#oh no now I feel kind of bad about being so vague and noncommittal about her design and personality and everything

[canisalbus]

I've had Ludovicas girlfriend on the brain for months and finally sketched her out. I see her as the opposite to machete in that she has dark colours and softer shapes. Her ears and facefur kinda blend together and she gets big soft browneyes..

.

[firefighterxefe]

Efe gave him a sharp nod. "Oh, uh, good, good. You know. Keeping things going." This response was appropriately vague and noncommittally polite, but Efe managed to offer it with a smile. Everyone living in Lunar Cove already knew exactly how existence had been lately; with a string of tragedies behind them, maybe they really could only hope for the infrequent string of uneventful days. "Up to you, man. I mean, if you've got a few minutes to spare, it's not a lot of paperwork. I can get it moving right now," Efe droned on, raising an eyebrow as Julian produced a pen. "Hey! Always prepared. That's a point in your favor," he joked, managing a laugh, trying, genuinely, it seemed, to keep the other at ease.

Knitting his brow, Efe crossed his hands on the desk in front of him, offering a soft, reassuring smile. "Don't panic, all right? It's all good, man. I'm not trying to trip you up or catch you or anything. It's a volunteer unit, but it's...a big commitment. We just want to make sure people are really in it. That's fair, right?" He nodded. "Uh, no, of course not. It's a pretty standard examination. We do it for every species, regardless of their strengths. Equal across the board. Eye exam. Reflexes. That kind of thing. There's not a pull-up bar portion, though. Like the Marines. Some species would put others to shame." This seemed to be a joke, but Efe looked uncertain if he was really succeeding at keeping the other cool.

"Mhm. Mhm. That's good. That's good. We really are a team here. You have to know you can rely on the person next to you. Not just when you're out in the field, but...here at the station too, you know? Want to make sure dishes get done and beds get made. Keep everything running smoothly. No slackers," Efe replied. "Don't worry, though. I promise most of the folks here are pretty easy to get along with. We're here to work. Not true of every station, but we're small. Hotheads don't last long. Being a hothead will get you hurt." Efe pursed up his lips, thinking better of himself after a moment. "Not you you. Like, in general." He sighed.

"That so? Never been," Efe hummed, trying to make conversation to help the whole scenario feel less like a graded quiz. Listening intently, although he himself had never worked an office job and could not quite follow all the specifics, he pieced together the pieces. "That sounds like it was a tough situation. But you got it together. Kudos. And you know, I can't say you'll be doing a lot of marketing presentations around here, but...yeah, patience and humility and openness will go a long way. A good firefighter is collaborative. They're flexible. They can adapt to new circumstances. They can control their own emotions under stress. That's really important. So are people skills. I think popular opinion thinks they're not, but...being able to communicate is important. You're going to have to relay vital information to others. You're going to encounter angry or panicked citizens. You're going to potentially have to console people. They're going to wander toward the nearest official-looking person. And that's not to mention all the other constituents we work with. Medical personnel. Building inspectors. It's good that you can work across groups."

Biting his lip, Efe met Julian's eye. "I understand. That's admirable. And I do think you can find those things here. Passion, desire, want...that's a strong foundation. Next step is hard work. Commitment. It's not about glory. It's about...being able to buckle down and meet the responsibility. Lunar Cove has been bad lately, yeah, but...most calls? False alarms. Semi-incidents. Fire drills. You just got to remember that everyone who calls in an emergency is having one of the worst days of their life, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Might not change the world, but you'll make a difference to them."

He managed a laugh. "You keep the speed in check, dude. We all gotta know where everyone else is at all times. No running across the building, all right? Also, don't call me coach. You start, everyone'll start, and I'll never get rid of it." Efe rolled his eyes, but there was good humor it. He extended a hand to shake. "Thank you for coming by, Julian. I'm not the final decision maker, but...I think you're a shoo-in. And hey, I started as a volunteer. You take a shine to it, I'm happy to help you on the way."

Julian flashed a practiced easy smile, all dimples, as the other greeted him. “Yeah, fine, man, how about yourself?” Julian realized he hadn’t asked the guy how he was doing, in the kind way a normal person would greet someone. He’d jumped so fast to the point, he almost felt embarrassed about his anxious enthusiasm. In truth, he almost expected to be turned away, maybe they got enough guys in the truck since summer, but Efe mentioned they were still looking and his faltering grin beamed in response. “Oh, if it��s easier I could just go online…” he trailed off, eyebrows rising when the other man produced a clipboard. Accepting it with an appreciative grin, he took out his favorite liner pen, always on his person, and began scribbling in the prompts on the application.

The invitation for an immediate interview caught Julian a bit off guard. Maybe it was just the nature of the job, having to be ready at the drop of a pin. If he couldn’t handle an impromptu job interview, how could he be expected to jump into the fray when a real emergency necessitated it? “Oh, uh, okay,” he fumbled a bit over his words, his brows pulling together but he melted back into his usual easy going ways. “Medical examination… does me being, like, a vampire… is that a problem?” He resumed scrawling in his answers when Efe asked the first question. Head rising, he met the other’s gaze with a raised brow as he quietly chewed over his answer. “I mean, as far as teamwork goes, I spent a lot of my youth on sports teams, working with other guys to achieve the same goal. Been to state a few times, actually, and I carried that into my collegiate career. But I mean I also have always been in positions that require me to work with others. Biggest thing is doing your part and doing it efficiently, but also learning to understand and work with different types of personalities. Not everyone is going to be easy to get along with, but you can do your part to make it all smooth. As for overcoming challenges…” Did dying count? Not that he did much there, anyway. He swallowed as he thought. “Before I moved to Lunar Cove, I was working at a digital marketing firm in Philadelphia. I know, not exactly the same as this but it came with its own challenges. One time we were doing a big rebranding project for a client. Complete overhaul of their website, ad campaigns, just a lot of work. It was a long project too, we just had a lot to do and the client was constantly changing their mind on things. When we seemed to get headway on the project, there was a shift at the client’s company and our initial contact ended up leaving. They hired someone new to fill that spot and the second we got into a meeting with them, they decided they wanted to change everything we worked on so far. That meant a lot of extra work from my team, and it also meant insane crunch time since we were getting close to our contract date.” He sighed, “I called in the team and we brainstormed and together we decided the best course of action was to give this new contact a presentation explaining everything that went into the project so far, the reasoning behind it, why the initial contact liked what we were doing. Long story short, after taking the time and initiative to just lay it all out there and talk through the steps, this contact came around and we continued working on the project form there. They provided some great insight, some different angles and offered a fresh perspective, so we met some of their suggestions for change enthusiastically. Ultimately, we put together a package that was attractive but also proved really productive for the client, and they saw a huge increase in profits from our work. It just took taking a second to step back and show a little grace and patience when being confronted by a new voice in the zone to get back on track and get our act together.” Julian shrugged, unsure if it was a sufficient answer or even helpful for the job he was applying for.

“Listen, I’m not… I came out here to talk to you about this because, the truth is I know I’ve been pretty useless when things have gone down around here. Lunar Cove is a nice place to be, but it’s also a scary place to live. You just never know what’s gonna come your way, what sort of catastrophe is waiting around the corner. Who’s coming to harm us, and when. I just… I really wanna be good, and I really wanna do good. You know? And while I was sure of myself in my life before… I haven’t done much here to give back, I haven’t been helpful when it’s needed. And, truth is… I’ve been kinda aimless since last spring.” He swallowed, because it wasn’t exactly fun to admit your faults. “You talked about how doing this can give a guy purpose, how it’s a way to give back to the community. More than anything I can say in an interview, more than any well practiced scripted answer I can give you, that’s what I wanna do. I just wanna do something that could make a difference, I just wanna help people, somehow. Make this second chance at living I have worth a damn, have it mean something.” It sure as hell wasn’t so he could become that world famous artist he always wanted to be, that much was apparent. Maybe it was time to try something new. He placed the clipboard with the finished application down, raising his hands. “I can do a whole lot of crazy stuff with this superhuman strength and speed of mine… I want to put it to good use. If I can do that here, with you and everyone else that works here, well…” He shrugged, a crooked and half confident grin growing on his face, “Then this is where I wanna be. Put me in coach.”

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part III (x reader)

Summary: Spencer has to face Anita and Sam— and learns a little about reader’s past. Reader and Spencer babysit for Michael and Henry. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, a tiny smidge of hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: implied smut, drinking/alcohol, vague mentions of previous emotional/mental abuse (Owen)

Word count: 4.2k

a/n: This picks up right after the end of the tmsidk epilogue! I also worked two requests in here.

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer stacked the last of the tiny chairs in the center of the room, stepping back and dusting his palms on his trousers. He looked over to see Y/N playing a sort of container tetris with the bins of supplies in her closet. He smiled a little to himself, his head still in the metaphorical clouds with her confession of love. 

She maneuvered the bins to her satisfaction and shut the closet doors, pushing against them to squeeze everything in until the latch clicked. She turned to see him watching her and wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. She gave him a wink and a grin, and he was falling all over again. 

She perched on the corner of her desk with a tired sigh, and he made his way across the room to her. She reached for him as soon as he was within arms length, wrapping her arms around his middle. She snuggled into his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go to dinner to celebrate.”

She laughed and looked up at him. “Celebrate what?”

He shrugged. “You. Summer.” He brought his arms around her shoulders. “Love.”

She smiled and scrunched her nose at him. “You just want me to say it again.”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

Her hands came to rest on his hips, her fingers squeezing lightly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he answered immediately and rather dreamily. 

“Yo, Y/L/N!” 

The call of her name from the hallway startled them both. Anita began to step over the threshold, continuing, “You ready to get absolutely crunk tonight or— oh.” She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes tracking Spencer’s frame. “Dr. Reid.”

Spencer stepped back from Y/N, smiling a little awkwardly at the formality and giving a wave. “Mrs. Lopez. It’s, um— it’s nice to see you again.”

Anita hummed noncommittally, and Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. She turned her attention back to Y/N. “So, are we going out or what?”

Y/N groaned. “Anita, I’m exhausted. Can we keep it low key? Oh!” Her eyes lit up with an idea, and Spencer could already see where this was going. “Spence and I were gonna get dinner to celebrate, um— summer. Call Sam; we’ll all just go together.”

Anita spared a glance in Spencer’s direction before sighing heavily. “Fine. But I’m drinking.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the hallway.

Y/N chuckled. “I swear she’s not actually an alcoholic.” Her eyes landed on Spencer’s face, and she smiled gently. “I know you weren’t expecting a Meet the Friends night, but it’ll be fun.”

“She hates me,” Spencer surmised.

“She does not hate you.” Y/N stood from the desk, pressed a reassuring peck to his lips. “She’s just… protective. That’s all.”

…

Y/N was entirely wrong. Anita Lopez hated him. That was the only explanation for her absolutely icy demeanor. 

They’d met up with her and Sam at a Mexican restaurant in Tenleytown. Sam was wonderfully kind and funny, even apologizing for having “flipped him the bird” the last time she saw him. And it was a good thing Sam was being friendly, because Anita was decidedly… less so. 

Spencer understood completely of course. He’d broken Y/N’s heart. Penelope had been ready to hunt her down at the mere thought of him being hurt. As Y/N’s best friend, Anita had every right to be wary of him. She had every right to hate him. He’d just... hoped that she wouldn’t. 

Thankfully, Y/N and Sam were more than happy to carry the conversation— he and Anita chiming in here and there. He learned that Sam worked as an attorney at a firm specializing in family law. She and Anita had two kids, Riley and Sidney— one in 2nd grade and the other in preschool. 

“Y/N is still Riley’s favorite teacher ever,” Sam told him. “I mean, it helps when she’s also your aunt, I guess.”

“He didn’t get any special treatment,” Y/N insisted. At Sam’s raised eyebrow, she laughed. “Okay, maybe a little special treatment. But you raised a good kid! And I can’t help it that he was the most trustworthy of the bunch.”

“Oh my god, the field trip,” Sam groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. 

“The field trip!” Y/N turned to Spencer. “My group of kiddos from two years ago— they were kind of a tough group.”

“Kind of?” Anita squeaked. “Let me just tell you, I can hear them through the floor. The entire middle school is literally dreading the day they make it upstairs.”

Sam piped in, “I chaperoned on said field trip to the zoo. And I vowed that I will never, ever go on another field trip. Ever.”

“What happened?” Spencer asked incredulously. 

“So many things,” Sam baited. 

Y/N covered her mouth to stifle a cackle, leaning a bit into Spencer’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile, looking around at the three women. Even Anita was chuckling, and she’d barely cracked a smile all evening. 

“Okay, so many things happened,” Y/N started, “but the worst was—”

“The poop!” Sam wheezed. “The poop was the worst part of that day. The smell alone, oh my god.”

Y/N composed herself as best she could, gesturing over the table. “So after this nightmare of a day, we get on the bus, and there’s this— smell.”

“The absolute worst smell you’ve ever smelled, Spencer,” Sam assured. 

“It’s awful. It’s so bad,” Y/N agreed. “And I’m literally going seat to seat, checking to make sure no one has shit themselves.”

“You could not pay me enough,” Anita chimed in. 

“And I get to the seat that is very clearly where the smell is coming from. And I can’t, like— hold my nose, right? I don’t want to embarrass him!” Y/N turned to Spencer with flushed cheeks. “So I ask, ‘Sweetheart, did you have a bathroom accident?’”

Spencer let out a nervous laugh. “Oh no.” 

“But oh, it wasn’t a bathroom accident,” Y/N clarified, waving her hand. “No, no— that would be too easy. This child had somehow managed to obtain copious amounts of poop from one of the zoo animals and packed it into his lunchbox to take home.”

Spencer could feel his jaw drop. “Oh my god.”

“So, he unzips his lunchbox and it’s just— overflowing with shit.” Y/N dropped her head into her hands, overcome with giggles. 

“And don’t forget the worst part: his mom was on the field trip!” Sam lamented, throwing her hands up. “I will never understand.”

Y/N lifted her head with an exasperated grin, and he wasn’t sure if it was the story or the fact that she loved him, but Spencer felt like he could float away into outer space. 

“I told you I had a lot of poop stories,” Y/N reminded him, drawing another round of laughs. As they composed themselves, the waiter came by their table to clear some of their plates and refill their water.

“God, I said we were keeping it low key, and then I drank half a pitcher,” Y/N complained, pushing back from the table. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” 

She gave Spencer a reassuring smile, and he tried not to panic as she stood and left him with Sam and Anita. And because the universe was toying with him, at that exact moment, Sam’s phone began to ring. She pulled it from her pocket with a sigh. 

“Shit— I’ve been waiting on this call all day.” She kissed Anita’s cheek and stood from the table. “So sorry; I’ll just be five minutes, I promise.”

With that, it was just the two of them, staring intently at their water glasses. Spencer was certain he should say something, but he wasn’t sure what. Anita broke the silence first. 

“You know what’s annoying?”

Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Considering that the issues one might classify as an annoyance vary for each individual person, there are over seven billion potential answers to that question.”

Anita tilted her head with an unimpressed purse of her lips. Spencer hedged, “And I understand now that it was probably rhetorical.”

“I actually kind of like you.” She leaned across the table with an irritated sigh. “I wanted to hate you, but I don’t.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m, um— I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re good for her. Smart, humble, kind. Enamored with her, as you should be,” she deadpanned. She dropped her chin into her hand. “Almost as hot as she is.”

He laughed a little at that. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” She dropped her hand back to the table. She still didn’t crack a smile, and her gaze bore into him. “I don’t know how much you know about Owen, and she’d probably kill me for saying anything. But he was a real piece of shit.”

This was not the direction he thought this conversation would take. He didn’t know anything about Owen; he’d tried not to think too much about anyone Y/N might have been with before him. 

“It didn’t start out that way.” She drew her brows together. “Well, I don’t know— maybe he was always an asshole, and he was just good at hiding it.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “The point is, I didn’t know he was treating her like garbage until it was too late. He was already all…” She gestured wildly around her head. “In her head, telling her lies about herself, fucking her up, isolating her. For years he did that. And then it took her years to get him out of her head. To— unlearn all the lies. To build herself back up.” 

He could see her grinding her teeth, trying to calm down. He was intensely grateful to not be on the receiving end of Anita’s wrath. He was also immensely glad that Y/N had a friend like that. And his blood absolutely boiled at the thought of her ever feeling anything less than adored. 

“You’re a fed or whatever, so I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she continued, “but I would love nothing more than to put that fucker six feet under.” She ran her hand through her hair, and when she continued her voice was the quietest he’d ever heard it. “All that to say, I… I wasn’t there for her when Owen was destroying her from the inside out. And I will never let that happen again.” 

Anita locked eyes with him and her voice was resolved. “I like you, Spencer. And I want to keep it that way. So, just— don’t give me a reason not to.”

She didn’t drop her gaze, and he couldn’t quite think of the appropriate response. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His brain was still fixated on the idea that anyone had ever hurt the loveliest and kindest woman he’d ever met.

“Where’s Sam?” Spencer turned just as Y/N slid back into the chair beside him, a comforting hand coming to rest on his knee. 

“Some bullshit from the office that her idiot partner can’t handle.” Anita raised her eyebrows at Spencer, and he nodded minutely. She shifted her gaze back to Y/N with a grin. “Don’t worry. I didn’t scare him too much.”

…

“Easy.” Spencer steadied Y/N with a hand on her waist as they made the way up the stairs to his apartment. 

“Jesus, I’m so sorry. I just— really can’t drink like I used to.” She clutched a little at the railing, and he held his breath until they were at the top of the stairs. 

He slipped an arm back around her waist as they crossed to his apartment door, fumbling with his keys and fighting back a shiver as she snuggled close and ran her hand low over his tummy. 

“Can’t believe I’m tipsy from a couple margaritas.”

“To be fair, you had four,” he chuckled, turning the key and pushing open the door. 

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “But I used to be able to have a whole pitcher and be totally fine.”

“A pitcher?” Spencer laughed as he locked the door and turned to face her. “I can’t even have one without being completely incapacitated.”

She ran her hands up from his waistband, over his chest, and wrapped them around his neck. “Mmm, so you’re a lightweight.”

“Very much so,” he confirmed, bringing his hands to her hips. 

“Just one more sweet thing to love about you, sugar.” 

He couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across his face at the endearment, the way that North Carolina dripped syrupy and thick over every syllable. She pulled him down to meet her in a sweet kiss, quickly deepening it as he dug his fingers into the softness of her hips. Her hands wound into his hair, tugging lightly and holding him close. 

He broke away to rest his forehead against hers and catch his breath. She laced their fingers together and leaned on him while she kicked off her shoes. He toed his own off and then allowed her to lead him toward his bedroom. 

She sat him down on the edge of the bed and straddled his lap, bringing her hands up to tangle in his curls once again. 

Before she could lean in for another kiss, he murmured, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” she teased, ghosting her lips over his.

“Ha, ha.” Part of him wanted to bring up Owen, but she was so happy and warm and comfortable in this moment. He didn’t want to ruin this night of celebration. He didn’t want to ruin this day that had been so full of love. They had plenty of time to discuss Owen. 

He wrapped his arms around her middle. “You’ve met Penelope. I’ve met Anita. Now that the school year is over… we could tell Michael.”

She pulled back, and the smile she gave him could only be described as radiant, and he knew he made the right decision. “He’s gonna lose his mind.”

…

A week later, the pair of them were strolling up the sidewalk to the LaMontagne house. Will and JJ were long overdue for a date night, and Spencer had jumped at the opportunity for the two of them to babysit. When they reached the door, Spencer rang the bell and Y/N waited slightly behind him. 

They could hear the joy from behind the door before it even opened, Michael’s high pitched giggle and Will’s booming laugh. Spencer was already leaning down in preparation, and Michael absolutely launched into his arms as soon as the door swung open. Spencer clocked the moment that Michael spotted her, purely because he practically squealed and squirmed right out of Spencer’s grip. 

“I knew it!” Michael cried. 

He wrapped himself around Y/N’s legs and squeezed tightly, and she rubbed a hand over his hair with a bewildered smile. Michael broke away to turn back to Will with a grin. “I told you.”

“You did, buddy.” Will gave Spencer a lopsided smile as Michael tugged Y/N forward by the hand. “Michael had an… inklin’ that uncle Spencer might be friends with Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Not friends, Daddy,” Michael said exasperatedly. “He’s her boyfriend.”

“Oh, excuse me, sorry.” Will held his hands up in apology as he stepped aside to let them all in the door. “Michael had a feelin’ that uncle Spencer might be Ms. Y/L/N’s boyfriend.”

Y/N’s cheeks had turned a very pretty shade of pink. “What— um, what made you think that?” 

Michael waited patiently for her to take off her shoes. “Well firstly, he started picking me up all the time, which was nice but weird. And then he wouldn’t stop asking about you. It was kind of annoying.” Spencer made a choking sound, and Will stifled a laugh. 

“You guys wear the same shoes, and you both love Halloween and tea and reading. I knew you’d like him if he could be a guest reader.” As he led her into the living room, Michael continued, “Oh, and you wore his purple scarf. He doesn’t let anyone wear the purple scarf.”

Spencer vividly remembered that morning— she’d slept over after a midweek date night in April. The temperatures in DC had plummeted overnight, and the outfit she’d brought left her woefully under-dressed for the chilly spring day. He’d wrapped her up in the soft, purple scarf without a second thought. 

She caught his eye with a shrug, and Will tried not to look too smug. Spencer watched her be dragged further into the house, turning to Will with a sheepish smile.

“Well, guess I can’t take all the credit,” Will decided. “Who knew we had a mini matchmaker this whole time?”

Spencer huffed out a laugh as Michael pulled Y/N into the playroom. “This is the best,” Michael sighed. “Now we can play restaurant forever.”

…

Spencer pulled his legs up in the tiny chair, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a moment to watch the scene in front of him unfold. Usually on nights like this, Michael ran him ragged with demands for magic tricks, story time, and playing pretend. Tonight, he’d actually been able to catch up with middle school (middle school!) Henry, because Michael was totally and completely enthralled by Y/N. 

She was helping with the last of the setup for the “restaurant,” organizing Michael’s menus and straightening his clip-on tie. Of course he’d seen her with kids before. But something about being in this playroom— one that he’d spent so many hours in, watching two of his favorite kids grow up— had him feeling warm from head to toe. 

Henry had bounded down the stairs at the news that uncle Spencer was dating his former kindergarten teacher. He hadn’t realized that she’d taught Henry, too, although with the timeline of her teaching career he should have put two and two together. The generally reserved middle schooler had positively beamed when she gasped out, “Gosh, I always forget how tall you’ve gotten!”

And now three of his absolute favorite humans were in one room, and he couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Hen!” Michael called. 

Henry turned from his spot in the chair across from Spencer. “What?”

“You’re the chef,” Michael informed him. 

Y/N tilted her head. “I thought I was the chef?”

“No, no, no.” Michael pushed her toward the kid-sized table. “You and uncle Spencer are on a fancy date.”

Henry rolled his eyes playfully and stood from the chair, pulling it out for her like a perfect gentleman. She beamed at him and gave him a wink. “Thank you, sir.”

She dropped lightly into the chair across from Spencer and laughed a little at his folded limbs. “You look very comfortable.” 

He laughed and stretched his legs out straight. “The picture of comfort, really. These chairs were clearly designed with six foot men in mind.”

“I’m sorry I’m so under-dressed for our fancy dinner date,” she teased, dropping her chin into her hand. 

“You look stunning, as always.” He gestured to the messy braid Michael had folded her hair into. “I especially love what you’re doing with your hair.”

She sucked in a dramatic breath, bringing up her hand to pat lightly at her hair. “You’re making me blush, doctor.” She peeked behind her and then lowered her voice. “I’m probably going to cry when I try to brush the rats out.” 

He looked at her sympathetically. “I know the feeling. I think I’ve got a wide tooth comb, and I can help. I’ve gotten pretty good at detangling Michael’s handiwork.”

Before she could respond, Michael made his way to the table, holding a dish towel over his arm. “Good evening, sir, madam.” 

“Good evening,” they chorused, with barely suppressed grins. 

“Compliments of the chef.” Michael held out his hand to reveal two slightly smushed strawberries.

“Oh, wow,” Y/N said, eyes wide and gesturing to Spencer. “Honey, do you want to—”

Spencer waved his hand, eyeing the berries warily. “No, no, please, help yourself.”

Y/N held back a smile and accepted the strawberries, holding them carefully in her hand and turning her attention back to Michael. “Thank you so much. What a wonderful appetizer. Could we hear the specials?”

That helped Michael remember the menus, and he pulled them from his pocket and cleared his throat. He handed them the construction paper menus. “Our specials tonight are roasted octopus and a steak tartar.”

From the kitchen, Henry mumbled, “Tartare.” 

“Tartare. Steak tartare is our special,” Michael corrected. 

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’m that adventurous. Maybe my boyfriend is though,” Y/N told a grinning Michael. “What do you recommend for a picky eater?”

“My favorite is the chicken nuggets.”

“Well then, sign me up. One order of chicken nuggets.” Y/N handed him the menu. 

Spencer was still perusing the menu for Le Chateau LaMontagne. He smiled at Michael’s handwriting, but particularly at the places where he could tell Y/N had helped. “Everything looks delicious,” he finally decided, “but, you know... I think I’m also going to have the nuggets.”

…

When the boys were finally in bed, Spencer and Y/N settled down in the living room to untangle the mess of her hair. She sat on the floor in between his legs as he gently pulled each braid strand free. He smiled at the way she arched up into his touch, shivering when his fingers brushed over her neck. 

“You’re lucky,” he remarked, laying the last braid strand back into its original place. “Michael seems to have gotten a little better at braiding.”

She leaned her head back into his hands. “You detangled the whole thing?”

“Mmhm.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth. She brought her hands up to hold him against her, trying to deepen the kiss before laughing at the awkward angle and giving up. 

He sat up as she stood and moved to the couch, snuggling up close to him and tucking herself under his arm. “I’m very lucky,” she agreed. “For many reasons.”

Her hand drifted to rest on his tummy, her fingers immediately tracing little shapes over the fabric of his shirt. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “And tired, too.”

“Hmm?” 

He leaned his cheek against her head. “When you get tired, you, um— you start drawing on my stomach.” 

Her finger paused. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” She shifted to raise her head to look at him, and he shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’ve just— noticed.”

She smiled a little sleepily. “You know I love all of you. But I— well, I don’t know, really. I just like your tummy.” She gave it a quick squeeze. “It’s just— nice and comfy and perfect for resting on.” 

He covered her hand with his own and leaned forward to press their mouths together. She drew his bottom lip in between her own, sucking a little and then giving it a quick peck before pulling back and stifling a yawn into his chest. “Man, I am tired.” She snuggled back into him and resumed her tummy tracing. “What, um— what else have you noticed?”

He rubbed his hand down her arm and pulled her impossibly closer. “You like to play with my hair.”

“Mmmm, guilty as charged.”

He smiled at the sleep creeping into her voice. “I like it, too.” He ran his fingers up to her shoulder, and then back down to the crook of her arm, soothing her closer to sleep. “Hmmmm. You always have at least one point of contact on my body at all times. It’s usually your hands, but sometimes it’s your head or even your toes— like when you tuck them under my leg.”

“Ugh— I’m sorry. Clingy and putting my feet on you,” she mumbled.

She might have been joking, but Anita’s words were replaying in his head. He couldn’t change what had happened in the past. He couldn’t go back and prevent her from being hurt by someone else. But he could be different in every way. He could be open and honest and vulnerable with her like he’d promised. 

“I’m not sorry. I love all of you,” he murmured, pulling her in closer and repeating her words back to her. 

“Even my feet?” 

He could also show her that there was absolutely nothing that he didn’t love about her. “Especially your feet.”

She huffed a sigh into his chest. “Y’got a foot thing I don’t know about?”

He laughed a little at that. “Only for yours. They’re very cute feet.”

“You’re weird,” she muttered, but she hugged him tighter when she said it.

“You love it.”

Her fingers on his tummy had come to rest comfortably just above his waistband, and he knew she was on the very edge of sleep. “Mmhm. Love you.”

He thought of all the little moments over the past few months.

Doesn’t live up to expectations? Sorry for overstepping. Are we dating? Sorry for being clingy. Sorry for taking so long to tell you. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

“I love you, too,” he murmured. “So much.”

———

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[shorkbrian]

Okay, soo can you write a pseudoincest one for Midoriya? I feel like he’ll be shy at first & the reader will be the one to approach him (in a non sexual way of course) but then one day he’ll just break & pin her against a wall. :> hehe

Okay okei ok lissen listen litsen

Midoriya and his sister are picture-perfect step-siblings. From the moment they met each other, the two have gotten along great, perfectly at ease with each other. 

Warnings! - NSFW, cunnilingus, dub-con. Pseudo-incest. 

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

It’s easy to relax around the green-haired man, with how smiley and soft and completely non-threatening he is. You’ve met plenty of men that are the complete opposite; men that make your skin crawl when they look at you. But your stepbrother isn’t like that - you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even know what a girl is, considering he’s never even shown interest in one. 

You like hanging out with him. Going with him to get coffee every Saturday morning (his treat), plopping down in the bean-bag chairs in his room and completely wrecking each other in Mario Kart, even doing mundane things like laundry or homework is always more fun with Izuku around. it doesn’t hurt that the man is a little too kind for his own good, always offering to do your laundry for you, asking if you need help on any of your homework. He’s always happy to drop whatever he’s doing and come help if you get frustrated with a problem. 

----

The two of you were watching a movie, parents gone out on date-night. Both of your gazes were zeroed in on the screen, you clutching at Izuku’s sleeve at every jumpscare, your brother leaning forward and mumbling about cgi and the mechanics of the fake monster suits. 

A sex scene came out of no where, gross. This always happens with semi-decent movies, and it was so awkward. Thankfully, it was just you and Midoriya in the room (if your parents were here, both of you would be red and embarrassed and suddenly interested in the thread count of the couch cover) and it wasn’t that long of a scene. You were still shy though, turning away from the screen to fiddle with your sleeve, look at the texture of the ceiling, pick at your nails.

A load screech drew your attention back, thinking that the movie had returned to the monsters and the chasing and the thrill. You were wrong. In full HD, there was a semi-nude woman, chest tastefully covered by her ripped shirt, a man kneeling in front of her. The man was moving his face against her, the shots being vague but not needing much brainpower to figure out what was happening. You frowned.

“What is he doing? That’s so gross.”

You felt Izuku shift beside you, the man looking down at you. It’d be weird if you looked at him now, saw your flushed, embarrassed face. Why was the man on the screen putting his face down there?

“(Y/N)...... do you..... do you not know?”

He was just as shy as you, stuttering over his words. Know what? Sure, you weren’t exactly experienced in the realm of physical pleasure, but you thought you knew the basics.

At your confused silence, you saw Izuku drag a trembling hand over his face.

“It’s uh... well, you see... when a man and woman love each other very much-”

“Seriously  ‘Zuku?”

You turned to look at him. He was blushing just as hard as you, movie now forgotten.

“Okay, uh, it’s-it’s oral. I guess kinda like a blowjob, but for girls.”

“How would that even feel good? There isn’t anything for him to even like...” You trailed off, regretting blurting out the first thing that popped into your head. Gosh, you sounded like a kid, Izuku probably thought you were so dumb. “Nevermind, let’s just forget it.”

Izuku was still looking at you, nervously shuffling closer.

“You’ve never....?”

“Of course I have!” You spluttered, rising from the couch. Now you were angry, embarrassed, humiliated. Izuku thought you were so stupid that you didn’t even know how sex worked. It’s not like you were currently seeing someone, not in the four short months since you moved into the Midoriya’s house. But you’d had experience in the past! Maybe nothing past penetration, but that still counted as experience!

Izuku rose with you, hands held out in front of him as he tried to salvage the conversation. “I didn’t mean! Not like that anyways...... I was just...”

He waved noncommittally with his hands. You crossed your arms, waiting for him to continue. Izuku was a bit on the shyer side, and you knew that talking about sensitive subjects made him stutter and blush, lose his cool and all. You were willing to be patient, expecting an apology. You got anything but.

“I just mean... I could like, uh... s-show you?”

Your jaw dropped.

Before you could speak, Izuku was rushing on, his words jumbled and breathless. ‘Y’know? It’s just like the uh, well the nice thing to do. It-it feels really good and I know you’d enjoy it, well, I-uh I think. I mean, I-I do... enjoy blowjobs! I could teach you how to do that too, if-well, if you want. We don’t have to do that toda-”

“’Zuku, no...”

You cut him off, staring pointedly at the ground. This was the weirdest situation you’d ever been in. You couldn’t look your brother in the eye, this was just too awkward. 

There was a beat of silence.

Automatically, your feet started carrying you towards the stairs, towards your room where you could play on your phone and forget this whole thing happened. 

Izuku grabbed your arm.

“Wait, wait, just.... c’mere?”

You grabbed Izuku’s arm, trying to pull yourself away from him. “Izuku, I really don’t think-”

“No, no don’t-don’t think. just... just let me...”

The man was pulling you back, giving you a gentle push onto the couch. This was so weird. A hand splayed across your chest, keeping you stationary as you tried to sit up, and Izuku was kneeling. The man pried your legs apart, despite you protesting.

“’Zuku, this really isn’t something I wanna do right now, please don’t touch me like that.”

Izuku raised a finger to his lips, before yanking down your shorts. You squealed his name in surprise. He groaned.

“Oh, oh, this’ll feel so good, just-just trust me, okay? You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

He was still pressing down on your chest with one hand, ignoring the way your panic rose as his other hand gently caressed your leg, climbing higher and higher. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, but this was making you uncomfortable. The thought of your stepbrother doing oral or whatever made you squeaky. You didn’t know what to label the feeling - only knew it was bad.

You gasped when a finger pressed against the fabric of your panties; began tracing your folds, prodding at your mound. Your hands flew down to grab his wrist, to push him away, but Izuku wouldn’t be deterred.

Izuku was so much bigger than you, so much stronger. You couldn’t stop him when he pulled your panties to the side, shoved his face between your thighs, close to your cunt. A yelp left your throat when cool air blew gently across your pussy. He was - he was literally blowing on your pussy. 

You shivered.

“Hey, please I don’t wanna do this ‘Zuku, please let me up. Stop doing that, I won’t tell dad, I won’t tell anybody! Please just let me up.”

Your pleas were ignored

A finger began slowly brushing against your cunt, as if Izuku was afraid to touch, afraid to break. You groaned; never in your life had you given that area this much attention. “Feels - feels weird.” you whined, drawing Izuku’s green eyes away from your clenching cunt and up to your face.

“It’ll start feeling good In a second, don’t worry. I’m taking care of you (Y/N), just like I always do.”

Your stomach flipped. This didn’t feel like him taking care of you.

“I-I’ve been wanting to do this for so long... god, thank you.” He was almost whispering, you barely caught the tail end of his sentence before a hot, wet tongue was licking up the length of your pussy. 

“Ah! w-wait!”

Izuku didn’t listen. HIs first lick was slow, calculated. The green-haired man was savoring your taste, licking his lips before diving back in. The sensation was good, you were writhing and squirming in Izuku’s hold, but now for an entirely different reason. 

He quickly became feverish as he drooled over your pussy, pausing occasionally to gather the moisture in his mouth and spit. Then he’d let his tongue spread the wet around, flicking rapidly against your clit.

“’Zuku, ‘Zuku! I can’t - stop, stop!”

It was so wet, and so, so messy. It was downright filthy, the way his tongue was suckling and lapping and dancing against your sensitive pussy. You were losing your mind, trying to free yourself from Izuku’s grasp, escape the intense stimulation that he was attacking you with.

Your orgasm hit you so fast, you barely had the chance to gasp out a stuttered, weak “Cumming!”. 

It felt so good it almost hurt.

The hand on your chest stopped anchoring you to the couch, but you were defeated, boneless. You stopped pushing at Izuku, let yourself lay back and try to catch your breath, sweat making hair stick to your forehead.

The green mass of curls between your legs bobbed gently as Izuku gave short, teasing kitten licks to lap up your juices, loving the way you twitched and whimpered as he played with your sensitive cunt. You were too tired to fight him. 

When the man finally stopped, leaned back on his heels and wiping a hand across his face, you didn’t want to look at him. Instead, you buried your face into one of the couch cushions, hiding from your older step-brother.

“I love you.”

You had loved him too, but not in the same way. He was your brother, your friend. What was he now?

Izuku reached forward, slid your panties back into place so they covered your pussy, giving you some semblance of privacy. You felt the couch dip as he sat next to you, far too close to comfort. It was hard to believe what he had just done.

You couldn’t possibly know that he was going to do more.

[boltwrites]

Misfits - Chapter 2

Fandom: Star Wars - Clone Wars / The Bad Batch Pairing: The Bad Batch / Reader (Polyamorous) Rating: M (Rating May Change) Tags: Polyamorous Relationship, Force-Sensitive Reader, Slow Burn

Work Summary: After a year working with the 501st, you've been assigned a new post - Clone Force 99, aka the Bad Batch. You're concerned about the transition - you found it hard enough to fit in with the 501st, and now you had to acclimate to an entirely new squad. As it turns out, the Bad Batch is very accommodating.

Chapter Summary:  You're started to settle in with the Bad Batch. Introductions are in order, but one in particular leads down a path you never expected.

read it on ao3 | or read more below

You had said goodbye to Rex only a few minutes prior. He had wrapped you in a tight hug and told you not to get into too much trouble, and you had to try really, really hard not to start crying in front of your new squad. He’d waved as you entered their transport, and instead of dwelling on those emotions – loss, sadness, anxiety – you’d pushed them to the back of your mind. You learned long ago that acting as if they didn’t exist wouldn’t help anything, but right now, you needed to compartmentalize. You hardly knew these men, and you didn’t want to freak them out by sobbing about leaving your best friend behind.

The men in question had since been introduced to you by Hunter. The tall, slender clone who liked to lean against the side of the ship like some half-baked deathstick dealer was Crosshair, a sharpshooter and sniper. You probably should have figured that, judging by the tattoo that encircled his eye. When Hunter introduced you, he had made a noncommittal noise, looked you up and down, and then decided you weren’t very interesting, instead walking his way back to the cockpit. You hoped he was just antisocial, and didn’t hate nat borns, or women, or something.

The big burly one was Wrecker, who had wasted no time in offering you a big smile and a firm clap on the back. Honestly, you thought he was going to hug you – and maybe he was, and then he thought better of it.

“You’re our new Jedi, huh?” he had asked with a broad smile? You offered him a somewhat hesitant one back – he was intimidating, after all. He was broad and muscular like you had never seen on a clone before, and the large scar that encompassed half of his forehead and a good portion of his scalp was distracting. It made him look hardened and dangerous, but with his jovial tone, you soon found out he was anything but menacing.

“Yeah, guess I am?” you answered with a nervous laugh.

“She’s a force-sensitive, Wreck, not a Jedi. She doesn’t answer to the Council.” Hunter had clarified. You were somewhat shocked that he cared about the difference – but, then again, he had seemed pleased that you weren’t a part of the Order, likely because it meant you had less rules to follow.

“Oh, yeah!” Wrecker had grinned, clapping you on both shoulders now, as he leaned down to grin at you. You had laughed a little harder, because you were starting to see now, by both his force signature and in his voice, that he was really just a big goofball. “I never liked the Jedi anyway!”

“Weren’t you just expressing how excited you were for ‘our new Jedi?’”

That had come from the one with the glasses – er, goggles? You weren’t exactly sure what they were, or if he needed them for his bad eyesight or just tactical reasons. Either way, he adjusted him on his face as Hunter introduced him as Tech. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what his specialty was – much like it was easy to deduce that Wrecker liked to punch things in addition to blowing things up. Tech, of course, handled a lot of technical issues and data – but you were actually shocked at the fact that he wasn’t, well… tiny.

Tech was taller than Hunter, and even Rex, as he peered down at you through his glasses. He took your hand and shook it – you could tell just by his grip that he was used to intricate work – robotics, droid work, rewiring datapads – fiddly things that required a steady hand. You had nodded politely to him as he greeted you.

The last member of the team, and perhaps the most elusive, was Echo. He was paler than the others, and studded with prosthetics – most prominently, the jack that his hand had been substituted with. He had an aura about him in the force that spoke of pain – not the pain of war that the rest of the squad exuded, no. This was a deeper pain, something profound and lasting, and you had a feeling it had to do with that arm, and the bolts in his skull, and the way his cheekbones still looked sharper than that of even Crosshair.

“You’re from the 501st?” he had asked, after Hunter had led you to the cockpit and left to look at something in Tech’s travel plans for the route to their next mission. You were alone, but Echo still gazed out the front of the transport into hyperspace, his flesh hand fiddling with the textured armrest of the captain’s chair.

“Yeah – I’ve worked with them for the past year, most of the time. I get contracted out from the unit to do a lot of stealth work that the Jedi obviously can’t be pulled for. Stuff like this, I guess,” you shrugged. Echo had hummed in acknowledgement, glancing at you, almost curious.

“Were you with the 501st when Captain Rex last worked with… Clone Force 99?”

The wording was strange. Rex had mentioned to your that this squad usually referred to themselves as “the Bad Batch” due to their mutations. But Echo was more cautious – he almost hesitated on the name. His force signature didn’t give away much more – it only told you that he was being careful with his words, that he didn’t trust you quite yet. Which, honestly, was to be expected.

“No. Anaxes, right?” Echo nodded, and you shook your head. “No – I was on a stealth mission. Well, I guess it couldn’t really be called a stealth mission… I was working with a pirate named Hondo Onaka. Think I might have rather been on Anaxes.”

You chuckled, trying to make light of it. You knew Anaxes has been a mess, and honestly you had felt horrible leaving behind the 501st in order to take on what you considered a useless political mission. You knew the campaign had been long, grueling, and complicated, and you always felt guilty when you weren’t by Rex and Anakin’s side to help with something so important.

“Ah,” Echo made a soft noise, picking at some scoring marks on his socket arm. You bit your lip at the awkwardness that permeated the room, the conversation stagnating at Echo dwelled on… something.

“I used to be a part of the 501st,” he finally admitted, glancing up at you. His eyes said more than his lips – there was sadness, there. It was hidden behind his soldier’s veneer of indifference, but you could tell by the way he looked at you that his transfer to Bad Batch hadn’t been as straightforward as your own.

“Yeah?” you asked, sitting down in the co-pilot’s chair next to him. He nodded, sighing, relaxing into the chair before shooting you a glance.

“Yeah. Made ARC trooper at one point. Me and Fives – me and Fives.”

His eyes had gleamed the first time he said it – but as he repeated Fives, his face fell, and your own did as well, your first clenching.

“Oh,” you breathed, and he glanced at you, ducking down to try to make out your expression.

“You knew him?”

“He talked about you – I had – I’m stupid,” you laughed, trying not to think about Fives. You hadn’t known him or Tup long before the incident, but Fives had showed you the ropes, along with Rex. You got along with him easily – he had been funny, and kind, and if he tried to flirt with you a few times you just put it up to you being the only woman available.

You remembered him talking briefly about Echo – he had only mentioned Echo once, with gritted teeth and a set jaw, mumbling something about a previous mission, and how he and a fellow ARC trooper had handled the situation. You could tell that it pained him to mention his comrade – that this Echo had likely died – and you didn’t press the subject. You knew, even then, that Fives didn’t deal well with loss. Ironic, then, how he was the one to cause so die, to cause the grief himself.

“I worked with him, before…” you gestured vaguely, and Echo nodded, not wanting you to mention Fives’s death himself.

“He thought I died at the Citadel. Everyone did,” Echo sighed, staring out at the hyperspace lane. “Maybe I did.”

You stared at him. In the force, his emotions were a tangled mess – grief, both for Fives and himself. Pain – not only physical, but emotional, spiritual. You couldn’t fathom what happened to him – you could look at this physical evidence of his cybernetic appendages, more similar to those of a droid than any prosthetics you had seen before. You could see the pallor in his face, the way his cheekbones jut from his face, how he had squinted far too severely in the light of the Coruscanti sun. He had been through something that you couldn’t fathom, something you would never truly understand, even if he did wish to explain it to you.

But despite that, you could still feel him in the force. When he spoke of Fives – the way his signature sparked let you know that he didn’t just know Fives. You could tell they had worked together for years, that they had likely grown up together. The rest of the Batch – their signatures sang in harmony because they had grown up together, because they had known each other for many years. And you initially hadn’t caught onto Echo’s dissonance – the way that he was trying to fit in with them, but how he didn’t fit in quite as easily as the other men. And now you knew why. It was because, while he had changed, he still held onto those bonds. Rex, Fives, the rest of the 501st – even though whatever Echo had endured, those were still his brothers.

“Not completely,” you mumbled, looking down. You could feel Echo’s eyes on you, so you sighed and continued. “You – you still care about them. Those men. They may not be your men anymore – and I guess they aren’t mine, either – but you care for them. That has to count for something.”

When you looked up, Echo caught your eye. His expression was unreadable, and his signature betrayed nothing. He was hard to read already – the cybernetics clouded your judgement – but you could tell that he didn’t exactly know what he thought of your statement.

“Yeah. Maybe it does,” Echo mumbled to himself, staring out across hyperspace, as stars flew by, exploding behind his eyes as he contemplated his place among them.

After that, the silence wasn’t quite so awkward. It was comforting, almost. You knew that it wasn’t the same – that although you and Echo were both former members of the 501st, that the circumstances were wildly different. But you still felt a kinship with him. Because he still knew Anakin, and Rex, and Fives, and Jesse, and Kix, and all the others. Because he probably played the same drinking games you had with the men, he had fought beside them as you did, and he had watched them die, as you had. You knew he wasn’t ready to talk, and perhaps he never would be. But if he ever was, you would be ready to listen.

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[seaweedbrain404]

Wolfstar Au!: Hot and Cold (pt 2 of Parties and Morning Regrets)

@icitlali asked if there was a second part and um- yeah i wrote this, there may be more parts to come

pt 1

pt3

read it on ao3

Remus thought inviting Sirius up was the right thing to do which is the only reason he did. He dared to let himself hope but he didn’t really want to see Sirius. Still, Remus had manners and it was so cold outside that his own fingers were turning purple. Leaving Sirius out in the cold and making him probably walk home seemed too mean, even for Remus. Although, he thought Sirius definitely deserved it.

He followed Sirius up to the flat, Lily looked more than surprised when she saw Sirius come in and gave Remus another look. It was one of those looks that Remus didn’t like getting, the we’re-going-to-talk-about-this-later kind of look. He shrugged it off, too preoccupied with his bloody hip.

“Remus, did you really walk all the way here?” Lily crossed her arms over her chest as Remus closed the door behind them.

“Yeah, so what” He replied through gritted teeth. “I’m going for a shower to wash off the smell of stale alcohol”

“You’re going to be the death of me one day, Remus Lupin” Lily’s voice called to his retreating back. “Sirius, how are you?”

Remus heard vague small talk as he navigated his way to his bedroom. The pain in his hip wasn’t unbearable exactly. It was just bad enough for it to consume all his thoughts. All he needed was a warm bath, some painkillers and to limit his movements for the rest of the day. Easy. Unfortunately, the bath would have to wait until later though seeing as it would probably be rude to soak in the tub while having a guest over.

Showering after a night out was always a pleasant experience. He emerged from the shower just a couple minutes later with damp hair, a stolen pair of Lily’s yoga pants and a clean jumper.

“Ah, here’s the idiot who has no regard for his health” Lily smiled as Remus walked into the kitchen. “Are those mine?”

“Maybe, painkillers please?” He walked across the room and leaned his chin on Lily’s shoulder.

Sirius watched the interaction between the two with some hint of longing in his eyes. Remus wasn’t sure why, maybe it was because he had never been so casually touchy with anyone but now him and Lily were even closer than they were in school.

Lily wrapped an arm around his waist, rubbing circles on his hip. “Sirius, there’s a small pill bottle in the cupboard just there-“ she pointed to the right above her head “-would you mind grabbing it please?”

Sirius blinked for a moment, seemingly frozen at the sight of them. Then, he nodded. “Yeah- yeah, I got it”

He passed Lily the retrieved painkillers without looking at them. Lily hummed gratefully in return, easing Remus, who had hid his face in the crook of her neck, off her. He leaned back against the counter and Lily switched the kettle on.

“I promised Mrs Pettigrew from next door that I’d pick up her groceries today” Lily turned to Remus, glancing at Sirius, “and do a bit of cleaning for her since her grandson is out of town, do you think you’ll manage?”

“Yeah” Remus breathed out. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay”

Lily pursed her lips and looked to Sirius again. “Make sure he stays home, yeah?”

Remus made a noise of protest as Sirius nodded, “I doubt he’ll want to listen to me”

“Lily, I can take care of myself”

“Hardly, you’re in a right state after being without me for a few hours” She scolded, “If you strain yourself any more then you’re going to really fuck up your hip”

“I can’t fuck up something that’s already fucked, can I?”

“I mean it, take it easy and don’t be an idiot”

“Alright, fine”

“And I want to talk to you later”

Remus paled a little at that, despite fully seeing it coming. He made a noncommittal sound and Lily, satisfied with herself, left the room to layer up on clothes and help the nice old lady who lived across the hall.

There was a tense moment when she left. The kettle went off and Remus poured himself a cup, then paused. “Tea?”

“Sure”

Sirius seemed more relaxed now that Lily had gone. It was as if he had been on best behavior when she was there and now he didn’t have to be. Remus couldn’t really blame him, Lily could be very scary sometimes and she was always unreasonably overprotective of Remus. In all fairness, he felt the same way towards her.

So Remus poured two cups of tea and then added milk and sugar accordingly. He had assumed that Sirius took his tea the way he did back in school and he was only a little ashamed he still knew what the other man liked in his tea off the top of his head.

“Am I allowed to ask about the accident?” Sirius picked up his cup and took a sip.

“Why do you want to know?” Remus retorted, taking a painkiller.

“Lily wouldn’t tell me… and I’m…. worried” Sirius looked embarrassed to admit it but he did admit it which was good enough for Remus. It showed some sort of growth, some kind of potential.

“Depends on whether you’re going to pity me or not because frankly, I don’t care much for it”

“Jesus, you don’t have to be so snappy”

Remus scowled at him, not saying another word. He didn’t care about being snappy in that particular moment. His hip hurt like hell, he could feel his leg slowly going as well and whenever he told people anything about the accident they all treated him like a fragile porcelain doll.

Sirius cleared his throat before speaking again. “I won’t pity you, if you don’t want me to”

“What do you want to know?” Remus asked, disregarding what Sirius had said.

“What happened?”

“I worked at this publishing place, had a late night so I took a cab home” Remus began, even thinking about that night made his heart race and his eyes sting. “Someone was driving under the influence and hit us- the cab, I mean.. and it was really bad but they put these screws and plates all in my side, shoulder down to my shin”

Remus paused a moment, wiping his eyes on the back of his palm. Sirius made to touch him but he jerked away, a little too fast and hissed in pain. Sirius retreated his hand, looking crestfallen.

“Anyway, I had to quit the job cause it was too far to walk and I refused to get in any type of car or bus or really any type vehicle since then” Remus rushed the end of the story, his hands were shaking and his throat felt tight.

Sirius took a step forward and this time Remus allowed him to. He carefully opened his arms and slowly wrapped them around Remus, giving him more than enough time to move if he didn’t want this.

Remus, however, was just exhausted. He collapsed right into Sirius’ arms which tightened around him. The bad thing was, he was still shaking, his lungs refused to take in air and oh, there was the whole thing about just falling into his ex-boyfriend’s arms. Good thing was, he felt safe.

Then he started crying, his own arms wrapping around Sirius’ waist while his arms were around Remus’ back. He was pretty sure the only reason he still remained standing was Sirius’ strength forged by years of playing rugby. Remus wanted to kick himself, everything about this situation was just so pathetic and he hated it. He hated himself for it.

Sirius, meanwhile, said nothing and just rubbed circles on the taller man’s back. “I’m sorry, I’ve been horrible to you and now you’re literally comforting me, maybe I am the asshole”

“Nah, I kind of deserved it”

“Yeah you did”

“Hey! you’re not supposed to say that”

“But it’s the truth”

“Shut up”

Remus let himself laugh quietly. He was mortified by this display of vulnerability and dearly wished the ground would open and swallow him whole. Then he made a feeble attempt at pushing Sirius away, nearly toppling over himself. He had to grip the counter behind him to stop himself from hitting the floor. Sirius made to catch him but Remus swatted his hand away.

“I think you should go”

“But I promised Li-“

“I’m tired and she’ll be back soon”

Lie. Remus knew that Lily would be gone for at least two more hours, maybe more if Mrs Pettigrew offered biscuits.

“Then I’ll just stay till she comes back, she really worries about you” Sirius shrugged like it was final and Remus didn’t want to talk about it so he slowly hobbled to the living room.

“Do you-“

“No”

Sirius started asking but Remus snapped at him before he could finish his question.

“Sorry” Sirius mumbled, hands up in surrender. Remus could feel eyes on his back as he managed to get to the couch. He switched on the telly, laying on the side of his body that hurt the least.

Remus figured that if Sirius didn’t leave, then maybe he could ignore him to the point of leaving. Unfortunately it didn’t work because this was Sirius so instead of sitting on the chair near the couch or even on the floor, he stood at Remus’ head. Hands were gesturing for Remus to sit up but he ignored them.

“Remus, squish over a minute”

With a groan, he turned onto his back and sat up. Sirius slid into the open space and Remus turned so that his feet were at Sirius’ lap instead of his head. He wasn’t sure how his body would react if Sirius started gently twirling strands of his hair and admiring them as if they were made of gold.

Remus closed his eyes, feeling fingers tracing shapes on his exposed ankles.

Suddenly Sirius spoke. “You and Lily have gotten really close”

His eyes shot open, a little startled by the tone. He wasn’t sure how long he was out but he definitely slept at least twenty minutes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was groggy with sleep, the side of his mouth damp from drool

“It’s weird, I’ve never seen you so much as hug anyone”

Remus wiped the side of his mouth. “People are allowed to change and Lily is my best friend”

“It’s just- you’ve changed so much and I’m struggling to keep up” Sirius’ tone was strange, the most un-Sirius thing Remus had ever experienced him do since they met.

Remus’ eyebrows knit together, a frown now playing on his face. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, y’know… besides, I don’t have to change according to your terms”

“I never said that” Sirius spat.

Remus sat up in response, leaning back on his elbows. “Then why are you constantly bitching about how much I’ve changed?”

“Because you have! It’s like you’re this whole new person and I don’t even know you”

“I haven’t spoken to you since we were 17, that was 6 years ago and you expect me not to change?” Remus ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I went to college, I got in a horrendous car accident Sirius, do you really expect me to be the same person I was when we were teenagers?”

“No- it’s just, I don’t like change”

“Fucking hell Sirius, the world doesn’t care and guess what? that’s constantly changing too”

“Yeah but not as drastically as you! You work in a bakery for Christ’s sake when I know you always wanted to be a writer”

“And I know you vowed to never work for your parents and here you are, doing daddy’s dirty work no doubt”

“Remus”

“What”

“You were never this cruel”

“No, I suppose not”

The two sat in silence, and it took all of Remus’ willpower not to kiss him.

“Can we just be friends or something” Sirius looked sincere enough, good natured enough for Remus to want it.

“Something? Something like wh-“

But Remus never got to finish his sentence because suddenly Sirius’ knees were straddling his hips and they were kissing.

What the fuck!

Remus wanted to scream, he was tired and annoyed and now he didn’t know what to feel. He pushed Sirius away for a second time that day, both their breaths coming in uneven.

“No” Remus breathed out, shutting his eyes tightly.

“No?”

“Yes, no… I can’t… what were you thinking?”

Sirius looked both hurt and surprised but Remus wasn’t concerned about that, he was more confused than anything and also there was the almost unbearable pain in his hip.

“I- well you were being cruel and this is the only way I knew how to shut you up effectively”

Now it was Remus’ turn to look hurt, he pushed Sirius again with more force than before. He brought his head back down and refused to say another word.

“Remus”

Nothing.

“Remus”

He shut his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep again.

“I’m sorry”

“Remus, I’m really sorry”

“I know I shouldn’t have said that”

“I did want to kiss you, I also wanted you to stop being mean”

“Come on Moony”

Remus’ eyes shot open at the childhood nickname. “Leave me alone Sirius, I’m tired and sore”

“Are you cross?”

“With you?”

Sirius hummed in response.

“Yeah but mainly cause I’m tired”

“Oh, I’m sorry”

“Just stop talking”

Sirius did just that. Remus felt bad though, he very carefully and hesitantly moved again so that his head was on Sirius’ lap. “I’m sorry for being a dick” he whispered, eyes closing again.

“I’m sorry for not thinking before I speak” came Sirius’ soft reply.

Remus felt Sirius’ fingers move through his hair tentatively as if he was uncertain whether or not this was allowed. “No, I’m being a moody git, all hot and cold on you”

“I couldn’t blame you for it”

“Well you should”

Sirius didn’t reply and Remus remained on the side that didn’t hurt him, facing away from Sirius and towards the telly.

[stovetuna]

This is for @bardingbeedle who yelled at me in the tags and then on messenger and ultimately inspired me to write some “lorge soft steve” and tbh who am I to refuse. (also high-key inspired by this masterpiece of fanart I RBed [again] earlier today)

(takes place shortly after the events of Avengers Assemble episode 2x07, aka the best fic none of us ever wrote)

(heed the READ MORE!)

***

Tony is hustling from one meeting to the next, all but literally running into the kitchen for a cup of afternoon coffee, when he spies Steve Rogers bent over the communal living room coffee table. That in and of itself isn’t exactly outside the realm of normal Steve Rogers activities—the man does love a good brood, even if he won’t admit it and doesn’t do it as often as he used to.

But Tony wracks his brain for possible reasons why Steve would be hunched up around the shoulders like he’s expecting a body blow any minute and keeps coming up empty. Not even fresh coffee makes his synapses fire faster. Did they forget his birthday? Impossible. Did someone send Captain America hate mail? Uh, doubly impossible, especially because Tony’s got lawyers screening their mail for that kind of stuff (they’ve got more than enough pressure in their day-to-day lives, time-slip dinosaurs and age regressions notwithstanding).

Maybe Steve found a piece of upsetting news, or some fact of modern history that isn’t sitting well with him? That’s a lot more likely.

Before he can remind himself that Pepper’s waiting in his office to put him on a call with the president of MIT—something about a commencement speech, if memory serves—Tony is sauntering into the living room, nonchalant, tongue already prickling with some smart remark. He’s got it all written out in his head like a perfect line of code up until the moment he’s standing in front of Steve and sees the expression on his face.

“Whoa, who ran over your puppy?”

Tony winces, wishing for the millionth time that his mouth and his brain could work together simultaneously, but no. Worse, Steve doesn’t even answer him—he just frowns harder, if that’s even possible, and folds in on himself like his shoulders alone don’t take up half the length of the massive couch. Tony lowers the hand holding his coffee and blinks.

“Steve?”

“Oh!” Steve jumps upright, and quick as a flash moves something vaguely folder-shaped behind his back. “Tony! I didn’t hear you walk in—don’t you have a meeting right now?”

Something in Tony’s chest squeezes at the sight of that smile and at Steve’s impeccable attention to detail. But really, ever since the incident with the Time Stone, when he’d jolted back into his adult body and come to in Steve’s arms, he’s felt completely knocked off-balance. Now everything about Steve Rogers—the man, not the superhero—is a revelation. Every smile, every word, every look has Tony tripping over his own feet, tongue, thoughts. He may be back in his adult body, but he’s never felt more like a prepubescent teenager with a crush, fidgeting in place under Steve’s gaze.

“It got postponed,” he lies, because whatever has put that pinch between Steve’s eyebrows is way more important right now. “What’s up?”

“Nothing!” Steve replies, too loud and too quickly. Tony gives him a look. Steve flushes, shrinking in on himself even further, like he wants the couch to devour him. “Uh, nothing important. Just an anniversary I forgot about.”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to frown. He likes to think he’s got a solid mental calendar of important dates for all of his teammates memorized at this point—Natasha’s move-in, Bruce’s lab incident, Sam’s SHIELD acceptance, Steve being found in the ice—but none of those are today.

“Got room for one more?” Tony asks, nodding at the scant space next to Steve on the couch when the man gives him a questioning look. Steve’s cheeks immediately go a charming shade of pink, which churns the coffee in Tony’s empty stomach with a vengeance. Steve shifts to press himself against the arm as Tony moves to sit down next to him, almost crushing the folder Steve had hidden earlier in the process. There’s a gasp, and a lightning-quick hand, and then Steve, pale and breathless, is holding a manila folder against his chest like it’s the secret to the Super Soldier Serum.

It’s weird—Tony knows Steve trusts him, and vice versa. They wouldn’t have solved the riddle of the Time Stone if they didn’t trust each other. So to sit next to Steve, who’s gone from morose to terrified in the three minutes since Tony walked into the room and feel a wall between them is jarring. And upsetting. He’s only been nursing this crush for a few days, and Steve’s not that perceptive…is he? Maybe he is. Maybe this is Steve weeding out Tony’s feelings before they’ve even had a chance to grow.

Tony shakes his head at the thought. No, Steve’s a lot of things, but cruel isn’t one of them.

“Care to share with the class?” he asks, gently so he doesn’t spook Steve. It seems to work: Steve relaxes, tension falling from his shoulders as he eases into Tony’s presence. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, but keeps the folder pressed securely against his sternum. Tony tries hard not to steal a glance at the way Steve’s shirt pulls across his broad, thick chest as he breathes.

“It’s nothing.”

“Cap, if it was nothing, you wouldn’t be trying to Honey-I-Shrunk-Myself into the couch right now.”

Steve Rogers in active wear doesn’t cut quite the same figure as Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean he’s small. Like this, he’s just as large and has just as much presence as he does in uniform; it’s just…more human. Less Captain, more Steve. Both are devastating in their own way, but only Steve—friendly, blushing, awkward, unassuming Steve—makes Tony acutely aware of the distance between their bodies, down to the last electrified hair.

Catching his own breath, Tony puts his full mug on the coffee table and drops his hands into his lap, turning his head to watch Steve chew on whatever words are fighting to come out. Be patient, he tells himself. Whatever this is, Steve’s struggling with it, and Tony can have some tact when he wants to.

Finally, Steve closes his eyes and sighs. When he lowers his hands, the folder goes with them. Tony glances at the cover and almost swallows his tongue.

“Is that—?” Steve makes a noncommittal sound, like a ‘yes’ but softer, uncertain, like he’s not sure Tony’s reaction is a good one. Tony swallows his excitement with a wince. “Is that the Project Rebirth file? I told Fury to give it to you a long time ago, but I wasn’t sure he did.”

Tony is so preoccupied looking at the folder he doesn’t hear Steve’s gasp or notice his eyes lock onto him. “He did,” Steve replies quietly after a pause. “But that’s isn’t…that’s not what this is about.”

That’s kind of a surprise. The sudden appearance of the Project Rebirth file would explain Steve’s face and body language, but if it’s not that…

Steve hands the entire folder over to Tony without another word.

“Uh,” Tony gapes, too awestruck to achieve any kind of higher brain function.

“Look at the date,” Steve says. It’s not an order, just a gentle request, but it doesn’t prevent a shiver from rippling down the length of Tony’s spine. If he was hyperaware of the space between their bodies before, it’s even worse now with Steve leaning every-so-slightly toward him and reaching out a hand to point directly at the date written on the faded label.

22 June 1943

Tony blinks. “It’s the anniversary…of you?” He opens the folder without a second thought, and the first thing he sees is a picture of Steve. There are other things in the file—sheaves of what look like medical reports, heavily redacted memos, and carbon copies of typed letters—but the only thing Tony can focus on is Steven Grant Rogers circa 1943. The Steven Grant Rogers of before.

He’s touching the photo before he can stop himself, being so, so careful as he traces the narrow shape of the man in the photograph while the real, supersized thing sits next to him.

“It’s the first time I’ve really had a chance to sit and think about what it was like, before,” Steve says, unprompted. “Everything happened so fast once I got the serum, I didn’t have time to just…take it all in. And then I went into the ice and—well. You know the rest.”

All skin and bones, this man, back then. But the jut of his jaw is the same; the serum didn’t change that, or the flinty stubbornness in Steve’s eyes, or the proud set of his shoulders, just daring the world to try and fuck with him. Tony smiles—Steve before the serum is like a matchstick, short and thin and always one spark away from bursting into flame. He really didn’t change a bit.

When Tony finally looks up from the photo (not gazing, of course not), he sees Steve’s expression has gone pinched again, his arms now crossed in front of his chest.

“Alright, there’s that face again. Out with it, Cap.”

Steve really shouldn’t bite his lip—it’s bad for Tony’s health. But Tony’s comment does get him to smile a little bit, which is good. “I guess…it’s been over seventy years since I got the serum, but most days I still feel like that skinny guy in the picture.” Tony watches him as he speaks, taking in the faraway look in Steve’s eyes, the shrinking posture, the downward turn of his mouth—who says I can’t be observant, Tony thinks—and wishes he and Steve were the kind of friends who hugged outside of catastrophic cosmic events. God knows it looks like Steve could use one, as wound up and tense as he is right now.

“I’ve broken so many things by accident because I keep forgetting I’m this, now,” he says, gesturing broadly at himself with one hand. Frowning, Steve uses that same hand to brace his forehead, elbow dropping down onto his thigh. The man is the picture of misery, and Tony aches to comfort him. It’s a physical pull in the pit of his stomach, urgent and needy—like if he doesn’t get his arms around Steve Rogers right this second, something important inside him is going to malfunction.

Tony shoves his hands under his thighs and nods. “Dr. Erskine could turn you into a super soldier,” he says softly, “but he couldn’t erase the first 27 years of your life.” He doesn’t speak his next thought aloud—that if there was in fact a way to erase those years, Tony would have signed up for the very first clinical trial. It’s a grim thought, and not something Steve needs to hear right now, but it’s been on Tony’s mind ever since his brief return to adolescence, and it’s a hard one to shake.

But what Steve heard seems to help. He peeks at Tony through his fingers and swallows loud enough even Tony can hear it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “something like that.”

“What else?”

“What?”

“What else is bugging you? About this?”

Steve lowers his hand and stares at Tony. Stares. It’s such a feeling, being stared at by Steve Rogers, Tony can feel the heat climbing up from underneath his t-shirt. Even the arc reactor feels a bit warmer in his chest.

“How could you tell?”

“You’re still doing your level-best impression of a Shrinky Dink, Cap,” Tony replies. “Kind of hard not to notice.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Steve laughs, a hoarse, dry sound, “but you’re not wrong. I guess…I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

Seriously, when Steve looks at him like that—like he did when Tony soared through the air as Iron Kid, all awe and pride and warmth—Tony feels capable of anything. Anything. He’d bottle that feeling, if he could, just like he’d bottle the color of Steve’s hair in the afternoon light coming in through the living room windows right now, all warm, pale yellows shot through with gold. If the photo in the file were in full color, Tony would bet his fortune Steve’s hair would be the same shade it is now.

Because Steve Rogers has always been perfect. Damn him.

“I still feel small,” Steve says, and any thoughts of hair and perfection derail abruptly. Looking into the middle-distance past his nose, he continues, “I don’t fit in this body. That doesn’t make sense, but—it’s like the super soldier is a mold, and I’m just there rattling around inside it, too small to fit. Does that—does that make any sense?” He looks at Tony imploringly, begging him with his eyes to understand. Tony feels that tug again, worse now, to wrap his arms around Steve and hold him tight. Call it returning the favor for the other day with the Time Stone, call it acting on his crush, whatever.

No one so large has ever looked as small as Steve Rogers does right now.

“It does,” Tony croaks.

“Really?”

“Really. I mean, how do you think I feel inside the suit?”

Steve makes a sound at that—not a whimper, not a gasp, but something hovering between the two that splits Tony’s heart right down the middle. “I never thought of it that way,” he whispers. “But that’s it. That’s exactly it.” Visible relief fills Steve’s lungs and makes his entire body go lax, leaning closer to Tony in the process. Tony, of course, is hyperaware of Steve’s size—everyone except Thor and Hulk is small compared to him—but now he’s equally aware of who’s operating the Cap-suit, so to speak.

“The only difference is, I can take my super-suit off,” Tony says, pinching the underside of his own thigh to cut off a laugh—Steve hasn’t seen The Incredibles yet—and continues, “you can’t. That’s bound to make a guy feel uncomfortable, even you, Mr. ‘I can handle anything you throw at me.’” He elbows Steve a little, good-naturedly, for emphasis, and gets a full, beautiful smile for his efforts.

God. Skinny or huge, Steve Rogers is gorgeous. It really shouldn’t be allowed.

“Yeah, good point.” Face still split by a smile—I put that there, Tony preens—Steve leans against the back of the couch and sighs. “There are things I miss, though. About being small. I didn’t think I did, until…” He glances at Tony, then, and there’s no missing the blush creeping up his neck.

“Until?”

“The other day,” Steve replies. “When you de-aged, and I—when we—” Tony bites his tongue so hard he’s pretty sure he tastes blood. Don’t interrupt. Let him get it out. Steve laughs breathily. “When I hugged you, I was so glad I was in a position to protect you, physically, like that. But later on I kept thinking about how much I miss being the protected one, sometimes. Not always, but. Sometimes.” Steve looks at the photo and sighs. “I keep thinking about what it felt like when ma looked after me when I was sick, or when Bucky put himself between me and the bigger guy because he knew I couldn’t take another hit…sure I resented it a little, being so weak, but I liked…that.”

“You liked being cared for.”

The look Steve levels at Tony could drive away a storm.

“Yeah,” he husks. “I did.”

“And now that you’re—” Tony waves a hand at Steve’s everything, “—this, you think you don’t, what, deserve care?”

“Maybe?” Steve blinks. “I don’t know.”

“Cap—Steve,” Tony says, putting his hands palms-up in his lap so Steve can see all of him. No threat, no judgment. “Everyone wants to feel cared for. It’s human nature. And just because you’re superhuman doesn’t mean you’re inhuman.”

Damn if those therapy sessions Pepper forced him into aren’t paying off big time right now. If the sheen in Steve’s eyes is anything to go by, Tony’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Tony smiles. Butterflies be damned, he moves the project file onto the coffee table next to his now-cold mug and turns toward Steve. Slowly, he opens his arms. “C’mere,” he says, so quiet only Steve would hear if anyone else was around. As it is, they’re alone in the tower, and Steve doesn’t hesitate—one moment Tony’s arms are empty and the next he’s got 240 pounds of solid muscle curling into his chest and Steve’s tucking his big head under Tony’s chin like the world’s neediest Bernese mountain dog.

Thankfully, Tony’s arms are just long enough to fit all the way around Steve’s massive shoulders. And even if they weren’t, he’d find a way to make it work.

Knees knocking together, feet brushing up against each other on the carpet, Steve shifts and adjusts until he can wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. Once he settles in, he sighs right into the notch at the base of Tony’s throat. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Anytime, big guy,” Tony replies, softly with a warm smile he thinks Steve can’t see.

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles Day 10 - Sunset

Find the prompt list here!

Hallmark Movie AU Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (end) | Read Month of Miracles on AO3

Luka took his time getting back to the farm. When he got there, he didn’t go inside. Just went out and did whatever chores he could find. He didn’t go back to the house until the sun was setting, and even then, he didn’t go inside. He just stood on the porch, leaning against one pillar. His hand found his pocket and pulled out a cookie wrapped in cellophane. Luka unwrapped it slowly, tucking the wrap in his pocket, but he just looked at it for a minute, and then up at the sunset colors streaking the sky. 

“Are you gonna eat that?” 

Luka jumped and looked over. Juleka leaned against the opposite rail of the porch, eyeing him in her sidelong, indirect way. 

“Are you going to eat that cookie?” she repeated, with a little toss of her hair. “Or just stare at it all night? Because if you don’t want it—”

Luka made a motion as if to throw the cookie into the bushes, and Juleka yelped, lunging at him. “Hey!” 

Luka laughed as he dodged Juleka’s grab again, holding the cookie over his head. It wasn’t quite as easy as it had been when they were younger, as Juleka had grown quite tall, but she still couldn’t match his reach. 

“Jerk,” Juleka pouted, kicking his shin.  

“Shrew,” Luka snorted, hopping back a little. 

“Fine,” Juleka huffed, folding her arms as she turned her back to him and folded her arms. “Be stingy and wasteful. See if I care.”

“Hey, Jules?” Luka said, settling back against the porch railing and looking again at the cookie in his hand. It was shaped like a mitten, with a cute snowflake design drawn in icing on it. Marinette had given it to him when he finally managed to pull himself together enough to let her know he was leaving. Her work was a little smudged from being wrapped up before it had set, but it was still a pretty thing. 

“What?” Juleka demanded, when he didn’t continue. 

Luka sighed, and resigned himself to the awkwardness of asking his little sister for advice. “How did you know Rose was someone you couldn’t live without?” 

Juleka tilted her head slightly and narrowed her eyes at him. “Is this about that girl?” she asked. “The one Rose was so excited about? Should I tell her ship is sailing?” 

Luka groaned. “Please don’t. I shudder to think of what she might do if she thought it actually had a chance of happening. Not that it does,” he added hastily, looking away. “She’ll be going back to the city after Christmas, and that’ll be that. I already know I can’t live like that.” 

“Do you really know that?” Juleka mumbled, her eyes sliding away from him. This sort of conversation always made her uncomfortable, and Luka felt bad about it, but he needed someone to talk to. “Or...do you just know that you can’t—that you don’t like the rockstar lifestyle?” 

Luka tried to hide his grimace at her near slip. It shouldn’t hurt, the idea that she’d almost said can’t handle it, because it was the truth and it was mostly something he’d accepted, but...failure didn’t feel good. Even when failure actually meant succeeding too well. 

“I mean,” Juleka continued, brushing her hair back and brushing nonexistent dust off the black puffy coat she was wearing over her purple velvet dress. “There’s ways to live in the city and work off your music without being in the spotlight all the time. It’s not...impossible. If you wanted to.” 

Luka made a noncommittal noise, looking down at the cookie for a moment before looking back to the sunset. For a while they were silent, watching the colors flare and brighten and then begin to fade. 

“It was like something I didn’t know was missing,” Juleka said all in a rush, startling Luka out of his thoughts. “Maybe that sounds cheesy, but...it’s the truth. Meeting her was like...some part of myself settling into place, and it was kind of like...oh. There you are.” She shrugged, and as the glow of the porch light seemed to grow brighter as the outer world got darker, he could see that she was blushing. She glanced at him and then away. “If you make fun of me I’m stealing your cookie and shoving you off the porch.” 

Luka chuckled. “No, I won’t. I’m happy for you, Juleka, really. I just...I don’t know. I barely even know her…” 

Juleka shrugged. “You see people.” 

He looked at her in surprise. Juleka hunched in on herself, half disappearing into her coat. “You do,” she mumbled. “You always have. Maybe you forgot, being out there,” she gestured vaguely. “But you’ve always been like that. And...if you think there’s something special about her, you’re probably right.” She shrugged. “Plus Rose likes her a lot.” 

“I don’t know,” Luka sighed. 

Juleka shrugged. “You don’t have to know. Just...see what happens. There’s still time. Go with the flow and quit worrying about it so much. Who knows, maybe she doesn’t even like you.” 

Luka rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

She eyed him. “Can I have the cookie now?”

“Not a chance,” Luka said, taking a big bite of the cookie. His eyes widened as he looked at it. “Wow, that’s amazing.” 

Juleka groaned. “You suck,” she muttered, turning to go back inside. “I hope you freeze.” 

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

[returnsandreturns]

i've faltered a bit because my plot doesn't really work so i'm trying to work something new out but i would also write 50k of these two just talking to each other with no regrets

---

How long have you been together?” Jake says, holding out her empty wine glass like it’s a microphone. They’re in her and her wife’s apartment, Emma and Tobin sitting side by side on a pristine white couch.

“A year and a half,” they say, dutifully, “because the half makes it sound less like we’re blatantly lying.”

“Good,” Jake says, smiling. “Who proposed?”

“I did,” Tobin says, “but not because I think men have to propose. I proposed because she’s the most amazing woman that I’ve ever met and she’s too busy changing the world to think about proposing to me first.”

“I still like that answer,” Emma says, smiling and nudging him.

“So will Trish Taylor’s millions of loyal listeners,” Jake says. “Alright, let’s try one off the cuff: why haven’t you moved in together?”

Tobin falters and Emma turns toward him for a moment before she says, “We’re saving ourselves for marriage.”

Tobin chokes on a laugh and Jake rolls her eyes.

“You try,” she says, gesturing at Tobin, who gets a deer in the headlights look before taking a deep breath and talking straight to his hands in his lap.

“We. . .were trying to take it slow,” Tobin says, “because of the campaign and because. . .this thing we’ve got together is important. She’s important.”

Emma looks up, a little surprised.

“But now you’re getting married?” Jake prompts, a faint smile on her lips.

“. . .I was so overwhelmed after she did so well in that primary debate that I proposed on the spot,” Tobin says, shrugging. “I’m not an impulsive person but I. . .have a type and it’s. . .absurdly competent women. Our living situations just fell by the wayside because we basically live at the office anyway.”

“Okay,” Jake says, clapping her hands. “Only Tobin gets to talk.”

“That was. . .really good,” Emma says, squinting at him when he looks up at her.

“I mean, you did so well at that debate that I absolutely would have proposed if we were. . .whatever we’re pretending to be,” he says.

“A happy, functioning couple,” Jake says, pointing at both of them before repeating, “A happy, functioning couple. Speaking of, I need to get a candid picture of you two where you look like you’re in love to capitalize on this. Can you just. . .snuggle a little? I’ll get my camera.”

“How do we look like we’re in love?” Tobin asks.

“Look at me like I just beat the hell out of someone in a debate,” Emma says, moving so she’s pressed up against his side and feeling a dumb little spark when he wraps an arm around her. She really needs to be touched more often outside of shaking people’s hands. “Since apparently that’s your kink.”

“I think it comes naturally in political science majors,” he says, huffing out a laugh. “You had. . .more than a few guys who thought watching you debate was, uhm. . .”

“What?” she asks, delighted.

“. . .pornographic,” he says, eventually.

“Wait, were they the kind of guys who watch porn where women step on men in high heels?” she asks, laughing.

“Probably,” he says, after a second. “Not me, I only watch. . .the regular kinds of porn. But you definitely had an impact on some burgeoning sexualities.”

“Oh my god,” Emma says, turning to hide a laugh in his shoulder. “I know I didn’t have trouble finding dates but I thought it was mostly my tits.”

“Well, they don’t hurt,” he says, a little pink when she looks up at him with a surprised smile.

She’s about to ask him what the regular kinds of porn are when Jake says, “Well, I think I got it,” and they both look up to see her standing in the corner, looking down at her camera.

“We didn’t pose,” Tobin says.

“You look adorable,” she says, vaguely gesturing between them. “What were you even talking about?”

“Porn,” Emma says.

“Well. . .” Tobin starts.

“I’m going to say some bullshit about. . .I don’t know, reminiscing on your lives together, good times, bad times, etcetera,” Jake says, already walking away, calling back when she’s in the next room. “I want to know what you’re saying about porn, though!”

They stay like they are for a few moments before Emma moves away just a little, kind of disappointed when Tobin immediately pulls his arm away and gives her more room.

“So, did you want me to step on you in college?” she asks.

She probably shouldn’t but she has to be so restrained all of the time that sometimes it’s just nice to take it out on him, especially when she has all this new information.

“I have no interest in being stepped on,” he says, lightly.

“Very good non-answer,” she says. “If I tell you something embarrassing, will you tell me the truth?”

He looks at her for a moment, probably because he thinks that she’s going to trick him or something, before he nods and says, “Sure.”

“When you called me to meet you to pitch me running for assemblywoman,” she says, slowly, “I thought. . .that you wanted. . .to hook up.”

“What?” he asks, laughing.

“Some dude I hadn’t talked to in years was, like, sliding into my DMs!” she says. “It’s not a huge leap to make. Being recruited Avengers style for the state government was significantly more surprising than you wanting to fuck me.”

“I wasn’t even sure that you would remember me,” he says. “I didn’t think I made a huge impact on your life.”

“I remember you were a very nice young man,” she says, “and that I thought you might be a robot and also. . .a little scared of me.”

“You definitely called me a robot once or twice,” he says, smiling at the ceiling before he turns it on her, “and I was kind of scared in general but. . .definitely of you.”

“Because of how much you wanted me to step on you,” she says, nodding seriously and laughing when he rolls his eyes and moves away, gently taking his arm. “Oh, come on, you can tell me.”

“I appreciated your debate performances more than I’m comfortable admitting right now,” he says, eventually. “What about you, though? Were you going to say yes?”

“To what?” she asks.

“When you thought I was trying to hook up,” he prompts, raising his eyebrows at her. “Were you going to. . .say yes?”

“You curveballed before I had a chance to decide,” she says, letting go of him and stretching her feet out in front of her, propping them up on the coffee table, “but. . .probably.”

“Huh,” he says, noncommittally.

“Huh,” she says, like a challenge that he doesn’t take up because their phones both vibrate in their pockets and he pulls his out first, opening it to show a text from Jake. She leans in to look when he opens it and a photo of them from just a few minutes ago pops up on the screen.

“. . .huh,” he says, again, turning it so she can see it better.

He has her pulled close and they’re grinning at each other and it just looks cozy, nothing like she’s ever really had before. And it looks natural because. . .it was natural.

“Huh,” she says, softly.

[pikemoreno]

if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter II: Coincidences

a/n: the response to what i believe will be the slowest chapter in the whole series was honestly kind of overwhelming? like you guys were into it and it’s only going up from here folks!!

taglist is open if you’d like to be added. sorry if you asked and i missed it or forgot. please just ask again if you aren’t on there and would like to be. :’)

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: none, and i don’t expect there to really be any serious ones in upcoming chapters either. this is just fun.

You were really starting to regret your life choices. 

Even the beginnings of autumn in Austin were hot as hell. It was only maybe 90 degrees but there was no breeze and the sun was shining ruthlessly on the asphalt, making it feel about 10 degrees hotter. And all of that was then made complete with just a dash of humidity. Basically: you were dying. You probably should’ve considered that before deciding to walk to Rick’s Diner from Wendy’s apartment, but when the pancakes call, you two must answer. And why risk losing your parking spot in the meager guest parking area when you could just walk? It’s only a couple of streets away.

Famous last words. The Austin sun, though setting, still felt like it was frying you to your bones and the air conditioning of the little diner only brought minor relief as you finally reached the stool-lined counter to ask for your to-go order. They didn’t have it quite ready yet due to the dinner rush, but it was unadulterated bliss to hear that you didn’t have to brave the heat again quite yet. A vaguely familiar voice reached your ears as you moved away from the counter.

“Fancy meeting you here, Jewels.” 

Pike? From the break room yesterday? You spun around to find none other than the very same. Though his work suit was replaced with a more casual look of a casual well-fit grey shirt and jeans, he was still managing to look more put together than you felt in athletic shirts and a t-shirt. Girls night and the weather called for it, but if you knew you were going to be seeing a coworker...

“Art Squad,” you laughed, leaning against the wall next to him. “What brings you here?”

“Best pancakes in the city. What about you? Coffee?” 

“Ha-ha. No, girl’s night with Wendy. Gonna get her mind off of everything with what are absolutely the best pancakes in the city,” you agreed.

“A woman of taste.” His order came up and he took it, taking a moment to talk with the server across the counter. You heard him address him by name.

He must come here a lot.

You couldn’t blame him. It was clean, the service was amazing, the food was great, and it was fun-- with nostalgic decor that didn’t sway towards cheesiness.

Marcus left the counter with his takeout bag, but he didn’t leave with it, as expected. Instead he came back to stand beside you. 

“Maybe I should get some for Adrian too. These pancakes are magical,” he commented, continuing your previous conversation.

“Exactly.”

“I just wish I could do more for him. Coffee and pancakes aren’t exactly a permanent fix.”

“Agreed. I’m on the lookout for a rebound for Wendy. Maybe you should consider it too. Not a permanent fix but-- better.”

It hit you all at once. 

Two single people recently in need of a rebound that work in the same building?

That couldn’t be coincidence. 

But, no, that was a crazy idea. There was nothing that actually connected them. Did they have anything in common other than getting their hearts ripped out and working for the FBI? Doubtful. Was that enough for a stable relationship? God, no. Was that enough to bring them together long enough for a hook-up and getting them over their exes? 

Maybe.

Your name being called interrupted your thoughts and, pancakes in hand, you and Marcus walked back out into the Austin heat. You had no idea how he was managing in jeans, though you guessed it helped that he was probably smart enough to drive with the protection of A/C. 

“Well, see you around,” you nodded to him, ignoring the nagging in the back of your head to tell him about your scheme. It was silly. You turned left to walk towards Wendy’s place. 

“Where are you going?” he calls after you; you turn. “Did you not--?” he gestures to the parking lot on his right.

“Walked here.”

“Do you like causing yourself pain?”

“Sometimes.” He gave you a look. “I’m kidding. It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah, right. Let me drive you.” You considered a moment. There wasn’t any harm in accepting the ride, you guessed, though you didn’t actually know him. He could actually be a murderer who’s just trying to get you to a secondary location. You’d seen John Mulaney. You knew what that meant.

But maybe it was worth a try for the pancakes. 

Just for the pancakes-- for their safety.

“Sure, why not.”

This couldn’t be coincidence either. Time to scheme.

“So, about Adrian,” you began. The look he gave you was quizzical. “How old is he?”

“33?”

“Would he be interested in a 32 year old beautiful, badass goddess of an FBI Supervisory Special Agent?” He raises an eyebrow as you get in his car.

“Is that Wendy?” 

“Yes. Turn left up here.” He did. 

“I know what you’re thinking. No, we’re not going to--”

“But think about it!”

“I am. Meddling? That always works.” His tone was drowning in sarcasm.

“Sure it does. Adrian’s work is suffering, right? Driving you crazy? Wendy’s driving me crazy. They belong together.”

“I don’t think that’s a great quality to base a relationship off of.” 

“Oh, this is her building here.” He pulled over and you continued, unbuckling your seatbelt “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Surely we can get them together long enough to at least get them off our backs.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not getting involved in Adrian’s love life.”

“Alright, fine. If you never see me again. Wendy finally killed me.” He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the ride, Art Squad.”

“See you around, Jewels.”

“Don’t be so sure!” you called back as you walked up to the front of Wendy’s apartment. 

Arriving back to Wendy’s living room had her asking you how you got back so soon as she gratefully took out her takeout container of pancakes. 

“Hitched a ride,” you shrugged in reply, sitting cross-legged on the other end of her couch. 

“Oh? With who?” There were approximately eight extra “O’s” attached at the end of the question.

“A guy from work.”

“From work, hmm?” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Not like that.”

“Humor me. Someone from our team?”

“Oh, no. Definitely not. Art Squad.” Wendy widened her eyes, tilting her head at you. “It’s nothing Wendy, honestly.”

“How do you know him?” But the question didn’t come out casually. This was an interrogation. You sighed.

“I don’t, really,” you diverted the conversation digging into your take-out container. “And why are you interrogating me, hmm? I thought we were supposed to be laughing at reality shows and stuffing our faces in pancakes here and forgetting all about this kind of shit.”

“No no no. When my long-time single work friend mentions a secret guy, I ask questions.”

“Hey, I just went on a date two weeks ago! Don’t give me any of that always single crap. I get around.”

“Yeah, you went on one date. And then you came back an hour later saying he was boring and you never contacted him again. And when was the last time before that?”

“Fine, fine. I get it. But this isn’t some ‘secret guy,’” you put down your fork just to give the phrase some emphatic air quotes. “I just ran into him yesterday at the office and then today at Rick’s. That’s it.” 

“For now,” she whispered devilishly. You pointed your fork at her, feigning a threat.

“I do not need a man, Wendy Harrod. I have work and I have you.”

“I know you don’t. I just wanna see you happy.” You crossed your arms.

“I am happy. Hey, this night is supposed to be about you and your man troubles. Turn on 90 Day Fiance. Stop talking about me.”

You were telling the truth. Most of it. You felt alright by yourself. You did have work, though it was a dead-end until you managed to move out of the Austin field office. It had been you and Wendy up for a promotion a couple years ago and she received it. You knew the likelihood of her leaving before retirement was minuscule, which left you stuck in your current position until your own retirement. Unless you left. Not an option. You couldn’t leave Wendy scrambling for someone to replace you. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but you had it. It was yours. And you… Liked it well enough. 

It was fine. What more could you want?

***

Monday mornings were hard on anyone: the start of another week, the stack of work that Friday-you left for Monday-you staring you in the face. For Marcus it brought the wondering if this could be the week that Adrian was back to himself. 

It took all of ten minutes in the office to see that wouldn’t be the case.

Adrian’s pile of work had hardly decreased in height from the last time Marcus saw it on Friday morning. He watched for a moment to see how it was going. Adrian’s pen moved slowly across the page as he followed the words printed on it, occasionally making a mark or circling a section. He was working, but not to his best. It was written on his face and in his body language: hunched over at his desk, his chin resting resting heavily in the hand that wasn’t making lethargic movements over the paper. It just wasn’t the spunky Adrian that loved his job and his co-workers. He was always the hardest worker, and on the rare occasions that Adrian wasn’t working it was because he was too caught up in being a social butterfly. This side of him was frighteningly unprecedented.

“How’re you doing Adrian?” Marcus finally spoke.

Adrian made a noncommittal noise in response, his gaze fixated entirely somewhere above the page, but not quite on him.

“That good, huh?”

Another grunt.

Marcus pulled a rolling chair up to the other side of Adrian’s desk, facing him, studying him. He thought of your proposition from days before. It was kind of a crazy idea. But it might just be crazy enough to work. It wouldn’t be a permanent fix but... Better. Just as you’d said. He was getting about that desperate. Three weeks without Adrian was bad enough for team morale. Another week of this? Maybe more? The very walls of the sixth floor would be turning dull and grey. He still didn’t love the idea, but he hadn’t exactly come up with anything better. Could he bring it up to Adrian? Was it better if they didn’t know they were being set up? He started small.

“Adrian, have you considered maybe, I don’t know, trying to date again soon? Just to get your mind off of… That.”

Adrian shrugged, “Maybe. I’d have to find someone I was interested in. But I just don't think I'll find that anytime soon. I’ll just keep comparing them to Sam.” 

Marcus hummed in thought, watching the defeat on Adrian’s face. “Well, I’ll keep my eye out,” he promised loosely as he rolled the rolling chair back away from the desk.

He had to find you. 

He quickly announced he was taking a long lunch and headed straight to the elevator, thankful no one followed him to see him go up to the seventh floor instead of down to the first. He poked around offices and desks, ignoring the questioning glances, looking for you or any sign of where your workspace might be. He found you in the seventh floor breakroom, starting into what looked like an extremely mediocre lunch. 

He sat directly across from you and watched as you slowly looked up to find the source of the noise, suddenly feeling that he might’ve overstepped and you might not want to disturbed. That was quickly replaced by the odd surge of pride when you looked relieved to see him. You smiled at him and called him Art Squad.

“What brings you to the seventh floor? We still don’t have any coffee,” you huffed.

“I’m in.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m in. Let’s set them up.” Your expression was nothing short of cocky as you leaned back in your chair. 

“Oh? Coming crawling back so soon? Adrian getting the best of you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Rub it in. So what do we do?”

“Well,” you laid down your fork, “The way I see it. We shouldn’t tell them. They’re having a tough time and feeling like they’re only getting a date from their friends’ pity party would make it worse. They need this to feel natural, like it was their idea and they’re recovering. It’ll give them confidence.”

“So we... What?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t think I’d get this far.” He rolled his eyes.

“You don’t even have a plan and you were trying to convince me to help you?”

“Just let me think about it, alright?”

“Alright. Let’s drive and think. Up for a long lunch break?”

“I guess? But I have,” you looked to your sad little lunch in front of you. When you met his eyes again, he simply raised an eyebrow. 

You’re really gonna eat that?

“Rick’s?”

“Rick’s.”

forever taglist: @acomplicatedprofession​ @hdlynn​ @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales​ @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ @princessbatears​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives

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[secret-engima]

Come to the Tree (There’s Joy Here)

Ooohhhh tricky one. Hmmmm.

I feel like it’s a Fairy AU of SOMETHING but I’m not sure what fandom to pick.....

....

BNHA.

An AU where all of the bullying gets to Izuku when he’s still a smol child and he runs away from home. He runs and runs and then trips and falls and it hurts and his hands are bleeding and its raining, so he hides in an old, overgrown and forgotten shrine with a big tree growing out of the roof. (Later he will realize that should have been a warning, because what place in his little Japanese suburb would naturally be that overgrown, and why had he never seen it before the moment he had lost all hope or will to live?) He stumbles inside, crying and wishing and bleeding, and when he huddles against the tree, wishing desperately to be somewhere else, someone else, something else, his bloody palm smears across the bark by accident.

And the world around him changes.

The world does not see or hear Izuku for a long, long time.

Years later, Toshinori stumbles through a suburb, looking frantically for a place to hide before he de-transforms because he forgot his time limit and what if there are WITNESSES. He spots a rundown shrine with a tree growing out of it and ducks inside. He staggers against the tree, coughing blood onto the roots and swearing softly. Eventually his breathing evens out and he straightens up, running a hand through his hair as he mentally scolds himself for losing track of his time limit. He turns to leave and walk home now that he’s safely transformed-.

“What is your wish?”

Toshinori spits blood in shock as he whirls. The young boy that is just- THERE, standing by the old tree doesn’t even blink, he just smiles and rocks on his heels, dressed in an old fashioned yukata with embroidered leaves on it, his hair a curly black-green and his eyes a bright emerald shade that is almost eerie to look at (a see in the dark quirk, perhaps, or an invisibility one considering he snuck up on Toshinori).

“I- I’m sorry?”

The boy tilts his head, still smiling placidly, “You didn’t make a wish. You can’t just leave without making a wish after paying such a high price.” The boy points and Toshinori blinks at the blood he coughed up earlier, drying on the roots.

Well. This suddenly got creepy.

“I ... you use blood to make a wish?”

The boy waggles a hand in a so-so motion, “It’s not required. Most don’t. The price for a wish varies. But if you give blood, you have to make a wish. The price is too high not to. So,” he spreads his hands, “what is your wish?”

...Oooookay?? Toshinori’s mind races, both baffled over what he just walked into and worried that the boy had been here when he transformed, “Did you ... see me come in?”

“Yes.”

Oh no, “And you ... saw me transform?”

“Yes.”

Oh. Oh dear. Toshinori comes up with an idea on the fly and smiles weakly, “I wish that you would not tell anyone about what you saw here today.”

The boy taps his lips with a finger, then shrugs and smiles, “That’s a very vague wish, but you already paid, so alright. Are there any other wishes you need?”

“Ah- no. No thank you.”

The boy nods, “Alright then. Have a nice day, Yagi Toshinori-san.” A blink and the world wavers and Toshinori is suddenly standing on the street, in front of an empty, paved lot. There is no overgrown shrine, no large tree, no smiling boy.

Thoroughly freaked out, Toshinori runs home to make some phone calls.

Naomasa checks the database, but there are no registered quirks that even begin to cover what he saw. Toshinori can only hope the boy keeps his word about Toshinori’s “wish”.

...

Hitoshi finds it next, frustrated and disillusioned with General Studies at U.A. but still stubborn. He sees the shrine out of the corner of his eye and thinks “why not, it won’t make his luck any suckier” and goes inside. He pats the tree with a hand, looks around. There is no place to leave yen anymore, the tree’s probably eaten it, and Hitoshi has no yen on him anyway. After a moment’s thought, he unhooks the little cat figurine clipped dangling from the strap of his book back and hooks it on a low branch, then claps his hands and mutters dryly, “I wish I had a different quirk.”

“Careful with a wish like that,” says the boy who Hitoshi SWORE was not there seconds ago, leaning against the tree and looking straight out of a history drama with his yukata and geta shoes, “I’m afraid that’s not a high enough price.” He frowns, “I don’t think you can afford a wish like that honestly. Do you want to try a different wish?”

Hitoshi gapes, “I- you- who are you?”

The boy just shrugs noncommittally, “I run this shrine. I grant wishes to make people happy, if they can pay.” He admires the little cat figurine with a faraway look that makes Hitoshi’s skin crawl, “It’s very pretty, but I’m afraid that’s too small a price for a wish like that. Do you have a different wish I could grant instead?”

Hitoshi keeps staring, then shakes his head to clear it, “You ... are you serious?”

The boy nods, his freckles catch on the sunlight filtering through the broken roof. Hitoshi has been in the foster system a long time, he’s seen some pretty wild quirks, enough of them he finally decides “why not, what’s the worst that can happen” and says, “How about ... I wish for the chance to get into the Hero Course.”

The boy spaces out again, humming softly, “Still a bit high ... but that’s a very nice wish.” He laughs and Hitoshi could swear the rattling leaves in the breeze laugh with him, “Alright! I’ll grant that wish. One chance to get into the Hero Course. But you know, it’s only a chance, if you want to grab it, you should stop being scared of yourself and train.”

Hitoshi bristles, “You don't have a quirk like mine.”

“No,” the boy agrees with a smile that borders on too-wide, “I don’t. But I wasn’t talking about that. You have legs and arms don’t you? Hands and feet and a clever mind? Use those. They’ll get you a lot farther than any quirk.” With that, the boy claps his hands-

And Hitoshi is blinking on the sidewalk, staring at an empty park rather than a rundown shrine.

He tells no one. But he does sign up to every extra martial arts and phys ed course U.A. offers, and even though it’s stupid to believe the strange kid ... one chance.

He won’t let it slip away when it comes.

...

And so it goes. One by one, more and more students of U.A., or teachers, or just people who need a hand catch a glimpse of the shrine out of the corner of their eye and if they wander in, they are invited to pay a price for a wish. Sometimes the price is too high for them to pay and they are turned away, sometimes the wish itself is rotten and vile and a moment later the person finds themselves out on the street with no memory of the shrine at all.

Hitoshi is a repeat visitor, at first for more wishes paid with toys and trinkets and a few manga, then later to thank the boy for the wishes coming true, then later still because the boy seems lonely and Hitoshi is grateful enough to want to make it up to him. He asks one day for the boy’s name, surprised to realize that they’ve been friends for months but he’s never heard it, and now that he thinks about it, the boy never leaves the shrine. He’s never seen him, and that green hair and eyes are fairly distinctive even in a world filled with quirks. The boy just smiles sadly, and says he doesn’t have one.

Hitoshi ... gapes. It takes a hefty wish to get the story, but in the end the boy tells it. Of being quirkless, of being afraid and lost and depressed and angry. Of running away in the rain, and stumbling inside the shrine with bloody hands. Of wishing to be SOMETHING else. The boy skips over what came next, but says that tree had been waiting for a wish granter for a long time, the old one had faded away as quirks rose and people stopped believing in wishes. But Izuku is from the age of quirks, he knows how to operate better, so he had a chance. He could be something else than a useless quirkless failure, he could be a Wish Granter, one who brought joys and gave hope to those who came to his tree and paid a small price.

But becoming a Wish Granter is a heavy, heavy wish and it required a heavy price. Even heavier than blood smeared on the trunk.

So the boy had paid for the wish with his name.

Hitoshi doesn’t understand how that is a high price until the boy explains. A name is a word. A word is useless without meaning. A word BECOMES a name when it is attached to someone, when people call someone that. A name gains power with memory.

And without that name ... memory fades away.

“You're telling me,” Hitoshi sputtered, “That you ... don’t remember ANYTHING?”

“Nothing before the day I ran away. I can remember that much at least. But I can’t remember what people called me, or where I lived, or what I was called.” The boy shrugged, “It’s okay. I like granting wishes. I like giving people hope when there is none, and making them happy. I don’t need a quirk to do that, and people don’t need a quirk to get my help. No one is too big or small for my wishes, so long as they pay, and they can pay anything as long as it’s worth what their wish is worth.”

And Hitoshi- Hitoshi can’t breathe. He can’t even-. He knows bullying. He knows how bad it gets, he’s lived it. But to be bullied so badly, over something he couldn’t help, that this boy (his FRIEND) would choose to forget everything just for a chance to matter and help people- that he would prefer losing it all to gain this one place and one thing-.

Anger burns.

Hitoshi comes back to U.A. the next day with changed goals. He’s going to be a hero, yes, but he’s going to run an agency that accepts and trains anyone with the will and dream to be a hero. Even quirkless. He’s going to help people like him, like the wish granting boy who gave up his name. He’s going to tear society up by the roots if that’s what it takes to bleed out the poison that lets this kind of thing go without notice.

And he’s going to start with the boy.

He goes back the next day with a book of names under one arm and a book bag full of chocolates and candies and cat figurines. He dumps the whole back on the roots of the tree, and when the boy appears, Hitoshi shoves the name book at him and says roughly, “I wish for you to pick yourself a name that you want from this book. Any name. I wish for my friend to have name he deserves.”

And the boy goes very, very still. He looks down at the book, then up at Hitoshi.

Then bursts into tears, because no one has ever wished on his behalf before. Wished for good health of a family member, or a happy marriage for a friend, or a hundred other things for other people yes, but never, ever him.

They sit down and pour over the book, and eventually the boy settles on the name Izuku, because for some reason it makes him think of warm things and laughter.

(Gonna stop there because ow my hands, but like- if I actually wrote this, then eventually there’d be a Reveal where the rest of Class 1-A finds out about Izuku when Hitoshi wishes for his friend to leave the shrine and spend the day having fun with him, since Izuku legit never leaves his reality-bending, location hopping shrine, and of COURSE Class 1-A finds them and of COURSE Katsuki sees Izuku, hears the name Hitoshi is calling him, and has a near heart attack. And of COURSE Katsuki, despite not being terrible in this universe (coming to the stark realization that he very well might have suicide baited a friend as a child was a reality check and a half), reacts to this shock the way he reacts to any other kind of stress: by getting angry and loud and shouty and maybe a bit punchy. And Izuku starts shaking, because he gave up his name, but without knowing it he’s been given it BACK by Hitoshi, or at least a piece of it, and Katsuki’s temper is making him almost have flashbacks, and Aizawa steps in in alarm when Hitoshi decks Katsuki and Izuku just kinda- flops over nervelessly like he’s having a seizure.

Katsuki is a Horrified Guilt™.

Aizawa rushes the kid to the hospital, but the moment there’s no one else in the room, he teleports back to the shrine and so oops no one in the room, cue freak out.

Hitoshi ends up dragging Class 1-A and his teachers to the shrine to check on Izuku and make Katsuki apologize, which he does.

And then accidentally gives back Izuku’s memories because it turns out crying all over the roots of the tree in genuine, years-long regret is a high enough price to fulfill the wish for Izuku to “Come Back”.

Of course there’s also the whole ‘magic is actually a thing and Izuku genuinely can’t leave the shrine unless someone wishes it for the day’ because that’s what being a Wish Granter means and Izuku ends up getting lots and lots of visitors who don't want wishes but just want to be his friend and make him happy.

Anyway yea, no idea where I was going with this but it was fun at least?)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Can you imagine bram taking Nate on a supply run and buying rope and barbed wire to tie up the puppy from a hardware store. The sixteen y/o behind the counter checking them out asks what project they’re working on

CW: Creepy/intimate whumper, vaguely referenced torture, vaguely referenced noncon

She never looks up.

Nate tries to catch her eye - he’s not sure why, he can’t say anything with Bram’s hand hot against his lower back right through his T-shirt, the whine of some errant mosquito too close to his ear. But he wants to say he tried, did something, even when there’s nothing he can really do.

She scans each of Bram’s items - heavy rope first, wound in a tight circle, and Nate’s throat wants to close at the knowledge of how Danny will be strung up by it until the rope burns and chafes and makes him bleed. Then the thinner, softer cord, the one that goes in the bedroom, lives in endless knots along the headboard, lengths for Danny’s wrists, for his thighs, for his ankles, around his neck. The hammer and nails, and Nate doesn’t know what those are for but he prays they’re for an actual home project, and that he won’t have to watch them driven into Danny’s skin.

That he won’t be the one to do it, with Bram’s eyes locked on his whispering encouragement and love as Danny’s initial attempts to muffle himself turn eventually to cries and then to screams.

She scans the items one by one, and she never looks up.

Duct tape, in three different colors. They had a ‘novelty roll’ printed with dog bones on it and Bram had picked it up with absolute delight. Nate shudders, watching it swipe across the counter now, the little ‘beep’ as the price is added to the total.

In the diner, they greet Bram happily, as a welcome friend. In the post office, the person behind the counter had recognized Nate from the last time he was dragged along on one of these, and Nate’s attempt to return her greeting had been so halting, so heavy with broken consonants and drawn-out vowels, that he’d finally given up and let Bram speak for him.

Oh, that’s all right, The postal worker said with real compassion and empathy. He says you’ve got a bad stutter and you’re real shy about it. That’s all right.

I’m not shy, Nate thought desperately, the words trapped by a mouth that wouldn’t work, behind the feeling of Bram’s hand brushing the hair at the back of his neck, the knowledge that if he fucked this up, Danny would be dead before the cops could find him. I’m fucking scared, please, just notice how scared I am. Have someone follow Bram’s truck when we leave. Do something, notice me.

He smiled on cue as they took the packages from Bram’s most recent orders, the envelopes that came in, and walked back out to the truck in the parking lot. He looked over his shoulder once, and the postal worker gave him a cheery wave.

Wave back, Bram had murmured. Wave back to her, baby.

Nate did as he was told.

Just like he stands silently, now, and prays that the cashier will see the fear in his eyes, the worry, the shadows underneath. That she’ll pick up on the way he flinches when Bram moves too close. 

She doesn’t.

She never even looks at his face.

Barbed wire is scanned, and Nate’s skin prickles as he looks at the twists of sharp metal that will soon dig tightly into Danny’s skin. A new leash, the old one was soaked during the last big rain and smells musty now. A black dog bone made of some incredibly tough plastic, labeled KONG on the side. 

Nate’s mouth thins into an uneasy line.

“For my dog,” Bram says, brightly. “His name is Red.”

The cashier makes a noncommittal sound and doesn’t ask him to elaborate. She scans the packets of seed Danny had asked for, new vegetables to try out in the garden this fall. Some kind of heirloom pumpkin he’s excited about, will store well down in the cellar. Leafy green plants Danny swears will grow right up until it snows.

Finally, a Snickers for Bram and  Milky Way for Nate. 

She gives them the total reading off the screen in front of her, then stares blankly as Bram counts out his cash, rolling out money through his fingers. Nate’s eye are caught by it - he never ceases to forget about this being Canada, since they live in the wilderness with nothing and no one, until he sees Canadian money, again.

They take their change and leave, and Nate’s heart falls, piece by piece, left behind them with the last shot he’d had of getting someone to look at him, to see it written along his face, to see that there is a man trapped in the dark who needs help.

They’re loading the bags into the back of the truck and resettling the cover over the truck bed when a man steps up, and Nate turns to look. The man meets his eyes, and for a second, Nate has... hope. Small, and barely a thread, but there.

“Is this your, ah, partner?” The man asks, and Bram’s arm slips around his waist.

Please, please, please see that I’m not his partner, please see that I need help.

“This is him,” Bram says happily. “Told you I’d bring him next time, Jenkins.”

Yet another one of Bram’s supply run friends, the people in this town who love him. He’s friendly and charming, buys rounds of coffee for the old-timers at the counter who talk about the way things used to be and the weather, endlessly, in that order. Everyone loves Bram, here.

He killed a man to steal his home, Nate thinks, staring at the man smiles at him, friendly and welcoming. He keeps us captive. Danny isn’t allowed to be human anymore. Please. 

“There’s still time to change your ways,” Jenkins says, full of weight and meaning. For a second, the world tilts around Nate. Does this man know? Does he know what Bram is doing, in the woods, slowly carving Danny’s mind and body apart? Does he know?

“I told you last time,” Bram says patiently. “I’m not interested in your church, Jenkins. I’m not interested in your counseling.”

Hysterical laughter bubbles up in Nate’s throat. The man wants to help because he thinks Bram is gay.

“Seek and ye shall find, Mr. Denner,” Jenkins says, softly. “Seek and ye shall find. When you’re ready to seek, you give me a call. You too,” He says to Nate, with a firm handshake. Nate allows his hand to be grasped, staring at him, trying to hold back his laughter. “There’s always room for salvation, gentlemen.” Then he nods to Bram, and Bram’s hand gently pushes Nate back towards the truck.

That’s where you’re wrong, he thinks, as he buckles himself in, one more look through the glass doors of the hardware store. The cashier is scanning someone else’s order, and she stares at nothing the same way she did with Nate. I’m already in hell.

How many people does that girl interact with each day?

How many need help?

What would it take for her to notice?

Bram’s hand is on Nate’s thigh by the time he drives them back down the street and towards the edge of town. 

“That went well,” Bram says cheerfully. “Don’t you think?”

“Y-Yeah,” Nate finally answers. “It w-w-went, ah, w-... it went all right.”

Nate stares at the window at the trees, and wonders how far Bram will drive before he’s blindfolded again, so that even if they noticed, it wouldn’t do any good.

Even if they noticed, he couldn’t tell them where to go.

Danny would only die, alone, in the dark.

Nate sits in the truck and feels his leg warm under Bram’s hand, and all he lets himself think about is the light in Danny’s eyes when they come back home to let him out of the cellar.

Maybe Bram will let him sleep in the bed, and Nate can hold him while he remembers the light.

[justatiredghost]

Fixes to the Timeline Ch9

The apocalypse is over, the world has been saved, and now Klaus and Dave are left to try to figure out how to live a normal life in 2019. Unfortunately, there is very little that’s normal about their situation and they’re going to have a lot of trauma to work through first.

-

Eventually they had to admit to themselves that no more sleep was going to happen. It was still early morning and they were both exhausted, moving around sluggishly. Klaus couldn’t help the pang of guilt he felt, knowing it was his fault they were awake at all. Dave had stayed up with him, trying to provide a distraction, but unfortunately not even he could drown out the screaming once the ghosts really got going. The company helped at least. 

Instead of continuing to hide away in their fort, Klaus suggested they move downstairs so they could at least watch tv. That way, maybe Dave wouldn’t feel like he had to distract him. Not that Klaus managed to pay much attention. He mostly just buried his face against Dave and tried not to hear anything at all, focusing instead on Dave’s hand brush through his hair.

He was shutting down again, he could feel it happening. It was a new habit he’d developed, just letting the haze consume him for hours on end. He just didn’t have many other options. The ghosts were just so overwhelmingly loud. But that was how months had gone by with him barely noticing, doing absolutely nothing with his life while his siblings all moved on and actually made something of themselves.

Going out and being more active may have been good for him, he always enjoyed himself when one of the others came around. He couldn’t go out alone, though. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself. And he didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on Dave, making him feel like his sobriety relied entirely on how long they could wander out into the city for adventure. Which would likely cause Dave to push himself harder than he should and worsen his healing injuries. 

So instead he let himself slip back into it, shutting out the world and letting time blur past because eventually it had to get better, right? He just didn’t want Dave to realize how unlikely that hope was before he had to accept it himself. Klaus knew something needed to change, he just wasn’t sure what. 

When he felt Dave wiggle out from under him, he felt guilty that he couldn’t muster up the energy to say anything or even ask what he was doing. He’d fully intended to, but then he was gone and it was too late. Thankfully, what felt like only a moment later, Dave was back, gently shaking him back into himself. 

“Hey,” Dave said, brushing the hair back from his forehead. “Think you can try to eat something?”

“Did you cook?” Klaus asked as he sat up. That certainly piqued his interest, but it helped that he was very skilled at slipping back into being a person when he needed to so that no one would worry about him. Too bad that, with Dave here all the time, there wasn’t really any fooling him. “Are you trying to spoil me?”

“Well, it was mostly your mom, to be honest,” he said, handing him a plate before settling down next to him. 

“What time is it?” Klaus asked with a sleepy stretch. It felt like he shouldn’t be tired.

“Three,” Dave said. “I’m all for lazy days, but I wanted to make sure you ate something. I am getting kind of tired, though. Want to go back upstairs after this?”

Klaus made a noncommittal noise, the guilt back in full force. No doubt he was only saying that so Klaus didn’t have to. He seriously doubted he could be tired. As soon as they arrived back in the bedroom, Klaus dropped face first into the blanket fort with a heavy sigh. Dave crawled in beside him, tucking them both in with the remaining blankets and pillows. Klaus was vaguely aware of Dave talking and he tried to pay attention, he really did, but all he could think about as he waited for sleep to claim him was how he should be the one trying to comfort Dave instead. 

-

Klaus wasn’t sure when he actually woke up or how long he lay there, just trying to block out all of the screaming. Eventually, he became aware that something was missing; there was no warm body pressed up against his like there had been when he’d fallen asleep. 

He reached a hand out, feeling around blindly, but when he came up with nothing, he had a moment of panic, worrying that maybe all of this really had been a dream, but when he dragged his head up and looked around, there was a second pillow with the indent of another body where Dave had been lying in the little nest they’d made and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

He placed his hand on Dave’s pillow and closed his eyes, trying to summon up every detail he could as the ghosts swarmed, realizing he was awake again. He wasn’t sure how long Dave had been gone or when he’d be coming back and he had half a mind to go looking, when he barely managed to catch the sound of a creaking chair behind the voices of the dead and he looked around for the source. 

Dave was sitting by the window in the darkened room, an intense look of concentration on his face. Klaus didn’t like the way his brows pinched together at all. The usual worries returned and Klaus couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about him, about how useless he’d been all day and what it might mean for the future, for their relationship. But then he looked up as if sensing his gaze and the dazzling smile that broke across Dave’s face upon seeing him helped ease the worry somewhat. 

He reached a hand out towards Klaus, inviting him over, and there was no way he could refuse that. He was crawling out of the blanket fort before he even had time to consider all of his fears and insecurities and when he reached Dave, he climbed up to join him, careful not to crush him as he sat with his legs draped across Dave’s. They were close enough that Dave only had to lean over to place a kiss to his cheek. 

“Hey,” he said, hand running up and down Klaus’ arm, making him never want to move from here again, even though both of their legs were likely to fall asleep soon in this position.

“Hey,” Klaus said with a lazy smile, hoping to keep things light as he sought his hand and squeezed it. “Don’t tell me the ghosts are keeping you up too.”

“Yeah,” Dave said with a little laugh, but his somber expression returned much too quickly. “Somehow I feel like I’m sleeping too much and not enough at the same time. I’m tired but I don’t want to sleep.”

“Sorry I kept you in bed most of the day,” Klaus said.

“No, no,” Dave hurried to reassure. “It’s not that at all, that was great. I guess I’m just kinda afraid to sleep. Bad dreams. Or I wake up disoriented and I don’t know where I am and I think I’m, you know, back there.”

“Ah,” Klaus said, glancing away, feeling somehow responsible. As if he should be able to stop the flashbacks. If only. “You can wake me up, you know.”

“I will,” Dave said with a fond smile. “If it gets too bad. We both need to rest while we can, though. It doesn’t seem like either of us are doing a particularly good job at it. 

“No, no, that’s not gonna work,” Klaus said, raising a finger to point at him sternly. “‘No sulking alone,’ that was your rule, remember? You wake me up.”

“Okay,” Dave said with a chuckle. “Okay, you win. Next time I can’t sleep, I’ll let you know.”

“That’s more like it,” Klaus said, grabbing the front of Dave’s shirt and pulling him into a kiss.

He knew this wasn’t something he could fix, but he wished he could. All he could do was kiss him softly, hold him close and remind him he wasn’t alone. Hopefully that would be enough, since apparently Klaus was useless at pretty much everything else. 

He realized his hand was resting on Dave’s chest, thankfully far enough away from his injury that he hadn’t hurt him. Still, he pulled away from their kiss, staring at where he knew there was a healing wound under his nightshirt. He rubbed across his chest, wishing he could ease away all the pain.

“What is it?” Dave asked, leaning his forehead against Klaus’.

“Did it hurt?” Klaus asked, steeling himself. 

There was a long pause, both of them knowing he was asking about his near death and afraid of what that conversation might bring.

“You don’t really want me to answer that, so you?” Dave asked, but there was a little too much artificial lightness to his tone for Klaus’ liking.

“Maybe? I don’t know. I guess I just want to know how you’re doing, is all. How you’re handling all this.”

“So you want to talk about what it’s like getting shot in the chest?” Dave tried to joke unsuccessfully. “I can’t see how that would do anything except upset us both. Just, I’m doing fine, okay? Really.”

“Yeah, okay,” Klaus said, throwing his head back against the arm of the chair and scrubbing a hand down his face. “You know I don’t know how to talk about-- well, anything, really. I just want you to know that you can. If you want.”

He wasn’t sure if talking about dying would even help, he had very little experience with actually opening up so it was a bit hypocritical of him. But still. He didn’t want Dave to be like him, to repress everything and pretend he was fine. He wanted him to know he could talk about everything if he needed to. But if Dave didn’t want to, that had to be fine too. 

“Wow,” Dave said. “Wild. Usually I’m the one trying to get you to talk about your feelings.”

“Right? How did things get so messed up?” Klaus said, smiling over at him.

“Getting better, though, right?” Dave said, smiling back so fondly.

“Yeah, it helps that you didn’t actually die.”

“Oh, right,” Dave said in horrified realization. “Shit, Klaus. I keep forgetting that you had to mourn me.”

“It’s whatever,” Klaus said, waving a hand like it was nothing, like it hadn’t left him broken and sobbing on the cold pavement. Like the grief didn’t return in full force no matter how many months passed. “You’re the one who nearly died a slow and painful death.”

“I’m sorry you were there,” Dave said suddenly. 

“I’m not,” Klaus said indignantly, sitting up to glare at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Sorry, that came out wrong. I just--” Dave took a deep breath, looking down at his hand as he fiddled with the fabric of the chair, avoiding eye contact. “I know what it’s like to feel someone die in your arms. It’s happened— so many times. Brothers in arms, civilians, you know.”

“Yeah,” Klaus said, he did know. 

“And I still remember every single one,” Dave continued. “That’s not something you forget. And I didn’t want you to remember me like that. But I was just so scared, I couldn’t help but be glad you were there even though I know how cruel and selfish that is. And now you have to live with it and I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t just do that,” Klaus said. “You can’t make your death about me, come on.”

“Sorry,” Dave said and his voice wavered and cracked with emotion. He laughed at himself, wiping quickly at his eyes.

“I, for one, am very glad I was there,” Klaus said, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes, because it was true. He could still feel the weight in his arms when Dave finally went slack, could see the moment his eyes lost that joyful light. He could almost imagine the agony and the terror he must have felt because Dave had always been so easy to read, but that was exactly why he was so glad he had been there to hold his hand. No matter how much it hurt. 

 “I love you,” Dave said. “I love you so much.” 

“Hey,” Klaus said, straddling his waist so he could take his face in his hands. “I love you too. I missed you so— so much.”

He had to stop himself, biting his lip to stop his own overflow of emotions; grief and love, a bone deep sense of loss fighting with relief so powerful he thought it might crush him if he dwelled on it too long. But Dave was here and he was kissing him, wrapping his arms around him, and Klaus just tried to pour everything he felt into it, how much he cared and how lost he felt when he’d thought he was gone forever, not even out there somewhere, still able to smile and laugh and live. 

But he wasn’t gone. 

“You’re here, I’m here; that’s all that matters,” Klaus said and he hoped it helped.

“Yeah,” Dave said, wiping away a tear, resting his forehead against Klaus’. “Not to too obviously change the subject, but how’s the ghost situation?”

“Oh, you know,” Klaus said, glancing around at the hoard that always seemed to be lurking in the corners of his rooms. 

“Think you can get a bit more sleep?”

“I’ll try if you try.”

“Deal.”

When they slipped back into bed together, it felt like coming home, like everything might eventually be okay, like that was even an option for them. He could feel Dave’s chest rising and falling with each breath under his hand and, fuck, Klaus had missed this, missed having Dave in his arms, feeling his lips press a kiss to his temple. He had missed him so much it ached, for so long, but he didn’t have to miss him anymore. 

It couldn’t magically fix everything, wipe away the hurt and scare away the ghosts. It still felt too fragile, like Dave could disappear all over again at any moment. And he knew Klaus himself was the biggest threat to their relationship. Really, Dave should have gotten sick of dealing with him a long time ago. But he hadn’t, and by some miracle they were here together and all Klaus could do was hold him tightly while he still could. 

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part III (x OC)

Summary: Spencer has to face Anita and Sam— and learns a little about Maggie’s past. Maggie and Spencer babysit for Michael and Henry. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Category: fluff, a tiny smidge of hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: implied smut, drinking/alcohol, vague mentions of previous emotional/mental abuse (Owen)

Word count: 4.2k

a/n: This picks up right after the end of the tmsidk epilogue! I also worked two requests in here.

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer stacked the last of the tiny chairs in the center of the room, stepping back and dusting his palms on his trousers. He looked over to see Maggie playing a sort of container tetris with the bins of supplies in her closet. He smiled a little to himself, his head still in the metaphorical clouds with her confession of love. 

She maneuvered the bins to her satisfaction and shut the closet doors, pushing against them to squeeze everything in until the latch clicked. She turned to see him watching her and wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. She gave him a wink and a grin, and he was falling all over again. 

She perched on the corner of her desk with a tired sigh, and he made his way across the room to her. She reached for him as soon as he was within arms length, wrapping her arms around his middle. She snuggled into his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go to dinner to celebrate.”

She laughed and looked up at him. “Celebrate what?”

He shrugged. “You. Summer.” He brought his arms around her shoulders. “Love.”

She smiled and scrunched her nose at him. “You just want me to say it again.”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

Her hands came to rest on his hips, her fingers squeezing lightly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he answered immediately and rather dreamily.

“Yo, Brooksy!” 

The call of her name from the hallway startled them both. Anita began to step over the threshold, continuing, “You ready to get absolutely crunk tonight or— oh.” She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes tracking Spencer’s frame. “Dr. Reid.”

Spencer stepped back from Maggie, smiling a little awkwardly at the formality and giving a wave. “Mrs. Lopez. It’s, um— it’s nice to see you again.”

Anita hummed noncommittally, and Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. She turned her attention back to Maggie. “So, are we going out or what?”

Maggie groaned. “Anita, I’m exhausted. Can we keep it low key? Oh!” Her eyes lit up with an idea, and Spencer could already see where this was going. “Spence and I were gonna get dinner to celebrate, um— summer. Call Sam; we’ll all just go together.”

Anita spared a glance in Spencer’s direction before sighing heavily. “Fine. But I’m drinking.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the hallway.

Maggie chuckled. “I swear she’s not actually an alcoholic.” Her eyes landed on Spencer’s face, and she smiled gently. “I know you weren’t expecting a Meet the Friends night, but it’ll be fun.”

“She hates me,” Spencer surmised.

“She does not hate you.” Maggie stood from the desk, pressed a reassuring peck to his lips. “She’s just… protective. That’s all.”

…

Maggie was entirely wrong. Anita Lopez hated him. That was the only explanation for her absolutely icy demeanor. 

They’d met up with her and Sam at a Mexican restaurant in Tenleytown. Sam was wonderfully kind and funny, even apologizing for having “flipped him the bird” the last time she saw him. And it was a good thing Sam was being friendly, because Anita was decidedly… less so. 

Spencer understood completely of course. He’d broken Maggie’s heart. Penelope had been ready to hunt her down at the mere thought of him being hurt. As Maggie’s best friend, Anita had every right to be wary of him. She had every right to hate him. He’d just... hoped that she wouldn’t. 

Thankfully, Maggie and Sam were more than happy to carry the conversation— he and Anita chiming in here and there. He learned that Sam worked as an attorney at a firm specializing in family law. She and Anita had two kids, Riley and Sidney— one in 2nd grade and the other in preschool. 

“Maggie is still Riley’s favorite teacher ever,” Sam told him. “I mean, it helps when she’s also your aunt, I guess.”

“He didn’t get any special treatment,” Maggie insisted. At Sam’s raised eyebrow, she laughed. “Okay, maybe a little special treatment. But you raised a good kid! And I can’t help it that he was the most trustworthy of the bunch.”

“Oh my god, the field trip,” Sam groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. 

“The field trip!” Maggie turned to Spencer. “My group of kiddos from two years ago— they were kind of a tough group.”

“Kind of?” Anita squeaked. “Let me just tell you, I can hear them through the floor. The entire middle school is literally dreading the day they make it upstairs.”

Sam piped in, “I chaperoned on said field trip to the zoo. And I vowed that I will never, ever go on another field trip. Ever.”

“What happened?” Spencer asked incredulously. 

“So many things,” Sam baited. 

Maggie covered her mouth to stifle a cackle, leaning a bit into Spencer’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile, looking around at the three women. Even Anita was chuckling, and she’d barely cracked a smile all evening. 

“Okay, so many things happened,” Maggie started, “but the worst was—”

“The poop!” Sam wheezed. “The poop was the worst part of that day. The smell alone, oh my god.”

Maggie composed herself as best she could, gesturing over the table. “So after this nightmare of a day, we get on the bus, and there’s this— smell.”

“The absolute worst smell you’ve ever smelled, Spencer,” Sam assured. 

“It’s awful. It’s so bad,” Maggie agreed. “And I’m literally going seat to seat, checking to make sure no one has shit themselves.”

“You could not pay me enough,” Anita chimed in. 

“And I get to the seat that is very clearly where the smell is coming from. And I can’t, like— hold my nose, right? I don’t want to embarrass him!” Maggie turned to Spencer with flushed cheeks. “So I ask, ‘Sweetheart, did you have a bathroom accident?’”

Spencer let out a nervous laugh. “Oh no.” 

“But oh, it wasn’t a bathroom accident,” Maggie clarified, waving her hand. “No, no— that would be too easy. This child had somehow managed to obtain copious amounts of poop from one of the zoo animals and packed it into his lunchbox to take home.”

Spencer could feel his jaw drop. “Oh my god.”

“So, he unzips his lunchbox and it’s just— overflowing with shit.” Maggie dropped her head into her hands, overcome with giggles. 

“And don’t forget the worst part: his mom was on the field trip!” Sam lamented, throwing her hands up. “I will never understand.”

Maggie lifted her head with an exasperated grin, and he wasn’t sure if it was the story or the fact that she loved him, but Spencer felt like he could float away into outer space. 

“I told you I had a lot of poop stories,” Maggie lamented to him, drawing another round of laughs. As they composed themselves, the waiter came by their table to clear some of their plates and refill their water.

“God, I said we were keeping it low key, and then I drank half a pitcher,” Maggie complained, pushing back from the table. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” 

She gave Spencer a reassuring smile, and he tried not to panic as she stood and left him with Sam and Anita. And because the universe was toying with him, at that exact moment, Sam’s phone began to ring. She pulled it from her pocket with a sigh. 

“Shit— I’ve been waiting on this call all day.” She kissed Anita’s cheek and stood from the table. “So sorry; I’ll just be five minutes, I promise.”

With that, it was just the two of them, staring intently at their water glasses. Spencer was certain he should say something, but he wasn’t sure what. Anita broke the silence first. 

“You know what’s annoying?”

Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Considering that the issues one might classify as an annoyance vary for each individual person, there are over seven billion potential answers to that question.”

Anita tilted her head with an unimpressed purse of her lips. Spencer hedged, “And I understand now that it was probably rhetorical.”

“I actually kind of like you.” She leaned across the table with an irritated sigh. “I wanted to hate you, but I don’t.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m, um— I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re good for her. Smart, humble, kind. Enamored with her, as you should be,” she deadpanned. She dropped her chin into her hand. “Almost as hot as she is.”

He laughed a little at that. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” She dropped her hand back to the table. She still didn’t crack a smile, and her gaze bore into him. “I don’t know how much you know about Owen, and she’d probably kill me for saying anything. But he was a real piece of shit.”

This was not the direction he thought this conversation would take. He didn’t know anything about Owen; he’d tried not to think too much about anyone Maggie might have been with before him. 

“It didn’t start out that way.” She drew her brows together. “Well, I don’t know— maybe he was always an asshole, and he was just good at hiding it.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “The point is, I didn’t know he was treating her like garbage until it was too late. He was already all…” She gestured wildly around her head. “In her head, telling her lies about herself, fucking her up, isolating her. For years he did that. And then it took her years to get him out of her head. To— unlearn all the lies. To build herself back up.” 

He could see her grinding her teeth, trying to calm down. He was intensely grateful to not be on the receiving end of Anita’s wrath. He was also immensely glad that Maggie had a friend like that. And his blood absolutely boiled at the thought of her ever feeling anything less than adored. 

“You’re a fed or whatever, so I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she continued, “but I would love nothing more than to put that fucker six feet under.” She ran her hand through her hair, and when she continued her voice was the quietest he’d ever heard it. “All that to say, I… I wasn’t there for her when Owen was destroying her from the inside out. And I will never let that happen again.” 

Anita locked eyes with him and her voice was resolved. “I like you, Spencer. And I want to keep it that way. So, just— don’t give me a reason not to.”

She didn’t drop her gaze, and he couldn’t quite think of the appropriate response. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His brain was still fixated on the idea that anyone had ever hurt the loveliest and kindest woman he’d ever met.

 “Where’s Sam?” Spencer turned just as Maggie slid back into the chair beside him, a comforting hand coming to rest on his knee. 

“Some bullshit from the office that her idiot partner can’t handle.” Anita raised her eyebrows at Spencer, and he nodded minutely. She shifted her gaze back to Maggie with a grin. “Don’t worry. I didn’t scare him too much.”

…

“Easy.” Spencer steadied Maggie with a hand on her waist as they made the way up the stairs to his apartment. 

“Jesus, I’m so sorry. I just— really can’t drink like I used to.” She clutched a little at the railing, and he held his breath until they were at the top of the stairs. 

He slipped an arm back around her waist as they crossed to his apartment door, fumbling with his keys and fighting back a shiver as she snuggled close and ran her hand low over his tummy. 

“Can’t believe I’m tipsy from a couple margaritas.”

“To be fair, you had four,” he chuckled, turning the key and pushing open the door. 

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “But I used to be able to have a whole pitcher and be totally fine.”

“A pitcher?” Spencer laughed as he locked the door and turned to face her. “I can’t even have one without being completely incapacitated.”

She ran her hands up from his waistband, over his chest, and wrapped them around his neck. “Mmm, so you’re a lightweight.”

“Very much so,” he confirmed, bringing his hands to her hips. 

“Just one more sweet thing to love about you, sugar.” 

He couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across his face at the endearment, the way that North Carolina dripped syrupy and thick over every syllable. She pulled him down to meet her in a sweet kiss, quickly deepening it as he dug his fingers into the softness of her hips. Her hands wound into his hair, tugging lightly and holding him close. 

He broke away to rest his forehead against hers and catch his breath. She laced their fingers together and leaned on him while she kicked off her shoes. He toed his own off and then allowed her to lead him toward his bedroom. 

She sat him down on the edge of the bed and straddled his lap, bringing her hands up to tangle in his curls once again. 

Before she could lean in for another kiss, he murmured, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” she teased, ghosting her lips over his.

“Ha, ha.” Part of him wanted to bring up Owen, but she was so happy and warm and comfortable in this moment. He didn’t want to ruin this night of celebration. He didn’t want to ruin this day that had been so full of love. They had plenty of time to discuss Owen. 

He wrapped his arms around her middle. “You’ve met Penelope. I’ve met Anita. Now that the school year is over… we could tell Michael.”

She pulled back, and the smile she gave him could only be described as radiant, and he knew he made the right decision. “He’s gonna lose his mind.”

…

A week later, the pair of them were strolling up the sidewalk to the LaMontagne house. Will and JJ were long overdue for a date night, and Spencer had jumped at the opportunity for the two of them to babysit. When they reached the door, Spencer rang the bell and Maggie waited slightly behind him. 

They could hear the joy from behind the door before it even opened, Michael’s high pitched giggle and Will’s booming laugh. Spencer was already leaning down in preparation, and Michael absolutely launched into his arms as soon as the door swung open. Spencer clocked the moment that Michael spotted her, purely because he practically squealed and squirmed right out of Spencer’s grip. 

“I knew it!” Michael cried. 

He wrapped himself around Maggie’s legs and squeezed tightly, and she rubbed a hand over his hair with a bewildered smile. Michael broke away to turn back to Will with a grin. “I told you.”

“You did, buddy.” Will gave Spencer a lopsided smile as Michael tugged Maggie forward by the hand. “Michael had an… inklin’ that uncle Spencer might be friends with Ms. Brooks.”

“Not friends, Daddy,” Michael said exasperatedly. “He’s her boyfriend.”

“Oh, excuse me, sorry.” Will held his hands up in apology as he stepped aside to let them all in the door. “Michael had a feelin’ that uncle Spencer might be Ms. Brooks’ boyfriend.”

Maggie’s cheeks had turned a very pretty shade of pink. “What— um, what made you think that?” 

Michael waited patiently for her to take off her shoes. “Well firstly, he started picking me up all the time, which was nice but weird. And then he wouldn’t stop asking about you. It was kind of annoying.” Spencer made a choking sound, and Will stifled a laugh. 

“You guys wear the same shoes, and you both love Halloween and tea and reading. I knew you’d like him if he could be a guest reader.” As he led her into the living room, Michael continued, “Oh, and you wore his purple scarf. He doesn’t let anyone wear the purple scarf.”

Spencer vividly remembered that morning— she’d slept over after a midweek date night in April. The temperatures in DC had plummeted overnight, and the outfit she’d brought left her woefully under-dressed for the chilly spring day. He’d wrapped her up in the soft, purple scarf without a second thought. 

She caught his eye with a shrug, and Will tried not to look too smug. Spencer watched her be dragged further into the house, turning to Will with a sheepish smile.

“Well, guess I can’t take all the credit,” Will decided. “Who knew we had a mini matchmaker this whole time?”

Spencer huffed out a laugh as Michael pulled Maggie into the playroom. “This is the best,” Michael sighed. “Now we can play restaurant forever.”

…

Spencer pulled his legs up in the tiny chair, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a moment to watch the scene in front of him unfold. Usually on nights like this, Michael ran him ragged with demands for magic tricks, story time, and playing pretend. Tonight, he’d actually been able to catch up with middle school (middle school!) Henry, because Michael was totally and completely enthralled by Maggie. 

She was helping with the last of the setup for the “restaurant,” organizing Michael’s menus and straightening his clip-on tie. Of course he’d seen her with kids before. But something about being in this playroom— one that he’d spent so many hours in, watching two of his favorite kids grow up— had him feeling warm from head to toe. 

Henry had bounded down the stairs at the news that uncle Spencer was dating his former kindergarten teacher. He hadn’t realized that she’d taught Henry, too, although with the timeline of her teaching career he should have put two and two together. The generally reserved middle schooler had positively beamed when she gasped out, “Gosh, I always forget how tall you’ve gotten!”

And now three of his absolute favorite humans were in one room, and he couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Hen!” Michael called. 

Henry turned from his spot in the chair across from Spencer. “What?”

“You’re the chef,” Michael informed him. 

Maggie tilted her head. “I thought I was the chef?”

“No, no, no.” Michael pushed her toward the kid-sized table. “You and uncle Spencer are on a fancy date.”

Henry rolled his eyes playfully and stood from the chair, pulling it out for her like a perfect gentleman. She beamed at him and gave him a wink. “Thank you, sir.”

She dropped lightly into the chair across from Spencer and laughed a little at his folded limbs. “You look very comfortable.” 

He laughed and stretched his legs out straight. “The picture of comfort, really. These chairs were clearly designed with six foot men in mind.”

“I’m sorry I’m so under-dressed for our fancy dinner date,” she teased, dropping her chin into her hand. 

“You look stunning, as always.” He gestured to the messy braid Michael had folded her hair into. “I especially love what you’re doing with your hair.”

She sucked in a dramatic breath, bringing up her hand to pat lightly at her hair. “You’re making me blush, doctor.” She peeked behind her and then lowered her voice. “I’m probably going to cry when I try to brush the rats out.” 

He looked at her sympathetically. “I know the feeling. I think I’ve got a wide tooth comb, and I can help. I’ve gotten pretty good at detangling Michael’s handiwork.”

Before she could respond, Michael made his way to the table, holding a dish towel over his arm. “Good evening, sir, madam.” 

“Good evening,” they chorused, with barely suppressed grins. 

“Compliments of the chef.” Michael held out his hand to reveal two slightly smushed strawberries.

“Oh, wow,” Maggie said, eyes wide and gesturing to Spencer. “Honey, do you want to—”

Spencer waved his hand, eyeing the berries warily. “No, no, please, help yourself.”

Maggie held back a smile and accepted the strawberries, holding them carefully in her hand and turning her attention back to Michael. “Thank you so much. What a wonderful appetizer. Could we hear the specials?”

That helped Michael remember the menus, and he pulled them from his pocket and cleared his throat. He handed them the construction paper menus. “Our specials tonight are roasted octopus and a steak tartar.”

From the kitchen, Henry mumbled, “Tartare.” 

“Tartare. Steak tartare is our special,” Michael corrected. 

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’m that adventurous. Maybe my boyfriend is though,” Maggie told a grinning Michael. “What do you recommend for a picky eater?”

“My favorite is the chicken nuggets.”

“Well then, sign me up. One order of chicken nuggets.” Maggie handed him the menu. 

Spencer was still perusing the menu for Le Chateau LaMontagne. He smiled at Michael’s handwriting, but particularly at the places where he could tell Maggie had helped. “Everything looks delicious,” he finally decided, “but, you know... I think I’m also going to have the nuggets.”

…

When the boys were finally in bed, Spencer and Maggie settled down in the living room to untangle the mess of her hair. She sat on the floor in between his legs as he gently pulled each braid strand free. He smiled at the way she arched up into his touch, shivering when his fingers brushed over her neck. 

“You’re lucky,” he remarked, laying the last braid strand back into its original place. “Michael seems to have gotten a little better at braiding.”

She leaned her head back into his hands. “You detangled the whole thing?”

“Mmhm.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth. She brought her hands up to hold him against her, trying to deepen the kiss before laughing at the awkward angle and giving up. 

He sat up as she stood and moved to the couch, snuggling up close to him and tucking herself under his arm. “I’m very lucky,” she agreed. “For many reasons.”

Her hand drifted to rest on his tummy, her fingers immediately tracing little shapes over the fabric of his shirt. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “And tired, too.”

“Hmm?” 

He leaned his cheek against her head. “When you get tired, you, um— you start drawing on my stomach.” 

Her finger paused. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” She shifted to raise her head to look at him, and he shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’ve just— noticed.”

She smiled a little sleepily. “You know I love all of you. But I— well, I don’t know, really. I just like your tummy.” She gave it a quick squeeze. “It’s just— nice and comfy and perfect for resting on.” 

He covered her hand with his own and leaned forward to press their mouths together. She drew his bottom lip in between her own, sucking a little and then giving it a quick peck before pulling back and stifling a yawn into his chest. “Man, I am tired.” She snuggled back into him and resumed her tummy tracing. “What, um— what else have you noticed?”

He rubbed his hand down her arm and pulled her impossibly closer. “You like to play with my hair.”

“Mmmm, guilty as charged.”

He smiled at the sleep creeping into her voice. “I like it, too.” He ran his fingers up to her shoulder, and then back down to the crook of her arm, soothing her closer to sleep. “Hmmmm. You always have at least one point of contact on my body at all times. It’s usually your hands, but sometimes it’s your head or even your toes— like when you tuck them under my leg.”

“Ugh— I’m sorry. Clingy and putting my feet on you,” she mumbled.

She might have been joking, but Anita’s words were replaying in his head. He couldn’t change what had happened in the past. He couldn’t go back and prevent her from being hurt by someone else. But he could be different in every way. He could be open and honest and vulnerable with her like he’d promised. 

“I’m not sorry. I love all of you,” he murmured, pulling her in closer and repeating her words back to her. 

“Even my feet?” 

He could also show her that there was absolutely nothing that he didn’t love about her. “Especially your feet.”

She huffed a sigh into his chest. “Y’got a foot thing I don’t know about?”

He laughed a little at that. “Only for yours. They’re very cute feet.”

“You’re weird,” she muttered, but she hugged him tighter when she said it.

“You love it.”

Her fingers on his tummy had come to rest comfortably just above his waistband, and he knew she was on the very edge of sleep. “Mmhm. Love you.”

He thought of all the little moments over the past few months.

Doesn’t live up to expectations? Sorry for overstepping. Are we dating? Sorry for being clingy. Sorry for taking so long to tell you. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

“I love you, too,” he murmured. “So much.”

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01  @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween  @s1utformgg  @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @dr-omalley @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid​  @elldell1204 @babyhoneystvles @dayho3

Series tags (x OC): @kyomito​

[doublerainebow]

Robin and the Whore (Nightwing)

I wrote this, like, back in 2016. I figured that I should bring these fics back since I’m back in the DC hell hole.

Contains: Prostitution

~ Masterlist ~

Heh, it’s ironic how things turn out sometimes.

It was late at night when I was finally able to walk back home to my shit excuse of an apartment, though I should’ve known that it wouldn’t be so simple. I was assaulted by a group of men that I had asked to get kicked out at my work since they were being too rowdy. That, and they didn’t have enough money.

What’s my profession, you ask?

I’m a prostitute, of course.

Funnily enough, I did try and fight back when they first jumped me, but after a while, I just… lost the will. After all, no one would care if a prostitute died while being raped in an alleyway.

It’s too bad fate wasn’t so kind to let me die after making me live this shitty life.

“Why… did you save me?” I croaked out dully to the masked hero as he cradled me gently to his chest.

Strange. I don’t remember ever being treated so tenderly.

“No one deserves to be treated like that,” he whispered. “Can you tell me where you live?” He asked gently.

I mumbled out my address deliriously and allowed myself to be carried by the vigilante. I was just too tired to give a fuck.

Nightwing looked down at the woman cradled in his arms, a pained expression on his face as her words echoed solemnly within him.

Had Blüdhaven fallen so far that this poor woman thought that she didn’t deserve to be saved?

He shook his head. The most important thing right now was to bring her home.

Nightwing knew of where she lived. A shady apartment along a shady street. He vaguely remembered going there for a couple of drug raids.

It took him a while to find her apartment, but when he did, he was awed by how terrible it was. Her apartment was small, and the walls were barren and drab. An old CRT TV sat in the corner of the cramped living room—mind you there was such a thing called an HD flatscreen TV nowadays—and an old Dell laptop sat atop an unattractive, old couch.

Poor girl, he thought as he gently laid her down on the couch. Maybe he should wait for her to wake up.

I blearily opened my eyes, noticing that I was staring up at the ceiling of my apartment.

“Wh… What…?”

“You finally awake, miss?”

I shrieked in surprise at the additional voice and soon found myself on the floor of my apartment.

“H-hey! Are you okay?”

I opened my eyes tentatively to find a masked hero looking down at me with concern. I traced the blue bird symbol that sat upon his chest, recognizing it instantly. Blüdhaven’s very own hero, Nightwing.

I pushed aside the hand he held out for me to grab onto and stood up on my own. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I responded as I turned away from him, brushing the hair out of my face. “Look, I appreciate that you helped me and all, but I’m fine. Really. I’ve… been doing this for a while now.”

Nightwing shook his head. “I think you need help, miss. No one deserves to live a life like this,” he said, vaguely gesturing around himself. “Nor do they deserve selling their body to earn a crap living,” he tried to reason.

I let out a humorless laugh. “Life’s an ass. Sometimes we just gotta live with whatever cards life hands us,” I responded bitterly, still refusing to look at the vigilante.

“Then why not take the chance to get help when it’s here?” He asked.

My world paused as I considered what he said. Was I really going to accept help from a total stranger when everyone else I knew abandoned me? Was it worth the risk of possibly being abandoned again?

I turned to look at the vigilante. His hand was stretched outward for me to take.

Before I realized it, I found my hand in his.

I let out a scoff as soon as I regained my senses. “Fine, I’ll play your game. How about I live with you for a month? If nothing changes, then you let me go, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

Nightwing smiled. “Deal.”

Next thing I knew, I’m standing in a pretty spacious condo. Papers were strewn here and there, and boxes of various sugary cereals were lined up nicely against some of the walls. Some of the cereal boxes were even arranged in a small castle.

Getting my things together was easy as Nightwing would only let me bring clothes that weren’t skanky to high well, and I didn’t really own any personal possessions.

“You can put your stuff into this drawer,” he directed as he began to empty out a drawer for me. Hesitantly, I placed my bag into the drawer. “You can also take my bed, I’ll sleep on the pullout. The bathroom is just right there. And as for food…” He rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I hope you’re okay with cereal for a few days… or weeks. Unless you can cook.”

I settled myself down on a stool by the kitchenette. “Only a little bit. Nothing too fancy.”

Nightwing smiled gently as he began to peel off the domino mask from his face. “Well, since you’ll be living with me for a bit, I suppose it’s only appropriate that you know who I am.” He held out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Dick Grayson.”

“Short for Richard, right?” I asked as I shook his hand.

Dick raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s usually not the first thing people say to me when I introduce myself, but yes, Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson.”

I smiled wryly. “You’re Bruce Wayne’s adopted son. Sorry, when you meet and bed a lot of Blüdhaven and Gotham royalty, you tend to be a bit… indifferent about meeting the top one percent.”

Dick nodded understandingly. “Makes sense. Despite being a part of that one percent, I get tired of meeting snobby, rich people,” he chuckled. “Anyways, what’s your name?”

I felt my smile leave my face as I gave a noncommittal shrug. “Don’t really remember my birth name, if I ever had one. People usually just call me Velvet, if that’s something you want to call me.”

The easygoing smile also left Dick’s face as he heard my answer. “Isn’t there something you want to be called?”

I shrugged again. “Not really, no. I don’t really care.”

Dick went silent as he began to think. “What about I call you Hester? Hester Hawthorne?” He asked.

I raised my brow. “Hester? Not really a name you hear in this day and age, but what do I know.”

“She’s the protagonist of The Scarlet Letter,” he explained.

Dick looked at me expectantly. I only stared back blankly. “Am I supposed to know what that is…?”

“You’re never heard of it?” Dick asked in surprise.

I shrugged. “I’ve lived off the streets for as long as I can remember, Dick. Of course I’m not gonna know things you probably had a high education about,” I replied plainly.

Dick stood up to grab a book from one of his shelves and handed me a book with a fancy looking “A” on a black background. “It’s a classical novel,” he explained. “It tells the story of a woman who endures through her punishment.”

I gently examined the book in my hands curiously, flipping through the pages a few times, though the words made no sense to me. “This… is the first time I’ve held a book,” I whispered as I fingered the pages. “I don’t even know what these words say or mean…”

“… Would you like me to teach you how to read?” Dick asked gently as he placed a hand on my arm.

I looked up hesitantly at him, taking the time to actually examine his face. “Can you do that for me…?”

Dick grinned kindly at me. “If it’ll make you happy, then why not? But, not right now, of course!” He gestured to himself. “I need to shower and change into regular clothes first,” he chuckled.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just be here, I guess,” I said, my attention returning to the book as Dick left me to my own devices.

It’s only been a few minutes since I’ve been here, and I can already feel things changing for me.

[softambrollins]

used to this (dean/seth) - christmas fic - fluff, reunions, presents, getting together, love confessions, mutual pining, domestic fluff (ao3 link)

MERRY CHRISTMAS, GUYS!! 🎄🎁 ❤️

After Seth texts him on his birthday, they stay in touch. Seth's been kind of careful about it before, he thought maybe Dean needed his space, to do his own thing, and he needed to focus on his own career, his own goals. Maybe they both needed to move on, put the past behind them for now. Or maybe they just needed some time apart to realise that that's not really what they want at all. At least now Seth thinks it's not what he wants. Or maybe he knew that all along and he's only now willing to admit it to himself.

After RAW on Christmas week, he finally calls his number for the first time since he left.

"Hey, how's it going, man?" he asks, tone deliberately light and casual, when he picks up.

"Oh, hey." Dean sounds a bit surprised, and he can't exactly blame him. Seth's been keeping his distance intentionally for months, but maybe just reestablishing the slightest bit of contact, their random, sporadic messages over the last couple weeks, was enough to open the floodgates again.

"I'm good, man," he says after a moment. "What about you? You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Everything's fine," he says, probably too quickly. "I just —" He cuts himself off now to take a breath, bites his lip, trying to steel himself before he can actually voice the question he called him to ask.

"I know this probably sounds crazy, but I was thinking, and — Would you mind if I maybe come spend a couple days with you?" he says all in a rush before he just chickens out and hangs up again and forgets this ever happened at all.

Seth squeezes his eyes shut for a second after the words come out, in almost a wince, waiting for Dean to tell him he's completely nuts and he definitely does not want to see him. The last time Seth stayed at Dean's house was for New Year's two years ago while he was out with his injury, but that feels like a long time ago now and a lot has happened between them since. It's almost like they're totally different people than they were back then.

"Oh," is all Dean says, and Seth can't really discern what his feelings are about it yet. Maybe he's not entirely sure how to feel about it himself.

"I mean, it's fine if you have plans or something — of course you probably do — Or if you just don't want to —" he says, instantly starting to backtrack, sure he just made the dumbest mistake ever.

"No," Dean interrupts, his voice clear and firm now. "It's okay. I was just gonna use the holidays to chill, rest up, recuperate — be by myself, you know? It's been a busy year, you know, and the next one's probably gonna be just as rough. Could use all the time I can get."

Seth definitely understands that, probably too well.

"So…you're sure I'm not gonna be imposing or anything?" he asks hesitantly.

"No, it's all good, man," Dean reassures him, sounding like he really means it, sounding the same way he did before they parted in April. Like nothing's changed at all. "I'm just gonna be lying on the couch, drinking and watching bad movies. Maybe I could use the company."

Seth lets out a fond, almost relieved laugh.

"Okay," he says. "I'll see you soon then."

*

Seth shows up at Dean's place a day later with pretty much every unhealthy indulgence on the planet that they're definitely not supposed to consume in tow. But fuck it, it's Christmas, and he hasn't seen Dean in months and maybe they both need a break from reality and all its restrictions.

Dean opens the door to find him struggling with his luggage plus his abundance of purchases.

He looks like he's about to burst out laughing at him for half a moment before Seth just pouts at him and lets out a desperate, "Help."

Dean grabs the bags from his arms to relieve him and he lets out a heavy sigh before following him inside and setting down his suitcase just inside the door.

He turns his gaze back to Dean and he's dropped all the bags on the floor of the entranceway, which in hindsight he should've expected, and then before he realises it, he's right in his space, crowding his body against Seth's, and slowly putting his arms around him in a tight but gentle embrace.

He's hit with a sudden onslaught of sensations and emotions. Dean still feels and smells the same way he always has, and it's like being surrounded by a haze of nostalgia, he's taken back to so many other moments from months and years ago. Dean's arms around him, Dean's hands in his hair, his fingertips grazing against his own, his mouth pressed to the crown of his head.

His hoodie's soft against his cheek, his hands are warm and solid where they're resting on the small of his back. Seth tucks his face closer into his neck, taking in his earthy scent, the way he always smells like the outdoors, like something wild and free that can't be tamed, feeling the brush of his thick beard against his bare skin. Dean's body is soft and firm and comforting against his own and he knows Seth as well as Seth knows him, fitting together seamlessly and naturally like they always do. It's easy to get lost in this moment, like a million other moments before. It's hard to even tell where those ended and this one begins.

Somehow it feels like he's been holding his breath since April and now he can finally breathe again. Seth's been dancing on the edge for a long time with nothing to tether him and now he has Dean's sure, familiar grip to pull him back to safety.

He lets out a long exhale and then wraps his arms around Dean tighter, pillowing his cheek on his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, eyes falling shut. And they just stay there for a while, not moving or saying anything at all. Like maybe this is what they've both been needing this whole time.

*

They haul about a dozen shopping bags into the kitchen and set them down on the counters.

"I brought wine. And eggnog. And cookies. And lots of chocolate. Like, so much chocolate. And more wine."

"God, Rollins, is that what you came here to do? Fatten me up so I can't wrestle anymore and I'm not competition?" Dean teases.

"Shut up," Seth says, rolling his eyes, but he's smiling at him too. "If anything, I'm also sabotaging myself. But whatever, man, I think we deserve it."

"Thanks," Dean says offhandedly.

"It's nothing. I'm probably gonna suck down most of it anyway, fair warning —"

"No, I don't mean that," Dean says, voice low, shaking his head. "I meant, for coming here. I think maybe this is just what I need."

Dean just meets his eyes, his gaze steady and intent, and Seth feels something unexpectedly bright and warm flood through his entire body, from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes. It feels like all the air has suddenly left his lungs.

He has to physically tear his gaze away from Dean, blinking a few times to shake the feeling off, before turning to open a bottle.

"Want a drink?" he asks, knowing his voice still sounds weak.

"Yeah, sure," Dean says, and he's totally imagining the tinge of disappointment, almost, in Dean's voice. He has to be.

*

Dean insists that he makes them dinner, all by himself, and outrightly refuses Seth's help when he offers it. He can be a stubborn bastard when he wants to be.

Seth just sits there amused, with a drink in his hand, trying to keep his commentary to himself as much as possible. He watches him as he works, fascinated by the movements of his fingers, the way the muscles in his hands tense and release, the calluses on his palms; his idiosyncrasies coming out as he concentrates and seems to forget he's being watched, forehead creased, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, all the microexpressions flitting across his face when he's trying to figure something out. Seth likes seeing him like this. Dean's usually completely laid back and relaxed, but when he gets intense and focused on something, it's like he becomes another creature altogether. Someone it's impossible to look away from. Seth's been the subject of that intensity before and it was almost too overwhelming to handle. He thinks maybe he won't mind it so much anymore now.

Dean finally gets dinner on the table — some complicated chicken thing, stuffed with bacon and cheese and fries on the side because it's Dean — and it's actually edible and honestly pretty good, even if he'd never actually admit that until his dying day.

Seth doesn't stop making fun of him though.

"Shut up," Dean says dismissively. "I'm a master chef extraordinaire and you know it."

"More like a master show-off extraordinaire," Seth says, deadpan.

"Please," Dean says scornfully. "Admit it. You love it."

Seth just makes a vague, noncommittal sound in response.

Dean just gently nudges his foot under the table with his own and smiles a stupidly endearing smile at him and Seth can't help smiling back until his plate is clean.

When they're done, Dean gets up and goes to grab his plate, but he reaches up to stop him, his fingers encircling his wrist. Seth slowly gets to his feet without releasing his hand, and looks at him, eye-to-eye, close enough to hear his breathing. He can feel his heartbeat speed up a little from where his thumb's resting on his pulse point.

"You okay?" Dean asks quietly, eyes narrowed at him.

Seth nods at him, the barest hint of a smile on his lips as he seems to suddenly, all at once, realise something. "Yeah, I'm good," he tells him honestly. "It's all good now."

And then he kisses him. It's soft and chaste and only for a second but it feels like everything he's needed for a long time. A moment of perfect stillness and clarity. Contentment. Belonging. It's just an acknowledgment. It's like a Thank you or I missed you or This is all I've ever wanted.

Dean blinks at him a few times when he pulls away but doesn't let him get too far, wrapping one arm firmly around his waist, the other tangling in his hair to pull him back into another deep, breathless kiss.

*

"We're so stupid," Dean says when they're curled up together in front of the TV but not really watching it, Seth's body pressed up against his side, his head resting on his shoulder, Dean's arm loosely slung around him.

Seth frowns up at him. "I mean, I'm not denying that, but —"

"We could've had this a long time ago. Why did it take us so long?" he asks, almost sounding frustrated now. At himself more than anything.

"Because we're dumb," Seth says bluntly. "And stubborn. And we don't know what we want."

It feels like they've both walked away from each other a million times but it never lasts. They always end up right back here. Maybe they should've figured out where this was headed a long time ago.

"Why'd you text me?" Dean asks a few seconds later, voice small and unsure now.

"Because it was your birthday. And I actually remembered this year. Needed to make up for that last time," he says, only half-joking. They both know that's not the only reason.

"No, really," Dean prompts him.

Seth lets out a heavy exhale. "I don't know. I think I was just tired of it feeling like there was this...strain or whatever between us. Even if there wasn't. It just felt like you were so far away. And I hated that."

"Yeah," Dean says soberly. "Me too."

"I thought I'd be okay without you, you know. I tried for a long time. But it just felt wrong. Like, I was wrong. Like I didn't know how to be me without you." He didn't know how to explain it before, this feeling that something just wasn't right for the last eight months, but it's only now with Dean here that he can put it into words.

Seth swallows hard, takes in a deep breath. He reaches out and laces his fingers together with Dean's in his lap like he needs his touch to find the courage to go on.

"I didn't think I deserved this for so long. And then you were right there and I'd look at you and I'd think...Maybe. Maybe I could have this. Maybe I could be that person that was worthy of your trust. And now these last few months, I've been feeling like maybe I'm turning back into that person from before again. With no one to pull me back from the fire."

Dean just gently squeezes Seth's hand in his own in response.

"I thought everything would be good now, that I'd be happy, finally," Dean confesses, like he's been holding this in for a long time too. "And maybe I am, but there's — something missing too. I got so used to being alone that I thought I forgot what it was like to be lonely, you know. But I feel it now sometimes. Like an ache that doesn't go away. Like there's a hole somewhere deep down inside of me that I can't fill on my own. No matter what I do. No matter how many fights or drinks or how far away I go. It's still there."

Seth tucks his face against Dean's collarbone, presses a kiss to the side of his neck. "I'm right here," he tells him, hushed. "You're not alone anymore. Neither of us are."

"I missed you so fucking much," Dean tells him, like the words are being wrenched out of him, pulling Seth's body closer to him. "It's like I couldn't fucking breathe when I thought about you. So I tried not to for so long. But it never worked."

"I know," Seth says soothingly, giving him a rueful smile. "Guess we're both just hopeless, pathetic suckers."

Dean laughs softly at that. He wraps both arms around Seth's shoulders, strokes his fingers over his hair, then leans down and brushes a kiss over his forehead.

Seth looks up at him, right into his eyes, before he says the next words. "I love you," he tells him, finally, completely sure and content that this is exactly where he should be for the first time in years. Maybe in his entire life.

Dean kisses him then, slow and easy, and Seth sighs against his mouth, his chest feeling so light and full that he thinks he could float away on this feeling.

"I think I could get used to this," Seth tells him when they pull apart, but just barely, foreheads still grazing against each other. He feels like a heady, dreamlike trance has suddenly fallen over him, like there's nothing else but this, him and Dean, this moment.

"Yeah?" Dean asks, voice raspy.

"Yeah," Seth says before Dean kisses him again, his fingers splayed warm and tender on his cheek.

*

Dean eventually takes him upstairs and they slowly take each other's clothes off in the dark and learn each other's bodies even better, every crease and nook and scar and pleasure point. Seth tasting every inch of his skin, Dean's hands all over him, taking him apart bit by bit, finding places he didn't know existed and making him feel things he once thought impossible.

There's no forgetting any of this and he never wants to, he's going to remember this until the day he dies.

*

Seth wakes up to Dean sleeping next to him, and he just lies there for a while, feeling his body solid and warm inches away from him, eyes slowly tracing over his soft features, listening to his steady breathing, and it's the most at peace he can remember ever being.

They go for a walk on Christmas morning. Dean knows all the best trails and it's quiet and deserted and it feels like they're all alone, everyone in their houses still fast asleep or opening presents or starting their baking early. Seth would almost miss the cold and the snow back home if Dean wasn't right here with him. A white Christmas isn't really worth much if you don't have someone to spend it with.

Seth reaches out and takes his hand as they start walking back to the house.

"Remember the last Christmas I was here?" Seth says, interrupting the comfortable silence.

It was the Christmas before Seth broke The Shield, and they've never really talked about it before.

Dean nods now, slightly stiffly. "Yeah, we spent all night bar-hopping and got fucking hammered and I can't really remember anything else about it."

"I don't know why I came," he admits. "I think I was just lonely and fucked-up and looking for something. An excuse. A reason to stay."

"And I didn't give you one?" Dean asks, his voice sounding taut and tense.

"No, no, that wasn't it," Seth tells him, squeezing his hand for a second, looking across at him reassuringly. "I wanted to. I wanted to so bad. But I wouldn't let myself have it."

He wonders if Dean remembers the exact moment. In a dark, empty parking lot. Dean's body pressed up heavy and boneless against him, whispering incoherent nothings in his ear. His breath hot and smelling of whiskey right on his skin. His hand curling around his own, their fingertips barely touching. All that longing and desperation and heat that had built up between them for years finally reaching its boiling point — and Seth pulling away at the very last second before they did something they couldn't go back from. Not being able to look at Dean's face after that, so afraid of the hurt and betrayal he might find there. Then getting on a plane the next morning like it never happened at all. Seth has a lifetime of regrets, of almosts and maybes, but that one still stings when he lets himself think about it. Like an open wound. Maybe that was the moment, the moment that could've changed everything. He didn't think he'd ever have another chance. But here he is now, Dean's hand real and warm in his own, his tender gaze lingering on the side of his face, and he's never letting go of this again. Not for anything.

*

Seth makes breakfast to make up for the night before. Dean doesn't protest this time, just sits down and sneaks a few cookies when he thinks Seth isn't watching which just makes him shake his head in amusement.

When they're almost finished, he suddenly remembers something.

"Oh, I got you something. For your birthday. But now it can be a Christmas gift, I guess."

Dean's too busy mopping up leftover syrup off his plate with his last forkful of pancakes to react to that.

Seth goes upstairs and retrieves it from the pocket of his carry-on.

He comes back down and brandishes the gift bag at him. "Here."

Dean carefully opens the bag and pulls out what's inside, before holding it up by the edges in front of him so it can come unfurled.

It's a sweater, light blue to match his eyes, with a smiling pitbull on it.

"It reminded me of you," Seth explains, a small smile on his face. "Rough around the edges but a total softie underneath."

"You're such a sentimental sap, Rollins," Dean tells him, but the fond look in his eyes says something else.

He folds the sweater back up, rests it on the table.

"I got you something too," Dean tells him out of nowhere, and that genuinely surprises him.

"Really?" he says, eyes narrowed skeptically.

Dean disappears for a minute and comes back into the kitchen with both hands holding something behind his back.

Seth just stares at him, expectant and a little scared, as he reveals the gift and shoves it into Seth's hands.

"What the hell is this?" he says, eyes wide, as he looks down at the stuffed toy — it's a strange, brown, ugly, hairy creature with huge feet.

"A baby Sasquatch," Dean says like that makes all the sense in the world. "Keep it with you. It'll be like I'm still there. Even though I had to return to the wild." He looks off dramatically into the distance with a long sigh.

Seth just shakes his head in disbelief over somehow ending up here. And not wanting to change any part of it for anything in the world. "You're such an idiot," he tells him seriously.

"You love me," Dean says with a smirk and he can't exactly deny that.

*

Dean has dinner delivered so they won't have to do any work, it's from a fancy hotel or something because apparently that's a Vegas thing or maybe it's one of those incomprehensible Dean Ambrose things. Seth's not gonna complain either way though. And when they're too stuffed to move, they settle down in front of the TV.

"I can't believe the year's almost over," Seth muses, already feeling like he wants to pass out. Maybe he's just getting old or maybe it's the exhaustion from this entire year, physical and emotional, finally taking a toll on him.

"Yeah, it's been a wild fucking ride, huh?" Dean says, almost appreciatively.

"No thanks to you," Seth points out.

Dean just laughs and shrugs. He's always been the purveyor of chaos and unpredictability. No one can tie him down or tell him what to do. It honestly shouldn't even be a surprise that he keeps shaking up the entire wrestling world with whatever he does. It's just what he does. He's been turning Seth's world upside down constantly since the day they met. He hopes that never changes.

"I'm glad you're happy, though," Seth tells him earnestly. "I hope you keep being happy. Whatever you do."

Dean nods. "And I hope you learn to let yourself be happy," he tells him significantly. "You deserve it. Even when you don't think you do."

Seth sighs. It's been hard, especially without Dean, to find the good things in life and keep them. To just let himself be satisfied and fulfilled. It was never enough, there was always something else to do, he could always be better. But he knows where that road leads. To misery and loneliness and desolation. And he doesn't want anything to do with it again. He just wants this — this feeling, having Dean near, knowing that he can have this now, that this belongs to him. It's enough for him. He's enough.

"I'll try," Seth promises. "Even when it's hard. I'll just think about you. That's all I need."

"I'm happy you came," Dean tells him, sounding almost wistful now. "I wish it could always be like this."

"It's been a crazy year. For both of us," Seth acknowledges. "But I'm glad I could spend the end of it with you."

"And if the next one's just as crazy?" Dean asks, looking across at him.

"Then we'll deal with it. Like we always do. Together," Seth says simply.

*

Seth nods off on the couch in the middle of Die Hard and Dean gently wakes him up when the movie's over and leads him by the hand upstairs.

They get into bed and Dean pulls the blankets into a cocoon around them. Seth keeps his arms tightly locked around Dean's waist, face buried in his chest, clinging to him like if he lets go he might break the gravitational pull and fall into nothingness again. Absorbing the feel and smell and warmth of him like he's filling up his reserves for when he's not there next to him anymore. Like he already knows they're going to be separated again soon and Dean's the only thing he has to hold on to. For as long as he can.

Dean cradles his body against him, presses his lips to his hair.

"Merry Christmas, babe," he tells him before Seth falls asleep in his arms.

*

They have breakfast together the next morning before Seth has to leave to catch his flight. Dean's wearing the sweater he got for him but even that's not enough to fix his gloomy mood.

"I wish you didn't have to leave," Dean says, finally breaking the long stretch of silence, voicing both of their thoughts.

"Me too," Seth says, looking down at his scarcely-touched bacon and eggs, trying not to sound as wretched as he feels inside. "But I have to get back to the school, the coffee shop. Real life."

"Sucks that I can't be a part of your real life anymore," Dean says, almost bitterly.

Seth's gaze snaps back up to Dean's face. "Hey, come on. You know you are. You're the most important part of my life. I'm sorry it took so long to realise that."

Dean just reaches across the table and takes his hand.

"I'm sorry too," Dean says quietly, regretfully. "I should've called you a long time ago. I kept wanting to and then wimping out."

"Really?" Seth asks, mouth parted slightly in surprise, in wonder, almost.

"Yeah, I almost called you before my surgery but I thought maybe you wouldn't want to hear from me." He sounds so sad and helpless that it makes Seth's heart twist in his chest. God, they've both been such tragically stubborn idiots.

"What did you want to say?" he asks gently, before he actually starts crying like the completely sentimental sap Dean already knows he is.

Dean looks him straight in the eyes as he tells him the words he's somehow always been dying to hear but never, ever imagined he would. Not like this. Not in any of his wildest fantasies. "That I miss you. That I love you. That no matter what, you're always gonna be it for me."

Seth just stares at him for a moment, absorbing that, struggling to find the right words to respond. Wondering, for the millionth time, if maybe all of this has just been some elaborate dream.

"So, you didn't just forget about me?" is what eventually comes out, one corner of his lips quirking into a faint smile despite himself. It's probably stupid after everything that's happened, but thinking about Dean leaving him behind and moving on for good was the most devastating part of the last year. And now all that lingering anguish and fear that has been tearing him up inside has just been lifted all at once, finally.

"Shut up. I could never forget about you. Ever," Dean tells him firmly.

"That a promise?" Seth says, because as sure as all of this has felt these past few days being here with Dean, after everything they've been through, all the unnecessary heartache they've inflicted on themselves and each other, he needs to hear the words. Needs something to keep with him, close to his heart, when Dean's not there to hold him and tell him that he loves him. And not just the silly Sasquatch toy that he'd tucked into a pocket of his carry-on with all his other valuables and has to admit now is actually kind of cute.

"I promise. It doesn't matter where we are, what we're doing. We're always going to come back to each other. Because this — you— this is my home. It's always been. And it always will be." He says it like it's just a fact. Like it's always been true. Even when they didn't know it. Even when they tried so hard to find a way to live without each other.

"So, it's official then?" Seth says with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, totally fucking official," Dean says with a huge grin. "The most official shit you've ever seen in your life."

Seth laughs brightly. "I'm happy," he says, and he can't remember the last time he said that and meant it so completely.

"Yeah?" Dean says, holding his gaze.

"So happy," Seth reaffirms. "More happy than I've ever been, probably."

"Good," Dean tells him, squeezing his hand for a second then leaning across the table to kiss him, sweet and familiar and oddly domestic, like they've been doing this for years. "Me too."

*

Dean hugs him goodbye at the airport and he's as soft and warm as ever. Seth closes his eyes and breathes him in deeply, hands clutching at his sweater, their cheeks pressed together, Dean's fingers resting gently at the nape of his neck.

"Come back to me soon," he says right against his ear before he pulls away.

"I will," Seth says, taking one more long look at him, before turning and walking away. Feeling like he can finally be himself again. He can face anything that comes his way, in the coming year or the next or the next. As long as he has this waiting right here for him.