ornament would go.

The upper boughs, Luka and Marinette filled themselves with ornaments they had collected over the years. Each one was a memory and most went on the tree with a fond smile and a quick kiss, with occasional exclamations of “Oh, remember this one?” 

There was a hand-painted glass ornament from Milan that they’d found in a shop as they wandered the streets after Marinette’s first fashion week there. There was a silly, cheap tourist souvenir of the Eiffel Tower that Luka secretly hated but for some reason Marinette wouldn’t throw away. There was a blown glass jaguar Luka had gotten in Brazil when he was there for a show. 

It was a retrospective of the life they had built together, and Erika’s array of handmade ornaments around the bottom just gave it that extra touch of sentiment. 

“I gotta hand it to you,” Luka murmured as he put his arms around Marinette from behind. “You always have the best plans.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek as she leaned back into him.

Marinette hummed agreement and satisfaction, glancing over at the one pocket remaining. Inside was an ornament made from a small oval frame that now held a photo of the three of them. Sass and Tikki were in it too, even though they were invisible. “We’ll know,” Marinette had insisted, and the kwamis had humored her.

“Thanks for going along with my crazy ideas,” she said, turning in Luka’s arms to hug him tight. He bent towards her but she put a finger against his lips to stop him. “No time for that,” she told him with a smile. “Santa Claus has a train set to put together before morning.”

Luka sighed, but kissed her finger. “I guess Santa better get to work then.” He grinned, and without warning, dipped low to catch Marinette around the waist and tip her over his shoulder. “Come on Mrs. Claus,” he said as she muffled a squeal to keep from waking the baby. “Thanks to someone’s over-enthusiastic father we have a freakishly detailed and intricate train set to assemble, and there’s no way you’re getting out of helping.” 

“Helping,” Marinette huffed, kicking her feet lightly. “You’d be lost without me.”

“I would,” Luka chuckled, patting her thigh. “I really would.”

[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter6

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, injury, swearing, domestic Javi, feelings, I have no idea how amnesia really works, brief mention of masturbation

Word Count: 5220 (Whoopsie!)

Notes: Home from the hospital, you settle into your home with Javi and continue trying to remember...

Read on Ao3

You come home from the hospital on a Friday midmorning and spend much of the day resting in bed...it seems like the simple task of walking up your apartment steps takes so much out of you.  When you enter the apartment, Javi greets you carefully, timidly, giving you a gentle and almost awkward hug around the shoulders and watches you carefully as you gaze around.  When you catch him looking at you, he inquires if you’re hungry.  You admit that you are and he goes to work reheating the food he had had the insight to order.  He gets you situated at the table with a glass of water and your food and joins you soon after.  As the two of you eat, you notice a small bouquet of flowers in the middle of the kitchen table and when you ask your husband about them, he dips his head and grunts something about being from some of the guys at work.  

You chat idly during lunch and spend some time looking at the pictures on the refrigerator door and tracing your fingers along the spines of the books on the bookshelf in contemplation while Javi cleans up after.  You pick up the wedding photo of the two of you from a bookshelf and trace a finger along the sliver of distance separating the two of you in the picture, casting your thoughts into the empty depths of your recent memory, trying to remember this moment, this day.  You sense him behind you and replace the frame quickly where it was before turning and mentioning to Javier that you're a little worn out; he immediately encourages you to lie down and rest, ushering you towards the bedroom before leaving you alone for privacy to change.

Opening your closet door, you quickly find a pair of sweatpants.  As you search for a shirt, your eyes slip from the side of the closet that is obviously yours and over to your husband’s side.  You notice a lovely purple colored button-up on the edge of the rack and reach for it without thinking, pulling it over your head, breathing deeply as it passes over your face.  You plan to take it off, but your eyes can’t seem to open once the worn-soft material is settled on your skin.  Even though it’s silly and it's just a shirt, something about knowing that it’s one of your husband’s seems to cocoon you with comfort and peace.  Which, you know, is crazy: this man...your husband...this level of intimacy with your former partner at this moment could make him practically a stranger.  But this feels...right.  You reach for another shirt, then another, then one of yours...you pull a dress off a hanger, then a suit jacket from Javier’s side.  You bury your face in each item, hoping that something will knock loose.  That something will blow the fog from your mind.  

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you hear him tap on the bedroom door and you shake yourself from where you’ve settled on the closet floor.  You call to him quietly, your voice ringing loudly in the small space that surrounds you and a few moments later you hear his concerned voice as he realizes where you are, his voice rising an octave as he says your name. 

“Hey!  What happened?  Are you ok?”  You can hear the concern in his voice as he rushes to you, traipsing over the pieces of clothing surrounding you and dropping to his knees next to you, filling the small walk-in closet with his presence, making it seem even smaller with the two of you crouched on the floor.  He cups your face in his hands carefully, turning you up to look at him, searching your eyes for any sign of pain.  You take in a pull of air at the sudden intimacy of the touch and his closeness.  His scent washes over you: Old Spice and cigarette smoke and something that is distinctly manly, distinctly Javi.  You carefully touch his wrist with one hand, trying to reassure him.

“I’m fine,” you say, huffing out a small laugh and gently pulling your face away from his hands.  He doesn’t believe you.  “No, really, I’m ok.  I just…” you gesture around at the clothes and shoes and belts and ties hanging in the closet, one side carefully arranged by color, the other looking as though it had been haphazardly shoved onto the rack in five minutes without much thought.  You duck your head, feeling slightly stupid. “...I was...smelling.”  You can barely get the last word out.  Javi looks at you confused for a few moments.  You glance up at him just as you see understanding cross his face as he surveys the clothing you’re clutching in your hands and covering your lap, next to you on the floor.  

“You were trying to remember…?”  You nod miserably, trying to avoid his gaze.  He puts two fingers under your chin and carefully lifts your face to look at him.  His eyes are kind, sympathetic, curious.  “Any luck?”  You shake your head, sadly.

“No, not...not really.  Not much more than I’ve already remembered.”  You suddenly feel even more tired than when you had first arrived, not just physically but as though your brain is ten times too large for your head and filled with slippery sand.  You feel your body sag against his hand and he reaches his arm around your shoulder, supporting you.  He takes the salmon colored button-up of his that you’re holding clutched to your chest and tosses it into the pile of other clothes, then carefully helps you to your feet.  He gently steers you to the bed, arranging you there before tenderly pulling a soft blanket up over you, flicking on the small lamp next to the bed.  He moves to close the curtains, darkening the space and his shadow whispers from across the room that he’ll be right back.  You feel yourself getting sleepy as you relax into the pillows, Javi’s touch and scent a comforting echo.

As promised he returns a few minutes later and places several items on the nightstand: a glass of water, some magazines, a book with a bookmark in it, the cordless phone, a piece of paper, and a handgun...your firearm, you realize.

He arranges them in order of least to greatest importance it seems: the phone, paper and water closest to you.  He sits next to you on the bed as you settle yourself more deeply into the pillow, suddenly finding it nearly impossible to keep your eyes open.  Half of his face is hidden in the shadow cast from the soft lamp light; the image he cuts is reminiscent of the space he takes up in your memory: mysterious, half hidden in darkness...but comforting and caring.

“I need to go in to work for a few hours.” His voice is low and gentle and washes over you like a lullaby.  He brushes your hair out of your face, his sudden touch causing your droopy eyes to open wide again suddenly.  He removes his hand quickly, as though your gaze on him burns him.  He swallows hard and nods towards the night stands.  “The office number and my pager number are written down, so if you need anything at all, you call me...ok?”  You nod sleepily and he stands, tucking you under the blanket more carefully, checking if you need anything else.  When you shake your head, he nods and you see him hesitate for several long moments, hovering over you, seemingly partaking in some great inner struggle.  Then he carefully leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.  He pulls away and whispers into your hair.  “I’ll be back soon.  You rest, cariño.”   Then he reaches over and snaps off the lamp…

...and then, just like your memories of him, your husband is gone in the dark.

+

+

+

+

You’re not sure how much time passes, but when you wake up, the apartment is still empty and the shadows have drifted from one side of the room to the other.  Feeling refreshed, you move carefully around the apartment, investigating the little things that make up a person’s home.  Your grumbling stomach directs you back into the kitchen and you rummage through cabinets after finding nothing much edible in the refrigerator.  Finding a package of pasta and an unopened jar of sauce you start water to boiling and as you wait, you’re drawn back to the refrigerator as you pour yourself another glass of water.  You remove the photo of Javier in a graduation cap and gown with...his father?  It must be.  You smile as you study the slightly blurry photo featuring a younger version of Javi and seek out resemblance between your husband's face and that of the older man in the photo.  You see similarity in his father’s eyes, perhaps, along with an extreme amount of pride.  You wonder if you’ve met him?  Was he at your wedding?  

Thoughts of your wedding cause you to go wandering again back into the living room and back to the wedding photo on the bookshelf.  You pick it up and carry it around the room with you as you continue your investigation.  You recognize some of the pictures and artwork hanging on the wall: that painting was from a brief stint you did in Cuba.  That ceremonial mask you found at a floating market in Cambodia.  And that pencil drawing you had picked up at a Saturday flea market while visiting a colleague in Atlanta.  You remember what a headache it had been shipping your belongings here two years ago...how customs had had such a field day keeping your stuff detained and how you had lived in this stark apartment for three weeks before Dixon and the Embassy had stepped in and your things had finally been delivered.  

By that time, you remember, you had already made two lab busts, witnessed a fairly violent interrogation, been shot at twice and had raced through the streets of Bogota after a group of sicarios.  You had also already fended off multiple advances from her handsome partner, Javier Peña, which had culminated when he had slid his hand up her inner thigh, resulting in your socking him across the chin and knocking him off his stool in the crowded work bar.  You grinned at that memory, then your grin faded as a new image took its place:  it was blurry, muted, like listening to a cassette tape that was playing at a ten times slower speed, warped and in slow motion...only playing out in images.  You remembered a man’s hand sliding up your inner thigh, brushing against you.  You couldn’t see the man’s face, couldn't tell anything else about him other than he was hovering above you.  Was it your husband?  You didn’t think so.  Javi might feel like a stranger to you right now, but you knew in your very core that he was safe, that he was good...kind.  But you felt cold at the memory of this man.

Then just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and you were just left holding the picture frame, standing in front of your record player.

***

Javi heard the music halfway down the building staircase.  He thinks about knocking, but he doubts she’d be able to hear him over the music.  He juggled the grocery bags in his arms, fishing her apartment key out of his jacket pocket and struggling to get the door open.  When he does finally manage, the sounds of Three Dog Night covering “Your Song” nearly bowls him over.  He deposits the groceries on the kitchen table, startled to find a pot of nearly empty water steaming and popping, having boiled over on the stove.  He clicks off the heat, removes the scorched pot, then steps into the living room to find his partner sitting on the floor in front of the record player, sleeves and vinyl records strewn around her, her back against the living room couch.  The “wedding” photo has been moved and is sitting on the coffee table at eye level.  She stares at the photo of the two of you, her brow furrowed in concentration.  He can see frustration behind her eyes, too, and he notices that her eyes are puffy and red.  She’s clearly been crying.

He moves to the player and turns the volume down.  She barely registers his presence until he sits next to her on the couch.  The movement on the cushions behind her startles her and she jumps, jerking away from him.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa…” Javi leans away, his hands raised. “It’s just me.”  Recognition crosses her face and she settles back into her previous position, sighing heavily.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”  

“No.  I’m sorry.  I was...I wasn’t paying attention.”  She looks back at the photograph in front of her.  Javi looks at it, too, then back at her, studying her face.  She turns to him, and he sees her eyes sparkling with tears building up there, filled with questions.  Javi juts his chin towards the blaring player.

“I never have understood why you like these guys so much.”  He smiles at her, hoping to distract her.  She returns his smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, still reflecting the sadness he sees in there.  She gestures to the scattered records on the floor.

“I was trying to remember again.  I thought...I thought maybe a song might help me remember something.  I got to looking at our wedding picture and thought maybe I could remember a song we danced to or something.  I…” her brows lowered over her eyes and she seemed to be studying something in the distance that only she could see.  “I keep remembering…”  Javi looks at her eagerly but he doesn’t rush her.  “You and me...at least, I think it's you and me...dancing somewhere.  It’s like watching a silent movie with all of the faces blacked out, like witness protection, and everything in the background is blurry, like it’s out of focus.  But I’m…” her voice trails off again and she looks up into his face curiously.  “I’m almost sure it’s you.  We’re at some kind of...celebration I think, like maybe a club or something?  I thought maybe…”  Another hesitation.  “I thought maybe it was our wedding.  Maybe some music added with what I can remember might clear the other stuff up, but…”  She shakes her head.  “Nothing seems to be working.”  Back to him again. “Do we go dancing a lot or something?  Did we have a song? Like a song we danced to a lot, like at our wedding?”

Javi gulps, not quite sure how to answer all of her questions.  He thinks for a moment.

“We, uh….no, we don’t really...we don’t really go out dancing or anything like that.  Work keeps us pretty busy.”  That’s all true, he thinks to himself.  No lies. He’s more careful with the next of her questions.  “We didn’t...that…” he gestures at the photo, avoiding using the term “our wedding”.  “...Was pretty informal.  There wasn’t a reception or anything.  It was small.  We didn’t have dancing or anything like that.”  She nods in understanding.  “And we don’t…” he shakes his head.  “No song or anything…” he chuckles a little.  “I’m more of a rock, country kind of  guy, we never really seem to agree on taste in music.”  Also true, he thinks, recalling the multiple arguments they’ve had over the radio station on stakeouts and when driving to locations throughout the city.  She smiles distractedly, mumbling something about how it must be an older memory with someone else, then.  She  seems to think of something.

“I saw the picture on the fridge of you and your dad.  Have I met him?  When we got married or anything like that?  I can’t remember him.”  Javi shakes his head, again thinking for a moment before answering.

“No, you’ve never met.  He doesn’t really travel much, he’s got the ranch back home to worry about.  He hasn’t had a chance to make it down.”

“So we got married here?  In Columbia?”  Javi felt his throat stick...this was dangerous territory; surely she would want to know about her own family, whether they had come down for the “nuptials”.

He and Dixon (along with her doctor) had spent the afternoon on the phone with her parents and family in America, filling them in on the situation.  Over the course of their conversations, they had all agreed that, should she reach out to any of them, they would also play along with the “married to Javier” ruse for as long as it seemed to be appropriate.  Javi had heard the uncertainty in their voices when they had inquired as to just how carefully Javier would be “looking after” her.  He had done his best to assure them that he would respect their daughter and sister, that he would do everything he could to abide by their relationship boundaries prior to her memory loss.  And, he had reiterated what the doctor had said from the beginning; he had promised them that he would not lie to her.  Realistically, though, everyone had walked away from the conversation understanding that he may very well have to bend some boundaries in this situation.  By the end of the conversation, the family had given him their blessing and had made him promise to stay in regular contact with them.  He had been exhausted when he had left work, feeling the weight of his partner’s recovery on his shoulders.  

But he wouldn’t have it any other way; she was his partner.  He would have her back no matter what.

“It was...sort of spur of the moment, happened pretty fast.”  Before she could ask any more questions he sat up straight and smacked his palms on his legs.  “Hey, are you hungry?  I haven't eaten all day and I got some stuff-”

“Oh God!  I started some water boiling and…” she jumped from her spot on the floor.  Javi stood at the same time.  

“Yeah...we’re probably gonna need a new pot.”  She looked at him sheepishly, mumbling an apology.  He gives her a teasing grin and for a moment it felt like before: giving her a good natured hard time and her ready to fire back at him, both of them comfortable with the ribbing back and forth.  

But then she crossed her arms in front of her chest and he felt the barrier of unfamiliarity rise between them again. 

+

+

+

+ 

They fall into a familiar ease as they go about preparing dinner.  Javi is reassured by how easily she becomes comfortable with him.  The moments when she had jerked away from him when he was near her had him a little worried, but there are none of that now, as they move around each other, next to each other.  

“Why don’t you let me deal with the sauce,” she says over the soft sounds of music coming from the radio in the window.  She puts a gentle hand on his bicep and pushes just slightly to move him away.  “You always oversalt things anyway.”  Javi chuckled and shifted over to the pork chops in the pan...it took him a moment to register what she had just said.

“Hey!”  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her.  “You remember that?”  She seems startled by the fact that, yes, in fact, she did remember that.  She looked at him, a dazed smile on her face.  

“I guess...yeah, I do remember saying that to you before.”  

“Yeah,” he grins, nodding at her encouragingly.  “You never let me cook anything...you claim I put too much salt on stuff because-”  She cuts him off and finishes the thought as it comes to her.

“-You’ve scorched all your tastebuds from smoking like a chimney!”  Her eyes light up in delight when he chuckles, affirming that that’s exactly what she always says.  She laughs carefully, following the memory, seeing if it might lead her to anything else.  

Javi recalls other nights like this one when, either in his apartment or hers, when they have worked together to make a meal, moving in unison just like they did tonight, just like they do at work.  He had never allowed himself to venture any further past the thought of: we make a good team.  More than once, Javier had found himself lightheaded and felt his heart tug as he gazed at his partner through a cloud of smoke from his cigarette, watching her laugh across the table at something he had said, appreciating the way she would curl herself into a ball with her feet tucked beneath her on the couch as they watch some terrible movie, admiring the curve of her neck or the rounding of her hips and backside as she stood at the sink to do dishes.

He glanced at her now, his gaze taking in that same curve of a neck, drifting upwards to her face, studying the shape of her nose, the flush of pink across her cheeks from the stove heat and the memory.  He marveled at how long her eyelashes were and was hypnotized everytime she blinked and they brushed against her face.  A wisp of hair fell out of her ponytail and across her forehead; she tried to blow it out of the way without stopping what she was doing.  Not thinking, he reached out and brushed the strand away from her skin, his fingertips ghosting across her face.  She started only a little, nothing like the other times he had touched her.  He pulled his hand back quickly, realizing he had been lulled by the domesticity of the moment, allowed himself to lapse into an intimacy that he did not actually have with his partner…

...when she turned her face to his, he was startled by what he saw in her eyes.  A curiosity flitted across her face, but in her eyes he very clearly saw want, saw desire.  She tilted her head upwards towards him a little bit more and he felt her body, already close to his, almost imperceptibly shift and lean into him ever more so slightly.  It was an invitation, a go ahead.  His eyes drifted down to her mouth and he felt himself stir when her lips parted and he saw the tip of her tongue streak across from one corner to another, wetting the skin.  His heart started pounding.  Luckily, the buzzing of a timer saved him from having to analyze what to do next.  He had never removed something from the oven so fast in his life!  The charged moment was blessedly broken and as they put the final touches on their meal, he was careful to keep his distance.  

They enjoyed their food, their conversation mostly about older memories from when they first worked together, which didn’t require him to be quiet as cautious with his words.  They were memories she already had, things she knew.  As they finished, she started clearing plates while Javi ran water in the sink.  As though by wrot, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and started washing while she started drying and (he noted) putting dishes away confidently, as though she remembered where every plate and utensil belonged.  As he was finishing the last tray, a familiar song filtered through the radio speakers.  His head came up and he started.

“Oh!  That was us!”  He said excitedly.  When she just looked at him in confusion he dried his hands on the towel and spoke quickly.  “The memory you were talking about earlier, of us dancing.  It was us.”  He nodded towards the radio as a sultry dance tune played.  “A few weeks ago, we were….ahhh...we were at a birthday party.  It was in a club like you said and...yeah, this song was playing.  And you and I danced to it.”  

He felt his cheeks color as he recalled exactly how they had danced after a few tequila shots with Ortiz and their guise as a couple in full swing.  He had never wanted anyone as badly as he had wanted her that night, one hand gripping her wiggling hips, pressing her ass back against him, the other tracing up her outer thigh, pulling the hem of her already deliciously short skirt higher so he could access the soft skin there.  She had pressed herself back into his chest, had lifted her arms above her head and behind his neck, one hand gripping in his hair, the other gently caressing the side of his face, stroking his ear, pulling his lips down to that spot on her exposed neck…

He gulped as he refocused his concentration on looking for more dishes to wash.  “I...forgot about it.  But you were right.  That was us.”  He released the plug in the soapy water and looked at her.  “That was a recent one!  A recent memory.  From during the…”  he caught himself before he said “undercover op.”  “...During the time you haven't been able to remember.”  Her face lit up, then fell again almost instantly.  

“It’s so random, though.  And it's taken so long just to remember that one thing…and not very well, it seems.”  

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”  When she still looked frustrated he gently touched her shoulder.  “Be patient with yourself, ok.  We’ve all just gotta...we all just need to be patient.”  He sighed and gave her a smile.  “But, hey!  This is really great, right?”  She said nothing, just looked at him forlornly.  “Come on, it is!  You’ve remembered something recent.”  When she merely shrugged and stayed quiet, he propped a hand against the counter and leaned on it, jutting out a hip and putting a fist on his waist.  He leaned forward and stared into her face until she made eye contact with him.  He said her name meaningfully.  “This is good news.  It’s gonna be ok.  I promise.”  She smiled after a moment, then nodded in agreement.  “Whadya say we celebrate.  I’ll run out and get some of that orangesicle ice cream junk you like.  I’ll even let you decide what to watch on TV.”

She smiled again at the sweet gesture, but shook her head meekly

“I’m still a little tired, Javi.  I’m sorry.”  He assured her there was no need to apologize and that he understood, of course she needed to rest.  Listening to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, he collapsed on the living room couch, sighing heavily.  His brain hurt from concentrating on not saying anything he shouldn’t with her.  He wasn’t too terribly sad about the fact that she was ready to head to bed.

Bed.

He sat upright quickly and then scurried into the bedroom just as he heard the tap turning off in the bathroom across the hall.  He rummaged around in the closet quickly, grabbing a spare pillow he’d seen there earlier when he’d unpacked his things, as well as an extra bed sheet.  He rushed out the bedroom door just as the door to the bathroom opened…

...Javi had never been so grateful for a pillow.  He felt himself harden in his jeans as she froze, clutching her clothes to her chest.  She had a towel wrapped around her, but it left nothing to the imagination.  He felt like a deer caught in the beam of a headlight, and he had to remind himself to breathe.  He screamed at himself to stop staring, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her flushed, pink skin, her silky smooth legs, the way her wet hair framed her face and danced over her bare shoulders, shedding drops of water onto her skin.  He followed the route of one particular drop as it left her hair, fell to her clavicle, slid down her chest, over the curve of her breast and disappeared beneath the towel.  He gulped, willing himself not to lick his lips.

“Sorry…” He was slightly horrified by the high pitched croak that was his voice as he forced the word from his throat.  He cleared his throat and finally managed to tear his eyes away from her, staring down at the pillow and sheet in his hands, stepping out of her way.  “Sorry,” he said again.  “I just, uh...wanted to get a pillow so I didn’t have to bother you…”  He watched her carefully from beneath his eyelashes; saw understanding, then relief, then….disappointment?...flash across her face in an instant.  

“Oh…”she said softly.  “Well…”  He glanced up at her again as she carefully moved towards the bedroom...he moved further from her naked body down the hall.  “I...I feel badly that you’re sleeping on the couch…That….that won’t be very comfortable…”  He nearly lost his mind when he caught her biting her lip, knowing that she was thinking, weighing how comfortable she would be with offering to let him sleep in the bed with her.  He grimaced to himself.  As far as she knew, that was “their” bed, and it should be the most natural thing in the world for a husband and wife to both climb into bed together and share the space for sleep.  

And he certainly wouldn’t have minded climbing into bed with her, not in this moment, not after seeing her like this.  

But they absolutely wouldn’t be sleeping.

“No, it’s ok.”  He saved her the trouble of having to make a decision.  “The couch is fine.”  She twisted her face, not believing him one bit.  “Really.  You need to rest.  It’s ok.”  He turned and started towards the living room reminding her to call for him or wake him up if she needed anything.  He heard her soft voice call his name behind him and he looked back at her.

“Thank you.”

He smiled, feeling her words go straight to that secret, soft spot in his heart that only she could seem to get to.  He nodded and murmured good night before she closed the bedroom door between them.

Javi tossed his bedding onto the couch and plopped down after it, still feeling his pants stretching uncomfortably across his groin, the memory of her standing wet and nearly naked in front of him seared into his brain.  It was all he could do to not take himself in his hand right then and pump himself to completion at the memory of that drop of water on her skin, the feel of their bodies grinding together in that club, how her hand had gripped and tugged in his hair.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”  he muttered to himself.  You gotta at least wait until she’s asleep, Peña!  He did wonder what would happen at the thought of her catching him thinking about her, groaning her name softly as he came in his own hand…

Stop being a pervert, you asshole!  He chided himself stretching out on the couch and flipping on the TV, searching for something desperately boring to distract himself with.

How the hell was he ever going to be able to do this?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,  Chapter 9, Chapter 10,  Chapter 11,  Chapter 12,  Chapter 13

[sanghyukstattoos]

Book no.1

Characters: Kang Chani x Reader

Genre: Pure fluff

Words: 1313

Summary: Would you give Chani all your attention if he asked for it?

A/N: Awww, I loved this request so much because of how it is. The thought of Chani bothering you when he sees your sitting there so peacefully with a book made me smile so hard. Thank you anon for requesting this, hope you like it! 

A sigh of relief left your lips as you settled on the sofa, book in one hand and a bag of crisps in the other. Couple of pages into the book, you were far too immersed to have heard Chani enter the room and give you a pointed look.

Coming back from a shorter day than normal, he was jittery, the mischievous nature running through him in laps, not tired from his own day. He didn't know that you read, the peaceful silence making him wonder where his true girlfriend was. 

Walking in and out, he made sure to do it quietly, the smell of a prank nearby. He found a book on your desk and after deciding that it wasn’t really important, he tore small pieces from them and crumpled them up into balls. 

Hearing a whistle from the side, your eyes widened and slowly lowered your book, breaking concentration. You flinched at an incoming object, shrivelling up only to find out that it was a paper ball. 

Before you could react, three more were thrown in succession and one even went inside of your top. You groaned at the feeling, quickly moving to lift your top to get the paper out. He was too busy laughing at your dismay to even realise that one went in. 

Honestly, you couldn’t explain why you were laughing with him but you did stand up, a silent demand for the paper ball to leave you. When he looked over, the episode from clutching his stomach from the pain of laughing over, he started again, realising your situation. 

Falling from your top, a stray paper ball fell onto the floor and Chani pointed at it laughing. Seeing him smile so brightly, he must be in a good mood you thought and this was similar to most days, his beautiful personality something that you were incredibly grateful for. 

Unmoving, you blinked at Chani until a small smile gradually lit up your beautiful face, his eyes never faltering in their reciprocating of your sincerity.

‘’When did you-?’’ you started out, trailing off in the notion that he understood what you were implying and he did, settling next to you on the sofa and responding, ‘’since you were almost halfway through that book’’. 

You shook your head pointing out, ‘’I’m not halfway through this book though’’. ‘’It’s okay’’ and at his words, your head cocked to the side, taking the most confused stance possible. 

Gently pulling your book from your hands, he marked the page that you were currently on and threw it on the adjacent sofa. Your eyes widened and understandably startled, you turned to him saying, ‘’Why would you do that?’’. 

You weren’t frustrated but rather, the corners of your lips tugged up as you tried to force the smile back down and show how unimpressed you were with his actions. Instead, you couldn’t control it and started laughing, him following suit. 

Crossing your arms, you sat back with him at your side and shoulders touching, just laughing at what he had just done. Hearing you sigh as you laughed, he turned to you wondering what more surprises were awaiting him. 

Nothing came because you picked up the bright mood and laughed from where you left off, motioning to the tossed book that had half- heartedly fallen on the sofa. ‘’The poor thing’’ you mentioned and he just, ‘’huh?!’’ at you. 

‘‘Could you please get my book back?’‘ you politely asked, giving him the cutest smile you muster. Smiling at your cuteness, he got up but it soon turned into an evil chuckle as he waved the book mockingly from across the room. 

‘‘Oh no’‘ you sighed, groaning because you knew what he was about to do next. You could even find the words to tell him not to do that since you felt like it was pretty obvious and so you just sat there smiling, ‘‘no...’‘ written all over your face. 

Smiling just instigated his actions as he bobbed his head side-to-side and tossed the book backwards, it falling somewhere with a thud as it fell straight on its face. Pursing your lips, you swore that you could have seen it fall in slow motion. 

It was exactly how people looked at something that was about to fall off a table and each one said nothing, just watching it happen in slow motion. Yes, you agreed that it was fucking hilarious but one of you had to pick it up in the end, resulting in that thing just lying on the floor for the next couple of decades. 

‘‘No!’‘ you exclaimed and he laughed at your reaction, gummy smile showing when you made a face that resembled a whining baby. Helping himself to your endearing actions as you pouted while pointing at the fallen book, he picked up the book. 

Acknowledging his mistake, you gladly took the book he handed to you only to realise that it wasn’t the same one from earlier. ‘’Huh?’’ you said looking up at him, seeing him watch you carefully just to laugh at your reactions. 

You stuck your tongue out at him and started reading the book in retaliation. He hmphed at your action, another idea forming in his head. Trying for even more of a perfect execution this time, he grabbed the book and threw it in the direction that your previous book fell in, hoping to start a pile. 

Standing up, you grabbed his cheeks in between your palms and squeezing them together, brought his lips to yours, heating his senses for a moment. He gulped as you patted his cheek and stepped sideways to try and retrieve your book(s). 

‘‘Oh?’‘ he slightly muttered, fascinated at what you had just done and so he set out to continue what you started. Turning to you, he pulled you towards him and connected your lips once again. 

You responded quickly, pressing yourself closer to him however, the edges of the books poked his chest. Pulling them from your hands, he flung them somewhere else and embraced you, entwining tongues. 

You broke apart for breath and hazily stared back, smiling a little as the once bright mood turned sentimental, his deepest desires to shower you with all the love that he could conjure springing to the surface. 

Pulling you to both lay on the sofa, he softly spoke, ‘’leave the book, it’s all in me’’ into your ear. You giggled as you felt his breath fan your ear, knowing that his words didn’t make any sense but nodding anyways. 

Hugging him with your arms around his torso, you snuggled into him and all his warmth, resting your head beside his. ‘’You don’t really make sense, explain to me what you mean one more time’’ you said out of nowhere and for no reason. 

He stumbled for a second, not having any reason for what he said but he continued anyways, ‘’I think like you should leave the book...’’ listing all his reasons in order. 

You stopped listening as your eyes drooped and sleepiness came over you very, very quickly. You were knocked out in his arms, the purest safety zone in your world and he paused, noticing that you were already fast asleep. 

He chuckled at the thought, loving how you fell asleep in his arms instead of alone with a book covering your face which was most likely. Holding you tighter, he removed his jacket, manoeuvring his arms in the sneakiest way possible so as to not wake you up and slid the material over you for warmth and away from the light. 

Seconds later, he buzzed out as well with you in his embrace, heads touching and legs entwined. The books lay on the floor untouched and very much in a poor state since their double fall but the two of you weren’t bothered, softly snoring in peace. 

[obvious-captain-rogers]

Hii, so i saw you were taking buddie prompts and i wanted to ask if you could do one with fake dating? No rush!! Thank you

I’m going to be completely honest, I wrote and rewrote this so many times but this one has been the best one. I started writing it almost immediately after the finale and I’m pretty excited about it- hence why it’s so long. Also, there are some things in here that I’m not a 100% sure are canonically correct, but I’m just going with it so bear with me.

           Eddie frowned as he watched Buck distractedly wash and then dry the lunch dishes. Ever since the train derailment he’d been acting off, Eddie had just figured it had to do with seeing Abby again and the ensuing conversation that the two of them had apparently had- not that Buck had told Eddie that himself, oh no he’d had to hear about it from Bobby. Not that he was hurt by that, or jealous. Because that would be childish.

           Eddie got up from the table and he moved to lean back against the counter next to where Buck was washing the same plate that he’d just dried off. “Everything okay?” Eddie asked quietly and leaned in a little to brush their shoulders together.

           “Huh?” Buck asked and looked up, obviously broken out of whatever headspace he’d been in by Eddie’s touch. “Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine.”

           Eddie wanted to push because he knew that something was wrong with Buck, but he didn’t know how to without being a jackass and making Buck get all defensive with him. He scratched at the corner of his eye with his thumb and tried a different tactic. “You know that Christopher’s still at sleep-away camp and the house has been too quiet without him around. You want to come over for a bit? We can watch some movies, play some video games, or whatever. We could go out if you wanted to do that instead.”

           Buck watched him for a moment, obvious suspicion in his blue eyes at Eddie’s question being followed up by the offer, but then he nodded. “You know there’s that place down on South Figueroa…” Buck trailed off and Eddie nodded.

           “Sounds great,” Eddie said and he took the dish towel from Buck’s hand to finish up drying the dishes. Buck grinned at him and Eddie rolled his eyes before snapping the towel at Buck’s hip playfully. Buck danced away from the towel with a laugh that had something warm and content settling into Eddie’s chest at managing to lighten Buck’s mood- even if it was just for a little while.

…..

           Eddie followed Buck in his truck so that both of them would have their vehicles when it came time to finally head home. Buck’s semi-flirty smile that he gave the hostess- typical Buck behavior because he knew how that smile made people melt- wasn’t as bright as usual and Eddie winced a little as they were walked over to a corner booth.

           Buck glanced over the drinks menu before he looked at the waiter with a charming smile. “I’ll take an old-fashioned but instead of the house bourbon I’ll take Jack, please.” The waiter nodded and Eddie shot Buck a surprised look. Buck didn’t usually drink hard liquor, so something had to be bothering him for him to order something so strong. “Eddie,” Buck said expectantly, and Eddie snapped out of it.

           He sent the waiter an apologetic smile. “Tequila, straight.” Buck’s eyes widened and Eddie just bumped his foot under the table. The waiter simply nodded and went to take their orders over to the bar. “What?” Eddie asked when Buck kept looking at him with that worried puppy-dog look.

           “Tequila?” Buck questioned.

           “An old-fashioned?” Eddie countered with a raised eyebrow. Buck slumped down a little in the booth and Eddie bumped Buck’s leg under the table again so that Buck would look at him. “What’s going on, Buck?” Buck fidgeted in his seat and after a moment he reached over to pull something out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He tossed it over to Eddie and kept his eyes down on where he was resting his wrists on the table.

           Eddie leaned over to take the envelope. He saw Buck’s name written in a neat and objectively pretty handwriting. He traced his fingers over it before flipping it over and pulling out the cardstock that was inside. He flinched as he read it over. It was an invitation to Abby Clark’s wedding. He could certainly see why Buck was ordering hard liquor now.

           “Well shit,” Eddie said and tucked the invitation back into the envelope before he dropped it onto the table.

           “Yeah,” Buck murmured softly and picked at his nails. The waiter came- effectively cutting of their awkward attempts at a conversation- and gave them their drinks. Eddie thanked the waiter as the shots were set out and the waiter handed him a couple of lime wedges and a salt grinder.

           Eddie nodded his thanks before he turned his attention back to where Buck was resolutely staring either down at the table for into the bottom of his glass. “So what are you wanting to do?” Eddie asked before he licked the back of his hand and sprinkled salt on his hand as he waited for Buck to find his voice.

           His eyes had lifted from the table to track Eddie’s movements, so Eddie took that as a minor victory. “I don’t know,” Buck admitted after a moment before he lifted his own glass to take a drink. He fiddled with the glass as Eddie licked the salt off his hand and threw back his first shot. He swallowed thickly before taking a lime wedge from the bowl and taking a bite. He wrinkled his nose at the sourness. “I don’t want to be the pathetic ex that shows up to the wedding alone and moping. I- I don’t want to get back together with Abby- she left me in the worst way possible and I don’t think I could ever trust her again- but she was my first love, you know?” Buck shrugged almost nervously as he fiddled with his drink.

           “Then don’t go alone,” Eddie said as if it were that easy. He understood how heavily a first love could weigh on someone. He’d had a hard time letting go of Shannon when she’d left him and then once she’d told him that she wanted a divorce. He felt for Buck, but he also knew that Buck wanted to be a good friend to Abby despite everything. And good friends went to their friend’s wedding.

           “It’s not exactly like I have anyone I could bring with me. You know I haven’t been… well, I haven’t been looking but that’s besides the point. I’m not good at this.” Buck grimaced and Eddie could hear the dejected note to Buck’s voice.

           “What do you mean?” Eddie asked after he’d downed his second shot. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave Buck- let alone the way that Abby, or even Ali though that one wasn’t nearly as bad, had done it. Buck was smart and kind and so considerate- and not to mention so incredibly hot: with the eyes and the biceps and the cute little birthmark. Eddie blinked and thought maybe he needed to slow down a little on the tequila. Not that he wouldn’t normally think about how attractive Buck was- he wasn’t blind- but it certainly didn’t sit so warmly in his stomach.

           “Dating,” Buck said and finally looked up at Eddie. “I guess I’m pretty good at the physical part,” Buck said with a bit of a smirk that had Eddie snorting and shaking his head fondly, “but the emotional part.” He made a noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t know.”

           “You haven’t found the right person, Buck. You’re twenty-eight, that’s young enough to still be making mistakes with love.” Eddie shrugged and Buck gave him a bland look.

           “You’re only three years older than me, Eddie. And you were married with a kid,” Buck pointed out blandly.

           “And we see how that turned out,” Eddie shot back. Buck’s mouth clamped shut and Eddie shook his head again. “Don’t turn this around on me. We’re talking about you.” Eddie downed his last shot and stacked the glasses inside themselves before thoughtfully chewing on the lime wedge that was left. He tossed it back into the bowl. “Easy solution to all of this is just ask a friend with to come with you and act like you’re together.”

           Buck looked at him for a long while before he shook his head. “There’s not really anyone that I could ask- not that Abby doesn’t already know- so...”

           “Abby doesn’t know me,” Eddie said and he had no idea where that had come from, but he wouldn’t take it back. Not with the stunned and maybe- just maybe- hopeful expression it put on Buck’s face. “I could go with you.”

           Buck’s face flushed prettily and Eddie couldn’t help but feel a small smile tug at his lips. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

           “You’re not asking, Buck. I’m offering.” Eddie shrugged despite the nerves now squirming in his stomach. Buck watched him for a long moment and chewed his lip, Eddie’s eyes reflexively dropping down to focus on Buck’s mouth.

           Buck released his lower lip from between his teeth and downed the rest of his drink. “Okay.”

           “Okay?” Eddie asked, having been momentarily distracted.

           “Yeah, let’s do it.” Buck said and tucked his hands underneath his thighs. Eddie grinned and he felt warm all over when Buck grinned back, the flush from earlier still highlighting his cheeks.

…..

           Eddie was in the middle of getting his bills in order and was chewing on the cap of his pen when the door to his house opened up and Buck swept into the room. His hair was damp and sticking up in soft waves that Buck was usually so careful to gel down. Eddie tried not to ignore the slight flutter in his chest.

           “We’re going to have to come up with a plausible cover story if this is going to work,” Buck said without any sort of context. “The social media aspect is covered because I’ve been posting pictures with you and Christopher for- well basically since we’ve been friends.”

           “Buck, what’re you talking about?” Eddie asked and shuffled his papers into a pile so that he could give Buck his whole attention while not having to worry about Buck’s flailing knocking them onto the floor.

           “About the whole fake-dating thing for Abby’s wedding,” Buck said and he tucked his hands into his pockets. “If we don’t have our story straight, the whole thing will fall apart and that will be more embarrassing than if I showed up alone.”

           Eddie watched Buck fidget for a while before nodding for Buck to sit down. “Well, every good lie starts with the truth. We met at work,” Eddie said tentatively. “Abby saw me at the crash, so I assume she’ll remember that I’m with the 118.”

           “Right,” Buck said and he squirmed a little in his seat. “So how did we get together?”

           Eddie frowned. “I don’t know, Buck. Like normal people do.”

           Buck rolled his eyes. “I meant who asked who out? When? Why? That sort of stuff.”

           Eddie sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Uh… we could say that you asked me out,” Eddie said. “Not going to sting my pride and anyone who knows you will probably believe that. You’re more… personable.” Buck was an extrovert that thrived on attention. Granted, all of the people Buck had gone out with- to the extent of Eddie’s knowledge- had been the one to ask him out but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

           “Okay…” Buck said and nodded, obviously trying to think. “We can’t say that it’s a new thing because you don’t invite a new partner to something like a wedding. Gives off the wrong kind of vibes. So I guess… about a year? Seems a good timeline for ‘be my plus one to a wedding’ type of commitment.”

           “Sounds fine to me,” Eddie said not really understanding at all what Buck was talking about. If you had a significant other and were invited to a wedding did it really matter how long you’d been together? With the look Buck was giving him, apparently it did. “As for the why- that’s none of anyone’s business. Besides, one look and five minutes with you and everyone will get why.” Eddie felt the back of his neck heating up at how much he’d revealed, and he cleared his throat. “Good enough?”

           “Yeah,” Buck said and his voice was a little strained. He pushed his fingers through his hair, mussing it up further, and let out a harsh breath. “You really don’t have to do this, Eddie.”

           Eddie let out a short laugh and shook his head. “It’s not a big deal. We go to a wedding, have a nice time, and then you get to come back home feeling better about this whole Abby thing. I’m alright with being part of that. I don’t get enough opportunities to get dressed up,” Eddie teased and knocked his foot against Buck’s ankle.

           Buck opened his mouth- probably to say something smart- but then he flushed and closed his mouth firmly. Eddie frowned a little at that, it wasn’t like Buck to be careful with his words, not around Eddie anyways, but he didn’t push. He didn’t really get the chance anyways because Buck was launching into a million questions about Eddie’s plans for when Christopher got home.

…..

           “Hey, Eddie, can I talk to you in my office for a second?” Bobby asked and Eddie looked up from the book Carla had recommended to him.

           “Yeah,” Eddie said and folded down the corner of the page before closing his book and tossing it onto the side table. He made his way into Bobby’s office and only felt a little nervous as Bobby closed the door and went to sit behind his desk. “Everything alright, Cap?”

           “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Bobby said and gestured for Eddie to sit.

           “What do you mean?” Eddie asked with a frown.

           “Well, Buck just told me that you and him are going to need some time off. Because you’re his date to Abby’s wedding.” Bobby fixed him with a pointed look and Eddie tried not to squirm under Bobby’s gaze. “Is there paperwork I need to be filling out?”

           Eddie felt his face get hot and he was sure that he was turning red. “This isn’t like that,” Eddie said and shook his head. “Buck didn’t want to show up to Abby’s wedding alone. I guess he thought that it would look bad- or make him look desperate- and so I offered to go with him.”

           “As his date.” Bobby raised an eyebrow but it wasn’t really a question.

           ��Yeah. As his fake-date.” Eddie’s stomach flopped as Bobby’s face slowly turned from a confused frown to an almost knowing smile.

           “Oh, I see. His fake-date,” Bobby said and his mouth quirked up in amusement, only making Eddie’s face burn all the hotter.

           “So can you get someone to cover or should I tell Buck that both of us can’t go?” Eddie asked, a little defensively in his embarrassment.

           “I’ll make it work,” Bobby said and waved Eddie off. Eddie stood and he straightened out his uniform shirt to try and salvage some of his dignity in the face of Bobby’s fatherly teasing. “Have fun.”

           Eddie nodded at Bobby and turned to walk out.

           “But not too much fun,” Bobby teased and Eddie turned to give Bobby a sharp look as a blush bloomed across his face and down his neck.

…..

           “What do you think?” Eddie asked and stepped out into the living room where Carla and Christopher were sitting at the table, working on a new craft project that Christopher had learned at sleep-away camp and wanted to recreate at home. Eddie had put on his suit to make sure that it still fit and that it would be nice enough for the wedding, though he’d sprung for a new shirt and tie. And if his shirt and tie were specifically picked to complement Buck then no one needed to comment on it, thank you very much, Carla.

           “Well look at you,” Carla said with a laugh. “Very handsome.” Carla came over and helped settle his collar a little better and to pick imaginary lint off of his jacket.

           “You look good, Daddy,” Christopher said and beamed at Eddie for a moment. Eddie grinned back just as brightly.

           “Should get it off and packed up then,” Eddie said and fiddled with the buttons at his cuffs.

           “Oh no, not yet. Buckaroo made me promise to get pictures,” Carla said and pulled out her phone.

           “He doesn’t trust me to dress myself?” Eddie asked and tucked his hands into his pockets awkwardly as Carla got her phone ready to take some pictures.

           “I’m pretty sure he just wants to make sure you two match,” Carla said and lifted her phone before frowning at him. “Oh come on, Eddie. Strut a little. You know you look good.” It pulled a laugh from Eddie and Carla snapped a picture while he laughed. “That one’s a keeper.” Eddie pushed a hand through his hair and sent Carla a flat look when she snapped a picture then too. She snapped another of his unimpressed face before Eddie shook his head and held up his hand.

           “Alright, alright. That’s enough. I don’t need a paparazzi moment,” Eddie laughed and rocked on his feet before nodding over his shoulder. “I’m going to get out of this. Eddie leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Christopher’s head. “Do I pass, Superman?”

           “Yeah. Buck’s going to think you look really handsome, Daddy.” Christopher said it so innocently, but it made Eddie blush a little to think of Buck looking at the pictures of him in a suit and thinking Eddie was handsome. Eddie nodded and he went back into this room to change into one of his old Army t-shirts and a well-worn pair of jeans.

…..

           Buck was trying to piece together a suit that didn’t make him cringe when his phone chimed with a message from Carla. He thumbed open the messages and he felt his eyes get wide as he looked at the pictures of Eddie in a suit. He bit his lip and smiled a little as he looked at Eddie’s bright laughter, expertly captured by Carla’s photography skills. Eddie looked really nice in his suit but in this picture, he looked relaxed and happy. The second picture though, that was… well. Buck bit his lip harder but not for the purposes of stepping on his growing smile. Eddie was handsome all the time, Buck had often found himself thinking about the various aspects of Eddie that were attractive, but this… this was next level. Eddie looked sexy.

           Buck scrolled past the picture and couldn’t help but snort at the annoyed expression on Eddie’s face in the last one. After a moment, a message from Carla came through. Seems like your mans knows what he’s about and he’s not playing around. Everyone’s going to be very jealous of you, Buckaroo.

           Buck’s face felt hot and he tapped his finger on the corner of his phone as he tried to think of a response. He couldn’t think of anything and he tried to busy himself with matching his shirt and tie to Eddie’s suit, and if he took more time than necessary to study the pictures of Eddie to do so- well there was no one around to call him out on it. His phone went off again and he picked it up to see a text from Eddie.

Eddie: Do I pass inspection?

           Buck huffed a short laugh before tapping out his response.

Buck: I don’t think you need me to stroke your ego.

         You look great, Eddie

        You certainly made my life easier by having a black suit that I can match mine to.

Eddie: Well, we wouldn’t want you to have a fashion melt-down 😉

           Buck snorted and he definitely would have to thank whoever it was that finally taught Eddie to use emojis- it was probably Christopher or Hen if he had to hazard a guess.

Buck: Nope. No meltdown here.

        Okay, maybe there was the beginnings of a meltdown, but that’s not the point.

           Buck could almost hear the way that Eddie would be laughing at him on the other end of the phone. The little ellipses popped up one or twice and Buck frowned at it, but nothing came through. Buck tucked his phone into his pocket and finished up picking his suit and getting it packed up, trying not to overthink what Eddie had been trying to tell him.

…..

           Eddie lifted Christopher onto his hip and pressed another kiss to his son’s cheek. “You’ve got to promise to be good for Hen and Karen, alright? It’s only a few days, but-”

           “I’ve already promised three times,” Christopher said and pressed his hands against Eddie’s cheeks seriously. “You can go, Daddy. It’s going to be o-kay.” He patted Eddie’s face and Eddie could hear Buck stifling his laughter behind them.

           “Alright, alright. You know that you can call me whenever you want,” Eddie said and settled Chris down, smoothing a hand through his son’s hair.

           “Yes, now go!” Christopher said and gave Eddie a playful push towards Buck.

           “If you need anything-” Eddie said, looking at where Hen was watching the whole display with a grin.

           “I will call Carla or Isabel,” Hen said with a firm look. “Like you said, it’s only a few days. We’ve got this, Eddie. You and Buck have some fun.” The way she said it made Eddie’s neck burn and he gave her a short nod before turning to look at Buck.

           “Ready?” Eddie asked and shouldered his carry-on bag. He and Buck had decided to just put their suits and couple of sets of clothes into one checked bag. To save money. Of course.

           “Are you?” Buck asked teasingly and Eddie rolled his eyes before shoving him and grabbing their checked bag. They made their way over to where they could drop off their bag and Eddie couldn’t help but keep looking over his shoulder to where Hen and Christopher were waiting, Christopher waving at him. Eddie waved back as Buck handed their bag off.

           “Honeymooning?” The woman asked conversationally as she tapped at the computer and printed out a label for their bag. She glanced up at them as she fixed it to their bag.

           “Uh, not quite. Friend’s wedding,” Buck said and glanced at Eddie out of the corner of his eye.

           “Well, if it makes you feel any better, your son seems to be in good hands. The first trip without them is always the worse.” Eddie blushed and he fumbled for a second, not sure if she should correct her assumption that Eddie and Buck were together.

           “Thank you,” Buck said easily, and she nodded before she put their bag on the conveyer belt.

           “You’re all set. Have a nice flight.”

           Both of then nodded and they went through security in relative silence, not that it was particularly easy to talk to each other while you were going through security, but when they were on the other side, Eddie gave Buck an apologetic grimace. “Sorry about that- back there,” Eddie said and pointed over his shoulder.

           “No big deal, Eddie. Not like it’s the first time,” Buck shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. Eddie felt a sharp spike in his heartbeat.

           “What?”

           “People have assumed that Christopher was our son before. It’s not a big deal. He’s a sweet kid and-” Buck was about to go on one of his incredibly heart-warming rambles about how great Christopher was, but Eddie cut him off.

           “Like when?” Eddie asked as they started to make their way towards their gate.

           “Remember when we took Chris to see Santa. That first time.” When Eddie nodded, Buck continued. “Well, one of the elves thought Chris was our son. Told me that we had an adorable son.”

           “What did you say to that?” Eddie asked, his heart hammering against his chest. He wasn’t sure what he wanted Buck to have said.

           “I said thank you,” Buck shrugged casually. He glanced over at Eddie and winced at whatever he saw in Eddie’s face. “Should I not have?”

           “It’s not a big deal, I just… I never thought about how it looked to have you with me when I took him. That’s all,” Eddie said and bumped their shoulders together. Buck quirked a small smile and leaned in so that their shoulders were pressed together the whole time they were walking.

           They sat outside their gate for a while, just talking about nothing mostly, before they were able to board. Buck seemed to get a little tense as they walked up, had their tickets checked, and then started to get onto the plane. Eddie watched the tension in Buck’s shoulders and he reached out and rubbed Buck’s back softly as they made their way to their seats.

           “You okay?” Eddie asked and covered Buck’s hand where Buck was gripping the arm rests of his seat.

           “Yeah, I just- when I first started working at the 118, I worked a crash,” Buck whispered so that only Eddie would be able to hear him. “I just remembered it and-”

           “Hey,” Eddie said soothingly and he slipped his hand between Buck’s and the arm rest so that Buck was holding onto him. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s only about an hour and a half.” Buck nodded and he just held onto Eddie’s hand as everyone else boarded the flight. “I’ve got a book in my bag if you want to try and distract yourself.”

           “Yeah?” Buck asked, almost like he was worried that Eddie was going to shut him down.

           “Yeah. It’s probably right up your alley too. It’s about space,” Eddie teased. Buck and Christopher both had such a fascination with space and Eddie had watched the two of them fall into documentary and research holes more than once. Buck rolled his eyes but when Eddie held it out to him, he took it and opened it to the first page eagerly. Eddie watched him fondly for a minute before he settled, his hand still folded in Buck’s as Buck balanced the book open with one hand and one of his knees.

           When the plane started to move to take off, Buck’s eyes squeezed shut and Eddie gently tugged at Buck’s hand to get Buck to look at him. “So what do you think Christopher is going to get up to with Hen, Karen, and Denny while we’re gone?” Eddie asked to keep Buck’s mind off the feeling of them taking off.

           “Probably con Hen into way too much sugar,” Buck said and he laughed, even though it sounded a little strained. “Though I wonder how well he’s going to get along with having a toddler in the house. It’s always just been you and him, or him and his friends.”

           “Hen said that Nia’s sleeping through the night most of the time, so I’m sure it’ll be fine. If anything, Chris’ll probably be excited to not be the youngest.” Harry was a few years older than Chris, and Denny was the same age- though as he like to proudly declare he was actually a few months older than Christopher- so Nia might be his chance to play big brother for a bit.” Eddie gave Buck’s hand a squeeze as they evened out. Buck let out a short breath and Eddie stroked a thumb over his knuckles. “Good?”

           “Yeah, thanks.” Buck said and he gave Eddie a soft smile before he went back to the book in his lap, though he never let go of Eddie’s hand and would every so often trace little patterns against Eddie’s wrist. Eddie just smiled to himself and tipped his head to look out the small window.

…..

           Buck shot a grin over his shoulder to Eddie as he unlocked their hotel room and stepped inside. Though he froze when he took in the room. He was sure that he’d booked a room with two beds, but right in the middle of the room was one large bed and Buck felt his mouth go dry.

           Eddie didn’t seem fazed as he moved to set his carry on down and opened up their bag. “We should hang up our suits to make sure they don’t get too wrinkled before the wedding tomorrow,” Eddie said and bumped Buck’s hip as he moved past him with his suit folded over his arm.

           “There’s only one bed,” Buck blurted out and turned to look at Eddie with a frown. Eddie froze from where he was hanging his clothes up and turned to look at Buck. Before Eddie could say anything, Buck was shuffling over to the phone. “I’ll call and have them bring a folding bed. You can sleep in the bed and I’ll just-”

           “Buck, it’s fine. It’s not like there isn’t plenty of room. We can put the extra pillows between us if you’re that worried about us touching.” Buck looked up at Eddie and both saw and heard the bitterness in Eddie’s tone.

           “Why would I care if we touched?” Buck asked with a frown. Anytime they were stood or sat next to each other they were plastered to each other’s sides from shoulder to thigh.

           “Why would I?” Eddie challenged and raised a pointed eyebrow. “It’s not like we’ve never been in close quarters before, Buck.” It was one thing to be in separate but close together bunk in the bunk room and another thing entirely to be in the same bed, but Buck wasn’t going to argue.

           Buck nodded and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Okay then,” Buck said, aiming for casual but his voice came out just a bit squeakier than he would have liked. He ducked his head at Eddie’s warm grin and moved to gather his suit so he could hang it up.

           “I’m gonna text Chris so he knows we’ve landed,” Eddie said and he moved to sit down on the edge of his bed with his phone. Buck just nodded and finished up with his suit before he started tossing his other clothes- really just for the flight back home- into the dresser. He grabbed his bathroom bag and settled it on the counter in the bathroom before he stepped back out and sat next to Eddie on the bed. “Seems like he and Denny are living it up.” Eddie leaned in closer, his breath ghosting along Buck’s neck warmly, as he showed Buck a picture of the boys that Karen had texted him. Both of them were in a blanket fort with little bowls of popcorn and candy as they watched Coco.

           “Hen and Karen are going to have quite the time trying to get Christopher to sleep after that,” Buck laughed and his chest ached a little. Looking at the picture made him miss Christopher a little bit more than he’d have thought. “I have made that mistake one too many times.”

           “You learn to roll with it,” Eddie said and bumped Buck’s shoulder. “What do you say we take a walk? Just kind of explore, find some place to get something to eat, and then we can turn in early. I’m sure you’re gonna want to take your time tomorrow and make yourself all pretty.” Eddie was teasing him but Buck blushed a little. He knew that Eddie wasn’t calling him pretty, but it was close enough.

           “Sounds good to me,” Buck said and Eddie nodded before he stood up and nodded towards the door. Buck followed after him with something warm settling in his chest as they fell into step beside each other.

…..

           Getting to sleep the night before the wedding hadn’t been as difficult as Buck would have thought. He and Eddie had felt that initial awkwardness of trying to settle into bed with someone you’d never slept beside before, but once they’d figured it out- it was easy to fall asleep.

           Buck woke up slowly to the familiar soft sound of his alarm and he grumbled his displeasure as he reached over to turn it off. He pressed his face further into his pillow but then he frowned when he heard a soft huff of breath right by his ear.

           “Comfortable?” Eddie’s voice, a little rough and thick from sleep, said from right by his ear. Buck blearily lifted his head and found himself nose to nose with Eddie. He’d been pressing his face into Eddie’s shoulder and now that he was more aware, he could feel how he’d plastered himself to Eddie’s side.

           “Shuddup,” Buck mumbled and he let his head fall back onto Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie huffed another small laugh and he combed his fingers through Buck’s hair for a moment before he nudged the side of Buck’s head.

           “Come on,” Eddie said and slipped his hand down from Buck’s hair to squeeze the back of his neck. “Up.”

           Buck huffed against Eddie’s neck before he rolled away and pushed himself out of bed. “How are you so awake?” Buck muttered and he scrubbed a hand down his face.

           “I have a kid who is determined to be up right around the time the sun comes up. And of course, former Army.” Eddie’s smile was soft and almost liquid around the edges. Buck felt something warm pool in his stomach and he grinned as he pushed his hair away from his face. “Don’t use up all the hot water, I’ve got to shower too,” Eddie said and stretched to poke Buck’s thigh with his foot.

           Buck caught his ankle and gave it a squeeze before he stood. “I won’t.” He let his touch linger a little before he padded over to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and turned the water on to start getting warm while he brushed his teeth.

           The hot water felt good but he didn’t let himself linger like he would if he were showering at home. They didn’t really have time for it, and Eddie did ask him to leave him some hot water. An unbidden image of Eddie in the shower flashed in Buck’s head and he sucked in shaky breath before shoving it away and turning the water off. He dried off his hair and dried himself off before knotting the towel around his waist and opening the door.

           “All yours,” Buck murmured as he moved to open up the dresser and pull out a clean set of underwear. He had to focus on getting his clothes so that he didn’t look over at Eddie as Eddie made his way over to the shower.

           Buck waited until the door was shut before he tossed his towel over the back of a chair and pulled his underwear on. He pulled his undershirt and slacks. He didn’t want to pull his shirt on yet because he knew that he should probably shave before they left.

           The bathroom door opened and to show Eddie in his underwear and his undershirt as he rubbed a towel over his hair. “I’ve got to shave,” Buck said and pointed into the bathroom with a raised eyebrow.

           “Just need to shave and brush my teeth,” Eddie said and Buck nodded as he stepped into the humidity of the bathroom.

           “Not like we can’t share,” Buck said and his hip brushed against Eddie’s as he leaned over the sink to grab his bathroom bag. They both went about their routines silently and Buck couldn’t help but glance over at Eddie every so often in the mirror. He’d seen Eddie clean up after a shift, but this felt different. More intimate.

           Eddie sent him a small smile in the mirror around his toothbrush before he spit into the sink and rinsed it off. Buck’s hand nearly slipped at the warm jolt of electricity it sent through him. They both finished up shaving and Eddie laughed softly before he tilted Buck’s face and wiped away a bit of shaving cream that was just behind the curve of his jaw where he couldn’t see it. “Wouldn’t want you walking in with that,” Eddie said and his thumb on Buck’s skin felt like getting too close to a live wire- that same prickling sensation breaking out along his skin. Eddie dropped his hand from Buck’s skin and combed his hair back from his face so that it sat flat. “You should leave your hair wavy,” Eddie said abruptly as he glanced at Buck in the mirror.

           Buck pushed his hand through his still slightly damp hair. It wasn’t long enough to fall into his face, but it laid across his forehead in almost curls. “You think so?”

           “Yeah,” Eddie said casually and Buck just nodded. Eddie touched the small of Buck’s back before stepping out and going to get dressed. Buck knew he should finish up, but he felt overwhelmed a little at how easily he and Eddie were falling into these roles. He swallowed thickly and reminded himself that Eddie was just doing this as a favor to a friend. He was being supportive because he was Buck’s friend and that’s what friends did.

           Buck blew out a breath and went to finish getting dressed. He stood in front of the closet mirror and fixed his tie and made sure his collar wasn’t twisted up before he slid his jacket into place. He gave himself a short nod in the mirror before he glanced over to where Eddie was pulling his jacket on as well. He rolled his eyes a little as he noticed that Eddie’s collar wasn’t sitting right because of how his tie was adjusted. Buck just wordless turned Eddie around and tugged at his tie before leaning in so he could smooth his collar.

           When he stepped back, his hands still on Eddie’s lapels, Eddie was blushing a little and Buck bit his lip. “Wouldn’t want you walking in like that,” Buck said, teasingly repeating Eddie’s words back to him. Eddie’s face broke out into a smile and he swatted at Buck’s hands playfully. “If you’re ready, we better get going,” Buck said as he glanced down at his watch.

           “If you’re not ashamed to be seen with me in public, then I think we’re good,” Eddie joked and Buck shoved at his shoulder. Eddie wrapped his arm around Buck’s back and guided him towards the door where their shoes were lined up and ready for them to slip them on.

…..

           Eddie settled his arm over the back of Buck’s chair as the ceremony started- Abby’s procession having already led her up to the altar with her brother on her arm. Buck had tensed a little when the wedding march had started and when he’d first caught sight of Abby- who Eddie had to begrudgingly admit look really pretty in her soft pink dress- but Eddie had just stroked his thumb over the back of Buck’s shoulder and he’d slowly relaxed. The ceremony was much shorter than Eddie had remembered his being, but then again he’d had the full Catholic ceremony as a way to appease his family’s traditionalists.

           They started inside, the wedding having been held just outside the reception hall, but Eddie stepped away from Buck when his shoe came untied. He stepped out of the way so that he could crouch down and tighten the laces of his shoe before quickly knotting them and tugging to make sure it wasn’t going to fall out again. When he was satisfied, he found Buck in the small crowd and frowned as he noticed that Buck was talking to Abby and Sam at the entrance to the reception. His whole body was screaming how uncomfortable he was so Eddie politely made his way through the people towards Buck.

           “I thought you were bringing a date? I didn’t see her with you,” Abby said and it shouldn’t have struck a nerve- at least not with Eddie- but it did. Eddie stepped up and wrapped an arm around Buck’s waist securely.

           “Sorry, didn’t mean to leave you out to dry,” Eddie said and brushed a kiss against Buck’s cheek for good measure. He put on his most charming smile as he looked at the newly married couple. “Hey,” Eddie said brightly. “I’m sure that you don’t remember me, but I’m Eddie.” He held out his hand and both of them shook it. “It’s nice to get a proper introduction and under much better circumstances.” There was an almost brittleness to his tone that neither of the strangers picked up on, but Buck did as he turned to look at Eddie with a slightly shocked expression.

           “You’re the firefighter from the crash,” Sam said as it clicked into place. His smile brightened marginally.

           “One of many,” Eddie joked as he smoothed his thumb over the soft material of Buck’s jacket. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better.”

           “I couldn’t do much worse,” Sam joked and Eddie laughed. It wasn’t Sam that he had anything against. The man had just happened to fall in love and who could really fault him for that?

           “I didn’t know Buck…” Abby started but faltered as she glanced between the two of them in a way that made Eddie’s blood start to simmer.

           “Buck was into men?” Eddie asked, his polite façade never faltering for a second as he shrugged casually in the wake of Abby’s obvious embarrassment. “Well, there’s a lot about Buck that will surprise you when you actually get to know him.” It was said with the right balance of pleasantness and pointedness that it could be seen as just giving Buck a compliment. He smiled at Buck fondly and Buck seemed to be in quiet awe as he smiled back at Eddie. Eddie looked back at them and gave them a short nod. “We shouldn’t monopolize your time. You’ve got other guests.” Eddie led Buck into the spacious room with a glowing feeling in his chest at the ringing silence that was left behind.

           “You… Eddie,” Buck said in a hushed tone, the same soft expression on his face from earlier.

           “I told you that I’d have your back, Buck,” Eddie said and he rubbed Buck’s back as they found an empty table and sat down. “I meant that.” Buck ducked his head and Eddie nudged at his foot carefully, not wanted to scuff either of their dress shoes.

           Buck’s blue eyes were bright with something that Eddie couldn’t place before it was replaced with one of his huge, genuine smiles. “Thanks, Eddie.”

…..

           The reception is winding down and Buck actually found himself having a good time. They talked a little with the other people at their table- who were absolutely enthralled that Buck and Eddie were both firefighters- but most of the people had gotten up and wandered to mingle with other guests or dance. Since Buck and Eddie only knew each other, it hadn’t been a problem for them to just relax in their own little bubble.

           The song changed and shifted into something slow and sweet, an Ed Sheeran song if Buck was right, and Eddie knocked his shoulder against Buck’s. “I’ve been a terrible date, I haven’t even asked you to dance yet.” Eddie’s smile was soft and only had a slight note of teasing to it. Eddie slipped his hand into Buck’s and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on. I promise I won’t step on your toes.”

           “Yeah,” Buck said and he followed Eddie out onto a corner of the dance floor. Eddie wrapped his arm around Buck’s waist and held onto his other hand.

           “I only know how to lead,” Eddie said with a hint of an apology in his voice. Buck just shrugged a little and let Eddie lead him. The same sort of easy intimacy from the bathroom earlier settled over them and Buck let himself lean into it tentatively. Eddie’s cheek brushed against his own and Buck let out a soft breath at the slight rasp of Eddie’s stubble despite having shaved just this morning. Buck could practically hear Eddie thinking as they danced slowly to the acoustic guitar and Ed Sheeran- and it was Ed Sheeran now that Buck was listening closer- singing about home. “Let’s…” Eddie faltered and then he pulled back a little bit so that they could look at each other. “Let’s get out of here.”

           Buck felt his breathing hitch in his chest as the suggestion in Eddie’s eyes. He was being purposefully vague so that Buck could just brush it off if he wanted to, but Buck didn’t want to. He was tired of this song and dance between them. If Eddie was ready and offering, then Buck wasn’t going to say now.

           “Yeah.”

           “Yeah?” Eddie asked and his smile was blinding as he held Buck just that little bit tighter.

           “Yeah,” Buck laughed and leaned in to bump their noses together. He wanted to kiss Eddie so badly, but he also didn’t want their first kiss to be in a room full of strangers. Eddie stepped away but he laced his fingers through Buck’s as he guided them towards the exit, not even bothering to tell the happy couple goodbye.

           It felt good.

           But not as good as when they were finally back at their hotel room and Eddie crowded Buck back against the door and finally- fucking finally- kissed him.

[lousimusician]

Sex Pollen Part 1

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary: You and Peter decide to break into your dad's lab when Peter comes across an interesting plant.

A/N: This is me aggressively ignoring the events of endgame by writing something with Peter. Also I think that movie fixed my writers block because I've been writing nonstop this whole week.

Warning: Language, smuttyish(kinda)

[Peter and the Reader are both 18]

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

Peter quietly observed you while you were hunched over your desk in the corner of your room, playing around with a piece of technology you stole from your dad.

Peter was currently on the ceiling, looking down at you. He was incredibly bored and as much as he loved to just admire you while you concentrated, he couldn't stand the silence that came with it.

He watched as you quietly got frustrated and leaned back in your chair, head back and eyes closed. Peter took this as his que and slowly lowered himself, upside down from the ceiling by a web. He stopped once his face was leveled to yours. He watched as you took in calming breaths, and the little furrow in your eyebrows form, telling him that you were thinking.

To say he was completely and utterly crazy for you was an understatement. Peter was head over heels for you and was pretty sure he'd die for you if it came down to it.

He felt his cheeks redden as he realized he may have been gazing for a little too long and realizing how creepy that was, decided to break the silence by saying, "I'm bored."

Your eyes shot open as you sat up quickly, banging your head against Peter's. "Oww." You whined. You pushed your chair back, putting some distance between the two of you so you could see him better. "Peter! Don't scare me like that."

Peter smiled sheepishly, rubbing the spot on his forehead that you bumped. "Sorry but, I'm bored." He said again.

You shook your head, fighting the smile that tugged on your lips. "Then go do something."

"Like what?"

"I dunno, be Spider-Man. I'm sure there's someone that needs to be saved." You said, maneuvering around him, to pick up the tech you were playing with. "How do you do that?" You said, referencing his position, "Doesn't all the blood rush to your head?"

"No." He said simply. "I don't wanna go out. I want to hang out with you."

"Aren't you literally doing that right now though." You smirked. As you admired the wiring you were staring at. 

"Ha ha ha." He said sarcastically. "I mean, I want to do something fun."

You looked into his puppy dog eyes and immediately found yourself giving in. "Fine," you sighed. "How 'bout a movie?"

"I dunno, we always watch movies."

"Okay then do you wanna go out or something?"

"No." He said shaking his head. "Whenever we go out together you get too much attention."

You paused. "...Well, my dad has been working on a new suit for you, if you wanna check it out."

"Wait really!?" Peter suddenly exclaimed, jumping up, which caused him to fall down on the ground, making you laugh loudly. "Shut up." He grumbled.

"Anyway, how does sneaking into Tony Stark's lab sound?"

"It sounds great, let's go!" He said, excitedly jumping up and grabbing your wrist, pulling you with him.

~~~~~~

While the two of you were scheming on how to break in. Bruce Banner had currently been the only occupant of the lab.

He stood with a gas mask on his face as he studied a plant in front of him.

A week ago, the Avengers had gone on a mission after a few aliens landed on earth and claimed they wanted to "Take over the planet". It had been pathetic really, the aliens were wiped out in half an hour.

But while on this mission, after Hulk had finished "smashing" the last of the aliens, he had reverted back to himself. Finding that Hulk had taken him onto one of the alien ships.

Bruce looked around at the strange tech, while he stood up, already heading for the exit. That was until something had caught his eye and started to draw him in like a moth to a flame. 

It had been a plant.

It stood tall, about seven feet in height. It was absolutley beautiful. It had pink flowers that mimicked the shape of a heart and it was quite literally glowing.

Bruce touched the plant, his fingers coming back covered in a pink dust, which he naturally assumed was the flowers pollen. He leaned in, realizing it smelled familiar.

But the strangest thing happened after.

His heart started to practically beat out of his chest and before he knew it Hulk had come back.

Once he had calmed down and turned back into himself an idea struck him. He quickly plucked a flower off the plant and stuck it in a box that he found in the corner of the ship.

Not a single Avenger questioned why he now carried a box with him on the ride home.

And now a week later, Bruce stood in front of the plant which had grown two feet after it had been replanted, running tests on what exactly it could be.

"Ah Banner." Thor's booming voice sounded, as he stepped into the lab. "I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to-" Thor stopped, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he looked at the plant that sat in front of Bruce. "Why do you have that plant?" He asked genuinely curious.

Bruce looked up at Thor, surprise written all over his face. "Wait, you know what this is?" He said, voice muffled by the mask. He stepped around the table to approach Thor.

"Of course." Thor said, mildly offended. "Where did you get this?"

"Found it after the mission last Friday. It made me turn into Hulk, so I figured it could be useful if Hulk ever chickens out on me again." Bruce quickly explained. "What kind of plant is it?"

"It's called a Sex Pollen Plant." Thor said, stepping around Bruce to approach the plant. "It belongs to that specific race of aliens we fought. The plant helps the aliens to breed since they find it very difficult on their own."

Bruce scrunched his face in shock. "What does it do?"

"The pollen arouses the alien that breathes in the pollen- that may be why you turned into the Hulk, it raised your heart rate. I'm immune to it of course."

"Wait- I brought a sex plant into the compound." Bruce asked in shock, utterly horrified of his own judgement on the situation.

"Yes and I suggest you get rid of it. I have heard the affects of the pollen on a human could be very severe."

"H-how do I get rid of it?"

"Hm, I suppose I'll do it then. How have you been able to contain it?"

"I had this box I took from the alien ship, but it's too big now, so I've been putting it in one of the quarantine rooms just in case."

"Alright, come with me. I may have something that can help dispose of it safely." 

"Okay, let me just lock up the lab." Bruce said.

The two of them stepped out of the room and Bruce pulled off his gas mask once the lab was locked.

Thor and Bruce headed towards the elevator, walking through the living room where the two spotted you and Peter sprawled out on the couches. They shot you two a greeting before leaving.

Peter's head snapped towards you. "I can't believe sending in Thor actually worked. Do you think either of them know what we're planning?"

You smiled, shaking your head. "No, I was too vague when I told Thor to get him out of the lab, and I love the guy but he isn't exactly the smartest person I've met. Now let's go, I don't know how long we've got." You said, trailing ahead of him.

You easily unlocked the lab, Peter following behind you.

As usual the lab was filled with tables with piles upon piles of weird tech, ranging from projects your dad or Bruce had been working on to discarded scraps that should've been tossed or moved out.

You immediately got distracted from the task at hand when you spotted one of your father's latest projects, "Alright, go find your suit." You muttered, walking towards the table.

Peter looked around the lab, trying to find some sign of the new suit he'd hopefully be getting soon. But to be honest, it was a bit of a wreck. With two scientsist's working there, the lab got a bit messy. So instead of Peter being able to locate the suit, which actually was placed nicely in the back of the room, his eye was drawn towards something else.

And it was beautiful, and definitely something he's never seen before.

Off to the side was a plant that had stood at two feet. Pink and glowing. And it was as if he couldn't control his movements while he walked towards the plant.

Now standing in front of it, his finger traced the petals of the glowing flowers, making his index finger come back with a pink dust on it, which he could only assume was its pollen.

He leaned in, breathing in it's scent.

He expected a normal flowery smell but, instead it smelled like you.

He pulled away for a second, and narrowed his eyes at the plant in confusion. But only for a few seconds, before being compelled to smell it once again.

Peter's eyes fell closed as he let the scent dance around him. There was no other way to describe it other than it being completely you.

Sweet and calming. It smelled like lavender and jasmine, with a hint of peaches, your perfume, your body wash, your shampoo, and that very specific scent that belonged to you and only you.

Peter was completely lost in it, breathing in deeply, treating it as if it was a drug he could never get enough of. The different layers of your scent completely engulfing him, making him feel warm and content.

His chest blossomed with warmth that spread down all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes and to the very crown of his head, that made his whole body feel like it was buzzing.

But he snapped out of the trance he was in when he felt a rush of blood travelling south. He tensed up, quickly turning around to see if you were still distracted.

He turned back around and backed away from the plant. And that was when he had noticed his spider senses had been going haywire. The hair on his arms standing up straight as goose bumps rose.

And whatever the plant had did to him was getting worse.

He felt warm, too warm. Like he'd start to melt soon.  

He leaned on the table behind him, panting. A flood of arousal coursing through him. 

From the end of the lab you heard Peter's panting breaths, causing you to look up and see his hunched over form leaning on the table behind him, sliding onto the ground.

"Peter?" You asked in concern. "You okay?"

He groaned at the sound of your voice, his eyes shut tight, trying to gain control of himself. But it wasn't working, inappropriate thoughts flooded his mind immediately wandering to what you would sound like letting out high pitched whines and moans of his name with that same voice, while he bent you over one of the tables and pounded into you hard.

He moaned at the thought, your eyes widening in shock at the sound not quite sure if he was in pain.... or if it was something else.

You stared at what was in front of him on the table, and knew whatever it was was the cause of Peter's state right now.

You quickly ran over, crouching down next to him.

You gasped, "Oh my God." His face was bright red as a thin layer of sweat collected on his skin. He was out of breath, eyes screwed tightly shut. But what caused your own face to turn red was the very prominent buldge in his pants. You cleared your throat. "Peter can you hear me?"

He slowly opened his eyes but immediately wished he hadn't, his pupils blown wide at the sight of you. Eyes trailing over every bit of exposed skin on your body, just picturing what it would feel like pressed against his own.

"(Y-Y/N)." He stuttered out a whine. "I-I-...S-something's...happening."

"Oh, shit." You cursed.

Peter wanted nothing more in that moment to pull you down into a kiss and pin you to the floor, grinding his hips into yours, but he still had enough mind to know how wrong that would be.

"Okay, alright, okay. This is what I'm gonna do." You said frantically. "I need to find Bruce-"

"No... d-don't go.." He didn't know why but he knew that if you left, it would only get worse. That even just your presence made him feel a little better and that he might just go insane if you left him. "Please... s-stay.."

It was too overwhelming, instead of his senses being dialled to 11 it felt like they were at a fucking 20 now. Hyperaware of you and only you, every movement, every breath, the beating of your heart, everything.

"What? B-but Pete-"

A gasp cut you off. Your head snapped towards the doorway, where Thor and Bruce stood.

"Thor, the kids got in." Bruce said in terror.

"B-Bruce!" You yelled in relief. "I- I don't know what's wrong with him- he just sorta collapsed, and he's acting really strange."

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, this isn't good." Bruce said rushing over to Peter. "Thor how do we fix this."

Thor looked down at him in pity, standing next to Bruce who was crouching on the opposite side of where you were. "The only known cure for someone who has been contaminated by a sex pollen plant is, well..sex."

Your head snapped towards Thor. "W-What?" You shrieked. "Is that what that thing is?" You started yelling angrily.

"Yes, and it must be with whoever's scent he smelled on the plant."

"Oh for fuck's sake, who brought a sex plant into the tower!"

"F-fuck, (Y/N)." Peter moaned loudly, eyes training on your figure. Getting more aroused at just how fucking hot you looked when you were mad. 

"Ah," Thor said, coming to a conclusion. "And it would seem that it would be you Lady (Y/N)."

You cleared your throat, opting to ignore Thor's last comment. "Okay what are we gonna do?" 

Thor looked at you in surprise, "Lady (Y/N) do you not know what sex entail-"

"Shut up Thor. I know how it works- but there's gotta be another way to help him." You gulped, looking down at him.

Bruce sighed, "I think- I think I'm gonna have to tell your dad. I'm pretty sure this isn't something I can fix in an hour by myself."

You huffed. "Fine, but we can't leave him here. Let's take him to his room."

You reached out and grabbed his arm, but at the loud moan he made due to the skin to skin contact you let go.

"I probably should have mentioned." Thor started. "That you shouldn't touch him."

"W-what? Why?"

"(Y/N) Please." Peter whined, trying to grab your wrist but you quickly pulled it out of reach.

You looked up at Thor. "It'll make him," Thor paused searching for the right word. "Eager? And you don't want that if you plan on looking for another cure- see he's trying to touch you now." 

Thor was right, just that small bit of skin to skin contact seemed to have sent Peter into a frenzy. Your head snapped down at him, as you realized he was just about to put his hand up your skirt. You quickly grabbed his hand, holding it in a tight grip so he'd stop getting handsy. Your other hand quickly grabbing his free one too as it came nearer.

"Fine, then Thor take him to his room."

"N-no." Peter stuttered. "Please, I-I need you." He said as Thor picked him up, making you let go of the hold on his hands. "No! Let go!" He yelled at Thor. "(Y/N)!"

Thor headed for the door while Peter began struggling violently in his hold.

Bruce shook his head. "Tony is not gonna like this."

You scoffed. "Y' think?"

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

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[divinewhimsy]

Ichor (DabixReader) Pt.2

Aaaah. Not that it was mega popular before but I’m having fun writing it. Dabi is more of my view of him rather than what I’ve seen him written like but I’m sure as I write for him more I’ll improve. Nevertheless, enjoy!

As always, Trigger warning for blood!

Part 1: X

Part 3: X

Enjoy~!

    You thought he would attack upon first waking up. That he would spring into action and immediately burn you to a crisp. All that would be left of you would be ashes or crispy pieces of flesh flaking away in the wind for him to season his dinner with. Death should have been imminent.

    What you didn’t expect was him to groan and puke all over your floor. The hot vomit staining your carpet, bile leaking into your hardwood floors as he rolls off the couch and onto the ground. He’s gritting his teeth and panting, squeezing as much air as he can into his lungs before more acid spills from his mouth. 

    And you’re just standing there. Wide eyed and unsure. What were you supposed to do? What are you supposed to do? The man you had healed and then subsequently taken hostage is now puking on your floor and you’re just staring at him. 

    What did you do to him? Could this be the overloading of your quirk? Is he allergic to blood? Can he not stand the taste? 

    Wait- if he couldn’t stand the taste then it would have been evident back when he was still bleeding to death. To have a reaction now is a secondary side effect. You tense as he tugs at the bandages around his head and tears them off. His lips part as he huffs and gulps down unrestricted access to oxygen. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, the clink of the catching staples the only noise beyond his heaving. 

    “Are you just going to stare?” he growls quietly and you meet his gaze. 

    Those cerulean eyes are staring into your soul again. The lively energy ripping away at your insides as he fixes you with a steady glare. He must still be mad. You did do this to him, after all.

    You don’t say anything and instead turn down the small hallway toward the bathroom. You grab the first few towels in the cabinet beneath the sink and rush back to the living room. You mop up the acidic liquid with the fluffy towels, grimacing at the smell and touch as some of it coats the back of your knuckles. The stranger moves out of your way eventually, his knees and the bottom hem of his shirt coated with the bile. He rests his head against the seat of the sofa and closes his eyes. 

    Steadying his breath, he sits still as you pick up the dirtied towels and toss them into the dirty clothes pile near the small washer and dryer you have in the far corner of your small kitchen area. You grab a small washcloth on your way back and wet it with cool water. Ringing it out slightly but keeping it damp you make your way toward the stranger and cautiously dab his mouth. 

    His reflexes are quick to catch you, his hand on your wrist with the same blazing warmth as before. His eyes snap open and the rage within them freezes over the heat he emits. A snarl starts to crawl up his lips as he flicks his gaze to the cloth and back to your face. But just as quickly as he snatched your wrist he lets go with a huff and glances away. 

    You’re not sure if it's a sign to continue or to back away but you’re not about to back down now. You did do this to him, after all. The guilt is writhing in your stomach as you watch him. Even if you’re on your knees beside him and trying to help- the hateful gleam in his eyes makes you feel smaller than even a speck of dust. 

    Despite the fact you kidnapped him. Which he hasn’t seemed to fully process just yet. 

    “You’re starting to stare holes into my face.” he seethes and his gaze glues back to yours. “Out with it.”

    “Oh.” you swallow and back away a bit from him. “I wasn’t sure if you were okay with me still helping or not.”

    He takes a deep breath and runs a hand down his face slowly. After it falls from his chin and to his lap he shoves it toward you, palm up to the ceiling.

    “Give me the damn rag.” he growls quietly and you oblige happily. 

    He runs the damp cloth down his face carefully and you watch as he tenderly dabs at the spots near his staples keeping his burnt skin connected. 

    ‘It must be difficult..’ you think to yourself as you watch him curiously. With all those...Piercings? Staples? Did they really hold his skin up like that? Are they just for show or do they actually have a purpose? Do they hurt as much as it looks like they do? Questions filter through your mind rapidly and you find his gaze torn back to yours begrudgingly. 

    “What?” he sighs.

    “Do they hurt?” you mumble and motion toward his cheekbones and the staples that sit there. “The staples?”

    “Is it any of your damn business?”

    “It was just a question.” you sigh and accept the rag he shoves back to you. 

    He watches as you stand and drop the cloth back with the other towels. You pause near the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from your fridge. You hand it to him as you sit awkwardly to his left on the couch. 

    What are you doing, treating him like a guest and not some hostage? Your damn impulses are going to get you into some serious trouble one day. Maybe that day is actually today. 

    He just grunts as he takes the bottle and tears off the cap. He gulps down the water greedily, streams of the liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth as he doesn’t stop to breathe. 

    He must have been really thirsty. Could it be another side effect? 

    He tosses the empty bottle to the ground and huffs again. You watch as he stretches his legs out underneath the coffee table and rests his head completely against the cushion beside you. His eyes search your face with a bored expression, the dull look in his eyes nothing like the fire that had been burning before. 

    “What did you do to me.” he demands quietly. “Why can’t I use my quirk? Did you erase it?”

    “Erase it?” you quirk a brow. “I can’t do that.”

    “Then what the hell did you do?”

    “I told you before. I healed your dying ass.” you grumble. “I’m not sure why any of...this is happening now.” you motion toward the wooden floor damp with his bile. 

    He falls quiet and rolls his eyes. 

    “You better find a new line, doll. I’m getting tired of the same shit answer.”

    “If I had a better one I might consider giving it to you.” you sneer and cross your arms over your chest. “But here’s the deal. No one can know about my quirk.”

    “Are you really in any position to make demands?”

    “Are you?” you push back. 

    He doesn’t answer.

    “Exactly.” you mumble. “I’ve been hidden too long with this power doing what little I can to help those I get to. If word gets out about it there’s no way I’d be able to continue living my peaceful, dull life. I don’t know what your name or your mission is but I want no part in it. I don’t care if you’re a villain or a hero or a vigilante. All I care about is you keep quiet.”

    “So you kidnap me?” he scuffs. “Not a very heroic thing to do. Sounds a little villainous, doll face.”

    “I never said I was a hero or a villain.” you spit back. “I just want to live my life in peace. If that means I have to keep you here until you agree then so be it.”

    “So my quirk being gone isn’t an accident. You’re keeping me powerless on purpose.” 

    “No. I was telling the truth when I told you this has never happened before. I’ve never had someone’s quirk disappear and I’ve never kidnapped someone.” you mumble the last part and avoid looking at his face. 

    “Well this blows.” he sighs. “Not that I’m buying into your bullshit but let’s pretend I do. What now? You want my silence, I want my quirk back. What are you going to do about it?”

    “I don’t know-”

    “Errrrrrrrrr.” he makes a loud buzzing noise. “Try again.”

    “I already told you that I have no idea why it-”

    Another loud buzzing noise, the error sound pouring from his lips as he jabs a thumb down. You steel your nerves and collect yourself. You can’t let this bastard get to you. Not if you want his silence.

    If he wants his quirk back he’ll have to remain here until it returns. It’s the only way to monitor the differences between him and the others you’ve used your own abilities on. As much as you despise the idea you can’t think of a better one where you’re both satisfied. 

    Compromise. That’s all this is. 

    “Fine. As much as I detest the idea,” you hiss, “the only way I can think to solve both of our issues is for you to stay here so I can monitor the effects. If I keep an eye on your vitals and compare the differences to past recipients I might be able to figure out how to reverse the change. The only way to do that and not attract attention is for you to stay here until I can reverse the...incident.” 

    The man falls back to silence and you wonder if he ever even heard you in the first place. Is he ignoring you? Is he doing this just to get under your skin? If he thinks for one second that being a child and acting so impishly is the way to solve this issue then he’ll have to regain more than just his quirk when you knock him senseless! 

    “Fine.” he groans after several moments. “If you get me my quirk back then I’ll think about not letting your stupid secret slip. Not that I give two shits about it to begin with.” 

    You release a breath you never realized you were holding. Good. So at least he’s intelligent to recognize a good compromise when it falls in his lap. As much as you don’t like the idea of the stranger staying here..

    “I don’t know your name.” you say quietly. “What should I call you?”

    “I never got your name either, sweetheart.” he yawns and casts a lazy glance your way. “You first.”

    UGH.

    “You can call me Ichor. It’s what I tell other people I’ve helped to call me.”

    “Ichor? That’s what you’re going with?” he sneers.

    “Oh? And I suppose you have something better you go by?”

    “Dabi.” he breathes and rests his elbows against the cushion. 

    Well at least he has no trouble making himself at home. Ignoring the admittedly interesting name he gave you to call him you uncross your legs impatiently. 

“Considering you just emptied your stomach I’m going to bank on the fact you don’t want something to eat?” you sigh and stand from the couch. 

“Nah.” he shrugs and you take a deep breath. 

You can do this. Your quirk will probably fade from him in a couple of hours and then everything will go back to normal. No stranger living in your house, no worries about any of your business getting out into the world. 

“Tell me about your quirk.” he pipes up and gets to his feet, following behind you. 

“Take your boots off.” you scuff and look down at his dirty leather boots. 

What sounds like a frustrated breath releases from him before he balances on one foot and tugs his boot off, tossing it toward the door and missing completely. It lands halfway between the kitchen and the living room, dropped on its side. 

You raise a brow and glance back at him as he tugs his other one off and tosses it just as carelessly. You pray his feet won’t stink judging but the amount of dirt in the boots. 

“Your quirk?” he presses and hops onto one of the barstools by the island. 

“I can heal others by them consuming some part of me. It enhances their bodies to repair damage done physically- even mortal wounds that can kill. Beyond that it boosts their bodies. Quirks, senses, it’s like a shot of fast acting steroids. But I have to willingly give them the part they consume. Blood works the best.” 

“So kinda like a reverse vampire?” he mocks and you pointedly ignore the quiet chuckle he gives. 

“If that’s how you wish to see it.” you seethe. “I can over produce blood, as well. My body makes it rapidly so there are times I must take it upon myself to drain the excess.” 

You open your fridge and motion toward the bags of blood waiting to be used. 

“If I were to drink one now would you still have control of it’s boosts?” he nods toward them as you grab a handful of ingredients to start cooking. 

“Yes. They hold my essence. Although they’re not in my body currently they’re still pieces of myself.” 

“What about the effects it has on you?” 

“I can’t give myself a boost, if that’s what you mean.” you furrow your brows as you start filling a pot full of water and bring it over to the stove. 

You set the burner on medium and move to wash the vegetables you grabbed before. You scrub each one diligently as he tosses questions at you. 

“Can you bring someone back to life?” 

“I don’t know.” you sigh. “I’ve never tried. The people I reach are still alive by some standard.” 

You hate giving up this much info about your quirk but you need to. In order to get him out of your hair. 

Although you’re not sure if you can trust him to keep the secret. 

“What if I was dead?” he ponders and you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“No. I would have known.” 

“Oh, so you’re an expert in all things life and death?” he rolls his eyes. “Look sweet cheeks, you’re not a professional. You’re going off of experience. You can’t honestly tell me I wasn’t dead.” 

“Expert or no,” you hiss. “I know death when I see. I know death like the back of my hand. I’ve fought it off with my quirk. I know the fringes of fleeting life well enough to know if someone is capable of being saved or not. I haven’t tried with someone where I didn’t feel those frayed ends. And when I got to you I still could feel the threads there.”

    “Alright so what is different? Did you do something you normally don’t when saving some other poor bastard?”

“No.” you shake your head and pause. “Well, maybe. Normally I bring the bags of extra blood with me. I don’t normally give directly from the source. Maybe it’s too potent? Or maybe it’s the oxidation process that changes it? If the blood in the bags is exposed longer than perhaps without that long of an exposure it’ll change the properties.”

“Well it’s good to know you don’t normally go around bleeding on people.” Dabi scuffs and you sigh. 

“What about you, hm? What's different now compared to when you normally summon your quirk?”

“Besides the fact it doesn’t appear?” he sneers. “When I first woke up my senses were in overdrive. I thought it could have been because of the adrenaline of fighting and waking up after being knocked out. But when my quirk started...acting on it’s own, it flickered outside of my control. I could feel my body temperature rise higher than it normally does but the flames wouldn’t follow. It was suffocating.”

Overdrive.. That was definitely your quirk in action. It’s like steroids on steroids to any quirk user- when it’s not from the source directly. If it was less contained and more chaotic, it’s possible his quirk is too powerful to be contained in the state it put him in.

You turn over your arm to look at the wrist you had sliced open to feed him. The skin is puffy and red with use- and to your surprise- there’s a scar. A large, thin line that pulls from the bottom of your palm to two inches into your forearm. You can see your veins wrap around it unpleasantly, the blood running through you throbbing in your heart. But it’s interesting as you look at it further, noticing branches emitting from the scar. Has it always been so treelike? 

“You can control it, right?” Dabi interrupts your thoughts and you blink back to reality, turning to face him across the island. 

“Yes.” you nod. 

“Take it away from me.” he orders and you furrow your brows. 

“If I do that you could end up right back where you were before-”

“You’ve already done that. You put me out, girlie. But you didn’t take it all away, did you?”

You swallow nervously and hold your breath.

“I won’t take it all.” you shake your head. “I don’t want to be the reason you die if I do.”

“How sweet. But I’m not asking.” he snaps. “Do it.”

You turn your gaze to him but your anger doesn’t rise up. It doesn’t flood your system as it should. You summon your quirk, pulling at the threads that connect Dabi to you. They’re still there. You give one a tug and watch as nothing happens. He doesn’t even blink. Did it drain his energy? Or does he not feel it?

You tug another back into your wrist and watch in silence as he blinks at you.

“You’re doing it, aren’t you?” he grumbles. “Your eyes...they go red.”

You snag three more threads and his body slumps lower, his chest heaving in air as your mind grows dizzy. To pull it back so quickly and twice in one day is beyond what you normally do. Taking it away isn’t something you normally do- it’s requiring much more energy than it does to give it. 

But you push through. 

Three more strings curl back into your arm and your body threatens to give out from under you. You can feel your lungs ache for air but you can’t summon them to pull it in. You can barely focus on the scene before you as your eyelids dip dangerously close to shutting. 

“I can’t-” you gasp and release the threads you took from his body, the snap of them between you two causing both of you to tremble in the aftershocks. 

“Lack of experience or consciousness?” Dabi sucks in a breath. 

“Both?” you murmur and stumble to turn the stove off before you let your body slink to the ground. “I’ve never had to take it back.”

“I think I’m gonna nap.” Dabi grumbles and sluggishly wobbles over to the couch before he drops down on it face first.

You’re inclined to agree but your legs won’t move. Your body is demanding rest as you coil back down into yourself, the taught threads between you and Dabi tangling together into one as you lose yourself to slumber.

[arrantsnowdrop]

Early Morning Mayhem - Poe Dameron x reader (fluff)

Warnings: some mentions of anxiety, other than that it's pretty fluffy, 2,735 words

A/N: This was not requested but I've had this idea since I watched TROS (which was literally months ago at this point). I haven't written for the Star Wars fandom before but I'd love to write some stuff for characters from any of the three trilogies, Rogue 1, or the several tv series-es! Request away if you have any ideas/concepts I could make into some oneshots, and enjoy this fun little Poe fic :)

When Snap Wexley joined the Resistance, he begged you to come with him. You had been neighbors since you were children growing up on Akiva, and were nearly inseparable by the time you were five. When you were ten, Nora Wexley taught you both how to fly, and when you were twelve, you helped him cope with her sudden departure. You collected scrap metal and spare parts for him to sell when he opened his small business, and when his mother finally returned, you kept the shop open while he helped her hunt down Imperial fugitives.

You were blatantly displeased when he told you he’d been recruited as a fighter pilot, and rightfully so. The last thing you wanted was for your best friend to get blown up into a million tiny pieces. Naturally, your concerns sparked a heated debate about the soundness of his decision:

“I’m just worried, that’s all,” you said exasperatedly.

“(Y/n), I’m literally the best pilot you know,” Snap joked. You rolled your eyes.

“The First Order isn’t going to give a damn about how great you are while they’re trying to kill you!” A pause. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Snap. I wouldn’t be able to deal with it if you did,” you said softly.

“So come with me then,” Snap replied instantly. You blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Come with me, join the Resistance. You’ll be able to know where I am and what I’m doing all the time, so you’ll be less worried,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Yea, but what will I do?” you asked. “I’m not gonna enlist as a pilot, we both know I can’t fly under pressure.” Snap chuckled and nodded.

“True, but you’re also the best mechanic I know. I’m sure the Resistance is gonna need someone to fix all the X-wings I’m bound to break.”

You laughed quietly, then looked around at the stacks of broken machinery piled high in Snap’s home.

“What about the shop?” you asked.

“(Y/n),” Snap said seriously, “the Resistance is going to support you way more than any profits from this place ever will.” He gestured wildly to the store around him. “This isn’t important. You’d be stupid to stay if you’re thinking about the money.”

You nodded, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully (a nervous habit). Finally you looked back up at him.

“I’ll do it,” you stated firmly.

“Really?”

“Really.”

When you arrived at the Resistance base on D’Qar, Snap had eagerly introduced you to Goss Toowers, one of the senior starship mechanics for the Resistance’s fleet. Goss had been thrilled you wanted to join the technical crew, and offered you a position as a mechanic right away (“This is so exciting, we love getting new members on tech crew,” he had gushed happily. You couldn’t help but smile).

You found that the Resistance’s fleet of T-70 X-wings were quite similar to the T-65 models you had learned to fly with Snap back home, just with slightly different engines and weapons pods. It didn’t take you long to establish yourself as one of the most skilled mechanics on the tech crew, with the most severely damaged X-wings going directly to your station after battles.

You had to admit, you understood why Snap had been so eager to join the Resistance. You felt like you had become a part of something much bigger and more important than yourself, and you truly enjoyed every moment of your job.

You also enjoyed getting to know the many technicians and pilots you worked with. You’d always been more reserved with people you didn’t know well, but it had only taken you a few days to become close friends with Jess Pava.

Jess had also made it her mission to introduce you to as many of the fighter pilots as she could (“Then you can know whose X-wing you’re fixing,” she’d pointed out). While it was certainly overwhelming at first, you were more than grateful for the new friendships you had formed.

That being said, there were many pilots you had yet to meet, including the famed Poe Dameron.

It wasn't like you didn’t know who he was, everyone knew about Commander Dameron and his seemingly endless list of accomplishments - you’d even performed repairs on his distinct X-wing once or twice . Still, the closest you had gotten to meeting him was when you watched him climb out of his slightly damaged cockpit after a narrow victory over the First Order; he’d disappeared into a sea of celebrating rebels before you’d gotten the chance to say hello.

That’s why it was startling when he ran up to you in the cafeteria in the middle of the night, asking you to fix his ship.

There had been a small skirmish the day before that had escalated into a larger fight, resulting in many casualties. The mechanic team had spent the entire day fixing up the X-wing fleet, which had proved to be quite exhausting. 

By midnight, most of your fellow mechanics had gone to bed, saving the rest of the repairs for the next day. You’d finally decided that your lack of energy was inhibiting your ability to work, so you’d decided to get a few hours of sleep before resuming the repairs.

You were just grabbing a cup of tea on the way to your room when you heard someone frantically yelling your name.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)!”

You turned around quickly, seeing none other than Poe Dameron sprinting towards you, his well-known orange BB unit following behind him.

You blinked twice in confusion, honestly thinking you were so tired you had begun to hallucinate. No, you concluded, watching as Poe came to a stop in front of you, hunched over slightly and panting to catch his breath; the man in front of you was very real, and seemed very concerned.

“Uh, yes?” you replied slowly, absolutely bewildered as to why a Resistance Commander would be looking for you at two in the morning.

“X-wing, needs repairs,” Poe managed breathlessly, still recovering from his intense running stint. The droid beside him beeped twice in agreement, wobbling quickly from side to side.

“Yea, I’m so sorry I didn’t get to fixing it today, but it’ll definitely be done some time tomorrow-” you started, but Poe quickly cut you off.

“Leia needs me to go on a mission in two hours,” he interrupted, “and with the upper left wing mostly detached, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it out of the hangar, let alone to Onderon.” 

You felt your heart drop, realizing the gravity of the situation. His brows furrowed, seeming to sense your nervousness.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, concern laced in his voice. “You just got super pale.”

“Yea, yea I’m fine,” you reassured softly, though he did not seem convinced. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go and fix it up right now.”

You bit your lip as you turned to go, realizing it was going to be nearly impossible to fix his ship in two hours. The wing wasn’t the only thing that was damaged - Goss had said something about a problem with both the engine and the flight computer. While you were definitely capable of fixing them, you knew it was going to take a significant amount of time, and you were already so tired.

“Wait, (Y/n),” Poe said, grabbing your arm and gently turning you back to face him. You blushed, immediately moving out of his grip. If Poe noticed he didn’t say anything.

“BB-8 and I can help you if you want, I know I fucked up my ship pretty bad,” he chuckled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. You smiled a little and nodded.

“Yea, you definitely did,” you joked softly. Poe smiled, and you blushed again, looking down at the floor. “Um, if you’d like to help I’d appreciate that very much.”

“Alright then, off to the hangar!” he exclaimed, jogging out of the hangar and taking off down the hall.

“Does he run everywhere?” you asked BB-8, who beeped a quick ‘yes’ before rushing out of the room to follow Poe.

~~~~~

An hour later, you’d managed to reattach the wing and had started to rewire the flight computer. It seemed like enemy fire had severed the connection between the computer and the rest of the ship, so you’d have to reconnect it before doing anything else.

Poe had been working on the damaged part of the left split-engine. The upper engine had been damaged along with the wing - nothing too serious, and Poe had assured you that he’d done similar repairs many times before.

“I think the engine is all set,” he called. You looked over your shoulder to where he was straddling the engine, mindlessly tossing a wrench he’d borrowed from you between his hands.

“Do you want me to check it?” you asked from where you were perched on the front part of the ship. He looked up at you and nodded, groaning as the wrench he’d been playing with dropped to the floor.

You laughed and jumped onto the ground, picking the metal tool up off the ground on your way over to him. You peered into the engine, carefully inspecting his work.

“Looks great!” you smiled as you looked up at him, setting the metal tool down next to him.

“Thank you very much, miss mechanic,” he replied with a grin. You rolled your eyes as he picked the wrench up and began to toss it again - Jess was right, Poe Dameron truly was a five year old trapped in a thirty-two year old’s body.

You stretched your arms over your head and sighed. You were still very tired, but Poe’s relentless chatter had woken you up somewhat.

“How’s the computer looking?” he asked.

“Alright,” you replied, climbing up the ladder you’d set against the ship earlier. “I’m almost done reconnecting the computer system to the ship, and then I have to turn it on and see if I need to reprogram anything.”

“Sounds very technical,” Poe said thoughtfully. You laughed and nodded, picking up a stray black wire and beginning to feed it into its designated port.

“This part is mostly just putting the right wires in the right spot, so not super complicated,” you said. “It’s basically a puzzle.”

“Well, it looks pretty complicated to me,” Poe said, hopping down from the top of the engine to put the wrench back in your toolbox. You grinned as you snapped the final wire into place.

“BB-8, can you turn the ship on?” you called to the small droid sitting in the astromech socket. BB-8 chirped happily, and after a few seconds you felt the X-wing rumble to life. From where you were sitting, you could see the panels in the cockpit begin to light up.

“The flight computer is officially reconnected,” you stated, getting up and doing a small happy dance as you walked over to the cockpit.

Poe laughed as you hopped in, squinting at the dashboard in front of you.

“Can you hand me the little red case in my toolbox?” you asked Poe.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, saluting you jokingly as he grabbed the toolbox and reached up into the cockpit to hand it to you.

You mumbled a thank you and grabbed the case, covering your mouth with your free hand as you stifled a yawn. 

“You tired?” he asked, folding his arms across the edge of the cockpit and using his hand to prop his head up.

You nodded, opening the case and grabbing a thin metal rod. Some of the lights on the dash were flickering, and a few hadn’t turned on at all. You figured some of the integrated circuits inside the dashboard had come loose during the fighting.

“I’ve been up since five,” you said, pressing a button on the dashboard and removing the control panel.

“In the afternoon?” Poe said, grabbing hold of the control panel as you passed it to him.

“This morning,” you clarified, reaching into the now exposed circuit board of the ship. You grinned, your theory having been right, and used the metal rod to jostle some of the computer chips back into place.

“So you’ve been working all day then?” Poe asked. You nodded, looking back at him and frowning at the guilty look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, taking the dashboard back into your own hands.

“I’m so sorry for asking you to do this,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I should’ve asked Goss or someone else.”

“Poe, it’s fine,” you said reassuringly, sliding the panel back into place.

“No, it’s not,” he said bluntly. “I bet you were going back to your room when I found you, right?”

You bit your lip and nodded slowly, grimacing as Poe cursed and jumped back onto the ground.

“I’m such an asshole!” he groaned.

“Poe, look at me,” you called, waiting until he finally met your gaze to continue talking. “I agreed to do this, remember? This isn’t your fault at all.”

“I still feel bad,” he muttered.

“An all-nighter every once in a while doesn’t do any harm,” you said nonchalantly, sliding out of the cockpit. “And I wasn’t going to sleep much anyways.”

He looked at you softly as you set your tools back down on your work table and wiped your hands on your pants. You looked up at him and grinned, then gestured to his ship.

“She’s ready for flying, Dameron,” you beamed. He chuckled walking over to you and pulling you into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much, (Y/n),” he said, voice slightly muffled by your hair.

“You’re very welcome, Poe,” you replied, relishing in the feeling of his strong arms and chest under his flight suit. “You can ask me to fix your ship anytime.”

“I will definitely take advantage of that,” he said, pulling back and looking down at you. “It always flies better after you fix it.” You gasped, grinning in pleasant surprise.

“You notice when I fix your X-wing?” you asked. He nodded.

“Of course I do, half the time I make sure it goes directly to you after I get back from skirmishes and the like,” he added. You bit your lip and looked down at your feet.

“I didn’t know you knew who I was,” you admitted softly. He laughed, using his hand to tilt your head back up. You blushed, a little lost in his dark brown eyes.

“(Y/n), everyone knows who you are, you’re like the best mechanic in the Resistance,” he said genuinely. You smiled bashfully at his compliment.

“Thank you,” you said softly. He nodded and stepped back, grabbing his helmet from the table next to you.

“Well, duty calls,” he said, a grin on his face as he put his helmet on. You giggled.

“Be safe,” you said.

“Anything for my favorite mechanic,” he replied with a wink. You blushed again and looked down at your shoes.

“You ready, bud?” Poe called to BB-8, who beeped excitedly. He laughed and climbed into the cockpit, looking back at you before he shut it.

“Would you like to go out for dinner when I get back?” he asked, a smile on his face. You grinned, setting your hand on your hip.

“Are you asking me on a date, Dameron?” you asked. He bit his lip and nodded.

“I do believe I am.”

“Well,” you replied, “if you don’t unintentionally snap another wing off your X-wing, I’ll most definitely be available.” Poe laughed.

“See you tonight then!” he called as he closed the cockpit.

You backed up and waved as he made his way out of the hangar and onto the runway outside. You were still grinning as he took off, and you didn’t stop watching him until his ship was just a speck against the dark sky.

Two hours ago, you were sitting in the cafeteria with your cup of tea, and now you had been invited to dinner by the Poe Dameron, who apparently both knew who you were and admired your work. It was a lot to take in.

You grabbed your toolbox and headed over to the next ship awaiting repairs; you still had a lot of work to finish if you wanted to sneak in a nap before going on a date with the best pilot in the Resistance.

[candideangel]

The Cat’s Away

inspired from @invidia1988​‘s AU story

@meepsthemiqo @maiden-born-in-snow

He had long since taught himself to be poise, in control, ever since he took up the mantle of a city leader, the days behind the hood where only the up or downturn of his lips would show if he were expressing if he were happy or sad...along with his vocal tones. This night, G’raha’s tail twitched with agitation as the events that had come to pass were steadily growing on his shoulders, his fingers clenched a book so hard his usually sun-kissed knuckles turned white. He couldn’t blame a person for not liking him...not a bit...he was someone who could turn a cheek...accept his consequences. He could take Meeps’ scorn having long since kept a wide berth from her with the exception of aiding Angelique in their repentance...and it was all he COULD do. The one he loved was trying so hard to repair the bridges that perhaps were burned to ashes by this point, this latest amount of ire had been the stone that broke the chocobo’s back. The Scions were to simply brush this under the rug because the Reaper’s reasons were supposedly valid! And perhaps it was, but he wasn’t quite in the mood to fully accept that now.

His fingers gripped tighter to the book before he slammed it shut, his body shaking with a torrent of emotion. Did he really belong here? He was a murderer, a breaker of people, the cheater of death...even though he tried...tried so hard to do everything right. Anger for the briefest moment filled his veins and though Krile would have certainly scolded him greatly, he tossed the tome hard across the room...waiting for it to hit the wall, but G’raha’s ears flattened to his skull when he heard the book crash into something with a smashing of metal, not even noticing the ruffling sound of feathers as it startled a bird. “Shite!” he cursed and scrambled off the perch of the small sofa Angelique had put into their room since he became comfortable sharing the space with her. Actually the room had been more than barren with a few momentos until he came, including the now smashed music box that had crashed to the floor, gold cogs and springs sprayed out to the thin metal plating and the star ruby that had been the centerpiece rolled across the smooth stones. 

“Raha?” The sound of her voice caused the Miqo’te’s breath to hitch slightly, Angelique had leaned down to pick up the gemstone that was lying by her foot and to the broken piece of work and G’raha looking like he was about to break.

“I...I’m so sorry...I didn’t…” he stammered out, but his heart was lodged somewhere in his throat making a once silver tongue completely useless.

“It’s fine, it can be fixed.” Angelique told him as she went over to inspect the parts, it would take time but she could find someone to repair the piece in Ul’dah. Reaching over she would pick up the tome that he had been reading, it was an old book...written in the language of Allag. “Thank goodness this isn’t hurt, I think you’d be upset if it were-” That was when she finally stopped and saw the glazing eyes of tears he was trying so hard to fight back, but the smile on his face was that of someone who was trying to not let it show.

“All the people I stepped on...all my selfish desires...every single thing I do that’s right...I still wind up breaking something or someone…” G’raha barked a bitter laugh, but it faltered halfway through. “I escaped and made enemies of a Reaper...your friends outside of a select few hate me…”

“They don’t-”

“Did you not see the look on Estinien’s face?! Or maybe the way Y’shtola had gone along with the explanation because she’s full-certain that there is no way I can go toe to toe with the Reaper! I’m pretty sure as kind as Alphinaud is, he resents me too, somehow!” His voice rose, the sadness and bitterness switching all too quickly to anger. Perhaps the moment in his mind, it felt like truly everyone was against him by this point. “YOU are trying to repent and make Meeps genuinely not hate me anymore because I am basically a murderer in her eyes! YOU are suffering for the mistakes I made!” He needed to stop his anger, his voice was beginning to crack a little, but he shouldered all he could. The barrier had finally just broken. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pleaded to come back! Maybe I am so much better off not being here, then maybe everyone would be much happier! Just a statue and a memory!”

Silence fell at the end of the last statement as G’raha’s chest heaved for breath and Angelique stood there still holding the book, but the look in her green eyes was obviously stricken.

“...I wouldn’t be happier…” the hyur spoke quietly, making the Allagan princeling stiffen when he finally looked to her, the sorrow in her eyes...and internally he just chalked it to him acting like a petulant child, selfish...and unrealistic.

“...I…” G’raha sighed and scrubbed his palm against his face for a moment, fingers threatening to tug at his own bangs, “...I...didn’t mean that...I’m sorry...everything just came out…” He mumbled and just let his hand drop back to his side almost limply, if only just a little bit worn from the social stress that had occurred. “Believe me when I say that every part of my heart is happy that you are here, that we were given this chance, but...the path around how…everyone I ended up hurting...making things worse instead of better...it makes me yearn to be back on the First. To a time where I didn’t cause such problems outside of lying...and putting everyone in danger.”

Angelique sighed softly as she set the book down somewhere not on the pile of smashed gold plates before pulling G’raha over to her and hugged him as tight as she could and with a shaky breath and would let his head fall onto her shoulder. Inside he still felt as if he had become a spoiled child who just simply yearned for the affection of others...and perhaps that was the truth. Slowly though as he felt her warmth and could hear the beat of her heart, he knew he did belong deeper down, just...not for everyone. The bard’s hand nestled softly against the back of his head, moving in smooth and steady strokes.

“You’re stressed…” Angelique muttered softly and her thumb rubbed a small junction between his ear and skull that caused a small rumble to start in his chest. “And...probably being cooped up here in the Rising Stones probably isn’t the best for yourself mentally.” She pulled back and lightly rest her hands on his shoulders and gave him a little smile. “The music box can be repaired later, but for now...why don’t you and I go to Gridania for a little while? Miounne might have some of her famous pies and we can have some of the harder spirits. Away from the others.”

G’raha wouldn’t deny her that...it was a sad excuse for a remedy to turn to the drink, but he wanted her companionship, if only to numb the wound that had struck his pride. When she had taken his hand they walked from the room and from the halls lined with rooms and through the main hub that was the Scion’s headquarters, but he could feel their looks and his ears flattened with his head bowing, as if he were still under the same level of scrutiny as earlier. Angelique silently squeezed his hand a little tighter, still walking with a purpose as they went to the upper tavern and into the streets of Revnant’s Toll. Though there, they did not linger as Angelique and G’raha had gone to the large aetheryte and took that moment to focus their pathway to Gridania.

~o~o~

A bell, perhaps two had passed since they reached the Caroline Canopy, seated at a table in the quiet aside from a bit of idle chatter and the sounds of night birds outside. G’raha absently ran a finger around the lip of a metal mug, still half filled with the spirits Angelique had purchased for them. He had been in a much more calm state, but part of him still looked a bit broken up. Angelique set down her own mug, empty this time with a soft thunk against the wooden table.

“G’raha, I’ve been thinking...what if we left for a little while?” she spoke calmly, reaching down to shift what had always been deemed as her light travel bag down into her lap where out popped two miniature versions of himself. The wind-up mammets that typically had a rivalry but seemed to have calmed down a little since they have been home. Green eyes watched though as his ears perked up a little to the mention.

“Leave, how do you mean?” he asked for a moment the world took a small spin when he tried to sit up straighter. It had been ages since he took to drinking anything outside of tea and his world swayed just a little from the influence.

“You and I, as well as these two, get away from the Scions and the others for a time. It’s obvious that if you stick around there, it’s just going to make you stress and recluse. Maybe we can go on that journey, anywhere you would like to go, I’m sure there’s plenty of material about the places I’ve gone, but there has to be one that perhaps even you would have wanted to go?” Angelique gave him a smile and for a brief moment G’raha could feel his heart swell, while she had made that promise under a possible moment of duress...she wanted to take him because they wanted that same thing.

“...Honestly, I’ve seen much in my time, aside from Ishgard and the Fringes towards Ala Mhigo, but Othard has always struck me as interesting.” He replied tail swaying a little bit, it seemed that the agitation was gone for the moment. “The way you speak of the country makes your eyes sparkle...as if you were never meant to be a Shroud-born.” He teased a little before taking another drink, definitely more at ease than when they were in their room. Idly his eyes watched as the minions were crossing on the table, just walking and looking around. 

Angelique’s smile seemed to brighten a little, they could take her way which was following the Aetherytes, but instead she could get them a trip to Limsa Lominsa, stay at the inn, and by day they could take a boat to Othard. “I like that idea.” she told him and would begin to relay what she was thinking, watching as the Miqo’te’s ears perked and swiveled as she explained. Perhaps some time away would do some good, it would give him some time to create a sense of balance and hopefully would be fully ready to face everyone’s ire afterward. “Mother Miounne! Two more drinks over here!” Angelique called to the caretaker with a beaming smile, if they wanted to get more than halfway to the sweet embrace of inebriation, she’d be happy to pay for it tonight.

When she did order the drinks as well as some soft breads, G’raha had found himself lightly playing with the two minions whom he often found himself being jealous of and vying for the bard’s affection and attention. The said bard though was speaking through the linkpearl, “Tataru, it’s Angelique. I’m just letting you know that myself and G’raha are going to be...away for a little while.”

“A-Away? What do you mean? Where are you off to?”

“We...just decided that maybe it’s for the best, at the moment, to let things calm down. All the goings-on isn’t good for everyone involved. Everything is just...raw.”

“I see…” Tataru’s voice trailed off in Angelique’s ear, but then came the question that gave the hyur pause, “...If they do come asking for either of you...what would you like me to tell them?”

“Tell them to send a Mail Moogle. The one in Revnant’s Toll can find me easy enough if it follows my aether trail. I’m going to keep our linkpearls off for a time.” Besides, if Estinien wanted to he could track them down anyways, or whoever was in a good mood at the time. Besides, she didn’t really feel like getting an earful in the middle of the night. There was a sputter of a response but Tataru reluctantly agreed. When the connection fell silent Angelique picked up her fresh drink and took a few large gulps from it as her other hand reached to her ear and removed the pearl to stuff it away into the bottom of her travel bag, enjoying the rest of the evening with G’raha Tia...at least until they had to stumble their way to Limsa Lominsa’s inn like partially drunk sailors.

[theladyofdeath]

The Arrival {2nd Gen/part 3}

It’s been a while, but here’s part 3!

Written, of course, alongside @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​

The Arrival {Modern AU ACOTAR 2nd gen PART I} The Arrival {Modern AU ACOTAR 2nd gen PART II}

Enjoy. :)

Cassian jolted awake, thanks to Scarlett kicking wildly from inside of the womb. His arm had been draped across Nesta’s baby bump, and he’d been sleeping so soundly, until baby girl decided it was time for them both to wake up.

Nesta groaned, her eyes still closed as she muttered, “I hate you for knocking me up over and over and over again.”

Cassian murmured something that even he couldn’t distinguish in response. 

“I have to pee,” Nesta sighed, rising to her feet.

It would only be a matter of time before their door was thrown open and their boys ran in, ready to start their day at this ungodly hour.

“That’s why she woke you up,” Cassian said, flipping over onto his stomach. “It was getting too crowded in there with your big, old bladder.”

Nesta mumbled something about being old and big and flipped him off, but he didn’t see.

“Is anyone else up yet?” Cassian asked, voice muffled thanks to his current position of face down in the pillow.

“Not that I can hear,” Nesta said, waddling to the bathroom.

“Need coffee,” he groaned and rolled to her side of the bed, scooping her pillow into his arms and snuggling up to it. “Need bacon.”

In a matter of moments, Cassian fell back asleep, and when he awoke, he was being used as a human trampoline.

“Daddy, daddy, up!” John was already in his little swim trunks, his sunglasses crooked on his face.

“Daddy’s sleeping,” Cassian murmured. “Go wake up your uncles.”

“They’re already awake!” John said. “Uncle Rhysie is making yums.”

Cassian arched a brow. “Bacon?”

“Sooooo much bacon,” John said.

Cassian looked around, just now noticing Nesta was gone. “Where’s mommy?”

“With Aunt Lainy and Aunt Feyre,” John said. “You’re the only one sleeping, daddy, come on!”

John hopped off the bed and grabbed Cassian’s big hand in both of his. He pulled as hard as he could, but Cass didn’t budge.

Thorn stuck his head in the doorway, “Mom says that if you don’t get up, she won’t let you introduce tonight.”

Cassian cocked his head to the side and looked at his oldest child in confusion. “She won’t what?”

Nesta happened to be walking by, an arm full of towels on top of her belly. “‘Induce’,” she sighed, accepting that college most likely wouldn’t be in the future for their firstborn. “I’m not going to have sex with you if you don’t get out of bed.”

Cassian was immediately up, tossing John in the hall and shutting the door in his face. He hollered, “Be right out, buddy!”

He stripped down and ran through the shower before he quickly dressed in his swim shorts and headed into the kitchen, where breakfast was being served. 

He piled his plate high with bacon and sat between Livy and Lily at the long table.

“Good morning, ladies,” Cassian said, shoving a strip of bacon into his mouth.

“Put on a shirt, Uncle Cassi,” Livy ordered. Lily was quick to agree. 

He chuckled.

“It’s about time you woke up,” Rhysand said, sitting across from him, winking at his twins.

“Someone kept me up all night,” Cassian muttered, staring at his wife as she swept into the kitchen. “Baby girl makes her have to piss every two minutes.”

“Bad word!” Luna groaned, shoving a fork full of eggs into her mouth as she eyed her uncle from down the table. “Ugh.”

Lily asked, “Are we going out on the boat today, Uncle Cass?”

“Of course,” he said, reaching over and grabbing one of Azriel’s pieces of toast from his plate.

He looked up and stared at him. “Dude.”

“Do something about it.” There was a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes.

Azriel opened his mouth to reply, but Feyre interrupted and said, “Everything in this home is on a ‘you break it, you buy it’ policy. If you’re going to brawl, do it outside.”

Elain laughed and said, “It’s a piece of toast, it’s not a big-.”

Azriel snatched multiple pieces of bacon off of Cassian’s plate and flew out the back door.

Cass was out of his chair and after him in an instant, yelling, “You little shit!”

“Bad word!” Luna yelled as Cassian hauled ass out the back door. 

Azriel was shoving the bacon into his mouth at the bottom of the porch steps, grin wide.

“You know how I feel about bacon,” Cassian said, quietly, before taking the steps two at a time and tackling Azriel into the grass.

Cassian might have been bigger, but just barely. Azriel could certainly hold his own and proved as much as he rolled Cassian onto his back and shoved his armpit over Cassian's face.

The girls were standing in the back doorway, shaking their heads in unison.

“And here I was thinking Azriel was the most mature out of the bunch,” Nesta mumbled.

Elain sighed. “Men.”

Rhys just sat at the table and drank his coffee with a smile on his face.

For once, they all ended up on the boat, Nesta, Elain and Lannan included. Rather than high speed wake boarding or looking for waves to launch off of, they all took turns on the biggest tubes they had, a five seater they could just cruise on and relax. For the kids, at least.

“You holding on?” Feyre called back, and Rhys, Cassian and Azriel all three held up their thumbs. “Kids, find something to hold onto.” She smirked and released the throttle, lurching everyone backward.

The kids were giggling up a storm, holding onto each other and sitting up on their knees, turned around, watching their daddies.

“First one to fall off,” Rhys hollered over the wind and water, “has to babysit the entire brood once a month.”

Cassian just laughed. “My kids are the helions, you think that scares me?”

Azriel, from the middle, said, “That scares me.”

None of them sat on their asses. They all rode on their knees, gripping the handles on both sides of them. Feyre floored it, and they started flying over the waves the boat was creating behind it. They had made it nearly two minutes before they hit a massive bump and Rhysand went flying off the back, into the shining blue water. His head poked up a second later and he shook his hair as Feyre slowed down and turned back around to get him.

Cassian was howling.

Azriel was relieved.

Feyre was laughing as Rhys climbed back onto the back of the boat.

“You’re not going to be laughing when you realize what he just signed you up for!” Cassian called, he and Azriel still floating in the water.

“Get ready for a monthly date night, Lainy,” Azriel chuckled, climbing up the ladder.

Feyre turned to Rhys. “Did you agree to another stupid bet with them?”

“Oh, he didn’t just agree,” Az said, sitting next to Elain and taking Lannan from her lap. “It was his idea.”

“We’ll be watching all of the kids once a month,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck.

Feyre’s eyes went wide. “What?!” She pointed at Nesta and said, “Even theirs?!”

Nesta’s eyes lit up as a slow, greedy grin spread across her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited about anything in my life, ever. Monthly date night?”

“That just means Cassian’s gonna knock you up, again,” Azriel murmured. 

Nesta nudged Azriel in the knee, making Elain giggle, as Cassian hauled himself into the boat.

He sat by his pregnant wife and threw his arm around her shoulder. “We don’t need a date night for that, thank you.”

“We noticed,” Feyre muttered, “We’ve heard you every night since we’ve been here.”

Rhysand smiled at Feyre.

She just shook her head.

They were on the boat for another hour before pulling back up to the dock to prepare lunch.

“Alright, wash up, and get back down to the table.” Elain was carefully herding the children toward the house.

“You coming?” Feyre asked, seeing the three men still in the boat.

Rhys looked at Cass and Az, then back to Feyre and sheepishly grinned.

“Go do...boy things,” she muttered, shaking her head and waving toward the house. Cassian started the boat and the three men sped off.

Ten minutes later, they were all three sitting on the back of the boat, passing around a bottle of whiskey Cassian had pulled from the hidden ice chest beneath the captain’s chair.

“Made me another nephew yet?” Cassian asked, passing the bottle to Azriel.

Az chuckled. “I sure as hell hope not.”

Rhys and Cassian both turned to look at him. “I thought you wanted another?” Rhys asked, carefully.

Azriel finished his drink and blew out a quick breath of air, shaking his head. “Fuck, that’s awful whiskey. No, of course I do, that’s not what I meant. I’m getting laid a minimum of two times a day. You think I want to give that up?”

Neither of them said otherwise.

“What about you?” Rhys asked Cassian. “Think you want another after Scarlett?”

Cass shrugged, which was an extremely tame answer to that question coming from him.

“Most people speak when they’re asked a question, Cass,” Az said, passing the bottle to him.

“Asshole,” he mumbled, snatching it and taking a drink. “I mean, yeah, I do. Of course, I do. I’ve always wanted a big family, you know that.” He took a small sip and handed it to Rhys. “But Nesta is talking about whether she should get an IUD after she has her or if we should think more long term.”

Rhys blinked. “And by long term, you mean…?”

“I mean, she’s brought up the V word three times already this pregnancy.” He held up two fingers and moved them in a scissor motion.

Azriel shook his head, but Rhysand was blinking. “I thought Nesta wanted more kids.”

“Me too.” Cassian sighed. “But, Thorn and John have been a handful, you know? And this pregnancy has been hard on her. I don’t blame her, of course, there’s a reason women carry babies, not men. If I had to push a baby out of my-”

“We get it,” Azriel interrupted, nose scrunched. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Cassian said. “You were in the delivery room when your two were born, you know what happens.”

“Well, yeah,” Azriel said, putting the bottle back to his lips, even though he had proclaimed how shitty it was last time around. “But I wasn’t watching. I almost did, with Luna, but then I saw her little head and nearly passed out.”

Rhysand chuckled, but Cassian was shaking his head. “Not me. Watched both the boys fly on out. Stood right behind the doctor, hands in the air.”

Rhysand and Azriel just stared at him.

“I think we’ve figured out why Nesta doesn’t want any more kids,” Rhysand muttered. “You could’ve at least held her hand while she was pushing a baby out of her lady bits.”

“Have you met Nesta?” Cassian asked. “What the hell would make you think she wanted me anywhere near her during delivery?”

“I have a game,” Rhys proclaimed.

Az took a second drink and muttered, “This should be good.”

Rhys clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “What’s the worst thing your wife has ever said to you during?”

They waited. Finally, Cassian asked, “During what? Sex?”

“No, that’s the game. During ‘blank’.” They continued to stare at him. “Alright, let me explain my thought process here-.”

“I really don’t think I want to know how your brain works.” Azriel took a third drink and handed the bottle off.

“First of all, fuck you.” Rhys took the bottle and pointed it at him. “Second of all, I was just thinking about how pleasant Nesta must have been in the delivery room, so it made me wonder what the worst thing she said to you while she was in labor. Person with the worst thing wins. Then we move onto, like, worst thing during a family dinner, during a sporting event, during-.”

“During sex?” Cassian asked.

Rhys sighed. “Yes, during sex.”

Cassian grinned. “Alright, fine. What’s the worst thing Feyre said to you while she was in labor?”

“Hmm,” Rhysand began, leaning back with the bottle of whiskey. “Oh, okay. When we were on our way to the hospital with the twins, Feyre told me that if I didn’t drive faster, she’d cut off my balls and hang them around the mirror to remind her of the time she almost killed her husband.”

Azriel blinked. “Feyre said that? What’s up with her and threatening your balls?”

Rhysand sighed, taking a drink before passing the bottle to Cassian. “She does seem to have a love/hate relationship with my balls.”

Cassian snorted. “Alright, Az. You?”

“Elain isn’t capable of saying hateful things, even in labor,” Azriel said.

The other two stared at him, refusing to accept that as an answer. 

“I’m serious,” he laughed. “She actually apologized, mid-push, for squeezing my hand too hard.”

Cassian and Rhys burst out laughing.

“Dude,” Rhys asked. “Why is she so damn adorable?”

“Right?” Az laughed, and his head snapped up. “Actually, she didn’t say something, but she did do something.” They waited, watching him. “So you guys know we got to the hospital around one-thirty in the morning when we were having Luna. After about two hours, Lainy was progressing normally, and she was flipping through channels on the tv. I was tired, I’d worked a full day and we got to bed late, so I closed my eyes to nod off for a few minutes. And then she slapped the shit out of me.”

Cassian howled as Rhysand shook his head. “You know, I want to say that surprises me, but considering she calls you daddy-.”

“Fuck off,” Azriel laughed, snatching the bottle from Rhysand’s hands. “Alright, Cassian’s turn.”

Cassian shook his head, slowly. “The worst thing Nesta said to me during labor… Fuck, this is going to be difficult.” He took a moment to think, scratching the scruff on his cheeks. “I’d have to say it’s a tie between You’re literally the spawn of satan for doing this bullshit to me or Thank God we're in a hospital right now because I am literally going to kill you….for doing this bullshit to me.”

“Such a pleasant woman,” Az mumbled, taking a drink.

“For someone who loves you more than anything, she sure does hate you,” Rhys said, shaking his head.

“Oh absolutely,” Cass chuckled. “Who knows, she might say something even worse when she has Scar. We’ll have to see.”

“So who wins?” Az asked, getting to his feet. With a lift of the bottle he drained it, and tossed it into the body of the boat.

They all looked at each other, and as one, Rhysand and Azriel said, “Cassian”, just as Cassian said, “Rhys.”

Rhysand raised his brows.

“What?” Cassian asked, at his surprised expression. “At least my wife didn’t threaten my balls. Not while she was in labor, anyway.”

Azriel chuckled, taking a step toward the cooler and stumbling. He grabbed onto the side to steady himself.

Cassian and Rhysand were laughing, shaking their heads.

“Drunk at noon?” Cassian crooned. “Naughty daddy.”

Azriel flipped them both off and flopped onto one of the benches.

“Back to the kids?” Rhys asked, as Cassian sat in the captain's chair.

“And our lovely wives.” Cassian winked and fired the boat back up.

When Rhys walked in the back door, he found Nesta, Feyre and Elain sitting at the kitchen table, playing cards. Elain was nursing Lannan and Feyre and Nesta were shit talking each other.

Rhys announced, “It’s way too quiet in here. I’m worried, where are the kids?”

“Off setting fires and causing property damage.” Nesta didn’t even look up from the cards in her hand.

Rhys said, “I need to know where all the kids are, not just yours.”

Nesta gave him a venomous look before looking back down to her cards. “Feyre, control your husband.” 

“Speaking of husbands, where’re the other two?” Feyre asked, eyeing Rhys suspiciously. “Did you push them into the lake and drive away again?”

“No,” Rhysand sighed. “Although tempting. No, Cass is helping Az up the hill.”

Elain blinked. “And why would he need help up the hill?”

“Shitty whiskey,” Rhysand explained, and it was all she needed to know.

Groaning, Elain looked up at the clock. “It’s not even three yet, damn it.”

Rhysand raised his brows. It was rare that Elain cursed.

Feyre chuckled, but Nesta was shaking her head. 

“I blame Feyre for letting you three idiots go out together,” she muttered.

“You’re just saying that because you’re losing,” Feyre crooned. “Your turn, bitch.”

Nesta’s jaw locked as she looked back down at her hand. The sliding door opened, once more, and Cassian came in, Azriel just behind with a sloppy grin and droopy eyelids. He caught sight of Elain and Lannan and threw a dramatic hand over his chest. “My wife, hi, hello, you’re so pretty.”

“And that’s my cue to put him down for a nap,” Elain said, standing and taking Azriel’s hand.

“Lanny doesn’t need a nap, he’s wide awake,” Az said, dropping a kiss to her shoulder.

She rolled her eyes and they headed for the hallway. “I’m not talking about Lannan, I’m talking about you.”

Their voices retreated down the hall and their door clicked shut.

Cassian sat in the seat Elain had just vacated next to his wife. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her stomach. “Az isn’t even that drunk,” he said with a laugh. “He just wanted an excuse to get her in the bedroom.”

Nesta and Feyre rolled their eyes and Rhys just shook his head and he made his way toward the fridge.

“Okay, but where are the kids?” Rhys asked again. “I’m starting to think you really did release them somewhere to wreak havoc.”

“Playing hide and seek,” Nesta replied coolly, not looking up from her cards as she adjusted her hand.

“Have they been hiding the whole time we’ve been back?” Rhys asked, pulling a water bottle out of the fridge. “Who’s it?”

“I am,” Nesta said, laying a card down and drawing another from the pile.

“Inspiring,” Cassian said, tossing his arm around the back of Nesta’s chair. “Your wickedness makes me love you even more.”

“I seriously worry what goes on in your house,” Rhysand muttered, sitting next to Feyre and peeking at her cards.

Nesta snorted as footsteps approached. Thorn appeared, arms crossed, brows furrowed, looking like a tiny little angry Cassian.

Nesta stilled as she locked eyes with her oldest child.

“You’re gonna get it,” Cassian sang, under his breath. 

“We’ve been waiting forever, mom,” Thorn said, with a sassy emphasis on mom.

“I forgot,” Nesta said simply. “Come forget with me. You can help me kick Aunt Feyre’s ass.”

She winked, patting the chair next to hers. Thorn’s anger faded and a grin spread across his face as he plopped in the chair.

The others didn’t realize that they were being tricked into quiet time for another thirty minutes.

And when quiet time was over, it was over.

All of the kids trickled into the living room and kitchen one by one, until just John was left hiding.

“You’re the one who said you’d go and find him,” Cassian said, when Nesta asked him to get their youngest. He was stretched out on the couch, tv remote in hand. He, Rhys, Azriel, and Elain watching a hockey game, elated that the Terrasen Staghorns were sweeping the Valg off their asses.

Nesta stood with her hands on her hips. “Seriously?”

“It was your idea, Nes…” Elain said, hiding behind her glass of wine.

Her lips tightened as she cursed them all, trailing through the house, waddling with her hands on her bump. She checked in all the kids rooms before going into her and Cassian's room, where a little huddled bump laid in the middle of their bed, beneath the blanket.

“Oh, goodness,” Nesta began, loudly and dramatically. “It doesn’t look like there’s anyone in here.”

The little bump on the bed fidgeted. 

“I guess I’ll just take a little nap, since I’m here,” Nesta said, walking to the bed and sitting on the edge. “I’m just gonna fall back now, in the middle of the bed.”

The little bump started to giggle.

“Here I go,” Nesta sang, starting to tip backward.

John threw the blanket off of him and laughed. “No!”

Nesta’s eyes softened at her little one as he jumped up on the bed.

“It took forever for you to find me, mama, I hid good!”

“Yes, my love, you did,” she answered, holding out her arms.

John threw his arms around his mama’s neck, gently, and yawned. “Did you find everybody?”

“I did,” she said. “You were the hardest to find.”

“That means I win,” John said, matter-of-factly. 

 “Yes, it does.” Nesta said, and she brushed John’s curls out his eyes. “Are you sleepy?”

John nodded, rubbing his eyes. The move was so much like Cassian that she couldn’t help but smile. “Do you want to take a nap in mama and daddy’s bed?”

He nodded again, but said, “Can you stay with me, please?”

Nesta’s heart broke. The closer and closer Scarlett’s due date came, the more she worried about John. Her youngest wasn’t going to be her youngest anymore and having to share the attention with Thorn was bad enough already.

“Of course, I will, sweetie.” Nesta laid back on the bed and John wiggled in next to her.

“Mama, can sissy hear me in your tummy?”

“Yes, of course,” Nesta said, surprised by the question. “Is there something you wanna tell her?”

“Hmmm.” John took a minute to think about it. Then, he leaned down to Nesta’s belly and said, “I’m excited to see you. We can play superheroes together.”

Nesta laughed, quietly, brushing John’s dark hair out of his face. “You’re going to be such a good big brother.”

He fell asleep almost immediately, his little arm wrapped as far around her belly as it could. His cheek was pressed against it, and Nesta couldn’t help but realize that her baby, her sweet, little Johnny, was growing up.

She carefully wiggled her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture, sending it to Cassian. A few seconds later, the door cracked open and he slipped in.

“He must not have had a nap earlier.” Cass said, opening the dresser and pulling out a pair of boxers and a tank top before heading into the bathroom. He added, “Cause that’s a hard sleep face.”

Nesta chuckled, looking down  and seeing how his mouth had fallen open. She softly brushed his hair back, off his face. “Before he fell asleep, he told Scar that he can’t wait for her to be here and that they’re going to play superheroes together.”

Cassian came back into the bedroom, wearing the boxers, rather than his trunks and grabbed a pair of basketball shorts out of the duffle on the floor. His eyes were soft as he carefully sat on the side of the bed. He took in how John clung to Nesta in his sleep. “Only a couple more weeks and he won’t be the baby anymore.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of his sweet, sleeping face. “But he’ll always be my baby.”

Cassian’s smile grew as he leaned down to press his lips to Nesta’s forehead. “Mama's boy.”

Thorn had always been a daddy’s boy, even though he loved his mama endlessly. But John? He was a mama's boy, through and through.

“We’re going to play some backyard games before dinner,” Cassian said. “Coming to join or taking a rest?”

She looked back down at John, sleeping peacefully, then back up to her husband. “I’ll stay here. I’m gonna let my baby be the baby one last time.”

Cassian smiled and kissed her softly. “Okay, sweetheart. Call me if you need anything.”

Nesta nodded and settled back into the pillows, not quite able to get comfortable at this point, but doing her best anyways. Cassian quietly closed the door and headed back to the living room.

A sudden pang jabbed into Nesta’s side, and she clenched her teeth as she halted her fingers, rubbing along John’s little back. It faded fairly quickly, and Nesta would’ve brushed it aside if it hadn’t returned ten minutes later. It wasn’t alarming, of course, being so far apart. But being out in the middle of nowhere, being so far from the hospital at the lake, suddenly dawned on her. A slow panic began to creep into the pit of her stomach. If she were to go into labor at the lake house, would she have enough time to make it to the hospital?

She had an epidural when she had Thorn, and when she’d had John, she’d arrived at the hospital too late, but at least the doctor was there to walk her through it.

Ten minutes later, the pain in her lower abdomen returned, and the panic settled in.

Don’t, she warned herself. There was no room for panic. She may very well not be going into labor any time soon, any way. She had weeks yet.

And yet, she had been through childbirth twice and she knew the signs.

She pulled out her phone and texted Cassian, COME.

~

Cassian and Rhys were in a heated debate about whether or not Feyre’s touchdown was legal. She’d been home free, save for her husband blocking the end zone and she’d slowed until she stood in front of him.

“Let me score and you will too tonight.”

He chuckled. “Don’t act like I won’t anyway.”

She pursed her lips. “True. Fine, you can do anything you want to me tonight.”

Rhysand sat his ass right down in the grass and watched his wife walk the football into the end zone for a touchdown.

Cass cried, “Oh, that’s bullshit! What am I supposed to do, offer to blow Az?”

Luna yelled, “Uncle Cass, language!” at the same time her mother said, “Too far, Cass!”

Azriel raised his hand. “Uh, no, thank you, I’ll pass.”

Livy ran over from where she and Lily had been watching YouTube videos on Cassian’s phone. “Uncle Cassi, you got a text message from Aunt Nessa.”

Cassian was still glaring at Rhysand as he took his phone from his niece and opened up his messages. Then, he stilled, and in return, the other adults looked at him with confusion and concern. 

“Everything okay?” Feyre asked, but Cassian was already hurrying up the back porch steps, two at a time. After throwing open the sliding door, he ran down the hall to he and Nesta’s bedroom, but when he opened the door, Nesta was holding her finger to her lips to warn him to be quiet. John was still fast asleep, draped over her tummy.

“What happened?” Cassian whispered, kneeling next to her by the side of the bed. “You alright?”

“Contractions,” she said.

Cassian nodded, slowly, taking a deep breath as he did so. “Alright, do we need to go to the hospital?”

She shook her head. “Too far apart, for now. But, I’m sure by tonight, or by morning, at the latest, we’ll need to go.” It was nearly an hour to her doctor’s office, to the hospital she was scheduled to deliver at. 

Cassian’s smile grew, wide but soft, as he took Nesta’s hand in his and pressed his lips against her fingers. “I’ll go let the others know, then, and talk to Thorn. Text me if they get worse before I’m back or if you need anything.”

“Okay,” she breathed, and a look of discomfort contorted her face as another contraction began. Short, nothing too bad, but it never felt good. Once it passed, Cassian’s lips found hers and then he was on his feet, padding back toward the back deck.

He headed out the sliding door, finding everyone huddled together. At the sound of the door, everyone turned.

Elain asked, “What’s going on? Is Nesta okay?”

Cassian caught sight of Thorn, surrounded by his cousins, and could see the fear on his face. He smiled, wanting to shout from the rooftops, but knew that he couldn’t. Not quite yet.

“She’s fine. Feyre, why don’t you show the kids how to play freeze tag like we used when we were little?” He asked, making his way down the steps. “Thorn, come here, buddy.”

He stepped out of the group and he and Cassian walked down towards the water, leaving the rest of the kids behind.

“Is mama okay?” He asked, sitting down on the dock.

Cassian sat next to him, ruffling his long hair. “She’s just fine, bud, but guess what?”

“Hmm?” He asked, kicking the water beneath them, not looking up at his father.

“Are you ready to meet Scarlett?”

His head snapped up. “Are you serious?”

Cassian couldn’t stop his smile as a grin formed in his oldest son’s face. “I’m serious.”

“Mama’s having the baby?” He asked.

He stood and held out a hand to help him up. “She is.” Thorn jumped to his feet and hugged his father, who chuckled and hugged him back. “We gotta keep it quiet though. Mama doesn’t need a lot of excitement. I’m gonna tell your aunts and uncles, but you can’t tell your cousins yet, okay?”

Thorn nodded excitedly. “She’ll be here tonight?”

Cassian shook his head. “Probably not, bud. Remember how quick John got here after we got to the hospital?” He nodded again. “Well you took over a full day to get here. Nobody but Scarlett knows when she’ll be ready to come out. But mama and dad are pros at this by now, so we’re ready. Are you ready?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” He wrapped his arms around his father’s waist.

Cass bent down. “You and John are gonna have to go stay with Aunt Feyre and Uncle Rhys for a few days, okay? You can be at the hospital with us some during the day, but you’ll need to stay the night with them.”

Thorn nodded. “Okay.”

“Alright,” Cassian said, kissing the top of Thorn’s head before he stood, and walked back up toward the others. Thorn rejoined his cousins, bouncing with excitement, as Cassian joined Azriel, Rhysand, and Elain on the porch. Feyre was hurrying their direction a second later, and when she arrived, and they were all huddled together as the kids played, Cassian said, “Contractions have started. So, either tonight or in the morning, I’ll have to take Nesta to the hospital.” 

Quiet excitement went around the circle as they worked out the details of Thorn and John. Rhysand and Feyre would take them home with them and, once they got word, Feyre would bring the boys to the hospital to meet their baby sister. 

“I have to pack up our shit to be ready,” Cassian said, thinking out loud. “And a sandwich wouldn’t hurt, I’m starving.”

Elain rolled her eyes, fondly. “I’ll make you a sandwich, go pack.”

“This is why you’re my favorite sister-in-law,” Cassian winked, as Elain walked toward the sliding door.

“Prick,” Feyre mumbled.

Cassian chuckled as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, to find a text from Nesta that read, They’re coming 8 minutes apart. We need to leave here at seven minutes apart.

“Looks like we’re leaving tonight,” Cassian said, shoving his phone back into his pocket. 

“How far apart?” Feyre asked.

“Eight minutes.” Cassian said. “I need to go pack. Get the bags. Throw them in the truck-.” He froze. “Rhys, I need you to drive my truck home, and I need yours.”

Confusion was written on his face as he said, “Okay, that’s fine. Why?”

Cassian pointed behind them all.

They turned, looking to where the boat was still tied up to the dock.

Rhys turned back and nodded. “Yep, that’s fine. Keys are hanging by the garage door.”

“Great,” Cassian breathed, trying to tally up what needed to be done before they had to leave, which could be in thirty minutes or a few hours.

“Take a breath,” Feyre said, laughing quietly. “You’ve done this twice now, you’re a pro.”

It’s what he’d said to Thorn, too, but nerves still settled in the pit of his stomach, and he wasn’t even the one preparing to push a baby out of him.

“Alright.” He nodded, as Feyre kissed Cassian on the cheek and started to walk toward the sliding glass door.

“I’ll help you pack,” she said, over her shoulder. “Elain’s making you food for fuel. Baby,” she said, pointing at Rhys, “you and Az watch the kids.” She opened the door. “Cass, deep breaths and go to your wife.”

And she was gone.

Cassian stopped by the laundry room, grabbing the “Go Bags” they’d brought, just in case, and quickly went through them, making sure everything they needed for a newborn was in the first and he and Nesta’s essentials in the second. He shoved them both into the duffle he’d left above the washer and was headed for their bedroom when he heard, “Daddy?”

He turned and found John sleepily coming out of bathroom. “Hey, bubba.” He picked him up. “Did you have a good nap?” He nodded, burying his face into Cassian’s neck. “Where’s mama?”

He pointed to their room. “She’s breaking the rules.”

Cassian asked, “What rules, buddy?”

John said, “She’s got the door locked.”

Cassian’s blood ran cold.

“Buddy, go head outside and play with Uncle Rhys and Uncle Az, okay?”

John nodded and wiggled to be put down. He ran out the sliding door and Cassian left the duffle on the floor and rushed for his and Nesta’s room. He tentatively knocked on the door. “Nes? You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, but the word was short, snappy. “We - we need to go, though.”

“Shit,” Cassian said, jiggling the doorknob. “Let me in, please.”

The door unlocked and Cassian threw it open. Nesta was sitting on the closed toilet, taking deep breaths.

“I didn’t want John seeing mama in pain,” Nesta explained. “And we all know how he likes to walk in on me in the bathroom.”

Cassian chuckled, kneeling on the cool tile before his wife. “Getting closer together?”

Nesta nodded. “It’s a long drive. I have a feeling baby girl wants to get the hell out of here. She’s impatient, I think, just like her daddy.”

Cassian barked a laugh. “I think you mean like her mommy.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I’m the one about to give birth, what I say goes.”

“You’re right,” Cassian said, quietly, giving her a kiss before standing and helping her up. “Alright, let’s tell the kids goodbye and I’ll load up the truck.”

He began to throw their belongings in the open duffle bag on the bed while Nesta changed and got ready to leave. He hollered into the bathroom, “I’m gonna go throw everything in the truck. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Her response was strained. “Grab my purse off the counter, please!”

“Another one?” He asked, hefting the bag up onto his shoulder.

“Yeah,” she bit out.

He hesitated. “Do you need me? Are you timing-.”

“Of course, I’m fucking timing them. I’ve already had two of your demon spawn. I know how to do this.”

He rolled his eyes as he left the room, mumbling something about how pleasant his wife was.

He found Rhysand’s keys on the hook, right where he said they’d be, and was pressing the unlock button on the remote profusely as he hurried outside. After throwing the duffle bag in the backseat, he froze.

They didn’t have the carseat.

They didn’t have Scarlett’s carseat.

It was at home, sitting in their mudroom. He’d figure that out later, though. Maybe Feyre would stop by and get it on her way with the boys, after baby girl was born.

But for some reason, the absence of Scarlett’s carseat was Cassian’s undoing. 

This was it.

The moment.

They were about to be parents of three.

Cassian was about to be a girl-dad. 

They were about to go from two kids, to three.

He braced a hand on the car door and took a second to breathe.

“Cass?”

He turned and found Rhys standing in the doorway. “You good, man?”

He nodded and wiped his face, not surprised to have moisture on his fingers. “I just, uh, I realized we don’t have Scar’s carseat and then I realized that it’s happening. That this is real and Nesta is in labor and that soon, I’ll be able to hold my baby girl.”

Rhys smiled and made his way down the garage stairs. He hugged Cassian and patted his back. “There’s no fucking feeling like it man. I’m so, so happy for you.”

He sniffled. “Thanks. If you tell a single soul in that house, particularly my wife, that I cried, I’ll deny everything and then I’ll kick your ass.”

Rhys laughed and said, “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Cass just shook his head.

The two were quiet for a minute, until Cassian broke the stillness. “How did you handle it, getting outnumbered by your children.”

Rhys whistled, walking over and leaning on his truck next to Cass. “Well, I mean, our situation was a little different. We were only intending to add one to our family. The second one was a surprise, but she’s the best damn surprise we’ve ever gotten.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I’m not going to lie to you, it’s extremely overwhelming. You suddenly don’t have enough arms anymore and simple things like going out to eat are about to become a challenge. But you have a perk that we didn’t have.”

Cassian waited. “Which is?”

Rhys smiled and said, “A mature, responsible son who would do anything to take care of his baby sister. Bennett was only John’s age when Feyre had the girls. He couldn’t help with anything because there were days he was still a baby himself.”

Cass was shaking his head. “I don’t want to put that kind of thing on him. He’s just a kid.”

Rhys scoffed. “He’s not just a kid, he’s your kid. And believe me, he’s going to be putty in Scarlett’s little hands.”

It was true. Thorn was wild and mischievous, but he also had the biggest heart out of anyone Cassian had ever known, and he was so damn proud of that. He would be a great big brother.

After clearing his throat, and punching Rhysand in the arm to relieve some of the sappiness from the conversation, Cassian was hurrying back into the house, where he found his wife, in the kitchen, being hugged by both of her sisters. Cassian slowed, reminding himself that he was allowed to slow down.

The kids were still outside with Azriel, all but John who was sitting in the kitchen eating a post-nap snack of apple slices and pretzels. 

“Thorn!” Cassian called out the backdoor. He motioned for his oldest to come inside. A minute later, he was hurrying through the door, stealing an apple slice off of John’s plate, and running into Nesta’s arms. 

“Are you leaving?” he asked.

Pain contorted Nesta’s face as she patted Thorn’s head.

“Yeah, buddy,” Cassian said, so Nesta wouldn’t have to. “You guys keep having fun and tomorrow you’ll go home with Aunt Feyre and Uncle Rhys. Okay? Call me before bed.”

John nodded, still too young to know what was fully going on, just as Thorn was when John was born. But, Thorn was smiling broadly as he let go of his mom, and hugged his dad.

“Proud of you,” Cassian muttered, kissing the top of his head, his mess of dark, curly hair.

“Love you, dad,” he said, tightening his little arms as much as he could.

“I love you, bud,” he said, push that messy hair back. “Now go out there and tell your cousins the exciting news, okay?”

“Okay!” He said, turning for the day.

“I wanna help!” John cried, wiggling down from his seat. He ran towards Thorn and held out his hand.

Usually, Thorn would run right by him, sometimes going as far as to even stick out his tongue or shove him in true big brother fashion. Instead, Thorn slowed to a stop, took his brother’s hand, and led him to the door.

Cassian felt something brush his fingertips and when he turned, Nesta was there, watching their boys, silver lining her eyes.

“We’ve got some good ones, don’t we?” She asked.

“Yes, we do,” he said, pulling her into his side and kissing her head. She looked up at him and kissed him. He smiled and asked, “Ready to go have a baby?”

“Fuck yeah,” she muttered, grinning, waddling toward the door. “Now get me in the truck before another contraction comes, please.”

The whirlwind began.

“Let us know how it’s going when you get settled in,” Feyre said. “I’ll have them facetime before John goes to bed.”

Azriel was stepping in through the backdoor, the kids running around excitedly in the backyard. “Got everything?”

Cassian nodded as Nesta opened the front door. “I think so, yeah.”

“Be nice to my truck,” Rhysand mumbled, earning a jab in the ribs from his wife.

Then, a teary-eyed Elain, Lannan strapped to her chest, was standing in front of Cassian, holding up a bag full of sandwiches, chips, and apple slices. “I made you extra.”

Cassian’s grin widened as he took her face into his hands and kissed her forehead. “Favorite sister-in-law.”

“Prick!” Feyre called after him, tone laced with fondness, as he took the bag and followed his wife out the door. After one final, quick round of goodbyes, Cassian was helping Nesta into the passenger side of the truck. The moment she sat, her eyes were closing and her teeth were clenched. 

“Fuck,” she breathed.

“Alright, we’re going,” Cassian promised, shutting her door and climbing up behind the wheel. “Hang in there, mama, it’s going to be a long drive.”

“You’re not helpful,” she mumbled, bracing herself.

Cassian chuckled and he started the truck.