#i am looking at you two over my glasses judgmentally but smugly also

[triptychofvoids]

hello to the two users that have been spam liking and reblogging my posts these past few days. you know who you are. smiles

[waitimcomingtoo]

Plank All Over Me - Spill Your Guts Or Fill Your Guts Edition

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist

Plank All Over Me Masterlist

“Welcome back to Spill Your Guts Or Fill Your Guts.” James Cordan said to the camera. “I’m here with Tom and Y/n Holland.”

“Oh my God.” Tom looked at you with wide eyes as you both thought the same thing.

“He introduced us.” You realized. “We can’t do our bit.”

“You’re my wife now, darling. You get to do anything you want.” Tom stated at he looked at James. “James, we’re actually Dave and James Franco.”

“Who’s who?” James humored you, well aware of the way you and Tom acted in interviews.

“I’m clearly the James.” You mumbled as you smoothed your dress.

“Dave is more attractive.” Tom shrugged sassily and you made a face at him.

“Can we start the game?” James playfully interrupted and you and Tom sat up straight.

“Yes, sorry.” You nodded as James began to explain the rules of the game. You’d seen the bit enough times to know how to play, so you tuned James out a little. You didn’t mean to, you just had a lot on your mind lately. There was something you needed to tell Tom and you hadn’t found the right way to do it yet.

“The first question is for Y/n and since I love her so much I’m going to give her the hot sauce.” James smiled wickedly as he got the hot sauce in front of you.

“Mmm.” You said sarcastically and grimaced at the camera.

“Who got the drunkest at your wedding?” James read off the card before looking at you. You pursed your lips as you thought about the answer before chuckling.

“Probably Tom.” You laughed as you pointed at your husband who was sat across the table from you. His face lit up with laughter as he folded his arms.

“Yeah, I was gonna say. Ryan Reynolds and I had a drinking competition that I definitely won.” He said smugly, making the audience cheer.

“I never imagined I’d be standing by Blake Lively’s side on my wedding day, screaming “CHUG” at my husband, but I’m glad it happened. You made me proud.” You said to Tom with a fond pout on your face.

“Aw.” Tom held his hand over his heart as you stared at each other lovingly.

“Gross.” James deadpanned, making the two of you laugh.

“Next question is for Tom and I am going to give you the cockroaches.” You said as you spun the table. “Love you, honey.”

“It’s looking at me.” Tom gagged as he picked up a cockroach and quickly dropped it back in the little glass bowl.

“How dare that slutty, dead cockroach stare at you.” You joked. “Tell it you’re married.”

“I swear, you two are the strangest couple I had ever sat with.” James shook his head as he laughed.

“We get that a lot.” You and Tom said in unison.

“Okay, Tom, who is the most unprofessional Avenger on set?” You read off your card before setting it back on the table.

“Ooo. That’s a tough one since they’re all so badly behaved.” Tom clicked his tongue and the audience laughed gleefully.

“No, I’m joking.” He smiled at the reaction. “I’m gonna go with Evans because he’s pretty much a ten year old. Like, he carries around one of those tiny skateboards - what are they called?”

“Tech Decks.” You told him.

“Yeah. He carried around a Tech Deck and runs it over everyone’s arms when we’re blocking scenes.” Tom explained as he did the motion of the mini skateboard on the table.

“I have also seen him covered in Cheeto dust countless times.” You added. “He will straight up come to set with orange fingers. He is the opposite of Captain America.”

“I hate that. We call them Wotsitz in England and it makes me cringe.” Tom shuddered as he moved the table. “James, I’m gonna give you the bird saliva.”

“It looks warm.” James commented as he picked it up to examine it. “That’s so unsettling.”

“Ick.” Tom grimaced and picked up a card. “James, which guest would you not invite back to the show?”

The audience reacted accordingly and you raised your eyebrows at the host.

“I can’t answer that.” James held his hand over his mouth as he stared at the bird saliva in front of him.

“Then why do you get asked that in every installment of Spill Your Guts Or Fill Your Guts?” You asked bluntly, making the audience laugh.

“That’s an excellent question and I’m going to think about it while I drink this bird saliva.” James looked you right in the eyes as he took a sip from the small glass. You cringed when he swallowed it and immediately went to take a sip of water.

“Ew. Is it thick?” You wondered as he coughed into his elbow.

“You don’t want to know.” James said hoarsely, shaking his head.

“Do I go now?” Tom asked, already forgetting the order of turns.

“Yes, you pick for Y/n.” James told him as he wiped his mouth.

“Okay.” Tom smiled deviantly and spun the table. “I’m gonna give you the turkey testicles because I know how much you love-“

“Tom.” You cut him off with a stern look.

“Turkey burgers.” He finished his sentence. “She loves turkey burgers.”

You squinted your eyes at him as he laughed devilishly.

“I’m about to walk out.” You threatened him once your fate was put in front of you.

“It’s not a true interview with us unless one of us threatens to leave.” Tom noted as he picked up his card. “Who do you think is the smallest Avenger?”

“Oh, definitely Mackie.” You answered confidently, relieved you didn’t have to eat the “food” in front of you.

“But he’s taller than me.” Tom tilted his head in confusion and your eyes widened.

“Oh you meant height?” You asked, fully misunderstanding the original question. The audience erupted into laughter and you felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“WHAT?” James asked as he wiped tears from his eyes.

“I thought you were asking about something else.” You said sheepishly as you shrunk in your seat.

“This is CBS.” He reminded you and you have an apologetic grin.

“Next question.” You requested, wanted to move on from your lapse in judgment.

“This ones for Tom and I’m giving you the salmon smoothie.” James decided. “Tom, how much did you get paid for Spiderman: Far From Home?”

“Enough to put a 20 karat ring on Y/n’s finger.” Tom response was immediate and you lit up in delight. You held your hand up to your ear so the camera could see it.

“With matching earrings.” You said coyly before letting out a laugh, all while Tom watched you with a childlike grin.

“My turn. I’m gonna give you the tarantula. James.” You decided and picked up a card. “Who was your least favorite guest on Carpool Karaoke?”

You held the card to your chest as you looked at him expectantly, knowing he’d never answer it.

“I can’t answer that.” He shook his head. “I have an answer but I can’t say it.”

“When you met Lin Manuel Miranda, did he bite his lip?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Tom burst out laughing at you, knowing exactly what you were talking about.

“Oh my God. She’s obsessed with that one picture of the guy.” Tom explained.

“It’s so funny. EUHYYYHY WE WERE MARRIED THAT NIGHT.” You imitated the countless singing videos of Lin Manuel Miranda you’d seen on Tik Tok that left you in tears of laughter every night.

“I hear this everyday.” Tom told James as you laughed at yourself.

“I can’t. I can’t. Sorry Lin.” You giggled again before calming down.

“Lin was perfectly lovely and we would love to have him back.” James brought the conversation back to the question. “I have an answer but I just can’t say who it was.”

“Then you better put that spider in your mouth.” Tom nodded towards the spider.

“It’s easy. I do it all the time. Wink wink.” You gave the camera an over exaggerated wink.

“Oh My God. Every time.” Tom scolded you as you made yet another innuendo.

“It smells horrible.” James whined as he leaned down to sniff the tarantula.

“Well it’s a dead bug. Were you expecting Japanese Cherry Blossom?” You sassed him.

“Oh God. Here we go.” James plugged his nose and took a tiny bite of the spiders leg.

“How is it?” Tom wondered as he watched in disgust. “Is it crunchy?”

“It’s gooey.” James told him before wiping his face with his napkin.

“I could’ve told you that.” You shrugged, causing Tom to give you a stern look that told you to behave.

“Stop it.” He couldn’t contain his laughter. “Who’s turn is it?”

“It’s my turn to ask Y/n.” James said as he looked around the table for what hadn’t been used yet.

“Fire away.” You said casually despite the butterflies in your tummy over what he could possible ask you.

“Okay Y/n, I’m gonna give you the grasshoppers.” You bit your tongue between your teeth as James moved the table towards you.

“Delicious.” You grimaced as you poked around in the bowl of grasshoppers.

“Y/n, if you had to date one of Tom’s brothers to save his life, which would you pick?” James read off the card and the audience murmured with anticipation.

“How would I get into that situation?” You stalled your answer, knowing you’d have to pick between hurting Toms feelings or eating a bug.

“And how do I prevent her from getting into that situation?” Tom added, making you laugh. He was trying to keep his cool but you knew the question bothered him.

“You have to answer the question or get to eating. Come on now, before they hop away.” James joked, making the audience laugh. You stared into the bowl of grasshoppers and knew there was no way you could put it on your mouth without throwing up. You gulped and looked at your husband, giving him an apologetic pout before looking at James.

“I guess Sam.” You said weakly and quickly moved the grasshoppers away from you.

“Why Sam?” James asked, always trying to get the best response he could.

“That’s not the question.” You quipped as you taped the card with your fingernail.

“I want to know too.” Tom spoke up, making your stomach drop. You shrugged and folded your arms to look relaxed.

“He was the first one that came to mind and I don’t think you’d want me to sit here and go over the pro’s and con’s of dating all your brothers. Plus, he’s a great chef.” You answered, and to your surprise, Tom smiled.

“That’s true.” He nodded. “Good job, baby.”

“Thank you.” You blew him a playful kiss which he caught and then pretended to throw away to get a laugh. You shot him a look before returning your attention to the table.

“Stop it.” You warned. “Who’s turn is it?”

“It’s your turn, Mrs. Holland.” Tom said, always taking the opportunity to call you that.

“Okay. I’m gonna give you the bulls penis.” You said lovingly as you moved the table.

“You’re too kind, my love.” He teased as it landed in front of him.

“I know. It’s my gift since you always give me the-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Tom cut you off. “I don’t even want to know how it ends.”

“Fine. I won’t.” You gave the audience a pointed look and they laughed at your antics. You picked up your card and read the question, immediately laughing at what it asked. You were about to read the question when an idea popped into your head. Tom noticed the way your expression changed and sensed something was up.

“Oh no. I’m scared already.” He smiled nervously as you looked at the card again. Finally, you looked Tom in the eye and gave him a soft smile.

“Are you excited to be a father?” You asked the question that had been weighing on your mind ever since you took a pregnancy test in an airport bathroom two days ago. You wanted to break the news in a memorable way, and constantly being on planes or in cars made that difficult.

This show, however, made it easy.

Toms face melted from a playful smile to wide eyes at your question. The audience quieted down as everyone waited for Tom’s response.

“What?” He asked slowly, studying your face closely to see if you were joking.

“That’s what it says.” You put it simply, makes Toms face shift into a smile. James took the card fork where you had set it down, knowing damn well his writers hadn’t put that as a question, and read it.

“This card says “how big is it?”” James read off the card as he looked at you, making you chuckle slightly.

“I took a creative liberty.” You shrugged. Tom and James looked at each other, both thinking the other was up to something.

“Are you pregnant?” Tom leaned closer to you from across the table to ask.

“You don’t get to ask a question until you’ve chosen what food I have to eat.” You reminded him as you gestured to the table.

“Not to make this about me, but It’s also not your turn.” James threw in a joke as he watched the drama unfold.

“Cow tongue.” Tom said quickly and shifted the table so the cow tongue was in front of you. He looked up at you with all the hope in the world as you gagged at the tongue. “There. Are you really pregnant?”

“Oof.” You blew out a breath. “That’s a toughy.”

“That’s a toughy?” Tom asked in exasperation. You could see his leg bouncing under the table from anticipation but you wanted to drag it out just a little longer.

“Yeah. I mean, I really want to tell you, but this cow tongue also looks really good.” You teased him, making him let out a whine.

“She’s got a point, there.” James nodded, squeezing your hand under the table to congratulate you.

“No she doesn’t!” Tom exclaimed. “Baby? Are you actually pregnant?”

You knew Tom couldn’t take the suspense anymore and broke into a grin.

“Yes.” You told him. “I’m pregnant. We’re pregnant.”

“Really? We’re gonna have a baby?” Toms eyes welled with tears as he covered his mouth with both his hands. He’d been wanting to start a family for a while now but you hadn’t had any luck in conceiving.

Until now.

“Yeah, honey. We’re gonna have a baby.” You reached across the table and rubbed his hand with your thumb before pointing finger guns at the camera. “Keep watching to find out who the father is!”

The audience, who had been busy cheering at your news, switched to laughter.

“She’s kidding. It’s me.” Tom assured the audience.

“He’s kidding.” You insisted. “It’s Benedict!”

“Congratulations to the both of you.” James said sincerely. “I think that just about wraps this up this segment. My producer is going to be very happy with me for getting that information out of you without even asking.”

“You’re welcome.” You smiled at him as he leaned in to press a congratulatory kiss on your cheek. Tom finally broke out of his shocked state and got out of his chair, rushing to you and practically pulling you out of your seat to hug you. His hug was firm but gentle all at the same time, especially around your tummy. He pressed your face into his neck and you heard him sniffle, making you take his hand and put it on your tummy.

“We have about three minutes of commercial break. Excellent job guys.” James said as he got out of his seat. “That was definitely the best Spill Your Guts we’ve ever done. I might have to hire Y/n as a writer here.” He joked.

“Thanks for having us James. All three of us.” You said as you pulled away from Tom. Tom kept a protective hand on your tummy as you rubbed circles on his back.

“I can’t believe you’re pregnant. I’m so happy for you both. That’s beautiful.” James shook Toms hand to congratulate him as well.

“Well when you plank all over someone and don’t use a-

“That’s enough.” Tom cut you off but kept his smile on. “That’s enough for today.”

You leaned into him and took his hand, kissing the back of it as you all walked back towards the main stage.

“Can you believe we met planking on each other for a video and now we’re having a baby?” You asked him.

“I know.” He shook his head in pleasant shock. “We should name our baby BBC, since we met at BBC radio 1.

“You suggesting that tells me you don’t know the other meaning of BBC.” You laughed as you took a seat on James’s couch.

“What’s the other meaning?” Tom looked at you in confusion. You laughed gleefully and patted Toms cheek, always delighted by his innocence.

“Oh, Tom.” You sighed. “I’ll let you google that one.”

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[nickelkeep]

Text Me in the Morning

Pairing: Dean/Cas Rating: Teen and Up Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: none! Written For: Storytime! On Ao3

Dean stirred under the blanket. Something was wrong. He reached out to the other side of the bed, grumbling as he found it lacking a person. He reluctantly opened his eyes and looked at the empty spot. "Cas?" Dean lifted his head and looked around the room, slowly sitting up to get a better look at his bedroom. "Sunshine?"

He rubbed at his eyes, letting them readjust. He looked down at Cas' side of the bed and found a note lying on his pillow.

Dean- I'm needed in Heaven. I shouldn't be more than a day or two. I'll see you soon. -Cas

Dean frowned. He had hoped for the sake of whatever angel summoned Cas, that the issue was crucial. It had been weeks since Cas and Dean had started sharing a bed. That had moved to sharing soft touches. And one fateful night after a bad nightmare, the dam between them had finally broken.

Now that he had finally gotten used to it, waking up without Cas next to him felt almost like the bad dream that brought them together.

Dean climbed out of bed and grabbed his robe. If it was going to be a miserable morning, the least he could do was get his coffee fix and try and make the best of it.

Sam was standing at the counter as he entered the kitchen, throwing impossibly green things into the blender. He stopped when Dean started the coffee machine and looked over, a smirk on his face. "Morning, Dean."

"Nothing good about waking up ass-crack of dawn early. You're a freak of nature." Dean watched the wince on Sam's face. "Sorry. Just need my caffeine."

"And it has nothing to do with Cas leaving this morning?" Sam turned on the blender to keep Dean from answering. He pulsed it several times, stopping long enough for Dean to start to answer before turning it back on again. "Sorry about that. Just needed to make sure this is all mixed." He grabbed a cup and poured the puke green mixture into it before taking a sip. "So, Cas left this morning?"

"Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to, Bitch?" The coffee finished percolating, and Dean poured himself a mug. "Something about angel business."

Sam chugged some of his drink. "Interesting. And how would you know that, Jerk? Cause you were still asleep when he left. He walked out with me when I went on my run."

"Your point?"

"We ran into each other as he exited your room." Sam smiled smugly into his cup.

"He left a note on my bed," Dean responded quickly.

"You're so full of shit. Cas left in a pair of your pajama bottoms." Sam set the cup down and poured the rest of the blender's contents into it. "It's also not the first morning I saw him snuck out. I'm sure it's not going to be the last time, is it?"

Dean glared at Sam. "Get to your point."

"So you and Cas... Are you together?" Sam grabbed one of his cardboard granola bars before crossing to the table and sitting down. "No judgment if you are."

"Uh... It's complicated." Dean scratched the back of his neck. "I uh, had a really bad nightmare. He overheard it and woke my ass up." Dean watched Sam carefully. "He offered to keep an eye me, to help me fall back to sleep.” He looked away, hoping that he wasn’t blushing. “It was the best I ever slept. Cas noticed and offered to spend more nights with me. He figured I’d be in better condition that way."

Sam sat at the table quietly, waiting for Dean to continue.

"It moved on from there. Now we occasionally blow off some steam." Dean took a moment to watch several expressions run across his brother’s face. Excitement. Joy. Confusion. And now Classic Bitch Face #127. "What?"

"Just blowing off steam?" Sam glared at Dean. "So, you haven't been honest with him, or you haven't been honest with yourself?"

"Excuse me?" Dean set his mug on the table and crossed his arms, staring at Sam.

"It means that you're in love with Cas, and won't admit. Figures my brother is a coward."

Dean jabbed his finger in Sam's direction. "You... You don't know what you're talking about." He turned and started to storm off, stopping only to backtrack and grab his coffee, before retreating to his room.

...

Sam sat quietly in the peace of the library. Between texting with Eileen, researching a possible hunt, and maybe playing an occasional game on his phone, the morning’s events ended up pushed to the back of his mind. As he finished sending off a response to Eileen, Dean came barging into the library.

"Sam. Did you say something?" Dean slammed his hands on the table in front of him. "What the hell did you do?"

"Me? What are you talking about? I've been in here since,” He picked up his phone and looked at the time. “Since breakfast." Sam rested his chin on his hands. "Is Cas back?"

"YOU DID CALL HIM!"

"First and foremost, Dean. Cas went to do Angel stuff. He can't get phone calls in Heaven, so why would I even attempt to call him?" Sam paused and tilted his head. "Second, I'm not going to pester him about your insecurities."

"Then what the hell is this?" Dean pulled out his phone and slammed it down on the table, flinching slightly and picking it back up to check the screen. "I don't understand this."

Sam held up a finger before pointing at the chair that sat across from him. He stood up as Dean took the seat and crossed over to another table. Sam picked up two glasses and a decanter of whiskey before returning to his own chair. Popping the lid off, he poured a glass for Dean and one for himself. "What's wrong?"

"Cas uh... Cas, well..." Dean picked up his phone and unlocked it before sliding it across the table to Sam. "I am warning you. From brother to brother. Don't scroll up."

"Yeah, I'll take that to heart." Sam picked up the phone and read the screen that Dean had presented him.

[Dean, 9:31 AM]: I forgot how big my bed is.

[Cas, 10:00 AM]: Why is that?

[Dean, 10:01 AM]: I haven't woken up alone in a few weeks now. [Dean, 10:03 AM]: It wasn't nice waking up without you.

[Cas, 10:15 AM]: I'm sorry to have made things uncomfortable for you.

[Dean, 10:17 AM]: Cas, Buddy. That's not what I meant. [Dean, 10:25 AM]: Seriously, dude. I mean, I like what we have going on. [Dean, 10:35 AM]: Cas?

[Cas, 10:37 AM]: You might enjoy what we have, but I'm afraid I don't. [Cas, 10:39 AM]: It's getting hard for me to maintain this casual relationship.

Sam looked up from the phone and smiled at his brother. "You're upset over this?" He reread the conversation and took a screenshot, texting it to himself. "There is nothing to be upset over here. This is a good thing!" Sam picked up his phone and sent the screenshot to Eileen, adding on, "Dean thinks Cas wants to leave."

"He doesn't want to keep the relationship, Sam. Cas says it right there." Dean pointed at his phone.

"What I see is you complaining that he let you sleep in so he could go do angel stuff, and then him saying that he wants more." Sam's phone went off, and he checked the text message from Eileen. She replied that she had come to the same conclusion. "Dude, even Eileen, who doesn't have the context I have..." He turned his phone so Dean could read it.

"You sent her a picture of my text with Cas?" Dean tossed back the rest of his whiskey and poured himself another. "What the actual hell?"

"Dean! I needed you to know that you're reading it wrong. And Eileen also sees what I see." Sam stopped and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. "Do you honestly think that Cas would want to stop what you two are doing completely?"

Dean nodded. "He's probably figured out that I'm not good for him. He's an angel for fuck's sake. They're not even supposed to... whatever it is he and I had."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam downed his own whiskey and leaned back in his chair. "I mean, he looks away when you look at him, and you look away when he looks at you, but let me tell you about the way you two stare at each other."

"Shut up."

Sam shook his head. "Not this time. I have literal proof on my phone, from yours, that Cas cares about you. You're the one that's not reading it correctly."

"I can read what's on my phone, Sam." Dean slides his phone up and down the screen. "Maintaining what we have is hard for him."

"Because he wants more!" Sam dragged his hand down his face. "I know you can't see what a good guy you are under the self-doubt that Dad piled on top of you, but Cas does. If anyone knows you better than me, it's Cas. He rebuilt you from the ground up. He knows you inside and out, heart, body, and soul."

Dean shook his head. "I still think you're wrong." He slid his phone into his pocket and finished off the second glass of whiskey. "Any milk runs nearby?"

"No. I'm still researching this one, but it might be one that's our kinda thing." Sam looked down at his notes, disappointed but understanding Dean's need to drop the conversation. "So, get this. A few abductions following a pattern, the bodies show up, but the locals aren't releasing any details. Probably thinking it's a serial killer and not wanting to spawn a copycat." He looked back up. "Dean?"

"Huh?" He looked up from his phone. "Cat Serial Killer. I'm listening."

"No, you're not." Sam set his pen down. "You’re distracted, afraid that you're going to lose Cas when he clearly wants more." Sam pointed at Dean, trying to make his voice as stern as possible. "Call him. Or I will."

"You wouldn't dare." Dean jabbed his finger at Sam before standing up and storming out of the library.

Sam picked his own phone up. "Bet me."

…

Dean flipped through Netflix on his laptop. Sam didn't want to get involved in his love life. He wouldn't do anything. Right? Dean slammed the lid of his computer shut and set it on the nightstand. He let out a huff of frustration and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillows. Dean groaned, his frustration muffled by the softness surrounding his head.

"Hello, Dean."

"What?" Dean shot up, quickly scrambling to his knees and turning towards the foot of his bed. "Cas?"

"You were expecting somebody else?" Cas looked at the door. "I hadn't heard from you since your last text message. I was concerned.”

"You were waiting for one?" Dean grabbed his phone and looked over his texts. "The last one you sent was over five hours ago."

Cas nodded. "And it is still sitting, unanswered."

"Sorry, Cas." Dean looked up from his phone. "I just... I didn't realize you didn't like what we have. I thought maybe..."

"Maybe what?" Cas took off his trenchcoat and jacket, laying them on the back of a chair, as he crossed to the bed and sat down on his side. He bent over and untied his shoes, kicking them off to the corner of the room. "Dean?"

"I uh..." Dean shook his head. "You're getting undressed?"

"I'm getting comfortable. I made a point of getting done early so you wouldn't have to sleep alone." Cas repositioned himself on the bed, resting his back against the headboard. He patted the spot next to him. "Come talk to me?"

Dean crawled up the bed and sat next to Cas, mimicking his position.

"I know that my return is surprising you, especially considering that I said I would be gone for a day or two. But it seems like something else has caught you off guard.”

"Your text." Dean held up his phone again. "You said that you couldn't maintain our relationship. I thought you were ending this between us."

Cas chuckled. "I know Sam said you misunderstood, but I wasn't expecting this level of self-doubt."

"That fucker did call you!" Dean ran his hand down his face.

"And with good reason, it appears." Cas took Dean's hand and held it tightly. "Dean, do you know how much you mean to me?"

"Honestly? I'm not entirely sure at the moment." Dean holds up his hand. "I know we're friends, and I know that you care about me. I just don't know how much. It felt like I was disposable earlier."

"That was never my intent, Dean. I meant that I can't continue this as a casual relationship." Cas tugged on Dean's hand and pulled him into his arms. "I meant that I need you to know that I love you. That I don't want to be just a fling that hides in the bedroom, waiting until we know the hallway is clear."

Dean raises an eyebrow in confusion. "You talked to Sam this morning too."

"That may have been the case, yes." Cas ran his fingers through Dean's hair. "He wasn't exactly surprised to see me walk out of your room, and he may have cornered me."

"Goddammit, Sam," Dean grumbled quietly under his breath. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't feel pressured–"

"Dean." Cas placed a finger over Dean's lips, effectively stopping him from talking. "Sam merely asked why I was in your room. Then when I said I was leaving a note, he pointed out that I obviously forgot that I was wearing your pajama pants."

"He mentioned the same thing to me. And about walking outside together as he went for his walk." Dean leaned into Cas. "What did you tell him?"

Cas smiled, a rare show of affection from the angel, and Dean felt his face flush with warmth. "I told him what I just told you. I love you."

"Really?" Dean felt his jaw drop a second time. "You're not going to break up with me?

"I wouldn't dream of it." Cas pulled Dean closer, claiming his lips as he pulled Dean into his lap.

…

The next morning, Sam stopped in front of Dean's door. He knew that he might have crossed a line, pushing Dean to confessions and admissions he may not have been ready to share. Sam adjusted the tray he carried, careful to make sure the coffee or cereal spilled out of their respectful vessels. He knocked on the door, waiting to hear Dean yell at him or shuffle across the room. Hell, Sam half expected the sound of a boot hitting the door, followed by profanities.

After waiting a moment with no sound, Sam knocked again, a little louder. "Dean?"

He waited a few more minutes, slightly perturbed that there was no sound coming from the other side of the door. Sam tried the doorknob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. He turned it and pushed the door open as quietly as possible. As he entered the room, Sam nearly dropped the tray, scrambling to rebalance it.

In the bed, Dean looked like he was fast asleep. It was - without a doubt - the most peaceful sleep he had ever seen his brother enjoy.

Yet it was Cas, cuddling Dean, holding him tightly, that surprised Sam the most. He had thought that Dean would have found a way to sabotage himself, to chase Cas away. Sam walked in quietly and set the tray down on Dean's table. As he started towards the door, a voice behind him startled him.

"Here to say I told you so?" Dean yawned out, burrowing deeper into the blanket.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Dean." Sam pointed to Cas. "I'm just glad you listened to me and didn't push him away like I thought you would."

Dean waved his hand, shooing Sam out of the room. "I hear you loud and clear." He paused. "Thanks, Bitch."

Sam chuckled, exiting the room. "You're welcome, Jerk."

[tsipasce]

Same Difference, Ch.10

A/N: FYI, more violence with a spritz of character development~

Chapters: 01  |  02 |  03 |  04 | 05  | 06 | 07 | 08 |  09

AO3 | Fanfic

A month had passed since Nanami began training with Rappa. Though she regularly checked her eardrums to make sure they hadn’t ruptured from his teaching style, aka yelling 24/7, she was already seeing the benefits. Thanks to his recommendation to add some more proteins and healthy fats to her diet, she noticed her muscles were more toned. And thanks to his “be ready for a fight at all times” attitude, she noticed her reflexes had improved. It was an effective way of teaching as it carried over to her life outside of the gym, much to the disappointment of Dr.Tanaka who was notorious for his practical jokes and jump scares around the hospital.

“It’s no fair, you’re always so ~*cool and reserved *~ now. How am I supposed to get in my midday pick-me-up pranks in now?” Tanaka whined as they sat in the café for their coffee date.

“Oh, so I’m cool now? Besides, if you need a mental break, just lock your office door and hide under your desk like the rest of us functioning adults.” She replied, casually sipping her drink while checking her phone.

“You kids nowadays, always so depressing. What’s got you so zoned into your phone anyways?”

“One, you’re literally only 5 years older than me. And two, you wouldn’t get it, old man.”

Tanaka gasped dramatically clutching at an imaginary dagger in his heart. “You wound me—oh thank you!” he responded as the barista brought his drink over, cutting off what Nanami was sure would have been a Shakespearean performance. “Anyway, so how’re your classes going? You look like you’re getting shredded already.”

“Oh please, it’s only been a month or so. But to answer your question… it’s been awesome! Super tiring, but awesome, nonetheless. I feel… more secure.” The conversation was meant to be light, but the last part came out more sincere and thoughtful than she intended.

From across the table, Tanaka could see a far-off look in her eyes as she gazed out the window for a beat, fiddling with the crow keychain on her phone. He knew there was something more going on that she wasn’t telling him since her fiasco at the construction site but also knew better than to pry. From her residency until now, Nanami proved she could handle herself and he trusted that if she wasn’t saying anything, it was probably for good reason. However, it did little to alleviate his worry.

Looking back across the table, Nanami could see her friend deep in thought. Tanaka was a goofball, but he knew when something was off and when to get serious. Though she was protecting him, Hitomi, and everyone else close to her by lying, the guilt persisted. Now realizing they were staring at each other, they shared a moment of realization and then a snicker, and a laugh. A knowing smile crept across their faces, Nanami patting Tanaka’s hand.

“You’re a real bro, you know that?”

“Always.” He smiled warmly as his beeper went off, “Oop, duty calls. We’re still on for dinner next week though, right?”

“Oh yeah, let me write it down before I forget. I’ll meet you at the restaurant, sound good?”

“You bet, I’ll see you later—be safe getting home, ok?”

“Of course,” She smiled, nodding. Nothing was said directly, but she knew what he meant. He left the café, Nanami now enjoying her mocha and treats at last.

Looking back at her burner phone for what felt like the millionth time today, there were still no further messages. It had been a week and a half since she’d seen Overhaul. It was Sunday night when her phone vibrated, the text simply reading “Out on business. Be back in 2 weeks.” The follow-up text coming a minute later, “Don’t burn the place down.” Looking back at them she found herself almost sad she wouldn’t be seeing him for a bit before slapping herself back to reality. I am not sad, I do not miss him. I am elated to have a break from that moody asshole.

As she cursed into her cup, a crow perched itself on the windowsill by her table. It pecked at the glass, cawing, interrupting what would have been a peaceful break. Nanami leered, irked at the timing. Tch. Still better company. She mused, comparing the two birdbrains. She smiled smugly as an idea popped into her head that she was just bored enough to entertain. Pulling up the camera app, she snapped a picture of the winged nuisance, sending it with the caption “Found your replacement.” After a quick chuckle to herself, a sense of panic came over her as she realized what she’d done. That was definitely too casual. He’s probably carrying out a hit or something and you sent a dumb picture of a bird? Why am I such a cornball? She bemoaned inwardly as she hurriedly locked the phone, laying it face down on the table like the bad decision would go away if she simply ignored it. He probably won’t even reply anyway… He’ll just give me a judgmental look when he gets back and never speak of it again…First order of business is finding a rock to crawl under.

Just before she facepalmed herself into oblivion, the phone vibrated. Her eyes shot wide as she stared at the offending object, knowing she’d have to pick it up at some point. Clearing her throat, she worked up the courage to turn over the phone, the text reading, “Same here.” with an attachment. She opened it up, choking on her drink when she saw a picture of a dumpster.

Yup, I walked right into that one. She thought, shedding a single tear inwardly, having only the strength to send a sad face emoji.

“Busy now. See you Monday.”

Sighing in defeat, Nanami gathered her things, hoping whatever had him so busy would make him forget her blunder.

  ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was now Thursday evening and Nanami was in her workout gear, walking briskly towards the training room. Hearing Rappa completing his usual sets, she knew it was time to put her game face on. They’d been sparring twice a week after each session, but beforehand, he had her doing a myriad of drills and weightlifting. As she approached the door cautiously, she heard his voice booming, “DON’T JUST SIT OUTSIDE, GET IN HERE AND ON THIS BENCH.”

“Yes sir!” She piped, knowing he was officially in drill sergeant mode.

Dropping her bags and plopping in her earplugs, she headed over to the benches, completing her sets as Rappa counted aloud each repetition while throwing motivational insults in the mix. She knew the words “Get to it you sad sack of bones” and “you wreak of failure” had to be on a Ballmark card somewhere.

Finishing out her final squatting reps with a grunt, she wracked the bar, breathing heavily. Just as she was fantasizing about the water bottle in her bag, she heard him yell “NO BREAKS YET, MAGGOT” as he swung at her. She barely had time to dodge, but a week ago it would have grazed her and two weeks ago it would have had her doubling over as it made full contact. Without a second thought, she had her guard up and she was in the proper stance to launch a counterattack. They traded blows, Nanami landing 5 for every 10 of his. She’d made great strides, but becoming a master fighter in a matter of weeks just wasn’t realistic, quirk or not.

This continued for an hour, Nanami only taking a break to heal her injuries. Though it wasn’t the main goal, she’d cut her healing time in half, but it came at the price of pain. Having to repeat this over and over on small parts of her body, she could see how it would be slightly maddening to perform it on a large scale over the course of a lifetime. Interrupting her thoughts, Rappa landed another punch to her gut before tossing her across the room. Her recovery was better than the first time, but it still hurt like hell. She staggered, rushing to heal and counter him as he charged forward.

She was knocked down again and again, but refused to stay down. Today, she felt he was being particularly hard on her, but she wanted to rise to the occasion striking back every chance she got. Now feeling her stamina running low, she stumbled to her feet again, assuming her stance as she had the first time.  

“Why don’t you just use it?”

A bit dazed from the last blow, Nanami asked what he meant.

“Your quirk. Why aren’t you using it to defeat me?”

“What’s with this all the sudden?” She rasped, still out of breath, “I’ve been using it this whole time.” She defended, weakly gesturing to the pillars she’d created to help her maneuver around the arena.

“No. I mean on me. You could have ended this an hour ago… Is this a game to you?” He spoke gravely, sounding a tad annoyed.

“What? No, not at all. I ju—”

“NO EXCUSES. You think your opponent will care about your little hang-ups when it’s life or death?” He cut her off as he charged forward, barely missing her as the punch landed on the floor leaving a small crater. Her eyes widened at the realization that the punch would have split her in half.

“That could’ve killed me!”

“THAT’S THE POINT!”

The adrenaline began rushing through her veins as she felt the air in the room shift. Behind every blow there was killing intent. Confused as to why he was now hellbent on escalating the match, she managed to blurt out “W-why are you doing this?!” as she rolled to dodge another potentially fatal blow.

“YOU’RE MESSING AROUND. TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY AND STOP BEING A FUCKING COWARD!”

Still not understanding his anger, she continued to try and dodge like her life depended on it, because in that moment, it did.

“THERE’S NOTHING MORE DISRESPECTFUL THAN HOLDING BACK WHEN YOUR OPPONENT IS GIVING THEIR ALL. YOU’RE GONNA DIE RIGHT HERE IF YOU DON’T FIGHT ME LIKE YOU MEAN IT!”

She knew what he wanted her to do, but the fear of losing control was still there. In her moment of doubt, he landed a blow that sent her flying into one of her pillars. She heard a sickening snap as her leg bashed into the corner of the structure, undoubtedly shattering her femur. The pain was more than she expected, and she cried out bitterly for a moment before stifling it once again as blood welled up into her mouth from the previous blows. Spitting lazily, she saw him stalking towards her as he continued to speak, “Do you think someone in a real match is going to use restraint and wait for you to have your little breakthrough? Plenty of weaklings would kill to have a quirk like yours, but here you are wasting it. Makes me sick.” He spat, as he bent down to hold her up by the neck and she thrashed in vain to break free. “I dunno who I saw during that trial, but you sure as hell aren’t her. Let me end this pathetic existence for ya,” he said squeezing tighter.

Suddenly, the fear turned into anger and a calm rage came over her as she stopped thrashing and used her right hand to grasp firmly on his wrist. “You don’t know shit about me, but you’re about to fuck around and find out.” Taking as deep a breath as she could while still in his chokehold, Nanami focused on his anatomy, surveying every cell, every blood vessel, and every hair. In the next instant, she dropped to the floor as red coated the arena. Looking up, a moment of pure terror took over her being as the flashbacks to the first time she’d done this took over. Hyperventilating, a million thoughts raced through her mind. Just as she was felt she was drowning, she felt two hands grabbing her shoulders, squeezing firmly giving her a gentle shake before letting go. It may have been part of the episode or her brain trying to regain control, but it was enough to bring her back to earth long enough to calm down.

After a few, centering breaths, she managed to recompose herself, taking stock of the situation. Rappa was now all over the room, literally coating it. No. No more panicking. You have to focus before it’s too late to put him back. Remember the structure. Remember the shape. She repeated to herself like a mantra before gaining a clear picture in her mind of how to assemble him. Pressing her hands to the floor he was now embedded in, the pieces of him came rushing back, snapping back into shape before her eyes.

He took a sharp inhale, staring at his hands in almost disbelief that he was real. She watched him closely, hoping she hadn’t forgotten any pieces of him. He stared in her direction for a beat and she wondered if “he” was still in there or if she’d brought back some empty husk. Her question was soon answered.

“TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH! I THOUGHT I WAS A GONER, BUT YOU DID A BANG-UP JOB!” He boomed.

“I…I almost had a mental break and you’re critiquing me on my timing?? You almost killed me!”

“Yup, but you got me first. Good job today.” He reassured her, now serious.

Still reeling, all she could manage was a weak, “Thanks.”

He closed the distance between them, extending a hand in front of her. They clasped forearms as he pulled her up and she quickly remembered she hadn’t fully healed since the last couple blows. Leaning on him a bit she recovered, hoping to never have to fix injuries like them again, at least on herself. They walked over to the seats lining the walls and sat down, both recovering from the mini trauma session.

“Hey doc,”

“Yeah?”

“What made you wanna train?”

She flinched reflexively, posting up before he reassured her it wasn’t the pretext to another barrage of attacks. “Well… to get stronger, obviously. Why do you ask all the sudden? Never figured you one for deep conversation.” She remarked, taking a swig from her water bottle.

“Just curious. You and the boss got the same quirk. I think man-to-ma—or person-to-person combat is the greatest thing in the world, but you don’t have to go through all this. Most people with quirks as powerful as yours just kinda coast off that.”

She thought for a moment, reflecting to give an honest answer,” I want to be more than this.” She said, studying at her hand, outstretched in front of her. “A lot of people become reliant on their quirks--  and I did the opposite-- but in a way it’s just a different side of the same messed-up coin. I still let it define me. I just want to be capable, quirk or not… Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, I think it does.” He said giving her a firm pat on the back, “Go get some rest, doc. “

He rose, leaving the room and Nanami alone with her thoughts. Thinking back to what grounded her earlier, she remembered a detail and quickly shook it off. He’s not even here. I really need to go home and sleep this off. And promptly call my therapist…

As she grabbed her things to go, she was so focused, she hadn’t noticed the familiar figure in the room. Clearing his throat to get her attention, she nearly jumped out of her skin. So much for the awareness training...

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He raised his brow at the obvious question.

“Well, not like that. I mean of course you’d be here; I just mean... like what are you doing here now?” she managed to get out. Why the hell am I nervous?

“I finished my business early, decided to see how you’d progressed.”

“Oh, ok. So… you saw all that, huh?” she cautioned a glance, more than a little embarrassed.

“Most of it.”

“…Any thoughts?”

He paused, before answering,” Rappa was correct. Your hesitation will get you killed. Don’t make the same mistake again, I might not be there the next time.”

She nodded, walking past him towards the door before taking a moment to register what he’d said, “Hey, by the way… when I… disassembled him—I know this is a silly question—but did you… do anything?” she almost immediately regretted even asking.

“Like what?” His expression was blank.

Sighing to herself she decided it had to have been her brain throwing her a bone back there to save her from a mental break, “You know what? Nevermind. I’m just tired, must’ve been imagining things. See you later.”

As he watched her leave, he retrieved a clear bag with his bloodied shoes and gloves, glad he had returned earlier than planned. Replacing his subordinate would be an inconvenience, but replacing a partner would have been infinitely more difficult.

[exxar1]

Episode 6: My Resolutions

12/31/2020

Resolution.

It’s an interesting word. It denotes both “end” and “beginning”. On this, the last day of the year, I’m sitting in my parents’ living room, glass of iced tea close by, MacBook open in my lap, reflecting on 2020. But…I think we all have done enough reflecting of this dumpster fire of a year, so I’m just gonna skip that part. Let’s look ahead to 2021.

Seriously, though, as I’ve said in previous posts, 2020 was a year of monumental personal change for me. So, with that in mind, here’s my resolutions for 2021:

1.     I want to be a better Christian. There’s a lot packed into this resolution, but, basically, I want to have a better relationship with God. For the last few months I’ve been using work as an excuse for not having enough time each day to do personal devotions and prayer. And while I have been super busy with two full time jobs, I have had a few minutes here and there where I could have spent some time reading in the Bible app on my phone. I surfed social media instead. I also have had some time at the end of the day before bed when I could have done a devotional and some praying, but, again, I either surfed social media or watched a half hour of something on Hulu or Netflix.

So, for 2021, I am resolving to read my Bible more, pray more, and build up my relationship with my Lord and Savior. A month ago, on black Friday, I purchased a couple different study Bibles that were on sale for the app on my phone and iPad. One of them is a men’s study Bible that is designed and set up as a one year, daily devotional Bible. Each night, before bed, I will use that half hour to read and pray.

2.    In that same vein, I am resolving to join a church in 2021. I’ve been doing a little research of local churches online, and I found a Lutheran church here in Vegas that appears to be gay friendly while, at the same time, doctrinally sound. By that I mean that it appears to be close to the same doctrinal beliefs as the Baptist church that I grew up in. My religious beliefs/convictions are very much Baptist, with the exception of their view on homosexuality. However, I don’t want that to be the only criteria for my selection of a church, obviously. And this will be predicated on whether or not life as we know it goes completely back to normal this coming year. That means no statewide lockdowns and no mask and social distancing mandates. Soooooo…yeah, this might be one resolution that doesn’t get fulfilled until much later in the year, or maybe even in 2022. Ugh! (But still keeping my fingers crossed.)

Also, my secret hope is that by completing this resolution, I will also be well on the way to completing Resolution #5.

3.    I resolve to explore further the issue of homosexuality and Christianity. Due to my hectic work schedule I haven’t been able to devote anywhere near the time necessary to the study and research that this issue requires. But, in 2021, I will be devoting more time to this project. I’m thinking that the more time I devote to Resolution #1, I will also be making progress on this resolution. Stay tuned for updates on here…

4.    As part of Resolution #1, I am resolving to be more compassionate and understanding with everyone around me and those I meet in my daily life. For the last week or so, as I’ve been up in Idaho on vacation, I’ve had more time to think and reflect on this past year. Looking back through my posts on social media, especially on Facebook, I realized that I have been VERY judgmental of people – both on my friends list as well as the various politicians and leaders who have been involved in the many social and political issues that have plagued our nation in 2020. I allowed myself to get caught up in the political storm, and I did more than my fair share of yelling, screaming, and smug finger-pointing that I have often despised in others over the last few years.

One of my favorite albums by Amy Grant is her 1988 Lead Me On. If memory serves, I first bought that CD around 1990 or 91, and, as with everything else in her library since 1985’s Unguarded, I had the entire Lead Me On LP memorized by the end of junior high. Later, as an adult, when I burned or downloaded all her albums in iTunes, I would “dust off” those songs every once in awhile over the last couple decades, revisiting old, familiar lyrics and memories while commuting to work or at the gym. One of the songs on Lead Me On is called What About The Love. The narrator spends most of that track pointing a finger at others and judging them for not showing the love, compassion or mercy of Christ. Then, in the last verse, the narrator looks in the mirror and realizes that he/she has been guilty of the very sin that he/she has been judging others for committing.

That’s how I’ve been feeling for the last couple weeks. I have stood on my pedestal, looking down upon the world, judging and smugly condemning everyone around me on social media for being ignorant, or uninformed, or just downright stupid simply because they believed differently than I on this or that issue. I have shaken my fist at the sky, ranting and raving about COVID-19, the national election, BLM, and many of the other social and political issues that tossed and turned our nation inside out these last 9 months.

For 2021, I resolve to be less judgmental, less angry, and more compassionate and understanding. That doesn’t mean I’m going to no longer stand up for my beliefs or convictions, and I will continue to speak my mind, but I will not do as much angry yelling as I’ve done in 2020. One of the major changes for me, personally, in 2020 was that I woke up from my 20-year complacency. Before this year, I never cared much about who was sitting in the White House, or what laws congress passed. But now, I care very much about those things, and I believe it’s important now, more than ever, for ALL American citizens to care as well. For this coming year – and from now on – I promise to be less confrontational and judgmental in my social media posts. Instead, I’m going to be more professional, calmer and understanding while stating my opinion. I’m also going to pause and ask myself the following before posting something: is this just to poke the hornet’s nest, or do I honestly have something to say and/or contribute to this or that debate?

Along those same lines, I resolve to be more sympathetic and understanding with the people I meet in my daily life. One of my biggest weaknesses is my impatience and judgment of others, especially my customers. Nothing infuriates or exasperates me more than trying to help an elderly man/woman who has no idea how to go about accessing their bank statement online. Or when people ask what I consider to be dumb or redundant questions. Or people who insist on splitting up what should be a simple, 2-minute transaction into a 10-minute, 5-part transaction. Or people who –

You get the idea. For 2021, I resolve to stop silently cursing and judging those people. Instead, I will take a deep breath, smile, and be more sympathetic and understanding. I have always had to remind myself that not everyone is as adept as me at current technology, or maybe they don’t know as much about the products they’re purchasing as I do. I’ve been selling money for 8 ½ years now. I’ve used the same script for explaining a payday loan every day, multiple times a day, for 8 ½ years. I sometimes forget that new customers are not as versed as I am, and I need to be more patient and understanding with them.

I also need to be more kind and patient with my co-workers for the same reason, especially the new people. Another of my weaknesses has been my impatience with those to whom I’m tasked to teach new things. (This is the main reason I had to quit my job as a computer assistant at an elementary school in 2012. I made too many young children cry. Literally. I’m not kidding.) For 2021, I resolve to be more patient and understanding with my co-workers. I will keep my frustration and exasperation to myself. Instead, I will pause, take a breath, and try to see the situation from their point of view. There’s a meme I’ve seen a lot on Facebook recently that says something to the effect of, “Treat everyone you meet today with kindness and love. Everyone is going through something in their life, and you don’t know what it is. So be nice.” I promise to take that advice to heart every day from now on.

5.    I want to find a man. And not just any man. I have a specific set of criteria, both physical and characteristic, that I want in my future husband. To me, dating is no different than applying for a job. I have a position that I’m seeking to fill, and all prospective applicants need to meet a certain set of standards and qualifications. (And let’s be honest: is there really much of a difference between dates and job interviews? Other than the fact that some dates might end with sex?)

But, seriously, folks, I want someone to love. I’m honestly not sure why this has become such a hunger for me these last few months, but I’ve been longing for some time now to share my life with someone special. The funny thing is, I’ve never cared about this before. I was perfectly happy just doing my own thing, but, lately, I’ve had a very strong yearning for all that clichéd relationship crap, or, as I saw in a social media meme awhile back, “…that special someone you want to annoy for the rest of your life.”

I could write a whole blog post about this (and maybe I will at some point), but I think I’ve officially discovered the 10th circle of hell: online dating. I’m sure Dante wrote a whole ‘nother book about it, but his publisher at the time thought it too frightening for the 13th century common man, so it was left out of The Divine Comedy. I’m honestly not sure that anyone in real life has ever found their soul mate – or even a normal, well-adjusted person – on eHarmony, Tinder, Plenty of Fish, or Match.com. I’ve even resorted to using Facebook’s dating section, which I didn’t know about until a month ago when a co-worker mentioned it. So far, no luck. The main problem I have with most of the major dating apps out there is that you have to plunk down anywhere from $30 - $150 just to be able to respond to ads and/or private messages. I gave Tinder, POF, and Match.com a single month’s subscription trial, but I didn’t meet anyone worth more than a few words in DM, let alone anyone who came close to meeting even the basic of my standards and criteria.

I’m scared that my only chance for “true love” is to meet someone in real life, and that’s not good. I work for a payday loan company and Walmart. I can tell you with absolute assuredness that those meet-cutes in every stupid Hollywood rom-com NEVER happen in real life. Never! Ever! Never ever! And I dare any of you to challenge me on this. The customers and co-workers that I interact with every day are not eligible soul mates, and since I have never been anything close to a social butterfly (even before 2020 when anything social and extra-curricular was shut down), my chances of meeting that special guy face to face are pretty slim.

But, as part of Resolution #1, I’ve decided to put this resolution in the hands of God. If it is His will that I meet that special guy, He’ll find a way to bring him across my path. I just hope that I’ll be ready. In the meantime, I have decided to be patient and just live my life as normal. If the absolute craziness of 2020 has taught me anything, it’s patience. Life is unpredictable, and you never know what each day might bring.

So there they are: my New Year’s resolutions. I can tell you right now that I will fail at some point throughout the year with each one of these (except maybe #2). But the point of resolutions is to commit to the struggle, even – and especially – when we fail. I’ll keep you posted on here on my progress, and I hope this encourages all of you to commit to your own resolutions.

After all, a struggle – like fine wine – is best shared with friends.

[braedens]

you write a lot of married sterek and sterek with kids, do you think you could write something about divorced sterek? like a little angsty, but something cute?

this has been in my drafts for forever so i’m glad to finally kick myself to finish it!!! you can also read it here on ao3

“Stiles?”

Stiles is laughing, hard, something his coworkers said, a joke that probably wasn’t even that funny, but they’ve been up all day going to workshops and seminars, that they really needed to destress and grab a drink. They found the closest bar to the hotel.

He hears his name though, which causes him to stop laughing and look away from his friends, because he’s in Chicago, over 1,400 miles away from Beacon Hills, so he’s really concerned on how anyone here could know his name.

But he looks up, and his chest burns. Not because of the whiskey, no. It burns from the phantom feeling of the hands that used to graze it, rough and calloused, yet warm and comforting. His heart beats incredibly fast, but not like it used to when he’d see that face, full of excitement and enamor. It beats like it’s going to pull from his chest, a feeling he can only really associate with a panic attack.

“Derek?”

It’s a sunny day in Beacon Hills, and summer has been good to Stiles Stilinski. He saved enough money to fly home for the summer from George Washington to see his dad and his friends.

And of course, Derek.

Despite Stiles’ constant efforts to convince Derek to move DC with him, Derek stayed in Beacon Hills, living with Cora and owning a bookstore, which was more Cora’s idea than anyones. So Stiles cherishes times like this, where he can walk hand in hand with his boyfriend down the street, even if it’s only for a couple times a year.

“You know, we’ve never talked about what we’ll do when I graduate.” Stiles turns to Derek, squeezing his hand in his as they walk past some restaurants, towards the park.

“You still have another year before you graduate college.”

“Which means we only have a year to plan the rest of our lives together!”

Derek chuckles.

Stiles continues to egg him on, and they find a park bench to themselves, dog walkers and children on bikes pass them, but they fall comfortably against each other, hands still twined together in Derek’s lap.

“You’ll be working for the FBI when you graduate,” Derek says, as if this isn’t something Stiles brings up daily to him.

Stiles turns to him, his brows upturned. “Your point?”

“I don’t want to distract you, you know that.” Derek sighs.

“Hate to break it to you, big guy,” Stiles presses closer to Derek. “But that’s the whole point of relationships. You distract me constantly. That’s how it works.”

“You don’t distract me,” Derek says, a small smile tugging at his lips.

This time, both of Stiles’ brows raise. “Oh yeah? So you’re telling me the picture I sent you last month didn’t have you hiding in your office for an hour at the bookstore?” he smiles smugly. As much as Derek likes to act cool and collected, he can’t deny that after four years of dating, Stiles knows all his weak spots.

Derek’s ears grow rosy, and Stiles outright laughs. He doesn’t stop himself from leaning in and peppering kisses to Derek’s cheek and neck, and it makes his heart swell how Derek doesn’t even squirm away, just melts into it.

When Stiles deems his attack sufficient, he presses his chin to Derek’s shoulder, letting Derek rest his head against his as a cool breeze hits them.

“Promise me I won’t lose you?” Stiles whispers, his breath tickling Derek’s ear as his gaze falls to a little girl and her puppy in the grass in front of them. Because he’s always feared that, in the back of his head. That the time they spend apart will show them that they do best just like that; from a distance.

He feels Derek’s hand grow firm in his, a thumb sweeping on the back of his hand. It’s comforting, almost like Derek doesn’t have to say anything. But, Derek does say something, because if he’s known Stiles for this long, he knows words mean more than anything.

“You won’t lose me.”

“What are you doing here?” Stiles spits out immediately, and he doesn’t have time to assess if his tone was more scared than stern, but Derek is just standing there, behind the counter of the bar, a binder in his hand, and his eyes wide and mouth slightly open. And Stiles feels just as stunned as Derek looks. 

Derek blinks again, and has a look of realization that he’s actually living this moment. “I- I own this bar.”

“What?” Stiles asks, not even trying to hide the shock in his voice. 

It’s been two years since he’s seen that face. Which means Stiles and Derek hadn’t seen each other in three years. No visits, not calls, no texts. Not even a pass by. 

Derek looks… older. Not just by age. He looks exhausted, like he’s aging too fast. Which, makes no real sense considering he’s a werewolf. 

“Stiles, you didn’t tell us you were friends with the bar owner. No wonder you chose this place.”

He whisks his head around so goddamn fast. “Shut up, Ed!”

He turns back, and Derek is still standing there, and Stiles notices his jaw is clenched, like he’s gearing for battle. “I had no idea, really.”

“What are you doing in Chicago?” Derek asks, tucking the binder in his hand in a space under the shelf. 

“We’re here for a convention. For work,” he gestures to his friends, knowing it’s enough information for Derek to know it’s for the FBI. 

Derek just nods once at him, and Stiles really can’t figure out how they’re supposed to feel right now, in this moment, looking at Derek Hale. He’s about to ask Derek something, anything really. How have you been? Why are you here? Since when did you own a bar? But he doesn’t get the chance, because-

“Mario?” Derek calls, and a guy ringing up orders on the other end of the bar, look back. 

“Yeah, boss?”

“Put their tabs on my name, I’ll take care of them.” He gestures to Stiles’ and his coworkers. His eyes fall back to Stiles, who just blinks, still in a bit of shock. 

“Uh, you don’t have to d-” Stiles starts, but Derek raises his hand, and it shuts Stiles up. 

“Have a good night, Stiles.” is all he says, and before he walks away, Stiles swears he sees the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. A ghost of a smile that Derek used to brandish for him in their most private moments, when he needed it the most. 

Before Stiles can even say thank you, Derek is walking back into a small hallway, probably heading back to his office.

Stiles plops back down on his bar stool, silent, and the glass of whiskey in front of him looks like the last thing he wants in his body, stomach churning at the sight. 

“Dude!” Karl says excitedly, “Your friend is the best, Stilinski.”

Stiles turns to his coworkers, who nod agreeing. 

“He’s not my friend,” Stiles says, and well, he’s not wrong. 

“Pretty cool for someone who’s not a friend,” Jack adds, taking the opportunity to wave Mario down to order another round.

Ed quirks a brow. “ Wait, if he’s not your friend, who is he?”

A hundred names run through Stiles’ mind at the question. Memories, conversations. Private moments. Things that have been suppressed bubble up in his subconscious again, and his mouth feels dry. 

Against better judgment, he throws the rest of the whiskey back, letting the sting in his throat remind him of the last three years before he turns to Ed.

“He’s my ex-husband.”

Derek pushed the door to the hotel room open with one hand, the other splayed across Stiles’ back. Stiles would help him really, but he has his hands buys running through Derek’s hair, his mouth occupied by pulling Derek’s bottom lip between his.

There’s flowers and balloons covering the room, but neither one of them seem to notice, the only thing seeming to matter is the other in front of them; brushes of lips, whispers of admirations, sure movements.

Derek pushes Stiles towards the bed, letting it hit the back of his knees and fall on his back, but not before he pulls Derek down with him by his tie.

Derek falls over him with an ‘umf’, and Stiles actually giggles. And pretty soon, Derek is joining him until they’re a mix of laughter and soft kisses in dress shirts.

“We’re married,” Stiles sighs, and he’s giggling again. “Like, actually fucking married.”

Derek’s grin is soft and happy. “Yeah, I was there, Stiles.”

They both were. And so were all their friends and family, all together to celebrate them finally tying the knot. It was a beautiful ceremony, and an even more amazing celebration, but Stiles was practically buzzing the last few hours of the party to just get back and have some alone time with his husband. His husband.

“It just took us so long to get here,” Stiles sighs, nudging her hose up against Derek’s cheek. “I was getting a little nervous after eight years of dating.”

Derek sits up, cradling Stiles lap between his legs. Stiles’ hands instinctively move to rest on Derek’s thighs.

“I love you, Stiles,” Derek says, a serious look on his face. “And I promised you I wasn’t going anywhere. And I meant it. You’re it for me.”

Stiles feels his heart swell at the words. He knows Derek is usually the quiet one. Stiles is the loud, chatterbox with something to say. But he knows that Derek tries to put more effort into using his words, especially around Stiles.

Really, you should have heard Derek’s vows. Stiles was so shocked that Derek even had that much to say, let alone have the beautiful stream of words be meant for him. He was bawling almost instantly, barely holding it together to recite his vows back to Derek.

He reaches up to grab Derek’s neck, his fingers grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. Derek leans back into it

“Holy shit, I love you so much Derek,” he whispers fondly, slowly dragging Derek down to greet his lips with a kiss. “Get ready to spend the rest of your life with this dork,” he mumbles in between kisses.

Derek pulls away just a breath. “Can’t wait.”

It’s 2:30 AM in Chicago, and Stiles should really be in bed. After the convention and the night of drinks with his coworkers, he’d love nothing more than to have curled into a ball in his hotel room and fell asleep. But he’s always been a restless soul, especially when he has something eating him away.

Which is why he finds himself outside the bar he was at earlier- Derek’s bar, which he now can see the sign outside the door. The Fox and the Wolf.

Clever, Stiles thinks to himself.

It’s well past it’s closing time, and through the small window in the door, he can see the bartender, Mario, cleaning up. Which means Derek is inside, too.

So, Stiles does the only logical thing he can think of in that moment.

He paces.

He walks up and down the pavement, hands shoved in his pockets, mumbling to himself. He literally hasn’t seen Derek in three years, and he’s had enough experience with the supernatural that things just don’t happen in the world. There’s a reason for everything. So, logically, there has to be a reason that of all the places Stiles could have gone for a convention, it just so happens to be across the street from the bar Derek just happens to own, right?

Or maybe he’s over-thinking it?

There’s one thing Stiles does take into consideration; he thought he’d be more upset seeing Derek after so long. He always had the thought in the back of his head, of what would happen if he ran into Derek after the divorce. Would he glare at him? Yell? Or ignore him completely?

What he didn’t expect was to feel…nostalgic. It was like looking at a different life, right in the face. Right in front of him.

He was with Derek for eleven years, dammit. He was a 32 year old FBI agent, he can walk inside a fucking bar and talk to his ex-husband like a normal person, okay?

Stiles is amping himself up with those words, and it’s enough to give him the courage to take a deep breath, put on his game face, and beeline for the door.

His plan is derailed, however, when the door swings open outwards and hits him right in the face.

“So, that’s it, then?” Stiles says, his voice low, trying to keep it from cracking.

Derek sits across from him at their dining room table, hands folded at the edge of the table, and the coward can’t even bear to look Stiles in the eye.

Between them, a manila envelope.

“Stiles, please.” Derek pleads, his voice soft, and Stiles fucking hates him for using that voice. For taking something he always associated with comfort and joy, and use it now so he’ll only remember it like this.

He feels tears well in his eyes again, but he doesn’t move to wipe them away.

Stiles doesn’t think either of them expected it to go this far. What started with Stiles’ busy work schedule manifested into a spiral of arguments and distrust, until it seemed like every part of their marriage was just…frustration.

And Stiles tried, he really did. He cut back on hours, he worked from home when he could. And Derek made an effort to try to be more open, to trust Stiles more.

But apparently it wasn’t enough.

The thing is, after eleven years, you think you know everything about a person, down to what they’ll do next. You’d think that much time meant you had know every inch of a person. But sometimes you come home to your husband and a stapled packet of divorce papers, and you realize that you could be with someone your whole life and still never really know them.

He crosses his arms. “We’re not going to try to work this out? You’re just giving up on us?” Stiles bites, glaring at Derek, who stays quiet.  “Would you fucking look at me, at least?”

Derek slowly meets his eyes, and there are tired lines around his eyes and mouth. Despite his features, he looks younger, hunched in on himself like a child.

“What else can we do, Stiles?” He says slowly, and Stiles knows he’s trying to keep his cool, which just pisses him off even more. Like they’re just having a casual discussion about forgetting to pick up some milk, not their entire relationship.

It’s quiet between them for a long time, because Stiles had already done his fair share of yelling and screaming, and crying for that matter. And he’s tired.

“You promised,” is all Stiles says, and he pushes back from the table, standing up, and padding upstairs to the bedroom, leaving Derek alone with his envelope.

“Holy fuck!”

Stiles brings his hands up to his nose, and he already knows it’s bleeding, so he tips his head back.

“Stiles, are you okay?”

Derek is there, next to him, and Stiles is able to catch his furrowed brows as he glares at his bloody nose.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he says, but he can already feel his head getting light, and there’s a throbbing in his temple.

He feels a hand on his back, and he’s being directed inside, Derek following behind him.

“Come on, go sit. Get you cleaned up.”

The bar is empty now, and Stiles defeatedly takes a seat at a stool at the bar while Derek goes behind it, and throws a cloth napkin at Stiles’ face.

“Hey!” he yells defensively, using his free hand to try (and fail) to catch it. He quickly replaces his bloody hand with the napkin and finally tips his head back down, and when he catches Derek’s eyes, he really wasn’t expecting them to look so soft. He remembers those eyes.

It’s quiet between them for a long time, only the faint sound of drunk strangers walking down the street and the occasional car horn filling the bar.

“So,” Stiles draws out, napkin still pressed to his nose. “When did you start owning bars?”

Derek sighs, arms crossed and looking a little huffy.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?”

“I asked you first.”

Derek gives in, only because Stiles is pretty sure he knows that he could hold this argument all night. Stiles was always the persistent one.

He watches Derek rest his forearms on the bar. “I bought it when I moved here.” When Stiles doesn’t say anything in response, Derek takes it as a tell that it’s not a sufficient answer.

“Cora found us a new pack, after-” Derek gestures between the two of them, and it’s enough of an answer. “They’re nice. The alpha had this old shop he didn’t know what to do with, and Cora convinced him that we were prime retail owners since we owned the bookstore.”

Derek glances around the bar, and Stiles watches a small smile spread on his lips, and he can feel the pride Derek has for this dingy bar. “He let me contract it, and I’ve always kinda wanted to own a bar. Books were always Laura’s thing.”

“You found a new pack?” Stiles asks, because of course that’s what he took away from the story. But Derek knows him to well, and raises a brow.

“Stiles,” he says, which makes him rolls his eyes.

“Okay! I just, I don’t know. Something just compelled me to come here.” He throws the napkin down on the counter, and Derek walks around the counter to sit in the bar stool next to him, and Stiles is hyper-aware that this is the closest they’ve been to each other since three years. “Can you blame me?”

“Are you mad at me?” Derek asks.

Logically, he should be. Derek had opted for a divorce, before even considering how they could work out their issues. He had left Stiles to pick up the pieces of what had been almost a third of his life, and just move on. Talk of building a house, having kids, growing old together, all thrown away.

But, Stiles also knows that he didn’t make it easy. As he looked back at their marriage, most of their problems revolved around his stubbornness, and Derek’s trust issues. But, he should have given Derek more credit. After Kate, and Jennifer, Stiles had tried so hard to be the love Derek deserved, but as years went on, he got comfortable. Which meant Derek grew skeptical again.

“I used to be,” Stiles says, quietly. “I used to be so fucking mad. And not just you, but myself, too. I would lie awake every night for the first few months, just trying to figure out where exactly it went wrong. But eventually, I got over it. I realized what my part was in this, and found out how to forgive myself.”

Derek just nods.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” Derek says quickly, shaking his head. “I was never mad at you. I was mad at myself, if anything. I was a coward back then.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles argues, and turns in his stool to have his body face Derek. “I was the one in the wrong. And I didn’t do anything but make you feel like you had to put up with it. And with everything you’d been through, that was royally fucked up with me.”

“I know this is weird of me to say, but I’m proud of you for ending the marriage.” Derek gives him a weird look. “Okay, that was weird phrasing, I’ll admit. I wasn’t happy about it. But if there’s one thing I look back to now, it’s that I’m proud that you were able to be strong enough to realize when you were unhappy and leave.”

He knows Derek is clicking to what he says. Stiles was the only person Derek had dated after Kate and Jennifer. And both of those relationship made Derek felt guilty enough to stay in them. So if Stiles was going to take anything good out of their divorce, it’s that he’s glad Derek could be strong and stick up for himself.

“Is that why you didn’t fight it after I gave you the papers?” Derek asks. Stiles looks away, and stays quiet. He just shrugs.

They both draw out long breaths, and sit in silence for a few minutes. And to Stiles’ surprise, it’s not awkward. If anything, it’s kind of comforting.

“I miss you,” Derek suddenly says, and it’s so quiet, that Stiles barely hears it in the empty bar. And when he looks at Derek, he sees streams of tears running down Derek’s cheeks.

And Stiles can’t really help it, but he feels his eyes well up, too, because after three years, he’s never admitted out loud what he feared would break him.

“I miss you, too.” Stiles says back, and their gazes lock, and despite the tears spilling, Stiles give Derek a small smile.

After a few more minutes of silence and wiping of tears, they deem the night an end. Derek walks Stiles out the door, locking the bar up behind him.

“I’m sorry, again, for just showing up.” Stiles says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Derek shakes his head, pocketing his keys. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Welp,” Stiles looks back towards his hotel. “I guess I should head back. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees.

It’s awkward for a second, but Stiles’ mind kind of just goes ‘fuck it’, and he steps forward, arms outstretched, and he feels a little better when Derek’s arms open as well, and they hug.

His arms wrap around Derek’s middle, and he feels Derek’s arms wrap around his shoulders. And really, he intended for this hug to last a second or two, but…

It feels like home, Derek’s arms. If he doesn’t think, and breathes in, he remembers the good. The small moments of love and happiness that filled their relationship, like how Derek would always be waiting in the airport for Stiles when he’d fly home, arms open and grin wide. Or how he’d sneak up behind him in the mornings that Stiles would make breakfast, wrapping his arms around his waist, and kiss his neck in the early morning light.

He wonders if Derek is thinking of the same things, because he doesn’t move to part either, and Stiles swears he feels him nuzzle into his neck and breathe in. It makes him wonder if Derek’s wolf still considers him home, too.

It’s a minute or two before they let go, and Stiles steps back.

“I’ll see you, Derek.”

Derek nods.

“See ya, Stiles.”

He unlocks his hotel room door, and Ed is passed out in the Queen bed closet to the door, his snores echoing in the room. He has the urge to call Scott and tell him everything, but he deems that a morning conversation. Overcome with exhaustion, Stiles strips down to his boxers and drags himself to bed, hoping to at least get some sleep before the rest of the day. But right before he dozes off, his phone lights up on  the nightstand.

He picks it up, and his heart skips a beat at the name, one he never really brought himself to delete from his phone.

Derek:

Would you want to get dinner tomorrow?

And in the privacy of his room, he allows himself to smile wide, for no real reason than his euphoric feeling of being a teenager again.

Derek’s chimes again.

If you want.

He types back a reply.

Stiles:

I’d like that. Pick a place and I’m there.

Derek types back almost immediately.

Promise?

It’s just one word, but it weighs so heavenly between them. But Stiles doesn’t believe in fate, no. Only in the order of the universe. And maybe, the universe is giving him a fresh start. A chance for new promises. And maybe the first promise can just be a dinner.

I promise.