#antique pine dressers

[arantiques]

Explore antique dressers and antique dresser base mainly in French, antique oak, pine, and painted. Also, find antique buffets and antique sideboards in this section.

[bapple117]

Memory Reboot - A One-Sided Radiostatic One-Shot (Vox x Alastor)

Third person - Fluff, Pining, Angst - mild adult references

~ A03 Link ~ text is also included below after the break ~ excuse the crappy art ~

Summary: Every now and then, Vox allows himself a trip down memory lane; back to when he and Alastor were good friends. This night, Vox rediscovers an old bit of memorabilia that has him reminiscing, all about one night when he and the Radio Demon shared a drink or two. The memory is a bittersweet reminder of what could have been, and what almost happened; lips meeting for the sweetest of stolen moments.

---------------------------------

Vox stumbles into his room, clumsy and heavy with drink. He bashes his head into the door as it rebounds; groaning, he rubs at his screen with a grimace. 

Drinking alone is always a bad idea. With the other two Vees both out for the night, Vox had allowed himself a little more stalking than he usually does; drinking in his surveillance room, watching and rewatching clips of the Radio Demon going about his day. It’s obsessive; Vox knows it is. He still can’t help himself. 

He teeters wildly on his legs now, looking through his belongings for some painkillers for the inevitable screen-ache he’ll have in the morning; where the fuck are they?!

Not a single drawer he searches yields any results. Vox tosses items left and right, searching through masses of cables and piles of clothes. He rifles through his bathroom cabinet, knocking down an assortment of pill bottles in the process; none of them what he needs right now.

“Fuck my life,” the Television Demon mutters to himself. 

On his hands and knees, he pulls out a bottom drawer from a huge dresser. Vox moves sloppily with inebriation as he pilfers through all the junk and bric-a-brac. And then - his hand is on something that feels familiar yet forgotten all at once. Vox pulls it out; and there it is.

His electric heart shudders within his chest. 

The tiny die-cast CRT TV model that Alastor had gifted to him years ago. So many years ago. So long ago, in-fact, that when Alastor had presented Vox with this small model, it had been exactly what Vox’s own head had looked like. A chunky, heavy, 70s television. Long outdated technology, these days, of course; Vox has upgraded several times over the years since then. 

Vox can hardly believe his tired eyes; it’s been years since he thought about this. He remembers the night Alastor gave it to him all too well - too painfully well. Vox sighs; his sadness threatening to leak into the forefront of his drink-weakened mind. 

The search for the painkillers now given up on and forgotten, Vox crawls to his bed and lays on it in the dark, the small metal totem still in his hand. Neon lights from the city outside dance and skitter on the walls. Vox stares at the ceiling. 

He can’t help himself; the memory begins to play in his mind, like an old VHS recording, discovered and dusty. Vox usually represses these memories, but for some reason, he allows this one to consume his thoughts this night. He drifts off into it; a broken heart indulging itself despite the pain. 

---------------------------------

It’s the past. Long, long ago; some time in the 1970s. Vox is drinking with Alastor - the Radio Demon, his friend. They are drinking together in Alastor’s old apartment, sharing each other’s company in the easy way that they used to. The apartment is full of antique furniture and vintage radio paraphernalia; Vox has been here many times, and yet he always eyes Alastor’s decor with the same dry observations. 

“You really need to get with the times, Al,” Vox says. “Get some more modern stuff.”

The Television Demon gawks at himself in an ornate mirror on the wall; his on-screen features blink back at him, set in his wide CRT TV head. 

“Nonsense,” Alastor calls from the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong with my decor choices. Some things never go out of style.”

Vox huffs in amusement to himself. Secretly, he adores Alastor’s presentation. Vox looks up to the Radio Demon; he admires him. Vox wants to be just like Alastor, really. Powerful, respected, smart, classy. Alastor is everything Vox wants to be. At this point in time, Vox is a much weaker Overlord than Alastor, having only been in Hell for less than twenty years. It’s never an issue between them, of course, but Vox knows he is inferior. One day, he’ll be better. 

The Television Demon joins his friend in the kitchen then; Alastor is pouring new glasses of drink for them. Something expensive. 

“Woah,” Vox says, laughing. “What are we celebrating?”

“Well, I was wondering when you’d ask,” Alastor says sassily. “I took down another one of my rivals today.”

Vox blinks. His screen buzzes. 

“Another Overlord?” He asks, both impressed and appalled. 

Alastor nods, pleased. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Alastor says, grinning. “It was no effort at all, really. Hardly worth you looking so gormless over. What fun it was though!”

Vox laughs nervously. 

“Well, uh, that’s great, Al!” He says, accepting the drink. “You gotta promise not to ever try and take me down like that though, huh?”

It’s a weak joke; both demons know that it stinks of a true fear. Alastor scoffs. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vox,” the Radio Demon says. “How long have we known each other now, hmm?”

Vox scans his memories to try and answer accurately.

“Uhhh… Well years,” he says. “Almost two decades.”

“Exactly. And have I ever once betrayed you?” Alastor asks, gesturing for them to sit at the table. 

Vox follows Alastor’s lead and sits. 

“I guess not,” Vox says. 

The two demons sit in silence for a while; which is odd, given how prone to idle conversation they both usually are. Alastor hums along to a jazz tune playing in the background; Vox fiddles with his glass.

Alastor is deep in contented thought; eyes closed, a red claw tapping at the table to the rhythm of the song. Vox takes a gulp of his drink, still not knowing what it is; his question is answered as soon as it hits his throat. Some kind of very strong spiced rum, neat on ice. The Television Demon coughs a little, white noise filling the silence. Alastor grins. 

Vox looks up at his friend then; sees his smile. His own grin creeps up on to his screen. How simple it is between them; how easy it’s always been. Just the two of them. Alastor doesn’t have many friends; Vox is honoured to be one of them. Friends. Vox wishes they were so much more. 

“You know,” Vox says then, staring at his drink. “We could be something. Together, I mean.”

Alastor’s neck snaps a little as his head twitches to the side in confusion. 

“Something?” 

Vox hastens to clarify. 

“You know. A team. Take down Overlords together,” he says. 

Alastor seems to genuinely consider this for a moment; he drifts away into the thought of it. Vox lets himself hope for a second; his hopes are dashed just as quickly. 

“Hmm,” Alastor says. “You know me, though! I prefer to work solo.”

Vox slumps a little. His work shirt sleeves are rolled up messily; one begins to loosen from its turn-up, so he focuses on re-rolling it. 

“I know,” he says. “Doesn’t it ever get lonely, though?”

“I don’t think so,” Alastor says, amused. 

“Oh.”

The Radio Demon ponders this for a beat longer; he senses he has insulted his friend somehow. This is meant to be a nice evening celebrating his latest victory; Alastor supposes he should show a little courtesy to keep things jovial. 

“I suppose it does, sometimes,” Alastor says. 

Vox feels his inner wiring twisting in his abdomen. 

“Oh?”

Alastor rolls his eyes; must he elaborate?

“Well, I suppose having more allies couldn’t hurt,” he says. 

“Oh, well,” Vox says. “I could… I could be that for you?”

Alastor grins. 

“In your current state, I feel you may not be of any use to me, Vox old pal,” Alastor teases. “Come back to me when you’re stronger, hmm?”

The Radio Demon knocks playfully on the side of Vox’s clunky CRT head; it echoes within him. Vox knows that Alastor only means this as a cheeky gibe between friends; it wounds him all the same. 

Vox lets out a nervous laugh as response and tries to conceal the hurt.

The night is salvaged somewhat; the two demons continue to drink into the early hours. They chat, they listen to music, they share stories about various occurrences in Hell. Despite the fact they are undying souls in burning eternity, they are also both something else; two beings who both died as young men, now frozen in time. 

Alastor isn’t who he’ll truly be just yet; neither is Vox. In this memory, they are their younger, slightly sweeter selves. It’s enough to make present-day Vox cry with how much he’d give anything to have those days back. 

Towards the end of the night, the two demons sit side by side together, wasted. They use the sofa as a backrest as they sit sloppily on the floor. Vox hiccups and it sounds like a channel being changed; Alastor laughs.

“You know,” the Radio Demon starts. “I do enjoy these little chats of ours, despite our conflicting technology.”

Vox is giddy; he nods, eager. 

“One day I’m gonna be great, Al,” Vox says, suddenly. “I’m gonna build an empire. It’s gonna be huge.”

Alastor smiles; it’s the soft, fond smile of a friend humouring someone. 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Vox says, slurring slightly. “And I’ll be as strong as you - no! - even stronger.” 

Alastor is laughing; genuine and warm. Vox grins wide at the sound of it. 

“I’ll take over all of Hell!” Vox says, clenching a fist. 

Alastor chuckles. 

“Hm. That sounds nice,” he says, drunk and feeling it. 

“Well,” Vox starts. “You’ll be there with me, right?”

Alastor quirks his head. 

“Will I?”

“Sure! We’ll do it together,” Vox says, wicked intent on his screened features. “We’ll rule Hell together. No fucker will cross us with our combined skills.”

Alastor is giggling; Vox wants to climb into the sound of it and live there. 

“Well, that is a lofty concept, to be sure,” Alastor says. “But it is pleasing, I have to admit. You truly do get some devious ideas don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah I do!” Vox says, delighted. 

Alastor smiles to himself, looking away. 

“Well, if that ever comes to fruition, you can count on me being there,” he says.

“Yeah?!” Vox is beaming. “I can’t wait for what the future brings, Al. This old thing will be the first to get an upgrade, that’s for sure.”

Vox taps his own head; even now in the late 70s, his TV set head is looking a bit vintage. Vox just needs to wait for Earth technology to advance and filter down; he can’t wait to be better. Stronger. Faster. Alastor tenses as a thought seems to come to him.

“That reminds me!” The Radio Demon says. “I have something for you.”

Alastor retrieves something from his pocket and hands it to a captivated Vox; it's a tiny metal die-cast model of a Sony Triniton KV-1820UB television set. It looks just like Vox’s current head. 

“Here you are,” Alastor says, pleased with himself. 

Vox is enamoured; the Radio Demon doesn’t do gifts. This is special; it means Vox is special. 

“Al, I don’t know what to say,” Vox says, his nerves alive and crackling. “I can’t believe you got this for me… I love it.”

Alastor grins wide. 

“I got one for me, too,” he says, holding up a tiny model of an old radio. “I found a charming boutique selling all kinds of little novelties. Aren’t they fun?”

Vox is astonished; not only did Alastor get him a gift, he got one for himself to match. This surely is symbolic? Vox’s receivers are scrabbling to interpret the signals Alastor is giving off. 

“Wow, yeah, that’s uh… That’s cute, Al,” Vox says, shakily. “It’s not like you to give gifts.”

Alastor laughs. 

“Well. My conquest today put me in an especially good mood, I suppose,” he says. 

Vox nods. 

“Thank you, Al,” he says, screen blinking. “I will treasure this. I mean it.”

Alastor’s quota for sincerity has reached its limit; eager to return the conversation to playful jibes and gossip, the Radio Demon scoffs. Vox grins; he knows Alastor hates to be perceived as kind, despite the fact he can be. Vox shoves himself into Alastor’s shoulder in a playful bump.

“You’re goin’ soft on me, old man,” Vox jokes; Alastor pretends to be aghast. 

“Old man?” He scorns. “How dare you, Vox. I only died two decades before you and we were both more or less the same age at death. Watch your tongue.”

Vox chuckles to himself. The two demons sit together for a little while longer in peaceful quiet; Vox’s mind is full of static. He’s processing, thinking. Vox has tried to broach this topic before, but he can’t help himself; he needs to push it again. 

“Hey, uh, Al?” He says. 

Alastor looks at him and hums an acknowledgement. Vox’s gaze shifts around nervously. 

“Do you remember that… conversation, we had a while ago?” Vox says. 

Alastor does remember; he pretends for now that he doesn’t. He shakes his head. Vox exhales shakily. 

“Look, I, uh… I know you don’t like talking about… feelings, and stuff, but…”

Alastor wants this nipped in the bud as soon as possible. 

“Is this about your infatuation, hmm?” The Radio Demon says, trying to sound casual about it. “I’ve told you Vox. It will pass, it’s just a-“

“No,” Vox says, urgent. “It won’t, Al, and you know it.”

Vox grabs Alastor’s hand; the Radio Demon doesn’t recoil. He lets his claws sit limply within Vox’s; a tiny concession for this display of vulnerability. And anyway; they’ve linked hands before, when dancing or fleeing a crime scene, or such. No big deal. Alastor sighs. 

“You know I can’t give you want you want,” he says, radio filter slipping away. “This is all I can give you. My time. My friendship, my consort to you as a fellow Overlord.”

Vox is exasperated. 

“Can’t you give me just a little bit more?” He asks.

Alastor avoids the Television Demon’s gaze. 

“I don’t think so,” he says. 

Vox grabs Alastor’s chin in his, then; pulling it in his direction to make Alastor look at him. 

“How do you know you won’t like it?” Vox says. “You’ve never even tried it.”

Alastor blushes at the sudden contact, the intrusiveness of it. He’s flustered simply because Vox is being so forward; any sign of aggressive intent is entertaining to Alastor, of course. 

“Why don’t you let me just try?” Vox says, his voice a thin whine.

“Vox, old friend, come on now-“

“Why won’t you let me just kiss you?” Vox whispers. “Please, Al.”

Alastor hesitates; if he relents, will it be enough to just shut Vox up about this once and for all? This topic cropping up every couple of years is getting tiresome. And... he does care about Vox. Alastor loves him, in his own way; platonic but true.

“Please, Al,” Vox murmurs, his eyes fixed on Alastor’s lips. “I’m begging you. I know it’ll feel right when it happens.”

Vox’s hand tightens around Alastor’s chin; he’s trying to pull him inwards. Alastor’s heart rate quickens; annoyingly. He’s a deer in headlights; drunk and unsure how to retaliate. Vox is closing the distance between their faces; Alastor can feel their hot breath exchanging in the small gap between their mouths. 

Alastor’s ears are flat against his head; Vox is staring at his lips.

“Please,” he whispers again. 

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Alastor whispers back. 

“Please,” Vox begs, desperate. 

Alastor huffs in defeat, and Vox knows he has won. Vox leans in and presses his screen to Alastor’s mouth; for a moment, the Radio Demon is rigid. But then… his mouth is moving; Vox is elated. Alastor is relenting. Vox cannot believe it. Alastor is kissing him back; his hand at the edge of Vox’s screen. Their mouths move together quickly, the taste of rum amongst it all. Vox's mind is awash with joy.

Yes, YES. Fucking YES! This is it, this is IT! 

Vox moans into Alastor’s mouth; he risks letting his tongue breech Alastor’s lips, tries sticking it down Alastor’s throat - 

Alastor pulls away; Vox is devastated. Too far. 

“Hmm!” Alastor says, recovering, trying to sound light-hearted. “No, still not for me, I don’t think.”

Vox is panting, red in the screen. He’s hard; of course he is. Vox’s eyes dart all over Alastor, looking for signs - proof that he did like it. 

“No, Al, come on,” Vox says. “Please, you know it works, WE work, c'maaan!”

Alastor is sad; a part of him does wish he could give Vox what he wants. It would make things so much easier; it would ensure keeping his loyalty, for one. And… well. It would make things a bit less lonely. But Alastor just can’t let himself go there.

“I’m sorry, Vox,” he says, genuinely melancholy. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want from me. I really am.”

“No,” Vox is angry. “It cannot be like this, please, we were so close-“

“I think it’s high time we went to bed, hmm?” Alastor says. “You’re in no state to get yourself home. You can sleep on the sofa.”

“Al, stop, just, can we talk about this? Can we try again, I’ll go slower, I promise,” Vox says, grasping at straws.

Alastor smiles weakly. He reaches up and turns one of Vox’s dials fondly; Vox’s erection twitches in his jeans. 

“You’ve just had too much to drink, hmm?” Alastor says. “We’ll sleep this off and tomorrow it’ll all be forgotten about.”

Alastor stands then; Vox groans, his screen in his hands. 

“We’ll be back to normal tomorrow, eh, old pal?” Alastor says with forced jollity.

Vox sighs; it’s guttural. He looks up at the Radio Demon, agonised. 

“I’m never going to be back to normal,” Vox says. “I’m always going to want this. I’m always going to want you.”

Alastor hesitates; he looks forlorn. Only in the eyes, of course; but his smile is a tight, thin line on his face. 

“I know," he says.

Vox's heart shatters in his chest; not for the first time. 

"Do try to get over it, though, won’t you?” Alastor says, and he turns to leave for his bedroom. “Get some sleep.”

Vox is left alone in the living room; ruined. 

---------------------------------

The memory of that night, so many decades ago, drifts away from present-day Vox, just as cruelly as Alastor had slipped from his grasp.

The pain of it - and indeed, remembering what came later - is unbearable; Vox can only cope with these memories now by wanting Alastor dead. Just so he’d be gone for good; just to rid himself of the pain of knowing Vox never got to keep him. He came close, of course; some years later, in the 80s. For a while, Vox had had Alastor; it had been so sweet. Vox doesn’t let himself think on this, for now. It’s too brutal. He’d be a mess; for now, he needs to compose himself. Vox places the die-cast vintage TV model on his bedside table and looks at it for a few beats. 

I wonder if Alastor still has his radio model. 

I wonder if he still thinks of me.

Vox curls into a ball in his bed; the truth hums around him, thick and heavy, like electricity in the air before a thunderstorm. 

He’ll never love me like I love him.

He never did.

---------------------------------

This story continues in:

Bluest Monday

Read all my stuff on AO3 🍎

[punisheddonjuan]

There, that doesn't look half bad! It's a cheap piece of shit, but it doesn't look half bad!

I hate how difficult it is to find quality furniture these days. I especially hate how the gulf in price between "shitty, cheap, particle board nonsense that's a little wobbly and none of the pieces fit together flush because lol what are tolerances?" and "made of actual wood" is hundreds and hundreds of dollars wide. I grew up in a house where nearly all of our furniture was salvaged antiques that my mom refinished or furniture that was family heirloom. Even the stuff my parents bought in the '80s and '90s was of a higher quality. The IKEA kitchen table that my mom is still using? It's made of solid pine, it's held up for close to forty years now. I wish that objects were still made to last for decades, sometimes even well past their practical use cases (e.g. my parents' entertainment console which has limited them to a 24" TV, or my great grandfather's smoking table which, and I cannot stress this enough, is an entire table you'd place in your house that was dedicated to smoking). The bedframe in my room at my parents' place is this gorgeous Art Deco styled maple frame that had been my great grandfather's and it's paired with an equally gorgeous Art Deco dresser. My bedframe and dresser here are cheap pieces of shit. I'm basically waiting until my parents die to have nice furniture again, which is not a happy thought.

[onaa-ohokthen]

This (other than being true, yes, use your things) reminds me of a very annoying thought trap people have a tendency to fall into. I'm calling it "worshipping the old".

I'm seeing it more with Americans, presumably because what's considered "old" in the US is often younger than elsewhere, but people from other places are certainly not immune.

The whole idea is that Old Things (basically anything older than about 40 years) are Sacred, a must be Preserved in Pristine Condition and absolutely not Used or - god forbid - Altered.

Now, I obviously don't want people to saw the back off of a chair from 1650. But Worshippers if the Old sees no difference between that and painting a mass produced shelf from 1970.

I see people raging when someone buys old lace table cloths or blankets from thrift stores and turns them into custom dresses. Nevermind that they were donated because no one wanted them anymore. Nominally this is out of respect for the maker (who often is too dead to care) but often, it's spoken plainly - this item is Old! You disrespected it! It should sit preserved in a box!

It's recently more visible when people refurbish furniture. Again, don't chop the 17th c chair up, but for six thousand people to collectively faint in rage over how DARE the owner of this dresser in 1992 paint it a color I don't like!!! It should be punishable with prison! They shouldn't be allowed to own furniture! is saying something about a messed up way of thinking about these things.

I cannot enough emphasize how much this is missing the whole point of furniture. It's supposed to be used. It's supposed to be altered to work in someone's life - a table that someone uses, painted in a color that you personally don't like, is one hundred percent more valuable as a table than it would be kept pristine in an attic somewhere, waiting in vain for someone to love it exactly as it is.

This also cascades into a whole snobby levels of outrage - painting veneer is okay, but not wood. Painting softwood is okay, but never hardwood! (Which amuses me, as I come from a part of the world where a lot of the genuinely antique furniture is pine). People have always altered inherited furniture to work with their own lives. It's much more sustainable to keep what you can, or buy in flee markets and thrift stores, and alter it to work in your life, than to buy new and keep the old stuff untouched in the basement. It's not going to be valued at $100 000 at Antiques Roadshow, but that shouldn't be the goal.

But Old things need to be Worshipped, so it's not used, it's not altered, and if you're very lucky, it ends up with op, but most of the time it rots somewhere and ends up in a landfill.

A brief moment of rationality from the bird place.

[myastrouniverse]

August/2024🌘♍️Little things we leave behind…

🌘 ☍ ♄︎ My nephew Tyler and I were walking by an antique shop on Main Street. I bought my first piece of furniture there. I bought myself an old pine dresser back in ‘92. I bought it with my first paycheck as a production assistant for Columbia Cable. I carried that dresser to every place I ever lived. It died in my storage unit 2024. Meaning it was auctioned off along with everything else I ever owned. I was thinking if I can get a job this fall, I might buy another dresser for myself from that same store. I hope it lasts another 33 years. I am so old.

♃︎ < ♇︎ I probably shouldn’t have went out for dinner with my brother and nephew, but I wanted to celebrate the strides I’ve made, especially in the last few days to improve my health. Those ‘stickers’ really fucking hurt, but they come right out with coffee grounds and coconut oil. 🖕FUCK YOU IGNORANT ANIMALS🖕

🌞 ☸︎ ♃︎ I know it WAS your birthday, Elliott, happy belated birthday. I normally celebrate your funeral. I guess it’s because you haunt me and I ended up having a better relationship with you as a ghost.

🌘 ☸︎ 🎸 I’m always making things more complicated than they need to be. Maybe exploring the complications is what makes things less complicated. If you don’t think about what might go wrong, you will not be prepared when it does. Everything has been going wrong for too long. It’s time to sort out what is fact from fiction, or get lost in the complications.

🌘 Λ 🚑 I know I can heal you Nicky. Maybe we will all go on a vacation together and I will get a chance to help you. Don’t lose hope. I pray for your safety everyday. You aren’t alone, ever, because I always carry you in my heart. I don’t know how I AM going to make things right, but I AM going to try. I try everyday. It works after awhile. Coffee and coconut oil help draw out the sticky infected stuff. Wipe off immediately with paper towel or a towel.

☿︎ ☌ ♀️Doing something normal, like sharing appetizers with family at the local pub, was nice. When I feel normal, it feels like I might have a future.

🌘🔺 ♅︎ This whole planet deserves a healthy, abundant future.

Heatmiser - Dead Air

[kernowfurniturecornwall]

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[jamessheen2022]

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[pastballads]

''Sorry for your loss.''

Too few were the words in his lexicon to describe how utterly he abhorred that phrase. Overuse rendered it hollow after years of pity-laced utterances by the people of Mondstadt and beyond. He found reprieve from their feigned sympathy by dint of wailing song in isolation, nocturnal life bestowing an escape from receiving it again unless he willed it.

Expectations were low. Although Sirin was a courteous audience while he spun his life's yarn, this was the same foolhardy, arrogant little lady who expected worship over fruit. He wholeheartedly believed respect to be off the table. Yet... that prolonged silence opposed that notion, as did that solemn look of rumination gracing her face. His story resonated with her. Why? What abyss-born nightmares could a supposed goddess have lived through for her to sympathize with a mortal's life spiraling wildly out of his control? Was she destined by others like herself to spend her life wallowing in endless crushing anguish?

Why did her condolences sound more genuine than the hundreds of others heard throughout his days on Teyvat?

It's a confounding thing to ponder. It's fortunate, then, that Dustin managed to free his keys from his ravenous pocket. Between them and the shift in conversation towards the state of his cabin, those thoughts can be left at the door. Think about them later once she leaves.

"It has been for some time. But carpentry is not a skill under my belt, and hiring others to repair it is out of the question with how little I make from street performances. Other bards complicate that second problem." A heavy bolt frees itself with a turn of his key. Old wrought iron hinges squeal as the fir door sweeps inward, letting sunlight illuminate their way beyond the threshold and filling the air with the scent of roasting pork.

Only one wall stood inside the wooden home, separating the bedroom from the compact kitchen. Apart from the roof sagging in a few specific spots, the interior was structurally sound. The furniture, on the other hand, desperately needed to be refurbished or disposed of. By the front window sat what was once an exquisite armchair, its fabric cushion compacted beyond the point of no return. A lovely couch decorated by smatterings of mud, easily blamed on lost travelers taken in from bad weather, stood as a pseudo wall between the door and the armchair. Three beds sat towards the back wall with only one free from thin layers of dust, threadbare and pocked with divots from years of abuse. The dining table was missing chunks along its edge, stains and gashes littering its surface like a battlefield, and held together with slapdash nailing. Dust caked all but one of the dining chairs. An antique dresser by the bed, carved from pine wood, stood weathered from age. Somehow, everything looked lived-in and abandoned simultaneously.

Spared from the wear and neglect was the kitchen, along with the decorum originally displayed by his family and his personal effects lying by the bed. A few odd knickknacks with exotic origins sat on wooden shelves throughout.

"Make yourself at home. Take a seat on the couch, do that floating thing you do, whatever makes you comfortable. Boar meat should be finished in a few minutes."

To Sirin, it was unsurprising that the gods had more influence than just ritualistic and religious practices for the people - they were the land's everything. Their sovereign. Their savior. Their hope. Their protectors. The people revered the gods just about as much as one would a mighty hero who fights with all their willpower to protect their land and the people within it.

But that belief is just a fairy tale. Reality had set in a long time ago -- both for him, and for Sirin. When Dustin had began to recount his own tales, any sort of grinning or snarky expression from the goddess seemingly melted away. Her usual biting remarks were silenced respectfully as he spoke. As soon as the words 'parents' were muttered, any and all semblance of scrutiny she'd previously displayed were now washed off with the running water of surrounding streams and ponds. The thick forestry, while seemingly so remote, felt so natural for him to guide her through. Sirin had trailed behind, using her powers minimally to avoid a branch or two by having it gently pushed off and away from her using gravitational forces. As the cabin came into view and Dustin's story came to a close, it left Sirin with quite a lot to consider about him.

How is it that they are alike? The loss of family hits Sirin in a spot that has still yet to heal. Were it not for her previous mood, the atmosphere would have been enough to force her to avoid the topic altogether. The major difference between them, however, was that where his gods seemingly abandoned him, her's saved her.

But was it saving or damning? She was doomed either way, wasn't she? This was the only option she could take. A final chance at luxury. A final chance to live her own free life without reigns holding her down.

Even finding a world totally free to roam and own in any capacity she pleased, she still felt lost in it all. No direction. No guidance. No help. In essence, they now shared a similar burden in being forced to take care of themselves. Sirin's situation is only more appealing on paper than it is in reality.

Would she share that?

No. Not with him. Not with a sort-of stranger.

But she can't ignore the tinge of guilt she was feeling in her chest.

" .. sorry for your loss. " A few unexpected words coming from a little lady who just moments ago was proudly suggesting the other kneel and grovel before her power. An uncharacteristic shift in tone for her -- which is quickly remedied with a clearing of her throat and a crossing of her arms.

" It's become clear to me that the people of this world have an inclination to put their faith in others rather than take on life themselves. For those that find themselves blessed with good fortune or, in some cases, literally blessed by the gods, others are left to suffer and rot. " She was one of them, too. Abandoned by humanity. Left to rot in a cell for experimentation. Poked and prodded every day to see if something different would happen. Forced to watch as her friends died one by one, begging for her or anyone to help them.

It's a dangerous thing to remember. Were her skin not so literally thick, she'd be bleeding with how her fingers pressed firmly into her flesh.

" It seems both you and I were born to be unlucky. Hm. " That last part is muttered aloud, but not to him. Sirin shakes her head as she approaches the door of the cabin, only briefly paying mind to the (cute) crimson fox popping out of its little hiding place before placing a hand on the decrepit surface of his home. Wood that felt decayed and old, moss permeating the cracks and making its own comfy abode out of his.

" Amazing that this place has withstood the test of time. But its exterior is weakening. "

[arantiques]

Antique DRESSERS & SIDEBOARDS - Wonderful little 18th C oak and pine Welsh dresser. 1780

[davidswansonuk]

Tables, Cupboards, Dressers - A genuine mid 19c pine Tavern Table with traces of original paint and Graffiti.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Silver

Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.

It’s challenging to finish up discharge summaries and operative reports when one’s vision keeps blurring, as it turns out. And when one keeps pressing fingers to their lips in disbelief. A poetic sort of procrastination, indeed.

Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 2/?: A Poetic Sort of Procrastination, Indeed

Sakura saunters home late in the evening, admiring the stars above her in a daze of spring air and clutching her tote bag to her shoulder as if her very life force is tethered to it.

In the flurry of emotion, she completely forgot about returning her library books, but she doesn’t give a damn.

She drudged through her entire pile of paperwork, though it was an almighty effort requiring every ounce of her discipline. Even after Sasuke left, she kept tearing up and just gawking at the impossibly beautiful gift he’s given her, affection requited bubbling up inside her ribcage and unleashed into the air she breathes like some sort of ambrosial perfume she can finally afford to bask in. She has always known there is a softer side to him, that there is much more beneath the surface than he lets on with his laconic demeanor, but this is something else.

It’s challenging to finish up discharge summaries and operative reports when one’s vision keeps blurring, as it turns out.

And when one keeps pressing fingers to their lips in disbelief.

A poetic sort of procrastination, indeed.

She hangs her tote on its entryway hook and carefully removes the box inside once she reaches her apartment. After she’s padded her way to her bedroom, she flips on the two lamps before placing it tenderly on her bed.

Sakura briefly contemplates taking the lid off then and there, but she knows she really should shower first, because otherwise the evening is going to quickly spiral away from her, whirlpool of tender feelings that it already is.

It’s the quickest shower she’s ever taken in her life; berry-scented soap floods her body and seems to take forever to rinse clean in her haste, although it can’t actually be more than a minute or two in reality. It’s also the quickest she’s ever toweled off and changed into pajamas, scurrying back to her room and grabbing the first pair she lays eyes on from her dresser drawer.

Once she has shimmied them on, she opens the box again, and just looks.

It still exists - it doesn’t disappear or dissolve as a figment of her imagination - so she picks it up with careful hands.

It is so, so pretty, exquisite in a way that makes her heart hammer relentlessly against her sternum, a catharsis in her chest sweeter somehow than anything she’s ever experienced.

It’s unavoidable; her eyes well with tears again, because he said he had it made for her. Not found in an antique shop off the beaten path or some happenstance market who knows how many miles away. Not just something that reminded him of her.

Made for me.

Which means he thought of this himself. Silk that shifts colors like the Uchiha crest, fastidiously stitched petals, and a cherry blossom tree, carved light wood that is startlingly similar in tone to the accents here in her bedroom.

And the way he looked at her, after, a storm of silver and obsidian that took her breath away.

And he kissed her.

Sakura doesn’t know how she’s supposed to fall asleep tonight, deliriously happy as she is, or how she’s going to spend any of her free time from here on out not staring at this supernal treasure. She strokes the wood with careful fingers, bringing the carving upwards for closer inspection. Every inch of it is gorgeous; she is especially enamored with the pink and pearlescent stitching, coruscant in the low light. She assiduously counts the slivers of bamboo, too, and follows the rivulets of fine branches stretching upwards to the boundaries of the framework. Upon her inquest, she notices an impossibly tiny etching, faintly whittled on the interior of one of the slats of bamboo. Tai Ro, it says; she assumes that must be the craftsman’s signature. She wonders where it came from, which far-off land Sasuke traveled through to commission something so resplendent.

She has never seen anything so bewitching, except maybe silver flecks.

Tearing her gaze away from the fan, Sakura eyes the vanity by her balcony door, an idea brewing.

It’s an aged piece, of a bygone style featuring small drawers on each size and a sunken point in the middle, from which rises a large circular mirror. A framed copy of their original Team Seven portrait sits pushed against the framing, right in the center. She placed it there because she enjoys seeing it as she gets ready for the day. It’s a good memory, one of her favorites, sentimental in a way that makes her heart swell, after everything. A pale wooden hairbrush also sits perched atop its surface, given to her by her mother forever ago while she was still at the Academy.

“I found it in the market today, just after swinging by to pick up rose food from Ino’s mother. It’s old, an antique, but I think it suits you, my dear,” she’d said, ruffling her hair, still long at that point and chattering a mile a minute in the overbearing way she has always tended to. She’d brushed her already combed locks in the manner that Sakura thinks all mothers must with their daughters, even when they are starting to become too grown for that sort of thing. “What I wouldn’t give for your hair! So unique; you should have something lovely to brush it with. You’re already such a pretty girl, but someday you’re going to bloom, and when you do, heaven help the boys.”

There’s a cherry blossom on it, too, adorning the back simply with five perfect petals.

When Sakura moved out of her parents’ house, she chose the tones of her bedroom accents, inclusive of the frame, with it in mind; she’d been using it for years by then, and had developed a fondness for pale wood rooted in familial nostalgia. Most of her actual furniture in the room is secondhand, of an older variety and painted with a white stain to make them somewhat match - she prefers things with a little bit of history, has since her mom gifted her that hairbrush - but the few frames and wall-mounted shelves are lighter washes of wood.

Many of the surfaces in her apartment are cluttered with books and other knick knacks she has accumulated through the years, but she tries to keep the vanity’s top clear, almost like an altar, an ode to the things she finds lovely atop it to give her hope with which to greet the day.

Still clutching the gift tenderly in her hands, Sakura ventures over to it.

She holds the fan close to the frame as well as the brush, comparing the color, near an exact match, a fresh memory making her heart swell in a completely different way, a way she had previously thought was maybe unrealistic.

She’ll get a stand for it, she decides, and display it in the spot the frame currently sits; it would look perfect there, the curvature echoed above it in circular looking glass, a hairbrush of a similar stain beside it. Then she’ll be able to gaze at it every morning and evening. There is no way something this precious to her could ever be stored away in a box and only seen on special occasions; it’s the same reason she struggled with the idea of hiding his letters away in one.

No, Sakura is resolutely sure that admiring it will be a daily ritual.

She can relocate the photo frame to her bedside table, maybe, next to An Introduction to Electrocardiography , or perhaps to her living room, though it doesn’t really match the wood out there.

That gets her thinking. We’re... together now, right? He’s kissed her, and she really hopes he will again, surprisingly soft lips against hers, an aroma of woodsmoke, and butterflies unleashed in her stomach. Maybe she should put the frame on the shelf in the main room. He might come over, sometime; it would be good to have it visible, situated in a place where he can see it.

With the utmost care, she lays the fan on the surface in front of her. Sakura combs through wet locks, coaxing out tangles with an old gift and appreciating a new one with watery eyes. When she’s finished, she carefully clutches it again and admires it atop a lavender comforter for the better part of an hour, alternating between mentally mapping its fine stitching within the confines of her hippocampus and paging through her book of Sasuke’s letters in a way that is more than fond, affection freed from her chest after so very long. The jubilance crests to a sense of omneity as she does so, moon glow filtering in by way of the gauzy white curtains that shield the balcony’s glass door.

She absolutely can’t wait to see him tomorrow. She sincerely hopes she’s not dreaming all of this.

She is so enamored with it that she doesn’t even drink her customary evening tea, her being warmed in an entirely different manner she is as of yet unaccustomed to, better than earl grey or some variety of dessert. It’s immensely difficult to pry it from her own hands when the time comes to do so.

Always is the last word she thinks of before she succumbs to slumber, curled up in soft colors and hoping he has found somewhere comfortable to sleep. Treasured memories emanate from objects old and new, brewing together before a looking glass where she’s placed them for safekeeping and admiration.

XXX

When she awakens in the morning, Sakura jerks upright in bed, turning to her vanity to ascertain if it was all a dream, cozened in by her subconscious as she slept.

It wasn’t. The fan is still there, precious and so enchantingly beautiful, dawn flavoring the memory of Sasuke’s return just as sweet as it had tasted yesterday with his lips on hers.

She brushes her hair again, working at the task way longer than necessary and trying not to cry out of sheer happiness. She feels so light, as if being pulled upwards by a latterly existent force of gravity, theoretically possible in terms of relative physics and with the right circumstances, but never actually experienced.

Birds are singing on the balcony when Sakura finally steps outside, snacking on seeds from her bird feeder as she gives her fledgling plants a drink before leaving for work.

It is such a lovely morning.

XXX

Sakura makes it through work as if encapsulated in a brand of inertial navigation system, floating as if she’s a bizarrely sentient cloud from patients to test tubes. She feeds the mice and records the brief observations she usually does on Wednesdays, and then a Genin is being brought in with a linear fracture in their tibia, twisted wrong and impacted during training. She gives instructions to nurses, too, taking care of smaller tasks in between, part of her feeling like she is barely there.

Well, not barely. She still keeps her wits about her and heals people; she takes pride in what she does. She just… daydreams a little, too, sage, smoke, and silver occupying her spare moments, flitting in between the corridors of her head as she flits from exam room to exam room.

She’s sitting at her desk, eating an early dinner and working on a new pile of paperwork before her next appointment arrives at five thirty, when one of Naruto’s clones bangs on her window.

Her gaze shifts to the glass at the familiar boisterous whining of her name - “Sakura-chaaaaaaan!” - and she rises to open it the rest of the way, allowing him entry into her office, an easy grin coming to her lips.

“Naruto!” A million thoughts run through her head. He has to know Sasuke’s back at this point, right? Has he seen him? He must be so happy.

Cyan bores into her, and he grins as he steps down. “Sakura-chan, teme’s back! Can you believe it? Though I guess you knew since yesterday.”

Sakura’s cheeks warm at the implication of that, wondering how he knows this information, but her friend is plowing onwards.

“Anyways, wanna have an original Team Seven reunion dinner on Saturday night? Or maybe Sunday night? Kakashi-sensei said Saturday would be better for him, if it works for you. And we should also make it a housewarming party for teme, but Kakashi-sensei says DON’T tell him that, or he won’t agree! It’s a surprise.”

Laughter erupts from her chest, rich and joyful, because it is crystal clear in that moment that Naruto is as elated at Sasuke’s return as she is - okay, maybe not quite on the level that she is, but close - even through a clone. “Of course, we should! I don’t have anything planned for Saturday night.”

Her teammate grins, all infectious happiness in the way that is so utterly characteristic of him, eyes crinkling at their corners. “Good, great, awesome! Be sure to mention it to him when you see him at seven. I’m sure if you suggest it, he’ll definitely agree.” Sakura blinks in surprise, cheeks staining darker. “Man, this is gonna be so great! Team Seven is fucking back ! I can’t wait to get a mission! It’ll be just like old times. I gotta tell Hinata-chan, too!”

She can’t help it; she smiles so wide that it hurts her face, tears paying her another visit. Sasuke’s back. He’s really back. And-

“Well, anyways, I’ll leave you to eat your dinner, Sakura-chan, but we have to force him to be social. I can’t wait to spar! But also, we gotta have a picnic, and no tying me to the pole this time. We could even challenge Kakashi-sensei to get off his ass and give us another go at the bell test. And, and! We should have a movie night. And go drinking! I’ve never seen teme drunk. I bet he’s a lightweight, and he’ll probably say all sorts of embarrassing shit! And-” Naruto’s clone’s expression turns unexpectedly serious, blue eyes suddenly narrowing in a way that is all-seeing and a tan finger suddenly pointing at her accusingly.

“-I mean social outside of you and him, Sakura-chan! Don’t think for a second that you’re gonna escape my questions later, when my brain isn’t fried from staring at that stupid scroll Kakashi-sensei has me slaving over. I want answers. ”

And then Naruto’s clone disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving her blinking in a strange combination of bewilderment and somehow, shyness, too.

And ebullience. Mostly ebullience.

She stands there grinning like an idiot for a long time. She can’t wait to see him at seven.

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter Two

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Chapter Two

They didn’t talk more about it later. Jace barely saw Simon at all over the following couple weeks, in fact. It’s not that he was intentionally avoiding Simon, but they both had final exams to study for, and Simon was wrapped up in guitar ensemble rehearsals for the winter concert on top of that. If Jace had spent a little more of his study time in the library than was strictly necessary and that just happened to prevent any further discussions of dispays of physical affection and practice dates, that was entirely beside the point.

What Jace hadn’t counted on was how unprepared he’d feel pulling up outside the Queen Anne style townhouse he’d called home for most of his childhood. He suddenly wished he’d let Simon talk him into driving together and using the drive as a last minute planning session, even if it meant they’d need to coordinate their trip back to Boston. As much as he’d been avoiding talking about their plan, it really only occurred to Jace on the drive how much he wished they actually had, you know, a plan.

“Wow,” Simon said, hopping out of the hand-painted van he’d parked right behind Jace’s car. “Is that an actual turret?”

“Yup, gotta love those late 19th century architectural fads,” Jace answered as he pulled his suitcase out of the trunk. “The house belonged to Maryse’s grandparents, and I’ve never been able to tell how much she actually likes the style and how much is just childhood nostalgia, but she hasn’t even changed much of the interior except for renovations and repairs.”

“I have a hard time imagining growing up in a place like this,” Simon said as he joined Jace with his own suitcase in hand. “And it’s not like my mom’s house is tiny or anything, but this is just...” He waved a hand vaguely at the house. “A lot.”

He didn’t ask why Jace was sharing a tiny apartment furnished entirely secondhand if his family lived in a house like this, and Jace didn’t offer an explanation.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Jace said, even though there was plenty to be nervous about. “I promise the house doesn’t bite.”

“Yeah, less worried about the house than the people in it,” Simon told him.

“I thought you were, like, the parent whisperer,” Jace teased. “Isn’t that why you offered to come with me? Because you make a great boyfriend? Trust me, as long as Alec and Izzy think you make me happy, they’ll love you, and you know more about comics than anyone I’ve ever met, so Max will love you regardless.”

“Okay,” Simon said, releasing a heavy breath. “Okay, thanks. You’re right, I just got a little intimidated by the house, but this is all going to be fine.”

“Maryse is probably going to hate you, though,” Jace continued, keeping his face carefully deadpan. “She hates everyone we bring home. It’s like a rite of passage. But you’re great with parents, so I’m sure you’ll at least avoid intentional food poisoning.”

Simon stared at him in horror, and Jace couldn’t keep a hit of a smile from breaking through.

“I hate you,” Simon told him.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jace said, “I’m pretty sure the food poisoning wasn’t actually intentional.”

“Wait, there was actual food poisoning?”

“Come on,” Jace said, heading toward the door. “I want to get inside before we freeze to death.”

“You are such a dick sometimes,” Simon muttered, catching up to him.

Then, he slipped his free hand into Jace’s like it was a totally normal thing to do, and Jace had to catch himself from tripping over the steps.

“Careful,” Simon said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m not going to make a very good impression on your family if you fall and break your neck before we even get inside.”

And there was just nothing to say to that, to how uncomfortable it wasn’t to have Simon’s hand in his like this, to the way it made him want. So Jace simply rolled his eyes and pushed open the front door, letting the scent of home wrap around him like a warm blanket.

“Okay,” Simon said quietly as he surveyed the entryway, complete with antique chandelier. “Feeling a little intimidated again.” And it was so easy for Jace to just give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, you made it,” a warm voice greeted them. “With as bad as traffic has been, we thought you’d be another hour at least.”

“Hey, man,” Jace said, dropping Simon’s hand so he could pull his brother into a hug. “People must be staying home for the holidays this year, because we barely hit any traffic at all.” He glanced around. “Where is everyone?”

“Iz should be here any minute, Max is holed up in his room playing video games with his friends, and Magnus is helping Mom with some last-minute grocery shopping for dinner tomorrow.” Alec held out a hand to Simon. “I’m Alec, since Jace apparently can’t be bothered to make introductions like a civilized person.”

“It’s okay,” Simon said, giving his hand a quick shake, “I gave up on the idea of Jace being civilized the first time I saw him eat pizza that had been sitting out on the counter for three days.”

“That was your pizza,” Jace pointed out.

“Yeah,” Simon said, “which I was going to throw away because I forgot about it for three days.”

“On the subject of uncivilized,” Jace said, turning back to Alec, who was looking just a little too pleased, “you really sent Magnus shopping with Maryse? Buddy, if you decided you don’t want to marry the guy, just break it off with him. You don’t have to throw him to the wolves like that.”

Alec’s tiny smile became a little less tiny and a whole lot softer. “Magnus and Mom have actually been getting along lately. She wanted his opinion on wine pairings, so they went to the store and left me here so I can pull the bread out of the oven when it’s done. It’s very weird, but also nice.”

“That does sound very weird,” Jace told him, “but I’m glad things are working out and Maryse has found some level of chill somewhere.”

“Hopefully that means I won’t get poisoned,” Simon said.

Alec snorted. “If you want to avoid it, you should probably avoid mentioning you know about that. Or any other embarrassing family stories Jace might have shared with you.”

“And don’t eat anything Izzy hands you,” Jace added. “Anything she cooks probably won’t kill you, but the taste will make you wish you were dead.”

“So, I should just fast while I’m here,” Simon said. “Good to know.”

Jace led Simon upstairs to drop off their bags while Alec checked on the bread.

“Just toss your bag anywhere,” Jace said, opening the door to his old room. “We can argue over who gets which side of the dresser later.”

“Sure,” Simon said cheerfully, “as long as we can be civil deciding who gets which side of the bed.” He stopped just inside the doorway. “Wow, okay. The apparently very small bed.”

And this really was something that should have occurred to him, Jace realized. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered that he’d be sharing a bed with Simon. They’d even talked about it, briefly, and agreed it was no big deal. But Jace hadn’t considered exactly how much smaller his childhood bed was than the generous queen he slept in back home. It was technically large enough to fit two grown men, but only technically.

“Don’t worry,” Jace said, falling back on his trademark bravado, “I won’t get mad if you cuddle me in your sleep. I know you can’t help it if your subconscious recognizes that I’m irresistible.”

“I’m more worried about your freakishly sharp elbows,” Simon muttered.

“As long as you don’t snore or steal the covers, you won’t have to worry about my elbows,” Jace told him. He was planning to keep his elbows, and the rest of him, as far away from Simon as possible. Which, given the size of the bed, was maybe three inches.

“Dude, I do not snore,” Simon protested. “You know that; we live together.”

“You absolutely snore after your fourth drink.”

“I wasn’t planning to get drunk with your family,” Simon said, tossing his bag onto the bed.

“You say that now,” Jace said, leaving his own bag next to the door. “But wait until you get the full Lightwood Christmas experience before deciding you want to spend the whole thing sober.”

“If your family drives me to drink, you don’t get to blame me for snoring,” Simon countered. Which was probably fair, but Jace was saved from having to admit that by the sound of voices coming from downstairs.

“That’d be Izzy,” Jace said, “and we’d better get down there before she accuses me of trying to hide you from her.”

“Jace,” called a singsong voice, right on cue, “quit making out with your mystery hottie and get down here so we can actually meet him.”

“You should be careful making demands like that,” Jace called back. “What if I’m not wearing any pants?”

“We’ve all seen it. Get your ass down here “

“I like your sister already,” Simon told him.

“You say that now, but wait until she decides you count as family. She won’t be any better with you.” He took Simon’s hand. Because it helped sell their relationship. Because he could. Simon laced their fingers together, and Jace tried not to feel any way about that at all as he led Simon back down the stairs.

They only made it a couple steps before Simon came to a complete stop, almost causing Jace to trip the rest of the way down the staircase. He heard Simon mutter a soft ‘oh crap’ at the same time a bright, redheaded whirlwind came rushing up the stairs at them.

“Oh my god, Simon?” Clary grabbed Simon into a giant bearhug, effectively tearing his hand out of Jace’s. “You’re Jace’s mystery boyfriend? How did I not know about this? You didn’t even tell me you were dating anyone, you jerk! What happened to best friend gossip privileges?”

Clary pulled back from the hug, and now that Jace could actually see her face, he could see the hint of concern she was trying to hide under her wide smile.

“Clary. Hi,” Simon said, eyes wide. “I was going to tell you, I swear. It’s just, this is kind of new and so...” He trailed off, looking panicked. His eyes caught Jace’s. “But, uh, yeah. This is Jace. My boyfriend. Jace, this is my best friend, Clary Fray.”

“Yeah,” Jace said, looking between the two of them and feeling more than a little out of his depth. He’d planned for things to be weird, but not this weird. “We’ve met.” He flashed Clary a smile. “Fray, huh?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t keep his name. Not after...after everything. Fray is the name Mom used before she married Luke. It’s the name I remember her having when I was little, so.” She shrugged. “I filed the paperwork to have it legally changed the day I turned eighteen.”

“It suits you,” Jace told her, and let himself be pulled into a tight hug that he suspected was as much because she needed one as that she was glad to see him. Clary had never told him much about the biological father she barely knew, but she’d told him enough to know that Clary held him responsible for her mother’s death, even if the courts had cleared him of any wrongdoing.

“Thanks,” Clary whispered, before surreptitiously drying her eyes on his shoulder and pulling back to flash a smile that was less forced than Jace expected. “So, tell me how this happened without me hearing about it.” She bumped Jace with her shoulder. “And if it’s so new, what possessed you to subject Simon to your family holidays?”

“Hey,” Izzy said, walking up behind Clary and wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s waist. Jace had to admit, they looked...well, right together. “That’s my family, too, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Clary said, offering a soft grin over her shoulder. “And the fact that I’m here should tell you exactly how much I love you.”

“Fair,” Izzy said, then looked at Simon. “So, how’d my brother convince you to join this circus?”

“We made a trade,” Simon said, straight-faced. “I put up with his family for Christmas and he puts up with mine for my cousin Rachel’s wedding.” He leaned in and told Izzy in a stage whisper, “Also, I’m weak for his smile, but don’t tell him I said that, because he will abuse it.”

“You say that like I don’t already abuse it,” Jace said, sliding his arm around Simon’s waist in a mirror of Izzy and Clary’s pose. “And to answer your earlier question, us being officially together is new, but we’ve been sort of on the verge of dating for ages. Practically since we started sharing an apartment last year.”

Clary let out a peal of delighted laughter. “Oh, you’re the roommate. It makes sense now.” Before Jace could ask what made sense, she was pulling the both of them into a tight hug. “I’m really happy for both of you.”

“If I’d known you were going to be this excited, I definitely would have mentioned it sooner,” Simon said, pulling back from the hug.

Jace tried to catch his eye, wondering what on earth was going on. He knew both Clary and Simon well enough to know he was missing something, but he had no idea what it was. Simon ignored him, and that just made Jace more suspicious.

“Come on,” Izzy said. “You can have your hug fest later. Right now, I want to help Alec get things set up in the kitchen and maybe surprise Mom by getting dinner started before she gets back.”

Jace and Clary exchanged a panicked look, and Jace frantically searched his mind for excuses to keep Izzy busy. He didn’t actually want a repeat of the food poisoning episode, after all.

“Actually,” Simon said, turning a bright smile on Izzy. “I was kind of hoping you’d be willing to show me your Lego Star Wars collection before we get too wrapped up in family stuff. Jace mentioned you have the deluxe Imperial Star Destroyer set from the early 2000’s, and I’ve never actually seen one in person.”

“Oh,” Izzy said, looking torn. “I’m not sure—”

“We can help Alec in the kitchen,” Clary said quickly. “You two go do your nerd thing. I knew this was inevitable when I finally introduced you two anyway. And this way I get the chance to harass my bestie’s new boyfriend without him in the way trying to keep me from learning the embarrassing details.”

“You know, on second thought—” Simon began, looking slightly panicked.

“Come on,” Izzy interrupted, smiling brightly and grabbing his hand.

Simon flashed Clary a betrayed look, then looked to Jace for support. Jace simply smiled at him.

“Don’t worry, love muffin,” he said mildly. “I’d never intentionally embarrass you.”

“I want you to know that I hate both of you,” Simon said before allowing Izzy to drag him back up the stairs.

“My collection is all still in my old room,” Izzy said. “Clary and I have been looking for an apartment big enough I can actually move the rest of my stuff out of here, but so far we haven’t found anything in our price range.”

Jace turned back to Clary. “Exactly what kind of embarrassing stories were you hoping for? Because I have many.”

Clary shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got more embarrassing Simon stories than you do. I’ve got almost two decades worth. But I was actually hoping to talk to you alone anyway, and this seems like the best chance we’re going to get.”

Jace followed her down the stairs and into the study. “Sounds serious. You planning to give me a shovel talk?”

Clary laughed, shaking her head. “No, I know you, remember? I’m not worried about you hurting Simon. Well,” she amended, “not any more than I am about him hurting you.” She met his eyes with a soft smile. “You might be the only person I know with a heart as big as Simon’s, as much as you try to hide it.”

Jace looked away. It had been two years since the last time he’d seen her, and she could still see right to the heart of him. He didn’t want to know what she’d see if she kept looking. “Clary—”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” she teased. “But I didn’t actually bring you out here to talk about Simon. I wanted to apologize.”

Jace frowned, looking back at her. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” He was more than a little grateful not to have Clary grilling him about his entirely fabricated relationship, but he wasn’t sure where this conversation was going.

“No, I do,” she insisted. “I promised to keep in touch when you moved away, and I didn’t.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jace said, even if maybe it had been at first. Those first few months at school had been hard. Jace always thought he was used to being alone, especially after his mother’s suicide, but he found out just how much he’d come to rely on his new family when he didn’t see them every day. They’d kept in touch, of course, but with Izzy immersed in her studies and Alec all wrapped up in his new relationship with Magnus, it wasn’t anything like what it had been when they were all under one roof.

For a while, he and Clary had been in touch nearly every day, sometimes texting multiple times a day. Jace told her about his classes and how much he liked Boston, and Clary told him all about trying to narrow down which art schools she wanted to apply to. It was almost the same sort of easy friendship they’d had before he left, after they agreed they were better off as friends.

But after a couple months, Clary’s messages came less and less often, and eventually stopped altogether. Jace tried not to let it bother him, but he started drinking a bit too much and going to a few too many parties. Which was how he’d met Maia, his attempts at flirting somehow leading to him getting his ass handed to him at beer pong, and soon he found himself with an entire group of new friends. Although Maia insisted for almost a year that she and Jace were merely antagonistic acquaintances.

Clary gave him a look that told him she knew exactly how full of it he was. “It was a shitty thing to do, and I was a shitty friend,” she told him. “Especially because I did it on purpose. Izzy and I started getting close and I started to have feelings for her, and I didn’t know what to say to you about it. I didn’t know how to even talk to you about what was going on in my life without mentioning that she was becoming such a big part of it.”

“You didn’t actually have to hide it from me, you know,” Jace said. “I was surprised when Izzy first told me, but I’m mostly just glad you’re both happy. And seeing you together, I know you both are.”

“Thanks,” Clary said. “I didn’t want to hurt you or make things weird. For a while, I thought I could just ignore what I was feeling, but Iz is just... She’s not someone you can ignore, you know?”

“Oh, I know exactly how hard my sister is to ignore, believe me.” Jace stopped, considered, then admitted something he had never said—would never say—to another person. But this was Clary, and he knew she would never repeat it. And even if she did, he could always play it off as part of the act. “She and Simon have that in common. You know, I actually thought I hated him at first? He’s so enthusiastic about everything, and so sincere, and just.” He shrugged. “Not the kind of person I thought would ever do it for me.”

“But he won you over with his boyish charm?” Clary guessed.

“Mm,” Jace agreed. And the way he loved without reserve. Not just his family and friends, but his music, his favorite films, even the crappy nachos from the 7-11 down the block from their apartment. Simon loved every part of life, and being around him, Jace could almost imagine what that felt like. “Well, that and his abs.”

“Can’t forget those,” Clary laughed.

“Not with how often he eats breakfast shirtless,” Jace agreed. “Come on. If we aren’t in the kitchen by the time Izzy gets back downstairs, you know she’ll try to help Alec herself, and I was kind of hoping for dinner to be edible.”

~~~

Dinner was surprisingly painless. Maryse was more relaxed and happy than Jace had ever seen her, and he couldn’t help wondering how much of that was related to the very unsubtle smiles she kept exchanging with Clary’s stepfather. Even Max, who was deep in throes of preteen scorn, grudgingly admitted that Simon being in a band was “pretty cool” and joined in on some of Simon, Clary, and Izzy’s excited nerd talk that went entirely over Jace’s head.

After dinner, they retired to the living room for eggnog and carols. Jace limited himself to a single cup of Magnus’s infamous eggnog, knowing better than to let himself get drunk when he was putting on a show for his family. Or sharing his tiny bed with Simon.

As usual, Jace let himself get pushed over the piano to play. He felt something in him settle as soon as he rested his fingers on the keys of Maryse’s baby grand, the feel different and so much more familiar than the ancient keyboard he had back in Boston or the well-used uprights in the practice rooms at school.

When Jace had first come to live with the Lightwoods, he’d been afraid to touch the piano. His mother had put him in lessons as soon as he was old enough, but she hated to listen to him play and often chastised him for not being a better player, saying he should be better at it with how talented his father was. Now, he understood that it was just another manifestation of the combined grief and mental illness that led to Celine’s death, but at the time he’d hated how awful he was at playing, no matter how much he enjoyed doing it.

But Maryse knew he played and encouraged him to use her piano. She told him that it had been her father’s, and though she’d taken lessons herself as a child, she’d never really loved it the way he had. She said that the instrument deserved to be loved, and as long as Jace loved playing it, she didn’t care how good he was or wasn’t.

It was the first time he’d really felt like this could be his home.

“Okay,” Jace said after the third version of O Tannenbaum with ridiculous altered lyrics—this one courtesy of Simon rather than Max or Clary, about an ill-fated toad who chose the wrong moment to cross the street, “I think my fingers are done for the night.”

“Oh, come on,” Clary said. “Simon and I have at least a dozen more of these we came up with when we were kids.”

“When we were little, I only knew the lyrics to the Christmas songs they played on the radio, so Fray made up silly lyrics to the other ones and told me they were real,” Simon explained. “And it made her so happy that I went along with it even for the couple I did know.”

“There will be plenty of time for more singing tomorrow,” Maryse said. “But if I know this one,” she continued, smiling at Max, “we’re all going to be dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn for presents.”

“Mom,” Max whined, “I’m not a kid anymore. I know the presents will still be there whenever I get up.”

“I seem to remember someone who looked an awful lot like you waking us up before sunrise last year,” Magnus said with exaggerated confusion. “Perhaps you have a twin I haven’t met?”

Max fixed him with a withering look. “Last year, I was eleven. This year I’m twelve,” he said, as though that explained it.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve grown out of it,” Alec told him. “Because I intend to sleep in. And if you try to get me out of bed early, I’ll remind you of this conversation.”

“Oh, no need for that, darling,” Magnus said cheerfully. “I’ll just barricade the door before we go to sleep so he can’t get to us.”

“Brilliant,” Alec said, giving Magnus a frankly sappy smile. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

“And on that note,” Jace said, “I think I’m going to head to bed before I die of sweetness overdose.”

“Oh, please,” Magnus said, giving him an unimpressed look. “We all saw you and Simon making eyes at each other over those cookies you were frosting earlier.”

“It’s true,” Izzy said before Jace could protest. “You don’t get to tease Alec about being a sap anymore, not now that we’ve all actually seen you with someone you love.”

Jace froze, his mouth half open, then quickly snapped it shut. It made sense that Izzy would assume. He’d brought Simon home for Christmas, after all. That was the story they were selling even if they hadn’t actually discussed it, even if it wasn’t something Jace had said or even implied. And whatever he did feel for Simon, it certainly wasn’t love. It was, at best, a friendly crush. A very intense friendly crush.

Izzy seemed to realize her mistake, glancing between him and Simon with a look of dawning panic.

“No, you’re misunderstanding how this works,” Simon said easily, because of course Izzy’s words hadn’t sent him into a panic the way they had Jace. “Jace gets to tease Alec, and you, and you both get to tease him back.”

“Yep,” Clary agreed. “Those are the rules, because that means I still get to tease Simon.”

“Please,” Izzy said. “Clary and I are too sophisticated to be sappy.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard you call Clary ‘cuddle bug’ earlier,” Alec said.

“And I definitely saw you laugh at that terrible joke she told at dinner,” Jace added.

“She ate one of the cookies you made,” Max accused.

“Yeah, sorry, cutie,” Clary said. “We’re really pretty sappy.”

“Fine,” Izzy huffed. “But I just think you’re all jealous because I’ve got the cutest girlfriend.”

“Yes, Izzy,” Alec said drily. “You’ve uncovered my secret. I’m extremely jealous of your girlfriend.”

“I knew it,” Izzy said smugly, as though Alec had been perfectly sincere.

“Definitely in danger of dying of sweetness overdose,” Jace said.

That set off another round of teasing, this time with Izzy throwing in not so subtle attempts to drag Maryse and Luke into it. Jace wasn’t sure why Izzy was so determined to make the two admit there was something between them. It was obvious there was just from the way they acted around each other. Maryse would tell them when she was ready, just like she had when she and Robert filed for divorce.

It was almost another hour before Jace finally made his way up the stairs toward his room. He was surprised when Simon rose to follow him, but didn’t say anything until they were back in his room.

“I’m surprised you didn’t stay to nerd out with Clary and Iz some more.”

“I get to talk to Clary all the time,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, it’ll be easier to keep up the whole fake boyfriend thing if I don’t let her get me alone. She’d definitely figure out something’s up if I let her start grilling me about our relationship. Also, you don’t get to call me a nerd when you know just as much about Star Wars as I do.”

“It’s impossible to grow up with Izzy and not know way too much about Star Wars,” Jace said, pulling off his shirt and tossing it over a chair. “Are you still sure about doing this? Neither of us counted on Clary, and I’ll understand if you want to back out.”

“Huh?” Simon said, sounding distracted. Jace turned to look at him and thought he detected the faintest flush on Simon’s cheeks when he met his eyes. “I mean, yeah, no, I’m not backing out.” He gave an uncomfortable shrug as he pulled a set of pajamas out of his suitcase. “The last thing I want is to have to explain this whole thing to Clary.”

“Good point,” Jace agreed, turning around to put on his own pajama bottoms. It was tempting to watch Simon change, but it was also a very bad idea. “I don’t want to think about what she’d have to say to both of us if she knew.”

There was a beat of silence before Simon asked, “So, do you, um, have a preferred side of the bed?”

Jace turned to look at him, only a little disappointed to find Simon fully dressed in his pajamas. As usual when someone asked a question he didn’t want to think about, Jace flashed a smirk. “In a bed this small, I usually just take up the whole thing.”

“Well, unless you want me on top of you, you should pick a side,” Simon said, unimpressed. “Because I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

“I’ll take the left,” Jace said quickly, trying and mostly failing to avoid thinking about exactly how much he did want Simon on top of him. “I’m just gonna hit the bathroom real quick.”

Which was how Jace found himself locked in the tiny guest bathroom, lip caught between his teeth as he frantically tugged at his cock. He hadn’t planned on jerking off, but he couldn’t get Simon’s words out of his head, and he sure as hell wasn’t getting into bed with Simon half-hard, which was really the only other option.

He could picture it far too easily. Simon pressing him into that ridiculously tiny bed, hands gentle but firm, mouth just a little bit desperate.

He came to the thought of rutting up against those ridiculous abs.

By the time Jace cleaned himself up and returned to his room, Simon was nestled under the covers on the right side of the bed. Seeing him like that made something in Jace’s chest clench, and he flipped the light off just so he wouldn’t have to look anymore.

“‘Night,” Simon said as Jace slid into bed, taking care to stay entirely on his side.

“Don’t even think about snoring,” Jace answered.

He lay in the dark for a long time, staring into the darkness, listening to the sounds of the city that didn’t quite drown out the soft breathing of the man beside him. He tried not to think about how easy and relaxed the night had been, how perfect it would have been if only half of it weren’t a lie.

[kernowfurniturecornwall]

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[lovemesomesurveys]

Was your life better or worse or the same five years ago? Five years ago is when things really started to go downhill. They weren’t as bad as they are now, yet. Would you rather visit NYC, LA, or Chicago? I’ve been to LA, so either NYC or Chicago. Have you ever been to Chicago? No, but I’d like to go. Would you ever want to live in a big city? No. Does your first crush know they were your first crush? Nope. 

What color is your favorite laundry basket? I just have my hamper, which is blue. How old were you when you got your first smartphone? I think 19. What is your favorite app on your phone? The Kindle Unlimited app cause I do a ton of reading. What is the background on your phone? It’s a Christmas collage. What is your favorite thing to do in the swimming pool? Nothing. Do you have a swimming pool? Nope. What is the biggest city you've lived in (if you want to answer)? I’ve lived in the same city all my life and it’s not very big. Do you own an American flag shirt? No. Which country (or countries) has the best flag, in your opinion? I like how the Swedish flag looks. Did you get your personality from your mom or your dad, or neither? I have traits from both. Will you be eating bbq chicken this July 4th? No, I didn’t. I don’t like bbq chicken. Would you rather wear red, white, or blue? Red or blue.  Have you ever lit fireworks in your backyard? No, we do that in the front yard. Have you made many stupid decisions/mistakes? Ha. Have I made any stupid decisions/mistakes? I’ve made countless decisions and mistakes. What does your middle name rhyme with? I’m not sharing that. If you had one boy and one girl, what would you name them? I don’t want to have children. Are there any redheads in your family? I have a cousin with naturally red hair. Who do you know who is allergic to nuts? Hm. I’m sure I know someone, but I don’t know who at the top of my head. What is your favorite type of tree? Pine. Are you superstitious? Nah. Would you ever consider getting dreadlocks? No. When was the last time you drank tea? I don’t recall; it’s been awhile. I’m not a big tea drinker. Have you downloaded extra fonts for your computer? I have before in the past, but it’s been a long time. Do you have photoshop? No, not anymore. What type of phone do you have? An iPhone 12 Pro Max. What is one interesting fact about you? Uhhhh. What color are your walls? White. Who taught you how to drive a car? I don’t drive. What is your favorite candy bar? White chocolate. At what time of day do you feel the best? Never? Are there a lot of mosquitoes where you live? Of course. What does your swimsuit look like? I don’t have one. What clothing store do you shop at the most? Boxlunch and Hot Topic. Who is the latest great youtuber you've discovered? A few new ASMRists. Do you read the Bible regularly? I participate in a lot of Bible studies with this online group, but I don’t spend as much time reading the Bible as I’d like. What color is your dresser? Brown. Do you own any antique furniture? Yeah. Would you ever want to live in a castle? Nah.  What is your favorite cold drink from Starbucks? I like to get hot coffee, but every once in awhile a frapp is a good treat. Do you consider yourself "trendy"? No. What is your favorite flavor of ice cream? Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, peppermint bark, cake batter. Do you like your hair better long or short? Long. Do you like your hair better curly or straight? Straight. Which major holiday is closest to your birthday? Fourth of July. Have you ever had an outdoor birthday party? Yeah. Has it ever snowed on your birthday? It doesn’t snow where I live. Do you like the way your name is spelled? Yeah. Are you close with any of your cousins? Not anymore, but I was with a few growing up. Who is your favorite cousin? -- Do you really think that light blonde is the best hair color? I wouldn’t say it’s the best. Do you think that blue eyes are the prettiest? I do love blue eyes.

[belatedbday69]

I posted 4,716 times in 2021

399 posts created (8%)

4317 posts reblogged (92%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 10.8 posts.

I added 753 tags in 2021

#them - 245 posts

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Longest Tag: 135 characters

#my zelda fic doesnt even have a rly coherent plot and some of the ppl who've read it have said it's one of the best stories theyve read

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Waiting for You Rated: T 15/15 chapters 42k words They're in their third year at UA when, because of one wild New Year's Eve night, Katsuki is finally forced to deal with his feelings for Izuku. There's fights, arguments, parties, some cute KiriMina and MiriTama if I do say so myself. Not to mention the almost excessive amount of pining between Katsuki and Izuku. But they end up together in the end because of course they do!

beta-read/edited by the amazing and talented Ana, @hoe-doroki <3

135 notes • Posted 2021-11-10 03:17:14 GMT

#4

EVERYONE SHUT UP THE ART I COMMISSIONED FOR MY FIC HAS ARRIVED IM GOING OUT MY MIND

artist: @/remusmaurice on twitter

read my wip here

165 notes • Posted 2021-06-12 22:46:58 GMT

#3

inspired by chapter 318 //

“Guys, I found him.”

That’s when he sees Katsuki. Ethereal, standing overhead like an angel, and it’s only now that Izuku realizes how exhausted he is. His legs have started to burn, like they might give out beneath him.

How did he find him? He’s been so careful… Or has he?

Only a second passes before Katsuki pulls him up by the shoulders, swiftly hooking an arm under his knees and bringing his head to his chest.

“Yeah, we’ll meet you there.” He must be talking over some kind of radio. Izuku lifts his head to look at him, trying to fight back the exhaustion, his eyes threatening to slam shut.

“Kacchan?”

Katsuki doesn’t look at him. Instead, he keeps his eyes straight ahead as he sprints through the crowd, down the street.

“You fucking idiot,” he mutters, and Izuku’s not sure if he’s talking to him or himself, but he doesn’t have time to figure it out as he soon succumbs to sleep.

/

“Good, you’re awake.”

Izuku rubs his eyes, sniffling as he sits up from his place on a bed with a gaudy floral print. He quickly surveys the dimly lit room, willing himself to keep up his guard. They seem to be in an old lady’s bedroom, as it’s decorated floor to ceiling with flower patterns and framed photos of a not entirely unfamiliar family…

“Where are we?”

Katsuki leans against the large antique-looking vanity across from him, still in his hero uniform but without his mask. He looks down.

“Kacchan, where are we?” Izuku demands this time.

“My grandmother’s apartment -”

“Kacchan!” Izuku scolds, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He cringes at the dirt left behind by his clothes and shoes. When he stands, he’s able to convince himself the pain in his legs isn’t so bad anymore. “This is exactly why I -”

“Yeah, I’m fully aware of the stupid lies you’ve convinced yourself of, and it’s all bullshit.”

Izuku rolls his eyes. Where is his mask? He has to get out of here.

“But before you get your fucking panties in a bunch, no one lives here. I offered to use this place because she moved to the country.”

Izuku sighs. Well, at least they’re not putting anyone in danger. He spots his mask on the dresser and picks it up before heading to the door.

“Deku.” Katsuki’s voice is low, making him stop in his tracks. “This is over. Whatever stupid plan you have. Give it up.” He pauses. “What were you thinking? Doing this alone? Was all that talk about being a team just bullshit to you?”

Izuku shakes his head. “This isn’t about you. I can’t - can’t put anyone in harm’s way -”

“And what about you, huh?” He stands.

Izuku squints. “What does it matter to you?”

“What the fuck does that mean, Deku?” Katsuki slams his fist against the wall next to him, then turns his head away. “You think I - You think we don’t care about you, you moron? You’re not alone. You never have been.”

“Well, that’s nice of you to say, I guess, but you guys don’t understand what’s going on. This is my responsibility and mine alone.” He reaches for the doorknob, but Katsuki’s there in seconds, his hand against the door, holding it shut.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

There’s always the window. It looks big enough anyway.

“Don’t even think about it.” Katsuki stares him down, his nostrils flared, but Izuku’s already gearing up full cowling and shooting himself toward the other exit.

“Dammit!” Katsuki catches his foot and slams him down onto an old knit rug. He pins down Izuku’s shoulders with his forearm. “You really are a fucking moron, you know that? You think I’m gonna fucking let you go after all this? You think you’re gonna get away that easily?”

The look in his eye - Izuku hadn’t noticed before. There’s anger, yes, but also desperation, and sadness, and something Izuku can’t quite name, but it hurts, bad.

Izuku knew, on some level, that if he saw Kacchan again, he wouldn’t be able to keep it up anymore, he wouldn’t be able to be strong enough to keep going on this path.

“You think I’ve been spending all this time searching for you every damn day and night just for fun?”

Izuku can’t help it, his eyes start to water, and oh, he hasn’t cried in so long. The feeling is almost unfamiliar.

“You think that you aren’t…”

Katsuki’s face starts to warp, his nose scrunches up, his eyes cloudy, and Izuku realizes that he’s about to cry. He’s never seen him cry before. Except for maybe when they were very young, but not since then.

His voice is barely a whisper. “That you aren’t the most important person in my life? What would I do -” he tries to hold back a sob. “- if something happened to you?”

Izuku’s tears come freely now, sliding down his ears and neck. Katsuki isn’t really holding him down anymore, just staring at him with a look that, if Izuku didn’t know any better, he would have said was disgust.

“I… I didn’t know you felt that way. I thought -” Izuku tries to steady his breathing so he can speak properly. “I wanted to prove I was strong enough. I wanted to prove that I could be the hero that everyone needs me to be -”

“You don’t have to prove shit! Not to me. Not to anyone.” He sits up, offering Izuku his hand. He takes it and sits next to him. There's a long silence while Izuku dries his tears (unlike Katsuki, who seemed to have stopped crying as soon as he started).

“We have a plan, okay? Please. Just - stay.” He looks at him, again with that sad, desperate expression. How can Izuku say no? And besides, he’s tired. He’s, like, really tired.

He nods, starting to feel his eyes well up again as he makes up his mind. “Okay.”

“Good.” Relief washes over Katsuki’s features, his eyebrows softening, his eyes half-closed, a small smile forming on his lips. He stands, helping Izuku up. “Ah, dammit, c’mere.” Katsuki pulls him in for a hug as Izuku sobs into his chest, his arms tight around Katsuki.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I -”

“Shh, shh.” Katsuki pats the back of his head. “You’re fine. You look like shit, but you’re fine.”

Izuku leans back to take a good look at him. He missed him a lot.

“Really. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You need a shower. There's one down the hall.”

“Okay, Kacchan.” Izuku starts toward the bathroom.

“You reek, too.”

“I’m going!”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Izuku feels himself smile again.

188 notes • Posted 2021-06-24 21:41:33 GMT

#2

random otp prompts <3

1. “Are you seriously trying to make me jealous?”

2. “I’m dying.” “You’re not dying.”

3. “I missed the train, can I stay with you?”

4. “Fuck being friends!”

5. “I know I said I wouldn’t ask, but I could really use your help here.”

6. “This is the guy?”

7. “I said I wouldn’t judge, so I’m not.”

8. “Am I close?” “Not even a little bit.”

9. “I can’t believe you brought an extra one just for me.”

10. “I didn’t need you to stand up for me. They were just kids.”

11. “It’s gonna rain. We won’t make it in time.”

12. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

13. “You have some nerve showing up here after all this time.”

14. “They’re together now, I guess.”

15. “This is a lot, even for you.”

16. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

17. “Please stay.”

18. “I’ve never been there. Wanna go?”

19. “Of course I still love you, why would you even ask me that?”

20. “Are you still upset about that? I knew you wouldn’t be able to let it go.”

21. “I don’t drink.” “Oh really now? When did that start?”

22. “You’re not going to settle for that. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

23. “When was the last time you called your mother?”

24. “They said you were so cute!” “That’s not what I said!”

25. “No way. It’s too hot out right now.”

26. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

27. “It’s happened before, right?” “No, not like this.”

28. “Do you think it’s too late to reschedule?”

29. “I’m not a child, you don’t have to talk to me like that.”

30. “Oh, sorry, did the noise wake you?”

31. “I’ll take that bet.”

32. “How am I supposed to focus when you’re looking at me like that?”

33. “I was lying earlier.”

34. “When did you know for sure?”

35. “They’re not you.”

321 notes • Posted 2021-07-22 05:01:11 GMT

#1

Bakugou: So... who told Aizawa Deku and I are dating? I'm not mad. I just want to know.

Deku: I did. I told him-

Bakugou: No, no you didn't. Shitty hair?

Kirishima: Don't look at me. Look at Todoroki.

Todoroki: What? I didn't tell him.

Kirishima: Huh. That's weird. How'd you even know he knows?

Todoroki: Because they just told us they're under strict supervision now.

Kirishima: Suspicious.

Todoroki: No, it's not.

Uraraka: If it matters - probably not - but Shinsou was the last one to talk to him.

Shinsou: Liar! I don't even know that guy!

Uraraka: Oh, really? Then what were you doing training with him earlier?

Shinsou: He's teaching me how to use the binding scarf, everyone knows that, Uraraka!

Deku: Okay, okay, let's not fight, I told him, let me deal with it, Kacchan.

Bakugou: No. Who told him?

Todoroki: ...

Todoroki: Bakugou? Mina's been awfully quiet.

Mina: REALLY??

Todoroki: Yeah! Really.

Mina: Oh my god... [arguing ensues]

// later

Bakugou: I told him. He caught me trying to sneak into Deku's room so I told him. I predict ten minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with war paint on their faces and a pig head on a stick - Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

486 notes • Posted 2021-06-01 20:56:41 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[sams-sass]

Within The Evergreens

This is one of my favorite story lines so I decided to write one of my own. 

GIF not mine

Summary: You and Sam play along during a case. 

Characters: You, Dean, Sam

Pairings: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Fluffy and sweet. It’s long, I got carried away.

You walked out of your room and into the library where you saw Sam looking at his laptop.

“Please tell me you found us a case.” You said to him coming around to lean on the table in front of him. He looked at you and sat up a little straighter clearing his throat. “Come on, Sam. If I don’t get out of this bunker soon, I may lose my mind.” You said letting your arms spread further down the table as your back twisted slightly. Sam’s eyes lingered on you for a little longer than usual and he licked his lips.

“Uh yeah, yeah. I found one not too far from here. I don’t know if your going to like it though.” He said rubbing the back of his neck slightly as your back straightened and you stood taller, your hands sliding across the cool wood.

“Why wouldn’t I like it?” You asked walking over to look at the computer behind him. You let one hand sling across one shoulder as you brought your chin to rest on the other one. Sam stiffened under your touch and cleared his throat again. God, he smelt good.

“Couples.” He said gesturing towards the computer. “Whatever it is, its going after couples staying at this new all inclusive spa hotel about five hours from here.” You looked over the article talking about how multiple husbands of newly wed couples were found killed, wives taken into custody.

“Ghost possession?” You asked standing up letting Sam relax.

“Possibility.” Sam answered nodding. Dean walked in with a cup of coffee.

“Hey, got us a case?” He asked.

“Yeah, newly wed couples. Husbands being killed, wives going to jail for it. Nice spa hotel about 5 hours from here.” Sam explained.

“Awesome.” Said Dean. “How do you want to play it? FBI? Exterminators? Or would you like to lean how to give massages and get all touchy feely?” Dean asked raising his eyebrows and smiling, wiggling his fingers.

“Ew.” Was all you said back, arms crossed over your chest.

“I was actually thinking undercover.” Sam said looking at Dean, refusing to look at you.

“How would we even?....” You asked letting your voice trail off. “Oh.” You said as realization hit you.

“Hell yes.” Dean said winking at you.

“Again, ew.” You laughed, Dean chuckling with you.

“I’ll go pack.” Dean said walking with an extra pep in his step. You looked at Sam, not really sure what to say. He stood up and faced you, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I guess I gotta wife up.” You said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess I’ll pack too.” He said laughing with you. “Oh! Y/N, they have some dinner or something every Friday night that all the couples went to the night the husband died.”

“I’ve got just the dress.” You said with a smile as you walked out of the library and into your room. You started to look through your clothes for appropriate outfits. Taking out a duffel you threw everything in, keeping your hands preoccupied but letting your mind wander. You thought about how you were going to pull this off. You loved both boys, but Sam meant something else to you entirely. You were madly in love with him, and had been for years. He was always so sweet, kind, and caring you fell and couldn’t help it. You tried to throw hints his way, but he always seemed to not catch on or do anything to get out of the situation. You couldn’t pretend to be married to him, but god you wanted to. You also didn’t want to pretend to be married to Dean, you didn’t want Sam to think anything was going on. What if you and Dean went in as a married couple and Sam thought that’s what you wanted. You wanted Sam so much you couldn’t stand it, you wouldn’t want him to think you liked his brother. Your whole body was buzzing as you slipped on a sweater dress, tights, and knee high boots. You ran your fingers through your hair and painted your nails a dark red.

Dean was in his room putting a bunch of stuff into his duffel, he had a plan. He was finally going to let Sammy and Y/N play out being together so they could finally see they were meant for each other. If Dean had to watch Y/N get all giddy and Sam stare at her for WAY too long again, Dean was going to lose his mind. He knew Sammy was hopeless, he was in love with her and it was clear to every one but Y/N. Y/N was beautiful, smart, and man she could kick ass. Dean was ready for them to be together so the annoying mutual pining would be done, but also because he wanted them to be happy. Dean grabbed his stuff and headed towards the war room.

You walked down the hallway into the war room, both boys already there. You leaned against the door frame on your elbow, placing your other hand on your hip and running your hand through your hair slightly to hold your head.

“So! Who is lucky enough to receive my hand in marriage?” You said as both boys turned to look at you. Dean quickly pushed Sam forward and clasped him on the shoulder.

“Sammy here will have the honors.” Dean said with a smile. Sam looked at his brother and then looked at you and nodded a small nervous nod. Your heart raced as you looked at them, a blush covering your cheeks no doubt. This was happening, you were going to have to pretend to love Sam like a husband. Two problems, 1) could you let it go when the case was over? 2) how were you going to pretend without showing how you really felt? You smiled and walked over to them both, Sam quickly grabbed your duffel and made eye contact with you.

“I understand if you don’t-.” Sam started.

“Sam, if there was anyone I would want to be fake married to, it would be a gentleman like you.” You said with a smile, cutting him off before he could stop this from happening. Sam looked at you and gave you a wide grin, showing off his dimples and brightening his whole face. The three of you walked out the door and got into the impala. About an hour into your drive you put your elbows up on the back of the front seat and poked your head in between the two boys.

“We need to stop somewhere.” You said, glancing at Dean.

“Why?”

“Sammy and I need rings.” You said, looking between both of them.

“Right, ok we’ll find something.” Dean nodded as you sunk into the backseat again. About an hour later the three of you stopped by a town for lunch. You all sat down in the diner and ate your food with small talk, talking about the case, and different opinions on what it could be. You then all went to a pawn shop where you and Sam bought rings. The rest of the drive was covered by classic rock and Dean tossing a few jokes Sam’s way about how to be a good husband. You pulled up to the hotel and Dean let out a long whistle, it was absolutely beautiful. It was a tall, large, Victorian building that sat nestled in a dense forest. A dusting of snow was covering the ground and the tall evergreens surrounding the hotel. Twilight was descending, darkening the sky slightly making the lights of the hotel cast a glow in the otherwise quiet area. Sam touched the small of your back lightly and glanced down at you.

“Ready?” He said raising his eyebrows and giving you a hopeful grin.

“Of course! Let’s go, husband.” You said with a smile of your own as you slipped on your new wedding band. As you walked in you and Sam made your story: married a month, October 22nd was your wedding day, met through a mutual friend, waiting to take your honeymoon until the warmer months, thinking about Italy, needed a long weekend to celebrate. The secretary took your information and gave you your room key as your bags were taken by a bellhop and escorted upstairs. You and Sam exchanged looks and walked up the stairs to your room. Opening the door you gasped and Sam’s face fell slightly. The room was gorgeous, it was a mix of warm nude tones, dark wood, and burgundy and gold accents. There was a fireplace with an already lit fire. The bed was large and looked incredibly comfortable. On either side of the bed sat French doors leading out to a balcony that overlooked a lake surrounded by evergreens and a path of lanterns. The two of you walked in and slowly walked around the room, your luggage was already there so there wasn’t anything for you to do. You walked into the bathroom, it was large, clean, and gorgeous. Marble tile covered the entire room, floor to ceiling. A mirror in a flaking gold frame sat perched against the wall, double sinks rested in an antique dresser. You ran your fingers along the entire thing until you saw the shower. It was basically a room in itself, a large showerhead hung from the ceiling pointing directly down, there were three other showerheads that came in from the sides. It was like a freaking car wash.

“Sam!” You called to him. “Come look at this shower!” Sam came into the room and immediately raised his eyebrows at the entire bathroom.

“That’s huge!” He said with a boyish grin.

“I know right!” You agreed chuckling. You both turned to look at the tub, marble tile lined stars leading into it. There was a half circle of windows that the large tub was fitted into, jets were on all sides and bottom. The tub was surrounded by different scents, dried flowers, and plush towels.

“If you ever cant find me, I’ll be in there.” You joked.

“Noted.” Sam said laughing. “Hey, can I talk to you about something?” He asked placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Of course.” You said nerves eating away at your stomach. The two of you walked back into the room and sat on the bed.

“I know we have to play husband and wife for a bit, and we are newly weds so we will probably be really in love.” Sam started.

“Ok.” You said nodding, trying to get it out of him.

“Basically I just wanted ask you if it was ok for me to be like…touching you a lot and holding your hand, calling you pet names, showing you affection essentially. I just wanted to know if you were ok with that.” He said looking at his hands, clearly petrified of what you might do if he touched you without warning. Your heart jumped at the idea. Sam loving you, holding you, kissing you. Your breathing stopped and it took everything in you not to smile and blurt out that you have only been dreaming about this.

“I know, Sam. It’s all ok, I know you respect me and would never cross a line unless you knew I was cool with it.” You said putting your hand on his, feeling the warmth of his skin. You both smiled at each other as you made eye contact. It was held for a little longer than normal and you could swear you saw him lean forward slightly. A knock sounded at your door, making you jump and take your hand off of Sam’s. Sam cleared his throat and opened the door, letting Dean in. He looked around the room, in awe just as you and Sam had. He was dressed in a janitors uniform, also undercover.

“Nice digs.” He said nodding his head excitedly and walking around the room.

“I know right, did you see the tub? Like damn.” You said with a chuckle, Dean laughing with you. “So, what’s up?” You asked Dean.

“Right, so the couples were all in love, like Swayze and Moore in love.”

“Are you talking about ‘Ghost’?” You asked him, sending Sam an amused look.

“Yes. Yes I am.” Dean said looking at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Anyway, they attended this fancy dinner thing they host on Fridays, tonight, and the next mornings the husbands were found with their hearts torn out.” Dean explained.

“Like werewolf ripped out?” Sam asked.

“Dunno, gotta go to the coroner tomorrow to see.” Dean said. “Well, you have got to get ready for this dinner tonight. I’ll see you guys later.” Dean left the room, leaving you and Sam alone again.

“I’m going to get ready, let me know if you need the bathroom.” You said grabbing your bag and walking into the bathroom.

“Will do.” Sam said with a polite smile. You took the dress out of your bag and hug it up on the door, stripping out of your clothes and pulling your hair up you took a quick shower. The shower was absolutely incredible, even shaving felt amazing. You got out of the shower and wrapped yourself in one of the lavish towels and stood in front of the mirror. Putting one leg on the counter at a time to rub lotion all over your skin felt so good. You hadn’t pampered yourself like this in a long time. You put on modest makeup that flaunted your natural face, except for the bold red you put on your lips. You put a little spray in your hair to give it a little bounce and your favorite perfume. Lastly you pulled on the dress, black with a low cut neckline. It hugged your curves the right way and showed off what you wanted it to show off. You opened the bathroom door and faced Sam.

“Oh. My. God. Sam you have to-.” Sam was staring at you, not just staring, he was practically drooling. His face was blank and his eyes were dark. You watched his chest rise and fall in large, heavy breaths. Your core tightened as he looked at you and you rubbed your thighs together.

“You…you look stunning.” He said stumbling over his words slightly. He walked towards you and rubbed your arm with his hand. “I mean it, really beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look very handsome.” You said back, and he did. You had seen Sam in his suit when you were all being an FBI agent many times, but this time it was different. This time it was for you. Sam laughed slightly at your compliment.

“Thank you, shall we?” He said raising a hand towards the door.

“Yes, I’m starving.” You both walked into the main dining room and were once again halted in place by its beauty. The theme of dark wood accented by burgundy and gold carried into this room, but there were lights everywhere. Almost every surface was donned with a candle. A chandelier hung in the middle of the room and there was an old bar in the corner. The hostess showed you two to a table, Sam pulled out your chair for you and then sat across from you and smiled. Here we go, this was it. He was beginning to act like a man in love. You both looked at the menu a little, a man came over to your table for you to order a drink. Sam ordered a beer and you ordered a whiskey sour.

“Do you know what your getting?” He asked you.

“I don’t know yet, I think the filet mignon sounds delightful.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” He said, he then placed his hand on the table and waited. You lifted your hand off your lap and put it in his. His hand closed around yours and his thumb made lazy circles over your skin. He was looking at the menu and the act of you two holding hands looked so natural you almost believed it yourself. The waiter came back with your drinks and you both ordered the filet, he left and the two of you were alone again. Sam raised your hand to his mouth and left a small kiss on the underside of your wrist. You licked your lips and gave him your best smile. You leaned forward, placing your elbow on the table and took a long pull from your drink.

“So, tell me something about you I don’t know.” You said running your finger around the brim of your water glass looking up at him from under your lashes. Sam gave you a crooked smile and looked away from you for a moment.

“I don’t know.” He said giving a small chuckle.

“I’ll go first, I took ice skating and horse back riding lessons as a kid.” You said.

“You took ice skating? I would have loved to see that.” He joked with you.

“Why?” You laughed with him. “I bet it’s the short, tight dresses.” You said leaning even closer.

“Based on how you look tonight, I would say that’s a yes.” He said giving your hand a squeeze and letting his eyes lower slowly tracking their way back up you until they met your eyes. Your breathing quickened and your lips parted slightly. Your food came and you realized you had totally forgotten about your hunger. The two of your ate your food with small talk and one more drink. When you were done the two of you moved to the bar. Sam sat on a stool, there was a stool next to him, but seeing how things went at dinner you decided to be brave. You laid one hand on Sam’s shoulder and the other on his opposite thigh. You stood in between his legs and leaned against him. He reached up and ran his fingers slightly through your hair, placing it behind your ear. Your heart was racing so hard, you were sure Sam could hear it. He leaned forward again and placed his forehead against your temple.

“I don’t see anyone acting weirdly.” He said into your hair.

“I don’t smell anything, and I’ve seen a few people touch silver and not flinch.” You said running your hand down his back.

“Narrows it down a bit.” Sam agreed looking at you. Because he was sitting and you were standing, you two were at eye level. Sam’s pupils looked dilated, ‘was this something more than acting?’ you thought to yourself. The rest of the night passed with nothing happening. The two of you made your way up to your room without touching each other more than usual. You already missed his skin on yours.  

“I can sleep on the floor.” He said with a shrug.

“It’s ok, Sam. We don’t want anyone to think we aren’t what we say we are.” You assured him, he only nodded back.

“I’m going to wash up, need the bathroom?” You asked getting your PJ’s out of your bag.

“Nah, go ahead.” Washing up was longer than expected as you couldn’t shake your thoughts away. That was so personal, he was so sincere. Unless he’s an amazing actor, you couldn’t see how it was all fake. Taking a deep breath you opened the door and saw Sam was already asleep. Climbing into bed you almost fell into Sam’s body and let yourself fall into his heat and warm scent. You stopped, telling yourself there was nothing there and made your body lay on the cold side of the mattress. You couldn’t fall asleep and after about an hour of trying, you decided to stop tossing and turning. You got out of bed, pulling on one of the plush and warm robes supplied by the hotel and stepped onto the balcony. You were completely mesmerized at the scene in front of you. Snow was falling lightly, the trees catching it with their long branches. Lanterns lined a path around the lake, emitting an amber light that showed the snow dancing to the ground. You loved snow, there was a silence and stillness to the earth during and after a snowfall that you couldn’t stop looking at. White snowflakes cascading down in their peaceful fall against a black sky was so beautiful, you didn’t think you could ever grow accustomed to it. You were so lost in looking at the sky and all the thoughts of Sam running through your mind that you hadn’t realized he was now standing in the doorway of the balcony. His eyes were on your face as you breathed the clean, cold air into your lungs and let your eyes fall closed. Sam felt his chest tighten as he looked at you, your body was curled into itself, your eyes were closed and your face looked completely at peace. He didn’t want to disturb you, but he didn’t want you to catch him staring either. He walked over to you and knelt in front of you, placing a hand on yours.

“Y/N?” He said your name so softly it was just above a whisper. Your eyes opened and looked directly into his. It took everything he had to contain himself when you did that. When you looked so deep in his eyes, like you were looking for the meaning of life.

“Sam.” You said back placing your other hand over his. Your hand was freezing and Sam quickly gathered both your hands into his large ones, trying to warm them up. He pulled your grasped hands up to his lips and blew hot air onto your hands. His eyes were still connected to yours as your fingers were pressed against his lips. This was easily the most intimate moment you had had together and your heart was racing as you looked into Sam’s eyes. There was such a strong tension between you two it made your stomach flip and your chest burn. Suddenly, a scream filled the air, it was a woman, pained. You both stood up and raced out of the room running down the hall. Dean ran toward you from the other direction, you all ran in the direction the scream came from. People were poking their heads out of their rooms, but no one was in the hallway with you. You rounded a corner and heard crying coming from one of the rooms. Dean opened the door with his master key and the three of you burst in the room. A woman was kneeling over a man crying heavily. You watched her chest rise and fall as her shoulders shook.

“No!” She wailed. “What have I done? What have I done? I love you, no please I love you so much.” Your heart was aching for this woman. You couldn’t begin to understand what she was going through. You walked over to her and placed you hand on her shoulder. Her head lifted and her eyes looked in yours with so much pain you almost started to cry. By now, hotel employees were filing into the room, the police had been called and there was nothing else you could do. You saw her hands were covered in blood and that the mans chest had a hole in it, right where his heart should be. You looked him over further and saw that his throat was also slit, interesting. “I don’t know what happened, one minute we were talking over a glass of wine and the next he’s dead and I’m holding his heart.” She had ectoplasm running down her face. You looked up at Dean and Sam. You all quickly left, you didn’t want to leave her but the police were already on their way and multiple other people had seen what you did. It broke your heart to leave her there, knowing she would be punished for something she didn’t do, but you had to solve this case. The three of you entered the room you and Sam were staying in.

“It’s definitely a ghost possession, she had ectoplasm on her face. She tore his heart out of his chest, I think we are looking for one seriously pissed off woman.” You said once the door was closed and it was clear no one had followed the three of you.

“This hotel, its been freshly renovated, but its old. I think this was someone’s house at one point.” Sam said looking for his laptop in his bag.

“Yeah, probably.” Dean said salting the doorway. Sam was typing and Dean was salting every entrance.

“Got something!” Sam said from the table. “Bethany Saunders formerly Bethany Hardwick. She was married to Jacob Saunders and a month after their wedding Bethany was found dead, throat slit. Her husband, Jacob was then married to Bethany’s sister, Victoria, two days later.”

“Well, he’s an ass.” You said looking over Sam’s shoulder at the article.

“Yeah, major dick.” Dean agreed with you. “Say where she’s buried?” Dean asked.

“Heathcliff Cemetery, about a mile from here.” Sam said showing Dean on the map.

“Got it, I’ll go do the salt and burn, you two stay here and keep these people safe.” Dean said flinging the door open, Bethany stood right there. She grabbed Dean by the throat and tossed him aside, you took out your iron crowbar and slid it through her.

“Dean, go. Sam and I got this!” You called to him. He got to his feet and ran out the door. You grabbed the salt and made a circle of salt as Sam closed the door and waited by it with another can of salt. “What are you doing?” You asked him.

“I’m waiting for her to come back in here, then salt the door so she can’t hurt anyone else.”

“Oh, good thinking.” You said finishing your circle. Minuets ticked by and you knew Dean was already digging up her grave. It was going to take a while for him to dig it by himself, you were going to have to keep this ghost entertained for a while. It was almost 10 minuets by the time something happened.

“Y/N!” Sam called, you turned and Bethany was right in front of you. You swiped at her with your crowbar and she disappeared for a moment. Sam sprinkled the salt on the doorway once again and ran into the circle with you. You two stood back to back, weapons ready. She appeared a few more times as you and Sam swiped your weapons through her. Suddenly a window opened and the salt all blew away. She was walking towards you and you tried to get away. Sam jumped in front of you, shielding you from her when suddenly she burned up in flames. You and Sam looked at each other, heavy breaths and beating hearts. Dean burst through the door, covered in dirt.

“Good, glad you guys are ok.” He said, you didn’t hear him, Sam was still staring at you. He took one step towards you and ran his fingers through your hair. Dean smiled and left you two alone.

“Thank you.” You said to him as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“At dinner you asked me to tell you something you don’t know about me.”

“Yes.” You said nodding.

“I love you Y/F/N Y/L/N, I love you so much.” Sam said with a smile.

“I love you too, Sam Winchester.” You said as he closed the space between you too. His mouth opened as the kiss deepened. You let out a small moan and Sam’s hands traveled down your body pulling you closer to him. This was everything you wanted. Everything you needed. Your fingers tugged lightly on his hair, pulling a moan from Sam. The two of you fell into passion that was missed for years. Built up emotions making the world drop from around you.

One Year and One Month Later

“Can you please tell me where we are going!” You said touching the blindfold around your eyes.

“No.” Sam said laughing at you.

“Are you sure Dean and Cas are going to be alright with Bobby? He’s so little.” You asked. Yeah, Sam had gotten you on the first try.

“Baby, it will all be ok. Try and have fun. I gave them written instructions and if anything goes wrong they have our phone numbers. Plus, Bobby is such a good baby, he hardly ever makes a fuss.” He said taking your hand in his. The car slowed and Sam came to your side of the car to open the door. He took your hand again and helped you out of the car. He stepped behind you and took your blindfold off. You were back at the same hotel where you solved that case a year ago.

“Sam.” You said turning to face him.

“We didn’t get to really enjoy this place ad now that there is no more ghost I think we should enjoy it.” He said massaging your shoulders and kissing your neck.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” And you two walked in the hotel for the weekend you deserved a year ago.