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shoyosthighs · 3 years ago

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1 Month Challenge

Hinata Shoyo X f!reader (SMUT 🔞)

Sum: A challenge came up by Hinata before he leave for a month of intensive volleyball training 🤭 (timeskip MSBY Hinata)

Warnings: +18 MDI, dirty talk, unprotected sex, oral receiving (both ways), hard edging, dirty talk, daddy shoyo, 69, hard orgasm deny, creampie, basically really filthy smut

Word count: 2504 words

Author’s Note: Its been 8 years since I last written smut HAHA please spare me 😭 Im loving timeskip buff hinata currently and this plot is something similar I saw on p*rn so I decided to write it 🤭

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“Sho! Have you packed all your stuff?” You shouted from the kitchen from you and Hinata’s apartment. Preparing breakfast for him before he leaves for his intensive training in Brazil with the MSBY team in an hour.

“Yes baby” Hinata whispered in your ears from behind while snaking his arms to your waist and pressing you to his chest. “Can you pass me the soy-sauce, I made your favorite” you kiss him on the cheek while preparing his favorite Japanese rice with raw egg and soy-sauce.

“What did I do to deserve you baby” he wipe his fake tear smiling at you while passing you the soy-sauce.

“Baby girl, remember to take care of yourself okay? I will be back in a month. I know your college exams are coming soon but without me reminding you to eat you wouldn’t eat, so please remember to eat okay?” You nodded while pouting, didn’t really want him to leave.

“I will tell Yams to check up on you too” he side-eye you, knowing you will forget to take care of yourself once you indulge yourself into studying. “You’re so nagging haha” you pass him a cup of ice chocolate while ruffling his hair.

“Anyway baby, before I leave let’s come up with a challenge?” he asked while helping you wash the dishes and drying it. He pulled you to the couch and sat down while pulling you onto his lap, straddling him.

“What’s up your sleeve again?” You run your hands cupping his head from behind and play with his fluffy orange hair. “You see, I will be gone for a month and we won’t get to fuck” he said in a teasing voice. Knowing him, your high sex drive boyfriend for 2 years he will be having this dirty thoughts 24/7.

“And yeah what about it?” You rest your cheek on his chest and hug his waist instead. “Don’t touch yourself for a month, and when I come back I will breed you till morning” he smirk at you. “Hey not fair, what about you?” Knowing his horny ass he will probably run to the bathroom to finish himself off, “Both of us, it’s a challenge for both of us”

“I am up for it, but can you?” You tease him back. “You bet” he kiss you on the lips while carrying you into your shared bedroom, breeding you for the last time before he leaves for training.

It was already the 3rd week since Hinata has gone for his intensive training in Brazil, he had been sending you photos of himself shirtless almost everyday, but a prominent outline of his hard dick is seen on this jersey pants in every picture.

my ninja sho❤️: Im sooo horny baby🙁 i wanna ruin you so bad 😘

you: shoyo… HAHAHAHAA just how hard are you 🤣🤣🤣

my ninja sho❤️: Just you wait, 1 more week and you won’t be able to walk after im done with you 🙃

you: 🤭🤭🤭🤭

Truth to be told, you was so close to touching yourself and relieving yourself, but you really wanted to see how long can you hold onto it. You busied yourself with studying, playing the new game you downloaded, eating lunch and having tea time with Yamaguchi in the cafe that you, Hinata, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima like to hang out in your free time. Yachi and Kageyama joined sometime too but Yachi has moved to Osaka for college and Kageyama was busy with travelling because of his volleyball career.

“So how are you coping without Shoyo?” Yamaguchi stop scrolling his phone, looked at you while sipping his frappe. “What do you mean?” You acted blur, you know what Yamaguchi was implying. But you didn’t want to remember anything of Hinata that will get you riled up.

“Oh come on, you two are the second horniest couple I have know. Well Tsukki and (tsukki’s gf name) being the first” he laughed since all of you had been friends since high school years.

“Not saying anything~~~~ don’t ask anymore before I tell your girlfriend you wanna get it” you smiled not hiding the intention of killing. “Jeez ok ok im kidding” he laughed while seeing his girlfriend of 4 years outside the cafe. You and Yamaguchi then meet her outside and walked home for a movie night.

Hinata had just landed into Japan, after getting into the van with the team he texted you to let you know that he will be home in 2 hours. You were eating dinner when your phone pinged, you replied him with a ‘Okie hurry up 😭’ you had missed him, 1 month without hugs from him was quite depressing for you, the house seems quiet without him singing loudly while showering.

You had brought a white crotchless underwear to surprise him, you quickly showered, change into an oversized white t-shirt and slip on the lewd panties. You turned on the tv while watching the 7pm show that you had been chasing since last week.

Time passed by quickly but you were getting sleepy, so you grab your blanket and wrap yourself on the couch snoozing off for a bit, thinking to have a 10 minutes nap before Hinata comes home. But your snooze was interrupted by Hinata’s loud “MY LITTLE BABY!!! YOUR FAVORITE ABS IS HOME!!!”

You jolted awake and rush to jump onto on Hinata, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. Luckily your shirt was long to cover your ass because Hinata’s quick reflex supported them before you could fall. “I miss you so much baby” you whispered lightly while peppering kisses around his neck.

“I miss you so much too” he put you down on the floor and wrap his arms around your waist and kisses your forehead, nose and lips. After the small reunion, Hinata was in the shower and you were on the bed thinking about the steamy night that was about to happen. Just before Hinata went to shower he whispered “Prepare to be ruin by my cock tonight my little slut” this little cheeky tangerine, you thought as you clenched your pussy getting excited.

Hinata’s hands were running up and down your body as soon as he came out of the bathroom naked, “What? Im gonna fuck you anyway, why bother wearing clothes hehe” he chuckled when you glance at him in disbelief. He was kissing you slipping his tongue in to taste you while pulling off your t-shirt, he knew you didn’t wore any bra so he when straight at sucking your nipple while toying the other, his other hand going straight down south, wanting to feel how wet you are outside your panties but was caught by surprise when he touched skin.

“Do you like my surprise?” you said softly to his ear. He glanced up at you, “You are driving me crazy holyshit” he pushed you down onto your shared bed, brought both your legs up and spread your thighs wide to look at his surprise. “You are so fucking wet, you’re literally drenched” he move down collected some of your arousal and show it to you, “Sho, stop it. It’s embarrassing” you cover your face with both hand. Who knew not touching yourself and not cumming for 1 month made you this wet just by kissing your boyfriend.

“If you don’t move your hands away now, you won’t be getting any dick tonight” he said sternly. You were quick to remove your hand and he chuckled at how desperate you are. “You better not hold back your moans if you want to get fucked tonight you little slut” he turned your hip sideways, slip your panties off and slapped your ass, you moaned feeling yourself clenched again. “Do you hear me?” Hinata slapped your ass again when you didn’t answer, “Yes daddy” you whimpered, feeling extremely horny by how Hinata is treating you. Its really been awhile.

Hinata placed you back on your back and spread your legs again, hands holding onto the back of your thighs and diving into your drenched pussy, “Oh fuck daddy it feels so good” you clench your fist onto the bedsheets, back arching. You had been eating pineapple for the past 3weeks in prepare for today, “Why do you taste sweeter than usual baby? Did you had pineapple or what?” He lifted his head up to look at you, man the sight of him wet chin, wet lips full of your juice. You just nodded and clenched your pussy feeling the lost of touch, Hinata look down and the sight of your cunt clenched while juices dripping down made him want to just take you right here right now, but he steadied himself and dive back down to your pussy slipping his tongue into your tight pussy, tasting everything you have to offer.

Not even a minute had pass but you were writhing under Hinata, “Im gonna cum daddy” you whimpered, arching your back and grinding your hips into Hinata’s face desperate for the first orgasm after a month. You almost screamed when Hinata lift his face off your wet aching pussy, “Tonight you are gonna cum on my cock and only my cock” you whimpered a small yes daddy, panicking a little. When Hinata is serious he won’t hesitate to deny you orgasm and you wouldn’t want that.

“Now come and suck daddy off before I fuck your brains out” he lay next to you and you didn’t hesitate to take his already hard cock around your hand slipping the head to your parted lips, Hinata glances sideways to see you still dripping from your pussy, he tapped your ass and you turn back to look at him, lips still on his cock. “Sit on my face” knowing he loves 69 you quickly lift one of your legs and drape it over his head. Shifting your drenched slick infront of his face you move your mouth down to take Hinata’s warm cock into your mouth, “Oh fuck, your mouth feel so good” at this point Hinata wants to see how long he and you could stand denying orgasms before snapping.

You were a hot mess above Hinata, he had denied your orgasm 5 times while you had denied him 3 because you took slower stroke to work him up. Your pussy is literally drenched and sticky, you really couldn’t take it anymore its starting to hurt and you really need to cum, “Daddy please fuck me I need your cock” you turned behind and look at him. “My favorite” he lift himself up and you got on all fours facing the headboard, back arched with your cheeks squish onto the pillow. “Please daddy i am so wet for you, I had been a good girl, I want your cock please”

Hinata thinking he too couldn’t hold it back anymore line up his cock up your pussy lips rubbing up and down to tease you for a bit, he chuckled when you whimpered another please daddy and slip in all the way. You were so tight despite how wet you was prior to the foreplay and its driving Hinata crazy by how warm and wet you felt. “Holyshit baby you are so tight and warm”

You couldn’t think straight, all you could think was if Hinata were to move a few times you will cum soon. He slowly slip out dragging his thick cock veins around your walls and then slamming it back, “Fuck daddy im gonna cum” he continue to slam his cock into your pussy and then pull out completely and look down at your pussy, you were literally sobbing by now you clenched onto nothing and grind your hips wanting Hinata to just fuck your brains out.

You subconsciously slip your finger between your legs to relieve some tension on your pussy but Hinata hold your fingers by your folds, using his hand he guide it and circle it on your hole, you whimpered at how drenched you were, “Look at you wet and horny for me, since you’re being such a good girl daddy won’t hold back anymore okay” He line his rock hard cock back on your pussy and slip in, “I want you to cum hard on my cock okay” he leaned down and you nodded, preparing for his brutal thrust. At his 5th thrust your pussy had clamp down his cock and had you squirting all over your leg, you didn’t had the chance to tell him you were coming, Hinata had to pull out and watch you squirt all over the bedsheet and thinking how fucking hot you were currently.

“Look at you, so desperate to cum that you squirted all over our bed. What a little slut” he was gripping your ass and had continued his fucking your brains out. Your pussy is clenching onto him for the 4th time cumming hard on his dick and he had emptied 3 load of cum into your womb by then, holding you down while shooting his load into you. He weren’t kidding when he say he wanted to breed you.

Your lower half was sore by midnight, Hinata was now lying down with you on top of him grinding and whimpering at how hard he still is, both of your cum making your lower body full of white stains. “Sho- I-I can’t-t im gonna cum again” you grind harder onto his cock while throwing your head back, “Me too baby” he thrust up and hold your hips making you fall to his chest taking in the loud skin slapping and wet squelching sound you both produced, “Shoyo omg please please please harder im so close” he feel your walls clenching hard on him again and you cum hard onto his cock again for the nth time tonight while he shoot his almost nonexistent cum into you again, he really unloaded everything with nothing left. Soft moans filled the room as you lift yourself off his finally limped dick and plopped yourself beside him catching your breath.

“Stay here while i prepare the bath for you okay” you gave him a tired smile and close your eyes for a bit still feeling your body hot from the activity. Hinata came back and gave you a kiss on your sweaty forehead and carried you bridal style to the bathtub filled with warm water with your favorite bath bomb scent.

(EXTRAS)

Hinata was at the MSBY locker room the next afternoon for their short meeting/training regarding an upcoming match. He was shirtless was trying to put on his training jersey when Atsumu gasped, “HOLYSHIT SHOYO WHAT HAPPEN TO YOUR BACK?” All he could do was smile sheepishly and said “My little cat scratch me”

You weren’t spare either, you had to call Yamaguchi telling him you were sick the next morning because of how sore you were and you were literally limping even going to the bathroom. And had to cover the hickeys around your neck before going to school.

(A/N:It’s literally almost 4am here and Im also drenched after writing this fic, I HOPE YOU ENJOY 😭😭😭 reblog and comments welcomed ❤️)

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siopaofrog · 3 years ago

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So Sweet She Shot Me || Tangerine x Fem!Reader

( my latest obsession LOL )

Someone put a hit on you, and the twins are the two assassins hired to finish the job. Unfortunately, Tangerine has a sweet tooth, and you're more than just a sweetheart . . .

“Every target has a story,” said Lemon, pressing a finger gun up against the windshield. “So let’s see—what’s her deal?”

“Looks innocent enough,” said Tangerine. He fidgeted with his many rings, twisting the one on his middle finger. “(y/n) (l/n). Actually, quite the baker I hear. Best scones in town.”

“Of course you’d note the scones. If you get the chance I’m sure your kleptomaniac ass would steal one before killing her.”

“Fuckin’—” started Tangerine, shooting him a wide-eyed yet pointed look. “I’m working on it.”

“Oh now trust me, I see the improvement. What’s the last thing you stole—an Uno deck was it? Back in Tokyo?”

Tangerine opened his mouth for some sly remark, but simply glanced at his partner and flicked his hand towards the target.

“Anyway. What was I saying? Right. Apparently, the girl’s been stickin’ her hands in all the wrong places. Messin' around, pissing off a lot of important people. So of course, no one likes that.”

“I bet she’s an assassin.”

“You’re jokin’. Her?”

Lemon nodded firmly. “Oh yeah. No doubt about it."

Tangerine gave the shop one last look before finally squeezing his hands into fists and stretching them out. He cracked his neck. “Okay, well. Assassin or not, whoever hired us wanted us to take care of her quickly. And quietly.”

“Ah, but quietly ain’t what we do, huh?”

Tangerine felt one corner of his lips turn up. “Never. Shall we?”

In unison, the twins clicked open their car doors and cocked their guns, sticking them behind their waistbands.

“Showtime,” said Lemon.

The two assassins strode over to the small shop—Honeybee Bakery. They stood in front of it, those looming glass doors, so inviting, so innocent. They nodded at each other, popping up their coat collars and pushing through.

The bell chimed. Warm and welcoming, almost.

Instantly, Tangerine was struck by the aroma of fresh bread and buttered biscuits and—what was that—powdered sugar? Flour? A wafting of hot coffee and honey-drizzled scones?

Bloody hell. Not him and his damned sweet tooth.

Finally he glanced at the girl behind the counter—and her grin—absolutely electric. She nodded at one customer, easing a giant paper bag into his outstretched hands. She laughed loudly and unabashedly at something he said, and suddenly, Tangerine wanted to hear the joke, too. What made her laugh like that?

Lemon elbowed his side and hissed, “What are you doing? You wanna taste the air or kill this girl?”

Tangerine blinked, suddenly appalled by the gun pressed up against his back. Yes, she must’ve been bad news. He knew that enough. Shoot first, ask questions later. But still. What exactly did she do that was so bad? A radiant girl like her?

“Get your head in the game. We gotta do this now or it’s all to pot.”

Tangerine nodded absently, then shut his eyes and sighed. No, right. Lemon was right. They had a fuckin’ job to do.

Lemon took the lead, and Tangerine, suddenly huffing and shaking off the strange spell that had engulfed him, followed suit.

They took to the other side of the counter, avoiding the line that stretched along the glass case of decadent pastries. Entrancing. Delicately placed with little toothpicks and stickers and hand-written notes about each and every treat. Now what kind of assassin would care enough to do all this?

Oh, bugger off, Tangerine thought sharply. You’ve gone soft, haven’t you?

“Excuse me! Miss?” yelled Lemon, plastering on his best grin. “You might wanna hear this.”

The woman glanced over at them, shouted something to the back kitchen, and as a young man stepped out to help the customers, she strode towards the twins.

Good God. Even her sway looked right.

“What can I help you with, boys?”

Of course, in Tangerine’s state, Lemon realized he was forced to do all the talking.

“You wouldn’t happen to run this shop, would you?”

(y/n) smiled brilliantly. “Why, I do actually. What seems to be the problem?”

Lemon shook his head, sighing. “Maybe you oughta come see for yourself. We came up from the back and, well—these kids were wrecking the whole thing. Graffiti, horrible slang, leaving all sorts of trash out there. We just wanted to let you know.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What? Will you show me?”

“Of course,” Lemon said, feigning a sympathetic smile.

The woman then glanced over at Tangerine, briefly, probably wondering why he did nothing but stare stupidly, nodding along all the while.

Finally he said, “Your bakery is brilliant by the way.”

Lemon shot him a look, upper lip curling in disapproval.

“Oh, thank you!” she said, following them. “I do try. You know, actually, I can slide you two some pastries for the road afterwards. As my thanks.”

“That sounds great,” said Tangerine, as soon as Lemon muttered out, “Thanks but, on a diet.”

Tangerine knew that tone. He knew the look Lemon lanced in his direction: What the fuck are you doing—“That sounds great”? We’re trying to kill her, for God’s sake!

They went out the side exit, heading towards the back of the shop through an alley.

Before they fully entered, the pair of feet behind them no longer sounded. Tangerine and Lemon exchanged glances.

“Boys,” said (y/n), her voice much darker—far from brilliant and radiant. “You’re awful liars.”

The two assassins slowly turned around.

“Miss—“

“It’s Honeybee,” said the woman, raising her long skirt to unsheathe two pistols from her thighs. “You both are looking to kill me. Isn’t that right, Lemon? And Tangerine?”

“Shit,” said Lemon, moving for his gun.

Tangerine, upon seeing this, snapped out of his damned reverie and snatched the gun from his waistband, rolling behind a few crates as Honeybee started firing.

The brothers crouched low, trying to peek out, only for a barrage of bullets to graze past their eyes.

“Shit!” Lemon said again, tilting his head and eying the other man sharply. “Now what did I say? What did I say dammit?”

“Okay!” said Tangerine, tapping the barrel of the gun against his head. “An assassin. She’s a fuckin’ assassin.”

“Hilarious, innit?”

“Listen, there’s still two of us and one of her.”

“That don’t mean shit,” said Lemon. “She’s got two guns.”

“So?”

“So! She’s going to kill us!”

Finally, the bullets ceased. The twins took the chance and sprung from behind the crates, guns raised. The woman held up her own pistols like white flags.

“I don’t want to kill you,” she said, eyes low. “I really don’t.”

“Well love,” said Tangerine, finally shoving off his enchantment, “We’re gonna have to kill you. Sorry.”

“Terribly sorry,” Lemon said, and they both almost pulled the trigger before she flung both pistols in their direction.

They dove, but Lemon felt a hard thwack to his forehead, the impact knocking him out instantly. He crashed over a stack of crates.

Tangerine flicked his head over, mouth agape, but before he could react a foot came up and delivered a solid uppercut to his chin.

He lost grip of his gun and stumbled slightly, shaking his head hard to recover and find his footing. As another kick started motion, Tangerine sidestepped in time. A flurry of kicks, punches—dodging, taking hits, staggering. Wits matched, scrapping leveled.

“You’re good,” he rasped out, smirking as he spat a wad of blood.

She laughed. “I would say the same for you except—you hit like a little boy.”

“Now that’s just mean,” he said, and they went at it again. At the right moment he swept under one of her jabs and tackled her. Now on the ground, arms locked about her neck, she shot him a toothy grin and chucked darkly. “You looked so enthralled by my pastries. Especially those scones. You sure you don’t want some before you kill me?”

“Oh, enticing.” Tangerine took pleasure in displaying a thinking face. “I’m good, but thanks love.”

“Love,” she repeated, now blinking hard to stay conscious.

Tangerine found it more and more difficult to keep this going. But he forced himself to squeeze harder.

“I like your code name. Tangerine. You must be on the fruity side, no?”

He let out a breath of a laugh. “Quite the talker, aren’t ya?”

“It’s all I know,” she gasped, eyes fluttering up. She was losing air.

And suddenly, just like that—seeing her eyes, her desperate hands flying up to his arms—he released her. Gasping, she sprung up off him and scrabbled back, hands pressed to the pavement. They sat there on the dirty ground for what felt like ages, chests heaving, eyes gazing at each other’s.

“I’m genuinely sorry,” he said, fixing his shirt collar and combing his hair back, which had come undone in the scuffle. “It’s just business.”

“Right,” said Honeybee. She took in a deep breath. “Just business.”

They looked at each other, and laughed loudly in spite of themselves.

Tangerine then glanced over at Lemon, who was just coming to. He grunted and sat up, holding his forehead and cursing under his breath.

“Lemon, you good man?”

“Good? Alive, maybe. I don’t know about good.”

As Tangerine rose to his feet, limping over, he realized it a split-second too late—as soon as the barrel drove up in his direction.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

But Honeybee moved the gun from his face and shot his feet instead. Both of them. He screeched in agony, falling, pounding his fists on the ground.

“What the fuck—?!”

“Just business,” she said, and winked at him. “I could kill you. But I won’t.” Honeybee leaned down and grabbed his shirt collar, kissing him sloppily, with great vehemence. Something feral kicked in and urged him to grab her and yank her down with him—he imagined clawing over her skin, grinding up against her and ravaging her with his lips and teeth. Maybe he'd straddle her and she'd peel off his shirt, and they'd do it right there in that godforsaken alleyway with Lemon looking on in absolute horror. But no. Tangerine laughed at himself. She shot you. She shot your fuckin' feet. You're rather dim, aren't you?

“I like you, Tangerine." She kissed him, and he could do nothing but take it in. "So if you come back to kill me—make it fun. Make it like today.”

She let him go and dropped the gun next to him. Blew him a kiss.

And just like that, Honeybee fled the scene.

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #bullet train #aaron taylor johnson #tangerine bullet train #bullet train movie

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octoagentmiles · 2 years ago

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i love ur octonauts safe foods post but that also brings the question: what are the octo-agents safe foods?

wonderful question my anonymous friend- apologies for the delay, please enjoy post 🤲:

Paani’s patties have nuts, seeds, and bugs in them, which all have kind of similar tastes—hear me out—they all taste nutty (yes, bugs have a nutty flavour, if you didn’t know), and possibly a little roasty or smokey depending on how they’re prepared. Paani’s safe foods probably consist of a lot of other grains, nuts, or butters (peanut butter, sunflower butter, almond/cashew butter, etc). He probably unironically enjoys pistachio ice cream. Can’t go wrong with a giant jug of straight up rainwater, either.

Tracker grew up the same way Barnacles did: In the Arctic with very little variety. So, their tastes are probably the same, or very similar. He enjoys simple flavours, and dishes with non-complicated seasoning. I also imagine he’s an extremely picky eater, despite being taught in the Polar Scouts to be prepared to “eat what you have to” in an emergency. He might like a couple obscure or odd things here and there, but other than that his palate is pretty limited. He likes knowing what to expect when he eats something (and in general), so he basically just eats the same foods over and over. He’s an EXPERT at cooking these foods.

Googled native Russian and Siberian cuisines for Natquik, and I’m seeing a lot of dough, pastry, soup, and salt (and a lot of other things, but they’re mostly meat and I’m going to pretend he’s vegetarian and so is everyone else, with the exceptions of Mr. Paani “The Bug Eater”, and Ms. Pearl “Eats Living Urchins Whole”). He loves savoury foods, as well as “earthy” flavours (below-ground vegetables, such as beets, potatoes, carrots (he might bond with Tweak over that one), or mushrooms) but can NOT tolerate spiciness at all; he’s worse than Barnacles in this regard. If he eats something too hot he will spit it out instantly, and be very dramatic about it. He also enjoys a cup of tea now and then, and he’s not picky about what kind; if it’s warm and got leaves in it, he’ll drink it.

I like to think that Calico Jack and Kwazii are alike in more ways than one thousand—and they probably have IDENTICAL tastes/safe foods. So, Jack loves sweets and sugars, but hates bitters. He hates citrus too (because he’s a cat), but has learned to tolerate it in all his years as a pirate. He chugs lemon juice like it’s milk, and he just ate a whole ghost pepper. You won’t catch him anywhere near a tangerine, though. (Disclaimer: Citrus is actually poisonous to cats in real life, which is why they hate it so much. This cat however, is fictional, and just thinks they’re icky.) CJ also canonically loves to cook and bake his own food, based on how many recipes he invented and passed down to Kwazii; such as pirate pie (real pie, see GBR for ingredients), pirate stew (main ingredient = kelp), and “pirate pie” (kelp and lima beans on toast), to name a few.

Ranger Marsh LOVES the Octonauts’ hot cocoa specifically, I don’t know if it’s the way the Vegimals make it, or what, but I’m taking this to mean the man is fan of chocolate. Dark chocolate. Meaning, he probably enjoys bitter things. Do not let him cook for Kwazii or Jack. I bet most of what he eats is foraged directly out of the Everglades’ thicket, so that would likely include weird and bitter berries, plants, and wild vegetables. I also headcanon that he taught Tweak how to make her famous chili, she just perfected it. Chili can taste like pretty much anything depending on how you season it, so you can bet he likes his extra bitter as well.

Okay now Pearl is probably the opposite of Shellington. I said that Shellington would enjoy intense or odd flavours (like extra hot sauce on cake), but dislike salty-anything because it reminds him of red urchin. He learned to like strange foods, as a result of being allergic to his species’ main source of nourishment (shellfish). Since Pearl didn’t have this problem, she didn’t need to branch out her plate; and thus would love salty things because it’s what she’s used to. She might dislike overly sour or sweet things, or generally “unnatural” or artificial foods. She’s probably not much of a chef, considering most of what she eats is stuff she literally picks off the seafloor.

Apparently a red panda’s diet is 95% bamboo, soooooooooooooooo... I guess that answers Min. She probably eats a ton of those bamboo biscuits, and that might literally be all. Bamboo tastes earthy, nutty, and slightly sweet, so if she were to expand her menu, she’d probably eat foods with similar tastes, or anything that has a good crunch to it. Y’know what? I bet she’d love a Paani Patty.

Ryla literally ate bat droppings covered in moss. Granted, the “droppings” were berries, but still. I don’t think she’s very picky. She doesn’t have any “safe foods”, because she’s a hardcore survivalist—she’ll eat ANYTHING (unless it’s poisonous then she’ll only eat it once). Wombats are strict herbivores, so she probably enjoys a good salad when she's not fighting for her life in a cave.

I think Koshi and Pinto are both stereotypical kids, who'll gladly inhale anything with sugar in it. Pinto specifically might have similar tastes to Peso, in which he'll also just eat... literally anything. Especially if it's weird looking. Koshi is a bit more sensitive to strong smells, so she'll only eat what she likes the smell of. She doesn't seem like someone who likes trying new foods, either. She likes sweet, or bland simple tastes.

#gonna try to get some old asks answered bc i'm feeling suddenly motivated #✨✨#octonauts #ask #long post #food cw #octonauts above and beyond #octonauts headcanons #i wonder if they're ever going to address paani's bug consumption #like the other octonauts are clearly bothered by it but they're still nice to him about it #i just think it'd be neat if someone finally said something like ''bro my friend is in ur cookie'' hdSDJK ok not like that but ykwim?? lmao #i don't think he's out here hunting bugs (probably) but he IS making these patties himself. so he is at least finding these poor bugs #and picking them up. and throwing them in cookie batter. like???? my guy-#anyway. shout out to natquik for having the exact opposite taste buds as me sdfgh #in his defense he probly lived on rations for 30 years. let the man enjoy his bread and veggies <3 #for ranger marsh i ran to the alligator-shark ep to hear what he said was in the marshmallows. but all he said was:#''they've got everything gators like t' eat.''#and uh. now i have questions. but idk if i want the answers-#pearl would lick a salt lamp and not regret it #imagine dashi taking pinto for a day‚ and peso taking koshi- they'd literally not know what to feed them fjdfhdk #ask to tag

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landothemuppet · 3 years ago

Text

Far Longer Than Forever (p.p)

Word count: 4737

Pairing : peter parker

Request: YES! ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. The Swan Princess is one of my childhood movie and this was so fun to write. I can’t stop listenning the soundtrack now ! I’m so sorry for the time i took to write this, i had so much work to do with school. But it’s over now and i hope you will like this !

N/A: First, gif not mine but i don’t know who i’m gonna credit on this, i have no clue...This is my first Peter Parker x reader and i hope you all will like it! As always, I remind you that English is not my native language. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Like, reblogs to support. You can Love you all! xx

Taglist: @angeliquekalampoka @harryhollandsgirlfriend @cedricdiggorysimpp - if you want to be notified of all my future writings you can add yourself in my taglist : here

______

As far as you can remember, you've always hated summer. Well, it was partly a lie. You loved the sweltering heat of Queens, the cherry popsicles from Delmar's, not having to worry about what time you had to get up. You liked it but hated the idea of the last two weeks of August.

This year was no exception. You looked at your half-finished suitcase, a grimace on your face. August still meant the same thing, the same routine: having to spend the last three weeks of his vacation with Peter Parker.

summer 2009

Peter Parker had lost his parents very early on, two years ago. He had lived since then with his aunt May and his uncle Ben. It was your mother's idea to introduce you to each other. Aunt May and your mom were friends from college and luckily, they lived in the same neighborhood. Your first meeting with the one who, many years later, would become Spider-Man, took place on his eighth birthday. You were invited to the party when you weren't even at the same school. Aunt May had simply shared his fears about Peter's difficulty making friends after the trauma he had experienced. Your mother, as the perfect friend that she was, had suggested that Peter and you spend time together.

There were 3 kids in total at that birthday party, you, Peter - obviously - and a boy from his school whose mother had forced him to be there, too. It was a fact; you were the only girl and you didn't know Peter at all. Your mother walked up to you, got up to your eye level and whispered

"Can you be nice? May told me she invited Peter's whole class and only this boy came"

You wanted to please your mother so you nodded before approaching the two boys. Peter and his friend were in the corner of the room, their backs turned to the adults. When you tapping the young boy on the shoulder to make you notice by him, he turned to you with a guilty expression. He had buttercream all over the corner of his mouth and he was holding a cupcake in his hand that looked delicious.

“My Aunt May tried to bake a cake, but Uncle Ben bought some cupcakes in anticipation. Do you want one?” Peter asked you in a friendly voice

“Why? Is May's cake not good?

“Uncle Ben says that she is not very good at cooking.”

You let out a little laugh and nodded your head before grabbing the cupcake with a smile. You thanked him and began to taste the little pastry with envy. It was so good! The buttercream was lemony, the cupcake was slightly lemony too but there was a taste you couldn't recognize. You were almost sure you had tasted it before, but you couldn't tell what it was. Peter and the other boy suggested that you go to Peter's room. He wanted to show you the LEGO set his uncle Ben had given him ahead of time and you followed them even though you weren't more excited about the idea.

And you were right. For several minutes, you were pushed aside while the two young boys spoke spiritedly. You complained several times that you wanted to do something else but Peter didn't seem to listen to you, too excited to finally be able to chat with someone who appreciated Star Wars as much as he did.

So you were annoyed and slightly angry with Peter but what broke the camel's back is that you started to not feel so good. Your throat was itching and you felt like your tongue was taking up a lot more space in your mouth, getting drier. Peter gave you a distracted look before his eyes widened. He let go of everything he had in his hands before running to his aunt.

"Aunt May, Aunt May! Y/N's tongue looks like a big, desiccated steak!"

"Peter, don't be rude!" she exclaimed, shocked by her nephew’s words

"No, no come see, she has a huge tongue! I think something is wrong"

Meanwhile, you ran into the bathroom at Peter's reaction. You weren't sure why he had looked at you like that, but you felt that a few things were wrong. In addition, you were more and more thirsty, your eyes also hurt. And that's when you saw your reflection. You were puffy, your tongue had tripled in size, hence this feeling of dryness and discomfort. It was the same with your throat. You started to cry and when May called you through the bathroom door, you fervently opened it.

May and your mother's expression of horror was instantaneous and your mother knew exactly what was causing your condition.

"What did she eat?"

"Nothing..." he tried to escape from being grounded

"Peter, this is very important. What did you eat?"

"We just ate the cupcakes Uncle Ben brought back"

Ben looked at May with guilty eyes. May had put so much effort into Peter's birthday cake and she felt hurt that they had bought some pastries in anticipation. Your mother was impatiently stamping her foot. It was important to know exactly what you had eaten and above all, you shouldn't waste any more time. Peter felt completely helpless. He had only given a cupcake to his guest, that’s all. What was wrong with giving someone a cupcake?

"What were those cupcakes flavor?" your mother said impatiently ...

"With lemon and almonds." he said in a very small voice.

You were panicked. And the eight-year-old that you were was not coping well with stress. Plus, your feeling of being sidelined by Peter and his friend made you feel even worse. So you frowned. You couldn't see a thing but you could feel the torrent of tears escaping your cheeks. You pointed at Peter with rage

"You tried to kill me !!!" you said somehow with your tongue as big as a little tangerine.

"It's not true!"

"Yes! You are a murderer"

And you cried even more before your mother takes you to the emergency room as quickly as possible, apologizing for the scene.

The week later, May forced Peter to apologize for giving you a cupcake, while justifying that he didn't know about your allergy. Your mother forced you to apologize for insulting Peter "a murderer" and accept his apologies.

But you spent the rest of the vacation arguing with the little guy. After all, you didn't want to be friends with a murderer.

Summer 2013

Aunt May and your mom didn't let go, however, and every summer you spent three damn weeks with Peter. The summer of your twelve years, you did not thus escape this eternal masquerade but this year, the tide had turned in your favor.

From the start, you never liked Star Wars. It really wasn't your world. You had always preferred Harry Potter and although Peter had read the books and enjoyed them - which he would never admit to you as that would amount to listing the commonalities you had - he was much more invested in the galactic universe. But on that day, Peter had particularly bothered you. He had first replaced the sugar in your hot chocolate with salt. He kept chanting silly nursery rhymes about you and the downstairs neighbor, insinuating that you were in love: which was not the case. Yes, Peter had been extremely annoying. This time Peter was getting on your nerds by bouncing a small ball against the ceiling as you tried to read your book. Uncle Ben was in the living room watching the sport - you weren't sure exactly which one since it didn't matter to you - so you couldn't go anywhere else to be quiet.

"Peter, stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked by bouncing the ball once more off his ceiling. You could even make out the smirk on his lips.

"That. Stop it! I can't read."

"This is nothing new."

You threw him the first thing you found on his desk, c.e, a banana, which he easily dodged. You groaned in frustration. May and your mother didn't understand when you talked about Peter's attitude towards you. He was a calm child, far too shy at school and interested in everything, especially science. He was looking forward to entering Midletown High School in two years. You hated that nerd side about him. Secretly, you were a little jealous of him for being the smartest in the room.

“I'm gonna hit you so hard you won't know your name anymore”

“ try me, dumbass.”

A few minutes later, he had finally stopped throwing that damn ball, but obviously Peter's boredom was driving him to find everything the most boring thing than the previous one to drive you crazy. This time, he had simply taken his favorite lightsaber - because he had several - and he was poking your shoulder to get your attention.

"Parker, stop!"

"Don't you want to drop this book and watch a movie?"

"What do you want to watch? Star Wars? No thanks ..."

"Oh come on, Y / N! I'm sure you'll like it!"

He patted you on the shoulder once more with his lightsaber.

"Do you want to play this, Parker?" you said before grabbing one of his other lightsabers

"What are you going to do? I'm sure you don't know how to fight with" he mocked.

You have lit the glowing plastic stick and you are placed in the guard position.

"Do you want to bet, knothead?"

He smiled at you and attacked you first. Strangely, this is what most resembled a moment of bond between Peter and you and deep down, you appreciate it. But you also appreciate that possibility of kicking his ass after he's been so irritating. You responded to his lightsaber attacks with ease and joy. It was playful, childish, but it was one of the few times you had fun with Peter. And you really appreciate it. Your two laughs mingled, echoing in the room.

But suddenly, as you were trying to dodge an attack from the brunet, your elbow made contact with his face. Peter's muffled cry of pain echoed and you froze. He was holding his nose with a grimace and when he took his hand away you both noticed in horror that he was bleeding.

"Fuck…"

"Pete..." you started talking

"You blew my nose!" Peter shouted

"I did not do it on purpose!" you defended yourself.

"Of course, you do! You fucking blew my nose!"

"Peter, I swear ..."

But Peter interrupted you by rushing out of his bedroom looking for his aunt who was in the office as she tried to file the important papers, that Ben and her had received this week. You were livid. First, because you didn't mean to hurt Peter on purpose. Second, you couldn't stand the sight of blood and it was literally everywhere. Peter was leaving trails of droplets on the floor of the apartment.

"Aunt May?!? Y/N blew my nose! Damn, I'm bleeding!"

After a brief stint in the ER, the rest of the stay was peaceful as you and Peter avoided each other until the end of the summer.

Summer 2017

Peter was not the Peter you had always known.

Since the death of his uncle Ben, the young man had closed in on himself and was even further away. Always so intelligent and discreet but much more distant. He had stopped teasing you or doing things that got on your nerves. He was minding his own business. And even though you had tried to be there for him, not denying him any of the offers he made to you during your stay ... you found him really ... overwhelmed. Which was still understandable.

But this year was worse than the last. May told your mother that last year Peter got an internship at Stark Industry and attended a seminar in Germany but came back with a black eye. He had been acting most weirdly ever more since then. And you could have witnessed it. In the afternoon, when you were busy, and when it was too hot, when you tried to rest, Peter would disappear for hours. When you caught him sneaking back several times, he made you promise not to tell Aunt May.

And you were starting to have theories about his nighttime getaways. After all, you were 16 and you too had started dating a few boys. But it never really worked. who knows why?! And when you wondered if Peter had a girlfriend, and who she was - he had to have one in view of all his sneaking out - your stomach twisted in a strange feeling. You didn't understand why the thought of Peter having a girlfriend bothered you so much. Over time, you had learned to be friends. It still happened sometimes that you quarreled but the events of the life made you grow up. Your parents had divorced, Peter had lost his uncle. You could tell yourself that you both had grown.

And it was one night when Peter was sneaking back in again that you discovered two secrets.

The first one: He was Spider-Man.

It was around midnight when you heard the sound of the window opening. Since your childhood and this Machiavellian plan of your mother and Aunt May, you had always slept in Peter's room during holiday and more recently in his bed. The noise alerted you and you got up in a sitting position. But the only thing you saw was a foot, placed on this said window, closing it gently. How the hell was that possible?

You were ready to scream but your gut told you to look up at the ceiling. A figure hung on it and you were paralyzed. Were you having one of those weird experiences called sleep paralysis? Delicately, silently, you grabbed the first blunt object within reach. A chemistry book that Peter seemed particularly fond of. The figure stepped on the ceiling as you were paralyzed. The form turned to land on the ground and then stood up, still with its back to you. You got up gently from Peter's bed and walked over. The man in the suit whose color you couldn't see took off his mask and you hit the air in an attempt to shoot him down. Peter turned around so quickly and blocked your gesture easily, like a reflex.

"What the ..."

"Bloody hell".

You both said at the same time. Your big surprised eyes mirrored Peter's. The curly man let go of your hand with an apologetic expression as you walked away from your friend. You turned on the bedside lamp before you discovered his blue and red costume. A very recognizable costume since it was that of Spider-Man. You winced, a look of judgment and incomprehension on your face. Not bothering to look at his face covered with bruises and traces of blood.

"What the ... are you sneaking out to go to a costume party?"

"What?! No…No Y/N I’m…”

“Spider-Man? Great costume by the way” you joked.

For a moment, you completely forgot that you just saw your friend glued upside down to the ceiling. Peter looked at you a little jaded, by the tone of your voice your guess was far from a sincere question but more of a mockery. And right now, the young man needed to be honest with you. He needed you.

"But, I am."

"Yeah that's it. And I slept with the Winter Soldier. You can't imagine what he can do with his metal arm."

Peter cut you off by pulling a web with his web shooter, tying your hands. The feel of the canvas was unpleasant, sticky but above all resistant. You let out a little cry of surprise, not powerful enough to pass the walls of Peter's room. Your eyes looked like two big golf balls, realizing that your friend was telling the truth.

"Omg, You're Spider-Man" you almost spoke too loud.

"Yes and don't make me web your mouth. May doesn't have to know"

"damn, peter. What happened to your face!"

“yeah about that…I need you Y/N, please…”

And without warning, Peter squeezed the spider in the middle of his costume, at chest level. He winced at the action revealing his bruised chest. He staggered a bit from the action, unsure of his legs and the pain in his sides fierce. You might see several bruises and cuts on your friend's body. You were having difficulty swallowing before you told him you were going to the bathroom to get what you needed. Before leaving the room, he made you promise to be discreet and not tell May anything if she ran into you. When you walk back into Peter's room, he's sitting half-lying on his bed, grimacing. You sit next to him, your heart pounding. You never noticed that he was so built. After all, as a superhero, he had to keep fit. But you couldn't deny that it intimidated you. Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment and a desire you never knew before. He had his eyes closed, as if trying to make the pain go away. And there, looking at him, you found him pretty. he was so cute that you couldn't help but run your hand through his curls to signal your presence and soothe him a bit. But Peter already knew you were there. He had heard your footsteps, he had smelled your scent, a sweet scent he had grown used to in his later years. He sighed softly, more relaxed. You started to clean the few shallow wounds.

"Does it hurt?" you asked quietly

"Mhmm no, not really."

"Did you win?"

"Ouch..No. Not tonight."

"Sorry." you said more for your gesture rather than the fact that he didn't win the fight against the bad guys.

"No, it's perfect ... it's just a little sensitive"

You smiled but something was wrong. A feeling you've never felt before. You've finished cleaning up Peter's wounds, but your gaze has darkened. As you were about to get up, the brunette gently grabbed your wrist to hold you back. He could hear your calm breathing and yet your heart was racing. He could feel the heat on your cheeks. He too felt that the tension was at its height. Your mind was muddled, he didn't know why, he wasn't a telepath, but he could see it, feel it. Your body betrayed your mind.

"Y/N, what is it?"

"I..I don't know." you lied.

"You can tell me everything."

"I ... Well…Seeing you like this ... makes me ... makes me realize that I ... I'm afraid of losing you."

"You won't lose me ... I promise"

You are ashamed of your vulnerable state. How did you go from hating this boy to having an overwhelming fear of losing him? You looked at those chocolate eyes in confusion and distress. You were now fully aware that the little neighborhood spider was none other than your childhood friend. The one you once loved to hate, tease, fight with over trivia. He was also on the youtube videos, who stopped cars with his bare hands.

“Y/N… you won’t lose me, I promise.”

Peter dared to walk slowly towards you and in a surge of courage, one of his hands circled your burning cheek, his lips rested on yours. The brunette had always had a crush on you without actually admitting it. After all, you had known each other since you were children but... your relationship had been rather confrontational. But for two years now, everything had changed for him. He appreciated more and more your little arguments, your teasing. His thoughts would sometimes turn darker when you lick your lips or when your fingers scratched that point behind your ear, when you were a little stressed.

Your lips moved between them in a harmonious dance and you were now clinging desperately to Peter's slightly sweaty brown curls. Your heart was pounding at a speed close to the point of no return, reluctant to stop suddenly in the face of this overstimulation. But all good things came to an end and you slowly walked away. You bit your lip to get the taste of Peter's back. Your mind wandered, lost in the haze of rushing feelings.

"You..you should rest ..."

You ended up pulling away, swallowing hard. That night you didn't sleep. You have studied every facial feature of Peter, thinking of every event since your friendship. The next day, you fooled that nothing had happened. Too scared of what that kiss meant to you.

Summer 2025

It all happened so quickly. After that summer, the summer of your kiss, you promised yourself that you understood your feelings towards Peter. You weren't going to the same high school and even though you were both on social media, you never dared to contact him. You needed time.

But you haven't had this time. Peter became full-time Spider-Man and then the aliens came to earth, again. The threat of Thanos hovered and within moments, days, hours ... you were gone under his snap.

When you returned to your childhood apartment, you were alone. Well, alone in front of the family who lived in this place now. The man in his forties simply believed you were a drug-hunting teenager squatter. Five damn years had passed. 5 years where your mother had a new life when you had been eclipsed. You were distraught, alone and it was by happy coincidence that you found May at the F.E.A.S.T project. It was a relief for you to find a familiar face again. She had suggested that you come and live in her new temporary apartment, allowing you to finish high school without having to move to the other end of the United States, with your mother. You declined your offer. You wanted to fend for yourself. And surprisingly, you did pretty well.

To be exact, Mr. Delmar was looking for a student to work in his store and was kind enough to greet you in the bedroom of one of his daughters who had gone to college. By the greatest of luck, you've never seen Peter. Or rather, you managed to avoid it for an entire year. You had caught a glimpse of him one day, trying to speak Italian to get a travel adapter and a dual headphone adapter. Did you feel foolish thinking that after so long - could we consider those 5 years to be 5 concrete years? - would it still focus on the kiss you shared? After all, you got away from him after that. And then, everything went in a state of madness.

Every time you turned on the television, you learned that elemental monsters had attacked a different country. They had first started with Mexico and then moved to Europe. Italy, Prague and then London. A certain Mysterio seemed to be taking care of this matter, but you couldn't help but think of Peter. May told you he was supposed to go to Italy. In fact, every time she went to Delmar's for a sandwich, she gave you an update on her nephew's trip. But it wasn't the craziest.

Upon his return ... Spider-man's identity was revealed. You had watched in horror the video of Mysterio, which appeared on the Daily Buggle newspaper, accusing Peter of wanting to be the new Iron-Man. You were listening to J. Jonah Jameson falsely accusing Peter of being a murderer. You knew Peter, and there was no way he had done such an act. The video was bogus, you were sure. When you tried to reconnect that summer, you noticed Peter's girlfriend. Michelle Jones and ... and that's what kept you from approaching him. He was already supported. He had his best friend, Ned. His girlfriend, MJ. And he had May. It was enough, wasn't it?

It was the following year, after a new incredible adventure that you met again.

You worked at the store in the evening. Mr Delmar had asked you to help him out urgently because his youngest daughter had a health problem. You accepted with pleasure. You had offered to babysit his daughter but the loving father he was wanted to be with her. And it was precisely this evening that a thug decided to steal the fund from you.

You were at gunpoint with your hands up in the air when you saw a red and black mass fall behind the thug.

"Hey buddy, I think the bank is across the street"

Spider-Man tapped the thief on the shoulder and dodged a punch.

"But I think I'll arrest you anyway if you went to the bank. You don't seem like a nice guy." Peter joked.

You were paralyzed as your friend, your best friend if you were honest, chained or avoided them with agility. You swallowed hard, unable to move or run away. A gunshot rang out and you smelled a scared little vintage. Peter squeezed the barrel of the gun in his hand, deviating from his course. It made sense now to say that he had simply defended himself against the assault. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Peter stared the offender against a fridge door, immobilizing him. He then turned to you, oblivious to your identity at the time.

"Are you okay there?"

"Peter!"

You didn't give him the chance to realize and you rushed into his arms, hugging him so tight to feel the comfort of his body against yours.

"Uh, yeah, you're welcome. Cuddles are nice but ..."

He paused for a moment and his automated eyes widened. He knew his perfume. The flowery, sweet scents that he had missed so much. Is this possible?

"Y/N?"

You let go of him and immediately put his mask back on. Adrenaline was controlling your actions and god damn it, you needed that touch. You kissed him, bluntly. Your lips crushed against his in impatience, in ardor, but too bad. You needed to feel it against you, to regain the feeling that you had felt, years ago. After a few seconds, you felt Peter's hands encircle your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your heart was exploding, the ardor was present in your kiss. You were even frustrated that you couldn't grab her brown curls with full hands, settling for only the base of her hair. You let out a moan before pulling away abruptly. He had a girlfriend.

"I… I'm sorry. I… Sorry, I didn't mean… MJ… and… please don't blame me."

Peter silenced you with another kiss, shorter this time but so good.

“There is no MJ .... Just you and me ... Far Longer Than Forever”

You looked at him hopefully and then burst out laughing after his words.

"I didn't know you were so romantic, Parker"

"Shut your mouth."

"Make me"

"You are impossible."

"But obviously, you like"

He was going to say something to nag you, he was looking for it but you caught him off guard, placing your lips on his again. You could feel his smile in the kiss and you couldn't help but do the same. Anyone living in the neighborhood present in the street would have a view of Spider-Man kissing the student cashier from Delmar. But you couldn't care less. You had waited too long and the joy you were feeling now was so intense, you didn't want to stop feeling this. It is reluctantly that Peter moved away from you apologizing for the fact that he had to go on patrol again.

"Go save the Spider-Man neighborhood"

"Only if you promise me you'll be there when I get back."

"I was thinking of going to say goodnight to May instead ... But if you want, I have a sleeping bag in the storeroom."

"You are incorrigible .... See you later ..."

"See you later."

You smiled, in a misty state of bliss as Peter disappeared from view. This time, you weren't planning to escape, you wanted to fall into the webs of Peter Parker. You closed the store after the police visit and headed to May's flat. It was late but with her kindness she welcomed you with open arms.

This summer ... was the best in years but the others to come were going to be even more wonderful.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #tom holland #tom holland fic

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years ago

Note

My love I have read your almost all fics before but today for some reason I read almost I had read them again. What can I see I'm absolutely enamoured by each one of 'em 🌻🌻🌻.

My best wishes to you keep writing and keep prospering ✨

And for my request if you can write a blurb for the memory loss fic about them having a baby they talked about that would be really sweet 🥺 No pressure.

🌞 Anon

THANK YOUUU SM BUTTONS! YOUR LOVE MAKES ME FEEL SO WARM! Y'ALL COULD REQUEST WHENEVER UUUU GUYS FEEL LIKE

HIREATH (Y/N looses her memory from getting into an accident and Harry loves her all over again)

It all began with the weekly cleansing of their home. Yes, home. After months and months of getting accustomed to every creak of floorboard, the corner of hallway where sun shines the brightest, the tiny library Y/N loves to spend time with Harry – she has finally come to terms with calling this big sleek house her home, her most comfy space.

And Harry her person.

She has got a bunch of her memories back but other half still haunts her to sleep and she memorises the one she has a grip on to never let them slip and to cherish them till they grow old together.

While Harry had his head butted into some dusty corner to retrieve some boxes Y/N went through drawers to clean the cluster out, they both were singing ‘I’m always by your side’ by John Park.

Though, halfway through it Y/N stopped. She felt like the words choked her throat with tears bubbling in her eyes and her fingers trembled as she flipped the frame that has yellow and lilac chunky hearts on it’s borders.

“Can we have a family of ours? I've some affection for another pair of little bambi eyes.” She doesn’t remember writing it back there and it hurts her like a painful stab.

You don’t remember the most important detail of your own damn life, what a sadist.

She scoffed to herself.

When Harry didn’t hear the saccharine hum of her wife his head perked up, “Lovie?” His smile that was fluttering up from hearing their favourite part coming up and him about to be yelling at her to sing it with him dropped wrenchingly when he heard those sniffles.

“Baby.” He rounded towards her worriedly. Massaging her shoulder to make her look at him and the sorrow in his’s loves eyes broke his heart into shards tumbling him to his knees infront of her.

“What happened, darling?” He asked cupping her cheek gently and ran his thumb over her wobbling damp lip.

She just shook her head and sucked through her teeth, dollops of tears fell on Harry’s cheeks and sobbed into his hand with her eyes bolted shut.

“’M sorry!” Harry frowned when she apologised stroking her nose into his wrist, “Sorry f'what sweet pie?” He asked getting more concerned every second ticked by.

“That you wanted a family with me and I ruined that f'you ...” Her hiccups went breathless and Harry’s heart thumped into outer space for some seconds, he completely forgot about that lil present.

“Shh. Shh. ‘s okay me sweet girl, shh c’mon. Nothing’s ye fault. ‘M happy that you’re safe, healthy and happy in my arms, yeah?” He went to hug her and let her cuddle into him and she breathes his tangerine vanilla-y scent to calm herself down.

“Are you happy, though?” His tone was uncertain and his irises lurked with hope.

“Very.” He sighed in relief when She squeezed his fingers and bobbed her head profusely with that cute shy smile of hers, “Then all set! ... and fo’ babies my love we could have them whenever y'want,” He grazes his palm down her spine in smooth circles, “Whenever you’re ready.” He affirmed her in his most loving and assuring voice.

“Can we try for it now?” Harry’s brows shot up at her timid and hesitant whisper, his eyes glossed with tears of happiness because he thought he'd never be able to see this moment in his all life.

He pets her hair down her head and kissed her forehead, arms wounding around her shoulders to embrace her protectively and sentimentally.

“You want a tiny me and a tiny you!?” He grinned pushing her back gently to look down at her with cheerful eyes, when she bobbed her head with equal enthusiasm and excitement he turned all soft and mushy -- palm pressing against her belly.

“Want me t’put a baby in this pretty tummy of yours?” He smooched pecks on her lips, then kissed her compassionately at her honest confession that she actually wants what he’s been wanting for ages.

She wants to be the mommy of his babies.

Y/N's 6 months pregnant. With Harry’s bub. In a phase of it where her skin's all glassy and glowing, her eyes angelic and they grow proper lil suns on the sight of her hubby coming back home early to them.

Harry’s been never happier than this. He feels as if the whole world’s yarned up into his pocket.

He makes sure that his lovin’ is feeling comfy and pleased everytime, staying awake with her till mornings -- eating snacks and her weird cravings with her to make her feel less bad about it, taking care of her diet plans and her health, loads of love making and satiating sex, he’s always there to wipe her tears and listen to her tantrums all caused from her maternal hormones.

“Harry! Bambi eyed!!” She’s been sprawled on their deep snuggly sofa watching telly when she felt the baby moving around inside her while Harry swirled more cream on their strawberry pies.

“What happened –.. wait.” Anxiously Harry rushes back only to be met by his overly joyed girl as she huffs trying to sit up, “Come watch my belly, our baby’s havin’ a dance party inside here!” She giggles and forwards her hand for him to grab.

“Gimme your hand! Gimme! Gimme!”

“Is that so?” Harry smiles fondly wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her from back to his chest, “Don’t hear any music babe.” He teases her planting his ear against her swollen belly all of his teeth showing brightly when he feels a small prod against his cheek.

“Our bub just kicked!!” He squeals, smacking a little rushy kiss to her lips then again fixes himself back to his favourite spot.

Every night he reads books to the baby and listens to music with headphones around her belly in this exact spot.

“Harry ...” Y/N scratches his head and runs her fingers through his curls hoping that there lil one get them as walnutish and pretty.

“Do y'think I’ll be a good mother?” At that Harry moves all his attention on her and makes scooches her nearer to her, “Why’d y'ask that baby?” He asks brushing the loose strands of her hair way.

“Dunno.” She shrugs clutching the hem of his hoodie, “I don’t remember stuff from our past – sometimes I forget too much and then it comes all back. What if in old age my amnesia hits back and they'd get too annoyed by me.” There comes the pregnancy whining and wild thinking, messy tears and anxious thoughts.

“Moppet ...” Harry sighs, closing his eyes and kisses her cheeks.

“You’re g'na be the best mommy ever! Knows that they’ll love you endlessly, darling. Your memories doesn’t change the person you’re – my love, my life, the momma of my babies, you’re doin’ so good.” She giggles through her sniffles when Harry showers her in loud slobbery kisses.

“Watermelon with peanut butter sounds so good right now.” She murmurs into his neck and Harry’s glad she’s all bunched up in his arms because he did most disgusting face he could ever scrunch up.

“But, I just made y’a pie!” He whines counting on his fingers when she bursts into tears upon hearing that.

“Cute. Thank you. But, your baby wants that.” She pokes him in ribs and gives him the most puppy eyes ever.

“Alright. Not joining along though.” He gives her a pointed look and plucks her pout.

“Harry! Promise it’ll taste s’good.”

“I bet.” He quips, creating comical gagging noises.

“Meanie.” She grumps trying to bite his earlobe mischievously.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry angst #harry styles cute blurbs #harry styles story #harry styles #cute harry #harry smut #fluff #hsh #dom harry #harry styles fluffy duffy #dad harry styles

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boygirlmeetsworld · 4 years ago

Text

Messy.

ONE-SHOT

Word count: 2793

Disclaimer: One piece and all it’s characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I just like to write about them.

Warning: None

Rating: T (i guess?? there’s cursing)

Author’s Note: Whale, this is the first fanfic I’ve posted on the interwebs since high school so please keep that in mind, lol. I do plan to finish it sooner than later so check back in a few days if you want to read the rest, sorry I don’t have it all done right now. At long last it it FINISHED.

Feel free to tell me what u think! Unless it’s mean, then I ask that u keep those thoughts in ur noggin because I’m just writing these for fun not for grades.

Without further ado, here ya go.

Author’s Note pt 2: So i didn’t end up going the smut route like I originally planned, but I think it worked out better bc this one got nice and Emotional.

Summary: Zoro really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

__________________________________________

The moon was floating high in the night sky when Nami wandered onto the deck, unable to sleep even after a few hours of sketching.

She wanted company – specifically, she wanted the company of the crew’s resident alcoholic. It only took a few minutes to find him on the lawn deck with his back against a tree and his eye closed. ‘How typical.’

Nami smiled a small, excited smile as she strode over to him and squatted between his parted legs. An unconscious sigh left her nose as she swept her gaze up and down his face. She caught herself thinking, ‘He really is easy on the eyes isn’t he.’ ....again.

Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking the same thing every time she looked his way lately.

Two years ago she’d been able to keep the immature crush she had on him locked tightly away but somehow - it had gotten out and was slowly consuming her entire being.

Nami hoped he hadn’t noticed how often she invited him to drink with her because she didn’t think she could handle being rejected. So she settled for spending time alone with him whenever and however she could.

“Hey, moss-head,” the navigator said finally, leaning in to squint at him, “Are you asleep?”

He had literally just settled down for a nice cat nap when the navigator appeared suddenly to interrupt him. ‘Damn. What the hell did she want now?’

Instead of answering, Zoro chose to ignore her and pretend like he was deep asleep. ‘Why won’t she go bother someone else?’

Nami started prodding his cheek with one finger to rouse him if he really was sleeping, ”Zorooo wake up, I wanna drink,” she whined and his eyelid opened instantly.

‘Why’s she so damn pretty..’ was the first thought he had when he realized that she was a lot closer than he’d anticipated.

He mentally chastised himself after, trying to remind his id that Nami had never once indicated that she wanted to be anything other than friends and he should respect that.

But… There was no harm in looking from time to time was there? And she was pretty. She’d always been... ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, now he sounded like Sanji. He needed to get a grip.’

“Helloooooo,” Nami waved her hand in Zoro’s face until he snapped back to reality and snatched her wrist up, pulling it away. He scowled but it wasn’t deep, and now he was refusing to look her in the eye. “What was that about, huh Zoro?”

“Nothing.” The swordsman replied perhaps a little too quickly to avoid suspicion, “Thought I heard a noise, doesn’t matter – oi, didn’t you want to do something?”

He couldn’t remember what exactly it was. He’d been so distracted by the way her bangs framed her face and sometimes got caught in her eyelashes—’Damnit! He was doing it again.’

Nami smirked again but didn’t press the subject anymore. She’d do that later once they started drinking. “Weren’t you listening to me? You’re so rude, maybe I should find someone else to share my booze with.”

Was it a good idea to go drink with Nami when he kept catching himself thinking about feelings that he’d been suppressing for the last two years? Probably not…

But he couldn’t just decline an opportunity to get buzzed. ‘And... Maybe he wanted to get buzzed with Nami, specifically.’

Zoro scoffed, mostly at himself. “Quit playing games, damnit, do you want me to drink with you or not?”

“You’re so stubborn,” The navigator teased with a pleased smile that made his heart beat unevenly, “I could care less if you join me, but you’re not allowed to come unless you say you’ll be nice.”

“Nami. I am older than you, quit treating me like a fucking child or I swear-”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady who’s getting you drunk for free, Roronoa Zoro. If you can’t be nice then I’ll just add the cost of everything you drink to your debt and-”

Zoro didn’t have time to ruminate over the way hearing her say his full name made him shiver because he had to shut her up before she did charge him.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be... nice.” He hissed through gritted teeth and her answering giggle made his pulse flutter. He had to fight to keep himself from smiling. ‘What the hell was going on with him tonight? Was he sick?’

“Good boy,” she turned and started walking towards the Sunny’s aquarium bar, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was coming.

“Don’t push your luck, woman.” Zoro snarled to mask his confusion over the sudden need to touch her that he felt scratching at the back of his head. He really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

He knew it, but he followed her up the stairs all the same.

* * *

“Why d’you always want to drink with me anyway, witch?” Skeptical of her intentions, his narrowed eye fixed itself on Nami as she approached him holding two maroon tinted bottles. She offered one to him and he accepted it – but he didn’t let his guard down yet.

Zoro lowered his gaze to check the label out, whistling long and low when he read 23% alcohol per volume. A couple puzzle pieces clicked together in his head ‘Oh, that’s why. Because if she tried to drink this with anyone else they’d pass out after two glasses.’

“Would you believe that I just like hanging out with you?” Though her tone was teasing she was actually being genuine, she had a lot of fun with him whenever they went out.

“No–“ He paused when Nami kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him swear. Reaching down with his free hand he rubbed the sore patch of skin and glared daggers at his crewmate. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“You said you’d be nice, Zoro! So be nice or I’ll charge you a hundred thousand beris for that bottle.” Nami uncorked hers but waited to hand the corkscrew over until he behaved himself. The look he was giving her would probably frighten a small child but she didn’t flinch.

‘This was his choice.’ He reminded himself. Of his own free will he chose to get drunk with Nami instead of napping, and that meant dealing with her bossiness no matter how much he loathed it. ‘Sometimes he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and make her shut up, there were better things her mouth could be doing anyway-‘

“Why do you keep staring at me like that, do I have a zit or something?”

Zoro sat up so fast that he banged his shoulder on the underside of the countertop. ‘What the hell was that? What the hell was wrong with him?’ He hadn’t even opened the damn bottle and he was already making himself look like an idiot.

“No,” the swordsman grumbled, wracking his brain for a believable excuse, “Just thinking about how I’ll owe you money even after I’m dead if you keep charging me for bullshit.” That made her laugh and Zoro cursed himself for how much he liked hearing it. “Don’t see how it’s funny for me, witch.”

Nami let him take the corkscrew from her, eyes crinkled with amusement while he opened his bottle. “You’ll just have to stay alive until you pay me back in full, I guess!” She trilled before taking a long, heavy drink from hers.

“Yeah?” Zoro snorted before mimicking her and downing about half of the wine in the container. It tasted disgusting, which he’d expected, but that didn’t make the bitter aftertaste any less miserable. His nose wrinkled slightly as he set the bottle down. “I bet even if I did try to pay you off you’d find a way to charge me more.”

“You make me sound so heartless,” the navigator batted her eyelashes innocently, pretending to look hurt, “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Hah.” He scoffed before chugging some more wine and failing to keep track of how much he was drinking each time. “Because you want to keep me on a leash since I don’t throw myself at you like that dumbass cook.”

An impish smirk crawled it’s way onto Nami’s face that made him immediately regret what he’d just said. ‘Fuck. Damnit!’

“So…” She began slowly, savoring every second that the swordsman spent avoiding direct eye contact with her, “You admit that you are one of my lap dogs?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he stopped drinking for one second to grunt, “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard!” Chimed Nami as she rose from her seat, stepping over to Zoro and tracing a finger under his jaw while he drained the last few drops of liquid. “I should get you a collar, so people know who to bring you to when you get lost.”

Normally he would have snapped at her for poking fun at his sense, or lack thereof, direction but he wasn’t listening to her. She’d come close enough for him to pick up her scent and maybe it was the alcohol intensifying his feelings, but it was suffocating him in a good way.

He loved the way she smelled. Tangerines from her soaps mixed with salty seawater and traces of sunscreen. A hint of orange blossom, but only when she was close to him like this.

Zoro inhaled deeply through his nose and, without realizing it, his expression melted into something affectionate and gentle. ‘In two years she’d changed in so many different ways… but she still smelled the same. She still smelled like home.’

* * *

“What are you thinking about, Zoro?” Her voice void of it’s usual teasing tone, Nami’s curiosity was piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor. He looked soft and peaceful, like he didn’t have anything to worry about. She wanted to know why.

‘Ah, fuck.’ What was he supposed to tell her? That he was thinking about how good she smelled? ‘Yeah right.’ Zoro was quiet for a while, mulling over his words until he came up with an explanation that didn’t sound as creepy – but also wasn’t a lie.

“I guess..” he finally murmured, his gaze shifting to meet hers, “It’s just been a while and… I was thinking about how nice it feels to be back here, with everyone…” a brief pause then he added, “I missed you guys.” ‘Look at him being all gushy and emotional, this wine really was something else.’ Zoro reached to brush his fingertips by her temple, catching a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I missed you.”

When had Zoro ever been this honest with her about the way he felt? Never was the answer, but now he seemed to trust her well enough to know she wouldn’t spill his secrets. Nami took his face in both of her hands, surprising him, and pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “I missed you too, Zoro.”

Something about hearing her say that she’d missed him too broke a dam in his chest that he’d been trying to keep together for two years. Hormoness flooded through his bloodstream quicker than Zoro could even process them and before he knew it he was practically throwing his arms around Nami’s waist and crushing her against his chest.

“Nami—” he pressed his face into her neck to hide the tears that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Sober he might have cared about losing it like this around her but she was here and… ‘He just – needed to hold her.’ Hold her and smell her and feel how real she was because she had almost been taken from him.

‘He’d barely begun to process what he had been through on Thriller Bark when they were attacked in Sabaody. If he tried to think back on it his memories would get hazy and his bones would ache from their very cores. He knew what had happened but it’s like his brain was protecting him from understanding how close to death he’d come. Then – to be torn away from the people he loved with all of his heart? Who he had just nearly killed himself to protect?

It had ripped him apart and rubbed salt into every wound. And it fucking hurt. The same kind of pain he felt when he saw Kuina dead on the floor of their dojo. He was scared, he was furious, he was devastated – all over again but this time it was so much worse. So, so much worse.

That was why he had trained so hard over the last two years. Because he couldn’t bear the grief that came with loving them so deeply – so he got stronger. And stronger. And stronger. No matter the cost to his body, he would become powerful enough to defeat anyone who crossed them. Then… He would never have to feel the agony that he did when he first woke up on Kuraigana Island ever again.

Taking on all of Luffy’s suffering in Thriller Bark had been the most physically painful experience of his entire life – but that was nothing compared to how much it hurt to think that his friends were gone forever, that he hadn’t been able to protect them.

Training made it easy not to think about what had happened -- but now he was home, and they were safe - and he was realizing just how close he’d come to losing all of them. At once. And he could do nothing to stop it.’

Startled by him grabbing her, Nami was prepared to give the pirate a good smack if he was getting handsy but… He started trembling. ‘Was he not feeling well?’ Her mouth opened to form the question then stopped. His breathing hitched while his entire body jerked and she realized…

‘Zoro was crying.’

Roronoa Zoro, who prided himself on his strength, was sobbing wretchedly into her neck. ‘He must have been holding this in since Sabaody.’ Nami’s heart ached for him and his stupid pride that forced him to torture himself instead of letting him cry like he needed to. She’d been expecting him to crash at some point, how couldn’t he? Even someone as strong as Zoro was still a human being.

One of her arms cradled his head while the other wound round his shoulders, her fingers combing gently through his hair. “Oh you sweet, sweet boy…” she spoke in the tone that Bellemere used to use when Nami and Nojiko were frightened by a passing thunderstorm. It always calmed her, maybe it would calm Zoro, too.

‘Quit fucking crying you loser you’re supposed to be a man.’ But he couldn’t, he literally could not stop because he was trying to. “I wasn’t strong enough,” his voice quivered at the edges and he hated it. ‘He was definitely never going to drink this kind of wine again ever. Not if it turned him into a blubbering mess like this every time.’

“Shhh, no. No. Don’t you dare try to blame yourself for what happened. Hey, look at me.” Nami urged his head off her shoulder and cupped his face in both of her palms, “None of us were strong enough, okay? Not even Luffy.” Each tear that fell she tenderly swept away with the pad of her thumb. The corner of her mouth turned up as she assured him, “But we are strong enough now. We can take care of each other. Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again, Zoro.”

‘She was right. Of course, she was right. He needed to have faith in his crewmates and his captain. They could do anything as long as they had each other.’ His breathing slowly evened out as he focused on anchoring himself back to reality. He wasn’t in Sabaody or Kuraigana – he was on the Sunny. In the bar, with Nami who had grown so much since he last saw her. The look in his eye softened like it had before his breakdown.

“You’re staring at me again, Zoro.” The navigator teased, her hands falling to rest on his shoulders. He hadn’t let go of her yet but she didn’t mind, he could hold on to her for as long as he needed.

A ghost of his usual smirk passed across his face. “Sorry, Nami…” Zoro took a little risk by leaning in to press a chaste but lingering kiss to her cheek, then traced a path with the edge of his nose to her ear, murmuring, “Wine makes me a little… Messy.”

#zona #zonami #zoro x nami #zona one-shots #zoro nami fanfiction #zonalove #zoro x nami fanfic

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thepixelelf · 4 years ago

Text

THE BOYZ masterlist

Favourites: ❤

All works are gender neutral unless specified

Disclaimer: I no longer actively write for The Boyz, (you can find an explanation here) but please don’t let that stop you from enjoying the works below!

All

Hood (Social Media AU) - Ongoing

Creker University has it all — premium education, respected faculty, even a revered partnership with OneAll Charity. There’s just one problem. A mysterious hooded figure has made it their personal mission to flip CKU’s golden reputation on its head. With “Hood’s” most recent crusade, people — staff and students alike — are itching to find out exactly who this hooded vigilante is. Little does anyone know, Hood is much more than meets the eye.

second masterlist link

With Love, (Audio Recording) - On Hiatus

“And we’re back on Tangerine Radio! That was All My Love by Seventeen, a bittersweet song about love only going so far. On that note, I’d like to introduce a brand new segment to our listeners here on Tangerine Radio: a little thing I like to call “With Love”. We’re inviting one and all to come and send your love letters via radio to everyone listening and, most importantly, the person you want to hear it the most. More details on this new segment can be found on our website, where you can sign up to be our next esteemed guest. Now, we can’t listen to my dumb voice forever. Up next is Lazy by Woosung.”

Sangyeon

Bad Luck Charm ❤

Good luck isn’t always what you need.

Red (Secret Agent AU)

Sangyeon’s always hated you, the leader of Team Red — a rookie team that quickly rose in the ranks up to the title of second-best. He thought it was because you were annoying and smug, but sometimes his eyes just kept seeing red.

#61 Undercover (CEO AU)

Working undercover at Lee Technologies isn’t exactly what you expected.

Blurbs:

[Bed and Breakfast for Fallen Gods]

[ink it in]

Jacob

#18 Across the street (Neighbour AU)

After only one night, your 1:00AM snack runs became a little more special.

Blurbs:

[ABCs of Us]

[by the fire’s light]

[ice ice baby]

Younghoon

#21 At a wedding

What better at a wedding than a long overdue reunion?

Our Sky

Graduation looms around the corner, and you might be thinking too much in your special spot.

#46 Under the rain

It’s a rainy day when someone catches your eye.

#63 In bed

With a devastating lack of sleep, Younghoon really really misses you.

Blurbs:

[in a daze]

[no hope to be lost]

[hell is no home] feat. Changmin

Hyunjae

#55 Past the point of no return (Kingdom AU)

One morning, he opened your door and took your hand. What you were supposed to do? Say no?

#26 Off the beaten path

You thought you knew yourself. And you did. You also didn’t.

#60 Through a friend

It’s not every day Lee Jaehyun finds someone he doesn’t know.

Blurbs:

[Unwanted Vibrancies]

[get a taste]

[speed bump]

[steps taken in the rain]

[nights before]

[it’s just a demon, baby]

[press b]

Juyeon

#59 By magic ❤

Juyeon needed a little magical intervention. Definitely not for you. For his eyes. Yeah. His eyes.

Repeat: Do Not Improvise (Secret Agent AU)

Your mission is to steal the Women of Algiers from right under some millionaire’s nose. It goes a little off the rails.

#71 In a haunted house

You get a little more oomph than you bargained for at your seasonal job.

#12 At an aquarium

Aqualand Park’s prize exhibit just so happens to be your friend, and you’d do anything for his freedom.

Kevin

Talk to Me (Soulmate AU) ❤

Kevin Moon found you in a brightly lit box full of bad coffee but better conversation.

#65 While losing at Uno

Kevin cashes in a bet

Citizen Crowned (Modern Kingdom AU) - Part One (DISCONTINUED)

For the first time in your life, you’re in the spotlight as the Citizen Crowned. There’s only one thing you’re absolutely not allowed to do, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got that in the bag. Hopefully. The Prince could be a threat to that, but you’ll worry about him after you uncover the biggest secret of the century.

Pronunciation Guide and More

Good

Some things are just good, and they don’t need to be anything else.

#23 On an amusement park ride

Working at an amusement park has its ups and downs.

Blurbs:

[before the blade falls]

New

Blurbs:

[to metaphors]

[in photosynthesis]

Pansy ❤

Over the years, you learned that being a Pansy wasn’t so bad.

Blurbs:

[Knight’s Watch]

[Game of Mind; Piece of Heart]

[Imposter’s Court]

[Fearless Adventures]

[Nullichromatic]

[make a connection]

[hell is no home] feat. Younghoon

Haknyeon

#1 Over tea

Haknyeon is really, really late.

Complete Me

His entire life, Haknyeon has been ice, but when a pyrokinetic is transferred to Viridian Academy, he wonders for the first time what it means to be warm.

Blurbs:

[Locked Out]

[Pillow Duty]

[Heart to Get]

[Grocery Ghost]

[Sweet not Sour]

[say cheese]

[speak up] - Hood bonus blurb

Sunwoo

Your Lover Who Will Never Change

A soulmate story told in moments

Blurbs:

[Anonymous Nights] [Part 2] [Part 3] (Superhero AU) - Completed

[digital age love]

[forgetful togethers]

[don’t blow your top]

[a dance of midnight]

Eric

#68 In Denny’s at 4:00 AM

In your opinion, a Denny’s wasn’t the best place to discuss Eric’s love life, though anywhere else wouldn’t be much better.

Shortstop’s Dilemma (Superhero AU)

Eric only has trouble keeping his secret identity when it comes to you.

#41 Lost in an IKEA

Eric leaves his phone at home.

#28 Stuck together

You’ve always kept your powers hidden – they’re no one’s business, anyways – but when a skittish young man is in need of some old-fashioned heart soothing, you think you know just the thing.

#49 Through a kiss

Eric felt down after his crush of two years moved to study in Iceland, despite the fact that he’d never said a word past “hi” to them before. His friends suggested he loosen up, but he was really regretting listening to what they had to offer.

Where We Stand

Eric Sohn, heir to his family corporation, stumbles across someone new. His only problem? You’re exactly what he needs.

Do You Want Me? (Like I Just Wanna Know You)

Another soulmate story told in moments

Blurbs:

[Sweetly Uncalculated]

Main Masterlist

#the boyz masterlist

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not-withoutyou · 4 years ago

Note

For the angsty prompts: On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair

Ps. I am a huge fan of your work! You have a beautiful way of writing Steve and Bucky and I'm very partial to your pre-war Stucky (though OFC I am, lol) I'm also in love with everything you write!

THANK YOU!! 😘💕💕

(Thank you so much you are the SWEETEST)

In the summer—the dog days when the sun wouldn’t start melting to the horizon until late into the evening—the two of them would sit out on the fire escape after Bucky got off work. Long after the brunt of the mid-afternoon heat had subsided, stripped down to undershirts, they’d smoke together. Bucky would write and Steve would draw, enjoying the breeze and fading light. Sometimes, they wouldn’t even talk— just share space and enjoy each others company, the birdsong, the familiar sounds of the city, the squealing delight of children playing in the streets. Sometimes, though, Bucky would try his best to describe the colors of the sunset— though he could really only compare it to other things. “It’s.. pink. Yellow-orange. Gold like happiness, Stevie. Like tangerines or the taste of honey. It’s sweet and warm.”

He stopped there, glanced over to see Steve smiling at him, the crinkles by his eyes. His sketchbook sat open in his lap—half-rendered drawings of the buildings, the clotheslines and the windows, of Bucky himself.

He swallowed, cheeks burning. What Bucky didn’t say was, ‘It’s gold like your hair, like your laugh. Gold like when you touch me.’

Steve even closed his eyes briefly, like he was trying to imagine. “I bet it’s pretty, Buck.”

Cigarette between his lips, he reached over to wipe a smudge of graphite off Steve’s chin with his thumb. “It is. It’s real pretty.”

It was beautiful— it was the reason Steve reminded him so of summer, of sunlight, when he drew his soft bottom lip between his teeth. Those big blue eyes, a cloudless July sky. The freckles all over his shoulders.

And sometimes, ‘I love you,’ sounded more like, “D’ya want lemonade, pal? I’ll make some.” Sometimes, it was a brush against a cheek. Sometimes, it was a back rub to soothe sore muscles or splitting an ice pop in half to share.

Maybe, ‘I love you,’ existed in all the color Steve couldn’t see—the ones Bucky was trying to give him.

#stucky fanfiction #stucky #stucky fic #stevebucky #steve/bucky #steve x bucky #bucky barnes #captain america #steve rogers

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years ago

Text

fic: there will be better days

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

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

summary: Sam and Dean settle into their heaven.

(read on AO3)

They stand on the bridge, in quiet, for…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean looks up, sharply. "Did you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey," he hears, and looks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Seriously?" Sam says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It lasts—

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

Perfect, Dean thinks, after.

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

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

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

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

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

#wincest #carry on spoilers #my writing

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