#ficlet I say about something that's nearly 3000 words

[goddessofroyalty]

im in love (LOVE) with the whole zaun family you write about. absolutely enamored by it. need those great moments of jayce Meeting The Family , trying to "impress" everyone to show he's a good boyfriend (even if they're not actually dating he still does it subconciously). delicious

So the meeting the family is already written here, but I really wanted to write the moments of Jayce trying to impress them so take a 5 times. Because yes one of the most fun things about this verse is just Jayce trying to figure out Viktor's family.

Also I wrote this without any omegaverse/obvious-mpreg in play. In case you wondered just how much adding that in is purely self-indulgent for me. I’m well aware it’s not necessary at all.

Oh and the liqueur is Sambuca and the pastry is Profiteroles.

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

The conversation had started as an update to an investor but had long moved past that as the three sat at the bar across from Vander after it had been closed to the public for the night. The boys telling Silco about the reality of failure in trails and the much longer term dreams that are reliant on proving a number of other ideas are viable. Because Silco is not merely an investor and the line between business partner and parent now well and truly blurred.

Vander couldn’t be prouder of his son. Viktor had taken every opportunity he could and it really seemed like he and the Piltite partner he had found are on the cusp of something that could change the lives of so many.

It’s an achievement that should be celebrated so Vander digs out the old bottle that lives under the bar unknown to all but his family, lining up four shot classes and giving three of them a full pour of it.

“What’ll you have?” he asks Jayce because he still hasn’t learned the boy’s preferences.

“What?” Jayce asks, glances over where he’d been more watching Viktor and Silco’s conversation. Apparently happy to let Viktor take the lead in both explanations and praise. The dopy smile he’s had enough to tell Vander all he needs to know about his intentions.

Oh well, Vander’s seen how his son looks at the boy as well.

“To drink,” Vander says.

“To toast,” Viktor clarifies, his and Silco’s attention now on Vander and the drinks as well.  

“Oh! Right. Just whatever everyone else is having.”

Vander looks to Viktor first. Because the liquor isn’t exactly the sort he would think to be to the taste of someone more used to Piltoven spirits.

Viktor gives a small nod so Vander pours the fourth as well.

He grabs the first glass and the others all take theirs. Bringing them together with a soft clink before tossing them back.

The alcohol burns just right going down, bringing a sweet nostalgic with it.

Silco clearly feels it too. His good eye shut for an instant before it snaps open at the coughing that fills the bar.

“What was that?” Jayce asks, slamming his glass down as he covers his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Zaun spiced liquor,” Vander says pouring a glass of beer for the boy to wash it down with. “I don’t think there’s anything quite like it topside.”

“Not that I know of,” Jayce says, drinking the beer quickly to wash the taste from his mouth.

Bit of a waste honestly but the boy couldn’t have known he couldn’t handle it.

Viktor at least seems entertained at his partner’s antics going by the sly smile on Vander’s son’s face.

Next time Vander will just give the boy straight Vodka though instead.

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

“Actually Vi, before you go, there’s something I wanted your help with,” Jayce says after he confirmed that, no, Viktor wasn’t in their lab and that he didn’t know where Vi’s brother would be instead.

“Sure, what can I do?” Technically she could say she had passed their parents message on to Jayce to pass on to Viktor. It wasn’t exactly an urgent one anyway.

“I need your opinion on the weight of something,” Jayce says, going to the pile of project prototypes that was apparently a mandatory part of any inventor’s space.

“I don’t see why you need me for that.” Jayce was surprisingly strong for a Piltite after all.

And then Jayce pulls out a matching set of gloves and puts them on the table in front of Vi.

“Oh.”

They look like Vander’s gauntlets. The ones still hanging up in the Last Drop from when he ‘retired’ them. A reminder that literally hangs over their heads of what their bartered peace with Piltover had cost and what it would mean if they lost it.

And Viktor’s Piltite not-boyfriend had apparently decided to make some of his own.

“They’re for the mines,” Jayce explains. “If we can power them with the Hex crystals than they should allow more work to be done with less strain on the user’s body.”

“Right.” They will also be a powerful weapon should their wearer want them to be.

Silco is going to love them.

“So what do you need me for?”

“Try them on and tell me if you think the frame is too heavy,” Jayce says. “I think they are okay but I want a second opinion.”

“You should find someone who would actually be using them,” Vi says as she puts them on. She hasn’t worked a day of her life in the mines so doesn’t really know what they should be looking for.

The gauntlets are noticeably lighter than Vi remembers Vander’s pair to be the one time he had brought them down for her to try on to feel the weight of that part of their family’s history. A much smoother design and access to whatever materials wanted meaning even the extra features they still are much more comfortable on.

Vi feels powerful to have them on. Even without the Hex crystal to give them movement and additional thrust.

She could come to love them.

“Yeah the weights fine,” Vi says as she drops them back on the workbench. Fighting back the urge to ask if she could maybe have a custom pair of her own made. Not that she ever has plans of working in the mines and knows all the reasons open arms are a dangerous road to follow.

“Good. Now we just need to get the crystals stable enough to power them without any explosion risk,” Jayce says, taking the gauntlets back to return them to the prototype pile, apparently unaware of Vi’s internal conflict. “Thanks for the second opinion.”

“No problem,” Vi says despite feeling like this is something she should at least mention to Vander.

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

“Why is this here?” Viktor asks, poking at the crates that had been delivered not long after Vander and Silco had left for some meeting with his cane. He’s down with the Piltite ‘business’ partner of his for some installation of something that Claggor only half-listed to the explanation of over dinner last night.

“They’re too heavy for any of us to move, so they’ll have to wait ‘till Vander gets home to move them,” Claggor explains. He’s supposed to be watching the bar while their parents are gone but it isn’t all that busy being the dead time between lunch and afternoon rushes. And anyway, he’ll hear if a customer arrives.

“How heavy are they?” Jayce asks, looking like he’s going to try and pick one up.

“Heavy.”

Not even with Vi’s help could Claggor get them to move more than a little at a time. And it would take so long to get them where they needed to go and be embarrassing if a customer did show up and get to watch them struggle.

So of course Viktor’s Piltite ‘business’ partner manages to pick one up with only minimal strain.

“I should be able to carry them,” he says as he settles the weight of it in his arms. “Where do you need them?”

“Storage room in the basement.” Surely the stairs should give him pause. They give Vander pause and have their father complaining about the bar’s layout and getting old every time he has to carry the heavy things down to it.

“Right- Vik?” the Piltite says, glancing to Claggor’s big brother as if asking for directions.

“I’ll watch the bar. It has been a while and I, ah, would not know where to put them down there,” Viktor says.

Claggor is sure it is just an excuse so his brother can sit and watch Jayce haul the heavy boxes past him. How the Piltite hadn’t noticed how Viktor looks at him Claggor will never know. Even their parents had noticed.

Claggor can tease his brother about it later.

 “Lead the way then,” Jayce says to Claggor, with a smile that must work wonders on the sweet old ladies of the Uppercity but just screams ‘rob me’ down in Zaun.

And yet Viktor keeps bringing him down when he visits. And then wonders why everyone knows he’s got a crush on the Piltite.

At least he picked one that wasn’t completely useless.

Jayce is nice enough a well. He seems genuinely interested in the small talk as Claggor shows him the way. Asking about how Claggor has been since the last time he was down, whether the alterations he had made to Claggor’s glasses frames were keeping them on better, and happily talking about the progress he and Viktor made in their work in words Claggor actually understood.

Claggor at least won’t be mad when the two stop dancing around each other and actually kiss.

It’s just how Silco’s gonna’ freak when they do he isn’t looking forward to.

“Just put it over there,” Claggor says, pointing to where the other stock is. They can worry about rotating stock later.

“How many more are there?” Jayce asks, stretching his arms after he puts the box down.

“Three. But it can wait ‘till Vander comes home.” Viktor would probably be unhappy if his Piltite actually hurt himself.

“I don’t mind doing it and it helps you out.”

Claggor certainly isn’t going to argue it. And if the Piltite keeps being so helpful Claggor might have to tell his brother to stop watching and make a move because he managed to one the one actually decent Piltite that Claggor wouldn’t mind as a brother-in-law.

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

It’s not Silco knocking on the door Mylo knows. Because Silco doesn’t bother to knock on the door of his own office, just walks in.

So Mylo goes to answer it because he’s much too old for the rule of don’t answer the door unless you know who it is to apply. Especially considering they are in Piltover right now and for all that the place is filled with backstabbing assholes they’re the kind that do it by arresting you or denying funds not kidnapping your kid from your office in the middle of their fancy government building. It would offend their delicate sensibilities if they did.

He is only mildly surprised to see Viktor’s dumb Piltite partner on the other side of the door. Because who else in Piltover would actually be interested in coming to the Zaun Representative’s office especially when said representative is out?

“What do you want?” Mylo asks because there isn’t anyone around to tell him to be nice.  

“There was some food leftover after a function Councilor Kiramman was hosting I thought you guys might want it,” Jayce says, holding up the box he brought with him.

“We’re not that poor you know.” And they sure as shit don’t need anyone’s pity.

“I know you’re not poor. I, uh, it’s the desserts. They had Viktor’s favorites so I thought you all might like them as well,” Jayce says, opening the box up to reveal some kind of chocolate covered pastry ball.

It is a bribe not pity being offered then.

Mylo can work with that.

Of course Mylo had been taught that you don’t just accept a bribe without first ensuring it is what has been promised. So he takes one of the pastry balls and inspects it before biting into it. The pastry really just a vessel from the sweet cream filling and chocolate.

He can see why they are Viktor’s favorites.

“I assume Viktor already has some?” There’s plenty in there assuming they don’t need to share with their big brother as well.

“Yes, I dropped some off to him before coming here,” Jayce says and Mylo is fairly certain there’s a light blush on his face and he doesn’t want to know what his brother said about the desserts.

“Alright,” Mylo says shutting the box and taking it from the Piltite. “And you want me to not tell Silco about this?”

“I’m not going to tell you not to tell your parent something but-“

“He’ll be mad as hell if he finds out.” Only Silco is allowed to accept Piltover bribes after all. And Mylo knows his dad isn’t convinced they aren’t trying to steal his children away through offers of scholarships and becoming business partners. “It’s cool I won’t tell him.”

The poor Piltite looks like he doesn’t know if he should say thank you or chastise Mylo.

“Anything else you want?”

“No. That was it,” Jayce says.

“Alright. Thanks then,” Mylo says before swinging the door shut and going back to Silco’s desk to count out the pastry’s and figure out how many he can eat before going home and still have an acceptable amount left over for his siblings.

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

Contrary to what Mylo liked to claim, Powder didn’t sulk like a baby. So what she was doing right now isn’t sulking.

She is just thinking. About how everyone else was too busy with their important responsibilities to play with her. And how she wasn’t even allowed to help out because she couldn’t be trusted and was too little still because being the youngest sucked.

“Hey Powder, are you busy right now?”

She looks up at Viktor’s stupid Piltite not my boyfriend Powder stop saying that. What he’s doing up on the bar roof she doesn’t know.

“Oh yeah, totally, I’m super busy. Trying to figure out what upgrades to add to the buildings,” Powder says with a laugh that she hopes hides how obvious the lie must sound. Jayce is probably doing super busy with important science things and doesn’t have time for Powder and her questions and probably just wants he to go away and stop bothering us.

“That’s too bad. I brought that piece you said you were missing and was wondering if we could go test out those boards you and Ekko were building. But if you’re too busy…”

“I’m not!” Powder says, jumping up to her feet. “I mean I was but it’ll be fine to leave it for a little. Come back with fresh eyes you know?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, totally, come on I want to see the board hover!”

She grabs Jayce’s hand to get him to hurry up and move because who knows how long it’ll be until it’s sorry Powder I have to go back to my important work, maybe another time. Practically dragging the heavy Piltite down through the back of the bar and to Benzo’s shop.

“Ekko! Come on we got to go!”

“What has gotten into ya’ to get you all excited Powder?” Benzo’s asks, wondering out from the back of the shop.  

“Science!” Powder explains because they don’t have time for this! They need to go!

“You’ll be supervising them I suppose?” Benzo’s asks Viktor’s not-boyfriend because you’re too little you might hurt yourselves if someone isn’t watching. “Alright fine, take the afternoon off Ekko.”

“What are we doing?” Ekko asks once they are out of earshot and heading towards the empty lot that Vander and Silco had specifically promised to develop last so they could have a place to test things out so long as they promise not to destroy the neighboring buildings, we don’t need a repeat of the Topside explosion.

“Jayce brought us the bit for the boards,” Powder explains.

“Oh wait – really!?” Ekko grabs Jayce’s other hand to help Powder get him to move faster damn it! because he understands why they have to go go go and not have just some casual wonder through the Lanes.

“I want to see if they will work as well,” Jayce says because he has the science brain as well and just wants to make things. It’s why he gets along with Viktor so well even if he is still a dumb arrogant sibling-stealing Piltite.

They make it to the empty lot and Ekko drags the boards out from where they hid them behind some rubbish because they were too big to take home and Powder your inventions are already making it too hard to walk around your room.

They flip them over and Jayce connects up the missing stabilizer to the place they left for it, flipping the board over again.

“Do you want to do the honors?” he asks Ekko because this was originally Ekko’s idea and we have to respect each other’s work.

Powder can’t help but jump around when the board starts to hover.

“It works! It works! It works!” Now the adults has to take them seriously because they’ve made something that actually works and it isn’t even a bomb.

“Do you think someone could ride it?” Ekko asks.

“Only one way to find out,” Jayce says, picking Ekko up and putting him on the hovering board.

It takes a couple seconds before Ekko finds his balance, taking the board for a small circle around the two them before stopping it, grinning the whole time.

“This is going to be so cool!”

“You’re probably not going to get it much higher than this with the current power source,” Jayce says as he helps Ekko off the board again. “But if we can give it a stronger vertical thrust it will allow people to move between the whole city much more efficiently.”

Powder doesn’t care about those silly adult concerns. She just cares that their invention works and how cool they’re going to look riding them around the Lanes.

[deansawthetvglow]

The ficlet: Welcome Home, 2.2k, post s14.

The prompt: Yo! Congrats for the 3000! I was thinking a cute ficlet of Dean finding Cas' sketch book and it's all cute drawings of Dean with little sentences or notes by Cas. Stuff like a drawing of deans sleepy waking up face and Cas' note saying "this is my 2nd favorite Dean face". for @idkmanjustgo

It’s been a week since Dean and Sam have seen Cas.

They’re stuck in the bunker, and Cas is out hunting God.

“We should be out there with him, Sammy.” Dean grumbles.

“I know Dean, but Cas can help locate him faster. Once he does, we can go help with the fight.”

Dean rolls his eyes at his brother. “How can you be so okay with Cas leaving at a time like this?”

It’s been a week since Chuck snapped his fingers and the aftermath is immense. The sky is constantly dark, black smoke blocking out the sun as demons search for available vessels to trash. Ghosts roam the earth, tied to nothing but the stench of hell. Dead men shuffle through the streets, rotting and hungry.

Cas shouldn’t be out there alone.

That’s when Dean’s phone rings and he lunges to grab it from the countertop next to the stove.

“Cas?”

“Dean. I have been...unsuccessful...in my search. I know that you would prefer me to stay away from the bunker at this time, but I’m,” an exerted grunt crackles through the phone, “quite injured and could use a place to rest.”

Dean kicks himself. It’s the end of the fucking world so of course, he had just told Cas he’s no longer welcome. “You’re dead to me.” How fucking stupid.

Dean sighs, trying not to give away how much Cas is not dead to him at all. In fact, he’s pretty much all he’s been fixating on for the entire past week and now he’s worried sick at the prospect of Cas being so injured he needs time to heal.

“Course, Cas. You, uh, you’re always welcome here.”

“I estimate my drive will be around 12 hours, considering all the chaos on the roads.”

“Sure. See you soon.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean hangs up and presses the phone to counter, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

“So, Cas is coming back?” Sam says over his book from the kitchen table.

Dean just nods and leaves the room.

He knows there’s not much he can do to help Cas, he knows that they are more fractured than they’ve been before. There’s no fiery anger or sorrow, there’s nothing to hold onto. Instead, it feels like a faux indifference, one overcompensating for true emotions and is eating away at them both.

Neither wants to show weakness. Neither wants to feel the full weight of their situation. Neither wants to admit the opposite of their indifference.

But Dean decides, fuck it, it really is the end of the world this time and he needs to make sure Castiel feels welcome in the family again.

It’s a small step, and it won’t erase the words he’s already said, but it’s in this moment that he decides to prepare Cas’ room for his arrival.

He reaches door 15 and hesitates. Castiel deserves his own god damn permanent room, not some guest room that’s only available when it’s convenient for them.

Dean decides to move Cas to room 12, just down the hall from his own. Maybe he’ll regret it but c’est la fuckin vie.

When he finally enters the guest room to collect Cas’ things, he doesn’t find much.

It’s a sterile room, lonely almost. He grabs the little photo leaned up against the lamp, the one they took back with Bobby and Jo and Ellen all those years back, a few spare buttons and some weird Enochian book with a few goats etched in gold on the front.

He turns to leave when he notices the corner of a piece of paper peeking out from under the bed.

When Dean leans down to grab it, he realizes, it’s not just a piece. It’s a whole notebook.

The pages are sturdy and lightly creme tinted and the cover is white, simple, smooth, blank.

He knows he shouldn’t, but once he reaches room 12 and sets the knickknacks he found down on the desk, he sits on the edge of the bed and opens the journal.

What he sees first makes him gasp.

It’s a hand on a shoulder from a high perspective. There are terrible faces screaming, warped, muddled together in the background, but there is a light, replicated by the contrast from perfect charcoal shading, that blinds in the foreground.

The bottom corner reads “Dean Winchester is Saved”

Dean’s mind flashes back to his first moment seeing the scar from Castiel. His stomach lurches.

Dean never expected Castiel to be an artist, but now, seeing the magnificence of something so simple, his heart yearns to turn the page. He knows there’s something wrong about looking through someone else’s notes, but he can’t help it.

He does.

This page is eyes. His eyes.

Angry eyes. Soft eyes. Closed eyes with long lashes. Crying eyes. Eyes with pupils so dilated, Dean can see love. A few of the eyes are framed by expressive brows, some sketches reach down to the tops of freckled cheekbones.

He breathes deeply and closes his own eyes, letting his finger softly run down the page, not enough to smudge it, but just enough to feel the intensity at which these were drawn.

He opens his eyes.

Turns the page.

This page is noses. All the same one. Freckles spattered meticulously over them. Some are side profiles, others, straight on. Some flared, some scrunched. Dean never thought a nose could be a muse, and yet...

Another page flipped means he reaches lips. Dean lifts a finger to his own to trace the shape. These are his lips. They are drawn lightly open, smiling, pressed together, shouting.

One depiction has his lips locked with another’s. His lips dominate the image so he can’t pick out who’s they are. He wonders if he’s kissed that set of lips before. He wonders if they are Castiel’s, but quickly shakes the thought from his head.

Another page turned and he’s not sure how to feel.

It’s his entire profile, perfected. Mimicked sunlight hits his face and his eyes gleam in the light. His face is sharp and determined, but his eyes fool no one.

This one is labeled, “Dean running us through a case. It’s morning, the sun rises and warms us through a dirty motel window. I don’t remember the case. I was too busy looking at him.”

The next page is him sleeping. He wishes he felt weird about it, wishes he hated that Cas had drawn him like this, messy hair and parted lips and cheek squished into a soft pillow, but he can’t help but feel warm and soft and flattered.

The accompanying note does nothing to settle the butterflies in his stomach.

“Dean didn’t sleep well last night, he doesn’t usually. He sleeps angry. But we returned from a case in Illinois last night and he needed true rest. I snuck in and gave him a dream. Here is his face when he’s dreaming of picnics with a woman he saw on a billboard for shampoo yesterday.”

He keeps turning pages, settles back into the pillows on the bed and lets his feet swing up. He flips and gazes for a long while.

There are countless images of bees drawn on the sides of pages, one page is an entire hive of them, honeycomb patterning in the back.

There are a few drawings of Sam and Jack here and there as well. Sam looks so happy in one of the sketches that Dean’s heart nearly bursts. He hasn’t seen Sam that happy since...ever...and seeing it, well, maybe it should make him sad, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s perfect and it makes Dean think it’d be possible to see that exact expression on his brother’s face sometime.

Sometime soon, he hopes.

There’s one page in a cartoon style that depicts Jack as a superhero, a whole costume design and everything. “Angel Man” written messily at the top.

Dean snorts into the silence, Cas, you are such a huge dork.

Finally, he reaches one of the last pages, and he shuts the book abruptly. He squeezes his eyes and holds the book between two hands against his chest. He looks up at the concrete ceiling and tries to calm himself by counting air bubbles in the harsh grey above.

He can’t resist it though.

Tentatively, he opens the book again, to the place his thumb subconsciously kept for him.

It’s not just lips this time.

It’s their faces, the entirety of each, down to the shoulders. Dean is pressed up against the line of a wall and Castiel’s thumb is resting on his cheek as the rest of his hand disappears by the nape of his neck.

Dean’s hand is hidden by Cas’ face but he can see his fingers buried and tugging lightly at black hair. Castiel’s face is so sincere, like every emotion he has ever felt as an angel— anguish, doubt, fear, devotion, loyalty, love(?)—is committed to one kiss. Dean’s face is less complex, it’s accepting and relaxed and wanting.

Dean isn’t sure how Cas depicted such emotions on the page, maybe used some angel mojo or something, but all he knows is he can feel the kiss. The weight of it. The importance.

Most of all, he feels the want.

He wishes he didn’t. He wishes Cas hadn’t gotten his face so painfully right, but he had. Everything that he had built up in his chest was screaming to be let out.

Holding those feelings down had been worse than locking down Michael— perhaps that’s why he had been so good at keeping the archangel in captivity for so long.

Dean lets his eyes roam the page once more before noticing the tiny phrase written in the lower right corner, “A dream.”

His heart flutters and he gingerly closes the book this time. He sits up and sets it on the bedside table.

Running a hand through his hair, Dean lets the silence overtake him.

He wants nothing more than to feel turmoil about this. He wants to feel angry or betrayed or confused. But he doesn’t.

All he can feel, book set aside, silence settling, is peace.

With that, he finally stands. He turns down the sheets and fluffs the pillows. Adds another, extra-soft blanket from the bottom drawer of the cabinet to make it feel even more like home. Then, impulsively, he tears one of the last empty pages from the angel’s sketchbook and scribbles onto it, setting it gently on the pillow.

When he’s finished, he slips out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

—

Cas got home exactly when he thought he would.

When evening rolled around, he was pulling in to the bunker garage and walking in to greet Sam and Dean in the kitchen.

When he did, he was limping, eyes heavy and tired.

Sam was first to rise and greet him by supporting him and helping him hobble forward.

“Is there anything I need to check out for you? Are you okay?”

His voice is scratchy, but it comes out okay, “Just need rest. Thank you, Sam.”

Dean stayed silent, staring at Cas and Sam slink through the kitchen to the hallway. He sipped the whiskey in his hand for a moment before standing and following the two.

When Sam nearly let go of Cas to open the door of room 15 for him Dean let out a “Nope. 12.”

Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean leaning against the wall and half glared.

“Little help here?”

Dean moved forward and passed the two before pushing open the door to room 12 and letting them walk past.

Sam gently lowered Cas to sit on the bed. Cas smiled as he saw all of his things neatly resting on his nightstand. Finally, he turned and picked up the note on his pillow.

Welcome Home.

He read it, and Dean watched as the angel’s cheeks turned pink as he felt the familiar material of the paper under his fingers.

Cas first looked to Sam, but Sam shook his head, already knowing the question on Castiel’s mind.

“Then...who?”

Dean broke a bit at the utter confusion on Castiel’s face. How could he have said something so hurtful that Cas couldn’t even comprehend a “welcome home” coming from him?

Dean let his eyes flick over to Sam, who in turn nodded towards Cas with a soft smile. With that, Sam turned and left the room.

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, welcome home, Cas.” And washed down the rasp with a swig of his whiskey.

Cas just looked up at Dean with a mix of fear and wonder in his eyes.

“Thank you, Dean, this means,” he brought the note close to his chest and let his eyes close, “so much.”

Dean couldn’t stop his feet from moving him to sit beside Cas. But he didn’t really mind.

He placed a hand on Cas’s shoulder and let the wave of blue that hit him when Cas’ eyes were trained to his own wash over him.

Dean quirked his lips into a half smile.

Cas’ eyes, usually so set, flicked to his hands. “I assume you’ve seen my sketches.”

With that, Dean slid his hand off of Cas’ shoulder and brought it to rub his chin.

“Yeah, listen, I am so s-“

But before he could finish Castiel rushed out a “Please don’t be angry.”

Dean’s stomach twisted with guilt.

“Cas, no.”

Castiel was squeezing his eyes shut, the note in his hand now crumpled from the pressure of his fist.

“Cas, hey,” Dean breathed out again. His heart rate quickened as he reached out his index finger and placed it under the angel’s chin, moving to guide his face towards him, “look at me.”

Now facing Dean, Castiel opened his eyes and saw something he never expected. Something he never drew for fear of not having the privilege of seeing it in real life.

He saw Dean longing for him.

Like a low roll of thunder in the distance, “Dean.”

And then Dean was leading Castiel’s chin forward and bringing his lips to meet his own.

The touch was feather light at first, hesitant, but then he was pushing closer when Castiel didn’t pull away.

Their lips were slotted perfectly together.

Heaven and Hell. Angel and Man. Dean and Castiel.

When their lips finally parted, Dean refused to let Castiel away completely. He set his forehead gently against Cas’ and looked into the blur of perfect blue. Tears were leaking from the angel’s eyes, and Dean furrowed his brow in concern as he wiped one away with the pad of his thumb.

There were no words, but Dean understood. He knew what his angel was feeling. He had seen it before in charcoal.

That night, Dean didn’t sleep in his own room, and Castiel rested, drawing the details of an arm draped over his torso and a face pressed against his chest and legs intertwined with his.

Home.

[buggiesincrowns]

i hope (this year is better than the last)

a/n: thought i’d write a little ficlet for tony stark’s birthday... so... enjoy (ps, if you still haven’t seen endgame... spoiler warning, i suppose)

i wrote this in like.. 2 hours btw, so it’s very unedited lol

~~~~

They hold his funeral on the day of his birthday.

The sun is a stark contrast against the many people clad in black, mourning Earth’s Greatest Defender.

Pepper places the flowers on the water. She stands there, holding her daughter’s hand, and watches as it slowly floats away from her. Pepper glances down at Morgan. It hurts to look at her, because she doesn’t even seem to understand what is going on. Doesn’t seem to understand that her father won’t come back. All she had said when Pepper had tried to explain that her father was dead was, ‘Daddy would never leave me. He’ll come back’ in that stubborn way that reminded Pepper of Tony.

Morgan seems restless. She’s tapping her feet against the ground, and keeps looking around for something more interesting to look at. Morgan looks behind her, and lets her gaze fall upon the boy she had heard so many things about.

Peter Parker. Spider-Man. Her favorite superhero. She’s about to ask her mother whether or not she thinks he’d want to play with her when she suddenly sees something that makes her gasp loudly.

Her face slowly morphs into a grin.

“I know I promised no more surprises…”

Peter is the first one to turn around. He freezes when he sees who it is. Holy shit.

“Daddy!”

Morgan lets go of her mother and runs up towards the house. Towards her father. He stands there with a blinding smile on his face, arms open and ready for his daughter. She crashes into him hard, and hugs him harder than she’s ever done before.

Tony feels tears in his eyes as he holds her close to him.

“I knew you’d come back,” Morgan whispers, “I told mommy that you’d come back.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you, baby. I love you so much,” he murmurs into her hair.

“3000?” she asks, slowly letting go of him. Tony smiles softly. He crouches to get on her eye level. He soaks in her features, soaks in her presence and feels the love he has for her so prominently.

“No,” he shakes his head, and watches Peter and Harley come closer from the corner of his eye, “I love you infinity.”

“Mr. Stark…?” Peter’s voice is trembling. Tony slowly stands up, and grabs Morgan’s hand. They tangle their fingers together.

“I seem to remember you calling me Tony, kid… what happened to that, hm?” he teases lightly. Peter huffs out a teary laugh. Harley doesn’t even say anything, too shell shocked to do anything but move closer towards Tony.

Tony swallows.

“I know you’re not my kids… but humor an old man, would you? It’s my birthday, after all,” he tells them, and holds his arms out once more. At first, he thinks that they won’t do it, won’t hug him.

But then both Harley and Peter tumble towards him at the same time, engulfing him in one of the best hugs he’s ever had. And then Morgan joins in on the hug, and suddenly it’s the best hug he’s ever had.

“God, I love you kids. So damn much.”

When his kids tell him that they love him back, his heart nearly bursts out of his chest from how hard it’s beating. It’s the best feeling in the world.

Soon, they’re all gathered around Tony; The Avengers, the Guardians, heroes from everywhere in the universe are gathered and it makes Tony’s heart feel warm.

Still, while they gather around, there’s one question that no one has yet dared to ask. But then…

“How? How are you here? How are you… alive?” Pepper whispers. Someone coughs behind her, and she turns around.

Doctor Strange’s eyes twinkle in the sunlight, “I might’ve had a hand in it. If anyone deserves a happy ending… it is the man that saved the entire universe, don’t you think?”

Everyone falls silent. There are similar expressions of agreement on everyone’s faces.

Rhodey is the one to break the silence.

“So…” he says, a small smile playing on his lips, “are we gonna celebrate this old man, or what?”

The cake that was supposed to be the dessert at the service is turned into a birthday cake by his kids. They slap on as many birthday candles as they can find (which, funnily enough, is more than 30) and decorate it with some leftover frosting.

It looks terrible and Tony loves it.

Everyone is enjoying themselves. A day that was supposed to be somber and dark has turned out to be one of the best days of Tony’s life.

Even Nebula seems to be enjoying herself, playing paper football with Rhodey, Quill and Sam.

They’re all eating the birthday cake when Peter suddenly gasps.

“Oh my god! Mr. Stark, we haven’t even given you any presents yet! Shit!”

Morgan looks at Peter with scandalized expression.

“That’s mommy’s word!”

Peter’s eyes widen, suddenly having realised that he just cursed in front of a young kid, while Harley throws his head back in laughter.

Tony watches as his kids banter back and forth, laughing and making jokes with each other. He feels familiar arms hug him from behind. Pepper kisses his cheek lightly, and whispers softly in his ear, “Happy Birthday, Iron Man.”

Yes, Tony thinks, looking over at his entire family, it’s a very happy birthday indeed.

Fin.

[kerfufflewatch]

hello, would it be ok to ask for a little asexual and/or trans hanzo mchanzo ficlet? only if you have the time and motivation of course! thank you, i love all your writing so much

so I WANTED to post this in time for ace awareness week last week, but then I wasted over 3000 words trying to get this right and now we have this instead

(note: although I write Hanzo as more on the sex-repulsed side of things, no of course that isn’t how all aces work, but it’s my experience with things so it’s what we’re going with)

–

Hanzo hears McCree’s footsteps approaching, through the kitchen toward the dining room where he now sits. Still, he does not look up, keeping his gaze resolutely on his tea until McCree says, “We gotta talk.”

He glances up. McCree takes a seat in the chair opposite Hanzo. His expression is inscrutable. “So,” he says. “Last night.”

Hanzo grips his tea tighter.

Last night had been a disaster.

They have been together a month, and Hanzo has known the entire time that it will eventually end. He has always known that it would be his fault, somehow. Had not wanted to even start in the first place, knowing how it would end. But he had wanted McCree for so long, been so consumed by his pitiful, shameful love for the man that he had given in, even though he knew that it would only end in heartache for them both. It would not last, but he couldn’t resist the chance at some shred of happiness, some taste of McCree’s affection, and he could not bring himself to stop.

Last night had started with a few drinks, a movie in the rec room, a bit of kissing in the privacy of the darkness. It ended when McCree gently pressed Hanzo into the back of the couch, sliding a hand to the crease of his thigh with obvious intent, and Hanzo had panicked and thrown McCree to the floor.

He had fled, after that.

McCree uncomfortably clears his throat. “So,” he says. “Sex isn’t something you do, then?”

“No.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Because I do not want to do it. That is all.”

McCree sighs. “Not that that isn’t a good enough reason by itself, but why? I had no idea that was what was goin’ on. I feel like the world’s biggest asshole, but I can’t fix anything if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Hanzo can feel his fingers digging into his thighs. He forces himself to relax his hands before his clothing tears. “Because I am asexual. That is not something you can fix.”

McCree is silent for a long moment. “Asexual?” he repeats, and Hanzo can hear the surprise in his tone. Then, to his surprise, McCree chuckles. “Goddamn. Is that all?”

“I fail to see how this is funny.”

“It’s not funny, it’s just–” He laughs again, weakly, wiping a hand down his face in disbelief. “Shit, sweetheart, I thought I’d done something wrong, or something horrible had happened to you before, or–I don’t even know what.”

Hanzo glares, although his stomach roils with anxiety. He has no idea what to make of McCree’s reaction, but doesn’t dare let himself relax. “I imagine you are disappointed,” he says to his tea cup. “If you choose to end this, I would understand.”

McCree sobers immediately. “What, break up?” he says. “You don’t–you don’t think I’d actually do that to you, do you?”

“Why not? I cannot give you what you want. It is logical enough.”

“What–you can’t be serious. How shitty do you think I am? I’m not just–”

“It is not about you!” Hanzo snaps. McCree, startled, quiets immediately, and Hanzo continues, “It is not you. It is everyone. I may have chosen to abstain because the thought of sex disgusts me, but I am not so naive as to think it does not matter to nearly everyone else. I cannot, will not give you what you want, McCree, and I will not be responsible for making you miserable by making you stay.”

McCree is silent for a long moment, staring at Hanzo. Then, all at once, his expression crumples, and he looks astoundly close to tears. “Hanzo, that ain’t–” he starts. He swallows and tries again. “Hanzo, that doesn’t matter to me.”

Hanzo sneers. “You say that now, but–”

“Shut up. Just–” McCree sighs shortly. “Listen. I know we haven’t been doing this that long, but I am head over heels in love with you, alright?”

Hanzo’s breath catches in his chest. McCree stands and rounds the table to stand in front of Hanzo. “Look, I’ll admit sex is something I like,” he says, “but I’ve been on my own for a good few years, too. I can go without. What makes me happy is you, and I’ll be damned if I lose that over something so trivial.”

He sets his jaw, determined, waiting for Hanzo’s response. He looks like he expects further argument and is already preparing to fight until he wins.

Hanzo’s resolve crumbles. He starts to stand and is barely on his feet before being swept up into McCree’s arms. He carefully returns the embrace, though some part of him still expects to be pushed away.

“I am sorry,” he says. “I–I am not accustomed to this. I should have told you before, but I feared …”

McCree presses his face to the side of Hanzo’s head. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he says. “I only want what you want, Hanzo. Not a single thing more.”

Hanzo, somehow, believes him.