#and also scary sometimes but hey. he has layers.

[intrepidacious]

step number one

summary: You haven't kissed anyone in a couple of years. Johnny's more than happy to help you out.

pairing: johnny storm x f!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: friends to lovers, making out (in the name of practice) please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: this was supposed to be my valentine's day fic but here we are. c'est la vie. hope you still enjoy this fluffy nonsense a week later 🫶🏼

masterlist | read on ao3

"You got any plans for tomorrow?" Johnny asks the day before Valentine’s Day, spread out on your bed like usual, his eyes not lifting from his phone.

You snort. "Yeah, right."

There’s something, you think, about the aggressively pink-and-flowers-and-chocolate aesthetic of this month that well and truly makes you want to throw up. 14 per cent discounts and coupley pictures and cutesy videos have been flooding your feed for the past week and a half, and with most of your friends neatly paired off as well, it’s like there’s absolutely no escaping the—

"Why not?" Johnny asks. "I mean, pretty girl like you gotta have guys lined up around the corner." The smile in his voice is sincere enough to let you believe he really does mean that as a compliment.

"First of all, ew," you reply, closing your app after yet another "date fit" video. "Second, the last date I went on ended with the guy leaving the country, so there’s that." Granted, you’d known about his travel plans beforehand, but still.

Johnny pushes up on one elbow. "Really. Coffee shop creep?"

You scowl at him. "Don’t call him that."

He’d been nice enough. Paid for your drinks and museum tickets. Hung his jacket over your shoulders when you started shivering. Yes, he’d also ghosted you and gone to Iceland, but it wasn’t like you’d known him that well.

You’d only gotten your hopes up too soon, like you always did.

"That was your last date?" Johnny says, attention fully on you now. "Wasn’t that, like, four years ago?"

"Five," you mumble, your cheeks heating. Almost six, but who's counting? "So, no, I’m not doing Valentine’s Day."

Being single is much easier, anyway. You don’t have to consider anyone else in your life; don’t have to wonder about what they’re doing or whether their family liked you or if they’re planning a three month trip abroad … huh. Maybe that one’s still somewhat of a sore point, after all.

"Why haven’t you gone out with anyone in five years?"

"I don’t know, it just sorta happened. Not everyone goes on a date with a new person every week."

"Gross exaggeration."

"Not really," you say, nudging his side with your toes. "Do you ever see those girls a second time?"

"Sometimes. Hey, when did this become about me?" He catches your foot when you make to poke him again. His smile doesn’t waver, but his voice becomes gentler when he speaks again, a little more serious. "I thought you want a relationship."

You swallow.

"I do," you say quietly. "It’s just … it’s scary. I don’t like putting myself out there, and I’ve been so busy with everything else. I don’t have time to worry about small talk or the fact that at this point I don’t even know how to kiss anyone anymore."

It’s a vicious circle, really. Wanting something serious while also being terrified of anything serious. And suddenly, almost without noticing, years have gone by and nothing has changed at all.

Next to you, Johnny goes very still.

Honestly, it’s not the reaction you’ve expected. Deep down, you thought he’d laugh, tease you about the fact that it’s been nearly six years since you’ve gotten intimate with anyone. Sometimes, you want to laugh about it yourself, even though at the same time, you don’t find it funny at all.

But Johnny Storm has always had more layers than people give him credit for; even you, sometimes.

"Do you …" His voice cracks and he clears his throat, staring at the wall behind you. "Do you wanna practice?"

You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks before you even understand what he’s asking. "Practice what?"

"Kissing."

…

Maybe your brain short-circuited. There’s been some misfiring in your neurons, mistranslating his actual words, because there’s no way on earth he’s just suggested what you thought you heard.

"I—"

"It’d be one less thing for you to worry about, you know," he interrupts, talking quickly. You’ve never seen him look at you this intently. He seems to realize from your stunned expression, and a shadow of his earlier smile softens his face. "Don’t worry," he says. "I don’t bite unless you want me to."

Your mouth opens and closes a couple of times, your heart pounding so loud you can hear feel it behind your temples. "I don’t know how to respond to this."

"Say yes," Johnny says. "We can just try it out. We don’t have to bring it up again after today, it’ll just be … preparation, you know? Step number one of getting you back in the game."

It doesn’t feel like a game at all, this suggestion.

The craziest part about it, though, is that you are seriously considering it. You stare at him, his pretty blue eyes and his cocky grin, and the earnest expression behind his nonchalant façade. No matter your answer, he wouldn’t judge you.

Besides, it’s not like you’ve never thought about it.

You’ve caught glimpses of Johnny kissing other girls one too many times not to secretly wonder what it would be like. To feel his lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you, your hands gliding over the short buzz of his hair.

It’s longer now, maybe even long enough to tangle your fingers in and yank.

"Fine," you say quietly, and watch his smirk falter ever so slightly.

No matter his grand bravado, he clearly didn’t expect you to agree. It’s sweet, the way he scrambles to sit up properly, not even caring that his phone drops to the floor.

"Yeah?"

You swallow, nod. There’s an excited blush spreading on his cheeks that’s kind of endearing but also makes you want to melt into the ground. The way he’s staring at your lips makes you feel aware of every single cell in your body. You can’t remember ever being looked at like this.

"Do you want to …?"

"I don’t know, can you just—"

His hand cups your cheek, warm and steady. He’s always so warm.

"Close your eyes," he says lowly, and they fall shut of their own accord.

You don’t think you’re breathing as you wait, your hands fisted into your blanket as if you’re trying to hold on for dear life. Maybe you are.

For a very long moment, nothing happens, and you’re starting to feel like you’re being ridiculed after all. Like you’re going to open your eyes to Johnny laughing in your—

His lips brush against yours, just a single, careful touch, lingering, testing the waters. You don’t dare to move, or breathe, or do anything but feel. Your mind is racing, even though you cannot catch a single coherent thought.

The sheets rustle, the mattress dipping as Johnny breaks the kiss, adjusting his position. His thumb is still on your cheek, a gentle caress.

"You in there, darlin’?"

"Yeah." Your grip loosens a little.

"Okay." His breath fans over your lips. "You wanna try again?"

You’ve barely started nodding before he dives in again.

This time, you’re a little more ready for it, moving your mouth against his experimentally. He smells nice. You don’t know what to do with your hands.

He pulls away again and your heart tugs painfully, but he only tilts his head the other way and goes back to kissing you, still so soft, so languidly, like he has all the time in the world. He makes no rush of deepening the kiss, which is so like and unlike him at the same time.

It’s you, then, who leans in closer, your tongue slipping into his mouth, your brain going in and out of focus with each shuddering breath as he responds fervently. His fingers move down to your chin, angling it just a little. One of your hands lands on his shoulder, seeking balance.

He tastes sweet. Dangerously addictive.

This time, you’re the one to move back, your eyes flying open, feeling like his fire has set your entire body aflame. "How’d I do?"

Johnny blinks a couple of times, staring at your mouth, his pupils blown wide. You press your lips together.

"Not bad," he says hoarsely. "Maybe a little …"

"What?"

"Come here."

He catches your hands, putting them around his neck. It’s an awkward position, the rest of your body still angled away from his until he raises an eyebrow.

You realize there’s two options before you, and you’re not ready to have him on top of you in your own bed.

Instead, you straddle his thighs, looking over his shoulder to not have to meet his eye. His arms fall around you, settling at your lower back, pleasurable heat crawling up your spine.

"This okay?"

You kiss him again.

He makes a startled noise against your mouth, tightening his hold on you as his head drops back, granting you easier access. Your heart is pounding so wildly in your chest it’s making you dizzy.

It’s the most natural thing in the world, to kiss him like this. To scratch your fingernails against the nape of his neck until he makes that sound again. It vibrates against your tongue, and you melt against him, his body hot and solid against yours. Even when you come apart for air, he’s the only real thing in the world.

There’s nothing innocent about the way your mouths crash together now. He swallows your surprised moan like he’s been hungering for it, his hands bunching up your shirt at your back. You shudder against him when he grazes bare skin, each new touch burning in the most delicious manner. You’re weightless, intertwined, content to never again draw a single breath that hasn’t fallen from his lips first.

His tongue slides against yours, tasting your mouth in a way that borders on desperate. You press even closer to him, your fingers slipping into his hair in that way you’ve wanted to for longer than you’ve cared to admit even to yourself, hips involuntarily stuttering against his until he groans, responding in kind to each push and pull.

Finally, after what well may have been hours, you come apart, your forehead pressed to his, chests heaving. You don’t want to open your eyes; don’t want to return to the aftermath of what you’ve just done.

"Go out with me."

You sit back. Johnny’s arms are still draped around you, and there’s a mesmerized smile on his face as he looks at you. "What?"

"Go out with me. On a date." His voice is rough and strangely hopeful, and it makes your stomach flutter. "I promise no small talk."

"You’re not serious."

"About you?" His gaze drops to your lips again. "Always." His nose bumps against yours. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" You exhale shakily, dropping to a whisper. "That’s soon."

"Hmm."

"Maybe I should practice some more before then."

He smiles against your mouth.

thank you for reading my first full length johnny fic 😌 i'm sure it won't be the last. if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

[sarnai4]

Helloo!!! I love your posts about the gods, like them going to the movies, so I wanted to know what do you think their love language would be?

Aw! Thanks so much🥰🥰🥰! That's a fun question! Let me see🤔...

Athena: Demonstration. She's a practical goddess, so she won't just SAY she love you. She needs to give indisputable proof that she can take to court and win a case with. After the 1000th time she gets someone their favorite books and/or weapon, she thinks it's pretty obvious. If you get a new blanket or sweater from her, she really loves you. She never even has to (shudder) hug someone.

Ares: Protection. Does somebody need a skull bashed in? No? Well...it might happen anyway if he thinks that it'll keep his loved ones safe. It's a little scary, but it's really coming from a good place. If he knows someone's going to be in a dangerous place, he just sorta becomes a shadow that they can't shake. (He'd secretly love to give hugs, but the last time he tried with someone who wasn't Aphrodite, it was misinterpreted and he got punched. [cough cough] Blame a sibling)

Demeter: Gifts. She will load somebody up with baskets of her best harvest. You seriously don't know if she loves you or wants you to pop from overeating, but it's the former. The harvest is really pretty too. Only the ripest of everything. Persephone has learned to hide apples in her sleeves so that it still looks like it's all been eaten.

Aphrodite: Everything. Just everything. She uses words of affirmation, gifts, physical affection, etc. Her favorite is definitely physical, though, so whether it's romantic or platonic, EVERYBODY is getting hugs and at least a kiss on the cheek. She does not care if she gets chased down because of this. It's worth it. :D

Hades: Goes outside. Now, that might seem minor, but actually getting him to leave the Underworld for minutes, nay, HOURS at a time is a feat. That's the fastest way for somebody to know they're loved by him. He doesn't even look at his watch or seem fidgety.

Apollo: Free medical advice. Sooo much. Do you know how much blood or ichor you can lose within a 48-hour period before losing consciousness? You. Will. You'll also know about health advice like what foods are best for your diet. (P.S. this is why all the junk food got swapped out for fruits and veggies)

Hestia: Food. Specifically, the food that the loved one wants. She doesn't care how elaborate it is and will bake up a storm. Each layer is an extra piece of love. It's why there's a cake the size of the Eiffel Tower somewhere around here.

Hermes: Travel. He'll fly his loved ones places to make it faster trips. It's always a little dangerous, but luckily, most of the loved ones are immortal. So, his attempt to get them places at break-neck speed will not actually break their necks. For the mortals...it's the thought that counts.

Hephaestus: Repairs. He does this to the point of also making new things. On a related note, he breaks into ' homes so that he can do the repairs. Now, there are a bunch of inventions all over the place that no one has rooms for.

Zeus: Quality time. He's not even thinking about all those cuties he saw the other day...much. Still, that's a really big improvement and him mostly giving his undivided attention is how he shows his love. Of course, he's probably spending this time talking about himself, but he's paying attention to someone else while he's talking about himself. Progress!

Artemis: She's a stray cat. She hunts, then brings carcasses over. Nobody really wants a bunny head on their bed. Some even cry a little when that happens, but hey, at least it means they’re loved.

Poseidon: Horseback rides. On him specifically. They always think he's going to let them have a nice time sailing. Nope, he prefers this. They sort of think it's weird, but they try to not complain when he goes full mane and tail on them.

Hera: Critiques suggestions. Constantly. But they're motherly critiques, so they sometimes help a whole lot and other times, they drive everybody up the wall. Just flip an obol and see what you get.

Dionysus: Theater tickets with backstage passes and everything. Less than half of his loved ones actually want to go to any of these, but now, they feel obligated. He doesn't know that. Soon, there'll be more features to these passes that just take extra time.

[washedoutwings]

hey!! we have been doing a lot of reflection nd stuff, and we (the headmates) got to know each other more :) we made picrews of some of us!!! images and brief descriptions below the cut

our body:

it’s not exactly what we’d like to look like, since we haven’t been able to transition or anything, but it’s not bad :)

nina, beesecutor:

nina is actually one of the only headmates that has a name, or at least a name that we know. she’s also one of the only human headmates. i don’t know much about any of the headmates, nina included, but i do know a little bit. nina is very energetic, and can sometimes be quick to upset/anger. we think that she’s from out in the country. she rides horses!!! we think that she is somewhere from 13-16 years old. as far as we can tell, nina uses she/her

castiel, possible social anxiety holder:

castiel is very antisocial. he doesn’t front because it really hates it, but sometimes (frequently) will convince us to make very impulsive decisions. it’s also very anxious about social situations. although he doesn’t front, it sometimes layers. it’s honestly a bit of a bad influence, but can also help to remind us to just do things because nobody gives a shit. he can also be very easily angered sometimes. castiel is naturally very disrespectful and distrustful, and will take a long time to warm up to people. he also has a lot of self destructive behaviors. he smokes, does drugs, and drinks. he uses he/him and it/its. we think that it’s a young adult, maybe 21-25?? its name is castiel

unknown, the scary one:

we know very very little about this headmate. it does not talk. in fact, we aren’t entirely sure if it can. we don’t know its name, or if it even has one. it stares. sometimes it communicates through its stares, but it typically just looks. although it doesn’t really communicate or interact much with any of us, it’s almost always there. we don’t think it fronts, but maybe it does?? it may just stay in headspace all the time though. it kinda freaks out all of the rest us, but hasn’t hurt anyone or anything. it seems to just exist. it doesn’t seem to enjoy any pronouns, but seems fine with it/its. please don’t use any other pronouns for it, that can anger it. we don’t know if it’s actually an angel, or just looks somewhat like one.

we will update as we learn more about the rest of our headmates :)

[vivwritesfics]

Eddie Munson is a Really Overprotective Brother

Steve Harrington has a date with Y/N, the sister of Eddie 'the freak' Munson. Eddie 'the freak' Munson will do anything to protect his sister. In this one he follows her on her third date with Steve, how fun.

1.7K

Fluff warning

STEVE HARRINGTON X FEM!READER

Hey, I'd love some mutuals! Pls send me a message for a moot!

"Do you know Eddie Munson?" 

At those words, Dustin's face paled. He had no doubt that Eddie and Steve had crossed paths at some point; they probably shared a few classes once upon a time. But Steve was an asshole back then. He either ignored Eddie or made fun of him for being a freak. 

They were sat in Steve’s car together, driving to Mike's house. When it came to Eddie's campaigns the boys liked to be prepared for whatever he threw at them. 

“I-yeah, why?” Was all Dustin could say to answer. This couldn’t be something good, he’d decided, just from the way Steve had said his name. 

Steve’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “It’s just that I got a date with his sister. I need to know if I’ve got anything to worry about or not,” he said casually, but his hands were white, paler than usual. 

Y/N Munson was Eddie’s little sister, although they were now in the same grade in school. She was the complete opposite of him; cute skirts, nice blouse. She wasn’t a freak like her brother, just a freak by association. Made to sit in on the DnD campaigns, reading quietly in the corner. Eddie would protect her with everything he had. 

“How did you score a date with Y/N?” Asked Dustin, his eyebrows raised. 

Steve shrugged. “She knows Robin. Anyway, should I be worried about her brother or not?”

Yeah, Steve should have been worried. Eddie was fiercely protective over her; he’d scared away several guys who had tried to ask her out. Rumor had it that Eddie had a list of approved men for her and it was blank. If he caught wind of her date with Steve, he’d hunt him down. 

Dustin nodded. “You sure you want to go on a date with Y/N?”

“Yes Dustin,” Steve groaned. “Now, is Eddie gonna kill me or not?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna kill you.”

***

Y/N loved her brother. She and Eddie never fought, no matter how different they were. He had been protecting her since they were kids. Someone pushed her on the playground and little Eddie would come running over to push them twice as hard. She grew up protected because of him. 

“Getting ready for something?” Asked Eddie, leaning against the frame of her bedroom door. Their rooms were just across from each other in the trailer. He looked at Y/N sitting at her vanity, applying a light layer of eyeshadow. 

Y/N looked at her brother and smiled. “Going to see Robin,” she answered. As much as she hated lying to her brother, it was sometimes necessary. She looked away from him as she told her lie, but Eddie clearly didn’t believe her. He looked at her for a full minute and turned away.

Eddie was a scary guy, Y/N knew that. She also knew that guys tended to avoid her because of him and his protective ways. But all he said was, “stay safe, okay?” And left her room. No grilling, no interrogations to try and see who it was. 

As strange as it was, Y/N let it go. It was a relief, not to be stuck under eddies spotlight as he asked question after question about who she was really meeting and where they were going. 

Of course, Y/N didn’t tell Steve to pick her up from the trailer park. She told him to park a little way down the road and marched her way down there, turning back every two seconds to make sure Eddie wasn’t following.

Her hopes was that he trusted her, but Y/N knew that wasn’t the case. Was her brother psycho enough to follow her on her date? She didn’t know.

The sight of Steve’s car brought a smile to her face. She almost started jogging, but kept a composure, a bounce in her step as she walked towards the car. “Hey,” she said through a grin as he pushed open the door for her. 

Nobody knew but this was their third date. Both Y/N and Steve knew that, should this date go well, it would be the one that sealed the deal. Not sex, mind you (Y/N knew she wouldn’t be able to contain her smile and Eddie would know something was up immediately), but Steve would ask her to officially be his. 

As she climbed into the car Steve leaned over and kissed her cheek. “What’ve you got planned for us tonight, Stevie,” she whispered, smoothing out her skirt.

Steve was nervous for this one. He hadn’t gotten to the third date since Nancy, too busy looking after the kids, or easily finding something that would put him off by the end of the first date. But not with Y/N. In Steve's eyes already, she was perfect. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and started the ignition. “I was thinking we could catch a movie and then head to a diner or something.” Actually Steve had spent his week trying to think of which restaurant to take her to. He’d asked Robin for her opinion time after time, but he couldn’t find anything. So a movie and the diner it was. 

Y/N hummed along to the radio, looking at the streetlights as they went past. She looked in the wing mirror, at the van driving behind them. Weird, that looked just like Eddie’s van.

Sitting up straight Y/N looked over at Steve with wide eyes. He spared her a glance, eyes quickly returning to the road. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing! Nothing,” she said quickly and looked back in the mirror. Oh yeah, that was her brother alright. She didn’t know if he could see her, but she ducked down in her seat anyway.

The movie was nice, that was all Y/N knew by the end of it. She didn’t know anything about the plot or the characters, or even the title of the movie. She spent the entire thing looking at every seat, watching out for those long dark curls she knew so well. Thank God she and Steve were sitting at the back. The seatrest was up and she was cuddled into his side, eating the popcorn sitting in his lap.

She may have been clueless when it came to the movie, but being around Steve was enough. “I’m having a really nice time,” she said, her lips against his cheek. Steve's arm was around her, fingers dancing up and down her side. He looked down at her, eyes crinkling as he smiled. 

A second later they were kissing, his tongue in her mouth. Steve was two seconds away from pulling her into his lap when Y/N pulled away. She settled back against him, her attention returning to the movie. But it didn’t return to the movie; spent the entire thing looking around for her brother. 

After the movie Steve took her to the diner. It was just a short drive from the movie theatre, where Y/N tried to discuss with him the parts of the movie she had caught. 

In no time at all they were in a booth in the diner, a plate of fries between them. They’d been talking and laughing, Dustin the current topic of conversation. “Actually,” Steve started and put down the glass of coke in his hands. “I, uh, these dates with you have been great,” he said. “And I wanna take things to the next level.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. “What’re you–”

“Well, well, well.” A figure suddenly loomed over  him. “What do we have here?”

Y/N’s head fell into her hands.

“Good to see you again, Robin. Oh wait.”

Eddie stood over them, grinning. “Move over, big boy,” he said and sat beside Steve in the booth. “Having a fun night?” He asked, looking over at his sister with his brows up. “Wanna tell me who this guy is, while you’re at it?”

“You followed me on my date?!” 

“That’s what happens when you lie to me,” Eddie said and ate a fry. 

Y/N leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. “What the hell, Eddie! What is wrong with you?!”

Scowling, Eddie leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "I'm just looking out for you," he said, his voice low. "Now, who is he?"

Steve held out his hand. "Steve Harrington," he said, trying to ease the tension that had built up between the three of them. 

Eddie's eyes went wide. "Steve Harrington as in Hendersons friend?" He asked and Steve nodded. "That kid idolises you," he said and turned to his sister. "Why didn't you tell me it was Hendersons Steve?"

"Would that have mattered?"

"It does now?"

Y/N and Steve both raised their eyebrows at him. "Look, there are a lot worse guys she could go out with. You know how Henderson talks about him."

"So, you're fine with this?" She tried slowly. 

"Not completely, but I'll let it slide."

Steve cleared his throat. "Do I have your blessing to ask your sister to be mine?"

"That you do, Harrington." Eddie patted his shoulder and stood up. "Have her home by nine thirty!" He called over his shoulder and walked out of the diner. 

Y/N let out a breath. "I'm so sorry," she muttered and pushed the fries away from her. 

Grabbing her hand Steve ran his thumb over her knuckles. "Hey, it's okay. He's just looking out for you. I'd be the same if I had a sister," he said and kissed the back of her hand. "But, what I was trying to say before your brother showed up is I've had such a nice time on our dates and I wanted to ask you to be mine."

She looked up at him with wide eyes. "Yes, Steve!" She cried. "Yeah, I wanna be your girlfriend."

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

[himbeaux-on-ice]

It’s Time To Talk About The Other April 12th Presser — 6167

on or just after April 12th of 2021, I posted about Stoney's extremely memorable post-game presser from that night in which he speaks about Patch that included such quotes as "I've said this numerous times, he's the best shot I've ever played with... probably the best goal scorer I'm *ever* gonna play with." and "He tells me 'park it in front and I won't hit you'... it's scary sometimes, but uh, he doesn't hit me!" y’know, just some instant Thanks I Will Be Insane About It classics. what I somewhat missed at the time, while getting distracted by that, is actually paying attention to and discussing Patch's presser from the same game, which is just as good, in which he takes his turn to heap praise upon his rival-turned-liney-turned-friend, including offering his (maddening) thoughts on the thing that has always been considered Mark's biggest weakness as a player:

there's like. a LOT of layers to unpack here. i'll use a cut bc i'm nice. let's get some brainworms!!

first, we'll break down a few of the most relevant quotes from this clip:

Q: "Hey Max, you got your 300th goal tonight, is that one a little bit more meaningful to you, does that one feel a little more special?" Patch: "Yeah absolutely. I thought after hitting three posts in the last game that maybe it would uh, would take a while to get it... luckily had a great screen from Stoney so that made it a lot easier. I told him I was looking for a tap-in tonight and that was uh, [chuckles] pretty much as good as it gets when it comes to that, was a great screen, something we've been working a lot and harping a lot on the powerplay, and uh hopefully we can get rolling now."

so when asked if the milestone goal feels special, he is full of praise for Stoney’s ability to execute the “park it in front” half of the maneuver (with Max fulfilling his side of the bargain and not hitting him) as well as the fact that he wanted to get the monkey of 300 off his back and Mark could be counted upon to do “as good as it gets” in helping him with that when asked. also, he hints that they’ve been practicing and perfecting this move a lot, which is it’s own bag of things to think about, boy.

next, the big whammy:

Q: "Hey Max, milestone goal for you. For Alex Tuch and Mark Stone it had been a hot minute for them, I think it had been a couple games for each of them, just- how big is it for each of them, to get back on the board too, and all three of you guys to get on the board tonight?" Patch: “Yeah, absolutely, we know goals haven't come as easy as of late, for a lot of guys. And just, Tuchy y'know is just a vintage, blow by everyone, power through and roof it. Uh, Stoney just a huge goal in an important time of the game where, uh, it didn't seem like we had much going, and take a penalty, and, y'know... for that late in a shift, to turn on the jets- I mean people talk about 'he's not a good skater', y'know I've never thought that was the case and I think he proved me right there." [glances at somebody standing offscreen, smiles in a surprised manner] "Oh, there you-" [cuts himself off, chuckling]

oh my god ohhhhh my god this quote. this. like. okay I need you to understand, because I didn’t know this in April 2021 and thus didn’t understand the significance of this comment: Mark Stone’s career as a hockey player has been deeply shaped and impacted by his skating and the perceptions that people have had of it. dear god I will try to be brief, bear with me as we delve into my Mark Stone career biography research for The Context. you already opened the Read More so you're just gonna have to deal with the rambles.

so Mark has never been an especially graceful skater. his dad Rob blames part of this on well-meaning parents starting him on skates without proper training “too young” at the age of 3 (because Mark was rabidly obsessed with hockey even before that, before he could even walk); whatever the cause, a combination of a slightly awkward stride and a lightweight physique as a child metastasized into a total mess when he shot up in a massive growth spurt in his mid-teens. he ended up a lanky, gangly beanpole teen with an inefficient stride and new long legs he wasn’t at all adept at using on the ice — despite a wicked hockey IQ and talented hands, his skating was slow and ungainly and sometimes struggled to get through a shift without ending up out of breath (“my legs would be shaking”).

these deficiencies in skating strength and speed have *defined* his career and his style of play. it’s why he plays forward and not defence (started as a d-man like his brother, but struggled with skating backwards). it’s why his dad was hesitant to let him sign a WHL contract out of worry he wouldn’t be able to keep up with other kids at that level, despite being the leading scorer of his AAA team. it was a major factor (along with injuries) in him not being drafted until the 6th round in 2010 (178th overall), and worrying at the time that he might go undrafted altogether. it’s the reason many people doubted he would ever become an NHLer, despite the fact that he never in his life really considered another career.

that said, Mark's skating problem is also the reason why he is so good at takeaways, puck protection, passing, and net-front play, to name a few specialties — because as an extremely hockey-smart teenager working with this physical disadvantage, he knew he couldn’t out-skate the other kids (like a Connor McDavid or a Jack Eichel style player), but he hated losing so much that he dedicated his considerable strategic smarts, his overwhelming love of the game, and his intensely, hilariously competitive stubbornness towards building up other hockey skillsets that worked around his skating handicap in order to play on their level. and it has paid off massively.

the skating problem itself is also something Mark worked *incredibly* hard to fix upon being drafted by the Sens — working every summer with Ottawa’s development staff even while still in juniors to reconfigure his stride and build up muscle mass and gradually eliminate the disadvantage. these days, he might not be the prettiest skater with the most graceful stride, but his skating and foot speed is no longer a competitive detriment to him at the NHL level. as was the case in the goal Patch described, he can actually really book it down the ice a lot faster than the opponent often expects, even excelling at doing so at the end of a long shift because he’s no stranger to playing out of breath (can think of another memorable occasion where he did that, too).

but despite all the work Mark has put in and how much he’s grown in this area, despite coming into his own over the years as a Calder finalist, Selke finalist, possibly being better at takeaways than anybody ever, and becoming a star player in his own right, the reputation of “Mark Stone’s iffy skating” still follows him, literally to this day. it got mentioned as his one weakness as a player in coverage when he was traded to Vegas in 2019 (“he’s not gonna win any foot races”). when he was named captain in 2021, it was brought up (presumably with his OK) by team PR in his first interview as captain how he used to be "the kid who can't skate". when he was selected for his first career All Star Game this past season in 2022, a journalist made a joke directly to him in a zoom presser (which Mark clearly felt was in poor taste based on his reaction) about how he "definitely wasn’t going to be in the Fastest Skater contest" at the All-Star skills competition. it’s as if no matter what he does, no matter how much he has worked his ass off to grow beyond it, it seems like the “but that skating” asterisk is something he can never fully shake — regardless of whether it is even relevant anymore, regardless of how much time has passed.

and then... here is Max Pacioretty. the six-year rival turned three-year best friend + liney. the man who once said following their first game as teammates "I mean I played against him so much I know exactly what kind of player he is" and "I was very impressed tonight, but I’ve been impressed in the past because I know how good he is.” here is Max, on the night of his own career milestone goal, sitting here and declaring, unprompted, that “I’ve never thought that [Mark wasn’t a good skater]” (note: that's not “since we’ve been teammates”, no, the man says “never”, as in even when they were opponents, even early on), and then smugly adding that Mark has just vindicated that belief and proved him right for thinking this all along, despite what everybody always says. he's proud and he's smug and he insists that he never doubted him. he has always thought Mark was good and that's why he considered him a rival, that's why he's proud of him as a teammate now. he is audibly fond when he speaks.

maddening!! that’s just absolutely maddening, if I think about it for more than two seconds I just might explode!!! aaaaa! AAAAAAAA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

okay, now one more answer from April 12th:

Q: "Hey Max, speaking of Mark Stone's goal, I was wondering if you thought that was kinda the pivot point for the game, turning things around? Seems like the Kings always give you guys a tough game." Patch: "Absolutely. I thought that they were- I mean I dunno what the shots and chances and whatnot, but it just felt like we didn't have that much energy, and Roysie goes in and makes a great play. And still obviously we were in the box there for Stoney's goal, but late in a period, on ice like that, it was really impressive to see him be able to not only get a breakaway, but make a really good move under pressure- and I think that goal not only sparked us, I think his celebration sparked us even more." [turns to grin at the person standing offscreen]

this feels like a letdown note after the long ramble about the skating comment but god, it's even more praise, extolling again how physically and mentally impressive Mark’s shorthanded goal was and how it was a turning point for the game — and then playfully yet sincerely declaring that Stoney’s (typically fired-up and hilariously excited) celly following the goal was a real spark for the team to catalyze them towards the win. which, when you’ve seen the way Mark reacts when asked about his own cellies and the impact of them, his ridiculous modesty and humility about it, just really makes this gushing praise of that same facet of himself so much more... Much. it’s just so Much. so much!!!!!

~~~~~~~~

alright.

now, for the second half of this post, I’m going to go completely off the rails into Deductions And Implications. into the realm of things we don't know for sure, but we can reasonably deduce from context and evidence, in order to gain apparent information that just multiplies all of the above points to a whole other level of screaming.

at the start of Mark’s presser that day, the journalist mentions “Max was kinda hyping you up a bit there, so I’ll let you hype him up a bit.”, prompting his own praise-filled answer. this is because Max’s presser took place immediately before it was Mark’s turn to speak (I think Tuchy went third). there’s a lot to unpack honestly just in and of itself in Mark being prompted to “hype him up a bit” and deciding to be like 'right, well, I’ll just say he’s the best shot I’ve ever played with and declaring my deep abiding trust in him it is then, that should do it', though we won't go down that hole today.

but also, like,

I’m pretty sure Mark heard what Max had to say about him, directly, firsthand. because there is a decent amount of evidence to suggest that Mark was standing just off screen, waiting for his turn, while Max spoke. watch the clip again.

the first clue comes at the end of Max’s answer about Mark’s skating. he finishes speaking, turns to look off-screen, and then makes a surprised face and says "Oh, there you-” before turning away and doing what I can really only describe as giggling sheepishly:

during these pressers at the arena in LA, when we saw players entering and exiting table it was always from that side, and as was mentioned earlier, Mark did his presser immediately after Max; this combined with how Max reacts to Whoever is standing just off-camera leaves few options that make sense other than to conclude that it is Mark, waiting for his presser and thus hearing every bit of praise for him firsthand (I can only imagine the face he was making when Max looked over and saw him there).

second: at the very end of the presser (after visibly glancing at whoever is off-screen several times over the subsequent minutes), Max does it again, punctuating his final praise of Mark’s goal and his celly by turning to again look directly at Whoever is off-screen (ie probably Mark) and flashing them this massive cheerful grin:

so, if that really is Mark standing off-screen, that means his own crazymaking "best goal scorer I’m ever gonna play with" presser has the added layer of being essentially a direct response to standing there moments earlier and hearing Max say - while either not knowing or pretending not to know that Mark is there - that he thinks more highly of Mark’s skating (the one thing everyone has held against him his entire career) than basically anyone, and that he believes Mark’s play and his excitable, exuberant celly energy was the turning point of the whole game.

excuse me while I simply AAAAAAAAA- [turns into a singularity and implodes]

(also, worth mentioning April 12th 2021 is also the game/evening of this photo and this "heart eyes" clip, fwiw. what a goddamn day.)

this concludes this round of insanity. thank you for flying with us today. :)

[withoneheadlight]

| billy & will + pre-harringrove | full fic in spanish |

~

There’s an in-between. The high school and the middle school. A bare piece of land, yellowed from the lack of grass and the rough kiss of the sun and, right in the middle, an old shack.

It's a shabby thing that accumulates lack of re-paintings and excess of humidity but that’s out of sight, in that way of things that are just there but no one wastes time looking at anymore are.

That's where they meet.

Billy lights up a smoke. Slides his ass up an ancient, long retired desk, pasture now of the damp and rot, and leans against the peeling wood. Front and back-row seat to the long column of trees the wind’s rippling along on the other side of the wire fence. The ember warms up his lips as he inhales a deep puff and exhales a,

“You’re getting soft, Billy Hargrove”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, ears on that ceaseless chirping of the bids that sews together the slow-passing hours of the days and nights of Indiana, and on the delighted screams from the middle-schoolers, remembering that, somewhere in there, there's a bunch of kids who will still be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. That maybe even Max could be one of them, if Billy hurries. That maybe he will too, if Billy is able to control that instinctive reaction that pulls his skin inward and screams at him to stopstopstop, that the soft skin shreds, falls apart so easily.

But maybe it can be both of them, if Billy manages to clench his teeth hard enough and keep on softening.

‘Cause soft skin hurts when it breaks but,

"Hey!"

Sometimes it’s worth it.

Will’s smiling wide. Stops running, abruptly, and then just stands in there, panting. He’s got a funny nose and giant eyes. The kind of bangs that make you wanna blow them out of his eyes even though what they're is too short, actually, and Billy’s always thought he'd do better in life if he didn't. Notice things. If he didn't see that widewidewidewide smile and could read it so easily.

"I've been dying to show you this!" Will kneels down into the grass, chopping out the words in between exhalations. Pulls at the zipper of his backpack, chest heaving, and he doesn't realize he's going to get dirt on the knees of his jeans or that Billy can read it. His relief. Of finding him in here and not just an empty desk. Of how for a kid every single day more means 'You care’.

(About me)

It was early December. Friday right after last period and one of those silly things that only happen in movies. Something so like scripted and choreographed that Billy nearly considered looking up at the ceiling to make sure John Hughes wasn't silently watching them, taking notes from above. They crashed in the middle of a corner. Billy sped up ‘cause he was in a hurry and the only way to catch Max in time lately was to intercept her right out of class. Will ‘cause he's always going like that, Billy knows now. Always a thousand miles per hour. Always verging on time-jump speed to then being the kind of kid who seems so quiet it's scary. They crashed. Hard. In the middle of that corner. Papers flying all over and a curse (Will) and a muffled groan (Billy) and they ended up pulling at the same paper one from each corner. A drawing. Trolls and wizards and a castle and an emerald-green light. A star in the distance, auguring bad omens. Billy forgot to be frightening and Will must have forgotten he was supposed to be frightened when he blurted out a,

"Fuck, Byers. This is frikin’ fantastic."

No fear or reticence or that way he sometimes has of bumping into words and stumbling, just a "Really?" eyes huge and bangs brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked when Billy also forgot he was also supposed to― well, supposed to be Billy Hargrove.

"’Got more?"

So now he skips English instead of Algebra, every Tuesday and Thursday. Sneaks off to that in-between place he knows no one wastes time looking at anymore to light up a smoke, same time as Will has his recess. And the kid doesn't always manage to shrug off of his flock of nerds but he’s lucky, some days.

And he brings the drawings.

Orcs and goblins and enchanted mountains on the northwest and it seems to Billy that there are more princes than princesses and that if there are any, they’re almost always sorceresses, almost always queens and that your attention gets hooked on their burning eyes, not in the clothes they’re missing and Billy feels like it's a small grain of sand, this thing they’re doing. Knows that someone’s already keeping a solid ground under Will's feet ('Joyce' he says it’s her name. And it stings, the way he manages to fit so much love, into such a tiny word). But it also seems to him that maybe it doesn't take much more, for Will, just a few grains of sand, to replace those that being a strange kid in a small town sick with apprehension for what it finds strange, takes every day away from him.

So Billy’s gotta have to clench his teeth ‘till his gums start bleeding ‘cause is that, or let his skin toughen up again. Is that. Or fucking everything up.

And ave María, Billy doesn’t want to fuck it all up again.

So he sucks on his cigarette. Hooks up an eyebrow. Waves his hand to hurry the kid up.

“Mmm. That’s how good you think it is, dickwad? ‘C’mon, got my next class in twenty”

Will flies over the papers. Head nodding and fingers skimming fast. Finds what he’s looking for and yanks it out, raises it up triumphantly in his hand. It’s the sword in the stone and he carries it up to Billy with wet knees and just a little mud-staining. It’s February and the sun’s burning brightly over all the wetness the night’s spent crying. The drawing is a huge dragon, wings made of leather and cartilage, spread out in eclipse in front of the moon, only a few silver rays illuminating the dark knight in front of it. Blue eyes lined in black, blond curls cascading down his back and Billy was clenching his teeth but they part now, ‘cause the figure looks too much like him to be a coincidence. A smile devours his whole mouth. Soft. A joke itching on the tip of his tongue. He grunts a,

“I’ve been called many things. But never this, Byers”

Only half his expression’s visible, eyebrows covered with those thick bangs, and Billy has to once again fight the impulse to blow them out.

“¿Hum?”

“Knight” he says, drawling the teasing tone out “In shining armor”

And It’s such a loss, all that hair. Because it’d pass unseen, if you don’t know him. The way his eyebrows spike up underneath and it burrows in between them, the eagerness of teasing back. But Billy’s lucky, ‘cause it’s been more than two months like this and Billy―

Knows him. Well enough at least. So it doesn't pass unseen to him.

“You know the drill, William. Spit it out. Can see you’re holding it up from miles”

Will purses his lips out tight. Looks like he’s trying but. Nah.

“Wouldn’t be that shiny '' scrunches his nose. Throws a meaningful glance at Billy’s disheveled looks. More thoughtful than not, way more intentional. But that's something he'll figure out when he grows up.

Billy cackles. Will's smile widens, satisfied. Hops onto the desk next to his. Billy offers him the cigarette.

“And―this?” Will shrugs inwardly. Glances up at him. Then down, at the exchange between their hands. Takes the cig in between two fingers and it doesn’t burn but he barely presses them against the filter, anyway, as if he’s afraid it would, all of a sudden.

"Retaliation," Billy half grunts, half laughs, and Will huffs, but swallows a deep breath to gather strength. Exhales. Takes a tiny puff and―

"Argg," coughscoughscoughs "This is. Ugh. It's awful. I don't know how you―” almost throws the cigarette back to him "Ufff, what a―" he hesitates "Yuck"

Billy snorts. Thinks about Max inhaling deep, no more than two weeks ago, eyes pining his in place. Breaking into a violent cough only a second later.

Billy pats Will’s back too.

“That’s good” he says “You better not like it” Will scrunches his whole face “And this too” Billy adds, shaking the drawing a little “This is good, too. Amazingly good, man”

Will. Stares. At him. One. Two. Three long seconds. And Billy hurts a little. With every single one. Three sharp stabs with that newly freed sword. A different kind of ' you care' each one: 'it seems so impossible to me (that you care)'. 'If you think so, maybe it's true (and I do care, that you think it)’. 'Thank you (for caring)'. And then. Those hidden eyebrows. Will’s cheeks puffing out a little when he bites the tip of his tongue and―

"Billy?" his eyes glint, heavy with ill-contained malice.

"Uh?"

"You're the dragon"

"You fucking ass―!"

Billy shoves him sideways. But Will just sways. He doesn't lose footing on that firm ground he’s standing on. Looks back at the drawing, hunches a shoulder up.

"But you’re the knight, too"

He says it in a tone that cuts straight through Billy’s chest Thank you he thinks, even though his soft skin is hurting. And he still doesn't blow hard on that bowl fringe from where it covers Will’s whole forehead but―

Stirs up all his hair instead.

“Eh!!”

“Hey, shitbird. Wanna see the one I’ve made?”

Will nods quickly. All contained-speed and reverberating and sometimes Billy doesn't know how so few people can see it, how big he is for his own skin and he thinks I wish, wish he'd accumulate enough grains of sand to raise up that firm ground under his feet, and get really, really high.

“Sure!”

He keeps it tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Folded in upon itself. Same way he keeps everything else. Folds and layers and at the bottom of pockets no one ever looks at but.

He unfolds it to show it to Will Byers.

“Wow” Will says, and smiles up at Billy like Two months since we crashed against each other and I feel like I know you a little too, Billy Hargrove and Billy hit rock bottom but now at least Max and him sing AC/DC in chorus on the rides back home and Will's voice sounds like 'You're good' as he runs his fingertips over the graphite outlines of the skull and repeats, "Wow"

“Gonna have it done” Billy inhales a deep drag of Marlboro and 'Four Months to Eighteen' and for a moment it’s like he could feel the smoke curl up inside his lungs before blowing it out. The image is as pretty as it’s stupid. He glances at the open jaw of the drawing and thinks maybe he'd like a drag too "Have it healed for summer and―"

“What’s happening here?”

Steve.

Harrington.

Hand on his hips, preppy pastel polo lapels up, Ray-Bans holding up that way his hair swirls without really taming it. The twelve o'clock sun is shining sideways from his back and he's pretty. Painfully pretty. And Billy’s sure it's impossible that this redneck raised on corn and money amassed in dubious moral business is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but sometimes he forgets. That it is impossible because. Fuck. It so seems like it. Light flicking on the ends of his hair where it curls. Under his ear. In the long curve of his neck. And the world doesn't halt and the birds don't stop chirping and the clouds don't part and no preternatural shit happens because this is the black hole where all the world's shit goes, Indiana. But. It so seems like it and,

Billy.

Knew how to breathe but that’s another thing he keeps on forgetting. Every time Steve Harrington passes him by.

He’s gotta force himself. To nod. To stop choking. When Will looks up at him with those big eyes. Questioning.

Apologizing.

Billy Hargrove, from freshly crowned local terror to―

“I was―” Will starts. Inhales. Presses his lips together right before blurting out the truth ‘cause he knows it's the only real way out "Showing Billy my drawings. Sometimes we―"

―the softie whose pride goes high up in his throat every time an eleven-year-old kid says 'Billy, this is good. It's very. Very good, Billy’.

"Sometimes we. Uhm. We―"

Will's already huge eyes get bigger, rounder. As if he’s just realizing that where he's stuck his foot keeps getting muddier, trapping himself all the way in. And Billy smiles lightly at him, sideways, so it’s hidden. From Steve Harrington. From all the world beyond. ‘Cause of that thing about facades and how hard they’re to maintain, when on one side is pressing what you're supposed to be and on the other, relentlessly, what you're hiding.

But Steve’s asking,

“Sometimes―what?” and Will’s eyes are fixed on Billy, two wide-open I’m sorrys and Billy thinks Fuck it, Hargrove. C’mon. Stop hiding.

So he’s the one who says,

“We share our drawings, Harrington”

And Steve.

He’s got those eyes.

They're like a troubled ocean in the heart of winter, those eyes. Hard, hard, hard. Imposing. But soft. So fucking soft. When something catches him off guard. Rolling stones in the breaker. And Billy wants to get swept up in them, like falling along the curve of a wave. Steve looks at him, and at the drawing in his hand, his eyes a swirl and, when he looks up, the calm. And Billy feels as those times when it seemed to him the waves wanted. To wrap around him. To catch him. Soft as the reflecting clouds. And Billy feels as those times when he’d let them. Carry him. Drag him to the shore. Safe and sound.

“Is that yours?” Steve frowns. When he does that. He looks the prettiest. And Billy's heart breaks. In tiny tiny pieces. Thinks This is what it takes, thinks Fuck, thinks, This is how things hurt when you let your skin get soft.

What you don’t have. What you want. What you could―

Fuck.

What you could love so bad you'd rip your own skin off, so they could touch your heart right with their own hands.

Billy nods. Will smiles. Steve’s frown softens and― waveswaveswaves. On an autumn morning. Waves lapping at the surface of an ocean of calm.

And now. Billy sings AC/DC with Max. His heart taking on water when his voice falls off-key and she clutches at her lungs, choking on laughter. Now, he sits in the back of an old shack halfway between who he is and who he should be and so, so very carefully turns at the pages of Will Byers' sketchbook.

And Billy Hargrove hit rock bottom one day in late October. Hit rock bottom and beat into pulp that pretty face he can't stop seeing in his dream. When he's asleep. When he's awake. Hit rock bottom and that's where he's going to stay. It's either that. Or risk coming up to the wrong surface. And it's easier, here at the bottom. Easier to see what matters, when you look up.

Here, Billy takes a breath. Deep. Deeper. Holds onto that air so he has something keeping him alive underwater when Steve snatches the drawing off his hands. Studies it carefully. Says,

"It's―Uhm. Well―" Grins "It's not. Beautiful. Like, conventionally." He eyes cut back to Billy and something in them breaks into whitewater, into that softness he can't help, as if everything else is as much of a lie as 'Billy Hargrove' and all those imaginary walls "But―"

He says ‘But’ and then. The bell goes off.

"Oh!" Will bounces on the spot "I have to―" he yanks the backpack shut "Class!"

He takes off. Running. Turning around right before the corner of the shack to wave at them, flashing one of those smiles Billy has involuntarily categorized as 'the good ones', wide and already almost panting again, before disappearing at the speed of light towards school and to, Billy hopes, be one of those few kids who are still going to be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. If they’re lucky.

(If Billy’s lucky)

Steve Harrington is still there, planted in front of him when the alarm stops.

"Can I bump one of those?" he asks, chin pointing to the smoke Billy's squeezing between his fingers. In the drift of his hair the Ray-Bans stay afloat, capsizing.

Billy bangs the base of the pack against his thigh, pops out a cigarette. Offers it to him. Scrapes his thumb along the wheel when Steve takes it to his lips, leaning forward and― It's broad daylight but in the thin glow of the flame it almost feels like it’s that exact instant when the world begins to fade, darkness turning wide-open spaces into narrow little universes: Steve Harrington and his red lips around the smoke and a small ache in the pad of Billy's thumb from keeping alive the fire and from wanting things with a bigger kind of ache, his heart cauterizing from holding inside the rage of knowing he's never, ever going to have them but―

"But?" Billy asks.

Steve grabs his wrist. Hollows out his cheeks. Inhales deep. Takes him a moment when he pulls away. To let go. Long enough that his fingers could read the way Billy's pulse is raging in his wrist, if he wanted to.

“But” And he’s smiling. Lopsided. He slips into Will's seat and stretches his neck toward the sky. Prolongs the wait. Exhales. "It's cute."

And then his gaze cuts down and he’s searching for him, with those eyes of his. For Billy, who can never stop looking at him so, when he finds him, finds him looking back already.

And Billy―

Billy.

"Cute?"

Billy. Blinks. His hand stops halfway from getting his own cigarette to his mouth. Stops his heart and it feels like time’s stopping too, in this narrowness Steve's presence has reduced the moment into. And he’s smiling big now. His eyes soft. Soft. So fucking soft. And Billy thinks,

You're getting soft too, Billy Hargrove. You want to let him shred off your skin, when Steve says,

"You," snorting a soft laugh, sun melting in his eyes like honey "With Will. Drawing."

Billy wants him to never stop looking at him like that. Wants to lean in, and kiss him.

"Shut up and smoke your fucking cigarette, Harrington" he growls.

And Steve rolls his eyes in a way that screams 'Gotcha, Hargrove', but leans his back against the peeling wood of the shack.

And does as he’s told.

(Next Tuesday, it's not just Will who shows up, when the bell starts ringing)

.

.

i just finished translating this and, since i had originally written this part as and stand-alone thing. here it is. idk if it's worth the work of translating it whole, or if i really feel like it but, we'll see!. i've been at war with life and writing this past few weeks but i've been missing you so much, fandom <3<3<3. hope you've been doing well.

also billy + will + drawing is one of my fav hcs and there are a few tiny things more that i wanna write? hopefully i will 🌟

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Andrew Clark

(Not my gif)(Requested by @mpmarypoppins​ )

(I’m sorry this took so long! It took more work than I was expecting!)

- You technically met Andrew after the two of you were placed in the same class though; since you weren’t in the same social circle, you didn’t talk to each other. Well, you didn’t talk to each other until the teacher was late to class one day; something quite common for said teacher, and the delinquents who sat behind you decided to pick on you.

- Usually, it really didn’t bother you. You’d ignore them and the teacher would arrive and they’d be forced to shut up. But Andrew wasn’t used to that sort of thing and he certainly didn’t like it so when the goons started to berate you, he turned around and told them to shut up.

- They made a smartass retort back at him but did as he said, settling in their seats just as the teacher finally showed up. Throughout the rest of the class, the two of you took turns sneaking glances at each other and pretending like you weren’t when the other happened to look. 

- Neither of you mentioned the event to each other and you’d figured that that was the end of it. And for the time being it was, but a few days later that wouldn’t be the case. 

- Once again, your teacher was late and the assholes who sat behind you began their familiar attempts at bothering you. You caught Andrew glancing back at you, watching to see your reaction; you’d assumed, before he finally turned fully around and told them to knock it off …though this time they didn’t.

- The ringleader of the group made a comeback, turning on the boy and asking “what he was going to do about it”, prompting Andrew to stand up, threatening to “wipe the floor with” them.

- The boy stood up as well, grinning as he made a comment about the two of you dating, and subsequently an obscene remark which made your face turn hot. Before you knew it, the two boys were one the floor, Andrew pushing the kid to the ground, asking if he was finished and demanding he apologize.

- He released the boy after a moment and they straightened themselves out, stumbling backwards without saying anything, hoping to dodge the extra humiliation of saying they were sorry.

- You saw that Andrew was about to say something; most likely once again telling the boy to apologize, so you delicately grabbed his arm and told him it was fine, thanking him for sticking up for you.

- He eased up as the other boy and his group of friends made their exit, turning to you more calm then before and asking if you “just let them do that to you”.

“Nothing much I can do. If I say something they’ll just keep doing it because they get a rise out of me.” You explained.

“If you don't fight back they’ll just keep bothering you cause you’re an easy target.” He insisted.

“I’ll be an easy target but I’ll also be boring. The only way to win is to wait it out and let them get bored.” You replied, turning through your notebook a bit uncomfortably.

“No.” He shook his head.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

“No,” he replied. “They bother you again, you tell me. I’ll handle it if you don’t want to.”

- His offer made you smile but proved to be unnecessary as the boys moved seats and refused to say anything to you after that day.

- The two of you hadn’t talked in a few days so it sort of shocked you when he approached you in the hall and struck up a conversation, asking how things were to which you were able to report that the guys had left you alone.

- He gave you a small smile and a “that’s good, that’s good” before going quiet for a moment. You were about to say goodbye until he turned to you and told you about a party that one of his friends was having, suggesting that; maybe, you’d like to go before offering to pick you up.

- Taking your only chance to attend a real highschool party; and spend more time with one of the most popular and handsome boys in school, you agreed, writing down your address for him and returning his smile as he said goodbye. 

- As it turns out, parties aren’t really your thing and surprisingly not his either. The two of you ended up spending most of your time sat outside, talking in the dark and nursing cheap beer.

- You’d been telling him a story when you noticed that his eyes were locked on you. You’d dismissed it for a while before you turned and met his eyes, your story quickly becoming meaningless and trailing off into thin air.

- You watched as his eyes shifted down towards your lips, pausing there before he began to lean in. You began to lean forward as well, tilting your head so that he could connect your lips properly.

- The two of you shared a long, soft kiss before you pulled away, a warm, fuzzy feeling filling you as you took notice of the lovestruck sorta look on his face. The two of your faces lingered close to each other’s for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away.

“You should probably take me home, it’s getting late.” You whispered.

“Do you want to go home?” He asked quietly.

“No.” You smiled, laughing softly.

- A small smile found its way onto his lips as well before he leaned in again, kissing you with a bit more fervor than before, his hands tightening their grip on the jacket; his jacket, that you were wearing.

- Cliques and stereotypes be damned. He loved you and he sure as hell wasn't letting you go if he could help it.

- He’s been taught to be a gentleman so he keeps his pda light and innocent. He doesn’t need the entire school watching him shove his tongue into your mouth.

- Soft kisses.

- Handholding.

- Temple, forehead, and head kisses. 

- Attending all of his wrestling matches and cheering him on. He always seeks you out in the crowd and shoots you a smile.

- He’s prone to trying to show off and impress you. Taking off clothes, flexing, athletic tricks, acting tough; whatever he thinks will get your attention.

- Giving him genuine, meaningful praise. 

- Shy compliments from him. Sometimes, he gets genuinely awestruck over how pretty you are. 

- He doesn't use too many nicknames, maybe a babe here and there but otherwise he just calls you by your name. He thinks pet names are sorta silly though he cant help but smile when you use them on him; as long as its in private. 

- He insists on escorting you to class. It’s certainly useful, the hallway crowds all but part like the red sea for him and his Varsity jacket. 

- Your books? In his arms. Your entire body? In his arms. Hey, he’s got muscles for a reason; he’s gonna put them to good use!

- Getting used as a human dumbbell. It’s somewhat scary yet fun though you’re pretty sure he copes a feel every now and again. 

- If you ever have any food you don't want just slide it over to him. You don’t even need to say anything, he’ll grab it and kiss you on the cheek before you can anyways. 

- He fiddles with things when he’s bored so expect to just randomly feel him playing with your hair or witness him doing something adorably stupid in an attempt to entertain himself. 

- Playing finger football and other hand games in class/lunch. 

- Dancing together.

- He loves having you right by his side. He’ll literally pull your chair closer to his while you’re sitting in it just because he wants you as close as he can get you.

- Sharing inside jokes and secret smiles with each other.

- He’ll either lay between your legs and lean back against you, his head on your stomach/chest, or he’ll lay his head in your lap and let you mess with his hair. He “secretly” loves when you play with it.

- You usually cuddle with your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around you. He’s sorta not used to cuddling so it’s gonna take a little bit of time for him to warm up to really snuggling with you.

- He hasn't really figured out who he is yet. He’s an amalgamation of everyone he’s ever had to listen to so you’re gonna have to try and help break him out of that, and become his own person. 

- A part of him yearns to feel accepted and that’s going to cause him to do whatever he can to please you, unless, perhaps, it goes against pleasing his father. It’s just something he does without really thinking about it so you’ll have to sort of keep that in mind since you don’t want to take advantage of him. 

- Going out and acting like idiots, living in the moment and actually enjoying yourselves instead of worrying about what other people think. 

- Being there for him to rant to when he needs. 

- Helping him study so he doesn't fall behind in his academics while trying to excel in sports. 

- Wearing his jacket. He thinks you look adorable when you put it on and will always toss it to you when the weather gets cold.

- He’s hot blooded so if you get cold then just move in closer, he never minds. Either that or throw on the clothing that he’s pulled off of himself.

- Being invited to the “popular” parties, even if you really aren’t yourself. He’s not a big fan of them but you being there makes them more bearable.

- Becoming friends with the members of the breakfast club, specifically Claire since she’s in the same clique as Andrew and you wind up hanging out in the same places. 

- He genuinely likes you for you. You may think that you have to change something about yourself but just know that he loves you either way, whether you do change it or not. 

- He thinks you’re the greatest. Even if other people see your actions as “nothing” or strange, he finds them endearing.

- He’s always willing to fight to figure out what's wrong, pushing you to talk even when you try to defensively push him away. Instead of judging or trying to give you halfhearted advice, he just relates and makes you feel accepted.

- Carnival/theme park dates. He likes taking you places where he can win you prizes and the two of you can spend the day goofing off. 

- Arcade dates but the cool kind. 

- You know how hard it is to strip off clothes and makeout with his layered fucking circus act? Man has on like five shirts at a time. He’s immune to strip poker and pussy. 

- He sorta acts like your father. He’s been conditioned into acting the way he does, behaving like he’s a teacher/parent and telling people what to do, repeating the same dribble that he’s been told. In some ways its endearing, in others its infuriating and sad. 

- He isn't too keen on introducing you to his parents and you understand why. You don’t take offense, knowing that he isn’t keeping you away because he’s ashamed of you. 

- Making sure to step in and ensure he doesn't beat peoples asses. You’re one of the few people he listens to when he’s angry.

- He gets extremely jealous, particularly when he knows someone has a thing for you. And when he gets jealous, he has a habit of getting aggressive; either threatening or full on fighting guys when they don't back off. 

“You don't talk to her. You don't look at her. You don't even think about her.”

- Overprotective; he’s always ready to jump to your defense even when he really doesn’t have to. 

- A lot of your fights are due to outside pressures. He’s constantly under a lot of stress so fights can erupt at any time, even if neither of you mean for them to happen. 

- He just loses it, sometimes throwing an insult/harsh word or two at you that he doesn't mean. After he has some time to cool down he feels absolutely horrible and chides himself for being such a jerk. 

- He might show up at your house or try to approach you at school the next day but its up to you on whether you'll just take him back. He’ll ask to talk to you and tries to offer a genuine apology whenever he’s in the wrong. 

- Quiet, earnest “I love you’s”. He’s sort of shy about saying it but you can certainly tell that he means it when he does.

- You don’t really talk about the future all too much but he’ll occasionally bring it up. He certainly wants to marry you. He’s praying that you want the same and that you’ll end up being his highschool sweetheart. 

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Sky Cullman Blackwood *Supporting character

Singing Voice Claim: (Daniela Andrade) https://youtu.be/DDjlaN-X8-0?t=16

Partner(s): None. Parents: Andy Shaw-Thompson & Adrian Blackwood. Kids: None. Age: Immortal but translates into mid-late 20′s. Birthday: Undecided/not born yet. Height: 168cm (5.5ft) Body type: Slim. Eye color: Light green/caramel brown. Classification: Immortal. Has some levitation and pyrokinetic powers. About: Creative, Neutral, Sarcastic, Noncompetitive, Quiet, Skeptical, Playful, Asocial, Observant, Artistic, Patient, Simple, Open-minded, Adventurous, Independent, at times Insecure, Sensitive, Lazy and Calm. ~ Has half long dark brown hair with bleached layers. ~ Doesn’t talk much unless she’s around people he’s very comfortable with. ~ Sexuality: Pansexual. ~ Can’t be bothered. ~ Doesn’t go out much, prefers to stay at home snuggled up. ~ Eats a lot of junk food. ~ Was bullied a lot as kid, cause she’s missing some teeth. ~ Didn’t get her teeth fixed, just wants to be allowed to be herself. ~ Was also often called frog, because of her big eyes. ~ Smells like: Herself or Adrian’s perfumes she sometimes steals, cause she can’t bother to spend money on her own. ~ A bit of a mooch/freeloader.  ~ Lives with a bunch of roomies, cause she can’t bother to pay full rent for her own place. ~ Very close to both her dads. ~ Cusses/swears a lot. ~ Very good guitar player. ~ Great singing voice. ~ Writes her own lyrics, and is really good. ~ Dreams of making something with her lyrics. ~ Doesn’t like summer, it’s too hot! ~ Hates talking on the phone! ~ Never checks her email. ~ Anxious in large groups. ~ Firmly believes in karma. ~ If she ever invites you for home cooked dinner, expect instant noodles! ~ Naps a lot. ~ Likes to go clubbing when she feels like she needs to let lose for a while. ~ Is actually a really good dancer. ~ Often feels pretty lost. ~ Drinks a lot of soda and energy drinks. ~ When she doesn’t drink that, be sure to find her with a beer. ~ Takes long brooding showers. ~ Weird. ~ Outsider. ~ Very close to her siblings, specially Sam and Willow. ~ Loves: Her parents and family, singing, writing, playing guitar, lounging, fries, hotdogs, burgers, pizza, anything fried or grilled, beer, cupcakes, bacon, dancing, listening to music, solitude, ~ Her style is: Mostly loose fitting/baggy clothes and crop tops. ~ Wont change for anyone.

Sky’s tag Sky’s house/home Sky’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One song to describe her: Gryffin - Heading Home (feat. Josef Salvat) Personal Playlist:

1. AC/DC - Thunderstruck 2. Louis Vivet - Best Thing (feat. Gavrielle) 3. Gorillaz - To Binge 4. The Doors - When the Music's Over 5. Tep No - Karma, You Got Owned 6. Pink Floyd - Another Brick In The Wall 7. Nirvana - In Bloom 8. Damon Albarn - Royal Morning Blue 9. Dizzy Mizz Lizzy - Glory 10. Mount Dreams - Night Dive (ft. Anatomy) 11. The Velvet Underground, Nico - Sunday Morning 12. FlicFlac - Hope 13. First Aid Kit - Winter Is All Over You (Bloom Remix) 14. Ben Howard - Old Pine (Elkoe Remix) 15. Mount Dreams - Home (ft. Anatomy) 16. Queen – Bohemian Rhapsody 17. Lorde - Love Club (L D R U Remix) 18. AC/DC - Back In Black 19. D-A-D - Sleeping My Day Away 20. The Offspring - Starring At The Sun 21. The Rolling Stones - You Can’t Always Get What You Want 22. Avicii - Hey Brother (TEEMID & Tessa Rose Jackson Cover) 23. 3 Doors Down - Kryptonite 24. Incubus - Are You In? 25. Led Zeppelin - Whole Lotta Love 26. Guns N' Roses - Patience 27. The Paper Kites - Bloom (Close To You) (Alex Brandt Remix) 28. Blink-182 - Down 29. Passenger - Caravan (Kygo Remix) 30. Coldplay - Midnight (Kygo Remix) Bonus: The 1975 - Sincerity Is Scary Extra bonus: Milky Chance - Colorado

[rawbins-undertale-blog]

oh!👀 can we have soft headcanons for flowertale outertale and dancetale bros?

Sure! :-D

(also these?? somehow turned out bittersweet at times??? sorry about that idk where THAT came from but I guess I’m a sucker for developing headcanons that stem from headcanoned events that I headcanon happened in my headcanon headcanon)

SOFT OT + FT + DT BROS HEADCANONS

COSMIC (OUTERTALE SANS)

Stargazing is a must for Cosmic. He always watches the stars for a while on Saturday nights. He’d be super happy if you joined him! :-)

Call him star-related nicknames do it do it do it

Will actually die if you pick him up. Please show off your strength. (You don’t actually need strength to pick him up, he’s really lightweight, but he’ll still be immediately attracted to you if you can manhandle him. (Everyone can manhandle him. What low standards he has.))

Cosmic is WEAK to animals. He loves all animals so much. Almost as much as Dusk and Aster, even. If you ask to get a cat or dog or heck, even a lizard, or almost anything else, he’ll immediately cave in and allow it because jnsdnjksjdj look at those bbys,,,,,,

His bed is just a big pillow fort. It’s super comfortable so feel free to cuddle :-)) with him :-))) anytime :-))))))))))))

NOVA (OUTERTALE PAPYRUS)

Just like Cosmic, Nova will take you stargazing. He’s a bit more insistent on it - where Cosmic just goes “hey wanna stargaze it’s cool if not tho”, Nova goes “ WE’RE GOING STARGAZING TONIGHT!” - but it’s guaranteed to be a relaxing and fun time.

He’ll pick you up regardless of height, but the shorter you are the more frequently he’ll do it. Unless it makes you uncomfortable, of course.

Nova gives his S/O(s) star/space-related nicknames! Some of them are a bit ridiculous though. It’s hard not to laugh when he earnestly calls you “THE STAR THAT LIGHTS UP THE SKY AND MY WORLD” in the middle of a mundane and normal sentence dfsjkdsjj

This is completely random but he’s a goddamn MASTER at making lofthouse cookies and he makes the icing into a galaxy-pattern somehow. He’ll definitely make you an abundance of them and he’ll customize them into different shapes and use icing to “paint” them especially for you. :-)

MEADOW (FLOWERTALE SANS)

Hand-holding is just… mm yes to Meadow. If you’ve managed to worm your way far enough into his heart to get him to become your datemate (heheh I love the word datemate), he’ll want to hold your hand as much as possible.

He’s touch-repulsed by strangers, but he's not with those he cares for. Actually, he’s the happiest when he’s constantly being touched in one way or another by his S/O or friends (in a non-sexual way that is, obviously lol). It’s comforting to him.

He won’t initiate touch though

He loves being the little spoon!!! Actually he, uh, kind of has to be the little spoon if you’re cuddling because of his cracked-open eye and the flower that grows in the other socket. It can get a bit uncomfortable otherwise.

Meadow would probably like to have a garden where he grows fruit. Not flowers, though, because as beautiful as they are… uh, well. Flowers are kind of a symbol of death to monsters from his universe and especially to him. But he’d be happy to take care of apple trees and things like that!

PEONY (FLOWERTALE PAPYRUS)

Unlike his brother, Peony does want to have a garden of flowers! He knows flowers are kind of a symbol for suffering in the monster world, but… death isn’t always a bad thing. He can see the beauty in it. (Like how a forest will die in a fire, just to grow back stronger and more beautiful than ever.) Everything comes to an end and isn’t that what makes life so precious?

He associates everyone he knows with at least one flower (which is dependent on your personality, your relationship with him and the experiences the two of you have had, among other things). Sometimes he slips up and accidentally calls people by their “flower nickname”! If he accidentally calls you by your assigned nickname and you look happy to be called that, he’ll start calling you that out loud more often.

He really wants to cuddle but unless you’re really careful, it could end up kind of hurting him… so he wears layers of soft clothes to cuddle you in!!! Not only is it super comfortable for you who now gets to basically cuddle a big pillow, but it works great for him too because now it doesn’t hurt if you move since the flowers on him won’t get snagged on anything! :-D

REMIX (DANCETALE SANS)

Early (platonic) relationship: trolling gremlin man

Middle (platonic) relationship: trolling gremlin man but sometimes nice

Far-gone (platonic) relationship: soft nice guy with a troll exterior

Oopsie-he-has-a-crush: where’s the troll there’s only a flustered soft man here

Romantic/queerplatonic relationship: ALL STAGES COMBINED

He’s SUCH a trash gremlin man at the beginning and he’s pranking you and being a royal pain in the ass but it’s obvious he’s not doing it maliciously, he just thinks he’s funny. Don’t tell him he’s right it’ll only encourage him

He continues to be a troll until he starts to develop a crush on you and then suddenly, all is not good in hoola-hoola land

Say “what’s up, pretty boy” and his brain shuts down and he goes “jsdfjbhsdfjdhb”

He claims he doesn’t like to dance (which is partially true - he only likes to dance when he’s all alone) BUT there’s “one dance-move [he] enjoys”. Guess what it is

He wants you to lift him. Always.

Feel free to lift him whenever he won’t complain

(Until you set him down. Lift him again. pls.)

TANGO (DANCETALE PAPYRUS)

Your personal dance-instructor! He’s a very good teacher, too.

Tango is amazing at getting people out of their comfort zones. While he isn’t too pushy, he’s still not too soft on you. It’s a bit scary how good he is at knowing what boundaries not to cross. Like, you’d think he’d slip up and push it too far yet he never does.

(It’s because, like all other Papyrus..es….(????) he has a close contact with everyone's SOUL and sees the best in them, and sometimes, that best is too far away to be pushed to the surface and he’s mastered the art of knowing what is and what isn’t too far.)

He’s got a diary and he has an entire section dedicated to gushing about you <3

[ratsoh-writes]

hii!! i was wondering if i could get matched up with one of the wonderful undertale au skeletons? this is my first time doing one of these matchups and ive only recently been in the ut fandom, so here goes!

on the outside im a little shy and keep to myself and try to listen to the other person, but truly im like meeting people! i guess you could say im a bit of a shy extrovert/ambivert lol – i love hanging out with people but people are scary sometimes @_@ im the type of person that couldn't decide if they wanted to go out to the mall or play video games inside, though i have days where i kinda just wanna lay down and relax, life can be tiring. if i had to have a SOUL color, i think it would be green for kindness!

the inside of my mind is constantly the "hey so ummm not to be annoying but could you confirm that you still like me and have not decided to randomly hate me" meme. i always get so concerned about others opinions of me, and i have my moments with my anxiety where i worry excessively over something I've said and i apologize for saying that or bothering someone or even existing >_< i need a lot of reassurance and my self esteem has passed the event horizon of a supermassive black hole plz give me cuddles

i get crazy for anything having to do with video games or technology to be honest! im not an expert, but i like fooling around with games and even soldering or coding small electronics. ive fallen out of the habit, but i want to get back into it, but genshin impact has taken up most of my current attention ^_^; sports are alright, though my body doesn't like being outside (so many allergies + eczema + asthma). most of the time i have to do indoor activities, but window shopping in the mall or Amazon, reading fanfiction (like so much oml) and video games are my usual pastimes.

pet peeves and deal breakers? not many but i do have some strong ones. i don't really want to be with someone that actively hurts others maliciously, or is inconsiderate of my needs. ive been neglected and left to fend for myself emotionally a lot, and sometimes i just need to be with someone I trust. all my life ive been asked so many questions and given so many opportunities to lead that ie don't really feel like i can do that all the time, so I'd like to be able to have someone that's willing to guide me and help me since I've never had a romantic relationship before.

the most important thing to me in life is just making it through the day or week and just being happy. my health (mental and physical) has been declining so much over the past couple months, and honestly sometimes my brain says i won't be able to make it through the next day. i just want someone who's willing to support me and help me see what's so wonderful about this life to live :3

im 5' 1", Non-Binary demigirl (they/she) and im kinda thin, and i absolutely SIMP for anyone that is tall.

btw, your writing is so good and there's so much of it! keep doing what you're doing cuz it's so awesome and undertale skeletons are so cool! (and kinda hot)

happy Valentine's Day and i hope your day is filled with love!

I’ve got just the boy for you!

I’m matching you with….

Salt!! (Lustswap papyrus)

You are really his type. Salt loves the shy nerds and can’t help but to gravitate towards them. He likes the layers he gets to peel away as you become more comfortable around him. Salt is all about the chase, and you make the perfect mouse.

Salt sucks at video games. Just throwing that out here. But he will play with you. And it will be funny as heck. If you’re playing a team game, make sure he’s not on yours.

Salt is good for someone who needs a lot of reassurance. He’s observant and picks up on body language easily. He’s also good with his words and knows what to say to help settle the nerves.

Salt LOVES cringey fanfiction purely for the laugh factor. But sometimes he gets really into the romances and will fall into the trap of living a fandom without actually knowing the show lol. If you introduce him to the fanfics first, there’s a 50/50 chance he’ll start obsessing over your favorites with you

[justsomeectoplasm]

Random Name (RN for short(they like collecting nicknames))

Use they/them as a default, might use she/her or he/him if they wanted to

A bit reclusive to socially weird to strangers but also slightly clingy to people they are friends with, curious and messed up, likes to draw with light sometimes, was a spell hoarder before the portals were different(their favorite are trail spells, they barely use those) (you can say that they are normally a solo player in-game)

They like cozy but cold places(sometimes, they make nests with pillows, and layer themselves with blankets, you look outside the cave, it's snowing)

A bit messed up, as result of being krilled alot. Nowadays they avoid krill via taking pictures of em while flying(the in-game camera feature is a vault cube), unsurprisingly this caused them to have many pictures of dark dragons(they tend to avoid wasteland, but when they do need to go through it they get krilled alot, who's to say they don't enjoy the thrill though) and a bit more confident in wasteland, they never go to wasteland without the cube.

They found their camera/memory cube in vault when they were finding ways to "glitch" one time, it turns out it turns you invisible for a moment when it takes the picture(they didn't find this out until they accidentally took a picture while running away from a krill)

They are finding ways to glitch like chibis(while being tall) since the moment they accidentally glitched into the ground in Isle of Dawn when they were a moth

They use the torch they have as a staff most of the time when not being used as a torch(they always carry it)

They liked Prarie and Valley alot, but decided to stay around Forest at most before the spirits started dissapearing, the windpaths are an easy way to get to places

They are planning to visit the Freidan Mountains as they seek to take a picture of a dragon(they are curious as to what dragons here look like compared to what the ori children are familiar with, they hope the dragons here are different to what they have)

(Fluffy, occasionally wears hats, under the scarf are more fluff)

(A/N I'll be using they/them for them! Hope that's ok!)

"It was quiet in the cave. Too quiet. It was as if the silence has been eaten up by the very walls of the cave itself. When RN woke up, all they could see was a etchings carved into the walls and broken statues where age scorned the artist who made them. Their eyes look like they are looking straight into RN's soul and an altar whispers sacrifices that were made long ago.

But that doesn't really concern them (They even hesitated to draw some mantas on the scary looking one.) They saw the statues of the king way too many times and the ones in the cave pales in comparison. Picking up their cube and looking around, Rn walks out of the cave and looks out upon the Horizon, a valley of mountain awaits them.

Rn wanted to go to the Freidan mountains for the dragons. Dark dragons was the onky thing they knew back in the sky kingdom, and had thought nothing of them. But when a veteran told them about dragons that lay beneath mountains and ferocious dragons that can breathe fire, Rn knew they had to visit these mountains.

Taking in a deep breath, the icy air feels refreshing to Rn. It reminds them of valley, in a way. The sun was right in the middle of the sky, so it was the perfect time to explore. Tightening the scarf around their neck, they fly off ready to discover what lies beyond."

• So Rn was doing some shenanigans alomg the way. The freidan mountains have not yet been explored fully, whether it's because there's little to no ruins or because the dwarven kingdom was considering to ban all ori children due to the numerous explosions happening in the mines (Luckily, no one got hurt....)

• They first decided to explore some of the caves of the mountains and most ended up with them being chased out by a fantastical beast that does not want them in their cave by the skin of their teeth (hey did get some sick pictures of them though) or sometimes they just write their name somewhere in the cave, whether it's on a wall or on some skeleton. Wait that's a mOVING SKELETON OH NO THEY'VE STUMBLED UPON A NECROMANCER'S CAVE.

• There really isn't much to do at the mountains, but the ruins are almost everywhere and Rn even found a few spirits laying around. When the sun started to set and the mountains were dyed in orange hues, Rn sighed to themselves. They haven't found any dragons in this place. And they only explored 3 mountains. What's more is that the place looks too peaceful to have dragons on them. Ugh.

• Flying towards the bottom of the mountain, they decided to cross over to the Lifeno kingdom, hoping to snag some pictures of the forest dragons that roam around the place. It's better than this boring place. And it's such a shame, valley was once such a joyful place. They remember how fun it was to slide through the forgotten city with other ori children, not caring about a thing in the world-

• Wait.....is that a dragons' head??

• They could only see the top of the head, the plants and the trees already growing above it's head. But the shape alone already gives it away. They hurriedly fly towards it, diving through the clouds, their scarf fluttering behind them. They land a few steps away, giddily hurrying towards them. But upon reaching it, Rn smile drops.

• The dragons skin looks like it was made from stone and it was alseep and it's neck and body was the only thing sticking out from the mountain, making no noise, as if it peacefully passed in it's sleep. Rn huffs in annoyance. Who in their right mind would build a whole dragon statue here? They have heard of some group that worships the dragons. Is this one of their creations? If it is then it's lame. (They don't mean it, but they're too dissapointed to care)

• Running their hands through the smooth stone, they boredly look at the statue. Well it's certainly well made they'll give you that. The shapes are smooth and realistic, almost as if the crafter grew up with dragons in their past life. The scales are formed perfectly and they look like puzzle pieces, fitting perfectly on the head. It looks way too realistic. They climb on the statues head and jumps a few times on it, as if trying to wake it up. They look around, trying to see if there's anything else they can play with. Before they gave up and prepared themselves to fly away, they spot something strange. A metal black collar like necklace on the dragons neck. It was hidden away from the moss, but the sun shined on it just perfectly that you can see it shine.

• They decide to decorate it with light and maybe add some cryptic messages (You know as you usually do.) Little mantas and pictures of the skykids they met line up the colour lighning it up, the moss glowing underneath. Come to think of it, why is the collar glowing-

• A loud crack resonated through the quiet mountains, causing RN to fall back. When they got back up again, the collar was snapped in two. 'That's...probably not good' RN thought nervously. The crack snaps again, as it travels down the dragons head. They hurriedly slide down the statue, running right towards where the eye was. The crack travels and spreads like a web, until it all stops, the silence almost ringing in RN's ears.

• Then the ground shakes, almost as if a huge earthquake is shaking the earth. RN looks up, the stones and trees falling off the statue, as the cracks reveal glistening scales that shines like diamonds. The eye that was once closed opens, revealing a sky blue eye looking back at Rn, a slited pupil observing them.

• The dragon lifted it's head up and the mountain above them collapsed, as if it was as fragile as glass. RN quickly flew up, avoiding the boulders that fall from the sky. They didn't stop, not caring about the dragon at this point, even using the potions they hoarded for years to give them more energy. They need to fly to avoid the wreckage. Higher, higher! Until they break through the clouds and see only the tips of some of the mountains.

• And breaking through the clouds with them, the dragon shakes off the debris, trees and boulders flying all over the sky. It takes a deep breath and exhales, smoke escaping it's nostrils like clouds. RN stared with amazement at it, as the dragon turned it's head towards them. It leaned forward, their breathing almost blowing them away. It stared at RN, almost as if it acknowledged their presence. Then, the dragon flaps it's wings and starts flying away, it's body destroying some mountains. RN looks on after it, wondering what this world still holds for them.

Wait, did they take a picture?

Additional headcannons.

• That dragon may or may not have been an arch dragon. It was only after hearing some villages in the other kingdoms talking about how a god-like dragon has been awoken from it's slumber. But that can't be the one they accidentally released, right?

• Gets chased away from shrines by the nomadic groups because they keep drawing on it. Recieved the name Tafmo from them, which means "Shrine crow"

• RN made it their mission to find more of these sealed dragons, taking pictures of all of them and showing it to their close friends.

• Beast tamers love them because of the pictures they have of monsters that live in the mountains. Recieved another name called "Little gremlin". They're not sure what that means though....

[honorguk]

dating ➔ j-hope

» navigation | REQUESTED

what it’s like to date j-hope from BTS (based on my assumptions)

────✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ────

─ • OVERALL:

• with you, hobi’s cheerful colorful personality would enhance by a 1000%

• he would be so jumpy when he sees you like

• he’s your little excited pup that is way too unexpectedly dominating within

• gives you a lot of space all while being super clingy (he’s the ideal combo)

• when you guys are around the boys tbh it’s like you’re not even dating. neither of you want to make the members uncomfortable with the pda (unless it’s to tease them) even though namjoon calls it cute

• but hoseok loves rubbing it into their face that he has a girlfriend lol

• he’s a jealous guy, but it’s hidden under so many layers

• if you guys aren’t constantly hugging or cuddling or his arm isn’t wrapped around your waist somehow..prepare for the boy to be pouty

• writes so many songs about you oh my days

• also he prepared to find random little notes and noodles scattered around your apartment and the pockets of your clothes. they’re all lovey dovey notes and as much as he thinks it’s just a tiny bit cringe, he still does it anyway

• pinching your cheek is a MUST

• a lot of walking around the house naked too

• hoseok is a huge gentleman and very proper and traditional in romantic relationships i feel, so expect the whole ‘meeting your parents-moving in-getting a dog together’ thing but very late in the relationship

• matching socks and overall couple fits

• wants to show you off so bad ugh !!!

• (and he does)

• (because you are his world :,) )

• (his hope world ;) )

─ • DATES YOU GO ON:

• from a park to a restaurant to a bar - you guys have been everywhere

• he makes sure each time you hang out it’s a very special adventure, so dates with hobi never get old

• oftentimes you’d chill in his studio and dance around to new music, ordering food and calling it a date

• (lots of grinding when u dance hehe)

• but he also makes sure to treat you to fancy restaurants with fancy attire and fancy food quite often to remind you that you’re pretty much his number one priority

• giving you his jackets when you’re cold, of course (and sometimes just because he wants to see you in them since you look so tiny)

─ • PET NAMES:

• “hiya honeybuns!” “hey cupcake” “what’s up lovely!”

• so EXCITED and CHAOTIC because he loves seeing you so he makes up some weird shit to call u

• always pinching your cheeks whenever he calls u anything cute

• you react in the same way and play along, but only when it’s just you two

• when you’re around others, though, both of you are like the effortlessly cool couple with all the ‘sup babe’ and the smirks

─ • WHILE ON TOUR:

• can’t help but update you every hour about what’s happened and what will happen

• he has moments when he’s super focused on work and won’t text back but you better expect a spam of hearts when he finally gets to use his phone again

• “baby i promise i wasn’t ignoring you” “i know, hobi, its fin-“ “no it’s not! ily 😾 💝💖💕💓💞💕💝💘”

• (he definitely uses the cat emojis)

• would send you videos of the members (probably jungkook and jimin, because he was forced) doing some DUMB shit

• if it’s a facetime call expect yoongi to be in the background

• you can see him cringe at the lovey dovey things hobi says, which makes you laugh so hard (making hoseok turn around and throw a slipper at the elder lmao)

• but still you understand that he’s busy and won’t always answer to the memes you send him, but you should damn well know he’s getting back all the time lost on tour when he comes back home with cuddles

─ • ARGUING/MAKING UP:

• it’s very scary to see hobi’s angry side come out since it’s so unexpected

• of course he’s still human, he still has emotions, but FUCK are they expressive

• lord of swears and raised hands and shouting

• doesn’t mean to scare you but finds it sometimes necessary so you see how much you’ve pissed him off

• he has definitely broken plates before

• maybe even noses, but that’s only when some idiot is hitting on you at a club

• but anyways when hoseok is mad at u, he tries to be patient at first but gets sassy really easily

• lots of idioms and comparisons too (not very good ones..)

• but at the end of the day he knows that any argument is necessary and he won’t let you leave the room or go to bed until you’ve fully talked it out

• he will hug you, hold you real tight and kiss the top of your head

• you’d smile into his chest and tell him he’s a dummy for being so loud (he would say he knows, and then hug you tighter)

• “now, how about i make it up to you for shouting?” ;)

─ • NSFW:

• total switch. you can so fight me over it.

• he will fuck you with his eyes and it’ll be very obvious, so that’s your sign to find some place private

• so big on experimenting!! fr what a guy - any position, any place, any time, with anything

• i really see him being sadistic and into bondage though… damn

• but with constant check-ups

• he’s also quite patronizing and degrading when being a hard dom, but if you verbalize any signs of discomfort he will instantly back down

• a whiny sub too, bucks his hips and whimpers

• will treat every mark and bruise he made with so much love

• really sweet aftercare with a lot of caressing and kisses and baths

• sex isn’t always serious - you guys definitely have a lot of giggles before, after and during which is very sweet

• literally loves you till the end of the world and will show you that through physical touch ;)

[supernatural-jackles]

Isolation

Title: Isolation

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 5,224

Warnings: Smidge of Angst, Bit of Pining, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Terrible pickup lines (Thank you Austin Powers), Touch Starvation, More Fluff! Implied Sexy Time. Comfort Fic!!

Summary: When the croatoan virus takes over half the country, you haul ass to the bunker where your two best friends are to keep you safe. Only, one of them you have had feelings for and the other keeps encouraging you to tell him. 

Square Filled: The Bunker ( @spndeanbingo���) Cuddling ( @spnfluffbingo​)

A/N: This one is for Help You Anon, who needs this the most.  I also absolutely loveeee how this one turned out! I hope y’all do too!! Happy Reading!

Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you raced down the empty open roads of Lebanon Kansas. You were mere minutes away from your destination and you couldn’t have been any happier. You didn’t want to be out in the open anymore. You didn’t want to run the infinitely large risk that came with it.

 You were a hunter and had been since you were old enough to hold a knife. Not that you were allowed in that sense. You came from a long line of hunters. Your dad, his parents before that. It was the Family Business as he told you. Killing evil sons of bitches was the day job, and at times like this, it came with it’s perks. Those perks being the only friends you had.

 Sam and Dean Winchester.

 You and the Winchester’s went way back. Hell, you’ve known them since you were a kid. They were the only two that you could be completely honest with. They knew the life, just like you did. It also helped that you were in the middle of the two of them. Two years younger than Dean and two years older than Sammy. You fit right in with the two of them. You always had.

 You pulled up to the bunker, a place you had been a hundred times. Dean had the garage open for you to park your car inside. You didn’t want to leave it out in the open and attract the wrong kind of people.

 Dean was waiting for you in the garage, leaning against the front of his car with his arms crossed over his body. You smiled at the sight of him. He was in single layers. A dark green henley to be exact, and a pair of jeans with a rip in the knee. His usual hunting boots on and a soft smile playing on his pink plump lips. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.

 You put your car in park before cutting the ignition. You kicked the car door open quickly, moving over to him to engulf him in your arms. The smell of his cologne mixed with whiskey filled your nose. A smell you had come to associate with the older Winchester. God, it was good to see him.

 “Hi sweetheart,” he beamed, squeezing you once more before releasing you.

 “Thank you for letting me stay,” you smiled.

 “Thanks for keeping us informed,” he breathed out. “You know you’re more than welcome here.”

 “I like to call first,” you winked. “Any idea how this could’ve happened?”

 “Sam’s looking into it,” he started. “Is it everywhere?”

 “Yeah pretty much. I passed one car on my way here from Sioux Falls, Dean. Everywhere is a ghost town. It’s kind of scary actually! I didn’t want to be alone,” you admitted. “Not out there.”

 “Well, your room is exactly the way you left it. We’ve got enough supplies to last us,” he assured you. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

 Dean helped you carry your bag in from the trunk into the bunker. You protested a little of course, but it was useless when it came to Dean. You followed behind him, shutting the garage door behind you. He led you inside, heading to the library where he knew his brother would be. You brushed the stray piece of hair behind your ear as you got closer to the library. The sight of Sam sitting in his chair made you smile.

 “Hiya Sammy,” you called out. He pulled his attention away from his computer, a wide smile appearing on his features. He got up quickly, rounding the table. You met him halfway, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, squeezing him tightly.

 “You look amazing, darlin’,” he told you as his arms snaked around your waist. “It’s been too long.”

 “It has,” you agreed. “Lucky for you, you’re stuck with me for awhile.”

 “As long as you’re making those cookies,” he chuckled, releasing you from his hold. He had the softest smile playing on his lips, making you feel right at home.

 “You got it,” you nodded. “I’ll even make Dean my special apple pie.”

 “I knew I said you could stay for a reason,” he let out a laugh. “C’mon sweetheart, let’s get you settled in.”

 You followed Dean through the halls of the bunker, heading straight to the room they had for you. It was right next to Dean’s. You had picked it when they let you stay the first time. You wanted to be close to Dean because you felt safer when he was in close proximity. He had always protected you and made you feel safe. Ever since you were little, it had been that way.

 “Here we are,” he stopped. Door number twelve. You could see your reflection in the two shiny, gold numbers. You gave Dean a warm smile, reaching for the door handle. You stepped inside first, flicking on the light. The room was exactly the way you left it. Even the papers on the desk. It was your space.

 “Thanks for carrying my bag in,” you smiled at him.

 “It’s no problem,” he said, placing your bag down on the bed. “You want to get changed into something comfortable? I’ll grab you a beer and make some popcorn. We can watch a movie?”

 “I’d love to,” you nodded.

 “Good,” he half smiled, turning away to head out of your room.

 “Hey De,” you called out.

 “Yeah sweetheart?”

 “You look good,” you smiled, turning away from him to hide the heat that was rushing to your cheeks.

 “Says you, Y/N,” he told you, slipping out of your room quietly.

 You couldn’t contain your smile as he shut the door behind him. You had always had a thing for Dean Winchester. Ever since you were a kid. He was cute, of course. But it was his protective nature that really reeled you in. The way he kept you safe. The way he made you laugh, and the way he was with you. He was one of the good ones. Only he saw you as his little sister, and not as anything else. You knew that, and you accepted it a long time ago. The flirty banter between the two of you was just a habit. It was the two of you being comfortable with one another. Just like it was when you played with Sam’s hair during down time.

 You pulled out your favourite pair of sweatpants, and an oversized shirt you were sure you stole from Dean years ago. It was something comfortable. You threw your hair up in a messy bun before changing. You couldn’t wait to be hidden in the bunker with your two favourite people.

 You slipped out of your room, making your way through the halls once more. The smell of popcorn filled your nose instantly. You were so ready for a movie night with the Winchester’s. You were back in the library, looking over at Sam still glancing at his computer.

 “Hey,” you greeted him, walking over to the table. You took a seat on the table, your feet on the chair next to him.

 “How are you holdin’ up?” he asked, glancing up at you as he leaned back.

 “I’m calming down now that I’m here,” you answered. “Thanks for asking.”

 “You looked a little overwhelmed when you got here,” he pointed out. “Not that I blame you. It’s everywhere. I just got off the phone with Garth. He said his town is the same. Croatoan virus.”

 “What caused this, Sammy?” you questioned, swallowing hard as you looked down.

 “I wish I knew,” he frowned. “Hell, it could be the angels stirring up trouble again.”

 “Maybe,” you shrugged.

 “Well, you’re safe now. The bunker is warded. You’ve got us,” he smiled. “You and Dean having a movie night?”

 “Yeah,” you giggled. “You joining us?”

 “Nah, not tonight,” he shook his head. “I’m going to go for a run on the treadmill. Clear my head.”

 “You okay?” you furrowed your brows.

 “Yeah,” he nodded, casting his head down. “Just - this whole thing is going to be more than we can handle. All those innocent people. Sometimes this job sucks, you know?”

 “I get that,” you breathed out, reaching your hand over to hold his. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.” You squeezed his hand.

 “You finally going to do something about your crush on Dean,” he changed the subject, giving you a sly smile.

 “No,” you chuckled. “Nice try though.”

 “Well, we are stuck in here for however long. I don’t want the sexual tension to get to be too much,” he joked, squeezing your hand.

 “Whatever,” you rolled your eyes playfully. “Since I’m here, can I braid your hair later?”

 “Sure,” he shook his head with a wide smile. “Go have fun with Dean. We’ll hang out tomorrow.”

 “Will do. You know where to find me if you need me,” you told him. You hopped off the table, circling around him. You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek before taking off to the kitchen. You could see the look of defeat on his face. You hoped that a good run on the treadmill was going to help him.

 You skipped into the kitchen, the smell of the popcorn getting stronger. You saw Dean standing next to the stove with a huge bowl of popcorn next to him. A case of beer was set out, ready for your night to begin.

 “You ready?” you asked with a wide smile.

 “You know it,” he chuckled. “You want to grab the beer. I’ve got the snacks.” You nodded your head, stepping into the kitchen to grab the beer off the counter. Dean had the popcorn bowl in one hand and the chocolate and candy in the other.

 “Lead the way, handsome,” you smiled.

 He gave you a soft smile, walking out of the kitchen to head out. You watched the way his legs moved as he made his way to the Dean cave. He had changed into his comfortable sweats and kept his henley on. You loved it when he was comfortable for movie nights.

 You stepped onto the Dean cave, smiling at the sight before you. It had changed a lot since you were last in it. It still had the kegs and the foosball table. The old chairs were there, but there was now a bigger couch in there now. One with lots of room for you to get comfortable. Blankets were folded at one end. A big pile of them. There were actual pillows, and a coffee table.

 “Look at this place,” you smiled.

 “We changed a few things,” he smiled. “You should’ve seen Sam, Cas and I trying to get the couch in here.”

 “Oh god, that must have been hilarious,” you beamed, taking a seat on one side of the couch. “What do you feel like watching, Winchester?”

 “Uh, what about a classic? I was thinking Austin Powers,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

 “Shall we shag now, or shag later?” you let out a laugh. “You know I’m always for watching that.”

 “Alright,” he nodded, grabbing the remote off the table. The bowl of popcorn was set between you. The candy and chocolate next to it. You reached over, taking two beers out of the case. You opened one up for Dean, handing it over to him before opening your own. You took a good sip of it. You felt yourself calming down as the beer hit your empty stomach. You didn’t know how much you needed it until that first sip.

 The beginning of the movie was silent. You munched away at the popcorn. Your hands meeting the odd time, making you laugh a little. It was nice to just be able to sit there with him and enjoy a good movie.

 Eventually you got tired of the popcorn and it was moved to the table. Dean opened the peanut m&ms and moved a little closer to you. You couldn’t deny that your heart began to race when his thigh pressed to yours.

 “How was your last hunt?” He asked towards the end of the movie.

 “Good,” you shrugged. “Simple salt and burn. Nothing extensive. I welcome the easy ones these days.”

 “Yeah no kidding,” he chuckled. “When was this one?”

 “Yesterday actually. Before everything went all fucky. Sam thinks it has something to do with the angels.”

 “Me too,” he nodded. “Cas is MIA.”

 “Guess we gotta lay low until we know,” you said. “I could definitely do with more movie nights. It’s been awhile.”

 “It has,” he nodded. “You still hunting with what’s his name?”

 “Cory? And no,” you shook your head. “We uh - parted ways a few months back.”

 “Weren’t you two-“

 “Yeah, at one point,” you swallowed hard. “But it didn’t mean anything to him and he continued to screw other people. I couldn’t do it. We split and I’ve been on my own ever since.”

 “You’re hunting solo?” He asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

 “I’m being careful,” you stated.

 “Damnit, Y/N!”

 “I know,” you breathed out, suddenly finding the label on the bottle interesting. “Truth is, I haven’t been hunting that much. I’ve worked maybe four or five cases since we split. One was with Jody. You guys and the demon hunt. The others were salt and burns. I’m not really on a suicide mission. I know the job kills well enough. I’ve been taking breaks here and there. Working in bars. Hustling pool now and again. It’s been quiet.”

 “You could’ve stayed here, you know,” he pointed out.

 “I know,” you nodded. “But you also know that I need some space sometimes. Things with Cory - it didn’t feel right. There was so much trust built with us being hunters. Someone I could actually see myself sharing my life with. But he didn’t want to be tied down and I couldn’t trust him after finding that out. It just sucked to find out the person you were with wasn’t the person you thought they were.”

 “That why you want to stay with us?” He cocked his eyebrow. “Tired of running?”

 “Tired of being alone, Dean,” you admitted. This conversation was getting to be too much for you and you hadn’t had nearly enough to drink to continue it. You didn’t want pity and you didn’t want Dean to find out that you had a big ol’ crush on him either. Some things were better left hidden. This was one of them. “Anyway, I’m glad to be here to watch movies with you, Mr Bigglesworth.”

 “Cute,” he let out a laugh. “For the record, Cory’s an idiot.”

 “Yeah, he is. He’s not a Winchester,” you smiled.

 “No one is as stupid as us,” he joked, nudging you with his shoulder.

 “I wouldn’t say that,” you let out a laugh. “More like dumb.”

 “Yeah whatever,” he smirked. The end credits rolled up on the screen. Dean reached for the remote, turning the movie off. “You feel like watching the second one?”

 “Maybe tomorrow night,” you said as you yawned. “Today was a long day and I’m looking forward to sleeping in a bed that doesn’t have a puke coloured comforter.”

 “Alright, fair enough,” he nodded. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your room.”

 You got up off the couch first, stretching your sore muscles before starting to walk to the doorway. Dean was right behind you, his hands on your shoulders as if he wasn’t going to be able to keep up somehow. It made you smile. Then again, a lot of things about Dean made you smile.

 You stopped at the number twelve on your door, turning to face Dean. He had a soft smile playing on his lips and his hands were now shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants. He looked a lot happier than you had seen him the last couple of months. His eyes were a little brighter and the bags under his eyes weren’t as bad as they had been. Unless that was the hallway lighting, but even then, it could only do so much.

 “Thanks, Dean,” you half smiled, looking up at him.

 “You know where to find me if you need me, okay?” he assured you, reaching his hand up to cup your cheek. The simple gesture made your heart soar. You didn’t want to give away the fact that it did.

 “Right next to mine,” you breathed out, nodding your head. He moved his hand away, and gave you a half smile before turning to walk back down the hall. There was a part of you that was screaming inside, begging him to come back and stay with you. You didn’t want him to stray too far, and you certainly didn’t want to be on your own again. Not after doing it for the last six months. But Dean was your friend. He wasn’t going to be what Cory was to you. He’s not a warm body to sleep next to, or someone you could have that life with. He was Dean Winchester.  “Hey Dean?”

 “Yeah?” he turned back to look at you. You took a few steps forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, engulfing him in a hug. He hugged you back instantly. His arms slipping around your waist, tugging you in close to him. You melted against him this time. There was no rush or pressure to get things moving. You got to enjoy the feeling of being in his arms, and that was exactly what you needed.

 “Night,” you smiled, releasing him from your arms. You knew if you didn’t then, you weren’t going to.

 “Night, sweetheart,” he whispered. You turned back to your room, opening the door without another word.

 You took a deep breath as soon as the door shut. The lingering feeling of Dean’s arms was still coursing through you. A feeling you never wanted to stop. It had been so long since you had that kind of affection. Sure, you hugged Sam earlier, but it wasn’t the same as it was from Dean.  You fit perfectly in Dean’s arms, it seemed.

 You tiptoed your way over to your bed, pulling the comforter back before slipping inside. The sheets were cold against your body at first. The room was a little colder than you were used to. It was that time of year, and it didn’t help that the bunker was underground.

 You glanced at your phone for the first time since you got to the bunker. The first thing you saw was a text from Cory. With the Croatoan virus going on, he was looking for a warm bed and someone to hide out with. He tried his hardest to try and reconnect with you when he was lonely. He was the reason why you were too. The reason why you were so touch starved and craved Dean all the more.

 You turned over, trying to make yourself more comfortable. The light from the hallway was beaming in the bottom vent. You let out a huff, trying to make yourself comfortable on your pillow. You could always get up and sneak into Dean’s room. Claim you had a nightmare and you didn’t want to be alone. That would at least get you in the door. The rest you could figure out. But at the same time, you didn’t want Dean to know about your feelings for him. You could sleep in Sam’s room with him. It wasn’t Dean though.

 You had to suck it up. It was either that, or you were going to run the risk of Dean finding out. You had a choice. You always had a choice. You swallowed hard, throwing the comforter off of you. Your feet hit the cold concrete floor, taking you out of the room and right to the next one.

 You could see that Dean’s light was on from the bottom of the door. You could hear him rummaging around in something, indicating he was still wide awake. You took a deep breath. You had to grow a pair. You couldn’t expect yourself to be happy if you weren’t going to do something to make you happy. You reached your hand up, knocking against the wood.

 The door opened slowly, revealing Dean in his same clothes and a confused look on his face. You gave him a weak smile, placing your hands together in front of you. You had to try and form the words you needed to get him to let you stay.

 “So - uh, turns out I’m not actually that tired,” you said sheepishly. He stepped to the side as a smile spread across his cheeks, opening the door up a little more for you to enter.

 “C’mon,” he nodded.

 You hesitantly walked inside his room, taking a seat at the bottom of his bed. He had one of his drawers open, and a few clothes on his desk. He was folding them up and putting them away. You recognized a lot of his shirts, hell you had worn a few of them.

 “You okay?” he asked you as he folded one of his t-shirts.

 “Yeah,” you breathed out. “Just - I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

 “Tired of being alone?” he questioned.

 “So tired of being alone,” you admitted. “Cory texted me earlier. Asking where I was. With this going on out there, he’s looking for a warm body to sleep next to. I’m not going back to that.”

 “I don’t blame you,” he nodded. “My bed’s always open. First night’s free.”

 “Shut up, Winchester,” you let out a laugh. “My room’s cold.”

 “Right, the heater is broken. I went out and bought one for my room. I forgot about that,” he said sheepishly.

 You moved up the bed, slipping beneath his covers. His room was at least ten degrees warmer than yours. He finished up folding his shirts and put them away as you made yourself comfortable in his bed. His felt softer than yours, and the pillows were nicer. You were definitely going to take advantage of his bed for the night.

 He flicked the light off, leaving the little lamp on before he climbed in the bed to join you. The bed shifted as he positioned himself comfortably. You turned your gaze to him, seeing the soft smile that played on his lips. You could feel his body heat radiating towards you. This was exactly what you needed.

 “Night sweetheart,” he muttered.

 “Night Dean.”

 You gently began to stir hours later. Warmth filled you, followed by the soft thumping sound beneath your head. Every so often, your head would rise and fall. You were pressed against something harder than you expected, but comfortable at the same time.

 Holy shit, you had fallen asleep cuddling Dean. Fuck!

 You smiled to yourself for a moment, actually allowing yourself to relish in the feeling. You were safe, and protected by Dean. He was holding you to him, letting you cuddle him. God, you had no idea how much you needed this kind of touch. The soft, sweet, worry free hold that you had been deprived from for so long. You missed this more than anything.

 “Hey Dean, Jody - shit sorry!” Dean stirred beneath you, effectively waking up to Sam’s voice. You shifted off him instantly, feeling your cheeks heating up at being caught by Sam, and probably by Dean too.

 “Mmmh?” Dean groaned.

 “Jody called and asked about what’s going on,” he informed the two of you. “I have to say, it’s about time you told him. I told you things would work out. You’ve only been flirting since you were kids.”

 “Told me what?” Dean asked gruffly, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes.

 “Sam,” you warned him.

 “I’ll be in the library,” he said sheepishly, leaving the room as fast as he entered it.

 “I’m going to go get some coffee on,” you told him, trying to sound as confident as you could. You didn’t want to make it seem like a big deal, even if Sam had just basically told Dean that you had feelings for him.

 You slipped out of the bedroom, making your way down the hall to the kitchen. Your stomach was growling, and you desperately needed a cup of coffee to wake you up. Sam already had a pot waiting for the two of you, which you were more than thankful for. You poured yours and another one for Dean when he finally made his way to join you.

 You took a seat at the table, taking your first sip of the liquid gold. You took a deep breath, letting the warm drink slide down your throat. Dean sauntered in with his same clothes on from last night. He flashed you a soft smile as he headed straight for his coffee.

 “What was Sam talking about this morning?” he asked as he sat down in front of you, his mug in his hand.

 “Nothing,” you shook your head. “I think he just thought we were together.”

 “Why would he think that?” he chuckled, bringing his mug up to his lips.

 “Because I slept in your bed last night,” you pointed out.

 “And you were cuddling with me,” he wiggled his eyebrows, earning a groan from your lips.

 “What I do in my sleep is not really me, Winchester,” you argued, hoping to ease your way out of this conversation unscaved.

 “Oh yeah?” he let out a laugh. “You know you cuddled me the whole night right? Twenty minutes after you climbed into my bed until this morning.”

 “You didn’t stop me,” you stated. Your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest. You had no idea where this was going to go. You didn’t want him to be mad or uncomfortable. Hell, it wasn’t the first time it had happened, but Sam just had to go and say something and now you were on trial.

 “You’re right,” he agreed. “I didn’t. I can see that you’re touch deprived, sweetheart. You’re one of the most affectionate people I know.  If cuddling me means you won’t fall back into bed with Cory or someone else, then I’m gonna do it.”

 “I’m okay, Dean. Really,” you lied.

 “Maybe so, but we all need someone sometime,” he half smiled.

 “Even you?”

 “Even me,” he swallowed hard. “You want some breakfast?”

 “Yeah, that’d be great,” you nodded.

 “Bacon and eggs?” he offered.

 “You know I’d never pass that up.”

 He got up from his seat, leaving his half drunk cup of coffee at the table with you. You watched his bowlegs take him over to the fridge, opening it up to grab what he needed to start breakfast. His words were still ringing in your head. He needed someone too. Maybe that was why he didn’t stop you, or protest. He didn’t seem to be that mad at what Sam said either.

 You got up from your spot at the table, bringing your coffee with you. You tiptoed your way around the counter. He had his back to you as he started making the bacon. You placed your mug on the island before hopping up on it. You watched as his back muscles moved beneath his shirt. You smiled to yourself. Maybe telling him wouldn’t be that bad. After all, he was Dean. You had known him for years. He was a hunter that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

 “Hey Dean,” you breathed out, trying to hide the smile playing on your lips.

 “Mmh?” he asked, still focused on the task at hand.

 “I kind of lied to you,” you started. “Sam said that this morning because he thought I finally told you how I feel about you.” He turned away from the bacon for this one. His brows were furrowed when he looked at you. He took a few steps towards you, placing his hands on either side of you.

 “Are you saying wha I think you’re saying?” he questioned. “You have feelings for me?”

 “I do,” you nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “I always have. I feel safest when I’m with you. You make all the bad things seem insignificant. You make my heart race, and my palms sweaty.”

 “This isn’t one of those ‘if we die’ speeches is it?” he cocked his eyebrow.

 “No,” you shook your head. “This is one of those selfish, and probably incredibly stupid moments you and Sam can hold over my head.”

 “Not stupid,” he shook his head. “I always thought you had feelings for Sam.”

 “W-why?”

 “You kiss his cheek all the time. You braid and play with his hair every time you’re here. You usually text him,” he pointed out.

 “I didn’t want to kiss you on the cheek because I can barely tell you you look good without blushing. Your hair isn’t long enough for me to braid, but I have played with it when you were sleeping,” you told him. “I just don’t want to annoy you, you know?”

 “You’re never annoying me,” he assured you. “Especially when you need me.” His hand came up to your cheek, urging you to look up at him. You gave him a weak smile, meeting his gorgeous green eyes. He leaned into you, brushing his lips gingerly over yours. You smiled against him, kissing him back. You swore your heart skipped a beat. This was everything you wanted. Before you felt safe, now you felt like you were home. You felt like you had a sense of belonging. You were here with him and nothing else in the world mattered more than this moment. Not Cory. Not the Croatoan virus. Nothing but Dean.

 “Is something burning?” Sam’s voice called out.

 “Shit,” Dean muttered, turning away from you to the stove. The bacon was definitely going to be crispy, maybe a little too crispy. You let out a giggled, bringing your hand up to your lips, that were still tingling from the feeling of his.

 “Does this mean I get to sleep in your bed tonight?” you played.

 “Oh sweetheart, you get to do more than sleep in my bed tonight,” he told you.

 “Guess you like me back, huh?” you half teased. Honestly, you just wanted to hear him say that he did. You wanted to know that Dean Winchester had a crush on you too.

 “I’ve liked you since we were seven years old, Y/N,” he stated, turning back around to face you. He took a few steps to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You make me feel safe too.”

 “Good,” you nodded.

 “C’mere,” he smirked, reaching his hand to your chin. He pressed his lips to yours, smiling against you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, tugging him into you as you kissed him back. “Sorry it took croatoan to make me do this.”

 “Better now than never,” you giggled. “Shall we shag now or shag later?”

 “Do I make you horny baby?” he quoted with a wide grin.

 “Mmmh very,” you smirked. “Finish up breakfast and we can definitely go back to bed.”

 “Coming right up,” he winked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply or send me an ask! Your response is what keeps me going!! 

[fandom-hoarder]

Baby Brother

[companion piece to Feeling Small; Dean’s POV, fluff + slight angst; don’t come at me for the gimme title]

At first, Dean has no idea why he’s suddenly conscious and not reaching for his gun. His fingers just graze the butt of it, but he doesn’t have the urge to close the distance. After a split-second of concentration, though, the reason is obvious: Sam. Namely, the soft but ragged breaths Dean hears coming from the bed behind him, growing more labored by the second; a sound Dean is, unfortunately, used to identifying. Though, it’s been awhile. Almost a year, he thinks. Longer than the last time Sam woke up with growing pains, and Dean can tell Sam’s current anxious breathing apart from the pained groans that have been more frequent lately. Dean had started to settle into the idea that Sam was finally growing out of his nightmares.

Too much to hope for, apparently.

There’s a fleeting thought, a vague hint of annoyance, at the fact that this is Sam’s first nightmare since separate beds became their default rather than a rarity and a luxury. Calming Sam down is so much easier when they’re sharing space. But it had been Sam’s decision in the first place; yet another push for independence and his own (literal) space; and Dean hadn’t argued, despite the urge that nagged at him sometimes. When your sixteen-year-old little brother insists he needs his own personal space, it looks weak and clingy to try to argue about it. So, naturally, Dean had pulled away like the ultimate specimen of machismo that he was, making sure Sam knew that Dean had only been putting up with the arrangement for Sam’s sake in the first place, and to make things easier on Dad. Making sure to gripe about it at least as much as Sam any time they had no other option but to share since then. 

Even so, Sam was usually much more pliable in the middle of the night; accepting more help with things when he was sleepy; when their world was blurry around the edges, dwindled down to the bubble that encompassed the two of them in that space between wakefulness and sleep.

He calls out to Sam sleepily, refusing to open his eyes and hoping to quickly nip this in the bud so he can go back to sleep. So they both can. It comes out more grumpy than inviting, and he inwardly winces, but he doesn’t worry long. 

He hears Sam gasp sharply and then there’s a flurry of movement as his little brother flings his covers away and clambers over. Dean braces for the chill of air on his warm skin as Sam squirms in behind him, but his little brother comes with his own furnace-like aura, especially when he’s worked up from some kind of night terror. He feels the heat of the air between them close in as Sam settles, and Dean holds still, taking his cues from Sam for how much contact he wants. 

Sam’s bony elbows press against Dean’s lower back, and he feels the barest hint of contact between the backs of his thighs and Sam’s legs. Sam’s slightly clammy forehead coming to rest between his shoulder blades, however, is enough to raise faint goosebumps along Dean’s skin. He wonders how Sam can possibly be comfortable, with the way he must be contorted. Sam’s body is way too long now for this position to feel natural.

Sometimes it kinda pisses him off that Sam is going to be taller than him any day now. It also makes him proud, though. Somehow, despite all the odds against him, he managed to raise this kid up big and healthy. But right now, it just makes him kind of heartsick for the days when his little brother was, well, actually little. He guesses he should just be grateful that Sam isn’t actually treating him like the little spoon here, but it still rankles. Dean’s still bigger than him, dammit; at least for now.

Dean keeps his eyes closed and tries to hold still; relax; resist the urge to take control and switch their positions, and just breathe. Be the type of solid comfort Sam needs right now—no matter how dissatisfying it feels for Dean, or how much he knows Sam will end up with a crick in his neck and back if he stays like this—and let both of them fall back to sleep. For a minute or two, it seems to work, but soon he feels Sam’s breathing getting worked up again; shuddering the way it does when tears are in the not too distant future. 

Dean reaches back awkwardly to run his hand through Sam’s hair, hoping the contact will ground him. Somehow, though, it only seems to make things worse as Sam lets out a sort of wounded sob.

‘Yeah, okay, that’s it,’ Dean thinks with a sigh, finally opening his eyes as he accepts his fate. He twists himself around under the covers and wraps his arms around Sam, ankle looping around Sam’s and trapping that leg between his thighs. Dean’s left hand finds Sam’s right and wraps around his bony wrist, pulling it to his chest as he re-settles Sam against him more comfortably. And there’s something intensely satisfying about how he executed this maneuver; how easily he’s still able to manhandle his little brother, despite Sam’s recent increase in size. Dean’s momentary smirk presses his cheek against Sam’s head as he reaches up to card through Sam’s hair again.

It’s full; soft and fluffy on top, but still damp on the bottom layers from the shower Sam took after Dean last night. His hair is so long and thick, past his chin in the front and curling out around the nape of his neck; it always takes hours to dry naturally, and Sam refuses to use a hair dryer. Dad’s probably going to make Sam cut it any day now for practical reasons. Dean rags on Sam all the time about his girly hair, but secretly he loves it. The kid’s always had a lot of hair, but it’s gotten thicker in the last couple of years. And Dean grew up petting his brother’s hair—it’s the only thing that could get little Sammy back to sleep most of the time, or calm him down if he was fussy; although sometimes it’d only worked if it was accompanied by Dean’s careful croon of ‘Hey Jude’—and at this point he can admit, at least to himself, that it soothes him also.

And Dean definitely needs that calming action now as he prepares himself for what he needs to do. He takes a deep breath as he comes to terms with it, and the familiar, sweet scent of Sam’s special shampoo keeps his heart calm under Sam’s hand. Good.

“Nightmare?” he whispers.

Sam nods against Dean’s shoulder and cheek, and Dean’s fingers still until the movement is over so they don’t snarl in his hair.

“Wanna talk about it?” he barely wants to give the question breath, but he knows he has to. His heartbeat stays steady as he waits for the reply, but his dread of the answer seems to make the question echo around him.

When Sam shakes his head ‘no,’ Dean doesn’t hold back from tugging at his hair a bit in retaliation. Dean hadn’t even wanted to ask in the first place, but Sam is for damn sure gonna answer him now that he’s ignored his first impulse and asked anyway.

“Can’t remember it,” Sam mumbles, and the graze of his lips over Dean’s clavicle threatens goosebumps across Dean’s chest.

Dean frowns at the reply. On the one hand, he knows Sam’s telling the truth, but that Sam could probably remember it if he tried; he’s done it before, more than once. On the other hand, Dean has never liked the outcomes of those times--the subject matter or how remembering affected Sam. After the last one, Sam didn’t--maybe couldn’t--sleep again until… well, Dean’s not even going to let his thoughts go there right now. It was all just coincidence, anyway. Sam’s subconscious taking his worries and lore knowledge and coming up with unfortunately realistic scenarios in his dreams. Side effect of being the brainy, research geek, Dean had told him, and Sam clearly hadn’t believed him but only gave a patented bitchface in reply.  

Point being: every time it happens, Dean gets closer and closer to having zero excuses left for why he hasn’t told their father yet. But, hey, if Sam can’t remember then… who’s to say what he dreamed about? Probably just a normal, stupid, run of the mill nightmare about clowns or something… He digs his fingers a little deeper into Sam’s hair, massaging into his scalp a bit to ease any tension left there from his dreams, the way he has since Sam was little. 

When Sam was about four or five, he’d woken from a nightmare inspired by a monster movie Dean had been watching on late night TV. They’d been sharing a pull-out couch in the living room of a tiny, one-bedroom apartment Dad had rented, and Dean had gotten in the habit of falling asleep to the TV in the living room when Dad was gone; he didn’t want to say it made him feel safer, but that was the truth. When Sam had woken up with a cry, covered with sweat and face sticky with tears, the TV screen had long since stopped showing the blocky colors that signaled the end of the broadcast day and was now just the staticky non-picture that Dean called ‘snow.’

Dean had woken immediately at Sam’s cries, and pulled him over into his arms, doing his best to shield his little brother’s eyes from the light of the TV screen as he shushed him and dried his tears, asking if he had a bad dream. When Dean realized it was the monster movie that caused Sam’s nightmare, he’d felt bad, and promised not to watch scary stuff before bed anymore. Then he’d tucked Sammy against him and started combing his fingers through his sweat-damp, baby-soft hair, rubbing the pads of his fingers against Sam’s head as Dean whispered to him that he had a magic trick that would let him pull the bad thoughts out of Sam’s head. For a while, Sam wholly believed it was magic, and it worked so well that Dean almost did, too. 

The dread in Dean’s gut eases slightly with the memory, but not completely. He’s too aware of the thoughts he’s avoiding.

Just when he starts to think Sam’s drifted off, the pattern of air moving across Dean’s collarbone stutters as Sam breathes, “I miss this.”

“Miss what?” Dean asks, feeling an inexplicable eagerness as he anticipates Sam’s reply.

“Feeling small.”

Immediately, Dean’s thoughts cycle back to where they’d been earlier: Sam’s impending status as tallest Winchester boy, and Dean’s continued status as big brother no matter what. This time, the ache in his heart is more for Sam than himself. There’s a happiness, too, though; he’s glad for the darkness and the creeping slumber that loosened Sam’s tongue enough to say it. 

After he’s squeezed Sam close—feeling the incredible thinness of him, the ridges of bone under newly-stretched skin a little uncomfortable at spots but all the more a comfort because of how it adds to Sam’s overall delicate feel right now—Dean splays his hand over Sam’s back, testing how much area the spread from his thumb to pinky still covers. It feels like a lot, and Dean finds himself thinking proudly that he’s still able to be Sam’s protector.

Dean rubs his thumb soothingly over the edge of skin it can just reach, and presses his cheek against Sam’s head to promise, “You’ll always be my baby brother.”

When Sam’s fingers clumsily grab Dean’s amulet, the goosebumps that have been threatening this whole time finally make their appearance. The pull of Sam’s hand on the cord is a nostalgic weight that gives his heart a little lurch. Dean feels Sam’s breathing finally even out, and allows a long, slow exhale of relief.

But Dean knows he’s not going back to sleep himself any time soon. He’s going to stay awake and hold his baby brother tight; keep the nightmares away—real and imagined; soak in the memory of Sammy still small in his arms and needing comfort neither of them will admit to in the light of day.

And he knows this will be one of the few times he doesn’t tease Sam about it in the morning, whether or not Dad comes home safe.

[itslieutenanthawkeye]

After Laughter

Day 1 of Jeankasa Week 2021: Reunion / After The Three Years

Ao3 

After over a thousand days of grief, Mikasa is able to laugh for the first time in years.

Mikasa’s heart was frozen in time, fixated, perhaps, on the man that had laid beneath the ground for three years now.

She’d almost refused going to the royal party organized by Historia in the inner districts, the one to commemorate the beginning of peace. Proposals from men swarmed her each time she showed herself to any event Historia invited her, and comments from people who hated her were even more prevalent. She didn’t like attention and it seemed that the older she grew, the more attention she received.

But above all, Mikasa Ackerman didn’t think she deserved the fun of that night. She could count the number of times she’d laughed since her return to the island with one hand. She wasn’t worthy of the island’s forgiveness, of the future it had to offer, not after seeing the horrors the man she had loved had caused, with the man’s head She couldn’t forgive herself for loving a monster, for mourning him still. Not now, not ever.

Thus, happiness was a commodity she couldn’t afford. Lovers of monsters didn’t deserve anything.

She wondered if the same thing went through her friends’ minds as she walked into the room, followed by two dozen pair of eyes. Traitor, A few voices echoed, giving her the urge to roll her own eyes. For some reason, jaegerists focused all their hate on her, going as far as using slurs against her whenever they saw her.

She didn’t understand it, neither did she like it, but Mikasa had learned to live with it. Maybe she deserved it, she thought gloomily.

Her feet took her to the first balcony she saw. What was she doing there?  Historia had invited her, but for what? What purpose did she have with all these people? She had a home, an empty home with a cold stove and a hard, colder bed, but a home she’d built herself nonetheless. She could’ve been knitting something instead of suffocating in the dress the queen had sent for her.

“Mikasa?”

Mikasa turned around, certain she could recognize that voice anywhere. “Jean,” she said, blinking in surprise at the sight of him. “You got taller.”

He wore a fancy looking black suit, which somehow enhanced the hazel in his eyes. “I know,” he said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “I must look like a big goof.”

“You don’t.” Mikasa replied, playing with the embroidered sleeves of her dress. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you,” he said, giving her the kindest smile anyone had given her in a while. “Armin’s looking everywhere for you in there.”

“I figured,” Mikasa said. “Did he send you for me?”

Jean lifted a packet of cigarettes in front of her, taking slow steps until he stood next to her. “I wanted to have a bit of a smoke,” he said, moving his neck one side to the other. “It’s a bit of a large crowd in there…and I had something different in mind for the first time I saw you again.”

“How so?”

“First, I wasn’t going to be reeking of cigarettes,” Jean chuckled, putting one in his mouth, struggling with what seemed to be an lighter. “Second, Connie and I thought maybe flowers would’ve been appropriate.”

“To hide the smell of cigarettes?”

“Good one,” Jean replied, giving her a sideways glance. “How have you been?”

His question was polite enough, but Mikasa knew of the layers of meaning it conveyed. She’d been apart from them for a whole three years, frozen in time and in grief, and Jean knew it as well as the rest of what was left of their squad. A cordial answer came to her mind, but she didn’t think Jean would be the person to believe a lie, not from her. “Lonely,” she admitted. “Sometimes scary.”

A crease appeared between Jean’s eyebrows. “Scary?”

“Sometimes I think I won’t get rid of the things we saw back then, and from the things I saw on the way back to the island,” Mikasa said without looking at him, knowing that he probably had his eyes set on her. “I see them when I’m asleep.”

“Me too.” Jean said. Mikasa turned to look at him and he smiled again. Suddenly, the music from the party became distant in her ears. “You’re not the only one who has it, Mikasa. The guilt. I see them every night, too. I feel bad for not stopping him earlier, I feel bad for not saving him. For still caring about him, too.”

“You as well?”

“I can’t imagine what it must be like for you,” Jean replied. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

Mikasa nodded; for some reason, admitting that she had loved Eren, to Jean of all people, didn’t make her feel as much of a terrible person. The syncopation of grief and peace was new, and not at all bothersome.

“Have you loved anyone since?” Jean asked suddenly.

“No.” she said. There had been more than a few men who had shown interest in her; they were handsome enough, good sons and brothers with good hearts, and yet Mikasa had never paid attention to any. But she wasn’t going to start gossiping about men with Jean.

“How about you? Any of you have someone back in the continent?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“Connie does,” Jean replied. “She’s a cute girl, a couple years older than him. I don’t know which one of them speaks louder, and I still don’t know which will get tired of the other first, but they’re happy. I’ve no idea how, though.”

A low chuckle escaped her, and Mikasa brought her hand to her chest.

“What’s wrong?” Jean asked.

Mikasa shook her head, undermining the matter. “I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed.”

“Well, it’s a lovely laugh,” Jean replied automatically. “I’ll tell the others to make a point of making it come out more. I’m sure Connie will help, also Pieck. She’s a bit of a handful, though. Lovely, but she does have a tendency to get in your nerves when she tries.”

“Are you and her…”

“Pieck?” Jean laughed. He hadn’t touched the cigarette he’d lit since the beginning of their conversation; and the embers of it had gathered in a heap near his hand. “No. She likes girls, for the most part. Besides, she’s not my type.”

“But do you have someone?” Mikasa asked, suddenly curious.

Jean turned to look at her, his eyes almost shinning in the moonlight. “How could I?” he said in a stark, unusually bitter voice. “I feel like I can’t move on.”

Mikasa nodded; she understood that better than anyone. “Move on from everything that happened?”

“That, and other matters.” he said, his eyes still on hers. He’d grown at least a couple of centimeters since the last time she’d seen him, which made him look even more mature, more like a proper adult. Years ago, during their attack against Marley, she thought Jean had finished with all his growth. But he’d settled more into his adult self even more during those three years across the sea. The lines of his face were sharper, his expression sterner and yet just as kind as before. He was truly a leader now, a diplomat and a war veteran. Adulthood suited him well.

The rest of them would be the same; they would all keep moving forward, growing, living life, and leaving Eren and their other fallen comrades behind, frozen in time as mere memories. There was a burst of energy in her chest all of a sudden; one that told Mikasa she didn’t want to be just another comrade left behind.

“What other matters?”

“That’s a secret,” Jean replied. “I’ve been keeping that one sealed for a while now.”

Mikasa frowned, curiosity growing. “Is it bad?”

“Is love bad?” Jean asked. Mikasa looked at him for a long moment, realizing how close they stood, how intently he was looking at her.

Jean laid his hand on the balustrade, his skin touching the hot embers from his cigarette. “Fuck!” he shouted, jumping up and down in the same place as he tried to shake off the ashes, cursing in both eldian and another language from the continent she didn’t recognize. He put the cigarette in his mouth, but it only fell apart on his perfectly white shirt, leaving a stain.

“Fuck!” Jean shouted again.

Mikasa’s chest jolted once, then twice, then thrice; each time, a little hiccup of laughter escaped her at the sight of Jean trying to shake off the hot ashes off him. She folded over herself, her eyes filling with tears, her laughter accompanied by snorts. It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds for Jean to join her.  

“Hey!” he said after a few minutes. “Don’t laugh at an injured man.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mikasa repeated, laughing still, leaning against the balustrade and holding her stomach. She looked up at him. “It’s just…”

Jean smiled widely as another fit of laughter took over her. “Mi-ka-sa!” he shouted. “Come on, don’t laugh at your comrade.”

“I’m sorry,” Mikasa replied, catching her breath. She straightened and used the sleeves of her dress to wipe the tears that had spilled down her eyes during her fit. “You’re taller, but you’re as much of an idiot as always.”

“Am I?” Jean said, smiling. Mikasa nodded, covering her mouth with one hand to laugh a little more, using the other to lean on his shoulder to steady herself.

“Just as much.”

“Well, at least I made you laugh.” Jean pointed out. Mikasa’s lips fell open in surprise; how long had it been, really? She couldn’t remember one occasion in which she’d laughed this hard. Ever since Eren had told her he hated her—no, since before. Ever since Sasha’s death, or perhaps since before Sasha’s death…

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in over ten years.” She admitted, almost embarrassed that her last memory of a fit of laughter was one from her childhood, from before the rupture of her small family. What a sad little human she must be.

“It’s lovely,” Jean repeated, smiling. “Even when it’s at my expense, thank you very much.”

Mikasa snorted again. “I’m sorry. It’s just…your dance, it was ridiculous.”

“I was on fire, Ackerman.”

“You were dancing, Kirstein.” Mikasa quipped back, surprising herself at how easy they’d fallen into banter territory. “Thank you, Jean. I don’t…I don’t think I remember the last time I’ve spoken this much. It’s weird to hear myself speak.”

“I’ll be here for a while, and then maybe a little while longer,” Jean replied, moving his arm to gesture towards the benches laid out across the balconies. “I’ve all the time in the world to talk, if you want to.”

Mikasa considered it, looking at his anxious face. Was he fearing that she would say no?

She couldn’t say no, not after what he’d done, not considering he’d been the one to make her laugh for the first time in an eternity. Besides, Mikasa realized, she didn’t want to reject his invitation. This was Jean, after all. She wasn’t talkative, but she knew he’d make up for it. “I’d like that,” she said. “I don’t have many stories, though. Do you?”

“I do,” Jean replied. “I’ve got a hundred stories for the continent.”

“You won’t mind telling me?” Mikasa said as they walked together towards the benches, separated by only a few inches.

“I’d love to tell you.”

Mikasa gave him another look. “You really did get taller.”

“And you really got lovelier.” Jean said. “Loveliest sight in a thousand miles.”

“Are you trying to make me laugh again?”

“I’m trying to give you a compliment.”

“Oh,” Mikasa said, lowering her face to hide the heat that had rushed to her face. “Thank you.”

“Your hair’s longer again.” Jean said.

“I was thinking about cutting it.” Mikasa replied. “But I didn’t want to, in the end.”

“Thank Ymir for that.”

“Why?”

Jean shrugged, smiling as he looked up at the sky. “That hair of yours is pretty.”

Mikasa smiled. “Tell me about the continent, please.”

__________________________

Armin frowned as he made his way across the ballroom, hand in hand with Annie. They’d been looking for her for the better portion of the party, and they hadn’t caught a glimpse yet. She was there, he knew from what some of the guests had informed him, but he couldn’t find her.

He wanted to show her their rings, he wanted to ask her to be at their wedding at the continent, he wanted to tell her of all the things that had happened in those three years while they’d been away. Above all, Armin wanted to hug her, to tell her, to promise her, that she wouldn’t be alone anymore.

“I think I see them.” Annie said, opening the glass door in front of her.

“Them?” Armin asked.

“There,” Annie said, pointing with her index finger. “On the benches. I think that’s Jean.”

“Jean?” Armin said, bewildered. Armin pulled him forward, and they walked across the balcony until they reached the two sleeping figures on the bench. Mikasa had her hand on Jean’s shoulder, while his head rested peacefully on hers.

“Should I wake them?”  Annie whispered. Armin shook his head, noticing the dark circles under Mikasa’s eyes. Anyone who knew her as well as he did would realize this was probably the first time in a long time she got to sleep peacefully. “Is this why he never paid went with any girls back home?”

Armin smiled. Back home. That was the continent now, for him, and for Connie as well. It had never been for Jean. To Jean, home was someone. And that someone had grown out her hair, and wore a pretty dress with embroidered sleeves.

“We should probably get them a blanket.” Armin said. “They’ll be embarrassed enough when they wake up though.”

Annie snorted. “I want to see that.”

__________________________

Mikasa leaned a little closer to the warmth to her right, which felt like sunlight itself giving her a hug. Dreamless sleeps were a bliss, a bliss she hadn’t had the privilege of in a long time. And the warmth next to her was soothing; an ointment for even the deeper scars of her heart. In her sleep, Mikasa smiled.