#gotta wait for my elderly cat though

[misc-magic]

Mmm yes I love when someone argues with me on the phone for 20 minutes, calls back immediately, and then hangs up when they just get me again lol. Like sorry friend our department is tiny this is why we have you call the other guys.

Then I felt bad and was like well maybe I AM wrong and this person is right even though that doesn’t make sense?? Maybe I’m reading the codes wrong. Let me double check with the other guys.

No, I was right. Other guys confirmed it for me. Tried to tell the guy on the phone but he just didn’t like what I had to say. I was so close to hanging up on him lol.

But at least I know that standing my ground was correct in this case. I try to do it as much as possible because if I give these fools an inch, they take a mile or whatever that idiom is.

[spooky-bunnys]

Can I make a request for that shion cat cause I saw that imagine and it was sooo adorable

Like the reader find that cat alone and decided to adopt him

And give the cat the love it deserve cause I’d imagine shion cat would’ve had a hard time being a stray

the reader is a sano sibling and while Shinichiro, mikey and Emma aren’t too fond of the cat cause I imagine shion cat being a bit in the dirty side due to being a stray for so long but will always behave because shion cat is terrified of being put back in the street

Okay. I had to add Izana into the Sano household because imagine the chaos! Hope you enjoy!

The Sano siblings didn't know what to expect when (Name) came home late. They thought maybe he had been caught up with friends. Maybe he was helping an elderly around town again. Or maybe he was helping a kid find his missing parent.

No. When (Name) came home he was covered in dirt and mud and smelled horrible. But what caught their attention the most was the sleeping cat he was holding. Thats right. He came home late, with a cat.

"Um. Whatcha got there (Name)?" Shinichiro asked. Dumbfounded like the other two Sano siblings. (Name) grinned and showed off the filthy cat. "I found this cat! He was hard to catch, but when I did catch him, he fell right asleep in my arms. Isn't he cute?"

Mikey opened his mouth but Emma smacked him and Shinichiro coveted his mouth. "Absolutely bud. Why don't you and your new friend go take a bath okay? Mikey will call his buddy's and see what all the kitty will need okay?"

(Name) nodded excitedly and darted to the bathroom. After he left Shinichiro signed and ran a hand down his face. "Emma call Izana, warn him about the cat. Mikey call your cat friends and ask them what I'll need to get. And DON'T say anything bad while I'm out."

The two nodded and quickly got on it. Once he had the list, Shinichiro quickly went out to get the needed stuff while. Emma gave Mikey a look that said "don't fuck up" before heading to her room.

Mikey just shrugged and made himself comfortable on the couch. When (Name) came out of the bathroom, the cat followed right behind him. (Name) walked to the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle. The cat jumped onto the counter and stared.

(Name) got the memo and pulled a small bowl down, pouring half his bottle into the bowl. "There you guy bud." The cat purred and rubbed himself against (Name)'s cheek. Making the male laugh softly and give the cat some well deserved scratches.

When Izana came home he knew (Name) had brought home a cat. But he didn't know what it looked like. Now that he does he only had one thing to say. "That's the ugliest fucking cat I've ever seen."

(Name)'s faced dropped and Mikey snorted. Izana didn't stop there though. "Oh my god. It looks like Shion. Listen I already gotta deal with a human Shion. I don't wanna have to deal with a fucking cat version of him."

Mikey by now was laughing. (Name) had honestly looked like he was gonna cry. Of course neither brothers noticed it. Not until the cat hissed at them. Bringing both brothers attention to the teary eyed male. "I-I was hoping you g-guys would like him!"

(Name) quickly stood up, grabbed the cat, and locked himself in his room. Emma came out after hearing the slamming of (Name)'s door, seeing the two paled older brothers frozen in the living room.

"What did you two do!?" The two immediately began blaming each other. "Izana called (Name)'s cat fucking ugly, then started yelling at him for bringing it home!"

Emma stunned quickly turned to Izana. Who immediately retaliated. "Well Mikey laughed about it and made matters worse!" She turned to Mikey, who tried hiding behind the couch. "Oh wait till Shin-nii gets home!"

"I am home. What's going on?" Shinichiro walked into the living room. Arms full of bags and a worried expression on his face. "Where is (Name) and the cat?" Emma huffed and pointed to the males, who were now both trying to hide behind the couch.

"Shin-nii! Mikey and Izana made (Name) cry! He got upset and locked himself in his room!" Shinichiro pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. These kids were giving him so many grey hairs. He stared at the two.

"Explain your parts, and maybe you two won't get grounded." The two immediately started yelling over the other. Shinichiro raised his hand, making the two quiet before pointing at Mikey. "Izana called (Name)'s cat fucking ugly and then yelled at him because apparently the cat looks like one of his gang memebers."

Shinichiro ran a hand down his face and pointed to Izana. "Mikey laughed about it and made it worse." Shinichiro groaned. "I know I said state your case, and you two just snitch on each other. But you guys know how sensitive (Name) is. I mean he looked so happy to have that cat. He also apparently worked hard to catch it."

Shinichiro then glared at the two. "Now I went out and got what was needed for cats. So you BOTH are going to take them to (Name) and apologize to him." The two began to disagree until Emma spoke up. "I'll go ahead and text Kakucho and Takemichi that your guys dates for this weekend are canceled because you two are grounded."

The two quieted down, before slowly grabbing the bags, and making their way towards (Name)'s room. Once there Mikey knocked on the door. When the door opened, the room looked like it had been through a tornado. (Name) sniffles before poking his head out. Still holding the cat.

The two flinched at the sight of dried tears on (Name)'s face. "We brought the cat supplies." (Name) opened his door and allowed the two in. Once everything was set up and placed where it was needed, the boys apologized and (Name) forgave them.

Some things Sano siblings noticed over the next few weeks, was that 1. The cat was completely attached to (Name), and 2. The cat was extremely messy. It made messes everywhere. That (Name) took responsibility and cleaned up.

Which they knew a stray converting to an inside cat would take time and effort. But (Name) has truly surprised them with how responsible he's being for it. After the 3rd week of nothing but messes and chaos, the siblings expected (Name) to give up.

He didn't. Eventually the cat (which (Name) named Shion just to spite Izana), stopped making messes. Well it bothered Mikey and Izana after they would upset (Name). But other then that, Shion became a welcomed member in (Name)'s family.

[100dayproductivity]

51/100.

Good job again yesterday caring for my toe and leg. It takes so much time though! Who has time for self-care day in and day out?? I will try to foot bath & foam roller again today but I have other priorities today.

I did get the two tasks on my list done yesterday: shred my oldest income tax documents; and sort out money owed between me and my ex. (Money owed is for expenses incurred on our children, so if one of us pays for something, the other owes their share of the expense. Normally he pays for most things and sends me a bill for my portion. Occasionally I'm the one that pays for something, which is why there is a bit of accounting involved sometimes. Yes, it's tedious.)

Continuing on with income tax, the next step is to go through my email inbox and put everything that I need for my taxes into a separate folder. One of these years I will be organized and put things in a separate folder as soon as I get them so they're already corralled come tax time, but 2022 was not the year. Geez, here's a brain wave: how about I create a 2023 folder while I'm at it so I can start doing it for this year?

Other priorities today: get ready for my week with my kids. That means grocery shopping for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snack food for them. Well guess what? I already accomplished some of that this morning. I picked up bread and lunch fixings, milk and cereal. I've taken beef out of the freezer for dinner tonight. I still have fruit for their after school snack. I may need to just pop over to the produce store for some vegetables, although I may be able to make do tonight with the bit of cabbage I still have left and buy more produce tomorrow.

Other priorities today: go to the pet store to pick up litter and poop bags. Well guess what? I already did that too! (Winning!) Not only that, but I brought the dog in my care with me on the errands (she loves the pet store--they give her treats; hates the food shopping because she has to wait outside) so I got the walk and errands all done in one go before lunch.

Priorities yet to be done today: tidy kitchen table and take some fruit out of the fridge before my kids get home; tidy stove and counter tops before it's time to make supper; and put away laundry before end of the day. That reminds me, there are towels from a dog pee accident in the washing machine that have gone through a rinse but need to go through a wash cycle. Forgot about it yesterday.

My elderly cat was snuggling with me for warmth while I was writing this. Hate to disturb him when he's snuggling for warmth! But he just left so no excuses; gotta get on my chores list.

[sergeantxrogers]

| sanctified |

Summary: Bucky Barnes’ holy grail and safe haven are your body and soul, and after getting a taste of them, he finally knows what it means to be a sinner. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Smut!! (switch!Bucky, choking, light spanking, orgasm control, slight exhibitionism), some crying, confessions of love baby

____________________

Bucky Barnes never had a serious girlfriend. Sure, there were girls he’d go out with, press a little smooch to their lips just out of principle, girls he’d walk home after a trip to the fair, girls that would follow him around Brooklyn watching his every move in the hopes that they would catch his eye and that he would give them more than just a polite smile. 

Bucky Barnes used to be a ladies’ man, girls batting their lashes at him when he and Steve passed by on their way to Bucky’s place for dinner, throwing themselves at his feet any chance they’d get because they wanted to be something special to him, they wanted to mean something to him, and Bucky always rejected anything serious with grace. 

And then he fell from the train. And he hadn’t seen a girl his age for almost 50 years after that. He had forgotten what it was like to be smiled at, to be searched for in a crowd, for someone to call out his name - his real name, not Soldat. 

He had gotten used to the harsh orders and cruel insults, the flirty, boyish Bucky that winked at the ladies and guided them during dances hidden and stashed away somewhere deep inside him, dormant and asleep. He was fine with being ignored after everything that happened with Steve, and the fall of HYDRA, and Shuri “fixing” his brain. Fine with staying in the shadows when he didn’t need to be out of them, fine with avoiding people and missing their eye, slipping through the streets of New York like a cat, his only goal to get from point A to point B.

Until he met you. 

You, the part-time waitress that worked at the restaurant he frequented with Mr. Nakajima. Bucky took a liking to you the second he saw you. The do no harm, take no shit attitude that every fiber of your being seemed to be dipped in intrigued him. He liked watching you work, multitasking between orders and receipts and drinks and money and all things in between. It was fascinating to him, especially the side-eyed glances you’d give him with an accompanying little smirk whenever he sat down at the counter with his older friend. Intriguing you were, so much so that he quickly learned what days you came in, and what days you didn’t: Monday, Wednesday and Friday. 

Yori kept pushing him to ask out the “pretty waitress” at the restaurant, and though she was pretty, she wasn’t the one he had his eye on. 

“You should go out with her, she’s a nice girl,” Yori’s soft voice would mutter into his ear, and Bucky would give him a smile and a shake of his head.

If only you knew, Yori. If only you knew, he thought. 

The flirting started simple enough: a sly smile as you greeted him when he walked in. An “accidental” brush of the hand when you’d hand him his third beer. Biting your lip whenever he called your name out to pay. It was simple enough that Bucky’s elderly friend stayed oblivious on the Wednesdays they’d go out for lunch together. 

And truly, Bucky had no reason to come to the restaurant three times a week, twice without the company of Mr. Nakajima. No reason but the sight of you, and it was enough to keep him drawn in, keep him coming and throwing his money on food he never ate and beers he downed without a second thought because he was so enamored by the way your eyes glimmered whenever you gave him a smile. 

Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays went by and by until he started dropping his gaze below your neck, pants growing uncomfortably tight at the way you’d bend over to get a new roll of receipts under the counter, or the small sliver of stomach he would notice beneath your shirt whenever you’d reach up for a glass. 

And it wasn’t like you were oblivious either; on the contrary, you stared at the door on the days you knew he’d come in, waiting anxiously for him to come and sit down just so you could feel his presence. It wasn’t that long before you were asking your coworkers to cover you for a few minutes just so you could lean against the counter by him to chat (and give him a peak of something special, but that was besides the point). 

Chats soon turned into jokes and full-blown conversations, with Bucky staying behind long after closing time just to talk to you about anything and everything, from his past to the way you wore your hair on that particular day. 

Which is how you found yourself in your current little predicament. 

“Fuck, Bucky,” you hissed, slapping your hand against the counter beneath you. 

Bucky’s hand travelled up your back, entangling in your hair and pulling your head back, your back arching against him. 

“What happened, baby?” he cooed into your ear, thrusts relentless and never faltering. You whined in response, swallowing back a heavy breath as his lips trailed against your shoulder.

“So... so good,” you managed, and you felt him smirk against your skin. 

His hand left your hair, snaking around to the front to wrap around your neck loosely, and a chill ran down your spine. 

11:47 p.m. and an hour and a half past closing time, shades only half shut on the glass door of the entrance, the only light in the room coming from the streetlight outside and the digital clock on the wall behind you. 

Heavy lidded eyes traveled to watch the door, only a few feet away from where Bucky was pounding persistently into you, your skirt flipped up and panties around your ankles. The fact that anybody walking by would just have to look through the blinds to see you getting railed made you breathless.

Bucky’s low hum floated into your ears, hot breath fanning against your cheek as he rolled his hips to hit that spot that made you clench around him. 

“I’m- I’m gonna-”

Your stuttering made him slow his hips, and in return you whimpered.

“Gonna what? Gonna cum? Hm?”

You huffed at his condescending tone, and he slowed down even more, to the point where you could feel him dragging along your walls, hot and heavy. 

“What if I just-”

Bucky stopped moving his hips completely, and tears pricked at the back of your eyes as your chest heaved, his grip tightening only slightly around your throat.

“- don’t let you?” he finished, pulling out almost completely then, and you groaned in frustration. You felt the knot that had been forming in your stomach loosen, the tingling in your legs fading, and you furrowed your brows in a desperate plea for release.

“P-please,” you mewled. “Please, please, I need to, I have to-”

Bucky seemed to be satisfied with your begging, because he thrusted himself into you again, bottoming out with the slap of skin on skin and your quiet, breathy moans being the only sounds in the restaurant. Each thrust brought out a moan from your lips, a layer of sweat covering your skin. The first tear left your waterline and rolled down your cheek as he pressed down harder against you, the edge of the counter digging into your hip bones deliciously. 

“More,” you whispered, eyes clenched shut as your head went dizzy with pleasure. 

Bucky obliged, nipping at your neck as his hand that wasn’t wrapped around your throat travelled downwards to lay a slap to your ass, and you hissed at the sting. Your orgasm washed over you quickly, eyes rolling to the back of your head and legs going weak. If it wasn’t for Bucky’s body holding you upright against the counter, you were certain you would’ve collapsed. Warmth took over your belly as Bucky groaned in your ear, cumming inside you, and he let go of your neck, allowing you to drop your head down in an attempt to catch your breath. 

After he had pulled out of you carefully, helping you pull your panties back up, you turned around, a lazy smile on your lips as you leaned back against the counter on your elbows. Bucky gave you a skeptical look, smirk crawling onto his face as he narrowed his eyes at you.

“What is it?”

You shrugged, tugging at the hem of his shirt to straighten it out a bit. 

“Nothing,” you said mindlessly, smile only growing larger.

He chuckled in amusement, grabbing your hand in his. 

“What is it?”, he repeated, and you sighed dramatically.

“Well, I mean...,” you started, eyes travelling around behind him in false apprehension. “I hope you know this means you gotta take me out now, Barnes.”

Bucky stared at you for a moment, the grin on his face only brightening. 

“Alright, I promise I will.”

____________________

And Bucky kept his promise. 

Five days after your initial hook-up, Bucky came buzzing at your apartment building entrance, bouquet of flowers in his hands, smile on his face. 

“Wow, Barnes, I didn’t know you were into romantic gestures,” you teased, taking the flowers from his hands. He shrugged, shoving them into his pockets as he walked alongside you. 

“I wasn’t. Not really, never used to be.”

He glanced at you as he finished his sentence, but you were too preoccupied with the smell of fresh blossoms to notice the smile playing on his lips. 

“Things change, I guess,” he muttered, and you grinned at him. 

“So, where are we going?”

“I told you already,” he said with a teasing shake of his head. 

“It’s a surprise.”

____________________

Three official dates later and Bucky finally came up to your apartment. 

Albeit, a bit hesitant, because it was well past midnight and “I don’t wanna wake up your neighbors with my huge footsteps, doll.”

It took some convincing but he finally agreed to come up and sit with you a while. You said you would show him your favorite books, introduce him to some new literature he could catch up on. And you definitely planned on doing that, but things with Bucky have a funny way of playing out differently than you expect. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, doll-”

Humming in amusement, you smiled down at him, straddled around his thighs.

Your fingers gripping his hair, you held his head so his eyes were level with yours, and you saw the struggle in them as your other hand teased his cock through his boxers with gentle fingers. 

“What is it, baby?” you pouted, tugging harder on his hair, and he winced at the feeling. 

“Stop teasing,” he hissed through clenched teeth, and you feigned a disappointed frown. 

“Now that’s not very nice of you.”

Bucky shut his eyes quickly in a split second of frustration, and when he opened them again, you noticed his pupils were blown wide, staring into yours.

After a deep sigh, his demeanor changed, lids heavy and lips swollen from the bites and kisses you attacked them with previously. 

“Please...,” he said in a whisper. “Please don’t tease me.”

His words brought a smile to your face, and you pretended to think about it, tilting your head to the side slightly. 

“Alright, pretty boy, since you asked so nicely.”

You punctuated your sentence with a roll of your hips against his, and a soft whimper left his lips when your bare pussy rolled over his dick. 

Your fingers found the hem of his boxers, and you pulled them down, teasingly slow, Bucky lifting his hips a bit to make it easier for you. He breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of release, and you felt your breath quicken at the sight of his cock, heavy and hard and begging to be touched. 

“Please.”

It came out quietly, desperately, as he stared into your eyes, and you almost smirked at the way he looked near tears. You hummed in adoration, leaning your head down somewhat to press a kiss to his lips. 

“So needy...,” you muttered into his mouth as you rolled your hips upwards, the tip of his cock gliding through your wet slit, and his hips bucked up involuntarily. 

He whined against your lips, nipping at the bottom one when you sank down onto his cock without warning. A sigh left your body when you felt him stretch you out, filling you out completely. You clenched around him, trying to adjust, and he groaned, forehead dropping against your chest. 

No matter how many times he’d been inside you, you always need time to adjust, and you would wait. Oh, you would wait hours if you needed to, because once you got a taste of him, that was it. You were ruined for other men. 

And Bucky could spend hours inside you, warm and wet and perfectly made for him, your body wrapped around his. All you had to do was ask him, and he would fall to his knees in worship. 

You sat on him, just like that, for... seconds? Minutes? An hour, maybe? Bucky couldn’t tell because it didn’t really matter to him. His mind was clouded with the feeling of you tight around his throbbing cock, and your lips on his neck and jaw, and your fingers in his hair. 

Bucky looked up at you, almost glowing with sex and gratification, and he swore to himself he would pray to you, pray for you, pray with you, every single day for the rest of his life. How he went a century without the absolution of your touch was entirely beyond him, but he knew he wouldn’t let you go now that he had you in his grasp. 

You started moving, slowly, teasingly, and Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. Sighs and pants left your lips at the feeling of being full, stuffed to the brim, and it took everything Bucky had in himself not to grab your hips and absolutely destroy you himself. 

“Oh, God,” you panted into his ear, rolling your hips, chasing your pleasure as Bucky’s chest heaved with labored breaths. 

It was pure torture, in the best way. His eyes watched the way your brows furrowed slightly in concentration, your lips slightly parted. Watched your hands search for purchase on his body, anywhere they could find, as you clenched tighter around him. 

If there was a place he had to choose to stay for the rest of eternity, it was here. 

“I love you,” he mumbled, almost subconsciously, and your movements faltered only slightly. 

Biting your lip, your eyes searched his face, and found only honesty. Bucky’s hands came up to rest on your thighs, fingers digging into them, the contrast of one warm hand and one cold hand sending shockwaves down your spine. 

“I love you more,” you whispered, pulling him in by his cheeks for a short kiss. 

Your pushes and pulls, ups and downs, gasps and moans grew quicker, more incessant, and Bucky could tell by the way your walls fluttered quickly around his cock that you were about to cum. 

____________________

He laid there, next to you. 

He laid there a long time, fingers tracing shapeless patters along your arm as you slept, and his eyes studied your face.

No, Bucky Barnes never had a serious girlfriend. There were girls he’d go out with, girls he would smooch. Girls he would walk home and girls he would smile at. None of them ever gave him the feeling he was running after, always thinking it was right there but always just out of reach. The feeling you gave him, like he was underwater but could still breathe. Like he was on fire but cold as ice, like he never breathed properly before he met you and now, after getting a taste of you, he would never be able to breathe properly without you again. 

He laid there, body heavy and mind satisfied, and he understood. He understood why Adam ate the apple, why Orpheus turned around. He understood why Sparta started a war for Helen, and he understood why Romeo drank the poison. 

He would do it all, sin and be punished a million times over if it meant he would get a glimpse of you every day. 

____________________

TAGLIST:

@dreamsley​ @a-ngeli-que​ @mindyoshiii​ @agirlinherhead​ @s-katergorl​ @ace-27749​ @leyannrae​ @tailsoflightning​ 

[kerie-prince]

We're Worlds Apart (2)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: light cursing, mentions of death, angsty Draco

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

(gif not mine)

The surrounding neighbors have been very nice; one elderly couple walked up to Draco’s door with an apple pie, quite the American staple, and he seemed to appreciate it. They seemed normal and sweet. Much unlike the feeling he had for his neighbor. Y/N. He hasn't made any attempts in the month that he's lived in the small suburban neighborhood to see her. He avoided her like she was a deadly plague.

Albeit, it was probably harsh and extremely childish. The whole point of him becoming a new person was changing his views he had been taught in adolescence. Or else why did he help Harry Potter all those years ago when he swore he hated him?

It was currently around 3 in the morning, he was standing in his backyard and made sure no one would be awake as he sent his owl to send a letter to his best friend, Blaise. He was the only person who still contacted Draco on a regular basis besides the occasional letter from Theodore. Gregory cut all contact with Draco after the Battle, especially since Vincent had died that night in the fire in the Room of Requirement. Pansy was living her life somewhere, and although the Golden Trio had forgiven Draco for his actions, it didn't start any friendships. But Draco was fine; Blaise and Theo had been there for him in more ways he cares to admit.

He never mentioned a word about Y/N to Blaise until now when he asked what Draco’s American neighbors were like. Majority of the letter contained contents of how work has been, the differences in not only culture but also how things are called, and just his own well being. He did say something short for the elderly couple, but when it came to Y/N he had a lot to say.

These muggles are far different from the ones in England, Blaise. They know things about the magic world but input a fantasy in their heads. They believe they can actually practice witchcraft and wizardry, calling themselves “Wiccan” or whatever rubbish it is. Bloody hell, they even have films and tv programs of them. My neighbor is one of these and she does the most ludacris things in her house. Quite laughable, really. If Salazar was alive today to see this happening, I’d bet he’d curse the whole lot.

She had been lingering in his mind since that day of his discovery. It was annoying him. Every night, he would catch her in her room doing whatever the hell she was doing and he felt as if the universe was mocking him. This is what people think what you really are was the message he got from it all. Draco never thought something like this would make him feel like a freak. But he did. This act of hers was an indirect insult of what he was capable of. And she had no idea.

—

It was a fine autumn morning. The shop was closed today, so you had lots of time at home to catch up with cleaning. You stood over your bathroom sink brushing your teeth and saw from the reflection of your mirror your cat stretching herself before walking into the bathroom to rub herself on your legs. “Good morning, Aurora,” you cooed at her. She purred in response and ran off to her tower in the living room.

After getting changed into some comfortable clothes, you walked up to a closet in the hallway that had collections of crystals, oils, sage bundles and more. “Let’s see, where did I put the angelica root?” you asked out loud to yourself. Going through the shelves, you pulled some sea salt, ground lemon balm, ground angelica root, and a feather. You carried the items outside in a bowl to your backyard and set them at a small garden table. Walking over to your garden, you pulled some elderberry flowers and started your cleansing spell.

You sprinkled the salt onto a censor dish and placed a charcoal dish on it and lit it up. In the bowl you had used to carry the items out, you started mixing the herbs together as you waited for the charcoal to burn red. Once it did, you sprinkled the herbs on top, creating a cleansing incense. You picked it up from the bottom of the censor dish, picked up the feather and made your way steadily to your front door, lightly wafting smoke towards it. Reaching your front door, you drew a pentagram over it with the feather and smoke,

“Be gone negativity,

Here now blessed be.”

You repeat your incantations throughout the house until you have finished and walked back to your living room, drawing one last pentagram. You placed your feather and censor dish on the bare floor, stood up and tapped your foot three times,

“By my will, so shall it be.

Sealed now shall this cleansing be.”

You sat on your couch and turned on the television, waiting for the incense to burn out so you could scatter it around your backyard. After a couple of hours of watching a guilty pleasure of yours, you decided to get some actual cleaning done. First thing was to do some trimming and gardening outside, so you grabbed some gloves and headed out back to your yard.

Before grabbing your garden scissors, you looked up and saw something rather strange. There was an owl in your neighbors yard. In broad daylight. From the backyard, you heard a car pull in and peeked over the fence to see that it was your neighbor coming home. You ran to the front leaving a dirt trail in your house and ran out the front door.

He hadn’t walked in yet, so you started waving your arm, “Hello! I’m Y/N!”

He had just nodded his head and walked a straight line to his door. Not wanting to lose this chance of having a conversation with him, you yelled for him one more time, “There’s an owl in your yard!” His eyes widened and without a word, he ran into his house in a panic. From a distance, you heard him say 'shit' before closing the door.

Building up confidence, you walked up to his door and knocked a few times and patiently waited. You fixed your hair and stood surprised as he hastily opened the door. “H-hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I'm Y/N,” you stretched your hand out to shake his hand. He looked at it and had a displeased look, causing unease within you. Looking at your hand, you noticed you still had your gardening gloves on with dirt on it.

“Oops, sorry!” you chuckled as you took it off and reached out again.

Again, he just looked at you with a straight face for a couple of seconds before finally speaking, “Look, I’m really busy, so if you don't mind.” He shut the door without giving you any chance to say anything back. You stood there in shock, replaying his British voice in your head. And as you stood there, you wondered why it is that he doesn't want to talk to you. The Charles couple across from your house were able to introduce themselves, and even got a smile from him. But for some reason, you could never get the same treatment.

—

Ian had proposed to Draco a housewarming party during lunch. Of course Draco had never been to one, much less hosted one.

“It’s alright, boss. I can fix all the arrangements up. All you gotta do is relax,” Ashley proposed. To say that Draco is extremely happy is an understatement. He had friends that actually enjoyed his company and not his influence. Not that he had much of that anyway.

America was really working out for him; work was great, people were nice, and the area he lived in was peaceful. Yes, he didn't like his neighbor, but she wasn't ruining his life in this new country. He just didn't like what she did.

“Thank you, Ashley. And you know you can just call me ‘Draco’.”

“I know,” she replied. Ashley grabbed her Blackberry phone and started drafting up an email, asking for his address so she could let people know where it would be. “Is this Friday a good time?”

“Yes, that should be fine. I don't have any plans that day.”

“Great, it's sent out to everyone in our department. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an attending to watch over for a surgery. See you guys later!” Draco, Blaine and Ian waved at Ashley as she left.

Blaine left soon after, leaving Ian with Draco. “Alright man, how’s it going on your street? Are you finally settled in?”

“I finally got the last of my things delivered from London yesterday. I was a bit nervous though. That mugg— I mean No-Maj neighbor of mine saw my mum’s owl in my yard. Thankfully, she didn't ask any questions,” Draco said as he cleared his lunch tray.

“Wait, you still use an owl? Ha, I didn’t think people still did,” Ian chuckled. “Well, of course I do. Do you not?”

“No, most wizards here in the States just use the usual ground post that No-Maj’s use. Things are a bit more modern around here. Speaking of your neighbor actually, have you ever spoken to her?”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly and said a simple ‘No’ when he really wanted to scrunch his nose and eyebrows in disgust and say ‘Fuck no.’ Ian, however, is gifted in Legilimens. He heard what Draco really meant but kept to himself. I guess things are different in the UK he thought.

—

“Hello my dear baby, I just wanted to call and give you a heads up; your brother and I are coming for Thanksgiving. He’s bringing Stephanie so do me a favor, please no witchy stuff.”

The voicemail played out loud in the kitchen. Please no witchy stuff. Your mother had repeatedly explained to you that she was okay with ‘it’ all, but growing up you never really got on the same page with her. And you knew it was because of your practice. Your younger brother would say comments every now and then when you grew up, but he always stood up for you when other people called you a ‘satanic freak’. But never once did you regret starting the Craft. You enjoyed it and it made you feel whole.

It had been a week since your encounter with your, now known British, neighbor. It bothered you a lot that he didn’t seem to want to get to know you. You were lost in your thoughts that you almost didn’t notice the doorbell going off. You answered the door and saw your neighbor.

“Hi dear, do you think you could help me and my husband with something?” Mrs. Charles smiled sweetly at you. “Of course, what can I do for you?”

“My grandson is coming in from Vermont, would it be alright if you could give us a ride to the airport? I’d ask Draco but he’s always busy at work and I don’t want to be a bother.”

Draco? “I’m sorry, who’s that?” you had a confused look.

“Our new neighbor, dear. I thought you had met him already. You two are the same age after all,” she informed you. Draco. How unique. You instantly recognized the name from the star constellation. It was nice to finally put a name to a face. Distracted again, Mrs. Charles waited for your answer, “Y/N? Can you do it?”

“O-oh, sorry. Of course I’ll help. Frankie was his name, correct?”

“Yes, it’s Frankie. Thank you so much. His flight comes in on Friday. I’ll see you then,” you wished her a good night and looked out your window to make sure she crossed the street safely. The rest of the night consisted of you and and your cat laying on your couch watching TV, but what was on the screen didn’t have your attention. Draco did. And you had no idea why.

—

“Dude, why do you not have a TV?” Blaine looked around Draco’s house and studied the arrangements he had. It was quite plain, almost minimalistic. Looking around, Draco couldn’t help but think how different it was from the Manor back in London. Instead of grand chandeliers, moving portraits of the Malfoy’s before him, and intricate designs on the walls, he had simple white walls with just one moving picture of him, Blaise and Theo a couple minutes before a Quidditch game against Ravenclaw. He had a bookshelf full of old school books from Hogwarts and some small relics he liked from the Manor.

“I’ve never had one growing up, and once I moved here I just never gave any second thought of it. Besides, what would I even watch?” Draco replied. Despite having one letter off from being the same name as his best friend, Blaine reminded Draco of Theo. They were both funny and outspoken. He would’ve loved for them to have met. They’d probably get on.

A few moments later, Ashley and Ian knocked on Draco’s door. The door was unlocked for them to be able to open the door. They looked around the living room before settling onto the couches. “Okay so I was thinking that we can just have some trays of snacks and desserts with some champagne. Does that sound good to you guys?” Ashley suggested. They just nodded along to whatever she said. She had gone to the store with Blaine to get everything prepared before the party tonight.

Ian looked at the pictures of Draco with his friends and one of his mother that laid on top of a chimney. “Do you still have lots of friends from Hogwarts?”

Draco thought about it, “You know, I actually didn’t have a lot of friends back in school. Back then, I only hung out with probably six people. But now it’s just two.” He sounded a bit sad, but figured that two were better than none.

“Do you think of what happened a lot?” Ian implied about that day at Hogwarts. He had been the only one that Draco trusted enough to tell. “Sometimes,” Draco gave a short reply. The action of opening up was still new to him, but he knew he shouldn’t wallow in it. Plus he’d rather have a friend instead of a doctor to talk about it.

Ian really felt bad for Draco. It must have been really traumatizing for someone to go through something like that at just the age of 17. Sure, Draco wasn’t the best person at the time. Who is he kidding, he was probably the biggest git in the whole school. It didn’t necessarily mean that he had to go through what he did. He lost one of his friends in a fire, and one left him after said friend died. Another left for no apparent reason. And another wanted something different in her life. Those things affected Draco, and probably will for the rest of his life.

He didn’t pity Draco, but was feeling sympathetic. “Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t have much friends from Ilvermorny. It sucks now, but hey, down the line you get new ones.” Ian held a fisted hand out, waiting for Draco to bump it. It made him laugh as he bumped Ian’s fist.

Outside, Ian looked out to see a certain neighbor walk to her car. “Hey, is that that chick you were talking about?” Draco looked out the window and saw you grab some things out of your trunk and into your house. “Yeah, that’s her.” Ian never really pressed on Draco to explain why he didn’t like his No-Maj neighbor like he did the elderly couple across the street.

“Well, I gotta say. She’s a sight for sore eyes for a weirdo.” She’s a what? Beyond the nightly activities he had caught you doing on occasion in your bedroom, he never really looked at your face. Or really just at you. But now that Ian mentioned something, he started studying you. She’s not so bad looking— wait, what are you thinking?

By accident, Ian snorted at the words Draco thought. “Did… did I say that out loud?” Draco asked with suspicion in his voice. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t really mean to be invading your mind or anything. It runs in my family,” Ian laughed nervously.

“It’s okay. My godfather was also good at Legilimens and Occlumency. I’m pretty sure he’s heard worse during his classes. Come on, I’ll give you a full tour of the place.”

“If the other rooms are anything like the living room, I’m sure I’ve seen the whole place then,” Ian joked.

“Piss off.” As Ian walked towards the bathroom, Draco looked back outside to see you again. He watched as you helped the Charles couple in your car and drove off to Merlin knows where.

—

The party was rather fun. It lasted until almost 1 in the morning. He thanked Ashley for handling everything and spent the night talking and laughing with his colleagues. Once everyone left, he changed into comfortable sweats and a plain black t-shirt. Out on his bedroom window was Blaise’s owl with a sealed letter. He quickly opened the window, grabbed the letter and looked out to make sure no one was watching. Your room was dark and it seemed as the drapes were down. He guided his friends’ owl with his hands to a small, make-shift owl post against the fence that separated your yards. It had food and was enchanted to be at a comfortable temperature. His owl laid on one side of the post, resting as Blaise’s owl joined it.

Draco opened the letter and read its contents to himself.

Well mate, I’m glad you’re having a good time in America. There’s not much going on here in London. I’m just working at Gringotts until something opens up at the Ministry. Not really sure what I want to do, but I’ll figure it out. Anyways, I think you’ll be pleased to hear that Theo and I are going to be joining you for the holidays. Theo got a hold of a couple American muggle films and he figured that if the women there were as fit as the actresses, then you must be living the best life and he wants to join. As for that muggle neighbor of yours, I can’t wait to see her in person. We’ll see you, Malfoy.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw lights turn on in your room and your shadow walk around before turning off once more. Sorry Blaise, but there’s no way in hell you’ll meet her.

—

Frankie’s flight was delayed, causing you to get home so late. You were extremely tired and your feet and back were sore. Usually, you’d take a bath with some salts and oils to relax yourself, but tonight you were really lazy. So lazy that you just shook your shoes off and plopped yourself on the bed.

The second you hit the mattress, you dozed off. Your mind was wandering and found yourself dreaming.

You sat in your backyard in a pretty sundress. There was a slight breeze in the air and you held a cup of coffee in your hands. Someone sat at the chair opposite you and blocked the sun’s light in your face. You looked next to you and saw your friend smiling at you.

Draco.

—

next chp

(っ◔◡◔)っ taglist: @beiahadid @malfoy-styles-wife @fivenightslaughter @juneballoon999 @leydileyla

[lu-undy]

Valentine’s Day 3 - Autobalance

Here it is on AO3 or under the cut, if you prefer!

"You got all your stuff Spy? Taxi's on his way." Engineer asked as he knocked on the door with the knife symbol. 

"Oui, I am coming." The voice with the French accent answered. 

Inside the suite, Spy wasn't alone. He sighed as he picked up his suitcase and his mask before looking up at Sniper. 

"Spook…? You sure you can't stay?" 

"I do not think I can. The Administrator's orders were very clear, you received the same letter as I did. I am to be transferred to the enemy team and you will receive their Spy in exchange."

"Yeah… But why does it have to be like that?" Sniper asked, fumbling with his hat between his fingers. He had meant it as a rhetorical question, to express his distress more than anything else. But Spy answered anyway.

"Because we keep winning against them with baffling ease. It was high time that something was done about that."

"Couldn't she swap other people? You're not alone in this team!" 

Spy took the step that separated him from his lover and put his suitcase down. He splayed a hand on Sniper's chest. Like a reflex, his glove travelled up to Sniper's collar and adjusted it. Ah, Sniper didn't know how to dress up. But that was not why the Frenchman had fallen for him. Non, it was rather for his way of undressing the Frenchman, figuratively and concretely. 

Sniper had an innocence, a naivety almost, that touched Spy more deeply than anything else. He had learnt to ignore the scruffy looks, the almost feral manners and instead, found himself falling for them all. Those features were nothing but a wall hiding a kind of honesty and sensitivity too powerful to be understood by the common mortal. Spy had learnt to see through the campervan, the atrocious mullet, the equally hideous sideburns and the messy stubble on the skin tanned by years under the scorching sun of Australia. He had fallen for them all.

"Mundy." Spy said and Sniper, who had his head lowered, closed his eyes and frowned. "Look at me, please." 

"Can't. It hurts." 

"Please…?" Spy put his gloved hand under Sniper's chin and pulled it up until their eyes met. 

"Mh…" Sniper protested. 

"We will continue to see each other at work. This is not a goodbye." Spy said, trying to comfort him.

"Yeah, when you stab me in the back." Sniper sighed. 

"I will not spare you, mon amour, you know how much I like to scratch that back of yours." Spy wiggled his eyebrows and Sniper eventually managed to smile. 

"C'mere…" The Aussie wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in a tight hug as he buried his head in Spy's shoulder. "I'll miss you, luv'." He inhaled the expensive perfume and the menthol cigarette, the distinctive scent of the man he loved.

"I will miss you too." Of course Spy returned the dear embrace and they remained stuck to each other for a long while. Chest against chest, their breathing synced as their fingers clawed harder on each other. 

"Yo, Spy! Your taxi's comin'!" Scout shouted from the door. 

"Get lost!" Sniper shouted from the inside. 

"You are interrupting a moment, Scout." Spy added. 

"What kind of moment? C'mon, you gotta hurry, man!" 

Spy looked at Sniper and answered:

"The kind of moment you dream of having with Miss Pauling." 

Sniper chuckled.

"Oh guys! Jeez! Disgustin'...!" Scout's voice seemed to be deafened more as he walked away from the door. 

Spy and Sniper chuckled. 

"Right, let me carry this for you." Sniper took the suitcase off of Spy's hand. 

"Thank you, that is very kind of you." 

They headed for the door. 

"Well, gotta help the elderly, eh?" 

"Mundy!" Spy nudged him with his elbow. 

The Aussie chuckled and put his hand on the door knob. 

"Wait." He turned to Spy. "Lu'...?"

"Oui?" Lucien answered with a sweet smile. He was about to put on his mask.

"Can I uh… Can I kiss you, just one last time?" 

Lucien shook his head, his grin growing wider. 

"May I kiss you." He corrected. "And please, I am all yours." 

Mundy let go of the door handle and laced his arm around Lucien's waist, pulling him closer as he pushed his lips against him. Lucien wrapped his arms up around Mundy's neck and pushed himself to the tip of his toes, in his varnished Italian shoes. 

"Gosh, I'll miss your lips." Mundy stayed with his forehead against Lucien. His hand travelled up to his hair. He stroked it gently.

"Only my lips?" Lucien tapped the tip of Mundy's nose with his gloved finger before putting on his mask and passing in front of him to open the door. 

"Nah, definitely not only yer lips…" 

"Mundy-!" Lucien got startled when he felt from behind Mundy's powerful fingers grabbing him where he was quite sensitive. 

"C'mon, luv', let's go."

They exited the suite. Spy said goodbye to his team as the taxi arrived. The enemy Spy exited it and entered the base. He shook hands with his new teammates.

"Spy?"

"Spy." 

Both spies shook hands too. 

"Sniper, do you mind holding on to my suitcase, I will give the new Spy a tour of his suite." Lucien asked. 

"Sure. Don't be too long though, the taxi driver's waitin'."

"But of course." 

Both spies went to the door with the knife symbol and entered. It lasted a few minutes and soon, Lucien exited again. Mundy nodded to the front door and the Frenchman nodded. They exited the base and soon found themselves at the taxi's car.

"Hey, promise you'll go easy on my back?" 

"Only if you spare my head, and my suits."

"Your suits?" Mundy asked, not understanding.

"Your Jarate, Sniper." 

"Ah, yeah… Well, depends."

"On what, may I ask?" 

"If you behave." Mundy answered with a wink and Lucien blushed beyond his ears.

"Stop it."

"Make me." Mundy growled low enough that the taxi driver wouldn't hear and Lucien chuckled.

"I will see you tomorrow, as usual." The Frenchman said. 

"Yeah. Oh, hold on…" Mundy opened the car door for him.

"Oh… Merci." He slipped in the car on the backseat and fastened his seatbelt. 

Mundy tapped the window and Lucien lowered it. 

"Uh, I hope I'll say it right, but uh… je t'aime." 

[I love you.]

The pronunciation was tainted with a heavy English accent, the syllables were butchered and the sounds slaughtered. Lucien chuckled at how distorted it sounded from his Sniper's voice.

"Merci."

[Thank you.]

The driver started the engine and Mundy was left alone in front of the base, in the middle of the orange desert split by a grey line of asphalt. The car looked smaller and smaller as the taxi driver flew like the wind. Eventually, it completely disappeared and Mundy sighed, his shoulders sinking sadly. 

He went back straight to his van and spent the rest of his day off there, like a fox in his den. Time passed slowly, terribly so. It was torture to go through the day without his lover and Mundy found himself imagining what Lucien was doing in the enemy base, wherever it was. Did he start by unpacking his suits? Or did he just collapse on his bed and get sucked in the same daydream as Mundy was? 

Perhaps, he had decided to start by taking a shower, to clear his head, then unpack before organising his new home, getting to know it. Of course, Lucien would do all these things with a cigarette between his lips, carding his salt and pepper hair elegantly from time to time. Ah, his grey front lock would always fall on his forehead and between his eyes. He used to always complain about it, saying that he would cut it shorter. But Mundy would answer that his hair was perfect as it was, and he shouldn't cut it. 

Once, he even jokingly suggested that Lucien should tie it away in a ridiculous, very short ponytail at the front. And the Frenchman answered that he seriously was considering it. Of course it was nothing else but a joke, yet Mundy had taken his words and found a little rubber band. He took it to the Frenchman's suite and it had ended up in a game of cat and mouse where Mundy was chasing his lover to tie his hair. When he finally did catch him, he tied the grey front lock of hair and Lucien looked absolutely ridiculous. That day, he had even kept it for the entire evening and only removed it when he went to bed with Mundy. 

Ah, the nights would be lonely now. No Lucien to lie his head on Mundy's shoulder, no Lucien to stick his ice cold feet on Mundy's calves, just to bully him. And of course, no Lucien to warm Mundy's night and leave him panting and sweating… 

Mundy sighed. Such a shame that it had to end. Well, not exactly. They would still see each other at work. Although now, the dynamics between them completely flipped. They didn't work together but against each other. And it was no problem for both of them. Their professionalism and their age meant that they did not mix their work with what they held in their hearts. 

Still, it would take some time to adjust to the new feeling of sleeping alone. Ha, the irony… Him who had slept alone all his life, with only the view of the star sprinkled sky as a companion, Mundy was now lacking company. He almost came to wonder how he used to live before Lucien brightened his days and nights. The van seemed lifeless, as if something vital was missing. 

"Yo, Snipes, dinner's ready!" Scout banged at the door with his legendary delicateness. 

"Right, comin'." 

Mundy put on his hat and glasses before exiting the van. He went to the kitchen and sat at the table, at his usual place. Opposite him was an empty seat. It used to be Lucien's. 

"Alright, fellows, here comes the soup for tonight." Engie announced as he put the - almost larger than him - pot on the table.

"Oh, man! Soup again?" Scout complained. "Please tell me there are no veggies in it at least?" 

"Sorry, pardner, but it's winter and there's no soup on Earth without any veggies. C'mon, gimme your plate…!"

Scout pulled his plate towards himself. 

"Scout…?" Engie insisted. 

"Nah it's fine, I'll eat somethin' else."

"Chocolate bars and soda ain't a diet, son. C'mon now…!"

"Listen, Private!" Soldier banged his fist on the table and all the plates and cutlery shook. "You will eat your rations or by God I will make you eat the empty plate!" Soldier tried to pry the plate off of Scout's hands.

"What?! No! Get away!"

Sniper sighed. That would definitely be when Lucien would say something witty to calm Scout and make him obey...

"Gentlemen." 

All the mercenaries raised their heads. 

"I do apologise for being late. Unpacking proved to be longer than what I had anticipated at first." The new Spy took a seat on the last free chair, opposite Sniper. 

Spy's entrance was enough of a distraction for Engie to take Scout's plate and serve him. The other plates were passed on, one after the other until all the mercenaries were served and started eating. 

The indistinguishable chatter rose in the room between Demo's hearty laughter, Heavy's stories in cold Siberia and Soldier's war tales. 

Sniper was staring emptily at his plate. The bits of vegetables floated lifelessly, half-drowning in the soup. He pushed them sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right. Like little shipwrecks, they bobbed up and down at the surface of the undisturbed ocean that the soup was. 

Obviously, his colleagues noticed but they knew of his relationship with Spy so they guessed why he felt distraught. Given how much the Aussie liked his privacy, they didn't bother him and eventually, he was left alone at the table. Heavy had been on dishes duty that night and he did not disturb his colleague either. After he was finished, he left the room and closed the door. 

But soon, Sniper heard it open again. It did not register completely as he was too absorbed in a day dream. 

"Yo, Snipes?" 

Scout's voice startled Sniper back to reality. 

"Huh?" 

"Sorry pal, Spy's askin' for ya."

Sniper frowned. No, his Spy wasn't asking for him. It was the other one. 

"What does he want?" He mumbled back. 

"Don't know. He said he needed some help with something and he knew you could do it." 

Sniper sighed and grumbled. He pushed his chair back and pushed himself on his feet heavily. 

"Right, I'll see what I can do for him…" He dragged his feet out of the kitchen and in the corridor. 

"Snipes, your soup?" He heard Scout ask but he ignored him as he now faced the door with the knife symbol, and gave a short knock. 

"Come in, Sniper." 

The Aussie frowned and pushed the door. He found Spy sitting on the armchair that used to be Lucien's. He was giving his back to Sniper.

"You need some help with something, Scout said." 

"Oui, pray close the door."

Sniper obeyed and gulped down hard. The last time his Spy asked him to make sure the door was locked was before they - ugh… It mattered little now. 

"So, what d'you need? If it's to move somethin' big, you can ask Heavy, he'll get it sorted faster than me."

"Non, it is for something different. Please, take a seat." 

"Spy, look, I'm not the small talk kind of guy, ok?" Sniper refused to sit and stood not too far from the door.

"Oh, I know." 

"Yeah, you do, you spend your time stabbing me in the back without sayin' a word." Sniper answered, irritated that his new colleague would make him waste his time. He would much prefer to lock himself up in his van and stay there. 

"I don't believe I have ever stabbed you." 

Sniper's eyebrows jumped and he fluttered his eyes under the audacity of what the snake of a man was saying.

"What?" Confused beyond what words could express, Sniper took a deep breath. "Look, y'know what, I'm not gonna answer. I'm gonna just do whatever you need and leave. Now, out with it."

"Sniper…" Spy chuckled and Sniper felt his blood boil. 

"Listen, either you tell me what you need or I'll just walk out of here, before I start throwing punches at you." 

"You never raised your hand on anyone." Spy answered with such calm… Sniper hated it. "Even when Scout mocks you, or gets on your nerves, you ignore him." 

Sniper raised an eyebrow. 

"What…? Y-you've been watchin' us in this base…?" 

"You never raised your hand or your voice against anyone." Spy went on. "You are way too soft for that." 

"Stop it. Right. Bloody. Now." Sniper was now angry. The familiarity with which the new Spy spoke to him disgusted him. He sounded almost like Lucien but he wasn't him. No, that bastard wasn't him. He wasn't him and how the hell dared he speak like him. 

"Or what? What will you do, hm? Run far away and shoot me in the head? Throw one of your precious jars at me? Pff, come on…!"

"I might start by rearrangin' your ugly mug, pop a few teeth with my fists, see how that goes, eh!" Sniper snapped, furious. 

"You used to find my face very comely. Countless times you have told me so." 

"Right, that's enough." Sniper took confident steps towards the Frenchman. He clenched his fist and threw it but Spy stood up and faced him, blocking his punch in his open palm. He twisted the Aussie's arm and brought him to his knees. 

"Oh you wanker!" 

"Only when you ask nicely."

"What?!" 

Spy removed his mask and his hair gently floated in the air for an instant.

"What the hell?!" 

Mundy felt his foe's grip loosen on his fist and his own knees went to jelly under the surprise.

"Bonsoir, mon amour."  The voice with the lovely smirk said.

[Good evening, my love.]

"What are you doin' here?!" 

Lucien was standing in front of Mundy, a sweet smile on his lips. He helped him back to his feet.

"Am I…? Am I dreamin' or something? Hold on…" Mundy removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "What the hell are you doing here? Why aren't you with the other team?!" 

Lucien chuckled and took his lover's hands to guide him and sit together on the sofa. 

"I never left this base!"

"What?"

"When I took the enemy Spy on a tour of this suite, I had a chat with him. Neither him or I wanted to swap teams. So we agreed to swap our clothes instead. I stay here and he goes back to his base." 

"Holy… Why didn't you say anything earlier, during dinner or something?" Mundy stretched his arm and wrist which hurt.

"Because no one knows about this but you, me, and the enemy Spy. There are cameras in the kitchen, living-room and corridors. I couldn't try anything suspicious there. Here however, we are safe, as you know." 

"Bloody hell…" Mundy shook his head. "But hold on, why did the enemy Spy accept?" 

"I think he has an arrangement with one of his teammates." 

"An arrangement?" Mundy repeated. "What? They're gonna open a lemonade stand on the weekends?" He chuckled. 

"Non, he is in a relationship with his Sniper." 

Mundy's chuckle stopped sharp and his eyebrows jumped. 

"Seriously?" 

"Oui." 

"Crikey, I had no idea…!"

Lucien chuckled. 

"Anythin' else like that that I don't know?" He asked. 

"Oh, plenty of things. But they matter very little. What matters now is that I am still here, with you." Lucien cupped his lover's face with his gloved hands and stroked his cheeks. Mundy relaxed and smiled. 

"So the bloke I escorted to the taxi and stuff wasn't you?" 

"Non, it was him." 

"Oh, right." Mundy stared at his lover with half-lidded eyes. "It really broke me inside when - oh, bugger!" He exclaimed in shock. 

"What?" Lucien asked. 

"Before the taxi drove off…!" 

"What happened?" 

"I told the enemy Spy I loved him! In French!" Mundy exclaimed with round eyes. "Bloody hell!" He smacked a hand on his own mouth and blushed beyond his ears. 

Lucien burst out laughing. 

"Well, I do hope that he didn't say that he loved you back!" 

"Oh… Bugger… Now he's gonna bully me even more at work…" Mundy lowered his head. 

"Non, mon amour…" Lucien hugged him and pulled Mundy's head to rest on his shoulder. "I won't let him bully you, I promise. Besides, I doubt that he will." 

"Hope so." 

"I am sure of it. He is a good man. A less good spy, but a good man." Lucien said. "Now, please, look at me." He cupped Mundy's half ashamed, half distraught face. "You need something to soothe your nerves, mon amour. And to fill your stomach. Come along." Lucien took his hand and led Mundy to the kitchen attached to his suite. "Let us cook something for you." 

"Can we get pizza?" 

"Non, Mundy. Why get pizza when I can cook for you?" 

"Well…"

"Non! My cooking skills are godly, I will not tolerate that you should think otherwise!" Lucien said as he tied an apron around his waist and washed his hands. Mundy followed him left and right.

"I was gonna say it would save you the trouble, but ok…" Mundy chuckled. 

"What trouble? There is no trouble! My lover is hungry. It is my duty to remedy that." Lucien went to his fridge.

"Fair enough. Can I still hug you though?" 

"Oui, you may. But do not disturb me, understood?" Lucien emerged from the fridge and Mundy stuck himself to him, from behind. 

"Can I at least breathe?!" 

"I shall think about it and let you know." Lucien playfully answered as he grabbed a cutting board and a knife. Mundy rested his head on Lucien's shoulder, watching him cut vegetables and some meat. He liked it there, hugging his lover and spending time with him. Lucien would occasionally feed him a bit of carrot, or tomato. 

"Mundy?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Could you say that to me?" Lucien asked and he interrupted his chopping. 

"Say what?"

"That you love me, in French. You never did."

"Yeah, uh... Je t'aime, Lu'." 

Lucien bit his lip and rolled his head back to lean it on Mundy's shoulder. 

"Again…"

"Je t'aime." 

He closed his eyes and smiled. Mundy hugged him tighter and left a kiss on his cheek. 

"Mundy?"

"Yeah?" 

"Your pronunciation is terrible." 

"Oi!"

[gintrinsic-writing]

Part 2/3 of the silly LU + Courage the Cowardly Dog crossover I started this morning! Part 1 can be found here.

-

Guided by the fierce, instinctual need to protect, Wolfie lunged at the spider, baring his teeth in a vicious snarl. Rather than turn away, the spider reared up on its spindly hind legs and snapped its pincers together; bright, viscous venom dripped from its mouth, and the porch sizzled ominously with every drop. 

Wolfie narrowed his eyes warily, hackles rising. Behind him, the dog abruptly let out a victorious yip. The noise acted like a catalyst. The spider leapt for his throat.

With a short growl, Wolfie spun in place, using his momentum to hip-check the spider while it was off balance. It hissed as it struck a wall, multifaceted eyes glaring with unnatural fury. 

The spider wasted no time righting itself, but Wolfie wasn't about to give it a chance to attack again. He struck out with his left paw, raking his claws across its red, bulbous body. The spider thrashed, its eight, bristled legs moving without coordination. Ignoring the sting in his paw pads, Wolfie snapped his jaws around the spider's abdomen and viciously shook his head. Sticky, violet blood filled his mouth, and the spider went limp.

The taste was awful. Gagging, Wolfie stepped back and licked a (relatively) clean part of the porch, trying to get rid of the blood. He felt the mild pinch of a splinter, but he figured that was the least of his worries at the moment. 

"U-u-um, h-hello?" 

Wolfie looked up with a grimace, then immediately felt bad when the little dog cowered. "Hey," he said quietly, grateful that this form allowed him to communicate with animals. "It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you. What's your name?" 

The dog nervously gulped and fiddled with the broken ends of the rope he must've finally chewed through. His paws, like the rest of his body, were misshapen. Wolfie thought he might have been the ugliest dog he'd ever seen. "Courage," he muttered, glancing aside for a second. 

Wolfie blinked and sat down, trying to make himself look less intimidating. Courage, huh? That seemed... too on the nose to be coincidental.

"It's nice to meet you, Courage," he said, hoping his pause wasn't too noticeable. "I'm Twilight." 

Thunder pealed in the distance, startling them both. Wolfie was shocked to realize that a storm had moved in. Courage began trembling again, his large eyes darting between the clouds and the dead spider. 

"Th-thanks for the help," he wheezed. "But I g-gotta go." 

"Wait," Wolfie said. "Can you tell me where we are? I'm... lost," he added lamely. 

"Oh, we're on the outskirts of N-nowhere." 

 Wolfie frowned, forehead wrinkling. "What do you mean?" 

"Nowhere. This p-place is called Nowhere," Courage explained. "You need to be careful. The hotel manager--" 

A woman screamed.

"Ohhh," Courage groaned despairingly, tugging at his crooked ears. "Muriel's in trouble!" He anxiously hopped from foot to foot, then bolted for one of the room doors. 

 "Wait!" Wolfie ran after him, easily keeping up with the little dog. He kept one eye on their surroundings, not wanting to be caught unaware by the shadows or another spider. "Who's Muriel? And what's going?" 

Where was Nowhere? Where were the others? 

But Courage didn't answer, too focused on tugging on a doorknob. He pulled with all his might, but his stumpy legs didn't hold much strength. From the other side of the door, a man suddenly yelped. Courage groaned miserably. 

"Move back," Wolfie commanded. "I'll break it down." 

Courage turned toward him with wide eyes but hastily moved away, and Wolfie rammed himself against the door. Sure enough, the frame snapped, wood chips flying in every direction. Wolfie stumbled into the room just in time to see the bed, occupied by a frightened, elderly man, flip upside down. 

Wolfie thought it was a pretty good metaphor for his life at the moment.

"Oh no, oh no!" Courage groaned. The new bed appeared eerily undisturbed, as though never occupied to begin with. Wolfie sniffed around the edges of the bed frame, but all traces of the old man were gone. He stepped back, tail drooping with discouragement. "Who was that?" 

"Eustace," Courage answered. It wasn't a very helpful answer. 

Wolfie sniffed the air again, smelling water and hints of perfume. He took a step toward the only other door in the room when he thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.

Above the bed was a portrait of a cat. Its gaze was cold and empty, but for a second Wolfie swore he saw the pupils move... 

A splash and an affronted "oh my!" from the other room redirected his attention. He turned toward Courage, but the little dog stared forlornly at the closed bathroom door for only a second before running back outside. 

"Save Muriel!" 

Wolfie yipped in surprise. "But where are you going?" 

"Ohhhh, I have to help Eustace! They'll eat him! Please save Muriel!" And with that, Courage was gone.

[roseinaugust]

Like an Old Enemy

Chapter Two: Beginnings

Summary: Miraculous Enemies AU. Gabriel Agreste has the Black Cat Miraculous in his possession, so when his wife, Emilie, "disappears," he sends his son, Adrien, undercover to pose as Ladybug's partner. Two years later, the once famous duo are sworn enemies. Marinette might have loved Chat Noir once, but now she would stop at nothing to defeat him. Adrien will do whatever it takes to bring his mother back. Best friends in their civilian lives, Adrien and Marinette find obstacles and complications when they can no longer deny their love for each other. But will they be able to understand and forgive the mistakes of their past? Or will they be doomed to end as bitter rivals a second time?

Rated: T

Pairings: Ladybug/Chat Noir Enemies, Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng Mutual Pining

Word Count: 5,462

Read on: ao3

A/N: I am only posting half of this chapter on tumblr so please read the rest on ao3! 

Marinette tried to reenter the classroom as quietly as she could—which was not very quiet at all. She winced as the door slammed shut behind her. Perhaps her encounter with Chat Noir riled her more than she wanted to believe. She gave an embarrassed smile to Mlle. Bustier before returning to her seat, trying not to think of her classmates’ eyes following her. 

Marinette sighed, relieved that she made it back before the period changed. When she sat down, she noticed that Adrien was missing. With Mlle. Bustier facing the chalkboard, Marinette seized her opportunity to tap Alya on the shoulder.

“Where’s Adrien?” She whispered to her friend sitting in front of her.

Alya leaned back in her seat to reply. “His dad pulled him out for a photo shoot.” 

“On the first day of school?”

Mlle. Bustier turned to face the class again, ceasing the girls’ conversation. Marinette slumped in her seat. First, her unfortunate meeting with Chat Noir, and now she didn’t even have her best friend around to distract her. 

The school year had barely started, and her attention was already drifting away from her classes. Marinette meandered through her classes, marking a fairly uneventful first day. Her scuffle this morning no longer seemed out of place—rather mundane, really. It’s been two long years since akuma battles became a commonplace activity for Marinette. Coincidentally, it was also the first day of school when her life changed forever. 

Marinette had woken up that morning expecting things to remain constant: Alya would still be her best friend, Chloé would still torment her for no reason, and science with Mlle. Mendeleiev would still bore her out of her skull. She did not expect that Paris would be attacked by a supervillain, and she definitely did not expect to become a superhero. 

The day began like any other. She was late for school—something that would never change regardless of her identity—she helped an elderly man cross the street, and only tripped a few hundred times. Things did not stay normal for very long, though. Mlle. Bustier was checking the roster when a sudden crash knocked through the classroom. A stone creature had burst through the wall and released a roar that could rival a lion. 

Marinette watched, frozen in confused horror, as the creature grabbed Myléne and Chloé. All she could hear were screams from the girls clutched in the monster’s hands and the panic from her remaining classmates. The creature smashed through the far wall and jumped out of the building, leaving a rubble in its wake.

“Everyone, go home now!” Mlle. Bustier ordered. Students scrambled out of the school, scared and unsure of what was happening. Marinette ran across the street to the safety of her family’s bakery. 

“Marinette?” Her mother looked at her with concern. “What are you doing home so soon?” 

“There was an attack at school! Some stone monster took Mylene and Chloe!” She raced up the stairs two at a time, stopping only when she reached her bedroom. She flung herself into her pink desk chair, frantically pulling up the news on her computer. 

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news.” Nadja Chamack started in her standard news anchor voice. “Paris is under attack by a supervillain. Stoneheart has taken two students from Collège Françoise-Dupont hostage and is now believed to be en route to the Eiffel Tower. Citizens should seek cover immediately.” 

Marinette watched in horror. How could there be a supervillain? Who was doing this, and why did she feel so powerless? She tore her eyes away from the screen. She couldn’t stand to watch this happen and do nothing to stop it. 

With her attention averted, Marinette noticed a small octagonal box sitting before her. Had it been there this morning? She opened it, momentarily distracted from the calamity occurring outside the walls of her small bedroom. A bright pink flash of light emitted from the box, blinding Marinette briefly. When the black spots cleared from her vision, she saw a pair of ladybug patterned earrings inside. Who put these in here? Perhaps it was a gift from her parents for starting school? She removed them and carefully put them on. 

Hello, Marinette, said a voice. 

She whipped her head so fast that she fell out of her seat. There was no one in the room with her. Maybe she just imagined it…

You didn’t imagine it, Marinette, the voice spoke again. Great. There were supervillains in Paris, and she was hearing voices; she was officially losing it. You’re not going crazy. I am your Kwami Consciousness—kwami for short—but you can call me Tikki. You are the only one who can stop Stoneheart. 

“What is happening?” Marinette asked out loud. She sat still on her floor, unable to process the arrival of a second consciousness in her head. 

Paris needs you. The earrings you are wearing are called the Ladybug Miraculous. They are magical jewels that will turn you into a superhero. 

“Me? A superhero? That’s gotta be a mistake. I-I'm only fourteen. And I’m clumsy, like really clumsy.” Marinette sputtered at the absurd notion. Surely there was someone else in Paris that was better qualified for the job than her. 

The fact that you can hear me is proof that it was not a mistake. Not anyone can use the jewels. The holder must fit the traits of the Miraculous. The Ladybug Miraculous requires creativity, bravery, and pure intentions, all of which I can sense in you. Marinette reddened at the endorsement from the disembodied voice. 

If you were not meant to have the Miraculous, you would not be able to hear me. Kwamis like me are connected to the jewels and their holders. It allows me to communicate with you and provide guidance. 

“There are others? Other Miraculous and other superheroes?” Marinette tried not to think about how crazy she would seem if either of her parents walked in on her talking to herself. If Tikki could read her thoughts, she didn’t want to accidentally offend it. 

Yes, there are other Miraculous. Some have been missing for centuries. One of which, the Butterfly, has found a new holder; one that is abusing the Miraculous’s powers. The Butterfly Miraculous allows its holder to give superpowers to someone, but they are corrupted by negative emotions, turning them into villains. It’s up to you to find the holder of the Butterfly Miraculous and stop them.

Marinette stood up slowly and paced around her room. How was she going to be able to defeat a supervillain? Was she really cut out for this? The news coverage was still playing on her computer. She paused, watching the stone creature barrel down the Trocadéro. Wasn’t this what she had been waiting for? A chance to help? Marinette knew that she would never be able to sit on the sidelines when other needed help. Even if she failed, even if she was the worst superhero possible, she still had to try. 

“Tikki, what do I have to do?” 

Marinette couldn’t waste any more time. After the voice in her head explained her powers, she was off, traversing over rooftops to reach the Eiffel Tower. The wind stung her face, the only part left exposed by her magically impenetrable suit, as she ran faster than she ever thought possible. Fight the monster, break the object, capture the akuma, fix the damage. Marinette repeated her objectives to herself, hoping that the repetition will keep her focused during the fight. 

“Hey! Watch out!” Marinette barreled into someone. She had to pay more attention to her surroundings. What kind of superhero ran directly into someone? Wait—who else was on a rooftop during a supervillain attack? She pushed away from him and grabbed her…yo-yo? How was she supposed to defend herself with a yo-yo? She twirled it, finding that it made a steady shield, and looked up at the person she crashed into. Her yo-yo shield quivered, momentarily stunned by the boy in front of her. He wore a black leather supersuit, similar to her own. A mask covered his bright green eyes and faux cat ears adorned his fair hair. He was beautiful, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. 

“Who are you?” Marinette demanded, refocusing. If he had a suit like hers, he must have a Miraculous. He didn’t look like a butterfly though…

“I’m, uh,” The boy paused, a finger lifted to his chin in contemplation. “Chat Noir. Yeah, Chat Noir.” He said with an easy confidence Marinette hoped to possess one day. “I’m guessing you’re the partner my Kwami told me about.” 

“My Kwami didn’t say anything about a partner.” Marinette held her yo-yo shield steady. 

“It probably didn’t know. The Black Cat Miraculous is an heirloom. It passed down through my family for generations, but I was the only one who connected with it. My Kwami told me that the Miraculous had been missing for centuries before it found its way to my family.”

“If you knew it was missing, why didn’t you return it?” She asked, warily. He opened his mouth to speak but the ground shook from below. Marinette stopped swirling her yo-yo to keep her balance. 

“No time to explain!” Chat Noir yelled as he grabbed a silver baton and extended it. “We have to stop Stoneheart. Come on, er, bug girl!” He vaulted over the rooftops, leaving Marinette alone. She didn’t know if she could trust him, but she couldn’t leave it up to him. 

She dropped down next to Chat Noir on the dais of the Trocadéro. Stoneheart was climbing the Eiffel Tower with Myléne and Chloé still clutched in his hands. She caught Chat Noir’s eye and could tell that they were on the same page; whatever confusion they had over their new powers and their supposed partnership, it would have to wait until after Stoneheart was apprehended. With a slight nod, they leapt into action, crossing the distance in a matter of seconds. 

Stoneheart had reached the first platform of the tower. In the background, Marinette could hear Mayor Bourgeois demand the return of his daughter, Chloé. In the deep bellow of a voice she recognized, Stoneheart cried out, “Fine! You can have her,” before throwing Chloe off the building. 

“Ivan,” Marinette whispered, horrified that the quiet and gentle boy she’s known for years could do something so terrible. Marinette sprinted towards Chloé’s falling body and caught her seconds before the impact. Saving Chloé’s life—the worst person she knew—was definitely not how Marinette expected her day to go. She released Chloé, who sprinted into the safety of her father’s arms. Whispers of “superheroes,” and “save us,” passed through the crowd that watched her and Chat Noir intently. Returning to Chat Noir at the base of the tower, Marinette tried to think of a plan. Fight the monster, break the object, capture the akuma, fix the damage. 

“Do you know him?” Chat Noir asked, catching Marinette off guard. 

“What?” 

“Stoneheart. You called him Ivan. Do you know him?” 

Marinette realized her mistake too late. Tikki had stressed the importance of keeping her identity a secret. “No, of course not.” She lied. “I heard his name on the news.” If Chat Noir suspected she was untruthful, he didn’t let it show. Instead, the two chased after Stoneheart as he climbed higher. Chat Noir used his stick and Marinette utilized her yo-yo as a grappling hook, hoisting her into the air. 

They landed on the viewing deck as Stoneheart let out another monstrous growl. Swarms of purple butterflies escaped from his mouth forming a head. It began to speak, though Marinette could tell it was no longer Ivan’s voice. This voice was cold, apathetic, and it frightened Marinette. “Citizens of Paris! I am Hawkmoth. These are not your saviors; they are children! And they will give me their Miraculous. Relinquish the Ladybug earrings and Cat ring to me!” 

Marinette’s grip on her yo-yo tightened. She may have only been a superhero for half an hour—she didn’t even think she wanted to be a superhero—but she would not give it up to a bully.  She was afraid, but not so afraid that she couldn’t be brave for Paris. “Nice try, Hawkmoth. We aren’t going to be dissuaded that easily. We will find you and we will take your Miraculous!” She threw her yo-yo at the gathered butterflies, capturing them in one fell swoop. She turned to Chat Noir, who she caught watching her with his mouth agape. He gave her a dazzling grin. A smile like that could make her forget her own name. A scream brought Marinette’s attention back to Stoneheart and Myléne. 

Priorities, Marinette. Fight the monster, break the object, capture the akuma, fix the damage.  “Chat Noir, let’s go!” Together, they raced up the tower. The duo communicated silently, as if they were already attuned to each other’s thoughts and movements, attacking Stoneheart. 

“Lucky Charm!” Marinette called out her superpowers and caught a strangely colored parachute. She stood for a moment, contemplating her next move, when she saw the solution. Chat Noir followed her lead as they freed Myléne and the crumpled paper holding the akuma from Stoneheart’s grasp. Chat Noir batted the object to Marinette. She crushed it, releasing the akuma. Fight the monster, break the object—

Marinette’s mental checklist was interrupted by the bloodcurdling screams of her two classmates falling off the top of the Eiffel Tower. Without hesitation, she jumped off the tower. “Chat Noir! Get Ivan!” She pulled her limbs tight against herself to accelerate her velocity. 

“Don’t forget the akuma!” Chat Noir called over the nearly deafening sound of wind as she sped towards Mylene. The akuma! She had forgotten to purify the akuma. Marinette latched onto Myléne and threw her yo-yo with all her force. She only had a few more moments before they would hit the ground. 

“Gotcha!” Marinette yelled, when the akuma disappeared into her weapon. She pulled the tab  of the parachute and careened into the sky as wind picked up the fabric. It took all her strength—even her enhanced super strength—to hold onto Myléne as their combined weight fell to the ground. They landed, not so gracefully, underneath the landmark, relieved to have survived. Chat Noir and Ivan were landing close by. 

Marinette released the purified butterfly, it’s white wings dreamlike in the September sun. Only one task left. She threw the parachute into the sky and watched in amazement as the swarm of magical ladybugs flew around the city repairing the damage caused by Stoneheart. 

It was a miracle. It was something she helped achieve. She turned to Chat Noir, thankful she had someone to share this experience with. “We make a good team,” She relented. 

“I knew you’d come around to me,” He winked at her and held up his a closed fist. 

“Pound it!” They said in unison, laughing quietly as they fist bumped. 

Myléne and Ivan huddled together and walked over to the pair of superheroes. “Thank you for saving us, miss—uh,” Ivan’s sentence dropped off, unsure of how to address the superheroes. 

“Ladybug. Call me Ladybug.” Her hands rested on her waist, hoping she portrayed the same confidence as Chat Noir earlier. “And this is Chat Noir. My partner.” She smiled at the boy next to her. There was something about him that made her want to trust him. He had faith in her immediately, following her lead in the battle, and even kept her from making a huge blunder. 

Chat Noir pulled her hand from her waist and knelt. He kissed her hand and looked up at her through thick lashes. “Ladybug,” he whispered her name, softly. His intense stare made Ladybug feel like the world had melted away, leaving only them alone in the city of love. She may have superpowers, but she was not immune to the affects of a handsome boy paying special attention to her. 

Her earrings blinked, losing one of the ladybug spots. Her hand left his and reached for the earrings. “I have to go, uh, goodbye Chat Noir.” She blushed as she backed away, their eyes still locked on each other’s; she couldn’t break away from his gaze. 

“Until next time, My Lady,” he said with a bow and one last wink, before he extended his stick and left. Ladybug watched him vault over the Parisian skyline, absentmindedly reaching for her yo-yo, before making her own exit. 

That night, from the safety of her bedroom, Tikki warned Marinette to be cautious of Chat Noir. The Ladybug and Black Cat had been partners, a duo more powerful than the other Miraculous, but that was before the Cat had been lost. If the guardian did not give him the Miraculous, they could not be certain about his intentions. 

If only Marinette had listened. If she heeded Tikki’s advice, perhaps the events of the past two years could have been avoided. Perhaps Marinette’s heart would have never been broken. They had made a good team—as the Black Cat and Ladybug always have—but their compatibility meant nothing when everything had been a lie. 

The bell rang, snapping Marinette out of her reverie. She gathered her books together and said goodbye to her friends. The first day of school was over. She was certain her life was going to change, as it had the past two years. 

This was going to be the year she defeated Hawkmoth and Chat Noir. She knew it. 

A/N: Read the rest on ao3

[isolavirtuosa]

Maybe 1-5

[fanfiction] Dean/Castiel

Canon Compliant Coda

One minute I was sitting on the porch, having a beer with Bobby, and the next I was standing in the bunker next to an equally confused-looking Sam.

Parts 1-5

- 1 -

  One minute I was sitting on the porch, having a beer with Bobby, and the next I was standing in the bunker next to an equally confused-looking Sam.

“What the hell, Sammy,” I grumbled, staring at the once-familiar wall of the dungeon in front of us.

“I have no idea,” Sam said, brows furrowing.

“Dad?”

We both whirled around, my hand going for a gun that was long since gone.

“Dean?” Sam said, but the tone was all wrong.  That wasn’t how he said my name.

“Dad?” the man repeated.  He was tall, with brown hair that was longer than it needed to be, and it was obvious enough even for those of us who had no idea what was going on.

“This is Junior?” I asked Sam’s back as he was already moving to wrap his son in a hug.

The hug went on for a lot longer than I thought was necessary, and then my brother was turning around and gesturing to me with a warm smile.  “This is your Uncle Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean Junior said, his eyes a little wide.

Apparently my reputation preceded me.  “Hey yourself,” I responded, swaggering over to him.

I was suddenly wrapped in a very tight hug.

“Um, I guess you’re a hugger,” I said, patting his back awkwardly for a moment before finally just giving in to hugging my only nephew.

Sam was grinning like an idiot.

“I can’t believe you’re both here,” Dean breathed as he pulled away.  “I mean, it worked.”

“Um, what exactly is it that worked?” Sam asked.

“Castiel’s spell,” he said, like that explained perfectly why my brother and I had been ripped out of heaven and brought back to earth.

“Wait, Cass is-” I started to say, even as Castiel was slipping out of the shadows.

“Hello, Sam,” he said, nodding at my brother.  He paused, looking at me meaningfully.  “Dean.”

“Cass!” Sam said, and then there was even more unnecessary hugging.  He squeezed Castiel tightly, and when he let him go, he turned an expectant glance on me.

I stared pointedly at the wall.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve brought you here,” Castiel began to say.

“What’s up with you two?” Sam asked, gesturing between us.

“Nothing,” I said, which was swallowed up by Castiel’s very loud declaration that, “Dean is uncomfortable about my homosexual feelings towards him.”

“Wait, what?” Sam said, squinting at me.

“Cass, you know that’s not true,” I ground out, annoyed.

“Angels have sexual preferences?” Dean asked, scratching at his stubble.  “I kind of thought you were all asexual.”

“We mostly lack human desires,” Castiel agreed.  “Of course, some angels have-”

“Nobody needs a lesson on the sexual exploits of angels,” I interrupted him.

“I think I might,” Dean said, looking genuinely perplexed.  “I mean, all these years, and I never once…  But I guess now that I’ve heard it out loud, it’s starting to…  Yeah, I mean, Castiel talks about you a lot.  A lot a lot.  And he gets this soft expression on his face, and-”

“‘All these years?’” I repeated slowly, feeling my face harden even more.  “You’ve been helping Junior out for years?” I asked Castiel angrily.

“Other Dean needed my help-”

“Great, Cass, just great, so glad you could be there for him,” I said.  “Can we just move on to the part where you explain why the hell we’re here, and then get us back to fucking heaven where we belong?”

Castiel breathed out heavily, his lower lip sticking out slightly.

It was a ridiculous expression that looked completely out of place on his face, and I wanted to tell him so, but…

“You were not exaggerating,” Dean marveled to Sam, still staring at me in awe.

I was starting to wonder what exactly my brother had told my namesake about me.  “I need a beer,” I decided, throwing the dungeon door open and making my way towards the kitchen.

“Wow, look what the cat dragged in.”

At first the woman sitting with her boots kicked up on the table was unrecognizable.  Her gray hair flowed around her face in curls, wrinkles etched across a face with surprisingly youthful-looking blue eyes.

“…Claire…?” I asked incredulously.

She grinned at me.

“How are you still alive?” I asked, still trying to process this elderly woman as the young girl I’d last seen.

“Some of us are actually good at hunting,” she said with a smirk and a twinkle in her eyes.

I didn’t know what to do with that.  “I need a beer,” I decided, disappearing into the kitchen.

“Grab one for me!” Claire called after me.

“Can elderly people drink?” I replied, digging through the fridge and pulling out two tall bottles which were hopefully beer, the brand name unrecognizable to me.

“We can drink Dean Winchester under the table!” she called, a laugh in her voice.

I returned with the bottles, and Claire accepted hers, taking a long drink.

“That hits the spot after a long day of raising assholes from the dead,” she declared.

I sat next to her, running my fingers over the names etched into the table.  There were more now, covering the table from end-to-end.

“We decided the table had a nice nostalgic vibe to it,” she said, before nodding her head around the room.  “Updated everything else from the prehistoric nonsense you had in here before, though.”

There were screens and flashing lights everywhere.  It seemed pretty fucking awful to me, but hopefully whatever fool’s errand had brought us back here would be over and done with quickly.

Claire finished her beer, letting the empty bottle hit the table with a loud clink.  “I guess that’s an okay start, but you’re gonna need to keep ‘em comin’.”

“Slow down, grandma, I don’t want to have to pick you up off of the floor.”

She snorted.  “How the fuck old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, a hundred?”

She laughed even harder.  “Oh, god, you are precious.  I am the picture of youth and vitality.  You like music from the freaking 1970s and dress like an elderly lumberjack.”

I touched my flannel shirt self-consciously.

“And Jimmy certainly made a choice with that body,” she said, looking me up and down, and grinning madly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked irritably.  “…and also, ‘Jimmy’?”

“That’s just my nickname for Castiel,” she said, ignoring the rest of my question.  “It’s an inside joke, and there’s pretty much no one left alive who gets it anymore.”

“So you two have gotten close?”

“Well, I mean, we’re not having constant crises that require heavenly intervention like back in the Winchester days, but yeah, Jimmy’s always here to bail us out when things get rough.”

“Fucking fantastic,” I said, downing the rest of my beer.

“Oh my god, you really are mad,” she marveled at me.

“What am I mad about?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“That Jimmy looooooves you,” she swooned at me.

“You know what, you’re right,” I said, standing up.  “You’re not elderly at all, you’re twelve.”

“Takes one to know one,” Claire cackled at my retreating back as I took the glass bottles back to the kitchen.

There was a loud bustling back in the other room, signaling that the others had finally come up to join us.

Everyone stared at me expectantly as I came back into the room.  I looked at them blankly, handing Claire another beer and opening my own.

“So, did Claire fill you in about Temeluchus…?” Sam asked.

“Who in the what now?” I asked, taking a drink and specifically not looking at Castiel.

“And how the Michael sword and the Lucifer sword are the only way to seal him…?” Sam asked.

“That sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“They need our blood-” Sam continued.

“You know, I really don’t need the details,” I said.  “Tell me what to do, we save the world, we go back.  Right?”

“Right,” Castiel confirmed.

“Okay then,” I said.  “Let’s save the world.”

 - 2 -

  They put us in the guest room that night.

“Being alive is weird,” I decided, studying the back of my hand.  “You gotta piss and shit and sleep…”

“And alcohol actually gets you drunk?” Sam suggested from the twin bed next to mine.

“Well, that part’s not so bad,” I said, letting my hand drop to my stomach.  “I could get into that part.”

“Maybe if you pray to Jack, he’ll let you get drunk in heaven, too.”

“Don’t need to be drunk in heaven.”

Sam sighed.  “It’s weird for me, too, you know.  To be back here.”

“I was never here.”

I heard him breathe in sharply at that, almost like a flinch of pain.

“And that’s okay,” I continued.  “I did my part, then my story was over.”

“We always felt you with us.”

“…Sammy, that is some new agey bullcrap.”

“It doesn’t make it less true.”

“So Cass helped you on cases.”

“That’s a bit of a non-sequitur.”

“Is it?” I asked, mostly because I didn’t know what a non-sequitur was.

“Well, I guess we were talking about our feelings, and then you brought up Cass, so actually, no, I do see where you’re coming from,” Sam decided.

“We were not talking about our feelings,” I said, offended.

“Of course not,” Sam replied in that patronizing way of his.  “Manly men don’t have feelings.”

“Damn straight.”

“So about your best friend Cass…”

“Did you want us to braid each other’s hair and exchange friendship bracelets?” I grumbled.

“I was thinking about more maybe just actually having a conversation…?” Sam suggested.  “Seriously, Dean, what is going on between you two?”

“Nothing,” I muttered.

“Oh, yeah, sure, okay.”

The smart play would be to not respond to Sam’s sarcasm, and just let the conversation die.

Sam sighed loudly.

I ignored him.

He sighed again.

I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.

There was the sound of movement from Sam’s bed, which was the only warning I got before something crashed into my chest.

The smart play would be to just hold the pillow hostage and continue to ignore him.

Unfortunately, Sam knew that I could never possibly ignore such an obvious affront.

I threw the pillow back at him as hard as possible.

He was sitting up now, and caught it with a grunt.  “Dean, is this really…  I mean, you’re not actually bothered that Cass has feelings for you, right?”

“Of course I don’t care,” I growled, but I could already feel the anger dissipating.  Somehow I’d gotten better at letting go of things.  “I mean, of course I care.  About Cass.  About… whatever.  Feelings and shit.  I just… he dropped that bomb at me, and then he left.”

“He didn’t really leave so much as die…”

“He didn’t come back, Sammy.”

“He’s right here, Dean.  In the next room.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.  He’s here on earth.  He’s helping Junior.  He’s bonding with Claire.  He was even freaking helping you on cases before you moved on.”

Sam put his pillow down and seemed to lean forward, straining to see me in the dark.  “Dean, what are you saying?  Have you not seen Cass since he was taken by the Empty?”

“You just figured that out?”

“Wait, not even once?”

“He came once.”

“Okay…?”

“A little after you moved on,” I said, lying back down.  I closed my eyes again.

“…and did something happen?” Sam prodded me when I didn’t go on.

“Hello, Dean.”

My head was under the Impala’s hood, and his sudden appearance startled me so much I shot up and banged my head.  “Shit!  Ow!”

“I, uh… apologies…” Castiel trailed off, looking at me uncertainly.

“It’s fine, you just surprised me,” I said, straightening up and taking my hand from my aching head.  “You’re… here.”

“Yes, that is where I am,” he agreed.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

It felt like just yesterday that I’d last seen him, yet it felt like a hundred years ago.

Time moved differently in heaven.

“You look well,” Castiel finally said, breaking the silence.

“Being dead does that for a guy,” I said, trying to be glib.  Trying to break up the tension.

“It’s certainly true that a human can choose their favored appearance in heaven,” he said.

We weren’t saying anything that mattered.

“Dean, are you angry with me?” he asked, easily picking up on my frustration.

“Why would I be angry with you?” I replied, shaking my head.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he said, his head bowed slightly.

“Kinda, yeah,” I agreed.

“I’ll go.”

“What the hell, Cass.”

He forced a smile at me.  “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” I said, the anger rising in my voice.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“What exactly is it that you understand, because I don’t get you at all right now.”

He looked at me.

“Cass,” I said looking back.  I felt like something I hadn’t even realized was missing was suddenly right in front of me, but I couldn’t reach it.

“This isn’t how it usually goes,” he said after a pause.

“How what goes?”

“Us,” he said, gesturing between us.

“Then stop being so damn awkward.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“How am I being awkward?”

“Well, usually after I sacrifice myself for you, you say something like, ‘Cass, you are not dead, I am very pleased’, followed by a customary embrace in which you try not to show me your emotional face by making the embrace unnaturally long in order to get control of yourself.”

I tried to protest that, but all I could do was open and close my mouth like a fish.

“I understand if physical proximity is… no longer appropriate,” he continued.

“For Christ’s sake, can we just forget about what you said and go back to normal?” I asked irritably.

Cass’s expression hardened.  “No, Dean, we will not forget about what I said.”

I sighed.  “That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“Whatever, Cass,” I said, turning my back on him and going back under the hood.  We both needed to take a step back or this was just going to keep on getting stupider.

And then he fucking left.

“Dean?” Sam prodded me.

“Just Cass being Cass,” I said, waving it off.  “He makes stupid assumptions about things.”

“Does he?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” I growled at him.

“So you’re not being a homophobic dick about him telling you that he loves you?”

“You know me better than that,” I complained.

“I know you well enough to know that feelings make you uncomfortable,” he said.  “Especially things you have no experience with.”

I clicked my tongue in annoyance.

“Cass said these bodies will only stay bonded to our souls for three days,” he said.  “All I’m saying is that maybe before we go back to heaven, you should figure your shit out.”

“Maybe you should figure your shit out,” I grumbled back at him.

“My shit is very figured, thanks.”

I rolled my eyes, but it was true.  My little brother had it together.  “Junior seems competent.”

“Yeah, he can hold his own,” Sam said, and I could hear the beaming dad-pride in his voice.

“I’m glad I could finally meet him,” I said, continuing down this little rabbit hole so we didn’t have to talk about me anymore.

“Me, too.”

“Hey, Claire got old, though, huh?”

“Dean, we all got old,” he scoffed at me.

“Yeah, but…” I started to say, hesitating.  “Claire just… always reminded me a lot of me, you know?  Didn’t know if she would…”

“She changed a lot after Kaia came back,” Sam put in quickly.  We never lingered too long over that kind of talk, no matter how much heaven had chilled us out.

“Did she?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Started hunting smarter.  Hunting less.  Making time for a life.”

“Good for her,” I said softly.  She’d figured it out before it was too late.

We were both quiet with our own thoughts after that, and eventually I remembered how to sleep.

 - 3 -

  “Hell no,” I said emphatically.

“Dean, no one uses gas-powered cars anymore,” Sam said, rolling his eyes at me.

We all stood in the garage, staring at the monstrosity that these hunters dared to call a ‘car’.  It was some froufrou, electric-powered nonsense, and there was no way I was getting in that thing.

“Impala or I walk.”

“The Impala hasn’t run in twenty years,” Dean Junior said.

“What did you do to my baby?” I asked, mortified.

“It’s a fucking old car, Grandpa,” Claire taunted me.  “They break down.”

While Claire and I stood there arguing, everyone else climbed into the monstrosity, with Junior and Sam in the front and the angel in the back.

“Looks like they’re leaving without you,” Claire said unhelpfully.

I clenched my jaw.

“You coming, Uncle Dean?” Junior asked, leaning out the window and giving me a shit-eating grin worthy of the Winchester name.

“Move over, chuckles, I’m driving,” I growled, stomping over to them.

“It’s a self-driving car, Dean,” Sam said, showing exactly where his son got that damn grin.

“Then I call shotgun,” I said, glaring at the two of them.

“Sorry, rules are rules, and Dad already called shotgun,” Dean said with a shrug.

I looked at them.

I looked at Castiel sitting in the back.

I looked back at them.

I focused on Sam.

He shrugged, unable to stop giving me that grin.

I sighed loudly.

“I can teleport there,” Castiel said, looking like some kicked puppy.

“Cass, no,” Sam said immediately, at the same time as Dean protested, “we need your help with the spell before we get there.”

And I looked like the jackass again.  “It’s fine,” I said, opening the door and getting in beside Castiel.

“Have fun, boys,” Claire said, waving to us as the car started to move out of the garage.

Castiel sat ramrod straight next to me, eyes forward.

I wanted things to be right between us again, I just had no idea where to start, and it certainly wasn’t going to happen with Nosy and Nosier sitting in the front.  “Do these joke machines have tunes?” I asked instead.

Sam groaned, slumping back against his seat, while Dean looked over his shoulder to give me a huge grin.  “I’ve got the perfect playlist.”

The familiar guitar riff of Ramble On suddenly filled the car.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!” I said, hitting the back of Sam’s seat excitedly.  “Is your son a Zeppelin fan?!”

“Don’t remind me,” Sam said, and I could feel his eye roll even though I was behind him.

“Dad had all your old tapes in the Impala,” Dean said, drumming his fingers against the console.  “We used to just drive and drive, listening to them on repeat.”

For some reason, that put a lump in my throat.

“Of course, then he would plug his phone in and make us listen to old crap like Deathcab For Cutie…” Dean continued.

I cracked up.  “Did he follow it up with some Celine Dion?”

“That was his freaking wedding song,” Dean said, making me laugh harder.

“So hilarious,” Sam grumbled.  “…The Power of Love is a damn good song,” he added under his breath.

“Looks like Junior is more Winchester than Sammy,” I said, patting my nephew on the shoulder and feeling pleased.

The next hour passed very pleasantly with me and Dean belting out classic rock while Sam pretended that he hated it.

At some point I glanced over at Cass, and he was looking at me softly, smiling like a creep.  He immediately looked away when he realized he’d been caught.

I continued singing, but I bumped my knee lightly against his.

He looked surprised, but then he smiled again, so I figure that was a good enough olive branch for the time being.

Of course, the longer we drove, the harder it was to ignore how fucking weird the world had gotten.

“You can’t even enjoy the road anymore,” I complained, watching as we passed an endless line of self-driving cars in yet another underground tunnel.  “The open air, your hand on the wheel…”

“As you did not typically allow others to drive, I don’t think we really experienced any difference in the transition to driver-less,” Castiel said, speaking for the first time.

“Ha,” Sam said.

Cass glanced nervously at me, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to make jokes anymore.

“Shut up, smartass,” I said, smacking him in the arm.

He looked relieved, but that kind of pissed me off.  Why did he think he had to walk on eggshells with me?  Why couldn’t he just be normal?  Was I really so awful to him?

“How about we stop and get some food?” I suggested, ready for a change of scenery.

That also turned out to be a terrible idea.

“Why are the burgers not made of meat?” I asked Sam, low and threatening.

“It’s better for the environment,” he explained.  “And for your health.”

“Samuel,” I said, my voice getting lower.  “I will have my meat.”

“Having a tofu burger just this once won’t kill you.”

“Yes, I think it will,” I said, jabbing my finger into his ridiculously broad chest.

“Dean, we need to meet Mellie and Rowena tonight, so we don’t really have time for this,” Sam tried to explain to me logically.

“I already rode around in your abomination of a vehicle all day, and now you’re telling me that I need to eat a… t-to…” I tried to get the word out, but it stuck in my throat.

“I’ll go pick up the food since none of you have any money,” Dean said, getting out of the car and moving towards the so-called burger joint.

“You bring me a real burger, kid, you hear me?” I called after him.

“I’m older than you, Uncle Dean!” he called back.

Sam followed after him, laughing.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” I grumbled, getting back inside the vehicle.  “I’ve lived longer than the brat, even if my body is… however old it is.”

“Thirty-nine,” Castiel said.

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Yes, well I had to choose which template of you two to form,” he said.  “I thought the time we spent fathering Jack together when he was a baby was nice, so I went with those bodies.”

“When Jack was a baby…”

“Yes, before he lost his soul,” Castiel said.

“You are so… you,” I decided.

“Yes, that is who I am.”

“You were… happy then?”

“Yes, very,” Castiel said.  “I was able to become a father and raise my son with his other two fathers.”

“I don’t think that’s how biology works.”

“How would you know?” he scoffed at me.

My jaw dropped and all I could do was stare at him, wide-eyed.  “Are you calling me stupid?”

“A little bit, yes.”

“Asshole,” I said, but I was smiling anyway.

Castiel looked pleased with himself, which made me feel… something I didn’t want to think about.

“So baby grows up and you leave the other two fathers behind?” I asked, deciding to pick a fight instead.  “No, wait, it was only the one father that you cut out of your life.”

“Dean,” he said, sounding weary.

“Oh, no, Cass, it’s totally cool that you decided to move on with your life and never talk to me again.”

“Dean Winchester, I did no such thing,” he said, his tone starting to get angrier.  “You are the one who didn’t want me around.”

“And how exactly did you arrive at that conclusion?” I asked him incredulously.

“You didn’t pray to me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked.  “I didn’t know that I had to pray to the holy and powerful angel of the Lord Castiel to get him to deign to come and see me.”

“Prayer has never been like that between us,” he said, frowning.  “It’s our way of communicating long distance.  I treasure the prayers you send to me.”

“So that’s why you didn’t answer me all those times,” I grumbled shittily.

“If anyone can understand putting duty over matters of the heart…”

“So it was your duty to take care of Sammy and Junior… and Claire… and who the fuck knows who else… but not me?”

“Yes, Dean, that is correct,” Castiel said, blue eyes lasering into mine.  He opened his mouth to say something else, when the door to the car flew open.

“I’ve got burgers,” Dean Junior declared, getting into the car and tossing a paper bag to Castiel.

It bounced off his chest and slid to the floor.

Cass did not react.

“Uh, am I interrupting something?” Dean asked, looking between us leerily.

“No,” I said, at the same time that Castiel said, “yes.”

“You two were actually talking?” Sam asked, sliding into his own seat and passing me a bag.

“No,” I grumbled, digging through the bag and pulling out my burger.

“Yes,” Castiel said contrarily, still ignoring his food on the floor.

I unwrapped my burger and took a big bite.  I chewed thoughtfully.  There was something… different…  I looked at Sam in horror as a flash lit up the backseat.  My eyes shifted to Dean, who was looking pointedly forward as the car pulled out from the rest stop.  “Dean Junior.”

“Yes, Uncle Dean?”

“Dean Junior, you and I haven’t known each other long.”

“Less than a day,” he agreed.

“Less than a day,” I said.  “And in that day, I haven’t asked for much, have I?”

“Well, you wanted to ride around in a busted gas guzzler-”

“Dean Junior, I haven’t asked for much,” I repeated.  “As you may know, I died about fifty years ago, for about the… two hundredth and final time, after sacrificing my life to save the world so many goddamn times.”

“Dad did mention that, yeah.”

“So many goddamn times,” I repeated.  “And yet, I am a simple man.”

Cass snorted at that.

“Some might even say you are a meat man,” Sam put in.

Cass flat out chortled at that.

“Interesting that you mention that, Sam,” I said.  “Interesting that you mention my know predilection for meat products, when you have schemed here with your son to bring me this faux meat bullshit.”

“Yeah, okay, but the look on your face,” Sam explained, holding up Dean’s holophone and showing the picture of my mortified-looking face as I held the offending ‘burger’ away from me.

“Dean Junior, tell me the truth,” I said, eyes boring into my namesake’s.  “Were you talked into this by your embarrassingly uncreative father who knows nothing of true pranks and hijinks?”

“I was,” he said solemnly.  “Dad promised it would be hilarious.”

“And was it hilarious?” I asked.

“I mean, you just made this whole ridiculous speech, so I’m going to have to say yes?”

“Oh, Dean Junior,” I said, shaking my head.  “You know nothing.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone thought it was hilarious, Dean,” Sam put in, gesturing between Castiel and Dean, who did in fact look like they thought it was hilarious.

“Simpletons,” I said, shaking my head.  “I have been gone too long.  But don’t worry.  You will remember.”

Sam was looking at me like I was crazy.

“Now where is my goddamn burger?” I asked, shoving the tofu burger back in its bag and throwing it at Sam.

“On the floor,” he said, nodding his head towards Castiel’s bag.

“Jackass,” I grumbled, picking the bag up.

“Like Cass would have eaten it,” Sam said with a shrug.

“Molecules,” Castiel agreed.

I unwrapped it and took a big bite, only to see that damn flash in my face again.  “You motherfucker,” I said, throwing the tofu burger at Sam’s head and sticking the landing.

“Childish much?” Sam said, grinning like a loon.

“My revenge will be all-consuming,” I said, slumping back in my seat and crossing my arms over my chest.  “All-consuming.”

“Mm-hm,” Sam said, flipping through the pictures on the phone and laughing to himself.

 - 4 -

  “Dean.”

I woke up with a start, breathing in through my nose sharply.  My head rested against something hard and unyielding, but somehow familiar and warm.

I was drooling on Cass’s trenchcoat.

“If you do not mind,” he said, looking at me uncomfortably and holding his body stiffly, trying to keep himself as far away from me as possible.

“Shit,” I muttered, shooting back up to a sitting position.  “What, am I that repulsive to you?”

“Dean, you were drooling.”

“And you loved every second of it.”

Castiel looked startled, then frowned.

I groused and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.  “We almost there?”

“About an hour out,” Sam said from the front.  “Maybe a little less if traffic is light.”

“Great,” I said, staring out the window at the endless tunnels.  The future sucked.

We finally pulled into our seedy motel, which was a lot shinier and more electronic than I remembered seedy motels being, and then there was Mellie, standing out in the parking lot with a cock to her hip and a grin on her face.

“Hey, boys,” she said, waving us over.

“Mellie,” Dean Junior said, giving her a quick hug.

“Sam Winchester, is that you?” she asked, looking my brother up and down in amusement.

“It’s me,” Sam said, holding his arms out to her.

“Damn, my mom never told me how hot you were when you were younger,” she said, throwing her arms around him enthusiastically.

“Er…” he trailed off, patting Mellie’s back awkwardly.

“That must be difficult for Sam’s ego, as he has always believed himself to be hot,” Castiel murmured.

I cracked up, turning to grin at him.

Cass gave me a pleased look.

I forgot how much he was pissing me off for a moment and slung my arm around his shoulder, leaning in close to his ear.  “So who the hell is this chick again?”

“Mellie Hanscom,” Cas explained.

“No shit?  She’s Donna’s kid?”

“Perhaps in human years she would be considered an adult female.”

“I got that, Cass, thank you,” I said, patting his chest as I pushed away and moved towards the other three.  “Hey there, Mellie,” I said, giving her my best Dean Winchester smoulder.

“Hi,” she said, smiling back before turning to Sam.  “So this is your little brother?”

Sam’s lips twitched into a smile.  “My older brother, yeah.”

“Oh,” Mellie said with a slight frown.  “I thought he’d be taller.”

“Is this Shit on Dean Day?” I asked no one in particular.

“You sounded taller in my mom’s stories,” she clarified.

“He has always been this short,” Sam said helpfully.

“Everyone besides the Jolly Green Giant here is shorter than me,” I said incredulously.

“Why is Dad green…?” Dean asked, rubbing his stubble and looking genuinely perplexed.

“I don’t get it,” Mellie agreed.

“Dean, they don’t understand your references, either,” Castiel commented, pleased.

“Everyone knows who the freakin’ Jolly Green Giant is!” I said, exasperated.

“Yes, the large green man in a leaf toga who makes canned corn,” he said, nodding his head thoughtfully.

Everyone had their laugh at my expense and then we finally got down to business.

“We summon Rowena, she does the Rite of Blood, and that starts preparing your bodies for the final ritual,” Mellie explained as she wrote a sigil on the door in her blood.

“Just tell me where to stand,” I said, not really thinking too much about all the blood and the letting of it in preparation to remove mine.

“Anywhere’s fine,” Mellie said, smiling at me cheerfully as she wiped her hands clean on a motel towel.

“We ready?” Dean asked.  When he received an affirmative, he started chanting in Latin.

“This is so boring,” I commented to Sam after about five minutes of it.

“This used to be our lives,” Sam said, giving me a rueful smile.

“Was it?” I asked, shaking my head.  “Man, I cannot wait to get back home.”

“Yeah…” Sam said.  “It’s been good to see Dean, though.  To have you two meet.”

“He’ll be with us before you know it,” I said with a shrug.

“That should sound ominous, but it’s weirdly comforting,” he said, scrunching up his face in confusion.

“Hello, boys.”

We both looked back towards the door where Rowena now stood in all her hellish glory.

“Mellie, Wee Dean, lovely of you to orchestrate this reunion,” she said, passing by them and pinching Dean on the cheek before slapping Mellie on the butt.

“I don’t understand any of these relationships…” I said.

“My, Samuel, this is certainly an improvement over the dour old man bit you had going on before,” Rowena hummed, squeezing Sam’s bicep.  “Now what say you we start this rite so I can get back to ruling my kingdom?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, shooting her a salute.

“Castiel, will you be joining us or remain sulking in the corner?” she asked, flashing him a bright smile.

“I will remain in the corner.”

Rowena chuckled at that, and suddenly she was pinning me down with her sharp gaze.  “Dean Winchester, it seems the rumors that you’ve been acting a right twat might be true.”

“Why is it always my fault?” I asked with a scowl.  “What, ’cause Cass is an angel?  Well, news flash, angels are dicks.”

“You certainly won’t broker any argument from me there,” Rowena said.  “But the real question is, how much of the angel’s dick have you seen?”

I just about spontaneously combusted.

“Rowena!” Sam cried, scandalized.

Mellie looked between us all with a fascinated look on her face.  “Wait, are Castiel and Dean a couple?!”

“No, we are not a friggin’ couple!” I snapped.  “I’m not gay!  Jesus.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” Rowena said shaking her head.  “You two really are adorable together.  You know, my Fergus always was a bit sweet on you…  You seem to give off a very seductive aura that screams, ‘I’m the picture of toxic masculinity but also I’d like you to take me to bed and pull me apart slow-’”

“C-crowley was what now?” I asked, mortified.

“Ah, yes, he told me about the triplets,” Rowena said with a grin.

I clenched my jaw.  “We do not talk about the triplets.”

“You know, I’m not gay either,” Castiel put in from his corner.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Angels have no gender,” he explained.  “We have taken to equating ourselves with the gender of our frequently used vessels in order to accommodate your human languages which require such explanation, but Enochian has no gender-specific pronouns.  I myself have always used vessels of either gender.”

Dean proceeded to make a series of incomprehensible noises.

Cass burst out laughing.

I stared between them, confused about a lot of things, but most specifically about what had just come out of my nephew’s mouth.

“Enochian,” Sam explained, shaking his head.

“Wait, Junior can speak Enochian?!”

Sam shrugged, clearly jealous that his progeny had accomplished something he never even dreamed possible.

“He’s very good,” Castiel said with a proud smile.  “If only he could free himself of his human form and speak through his light.”

“If only,” Dean agreed.

“Well, this is all very amusing and all, but time is precious,” Rowena said, gracing us all with a threatening smile.

“Let the bloodletting begin,” I said, holding out my wrists to her, more than happy to change the subject.

“Dean, dear, we’re doing a Rite of Blood, not a bloodletting,” she explained.  “Unless that’s what you’re into?”

“I am into whatever you are into, Rowena,” I said, upping the charm.

“Oh, I did miss you a teeny weeny bit,” she said, shooting me a flirty smile back, then shoving me backwards on the bed.

“Okay,” I said, going with it.

“Lie back and enjoy the ride, boys,” she said, then started chanting in Latin.

Sam’s weight landed next to me, and suddenly the room was buzzing with energy.

I started to feel like I was drunk, looking at all the pretty colors swirling over our heads.  The ceiling seemed to be getting closer and closer, and when I tilted my head to the side, I realized we were now floating off the bed.  I felt completely serene.

And then we crashed back onto the cheap motel bed, the mattress squeaking loudly in protest.

“And we’re done,” Rowena said, clapping her hands together.  “Boys, it’s been lovely,” she said, leaning into our vision.  “Samuel, stay strapping,” she said, patting his chest.  “Dean… well, you’ll figure it out, dear.”

“Huh?” I said, still woozy from the ritual.

Rowena just smiled and disappeared from my line of sight, saying her goodbyes to the others.

“Did it work?” Sam asked, trying to sit up only to flop right back down on the bed.

“Rowena said it did, so that’s good enough for me,” Dean said, coming to sit next to his father.  “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…” Sam trailed off.

“High?” I suggested.

Sam nodded at me, a goofy smile on his face.  “High,” he agreed.

Dean and Mellie exchanged concerned looks.

“It’s a known side effect of the Rite of Blood,” Castiel explained.  “We should just let them sleep it off.”

Dean helped Castiel move Sam to the other bed, Sam laughing the whole way.

I caressed the comforter gently, rolling the texture between my fingers.

“Here you go,” Cass said, tugging off my boots and helping me into bed.

“Mm, thanks,” I hummed, rubbing my cheek against the pillow.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.  “Do you need liquid replenishment?”

“Nah, I’m okay,” I said, looking into his eyes for a moment and getting lost.

“I’ll watch over you tonight, if that’s all right with you,” he said, eyes taking on a questioning look.

“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes.  “My own freakin’ guardian angel.”

“Yes, your own freakin’ guardian angel,” Cass agreed, and then I was out like a light.

 - 5 -

  Sam and I sat in the back of the car together the next morning, sunglasses on and blankets wrapped around our shoulders.

“What the fuck did Rowena do to us?” I grumbled.

“She… activated our blood?” Sam said slowly, flinching at the sound of his own voice.

“And why the hell would blood ever have to be activated?”

“Something about… the ritual where they extract our blood to bind Temeluchus to the earth…?” he trailed off.

The front door of the car opened and Castiel slid in, leaning over the seat and putting a cup of hot coffee in my hands.

I felt myself smiling at him, and the smile was immediately returned.

He passed another cup to Sam, then faced forward again.

Dean slid in on the other side and started the car.

Mellie came over to us and the windows all rolled down.

“Great seeing you all,” she said, “but I need to haul ass back to Sioux Falls and get to work.”

Dean and Castiel gave her a proper goodbye while Sam and I mumbled something that might have sounded like human language, and then we were off.

I slept most of the morning despite the copious amounts of coffee I’d consumed, and slowly I started to feel like a human being again.  “Where are we going again?” I finally asked when I was ready to rejoin society.

“Lawrence,” Dean said.

“Of course,” I said.  “Back to Kansas.”

“Says the guy who will literally cross state lines just to pick up a damn pie,” Sam mumbled.

“I just don’t see why we couldn’t have summoned Rowena to the bunker,” I said with a shrug.  “Seems like this whole mission could go a lot smoother if we didn’t waste time floating around in these tin cans, getting high on blood rites…”

“I’m sorry, I would not have missed that for all the world,” Dean said with a snort.

Sam and I exchanged A Look.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked.

“It means you two were funny as shit last night,” Dean explained, and yet it explained nothing at all.

“We went to bed right after the ritual,” I said, Sam nodding his agreement.

“Oh, we tried to put you two to bed,” Dean said with a laugh.

“It was not successful,” Castiel agreed.  “You know, now that I think of it, memory loss is also one of the side effects of the ritual.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Sam asked, looking between them nervously.

I just nodded my head, showing my support for Sam’s confusion.

“So you really don’t remember ordering room service?” Dean asked, giving us an amused look.

“Motels have room service in the future?” I asked, squinting at Sam.

He just shrugged.

“And then you had a race down the hall on the room service carts?” Dean continued.

“Oh, that sounds like us,” I said, relieved that we had just behaved like children and not actually done anything detrimentally stupid.

“I’m sorry, is it?” Dean asked with a laugh.  “I mean, my dad is such an… old man.”

“That is also true,” I agreed.  “Sammy certainly has the longest, thickest imaginable stick up his ass, but he occasionally knows how to pull it out and let his hair down.”

“Beautiful imagery, Dean,” Sam said.  “Who knew you had the sensitive soul of a poet?”

“I am a man of many talents.”

“So you also are accustomed to dancing on bars?” Dean asked, looking intrigued.

“I’m sorry, what?” Sam said again, as I nodded my agreement with him.

“Bars?  Dancing on them?”

“Isn’t that usually a thing that chicks do?” I asked, scratching at my stubble.

“And also something that the Winchester brothers apparently do,” Castiel contributed helpfully.

“I have never in my life danced on a bar,” I stated firmly.

Dean held up his phone, showing us both an image of what looked horrifyingly like me and Sammy, shaking our asses on a bar.

At least we were surrounded by a crowd of adoring-looking females.

“Listen, what happens during the Rite of Blood stays in the Rite of Blood,” I said.

“And your mother never needs to see that,” Sam added.

“Oh, I sent her the video.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“She showed it to all her friends in the nursing home.”

“…”

“The video is very funny,” Castiel put in, helping as usual.

Sam and I proceeded to stew in silence.

Apparently the next step in the ritual to bind the Angel Whatever-His-Name-Was involved another spell performed simultaneously on the north and south sides of the hospital where Sam and I were born.

“I thought we would be going to the cemetery, why the hospital?” Sam asked as we pulled into the parking lot.

“Because this is the power spot of Lawrence,” Castiel explained.  “It is where Mary pushed you both from her uterus, setting destiny into mo-”

“Dude, please do not ever talk about my mother’s uterus again,” I interrupted him, aghast.

“Yes, but Dean, it was a monumental event that only Mary, with her well-formed uterus, could-”

“What the hell did I just say.”

“‘Please do not ever talk about my mother’s uterus again,’” he repeated in a very disturbingly accurate impression of me.

“And yet you keep talking about it.”

“I do not think that Mary would take offense.”

“I take offense, Cass.”

Castiel suddenly disappeared.

“Uh, we kinda need him for the spell,” Dean said.

“Why do you have to pick a fight with him over everything?” Sam asked.

“Why am I always the bad guy?!” I demanded.

Castiel suddenly reappeared in the front seat.  “I talked to Mary, and she was not offended.”

“You what?” I asked.

“She seemed a little annoyed with you, though, Dean.”

“For what possible reason would my mother be annoyed with me?!”

“Don’t we need to begin the spell?” he asked, changing the subject like the asshole he was.

“We should get in position,” Dean agreed.

“Dean and I will take the south,” Sam chimed in quickly.

“That wouldn’t make sense,” Castiel said with a frown.  “One of you needs to be at the north.”

“No, my son Dean,” Sam clarified.

“Ah, you meant Other Dean.”

Dean Junior rolled his eyes but smiled.  “Come on, Dad,” he said, opening the door.

“Wait, what if I want to go with Junior?” I protested.

“Father-son bonding time,” Sam said, scrambling out of his side of the car, and he and Dean took off at a much faster walking pace than necessary.

“Do you really just call Junior ‘Other Dean’?” I asked, giving Cass a weird look.

“Of course,” he said, his brows scrunching in confusion.  “You are Dean.  He is not you.”

“You don’t think it’s just a little bit insulting to be called ‘Other’?”

“You call that same man who is older than you ‘Junior.’”

“I was born first.”

“Yes.  You are the original.  He is the Other Dean.”

“Weirdo,” I said, getting out of the car.  I wasn’t smiling because of Cass.

I caught him giving me that soft look of his again, his own mouth curving in a smile.

I ignored it and moved towards the north of the hospital.

Castiel drew up beside me, and when we’d reached a little grassy area that he deemed the correct spot, we started setting up the candles and drawing sigils.

When I was seated in the middle of the candles, I used Cass’s phone to message Sam.  “They’re almost ready,” I informed him.

“Good,” he said, shifting from side-to-side and scoping out the area.  The only light came leaking out from behind the curtained windows of the hospital, clouds covering up any light from the sky.  “Dean?”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“…are we still fighting?”

I looked at him.

His brows were drawn together and his lips were pushed out, and I couldn’t help but marvel that this dope was an angel.

“Do you still think that I’m angry with you because I’m uncomfortable about your feelings?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Then yeah, we’re still fighting.”

“Dean, I don’t understand.”

“Do you need me to draw you a friggin’ road map?”

“That would be helpful, yes.”

The phone buzzed.

“Ten seconds,” I said, and Castiel straightened up, ready to start.

We both counted down, and then I started lighting the candles and Castiel started chanting.  The wind picked up, but somehow the flames stayed lit, growing stronger and taller.  Everything seemed to be going according to plan.

Then a demon appeared and punched Castiel in the face.

[onelostgirl]

14. Just Me

Miya Atsumu x (f) smau

Y/N’s eyes shot back and forth like a pinball as she watched Cat talk to Osamu like they had been friends forever. She knew that Cat had introduced herself to him a few weeks back right around the time they had eaten at his restaurant with Tooru but she hadn’t expected them to be this chummy.

“It’s a bit weird ain’t it?” She heard a voice say as she looked over to the blonde man beside her.

They had just finished prepping the photo booth and way ahead of schedule thanks to the surprising entrance of the Miya twins, more than 5 hours earlier than their shift to be exact.

“Well I guess not considering how friendly Cat is, she seemed to get along with you too earlier.” Y/N replied as Atsumu glanced over to her shooting his signature smirk that Y/N had to mentally fight reacting to.

“Guess the ladies have a hard time fightin’ their inner desires when it comes ta me.”

Y/N scoffed then looked at the blonde setter, “Oh you were serious.”

“Yeh yeh play as hard as ya want ya know I’m right.” He said waving his hand in a casual gesture as Y/N laughed at him earning her a joking glare from the setter.

“So how’s my choco goin’?” He asked as Y/N head shot up, she had actually planned to get them when she went back home to change before the event.

“Don’t worry I bought you the cheapest but tastiest one.”

“Ay, that ain’t the deal.”

“Why would it matter anyway, you’re probably not even going to recognize mine anyway.” Y/N stated trying to brush off the feeling of annoyance at his desire for sweets when he would be knee deep in the by the end of the night.

“I’d know if it was from ya.”

Y/N glances slowly up to Atsumu who had an unexpectedly serious expression. They stated at eachother for what felt like forever though they didn’t really know what was happening between those unspoken moments but something was definitely happening.

“Hey Atsumu is it true that Osamu kicked your butt at field day every year in high school?”

Cat’s voice broke through whatever was happening as Y/N looked away quickly.

“Samu why ya lyin’ ya know I owned ya!” Atsumu shouted back making his way to the pair cleaning up a ways from them.

That just left Y/N to think about what had just happened and that those chocolate eyes she stared into was something deeper than she was ready to take on.

-

“So is your brother single?” Cat threw out as Osamu was getting ready for his photo shoot shift.

He didn’t know that agreeing to this stupid thing for Tsumu would have brought him to the exact person he was thinking of. He was extremely surprised that the same girl he met knew his brother’s team manager.

He had yet to get her number as Atsumu was teasing him about since they got there and he recognized her. Introducing them went smoothly with a narrow escape of awkwardness thanks to his jamming an elbow into Atsumu’s ribs before he could say the milf comment he was biting back.

But what was with this sudden interest with his brother - she couldn’t be into him right?

“Don’t you think they make a cute couple?” Cat stared as Osamu’s thoughts were interrupted as he looked in the direction that she was talking about.

His eyes caught the scene that she was referring to as Atsumu said something that earned him a scolding smack over the head by Y/N. She looked like she was doing her best to be serious but at one word she laughed along with the blonde beside her.

He had to admit he hadn’t seen his brother genuinely enjoying himself off the court anyway. Not since everything that happened with Hayami.

He assumed the same could be said about Y/N because Cat seemed extremely interested in how they were interacting.

“Guessin’ she ain’t always like that.” He stated as Cat looked over to him, almost forgetting how attractive the man beside her was. But how she hadn’t felt that attraction to the twin beside her best friend.

“Y/N’s a lot of things and definitely someone who could benefit from taking it easy every now and then.” She responded as the dark haired twin smirked at her.

“That prob’ly makes two of ya.”

She looked at Osamu with a curious expression, “What do you mean?”

“Well ya know cuz’ yer a mom yerself?” He replied in a whisper that Cat could barely hear him.

“I’m a what?”

“...a mom.” He said again not sure if that was the best way to bring it up.

He really didn’t know how to address it but he felt that she should know he was interested in getting to know her regardless of the situation.

Osamu didn’t look at her just yet not sure what face she would make, maybe she would be offended or insulted he brought it up without her initiating that serious of a conversation.

“I’m a mom? Why in the world would you...” she replied as it dawned on her then that he had first saw her with Yuto. A young kid who she loved very dearly but was also not hers.

“But the kid..” Osamu began but was stopped by Cat’s hand moving up gesturing him to stop.

“He’s a relative of a very close friend of mine.” She explained but stopped there knowing it wasn’t her place to say who exactly he was especially when it was obvious that Y/N hadn’t mentioned anything to Atsumu.

“So yer not a mom then.”

“Not biologically, I have tons of kids though, I work at a daycare.”

“Yer a teacha?”

“Ding ding, looks like you’re not completely brainless then.”

Osamu shook his head how could he assume something like that and actually come out looking like he had the same intelligence as his brother.

“Well then how would ya feel ‘bout catchin’ a bite ta eat after all this?” He threw out not wanting to hold back any longer.

Cat looked up at him with a coy smile, “It’s about damn time you asked.”

-

-

By the time Y/N saw him he was surrounded by a hoard of girls. Despite this seeming like Atsumu’s natural habitat, anyone could tell he was politely trying to tell them to fck off.

She assumed this was from the constant bad reputation and hate he gained whenever he was -well his true self out in public. Many people enjoyed his athleticism and definitely his looks, his nasty personality though, wasn’t a real crowd pleaser.

“Listen ladies, thanks fer the goodies but I gotta go, gettin’ back ta the booth.” Y/N heard him say as he quickly ducked out of the crowd and made a quick exit choosing a banner displaying an elderly couple celebrating 50 years of marriage.

From where she was standing, he looked really ridiculous and strangely cute attempting to hide until she arrived.

As confident as he was on the court it was refreshing to know he had moments like this too.

“You going to hide here all night or?” Y/N stated as she watched Atsumu’s shoulders jump up high and he quickly turned back to her.

“Don’t do that-ya scared the sht outta me.”

Y/N bit back a laugh seeing Atsumu’s look of displeasure complete with arms folded together in a pouting motion.

“Let’s just get something to eat before you start getting more grumpy.”

“If ya knew I’d be grumpy why’d ya make me wait so long.”

“Let’s go princess.” Y/N teased as Atsumu followed her his dragging feet showing his displeasure with her comment.

-

“It can’t have been that bad!”

After getting something to eat, they had somehow spent sometime talking and were now discussing horrible Valentine stories. Atsumu had just finished telling her of when a girl who was crazy for Osamu had slapped him silly when she mistook him for his twin and wasn’t happy about him being on a date with another girl.

“Ya weren’t there Y/N, it was a nigh’mare, she was yellin’ at me even pulled the other chick’s hair. I would’ve laughed my ass off it wasn’t happenin’ ta me.” Atsumu added as Y/N began to laugh at the story and his over exaggerated gestures and expressions.

He really was a good story teller.

“I actually feel sorry for you-here you were trying to score one and something like that happened. Not sure if it’s rotten luck or bad karma.”

“Whaaa, I hav great karma!”

“Sure you do, especially for all those times you were beyond nasty about your serves.”

“That was high school.”

“You still do that!” Y/N teased as Atsumu turned to deny it but came up empty because she had a point.

“I ain’t that bad no more.”

“Haha, that sounds like something a kid would say.”

Atsumu turned to look at her, “Since ya think I’m actin’ like a kid, where’s mine?”

“You already have so many-why do you need this one too?”

“Because ya made it fer me.”

Y/N tried not to think of how his voice sounded when he said that but it was kind of difficult not to. She wanted to blame it on the fact that she hadn’t been on a date in years but maybe it was also because she was enjoying the attention Atsumu was giving to her.

Before spending time getting to know him, she just assumed he was a jerk but now she knew he was a jerk and so much more.

He made her laugh, like really laugh. Then there were times when his smile or even his stupid smirk or grin would tug lightly on her heartstrings. Or even the conversations that could be so random and average then suddenly deep and thoughtful.

So, she had made him chocolates, despite her better judgement, even when she was horrible at it and Yuto laughed at her attempts or spit out the really awful ones.

She pushed herself to make these chocolates because maybe she wanted to see wherever the heck this could go.

“I’ll wait all night if I gotta.” His statement rung through to her as Y/N looked up at him slightly glaring at him.

“If they don’t taste that good just- lie to me okay and say they were great.”

Y/N reached into her bag slowly pulling it out.

“I mean it, it’s probably really bad, and if it is don’t even eat them all, just throw it out.”

“Would ya just give ‘em here. Ya actin’ like I’m some nasty chef who’d spit it up on ya.”

Y/N reluctantly passed it to the blonde looking away trying to mask her embarrassment. Atsumu found this beyond amusing since she was acting like a real person and not just his manager or someone who’s job it was to care about him.

“Thank-” Atsumu began but a ringtone stopped him as he watched Y/N pull her phone out. He as about to say something when he saw her politely put up her hand gesturing for him to wait.

“Yes this is she...”

“...is everything okay?”

“...oh...no that’s fine, I’ll be right over.”

As quickly as the call came it ended as Y/N put her phone back into her bag. Atsumu was waiting for her to say something but from her distant eyes and silence he assumed it was personal.

“Er everythin’ alrifht Y/N?”

His question stayed in the air between them for longer than he expected it was like she hadn’t even heard him.

“Yo, Y/N ya good?” He asked again this time waving his hand in front of her face snapping her back to reality.

“Oh yeah, I just got to take care of something.”

Atsumu watched as she began walking rather quickly in the direction of their booth.

“Did somethin’ happen? Ya got to go somewhere?” He continued to ask as Y/N distracted responses began to unsettle his stomach for some reason.

“Yeah nothing so serious-just got to let everyone know I need to leave.”

“Oh well, did ya need a ride? I don’t mind takin’ ya.” Atsumu offered as Y/N stopped and looked up to him, her eyes somewhat guarded.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“...well maybe I wanna make sure yer good.” He replied as Y/N’s lips tightened as though she was thinking of what to say.

“I guess that would be nice.”

“Ya sure got a way with words.”

Y/N tried not to smile at his teasing tone but Atsumu caught it ever so slightly. She didn’t realize he too, had a small smile on his face.

-

-

Bonus: Cat and Y/N’s outfits for the day (taken at the MSBY Valentines Booth)

-

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Author’s note: Hi everyone! Sorry for the late upload had some trouble conveying this chapter but hope you enjoy it. Please stay tuned for the next update and continue to shower Love Loop with your beautiful support and love. Taglist is still open (:

Taglist: @shadyjinyoung @roiana-mustang @z-i-t-t @koukamisblog @90s-belladonna @kimxbae @hamsterfan17 @atsunflower @huliannajace @iloveanime691 @rinnieee @lilacshouko @alyssasteaparty @nhaikyuu @crazyforleo @life-taken-by-hq-baby-liberos @lolaywrites @sunareclipse @jexiiann @semiathleticnerdykid @pharvhs

[keelywolfe]

FIC: A Pressing Engagement ch2 (Not baon AU)

Summary: Brotherly bonding, by way of felonies. 

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Fluff and Angst, Dating, Developing Relationship, Humor

Chapter 1

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

“Brother,” Blue sighed as he pulled his car up to curb two houses down from the Fell brother’s home. “I’ve known you for a long time.”

Stretch gave him a sideways look. “we’re brothers, i was literally there when you were born.”

Blue ignored that. “And I know we’ve discussed that shortcutting around is rude, but in this situation, I feel as though you could simply pop into Edge’s garage, look for the ring, and we can be back home in time for the new Napstaton special.”

“oh, that’d be too easy for my life,” Stretch grumbled as he pulled a dark knit ski mask over his skull, drawing it down over his face for maximum espionage. The last thing he needed was his white-ass noggin out there bobbing around like a second moon. “i can’t shortcut in. red rigged up some kinda anti-teleportation field around their house, ever since sans stashed all that nitrogen-frozen shaving cream in red’s room.” He tried to flash Blue a grin before he remembered the damn mask. “can’t blame him even if it was funny as hell. i doubt his room has been that clean before or since.”

“Yes, I remember that. Edge wasn’t as amused.”

“that’s ‘cause his sense of humor is atrophied from disuse, we’re working on it. so if shortcuts are out, we gotta be discreet. which is why you should’ve changed when i asked!" Stretch said accusingly. He glared at Blue's bright pink She-Ra t-shirt, showcasing Catra and Adora in a loving embrace. The sentiment was appreciated, the color, not so much, his bro was gonna stand out like an adorably affectionate beacon.

“My apologies for not owning any cat burglar gear, I missed out on auditioning for the remake of Ocean’s 11. Really, brother, we’re breaking into one garage, not a casino vault.” Blue sighed again and turned off the car. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“none of this was a good idea, but here i am.” Should’ve known it was a mistake the second he walked into the jewelry store, could’ve wasted a lot less time if he’d probed Edge for marriage opinions before he opened his wallet. But there wasn’t time (heh) for him to work out his own version of ‘Back to the Future’, so they were gonna have to stick with heist movie.

Stretch got out of the car and skulked closer, inspecting their surroundings, Blue following reluctantly behind. The sidewalks were empty, everyone else was sensibly inside watching their preferred nighttime entertainment since it was dark except for the bright streetlamps positioned evenly down the length of the block.

Stretch paused outside the ring of light by the Fell home, summoning a small, sharpened bone. At his elbow, Blue asked worriedly, “What are you doing?”

“i’m gonna break the streetlamp so no one can see us.”

Blue grabbed his hand, hissing, “You are not! I did not sign on for destruction of property! Unscrew the bulb and we can tighten it again when we leave!”

Okay, to be fair that was a much better idea, even if it took a lot more concentration and a quick mental ‘righty tighty, lefty loosey’. With a little effort, Stretch managed to coax the oversized bulb loose and the light went abruptly dark. Perfect.

The two of them crept closer to the house and if Blue was humming the ‘mission impossible’ theme song under his breath, Stretch couldn’t exactly gripe at him. He’d had it blaring nonstop in the back of his head since they’d left the apartments. They paused by the well-trimmed shrubs that ran alongside the garage while Stretch considered the plan.

Opening the main garage door was out. Even if Stretch could clip the house alarm, there was no way one of the Fell brothers wouldn’t hear that grinding its way open. Reconnaissance was supposed to happen before the damned heist, every movie Stretch ever saw taught him that, but they were working in a time crunch and wasn’t it a shame that the only room in the Fell house that he knew with any real detail was Edge’s bedroom. Also the shower, but neither of those options were real useful right now.

He looked around, squinting through the dimness, hell, they should’ve done this before he killed the streetlight. To his relief, he could see the outline of window in the shadows, up high on garage wall. He gestured to it, whispering to Blue, “give me up boost up.”

Blue gulped visibly and reached out, the faintest glow rising in his fingers. There was a soft ting as his magic enveloped Stretch’s soul, lifting him off his feet and towards the window. Or more like sending him on an increasingly wobbly flight through the air, limbs dangling as he slowly rose. Stretch bit back a squawk as the grip on his soul twisted him nearly sideways, then hastily overcompensated in the other direction to almost send him careening into the building.

“careful!” Stretch whispered furiously, biting back a curse as he shoved away from the wall. “seriously, what have you been learning with all that training you do!”

“I’m terribly sorry, Alphys never covered breaking and entering!” Blue hissed. Sweat was visibly standing out on his skull, glimmering in the moonlight. Another minute of unstable and slightly painful antigravity later and Stretch was hovering outside the window.

His black hoodie was a better choice for more than the color. Its pockets zipped securely shut, holding his tiny collection of burglary tools safe and sound. If Stretch’d been wearing this one earlier, none of this would be happening and wasn’t hindsight a nosy bitch. He dug out his tools, flicking on a penlight to inspect what the paranoid goblin had going for home security. There was an alarm, to be expected, but it looked like a simple wire job. All Stretch needed was five minutes and a pair of wire snips and he’d be inside.

“Oh!” his brother’s voice suddenly carried through the quiet, too loud and verging on a panicked cheer, “Good evening, Mrs. Gerson!”

Stretch’s head whipped around to see an elderly turtle Monster gradually walking up to Blue, cane in hand and waving with dreamy slowness. He couldn’t hear what she said to Blue, but his brother’s voice came loud and clear, “Yes, working on my stretching exercises! I do them for a few minutes every day. Trying to hurry up with it today, it’s later than I thought!”

Not exactly what he’d call discreet, yeah, but Stretch sure as hell got the message.

Frantically, Stretch got to work on the wires, clipping and twisting them into a messy sort of bypass. There was no time to be tidy, not while he was dangling here like a bargain basement Spider-man as Blue tried to keep Mrs. Doubtfire distracted over there. A muffled grunt escaped as Stretch suddenly listed to one side, hanging horizontally in the air. Another twist sent him face-first into the wall and Stretch tried to brace himself against the siding, biting off a yelp as he was dragged noisily upward.

“Whoops,” Blue called in a loud, nervous chuckle, hopefully covering the rattle of bones whacking into the side of a damn wall, “I think I still need to hold that stretch for another couple of minutes.” From this angle, Stretch had no idea what Mrs. Gerson was making of the washboard sound of him lurching up and down the siding like mysterious jug band traveling through the night, “Goodness, not sure how much longer I manage!”

Whatever calisthenics Blue was doing finally bent him in a direction that was close enough to the window for him to reach. Stretch grabbed on, hauling himself upright and holding on frantically with one hand as he clipped the last wire. He shoved up the windowpane, wincing as it screeched ominously the way windows only did in the middle of the damn night when someone was trying to sneak through it. He didn’t wait for Blue to try breaking out in song to cover it up, diving through the narrow panel and nearly tumbled straight to the concrete floor as his brother’s magic released, barely managing to catch himself and drop clumsily to his feet.

Okay, that went well.

Damn good thing he was breaking into Edge’s garage; the entire thing was pin-neat, no suspicious stack of paint cans to knock over or a pile of trash bags to fall into. Only tools on the wall, a clean workbench, and the pristine shape of his car precisely in its place, gleaming metallic cherry-red beneath the narrow beam of the penlight.

Now all Stretch had to do was get into it. A slim jim tool was out, for several reasons. One, despite watching several youtube videos on his way over, Stretch was not confident he could do it, two, it might damage Edge’s car and that was right out.

There was also the small matter that Stretch didn’t have a slim jim, so that left trying to hack into Edge’s Onstar account to wirelessly unlock it.

That he could probably manage and he spent a long, sweaty ten minutes on his phone, wrangling through firewalls and password detectors, searching and fruitlessly guessing, getting more frantic by the second as he silently cursed paranoid fucking Fells and it was only when despair was setting in that it occurred to him to try the door.

It opened easily under his tentative touch and the amount and variety of swearing that went through his mind right then would have sent Blue sprinting to the nearest grocery store for their entire stock of soap.

Okay, no more time for distractions, the finish line was in sight. Stretch crawled inside, penlight flashing as he searched frantically through the interior.

Not that there was much to see, Edge kept his car painfully clean. Even the mats were glossy black, not a speck of dust on the control panel, no stray fries or pennies caught in-between the seats. His panic was hitting all new highs when the light caught on dark velvet wedged in between the passenger seat and the door.

It must’ve fallen when he got out and Stretch picked it up, his knees watery-weak with relief as he opened it to look at the rings which, stupid, what was he afraid he got the wrong velvet box?

Time to get out of here, rescue Blue from Granny Mcgee and get the fuck out for the celebratory fist bump, and he barely had time to even think it when the overhead light came on at the same moment a much harsher blue magic than his brother’s took hold of his soul and slammed him painfully into the garage door. It knocked the breath out of him and Stretch hung there, wheezing, the box clutched tightly in his fingers as the last voice he wanted to hear echoed coldly through the garage.

“Stop struggling.”

Fearfully, Stretch lifted his head to see Edge strolling in through the doorway and it was honestly impressive how imposing he could be in a pair of silk pajamas and slippers.

“I’m afraid you’ve chosen the wrong car to steal, thief, I’m rather fond of it, I—” Edge stopped, his eye sockets narrowing and Stretch cringed as he reached out and roughly tore the ski mask off. His sockets widened in disbelief. “Stretch?”

“um. hey.” Stretch waved feebly with his empty hand.

“What the hell are you doing,” Edge sputtered out, cold anger melting into clear upset, “I could have hurt you!”

Yeah and sweat was running down his tailbone just thinking about it. Good thing it was Edge and not Red who found him, the gremlin might’ve dusted first and felt a micron of guilt later.

Stretch waggled his feet in the empty air. “um. gonna let me down?”

Edge’s gaze narrowed. “I’ll consider it. What are you doing here and if I hear the words shaving cream, I’ll—"

“no! no, nothing like that,” Stretch blurted in automatic denial and regretted it immediately. Shit, mistake, probably should’ve let Edge believe it was a prank of some sort, let him get mad and yell. He would’ve gotten over it eventually and they could’ve gotten back to their non-dates and twice weekly sexytimes with the occasional overnight thrown in for extra flavor. Except, Stretch didn’t like it when Edge was mad at him and not just mad, he would’ve been disappointed, even hurt, because any prank that involved his car was taking it up to a level of cruel. Edge’s car was his baby and Stretch wouldn’t do that to him, never never ever.

Didn’t matter, he’d sort of lost his chance to go with prank when he denied it was one, so there was nothing left but some version of the truth. Stretch took a deep breath and went with the basics, “i left something in your car, is all. didn’t want to bug you to get it, not after begging off on you. stupid, i know.”

“Very stupid,” Edge agreed, “considering that we have motion sensors in the garage.”

Of course he fucking did. “yeah, um, sorry.” Now that a portion of the truth was out there, time for a distraction. Hanging on the wall like a modern art installation probably wasn’t giving off the sexiest vibes, but Stretch gave it a shot, calling up what he hoped passed for an enticing smile, running his tongue lightly across his teeth, “’m feeling a lot better now, though, could head upstairs if you want, make up for a little lost time…?”

Edge raised a silencing hand and Stretch reluctantly obeyed, ah, fuck, he was too late, Edge was thinking about it, shit, and proved it by saying, slowly, “Let me see if I understand. You left something in my car and decided you needed to break into my home, bypass the alarm, pick the locks, and skulk through my garage to get it instead of simply asking me?" Edge crossed his arms over his chest and the intensity of his glare went up a notch, "No."

"no?" Stretch parroted, confused.

"No, that goes beyond the bounds of suspending my disbelief, so you're lying." Edge’s sockets narrowed and Stretch flinched from the true anger he could see there, "I do not like liars or thieves, so show me what you took."

His grip tightened around the velvet box. “but i don’t—”

“Show me,” Edge barked out.

Humiliating tears started welling, fuck, this wasn’t the time for it, all his earlier disappointment rising back up chokingly painful in his soul as Stretch whispered brokenly, "please don't make me."

Edge’s grip on his soul wavered, sending him sliding down an inch as that anger faded into bewilderment, "What…you broke into my garage, why are you—just show me!"

Miserably, Stretch held out the velvet box, let Edge snatch it away. From his continued confusion, he still didn't get it, not until he popped it open. The bands gleamed garishly in the overhead lights, carbon tungsten because the salesman assured him that it was extremely durable, with a twined color strip woven through the black metal of orange and red. Their colors joined together the way Stretch had hoped, stupidly, that their lives would.

Dawning realization as Edge looked from the rings to Stretch and back, again, and once more for good measure.

"Oh," Edge said blankly.

"yeah,” Stretch said, tiredly. “can you put me down now?"

Hastily, he did. "Stretch--" Edge began, all awkward gentleness now, the ring box still open in his hand like a mockery of Stretch’s hopeful daydreams and wasn’t that just typical of his life?

And Stretch just couldn’t. He couldn’t listen to the pity he could already see in Edge’s eye lights, he couldn’t, not right now with what felt like his entire soul choking in his throat. Red’s little shortcut blocker worked for going in, but not out and now that Edge didn’t have him pinned, Stretch was fucking gone. Stumbling out onto the sidewalk outside and almost went to his knees right where Blue was still chatting awkwardly with Mrs. Gerson.

“we need to go,” Stretch blurted. “right now!” And when Blue didn’t move fast enough, Stretch grabbed him around the waist and yanked him off his feet. Let someone else get dragged around for a change tonight, Stretch was sick of it, felt bruised inside and out as he dashed over to the car.

“Oof, bro-oth-er!” Blue yelped as he was all but bowled into the driver’s seat while Stretch scrambled over to the passenger side “What on earth is going on?!”

“go!” Stretch pleaded, “just go, i’ll explain at home.”

Blue probably would’ve put up more of a fight, sure as hell would with any other brotherly manhandling, but he caught sight of tears starting to boil down Stretch’s cheek bones and instead fumbled for his keys. “All right, we’re going.”

The engine started and he began to pull away…right into a massive cage of bones grinding up around the car from the ground, chunks of asphalt falling from the jagged tips. Directly in front of them was Edge, both hands flung out and his roused magic surrounding him in a fiery aura. His crimson eye lights blazed as he forcibly held them back in a glorious depiction of viciously controlled power even while he was still in those damn silk pajamas and slippers.

Really, it was damned impressive. He was fucking gorgeous and Stretch hated himself for noticing, for even thinking it.

“Turn off the car,” Edge said, loudly, and Blue did, sitting mutely as Edge let his magic fade. He walked over the passenger side and opened the door, leaning in as he said evenly, “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”

Stretch buried his face into his hands and wondered if he could get away with a ‘fuck, no.’

He dared to look out and from the expression on Edge’s face, fleeing was only gonna lead to a wild hunt through the city and Blue already said he didn’t want any property damage.

Might as well get it over with. Stretch nodded and impatiently wiped his face on his sleeves as he got out of the car. He couldn’t even be insulted when Edge firmly grabbed his elbow and held on, leading him towards the house despite the way Stretch’s sneakers dragged through the crumbled remains of the road.

Mrs. Gerson smiled and nodded as they walked past, waving as she croaked out, “Have a good night, boys!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gerson,” they said in unison, Edge crisply polite and Stretch a dismal mutter.

Edge unlocked the front door, pushing Stretch through it and he didn’t look up, not at Red who was on sofa, sitting up from his slouch with a genuinely startled, “what the fuck…?” and not at Edge, who ignored his brother to guide him up the stairs to his bedroom.

He closed the door and firmly set Stretch in the desk chair while Edge sat across from him on the bed.

“All right,” Edge said. He held out the ring box, blessedly closed, hiding the contents that Stretch was pretty sure he never wanted to see again; he’d rather toss them in the trash than try to return them at this point, “Now. Start from the beginning.”

tbc

Read Chapter 3

[navegandoaciegas]

the love you deserve II

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: almost 3k, ops

Summary: “He’s Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. He was the guy at the Triskelion, they say he’s the one who killed JFK.”

It can’t be real. Your Jaime visits and plays with lonely, sickly kids in hospitals because he remembers what it was like growing up with his asthmatic, diabetic friend Steve. Whoever this Bucky guy is, he’s not your Jaime, your Jaime could never harm a fly. Your Jaime is good, he’s compassionate. Surely your friend must be wrong.

Warnings: soft!bucky, hurt!reader, angst, fluff, lying, cheating, drug use, alcohol consumption (including mentions of underage drinking), language that Steve Rogers wouldn’t approve of.

A/N: AU where Civil War and Thanos never happen, Tony forgives Bucky and he retires. This is my very first attempt at writing in English, I’m not a native speaker, so forgive me for any mistakes :)

This is part 2, please comment and reblog and let me know what you think of it :) feedback is always appreciated! I plan on writing at least another part, maybe two.

What do you think of the reader?

Part 1

The day before

Las Vegas, Nevada

Vegas is hot and dry as hell. It’s also a lot of fun, so the movies did not lie about that at least. They did exaggerate how fun the casinos would be tho.

You’re at a pool party, sipping on a drink, silently judging the moves of the sweaty people who are dancing around you.

You just got off a facetime call with Jaime, and god you miss him and Alpine too, but life is good and you’re the happiest you’ve ever been, your best friend is getting married to the man she loves and you’re having the time of your life with your girlfriends.

“So, you’re not having cold feet, are you?” you hear Hannah question Jade.

They’re basking in the sun around you.

Jade hesitates as she douses herself in sunblock.

“I gotta say I’m kind of scared but I’ve been dreaming about this for three years, so no? I guess. I don’t know. I love him.”

“That didn’t answer the question.” you observe.

“Are you sure you’re ready to commit to one dick only for the rest of your life?” Raven asks, and you all laugh and roll your eyes playfully.

Ever the commitaphobe, just like you. Well, like you used to be before you met Jaime.

You hate rush hour after work, you hate it so much in fact that you’d rather go to your work’s gym and workout even though you’re exhausted than catch a packed train.

By the time you get to the station most people are home already.

He’s here today.

You’ve seen him quite a lot in the past few weeks. The first thing you noticed about him is the way he seems to fold in on himself, his hunched shoulders and lowered head.

His bad posture aggravates you beyond reason, and you just wish you could go there and straighten his back without looking like a weirdo. But you can’t, so you just admire from afar like the good creep you are.

He’s always wearing a baseball cap over luscious but questionably greasy hair, huge winter jackets and leather gloves; still, underneath all that it’s clear he’s handsome. You always had a thing for men built like brick houses.

Today is the day, you think, today is the day I finally strike a conversation with the guy, it’s now or never.

Truth is, the loneliness he exudes breaks your heart and the way people avoid him like he’s got the plague enrages you for no particular reason. Somehow the ever indifferent New Yorkers would rather stand on a moving train than sit next to him, and that something about that that irks you way too much.

You really don’t understand why. Sure he’s intimidating, he’s a huge man, but he’s quiet and calm and he smiles softly when he spots a dog on the train. He gets off at same stop you do and no matter how isolate the station and the streets are by the time you get home, even if you two are the only ones there, you’ve never felt uneasy.

So you go and sit next to him, you smile when he looks up in surprise and you say hi.

He stutters an ‘evening ma’am’ and you’re proud of yourself because you’ve got it in you to made the big scary guy blush like a schoolgirl.

“Not to be a creep or anything but I’ve seen you around quite a lot, we commute together almost every day.” You chuckle and you introduce yourself.

“I uhm-” he’s cute when he furrows his brows “ I’m Jame- Jaime. I’m Jaime.”

You smile at the memory.

Jaime turned out to be a lot less shy than anticipated. He was a stuttering mess on the first few dates but the more you got to know him, the more he opened up to show his true sarcastic, snarky nature, whilst still being a gentle giant and an absolute sweetheart.

He’s thoughtful, cocky and sweet at the same time. He makes you melt in a puddle whenever he snuggles Alpine on the inside of his jacket, and the rumble of his voice is enough to make your brain short circuit and your panties dampen.

“There goes that look again, you’re such a love sick fool.”

“Oh God, you should see her when she’s with her precious Jaime, they literally have heart eyes, they’re so cute together it makes me sick to my stomach.”

You laugh and shake your head at Raven’s and Jade’s teasing.

“Hey, it’s not that bad, you should have seen yourself the day you met Matt, bitch, you looked like you’d never seen a man before. I ain’t forget.” you retort.

Hannah laughs and adds “When are we going to meet mystery man? It’s not fair that Jade only to got to see him. And word on the streets is that he’s real pretty.”

“When you three learn how to behave. But I can show you a picture, just please don’t be weird about it.” you finally relent after five months of avoiding the topic.

“He’s very, very hot ladies.” Jade quips.

You send her a side glance (goodnaturedly of course) and show them how pretty your sweet boy is.

Raven’s jaw goes slack as she clutches your phone and gawks at the picture.

“Lucky bastard, he’s literally the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, where did you find him and how did you convince him to be with you of all people?”

You laugh at Raven’s blunt remarks. They playful banter between the two of you has been going on since freshman year of college.

“Now I get why you have that dumb love struck face on you at all times.” Hannah adds.

Grace tho, she’s unusually quiet, and she stares at him with a scowl on her face. Her eyes travel slowly from your phone to your face, and the anticipation to know the reason why is killing you.

“Uhm, you’re dating him? And you said his name is Jaime?” she hesitates.

Whatever is going to come out of her mouth, you already know you’re not going to like it.

“Look, maybe I’m wrong and I’m mistaking him for someone else but I’m pretty positive I’m right and, ah” Another pause, you’re about to faint. “There’s no way to break it down to you in a way that won’t hurt but” she sighs “he’s lying to you.”

Ice fills your veins. You can feel dread crawling up your spine.

Is he someone else’s boyfriend? Are you the other woman or is he cheating on you? Is he a professional scammer?

“What the hell are you talking about Gracie?” Jade almost shouts, and you’re one heartbeat away from fainting.

Grace looks at you with all the pity in the world and you want nothing more than to erase that expression from her face.

“He’s Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. He was the guy at the Triskelion, they say he’s the one who killed JFK.”

The world around you stops spinning for a second as the ring in your ears get louder. You just wish the ground could open up and swallow you whole.

All of a sudden you start laughing hysterically like she’s told the funniest joke you’ve ever heard, you laugh so ugly that a few heads turn in your direction and give you funny looks, so loud that your friends are startled and even more worried.

Jaime, your sweet baby boy who adopted a three legged blind cat no one else at the shelter wanted to save him from being euthanized.

Jaime who volunteers at the VA with his pal Sam to help war vets reintegrate in society after they get back home, because he knows what it’s like to have your life turned around, to find yourself with no commands to obey all of a sudden and more trauma than you know what to do with. He knows what it is like to know no peace, to sleep a couple hours a week until you’re hallucinating so bad you’re begging the universe to just end your suffering.

It can’t be real. Your Jaime visits and plays with lonely, sickly kids in hospitals because he remembers what it was like growing up with his asthmatic, diabetic friend Steve.

Whoever this Bucky guy is, he’s not your Jaime, your Jaime could never harm a fly.

Your Jaime is good, he’s compassionate. Surely your friend must be wrong.

He goes grocery shopping for the elderly couple next door whose kids never visit, because they are too weak, too sick, too tired to leave the house.

“I’m sorry sweetie, it’s not your fault, you couldn’t have know.”

Grace hands you a phone, open on his Wikipedia page.

Jaime’s sky-blue eyes stare back at you.

You really let him play a number on you, didn’t you?

You feel a hot surge of blinding anger and you want to tear the world apart, you want to take Jaime- no, not Jaime, James and bitch slap him in the face so damn hard you convey the humiliation you’re feeling right now, knowing that the man you love and thought you knew lied to your face for five fucking months.

Did he ever consider coming clean, revealing his true identity?

Was he ever planning on telling you? Or would he move in with you, wake up and go to bed with you every day feeding you lies upon lies?

Would you end up married to a man that doesn’t exist and have kids with a ghost?

Grow old with a guy who said he was 33 but is actually 99?

Would he never get undressed in front of you? How was he planning on hiding is metal arm? Surely one day you’d be intimate and you would see it? The whole “I want to wait cause I’m old fashioned like that” would eventually need to stop.

Or maybe it wasn’t a serious relationship at all for him, not in the way it was for you. Not in the way you wanted to spend the rest of your days loving him and making him the happiest man alive. Not in the way you were ready to commit to him, body and soul, for all eternity.

Now the endearing terms he used to call you, his babydoll, his little doll, they taste bitter on your tongue.

A doll, literally. A little toy to play with and toss aside once he got bored of his little game.

Why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to find out like this?

It reminds you of that time in your junior year of college, you were dating this guy back then, and you liked him, he was fun, the sex was good, he supported you in your endless hours of cheer practice.

One day he told you he was sick and couldn’t make it to your afternoon study date. That same night you ran into him at a frat party with his friends. Wasn’t so sick after all.

You broke up on the spot, shed a few tears while your teammates held you and moved on with your life with your head held high, because that’s what you’ve been doing all your life no matter how many curveballs the universe throws your way.

You vividly recall what hurt the most: the feeling of being lied to and toyed with. The hot humiliation that burns your cheeks and makes your eyes water when you realized you have yet again misplaced your trust. The inevitable question that plague you for days on end: what else did he lie about? How could I be so damn stupid?

His name was Tommy, and sometimes in the following years your first instinct when a man told you anything was to obsess over whether they were being honest or not. Until Jaime, that is, you trusted Jaime with your life, you would never question him, and look where that got you.

You’re aware you’re overthinking and maybe overreacting at this point, and that wailing in your own misery while your girlfriends are out having fun in a club is doing you no good, nor is it changing your current predicament. But you never listen to the voice of reason, and you won’t start today.

The room feels too hot and too cold at the same time.

You’re sweating but your body is shaking. You’re breathing but the air you inhale won’t reach your lungs. You’re blinking your eyes frantically but you only see darkness. You hear your own heart beat out of your chest.

It seems like the room you’re in is closing down on you and there’s no space left, you’re being crushed by those walls around you, you’re drowning, you’re suffocating.

Is this what heartbreak feels like, or is it just a heart attack?

Turns out it’s a panic attack, you know because you typed your symptoms on Google.

You are painfully aware you’re spiralling out of control.

Get a grip.

All you can think about is how you want him to suffer, you want him to feel the same humiliation you’re feeling right now. You want him to feel his chest compress, his throat tighten, you want him to know what it’s like when your heart is breaking in a thousand pieces and you can’t even breathe.

You want his world to come tumbling down on him and crush him under the weight of his mistakes.

You don’t care why he did it. You don’t give a single fuck about his reasons.

Because the truth is, no matter who he was in his past life, no matter how many he killed or tortured, you would have loved him all the same. You would have carried the weight of the world on your shoulders if it meant he could sleep soundly at night.

But he didn’t give you a chance to.

And because you never fucking think before you act, you put your best dress on a join the girls at the club they’re at, and you hope the tequila is going to drown your sorrow and dull the pain burning you from within.

Tonight you don’t want to feel anymore.

Four months ago.

Brooklyn, New York.

Every morning, Bucky wakes up at 5.30 am and joins Steve Rogers on his jog around the neighborhood, and every morning without failure Bucky is grumpy about it. He hates the early mornings, especially in the winter, but he can’t find it in himself to refuse Steve anything.

Steve is smart and too observing for his own good and he knows that something has changed. He knows it in the way Bucky’s steps are louder and bouncier, his back is straighter, his smile is easier, his eyes shine brighter.

He knows it because underneath the sandalwood scent of Buck’s deodorant and the musky smell of his sweat, he can sometimes detect the less pungent fragrance of coconut and peaches.

“So, who is she?”

The question catches him off guard. Bucky stops dead in his track and looks at his friend like a deer caught in the headlights.

“What, you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

At that he has the decency to blush.

“She’s- she’s perfect. I met her on the ride home from the shelter. ‘member when we were kids, we used to dream about the future? I swore I’d get myself a pretty wife and love her for the rest of my days and have a bunch of kids?”

“Yeah, I used to tell you you’d have to stop dragging me in those god awful double dates, or else you wouldn’t get any of those pretty girls to stick around.”

The two share a bittersweet smile as they reminisce how their life could have been.

“She’s pretty, you know, she’s sweet, she’s a bit of an asshole but the good kind, she’s so damn smart, you know all those science things I used to like before the war? She knows them all. She’s an engineer. I know my Ma would have approved of her, and Becca would have died to have her as a sister.”

“So why’s that long face?”

Bucky snorts.

Of course, how could Captain America understand? People don’t avoid him like he’s got some infectious disease, they don’t give him dirty looks, girls don’t cross the street when they see him, mothers with kids on their hips don’t cover their children as if he was the Boogeyman. “She didn’t recognize me, and well I- I can’t tell her. She wouldn’t want me, and I like her too much to mess this up.”

“Buck.” Steve gives him his best stern look. “You have to tell her, she has a right to know who she’s seeing. If she’s the one she’s going to love you all the same, but don’t lie to her. These secrets can only backfire in the long run. It’s going to ruin your relationship.”

Bucky nods absentmindedly and continues running without uttering another word.

No one could ever love his true self, he thinks bitterly. No one could help him carry the weight of his past on his shoulders.

If only he had known back then how right Stevie would be, he would have told you everything four months ago.

[seacllie]

matchup: can i get a genshin matchup? i’m an adult and i have a preference for boys but i wouldn’t mind a girl. i’m generally quiet and when i do speak up it’s usually a joke or sarcastic comment. i mind my manners around strangers but around my friends i usually show love by gently bullying them lol...but if they need reassurance i have no problem just telling them that i care. it can be incredibly difficult to get me to open up because i have problems with abandonment and self-esteem, so sometimes i push people away because i don’t want to hurt them or i don’t want them to hurt me. when i do open up it’s ride or die, i’m very accepting and it’ll take a lot to break that since i’m suuuper laid-back. i have no problem being alone and often need time to myself. i like taking hikes and having fun little “adventures”, video games, stargazing, and cats, and i DON’T like crowds. i’m happy with any kind of date my partner plans honestly, i just go with the flow and don’t demand much. sorry this was so long, but thank you in advance! (2🌸)

I think you match well with...

DILUC RAGNVINDR

🍊 a lot of quiet moments, but it's the comfortable silence of course, you two are naturally/generally quiet. he chuckles at your jokes, or that one soft laugh that super cute, like it doesn't matter whether your joke is funny or bad, he'll just laugh softly at any joke you tell him. diluc only mind his manners around the elderly and some people, so he gotta have to take notes from you, questions why you were so polite to an knight of favonius

🍊 he's a lowkey smooth person, he could twist any gentle bullying to some flirty sappy line, he only does this to you don't worry. you found out when Kaeya came and did some bullying to diluc, safe to say diluc had burned some of the wooden floorings. diluc knows you care for him, but when you reassure him, it's a whole new feeling, butterflies be having a field day, and the jacuzzi in his heart be bubbling. diluc gives you time, he isn't the most patient man but he can be patient for you. be it 2 or 3 months or years, he'll wait for you to open up to him.

🍊 when he gets together with you, it will be his first and final relationship. everyone sees you and Diluc as the 'ride or die' couple, and they're not wrong. if you're ever low on self-esteem or feeling any sort of insecure, diluc will be your hypeman. he won't be the loud one and extravagant one, but his compliments are genuine and thoughtful. compliments and comfort isn't usually his thing but when it comes to you, he'll try his best, but it usually comes out naturally.

🍊 he gives you space and time when you need it, though he wants some cuddles and affection afterwards. definitely the chill couple, planning dates don't really take much effort, since then both of you usually go with the flow. it could be on a random day where you guys just thought 'maybe we should go hiking as a date today'. you don't like crowds? its fine, diluc will bring you to places that are more secluded and zero or close to no-crowds. although he can be more romantic than you think.

[ave-aria]

ROTG Hope Week

Happy Easter, everybody! This was written for Hope Week, in response to these darker days we’re going through. Who can’t use a little extra hope?

Day 1: Hope Wordcount: 3,305 Tw: Coronavirus, Covid 19 Pairings: Jack/Bunnymund

Kudos to Chaos Incarnate for giving me the idea for the title. ;)

-

Can I Offer You A Nice Egg In These Trying Times?

-

"Whaddya mean, Easter's cancelled?"

Bunnymund's voice rang through the Warren, scattering the herds of unpainted eggs at his feet. Jack, however, remained unmoved. He crouched atop his staff, toes curling into the wood as he stared down at the Easter Bunny before him.

"Hey, it's not my fault," he raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Don't shoot the messenger, I'm just letting you know. This Coronavirus is shaping up to be some pretty nasty stuff."

"The—what virus?"

Jack narrowed his eyes at Bunny.

"Coronavirus. Covid-19." He said. "You have been keeping up on the news, haven't you?"

Bunnymund, caught with his head in the ground, sputtered. "Look, I am not the shut-in I used t' be, ok!" which was true; the Guardians had made great strides in getting out of their comfort zones in the past eight years. The attack by Pitch made them all realize how isolated they'd become. But… well. Old habits die hard. "So what if I missed a bulletin or two?"

"Bunny," Jack huffed, exasperated. "It's a worldwide pandemic."

Frustrated, Bunny threw his hands in the air. "It's less than a month till Easter! Whaddya want from me!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "A little less denial would be nice."

Fuming, Bunnymund threw his paintbrush to the ground and stormed towards his tunnels.

Sighing, and deciding to take pity on the Pooka, Jack hopped off his staff and followed him across the grassy field. Eggs parted to let him pass. There were dozens of them, hundreds, all waiting to be painted; more were due to hatch from the Eggplants in waves as the month rolled on. The fruits of long labor. Bunny'd put a lot of work into this year's Easter, like he did every year, and it was a shame to see it all go to waste.

Bunny beelined for the European tunnels, ducking into one that Jack knew well. Bunny always seemed to be using this path. It led to a little suburb in England, the very same place where he'd been walked through on that fateful failed Easter years ago. The Pooka never said as much, but Jack suspected; England and Australia seemed to be Bunnymund's Burgess.

So when the lagomorphs hopped down on all fours and darted out of sight, Jack didn't worry. He knew where Bunny was going.

After a few minutes of picking his way through the tunnels, Jack emerged into cool air and cloudy, overcast skies. The tunnel opened up in the narrow space between two long rows of houses, with a park visible down the road. The ground was clear of snow; Jack hadn't been active here lately, but looking at the green grass springing up between the pavestones, he thought he ought to change that soon.

Bunny, to his surprise, was not darting from bush to bush as usual. When Jack arrived, the Pooka was standing smack dab in the middle of the paved streets, subtlety be damned. He turned in circles, a bewildered look creeping onto his face.

Upon spying Jack, he threw his arms out. "Crikey, Jack, it's a ghost town out here! Where is everybody!"

Jack pointed at the long rows of houses. "Inside," he explained. "…Or they better be."

Bunny did another 360, scanning the streets. It was so empty out here, a tumbleweed wouldn't be out of place. "Mate, this—this seems bad," he admitted at last. "I've never seen this place so quiet."

Jack shook his head. "No kidding. You should see the cities."

Bunnymund froze. "The cities?"

"If you think this place is a ghost town, wait till you see London," Jack said. "Paris, Tokyo, Dubai— Venice is so empty the waterways are clear for the first time in ages."

Bunnymund warily scanned the neighborhood again. The lack of people, mid-day, was eerie. He held perfectly still, holding his breath. His ears pricked forward, waiting for sound, eyes on the empty space - as if he expected someone to jump out and yell "boo!" - but nothing came. Slowly, he took a wary step forward, eyes scanning the streets.

Jack stepped forward, reaching out. "…Bunny," he started.

Bunny's whiskers twitched. "So this Coronavirus," he said. "It caused this?"

Jack held up a hand. "They're self-quarantining, for the most part. To help slow the strain on the hospitals. Practically everything is shutting down, everywhere."

"Must be some virus." Bunny replied. "…Takin' out kids and the elderly, I assume?"

"Mostly the elderly. And people with underlying health conditions. It's like the flu on steroids, with a ridiculous incubation period." Jack drew up to his side.

"How many dead?"

Jack winced. "It's… not clear—"

"Give it to me straight."

"…Over four thousand deaths in Italy so far." Jack said, reluctantly. "And more to come. China's not far behind. The US—well." He shrugged. "With the state of healthcare there? Bound to be ten times worse."

It felt different saying it aloud. Four thousand deaths.

A chill ran down his spine.

Jack cast a worried glance at Bunny. He seemed… withdrawn, and Jack hated that. Good news—if he could just think of good news— "Kids though! They seem largely unaffected, thankfully. Gotta catch some breaks, right?"

Bunny looked at least a little relieved at that. Jack went on. "But—the kids're taking it home and giving it to their parents, their grandparents… a lot of places are talking about closing down schools." He slung his staff over his shoulders. "Which, I might add, is totally unfair. I mean, I drop three feet of snow on Burgess and Jamie's highschool might close for, what, a day? Two at most? And then one little pandemic comes along and completely wipes out my record by a mile."

Bunnymund snorted at that. "You're full of yourself."

"I try."

"So," Bunny said. A pause, and his shoulders slumped. "…No Easter this year."

Looking at Bunny's crestfallen face, knots twisted Jack's gut. "Hey, that was the Pope. He cancelled Easter. But I'm sure your status as the Easter Bunny outweighs his authority."

Not even a smile at the comment. "Quarantining means no egg hunts," Bunny said. His ears drooped further. "No egg hunts means no Easter."

Jack took a deep breath and let it out slow. "…Yeah."

They stood silent for a long minute.

"S'not even about the egg hunts, really," Bunnymund said at last. "What worries me is skipping Easter—at a time when the world needs hope the most."

Jack bit his lip. "You could still—I mean, not to bring up North's method, but—pop inside the houses, leave eggs around the house?"

"I already do that, some places," Bunnymund told him. "But if I get the virus on me fur, or me googies, and take 'em inta a clean house—"

Jack sighed. "…Right. Kinda destroys the point of quarantining." He said. Still, he cats about for options, something to lift Bunnymund's spirits. "…Maybe if you disinfect between each place—"

That, oddly, drew a laugh from the Pooka's lips. Bunnymund ruffled Jack's hair, messing it up even worse than it already was. Jack ducked under the noogie, squinting up at Bunny.

"Appreciate it, really," said the Pooka. "But… you're right. Unless somethin' changes, fast, there's - there's just no Easter this year."

Jack straightened, frowning. Giving up wasn't Bunny's MO. He'd thought - he knew the news would hit hard, if he hadn't already caught wind of it, but he thought for sure Bunny would come at this swinging. Maybe try to brainstorm some solutions to the problem, or pull out an unexpected ace hidden up his sleeve.

But just giving up? "Hey now—"

"It's for the best." Bunny cut him off. Apparently it was written all over his face. "In the grand scheme of things - a couple of googies is a small sacrifice to pay fer a safe community."

Jack's frown twisted. Sure but… still.

Bunny gave Jack a comforting pat on the shoulder. "I'm headin' back. Better find somethin' to do with my newfound free time." He added, in a mutter. Turning back to Jack, he asked, "Need a lift anywhere?"

Jack's eyes lingered on Bunny for a long moment. At last, he shook his head.

Bunny's hand dropped from his arm, and it felt like defeat. "Ta, mate," Bunny said, giving a halfhearted salute. In two taps of a paw, a tunnel opened up, and he was gone.

Jack watched him go, wishing, for the life of him, that he could find a way to fix this.

Staring down at the bare earth where the tunnel disappeared, a cold resolve settled in Jack's heart.

He had to find a way to fix this.

—

It was three days and as many consecutive sleepless nights later that Jack came knocking again. The tunnel opened reluctantly, Bunnymund's magic sluggish to match its owners mood, and the rabbit didn't meet him in the field. When Jack arrived, the Pooka was still curled up in his Burrow, slumped at the kitchen chair with a hot tea and sweets littering the table.

"Go 'way," he moaned when Jack's silhouette darkened the doorway. "Let me mourn my holiday in peace." A couple of eggs, unpainted, butted at Bunnymund's heels; the rabbit hadn't had the heart to get rid of them.

Aha, Jack thought, triumphant. Bunny wasn't as satisfied with giving up as he'd pretended to be.

"Pick up your paintbrush and get back to work," Jack told him, eyes gleaming. "Easter's still on."

"Jack," Bunny groaned. "We already talked about this—"

"No egg hunts," Jack flapped a dismissive hand. "We're doing this the old fashioned way."

Bunny sat a bit straighter at that, raising a curious ear. "And what would that be?"

Jack's eyes sparkled, glimmering with hope.

"Baskets," he said, and that was that.

—

Egg hunts hadn't always been the center of the holiday.

In Jack's time, rumor was that if you left a basket - or a hat, upended like a basket - on your doorstep, the Easter Bunny would drop by and fill it to the brim with goodies galore. The practice died out slowly as Bunnymund realized that encouraging folks to go out and seek for the good things in life was a more effective method at garnering Hope; but this year, it was coming back full force.

"Wicker. Ribbons. Paint." Bunnymund dumped another armload of supplies on the grass, and dusted off his paws. "Who's on weaving duty?"

"On it," Jack called, sandwiched between two yetis. He'd all but kidnapped them from North as it became apparent that Bunny's basket production needed to skyrocket, fast. North readily obliged, and even donated some holiday gift baskets he had sitting in the warehouse, unused.

Bunnymund eyed the donated baskets; "…as long as they're not painted red, they'll do."

Over the next few weeks, they emptied Bunny's storage and wove baskets until their fingers fell off. Some were simple affairs, others were elaborate, oversized displays, reserved for houses with large families. In addition to painting eggs, Bunny quickly doubled his output of chocolate, peeps, and hard candies.

Sandy had an eye for basket-arranging, easily assembling multiple at once with the aid of his dreamsand. After Tooth disinfected each finished basket, her Mini fairies carried them off to a cooler and semi-refrigerated room of the Warren that Jack had helped set up. They would remain in isolation until Easter.

They worked at a steady pace, some coming and going, everyone pitching in. When the wicker ran out, Bunny went and found more. North donated plastic baskets as he churned them out. One night, Tooth and Sandy disappeared with a sack of quarters and came back with a truckload of baskets, procured in bulk from closed dollar-tree stores.

"Technically they're paid for!" Tooth insisted when Bunny hemmed and hawed over the gift.

At last, he accepted them. A month was a short time to make millions of baskets, even with everyone helping out. He wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"You know," Bunny remarked, a few days before Easter Sunday, as he and Jack wove a handful more baskets to put them over the top. "This just might work."

"Might?" Jack echoed, offended. He flexed his overworked fingers, scowling. "Don't sell this short. Of course it'll work. It's brilliant."

Bunnymund chuckled. "Aye," he said. "But you do realize there's one tiny problem with yer plan?"

Jack paused. "Problem?"

"Quarantine," Bunnymund said. "Most o' these people haven't left their houses in weeks. What makes you think they'll notice the baskets on their doorstep before the eggs start to stink?"

Hm. That was a valid point. Jack set down his half-woven basket and leaned on a hand, thinking.

"We knock," he said at last.

Bunny huffed, amused. "That's your brilliant plan? Knock?" he, too, set his basket down. "Mate, even if it were that simple, I can't. They'd see me."

"Ignoring the fact that being seen isn't as dreadful as you make it out to be," Jack flapped a hand, "I'm not dumb. I wouldn't have you knock." When Bunny cast a confused glance at him, clearly not understanding, Jack said; "I'll have you know I'm a master at ding-dong-ditch."

Bunny studied Jack's face for a long moment, then cracked a smile.

"So you're inviting yourself on my run, huh. You think you can keep up with me?"

Jack laced his fingers and turned his palms outwards, stretching. "I know I can, cottontail. In fact, I'd say I'll knock this one out of the park."

Bunnymund groaned. "No. No puns."

"Hey," Jack laughed. "Hey—knock knock!"

A resigned sigh. "Who's there?"

"Boo," Jack said.

"…Boo who?"

"Why are you crying?" Jack asked. "Easter isn't canceled anymore."

The smile Bunny sent Jack was the most genuine one he'd seen all month.

—

Operation Ring-Every-Doorbell-In-The-World was a go.

"Finished with China," Bunny's voice said through Jack's earbud. "Headin' down to Oz. Catch up, slowpoke!"

"Ohhhh you're dead when I get down there," Jack shot back, flitting from house to house.

So this was a biiit tougher than he thought it'd be. Jack wasn't well-known worldwide yet, so no one had spotted him, and all he had to do was press a button at each station, an easier task than carting whole armfuls of baskets to the surface. He was running into unexpected walls, however, when he realized to truly make this work, he had to ring doorbells in a certain order.

Apartments, Jack decided, were the worst. He had to ring every doorbell in each hall before anyone answered their door; if he didn't, those who'd emerged would realize their neighbors' doorbells were ringing of their own accord. But he couldn't be too quick about it, either, since people exiting their houses en-mass was also, in a way, counterproductive to the quarantine.

But he managed, staying just a step or two behind Bunnymund at all times. Ring and knock; flit to the next target.

Doors opened as he passed, with surprised folks drifting out into the street. He saw dozens of people in pajamas, more who sorely needed haircuts, and a handful who were apparently sitting around their house in Wedding Dresses and Dinosaur Costumes. Quarantine fashion - an interesting trend. The delighted gasps and laughs that echoed in his wake were well enough to spur him on.

They caught their breath over the atlantic ocean, ("Good news! Right now, Greenland's virus-free!") before diving back in to work on the Americas. By the time they hit Alaska, Jack was about ready to drop.

"How do you do this?" Jack wheezed as they drew up to the final house on their stop. Bunnymund was waiting, tweaking the ribbons and eggs that had shifted in transit. "Every year?"

Bunny smirked. "Stamina, mate. It's a marathon, not a race."

"I hate that you're not even winded," Jack groused back.

Satisfied with the presentation, Bunnymund stepped back. "Care to do the honors, mate?" he motioned to the doorbell.

Jack stole an extra minute longer, leaning on his staff for support. Then, with one last deep breath, he raised a hand - no doorbell on this house it seemed - and knocked.

A rustling inside the house. "Mama!" called a young voice inside. "Mama who knocked? Is it the pizza man? Did you order pizza on Easter?!"

Quick as a blink, the two retreated a safe distance back. The front door opened seconds later; a young girl, six years old, stuck her head out.

Her eyes landed on the basket and, all at once, lit up. "Mama!" she screeched in delight. She gathered up the basket—nearly as tall as herself—and waddled back inside, leaving the door hang open. "Mama, he came! You said he wouldn't be here but look, he came!"

"What?" a bewildered voice called from inside the house. Bunnymund and Jack traded a sly look, and a snicker.

The mother stuck her head out of the doorway, glancing this way and that for the culprit. Bunny made sure to flatten his ears and duck down low to avoid detection.

"Huh," said the woman, to herself. "I guess someone in the community is looking out for us after all."

After the door closed, Jack went ahead and dramatically collapsed on the ground before them. "Tell me we're done," he said, though he knew full well they were.

"Righto," Bunny knelt at his side, amusement in his smirk. "Need a lift back t' the Warren?"

"Why would I run to the Warren when I'm perfectly content to die right here?"

Bunnymund chuckled. "Always with the dramas," he said, and scooped Jack up in his arms.

"H-hey!" Jack balked, blushing deeply. "I can walk!"

"Can ye now?"

"Yes!" Jack squirmed out of Bunny's hold and skittered away, then raised his chin defiance. "Though I reserve the right to complain the whole time."

"As ye wish." He tapped twice and summoned a tunnel, motioning Jack in first.

Jack paused at the lip, but just before jumping down, caught Bunnymund staring back at their last house. He turned to look, too, companionable in their silence.

"We did pretty good, huh?" Jack said. "Considering."

Bunny gave a nod. "The world's doing pretty good right now, considering." He remarked. "A couple 'o baskets might not be much, but hopefully, it's something."

"It's the little things," Jack agreed.

"…It really is."

Bunnymund broke his gaze with the house to rest his paw on Jack's shoulder, and this one, in a sharper mirror of the same gesture a month prior, felt like sun on the skin. Bunny smiled at Jack, shining with soft gratitude.

"Thanks fer bein' here, Jack," he said. "Couldn't've done it without ya."

Jack smiled back. "Happy Easter."

Bunny nodded at the tunnel. "Now c'mon," he said, tossing something to Jack which the winter spirit just barely caught; "We've got a disinfecting bath and a nap waitin' fer us in the Warren."

Jack paused, unfolding his hands to inspect what he'd caught: an Easter Egg, painted a vivid blue, speckled with snowflakes and a golden scrawl that read Thank You.

Jack beamed at the egg, holding it gently in his hands, then turned the smile up at Bunny.

Bunny's own grin turned wicked. "—Race ya," he said, diving into the tunnel.

"What!" Jack stiffened, sore muscles seizing. Any protest he might utter fell away at the sound of Bunnymund's bright, ringing laughter.

Pocketing the egg, Jack dove in after him, his center bursting with joy and hope.

[dragonnan]

@sgam76 I realized I forgot to reply to your ask so here tis!

“Ok, gotta be Sherlock Evil Auntie.” [for the unpublished WIP tag game]

I actually have nearly 2,000 words written for this so far.  The essence of the story is that Sherlock and Mycroft (and Eurus) have an aunt who they, thankfully, don’t see often but even once is too much.  She is mean-spirited, bigoted, meddling, and has a bit too much power within the family.  I have not yet developed much background in this but I can think there’s some kinda scheming stuff between her and Rudy.  In this story, she shows up in London somewhat unannounced and Sherlock is roped into hosting her for the afternoon at Baker Street.  THANKS Mycroft...

Here is a snippet!

_______

“Mycroft.  Didn't know you were coming round.”  Jock edged into the flat; arms loaded with groceries of which neither Holmes man offered assistance.  A disgusted eye roll, John kicked the door shut with his heel and lugged his purchases to the kitchen – stacking the parcels on the stove.

Sherlock, still eyeing his brother, allowed a smile to widen.  “Expecting someone else?  And who could that be, I wonder...  Not a member of staff – you'd have arranged a meeting at your office and well away from the rain.  Not a welfare check, either, as I've been clean for the past six months; something you'd have known from frequent interrogations of my flatmate.”

In the kitchen, John straightened – his lip bowing down in a grimace.  Sherlock bypassed the discomfort as one would ease around a mound of horse manure in the street so as not to soil their shoes.

“While your enjoyment of my company is as enthusiastic as my own; today you are particularly put out.  A necessity – no, a debt.  Oh, Mycroft, you should have known better than to owe favors to Mummy.  She has a particularly twisted humor when calling them due.  Finally, returning back to initial observation – you are here.  Meaning your debt is now incurred by myself, as well – thank you for that.  Conclusion; a person we both know, and also known by Mummy.  Someone we both find distasteful as your anxiety carried a kernel of venomous delight in the sharing. Given that Granny Charlotte has been deceased for well past a decade that leaves a single candidate...”    

Downstairs, on cue, the door buzzer sounded.

Primarily occupied with loading the refrigerator, the goal to tip the balance back towards food and away from corpses and related paraphernalia, John allowed a momentary pause in his labors to acknowledge the slightly cryptic conversation.

“I'm sorry – are you saying we've got visitors?”

Both Holmes men flinched in a manner that only any aficionado of the brand would recognize.  Oh, now this was interesting.  Not many could send either man into distress – even more rare to affect both at once.  John battled with a grin.

“Would you like me to fetch my weapon?”

“Yes.”  Spoken by both men so quickly their voices overlapped.  Slightly more disconcerting but given Sherlock's occasional dramatics, John held off on arming himself to cross his arms.  Below, he could hear Mrs. Hudson engaging with whomever had arrived – though the vocal range of the other person was a titch too low to make out a reply.

“Either of you mind filling me in?”

Thin lips pressing tight, Mycroft merely shifted his shoulders; his reply aimed at Sherlock.  “He's your flatmate.”

Pale eyes rolling in disgust, Sherlock dropped into his chair by the fireplace; arms draped over the padding on either side.  “It would appear that my brother has seen fit to loose Aunt Nadie upon us.”

John's brow furrowed – his hands now going to his pockets and jamming tight.  “Aunt – Aunt... Nadie? You have an aunt?”

“Not a blood relation, thank God.” Mycroft stabbed the tips of his umbrella against the rug with a muffled thunk.  “Auntie Nadie moved into a nearby estate after her husband died.”  

“Of mysterious causes.”  Sherlock interrupted – facing the cold hearth and, no doubt, envisioning a roaring fire.

“Mummy took her on as child minder, when the need arose, though it's been ages since we've seen her and, quite frankly, I'd have thought her long dead.”

“Further evidence that there is no God.”  Crossing his legs, Sherlock seemed to fold into himself. John was now feeling a thread of actual concern as he took in the pale face of his friend.

“Sherlock, are you alright?”

“Never better.”  The answer may have been delivered with a bright grin but the tight grip his fingers had on the arm of the chair told a different story.

“Sherlock?”

Still near the door, Mycroft barked out a tight laugh.  “Oh, I know what this is.”

John stepped closer towards the fireplace – hands freed from his pockets and hanging tense at his sides.  “Sherlock... what...?”

Slamming his fist against the chair arm, Sherlock, abruptly, stood.  “She touched me!”  He roared – eyes brightening with his sudden outrage.

Finding himself two steps back – John tried to pull breath past the tight channel of his throat.  “Wait... a-are you saying...?”

Mycroft was the one to roll his eyes, now.  “She pinched his cheeks.”

“She pinched your...?”  Staring back at Sherlock, John noted the anger giving way to petulance.

“Her hands reeked of cat litter and humbugs.”  He glared back towards his brother.  “For the life of me I cannot fathom her tactile infatuation with my flesh.  Surely a better grip could have been had with your own, pillowy, cheeks.  You were always the portly one, after all.”  

Beyond the door, the steady creak of someone of moderate girth could be heard ascending the 17 stairs to the flat.  John was about done with this nonsense, by this point, yet couldn't deny the curiosity as to the sort of person that could have so unraveled the other two men.

Not long to wait, at all, it appeared – as there was a sharp knock and a voice to follow; a sing-song cadence, it seemed, most elderly employed.

“Sherlock?  Myyyycroooft...  Are you lads home?”  Another rapid-fire series of knocks before the trill of her voice had even faded.

Oh this was too good.  Seeing neither man overly inclined to answer, John resumed his position as primary eye roller and stalked towards the door.  “No, that's fine.  I'll get it.”

He heaved the door wide without preamble and was nearly knocked in the forehead for his trouble.

“Sherl-! Oh...”  The older woman squinted at John before lifting penciled eyebrows.  “Well clearly you're not him.”

Still on the far side of the room, Sherlock lifted from his chair and held himself stiff – long fingers woven together at the waist.  “Auntie.  Here to pinch my cheeks again?”

[whumphoarder]

¿Cómo se dice ‘I’m in Deep Sh*t’?

Summary: Due to unforeseen circumstances (and a bit of procrastination), Peter runs out of time to prepare for his Spanish presentation and ends up faking sick to buy himself some more.

He just wasn’t really counting on Tony being the one to pick him up from school.

Word count: 2,997

Genre: humor, fluff, whump

Link to read on Ao3

A/N: Based on a prompt from @coconutknightshade! 

Apparently it takes a village to write a story lol—thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx, @sallyidss, @fandomsficsandfeels, & @seek-rest for beta-reading and ideas, and @lunannex for Spanish help!

“What if I just like… fake my death?” Peter suggests as he hands his mentor a different sized wrench. “They can’t mark me down for not doing it if I’m dead, right?”

Tony, who is currently bent over their latest project (replacing the timing belt in May’s car), snorts. “As someone who’s been officially presumed dead more than once, can’t say I recommend it. Way too much paperwork.”

Peter sighs. “Can we stage a kidnapping then?” he says hopefully. “Or an alien abduction?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s a four-minute speech, not the end of the world—though I have some experience with that too.” He holds out a hand. “Half inch ratchet.”

“A four-minute speech in Spanish,” Peter emphasizes, passing him the requested tool. “Which is a language I don’t speak.”

“Hence why you’re in Spanish class,” Tony counters. “With all the other kids who can’t speak Spanish.”

“But it’s also like ten percent of my grade,” Peter goes on as his mentor loosens the timing belt and removes it from the engine before handing it to Peter to set aside. “And I have to talk about what I do in a typical week, and it’s not like I can say I go patrolling or come over to the compound, so I’m gonna have to make stuff up—”

Tony interrupts, “Yo veo mucha televisión,” he says sagely.

“—and then what if I get up there and forget everything and just sound stupid?” Peter continues his rant. He groans and passes Tony the replacement belt. “Maybe I should just conveniently get the flu on Wednesday.”

Looking up from the engine, Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you really this stressed about it? Because if you need to focus on school, I could just finish this up myself.”

Peter sighs again and runs a hand through his hair—he hadn’t meant to complain this much, he’d just kind of gotten on a roll after Tony asked him how school was going. “No, no… I wanted to come over—really. And I’ve got three more days to work on it, it’s just like… ugh. I should have taken German instead.”

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “Pretty sure they have to speak in German class too.”

“Yeah but MJ’s not in German…” Peter mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Tony asks, elbow deep in the engine block.

Peter expels a breath. “Nothing, it’s fine,” he says a bit more audibly, trying to convince himself as much as his mentor. So what if the most observant and shrewd person in his year also happens to be in his Spanish class?

(And so what if he might have a bit of a crush on her?)

Tony chuckles. “You’ll do great, kid,” he assures. “Just make sure you practice.”

Peter forces a smile. “Right, yeah, of course.”

X

Practicing, however, turns out to be easier said than done.

With finals fast approaching, it’s crunch time for all of Peter’s classes. Whatever spare moments he has over the weekend are spent finishing up his Animal Farm essay for the English summative and cramming for his geometry test Monday morning. The upcoming Spanish presentation hangs over his head, but it’s more annoying than anything else. He figures it should be fairly simple to actually bullshit something and translate it if he just sits down and does it (which, ironically, somehow makes it easier to push off).

He’s intending to work on it Monday evening, but a winter storm hits that afternoon, dumping eight inches of snow and ice on the city. Peter spends most of his patrol assisting with minor traffic accidents and helping stranded motorists scrape ice from their vehicles or shovel cars out of parking spaces. By the time he gets home late that night, he’s too exhausted to do much more than sit on the couch with May and drink cocoa while she watches Grey’s Anatomy reruns.

Oh well. He’s still got time.

Peter tries to make good use of his study hall on Tuesday, but the period ends up being kind of a wash. He spends half the time attempting to come up with something to say that is both interesting enough to make him seem not totally lame while still believable enough to fool MJ, and the other half messing around on his phone and trying to recall the name of the annoying song stuck in his head.

(It was ‘Goodbye’ by The Spice Girls.)

He’s intending to finish the presentation Tuesday evening after he gets home, but then Ned throws an unexpected monkey wrench into his plans just before the final bell rings.

“So I gotta be there early for warm ups, but my mom will pick you up around six, okay?” he tells Peter as they pack up their book bags.

Peter frowns, confused. “...Pick me up?”

Ned tilts his head. “Unless May can give you a ride after all? But I thought you said she was working tonight, right?”

All of a sudden it clicks—tonight is Ned’s first band concert. He’d taken up percussion a few months back in an effort to beef up his extracurriculars for his college applications. Peter agreed to go to the performance weeks ago.

“Oh right right right,” Peter quickly covers. “Six is great. I’ll see her then!”

Ned beams. “Awesome! My sister and her boyfriend are coming too, so we might go out to celebrate afterwards!”

“Yeah, awesome!” Peter agrees, forcing a grin. “That should be really fun.”

(Oh yeah, he’s screwed.)

X

The concert was cool. Ned hit that triangle with all the required enthusiasm whenever his parts came up, and Peter flashed him loads of encouraging thumbs-ups from the audience. When it was over, they all went out to Denny’s for some mediocre late-night pancakes and the usual Leeds family banter. All in all, a pretty fun night.

When Peter gets home a little after ten, he opens his Spanish doc in one tab and promptly falls into a YouTube hole in another while looking for background music. He’s still grinning when he closes out of his fifth vine compilation video in a row until he checks the time a second later and the grin dissolves. It’s 12:03 a.m.

Oops.

Study hall Wednesday morning will be his saving grace, he’s sure.

X

So, of course, a fight has to break out right outside of the library.

It’s not too bad—the two instigating students are hauled away by security with a couple bloody noses and black eyes, and a few other kids are taken down to the office for questioning. Peter was far enough removed from the action that he doesn’t have to come along, but the whole debacle eats up all but the last ten minutes of the period so when the bell finally rings, he’s got precisely five words written down:

Hola, me llamo Peter Parker.

(Suddenly all those jokes about faking his own death are starting to sound a lot more appealing.)

Or if not my death, he thinks as he trudges down the hall in the direction of his Spanish classroom, cold dread pooling in his gut, then at least…

He stops walking, glancing sideways into the brightly lit office just off the hall. The elderly nurse is sitting at her desk, glasses half-way down her nose as she reads a paperback novel with the picture of a Christmasy log cabin on the cover.

No. He can’t. He doesn’t lie.

...Unless…

No. May’s at work. She’d have to leave early to come and pick him up.

Okay, but it’s not like you do this often, his brain counters. Hell, you came to school with a concussion and two cracked ribs last month and didn’t say a word about it. May can take one for the team just this once.

Peter slips into the bathroom across the hall and waits there until the bell rings to signal the end of passing period, and then an additional five minutes on top of that to add some credibility to his act. He splashes a bit of cold water on his forehead and around his neck, and then works himself up with some heavy breathing before exiting the bathroom.

Folding his arms over his stomach, Peter moves shakily across the hall back toward the nurse’s office, making an effort to look as unwell as possible. A passing student eyes him suspiciously and gives him a wide berth, so he figures he must be doing something right.

Steeling himself with a shuddery breath, he steps into the office.

“Hall pass?” the nurse asks without looking up from her book.

“Um, no, I don’t have one, uh…” Peter’s heart is fluttering in his chest. “I just… I’m not feeling good.”

Eyes still on the page, the nurse silently taps a finger to a sign on the wall just behind her desk which reads: PASSES REQUIRED FOR ALL STUDENTS.

Peter swallows hard. C’mon, Parker—commit. “Right, but, uh, I came from the bathroom.” He hugs himself a little tighter and looks down. “My stomach really hurts. I was throwing up and, uh… stuff,” he concludes, deciding that in this case, less is more.

The nurse’s expression softens. She lowers her novel and gets to her feet with a small sigh. “Well, there is a bug going around,” she concedes, gesturing for him to sit down on the cot in the back of her office.

Peter keeps his responses vague when she requests more specific information on his symptoms, mostly offering shrugs or short, mumbled answers. She checks his temperature and seems slightly suspicious at his lack of fever, but he makes up for it by getting up suddenly and darting into the nurse’s bathroom.

When he emerges—exactly seven minutes and two new levels of Candy Crush later—Peter makes sure to keep his eyes averted from the nurse’s gaze and his movements slow and a little unsteady, one hand hovering over his stomach. She gives him a bottle of Gatorade and a couple of crackers and tells him to lie down until May comes to pick him up.

“I got ahold of her,” the nurse informs, sounding more sympathetic now. She slides a small garbage bin beside the cot. “She says she’s just finishing something up at work and then she’ll be right over.”

“Thank you,” Peter mutters tiredly. He doesn’t even have to act for that part—between the stress of his upcoming finals and his last couple of late nights, he really is exhausted and he has a bit of a headache. It makes him feel just the slightest bit better about pulling May away from her shift that there’s at least something physically wrong with him, even if it isn’t what he’s claiming.

Under the thin fleece blanket the nurse gives him, Peter manages to drift off to sleep.

X

But it turns out, today is just really not his day.

“No fever yet, but sometimes with these kinds of bugs that doesn’t come until later,” Peter overhears the nurse explaining in a low voice. He’s lying curled up on the cot, face toward the wall. “If that happens, just remember that he needs to be fever-free for 24 hours before returning to school.”

“Oh, I have a feeling that won’t be a problem,” a familiar voice that definitely does not belong to Aunt May replies.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s eyes snap open fully and he sits up in a hurry.

Tony and the nurse are standing together beside her desk, chatting quietly. Tony turns to look at Peter, face straight but eyebrows raised in amusement. “Oh would you look at that—he lives,” he remarks. “Feeling any better, Pete?”

Immediately, Peter wraps an arm around his stomach and does his best to look ill. “Uh, no, not really... but, um wh-what are you doing here?”

“The hospital is a little short-staffed today and your aunt was having trouble finding someone to cover her shift,” Tony explains, keeping his expression perfectly neutral. “She called to ask if I minded picking you up. You know”—his eyes narrow—“since you’re so sick.”

(Peter gulps. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he’ll be sick after all.)

“So of course, I told her I would,” Tony goes on. “I mean, if you’re feeling this bad, we could hardly just leave you here...”

Peter has to force himself to meet Tony’s gaze. “Right. Um, thank you. That’s super nice of you.”

“Well, you know me, Tony Super-Nice Stark,” his mentor says with a small chuckle as he steps closer to the bed.

“Now, with stomach bugs, the biggest concern is going to be dehydration,” the nurse continues. “So you’re going to want to push fluids, especially if he’s having di—”

“Fluids, got it,” Peter cuts her off, feeling his cheeks heat up. He gets to his feet and starts moving toward the door, but Tony halts him by grabbing his arm.

“Hey, hey, slow down, kid,” Tony tuts at him. “You were just looking like you might pass out a minute ago.” He presses his palm to Peter’s forehead and glances over to the nurse, eyebrows pinched together in the semblance of concern. “He’s kinda flushed, right? Maybe we should check his temperature again.”

“It’s fine,” Peter mutters, barely managing to suppress an eye-roll. “I think I just need to go home and sleep.”

“Sleep is probably the best thing for him,” the nurse agrees, nodding. “But going back to dehydration, if at any point it’s been more than five hours since he’s last urinated—”

“Mr. Stark, c’mon…” Peter whines quietly, nudging the man toward the door.

Tony holds up a finger to shush him—there’s a twinkle in his eyes that’s honestly driving Peter mad. “Hang on, kiddo. This is all very important information. In fact”—he pulls out his phone and opens the notes app—“let me just write this down. So you said if he hasn’t peed in five hours…?”

The nurse goes on to happily share her wealth of knowledge regarding stomach viruses with his mentor. Tony nods along to her advice, looking genuinely interested the entire time, occasionally interrupting to ask pertinent questions. Meanwhile, Peter just stands there, quietly dying a little inside.

Finally, she concludes her little spiel and Tony thanks her politely, then asks, “You wouldn’t happen to have a bin or bag or something we could take with us, would you? I just got the car detailed recently—hate for that to go to waste.”

Peter lets out another low groan. “Mr. Stark…”

“Ah, I have just the thing!” the nurse says. She bustles over behind her desk and produces a plastic sand pail with assorted Paw Patrol characters on it. “I get these from the dollar store,” she informs. “They don’t look like they hold too much but you’d be surprised!”

Tony grins. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much, Alice.” Looking to Peter, he asks, “Need the bathroom before we leave?”

Rolling his eyes at his mentor, Peter takes the bucket from the nurse with a muttered “thanks” and strides directly out the door.

X

Tony doesn’t say anything for the entire walk to the car, but Peter’s mind is happy to fill the silence with dread and anxious thoughts as he imagines all the various ways his mentor might chew him out about this. Stupid Spanish presentation—he should have just winged it after all.

The moment that both he and Tony are seated in the vehicle and the car doors are shut behind them, Peter sets the bucket down on the floor and covers his face with a groan.

“Alright, let’s get it over with,” he mutters into his hands. “Lay it on me.”

“Just to clarify,” Tony begins, sounding a bit more serious. “You’re not actually sick, right? This was just to get out of your presentation?”

“Yeah, I dunno...” Peter admits, feeling defeated. “I was planning to work on it—I swear. Just, well, there was all this stuff due for my other classes, and then the snowstorm, and all these commitments just kept coming up, and I just kinda... ran out of time. Figured if I got sent home I could buy myself an extra day or two.” He sighs deeply, lowering his hands to look up at his mentor. “Are you gonna tell May?”

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “Honestly? I think you’ve suffered enough.”

Peter blinks at him, surprised. “Wait, seriously?”

“You listened to a school nurse describe the BRAT diet for three whole minutes,” Tony says with a snort. “I don’t think any lecture May or I could give would top that.”

“God,” Peter groans, running a hand over his face. “If I hear the word ‘binding’ used one more time…”

“But,” Tony says, holding up a stern finger as he starts the car. “As soon as we get back to your place, we’re finishing up that presentation in time for your miraculous recovery tomorrow, got it?”

“We?” Peter raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you even speak Spanish?”

Tony waves a hand dismissively. “I know French and Italian—close enough. More importantly, I am fluent in the language of bullshit, kid. I once convinced an entire board of investors that not adding a clock feature to the new Starkphone prototype was a philosophical statement about the ‘futility of time as a construct’ rather than an embarrassing oversight caused by deadline crunches, no sleep, and more caffeine flowing through my veins than red blood cells.”

“And how did that go?” Peter asks.

“Sold twelve thousand shares that day. And I got to meet the Dalai Lama.”

Peter just snorts.

“Oh, and there was this other time,” Tony goes on wryly, “when I helped my intern play hooky to get out of a school presentation by convincing the nurse he had the shits.”

Peter leans back against the seat with a heavy sigh. “I’m never doing this again, Mr. Stark,” he mumbles.

X

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