#if you liked having one 'I can fix him' white bous

[armyofpsychictrashcans]

Forever grateful that heartbreaker high S2 gave us a TRUE love triangle.

Unfortunate that it had to come at the cost of one of them being a classic school shooter white boy and also the school but yk what baby steps

[simpstantruther]

Hungry Heart ch. 2 | (Mullet) Stanley Pines x Reader

Summary: Stan needs to go to Oregon. You need to get to California. Stan has a car. You have a cunt. (Can I make it any more obvious~)

(TW: Dated Language and ideas of sex and consent)

Tags: 80s Americana Roadtrip Partners-in-Crime Stan x Reader fic. Smut. You can fix him, but you're worse.

Preview:

Lee watches you with amusement over his coffee. He looks different when he’s well lit. Older. More worn. Especially with his hair slicked out of his face, so you can see how deep the bags under his eyes are. You prefer it messy.

He's a good time. Funny, but stupid. You didn’t know it was possible to fit a sausage link up one’s nose. It shouldn’t be, it was fucking gross. You stick your tongue out in playful disgust when he eats it anyways. He laughs like a boy.

Read on AO3.

The street light buzzing is so loud you can’t hear yourself think.

You can feel it between your shoulder blades, tense as the dry night air hits the sweat pooling down your back. The light casts a dark shadow beneath your feet as you stroll through the middle of the street trying to keep your feet on the faded yellow divider lines. You don’t. 

You’re still in Dallas. You think. 

You had a bed to sleep in tonight. Or maybe a couch, with the guy passed out across the covers like he did. You had already cleared out his pockets, peeked through a few drawers. 

You found a tiny gun. Fit right in the palm of your hand. Like it was left in that drawer just for you.

Then the poor fucker’s wife came home. 

When you heard the shotgun cock into place, you started running and didn’t stop, pockets considerably heavier. In the chaos, you forgot you nabbed the gun.

You’re glad you nabbed the gun. 

Now you don’t know where you are. As if you ever really knew anymore. Back streets like this all kind of blended together, no matter where in the U.S. you were dragging your sorry ass around. 

Empty dirt lot with a single bench, a sun shade and a bus stop to the left. Shit-hole liquor store, piss stained parking lot to the right. Food. Shelter. Pisser.  All one could ever need.

If only you had actual cash instead of valuables you needed to pawn.

You have a small gun now.

Stupid looking little revolver. Three in the chamber. Poor fucker couldn’t be assed to fill the thing? No wonder his wife wanted to kill him.

Your stomach growls. It wants to kill you.

Do you have it in you to stick up a place just to get something to eat?

You stop. 

Under the brilliant neon Open sign of the liquor store, in bright yellow, peeled-paint glory stands a pay phone. Handset intact. You suppress a cry of joy. You would fall to your knees in praise if you didn’t think you’d catch a disease on the rusted bolts holding it to the cracked concrete. One of the bolts is loose. It wants to leave too.

You feel in the change slot for a spare quarter, sticking your tongue out through the side of your mouth. Your fingertips brush against the ridged edge.

Holy shit.

If you’re not careful, you’ll use all your luck up in one night.

The miraculous quarter slips into the slot. You wait for the dial tone to buzz into your ear, white-knuckle-gripping the handset. 

Shit.

Who the fuck are you supposed to call in Dallas? A taxi? They don’t take gold chains. A shelter? They’re all closed. Did you want to get robbed?

You still couldn’t get to one even if you wanted to.

You hit the return button. Clink. At least you can pocket the quarter. 

As you slip it into your rear pocket, you feel the fuzzy, frayed edge of a business card. Why would you keep a business—

The Loveshack it says.

Why did you have a business card for The Loveshack? What even is The Loveshack?

You don’t know what possesses you, but you sniff the card. It smells unholy. Like beer, and sweat, and man-stink and— you need to sniff it again.

Why are you thinking of a mullet? 

It smells so familiar. Why does it smell familiar? And you feel like gagging, you hate tequila. 

Oh.

You slip the coin into the slot again, bouncing your heel as you wait for the other line to pick up.

“Front desk.” Crackles through the shitty speaker in the handset.

“Hi! G-Good evening—” Your old hostess voice possesses you. High and clipped and waiting to be reprimanded. An old reflex. You haven’t had a regular job in at least a year. You remember no greasy, stinking manager is breathing down your neck to sound pretty when you pick up the phone, so it returns to it’s deep natural state. 

“Hello?” The voice on the speaker croaks again.

“Patch me through to a room, please?”

“Which room?”

Shit. Which fucking room? You turn the card over. Nothing written anywhere. You don’t even remember the guy’s name. Maybe he didn’t know how to write. Honestly, all you remember is Bruce Springsteen and a mullet and thinking that his beefy hands might fit nice around your—

“Hello? Miss? Which room?”

“Uhhhh— don’t remember. He’s a guy, you know?” Of course they know, are you stupid? “Tall, big shoulders, shitty mullet—“ You motion to the top of your head as if the operator can see you.

“Patching you through.” 

The line goes quiet. You’re too anxious to bounce your heel anymore so you stand frozen, hunched over the pay phone box.

You hear heavy breathing on the line. Then a woman’s name, in a vaguely familiar, gruff Jersey accent.

“Who?” You question, confused.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” 

Oh. You gave him a fake name, you remember.

“It’s Lee.”

“I know! Lee!” You draw out his name overly-affectionately. “How the hell are ya?”

“You called.” 

“I did!” 

“...I didn’t think you would call.”

“I said I would call, didn’t I?” You shrug your shoulders, tucking the phone beneath your chin and leaning back against the phone box. 

You hear him scoff. “I don’t think you did.”

He’s probably right, it doesn’t sound like you to promise something like that.

“ 'S fine. I wanted you to call. I’m glad you did.”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s quiet on the line too, drowned out by the white noise. The plastic static of the handset against your ear makes you shiver even though it’s pushing 85.

“Look, Lee… I’m sorry to call you like this, but I’m in a bit of a bad way—“

“What’s wrong?” He asks quickly. His concern is cute. He doesn’t know you. If he knew you he’d know something’s always wrong. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” You aren’t. There’s a pit growing in your stomach because you remember the last time you said those words to a semi-concerned party over the phone. About a year ago. You weren’t fine then, either. “You don’t have a car by chance, do ya? Or maybe just cab fare?”

“Where are you?” 

“Uh—“ You look around. The sign on the liquor store is missing letters. It's in a language you don't recognize. You aren't as worldly as you think.

“I got wheels. I’ll pick you up right now, sweetheart. Where are you?”

You silently cheer. You crane your neck and narrow your eyes to read a street sign, murmuring it into the receiver. You cross your fingers, bite your lip raw, and pray he heard you right. You can barely understand him through the crackling line.

“Give me twenty minutes, toots. An hour, tops. Don’t go nowhere.”

“I’ll be here!” You have nowhere else to go.

The line goes dead.

The hook is broken. You leave the handset on top of the box, swallow back your false cheerfulness and sit on the curb.

The street light buzzes above you, a spotlight on your failed state. You cannot hear yourself think. You are grateful.

You don’t have a watch. Giant, tacky bracelets hide your wrists well enough. So who knows how long it’s been once cars start pulling over and hollering at you to hop in. 

Cutting your jeans into daisy dukes seemed like a good idea once you got south of Memphis and the nights regularly cracked 90. It felt less so now, while rough concrete and gravel dug into your seat, sticking to your skin from sweat. 

You ready an empty glass bottle, aiming to launch it at the dark red convertible that slows beside you next.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Watch where you throw that thing. Can’t afford to replace the window again.”

You stand up so you can see past the half-rolled window.

“Lee?” You peer inside. 

It is Lee. He greets you with a wide smile, sliding out his door and moving in to hug you until he sees you flinch back. He blinks and freezes before nodding his head to himself and crossing behind the car. 

“After you, Angelface.” He cracks open the passenger door for you.

“What a gentleman.” You wheedle for him, grateful for the cushioned seat. You keep your eyes on him as he slams your door shut and gets back inside. A bit of caution was healthy. You shouldn’t trust him. He definitely shouldn’t trust you.

The front seat is clean. Vaguely. There’s a couple full trash bags sitting in the back seat. And a few beat up boxes of some bright blue towel thing, dye seeping everywhere it touches, and other assorted brand new junk headed straight for a landfill. It was like he raided the world’s shittiest truck load of useless crap. Why was he lugging around all this stuff?

It still reeks like cheap cigarettes. But at least it didn’t smell like tequila. You crack open your window anyways. 

“Where to?” Lee asks, smiling nervously as he shifts the car into gear, hand staying on the shifter knob between you. 

God, his arms. He’s punishing the thread around the sleeves, rolling them up like that. He put on a clean shirt for the occasion. And gas-station cologne. How sweet.

He shaved, too. You’re a little disappointed, though his jaw is nothing to be ashamed of. You wanna run your hand over his skin, mourn his five o’clock shadow. For the love of god, the man has dimples. Is he Catholic? Would he smack you if you use the lord’s name in vain? You kind of hope he does. Maybe you'll let him borrow one of the rings you 'found'.

You know you look like shit. You can see the outline of your tangled, frizzed hair in the dark in passenger side mirror. You’re never teasing your hair again.

If you pass by a street light, you know you’ll see the rest of yourself in the dirty yellow glow, looking haunting as ever. You angle the mirror away. No need for another reason to bum yourself out before your— whatever this is— with Lee.

You sigh and relax back into the seat, closing your eyes with relief as the rough road jostles you. Almost rocks you to sleep, right there in the passenger seat. 

He says your fake name again as you’re drifting off. 

“Sorry.” You yawn and smack your lips.

He waits for your answer. He can't go nowhere, after all.

You sigh.

“I’m gonna be honest, Lee. I got no idea where to go.”

He nods as he drives with his eyes forward. You already caught him glancing down at your chest after a particularly bad pot hole. He was on his best behavior now. You get to study his silhouette.

“Ain’t you stayin’ anywhere?”

“Nah. Got kicked out of my room this morning. Had a place lined up, but it fell through.” 

You hope he doesn’t ask more. He doesn’t. Good man.

Your stomach grumbles and you hunch over, desperate to subdue the sound. You were used to that by now.

“How about we get you somethin’ to eat, huh? That sound alright?”

“You sure?” You look up at him, your hand cradling your empty stomach.

“Hell yeah. Been dyin’ to take you out since you first glared at me. Dressed up for the occasion—thanks for noticin’.”

“Is that so?” You huff out a laugh. “Color me flattered. You clean up nice. But you’re full of it. I wasn’t glarin’ at nothin’.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cos I liked it, you know. I thought you were makin’ eyes at me. I like when pretty girls make eyes at me.”

“You’re blind, bud.”

“Nahhh. ” He grins wider. “You like me. Think I’m handsome.” 

You neither confirm nor deny, but you smile as he turns away. You see him blinking and narrowing his eyes at the road signs as he drives. He’s probably blinder than you are. Maybe he regrets telling you to call him, now with your mess close enough to see.

“Pretty girls must be in short supply if you’re settling for me.” You mutter under your breath and lay back again. If he heard you, he doesn’t reply.

He pulls into a 24-hour diner. 

It’s like he read your mind. You could kill a breakfast combo right now. And however many coffees you can drink before they kick you out for not paying, unless Lee is more liquid than he looks.

You doubt it.

You spin around on your plastic-y little dinner stool, your busted heels hanging off your toes as you kick your feet around. The coffee is good . You would have preferred a booth for privacy, but this is fun too. 

Lee watches you with amusement over his coffee. He looks different when he’s well lit. Older. More worn. Especially with his hair slicked out of his face, so you can see how deep the bags under his eyes are. You prefer it messy.

He's a good time. Funny, but stupid. You didn’t know it was possible to fit a sausage link up one’s nose. It shouldn’t be, it was fucking gross. You stick your tongue out in playful disgust when he eats it anyways. He laughs like a boy.

He’s got nice teeth. Mom would be happy, if that kind of thing mattered now. You wonder if he’s Catholic. You don’t think you are anymore.

He makes you laugh ugly. It makes your cheeks hurt, the kind where you have to massage them for a while after. It feels good to laugh ugly.

He doesn’t ask about anything that matters. You like that.

You both check out the same waitress. You ask her for sugar free sugar, the real kind (whatever that means), and you both watch as she stands on a stool to look at the top shelf, her teeny uniform not covering much of anything. She’s probably eighteen. Doesn’t know any better.

Now you’ve been on both sides. It’s a rite of passage.

He tells you you’re prettier than her, but you pretend not to hear, flicking a folded up napkin towards the trash can behind the counter. Daddy always said you were a pretty girl. You used to hear that a lot more often. You’d believe Lee if it were a couple days ago, when you were within twelve hours of a hot shower. 

The napkin misses the trash can. You meet his eyes. He smirks.

You have an unspoken agreement with Lee.

You chew your soggy, jellied toast silently and without alarm while he pockets another customer’s tip.

He shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth and doesn’t mention anything as your fingers slip into the lady beside you’s pocket book. 

God bless 24-hour diners.

Combined, you probably have enough to pay for your food. You’re still a little short, not that the waitress would notice until you left, if she could count at all. But why leave it to chance? 

You both stand up at the same time, offering compliments to the chef, the lovely waitress—

“Where do you think you two are going?” A grimy hand wraps around your arm. It’s the cook. Or else he just smells like bacon grease. You feel less satisfied with how the food sits in your stomach, suddenly. “You ain’t paid yet.”

“Alright, keep your paws to yourself, pal—“ Lee knots his hand in the cook’s greasy shirt. Meaty fucking hand. God, the size of those fingers.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey—“ You hold your hands up in surrender. “We’re cool. No need to freak out. We’re cool, aren’t we?” 

“Still gotta pay for your fuckin’ food.” 

You have a small gun now. Your fingers itch to hold it again, to squeeze the grip made for your small hand.

You glance at the laminated menu another customer ducks their head behind. Quickly you stand beside Lee, pressing your chest against his side with your hand on his sternum. He’s warm. Solid, beneath the softness. It’s nice when he’s not damp with beer sweat. You try not to think about it. 

“Are you serious ? You—you think Mr. Denny pays at his own restaurants?” You motion to Lee with your hand. 

The cook balks at both of you, and Lee puffs out his chest. You try not to laugh.

“Bullshit you’re Mr. Denny. He’s gotta be like eighty or something.”

“J-Junior! Mr. Denny junior, obviously!” You take Lee’s jaw between your thumb and forefinger and aim his face at the cook. You’re suddenly grateful Lee combed his hair back. And that he knows when to keep his mouth shut. “See this? Spitting image!”

The cook glances at a blown up photograph hanging on the wall. White hair, beady eyes, the kind of jaw that recedes back into a neck. About the only thing similar to Lee was that they were both human. Maybe. 

Damn. You almost made it, too.

A giggle bubbles out of Lee’s throat as he catches sight of the photograph and the cook’s face goes red, burn-calloused hand reaching for Lee’s throat. A busboy with a tray full of dishes passes by at the wrong moment and you swing your hand up and knock the entire tray back against the cook. 

You leave behind a calamity of broken porcelain and gasps in your wake as you pull Lee by his hand out of the diner. He throws down a few chairs on his way to muddle the path to follow you both as you run. 

Even in busted heels, you’re faster than Lee. 

His huffing, red face would be entertaining if he wasn’t the one with the keys. 

“Drive, drive, drive!” You hollar, grin plastered to your cheeks as you smoosh your face and hands against the passenger window, watching in amusement as the cook and the waitress scramble outside and look around for you.

Lee’s braying laugh fills your ears as his car pulls out of the parking lot. You’re laughing too, content with wherever he sees fit to take you. You feel safe. You shouldn’t, but you do.

You have a small gun now.

Previous chapter.

Next chapter.

[hellcaster901]

Confession

Summary: After confessing feelings on the near death bed of Mando, things are silently awkward until things finally change.

Warnings: SMUT! a bit of fluff! 

AN: First Mandalorian One-shot. Trying to branch out. Let me know if this is something I should keep doing!

~~

I played with the Child on the floor of the Razor Crest, the small metal ball Din once gave me was now a fan favorite as I rolled it away from him, his little body waddling as he tried to grab it.

Ever since Nevarro, things have been… different. Ever since I confessed how I felt towards the Mandalorian there hasn’t been anything said between us since, and I’m sure this is what he preferred. I bit the inside of my cheek, thinking back on that day.

My heart broke as I watched her drag Mando in, pulling him to the tilted table and resting him on it. The shooting stopped for a moment as I ran over to him, kneeling by his side. “Look, we can fix ya.” I mumbled, reaching across the way to the bag I dropped earlier, searching for my med pack, my hands shaking. I froze as a gloved hand grabbed mine. I looked up, his head tilted towards me. 

“I’m not going to make it. You need to go.” He weakly said. My chest tightened as tears began to fill my eyes.

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m not accepting that answer.”

“You were just shaken up.” Cara added, cupping the back of his helmet to help him stand before she pulled back, bright red painting her hand. We both stopped, staring at one another, each of us knowing what this meant. I reached for my med pack again as Cara reached for his helmet.

“No.” He snapped, grabbing her hands, pulling them away. “You need to leave me.” He gasped, looking back at me. “Make sure the child is safe.” 

“Mando..” I whispered, grabbing his hand as he reached up, grabbing onto a necklace wrapped around his neck, tugging it off swiftly.

“At the Mandalorian covert, show them this.” He handed Cara a silver charm. “Tell them it's from Din Djarin. The foundling was in my protection, and they will help you.”

“You’re coming with us.” I told him, opening the med pack, “I don’t care what you say.” I couldn’t leave him, not after everything he’s done for me, not without telling him how I felt. I gasped as a ball of fire came through the broken wall, Cara grabbing my shirt and tugging me down on top of Mando as she covered us both, Mando’s jagged breathing filling my ears.

“Protect the child.” He told us,  “I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior's death.”

“I won’t leave you.” Cara stated.

“This is the way.” He weakly said. 

“Fuck the way, Mando. We need you.” I pleaded, his head tilting towards me. I could feel his eyes searching my face as I let the tears fall. “The child, he needs you… I need you Mando.” I added, my hand tightening around his. Another shot of flames came through the blasted door, Cara grabbing me once again as we covered Mando. I glanced up, seeing the clone walkthrough, his white armour painted with red on the edges as he held his weapon towards us. I was ready to duck, protect Mando the best I can as we met our end. But I soon saw the Child waddle his way towards the man, lifting his small hands up. I watched with amazement with whatever powers he had he used, the direction of the fire no longer coming towards us rather shot back at the trooper, burning the man in the armour. Whatever creature this child was, I can see why Gieon wanted him. 

“It’s open, let’s go!” Greef hurried, looking at us with a wild eye as the IG unit kicked open the metal grate. 

“Go.” Mando gasped towards us, squeezing my hand as he gently shoved Cara to leave. “Go. Take care of the child.” He whispered to me. Cara stood, staring down at him with sadness. 

“Din.” I whispered, his name leaving my lips before I even realized. A small gasp left his lips, the sound amplified by the helmet. I placed my hands on his helmet, almost imagining what his face felt like, wondering if this really is the last time I’d ever see him. “Thank you, for everything you did for me.” I watched as my tears landed on his helmet, rolling down the metal and landing on his cloak. I placed a small kiss on the cheek of his helmet. “I love you.” I whispered, pulling away from him, tears falling harder. “I’m sorry I had to tell you this way.” I didn’t wait for a response as I stood, taking a step away. 

I jumped slightly, the Child shaking me from my thoughts as he grabbed at my shirt, hanging on me, cooing. “What do you want.” I laughed, picking up the child and lifting him into the air, his smile widening as he looked down at me. “Is this what you wanted?” I laughed, he only giggled at me, as he let me move him around. 

After what happened with Gideon and everything on Nevarro, and the droid saving Mando, I was sure Mando wouldn’t want me on his crew anymore, considering what I told him. I was fully prepared to stay on the planet with Cara and Greef, planning on making it what it once was. But his simple question of ‘are you coming?’ was enough to know that I was still wanted. 

The child yawned down at me, his eyes fluttering as I tucked him to my chest. “Let’s get you to your pod.” I smiled. He cooed as I set him into his pod, the door sliding shut as I watched his little eyes shut.

“Is he asleep?” I jumped, turning around and seeing Mando stand there, barely hearing him make his way from the cockpit. 

“Yes, just put him down.” I smiled. He gave me a slight nod, turning his back on me. “Mando.” I called, surprising myself as I called his name. He stopped in his stance, his head turning towards me. I knew I wanted to bring up my confession, talk to him about how I felt, facing the fact that he didn’t feel the same way, but I needed to hear it from him. “Goodnight.” Was all I said. 

I was scared. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

--

I tossed and turned in my sleeping cot, harshly kicking off the blanket from my body with a huff. I couldn’t sleep, my mind won't calm down, the thoughts of what happened on Nevarro and the fact we were in this awkward silence frustrated me, leaving me over thinking everything I did and everything he did.

I swung my legs over the side of the cot, my bare feet hitting the cold floor as I stood. The oversize shirt I wore fell to mid thigh as I walked. I knew that I couldn’t sleep, and I knew that staying on my cot wasn’t going to work, so I might as well have something to entertain me as I was up at these hours. 

I climbed the ladder towards the cockpit, the door sliding open as my bare feet slapped against the flooring. I spinned Mando’s chair towards me, settling myself by sitting on my right leg and hooking the heel of my left foot onto the chair, my knee to my chest. I spun myself until I was facing the galaxy, the bright stars from far away blinding as we floated in absolute nowhere. It was peaceful, being the only ones here, staring off at the infinity of planets and stars. No matter how many times I saw this, it never got old for me. 

My mind wandered from thought to thought, of the Child, my life before this, to my life now and finally to The Mandalorian I travelled with. It was hard not to overthink things with him, with how silent he was and not mentioning what happened. If anything, it was like he was trying to forget that ever happened, that I ever confessed how I felt. Maybe if that’s what he wanted, maybe that’s what I’ll have to do. Just forget.

It felt like forever as I sat there, staring off at the galaxy, counting the many stars, or connecting the bright bulbs in my head as my worries and thoughts faded, my eyes drooping slightly as I curled into myself, my eyes shutting softly as I drifted to sleep. 

I groaned, rolling onto my side as I tucked the blanket closer to my chin, bringing my knees up as I huddled under the thin blanket, the thin cot moving beneath me as I found a comfortable position. I almost fell back to sleep, before I remembered what happened last night. 

I sat up in my cot, looking around, the lights from the ship giving me some room to see. I remembered going up to the cockpit, sitting in Mando’s chair and looking at the stars. 

“Oh my god.” I groaned, rubbing my eyes. I must’ve fallen asleep. How the hell did I get here? I blushed at the thought of Mando finding me in his chair, and I blushed even harder at the thought that he carried me to my sleeping cot. I don’t know how he went down the ladder, but he managed and got me to my bed in one piece. I pulled back the blanket, blushing even harder thinking of Mando seeing my bare legs out for him to see. This was all an embarrassing moment for me, thinking of Mando finding me and dragging me back to my spot. I shook my head from it, knowing he wasn’t going to say anything when I saw him.

I quickly dressed, pulling on the boots I had and searching for the Child. I climbed the ladder to the cockpit, my footsteps echoing off the walls. I quickly noticed the Child swerved as he heard me, gurgling with excitement and lifting his arms up. “Hey there.” I whispered, noticing out of the corner of my eye Mando turned slightly, looking at me. And just like I figured, he didn’t say anything as he turned back, focusing on where he was going. With a small sigh I picked the child up, placing him on my hip and turning towards the Mandalorian. “Are we heading somewhere?” 

“There’s a bounty I picked up from Kreef.” He told me, his voice filtered through his helmet. 

“Where at?” I asked, The Child grabbing at my shirt tugging. 

“On Arvala-7. It’s going to be a quick one.” I nodded, turning away. 

“Do you want something to eat?” I whispered to the Child. He squealed.

~~~

I stood to the side, arms crossed as I watched Mando gather his things together, ready to leave to collect the bounty. It seemed like it didn’t bother him as I watched, and if it did he didn’t care to tell me to stop. Watching the way he moved around, his cloak following as he turned. 

“I should be back by tonight.” He told me, turning towards me. I blushed under his gaze, my arms tightening around me. “It should be an easy bounty.” I nodded, watching as he got ready to leave. 

“Be careful.” I called, watching as he froze, his head tilting slightly towards me. “Please come back.” I know I sounded pathetic, and maybe I was, but I had to let him know I was here to stay and be with him. He only nodded towards me, stepping down the ramp.

Hours later from cleaning up around the ship, double checking our supplies and even our med packs, the hot sun turned the cool breeze of night, the ship darkening as the day changed.

I didn’t even try to sleep in my bed as I changed into my oversized shirt. I instantly made my way towards the cockpit, the ladder digging into my bare feet as I climbed. The room was dark, the open dark world staring back at me through the glass as I made my way towards Mando’s chair. I turned the chair, a folded blanket resting. My heart swelled at the thought of Mando leaving this here. I grabbed the corner of the blanket, wrapping myself in the fabric, settling myself onto the chair, pulling my knees up to my chin once again as I watched the open world.

It felt like forever as I sat there, wondering where Mando was as the night went on. I wasn’t waiting on him, as much as I tried to convince myself that’s what it was, I just couldn’t sleep.

I sighed deeply, shifting in the chair as I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my thighs and my head on my hands, watching as the sky moved above me. My mind began to wonder, thinking of Mando, wondering what he really looked like. Of course, I would never ask him to take his helmet off for me, it was the way, and the only time I ever felt that his religion wasn’t a good enough excuse was when I thought he was dying. 

My brain raked over the possible combinations of what he looked like. Did he have dirty blonde hair with blue eyes, or maybe did he have dark chocolate hair with equally dark eyes. My thighs clenched around the thought of the second possibility. I knew what his skin was like, I’ve had to patch his wounds more than one occasion, and each time never failed to leave me a blushing mess. He had this gorgeous soft tan skin, and it felt like it went on for miles whenever I tried to patch him up. The dark hair and eyes combo only matched with his skin. I knew he would never take the helmet off. Being a mandalorian was all he ever knew, and taking away what he knew probably scared him. 

I jumped out of my day dreaming as I heard loud bangs coming from below, heavy panting and grunts echoing through the ship. I stood from the chair, making my way towards the door, glancing down the opening and seeing Mando standing there, breathing heavy as he shoved his bounty, freezing him in carbonite. I hurried down the ladder, turning to see Mando groan roughly, his hand coming to his side.

“You’re hurt.” I stated, not hesitating as I turned towards the medical box under the bench.

“It’s nothing.” He shot back, groaning as he took a step forward, clenching at his side.

“Hush it.” I bit back, grabbing the med pack. “Can you sit?” I asked, coming up to him. I could feel the side eye he was giving me watching as I stood patiently next to him, not budging like I’m sure he was hoping. With a defeated sigh he went to the bench, a harder groan leaving him as he sat down. I kneeled on the floor, the metal flooring digging into my bare knees as I opened the med pack on the bench next to him. “Can I…?” I asked, pointing to his clothing. A slight nod was all I needed as I reached for his shirt, lifting the soaked material and seeing the deep cut on his side. I winced at the redness of his skin, and the dark liquid that dripped from the wound. “What happened?” I grabbed a piece of cloth, soaking up the blood, and cleaning around the wound. 

“He had friends.” He said, watching me as I cleaned up the blood, gently patting around the opened skin. I nodded, reaching for my kit. “Bounty was a little harder than I expected.”  

I worked in silence, closing his wound, stopping whenever he flinched away from me, or whenever I heard the slight hitch in his breath as I worked. With a wet cloth I cleaned the rest of the blood away, seeing the tan skin I was daydreaming about not so long ago. I have to say it now.

“I’m sorry.” I started, continuing to clean the blood off. We both knew that this was something he could do, but he let me continue.

“For what?” I glanced up, wondering if his eyes were really on me or staring past my head at something on the ship.

“For what I said… on Nevarro.” I muttered out, another blush rising on my cheeks, knowing this was when he was going to reject me, or tell me that he’ll drop me off at the next planet. Either way, I would get my answer. “It was… a lot, and it just came out.” I tried to explain, dropping my hand from his side, looked up at him, knowing this time he was looking right at me. I suddenly became painfully aware of my clothing situation, the shirt I wore hitched up slightly showing more of my thighs.

“You didn’t mean it?” I was taken aback at the question, not really sure how he was going to respond but I was sure it wasn’t going to be that question. I opened my mouth to talk but only a small gurgle was heard. We both looked back at the pod I placed the Child in, the door opened and the child sitting there smiling at the both of us. I let out a sad sigh, a small smile on my face as I stood up, trying to ignore the breeze that hit my bare legs. I reached for the child, his arms high in the air as he was ready to be picked up. I placed him on my hip, a tired yawn leaving his body. “I’ll clean up.” Mando spoke, fixing his clothes and standing, he grunted softy, grabbing at his side as he collected the med pack. “Go get some sleep.” That’s all he said as he cleaned up, turning his back to me. I held the child to me, making my way to my sleeping cot. 

“Din.” I whispered, turning on my heels towards him. I saw the way he froze at his real name, the way it felt slipping from my lips felt more natural than calling him Mando. “I did mean it.” I confessed, holding the child closer to me. I watched as he stood there, staring down at the med pack and letting my words process. “I’m not expecting anything from you, only that you know how I feel.” It was all I said before I turned back around.

~~

I laid in bed, the blanket covering me as the events that unfolded only a couple hours ago replayed in my mind, the way his skin looked, the way I told him how I felt. Everything. I took a deep breath, sitting up and shaking my head, my hair falling from the loose ponytail and falling around my face. The Child was no longer with me. His tiny body became fussy, no longer wanting to be with me as I was taking up his space on MY bed. He soon found himself back into his pod, his own area for him to spread out as much as he wanted.

I sat quietly in my sleeping cot, hearing the wind move the ship, the creaks echoing in my ear as they went on. I soon heard light footsteps along the metal flooring. I’m sure it was Din, taking care of whatever he needed to do, but I kept listening. Hearing as he moved along the ship, and soon those footsteps became closer and closer, the louder they got the more my heart raced. Soon the footsteps stopped, right outside my corner, the thin sheet metal that divided the rest of the ship to my personal space hid Din as he stood there. I sat up in my cot, listening to see if he was going to walk away, knock or anything. But nothing happened as he still stood there.

 I stood from my sleeping cot, taking small hesitant steps towards the door, almost like I was trying to pet a stray animal. When I got to the door, I took a moment, wondering if he was going to walk away, go back to how things were before and act like nothing happened. But he didn’t, he waited, almost like he knew I was standing right behind the sheet, both of us waiting for the other to move. And I did. I pressed the small pad, the door sliding open, Din standing there, the darkness hiding him. 

“Din?” 

I gasped as a bare arm reached for me, grabbing at the shirt and tugging me closer, my chest colliding with his strong chest. I was speechless as he wrapped an arm around my waist, his other hand snaking his way up to my face, his gloveless hand caressing my cheek, his warm fingers digging into my neck.

“You meant it?” His voice came, no longer hidden behind his Mandalorian helmet, his voice sending chills down my back as I finally heard it. 

“Always.” I whispered, too scared to move, afraid that if I move a muscle or go to touch him that he’d disappear, and it would be gone forever. 

It was like we were stuck like this, my breast pressed tightly against his clothed chest, his arm firmly wrapped around my waist, almost like he was scared I was going to want to leave his embrace and his thumb brushing against my cheek. I gasped as he moved his hand, his thumb touching the corner of my lips, his thumb brushing against the softness of my bottom lip. I reached up, wrapping a small hand around his wrist, my other hand pressing softly against his chest, my own heart racing as I felt his rapidly thumping against his chest. “Say it.” He spoke softly, his voice making me clench my thighs. The darkness of my room hid his face, something I’m sure he knew, but that fact that he felt comfortable enough to come here without his helmet on was enough to make my heart swell.

I timidly reached up, cupping his cheek with my hand, gasping softly at the feel of his skin under mine. His jaw was prickly, the hair he was growing poking against my hand as I moved it towards his hair. My fingers found soft thick waves of hair, my fingers weaving through, my nails digging softly into his scale as my hand closed around some locks of hair. He groaned softly, the sound sending chills straight to my core.

“I love you, Din.” I whispered. His breath hitched, the arm wrapped around me only tightened even more. His other hand reached down, grabbing a hold of my thigh, lifting me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist. “You’re side.” I gasped, feeling the padding brush against my inner thigh

“I don’t care.” He whispered, his breath fanning around my lips, my mind going in scrambles as I registered how close his face really was, how close his lips were. “Say it again.” I pulled my hand from his hair, closing my eyes and letting my fingers glide over his features, feeling the facial hair he grew, the numerous scars on his face, my fingers tracing over the healed wounds.

“I love you, Din Djarin.” I whispered, cupping his cheek again. “I always will.” And almost like a dam broke, he leaned forward, our lips colliding. I moaned softly at the feel of his lips, my arms wrapping around his neck, my hand weaving back into his hair, tugging softly at the roots. He moaned against my lips, his hand squeezing my thigh as he walked towards my cot, settling me down softly as he crawled on top of me. It was a mess of excited, nervous hands as he set me down. My hands grabbing at his back, his hands exploring my bare thighs, reaching up to my hips, the shirt bunching against his wrists as he moved his hands up, his calloused hands rubbing against my hips and waist as he kissed me. 

He pulled away from my lips, trailing kisses down my cheek and neck, peppering kisses as he made his way down my chest, soft lips touching my collarbones, my thighs squeezing around his hips as he softly bit down on one. “Din.” I gasped, a hand back in his hair, tugging him up to my lips again. I don’t care how desperate I felt, or how desperate I was acting, but all did care about was keeping this man on top of me, and letting him do whatever he wanted to me. 

“You’re so soft.” He whispered against my lips, his fingers digging into my hips. I moaned against him, my back arching, wanting to feel more of his weight on me. Stars, he could crush me and I’d be happy with that. I reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging quickly, and he got the hint. He pulled himself up, kneeling between my legs as he ripped the shirt from his body. I quickly reached for him, stopping him from coming back down on me.

“I want to feel you.” I whispered, my hands resting on his chest. His hands grabbed at my thighs, wanting to feel some part of me as I felt him up. I started my exploration slowly, letting my fingers glide along his collar bones, feeling even more small scars as I continued. I mentally took note of that, counting each one I hit. I felt Din’s breath quicken as I traveled lower, my fingers brushing against his nipples, his hard body flexing under my hands as I tried to memorize how he felt, his smooth skin feeling slik as I continued to take my time. “You’re handsome.” I whispered, my fingers trailing down his stomach.

“You can’t see me.” I could hear the amusement in his voice before a slight hitch when he felt my fingers trace the band of his pants. 

“I don’t have to see you to know you’re handsome.” I whispered back, trying to imagine the look on his face as I teased him, dipping a finger below the ban of his pants, tugging slightly.

“You’re a tease.” he groaned, his hands squeezing my thighs. I knew I would have marks on them later on. 

“I want to remember this.” I giggled, dragging my hands lower, my hands purposefully dragging against his bulge. He groaned loudly, his cock twitch beneath his restraints at the touch. “Can I?” I asked, wondering if he could see the innocent look I gave him as I stared up at him. 

“Maker, yes.” A desperate sigh leaving his lips. I bit my bottom lip, slipping a hand down his pants, a bustle of soft curls brushing against me as I wrapped a small hand around his hardened length. “Fuck.” He groaned harshly, his hands grabbing my hips now, his fingers digging into my sides. I gasped at the roughness, my pussy clenching around nothing at the thought of him being rough with me. Something I’ll have to bring up another time. 

I hooked my fingers into the band of his pants, tugging them down over his hips, his hands quickly following suit and swiftly tugging them to his thighs. I swallowed nervously as I wrapped a hand around him again, feeling how thick he really was against my hand. How hot and heavy he was, throbbing as I touched him, wondering how in the hell he was going to fit this in me. 

“You’re huge, Din.” I shyly whispered, pumping him slowly in my hand, my thumb brushing along the tip, collecting the pre cum that was starting to collect. I wasn’t sure if he could see me, but the chance to not do this was slim to nothing. I brought my thumb up to my lips, dragging the salty mixture against my tongue, moaning softly at the taste of him.

“Did you-?” He softly asked, a whimper leaving him as I wrapped my hand around him again, pumping him a little hard this time.

“Yes.” I squeezed my hand around him, his hips bucking at the sensation. 

“Maker, you’re going to kill me.” He whispered. He quickly got rid of his pants, tossing them to the side as he landed back on me, grabbing my face with both hands and kissing me hard. This time around felt quicker, almost more desperate as we realized that this was really going to happen. He dragged his hands down my body, squeezing my breasts roughly together, both of us moaning until his hands got to my panties, hooking his rough fingers, ripping the material off of me, flinging them across the room. “Y/N.” He moaned slowly, dragging a finger between my soaked lips, coating his fingers, collecting my juices as he brought his fingers up, my hips bucking against him at the soft touches. I could hear the wet sound of him sucking on his fingers, moaning softly at the taste of me. “You tasted so sweet.” He whispered to me, but low enough that it could’ve been to himself. 

I gasped as his fingers found my clit, instantly rubbing small fast circles, my hips jerking against him at the sensation.

“Din!” I gasped, my hand grabbing on his forearm, my other one dragging my nails down his chest as he pleasured me. He growled at the pain, only quickening his fingers against me. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” I begged. My thighs wanting to close, almost pull myself away from what I was feeling, but Din’s strong legs kept me spread, not budging as I bucked against him. His fingers moved against me quickly, two long fingers pushing at my entrance, stretching me open. “Stars.” I gasped, throwing my head back as he stretched me open, scissoring his fingers, feeling my walls clench around him.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, his arm flexing as he held himself up. “So wet.”

“I want you Din.” I gasped, “Please, I need you.” I begged. It was like an animal the way he grabbed me. He growled above me at my pleas, I whimpered at the loss of his fingers gasping as he grabbed my shirt and ripping it off of me, our skin meshing together as he leaned down to kiss me, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, his hands grabbing my thighs and hitching them up around his waist, his fingers digging into the skin as he rubbed against me, his cock bumping against my clit, my back arching at the contact. 

“I-” Din mumbled against my lips, pulling away from me. My heart stopped, wondering if this was suddenly a mistake, something he was only doing for the hell of it. It was like all air was ripped from my lungs, waiting for his response. I could feel his eyes searching my face, I could basically hear the gears in his head move as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say, trying to figure out what his next words were. “I love you too.” He whispered. I felt my heart explode, the air that once left my lungs quickly came back. I pulled him back down to me, our lips meeting once again as he grabbed at my soft skin, almost memorizing like I did.

He reached between us, grabbing a hold of his cock, lining himself to my entrance. “Be gentle.” I whispered, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck. “You’re bigger than I imagined.” I whispered shyly.  

“You imagined this?” He questioned, teasing me a little more at my confession. I nodded, trying to find the words, but my mind was drawing a blank as he rubbed against me. THe tip of his cock dragging through my folds and tapping against my clit as he waited for an answer. 

“You didn’t?” I confidently asked. He groaned harshly against me, lining himself up not giving me a warning as he spread me open slowly as he pushed in. I whimpered as he stretched me, I just knew that it was going to be a tight squeeze. 

He groaned as he slid in with ease, feeling like forever as he took it slow, letting me adjust to his size and girth. I held the back of his neck tightly, my other hand reaching down and grabbing his arm again, not really sure where to grab, but touching him was always the safest option.

It felt like he was splitting me in two, and it was something I wanted to feel for the rest of my life. I’ve never been stretched like this before, the way he was able to fit in me, a snug enough fit, almost like we were meant to be.

“You’re so tight.” He growled above me, his hand squeezing my thigh. I clenched around his cock, making his hips buck, more of his cock sliding in. I gasp loudly, arching into him at the pleasure. “I’m sorry.” He breathed, stopping his movements. I shook my head, wrapping a leg around his waist, tugging him closer. He bottomed out in me, skin meeting skin as both of us groaning inunison at how he filled me. “Fuck.” He hissed, dropping his head onto my shoulder. I could stay just like this for the rest of my life. This gorgeous man filled me to the brim. It was like heaven as he laid above me.

He didn’t have to say anything to let me know that he was going at my pace, letting me adjust to the size of him. I hummed softly as he peppered kissing along my shoulder and neck, nipping at my skin, raising his head. “You feel so good.” He mumbled against my lips, placing a soft kiss. “Never felt anything like you before.” I blushed under him, turning away. I felt him grab my chin, turning my head back. “You’re beautiful when you blush.” Din was a man with very few words, I always assumed it was because he didn’t care, but after this, I want him to talk to me every minute of every day. I pulled him down to me, my mouth to his ear. 

“You can move.” I whispered, biting my bottom lip in anticipation. He groaned softly, wasting no time as he slowly pulled out. I moaned, feeling the delicious pull against my walls. He thrust into me, grunting into my neck as he set the pace, our bodies merging into one as I held onto him, not daring to let go as he used me for what he wanted. “Din, you’re huge.” I mewled, my nails digging into his back.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He moaned, grabbing my chin again and turning my head, our lips meeting in a fiery kiss, our tongues tangled together as he thrusted in and out, the head of his cock getting deeper and deeper each time. The fact that that was even happening to my body was enough to make my mind go blank. 

Din pulled away from me, grabbing the back of my thighs, lifting them towards my chest. I squealed at the new angle, his cock burrowing in a place I didn’t even know existed, hitting spots that made my body go limp in his hands. “Holy- fuck.” I gasp, the new angle deepening his thrusts. He panted, one of his hands leaving the back of my thighs, trailing up my stomach to my chest as he grabbed my breast, grabbing the soft skin.

“You’re taking me so well, cyar’ika.” I didn’t know what the nickname meant, but I still blushed, and the grunt that he said it with only made me clench around him. I was amazed with how he made my body react to him and the way his body reacted to me.

“You feel so good.” I whimpered, my hands fisting the thin blanket I laid on. His cock stretched me open, my legs shaking as he held them up them, his thumbs rubbing small circles as he thrusted. I needed more, I wanted more, but I felt he was holding back, not wanting to hurt me, or scare me away. I don’t think anything he could do could scare me away. “You won’t hurt me.” I whimpered, a particular deep thrust making my legs quiver. His thrust haltered for a moment, letting me know he knew what I meant.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He grunted, his hands kneading the back of my thighs, trying to control himself. I shook my head, reaching down and grabbing onto his thighs, the muscles flexing. 

“I promise you won’t.” I smiled, the pressure in my stomach building slowly but surely. “I want it too.” That’s all it took, the reassurance and he was gone. I never knew I was so flexible, but Din was able to prove me wrong as he pushed my knees to my chest, his hands gripping the flesh where ass met thigh as he pounded me. A small scream left my lungs as he worked himself into me, the sound of slapping skin and my wetness filling my ears and fueling the fire that burned in my stomach. All this pent up energy or anger for whatever he was keeping inside was all released as he fucked me.

“You’re so perfect, cyar’ika.” He grunted, his pace faltering a bit “Taking me like a good girl.” The praise made me clench, the fire burning hotter in my stomach. 

“I’m so close, Din.” I whimpered, my thighs tensing as it grew closer.

“Come on, come on.” Din whispered to himself, slipping a hand between us and rubbing my clit in time with his strokes, my body shaking. “Cum for me, cyar’ika.” Those simple words were enough for the fire to engulf me. I grabbed onto his wrist, a sob slipping through my lips as my orgasm washed over me, shaking under Din as I coated his cock in my cum. He twitched inside me, my walls clenching around him as I came down, my body limp in his arms. “Good girl.” He grunted, “Where do you-”

“Inside me, please.” I whimpered, my body absolutely spent. Those three simple words was enough to send him over. Small moans and whimpers left me as I felt Din thrust harder into me, his grunts and moans of pleasure had goosebumps rising on my arms as he twitched inside me, his cock spurting warm ropes of cum into me.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He growled, grinding into me as he emptied himself in me, his cum coating my walls in white, filling me up. He fell against me, holding himself up by his forearms, my legs stiff as I moved them back around his waist. 

We stayed like that, letting our bodies relax, trying to let our breathings calm as we laid there, letting what just happened process. I couldn’t even stop the giggle that came out, turning my head away from Din.

“What’s funny?” He mumbled against me, groaning softly as my walls tightened around his softening cock when I laughed.

“Nothing.” I lightly giggled, nuzzling into his neck, leaving a small kiss. “I’m just… happy.” I whispered against him. He chuckled lightly, before pushing himself up. I gasped as he slipped from me, already feeling the soreness as he turned my body. I hummed as he laid beside me, pulling me to him, my head resting on his chest, our legs tangled together. “I love you.” I whispered, a yawn escaping from me. My eyes became heavy, fluttering softly as my eyes closed.

“I love you.” Din whispered, letting his tiredness consume him.

[thisbisexualbrainrot]

15x20: Soft Epilogue

Here I go writing fix it fic again. It’s almost 2am and I couldnt sleep until I posted it. I hope its enjoyable. Definitely fluff and a little angst thrown in as well. The soft epilogue with happy endings that Sam and Dean deserved. I didnt get a good place to mention this in the fic, but I believe Sam and Eileen would have rebuilt the American Men of Letters together. :)  _________________

Sunlight glinted against the black impala as she flew down the back country road. It was midday and the air was warm. Turns out when you are fighting for your life, you forget to pay attention to the seasons change. Sam was grateful they could pay attention to that now. 

He checked his phone again. No response yet. Where is she? 

“Hey um... Eileen hasn't called me yet and she's not answering. Do you think she didn't come back?” Sam asked, glancing over at Dean who was tapping his hand on the wheel. 

“Jack wouldn't do that, he would bring her back with everyone else. It's okay Sammy. She'll be there.” Dean assured him, he gave Sam a smirk and looked back at the road. “She probably just doesn't have a phone remember?” 

“Yeah, you're right.” Sam sighed, running his hand through his hair. She has to be there. Dean noticed Sam fidgeting and stepped on the gas.

In the backseat, Miracle barked in approval. 

Before Dean even had the car in park, Sam opened the passenger door and ran up to Eileen's door. Dean chuckled as he watched Sam bound up and the front door opened quickly. Eileen ran out to meet him and the two crashed into each other. Smiles, kisses, laughter. Good Dean thought Sammys happy. For the first time, Dean isn't worried about his little brother anymore. They changed the world, for good, and now Sam has a real chance for a real relationship. Eileen is good for him. 

Eventually Dean got out of the car, Eileen gave him a hug and signed while saying “Thank you.”

Dean looked at Sam, who hadn’t stopped grinning ear to ear, and smirked “Yeah well, now he's your problem.” “Yeah okay” Sam laughed. “I’ll call you later”. Eileen wrapped her arm around Sam’s waist and Dean was confident he wouldn’t be hearing from his brother for a while. 

“Yeah yeah” Dean smiled, “You kids have fun.” 

“I'm 37, Dean.” 

Dean gave them a shit eating grin and slid into the impala “I'm gonna go check on Jody and the girls. Apparently Claire is really pissed she got zapped and missed everything. She keeps texting me.” 

Dean put the car in reverse and he noticed Eileen jump into Sam's arms and kiss him as the car pulled away. Deans phone was laying on the passenger seat and it vibrated with another text from Claire: 

How is Cas? Is he with you? 

---

The lights flickered on in the bunker as Dean walked in with Miracle at his heels and he shut the heavy door behind them. The emptiness of it felt especially loud as he had spent the last few days sleeping on Jody’s couch in a house full of teenagers. 

He sighed as he remembered telling them about Cas. He couldn't meet Jody’s eye the entire time. He kept it simple, just told them what he had told Sam and Jack: 

Cas summoned the empty. 

Cas saved him. 

Cas was gone.  

Claire especially didn't take it well and the first night she fell asleep leaning on Dean's shoulder in front of the TV. Kaia came downstairs and Dean woke Claire up long enough for her to let Kaia lead her up to their room. 

Poor kid he thought as he picked up the decanter and filled his glass. He had gotten a text from Sam: 

Going on a trip with Eileen actually. We thought some time away might help us find normal again, if that's even possible. Call you later? 

Dean sent a short response telling Sam that was fine and tossed his phone on the library table.

What to do now? 

The whole world was open, skys the limit. For the first time he had no one to protect, no world to save, no monsters to hunt...just his own thoughts in an empty bunker. Well, except for his dog curled up next to his feet. It was terrifying and Dean found himself pounding down whiskey a lot faster than he intended. 

A few glasses in and he started praying. 

“Cas…” he whispered to the silence “Cas..I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” Dean felt his eyes fill with tears. “Cas...why didn't you tell me before...”

“Dean” 

Dean's head shot up. He must have really drank way too much because there was absolutely no way this was real. But there Jack was, standing in front of him with the same white jacket, same innocent smile on his face. 

“Hello” he said, raising his hand. “I'm here for your advice.” 

He said it so sincerely, Dean couldn't help but let out a sad, drunk laugh. His body relaxed a little and he looked up at him. “Man you can't just pop in- I mean you can it's just….Jack, I'm not in the place to be givin’ you advice anymore alright? Besides, I thought you were going to be all hands off?” 

“I am, mostly. I think. I don't really know, I'm still figuring it out. Amara is helping me.” Jack waited patiently while Dean’s intoxicated mind took in this information. 

“Alright” Dean stood up and leaned against the table, his arms crossed. Strangely, talking to Jack as whatever he was, was easier than he thought. He missed this. “What’s going on kid?”  

Jack nodded at Dean’s approval to ask. “I want to take Cas out of the empty but Amara said I should ask you.” 

Dean froze. His mouth went dry. Cas. “So you- you can get him out?”

“Yes, it seems quite possible. Chuck showed me how in his memories. He was able to pull Lucifer out and Amara told me it should work for Cas as well.” 

Dean's head was spinning. “I..um well, why are you asking me then?” 

“You are very important to him Dean.” Jack said with such firm resolve, “If you think this is a bad idea, I will respect that. Amara said it should be up to you.” 

Dean's heart leaped at the thought of seeing Cas again. Panic mixed with pure elation. He was terrified but of course the answer was obvious. “Yeah..” Dean whispered. “Yeah” he repeated louder, clearing his throat “Yeah, Bring him back.” Dean swallowed and looked at the floor. His mind desperately trying to understand that this was happening, this was real. Cas.

Jack smiled “That's what I told her you would say. Thank you Dean. Give me a moment.” and disappeared. The silence was deafening and then Dean heard his phone vibrate. He spun around and almost fell over a chair getting to where it laid abandoned on the table. “...Cas?” 

“No, Dean it's Sam. Are you okay?” “Sammy I um....” Dean couldn't find the words “Jack, he was here.” 

“What? Dean what's going on?” 

“He-...” And then Miracle started barking and Dean let his phone drop to the floor.

“Hello Dean”

He was standing a few feet away, this couldnt be real.  “...Cas I..” Dean started but he lost the ability to speak. He was really there. Rumpled trench coat, crooked tie, tousled hair and bright blue eyes. Dean tried to speak again. Why couldn't he say anything else? Too drunk, too stunned and too afraid to move. Damn it. “Cas...you’re here.”

“Yes” Cas smiled “I'm here.” Dean sensed a nervous caution in his voice. “It's good to see you Dean.” “Cas, what the hell were you thinking?” Dean’s voice was low and Cas furrowed his brow.

“I was protecting you.” 

Dean shook his head like he didn't want to hear it. Like he wouldn't accept that as a reason.

“Dean, BIllie would have killed us. You know that. The world needed you alive Dean. I needed you alive.” Cas paused and met Deans’ gaze again. “It was more important to make sure you were safe.” 

Dean pursed his lips and closed his eyes in frustration. “Im sorry, more important?” Dean looked at Cas again,  “No. You don't get to dip out. You should have told me about that deal! I could have helped you! I could have-... Damn it Cas!” Dean slammed the chair next to him and heard it clatter on the floor. 

“Dean I did what I needed to do. And I don’t regret any of it.” Cas let his voice raise a little in responsive anger but he chose his next words carefully, “I don't regret what I said and I don't regret saving your life.” Despite Dean's outward display of anger, Cas knew Dean was reacting out of love. This anger was misplaced guilt. “You owe me nothing Dean. None of this was your fault.” 

Dean was just drunk enough that he faltered, his voice breaking as he said “Cas, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry Cas..I didn't stop you...I couldn't tell you...” 

Cas moved toward him then, reaching a hand to wipe away the tears Dean didn't realize were falling down his face. Dean could feel his heart aching against his ribs. How did he tell him that images of that moment came back to him every night, swallowed up in black? Cas crying, Dean reaching, Cas disappearing. Over and over they haunted him.

Cas lifted his hand away but felt Deans rough fingers stop him, holding his hand in place. “Cas….Tell me again. What you said..please..”

“Dean...” 

“No I..” Dean breathed out “I need to hear it Cas. Please tell me again.” 

Cas brought his head closer to rest on Dean’s forehead, closing his eyes. Dean lowered their hands, still grasping on in desperation. Cas could feel Dean shaking as he moved closer to him. Dean let his eyes flutter closed when he felt Cas rest against him. After a moment of silence, Cas said in a quiet voice “I love you Dean.” 

Dean wasn't sure if it was the whiskey or the feeling of Cas’s skin, warm and real against his face.Maybe it was just the pure joy that Cas was here or the relief that he would never leave him again. But he needed more, he needed to feel Cas. He needed to touch him. He moved in slowly, brushing their noses together. Cas’s breath staggered as he let Dean make the decision. Dean grazed his lips along the angels mouth and everything felt warm. The kiss was soft and cautious. Dean moved his mouth slowly, carefully and Cas leaned in slightly, letting Dean set the pace. And then, realization. 

Oh. Oh.

The energy changed and Cas felt Dean’s kiss deepen, his hand reaching up to wind fingers into Cas’s hair. And it was then that Cas allowed himself to grab onto Dean, pulling him in by his flannel. He breathed in Dean's scent, pine mixed with bourbon and aftershave and Dean let his other hand up to rest on Cas’s neck. He could feel the angel’s pulse racing as he pulled back to look at him. “This is...okay right?” 

“Yes” Cas breathed, and immediately pulled Dean in again. 

---

When Sam walked into the bunker he noticed the lights were on and a chair was toppled over in the library. Deans phone on the floor. But he didn't see anyone. “Dean?” 

Eileen followed after him, calling out for Dean. Sam ran to Dean’s room and when Eileen followed, Sam stopped her before she called out for Dean again. He gestured into the room. “Look” he signed to her. 

Dean was sleeping, his head resting on Castiel’s chest. Miracle was curled up at the bottom of the bed, her head resting on Dean's leg. Sam noticed Cas, in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, calmly placing his fingers on Dean's temple. A pale blue glow kept Dean’s dreams peaceful and Cas ran his fingers through short hair as his hunter slept soundly. 

 “Cas?” Sam whispered, in disbelief that the angel was alive. Cas gently slid out from under Dean and moved to the door, shutting it carefully behind him.

 Sam smiled “It's so good to see you Cas.” He pulled the angel into a hug. “I thought you were in the empty. How are you here?” 

“Jack,” Cas smiled “He brought me back” Cas looked back toward the bedroom.”Dean and I have been...catching up.” 

Sam smiled and let out a short laugh “Yeah I can see that.” 

“I love him Sam” 

“I know you do. I never wanted to push him but I knew.” Sam let out a breathy laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “Wow I cant believe Dean finally figured it out. I can't believe this is really happening. What are you going to do now?” 

“Whatever makes Dean happy.” Cas said, so matter of factly that Sam shook his head in pure amazement and laughed again.

---

It was a small outdoor ceremony, but Sam and Eileen couldn't have been happier. Dean beamed with pride standing next to Sam, his tux pressed and black shoes shined. They held the reception in Jody's backyard, string lights and cheap alcohol. It was perfect.

Cas walked into the kitchen, slightly intoxicated and saw Claire sitting on the counter rubbing her feet “I hate heels.” 

“They do look very uncomfortable,” Cas replied. “These suits are restricting as well. My neck is very itchy.” 

Claire beckoned Cas over and loosened his bowtie. “You don't really need it all the way on anymore. Ceremony is over.” She smiled, “Your boyfriend took his off hours ago I bet.” 

Cas never will be used to hearing Dean referred to in that way. “Where is he?” 

“I think he’s out front on the porch.” She said, jumping off the counter barefoot and walking back out into the yard to find Kaia for a dance. She popped her head back inside “Oh hey, tell him I can work that Sunday shift he asked about okay?” Cas nodded and Claire spun around and headed to the dance floor. 

Cas walked out onto the porch to find Dean. The night air was cool and crickets chirped loudly in the fields. As Claire had suspected, Dean’s tie was long gone. His dress shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal the t-shirt underneath, and to see the necklace filled with Castiel’s grace glowing on his chest. He took another drink from his beer and looked up. “Heya Cas.”

“Hello Dean.” He paused and then remembered “Claire said she can work the Sunday shift.” 

“Ah, good. That kid is killing me. That's what I get for owning a bar, I guess. I’m a freakin boss now.” He laughed to himself, “It still feels weird to say it. Like I'm gonna mess it up.” 

“You’ve earned it, and you certainly are not messing it up.” Cas sat down next to him and smiled as Dean wrapped his arm around him, “How are you Dean?” 

“Eh, I'm fine.” Dean looked down, picking at the label of his beer. “Sammy seems happy, huh?”

“Yes, he does.” Cas reached out and pulled Dean’s hand away from his nervous movement, entwining their fingers together. “He's going to be fine.” 

“I know.” Dean says, squeezing Cas’s hand. “I just hate that he doesn't need me anymore.” 

“That's not true, he’ll always need you.” Cas reassured him. Dean leaned over and kissed Cas, gazing at him for a moment before saying “I love you, you know that right?” 

“I know,” Cas replied, “I love you too.” It didn't matter that they had been together for over a year, 6 months since Cas had made the choice to be human, it still made Cas shiver to hear Dean tell him he loved him.  

“You sure you don’t regret giving me this?” He holds up the glowing grace pendant. Cas shakes his head “No, not once.” and Dean pulls him in for another kiss. 

Jack watches from afar, a smile on his face. 

The sounds of the party last long into the night. 

[chimaeracabra]

Cooking for Cap

Author’s Note: I’m Nigerian. Lately I’ve been cooking a lot of jollof rice, wanting something new to eat in quarantine times. It’s one of my favorite dishes. Lots of autobiographical info thrown in here.

Genre: Fluff/romance

           Captain Steve Rogers leans attentively against the counter in the kitchen, watching Ada mete out a mess of seasonings he has never cooked with in his life. The centenarian usually ate whatever Sam, Bucky, Wanda, or Nat cooked. He isn’t very handy around the kitchen; he can make a good sandwich, a burger, the standard American diet, but he doesn’t know his way around cooking much where boiling isn’t involved. Ada’s umber gaze meets Steve’s and he blushes a little bit, returning her smile. Her teeth could have literally shined, they were so white in contrast to her rich espresso skin.

           “I’ve heard of thyme,” he nods, as she holds the bottle up his way before dumping a large teaspoon of the herb into a saucer, where she had already collected sea salt, curry powder, and bay leaves.

           “And this?” she asks, holding up a small clear bottle of something he hasn’t used before. The Captain’s wheat gold eyebrows arch as he reads the label.

           “Cayenne…wait, isn’t that the stuff they put in pepper spray?” he asks a little nervously.

Ada laughs.

           “I think so. But don’t worry, it’s still edible. And I never make it too spicy for…well…” Had it not been for the deepness of her complexion, Steve would have seen Ada blush, “when I cook it for other people,” she finishes, her eyes lingering a moment on his exposed forearms. They’re noticeably milky, in stark contrast to the black shirt he’s wearing, which hugs his shoulders such that Ada can see the bulge of his muscles when he shifts, standing up straight and gripping the counter. Measuring half a tea spoon of the lethal spice and adding it to the saucer, Ada’s heart throbs slightly as Steve smiles and starts around the counter until he’s standing next to her, seemingly mesmerized.

           “The recipe actually calls for one and a half teaspoons of cayenne, plus a Scotch bonnet pepper, which I hardly ever use,” she explains, reaching for garlic and plucking about four cloves to peel.

           “And I always like to do my garlic and ginger fresh,” she explains, sparing him a glance. As she peels the garlic, Steve’s white hand gracefully reaches for the plate of seasonings she’s compiling and he lifts it slowly to his nose. He closes his icy eyes and sniffs it gently.

           “Mmmm,” he hums. Ada can just about feel this expression of satisfaction rumbling deep within his chest. He places the saucer back where it was gently.

           “I can’t wait to try it, Ada,” he admits, “Aside from Thai food, I haven’t really had much of anything with all these powerful flavors,” Steve explains.

           “Oh, yes, it’s—”

           “ACHOOO!”

Steve had abruptly turned away from her in time to catch his sneeze, which causes Ada to laugh.

           “Yeah. You never want to straight up sniff pepper,” she says, “Especially not cayenne.”

           “Noted,” Steve sniffles, turning back to her, “Burns a little,” he says with an awkward smile, scratching the back of his neck. His nose has pinkened now and Ada knows that another sneeze is coming. The Captain makes it to the roll of paper towels and catches his sneeze, his ears met with the pleasant ring of Ada’s laughs. She wonders, had she had the actual pepper, whether the star-spangled hero would have been able to handle her jollof. Steve is so overtly strong that it was rather amusing to Ada that a bit of spice could pretty much take him out.

           “Wow, that’s powerful,” he notes, before sneezing again, walking around the counter and returning to his safe distance from Ada’s preparation.

           “It smelled good, though,” he admits, his eyes fixed on what she’s doing with genuine interest. Ada opens the food processor and drops the cloves of garlic in before finally peeling some fresh ginger and adding a smaller amount of the herb to the food processor. It’s loud for about thirty seconds before the device yields the desired result. She adds the minced garlic and ginger to the saucer with everything else. To Steve’s relief, Ada had purchased pre-chopped onions. She had admitted to hating cutting them herself. She often had to use goggles, they made her eyes so sensitive. The red of the bell pepper pops against Ada’s espresso fingers, and the sight is oddly satisfying to Steve’s sapphire gaze. He watches her chop and de-seed all three bell peppers before chopping two plump tomatoes, and adding the onions, peppers, and tomatoes to the Ninja Blender Natasha had bought for the kitchen not too long ago.

It doesn’t take long for the mixture to be like a soup, which Steve observes, having moved around the counter again to stand closer to Ada.

           “This you can safely sniff,” she grins, opening the blender. Steve’s hands brush hers lightly as he reaches for it, and his heart skips a beat. Her laugh chimes in his ears again as he closes his frosty eyes and takes a sniff of the blended vegetables.

           “Smells kinda like…salsa?” he says.

           “It pretty much is, at the moment,” Ada beams. He places the blender on the counter again.

           “Now, will you mix the herbs in?” she asks, handing Steve a wooden spoon. He’s honored she’s allowing him to do anything at this point. He had asked several times before she even started whether he could lend a hand, and Natasha had passed through at one point to tell him to “let the woman cook. He wasn’t Nigerian and didn’t know his way around their food,” which had caused the Captain to roll his eyes genuinely, but it made Ada laugh. And he loved when Ada laughed because her perfect teeth would show and just be so bright against her skin. It made his stomach do summersaults. Steve mixes the herbs into the blended vegetables as thoroughly as he can after removing the blender’s blades.

          He watches Ada pour a half cup of vegetable oil into a large pan and cover it with a lid. At some point between preparing the herbs and chopping the vegetables, she had measured one and a half cups of water and poured it into a separate pot on the stove with the heat medium. She now dumps two and a half cups of brown rice into the pot to parboil it.

          “And then all you do is heat the oil, simmer the vegetable mix, and add in the rice,” she explains, throwing away the peels from the garlic and ginger, the pieces of the bell peppers she omitted.

          “I bet it’s going to smell delicious.” Steve mixes until the herbs are evenly dispersed, “Can I pour it?” he asks.

          “In about ten minutes. Just need the rice to finish parboiling.”

           “Oh, okay.”

          “Normally, we use medium-grain rice in jollof. But I love brown rice,” Ada smiles. Steve loved brown rice, too. It was heartier, more satisfying than white rice. In fact, he thought it more visually appealing, as far as meal preparation went. It was just so earthy and healthy.

          “If my dad saw what kind of rice I use, he would probably roll over in his grave.”

          At this, Steve laughs genuinely, Ada following suit. He liked that she shared things like this with him. It wasn’t very hard to get to know Ada. From the moment he’d begun to train her, Ada had stood out among the other recruits in a way that Steve couldn’t really put his finger on. Maybe it was something in the way that her laugh made his heart race, or her cheekbones which could have cut diamonds, or the perfect way her hips were wide and swung when she walked, Steve blushing now as Ada traipses to the trash to throw away pieces of unused vegetable. He swallows hard. He has never really seen an ass like that.

           “Are you okay?”

           “Huh?”

           “You didn’t sniff that cayenne again, did you?”

           “What?”

           “Your face is so red, Steve,” Ada explains.

Steve glances out the window, and Ada senses the faintest bit of nervousness emanating off of him.

           “Guess that pepper got into the air a bit,” he says.

And he turns away in time to catch another sneeze in his elbow. Little does Ada know that this sneeze was in fact fake. Steve pulls himself together, hearing the sound of the refrigerator dispensing filtered water behind him. When he turns around, Ada is already approaching him with a glass of water.

           “Here you go.”

           “Thanks,” he says, and he blushes like a cherry for a moment. Ada begins to wonder if it was really the cayenne that had gotten to him again.

           “How long does it cook for?”

           “Maybe forty minutes. I usually lose count after thirty. I just like it to cook long enough that the rice is neither squishy, nor too al dente.”

He nods.

           “And the other key ingredient, which I don’t personally use, is a bouillon cube.”

           “Hmmm, I’ve never heard of a b…bou,” Steve struggles with the word, which makes Ada hold back a laugh, “B...booollon cube.” Ada starts laughing and Steve pulls his phone out of his pocket and Googles it. The phone says it and he repeats it correctly with finality, looking rather satisfied with himself.

           “Yes. It’s a—”

           “Stock cube. A type of broth, formed into a small cube about thirteen millimeters wide, typically made from dehydrated vegetables, meat stock, a small portion of fat, MSG, salt, and seasonings, shaped into a small cube,” Steve finishes, flashing her a smile, and pocketing his iPhone. Ada nods.

           “Well, I think what you already used will be more than enough seasonings for me,” he adds, “Plus, I swear I’ve heard some bad news about MSG.”

           “Yeah, that’s part of why I don’t use it,” Ada explains.

           “Did your dad use bouillon cubes?”

           “He did, actually. But I can’t remember him ever making jollof. I do remember him making rice and stew, and when I was in fourth grade, he’d make a lot of it, and my mom would come into the classroom and read about Kwanzaa to my class, hand out the food, and everybody loved it,” Ada continues, this faraway, nostalgic expression surfacing on her face as she leans back against the sink, her arms crossed as she nods into the gustatory memory.

           “Yes, and my mum would bring in these kente cloth scarves and give one to everybody. My classmates really liked the way my mom would read the Kwanzaa book.”

           “It’s like Hanukkah, sort of,” Steve chimes excitedly, “Well, I mean you still have that candle stand, which looks kind of like a menorah. But it’s like a celebration of the harvest, isn’t it?”

When Ada’s umber gaze meets Steve’s again, his pulse quickens.

           “I spent a little bit of time in Wakanda and I was there during some of it,” Steve adds. He’s cultured, curious, open, and eager to learn, something which Ada finds rather delightful.

           “Hmmm, let’s see…” Steve’s frosty gaze is cast skywards momentarily, “There are seven principles. Umoja, for unity in the family and community. Ujima, collective work and responsibility…boy, there’s a bunch I won’t even try to pronounce or I’ll butcher it,” he grins. Ada finds herself very impressed suddenly, especially considering how much trouble he’d had pronouncing bouillon, a French word. The principles just sort of rolled off Steve’s tongue as though he’d said the words regularly.

           “You know a lot more than most people.”

Steve shrugs.

           “Well, that’s a shame. African history is American history.”

           “Very true.”

Ada’s heart swells. There’s a moment of silence between the two, where they’re just looking at each other. Steve shifts slightly, his brawny arms traveling from across his chest, his hands landing on the counter on either side of him. There’s a noticeable vibe or tension between them, so thick that the pair is almost certain they could cut it with a knife.

           “Do you actively celebrate?” Steve asks.

           “Me? Oh, my family did. Sometimes, one of my aunts would invite everyone over and one of my uncles would lead a libation in Igbo,” Ada smiles, lost in memory again, “And in my immediate family, we did it when I was growing up. But over the years, we just kinda got lazy and kept forgetting to light the kinara—the candle holder. So, eventually, we stopped.”

Steve looking rather sad to hear so makes Ada feel the same way.

           “That’s too bad,” he says, “People don’t really observe holidays like they did when I was coming up. We used to actually go to church and mass for Christmas. I never really got that many gifts growing up poor, and now it’s all the kids ever care about. They don’t really understand the significance of the holiday anymore. Same applies to a number of other holidays.”

           “I agree. It’s gotten very…secular.”

Steve sighs wistfully, shakes his head in disappointment.

           “Ada, I tell you, if I had kids, they’d understand their roots and the history behind that. It really teaches values that people don’t exactly bother to pass down in quite the same way in this day and age.” His gaze makes her uncomfortable suddenly, but not in a bad way. Just the way he was talking made it feel like it was about her specifically. Sometimes she forgets just how old Steve is. It’s very clear to her that his life experiences have taught him things in a similar, yet vastly different way. He could appreciate things like this in ways many people were simply not open to in her experience.

           “That makes sense. I mean, I couldn’t really tell you everything about Kwanzaa, if I’m honest. But the food is just so vivid to me.”

           “Food is something everybody likes, right?” Steve beams, “It’s a great way to experience culture.”

           Ada nods, “I’ve never made it myself, but my dad used to make fufu—”

Steve snaps his fingers, “I’ve had that. With the spicy soup? Burnt the mouth off me when T’Challa had me try it,” Steve reminisces. Ada laughs.

           “Very tasty, though.”

           “Yes, that’s why it’s called pepper soup,” she giggles, “You’re brave, Steve.”

           “He warned me, too,” the Captain grins, “But I liked the flavors.”

           “So, then my jollof will be less than mild for you.”

The timer goes off and Steve checks the rice with an oven mitt.

           “This ready?” he asks, gazing into the steaming pot. Ada hurries over to dip her spoon in the side and check that the water is gone. When she finds that it has all evaporated, she nods and turns on the pot inside which she had poured the vegetable oil.

           “Now, we just heat this oil up, and you can add in the vegetable mix.”

Steve reaches for the blender full of blended onions, bell peppers, tomatoes, and herbs, removing the lid and closing his bright eyes to inhale a few more times. There’s something almost erotic about the way his chiseled face develops such a satisfied look. And he gazes down at her, the corner of his full, pink lips curling. Ada melts for a handful of seconds, beginning to sweat a little bit. She suddenly tears her gaze away and uses the same oven mitt with which Steve had checked the rice to lift the lid off the pan of oil and find that it is beginning to bubble and pop.

           “Shit,” she mumbles, “go ahead, before the oil splashes.” She moves clear out of Steve’s way and he pours the vegetable mix into the pan, her ears perking up to the sizzling noise that it makes.

           “Wow,” Steve states, turning the heat down, something Ada was about to do when he beat her to it. He reaches for the wooden spoon and stirs the mix into the oil, as if he has cooked this hundreds of times before.

           “Is this good?” he asks.

           “Yes. You’ve definitely gotta turn the heat down so it doesn’t burn.”

Steve nods. Shortly, he places the lid back on the pot to get it to heat up the vegetable mix faster.

           “And once that’s hot enough, add the rice?”

           “You’re a natural,” Ada shrugs, impressed with his eagerness to cook. Steve has been wanting to get better at cooking, and his hands-on approach allows her to relax a little bit.

           “In the meantime, I’m gonna go ahead and wash these.”

Ada retrieves the blender and the food processor.

           “You’ve already worked so hard. Don’t add in extra work for yourself,” Steve explains, taking the blender out of her hands before she can put it in the sink and opening the dishwasher, which still has dirty dishes from breakfast in it, and the pan on which Wanda had made some sort of Sokovian pancakes for everyone. Ada loves this about being on the team. Everyone is so warm and inviting to her so far, sharing their homelands in the kitchen. She finds herself looking forward to some Asgardian dish Thor had decided to cook for dinner.

           Steve’s milky hand brushes Ada’s as he takes the food processor, disassembling it, and placing the parts strategically in the dishwasher. He then reaches into the cupboard for a clean dishtowel, soaking it under hot water, and adding a little dish liquid before rubbing it to get suds and approaching the counter where she’d prepared ingredients. Ada lifts the cutting board out of his way and pauses at the sink to watch Steve wipe the counter clean. She had seen him clean up before, but something about it is very appealing and she turns away to finally wash the cutting board, glad he can’t see her blush. By the time she turns around, she finds Steve spooning the rice into the pan. She leans against the counter to watch him stir until everything is evenly dispersed. He places the lid on again, turning to look at her.

           “Thirty minutes? Forty?” he asks.

           “Just do thirty for now.”

His fingers punch in the numbers and he looks rather satisfied with himself. His stomach growls audibly and he blushes.

           “The stomach doesn’t lie!”

Ada giggles.

           “Can you wait that long?” she asks.

           “Of course. How about some coffee in the meantime?”

Before Ada can answer, Steve is already pulling the French press and his favourite brand of coffee out of his area in the cupboards. Steve loves coffee. It’s his favorite part of the day, and everyone knows never to borrow Steve’s coffee without asking first. He just wasn’t himself in the morning without it. He preps it all so quickly, producing two large mugs by the time Ada answers him.

           “Sure, I’ll have a little.”

           “A little? Come on,” he says, that New Yorker accent making its way out of his mouth. He winks, causing Ada’s heart to race again. The scooper looks comically small in Steve’s large hand as he scoops a generous amount of the ground beans into the French press. Ada helps him by filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. Steve turns it up high, eager for his coffee.

           “It’s starting to smell good.” Steve hovers near the cooking rice and inspires deeply.

           “It’s my favorite west African dish.”

           “I can always tell by the smell that I’m gonna like something,” Steve explains.

Shortly, the kettle whistles and Steve wastes no time in pouring the boiling water into the French press.

           “You take cream and sugar?” Steve asks, stepping towards the fridge.

           “Uh, I can’t do dairy.”

           “Oh, right. I forgot, sorry,” he explains, glancing back at her before finding her almond milk. He shakes the bottle, something he has seen Ada do several times in the morning before adding some of it to her cereal. He glances at the bottle.

           “You, uh, like vanilla?” he asks. Again, she’s glad he can’t see her blushing.

           “I don’t know what kind of psychopath uses plain almond milk in their cereal,” Ada explains, cocking an eyebrow. This causes Steve to laugh heartily as he places the milk on the counter beside the French press. Ada’s humor is very unique, he has learned, and it always leaves his gut aching, especially when she doesn’t laugh nearly as hard as something she’s said causes others to laugh.

           “Well, you’re in luck, doll,” he says. Doll. Ada has heard him call only his closest female acquaintances this nickname, but something about the way he says it to her is just unique, “‘Cause I only do French vanilla for coffee. I’ll do hazelnut every now and then, but something about vanilla…”

           Many times, Ada had passed by Steve in the kitchen and he’d been caught off guard by something he’d smell. It took a while, but he had begun to realize that it was Ada’s skin or hair. He never got quite close enough to distinguish which part of her it was, but it always smelled very pleasant to him. As she turns on her heel to bring the saucer she had put the herbs on to the dishwasher, her braids whip slightly in their pony tail, and Steve catches the scent again. He closes his eyes in the moment, not wanting the aroma to dissipate. He turns away towards the counter again, unable to fight the fire beneath his cheeks. He keeps his back turned as he presses the plunger down slowly, forcing the coffee beans under pressure, releasing their oils and scent.

           She hasn’t had the pleasure of Steve making her a coffee yet, but he always would if anyone asked. His nisus to get her a cup fascinates her as she watches him lift the lid of the French press. Carefully, he brings it to her nose and she takes a whiff.

           “Wow, that’s powerful,” she says, closing her eyes. Steve smiles.

           “Trust me, you won’t find a brand as good as this one anywhere else,” he promises, handing her the bag so that she can read the label.

           She watches Steve pour and mix some vanilla almond milk into her cup, stirring it gently.

           “You may not even need sugar,” he says, pouring his own cup next. He adds one spoon of sugar to his cup before taking her almond milk back to the fridge. He makes his way back to the counter without the milk.

           “You don’t use creamer?” Ada asks.

           “No. I like my coffee black,” he explains, looking her full in the eyes as he continues to stir his cup. A lump develops in Ada’s throat, and she can’t tear her eyes away from the Captain’s, but her hand reaches shakily with his bag of coffee and places it back on the counter top. There’s not much space between them now, and Steve looking down at her creates that tension again. It’s rather swift when he ducks his head to compensate for her height at last. Her hands already knew where they wanted to land, and she finds herself clutching Steve’s shoulders as his mouth makes full contact with hers.

           Steve’s lips are as kissable as Ada had imagined. They aren’t thin, like some of the white men she’d kissed before. But hers are as juicy as he thought they would feel. His hands rest gently at the small of Ada’s back, and she’s a little surprised when his tongue makes contact with hers. He’s not shy at all. A satisfied mmm emanates from Steve’s mouth, traveling through Ada’s whole being, causing her to shiver, despite the heat of his hands, one of which is drifting towards her rear. He seems to be enjoying a taste, a smell, similarly to how he had sniffed the blended vegetables. She starts to wonder how long Steve has been wanting to do this. The thought had crossed her mind several times.

          “It smells amazing in—!”

Natasha stops dead in her tracks, Steve releasing Ada’s left butt cheek almost as quickly as he had grabbed it.

           “Here,” Natasha finishes, cocking a flaming brow and smiling, Sam beside her looking away as if he hadn’t seen anything, but the two of them know that he did. Steve scratches the back of his head a moment, looking rather disappointed to be interrupted.

           “Ada is making us jollof rice for lunch,” Steve explains, crossing his arms.

           “Uhuh,” Natasha nods, walking towards the cupboards and pulling out one of her bags of popcorn before popping it in the microwave.

           “Call me when it’s ready.” Sam’s voice fades as he makes his way casually out of the kitchen.

           “Well, I’ve been wanting to ask you out on a proper date,” Steve explains, looking hypnotized as he speaks quietly to Ada, knowing that Natasha can still hear him. Ada gazes past him at Natasha, who is grinning knowingly. The redhead gestures to her encouragingly.

           “Ya know, at like a restaurant, where we can eat…in private.”

Ada laughs. For a moment, Steve looks crushed.

           “I’d love to, Steve.”

He exhales in what seems like relief, and they reach for their coffee at the same time, unaware of the buttery aroma filling the kitchen, mingling with the jollof’s savory scent, the popping noises in the background, that same tension resurfacing.

           “It’s about time, Rogers. I knew you liked her!”

Steve nearly chokes on his coffee.

[cyan-threw-the-scalpels-blog]

Something I wrote in celebration of getting my new fave megane boy. I’ll definitely edit this later when his quotes comes out

Gou fixes his shoes and quickly goes to catch up with Mutsunokami. They walk together to the training hall of the Citadel. After getting lessons about having human bodies--it still feels weird to him--and the chores he must do everyday in the Citadel, Mutsunokami accompanies Gou back to his room to change his clothes into his battle gear. "It's always good to get used to fighting in those clothes quickly. You wear a suit, after all. Looks awfully inconvenient," Mutsunokami said with a laugh. He too has changed into his battle outfit, even though, according to him, he didn't need to.

(Despite the clash of colour, Gou has to say that it looks good on him. Although his clothes seems somewhat loose. Perhaps Gou will speak with him about it afterwards....)

Moving his thoughts back to the task at hand, Gou asks Mutsunokami, "So, are the things you said about our Master true?"

Mutsunokami grins. "Yup. He's great at fighting, and he likes to judge the strength of his new touken danshi by sparring against them. You'll be up against him in a minute, I reckon."

"But isn't he worried if we might hurt him?" Gou says, unsure, "I'd hate to injure my master."

"Ha! You wish," Mutsunokami laughs cheerfully. "I can't beat him, and I'm the first sword to arrive here. And I even have this," he picks up his revolver, waving it, "so you know he's the real deal."

Gou observes the gun. He doesn't really get Mutsunokami's explanation about how it works, but he gets the sense that it is a lethal weapon. So his new master must really be strong.

"Are you telling the newcomer about Aruji, Mutsunokami-san?" A small, blue-haired child dressed in tattered clothes suddenly appears from behind them, surpirising Gou. He didn't notice anything before this person appears. Gou recalls that he is Sayo Samonji, a sword of Hosokawa. I can definitely trust his opinion, Gou thinks.

"Sayo-san, what do you think of our master? Is he truly as strong as what Mutsunokami-san said?"

Sayo eyes Mutsunokami for a while, suspicious, while Mutsunokami beams at them innocently. "Our master is a capable fighter," he finally says. "He has joined us in the battlefield and escaped unscathed, so I'd say he is quite strong," Sayo nods with a serious face.

Yes, I can definitely trust him, Gou says to himself. (Although he isn't sure about Sayo's clothes. He definitely will deal with them later.)

They arrive at the training hall. There are two people inside who are currently sparring against each other, a white-haired young man repeatedly striking at a dark-haired boy. Gou recalls the first as Tsurumaru Kuninaga, a Gojou sword. And the other is the Saniwa, Akuzawa Riku.

The Saniwa deflects Tsurumaru's attack, feints, and strikes back when Tsurumaru can't anticipate his attack. Tsurumaru drops his wooden sword in defeat. "What a surprise, Aruji. I didn't see that one coming," he says, smiling.

"You did, though." Despite Tsurumaru looking like he just did five laps around the whole Citadel, the Saniwa doesn't look that tired. How strong is he, actually? Gou dreads having to fight him. "It's probably because you saw the newbie coming and wanted to get out of the way," he says, nodding at Gou.

Tsurumaru grins. "Heh, maybe. Oi, Yoshi-bou, wanna go against me?" Mutsunokami responds to his call with a happy "Sure!", while Sayo excuses himself back to the fields.

The Saniwa's attention now turns fully at him. "Kotegiri Gou, is it? Show me what you got."

"Yes." Gou picks a stance, gripping the wooden sword in his hands. The Saniwa still holds the sword he used to fight Tsurumaru.

Gou is about to step forward, but he can't move. I'm not ready.

The Saniwa sees that and decides to strike first. Gou raises his sword to defend himself, but he is soon pushed back by the Saniwa's power. He really is that strong! Gou lets go of his sword, defeated. He stares wide-eyed at the Saniwa. "No way," he mumbles.

The Saniwa looks surprised, too, for a moment. He seems confused, but then narrows his eyes at Mutsunokami. "Yoshi, what did you tell him?" he says with a suspicious expression.

"Nothing! I didn't tell him anything weird," Mutsunokami says with an innocent smile, pausing his battle with Tsurumaru. "Nothing but the truth, Aruji."

The Saniwa's expression turns into that of exasperation. "Truth? Does this," he grabs the wooden sword on both its ends and snaps them into two with his bare hands, "look like the truth to you?"

"Yes, that is an empirically observed objective truth. Isn't that right, Tsurumaru?" Tsurumaru nods conspirationally, while Gou is shocked. Looking at him, Mutsunokami's smile breaks into a laugh. "I'm just kidding, Kotegiri-kun. It's not actually like that."

"Didn't we agree that this trick is for non-teammates only? For crying out loud." The Saniwa sighs and explains that he has a power called Relative Strength Perception, which makes him as powerful as others think he is. "So don't buy anything this loser says, okay?"

Gou glares at Mutsunokami, and he lifts his hands up in surrender. "I wasn't lying, though. I'm the first sword to arrive here, and I can't beat Aruji in a fight. But," he continues as Gou is about to counter, "Sayo can. Horikawa and Kousetsu too. So I did tell you the truth, right?"

"You forgot me," Tsurumaru slings his arm around Mutsunokami's shoulder. "I beat Aruji once, too, remember?"

"That doesn't count. It was sabotaged," the Saniwa huffs at them. Tsurumaru reasons that if your power makes you weaker when I think you're weak that's not sabotage but the Saniwa ignores him. "Anyway, Kotegiri, want to continue? We'll fight fairly this time," he smirks, then shooes away the other two.

Gou readies his stance again. "Of course, Master." This time, he is the first to attack.

[citadel-of-stories]

Hi there! May I have a scenario with Tsurumaru and a fun saniwa who like to pull pranks on each other? Tsurumaru does a prank involving bugs not knowing that the saniwa has a huge fear of them so that she starts crying and the poor crane boy has to comfort her please? Also bonus if the other swords are about to kill him for make their precious saniwa cry lol. Thank you!! Have a nice day! ~

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiinally, I got this one out!  Packing has nearly concluded which means next comes the ever-important moving part of, well, moving!  

…Ugh.

Anyway, enjoy this extremely belated answer, Anon~!

Mitsutada paused, his knife halfway through a tomato as a chorus of shrieks rang out from the garden.  The black-haired Tachi looked to the right as his Dategumi companion stomped into the kitchen, his pale lips set in a rare scowl.  Water pooled on the stone flooring as the crane slumped off his white haori, gold chains clattering about his feet.

“…Tsuru-san–”

“Mitsu-bou,” the white-clad Tachi grumbled, ringing out the ends of his hair, “Aruji needs all the towels available in the Citadel.”

The taller Tachi paused before laying his knife on the cutting board.

~

“Oh, come on, Tsuru,” you chuckled, ruffling Maeda’s hair with one of the many towels brought out into the garden, “It was just a little water.”

“I find it hard to fathom one hundred water balloons to be ‘a little water’,” the Citadel’s resident poet retorted, hanging the crane’s white clothing out to dry next to Maeda’s cape.

“Way more than a little!” Tsurumaru shouted from the engawa, now clad in his pleasantly dry leisure garb.

“Can you really blame our master, Tsuru-san?” Mitsutada inquired, tossing another damp towel to Kasen, “Her office was a mess after your last prank.”

The crane released an innocent whistle before averting his gaze, his interest captured by a tiny spider crawling through the grass.  Maeda bowed to you in thanks, joining his brothers to dry off in the sun.

“We all know how this goes,” you hummed before lying back in the warm grass, your clothes slowly drying in the warmth of the afternoon sun, “He’ll throw his newest prank out and then so will I and so on and so forth.  Right?”

You looked to the white-clad Tachi, your brow furrowing.

“Tsuru?”

“Huh?” the crane glanced up, blinking for a brief moment before cracking his signature grin, “Y-Yeah, of course!  I’ll get you back before you know it!”

You giggled with a sigh, returning to your grass bed.  Kasen shared an exasperated glance with Mitsutada, the latter shrugging with a smile.

~

“…You woke me up for this?  I told you, I don’t intend to–”

“Yeah, yeah.  Keep your voice down, Kara-chan.”

Tsurumaru stifled a chuckle, attaching the last piece of rope to the saniwa’s doorframe.  Stepping back, he grinned at his handiwork before elbowing his Uchigatana accomplice in the arm.  Ookurikara’s permanent scowl only grew.

“…Going back to bed,” he grumbled, turning his back on the Tachi.

Tsurumaru opened his mouth to protest before sighing in defeat, waving him off with a flick of his wrist.

“Whatever.  I’ll just have to savor our master’s surprised expression on my own~.”

The Uchigatana rolled his eyes from down the hall, disappearing into the room he shared with his fellow Dategumi.  Tsurumaru peaked down the opposite hall leading to a section of the engawa, the faint light of morning bleeding into the Citadel.  The crane grinned, taking shelter behind a nearby corner.

~

You breathed in deep, snuggling further beneath your blankets.  A futon was a place of sanctuary, the warmth it provided a godsend on chilly mornings such as this.  The temperature outside would rise with the sun, but for now–

You sighed, shifting once more before sitting up.  The urge to empty your bladder always seemed strongest first thing in the morning.

Outside, Tsurumaru’s anticipation rose as the saniwa’s door opened…only to recoil in bewilderment from the panicked scream that immediately followed.  Cautiously, he peered back around the corner, his grin disappearing in its entirety.

You felt your backside hit the tatami mats, unsteady footsteps slipping on the futon.  Your heart thudded frantically from within, the rest of your body tense and trembling as your eyes sat locked on the baleful sight in your doorway.  That silhouette…  Even in the dim light, your mind echoed ‘tarantula’.

The clatter of bare feet approached, Tsurumaru appearing in the doorway with a timid expression.  His eyes widened before falling downcast, your tear-streaked face burned into his mind.  Summoning his blade in a splash of sakura petals, he struck the fiend down.  Its body and corresponding web fell to the floor, bits of stuffing and foam beads oozing from its corpse.  Tsurumaru gripped his hilt, the footsteps of Hasebe swiftly approaching as several sleepy heads poked out from nearby rooms.

“…Aruji,” the crane murmured, “I-It was just a prank.  I didn’t–”

Hasebe’s hands crashed into the Tachi, fingers seizing the front of his sleeping yukata and yanking him sidelong.

“Tsurumaru!” the Uchigatana bellowed, his violet gaze searing the Tachi’s gold, “If you’ve harmed the master, I’ll see you broken!”

“N-No, I–”

“Stop!”

Both blades paused as you stood, your breath finally calm as you wiped away the remaining tears.  Ambling forward, you stared warily at the toy spider, it’s cloth body mangled and googly-eyed stare permanently offset.  Glancing towards the crane, you reached down and picked up the toy, cradling it in your hands.

“I-It’s kinda…cute, right?” you murmured, stepping over the rope web, “Hasebe, help me fix him.”

The Uchigatana’s gaze softened before abruptly releasing the shaken and confused Tsurumaru from his clutches.  The Tachi’s lips parted as he reached out toward you, but Hasebe intervened once more with a grunt as he pulled you to himself, motioning towards the crane’s unsheathed blade mere centimeters from your hip.  Tsurumaru pulled away, sheathing his sword with a nervous chuckle.

“…I get it,” he sighed, swallowing hard, “No more pranks.”

You stared at the Tachi, his golden gaze eerily dark as the sun’s first rays entered the hall, casting the crane in a bath of light.  With little resistance, you eluded Hasebe’s grasp and extended your hand, ruffling the crane’s feathery hair.

“Don’t go changing the rules, silly goose,” you hummed, holding the spider toy to your chest, “I already know what I’ll pull on you next.”

In that moment, Tsurumaru’s eyes lit up like fireworks, their golden gleam as bright as ever.

“Just…no more bugs, okay?”

“You got it!  I’ll hit you with a better surprise in the future~!”

A chorus of relieved exhales sounded down the halls, murmurs of lost sleep ringing out as doors slid closed.