#I think if they had a ship name it would be cinnamon tea | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snowbellewells · 3 months ago

Text

Captain Swan Spooky Season/Autumnal Bingo Entry: "Coming Back on the Wind"

Summary: When a sudden storm blows up while Killian, Emma, and their family are out in Storybrooke's wood camping, they find shelter and Killian tells an almost-forgotten tale to pass the time...

Author's Notes: Thanks to @hollyethecurious for the lovely bingo board to play with! This is the first entry I have managed to create (hopefully there will be more to come before Autumn gets away from me entirely!) for the prompt "stormy seas"

Takes place in a post-s6 future where Killian and Emma have Hope and twin boys as well, Henry stayed with Violet and didn't go on adventures in other realms, and Emma's little brother is named Leo instead of Neal!

** Also available on AO3 if that's your preference**

"Coming Back on the Wind"

by: @snowbellewells

Outside the hunter’s cabin in the forest bordering Storybrooke, the rain splashed wetly against the windowpane. The torrents of water pouring down from the sky showed no sign of letting up anytime soon. Though he would have preferred they have made it all the way back home from their weekend camping excursion, Killian looked out the window without any true sense of alarm as the branches swayed wildly and the wind moaned, but they remained safe and dry in the log structure which was proving admirably sound - if rather small for their extended crew. The ground might grow soggy and some branches might fall, but it was merely an October storm, not the sort of maelstrom that had once made him cower in the corner of his bunk on Silver’s ship as the waves rolled and he feared the vessel would sink before the dawn.

Turning from his vantage point before the sink in the small kitchen area, Killian’s eyes surveyed the rest of the cabin to find his family and their guests gathered in the open living area around the crackling fireplace, which he had watched Emma light with a mere flex of her fingers. It mattered not that they had been married nearly seven years now, nor how often he had seen his wife avert tragedy and summon marvels into existence; he was still in awe of her, and he often found himself watching her with his breath stolen away, struck speechless by his Swan and all that she was.

His gaze was drawn to her once again as he ascertained that all were well and accounted for. Emma was bustling about to bring Hope her stuffed crocodile (a gift from Belle and young Gideon which entertained everyone else simply for how much Killian grumbled about it), bringing a throw blanket for Henry’s lovely girlfriend to drape over her legs where she was curled up against Henry on the sofa, and then she settled too, pulling their twins onto her lap as she did. Her younger brother Leo, now a bright and cheerful preteen with his father’s blonde hair and chiseled chin but his mother and sister’s brightly shining green eyes, along with Gideon Gold, almost eight now, were also seated within the fireside huddle, having been happy to go on an outdoor adventure with the Jones crew and give their respective parents a night off. When she asked who wanted hot chocolate with cinnamon, there was a lively, unanimous chorus of approval that drowned all sound of the wind and rain outdoors, and had Killian chuckling and shaking his head even from across the room.

“I would think you might have already known the answer to that question, Love,” he playfully chided.

Shooting him a scoff and a mischievous wink, Emma swirled her hand in the air once more and a perfect mug of cocoa, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon appeared in the hands of all but him, eliciting squeals of surprise and delight from the younger children. Gideon in particular wriggled with excitement at the prospect of such a sweet treat. Killian knew that Belle favored tea and healthy snacks and seriously doubted that liquid chocolate was on the boy’s usual menu.

Thankfully, they hadn’t been far from the old, abandoned cabin when the storm had blown up unexpectedly, and they had managed to get themselves and their things inside the shelter before being truly drenched. Still, Killian reckoned it was wise of Emma to make sure their charges were warmed by the fire and set with the hot drinks as well - though he couldn’t resist needling her a bit for it.

Still, his own insides warmed at the cozy feeling of belonging he had in a cabin in the stormy Maine woods. He had never truly known such peace until these last few of his uncounted years of life, only since meeting Emma and their starting their own small family. The contentment spread throughout his being so completely that it seemed to pour from his fingers and toes; Killian could only draw nearer to his loved ones to drink in the moment. Henry glanced up from where he had been adoringly studying Violet’s profile and gave his stepdad a knowing look as he lowered himself to sit by his Savior’s side. And he could only sheepishly acknowledge the lad’s playful glance. Henry knew the man his mother had married could never stay far from her, always drawn like the strongest of magnets - True Love at its finest.

Soon all of the children, and Emma as well, were happily sipping their decadent drinks and savoring the warmth as it traveled down their throats and soothed their stomachs pleasantly. Hope lowered her mug slightly, only to reveal a dollop of whipped cream on the tip of her pert little nose.

“You’ve missed a taste, lovey,” Killian murmured, the affection glowing in his eyes as he reached out to swipe the creamy topping form her face and pop it into his own mouth.

“Papa! That was mine!” Hope squealed, giggling even as she did so, but hopping to her feet, little fists planted on her hips and the intriguing near-turquoise of her eyes - a perfect blend of his blue and Emma’s green - flashing with playful pique.

“Ah, but I’m a pirate, little sparrow,” he replied good naturedly, using one of his favorite pet names for her. “You’d best carefully guard your prizes when a pirate’s about.”

“But I’m your pirate princess, remember?” Hope wheedled, flopping dramatically against her father’s chest where Killian willingly wrapped her in his arms. “You shouldn’t steal from me!”

Emma burst out with a guffaw at that comeback from their precocious five-year-old. Nudging him with an elbow in the side, she added, “Kid’s got you there, Babe.”

Killian winked back at his wife before turning playfully repentant eyes on his daughter. “A thousand apologies, your Highness,” he offered humbly, with an exaggerated bob of the head for a sort of seated bow. “To what punishment do you sentence me?”

Hope’s brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought, tilting her head while she studied first her father, then turned to consider both her friend Gideon and her younger twin brothers with a mischievous smirk that rivalled Killian’s own. All three boys nodded eagerly, seeming to know exactly what their pixie ringleader was thinking without exchanging a single word.

Henry snorted in amusement at the proceedings, loving that his baby sister could wrap both Storybrooke’s Savior and the fearsome pirate Captain Hook around her little finger with such ease.

“You have to tell a pirate story!” Hope declared with impish glee, clapping her hands in delight while the twins bounced on their mother’s knees and cheered excitedly. “And if we don’t think it’s good enough, then you walk the plank!” she crowed.

“Yes, please, a story!” Gideon chorused from his spot between Hope and her youthful uncle, his intelligent eyes alight and enthralled at the mere suggestion, loving a good tale every bit as much as his mother did. Belle never could resist listening to a well-spun yarn, and seeing that her only child took after his dear, goodhearted friend in this way especially - her most leading trait - never failed to touch Killian’s heart. Though Belle and Gold might still share a home, and though they remained married, her trust had been broken one too many times for even her generous faith to be fully restored. They were meant to be True Loves, and the emotion remained, but it was bruised and trampled like the rose of their famous tale, far too long past its wilting to salvage. She would never deprive the old Crocodile of another son, not after how long he had sought Neal, how bitterly he had regretted failing him, and then lost him to death anyway, but they kept a brittle distance in their home. Belle found her happiness in her son, her friends, and her books, and Gideon blossomed mostly under her care - for which Killian knew the lad was all the better.

Hanging his head, Killian feigned reluctance at having to provide entertainment, though in truth, he had known that tales of his pirating days would be the decree as soon as he had seen that particular gleam in his daughter’s eye. As Emma often lamented wryly, ‘Our daughter is entirely too entranced by the idea of pillaging and plundering.’ Reaching out to gently tap her chin with the curve of his hook, he pulled Hope into his lap again, tickling her stomach once he had her in his clutches until she cried for mercy.

Once she was sprawled across his legs heaving for breath, Killian nodded his agreement. “You wish is my command, Princess Hope,” he replied. “A story you shall have.”

A whole chorus of cheers rang out from all their younger charges, and in truth, even Henry and Violet’s faces shone with interest. To his delight, even Emma moved slightly closer and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder, as if she were settling in for the show. He felt a sort of pride that he could grant such pleasure with his storytelling.

Pausing dramatically, he watched as Leo leaned easily back against the couch, cradling his mug in his hands, ready to savor the last of his cocoa and listen contentedly. Gideon scooted right up before Killian until his knobby eight-year-old knees touched the pirate’s own, eyes wide and breath practically held so as not to miss a word. Hope, for her part, settled on his lap as if it were her throne, somehow managing to look both supremely self-satisified and guilelessly eager, gazing up into her papa’s face as her little fingers clutched at the charms of his necklace the way they often did when she truly settled in to rest. Little Liam David and Westley Graham, just barely walking now, were equally cuddled up against Emma, and a pang went through him, taking in the whole scene as he drew a deep breath to begin. It did his heart good to see their children so comfortable, at ease and certain of their safety and in the knowledge that they were loved. That was as it should be. But he had been only a year or two older than Gideon was now when all he had known of his safe and familiar home had been lost to him. He hadn’t found such security again for so long it had nearly vanished, forgotten, in the recesses of his mind. Something long cracked and aching was mended in seeing that his own children would never face such doubt and fear.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Killian gathered his thoughts. The room went still as his listeners ceased talking and moving about, focused on him intently. He could again hear the wind whistling outside the little cabin, the rain slapping in sheets against the window glass and the almost soothing patter of it upon the roof over their heads. If he tried, he could just conjure up the sensation of rocking back and forth, carried on turbulent waves - could take himself back to the time when he was a boy at sea. Then he began to speak.

“Once upon a time, long before I was the famed pirate captain you see before you,” Killian intoned, letting his voice drop a bit lower and employing a lyrical rhythm. “I was a young lad who could barely be called a cabin boy, on the ship of another pirate - the dastardly Long John Silver.”

The little boys reacted with shivers and gasps, just as he had expected. Emma, who had of course heard this story with much less dramatic flair, in the tone of an agonized confession when they hid themselves away after his return from the Underworld. They had bared the last of their secrets and all of their souls once and for all and bound themselves back together again. Killian felt her hand flutter lightly to rest upon his own, and he squeezed it briefly in reassurance, letting her known that he was alright. This was a much less raw and bleeding version of events, peeled back to reveal the little good that there had been, even in those awful times.

“Aye, you’re right to be alarmed, me mateys,” Killian warned, waggling his dark brows at them with playful aplomb. “Silver was indeed a ruthless villain - and he ran his ship with little care for youngsters aboard who might be hungry, injured… or frightened of storms.”

He swept his hand out before him, illustrating the expanse of rolling waves under a dark night sky lit at alarmingly frequent intervals by bright, wicked forks of lightning. His audience was every bit as rapt as he had intended, allowing Killian only a moment for a sidelong glance at Emma with a twinkle in his eye.

“That stormy night, all but the night’s watch were in their bunks, and the lad knew he would find no sympathy from any quarter at any rate. His older brother was on the ship with him, but that young man was the only one who showed the boy any consideration, and he was fast asleep, having already put in what would be a hard day’s work for a full grown man, much less a stripling of fourteen. And so, the boy huddled in the corner of his small bunk, crowding against the wall and trying to block out the booming claps of thunder with hands pressed over his ears, willing his stomach not to turn as they were rolled up, down, and sideways by the vicious swells.”

Hope snuggled deeper into his embrace, seeking comfort for herself, empathetic little siren that she was, and unknowingly grounding him in the present, soothing the long scabbed-over wounds this story pricked. As though somehow sensing the boy from the story was closer than its teller let on, Killian also felt the feather-light brush of young Gideon’s fingers come to rest on his knee, offering silent support in his own timid way. He was hardly privy to what his dear friend Belle told her son about his past history or the harsh beginnings he’d weathered early in life, but he sensed in that moment that Hope’s unlikely playmate knew the frightened youth of long ago was now the man seated before him. And he wanted to bolster him in a difficult moment.

It was enough to have Killian swallowing back a lump in his throat. Meeting the child’s searching gaze, Killian offered a smile and nod of the head in unspoken gratitude, to which Gideon beamed and patted his knee with more confidence.

“Though the boy tried to remain still,” Killian continued solemnly, “the storm did not let up. Instead it raged harder until he was sure he would be thrown from his berth to the floor and that the ship itself would be turned on its side and sink into the deep. His thin shoulders shook as he wept, and though he fought to hold back his tears, occasionally a hiccup or gasp for air escaped.”

“It was at that moment,” and here the pirate’s voice, though still rough with deeply felt emotion, grew more musical and light, “when all hope seemed lost, that he felt a soft, familiar touch on his shoulder sliding down to gently rub his back until his strangled sobs eased. It was his older brother, roused from slumber, either by the boy’s distress or the ferocity of the storm, and quick to come to his younger sibling’s aid. The elder scooted into the bunk and gingerly wrapped an arm around the trembling smaller form, shushing and soothing as best he could.”

“Even as the wind continued to wail and howl all around, and as the waves slapped against the hold where they huddled together, the boy already felt much stronger - less afraid - just knowing that he was not alone. And then the elder brother began to hum. It was a familiar tune, a soothing lullaby coaxed from the far reaches of the younger’s memory along with an echo of his mother’s warm voice singing that same melody. Soon his brother was offering lilting words as well, in barely more than a whisper. Both knew the ire which would rain down on their heads if they roused any others, and yet his sibling dared those consequences to end his little brother’s torment. As the near-forgotten song continued, the effects of the wild storm seemed to die away. By the time the end of the song neared, that frightened cabin boy had finally found sleep.”

“What was the song?” Hope piped up curiously. “Can you sing it for us?”

Killian shook his head with a humored huff, having expected no less. Not letting himself hesitate long enough to change his mind, he wet his lips, drew in a steadying breath, and launched into the old tune he remembered hearing in Liam’s murmured, youthful tones. His brother had always told him it was their mother’s favorite - one she had used often to soothe fevers or lull her boys back to peaceful dreams after nightmares. Killian had barely remembered her - or anything about the cozy, cliffside cottage that had been their home - even then, but Liam had held it dear in his own heart and had brought the same feeling to life for Killian.

As Killian continued to sing, voice gathering strength while rising and falling with the notes, the rain outside their small shelter in the woods seemed to wrap around and join the chorus. His audience in the cabin listened closely, drawn into the song that had once been his mother’s, which had comforted him for years as something of his older brother’s, passing on once again to the new family they had made.

And as the fireplace crackled invitingly, his wife’s golden head rested on his shoulder, and he sang the last lines, the sudden storm they’d hunkered down to escape seemed to have enclosed them in a haven instead. The wind blowing the branches against the windows still showed its power, but with those he loved around him, the storm which had accompanied his long held memories finally ceased.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @justanother-unluckysoul @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda

@xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @goforlaunchcee @stahlop @caught-in-the-filter

@donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan @undercaffinatednightmare @drowned-dreamer

@gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @scientificapricot @motherkatereloyshipper @myfearless-love

@belovedcreation @exhaustedpirate @grimmswan @zaharadessert

#cs ff #cs spooky season bingo #cs autumn bingo fic #prompt fic #coming back on the wind #cs future family fluff #post s6 canon divergent #stormy seas #cs one shot #ouat one shot

19 notes · View notes

quibbs126 · 2 years ago

Text

Alright, you know what, I want to do fankid requests but can’t think of ideas, both for names and concepts, so I’m just gonna ask a few

Okay first: Eclair/Almond. I have one name, that being Keto Donut (though I don’t remember what that is), but I have no idea what to do with it, other than maybe a police officer (because you know, cops and their donuts). But also, would there be a better thing that could work?

Cinnamon/Roguefort: all I have is Cinnamon Cheesecake, but again, I feel like I can do better. And this is another “I don’t know what to do for the character”, but also maybe I just need to peruse the ship more to get ideas

Affogato/Pomegranate: I have no idea how to combine these two or get something that works for both

Madeleine/Mont Blanc: similarly, I don’t know what to do combine these, other than just some other French dessert

Chili Pepper/Rye: I have a name, Pepper Bread, but I don’t know what to do with him

Popcorn/Banana: Name trouble. I feel like you can mix popcorn and bananas in a bowl or something, like they’re both just there together, but I don’t know how to combine them into one thing

Peach/Banana: Also name trouble. I’ve come up with a few names, but I’m not too sold on them. We got Pomelo (but that’s a citrus), Yangmei (I don’t remember what that is), Pink Pearl Apple (too long), Pear, and Peach Melba. Maybe I should go down the ice cream route? I’m not sure, since neither characters are associated with ice cream

Tea Knight/Vampire: So I know they’re tea and wine, but I don’t know how to combine the two. Maybe I could focus on ceylon, since it’s red and black, and is also Tea Knight’s supposed flavor but he doesn’t look it

Affogato/Red Velvet: I almost forgot this one. So I have a name, Zuccotto, but I have no idea what to do for them. Which is frustrating because I’ve had this one for a very long time but I just can never think of anything and work on them

These were just a few I was struggling with, but I thought I should keep the list relatively short for now. Maybe I’ll do another later down the line

I don’t expect anyone to give me answers for all of them, but if anyone can give suggestions for at least one, that’d be much appreciated

16 notes · View notes

like-x-thundxr · 2 years ago

Note

ALL OF THE OC QUESTIONS RIGHT BACK AT CHA

// I'll smack in Daeho for this!

how long ago did you create your oc? how did the idea come to you? — He got created very randomly! I had a thread going on with my single dad Minho and had to come up with a name for the kid and voila! Daeho was a thing. In the end I think his final form took about.... 2 months to come to light because I kind of forgot to think of a face for him 🙈 Before that he was just a name.

how would you describe your oc's core aesthetic? — Cozy, warm, soft sweaters and cups of tea while cuddled in blankets on the couch, rays of sun shining through the window! Colors of amber! Water color stains and sketches!

if your oc had a theme song, what would it be? — This! It's so cozy and makes me think of Daeho painting or getting a cup of tea

youtube

what inspires you when writing your oc? — I haven't written him properly yet 🙈 Only as a kid so far

does your oc have a faceclaim? if so, why did you choose them? if they don't have a faceclaim, why not? — Yeah, Kang Tae Oh! Came across him in Attorney Woo and he's been stuck in my brain for like, 1,5-2 years by now if I'm right

does your oc have any particular ties to certain fandoms? how do they fit into the dynamics of these fandoms and their existing characters? — Does kpop count lol? If yes then Minho! He has multiple times said that he loves kids and wants some so I figured "Why not" and fished out a dad AU for him, came up with Daeho and boom, rest is history

what are some of your favorite ships with your oc? — He has none yet 🙈

what do you think makes your oc unique? — He's almost a splitting image of his dad Minho! But he has rounder cheeks and they are very squishy!

what qualities do you and your oc have in common? — Squishy cheeks and some knacks for art 🙈 Cozy vibes. Kind of same nervous habits

what makes you and your oc different? — He's lot happier than I am and has an understanding and supporting dad lol!

does your oc have any quirks or habits? — Biting his bottom lip, holding a paint brush/pen with his teeth/mouth when he's doing something else like erasing. Rubbing the base of his thumb when he's nervous or shy

in your opinion, what's the hardest thing to do when creating an oc? — Name and backstory

in your opinion, what's the easiest thing to do when creating an oc? — Personality and face

are there any canon characters that inspired your oc? — Minho 🙈 And personality-wise, Junho from Attorney Woo!

are there any canon characters you wish would interact with your oc? — Everyone's welcome!

what's your opinion on ocs in general? — He's my sweet child 😭❤

do you have any hot takes about ocs? — Not sure if I understand

what colors do you associate with your oc? — Warm orange, amber, chocolate brown, yellow

what do you think your oc smells like? — Cinnamon, clean sheets, water colors, hints of sandalwood and maybe bit of lemon?

are there any important npcs in your oc's life? what are they like? — Pardon? 😂

how would other characters describe your oc? — Minho would probably just yell "MY LOVELY SON!", others would maybe call him a happy and charming young man

0 notes

errantknightess · 2 years ago

Text

Ship: Noctis/Prompto || Words: 1,287 || Domestic fluff

Prompt: Sharing a warm drink on a cold night

[Read on AO3] (with a bonus illustration by MoonlightWanderer - thank you!!!)

Noctis stifled a yawn and looked around the dark kitchen again, as if something had changed in the last fifteen minutes since he came there. The tile floor felt cold under his bare feet, and the insistent sucking in his stomach grew more and more annoying as his eyes slid over the messy counter top.

It was strewn with open packets of crushed potato chips, remains of cold take-out noodles, and a couple leftover pizza slices still in the box. Just four hours ago, he and Prompto had been more than happy to chow down on all this while the last Justice Monsters V boss kicked their asses – but right now, none of it tickled his fancy. His stomach simply demanded he had to have something, and refused to specify the details.

“Noct?”

Prompto’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. Noctis turned around, searching his face in the dim blue light from the window. Even with that, Prompto’s concerned frown was hard to miss.

“Hey,” Noctis said quietly. “Did I wake you up?”

Prompto shook his head. “Nah, wasn’t sleeping yet. You were gone for a while, so I thought I’d go check on you. Everything okay?”

Noctis’s stomach squeezed again, in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with food.

“Everything’s fine,” he said quickly. “I just... have this craving. For nothing particular. I get it a lot recently, after training and stuff. Warping makes me feel all kinds of weird. Guess that’s one of them.”

“I kinda get it.” Prompto sent him a commiserating smile. “I’m the same after running. Usually I drink some water to trick my stomach.”

Noctis sighed. “Maybe I should just have some tea to help me go to sleep. Got pretty cold standing here, anyway. Would be nice to warm up.”

“Oooh, I have a better idea!” Prompto perked up, his smile growing wider and brighter now. “I know something that works wonders. Let me treat you!”

He slipped into the kitchen and gently nudged Noctis out of his way as he got to making... whatever it was he was making. Puzzled, Noctis watched him retrieve a pot from the cupboard and milk from the fridge, and climb on his tiptoes to reach for the little jars of spices on the upper shelf.

There was something patently domestic about seeing him move so freely around there, so at home, knowing where everything was and not needing to ask if he could take this or that. It made Noctis feel a lot warmer already, his chest flooding with a steady, radiant glow.

“It takes a moment to make, but I swear it’s soooo good,” Prompto explained, dropping a spoonful of tea leaves into the simmering milk. He added a hefty lump of honey, too, and slowly stirred in some cinnamon and other dark dried bits of spices that Noctis couldn’t quite name in the low light. The air swirled with a sweet, heavy smell as the steam billowed up into their faces.

What a good excuse for the bright flush on his cheeks.

“There! I think it’s ready.” Prompto turned off the stove and carefully poured the mixture into two mugs. “I hope you like it. I might have gone a little heavy on the cloves.”

“Smells great, at least. Cheers.” With a smile, Noctis clinked his mug against Prompto’s and put it to his lips for the first scalding sip.

It tasted amazing.

The heat of the spices tingled in his mouth, prickling like tiny needles through the soft sweetness of honeyed milk. As the heavy warmth settled in his stomach, the nagging empty feeling finally ebbed away, replaced by dense, pleasant grogginess. Noctis felt his eyelids starting to droop. Prompto’s quiet laugh chimed in his ear, much closer than he would expect.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep standing up. Come on.”

A gentle hand squeezed his shoulder and steered him out of the kitchen, then on to the living room couch. Noctis slowly sank down into the cushions, holding his precious mug high while Prompto threw a blanket over them. He could already tell it was going to be incredibly hard to get up from there later and go back to bed – but right then, he didn’t mind at all.

They sat there, curled up in the pale light of the neons outside the window, and slowly finished their drinks. With each sip, the cosy comfort weighted down on Noctis’s eyelids more and more. Next to him, Prompto was a solid spot of warmth pressed up to his side, humming a low tune that thrummed through Noctis’s chest with how close they were sitting.

Before he knew it, the soft melody had carried him to sleep, his head tucked against Prompto’s shoulder.

***

Noctis isn’t sure what woke him up. Maybe it was the cold of the empty mattress beside him as he rolled over; maybe the quiet rustling and shuffling coming from somewhere in the dark apartment. He can’t ignore either of these – so he throws away the sleep-warm blanket and drags himself out of bed to investigate.

He finds Prompto in the kitchen, gilded in the dusty light of the single bulb over the stove. He’s looking out the window, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the counter. The shadows under his eyes are deep and purple like bruises. He always looks so tired these days – and living together over the past couple months, Noctis has gotten a good idea why.

“Can’t sleep again?”

Prompto turns to face him, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s just – weird. Too dark.”

The blinds are open, filtering in the glow of the snowy street outside. It’s still nothing compared to the searing white glare of the floodlights that they’ve only taken down a few weeks ago. For the past decade, darkness used to mean daemons, danger and death. It’s no wonder Prompto’s senses go on high alert as soon as the sun starts to slip under the horizon each night.

“Come here,” Noctis says quietly. He pulls Prompto in, close enough to plant a kiss on his temple and feel Prompto’s body instantly relax into his chest. His sleeping shirt feels clammy under Noctis’s fingers. Noctis wonders how long he’s been standing out here.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks.

“A little,” Prompto lets out a small laugh. He presses even closer, burying his face in the crook of Noctis’s neck. “Not as much now.”

Noctis jolts as Prompto’s icy nose nuzzles his shoulder. “Uhuh. Sure. Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

Prompto obliges with a pout, releasing Noctis from the embrace, but making no move to step away or return to bed. They both know at this point sleep is not in the cards. Noctis keeps one hand on Prompto’s waist as he sets out to work, pulling out a banged-up pot and a carton of milk.

He has to do with fewer spices, and their tea is not the fancy kind he used to keep stocked as a teen. Still, as it all starts to simmer, the wafting steam carries the same sweet scents he remembers from years back, familiar and comforting.

“Here you go.” He presses a full mug into Prompto’s hand, fingers closing over his on the warm ceramic. Then, they shuffle two steps out of their tiny kitchen to the couch in the main room. Prompto melts against him on the lumpy cushions, cradling the steaming mug in his lap.

There’s a drop of milk clinging to his bottom lip. Noctis leans in and kisses it clean off.

The dawn is not long away now – and when it comes, it finds them still and serene, fast asleep in each other’s arms.

#fanfiction #promptis #please read this one on AO3 guys!!!#you'd be missing out on super cute art and we don't want that right?

15 notes · View notes

sumsebien · 4 years ago

Text

by design pt.1//Prince Friedrich

prologue // series masterlist

summary: the journey from london to sanssouci is long. what will y/n and friedrich do with all this free time?

word count: 3.4k

warnings: none

a/n: hello i am sorry for being so late with this one. the next ones will also be a little further apart than you’ve come to expect from my last series but i think this quality-wise will be improved (hopefully)

The carriage was spacious enough so that Friedrich could sit without bumping his knees against whoever sat in front of him. Right now, that was you. Heinrich was next to Friedrich, briefing him about the itinerary for the day. And Friedrich tried to pay attention. He really did but his eyes kept landing on you every couple of seconds.

You sat quietly. Your face turned away from them as you gazed out of the windows. But then, he heard the faintest of sniffles. He turned to Heinrich. His valet stopped talking.

And then, he heard it again. This time, Heinrich heard it as well, laying the map down in his lap. Their eyes directed towards you.

You were crying.

The two men gave each other a look.

Friedrich hadn’t a clue what to do. He could not recall the last time he had had to comfort someone in distress. He figured it was because a Prince was not the most ideal person for people to confide in.

Heinrich, on the other hand, had three little sisters. Therefore, he was way more knowledgeable. He nudged the Prince’s shoulder, tipping his head towards your figure and mouthed ‘Do something!’

Friedrich shrugged. ‘What?’

‘Just do something!’

The silent conversation and stern looks Heinrich threw him forced a few words out of his mouth. All of them formed without any forethought. “My lady, would you like a handkerchief?”

His voice startled you. You quickly wiped the back of your hand under your eyes and shook your head. “I’m alright. Just something in my eyes,” you said, a weak smile on your face.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, a little bit too quickly for someone who was actually telling the truth. “It’s just been a long day. That’s all.”

You thought they didn’t notice or perhaps at the least would ignore it if they did. You obviously thought wrong. How you wish you could swing the window open and flap away.

It was a completely normal thing that all girls must go through at one point. You should be thinking of yourself as lucky even. The ladies of the ton would happily die to be you right now, moving to Prussia with your husband, the Prince. That was what you kept telling yourself.

Tears began to prick at your eyes again as you thought about a life that was foreign in every sense of the word.

Maybe life in London was not all that bad. Sure there was a certain face you had to keep up at all times but at least there was your best friend Olivia. You never thought you could ever miss the horrible balls and tea parties, the cruel gossip and the contemptuous looks. But as London disappeared behind you, the thought of never returning frightened you.

You inhaled a shallow breath, afraid of alarming the Prince and his valet. They probably thought you weak and pitiful now.

“Shall I get you a blanket? We still have quite the journey,” said the Prince.

You shook your head, not even dreaming of requesting anything from him. “I will just admire the countryside for now. Don’t worry about me.”

You promised yourself that you would stay awake. One of the things your mother managed to say to you in the carriage ride to the abbey was to not fall asleep as “it might put your husband off” in her exact words. She always made it a point to tell you just how ungraceful you looked when you were sleeping. And perhaps you should take her advice. The last thing you would want is for your husband to find you ungraceful just after your wedding ceremony.

Of course, not long after that, you fell asleep.

When you woke up, everything was pitch black. The last thing you remembered was trying to keep your eyes open. But the repetitive sights and the quiet droning of the Prince’s valet made it too difficult to resist giving in to the heaviness weighing on your eyelids.

As you blinked and regained your vision, you noticed that you were alone in the carriage. The blinds had been drawn on all windows. You felt yourself panic. Was something wrong? Where was everyone?

As you began to think up millions of ways the trip could have gone wrong, the possibility of a raid came up.

You drew a shaky breath and moved. That was when you realized that you had someone’s coat covering you this whole time. You held it up to the little sliver of light peaking through the curtains and recognized the navy blue color. It was the Prince’s.

Just as you were holding the coat, the door was opened. You nearly froze when you saw Heinrich on the other side.

“Your Highness,” he bowed, “you’re awake.”

The title threw you in a bit of a loop in your drowsy state. It took you a moment longer to realize that he was referring to you. It was going to take a while to adjust.

You masked the initial shock by clearing your throat. “Yes. What time is it?”

“It’s 9 pm, ma’am. Would you like to board the ship now?”

You nodded, picking up your skirt and making your way down the steps. He took the coat for you and held your hand to help you.

“You should wear this, your Highness. It’s a little bit cold.”

The night breeze sent goosebumps up your arms and you carefully draped his coat back on, now noticing the citrusy scent clinging onto it. You held onto the lapels of the coat and followed Heinrich.

The sailing ship was anchored just by the dock, a couple of steps away from where the carriages stopped. It was an absolute beast with towering sails for wings, a strong body made of wood and a long pointy bow spirit as a fearsome horn. The sails flapped in the wind, wanting to stretch free of its frames and fly off into the night sky.

As you and Heinrich made your way up the stairs to the main deck, you could hear the commotion happening before you could see it. Thumping footsteps, shouts and grunts as the crew got ready to set sail.

They did not care that you were here and you liked that. Being invisible was nice. Heinrich, however, did not enjoy it as much. He seemed a bit anxious to have you witness all of this and quickly led you away from all the noises down one flight of stairs. You could still hear heavy footsteps but they were muffled, less prominent than before now that you were one floor below.

The air heavy with moisture and salt filled your lungs as you made your way down a lengthy and narrow hallway. Not too far away stood two ladies. Heinrich confirmed that it was in fact your room.

“These are your lady’s maids-Lea and Ilse. Should you need anything, they shall help you.”The girls curtsied at the sight of you and each nodded at the mention of their names.

You studied their faces, trying to cling to certain features so that you would not forget their names. Both of them had perfectly combed blonde hair, although instead of just a simple bun, Ilse’s hairdo was a little more intricate with the way she wrapped her hair. Lea was a little taller and seemed a little tougher than Ilse with her strong eyebrows and tall gait. Ilse, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and more youthful, reminding you of Olivia.

“Thank you, Heinrich.”

He nodded and bowed his head. But before he could walk away, you called him, prompting him to spin around again.

“May I ask where the Prince is?”

“His Royal Highness is speaking to the captain of the ship, ma’am. Should you like me to call for him?”

You shook your head firmly. “No, thank you.”

When he was out of sight, you suddenly remembered you were still wearing the Prince’s coat. But he had gone too far for you to call him back again now.

You sighed quietly, turning to face the door. Reaching out your hand, you were just about grab the doorknob but found that Lea was already there too.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you held your hands up to your chest, allowing her to open the door.

“It’s alright, your Highness,” she said with a smile.

You took a moment to admire the room before you. Almost everything was made from walnut wood-the walls, the floors, the furniture, covering the whole room in a rich chocolate brown color. The candles washed the room in a soft orange glow, accentuating the warm earthy tones and setting a completely different mood from the shivering wet deck.

You wandered inside, running your hand along the wall panels, delighting in the little crevices on the surface.

“I hope you don’t mind. We’ve drawn you a bath, your Highness,” Ilse said.

You shook your head. “No, of course not. Thank you.”

“Would you like us to assist you with your dress, ma’am?”

You shook your head. “I shall be quite fine. You can take your break now, ladies.”

You expected the two of them to leave right away. After all, it had been a very lengthy day and even though you intended on getting to know the both of them, now was simply not the time for sharing childhood tales. But they lingered on by the door, prompting a “Yes?” from you.

“Would you like supper brought to you, ma’am?” Lea asked.

“I can do that?”

Both of them nodded, probably finding you the oddest lady they had ever served.

“Well, if it is not too much trouble, I’d love it.”

The girls curtsied and left the room.

Now completely alone, you let out a long, tired sigh. It was a terrible habit of yours and you were well aware. You always thought too much whenever amd wherever you could, especially when you were left on your own. Your mind instantly ran over every little detail, picking out anything that might have left a bad impression on your new husband and staff members.

There were simply too many.

With a sigh, you shrugged the coat off of your shoulders, carefully placing it on the bed. If you must admit, you missed the comforting weight of it on your shoulders and the faint smell of orange and cinnamon. You then thought of him. The Prince.

For reasons unknown, you felt intimidated by him. So far he had been nothing but kind and he had done nothing that could warrant such a feeling.

Something inside you just wished you would not disappoint him like you did your parents. It was difficult because you had no idea what his expectations were of you. All you knew was that Miss Bridgerton was who he really wanted. And if that was the goal, you found yourself far from ever reaching it. You might have been born into a higher born family but you lacked the charm that she had. She was always the older ladies’ favorite when they were small. Even now, she had the favor of everyone she met.

You prepared different conversational topics for when he would come into the room eventually. There was nothing less attractive than a tone-deaf lady and you made sure political icebreakers were left far far away for the night. Maybe you could talk about the weather or music. They seemed to be perfectly proper matters of discussion for a lady. Far better than overly formal issues currently happening.

The bath you took wasn’t as relaxing as you had hoped for. Not even the slight sear of the water and the faint lavender scent could rid your mind of thoughts. You decided not to sit for long, your legs growing a bit restless in the water. Just as you finished tying your dress robes, you heard a knock and a voice from behind the door.

“Your Highness! We’ve brought you supper!”

“Yes. Come in!” you called.

At the sound of approval, your maids brought in a tray with silver dish covers on top. They opened the covers for you, revealing a piece of steaming roasted salmon and pudding. You then realized that you were starving. The piece of bread you managed to shove into your mouth earlier today was definitely long gone.

“Would you like some wine, your Highness?” Lea asked.

You shook your head. All you wanted was to sit down and eat everything. And as helpful as they had been, their questions at this moment was not. “No thank you. This shall be perfect.”

“Should we bring you more food?” Ilse added.

“No. I am happy with this. Thank you.”

They finally left. But you had barely sit down when there came another knock on the door. You groaned to yourself. Again?

“What?” you poked your head out, expecting your maids and more questions. But the last time you saw them they didn’t wear blue and there were certainly two of them.

Oh crap.

It was the Prince of Prussia.

Blush crept onto your cheeks as you became aware of your curtness. “Your Highness!”

He had his brows raised at the curious sight of you poking only your head out, leaning against the door rather inelegantly. He stepped away almost immediately. “Oh, am I interrupting you? I apologize-“

“No! I apologize, your Highness. Would-would you like to come in?” You stood up straight, opening the door a little wider. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, wishing to break free from your ribcage.

He shook his head. “I am just here to ask you if everything was alright.”

He didn’t want to come in?

“I am alright. Thank you for asking, your Highness.”

He cleared his voice. “Good. Well, it’s been a long day for you. You should get some rest. There will be a lot more traveling for tomorrow.”

“Oh thank you. So should you. Oh-and before I forget.”

You disappeared into the room. In the meantime, Friedrich managed to catch a quick glimpse of your room. He had assigned the largest one to you, his was half the size. But it did not matter where he was. After all, he wanted the best for his bride, no matter who she was.

You appeared again moments later, thanking him for lending the coat to you. He held his coat in the crook of his elbow. “Good night.”

You leaned against the door, your back landing on the surface with a dull thump. You were relieved that he didn’t come in because you were not ready at all. Yet, you could not help but feel the clouds of dread forming over you. Was he being thoughtful or did he want nothing to do with you?

...

The next morning when Lea and Ilse came into the room, you could practically hear their thoughts.

Lea was a bit better at hiding her surprise while Ilse had to look away, turning to the curtains for an escape. As they got you ready, they distracted you with their millions of questions about what you would like for your hair, your dress and your food. But what all three of you were thinking about was the reason why you were alone on your wedding night.

“Do you know where the Prince is?” you asked, finally tired of dancing around the topic.

Ilse gasped, no longer brushing your hair. “Your Highness, was he not here?”

“Ilse, I mean no offense but you are a terrible liar.”

Your comment made Lea choke back a laugh. Meanwhile, Ilse’s face grew bright red as she began to comb your hair again, laughing quietly. “I apologize, your Highness. I just cannot see why he wasn’t here with you. You’re beautiful!”

“Well, I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“I don’t think that is the case, your Highness. Maybe you just don’t know each other,” Lea added, putting on a diamond necklace for you. “You still have plenty of time for that until you arrive at the palace.”

Perhaps she was right. But whether right or wrong, you felt some weight lifted off your shoulders. You felt that way with Olivia too, back in London. It gave us great comfort to know that at the very least you and your lady’s maids would get along perfectly fine.

“Will you two be with me then?”

“Of course!” Ilse assured you, placing the comb down, happy with how your hair looked. “Right, Lea?”

“Yes and there will be another lady too. Your chief of staff.”

You had finished getting ready but your appearance was the last thing on your mind right now. You turned in your chair, curious as to how the Prussian court worked. “Oh?”

Ilse was more than glad to pass around the gossip. “Rumors have it that the King had someone in mind for you. But we left before he made the decision. I bet Heinrich knows.”

...

It was definitely not a good time to ask questions.

When you and your maids got off of the ship onto French soil by noon, there were new carriages that awaited you. Just as you were marveling at the beautiful paintings on the side of the carriages and the gold ornate trims on the wheels, your attention was quickly drawn to the people standing next to the largest carriage at the front.

It was the Prince and Heinrich.

They were in quite a heated discussion when they noticed you looking and promptly paused their conversation.

“Your Highness,” Heinrich bowed.

You looked between the two of them, sensing the tension but did not dare ask for the reason. The Prince offered his hand and helped you into the carriage wordlessly.

Outside of the window, Heinrich got on horse, charging away before your carriage even began to move. It was awfully curious.

“Did you sleep well?”

You tore your eyes away from the window, deciding to focus on him instead. Inside of the carriage, the Prince was a completely different person than he was a mere second ago. He was sighing, his brows knitted, his hands waving about as he spoke to his valet about very important matters surely. But now, he had a friendly grin on his lips, his gaze soft as he engaged in small talk with you.

“Yes. Thank you for asking, your Highness.”

That made him laugh. You did not know just what it was that he should be laughing about though. “You know, you do not have to call me that.”

“I-I don’t?”

He shook his head. “Call me Friedrich. We are husband and wife, after all.”

You nodded. “Well, then, please call me Y/N.”

“We have a deal.”

Silence fell on the two of you after that.

Friedrich looked out of the window, observing the French countryside in the distance, the sound of waves crashing ashore was mere memories now.

You had always been a little impatient in these awkward pauses, never quite sure what to do. You had been rehearsing for this moment in the bathroom yesterday. But perhaps going by a first-name basis gave you the boost of confidence you needed to be the one to break the silence, without the help of scripted conversations.

“Is Heinrich not joining us?”

Friedrich shook his head. “He will meet us at the train station. There was just a little something that needed to be checked.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it.

“Is there anything wrong?”

“Just a mix-up with the train schedules. No need to worry though. We will just have to switch the rooms around a bit.”

That was a lie. And you’d find out the truth eventually when you got to the train station. Heinrich seemed pale as a ghost when he saw you and Friedrich emerge from the carriages, rushing towards the both of you. He did not seem to mind that you were there to listen, frantically speaking. “Your Highness, the state train is not coming.”

“When did this happen?”

“I just checked. Apparently, they cancelled it from Potsdam.”

You had no idea what was happening but from the sigh leaving Friedrich’s lips you knew it was not good news at all.

“So we’ll take the standard then?”

“I am afraid so, sir.”

It was exactly what he had feared.

His father was mad and now that they were about to enter Prussia, there was no escaping his wrath. Friedrich did not mind, in particular. He was quite used to his father’s tantrums by now.

Whenever his father lost, he would make sure no one could win.

When Friedrich made the decision to marry you in England, he had prepared himself to face the King once they arrived at the Berlin Palace. He just felt bad for you having to get the wrong end of the stick because of him.

“I apologize,” he said, “I am afraid there is no other way.”

You waved your hand. “It is fine. I don’t think it is a big deal at all. I shall be good with anything.”

“Heinrich, see to it that you book her highness the room. I’ll sit where ever.”

You held up your hand. “Wait, excuse me?”

“There is only one room on the standard train, ma’am.”

“I-I will sit with my maids. I can’t-”

Heinrich looked to the Prince who was looking at you, his lips parted.

He shook his head furiously. “You are the Princess of Prussia. I will not allow you to sit in the back.”

There was only one solution.

Simple and straightforward to all of your current troubles. Friedrich did not want to suggest, he knew you were forced into this mess as much as he was. He was not going to make you do anything. And he was quite ready to sit with his staff, giving you your privacy when out of the blue...

“Then-then we’ll share the room.”

taglist: @awesomebooklover17 @oopsiedoopsie23 @milkbaer @vampirestookmydoubts @5hundreddaysofsummer @km-98 @mikeys-thighs @lunas1x1 @albeeox @darkestbeforethedawn16 @defffcc @sarcasm-n-insomnia @urie-bowie-mercury @babydidoy @cvpidsletters @mmmh-i-cant-help-myself @fanaticalfantasist @heartofrosecoloredglasses @truly-insatiable

let me know if you’d like to be tagged

#bridgerton #prince friedrich #bridgerton imagine #prince friedrich fanfiction #prince friedrich imagines #prince friedrich x reader

273 notes · View notes

faerune · 3 years ago

Note

🔥📀🌳 for jane!

Give us a list of general likes and dislikes, such as colours, textures, music, weather and other stuff! Likes: guns, dancing/clubbing, cheap liquor, motorcycles, exercise (namely weights and running!), spicy food, sushi, red, black, the sound of drive cores on a ship, smell of cinnamon, the smell of cigarettes, kaidan's cologne, showers, leather jackets, rainy weather, thunderstorms, 1990s R&B/rap, people who challenge her/call her on her bullshit, her crew <3, cheesy action blockbusters, black coffee Dislikes: authority, engineering/tech stuff beyond a basic level, licorice, most candy except for chocolate, absolute silence, country, super hot weather, sniper rifles/long-ranged combat, mornings, tea, super strong floral scents for deodorant/body spray/etc, people who don't listen to her

How easy is it to shock your OC? To confuse them? To lie to them, to manipulate them? How are they with feelings of trust? Can your OC be trusted? It's super hard to shock Jane with everything she's seen! Both throughout the trilogy and her background, she's seen a ton of stuff. As long as she's in her wheelhouse with combat, military strategy, other things she's naturally good at she's fine but once like...Liara and Tali start talking about super out there tech and science stuff she tunes out lmao. She never got a great education back on earth considering her upbringing and she kind of avoids those conversations because she hates being reminded. It's not easy to lie or manipulate Jane on the other hand. She's pretty distrustful even if she kinda puts forth a friendly demeanor. Jane is good at reading people (another of the slim benefits to her upbringing). Once Jane trusts you though and you earn her respect? You aren't getting rid of her! You just have to prove yourself to her first. Jane is a pretty honest, direct person and isn't the kind to manipulate or lie without purpose at least and she tries to be dependable!

Compare your OC to themself from 10 years ago. How has their mental state changed since then, how have they aged and grown up? Would they say they’re in a better place than they were back then or do they need help? What advice would they give their younger self? What advice would their younger self give to them now? BABY JANE! She's ~32 in ME3 so 22 year old Jane was a lot less...worn and tired. Jane a few years into her military career was very headstrong like she still is but more arrogant (if that's possible) and had big dreams about rising up among the ranks and Making a Difference and above all else just enjoying being out of where she was raised and AMONG THE STARS! I'd say she's been tempered a bit by all she's experienced even if that fire is still inside her. I think Jane would try and sit her younger self down and tell her that sometimes you inevitably fail and the only thing you can do is learn from it. Baby Jane takes her losses hard because she kind of thinks she can do anything. Baby Jane would probably remind older Jane of that fire she had, that it's a good thing and that her idealism isn't a weakness. Also, would remind her where they came from because looking back it really seems like they can do anything.

#JESS thank you i adore her #oc: jane #asks

3 notes · View notes

mrsgiovanna · 3 years ago

Note

Narancia: Hey, Giorno! I found this old photo in one of the boxes over there. It was in a file.

Giorno: Hm? Well, I'm sure it must be someone associated to us... *sips on tea*

Narancia: Yeah. *squints at the photo* Hey, who is this Haruno Shiobana?

Giorno: *does a spit take*

- Inside Giorno's mind -

Haruno: *raises hand* Here I am!

Angel Giorno: Well, what do we say?

Devil Giorno: We lie! We say that he's a cousin!

Angel Giorno: Now that's not fair to Haruno. He is a part of our mind as well!

Devil Giorno: Well, you know everybody knows us as Giorno! We tell the truth and then what?

Haruno: Would they... not like me? Am I a bad boy? Did I do something bad? *looks down*

Angel Giorno: Now look what you did! You made him sad! *comforts Haruno*

Devil Giorno: It's not like I wanted to, but we've no idea how the team is going to react!

Haruno: *sniffles, then begins to cry* They don't like me! They don't like me!

- Outside -

Narancia: Giorno? *waves a hand* Gio, you ok?

The way my heart clenched when I read this 😭😢 I wrote something similar to this in my ship nonsense and it's painful to think about the inner conflict he might have with this.

Giorno: *takes the picture from Narancia and stares at it*

Bri: *walks in, smiles* hi guys, are you doing oka- what's wrong? *sits next to them*

Narancia: I found this picture and asked Gio about it... but it seems to have spooked him a bit ...

Giorno: ... Haruno Shiobana... is my birth name... this is how I looked in the past. I didn't have the best time and well... many things happened. I guess when I properly awakened my stand, my hair colour started to change and when I got older I changed my name and left my past just there... behind me... *tells them about his past*

Narancia: Gio... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring anything up and make you upset...

Bri: I'm sorry you had to go through those things... *looks at Narancia, blinking away a few tears, then back at Giorno* you know... for what it's worth I'm sure if your small self could see you right now, he'd be so happy and proud of you, and I feel you should be proud of him too... he's been through a lot it's no small feat,

Narancia: yeah, that's a great way of putting it, at the end of the day you're still you and everyone cares about you.

Giorno: Guys... I... *averts his gaze*

Bri: *squeezes his hand* may I see?

Giorno: *reluctantly hands her the picture*

Bri: Owaah so cute! Ahhh you were a cinnamon roll back then

Narancia: so you kept the cinnamon rolls in your hair instead?

Bri: Nara ... really? *scowls*

Giorno: *laughs* there really aren't any dull moments when you guys are around

-inside Giorno's mind-

Angel Giorno: see Haruno, they love you,

Devil Giorno: *kneels to eye level with Haruno* I'm sorry kiddo, I panicked and I said something I didn't mean, without you, there's no us.

Haruno: *sniffs* you mean that?

Devil Giorno: 100% see, Bri thinks you're a cinnamon roll

Haruno: Bribri said that?! *all 3 look at the screen seeing a happy Giorno with Bri and Narancia*

Ahhh I feel this could be a full fic, sorry I went overboard there. As always tysmm, I hope you're well and are still having a beautiful day my sweet 🤲🥺💖🌟💗⭐❤💫💝🐞💞🕊

#sweet mutuals🥺#angel/devil gio #giorno giovanna #don giovanna

7 notes · View notes

whatgaviiformes · 4 years ago

Text

Turning Circles

A/N: Okay, so this is the last idea I had in my head for Olympics stuff, and it’s the one that kind of did what it wanted to do. Remember how I said I don’t write ships.... well Gordon had other plans.

So Pen and Ink - and I abandoned the summer Olympics for the Winter. Because, fun fact, I don’t know anything about the other sports. But what I do know is ice skating.

So you can tell me if you enjoy this or if this is weird. I dunno.

I don’t write ships, this is weird for me. please beniceomgomgomgomg

-----

TURNING CIRCLES

It was official.

Gordon had a crush on his brother’s pairs partner.

By all rights, Penny should be representing Great Britain, not the US. But loopholes with her mother’s ancestry aside, it was obvious she and John just fit as a pairs team, and their ease with each other translated beautifully into their performances.

Their fit hadn’t been immediately obvious; it took Coach Moseley reaching out to John directly and asking him to just come give it a try. What could be the harm? Up until then, John had considered himself a singles skater. But in his past competitive performance, his programs had just felt flat, and dispassionate. The World Stage knew it.

And Penny – well she was, rightfully so, a little –uh, selective after her previous partner was willing to abandon her safety for the thrill of the win. The partnership of Fischler and Creighton-Ward had dissolved a few years ago, right before the national championship, in a major upset that reached even the most remote television screens.

There was video of the qualifiers, and Gordon fumed thinking about Penny’s fall. Pairs was about trust, about knowing each other’s cues and speaking silently, soul to soul. Penny hadn’t been prepared when Fischler changed the throw to a more difficult one that would score them a higher technical score. He hadn’t warned her, and she hit the ice hard with a cry that still sent goosebumps up his arms when Gordon thought about it.

Then again, that could just be the cold of the rink this early in the morning. He rubbed his gloved hands together to spread a bit of warmth up his frozen limbs. Gordon had bundled himself into a pair of long jeans and a thermal bomber jacket, with faux fur adorning the hood for this morning’s visit to their family’s Ice Arena and Sports Complex.

In comparison, Penny and John wore their practice outfits, and for Penny that still meant tights and a cobalt blue skating dress with a sheer skirt and rhinestones framing her chest -stop looking, Gordon. John wore a pair of black joggers and a long sleeve grey Henley. His red hair was messy from their warm-up, looking like absolute bed head in comparison to Penny’s immaculate high ponytail.

They kept warm somehow, but then again, they were the ones currently practicing the salchow. Gordon was just the one who ran for drinks.

Penny’s rotation was a bit faster than John’s. Coach Moseley echoed it as he thought it, clapping her hands together and shouting, “Again!”

The pair started with the footwork sequence right before the triple salchow, setting up the back left inside edge that started the jump. They turned, one-two-three (and it had taken Gordon a few months to get comfortable recognizing the rotations, but it was obvious now), and then landed on an outside edge on the right leg.

Better that time.

From his jacket pocket, Gordon pulled out his phone and the stylus he used to make notes and opened his digital notepad for John. He’d lost some height in his jump - an increase in his calf exercises should help correct that.

Coach Moseley skated over to the edge of the rink to greet Gordon and gestured for the pair to join her as they finished off their edge with the next few steps of the next sequence.

“Did you get that, kid?”

“Yep,” he confirmed. “All right here.” He tapped the stylus against the side of his phone. So, in all truth, he did more than bring drinks. It took a village, and John and Penny had Coach Moseley, a Choreographer, a ballet teacher, and, well, Gordon had the honor of being their nutritionist and personal weight trainer.

“I’d like you to work with Penny on her forearms, too,” Coach Moseley added. “They had a wobble in their twist lift yesterday.”

Gordon’s heart jumped. “Is she ok?”

“She didn’t fall, kiddo. John held firm. I’d just like to be a bit on the safe side.”

He understood that. A few taps with the stylus later and the note was added into Penny’s file. Then he pocketed his phone to greet his brother and his partner with a grin.

“Morning!”

“Gordon, Darling.” Penny reached for the pink thermos he offered. It was filled with warm green tea to start her day. “Thank you,” she hummed. “You’re a Godsend.”

He ducked his head as his cheeks flushed, pretending to check the other two drinks to make sure he had the right ones for each.

“Ah – here you go, John. Black with honey and cinnamon.” Pen and John were allowed natural sweeteners only. And for their coach – “Caramel macchiato with hazelnut.”

“Thanks, Gordon,” John said, humming happily into his coffee as he took a sip.

“I brought some honeycrisps too.”

“Wonderful. Okay kids, take five,” the Coach said. “We’ll drop jumps down to doubles when you get back. I want to focus on footwork this morning.”

He noticed John’s galaxy blade protectors sitting to his right on the barrier of the rink, so Gordon slid them over to his brother, stepping closer to the rink doors just in case he needed a hand. John had a habit of tripping when transitioning from gliding on ice to the awkward process of walking in heavy skates.

For Penny, taking five meant she went right back to what she was doing. Turning circles, weaving grooves of figure eights onto the smooth ice, beautiful like crystal and as hard as glass. Much like the woman herself.

She’d taken her thermos and abandoned it on the other side of the rink.

Gordon watched her skate. And saw resilience, strength, intensity. When she first came to them, there’d been a shield around her, and slowly John and the rest of their family had started to help her bring that shell down. Much the same as when Kayo joined their fold.

But Gordon knew Penny could still cut him down with just her words and her stare. And though she knew it was a power she held, Gordon tried his hardest to hide the extent to which he knew she could truly and utterly break him if she wanted to.

If she knew.

A crunch to his right startled him; he jumped as Virgil came up beside him and bit into one of the apples he’d washed this morning and thrown into the thermal bag.

Virgil had his pair of hockey skates draped over one of his broad shoulders, and his red flannel was rolled up a bit at the sleeves. He casually leaned forward over the edge of the rink to mirror Gordon’s position, watching Penny as she skated freely.

“We need a fourth for even teams,” Virgil offered. He placed a hand on Gordon’s shoulder, turning to look him in the eye. “What do you say? You and me against Scott and the Sprout?”

“That’s hardly fair.” Virgil was a tank as goalie, and Scott had yet to figure out Gordon’s tricks for finding openings where there didn’t seem to be any.

“I wouldn’t underestimate them, Gordo. Alan’s been getting quicker on his feet. Which you would know if weren’t spending so much time out here lately.”

Gordon shrugged Virgil off and grabbed an apple for himself as well, taking a bigger bite than he probably needed.

“Gordon.”

“What? What are you trying to say, Virgil?”

Virgil sighed, sitting back on the bleachers behind them. “Nothing. Just – when you’re ready we’ll be over on rink two.”

“Sure.”

He slid back and grabbed his hockey bag by the door. “Don’t be too long.”

And as Virgil left, John returned. They whispered a few words to each other in the doorway, and Gordon tried to ignore the way his ears burned, even in the cold air of the rink in the morning

End Note - if it feels very “The Cutting Edge” it should. Turning Circles is a song from the movie, and the concept is....eh, similar. and Moseley is the last name of a character

#Gavii Scribit #Olympics!Tracys #John Ice Skates #So does Penny #pen and ink #and also Virgil wants his wingman back #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy

14 notes · View notes

dramaticsnakes · 5 years ago

Text

A drowsy morning

I wrote all of this today and I don’t know if it is any good but have some shameless moceit fluff with a hint of hurt/comfort anyway.

Ship: Moceit

Word count: 1918

TW: A bit of self-deprecation, but otherwise nothing I can think of. Let me know if I missed anything.

Summary: After a night of rushed and significant confessions, Patton wakes up in the morning with a certain fractionally fiendish fibber by his side.

Patton woke up groggily, feeling uncommonly safe. There was something warm and heavy around his waist, holding him close. His heart beat a little faster each passing moment, and his cheeks were so incredibly warm.

His heart skipped a beat, once he remembered exactly who it was, that was holding him close. When he remembered why. He inhaled and turned his head slightly. Janus was lying right next to Patton, his eyes closed and his breathing soothing. The scaled half of his face was pressed against the mattress, and his expression was so much calmer than anything Patton had ever seen. It was a mesmerizing and beautiful sight. He wore a soft yellow pyjama, that exposed some of the scales on his neck. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his hair was uncharacteristically messy. He was still wearing his gloves, and Patton wondered if they were uncomfortable to wear when he was asleep.

Patton remembered the night before. It was a fuzzy mess of confessions, apologies and gentle touches. He remembered the soft touch of Janus’ lips. Surprisingly calm and undemanding at first, until Patton clearly and passionately reciprocated. Patton felt his heart flutter and his entire body growing lighter at the thought. Every part of himself doubted that it had been real. That it hadn’t just been a vivid daydream, or the product of staying in his room for too long. Yet, right there next to him, the proof was sleeping soundly.

At least, Patton thought he was sleeping.

“Good morning, my darling.” Janus cooed. His tone was drowsy and intimate, and the words alone were enough to make Patton melt. My darling.

Patton had been too caught up in his daydreaming to notice, that Janus had opened his eyes. They were attentive enough, for Patton to momentarily doubt, they had ever been closed in the first place. “G-good morning.” Patton said, unable to hide his genuine smile. He didn’t want to anyway. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I’ve been awake for a long time.” Janus said, his expression turning more contemplative. Then he smirked, “Not that I was watching you or anything, but it would appear you were watching me.”

Janus had the ability to make every single word he said sound like they held an incredible significance. Maybe Patton’s own feelings affected that perception. “I-I’m sorry. I-“

Janus laughed, and it was a wholly pleasant sound. Like music you couldn’t help but sing along to. “After everything that happened last night…” Janus whispered, moving a little closer. Patton felt Janus’ warm breath, brushing the side of his cheek. It made him shiver, but not in an unpleasant way. “You really think that would be an issue to me?”

If Patton wasn’t already blushing, he certainly was now. “I… I guess not.”

The arms around Patton’s waist became increasingly obvious to Patton, as Janus’ grip only seemed to tighten. Patton remembered the night before, and how one half of Janus had been so much colder than the other. Patton remembered how Janus had tensed up when Patton pointed it out, until Patton mumbled into the embrace how he thought it was kind of nice. He did. It was new. Just like every part of Janus, Patton discovered each moment they spent together. Janus wasn’t cold anymore. “Cat got your tongue?” Janus asked.

“No. A snake did.” Patton said without thinking.

Janus looked surprised for a moment, and Patton could’ve sworn he saw a shade of pink on the human side of Janus’ face. His breathing was shaky, as he smiled. “Did it now?”

Patton paused as he looked at the clock. “I should get up…” he said, his voice silent and sheepish.

Janus paused, as his grip loosened slightly. “Do you want to?”

Patton looked at Janus who was staring at him intently. Patton couldn’t quite read the expression, but the way Janus said it was so matter-of-factly. As if it was the simplest question in the world. “I should get up and make some breakfast for the others before they wake up.”

“That wasn’t what I asked. Do you want to get up?” Janus tried again.

Patton stared at Janus’ mismatched eyes, the curve of his lips and the pretty scales paving his cheek like clouds in the sky on a comfortable summer day, and a part of him concluded that no. He didn’t want to. “Not really.”

Janus’ grip tightened once again, and Patton felt protected. As if he could stay in that position forever. “Then don’t.” Janus said, simply.

“I have to-“ Patton said.

“No, you don’t.” Janus said, “They can cook their own breakfast. They don’t even really need to eat. We’re metaphysical human beings.”

“Bu-“

“Patton, there is no harm in staying a bit longer.” Janus said, and hearing him say Patton’s name so casually, was incredibly addicting, “You are allowed to practice a little selfishness. I thought we established that.” After a few moments of silence, he shrugged and added, “Besides. You keep me warm.”

Patton looked at Janus, lips parted. “You’re so beautiful.” He breathed.

Janus inhaled sharply, though Patton couldn’t tell if it was surprise or something else. He avoided eye contact, which was unlike the previous parts of their conversation. “So are you.”

Patton looked at Janus’ face as he was looking away. There was something restrained about it, but the blush was no longer subtle. Patton’s eyes fell upon the lips once again and he remembered how they had felt the night before. He remembered all of the fuzzy feelings inside of him, as a homely bitter taste reached the edge of his tongue. He was hit with an overwhelming urge. “May I… May I kiss you again?” Patton whispered, as if he didn’t want Janus to hear.

Janus turned to Patton again, eyes darting to Patton’s lips. He let go of Patton for a moment, leaving the warmth in Patton’s stomach twisting around, as if it was missing an outlet. Then, Janus used his free hand to trace Patton’s chin and cheeks. “Yes.” he replied.

And Patton obliged. He closed the space between them, and the kiss was gentle and drowsy. Janus tasted differently in the morning, but it wasn’t unpleasant at all. It reminded Patton of the birds singing, and a cup of freshly brewed cinnamon tea. He could feel Janus’ heart near his own, beating in a steady and comforting rhythm. Janus’ hand was still placed lightly on Patton’s cheek, making it easy to pull away if he wanted to, but so much more appealing to stay. Patton was the one who pulled away, because he initiated the kiss and felt like it was his job to end it too. Janus’ lips were still parted. He opened his eyes and looked at Patton with a reflective fondness. Patton broke the silent and tender moment with some words he’d been afraid to say. “What does this mean?”

Janus’ eyes didn’t leave Patton’s. “What does what mean?”

Patton licked his lips and gestured between Janus and himself. “This.”

Janus’ expression became deeper. Darker. There was a hint of melancholy and awe in his eyes. Then he sighed deeply. “I don’t know.” The words sounded so truthful and certain, that it almost caught Patton off guard.

“So… We like each other.” Patton said, “Romantically, I mean.”

Janus let out a soft and dry chuckle, that made Patton’s heart flutter once again. “That’s true.”

“And that’s gonna… Snake a while to get used to?” Patton tried.

Janus smiled fondly, “Ah yes… I am terrified, but I couldn’t froget it if I tried.”

Patton giggled as Janus humoured his puns. “And the others… They’re not… Roman is…” Patton trailed off. What was he supposed to say? There was still tension everywhere he went. He was being ignored. Rightfully so. He would cook in the morning, leave it on the kitchen counter, and it would disappear throughout the day as soon as he left. No one was okay, and Patton didn’t have a single clue what to do about it. “They wouldn’t accept this uhm…”

“Relationship?” Janus finished, and while the word was noncommittal and unspecific, Patton couldn’t help but blush at it.

“Right.” Patton said.

Janus looked like he was deeply contemplating the situation, staring at the ceiling. Patton hesitantly reached for the other’s hand under the covers, and the touch was absentmindedly accepted. The gloved hand was silky and nice to the touch, though Patton couldn’t help but wonder what the skin underneath would feel like. “Well…” Janus started, “We could do the whole… Secret thing.”

“What do you mean?” Patton asked.

“You know, stolen glances, sneaking into each other’s room in the dead of night, intimate whispers and discreet touches.” Janus said. Each word sounded like it was being recited from a script, “Secrets and lies until the tension dies down.”

Patton listened to each word attentively and felt as if a string was pulling at his insides. He breathed. “I don’t think I want to lie. It’s not… Well it’s…”

Janus hummed, “Not quite your style, is it?”

“I wouldn’t be any good at it.” Patton admitted.

“Because you’ve never lied in the past?” Janus asked. The words came out differently than everything else he’d said. As if they had been building up inside him, waiting for the right moment to escape. “Never had a single fake smile painted upon those lips of yours?”

Patton felt his heart sink. “Well… I…”

Janus sighed, and looked Patton in the eyes with something akin to concern. “I apologize. It wasn’t meant to sound aggressive. It’s just… It’s so easy to see. Feel. Every single time. It gets… Tiring.”

“I’m sorry.” Patton said, but Janus didn’t seem happy with the response.

“Don’t apologize to me for that. There are many things worth apologizing for, but hiding your feelings isn’t one of them. You’re only hurting yourself with it, and frankly it is you who deserves to hear the apology.”

Patton felt confused for a moment and looked down at his and Janus’ joined hands. Then he looked at the ceiling. “I’m sorry Patton.”

Janus snorted quietly, “What are you sorry for?”

Patton continued. “I’m sorry for… Pretending to be happy… When I wasn’t. I should’ve listened to you, Patton. Let you feel what you needed to feel instead of repressing it. Feelings aren’t bad and repressing doesn’t do anyone any good.”

There was something else hidden in the apology that wasn’t directed at Patton, but rather a much more harmful mistake. “Good.” Janus said, silently. “Now all you have to do is make an honest effort to do better. Prove to yourself that you mean it.”

“I will.” Patton whispered determinedly. After a few moments of silence, Janus switched hands, letting his previously free hand rest in Patton’s, and placed his other in Patton’s hair. He stroked it gently. Patton felt safe. Calm. For a few minutes, Patton forgot about the tension, resting in the air everywhere he went. All he could think about was Janus and how he was right beside him. How they were together in every sense of the word.

“I really care about you, Patton.” Janus said. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t admitted before, but hearing it again proved just how sincere it was. “It scares me, and I am not sure how these feelings work, but I want to feel them anyway. I don’t know what you’ve done to me.”

Patton giggled, and squeezed Janus’ hand gently. “That makes two of us.”

#I don't know why I felt the need to write moceit today but no one stopped me #sanders sides #janus sanders #patton sanders #moceit #dramaticwriting #fic

406 notes · View notes

s1nderella-a · 4 years ago

Text

boku no hero academia fic recs!

full fic rec list

blackugou widow; wonhaebunny

reincarnated! bakugou-centric | 44,883 words | 8/? chapters

summary:

In one world, Natasha Romanoff takes her final breath, and in another, Bakugou Katsuki takes his first.

Alternatively: Black Widow is reborn as a blonde trash goblin with a whole lot of anger issues. Things go a little differently.

problem child, golden boy; laurenshappenstobemyhusband

dadzawa ft bkg (and a little bit of shinsou) | 4,679 words | 1/1 chapters

summary:

"Katsuki, have you taken your meds today? You know you have to take them with breakfast, go do that."

"Katsuki, I know you haven't been doing your sign language practice. Stop groveling, I'll have Present Mic help you with it."

"Katsuki, it's three in the morning, go to sleep. There's cinnamon tea in the kettle, take some for yourself, then go to bed."

The response was always the same: a grunt, a muttered expletive, and then compliance. The compliance part was what made class 1-A lose their shit every time.

OR: It was common knowledge in the UA dorms that Bakugou Katsuki answered to only one human, and his name was Aizawa Shouta.

summer stars; PitViperOfDoom

tddk + todo whump | 61,213 words | 12/12 chapters

summary:

It's been judged safe to send the students of UA home to their families for the first three weeks of summer, much to the relief of everyone whose name isn't Todoroki Shouto. Luckily, Midoriya has a solution for him, and Midoriya Inko has a lot of love to give.

absolution; argentina

(platonic) bkdk have a talk ft aizawa | 5,870 words | 1/1 chaptwrs

summary:

“W—what did he tell you, sensei?” Midoriya asks, seemingly shrinking in on himself more.

There’s a complicated history between Midoriya and Bakugou that Shouta doesn’t even know how to begin to unpack.

“He told me that he used to torment you, back in middle school.”

In which there are always two sides to the same story, and as Shouta delves further into Midoriya and Bakugou's middle school years, he discovers that they're both victims of a broken society.

we’re on our own, trust me i know; supercrunch

bkdk quirkless bkg au | 20,143 words | 1/1 chapters

summary:

"What if we're not late bloomers?" Deku had asked him once when they were very young. “What if we don’t get our quirks? What if our quirks never come for our whole lives?”

Katsuki hadn't been able to answer, then. All he'd known was that they'd be able to do anything together, even if the hero business tried to spit them out just because they were missing bits and pieces. That was until Deku'd told him the truth, anyway. That he'd been hiding a quirk for ten years and Katsuki had just been stupid and trusting.

He doesn't get into UA. Deku leaves him behind and lives the dream alone. Katsuki picks up modelling and turns out to be surprisingly good at it, and after a while he thinks maybe he can make peace with never becoming a hero. This ain't a bad life, after all. There are stalkers and endless reporters but maybe he can make this work.

For all of six years, anyway. Then he figures out his new neighbour has green eyes and cute freckles. And then, Katsuki thinks, maybe god hates him.

who authorized this?; madhadler

best! chatfic! (read tags for ships cuz there’s a lot) | 52,432 words | 41/? chapters

summary:

Iida makes a group chat for class 1A. It wasn't the best decision.

you know that thing where an orchestra swaps instruments, and like, some of them get it right away, but others have no clue what they're doing? this is that but with quirks, two unwilling participants, and also emotions; sif (rosae)

(platonic) bakumomo quirk swap | 13,894 words | 1/1 chapters

summary:

Momo wasn't sure why it came as such a shock to her and her classmates that nitroglycerin was not, in fact, easy to control. The chemical was defined by it's instability, it's ability to go off under near any circumstances, it's powerful blows.

And yet, Katsuki had always made it look so simple. He soared through the air like it was nothing, switching between bullet-sized blasts and missile levels of firepower like most people switched channels on TV. Momo had found herself jealous of his quirk at times, unable to help wondering what it would be like to have such power at her fingertips.

Good news, she didn't have to wonder anymore. Bad news, it was absolutely terrible.

the house with no doorbell; QuestionableName

(platonic) bkdk apology | 5,192 words | 1/1 chapters

summary:

This is the fucking tipping point. For years, literal years, a whole fucking decade, Katsuki has been nothing but terrible to Deku. A bully. A shitty person. A shitty friend. Katsuki has told Deku to kill himself more times than he can remember, has pushed him around, kicked him in the stomach, blown chunks of flesh clean off. Deku should be staying as far away from him as he can fucking get - should have applied to another hero academy or some shit, just anywhere that wouldn't equal daily interaction with Katsuki. But here he is.

Katsuki feels so much, he knows he does, he just can't say it. He doesn't even know where he would begin.

But apparently his stupid fucking body doesn't agree with him - he has no choice in the matter, his mouth is just opening, and then--

"...How do you put up with me?"

bonus from the tags: “Midoriya wants to be friends again” “Bakugou also wants to be friends again but he’s a little bitch about it”

85 notes · View notes

yourfinalbow · 4 years ago

Text

Ack anon I'm sorry. Tumblr ate your ask and I'm 🔪 But I saved your ask to put on the Google Doc so don't fret! I have it!

“Hi Ghastie Ghast, I wanted to share a prompt with you lol. I decided to go more holiday theme’d because it’s never too early to get into the holiday spirit.

“Your favorite winter drink was back on the menu, so I decided to surprise you with it.”

Please enjoy this prompt lmao”

The nickname made me -_- but hi Little Gray Circle Dude With Sunglasses! Thank you for sending me this! I had fun writing it. I'm assuming you wanted a Destiel fic, so that's what I wrote! (Also bonus points for Saileen as a background ship?) I sort of strayed a little from the prompt and the tone gets heavier as it goes on… 👀 I also accidentally wrote more than intended, so you can read it on Ao3 if that's easier. (And maybe give it a kudos because you’re the best?)

Title: Black Coffee Derangement Syndrome

Ship(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy.

(Basic) Tags: Fluff, Slight Angst, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Established Dean/Cas, Established Sam/Eileen, Using black coffee as a metaphor for hypermasculinity, With a whip cream style topping of internalized homophobia. *Finger guns.*

Warnings: Coffee gatekeeping and small sections of fluff that are as sweet as Cas’s Starbucks order. Also I’ve been to Starbucks once. Maybe twice? (Also a single mention of a drug that's commonly found as white powder, the non-descriptive comparison of Sam’s stupid health stuff with emesis, and use of the name that the figurehead for Germany in WW2 bore, just to be safe.)

Rating: T? Maybe? For language?

Word Count: 9k+

Quick thanks to my awesome beta @walksinstarllight! They are a poet and a writing sorcerer (wizard without a hat), and the only reason this fic even makes sense so please go shower them in kudos. (You can find their work here.)

Another thanks to @internetintroverts, who described a peppermint mocha to me in like 300 words because I drink black coffee and know nothing of anything ever. You can find their work here! (There's an Easter egg of one of their fics in this one hehe.)

The first thing Dean did when Cas got back from the Empty was give him coffee.

Okay no.

The first thing he did was fall into Cas’s arms and grip that stupid trenchcoat until his knuckles turned white. Shaking and laughing with hot tears streaming out of his eyes, he told him he was an asshole for leaving him like that. And to never, ever do it again. With blurry eyes and all other thoughts hazy, he told Cas he could have it, he could have what he wanted. Whatever he wanted. He told Cas he loved him too.

But then the next thing was coffee.

Caffeine is a hunter’s number one best friend, and since Cas was human again, Dean knew Sam was going to come at him with his stupid green health drinks and herbal tea. As Cas’s knight in shining armour, (a title used by Dean and Dean only), it was his duty to protect him from the disgustingly liquified rabbit food.

Now he expected Cas to like black coffee, you know, like a normal person.

But no, oh no. Apparently, he was dating a heathen.

Dean had to actually rub his eyes the first time he watched Cas fix his own coffee. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, mouth agape.

Cas was leaning on the counter, humming some song that Dean could neither recognize, nor would he approve of, thank-you-very-much.

(Ok it was Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift and it's entirely possible he's listened to it once or twice but he still doesn't approve of it, thank-you-very-much.)

He held his yellow and black striped, bee-themed ceramic mug Eileen had bought him in one hand, and the entire five-pound bag of cane sugar in the other. And there he stood, happy as can be, pouring it directly into his mug.

Dean rubbed his eyes again.

And not even like, a normal amount either.

He just kept pouring, and pouring, and Oh my god he’s still pouring. Dean thought. It would honestly be more believable if it wasn’t sugar at all, and instead was in fact Cas’s secret stash of cocaine.

Dean might actually have to put sugar on the grocery list after he was finished.

His thoughts traveled back to Ishim doing the same thing with his coffee, in the tiny little diner Cas had set up as a meeting place. Dean had barged in that day, not thinking of his brother mocking him, or the possibility of danger inside. His vision was as tunneled as his thoughts focused only on Cas, not caring about anything else.

By that time the following day, Dean thought they were both going to die. The bloody and uneven sigil on the wall, Cas no more than ten feet away. Not quite within a comforting reach. The room was spinning from the blow to his head, and he could barely make out the words being spat from Ishim’s mouth.

“You blast me away, you’ll blast away every angel in the room. I’ll survive. Castiel, on the other hand, he’s hurt. He might live, or he might just end up a bloody smear on the wall.”

He almost lost Cas that day.

The blood rushed to his ears as his instincts sought out the mark on the wall. Ishim had told him to roll the dice, but in his head he couldn’t look past the chance of rolling a one. Watching the acrylic cube bounce until it decided Cas’s fate. There was no dilemma, there wasn’t even a decision to be made. He would always choose Cas over himself. Silent acts of care he could never vocalize.

An inability to speak formed from fear and cowardice. Like a lion in his stomach scratching at the words until they fell back down his throat.

And it was that inability to speak that led Cas to think he was nothing more than a tool for the Winchester’s to use.

He almost let Cas believe he meant nothing to him.

Dean cleared his throat. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

Cas set down the bag of sugar and picked up the pot, the glass making a small clink as it hit the top of the coffee maker. “Goodmorning Dean. Would you like any coffee?” He greeted cheerfully, turning around like he hadn't just put enough sugar to make a pound cake in his coffee.

“Uh.” Dean was still caught off-guard by Willie Wonka over there. “Sure Cas.” He took the coffee pot from his hand and muttered a thank you.

“So,” Cas started while Dean reached into the cabinet for his own mug. “What ingredient do you suggest I put in my coffee this morning?”

“Uh...I don't know man. I drink my coffee black.”

“Yes I know you’re boring Dean, but you can still help me not be.”

“Black coffee isn't boring it's-”

“Dean, if you say ‘manly,’ I will sit you down and make you eat only spinach and kale for a week.” Sam said, walking into the kitchen, hair still spiked up from sleep. He used one hand to sign the words, his other one occupied by Eileen, who was sleepily shuffling closely behind.

Dean looked aghast. “I would starve.” He attempted to sign his indignant response, hands moving sloppily while holding both his mug and the coffee pot.

“I think that's the point.” Eileen said, laughing. She looked at Cas. “Is Dean gatekeeping your coffee aspirations again?”

“Yes.” He answered, ignoring Sam’s laugh and Dean’s huff of exaggerated outrage.

“Have you tried cinnamon?” Sam suggested. “You like Dean’s apple pie, and that has cinnamon in it.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Sam. Dean told me not to ever take cooking advice from you.“

“And I stand by that.” Dean interjected suddenly.

“I can cook!”

“Ehhh…” Eileen’s comment bought her a look of betrayal. “Though Sam may be right on this one, you might like it.” She shrugged.

“See.”

Cas pondered the thought for a moment. “Perhaps I will then.”

“Do we have nutmeg?” Eileen said, breaking away from Sam’s grip to check one of the cabinets. He walked to the other side of the kitchen, intending to look through the spice rack, knowing exactly what his girlfriend was getting at.

“You better not mess up my damn kitchen.” He said quickly. “Or you're organising them all next time.”

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing full well Dean would never let him organise the kitchen. Eileen looked through them, carefully turning the bottles around until the labels faced her. She pulled out the cinnamon and clove while she was looking for the nutmeg.

“Found it.” Sam called from the other side of the kitchen, walking over and putting a hand on Eileen’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” She said with a smile, grabbing the plastic spice jars.

She individually tossed each one to Cas. “Use these, it will taste like a pumpkin spice latte.”

“And don't forget the milk.” Sam added.

Cas scrambled to catch the spices, successfully grabbing two of them out of the air, the third one intercepted by Dean.

“What’s a pumpkin spice latte?” He looked at Eileen before snatching the bottle of cinnamon from Dean.

“It's a famous drink you can get at Starbucks.” Sam answered.

Cas tilted his head to the side and squinted at him. “What's a Starbucks?”

“You know, the coffee shop Alex and Patience drag Jody to all the time.” Dean said.

“I’m pretty sure Donna drags her there too.” Sam added. “Something about girl’s date night out.”

“The one Claire says is for ‘basic bitches’?” He lifted his hands, forming air quotes as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Dean answered, quietly laughing. “That's the one. She’s probably right, too.”

Cas carefully put the different spices in his coffee, eyeing the mug warily. His light brown coffee now had specs of...stuff in it.

(And unbeknownst to him, there was also a small pile of sugar at the bottom, the coffee so saturated it wouldn't dissolve any more.)

Eileen laughed at the look on his face. “It's good, I promise.”

Sam turned to look at her. “How would you know? Most of the time you get hot chocolate and spike it with bourbon.”

“You’re the one who gets a Pink Drink.”

Dean choked on his coffee. “What?”

“It's strawberry and coconut milk, and it's delicious.”

“Sure it is Sam.” Eileen jabbed.

“So what I'm getting here is that not only have you two been to Starbucks often enough to have a regular order, but Sam gets something called a ‘Pink Drink’?”

“No…” Sam started, trying to find a way to defend them. “Sometimes we…”

“...Make our own drinks.” Eileen snapped her fingers as she finished for him, attempting to save them from the endless stream of good-natured insults Dean would throw at them otherwise.

“Well you two are a real Martha Stewart, aren't you?”

“Yeah, except she's a convicted criminal.” Sam attempted to snark back.

“So are you!”

Before either of them could respond, Cas shoved his mug into Dean's face. “You have to try this, Dean. It tastes like pumpkin pie.”

Dean carefully grabbed the hot mug from Cas and took a sip. He was right, it did taste kinda like pumpkin pie. He took another sip, letting the pleasant flavor sit on his tongue. The different spices mixed perfectly together.

“I mean it's… okay.” He lied.

Dean contemplated his pumpkin themed food options. “Though I would rather just have pumpkin pie.”

Cas took his mug back. “Fine. More for me.” He said with a smirk, mimicking the look Dean gives him every time Cas says he doesn't want anymore bacon, before taking another sip of the makeshift pumpkin spice coffee.

Dean smiled at him, setting his own mug down and moving Cas’s out of the way to pull him into a kiss. He could smell the nutmeg almost as much as he could taste the cinnamon on his lips.

“Mmm we should bake pumpkin pie tonight.” He said, pulling away just enough so he could talk.

“I would like that.” Cas answered. “All four of us could make pie. According to the 'mom blogs', as you call them, it would be a good family bonding exercise.”

“That’s right. And if they want any pie, they gotta help make it. That means more for us if they refuse.” He grinned.

“A win-win situation, really.” Cas smiled before tugging Dean close so their lips met again.

“I love you.” Dean muttered.

“I love you too.” Cas said softly.

Behind their backs Sam and Eileen were fake-gagging at their sickly sweet interaction, but secretly just glad the two of them had finally gotten over their stubborn (and oblivious) selves.

Sam was honestly overjoyed to see his brother finally happy. He would even go as far as saying finally willing to be himself, too. (Not that he would ever say this outloud. Sam can practically see Dean’s eyes roll farther back into his head than should be possible at the words.) All four of them had gone through more shit in the last few months than any normal person would in their entire life. They were all just lucky to be alive, and with that, learning how to savour the little moments of overly sweet normalcy.

(And the pumpkin spice-life Dean had secretly been longing for since they were little kids.)

So of course they were going to help bake pie.

---

“I want to try Starbucks.” Cas said the next morning, both of them still in bed.

Dean groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Can I ask why, or is this one of those, 'I'll tell you later’ disasters like with the slime ingredients?”

“I want to try all the human things that I didn't get to try last time.” He said offhandedly.

Dean pictured Cas’s hurt face when he had told him he couldn’t stay, smile broken as Dean’s own heart shattered from the look the newly-human angel was giving him.

He wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, that Cas himself wasn’t the reason, but the lion in his stomach clawed the words down faster than even the thought of ruining Sam’s chances at survival could.

With a pang of guilt from the memory, Dean pulled himself closer to Cas and rested his head on the other man’s chest. He wrapped his arms around him, trying to preserve as much warmth and comfort as he could until they had to inevitably get out of bed. “Only if you let me sleep like this for thirty more minutes.”

Cas smiled. “Oh, are we making deals now?”

“I’d sell my soul for you.” Dean said cheekily, which earned a glare from Cas. “Believe me, I know.”

After a beat he went on. “Fine, you have a deal.” Before Dean could celebrate by tugging the covers over their bodies, Cas added another clause to their agreement. “But... in true Crowley fashion, you have to seal the deal with a kiss.”

Dean lazily threw his arms into the air. “Victory.”

He turned over, pulling himself upwards until he was just inches from Cas. Cradling the angel-turned-Winchester’s head in his hands, Dean placed his lips on Cas’s, melting into the touch as he felt the other man’s arms wrap around his torso.

When he broke away from the kiss, Dean found himself face to face with the most beautiful smile he had ever laid eyes on, one born from adoration and love. Cas’s eyebrows were slightly scrunched up, but for once it wasn’t a sign of confusion when met with some obscure eighties rock reference. It was a tiny expression of care, and it was one that was truly Cas. Not Jimmy’s, not even one Cas had picked up from him or Sam. It was completely and wholly Cas, and a completely and wholly human thing to do.

He realized Cas had been doing that long before the Empty stole his grace.

Dean smiled back at him, relaxed. Like taking in a deep breath after being under murky water for forty years. He brushed a loose strand of soft, brown hair into its place, before falling back into his spot and closing his eyes. “Crowley would be proud.” He whispered with a soft laugh, smile deepening as Cas joined him.

When their quiet laughter died out, there was a pause, air stagnant and in its own sleepy haze

“Oh and Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean turned his head to look at him, eyes not failing to glow with their unusually bright, green pigment. He took a deep breath, the lids of his eyes already started to slowly fall back down again.

“The slime wasn't a disaster. You enjoyed it.”

“I did.” He muttered sleepily, a loose smile forming on his lips as he drifted off to sleep. Cas laid there, running his fingers through the other man’s hair, contentment and admiration showing itself in every feature on his face.

This was more than he could have ever wanted.

---

“Dean. Dean wake up.” Cas was excitedly whisper-shouting in his ear like a kid on Christmas morning. It was exactly thirty minutes later, (he had counted), and Cas was ready to get moving.

“No.” He answered back, mimicking Cas’s tone.

“But you’re like a cat.” He teased. “You're on me and I can't get up.”

Dean sighed. “I can't believe I let you talk me into this.”

“It didn't take much convincing.”

Dean rolled over to give Cas a playful glare, but was met with the saddest puppy dog eyes he had ever seen, completely throwing him off his guard.

“I'm going to kill Sam for teaching you that.”

Cas just continued to give him that look.

“Fine.” Dean relented, sitting up with a yawn and thinking about how he will now never be able to win another argument.

“Get dressed.” Cas said excitedly. “We're going to Starbucks.”

“Hooray.” He gave a sarcastic laugh, but a smile creeped on his lips.

They walked out of their room together, heading towards the bunker’s library. Dean slid in one of the chairs, turning Sam’s still-open laptop around and waking it up.

Cas, meanwhile, turned to a random page of the lore book resting on the table and started reading in an attempt to pass the time.

The sound of Dean typing filled the air. “So, I just looked it up, and do we have to go to Starbucks?”

“Yes.” Cas said simply, not looking up from the book.

Dean groaned. “Cas there isn't one in the county, let alone Lebanon. That's probably why Sam and Eileen make their own.”

“Where's the closest one?” Cas asked, his blinding, blue eyes glaring at the back of Sam’s computer like he was trying to will the coffee shop to be near.

“I thought it was across state lines and in Nebraska at first, but it looks like there's a small one in a town called Washington. It's about 80 miles from here.”

“Let's go!” Cas excitedly straightened his trenchcoat and headed towards the door.

“Or, we could leave Starbucks to the fourteen year old girls.”

Cas turned back around and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure their entire demographic is fourteen year old girls, staff included.”

Alright, smartass. Dean thought, struggling to hide a smile.

Cas walked out the door, expecting Dean to follow.

“It takes an hour to get there, our coffee’s going to be cold by the time we get home, and it's freezing outside.” Dean muttered under his breath, but he grabbed his keys off the table and stood up, willing to follow Cas to the ends of the earth if it meant he would stay with him.

Not that he was going to enjoy this trip. In fact, he was currently doing the opposite of enjoying, and they hadn’t even gotten into the car yet. Starbucks. Starbucks. Really, Cas? Of all the places he wanted to go, it had to be Starbucks. He couldn’t want to explore humanity through Target or something?

Even Claire wouldn’t be caught dead in that place, with all the frou-frou toppings, elaborate drink mixes, and colourful, drizzled syrup. The people who go to Starbucks are the kind of people who like coffee that doesn’t taste like coffee. Teenage girls who might as well just be drinking whip cream, and that was without considering the seasonal drinks they fawn over.

Seasonal drinks that shouldn’t legally be allowed to be referred to as coffee.

Dean couldn’t believe he ever agreed to this, but still, he begrudgingly followed.

---

Using the GPS on Cas’s phone, (Dean said his insane directional skills helped out too), they found the Starbucks relatively easily once they were in the little town.

They parked the Impala, and Dean looked at the modern building. The green lettering contrasted with the tan plaster walls, spelling “Starbucks.”

He heard Cas get out, his feet making a crunching noise as they hit the gravel, and watched from across the top of the car as he started towards the coffee shop. Dean looked at the building warily, reluctance painted on his face.

Cas was telling him some random fact about a bird he saw, but Dean could only think about his reputation that was about to shatter like a vase dropping on tile floor.

Reputation with who? He didn't know.

Well, he had a vague idea, but chose not to let his thoughts wander that far.

It was okay. This was fine. He could swallow his pride and-

“Ooh. The peppermint mocha looks good.” Cas was reading the limited edition drinks on the drive-thru menu as they traveled across the parking lot.

Dean was going to barf.

They walked into the building, immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of excessive amounts of flavoured syrup indoused coffee. Dean glanced around the well-lit building, taking note of the many different people there.

(He wasn’t about to have any black-eyed minions reporting his Starbucks order to a very judgmental Queen of Hell.)

Cas pushed Dean’s protesting body into the line, looking pleased with the many different options written on the menu overhead.

He enjoyed the small touch of Cas’s hands on his back, moving him forwards to the line, but was grateful Cas was careful not to let them linger there too long.

He was still wary about doing… this, in public.

He knew Cas was patiently waiting for him to be ready, so he didn't know how to tell him that he might never be.

The teenager working the cash register interrupted his train of thought. “What will it be for ya?”

“I would like a peppermint mocha please.”

“Alrighty. And you?”

“I'll take just a black coffee.”

The barista looked unimpressed. “And your names?”

Dean grinned. “John and John.”

“No relation.” Cas added.

The barista just sighed. “How do you want me to differentiate the two of ‘em then?”

“Oh you can put ‘John Bonham’ on mine.” Dean replied.

“Comin’ right up.” Their tone didn't change, still just full of apathy that could only be perfected by the work of a burnt-out teenager.

Dean and Cas walked down to the end of the counter and towards the pickup section. “Now tell me, Castiel.” He stressed his partner’s name. “Who’s John Bonham?”

Cas sighed, but the corner of his mouth upturned in a grin. “John Henry Bohnham, affectionately referred to as ‘Bonzo’, born in 1948 and was most well known for being the drummer of the rock band ‘Led Zeppelin’.”

“Mmm very close, but unfortunately you forgot the word ‘best’ in front of ‘rock band.’” Dean smirked before leaning in for a chaste kiss.

“You should have said I was ‘John Bon Jovi.’” Cas said, smiling.

“Why? Because you’re only good at this sometimes?” Dean closed the gap between them.

As soon as their lips met, Dean pulled away instinctively, realization hitting him like a hunter with a bat as his eyes widened in terror. “I-I'm sorry, I didn’t...” His words faltered as he looked around at the people sitting in the coffee shop, all of which were paying no mind to them.

He felt sick, guilt gnawing at him from a pit in his stomach.

“Hey, it's okay Dean. You know I'm perfectly fine with public displays of affection, and no one else even saw us. There's no need to apologize.”

“Yeah-h.” He said shakily. Before he could figure out who he was apologizing to, a voice from behind the counter called.

“I have an order for a mister ‘John’ and ‘John Bonham’.”

“That's us.” Dean spat the words out quickly, turning around to take them from the barista’s hand. He rushed out of the door, the small tinkling sound of the welcome bell and the blood rushing to his ears drowning out the sound of Cas’s call from behind.

He sat in the front seat of Baby, knowing he was being childish. Dean took a shaky breath and tried not to think about it.

About what the hell he was thinking, kissing Cas out in public like that. The judgemental eyes- black or not- that were watching. He thought about what his father would say, mind instantly going back to a moment in his childhood he has tried to forget since it happened, wondering where he went wrong.

About the time John had caught him and Lee, ignoring the weak excuses Dean was stuttering out. Skipping town faster than they had done in years.

About how the left side of his face had been a yellow-ish purple for weeks following, and the sore spot on his arm from where he caught the pavement as he flew towards it.

About how he had told Sam he just fell on a hunt. “Don't worry kid, you should have seen the vamp when I was done with him.” He swung his fist around in slow motion, pretending to punch an invisible enemy as his little brother giggled in childish bliss.

About how John never looked at him the same. The disgust in his eyes, harsh words on his lips.

About how he vowed to never disappoint his father like that again, and their joint hatred for that part of him. Sometimes it felt like the only thing they could agree on.

About how somewhere, somehow, he had decided Cas was different. That he somehow didn’t count, and that losing him hurt so much, was such an egregious pain, he wanted as much of Cas as he was allowed to have. And how that was something insurmountable stronger than the twisted, sick feeling John had placed in his gut.

He remembered something Cas had told him once: “Hatred isn’t a natural trait, Dean, it’s a learned one. A baby isn’t born with the ability to hate, it’s passed on from one broken soul to another. Love, love however. That’s something different altogether.”

Cas’s hand on his shoulder pulled Dean out of his thoughts. “Hey.” He said softly.

“Hey Cas.”

“I love you.” He got in the passenger's seat, taking his coffee from Dean’s still frozen hand.

“I love you too.” He whispered absentmindedly, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing but thoughts from the past. His mind fighting an internal battle, logic telling him that what he had with Cas wasn’t wrong, and even though everything from fate to God had tried to wedge itself between them, it was still the most right thing he had. And he knew that, but his dad’s drunken, booming voice echoed throughout his head, telling him that he was dirty. Telling him the Winchester men had no place for someone like him.

“You better stop that now, boy. Bad things happen to you when you’re weak.”

At the time he had taken that as a warning, rather than a threat. But now Dean wasn’t so sure.

It’s not even that his Dad was particularly religious. He wasn’t told that it was a sin, or that he was going to Hell. Though it’s not like that particular statement would have been wrong. He thought with a bitter laugh.

While the thoughts in his head were screaming mercilessly, the drive home was in a simple silence. The only noise being Cas’s occasional sip, and the sound of soft fabric rubbing against skin as Cas moved his hand in small, comforting motions against Dean's back.

When they got to the bunker, Cas, who was genuinely impressed that Dean managed to drive them home without crashing into a tree, pulled Dean out of the car and gently shook him out of his self-imposed stupor.

“Your coffee's cold.” Cas said with a laugh.

Dean blinked a couple times, clearing the fog from his mind, before laughing along with him. “And who’s fault is that? You were the one who insisted on traveling across the state to get it.”

“Do you want some of mine?” Cas asked. “There's a little bit left, and I held it next to the heater. It should still be lukewarm.”

“No thanks, Cas. I can go make some in the kitchen.”

“But what if I want you to try it?” Dean glared at him. “Don't make me do Sam’s ‘puppy dog eyes’ again.”

“Okay, okay. You win.” He put his hands up, mimicking a surrender. “I'll try some of your stupid, Christmas cookie, candy-cane flavoured coffee thing or whatever.” They started walking towards the entrance to the bunker.

“Peppermint mocha?”

“That's the one.”

Cas laughed at him.

“Oh just, give it here.” Dean said. He took a long sip from the disposable cup. He could taste a vague hint of whipped cream mixed in with the coffee, its light fluffy texture sticking to the last swallow of smooth liquid in the bottom of the cup. The chocolate and espresso rested on his tongue, and the peppermint was strong and refreshing. He took another sip.

“Does that face mean you like it?”

Dean looked at him guiltily. “No.” He opened the bunker’s door and started walking down the metal stairs.

“Yes you do.”

“No, I don't.”

“You took a second sip.”

Dean reached the bottom of the stairs first, and walked over to the War Room table to set both coffee cups and his keys down.

“So? I was trying to make sure I properly understood the flavour. Since when is that a crime?”

“You wanted to properly understand a flavour you didn't like?” Cas walked up to Dean and pulled the nearest chair out to sit down.

“What are you two arguing about this time?” Eileen asked from the library.

Cas clenched both of his hands into fists, putting the right one on top of the other. He made small, circular, stirring motions with his right hand. “Coffee.” He signed swiftly, movements fluid.

“Ah. That makes sense.” She spoke the words.

“What makes sense?” Sam asked, walking in from one of the hallways, making sure Eileen could see his lips before speaking.

“They're arguing over coffee again.”

Sam glanced at both of them, before his eyes reached the two cups on the War Room table.

“Wait a second… Dean?” He looked at his brother, before turning to face his best friend. “Cas?”

“Yes, Sam?” Cas answered.

“Did you two go to Starbucks?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Dean grumbled.

“Yes, we did!” Cas sounded way too excited to be referring to coffee. “I got a peppermint mocha, and Dean tried some and liked it.”

“I did not.”

“I don't care what coffee you like, Dean. What I do care about is that you went all the way to Starbucks, and didn't bother to ask if we wanted to come.”

“Not cool Dean.” Eileen walked in, shaking her head and hiding a smile.

“I might have thought about buying you two drinks, but there was no way I was ordering yours with a straight face.” He looked at Sam. “And it's an hour away, they wouldn't have been hot or cold or whatever they're supposed to be by the time we got here.”

“Well then we'll just have to go back, all four of us.” Eileen put simply.

“It's an hour away.”

“We know.” Sam added.

“Let me say that again, in case you weren’t listening. It's an hour away. For coffee. That isn't even that good.”

“I beg to differ, Dean.” Cas said.

“Yeah I'm definitely with Cas on this one.” Eileen agreed while Sam nodded along.

“No. There's no way I'm getting back in Baby to drive all the way to Starbucks again.”

“Fine. We’ll go get our own.”

“With what car?” Dean said, very sure of himself.

Sam snatched Baby’s keys off the war room table, which in hindsight was probably something Dean should have expected.

“Let's hope Sam doesn't have too many shots of espresso.” Eileen said, faking concern. “I would hate for your baby to pay the price.”

“Fine. I'll drive you.” Dean grumbled while Eileen double fist-pumped her win.

Cas looked very pleased with the thought of getting to try more coffee.

---

They left shortly after, the drive over painful for everyone except Dean, who listened to the same four songs on repeat the entire hour.

(It’s their own fault, really.)

---

“Can we please listen to something other than Bob Seger on the trip home?” Sam complained as he slammed shut the door to Baby’s backseat.

“You’re just mad you didn’t get shotgun.” Dean said, closing his own door. “Besides, driver picks the music, everyone else shuts their cakehole.” Sam mouthed the words along with Dean, having heard the speech a million times before.

Eileen and Cas got out, neither one of them had any desire to input on their squabble, and were instead engaged in their own, quieter discussion.

Both brothers continued to argue until they walked into the Starbucks.

“Ah. There's the scent of overpriced coffee I missed.” Eileen joked as she took her first breath inside the building, using her hand to waft the smell towards her.

“What are you getting?” Cas asked Sam.

“I want my usual, and Eileen, what are you having?”

“Hot chocolate with espresso shots please. This place doesn't sell liquor.” She shook her head sadly and Sam laughed. “Good thing I brought my own.” She winked at them, opening her jacket just enough so they could see the inside pocket and showing off her flask.

“Oh, now that would be a Starbucks I would go to.” Dean said.

“You two wait in line.” Sam pointed to Cas and Dean. “We’ll save a table.”

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but they walked away before he had the chance. Cas leaned over towards him. “Don't worry. I'll order Sam’s.” He very conspicuously winked.

Dean smiled at his attempts of regular human interaction, before over-the-top winking himself.

“Can you order for us? I need to talk to Sam about something.”

“Sure thing…” Cas had to think before finishing his sentence. “...buckaroo.”

Dean outwardly cringed. “Keep trying, you'll get there eventually.” He patted Cas on the back, which was slightly moving in a chuckle.

It was good to see Cas filled with so much simple joy. Face creased from laughter rather than stress, he seemed so much lighter. Happier. It was only a small sliver of what he deserved, but it was something. Maybe he could live with driving an hour to get what he assumed was half-decent coffee.

“What would you like?” Cas asked him, eyes still filled with a sparkle that only comes from gaining something you thought you lost.

“Uh.” He thought about it for a moment, almost considering branching out into the unexplored terrain that was the dark green menu with small, white text, before shuddering at the thought.

“I think I'll take that expensive black coffee I didn't get earlier.”

Dean was not going to turn into one of those people, if he had any say about it.

Cas walked into the line, leaving Dean to scan the room, furiously waving Sam over when his eyes found their booth.

“Sam.” He sounded like he was trying to whisper, but his volume raised far higher than that. The patron closest to Dean gave him a look before turning back to their work.

“Sam, come here, it's urgent.” His brother turned to look at him, rolling his eyes before getting out of the booth.

“What do you want?” He said once he reached Dean.

“Sam. Help. What do I do?”

“About what?”

“About what kind of coffee Cas is having.”

“Oh god, Dean let it go. He's not going to only ever drink black coffee. Contrary to popular belief, former angels do actually have souls.”

Dean ignored the implications that he didn't have a soul, too distracted by Cas. “But look.” He motioned his head towards where Cas was standing, next in line to order. “He’s eyeing the weird fruity drinks.”

“Dean. It's Cas. The man’s favorite food is PB&J. What did you expect him to have, taste?”

“Alright that's rich coming from mister Pinkity Drinkity or whatever the fuck.”

“You walked into a Starbucks and ordered black coffee, I don't think I'm the wrong one here.”

“Wait, wait. Shut up. Quiet.” He hit Sam on the shoulder in a childish attempt at getting him to stop talking so he could listen.

“Ow. That hurt.” Sam muttered, before turning to watch Cas, which Dean was already doing.

“I would like to try a…” Cas methodically scanned the menu again. “A ‘Passion Tango Iced Tea,’ please.” The barista took no mind to the excessive air quotes.

“It's not even coffee.” Dean said to Sam, clearly distraught. He turned to look back at Cas.

“And your name sir?”

“Lizzo.”

Dean threw his arms up into the air. “I can't believe this is the man I love.” His voice cracked like he was holding in tears of anguish from listening to Cas order.

Sam just rolled his eyes at the theatrics. Right, and he’s the dramatic one.

“Aw. You're in love.” Sam held his hands up, forming a heart and mocking his brother.

“Oh shut up. What are you, seven?”

“Is Cas your gay thing?”

“You shut your mo-”

“What are we gossiping about?” Eileen whispered, cutting Dean off and causing them both to jump.

“We're not gossiping.” Sam said indignantly.

“Sam started it.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“This is where I call you two ‘asshats’, right?”

“It's ‘assbutt.’” Cas said, walking up to them and catching the tail end of their conversation. “And that's my line.”

Cas handed them each their drinks, before excitedly trying his own. He put the plastic cup up to his mouth, almost missing the straw. When he swallowed the cranberry-colored liquid, his face relaxed in pleasure.

“I know this one isn't coffee, but it's really good.”

“We didn't get coffee either.” Eileen said. “So don't worry, Dean's the odd man out here.”

Dean glared at her before trying his own coffee, and well, it was coffee. The point of buying expensive caffeine still went straight over his head.

The four of them went over to their thankfully-still-available booth and sat down. Dean and Cas sat on one side, both instinctively choosing the side that faced the door, with Sam and Eileen sliding into the seats directly across from them. They sat there, talking about nothing in particular, and certainly nothing of importance, before falling into the natural art of storytelling.

Aside from killing monsters, that’s what hunters did best. Sitting around and sharing stories. As tiring and dangerous as their lives were, some hunts were worth sharing exaggerated and hyperbolic versions of, especially over drinks.

Sam’s favourite story to tell changed every time, and one would almost be inclined to believe that most of it wasn't real, but the wildest parts also caused the most merriment. (Dean pretended he hadn’t witnessed the whole thing, sparing Sam by not telling the other two how it actually went down.)

Eileen shared of her time in Ireland. “Foreign country, foreign monsters.” She said with a wink, telling of creatures neither Sam nor Dean had even read about.

Dean’s favourite story to tell, aside from the fact that he killed Hitler, was the time he got to solve a mystery with everyone’s favorite talking dog. And yeah, all three of the people that sat at the table had heard both many times before, but that didn't matter, it was still enrapturing to hear them again.

Cas had millenniums to choose from, but always found the most interesting hunts to be the ones with the Winchesters. He also had many hilarious stories about his adventures with Crowley, but he was less fond of those.

“I remember once, Dean went on a hunt with Dad.” Sam started. “Nasty vampire, it got a hit or two on Dean. I think you guys went with another hunter. Young. About your age, actually. Uh…”

He snapped his fingers, trying to recall the name. “Lee. That's it.” Dean looked up from the coffee right as Sam said it. “Do you remember him?”

Something flashed in Dean’s eyes, but his brother didn't seem to notice.

Cas, who was used to admiring every minute detail of Dean's expression and posture, didn't miss the ever so slight, yet sharp, inhale. Or the way he swallowed before speaking, trying to clear the small lump from his throat.

Dean noticed too, internally rolling his eyes at his own reaction.

“Yeah it's been a while, but I remember him.” Dean was blatantly ignoring Cas’s burning stare from beside him, and the fact that he had stabbed Lee through the chest just last year.

Cas made sure no one was watching before gently placing a hand on Dean’s thigh. Knowing it would comfort him from both intuition and experience. Dean stiffened under the touch, but after realizing no one could see where Cas’s hand was, he visibly relaxed.

“What happened to him?” Eileen asked innocently.

“Oh uh, a hunt I think. Most of us go that way, I assume he was no different.” Technically Dean dealt the final blow, but it was the entrancing call of the monster, greed, and the life Lee and Dean had both secretly wanted, that caused his former-friend’s downfall in the end.

“Yeah.” Sam said solemnly, suddenly lost in his own thoughts, most of which were riddled with grief.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of their many losses wash over them like a tidal wave.

One made of espresso and milk rather than the rough waters of the sea.

---

The ride back was more manageable, Dean allowing them one song choice each, complete with a warning to pick wisely.

(They all very cheekily chose the songs they knew would bother Dean the most.)

---

Full on coffee, cookies Dean bought for them at Starbucks, and brimming with contentment, (as well as the fact that they spent half the day in the car), Cas suggested to Dean that they “hit the hay” as they stepped back into the bunker.

They laid there in silence, breathing in scents of comfort, coffee, and each other, until Cas eventually drifted off to sleep.

Dean, however, continued to lay there. Thinking.

He remembered the first solo case John sent him on.

Something curled inside his gut.

They had been two nuns, their fate a product of hate crime. Put to death for simply being themselves.

Dean didn't blame them for coming back as ghosts.

He remembered the words - ones he would soon learn were slurs - that John would spit out like acid.

Or offhandedly toss like they didn't bear enough weight to shatter the window of a person's self-image.

It had taken him almost forty years to realize that very same window inside of him was in sharp, jagged pieces. Cutting anyone and everyone who came near.

It had taken Cas dying to start picking them up again.

He turned to look at the man next to him, relaxed and blissfully sleeping. His chest moved up and down rhythmically, and Dean slowed his breath to match until he fell into a surprisingly peaceful slumber.

---

When Dean woke up, the other side of his bed was cold.

He didn't panic, knowing full well that Cas probably ran to the bathroom, or was pouring another mountain of sugar in his coffee.

Losing Cas again to the Empty had ripped him apart, but months of spending every night with his partner left him with less nightmares and waking in cold sweats then he had since before Hell.

Dean also learned that his own presence was enough to fight off the demons of solid, black goo that plagued Cas’s head at night.

He was finally starting to understand why life seemed to lose all meaning when Cas was gone, and from there he could slowly start to rebuild both of them.

Dean heard soft padding noises as socked feet walked down the hall, and there was a knock on the bedroom door. "S'your room too, Cas. You don't have to knock." He laughed, words slightly slurred from just waking up

Cas walked in, wielding two mugs of coffee and a proud look shining in his eyes. “I made us coffee.” He said triumphantly, handing one of the mugs to Dean.

“I put chocolate and peppermint in your coffee.”

Dean fake-gasped. “You monster. Ruining the integrity of my drink like that.”

“I'm a human, you ass.” Cas responded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, I know you liked mine yesterday.”

“I did not.” He said, discontentedly crossing his arms. “I only drink coffee that's as black as my soul. Darker than the night sky. Hotter than the bunker’s computer when it overheats. As manly as-”

“Oh, just drink your damn coffee.”

“Fine.” He groused. “But I'm not enjoying it.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him, before setting his mug on the bedside table and sitting down behind Dean. The bed creaked underneath him as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. “Is this why you and Sam never use umbrellas?” He joked.

Dean laughed.

Cas rested his head on the crook of Dean’s neck and whispered. “You know you don't have to pretend.”

“Pretend what?” Dean asked softly.

“You know.”

“That I don’t like flavoured coffee?” He said with a snort.

“Sort of.” Cas hugged him tighter. “No one’s going to think any less of you Dean. You’re allowed to like the things you like.”

“I know.” He resigned.

“John isn't here anymore.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” The words barely came out as a whisper, hot tears betraying Dean’s eyes as they silently leaked out and ran down his cheeks.

He tried to wipe the tears away, hearing his Dad’s voice in his head and knowing he was being stupid.

Dean couldn't help but think of himself as a small, living-room window, from an old, dilapidated house. Stained yellow with age. Cracking from wear.

He let the drumming of his Dad’s words in his head be drowned out by Cas’s voice.

He couldn't unwrap the fuzz from around him, so he didn't know what Cas was saying, ears seemingly filled with cotton. It was just the knowledge alone that he was there. That he was holding him and whispering comforting words into his ear. That even as a human he could heal Dean at his lowest points, and still see him as the brightest, strongest, soul.

You don't really know what a picture is going to be until it's done.

Maybe that window is a beautiful stained-glass portrait.

“Uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “What-what do you have?” He indicated Cas’s coffee by angling his head towards where it sat on the nightstand.

“I made iced coffee.”

Dean just looked at him, astounded, eyes widening. “You mean it’s not hot?”

“Yes, that's where the ‘iced’ in ‘iced coffee’ comes from.” He said very seriously.

They both sat in silence for the next hour, peacefully drinking their coffee and enjoying the presence of one another.

---

When they got out of bed and ventured into the rest of the bunker, they found Sam and Eileen in the library.

They were sitting in adjacent chairs, with Eileen laying her head on Sam’s shoulder and reaching for her water bottle on the table. They were reading a book together, but Eileen shook Sam indicating she had seen them walk in.

“Goodmorning.” She greeted cheerfully.

“Mornin’.” Dean pulled up a chair across from them, and watched as Cas did the same.

“What are you two reading?” Cas asked.

“The Men of Letters’s Bestiary.” Sam said.

Dean snorted. “Ah. Doing a little light reading are we?”

“We're thinking about filling in some of the pages.” Eileen added.

“Yeah, for all of the stuff they have here, it's surprisingly empty.” Sam continued flipping through some of the pages, most of which were blank.

“Heh. I should put you in that thing, Cas.”

Cas let out a laugh. “Right. Because I’m a good example of an angel.” The sarcasm was masking something else in his voice.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve always been my favourite angel.” Dean only realised how sappy he sounded after it came out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rest of them are dicks.” Eileen added.

Cas smiled at that, seemingly back to normal.

“Right, well you three can do that, I'm off to the Dean Cave.”

“Or…” Sam started.

“We could go back to Starbucks.” Cas finished, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Yeah... that's not where I was going with that, but I like where your head’s at, Cas. We should definitely go back.”

“Eileen?” He asked.

“Hell yeah.”

“Dean?”

Dean pressed his mouth into a thin line and glared at him. “Yes, sure, fine. But we're not making this a daily thing.”

“That's fair.” Cas agreed. “It's probably not very healthy.”

He went to grab his wallet and keys before Sam could start his speech on the nutritional value of green things, and Eileen snatched her water bottle off the library table as they all got up to leave.

---

Dean gave up on letting them choose the music after snickering and requesting “Friday” by Rebecca Black for the third time in a row.

(It wasn't even Friday?)

---

Dean stepped out and closed Baby’s door in the parking lot of Starbucks an hour later, kicking the loose pieces of gravel on the asphalt for the third time in two days.

“We might as well just live here.” He said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I wouldn't make that offer if I were you, Cas looks like he’d be totally on board.” Sam laughed.

Cas went and stood beside Dean as they started walking towards the building, smiling.

“What?” Dean asked, question genuine and free of all malice.

“Nothing.” Cas answered, smile not faltering.

His eyes revealed nothing but pure devotion for the man he was staring at. A silent promise, one without pressure, that he would be standing there, and Dean could take the leap anytime he wanted.

Dean was slowly inching towards the end of the diving board.

---

“I think I'll just drink my water.”

“Oh that's exciting.” Sam joked. “If I got you a lemon to go with it, would you be able to handle that?”

“Don't talk to me about my drink, when yours is a vivid green puke colour.”

“Hey, at least it actually has a colour. And a flavour at that.”

Dean couldn’t believe those words were coming from the same man who drinks exactly a hundred and one ounces of water a day. (Which, according to Sam, is the recommended amount for males, as stated by the Institute of Medicine.)

(Dean didn’t care.)

“Fine then.” She turned to look at Dean. “Get me the strongest thing on the menu.”

Dean laughed before turning to Cas. “Let's just go get in line before we suffer at the hands of the Leahy like Sam.”

Sam and Eileen went to look for a place where they could all sit again, playfully bickering the entire way.

While he was standing in line with Cas, Dean looked over at his brother, and found him and Eileen sitting at a small table in the corner.

Cas was still helping him learn ASL, so he caught parts of their conversation.

“If Jack is in every drop of rain, do you think he's in your water?” Sam signed, trying to contain his laughter.

Eileen pushed her water away with a look of disgust. “You’re lucky I love you.” She answered back.

“I know I am.”

He watched her silently laugh before turning back to look at Cas.

They really did have it good, didn't they?

“What are you ordering, Dean?”

Dean stood there silently, contemplating. He internally weighed his pros and cons, mind leaving the menu entirely. While there was still a lot of shit he had to work through, (shit he had been actively not working out his entire life), there wasn’t much of a decision to be made.

He would always choose Cas.

“You know what?” He reached out and grasped Cas’s hand firmly. “I was thinking about being less boring. What ingredients do you suggest I try?”

Cas smiled warmly, reaching the crinkled corners of his eyes. “They have a cinnamon flavoured one. That’ll be almost like apple pie.”

“Will it really?” Dean’s tone was dismissive, but there was a smile on his face.

“Yes, Sam told me.“

“Not that I trust Sam’s judgment, but okay, I think I’ll take one of those.”

“I'm going to have a real pumpkin spice latte this time.” Cas seemed very pleased with the aspect of buying something they could make it home, but Dean wasn't going to fault him for it.

The patron in front of them finished ordering, clearing the way for Cas and Dean. The barista from the first time they went caught sight of them and made a face. “Wait a minute. I think I know you two.”

“Yes, we came here yesterday.” Cas helped. “Well, we actually visited twice, but you weren't working the second time.”

“Right... John and John, how could I forget?”

“This time we're ordering for four though.”

“I would like a…” Dean squinted at the menu, looking for the cinnamon flavoured coffee. “‘Cinnamon Dolce Latte.’ And my devilishly handsome friend here will take the pumpkin spice version.”

“And what are the other two drinks and names?”

Dean whispered something in Cas’s ear. “I'll drink the coffee, but I won't budge on this one.”

“That's okay Dean, you’ll get there eventually.” He whispered back.

The barista looked unimpressed with them. Again.

Dean cleared his throat. “Ahem, sorry. The tall one with the stupidly long hair,” he pointed towards Sam, “is getting…” he trailed off before looking to Cas for help.

“I don't know, man. It was something sickly looking. Cold? Green? Possibly tea?”

“And Iced Green Tea Latte?” The barista suggested.

“That's the one. His name is Jimmy.”

“And the lovely lady sitting next to him would like the strongest drink you have. Her name is Robert.”

“Her name is Robert…?” He slowly pointed towards Eileen, sounding unsure of himself.

Or them.

“Yup.” Cas said.

Eileen gave a little wave from across the room.

He gritted his teeth in a very clearly fake smile. “Coming right up.”

They paid for their coffee and picked it up, taking the travel cups across the room and towards Sam and Eileen.

Cas took a sip from his pumpkin spice latte, gleefully smiling. “As much as I like trying different drinks, I think I might start just getting this one. It's my favourite.”

Sam leaned over to Dean, neither one taking their eyes off of Cas. “Should we tell him the drink is seasonal?” He glanced at Sam, before staring back at his partner, whose face was beaming like a literal ray of sunshine.

Dean’s face softened. “Nah. Let’s not ruin his moment.” He took a sip of his cinnamon coffee and damn, it was delicious.

Nothing at all like apple pie, but still delicious.

Cas walked over to him, making eye contact in a silent question. Dean nodded with a small smile, and Cas took his hand.

“I love you.” Cas whispered.

“I love you too.” He whispered back.

They didn’t whisper to hide, and it wasn't because he was ashamed. It was because that exchange was just for them.

Dean leaned in and softly kissed Cas.

Now that was to tell everyone in the shop that his devilishly handsome friend was spoken for.

Slowly, the sun would come out and shine through the stained-glass window, shadow portraying the picture of an angel.

And alright, fine, Dean could admit that he enjoyed the peppermint mocha.

He thought about it for a moment, before giving a light chuckle, realising something.

“What?” Cas asked, turning to look at him with a soft smile resting on his face.

“Nothing.” Dean whispered, squeezing Cas’s hand in his. He took a sip from his coffee, relishing in the warm and cozy flavour enrapturing his tongue.

He was only thinking that maybe, just maybe,

Cas had changed him too.

---

Bonus Epilogue:

Dean held the glass door open for the other three, and they all walked out onto the asphalt, laughing, and making their way towards Baby.

The street lamp overhead flickered, and all four of them froze.

“Did anyone happen to get the salted caramel macchiato?” Dean whispered.

---

-This fic on Ao3 (Kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated.)

-Writing Tag

-Ao3

-Request fics/drabbles/ficlets. (Please)

17 notes · View notes

notveryglittery · 5 years ago

Text

birthday prince (2)

summary: roman had no idea it was possible to die from too much love but logan sure is trying. words: 2,000 / ship: logince (logan/roman) author’s note: this is part two of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) read on ao3

— — —

Roman woke to the smell of bacon. And eggs. And hash browns. … Cinnamon rolls too, maybe? He groaned, rolling over onto his back. Kicking his legs up, he used the following momentum to swing himself into a sitting position. There was a little bit of vertigo at moving so quickly, but this was how he always got himself out of bed since it usually provided him a sudden surge of energy. He squinted, looking towards the door, and trying to decide how badly he actually wanted to get out of bed in order to have breakfast. On the one hand, it all smelled absolutely mouthwatering. On the other hand, he was very warm and comfortable.

Three precise knocks made the decision for him.

"Roman, are you awake?"

At the sound of Logan's voice, a smile lit up Roman's face. "Yes! Come in!"

The scents of all the tempting foods were much stronger now and, as Logan entered carrying a tray in one hand, it became clear as to why. Logan was still wearing an apron and there was a smidge of flour on his forehead. He moved carefully so as not to spill or drop anything. Roman hoped the mug was filled with coffee made with too much cream and sugar. Before he could offer any help, Logan gestured at him to sit back; in the same moment, he flipped the legs of the tray open. Once Roman was settled, Logan set the stand down over his lap. His nose had been right in picking out eggs, bacon, and hash browns. There was a small bowl of fruit (with green grapes, his favorite!) and yes, the coffee was the exact color as he liked it.

"There are cinnamon rolls baking still," Logan said, sitting down on the mattress and reaching forward to brush Roman's hair back from his eyes. His smile was so soft and fond, Roman thought he might melt if it were directed at him for too much longer. "Did you sleep well?"

Catching Logan's hand before he could pull away completely, Roman pressed a kiss to the bottom of his palm. "I did, thank you. So, what's this for, then?"

Logan shook his head, as if he didn't understand the question. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Eat. I'll return momentarily."

He was up and gone by the time Roman remembered that his birthday was later that week. He laughed a little, burying his face in his hands. The food was delectable, all of it still hot and fresh. Somehow, the coffee was even better than usual; perhaps because it had been made and served by someone he cared for so dearly. He scrolled through social media as he ate, feeling happy and relaxed. It was an exceedingly nice way to start his morning, especially knowing that he had plenty of things to deal with later on.

True to his word, Logan was back in roughly twenty minutes. He had a plate and two glasses of milk. He seemed satisfied that Roman had finished all his food and, with a snap of his fingers, removed the breakfast tray. He left his things on the bedside table and pulled a notebook from thin air. Roman recognized it as one of his many planners. He sat down again, posture slightly stiff, but Roman could tell it was because he was resisting joining Roman in bed. He wondered how he could convince him…

Flipping through the pages, Logan adjusted his glasses before beginning. “As far as I’m aware, the tasks you had scheduled for today were the following: selecting the name and song for Shoutout Sunday, washing the linens, preparing April’s shorts for compiling, and… corralling Remy to ensure Thomas sleeps well tonight.”

Roman snorted at Logan’s choice of words. “That’s all of it. Thank you for breakfast, darling. I’ve got plenty of energy to get started now!”

Logan tutted and held up a hand to stop Roman from getting up any further. “It is taken care of.”

Roman frowned. “... Pardon?”

“Your chores. The last load of laundry is in the dryer now. I’ve spoken with Thomas regarding Sunday’s video. Bargaining with Remy did take some time. However— Are you crying?” Logan’s voice hitched in sudden concern and he reached over to cradle Roman’s cheek in his hand.

Roman sniffled. “It’s okay, Lo. I’m happy… Just a little overwhelmed.” He pressed his own hand against Logan’s and gave him a shaky smile. “Why did you do all of this?”

Logan shifted so that he was better facing Roman. “You deserve to be taken care of. That is a constant, of course. In particular, this is in celebration of your birthday. I am well aware of the shenanigans made for the day itself so I thought I would ‘jump the gun,’ so to speak.”

Roman didn’t want to be dramatic or anything (hah) but he was pretty sure Logan was trying to kill him. “I haven’t the faintest idea how I could begin to thank you.”

“That’s just fine,” Logan reassured him. “I wouldn’t want you to, anyway.”

Roman laughed under his breath and gently moved away from Logan’s hold. He wiped at the tears that lingered on his eyelashes. “Well, it seems I have more free time than I thought I would. Have you got anything else up your sleeves?”

“Seeing as this garment lacks the necessary amount of fabric to do so, no. However, I did have something in mind that I believe you would enjoy participating in?”

“Lead the way, my star.”

After giving Roman some time to freshen up and change, they left his room, snacking on their cinnamon rolls and milk as they walked. It was still early, not yet noon, and Roman appreciated the peaceful atmosphere more than he thought he would. Normally, there would be music playing, or the television on as background noise in the living room, or the kitchen full of clanging utensils. This was pleasant. Having Logan with him made it all the better.

Eventually, Logan paused at the door between his and Patton's rooms. It was decorated with stickers, paint, glitter, buttons — any and all crafts that would fit basically, for that's exactly what was on the other side. Simply called the Crafts room, it was a creative space available for anyone to use however they pleased. Roman most often honed his vocal talents but he knew that Virgil liked to paint murals on the walls. When Logan led the way inside, the room transformed to match his vision. Warm sunlight spilled in from multiple windows. There was a rolling cart filled with every color of paint Roman could ever think of and more. There were a handful of easels, all holding various sizes of canvases. On the table in the center of the room was a stack of paper bound by ribbon, numerous pens, and a platter of snacks. Speakers set up in the corners of the room were already playing music.

"Will this suffice?" Logan asked, breaking Roman out of his daze.

"Suffice… Moonbeam, this is wonderful! And that smell… Is it—?"

"Jasmine to produce feelings of confidence and Eucalyptus to boost creativity."

“Well, they certainly are doing the trick!” Roman exclaimed, skipping fully into the room. He darted for the nearest easel, grabbing the handle on the cart as he did and pulling it over with him. His head was already full of ideas, sprawling landscapes and detailed portraits and, and, and!

The next hour passed in comfortable silence. They did, occasionally, duet along to various Broadway or Disney love songs that came through on their playlist. Sometimes, they dissolved into giggles afterwards, or they’d pause in their work to send each other sappy smiles. Sure, Roman was immensely curious about what Logan was working on, but he knew best what an awful thing it was to be interrupted while spending time with one's muse and motivation. Besides, he wasn't sure he could find a moment to pause in his own projects even if he wanted to. He moved from canvas to canvas smoothly, a new creation springing to mind the second he finished the last. There was an open expanse of night sky, stars dotted in yellow, blue, and red; a portrait of the lovely Valerie, dressed up and imagined as one of Roman's fellow knights; some abstract thing that was only recognizable from upside down and depended on the viewer having seen Parks and Rec at least two and a half times.

Eventually, though, his energy waned, and he set down his paintbrushes to take a break. He dropped a kiss to the top of Logan's head as he stepped by before taking a seat at the table, and reaching for the snacks. He went for a bagel but appreciated the variety of fruits and veggies, too. A few minutes later, Logan looked up from his work. He looked satisfied.

“All done?” Roman asked, interest piqued once more.

“Yes. Thank you for your patience.”

“Oh. Lo, that’s nothing you need to thank me for. This was really nice. Honestly, I didn’t realize how badly I needed it.”

Logan leaned closer, startling Roman when he kissed him quickly on the nose. Logan licked his lips after, smirking. “You had a bit of cream cheese…”

Roman made a sound akin to a tea kettle whistling.

Wasting no time, Logan stood and positioned himself in front of one of the windows. He looked as handsome as ever, silhouetted by the sunlight. He seemed relaxed and confident and Roman quite suddenly began to worry about his well being again.

He squinted at the brightest star in his sky. “... What are you up to?”

Logan cleared his throat. And began to sing.

It felt like the floor gave out underneath Roman. He might as well have no longer been tethered to his body. It was a miracle he stayed present enough to continue listening; he assumed it had something to do with knowing that missing even a millisecond of this would be the biggest regret he could make. Not only was Logan singing, completely of his own volition, he was singing about Roman. Lines about his bravery and his recklessness, his confidence and his ego, his creations and his work ethic. It was balanced, neither too praising nor too harsh. There was mention of how much love he carried, of how he deserved to receive as much as he gave, of how there was magic at his fingertips.

By the time Logan finished, Roman was outright sobbing. It wasn’t fair, how someone he loved so much, so so much, could make something so beautiful and heartfelt for him. How was he ever supposed to return the favor? When Logan pulled him up and out of the chair, he fell easily into his arms and tried to quiet his weeping.

“I would apologize for making you cry but that would be apologizing for the things I said, which I cannot do. I mean every word. My life is better with you in it. You inspire us all to be our very best and that is so admirable. Happy birthday, your highness.”

“Stop, stop,” Roman argued weakly, pouting up at Logan. “You’re killing me. You’re so cruel.”

Logan smiled down at him. He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and patted Roman’s face dry. “I suppose you’ll do something about it?”

“Yes,” Roman answered vehemently. “Your punishment is to be trapped in a pillow prison. A blanket barricade. Confined by cuddles.”

“Oh no. That final one might be the worst sentence of them all.”

Roman pressed a kiss to Logan’s jawline before firmly grabbing his hands. “I’ll have to stay and make sure you don’t escape, of course.” He began to pull Logan out of the room, cheeks starting to hurt from his wide smile.

“Of course,” Logan agreed, in a tone so gentle, it should have been impossible.

Perhaps Roman kept this thief of his heart wrapped up extra tight and snug in his arms, but that wasn’t really anybody else’s business, now was it?

#sanders sides fan fiction #logince #logince fan fiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #gifts for roman's bday #dani writes

290 notes · View notes