#cantina shenanigans

[zepskies]

Midnight Espresso

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson. 

AN: The muse hit me hard on this one last night lol. I felt like "Midnight Espresso" was catchier than the working title, "Midnight Coffee Shots."

Thanks for the encouragement and inspo: @deanwinchesterswitch @iprobablyshipit91 @freewastelandstrawberry

Song Inspo: "2 Be Loved (Am I Ready)" by Lizzo

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, mutual pining, body insecurity, ass appreciation, supernatural shenanigans, naughty language, bad bitch o’clock and thicc thirty. 

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

When you spot the caller ID on your buzzing cell phone, you have to smile. You answer the call.

“Well if it isn’t Dean I need a favor Winchester,” you tease. You hear his genuine chuckle, deep and smooth in your car speakers. 

“Hey, sweetheart…” He hesitates, which makes your lips curve wryly. 

“Yeah, Dean? What’cha got?”

“I need a favor.”

You sigh dramatically. “So fucking predictable.”

“Sorry, but look. We really do need you…we’ve got a situation.”

“Oh, a situation? How specific,” you chuckle.

“All right, smartass,” he says, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. “Just listen…”

When he tells you the lowdown on the case he and Sam are on, you have to change directions—all the way to a dusty little town in the south of Texas.

There you find the brothers Winchester outside La Cantina Libre. 

You greet Sam first, stretching up to meet his hug. He’s friendly and warm when he rubs your back.

“Good to see you,” he says. 

“You too, lumberjack,” you reply, noting the new layer of scruff he’s sporting on his face. Sam gives a dry chuckle and rubs his bearded chin.

“I keep tellin’ him to shave that ferret off his face,” Dean remarks. You turn to him with a grin just as he pulls you in next. 

“Aw, he looks good,” you say, giving Sam an encouraging look behind Dean’s back. The taller Winchester sports a good-natured smile. 

But you revel a bit in Dean’s warmth when he holds you tight, then let out a little breath when he pulls away, grasping your arms.

“So do you,” he says with a wink. 

You roll your eyes and playfully hit his shoulder. “Right. Eight hours of cross-country grime really becomes me.”

But you can’t help blushing a little at his smirk. Always a fucking flirt.

You turn your head to the bar in front of you. 

“What’s the deal with this place?”

“The husband of one of the victims is inside,” Sam explains. 

According to the police report, his wife returned home from a night out with her friends three days ago. She sat down in the middle of the living room, on the ground. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t eat. 

When Hector Rivera brought his wife to the hospital, neither fluids or medication helped her sleep or retain any nutrients. The official cause of death was starvation and dehydration.

It was a baffling case, both for the doctors and the police, who never found any criminal evidence to support a murder investigation.

“Okay, have you talked to Hector?” you ask. Dean raises his brows at you.

“That’s where you come in,” he says. “The guy only speaks Spanish. Neither me or Sam got the chops to Duolingo our way through.”

You can certainly believe that of Dean, but you still make sure to tease Sam on your way inside the bar. He’d studied Latin in high school, but hadn’t bothered to take Spanish? 

“Definitely a white boy move,” you tease, which Sam accepts with a chuckle. 

But you realize that the guys really would’ve been at a loss here. Most of the bar patrons are Spanish-speaking Latinos (you are a mere stone’s throw from the border of Mexico, after all). 

You ask around for Hector and find him at the end of the bar, drinking alone. He’s early forties at most, dark hair, tan skin mere shades lighter than yours. He has three shots down in front of him, and he’s working on picking up his fourth. Sam and Dean trail after you as you slide into the stool next to Hector. 

“Señor Rivera,” you greet him in your native tongue and pull out your fabricated police badge. “Good evening.”

He glances at you, then your badge with furrowed brows. 

“What do you want?” he asks in Spanish, just a hint slurring. 

“I’m very sorry about your wife. I know you’ve already given your statement, but we’re looking further into the circumstances surrounding Nina’s death,” you explain. 

He perks up at that, his brown eyes briefly lighting with something other than cold, hard grief. 

“The doctors couldn’t explain it, he admits. “They couldn’t do a damn thing. I just don’t understand…”

He glares down at his hands, at the glass of liquor between them. He fights to control himself, but you can see it’s a losing battle. You rest a gentle hand on his arm, and when Hector meets your eyes, you know he’ll find genuine sympathy. 

“I want to help you,” you tell him. “At the very least, I can look for a real explanation on what happened to Nina. Can you tell me what you know?”

A moment later, he pats your hand on his arm. And he tells you.

Dean watches from his spot behind you while he and Sam blend in, each drinking a beer. Dean admires how easily you connect with people. How genuine you are in wanting to help them. 

He knows you’ve spent years in this job. Maybe not as long as him, but long enough to get jaded. You aren’t, and you care. 

Dean thinks it’s part of the reason why you always answer when he calls. You’ve never said no to him, always been there when he and Sam need you. And that, he somehow feels guilty about.

Because what the fuck has he really ever done for you, other than put you in danger?

“Dean,” Sam says, nudging his side. 

It brings Dean back to the present when he sees you’re getting up from the bar. Despite his inner conflict, he can’t help but notice the curve of your ample ass in those tight jeans. An enticing ratio of thick thighs to smaller waist, and generous cup size to match. 

But when you turn around, it’s your sad smile that grabs his attention. You draw near, and Dean forces himself to stay relaxed when your warm hand rests on his forearm. 

It’s a familiar, comfortable thing for you to be touchy. You’re an expressive person, always talking with your hands, full-body animated when you tell stories.

Sometimes you’ll grab his wrist playfully, or brush your hand along his back when you pass by. Or you’ll grab his shoulder to steady yourself, and lean into him when you’ve had too much to drink. 

Dean likes it—all of it. In fact, he finds it endearing as hell. 

But it’s also a problem. A unique kind of torture to keep himself in check around you… 

Frankly, he doesn’t think you know what your touch does to him. 

In fact, he knows you don’t, because while you’ve got your smooth, tan hand on his arm, you’re more looking at Sam when you say:

“I think I know what this is.”

“El Sombrerón,” you repeat yourself as you flip through a book on South American lore. 

“Shouldn’t you be an expert on this already?” Dean teases as you rifle through the pages. “I thought Latin American legends were right up your alley.”

The three of you are back at their delightfully crap motel of the week. You and Sam sit at the two-seater table while Dean leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

You shoot him a wry glance. “I’m Cuban, not Guatemalan. Though apparently, El Sombrerón appears in Mexican mythology as well.”

Hector said that the night his wife went to the bar with her friends, her friend Jennine saw a man with a black jacket and a hat to match. 

She said he flirted with Nina, a sweet but introverted soul. She turned him down, of course, but he tried to cajole her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and touch her cheek. That’s when Jennine stepped in and cursed the guy out, threatening to break his nose if he didn’t back off. 

They didn’t see him again that night, but you suspect the damage had been done the moment he touched her…

“All right, so he’s a boogeyman of sorts,” Sam says, gesturing at the vivid illustration in the book he’s holding. You peer over at the page and nod.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the cautionary tale. A man dressed in black, wide-brimmed hat—”

“Like Zorro,” Dean supplies. You give him an amused grin.

“No, not like Zorro,” you reply. “Instead of being a fine-ass caped crusader with a voice deep and gritty as sin, El Sombrerón likes to lure women into the woods.” 

Dean raises a brow at your description (Deep and gritty as sin, huh?), but you continue.

“Specifically, he’s got a fetish for long hair,” you recount. “Here it says El Sombrerón’s voice and touch are a curse, rendering his victims unable to eat or sleep. Eventually, they die.”

That falls between you all like hot lead. Until Sam voices the question you’re all thinking.

“So how do we find him?”

“For the record, I’m against this fucking idea,” Dean mutters to his brother. Once again, they’re patrons of La Cantina Libre, each nursing a beer. 

“Yeah, you’ve made that known a few times now,” Sam replies in a low whisper. “She’ll be okay, Dean. We’re right here for her.”

They’re just on standby, watching you ignore flirtations from men with a coy smile. You leave a delicate ring of red lipstick on your straw while you nurse a Tequila Sunrise. 

Dean subtly (to Sam, not so subtly) watches you. His elbow rests on the counter, chin in hand, hand over mouth, while his eyes roam down your simple black dress. Your ankles are crossed under the bar counter. The toe of your platform heel bouncing against the foot rail is the only thing telling Dean that you’re a bit nervous.

You’ve let your hair down on purpose, trying to entice the “Zorro” monster with the smooth waves running down your back.

On any other night, Dean might’ve enjoyed this place. He has a good beer in hand. There’s some live music tonight, in the form of a man playing a shiny silver guitar, crooning into the mic. You turn your head to watch for a moment, and Dean sees the way your gaze sharpens on the musician. 

The man wears a black dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, tucked neatly into his dark wash jeans. His black hair is long and a little wild, almost brushing his shoulders. While he holds out a smooth note, he looks up and finds your gaze. His lips curve on a smile.

Your face heats up at the attention, but you find yourself captivated by those eyes. They’re intense, almost black under the stage lights. And as the musician’s song comes to a close, you feel a trill of something run down your spine when he sets down his silver guitar. 

Then he makes his way toward you.

He settles into the free seat next to you and orders two tequila shots.

“I have a drink, thanks,” you say. The man only smiles. 

“You’ve been holding onto that Sunrise for two hours,” he says. “I just thought you might like something stronger, before the sun actually comes up.”

Inside, you want to roll your eyes at the cheesy line.

Instead, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and his gaze is drawn to the motion. You notice it with mounting suspicion. 

“Maybe I do,” you reply. “What’s your name?”

“Miguel,” he says, offering a charming smile. “And yours, amor?”

You consider him with flirtatious eyes and a tilt of your head. You’re fairly certain you have your target.

You lay a hand on his arm, over his jacket. You lean in close enough to whisper in his ear. 

“Do you really need my name?” you ask in Spanish. 

Miguel smirks when you lean back. He offers you his hand to help you off of your stool. Wary of actually touching his skin to yours, you try your best to be graceful and sensuous as you slide out of your seat and onto your heels without his help. You then walk out of the bar through the back without waiting for him to follow you (hoping that he does).

Your instincts are right, however. When you make it out of the bar, Miguel is indeed closing in behind you. You glance over your shoulder, offering a coy smile. But when you look ahead, you have to utter a gasp. 

Miguel is suddenly there to grab you and pull you in by your waist. 

“When will your friends be joining us?” he asks, trailing a finger down your cheek. It makes you shudder, but you pretend to be confused.

“Friends?”

“Dumb and dumber, watching you like a hawk,” he says, raising a brow. “Oh, mi amor. I know a pack of hunters when I see them.”

Sam and Dean watch the musician run back for his guitar, slipping it carefully in its case before he takes off after you. 

“Get the guitar. Got a feeling about that thing,” Dean says to Sam. “I’ll follow ‘em.”

The moment Dean walks out the back of the bar, he stops short and draws his gun. His body tenses and his face falls into a glare when he sees Miguel holding you close (and against your will). But Miguel catches sight of Dean.

He forcefully turns you around and wraps an arm across your chest, pulling you back as you struggle. 

“Good evening,” Miguel greets with a smirk. He nods at the full moon. “Beautiful night for a lover’s serenade.”

His voice alone is a threat, Dean knows. And by the way your eyes widen, so do you. 

“Shut the fuck up, Mike,” Dean snarks. “Mind if I call you Mike?”

He raises his gun, but Miguel tsks at him. You grit your teeth as he pulls your hair back away from your cheek. His breath is hot an unpleasant in your ear, causing you to shudder.

“I do wish we had more time, amor,” he says, trailing a hand down your ass and thigh. “I like to play with my food.”

A hot lance of anger runs through Dean, but it runs even hotter through you, igniting your temper and making your patience run right the fuck out. You snap your head back and catch Miguel in the nose. He wrenches back with a pained cry.

You try to ignore the resulting ache in your head and reach for the silver knife in your thigh holster, beneath your dress. But Miguel grabs you by the hair. Suddenly his face has become grotesque, revealing its true form with a mouth filled with sharp, needle-like teeth.

You gasp as a trill of magic runs through your body from his touch. It paralyzes you as he wrenches your neck back and prepares to bite a chunk right out of your neck. 

But Dean shoots a warning shot by the creature’s head, all-too close to yours as he approaches. 

“Hey!” Sam calls out. He attracts everyone’s attention, even Miguel’s. Sam holds the silver guitar. 

“This is what you use to play Pied Piper, right?” Sam asks. Miguel’s face hardens, but before he can do anything about it, Sam smashes the guitar to smithereens on the gravel road. 

Miguel lets out an outraged hiss. While he’s distracted, Dean takes another shot that hits the creature in the shoulder. It gives you the opening you need to grab your knife and stab him in the leg.

Miguel cries out in pain, but before you can scramble away, he grabs your face. His sharpened nails bite into your skin, making you wince. You manage to kick out his knee. It forces him to release you, unless he wants to eat the ground hard. 

Sam is there to catch you while Dean closes in. He shoots, the creature evades, grabbing Dean’s wrist and punching him across the face. The hunter goes down to the gravel with hands held out to brace himself. But he has a large knife on his belt that he retrieves next, only to be knocked out of his hand when Miguel bears on him. 

He throws off Sam’s attempt to pull him off Dean, throwing him hard against the dumpster in the alley. 

While Dean grapples bare-handed with the monster, trying his best to evade gnashing teeth in his face, you find his discarded knife and bury it deep into Miguel’s back. 

He howls with pain and tries to throw you off. He manages to backhand you in the face and shove you away. You nearly roll an ankle on the small rocks rolling under your heels, and you end up on your back with the wind knocked out of you. 

But Dean’s able to kick Miguel off and finish what you started. Dean pins the man on the ground and twists the knife deeper. And he doesn’t let go until the creature below him stops twitching. 

Dean takes in deep breaths to account for the way adrenaline has set his blood pumping. He still sits on the ground with the body next to him. But then, he finds you kneeling next to him in your now dusty dress. Your eyes are worried when you grasp his shoulder and lay another hand lightly on his scuffed knee. 

Dean reaches for you on reflex, grabbing your arm. Both of you manage to ask your burning questions at the same time—

“You okay?”

“Are you all right?”

You crack first with a giggle. Dean quirks a grin and thumbs at your cheek. 

“Yeah, all good,” he says. 

Your relieved smile reaches your eyes, and it warms him. “Good.”

Behind you both, Sam hides his own knowing smile.

Sam and Dean invite you to stay over at the bunker after the hunt, instead of making the even longer drive home. You’re too exhausted to say no.

By the time you get to the bunker, you’re dead on your feet, practically swaying down the stairs. 

“I’m so fuckin’ tiiiired…”

“Come on, stop whining,” Dean teases as he helps you down. Sam has dropped your duffel bag on the ground floor and gone on ahead to shower, leaving you and Dean to figure this out. 

“Why don’t you just take off the heels?” he wryly suggests.

“Hell no,” you refuse with a stubborn shake of your head.

You don’t want to contemplate how much monster guts have glossed the stairs of this bunker, via the brothers’ boots. 

Maybe it’s a silly reason to suffer, but is it really suffering if you have Dean Winchester escorting you with both hands down the stairs? 

His hands are warm and you trust the strength of his hold, but when your heel wobbles on the edge of a step, you still go for the railing rather than sink all your weight on Dean. He laughs at you, and you maturely stick out a tongue at him. 

“At this point, it’d be faster if I freakin’ carried you,” Dean remarks. He reaches for you, but you stop him with a heel in his sternum.

“Eh-eh! Don’t even try,” you laugh. “I totally got this.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but you lower your heeled foot and manage to climb down the last few steps of the rickety staircase…at least, what your exhausted brain thinks is the last one. 

You almost go ass over tea kettle when you miss the final stair with a yelp—but Dean is there to catch you. 

His arms are like steel bands around your frame, curving around your lower back and pulling you flush against his chest. You gasp and cling to his arms. When you look up at him with wide eyes, you find his amused face…and maybe something else in his eyes. He tilts his head down at you. 

“Well, well. Look who keeps falling for me?” he remarks. 

You blush at the flirtatious edge of his tone. The gleam in his green eyes; you take it for amusement only, not realizing that he’s barely resisting the urge to claim your lips. 

“Right,” you laugh him off with a pat on his chest. “When was the first time again?”

You make sure your heels are firmly on the ground before you push away from Dean. As you thought, he doesn’t try to keep you. He still looks amused as he lets you go.

He flirts with anything, you remind yourself, when disappointment starts to carve a hole in your heart. Don’t take it so seriously.

You say goodnight before you take up your duffel bag and go to find a free bedroom (and a hot shower). All the while, you bite your lip against a deep-seated feeling of uncertainty.

Dean watches you go, and you don’t see the way his mask of a smile fades into a frown. 

After a nice hot shower and changing into your pajamas, that moment with Dean has unsettled you enough that you're not quite ready to go to sleep. Maybe you’re in the mood for a midnight snack. 

You take out a couple of supplies from your bag and head over to the kitchen. There you set up your little cafetera coffee press with water, and a generous few tablespoons of Café Bustelo grounds of espresso. While that brews on the stove, you make some popcorn in the microwave. 

You don’t realize that the rich smell reaches Dean all the way in his room. He sniffs the air in interest, then in confusion. 

She’s making coffee at midnight? 

He gets up out of bed and pads down to the kitchen where you’ve taken over. A large bowl of popcorn is ready and waiting for him to snatch a handful, while you’re checking the little metal carafe you have going on the stove. 

“What’cha up to, sweetheart?” he asks. You greet him with a smile. 

“Café con leche,” you reply. 

Coffee with milk, he mentally translates. That much, he can work out. 

“You drink coffee at this time of night?” he asks. 

“My people invented it. I’ve been inoculated to this stuff since I was eight years old,” you quip. “Want some? Believe me, you’ll love it.”

He shrugs. “Sure. But if I end up too wired to fucking sleep, be prepared to suffer with me.”

You laugh. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something to do.”

Dean’s not sure if you meant that as flirtatious as it sounded. But by your briefly widening eyes and blushing cheeks, maybe you just realized it. He smirks and draws closer while you break out two mugs from the cabinet. 

He notices your chosen pajamas with secret appreciation (a large threadbare Journey shirt over spandex shorts). You fill the little shorts out well. 

Though Dean spots several small holes in the shirt. He teasingly sticks his finger through one in your short sleeve. 

“Lose a fight with a pair of scissors?” he jokes. 

You shoot him an amused glance over your shoulder.

“You are the reigning king of dad jokes. I’ll have you know, this is my lucky shirt.”

He snorts in response. “What makes it lucky?”

You just bite your lip and focus back on your task at hand. With the coffee done percolating, you measure out two steaming shots of espresso into each mug. 

“Hey, you brought it up,” Dean reminds you. 

You sigh, and after you pour in the sugar and the evaporated milk into each mug, you turn around and lean against the counter. 

“I’ve never had a bad dream while wearing this shirt to bed,” you confess. His teasing gentles at that. 

When you turn back around to put the finishing touches on what you’re doing, Dean’s expression becomes more fond as he watches you. 

You then offer him his Batman mug with a brighter smile. 

“Buen provecho,” you say.

“What does that mean?” he asks predictably, taking the mug from you. 

“Enjoy! Like bon appetite, basically.”

“Ah,” he raises his brows before he takes a sip. Then they raise even higher as he hums in pleasure. “Ooh, it’s sweet…and strong. Shit.”

“Very,” you say with a chuckle, taking your own sip. You make a sound of delight, complete with a little “happy dance” shimmy. “Almost as good as my grandma makes it.”

Dean smiles in amusement at your antics. The two of you sit at the kitchen island, where there are three stools and the bowl of popcorn. The salty snack is just the right balance for the sweet coffee.

“She taught you how to make this?” he asks. 

You nod. “Yep! She’s an amazing cook too. Learned everything I know from her.”

“Hmm, might need to sample something of yours sometime,” Dean says, peering at you over his mug. His tone is deceptively light, but you read the double meaning in his eyes.

You hide the way your mouth falls open behind your own mug. Instead of answering, you nod and take a delicate sip. Your gaze veers away from his as you blush.

He’s in a good mood tonight, you think in bemusement. 

“So tell me. What are the best curse words in Spanish?” Dean asks. 

You have to laugh. Your head ducks as you reach for his arm. His eyes briefly go to your hand, and he smirks. 

“Of course that’s the first thing you want to know,” you tease. You take back your hand and think about his question. “Hmm…I mean, there are the basics. Coño, carajo. Like 'damn it,' 'fucking hell,' and so forth.”

“Come on, you can do better than that,” Dean says. 

“Well, yeah,” you say with a grin. “Comemierda is a Cuban fan favorite.”

“Which means?”

“Literally? Someone who eats shit,” you laugh. “A stupid asshole, basically.”

Dean’s grin deepens. “Nice.”

“The best one of all time is probably…ugh, my mom would wash my mouth out with soap for even saying it.” You cover your face with both hands, but Dean nudges your elbow. 

“Come on, give it to me,” he teases. You peek out at him from between your hands. Then you stage whisper to him.

“Hijo de la gran puta,” you say. It rolls off your tongue in such a way that, even though Dean knows it’s vulgar in some way, the ease in which you say it raises the hairs on his arms. 

“I like that,” he says. 

You giggle at him. “You don’t even know what the fuck it means.”

“Don’t matter. I just like how it sounds,” he says. “Gimme the Google Translate.”

You shoot him a narrowed look for that one. “It means son of the grand whore. Literally, the chiefest of them all. The grand poohbah of whores.” 

Dean splutters with laughter. His hand slaps the table, and you shush him, reminding him that Sam is probably sleeping by now.

“It’s literally one of the worst things you can say to somebody,” you say, though you’re also choking on laughter. By the end of it, you and Dean are chortling like fools and getting high on espresso and sugar. 

You teach him how to roll his r’s, and at his request, more slang. You explain how certain Hispanics and Latino cultures use different words for the same thing (at times, very confusing), and how something innocent to an American, like a papaya fruit, means something very different for Cubans. 

For Dean’s part, he’s genuinely interested in what you have to teach him. But he also just likes hearing you speak the language. It rolls off your tongue gracefully, effortless and sensuous without you meaning to. He likes it enough that he tells you his honest thoughts.

“It all sounds incredibly hot, I’m not gonna lie,” he says with a chuckle. You blush at that, something he finds endearing. 

“You sound like my ex,” you say in amusement. “He only went out with me to help him with his Spanish.”

Dean sobers a bit at that. “What?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle dryly. “He was trying to land some job as a strip club bouncer, but we were in Miami at the time. They needed someone bilingual.”

Dean doesn’t like the resigned tone of your voice. 

“Yeah well, the bouncer?” he remarks, trying for a teasing bump of his hand against yours. “Come on. You should at least be aiming for the owner.”

You flash him a brief smile and nod. “Ah, so I set my sights too low. Got it.”

It’s then that Dean starts to wonder about the kinds of guys you’ve gotten with in the past. Not that he has room to judge, but he can see that there was no love lost there for you. 

Dean has a thought, deep in his bones, that you deserve someone who sees how special you are. How kind, funny, loyal, caring…

“Seriously,” Dean says. “You can do better.”

“Right,” you laugh. But he’s not laughing. You raise a brow at him.

“What?” you ask.

His lips purse, but he thinks better of what he wants to say. 

“Nothing. ‘S none of my business,” he says. 

You stare back at him and frown thoughtfully. You think you’re lucky to get a date, the way you constantly move around. 

You don’t have stability, and even though you try to keep in shape, try to avoid the shittier fast food, it’s been a challenge to maintain yourself. You worry that you’ve gained five pounds in diner food alone in the past couple of months…

Okay, mostly, you’re happy with your curves. But the way Dean’s looking at you now, you can’t help a flutter of hope that rises in your chest, making your heart beat faster.  

Maybe you’re finally ready to know how he really sees you. 

“Talk to me, Dean,” you nod, and you reach out a hand to grasp his wrist. 

He looks down at your hand. After a moment, he sighs and lays his own over yours. He meets your gaze. 

“Look, I think I hear what you’re not saying,” Dean says. “And you’re sellin’ yourself short, sweetheart. That’s all.”

It takes you a moment, but a soft smile spreads across your face. It warms him in a way he doesn’t expect, but maybe he should. 

Biting your lip with a bit of embarrassment, you squeeze his hand before you get up to take the two empty mugs with you to the sink. 

“Que hombre tan pendejo, hermoso,” you mutter. “Ni siquiera sabes lo que me haces.”

You don’t realize that Dean actually hears you. He perks up, standing from his seat and approaching you from behind. 

“What was that?” he asks. 

You jump slightly, and a blush burns down your neck as you turn off the sink and spin back around. Dean is there, crossing his arms and staring you down with a raised brow. A hint of a smirk begins to edge around his mouth.

“What?” you ask.

“Oh, no. You said something just now,” he says. Like a dog with a bone, he’s not going to let this one go.

Your lips threaten to smile, but you shake your head stubbornly. “You’ll just have to invest in that Duolingo subscription.”

Dean joins you by the sink. His hand braces on the kitchen counter. 

“Well, either you’re insulting me, or you’re flirting with me,” Dean says.

His lips then edge into a smirk. “The first one I could forgive, but the second…might require some retribution.”

Your eyes slowly widen. “What, why?”

Dean has to chuckle, because your expression is all but an admission of guilt. It’s too damn adorable. 

“Because you can’t flirt with me without me knowin’ about it,” he says. “That’s just rude.”

His hands brace the counter on either side of you, trapping you in. The only way to get through him is to tell him the truth, or suffer the consequences.

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and a full flush across your tan skin. Is he actually doing this right now?

Your heart beats loud in your ears like conga drums. 

“So which is it, sweetheart?” Dean asks. His playful, but singularly focused green-eyed gaze tells you he really does want an answer.

“Well, it was kinda both,” you say with a shy, but mischievous smile. Dean’s smirk deepens.

He tucks a finger beneath your chin and lets his thumb brush your full lower lip… 

Then he leans down to kiss you thoroughly. His plush lips move over yours, hot, wet, and sinfully good. 

But it’s also short—much too short for your liking when he parts from you to gauge your reaction. He seems to like what he finds in your eyes.

“Was that the punishment?” you tease. “Kinda weak.”

Dean raises a brow. “Consider it a start.”

He pulls you into him by your waist and continues where he left off, with another searing kiss. You hum with pleasure against his lips as your fingers delve into his hair. 

His hands move down your back, making a shiver of delight coarse through you. They land on cradling your ass, squeezing and pressing you into him. 

You gasp into his mouth. You can feel his length already hard against you. That alone trills anticipation down your spine, and a dizzy feeling, the fact that your touch is turning him on. You nip at his lower lip in response, licking into his mouth. It elicits a sound deep in his throat as his touch becomes more demanding. 

He then bends down to reach behind your thighs, and before you know what’s happening, you squeal when he lifts you up on the counter. 

You grab his shoulders like a cat clinging to the edge of a bath.

Damn, he’s strong!

“What’s the matter?” he laughs. 

“I’m just not used to being manhandled,” you quip. “These hips don’t lie, but they definitely don’t fly.” 

Dean snorts. “Says who?”

“My ex, for one thing,” you joke again. Though it isn’t actually a joke.

Dean, again, isn’t laughing. 

His hands aren’t large enough to span your thighs, but it’s not for lack of trying. His firm touch burning up your parted thighs is distracting, warm over your skin, and over your thin shorts. His thumbs dip between your inner thighs, making you breathe a bit more shallowly. 

“I get the feeling that you’ve been with some ain’t shit guys,” Dean says. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with the rest of ‘em.”

Your eyes widen. Dean grins down at you and takes the opportunity to kiss you again. His hand disappears in your hair and he presses kisses down your neck. A pleasant tingle breaks out across your skin as you tilt your head for him, giving him access. 

Your fingers begin toying with his collar and glide down his chest. Unlike you, everything about him is firm, you think. But you start to think that he likes your softness, the thickness of your curves.

You didn’t take him for an ass man, but he seems very happy to get a fistful of it. It’s as flattering as it is arousing.

“I’ve wanted to get this perfect ass in my hands since the day we met,” he says. His voice is deep, full of grit and desire, but what he says next surprises you even more. 

“Wanted to ask you out that night,” he confesses. 

You pause at that. You met Sam and Dean two years ago already. The fact that he’d wanted to ask you out was one thing, but he’d been holding onto this for two years?

“Really?” you ask. 

Dean reads your incredulity, huffing a laugh. “You’re really finding that hard to believe right now?” 

He rocks against your clothed core so you can feel his reaction to you. You instinctively gasp and hold onto him. You slide your arms around his back to keep him close, even though you’re blushing. He holds you back, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“Well, why didn’t you then?” you ask. But he hesitates to answer you. 

“Dean?” you press.

“It…never seemed the right time,” he says. “And to be honest, you didn’t seem all that interested.”

Until now, goes unspoken. But you frown up at him. 

“You don’t really believe that,” you say. 

Dean leans back a bit, so you move your hands to his chest, gripping the fabric of his undershirt to he doesn’t go too far. He looks down at you, a bit uncertain for the first time. You can’t believe that he could possibly be insecure about your interest and affections. 

“I attract a lot of crap in my life,” he admits. “Shit you want no part of.”

You soften further at that. Someone who was just going to hook up with you once and never call you again didn’t consider things like that. You grab onto the lapels of his plaid shirt and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Well, that’s a stupid reason,” you say. Is this the real reason he only calls you when he really needs the help?

Maybe it’s his convoluted way of protecting you…while maybe, still wanting to see you.

“It’s really not,” Dean shakes his head. “Truth be told…I’m no good for you either.”

That disheartens you. 

You’re in this job too. And while you know that Sam and Dean are often at the center of a lot of Apocalypse-level shit, you still don’t think it’s an excuse to keep both you and Dean from possibly…being happy.

His gaze is steady, until it starts to lower away from you. You take his face in your hands, picking him back up to meet your eyes. Your thumbs caress the prickly stubble along his cheeks.

“Apparently I get with a lot of ain’t shit guys,” you reply, “but you’re definitely not one of them, Dean.”

He flickers at a smile, but he still isn’t convinced you two should do this after all.

So it’s up to you, you realize. 

You bring him down to you for a kiss. It’s slow at first. You ply him with short, sweet presses of your lips to his. But then you both inhale as you deepen the kiss, tilting your head and prying his lips with your tongue. He can’t help but welcome you in, and he takes you back into his arms.

You smile against his lips, letting your hands run down his chest and under the top layer of plaid. He shrugs out of it, then the undershirt as you help him tug it up. It falls in a heap on the floor, followed closely by your hole-ridden Journey shirt, then your little shorts.

Dean takes in the sight of your flushed skin, the rise and fall of your breasts, and even the hesitant downturn of your lips. You’re a bit self-conscious, bared for him for the first time, but he doesn’t give you a reason to have any reservations. 

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading, rolling his thumbs over the hardening buds. You let out a shaky breath against his lips, and you veer away from his mouth to burn a hot, wet trail down his neck. His voice rumbles, and you smile, nipping playfully and touching him wherever you see fit. 

“Tell me what you said before,” he rasps into your ear.

You remain playfully tight-lipped as you continue to shower his bare skin with affection. But your breath hitches when a hand leaves your breast to once again slide up the inside of your thigh. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” he says. “That’s why I need you tell me…”

You lean close to his ear and whisper. “Nope.”

Dean’s chuckle shakes his frame. His other hand cups your cheek, slipping into your hair. You hold him to you, and for the first time it’s skin to skin, with your breasts pressing against his chest. 

“All right…you sure I can’t convince you?” he asks. There’s a note of warning that you’re just a bit too slow to detect. 

His fingers swiftly bypass your panties, pushing them aside so he can tease the seam of your pussy.

You bite your lip and lean back enough to see his face, to see the mischievous edge of his smirk. You inhale sharply when two of his fingers slip in and probe in your wet heat, but don’t go further than your entrance.

“Dean,” you whine. “Please…”

“Tell me,” he insists, “what you said.” 

His lips graze your cheek, down the column of your neck. You feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin. Meanwhile, your pussy is pulsing with need, all but chasing his fingers that do no more than brush and tease. Your nails accidently bite into his shoulders in frustration.

He sucks in a pained breath. You gasp and apologize, soothing over his skin. 

Dean just laughs and noses along your throat. He knows exactly what you need, but he wants to win the game. 

At this point, you just want him.

So finally, you admit it. You confess into his ear the things you whispered in your mother tongue.  

“I said, you dumb, beautiful man,” you say, smiling with your cheek pressed against his. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Dean grins into your neck. You really don’t realize it. But to him, your voice is rich as black velvet, and sexy as hell. Doesn’t matter what language you’re speaking.  

Two of his fingers sink deeply into your pussy. You whimper, squeezing gratefully around his hand. 

“Please, Dean…”

“I got you, baby. Just relax,” he says with a grin. 

He explores your inner channel and begins to discover what you respond to, what angles make you grip onto him tighter, make your voice keen higher, especially when his thumb circles over your clit. 

You cling to him for dear life, gripping his hair, uttering encouragements (not all of them in English), and finally praises when that hot coil within you snaps and releases. 

Dean holds you while you come over his hand. You’re squeezing the shit out of him, really, in every way possible. But when that dam breaks, all you can do is lean against him and try to catch your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he chuckles. He rubs your back, pets your hair. 

“I’m…” you trail. You lean back and take his smug face in your hands, and you kiss him. You put into that gesture what your voice fails to confess. 

And when both of you run out of breath, Dean pulls back just enough to see your eyes.

“We’re not done, by any damn means,” he says. That coffee still has him wired. And at this point, his cock is throbbing with need. “But let’s head over to my room.”

“Yeah, I think I need to help you with this before you implode,” you tease him with a gentle hand along his rock-hard length. He utters a strained sound that makes you sympathetic. 

But before anything else, you caress his cheek fondly. Tonight matters to you, and you think it matters to him too. Dean flashes you a rare, boyish grin that has you smiling even harder. 

Damn it. You might just love this man. 

He helps you down from the counter, though his arms stay wrapped around you because of your jelly legs. His resolution is to pick you up over his shoulder.

“Let’s fly, baby!” With a swift spank of your ass, he carries you the rest of the way to his room. You squeal and try to stifle your giggles all the way there. 

One thing’s for sure. Sam is going to hate you both in the morning. 

AN: 😂 Well, that was fun! Please let me know what you thought.

**Just to preface, I am in fact a plus-sized Latina (Cuban, Puerto Rican and Dominican)! 🌶️🌶️

And I just want to say, I wrote a specific plus-sized body type here, but we're all different and equally beautiful in our shapes, skin tones, and otherwise outward trappings.

I like to think of us as a box of lovely assorted chocolates (not the cheap factory-made bullshit either. The chocolatier, handmade assortments that cost an arm and a leg, shipping not included).

Each delectable and unique, with something extra special inside. 😘

Keep Reading:

Yes, this has become a series! Next up is "Devour Me":

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for.

▶️ Next Story: Devour Me (Part 1)

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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Tag List:

@sleepyqueerenergy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @skyesthebomb @mimaria420 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @teehxk @hobby27 @luvs4dria

[kittyball23]

Soundproof (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: John Dory reveals that Rhonda is soundproof, and that little bit of information sits quite well with Poppy and Branch **Rated M**

A/N: 😏

__________________________________________

It was precisely three things that were serving as a distraction to Branch that night.

One was the incredibly delicious marshmallows in his hands, plopped into his mouth every few minutes so that he could experience its chewy, fluffy goodness in between the songs that he and his brothers were harmonizing to. Another was Poppy, sitting across him from the campfire alongside her sister Viva. Her deep, fuschia eyes - sparkling with the reflection of the crackling orange flames - remained trained to his blue whenever she spared a glance his way, letting him know by the intense gaze that there was something other than flames crackling between them.

Tension.

And it was one that was continuing to build as the evening progressed, all because of a small tidbit of information that was so graciously dumped upon them during the idle conversation among the group of friends. The information in itself being the third distraction.

Patience was not proving to be a virtue, however, and he and Poppy had to be pulled out of their dazed infatuation with one another several times - Viva nudging her sister with a giggle and Floyd nudging Branch wearing his own little smirk.

After what did feel like hours of happily enduring laughter, songs, stories and other shenanigans that could only ensue among siblings, the first yawn finally was emitted, coming out of Floyd. It in turn caused everybody else to realize just how tired they were, too. So when the other yawns and tired stretches followed suit to confirm it was true, Branch nearly felt like pulling his brother in for a hug. His favorite bro had come to his aid, even if he may not have known it! But while the fun between the seven friends had just concluded, the heated glint in Poppy’s eyes told him that their fun was just beginning.

Just as Branch’s thoughts began to wander somewhere ungentlemanly, John Dory’s loud voice broke through. “I don’t know about you all, but I’m bushed!” To demonstrate his point, he plopped down flat on his back upon his sleeping bag. “Guess it was pretty fun singing and roasting marshmallows after all, eh?” he chuckled after a moment.

Bruce hummed in agreement, munching on the last few in his possession. “Mmm-mmm! I gotta tell Brandy we should add these to the dessert menu,” he said, referring to his wife of whom he ran Vacay Island’s cantina with.

“Imma be the first one in line if you do that!” Clay exclaimed, exchanging a fist bump with the purple-haired Troll.

“Count me in on that, too!” Viva giggled. She too really loved marshmallows - her couch back in Putt Putt Village, in fact, was a marshmallow! And only now did it really occur to her to wonder how in the world she’d managed not to consume it for all those years living there. Shrugging it off, she turned to the gang with a large grin. “He’s right though,” she said, gesturing a thumb at John Dory. “This really was fun! I’d love for us to all hang again sometime!”

Floyd nodded his head, agreeing. “That would be nice.” He turned to Branch, seeking his younger bro’s opinion.

“Yeah,” the blue Troll responded, hoping he didn’t sound too breathless when he answered, his gaze still fixed on Poppy.

The Pop Queen, in a similar fashion, concurred with a little dazed “Uh-huh.”

Good nights were bid, sleeping bags unzipped, and wrappers to the Jumbo-sized marshmallow bags disposed of. As Branch went to go put out the campfire, he silently mouthed the words to Poppy that would let her know when they could get the ball rolling.

Five minutes.

He accompanied the words with hand gestures - one going forward, as though he were making the motion for the word “after,” and then another gesture tucking his hands under one side of his head, to make it look as though he were laying down to sleep. Poppy understood right away, confirming with a little wink and followed by a half-lidded gaze that made a tingle go down his spine. He tried to ignore it as he laid down in his sleeping bag, for the sake of surviving those next five minutes without her in his arms already, but found he couldn’t. Poppy’s effect was too strong, and the desires manifested themselves in delicious fantasies for what he ached to do with her. Fantasies of which would soon become a reality.

Branch lay until he was sure that he heard the sounds of heavy cadences of breathing and light, steady snoring. He waited an extra thirty seconds or so afterwards, just to be extra sure and, upon hearing no signs of activity, allowed himself to rise up and out of his sleeping bag, careful to take the utmost caution in not making any noise whatsoever.

Poppy, also having waited the allotted time, made to get out of her sleeping bag, too. In her haste to reach Branch’s side, she accidentally crunched on a dry leaf, the crinkling noise resounding around them. Both froze. With this number of Trolls snoozing in the vicinity, someone was bound to stir. And stir someone did.

Clay shifted in his bag, and Branch held his breath, fully expecting his older brother to blink his eyes open and catch the two of them sneaking off. But to his relief, the lime-green-haired Troll drowsily mumbled something about tax evasion and then snuggled back into his blanket. Poppy met her boyfriend’s eyes and scrunched her shoulders, a little blush tinting her cheeks and a quiet giggle escaping her. Branch rolled his eyes playfully, and simply extended his hand for her to take, a little smirk on his face. She squeezed it softly as he tugged them along, padding against the soft dirt floor underneath them to reach their destination. Once they got just outside of JD's beloved caterbus pet, he released from her grip, bringing his hand up to her face so he could pull her in for the kiss he'd been dying to share with her. Poppy obliged him willingly, parting her lips slightly to deepen it. He pulled away with some reluctance after several seconds, resting his forehead against hers. Branch’s voice was hushed and eager when he spoke, finally addressing that one point of crucial information in the earlier conversation that had been so easily glossed over by the others, even his brother - JD - himself, who had revealed it.

"Do you really think that Rhonda is completely soundproof?"

The question itself wasn't so crude, but for the purpose that he was asking it made his cheeks grow warm. He couldn't help but think back to the time when John Dory had made the very confident-sounding claim that Rhonda was waterproof, but it hadn't turned out to be so.

Poppy however didn't seem bothered, and snickered. "I mean, even if she isn't, I'm sure she'll make sure nobody bothers us. Won't you, girl?"

Branch gave a short gasp when he felt a rumble of a trill behind him in response, only coming to just realize that Rhonda had been awakened and was panting happily at the couple. She wagged her stumpy green tail, seeming to have understood what Poppy had said and more than willing to be of help.

Branch still looked a little bit uncertain, suddenly rethinking this little venture. Even with as much as he wanted this to happen, would it be wise?

"Poppy," he said, pausing to think of what he was going to point out to her first. That perhaps they shouldn't be partaking in these type of activities within a caterbus that was not theirs? With not one, nor two, or even three or four, but FIVE other Trolls who had the chance of waking up and catching them in the act? And what kind of mess would they leave behind on the bed? Branch couldn’t imagine the embarrassment that he would have to face if confronted by John Dory for anything that was leftover upon the sheets….

But Poppy was quick to already reply. And reply she did. "Brrranch…" His name was a teasing growl, the ‘r’ drawn arousingly as she opened Rhonda's side door, batted her lashes and gingerly stepped foot inside.

Branch sighed. That's it.

In a move that suddenly startled her, he swept in, hauling her up and off her feet and hoisting her in a bridal carry that had her doing her best to not squeal in surprise. As he toted her into the caterbus, he hoped Poppy wasn't prepared to sleep.

Because Branch sure wasn't.

__________________________________________

A loud, thumping in the night is what awakened him.

Floyd startled, a little groggy as he registered that it was still pitch black, the morning not broken through yet. He attempted to shut his eyes again and doze off, but a sudden rumbling in his stomach caught him off guard, letting the magenta-haired Troll know loud and clear that it was hungry.

One midnight snack will do, he thought. Or... whatever time it is. Floyd had no way of knowing in particular what hour it was. It could very well be past midnight, or just a few minutes before the crack of dawn. He went back and forth reasoning which of the two it could be as he made his light, tip-toeing steps towards Rhonda. JD had lots of goodies packed in his fridge and cabinets, so there was bound to be something to sedate him.

As his hand reached for the knob of Rhonda's door, prepared to turn, he stopped short at the sound of the thumping again, more pronounced. Floyd blinked. Was that coming from inside of the caterbus? He strained to listen, and heard a rapid creaking noise, as though springs were being pressed down upon over and over, accompanied with a long, drawn noise of some sort. A moan, he realized, the longer he had his ear perked to attention.

Wait a minute... He thought he recognized that voice. Was that… Poppy? Floyd blinked. Why? Had something happened to her? He glanced over to where the other Trolls had been sleeping, seeing for the first time that her sleeping bag was indeed empty...

...And so was Branch's.

Suddenly, the magenta Troll's brain began to put two and two together, the cogs shifting in his brain right as another thumping was heard, and a new moan that bore a resemblance to the name of his youngest bro resonated.

Something had happened to Poppy all right. But it wasn't anything bad.

It was…

They were...

“Oh!” he gasped. Floyd suddenly felt blood rush to his face, his appetite vanishing entirely and his stomach turning queasy. He hurriedly turned his heel, trying to dash as quickly as he could back to his sleeping bag before he had an accident, but failing as he tripped over one of his brothers.

"Ow," a drowsy mumble came from Bruce, and he began to sit up and rub his eyes at the disturbance. "Floyd? Dude, what's going on?"

Floyd waved his hands in a panic. "No! Bruce, go back to sleep. Please!"

"Huh?" Bruce cocked his head. "What are you talking abou - " His sentence was cut off by the sound of a shout, one that sounded an awful lot like their youngest brother. More thumping followed, and Bruce raised an eyebrow, clueless for a second, until realization dawned upon him. "Ohhhh," he said, cracking a smile once his thoughts were confirmed upon seeing the lack of Branch and Poppy in their respective sleeping bags. Rhonda affirmed it further, cutting her narrowed eyes at him as if daring him to try and intrude the private moment. So that's what they were up to. Bruce shook his head, fondly remembering a time when he and Brandy were younger, and would get up to their own share of frisky business. "Well, I'll tell you one thing for sure," he told Floyd, "If there was ever any doubt that Branch isn't a man, there certainly isn’t one now."

Two responses met the purple-haired Troll. One was another loud moan coming from the caterbus. The other was a groan of dismay from his magenta-haired brother.

"Didn't John Dory say she was soundproofed?" Floyd whimpered in mortification, pointing at Rhonda.

Bruce laughed. "Bro, Rhonda's not soundproof. JD just sleeps like a rock. See?" The brothers looked over at their eldest bro who indeed looked like a content stone just laying there. Un-rock-like though, he snored, drooling some from the side of his open mouth.

Of course, Floyd thought with a roll of his eyes. He cast a worried glance at Bruce. "Okay, but, um, what should we do? I'd love to go back to sleep, but not if I'm going to listen to… um… to…" He tried to think of the right word to describe what was happening without outright saying it, but found he didn't have to. He grimaced when Poppy cried out, making him shudder. "To that," he finished.

Bruce understood and patted a hand reassuringly on Floyd’s shoulder. "Not to worry, bro. I got you covered. Here, gimme your hand." Floyd extended his palm out, and Bruce reached into his hair, pulling out a couple of small objects.

Floyd was perplexed when he realized what it was. "Gumdrops?" he asked.

"Hey, I know they're delish, but they're also 100% soundproof, guaranteed."

Floyd narrowed his eyes, unable to help feeling skeptical. "You sure?"

Bruce nodded. "Yep! Trust me, I stuff them in my kids' ears every night right after they've gone to sleep, in case the wife and I ever get in the mood. So far, they haven't been disturbed a peep!"

Floyd felt his stomach lurch and then nodded. “Okay! Alright, I’ll take them.”

Bruce chuckled, putting his own gumdrops in his ears and snuggling back down. He dozed off once more, and Floyd soon after, the magenta-haired Troll relieved that true to his brother’s word, he heard nothing but the sound of silence.

__________________________________________

Poppy found the brilliant sun the following morning a perfect compliment to the equally sunny attitude she had. She stretched, recomposed herself, and took a great big whiff of the fresh air once she stepped out of Rhonda. Right as she began to replay the events of the previous night, she felt a pair of hands slink around her waist, belonging to the Troll she’d shared the wonderful experience with. She giggled a little as his caress lightly tickled her sides, and she turned to face him, bestowing a quick peck upon his lips.

“Morning,” he whispered.

“Morning,” she replied. She licked her lips with a little hum, noting the flavor he’d left behind on them. “I take it coffee's brewing?” she asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” he confirmed, tipping his messy-haired blue head back towards Rhonda. “Want a cup?”

“In a little bit,” she said. “Think I’m gonna stretch my legs out here a bit first. I’m, uh… still a bit sore.” She admitted it with a blush that made Branch chuckle.

“All right.” He better adjusted his leafy vest to conceal the purplish mark on the base of his neck, bruise-like in appearance if not for the indentations indicative of teeth, if one were to look closely enough - evidence of the Pop Queen’s handiwork, no doubt.

They exchanged another sweet peck, and then Poppy was off at her sister’s side in a couple of wobbly bounds.

“Wakey, wakey!” she chirped, shaking her shoulder.

Viva gave a short yawn and grinned when her sights set on her sister. “Hey, you!” she giggled, throwing her arms around her for a hug. Taking note of her messy pink hair and worried she’d tossed and turned through the night, Viva questioned her. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” Poppy replied. Better than okay, actually, she added silently, remembering Branch’s arms around her and how expertly they’d handled her.

“Oh, good!” Viva breathed out. “Um, you do know your leg warmers are inside out, right?”

Poppy grinned sheepishly when she realized her sister was right. But she couldn’t help be disoriented, not after the way Branch made her so drunk on his love. She shrugged, grateful when Clay’s awakening interrupted them.

“Ah, man, I had the best dream ever!” he declared as he stretched, sitting up in his sleeping bag.

Viva rolled her eyes. “This isn’t the one where you’re drinking hot cocoa and finishing everyone’s taxes, is it?”

Clay raised a hand. “Guilty, and quite happy to be found so!” he laughed.

Viva chuckled and turned to her sister. “That’s Clay for ya!”

Poppy shook her head with a little grin and then spotted Floyd and Bruce. “Hey, guys!” she called. “Branch is at the caterbus brewing some coffee. Want some?”

Poppy then witnessed something peculiar. At the mention of their youngest bro, Floyd’s eyes widened and he exchanged a look with Bruce. The purple-haired Troll calmly replied for the two. “I’ll take a cup, Poppy, but I think Floyd’s gonna pass. He was a little sick last night, and he’s still not up to par just yet.”

Poppy’s eyebrows creased in worry. “Oh, no! Really?” She looked to the magenta-haired Troll for an answer.

“I’ll be fine,” Floyd squeaked, clearing his throat afterwards in hopes that nobody would question him further for his strange behavior. Attention was drawn from him when John Dory leapt upon his feet, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“Wassup, fam!” he cried, snapping his fingers. “I don’t know about you all, but I slept like a baby! A baby Branch that is.” He chuckled at his own joke, until the voice of his youngest brother stopped him.

“I thought I told you to refrain from calling me that!” Branch grumbled as he stepped towards them, sipping a cup of coffee.

“I was just playing, bro.” His expression then switched to a serious one. “For real though, dude, are you all right?”

Branch looked at him with confusion. “What’d you mean?”

John Dory exhaled. “Huh, I dunno if I was dreaming or something, but I coulda sworn I heard some screaming from you last night. And y’know, come to think of it, you too, Poppy!” JD scratched his head. “Were y’all having nightmares or something?”

In that instant, Poppy felt all the color rush to her face. Branch gagged midsip of the coffee he was drinking, and Floyd moaned, a hint of green tinting his face as he rushed into the bushes to heave what was in his stomach.

“NIghtmares!” Poppy laughed. “Nightmares he says!” She laughed until she felt herself grow light-headed, and then faint.

Not in much of a better state, Branch stood, frozen in shock and unresponsive to his surroundings, blue eyes open wide but unseeing.

“Uhhh… I feel like I missed something here,” JD said, puzzled.

Clay and Viva murmured their agreement as the former waved a hand in front of his little bro’s face and Viva fanned Poppy, who was still splayed on the ground.

“I didn’t,” Bruce mumbled.

JD’s head shot towards him. “What?”

“Nevermind,” the purple-haired Troll quickly said, plastering a nothing-is-wrong grin on his face. “Now, who wants gumdrops?”

[lavendertales]

Fire breather**

pairing: young!Din Djarin x f!reader

summary: he knows that even being around you is dangerous, forbidden even. But he can't fight against it for the life of him, not when you lure him with the most innocent of moves that throw you both into an intoxicatingly erotic game.

word count: 6k

WARNINGS: mini crisis of faith; virgin!Din, mutual pining, blowjob, piv, praise kink, cum play, first time shenanigans.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @manny-jacinto

read on AO3

It started out tentatively. Teasing to an almost ridiculous degree.

As a new bounty hunter, Din sought work. And for a beginner, Nevarro isn’t the worst place to be: plenty of questionable thieves, seemingly charitable folk on the street with dark pasts—a truly varied pool of work for someone like him. He almost-too-eagerly joined Greef Karga’s parsec of bounty hunters, and quickly learned the hazards of the job.

But he also learned there was beauty to it.

Whenever he had spare time, he liked to sit in the local cantina. Not necessarily for the food, but for the people. Simply watching them as they walked by, enjoying a warm meal, a good drink and a polite conversation. For the most part, it was a radiating canvas for young Din Djarin—most of the time unsoiled by the dark desires and past times that possessed so many creatures.

Then he saw you.

He watched your cat-like movements from behind the bar, serving those who stopped by, always with a smile. The more he dared to gaze in your direction, never forgetting to look away just as you sensed his visor upon you, the more he felt a certain fascination for you. Something about you exuded warmth, a rather mysterious sensuality, that of a foreigner, which Din knew had the ravishing possibility of getting him in trouble if he got too close.

So he didn’t. He observed you from afar, never uttering more than a grumbled “thank you” when you serviced him.

He meets with Karga to discuss business. It’s always business; nothing more, nothing less. He sneaks a glance at you, so quick it nearly makes his head spin. He finds himself lost in your smile, your politeness with even the rudest customers, your agility. His helmet suddenly feels constricting.

“Mando? Are you okay under there?”

Even Karga seems to notice. Din gulps, nodding his head ever so stoic, and resumes the conversation about the puck he’s taking today. But today is different. Today, you catch his visor, eyes big and radiant, and you smile at him.

You fucking smile at him.

“Be sure to finish this mission before the heatwave hits Nevarro,” Karga warns. “Seems it’ll be quite a hot season this year.”

Din finishes the mission a few days after said heatwave hit Nevarro. And it sure as hell was hot.

It was one of the rare circumstances when he wishes to done his tunic and beskar and jump into a body of water. It seldom happens, and yet now, he finds himself craving some release from that asphyxiating sensation.

“You’re back.”

The voice, soft and sweet like honey slowly drizzling on skin, startles him. He turns to meet your radiant face welcoming him back on the planet and into the cantina, and he gulps. His throat is so dry it’s itchy.

“You’ve been gone some time,” you say politely.

“Tricky mission.”

“Bounty hunter, right?”

“Yes. You keep tabs on all your clients?”

You chuckle, and the sound is playful, crystal clear, almost causing him to gasp.

“Only the most interesting ones,” you smile. “Can I get you anything?”

His mind feels scrambled, emptied of all other wishes. All except for one, clear and concise, and yet so terribly frightening to even think, let alone voice.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he replies.

“Some water at least. This heat is no joke.”

Eventually he nods, his eyes glued to your figure from the second you depart until you return with a tall cup of ice water.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” you tell him.

Din feels astounded at your understanding. Unlike others, you don’t question his armor or his habits, you simply… understand. You have enough respect for him already to know when to walk away.

And that awakens something else in him.

In the twisted and explosive world Din had voluntarily stepped in, his infatuation for you unfolds agonizingly slow, and yet far too fast for him to catch up and attempt to understand it.

The manifestation of Eros happens in increments, over long weeks of heat and simple words exchanged: from the lingering, curious gaze you began to return, to the mouth-watering way he longed to touch you. Just once, just a light touch over your arm, nothing more.

A lot more, actually. But Din forbids himself from thinking that far.

It is an erotic and mystical experience, unknown to him. He hasn’t felt the touch of another being, ever, but this he can learn to recognize that he ardently wants. There are moments of insecurity that go beyond his Creed and everything he had sworn himself to. Moments of jealousy of the infatuated man beneath the Mandalorian armor, failing to understand how someone can just touch another’s arm so innocently, so tenderly, and awaken such animalistic instincts in another.

He sees the guy at the bar, shamelessly smiling at you, at one point even laughing. Din’s heart stills, his breaths barely there. He watches the guy touch your hand, hold it for a few seconds longer than he has to, and Din finds his fist curled into a fit of rage. He does and says nothing. What could he say or do? Besides, he has no right to intervene. You aren't his to be had, and he isn't anything more but another client.

“Is everything okay?”

Din is taken aback by the fact that you take a seat right in front of him. You seem to be able to read him easily, and that thought alone is as surprising as it is scary.

“Yes,” Din almost groans.

“Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re about to rip your own gloves.”

He glances down at his hands, both curled into fists so tight he fails to acknowledge that they feel bothersome. He instantly relaxes them, taking a deep breath as you smile reassuringly at him.

“Long day,” he retorts, trying to appear as careless as possible.

Then, the unthinkable happens. You reach and touch his hand, stroking the glove gently, with the same kind and understanding smile on your face.

You touched his hand. It burned his skin through the fabric, his cheeks turning crimson under the weight of flattery and desire.

What is happening to me? Din can't help but ask himself.

“If you need some company, a conversation or… anything, really… you know where to find me.”

As you say so, you stroke his hand one last time and return behind the bar, glancing at him on occasion. Din gulps, struggling to manage for the rest of the day. Had his jealousy been that obvious that you had to come over to soothe him?

No, it couldn’t have been that.

He likes to think of himself as a smart man. Not possessing a superior intellect, but definitely smart, quick to come up with solutions when needed, even impulsively so.

And so he knows that the basis of this attraction he carries for you is nothing but physical. No other explanation for it. It’s pure biology; he can’t really help the way his body sweats and aches for you, let alone the way he just stiffened when his eyes met yours and when you touched him. He felt confined in his own armor, in his own pants, like he couldn’t breathe.

And you only just touched his hand.

It’s simple biology. Action and reaction; excessive nervousness, a celibacy record of twenty four years and counting, internal restlessness and a horrid fear of what the future might look like should he succumb to—whatever this is. He grows more and more fearful of the day he’ll finally snap and his body will take the reins of his feelings and needs, but the precarious situation actually thrills him, and he can’t explain himself. Not anymore.

Din knows he’s a moral man—or so he tries to be—but the demon inside, acting on biological, needy grounds, tempted and proved him the opposite with each moment he spent in your presence. You’ve barely lived, much like him, and yet there lives a refined sensuality and confidence about you, as well as a perplexing innocence inside of you.

He’s used to a different type of feminine behavior, and everything about you thoroughly confuses and excites him.

As the heat thrives in Nevarro, Din feels like he’s falling apart with each day.

No other woman has ever troubled him this much. He’s never been disrupted from his job by anyone, much less a woman. The sensual suffering you unknowingly put him through is beginning to feel like a curse, and this weather isn’t helping either.

He thinks about you when he’s chasing down his targets. He thinks about you when he carbon-freezes them. He thinks about you when he can’t sleep, then he gets so hard it actually feels like he’s being strangled. He thinks about you when he washes the day’s exhaustion off, and his hand seems to act of its own accord and curls itself around his erection, mindlessly stroking in hopes of some release. He seldom feels his own flesh in times like these; if he would’ve cut himself right now, he wouldn’t feel a fucking thing. And yet, what he does feel are his own nerves like a fishnet of beskar, weighing heavily upon him. He’s practically trembling as he rushes to finish himself in the shower, his ragged breath like molten lava. Even after he spills his seed, ashamed of such specific thoughts, you do not leave his mind.

Is it the mystery of your body, the curiosity that comes attached whenever you’re nearby?

He doesn’t know, and he certainly doesn’t care.

After his parents’ demise, Din was raised in a tough environment, one meant for a warrior. And that’s what he became: a hunter of beskar, cold and calculated, sharp. Yet there you are in that cantina, drawing him into a complicated, decisively erotic and unpredictable game. A lingering gaze from either of you is a code that must be deciphered; a touch of the hands is an act of bravery and a betrayal of one’s ways of thinking.

What of the Creed? What of everything I sworn myself too? I can’t fall in this trap, I can’t abandon my family.

But if it’s wrong, why does he ache for you with his whole being?

When you intentionally touched his leg one time as he sat at a table with Karga, it meant a big promise to him, an invitation. The promise was later fortified by a tea that you made especially for him to help with his restlessness.

And it fucking worked.

Din slept the best he had in months, thinking of you as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The next day, he brought you flowers as a thank you, but most importantly, as a little gesture to mean “I accept your invitation”. You smiled and thanked him.

Plenty of the customers around noticed you received flattery from the Mandalorian and plenty teased you about it, but you didn’t care. You felt like he could trust you, and being offered the trust of such a skilled warrior was more flattering than anything else.

Of course, there was the issue of attraction. There was no denying that over the months you had developed a rather carnal desire for the covered man. His modulated voice was softer when he spoke to you, almost shy; his movements, usually harsh and brutal, were tender and careful, hesitant as if he were afraid to not break you—or perhaps he was afraid of breaking himself. You began to fear that the physical attraction was too powerful to be contained and that one day you’ll snap, revealing or doing something that’ll put him off.

That was the last thing that you wanted. And, unbeknownst to you, it was the last thing Din wanted, too.

The situation is twisted, to put it mildly; Din, more simplistic in his all-too-new desires, lets himself be tempted by the potential of an affair that could end in tragedy. He’s become obsessed by myths, tearing them down, and new sensations. The observations he makes about body language in particular and the suggestion of foreign sensuality, with its heavy moments of infatuation, are stronger.

The erotic myth that Din finds himself drawn to is unfolding in the most unusual situations: when you smile at him during a busy day in the cantina, when you welcome him after a mission, when he accidentally touches your arm or your leg and his whole body trembles with fear and excitement alike. The now love he carries for you awakens raw, animalistic feelings inside of him, and the inevitable sin happens one evening when he seeks you.

The cantina is empty by this hour, except for one drunken Mythrol in a chair somewhere in the back. Although Din’s pulse is through the roof and he hears his own thrumming in his ears, burning auburn at this point, he inches closer to you.

“Mando, hi,” you smile, pleasantly surprised to see him. “What can I get ya?”

He hesitates, gulping. The heat wave hasn’t retreated from Nevarro, and it does not help with the way his body sweats right now.

“Spotchka. Please,” he clears his throat, insecure.

He’s never had the beverage before, but it’s the one thing that crossed his mind. Because the question that unveils itself at the back of his mind as he approaches the bar is… what is he doing here tonight? Just for the drink? He can’t drink with anyone around. So what the hell is his plan, why is he here with limp legs, barely able to breathe—

“Here we are,” you say, pouring the blue liquid in a glass and putting it in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“So what brings you here tonight?”

Gloved hand curled around the glass, Din falls prey to a deep silence. What can he tell you? He doesn’t know himself.

“Uh—“

“Are you okay?”

“How can you tell if there’s something—“

“Well, for one thing, I know Mandalorians don’t eat or drink in front of others, even if I can turn around and that guy in the back is drunk under the table. And you do seem a bit nervous.”

Kriffing hell, how are you so damn good at reading him? How can you even be so understanding and kind?

Would you be so understanding if he’d told you he can’t stop thinking about you? That he thinks about you even when he shouldn’t?

“Tell you what,” you lean over the counter and get so close to his visor he could pass out. “I have to close up soon anyway. How about I take this”, you smile and take the whole bottle of spotchka, “and we go somewhere more private?”

“Are you—is that okay? Closing early, I mean.”

You sneak a look back to notice the Mythrol still under the table and refrain yourself from giggling. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I might need some help cleaning around here.”

Din carries the Mythrol out the cantina all the way till he passes out somewhere on the street, near the garbage cans. Neither you nor Din care enough to keep tabs on him, and honestly, Din is far too lost in your scent to pick up on anything else around him.

“Where we going?” he asks eventually.

“My place.”

Din stops, gulping and staring at you in awe. He knows what this means, the implications and everything else, and suddenly he’s fearful.

Fearful for not being enough for you and not living up to whatever expectations you may have.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you immediately apologize, noticing his stiff stance. “I didn’t mean—I just thought you’d like it better if you were in a more intimate setting. I mean not intimate, but—not a public space, you know?”

“Yes.”

“You just seem like the type of guy who likes to be mostly by himself, so if that’s okay with you—“

“It’s—fine.”

Suddenly his mind is plagued by the possibilities: are you nervous too because of him? Could that even be possible? No, how could it? He’s a Mandalorian, sworn to the Creed and a lifetime of solitude. He never lost his head like this—or at all, really.

How could you foster any sort of interest in him when you barely know him? When you haven’t even seen him?

But he finds himself following you blindly, his heart’s desire and curiosity exceeding his brain’s rationality. Although he knows that you won’t hurt him in any way—he supposed infatuation does that to someone’s logic—he cannot help the nervousness that seeps through its every pore. The surrounding environment slowly fades with each step he takes in proximity to your place, and suddenly, all Din is capable of focusing on is you.

You’re all he sees, all he’s curious about, and all he wants. Though not versed in the ways of relationships and feelings and such, he does know what he feels. He knows that he aches for you, deeply, and—perhaps delusion is part of the deal because he’s foolish enough to think that maybe you might be interested in him as well.

For why else would you invite him to your private quarters?

“Here we are,” you announce with a sweet smile.

Din suddenly realizes that he is finally in your private quarters. He glances around at the neat space, very much in tone with you. He’s nervous still, but much more content to be in such a space.

“If you feel like having a drink, I can give you some privacy.”

Din feels struck by your politeness; more so by you respecting boundaries he hasn’t even set.

“I know Mandalorians don’t show their faces in front of—strangers,” you smile.

“You do?”

“Yeah. My father was a Mandalorian.”

Underneath the helmet, Din raises his brows, almost shook at the realization.

“He was?”

“Yes. He fought in the war, defending Mandalore. And… he passed away.”

“This is the Way.”

Din nods somberly, hoping you understand. And you do. Of course you do.

But this explains why you’ve been so understanding and respectful. And it explains why you’ve been gravitating around him. Perhaps Din’s presence was a faint reminder of that former Mandalorian in your life.

“Anyway, I uh—I’ll leave you to your drink if—“

“Stay. Please.”

His please sounds throated and shaky, and it blindsides you. You figured he was nervous, maybe because he’s unaccustomed to being alone with someone, and you didn’t want to scare him off.

You pour spotchka for the two of you, polite enough to look away whenever Din lifts his helmet in the slightest to take a sip. The liquid is intense, going down to his stomach like a fire rapidly spreading throughout his whole body.

Once he takes the first few sips—and albeit their small quantity, they still relax him and make him feel more at ease and slightly sweaty—Din asks about your father and your past. You share gladly, openly, as if you are talking to an old friend. And so he finds out about your childhood and about you, soaking up the knowledge like a sponge.

In return, he tells you about him and his past, how he came to be the warrior standing now before you, and to say you are mesmerized is an understatement.

You are beyond touched by his life story, his perseverance and his bravery to carry on and find himself a new purpose even after suffering the loss of his parents. You could relate to that as well; losing your father in the Great Purge when you were very young could’ve easily let you to become a train wreck, but instead you were determined to provide for yourself and your mother. She took it the hardest, and while she always made sure you had everything you needed and was enough mother and father for you, you knew that she missed him terribly all the time.

As the stories come to an end, Din finds himself craving again. Now that he’s getting to know you, his craving only surges, and, like never before, he feels that his armor is constricting him.

“Are you okay?” you ask after a while.

He swallows harshly, his throat dry whereas his mouth was watering with each second he spends looking at you. What an odd phenomenon, he thinks.

“Why?” he foolishly asks.

“You just seem to be very nervous.”

“I—am. You make me nervous.”

You raise your brows, visibly surprised at the confession. Though if you have to admit to yourself, you’re quite nervous too; your heart’s thrumming in your ears, beating so fast inside your chest you can feel it.

“I do?” you ask just as foolishly.

Din nods. “Why? I’m just—me.”

He can’t even begin to tell you just how wonderful you seem to him. Frankly, he doubts he has the words for it anyway.

You think the same about him. There’s an aura of mystery surrounding him, a lot of things you still don’t know about him, and yet you feel as if you’ve known him for months, if not years. And, though it may seem crazy, the more you stare at him, the more you can imagine the face of the man behind the armor. You can imagine his eyes, kind and warm, plush lips, perhaps some facial hair making him distinguishable.

And suddenly heat spreads throughout your whole body, settling dangerously low in your belly and between your legs.

You want to ask what happens now; you drank, you shared stories, and now all you’re left with is a yearning that doesn’t seem to subside. Din doesn’t know how to continue the conversation, either. He’s too struck by you, too smitten to verbalize his feelings, which are those of desire, he’s concluded.

But how to say this aloud? “I want you”? That just sounds crass. Instead, he coos your name, gulping afterwards, and you hold your breath, waiting.

“What is it?” you ask.

“You make me nervous.”

“So you’ve said.”

“You make me nervous because… I want you.”

Oh, dank farrik. He should not have said that. He should not have said it like that—or at all, really.

“I meant—I want… to be with you. No, I—“

Then he hears you giggle, and his heart flutters in his chest. Laughter is a good sign, right? That he didn’t yet make a complete fool of himself? He can only hope.

“That’s okay,” you smile at him. “I have to admit, I… I want to be with you too.”

If he was unsure whether he was sweating before, Din is now convinced he’s sweating buckets underneath the armor and the tunic.

“You—you do?” he asks, completely dumbfounded.

“Yes. Is that bad?”

Maybe it should be, he thinks. Maybe it should because he’s a Mandalorian and he has taken the Creed and he is loyal to his family and his beliefs, but… why does it feel so good to stand here before you, so vulnerable?

“No,” he replies.

You stand up, extending your hand to him, and Din gulps again as his gloved hand takes yours into his. He struggles to regulate his breaths while you guide him to what he can assume is your bedroom, but fails to do so. Anticipation is nearly asphyxiating him, and he’s so hard by this point it’s a miracle you didn’t somehow notice it.

Or you did and were too polite to mention it.

Either way, once he’s in your bedroom, Din stills, and so do you.

“Have you done this before?” you ask, and boy is he grateful for your consideration. Since you’ve had a Mandalorian father, he can only assume you know some things about the culture that make you more attentive to details. “Have you ever been with someone?”

“I have not.”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

All the blood flow is basically in his pants so he can’t think of a decent thing to say.

“I do want to,” he replies.

“Okay, then we take things slow, and… if there’s anything you feel uncomfortable with, we stop. Does that sound good?”

“Yes.”

You turn off the main light, allowing only some lights from the street to shine in, thus granting the minimum visualization, for which Din is beyond thankful.

“Is it okay if I—take this off?”

He assumes you mean the armor, and he agrees with a shaky yes. You move closer to him, removing his armor bit by bit, all while his heart’s about to burst out of his chest and his pants on the verge of explosion. You don’t reach for the helmet; you leave that up to him. Once the armor is removed, Din is standing in his tunic, and he takes it upon himself to remove the clothing, mostly because he’d be embarrassed if you were to discover how hard he is right now.

Though he supposes you will find out soon enough.

Since it’s dark enough to not actually see anything but forms, Din feels comfortable enough to remove the helmet. You hear the faint click and you gasp.

“You took off the helmet?” you ask.

“Yes.”

Gods, his voice sounds so rich and smooth even without the modulator.

“I thought you’re not supposed to.”

He doesn’t reply; yes, he’s not supposed to, but technically, you can’t see him, so there is no danger. Then it hits him that you’re probably naked by now, too, and his nervousness returns.

“Alright then,” you say, though your voice is shaky with emotion too. “Is it okay if I kiss you? To… you know, get us started?”

“Yes.”

He couldn’t have answered that fast enough. You can easily deduce that this is his first time kissing someone too, so you make a mental note to be extra tender.

“Can I touch your face?”

“Y-Yes.”

He feels your warm breath on his lips and he shudders. Then you cup his cheeks, grazing them gently and pulling him in. You can tell he’s new at this, as well as rigid, so you kiss him sweetly, slowly, patient and eager for his reaction.

Reaction which does not fail to arise.

Din grows needier within seconds; he’s roaming his hands over the small of your back, then to your shoulders and hair, opening his mouth in order to explore more of yours. You gladly reciprocate, but do so just as tenderly, as if showing him the way around your mouth. The thing you didn’t realize about Din, he’s a fast learner. He rapidly learns how you like to be kissed, thus learning how he likes it, too, and he lets himself go. He lets himself get lost in the moment, in your sweet scent and taste, and by Gods, it is heavenly.

When you break the kiss, he’s almost sad. But then you say something that makes his heart jump right into his throat.

“Lay on the bed, and let me take care of you.”

The saccharine request has him weak—and questioning things he doesn’t dare question aloud. Take care of him how?

Soon he finds out; the moment you see his rather broad shape lounging on the bed, you move atop of him, kissing a hot trail from his cheeks to his jaw, neck, chest, belly…

Then Din gasps.

You reach his neediest part and he twitches just as you wrap your arm around his cock, the strokes slow and steady.

“Is this okay?” you check with him. “Does it feel good?”

“Mhm—yes—“

Unbeknownst to him, you smile, continuing to stroke him. You listen in to his grunts, and you can only think of the sounds he’d make once you’d take him in your mouth. Or the sounds he’d make being inside you.

Dank fucking farrik, you’re growing wetter as your imagination is running wilder. With your hand at the base of his cock, you take the rest of him in your mouth.

“F-Fuck—“Din moans brokenly, his breaths shallow and rapid. “Fuck, you’re s-so—so good—“

You hum in appreciation, and the vibration sends tingles down his spine. He’s not sure he’s going to keep going like this. His whole body burns and aches and he doesn’t want to come like this, not when you have him in your mouth. It feels… inappropriate. Like you deserve better than something purely filthy.

“Wait, stop,” he wails.

Instantly your eyes go to where his face would be, taking him out of your mouth and ceasing your strokes. Though still hard, Din no longer feels the need to come—at least the need isn’t that urgent.

“Did I hurt you somehow?” you ask. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, it’s—I didn’t want to come yet.”

“Why not?”

Maybe it’s more than just lust. How can he explain how enamored he is with your whole image, how drunk he is on your presence, and that he thinks you deserve only the kindest and best things in this life and him coming down your throat feels cheap?

“I want to feel you,” he mutters. “Can I?”

Breathless, you whisper a desperate yes and make your way to his face, kissing him again. His lips are soft and plush, like you’ve imagined, but if you move too much you fear he’d hear how shamefully wet you are.

The kiss, though innocent in the beginning, turns rather sloppy, betraying both your eagerness. Din moves so that he’s on top of you, one of his hands boldly parting your thighs to make room for him. He brushes against your folds, almost grunting upon feeling the slick heat. The mere idea that you want him this much and that your body is so responsive to his hesitant, clumsy touches is mind-boggling to him.

“Can I go inside you?” he asks.

You feels his shallow breaths on your face and you can’t believe how overstimulated you are just from light touching and undressing.

But you know that for a Mandalorian, the undressing part at least was erotic in and of itself. What follows is merely an enhancement of that longing, one that Din feels more than lucky to get to share it with someone like you.

“Yes,” you respond.

Din grunts as he wraps his hand around his cock, painful to the touch. He fails to see you sneak a hand in between your legs and rub your clit while you wait. The anticipation is overwhelming you too, and it’s so surprising to want someone you barely know so damn much.

But here you are, wet as you could possibly be, legs spread for him, waiting.

“Remember, if you want to stop—“

“I don’t want to stop.”

Almost out of breath, everything around Din fades once he pushes the head of his cock past your lips. You gasp and moan as he keeps pushing in, making you feel every inch of him. The sting is a bit painful, on account of his size and girth, but you welcome it gladly. Once he’s fully sheathed inside you, Din exhales. You’re warm and tight around him, and it’s making him dizzy.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Gods, how can you be so considerate even when you’re just as deprived of proper touch as he is?

“You just feel… so tight and warm,” he replies. His voice sounds like it doesn’t even belong to him. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Everyone’s nervous and clumsy during their first time. I’m thankful you wanted to share this with me.”

“I can’t imagine this with anyone else.”

It’s then that you find the strength to cup his cheeks and kiss him again, which prompts Din in return to move at last. You groan into his mouth when you feel his languid thrusts inside, both of you starved. Little by little, Din builds a pace, one that works for both you and him. He’s in awe at the sounds you make, the way your body feels around him and even enamored by the squelching sounds emerging in between your legs where your bodies are joined together. Everything about you is inebriating.

In this moment, when everything feels so much more heightened, he knows he’d do anything for you. Anything you want, he’ll give you.

Despite his prior nervousness and lack of experience, just like with the kiss, Din learns fast. He quickly learns which angle feels good for you and which motion drives the sultriest moan from your side, and sticks to that. His thrusts are tender, much like him, and frankly, it surprises you to notice the imbalance between the fierce Mandalorian you’ve seen in the cantina and the man behind the armor, naked above and stealing moans and sloppy kisses from you. He stretches you wide with each thrust, growing a bit too eager and thus speeding up—which you do not mind one bit. It’s the ideal combination of tender and rough, getting you just where you need to be.

He kisses you as he buries himself inside you to the hilt, making you feel every inch of him. His head falls in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, closely listening to the sounds you make for and because of him. One hand sneaks at the back of his head, caressing his hair as sweat begins to prickle your skin—and his too, it seems.

“You’re so good,” you whisper to him. “You’re doing—so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm—so good for me—that’s it.”

You wish you’d know his name so you can call it out when you come, but you don’t think to ask of that right now. Not when you’re so full of him you could scream throughout the galaxy.

So instead, you keep muttering sweet nothings to him, encouragements to get him going and build his pleasure further. You simply have the feeling that this is a man who needs the praise, someone who thrives on validation though he may not admit to it. so you keep doing that, for both your pleasure, and then you start to feel it: the familiar burn in your lower belly that’s threatening to explode.

And Din feels it, too.

“I’m gonna come,” he warns, sucking in a sharp breath. “Shit, I’m—where?”

“What?”

“Tell me—where to come.”

You peck his lips. “Anywhere you want.”

You don’t have the patience or the time to tell him that you’re safe and clean, and it doesn’t really matter right now. This moment is far too precious and important to not enjoy it to its fullest.

Din pulls out, stroking himself to completion over your folds and lower belly in thick, hot spurts. You follow suit and you rub your clit fast, reaching your own orgasm. You close your eyes, relishing into the blissful sensation. You can still hear Din catching his breath, so again you pull him down to your face to kiss him. Oddly enough, that seems to steady him.

“Was that good?” he asks shyly afterwards, and Gods, you’re just so enamored with him you could cry.

Instead, you chuckle lightly as he falls to your side. “It was wonderful.”

You feel him shifting towards you, his breath over your face. “If you’ll have me… I’m yours.”

Though he can’t see you, you smile so wide you fear you might overstretch your whole face.

“There’s no ‘if’,” you whisper him reassuringly. “I do want you. But I do hope you know this means I’m yours, too.”

Din smiles, nodding in the darkness. He smiles for the first time in a long time. There’s a calm happiness about him, yet a violent one at the same time. A tumultuous happiness which his heart cannot possibly resist. He’s in this euphoric state, having discovered the pleasures of the flesh, as well as those of the heart; he grazes your arm as you retreat at his chest, and in this moment, there is no fear.

tags: @groguspawbeans

[thewriterowl]

In an AU with imperial twins, how many times do you think they disguise themselves to go out and cause chaos or Luke going to find certain bounty hunter and Leia probably starting brawls in every cantina just for fun? And actually manage to do so for a while without Vader noticing.

Both would be a little (very) spoiled but Leia would be very stubborn and headstrong and independent who is just looking to do stuff to stick it to the Imperial politicians, consequences be damned.

Luke is a bit more co-dependent and needs to stick close to his twin, consequences also be damned (but he is a bit of a romantic and would like some adventure).

So, there would be SO many shenanigans but they are hand-trained by Vader and very good at moving around without getting caught. Vader also thinks that Luke's sweetness, eager to please, and daddy's boy behavior keeps Leia at bay...when both can be pretty rebellious. So, he doesn't even consider it for a good long while either.

And then, yep, Leia gets holo-filmed beating the crap out of an entire cantina with Luke in the background, caged in a very flirty way by a Mandalorian up against a wall, playing with his hair in an equally flirty way...and the palace may need a new roof because he blows a gasket

[ofthecaravel]

Brandy

Chapter One

Summary: A port on a western bay serves a hundred ships a day, and the lonely sailors flock to the Caravel Cantina, run by the Kiszka brothers (minus one). But when their brother returns with a handsome sailor in tow, the youngest Kiszka brother finds his perspective about his family and himself turned upside down.

Tags: Brotherly shenanigans as always, mentions of parental death, a little squabbling, flirting, minor angst

Words: Lil under 10k (whoops)

A/N: I started this literally a year ago. God help me. Inspired by Brandy by Looking Glass and Sam and Danny being goofuses. I really hope y'all like this because there is so much more to post 😭

~~~

As always, the Kiszka brothers had gotten to work a little earlier than they needed to.

The elder of them, Joshua, had always believed that a clean bar would result in an easygoing night, so they often found themselves slipping in through the back door around 5pm on nights they didn't even open and staying until 8pm to mop the floors and replace anything that had been tarnished in nights previous. Josh and his spritely spirit found it invigorating to fiddle with such things as measuring the level of alcohol in their assortment of kegs and casks, or the arrangement of glasses and the security of the coat hooks. But Sam, the youngest of his siblings and the only other one who tended to the family business on a regular basis, usually found himself walking away from all of the menial chores Josh assigned him. He was annoyed enough that he'd had to start full time as their one and only waiter since their brother Jake had left the family business to his twin and little brother to chase his dream of sailing the high seas three years ago. Since then, Josh and Sam had struggled to manage the popular bar all on their own, stretch their very small budget out between the business and themselves, and not murder each other in the process. Sam thought he deserved a little break before work, and the seemingly pointless tasks that Josh insisted he do to help out were not exactly morale boosters. He was coming up on a year of Josh's least favorite pre-shift ritual of his, which included leaning his head against the window tucked into the corner that faced true north and staring in unblinking, unmoving silence. 

It was a clear, early June evening when from his post wiping down the keg spigots, Josh noticed Sam drifting out of the corner of his eye. He sighed when he realized where his younger brother now stood.

"Will you get away from the window? I just cleaned it and you're gonna fog it up again with all your longing sighs."

Sam tossed a sour look over his shoulder at his brother, who stood behind the bar with a rag slung over his shoulder and a judgmental look on his face. Josh pulled the rag down and across the already gleaming wood in front of him and shook his head in near pity, his hand working anxious circles on the surface as it had done every night for nearly 7 years now. 

"I'm not fogging it up," Sam argued. "What, I'm not allowed to look out the window of my own bar?"

"Not if you're going to get your fish breath all over my nice, clean glass," Josh shot back with a barely contained smile, looking down amusedly while Sam scoffed.

He rolled his eyes all the way around to look back out the window, his keen eyes trained on the bustle of the harbor town coming alive as the sun slowly sank deeper into the twilight sky. Lamps were starting to blink awake in the windows of the weathered brick buildings surrounding their little bar, casting their amber light on the cobblestone that the fishmongers tread on with their stained aprons still tightly tied as they headed homeward bound. Sam sported a similar apron that he kept hiked up flatteringly around his waist, worn begrudgingly and scattered with its own fair share of stains and stories. But unlike the fishmongers that passed him by without so much as a glance, he was in for the night,  his shift starting when the first patron inevitably burst in with a thirst for comradery and the extra strong spirits and liqueurs that Sam and his brothers distilled themselves. 

They all specialized in their own kinds, and as their regulars eventually went on to point out, they all suited their specialties very nicely. Josh with his appropriately rosy cheeks and boisterous, people pleasing nature was a natural when it came to bold, sweet wines. Jake had a knack for whipping up a whiskey with a sharp bite and smooth burn, but just like the man himself, those bottles were usually gone from the bar and ran out fast when they were. But Sam was the only one with the patience and palate to tend to the bar's most sought after delicacy: casks of sweet brandy that he laid down in crystal glasses bought off a merchant ship with his private stash of tips. The men that frequented the bar the most had long since stopped referring to him by name, simply raising their hands to catch his eye as he made his rounds and calling out "Brandy!".

Much to his chagrin, his name slowly started to get left at home, and he was soon known solely as "Brandy" to the bar goers of The Caravel Cantina. Only Josh called him Sam at work, knowing it was a surefire way to get his attention as he tended to the mobs of ever parched, low lidded men. Josh called it then, recognizing the mournful look his little brother was casting towards the docks that lay just out of sight of the northern window that his head was lolled against. Sam startled again and fully turned away, pressing his hand briefly to his forehead to feel how his skin had cooled against the pane.

"What?" Sam asked in annoyance, already feeling his ears perk as he thought about the water and its many ships that now lay at his back. As Josh shook his head at him again, he absently wondered if he would be able to recognize the ship he was waiting for by the creak of its sails or how its bow sliced into the dark seawater that pooled around their port. "You wanted something?"

"I want you to get away from my goddamn window and do your job, you hooligan," Josh scolded lightheartedly, tossing his rag with force into Sam's slight chest, who caught it with an audible "oof".  

"Nobody's even here yet," Sam pointed out, gesturing dramatically with the cloth out at the warmly lit yet definitely empty sea of cramped tables and chairs with its lone jukebox pressed against the wall. 

"Sam," Josh said again, his voice softer this time. He let out an even softer sigh and cocked his head at his brother, giving him a small smile. "They're not coming tonight. You got to give it up, bud."

Sam hesitated, slightly stunned that Josh had been able to read his mind so easily, but after a lifetime of close quarters and shared secrets, he could only be so surprised. 

"Jake said they'd be back in the summertime," Sam said carefully, echoing his brother's words of encouragement from the year prior. "The fishermen are starting to bring in albacore and those big, pink shrimps and you know damn well those are only in season when the weather has turned. It is officially summer, thank you very much."

"Hell, you think sailors measure the seasons by the fuckin' fish?" Josh barked out a condescending laugh. "They're not out there to pick salt off of shrimp and clams. You think Jake captains that hunk of junk across the Atlantic to get the ol' pole out and let it fly?"

Sam's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he furrowed his dark brow with a frown, casting his eyes down as he wrung the filthy bar rag between his lithe hands. 

"Jake knows," Sam muttered. "And he promised."

"Because his promises are so reliable," Josh said sarcastically, a genuine hint of bitterness slipping out as he started stacking glasses aggressively. "Something tells me it's not him who made you that promise, Sammy."

"The sun is staying up for longer, too," Sam pointed out, skillfully ignoring Josh's accusation. "He'll notice that the daylight is blazing beautifully on their masts for an hour longer or whatever pretentious garbage sentiment he writes in his journal. Or do they not have the sun out on the sea, wise guy?"

"Sam."

Sam finally met Josh's gaze and felt a guilty curl in his stomach from the glint in his brother's tired, brown eyes.

"Why don't you have a drink and remember how sweet the fruit of your patience can be, hm?" 

"Yeah," Sam replied simply, feeling a slight shame that he was only adding to ever growing list of Josh's stressors. "Okay. Might help with the rush tonight."

"Rush?" Josh looked lost for a moment before he gripped the glass in his hand even tighter and spun to look at the bar's beloved Mermaid of the Month calendar. "It's Saturday? I thought it was a fucking Friday, fuck!"

"Oh, and Fridays are any better for us?" Sam laughed, dipping behind the bar with his frazzled brother to grab a glass and pouring himself a shallow drink of golden brandy from its coveted bottle. 

Outside, Sam could already hear laughter carrying from down the street that would soon arrive as a pack of rowdy men ready to unwind after a long day by the docks. They surely wouldn't be the last group to swarm their painfully understaffed yet ultimately well loved cantina, and as Sam was throwing back the last of his drink and watching the panic sizzle off of Josh's abundance of curls, the door slammed open and the space filled with thundering voices and cackles.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Josh greeted jovially, his visible anxiety peeling off of him in an instant as men started to take seats at the bar and drag tables together. "What can I do you for?"

"I sure could use a tall, sweet drink of brandy," one of the grizzled regulars purred, giving a sharp toothed grin to Sam, who had already grabbed his tray and slipped from behind the bar and out into the fray. Josh bristled at the man's comment as he skillfully poured him up a glass and watched his brother sidle up to a throng of butchers, who were giving him a look they usually saved for their finest cuts of meat. Josh knew what the men in the bar thought about his brother's feminine features and hospitable grace. He heard what they said about his body and long hair as he slinked through crowds and brushed hands with eager patrons, flashing his wide smile and playing into their little jokes. Of course Sam knew too, and it's not like The Caravel was the kind of place that would let anything like that go by without getting a boot to the ass, but Josh couldn't help but feel protective of him nonetheless. 

"Cool it, Caldwell," Josh said with a slight bite in his gravelly voice as he set down the drink in front of the sharp toothed man. "We wouldn't want the missus knowing what you say about my brother after a few of those tall and sweets, now would we?"

"You're no fun, Kiszka," Caldwell mumbled into his drink, his mustache dipping into the liquor as his grubby pals quickly roped him into a conversation and left Josh to his pouring and coin collecting. 

Across the bar, the jukebox blared to life, and Sam felt a wave of relief wash over him at the sound. The jukebox's chronically high volume meant he had an excuse not to hear everybody's little comments to and about him as he dutifully dished out spilling glasses and salty scoops of peanuts. However, as the song stretched out beyond the first 30 seconds of instrumental, the wave inside Sam came crashing down as he recognized the song's bright lyrics and the vocals they danced on. He swallowed an emotion he'd been biting back since he'd first felt the temperature begin to rise, and as he placed a ring of shots on his metal tray with shaking hands that made the metal and glass clatter in time to the beat, Sam relived a burst of last summer for what felt like the hundredth time.  

-

One Year Earlier

-

Against his will, Sundays had become the designated day for Josh and Sam to come to the bar during the daytime and work on any repairs that couldn't be done in their little interludes before regular nights. The Caravel was closed on Sundays, and despite Sam's consistent protests that that logic should also be applied to its employees, Josh insisted that it was a great opportunity to fix it up for the upcoming week. 

Despite the fact that he and Josh hadn't got home until 3am, Sam woke up with the sun that Sunday. As he lay in bed and focused only on the feel of the linen sheets on his bare skin and the distant whistle of the wind outside, he tried to think back on the last time he had gotten a full night's sleep. 

He figured it had to be around the time that he'd last seen Jake, right before he had left to join a crew on a merchant ship that he made seem a lot cooler than it probably actually was.

"The captain says we're going to sail to all kinds of places," Jake had told him, perched on the end of Sam's bed with a map so wide it sprawled across their knees and grazed the edge of his pillow. "Not just Europe, but Africa, too. Maybe even Asia."

"I don't even understand what you'll be doing," Sam had mumbled darkly, bitterly watching Jake's fingers trace over imaginary waves in the yellowed sea on the paper, charting routes he was yet to go on. Without them. 

"We'll be transporting cargo to ports all across the world," Jake had explained proudly, not understanding the disdain that Sam felt towards his sudden career change. "Not every harbor is as drab as this one. There are really wonderful ones, and I want to see them all."

"It isn't that drab here," Sam had argued weakly, even though he wholeheartedly agreed that their town was the poster child for sad, salty, seasick ports. "Just work on the docks that sail to Canada and Greenland if you want to get on a ship so bad. You could be home for Christmas if you wanted."

There was a moment of silence when Sam leaned back against the wall sullenly, crossing his arms and glaring at Jake. Jake couldn't look him in the eye, instead choosing to slowly roll the map up and secure it with a little slip of ribbon as Sam huffed and bit back any tears that threatened to rise to the surface. The whole house was quiet in that moment, every room empty of noise and joy, Josh having long grown silent since Jake had broke the news over dinner and caused Josh to immediately retreat to his room with a slam of the door. The air had grown thick and cloudy since the words had left Jake's mouth, and as he watched his lanky little brother suddenly shrink very small on the bed he'd slept on since he was a child, Jake fully understood just what his absence was going to do to his family. 

"I need to do this, Sammy," Jake had pleaded with his brother, scooting closer to Sam on the bed and putting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "I'll be back before you even care that I'm gone."

"I care now," Sam had whispered, shrugging away from Jake's touch and turning away.

It had been the truth. And it was still the truth two years later, after months of letters that came few and far between, and random parcels that came in the mail containing garments made of soft, dyed fabric that Josh snuck into every outfit and hair oils that had made Sam's awkward, choppy bob grow into glossy, walnut waves that he wove into plaits and loose buns to keep out of his face at work. These little gifts he sent from his travels were nice to have around, but they couldn't make up for Jake's substantial absence in their lives. As he got out of bed and dressed in the hazy peach light streaming through his thin curtains, Sam looked at the map hung crookedly on his wall and wondered where Jake's ship was docked now. 

"Jake wouldn't drag me to the bar on a fucking Sunday," Sam murmured to himself in his mirror as he pulled a comb through his hair and twisted it into a loose, wavy ponytail that swung nearly to his lower back. Just a moment too late, he heard his brother's footsteps out in the hall, and hoped in vain he didn't hear what he had said so close to his only partially closed door. 

"Yes, he would!" Josh called from right outside the door as he passed by, knocking on it with an enthusiasm that seemed completely unwarranted for the time of day. "Lighten up, Sammy, we only have a few chairs to fix. It'll be nice and easy for you, Mister Cranky."

"You always say that!" Sam called back, smacking the door and hearing Josh's donkey bray of a laugh move into their small kitchen, followed by the familiar clatter of the kettle and the other sounds that Josh put into motion to bring the house back to life for the coming day. 

Sam looked back at himself in the mirror, tugging on the lavender skin under his drooping lower lashes and pale waterline, taking only a second to dwell on any thoughts outside of getting through the day before he braced himself and headed out the door. 

As predicted, a few chairs to be fixed turned into a couple of barstools that needed tightening, a window pane that needed to be replaced, a floorboard that needed to be hammered back into place, glass shards that somehow went unnoticed from a minor brawl two nights prior needing to be swept up, and Sam being sent on an errand to find a vendor open on Sundays selling oranges. By the time Josh called it quits for the day, the sun was already starting to start its journey back down under the horizon line, much to Sam's dismay. He could barely keep his temper under wraps as Josh circled the bar one last time, letting his honey brown gaze rest a moment longer than necessary on every square inch of the place.

"This is insane, Josh, let's go," Sam hissed, trying not to claw into the doorframe as he attempted not to bolt. "There is absolutely no need for this level of astuteness unless you're expecting the goddamn Queen of England to pop by for a visit."

"You never know when a special guest might grace us," Josh said mysteriously, wiggling his eyebrows while he locked up the maintenance closet.

"Nobody even comes on Monday nights," Sam continued to whine. "You're prepping for three drunks and some mice." 

"Maybe I'm just trying to set an example for the level of care this place deserves," Josh explained in his even, oh-so-wise tone that Sam hated. "This place will be yours someday, you know."

"Yes, I know, and your ghost will still find a way to micro manage it."

"I'll be great for business," Josh grinned, finally turning down the lamp and clicking the key into place. "Sailors love a ghost story."

"It was a dark and stormy night when the young master Kiszka broke free of his cruel, domineering eldest brother and slayed him in his sleep," Sam crooned in a spooky voice as he took the lead down the street back to their little house. 

"You'd never get the chance," Josh scoffed.

Sam continued on with his dramatic tale of how his brother's ghost went on to curse his bar for all eternity and sent him spiraling into madness, with Josh contributing his own details where he saw fit as he trailed him. Right before it went out of sight, Sam cast a look back at the bar, sitting squat and dark against the lilac sky, wondering if what made him detest it so much might be the same thing that made Josh fuss over it so much.

-

The following night, Sam's expectation of a slow night was more than lived up to. By the time 9pm rolled around, Caravel had been graced by a whopping 2 patrons, who had only lingered for about an hour before leaving Josh and Sam to awkwardly sit around and flick coins at each other. 

Sam was able to read his brother's moods pretty well, and as he watched Josh stacking silver coins in a pyramid at the other end of the bar, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with him. He kept glancing at the door and his usually steady fingers had a slight tremble to them, which caused the coin pyramid to shift and slide to a clattering mess on the wood, making Josh cuss and scoop them back into his palm.

"Hey, brother of mine," Sam prodded gently as Josh occupied himself with spinning a quarter like a top. "How are you?"

Josh tossed him a weird look, laughing slightly as he straightened to admire his growing army of spinning coins. 

"I'm peachy, baby," Josh chuckled, knitting his brows. "And yourself?"

"Good, good," Sam said absently. "You know, if something's bothering you, I'm here to talk."

"Sammy, nothing's the matter," Josh insisted as if it was the silliest thing in the world, but he said it a little too fast. "Seriously. All is well in the house of Kiszka."

"I don't believe you," Sam said lazily, resting his face in his hands as he stared his brother down. 

"Well, I can't help that, now can I?" Josh teased, rolling one of his coins towards Sam. "Let's see how many of these we can spin at once."

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing he wasn't going to be able to get anything more out of Josh but still watching him out of the corner of his eye as they worked together to set the glimmering surface of the bar ablaze with a ballet of dancing silver coins. 

Around midnight, they had managed to accrue a small group of women in the back corner and a few more men at the bar, keeping them only slightly more busy than they had been in the empty bar. Sam, bored out of his mind, stepped away for a moment to "check inventory". This thorough "check" consisted of Sam slipping out the back door and taking a moment to breathe in the sweet, summery air. The chill coming off the ocean gave it a cold, salty bite, and Sam breathed it in gratefully through his nose as he slipped a cigarette and lighter out of his apron pocket. The cigarette, purchased secretly from the general store's quiet cashier, lit up quickly and was slowly inhaled, the herbs and tobacco mingling deliciously with the night air in Sam's senses. He tipped his head back and let loose a billowy stream of smoke into the dark sky, watching a moth sail through it on its way to the streetlight a few doors down. Josh would absolutely kill Sam if he knew he was smoking, so Sam had to sneak them in his rare moments completely alone. He was going to save it for a busy night when he'd really need it, but Sam couldn't help but give in to temptation. He closed his eyes and took in another long, slow drag, listening to the sizzle of the paper and the unmistakable, jovial noises of a group of sailors making their way down the street in front of the bar.

'Oh, boy, here we go,' Sam thought begrudgingly, hearing the muffled shouts and laughs enter the bar through the door to his back. Surprisingly, he heard Josh's voice ring out the loudest, making some kind of announcement and laughing. Josh was loud, of course, but he wasn't one to command a room when there were customers just coming in. Sam took a few more hits before dropping the cigarette and crushing it underfoot, putting his ear to the door curiously as he listened further. Josh's voice seemed to layer over itself alongside the unfamiliar voices that had just come in, and Sam furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out what he was hearing.

"SAM!"

"Fuck, shit," Sam whispered to himself, readjusting his apron and swinging around to open the door, stumbling back inside and powerwalking his way through the back and out into the open expanse of the bar. 

"There he is," Josh grinned brightly, his face completely alight. He was, for once, out from behind the bar and mixed amongst the sailors cluttering the front of the bar. Sam suddenly questioned if his assumption that they were sailors was even correct, judging from their casual, loose fitting clothes that varied in style. Usually the sailors that passed through their town were decked out in the traditional, matching garb with plain stripes and jaunty hats. But, still, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that these were sailors of some sort of caliber. He approached, turning on his cute waiter charm and flashing a warm smile, only for it to fall a moment later when he caught sight of who exactly Josh was standing with his arm around.

"Got a drink handy for an old seafarer?" 

"Jake?" Sam blurted in disbelief, adrenaline seizing his every sense as he tossed his tray haphazardly towards the bar and threw his arms around his brother, who clapped him on the back with a genuine and utterly Jake laugh. "Holy shit, I thought it was Josh I was hearing. What, I mean, oh my God, you're here, what the hell!"

"Good lord, Sam, since when do you swear like a sailor?" Jake exclaimed good-naturedly. "That's supposed to be my sort of thing."

"You should hear the shit he says, I tell you," Josh interjected. He was absolutely beaming, radiating joy from the tips of his curls down to his loafers in a way that should've projected the shimmer of sunlight's pure heat. Sam knew how much he had missed his twin, and now that they were back together again, it felt like something in Josh had slid back into its rightful place. Standing right next to each other, Sam was able to properly assess just how different Jake looked from the last time he had seen him. When he'd left, Jake's hair had curled up boyishly around his ears, but it now fell in sun kissed and wind tossed waves just above his shoulders. He was sturdier in build, with muscles built from lugging cargo on and off ships. He also sported some sparse facial hair and the biggest, ugliest hoop earring Sam had ever seen. Jake was lucky that Sam was too overwhelmed with emotion to make a comment about it, even when they hugged again and Sam felt it brush against his neck, causing him to choke down a giggle as Jake started one of his rambles. 

"You wouldn't believe the weather we had to get through to make it here," Jake said, throwing his palms up dramatically. "Rain like knives the whole way. I thought it was gonna cut through the sails but thanks to some expert direction from yours truly, we made it in record time."

"So, what, you're a captain now?" Sam asked, slightly in awe. 

"Sure am," Jake announced, pride dripping off him as he tipped his chin up and smoothed down his shirt. "A lot has happened since I've been out to sea."

"And you never thought to mention it in any of your letters?"

"Didn't seem fair to brag."

"Oh, get over yourself," Sam scoffed with a smile. "We've been pretty damn successful here without you. We're the talk of the town."

"Really? I didn't hear anything when I was showing the boys around town tonight, did we, boys?" Jake spoke to the crowd around them, and Sam startled slightly at their muddled replies and laughs as he remembered that it wasn't just him and his brothers alone in this space they had grown up in.  

"When we had dinner tonight, did any of you hear about the ol' Caravel?" Jake teased, slinging an arm around Sam and pulling him down to his height, mussing his hair. "Any talk of sweet Brandy?"

"Shut up!" Sam cried, trying to wiggle out of Jake's surprisingly strong grip, his face flushing as the men around them erupted into raucous laughter and whistles. He finally released him, Sam immediately straightening and brushing his hair out with his fingers with a huff as Josh covered a smile with his hand and Jake laughed. 

"You're the worst," Sam declared in true youngest sibling fashion. "You can make your own drinks tonight, how about that?"

"It would be my pleasure," Jake invited warmly, and from the genuine twinkle in his eye, Sam could tell he meant it. 

"Don't you fuck up my bar, Jacob," Josh said seriously, jabbing his finger at his twin as Jake happily made his way behind the counter. "We did all this cleaning and organizing for you, you know."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam exclaimed, putting the pieces together as he glared down Josh, who immediately turned sheepish under Sam's sharp gaze. "You knew he was coming back? That's why you were being so weird? Why didn't you tell me?"

"We thought it would be a fun surprise," Josh explained meekly. "I still think it was."

"You're unbelievable," Sam sneered, secretly very touched by the gesture. "If I had known it was just Jake, I would've left some of that glass out on the floor."

"Cruel!" Jake cried from his spot behind the bar, where he was now dutifully pouring drinks for his crew, who were only now starting to settle. "It's not just me, it's my men, too. Wouldn't want them getting hurt, now would we?"

Sam didn't reply, simply smiling innocently and turning back to grab his tray to tend to the sailors who had taken seats at tables. He didn't remember exactly where it had ended up landing in his tackling of Jake. He looked around the shoulders of the burly men who had conveniently gathered around the spot on the bar he figured he must have set it down, but didn't see it anywhere. 

Behind him, the jukebox started up, a high instrumental starting to swing out over the crowd inside the Caravel. Sam turned towards the sound instinctually, and blinked in shock when he saw his tray resting atop the jukebox, sitting casually beside the tall man facing the jukebox. Sam approached the tray thief, sidling around his strong frame and preparing himself to have to argue with whoever this kleptomaniac was. Instead, Sam found himself freezing up when he caught sight of the man's profile. 

His eyes, cast down and shadowed by dark, stern brows and long lashes, tracked the song listings as his long, calloused fingers ghosted the dials. His hair was as long as Jake's and fell in smoky ringlets that swayed against his broad shoulders. His nose was handsomely aquiline, and Sam realized that he was close enough to see a peppering of freckles across it. He swallowed thickly and prayed that he hadn't been standing there too long, suddenly unaware of how much time had passed since he had first started looking at the stranger. Sam decided to break himself out of his brief funk by reaching up and snatching the tray off of the jukebox, the flimsy metal making a racket that made the jukebox man jump slightly and turn to Sam with wide eyes. 

"That's my tray," Sam announced, staring him down. There was a short pause, a smile creeping onto the man's face as his gaze softened.

"You're Brandy," he finally said, his small smile stretching into a full, charming smile that was crooked in the way Sam had only ever read about. Sam flushed, his ears going hot as he gripped the tray tightly and curled his lip.

"It's Sam, actually," Sam snapped, wondering why his flustered state was translating as frustration.

"Oh, well, my apologies," the man said sincerely, dipping his head slightly in apology. "That's what the captain called you. I'm Daniel."

"Your captain is my brother, so I wouldn't take anything he says about me at face value," Sam explained, pushing away the thought of what the hell Jake told his crew he was like, if he talked about him and Josh at all. He must have. He was too much of a sap not to. 

Daniel laughed, and Sam flinched at the sound. He didn't know why, it was a nice laugh.

"Don't worry, he speaks very highly of you," Daniel affirmed, and Sam was annoyed to find himself physically relaxing. Did he really care what a bunch of sailors thought of him? "You don't look how I pictured, though." 

"Oh?" Sam barked out an awkward laugh. "What did you think I'd look like?"

Daniel shrugged, his hair shifting enough to reveal hoops in his ears similar to Jake's. He did a dramatic look up and down of Sam, which made him go hot in the face again as Daniel's eyes finally rested on his own. 

"He always described you as, I don't know, like a squirrely little brother," Daniel remarked, gesturing vaguely at Sam. "Messy hair, snotty nose. Which is definitely not you."

"You're strange," Sam replied, meaning it. 

"You're pretty."

Sam froze as he had when he had first approached Daniel, every muscle tensing up as his mouth snapped shut. Daniel stood there smiling at him like he hadn't said a word. 

"I'm working," Sam countered nervously, turning away and then turning back. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Daniel echoed, looking back down at the jukebox. "Brandy."

Sam tossed a silent glare at him before hurrying away, quickly distracting himself with fetching rounds for the nearby tables occupied by Daniel's crewmates. 

'What the fuck was that?' Sam kept thinking to himself as he bustled around for the next hour, far too aware that Daniel was still somewhere in this space with him. It wasn't that he had made Sam uncomfortable...it was something else entirely. He couldn't put words to it, and it frustrated him. 

"You're a pistol tonight, Sammy," Jake commented as Sam came sailing back to the bar for the 3rd time in the past 10 minutes, clearing his tray and stocking it with a fresh round of clean glasses. "I knew me being here would renew your zest for work."

"You're a hoot, Jakers," Sam said dryly, both of them exchanging mocking faces as Jake poured up Sam's new round. "Your friends are something else."

"They're a lively bunch, aren't they?" Jake responded proudly, casting a look out over the bar at his men. "Make any friends yet? I talk about you and Joshy every chance I get, you should know. These boys all think you two are the bees knees. Brother of the Year goes to me, thank you."

"Daniel told me about that," Sam replied coolly. "The talking about us, not you being Brother of the Year. Not sure you've earned that one, Mr. Runaway."

"Ah, Daniel," Jake smirked, shaking his head with a mysterious smile. "I love that guy. Damn good when it comes to heavy lifting and rigging. Did you get a look at those tree trunk arms of his?"

"I can't say I did," Sam muttered, lying.

"He's a strong fellow. His talents are much appreciated. He also happens to be a complete sweetheart. If you're gonna actually try and befriend any of these fuckers, he's probably your best bet."

"Noted," Sam replied quickly as Jake poured the last drink. "I'll be back in a second."

"Take your time!" Jake encouraged, pushing Sam back out into the fray. "Go say hi to Daniel for me!"

-

Sam didn't honor Jake's request until after 3am, when Josh had finally taken back control of the bar and insisted Jake and his crewmates get moving so they could clean up. 

"Tell me they're not staying in our house," Josh muttered to Jake as the three of them huddled behind the bar, pretending to be busy as the sailors all gathered up their coats and drunkenly stumbled their way to the entrance. "You promised. We only have the three rooms and our living room is certainly not up to code for sailor folk."

"I've booked them week-long stays at the inn, don't even worry about it," Jake insisted in a whisper. "I sure hope I'm allowed the privilege to sleep in my own bed."

"Of course, idiot," Josh smiled, smacking Jake's arm. "Your bed is still how you left it."

"You're only here for a week?" Sam questioned, his stomach sinking as reality shook the seeming eternity of this odd night. 

"I'm afraid so, pipsqueak," Jake affirmed, his tone weak but his voice far too laced with whiskey to effectively communicate any kind of genuine sadness. 

Sam stared into the glass he was halfheartedly wiping and held back everything he wanted to say. He wished he could say anything about how it wasn't fair to the family for Jake to leave for so long, or how the almost complete lack of communication was even less fair, or how much easier it would be for him to just stay. But Jake was drunk, and it was late, and it just wasn't worth it, so Sam just mumbled an "okay" and stacked the glass. 

"You know," Sam started to say, faltering slightly when both of them looked at him expectantly. "Josh, why don't you just go back with Jake and I'll finish up here. I don't think he can make it back by himself, and I doubt he's kept hold of his house key since leaving."

"Aw, Sammy, you don't have to," Josh pushed back, putting an appreciative hand on Sam's slight shoulder. "I think he can make his way."

"I'm standing right here," Jake interjected, swaying only slightly as he leaned forward. "I can give input. My input is I'm completely fine to walk the 5 minutes home."

"And you have your key?"

Jake paused, his glassy eyes darting around in space as he thought, gently moving to pat his pockets.

"He does not," Josh said to Sam alone, his tired features raising in devilish amusement.

"No, he does not," Sam agreed as they watched Jake turn away slightly to dig in his pockets some more. 

"Still here," Jake piped up again, finally giving up on his key search. "But, yes, it would seem I've misplaced them. But I can wait outside. It's not even that cold and I got some fire in my belly to keep me warm."

"People are going to think you're a vagrant, Jake, no," Sam argued, waving his brothers away. "Josh, take him home. Both of you, get some sleep for once. I'll lock up and see you in the morning."

"Are you sure, Sammy?" Josh asked again, looking at him with a little too much concern. "I'm not saying I don't think you can, I'm just-"

"Get out!" Sam insisted, grabbing both of them by the shoulder and spinning them to face away from him. "And stay out! Follow the crowd, little fish, swim away. I'll be fine, I can handle putting up chairs and mopping."

"Fine, fine, sheesh," Josh giggled, wrestling Sam away from him and slinging a rough arm around Jake, hauling him towards the last few men trailing out the door. "You take care of my baby! And get home quick!"

"Bite me!" Sam replied cheerfully, waving them away with his rag like he was waving off a ship.

"Good to see you again, Sam! I love you!" Jake called loudly, despite being only a few feet away.

"I love you too, you drunk!" 

"Aw!" Jake blew him a kiss, causing Josh to cackle and start up an unheard conversation as they opened the door in identical hand slaps and slipped out into the cool, dark night. 

Sam turned his back to the door, slinging the rag in his hand over the spigot of the sink and sliding the tub of dirty dishes into the basin, letting the water run from cool to warm to soak them. He looked into the full length mirror that Josh had tipped sideways in front of the sink and just under the first shelf of bottles, grimacing slightly at the dark circles continuing to grow under his eyes and the state of the flyaways that had fallen from the ponytail he'd thrown up around 1am. Sam leaned in closer, pulling the ribbon from his hair and letting it fall in a shiny curtain, smoothing it back with his damp fingers. Something fluttered in the mirror, causing Sam to squint and look into the slightly warped and smudged glass, catching sight of something dark behind him. He straightened with a jolt and spun on his heel, brandishing the silk ribbon as if it could do anything to protect him against an intruder. 

Instead, he found Daniel wandering around by the door, watching him with that same gentle smile he'd given him before. Sam's heart had raced when he'd seen something behind him, but now it was just about ready to slam a gory hole through his chest and escape. 

"Oh, my God," Sam wheezed, clutching his chest to hold his heart in. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I didn't mean to," Daniel said with a chuckle, his long legs delivering him to the bar. "I was worried we got off on the wrong foot and wanted to rectify that."

"And you figured waiting in the corner like a silent specter until I was alone was the perfect solution to starting up a jolly ol' friendship?" Sam teased, annoyance lacing his voice with no real venom behind it. "I stand behind when I said you were strange."

"And I stand behind what I said after you said that," Daniel doubled down, leaning onto the bar and meeting Sam's eye, which Sam tried to hold with a nervous swallow.

"Oh, is that why you stayed?" Sam laughed weakly, turning away from Daniel to start on properly washing the dishes. "I don't know what kind of guy you think I am, but I'm not like that."

"No, no, that's not..." Daniel sighed, and Sam watched him lean his head against his hand in the mirror for a brief moment before looking up again, watching the back of Sam's head. "I'm fucking blowing this, huh?"

"Pretty much," Sam agreed with a smile, his cheeks warming. "You really haven't talked to anybody outside of your crewmates for a while, hm?"

"No," Daniel mumbled dejectedly, and Sam bit his lip to prevent a giggle from escaping.

"I can tell."

There was a minute of quiet between them, the only sound being the motion of the water in the sink and the dishes clinking together as Sam rinsed them and wiped them down haphazardly. 

"Do you want help? I can dry."

Sam looked over his shoulder in surprise at the offer. Daniel looked sincere, so Sam nodded slightly and motioned for him to join him behind the bar. Now that they were standing right next to each other, Daniel's towering height and body heat were dizzying in Sam's peripheral as he struggled to keep his hands steady in the soapy water. Daniel dutifully took the ratty drying towel and gently dried off the glasses and plates as Sam handed them to him, both of them working in tense silence. Sam's mind spun as they fell into rhythm, wondering once again just what the hell was going on tonight. 

They were done in a quick 10 minutes, with Daniel drying the last dish with a flourish and training his blinding smile on Sam, who returned it with much less fervor. 

"What next?" Daniel asked brightly. Sam just looked at him for a second, squinting his eyes in confusion as he stared up at the kindly giant who was apparently more than ready for chores.

"Dude, we're closed," Sam explained. "And you don't work here. You're lucky I let you stay this long. You don't have to be here."

"I know, but I want to be," Daniel explained right back. "And you're lucky to have some company. So, what's next?"

"Uh," Sam stuttered, utterly flummoxed by Daniel. "Well, I was going to put the chairs up so I can mop."

"Okay, why don't you get the mopping stuff and I'll put the chairs up?"

"Well-"

It was too late for any kind of response because Daniel had already started shimmying out from behind the bar and making his way over to the sea of tables that had been knocked around and moved all night, straightening them up and effortlessly lifting chairs with a single hand and sitting them gently on the wood. Sam hesitated for only a minute, watching Daniel work to a tune he had started humming, absently wringing his cold hands before wiping them on his apron and shuffling off to the maintenance closet to pull out the mop and bucket. By the time he had wrangled them out, Daniel had managed to get every chair off the ground, allowing Sam to flop the old mop onto the hardwood and start pushing clean water across it. 

"Careful or I'm going to mop you into a corner," Sam threatened, starting towards Daniel with the mop. Daniel yelped in mock fear, backing away dramatically with his hands up. Sam let his front fall for a moment at seeing Daniel play along so easily, smiling as he lifted the mop off the ground and held it out towards Daniel, swinging a spray of floor water towards the sailor. Daniel yelped for real then, laughing as he tip toed his way back towards the bar, perching on one of the bolted down stools as Sam snickered to himself, continuing his mopping route.

"You're a beast with that thing," Daniel encouraged, kicking his leg up onto the stool and resting his cheek against his knee. "How long have you been a mopping prodigy?"

"Well, I've been the designated mopper since I was 12, so about 10 years now," Sam said, and Daniel let out a low whistle. 

"I'm surprised they started you on it that late. Did you do any work here before that?"

"Some," Sam offered, redipping the mop. "More cleaning stuff. I couldn't serve until after we inherited it, so I had sort of a late start on that front." 

"Jake told us about that." Daniel paused. "I'm sorry about your parents."

"It's alright," Sam answered immediately, the response mechanical after so many years of sentiments. He couldn't even begin to delve back into the emotions their accident brought. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Another lull, save for the sound of water.

"My folks bit it, too."

Sam's grip on the mop shifted and he had to fight it from falling over, looking over to Daniel at the bar, whose face was still chipper despite his statement.

"Same thing too, actually," Daniel continued, his hand tracing the motion of waves. "Spot of bad weather on a trip and down they went. The sea is a merciless mistress."

"I-I'm sorry to hear that," Sam stammered, shocked at how blasé Daniel was about such a trauma, especially considering how much he could relate.

"As you said, it's alright, and thank you," Daniel grinned, nuzzling his cheek into his knee further. "I forgave her."

"Her?"

"The sea," Daniel explained, his eyes twinkling slightly. "She can't help but do what she does. Sometimes it means getting a little rough and taking a few of our own. She can't stop it, and neither can I. All I can do is try and bend to her ever changing will."

"Sounds like you two have a complicated relationship," Sam joked as he mopped himself back towards the maintenance closet. Daniel laughed and he nearly bowed under the weight of it, instead gripping the sweat slick handle of the mop a little tighter.

"Maybe we do," Daniel laughed, watching Sam with a fierce grin. "But I love it. She's my life, my lover, my lady."

"Is that so?" Sam leaned the mop back inside the closet, taking advantage of the door shielding him from seeing Daniel for a second. "Then what are you doing here with a landlubber like me?"

There was no reply, forcing Sam to close the door and make eye contact with Daniel again, who was still staring at him with that frustratingly ever present smile ghosting his rosy lips. 

"Because I'm going to need someone to hang out with while I'm here," Daniel said simply. "And Jake told me you're my best bet."

Sam couldn't help but let an inappropriately timed laugh escape then, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and crossing his arms.

"Jake, you bitch," he spoke to the sky. "He said the same damn thing to me tonight."

"Ha! He's never struck me as the matchmaker type," Danny chuckled. "What a sly dog." 

"I wouldn't call it matchmaking," Sam protested, bending to lift the mop bucket and struggling to get it off the ground, flushing in embarrassment. In a flash, Daniel was on his feet and in front of Sam, taking the bucket from him and carrying it like it was a glass of water.

"I would," Daniel argued back. "Where do you need this?"

"Uh, the sink," Sam replied meekly, waving towards the sink. "If you get it there, I can dump it."

"Don't bother, I got it," Daniel insisted, strolling over to the sink and tipping the gray, foamy water down the drain. "Come on, you're not going to let me take you out?"

"I already told you, I'm not that kind of guy," Sam doubled down, tucking hair behind his ear as he watched Daniel shake the last of the water out. "Gimme that."

"I suppose you'll want this back too?"

Daniel held the bucket aloft and in his same curled hand, Sam's silk hair ribbon hung down, the longest bit of lilac thread nearly grazing the inside of the bucket. Sam let an involuntary quiet gasp fly, feeling his cheeks flush once again as he stomped towards Daniel, reaching out for the bucket and ribbon. Daniel held it even higher then, giggling down at Sam as he stood on his tiptoes and struggled for his things.

"You're a fucking kleptomaniac, you know that, right?" Sam hissed in frustration. "It's a disease, and buddy, you have it tenfold."

"One date, that's all I ask," Daniel cooed. "Jake said you'd be tough, so I came prepared to wear you down."

"Jake said what?!"

"He saaaaid,'' Daniel began, lifting the bucket and ribbon even higher when Sam made a springing jump for them, grabbing desperately. "That his little brother was a sweetheart pretending to be a real tough cookie and in desperate need of a date."

"Lies and slander," Sam seethed. "Jake was lying through his teeth to prank you. You've been pranked. Now bite the bullet and give me my things back, please!"

"Mm, no, see, he said you'd say something like that," Daniel hummed, backing up against the bar as Sam stalked closer. "He said there were few things you'd be unable to resist and that I had the most of those qualifications out of our crew. Therefore, I was deemed the lucky fellow tasked with treating you right."

"Oh, really? And what are these alleged traits I find so irresistible?" 

"He said you were a sucker for dark hair," Daniel smiled, cocking his head so his glossy curls swung around his flushed face. "Especially curly hair. He said you like freckles, and green eyes, but most of all you like someone who can handle your attitude."

Sam stood there silently, his heart pounding in his ears as he attempted to glare a hole through the center of Daniel's head.

"You don't have green eyes," Sam pointed out, his voice still dark with frustration. "And I can barely see your freckles." 

"But you admit I'm doing a good job of handling your attitude."

"Stop putting fucking words in my mouth!"

"Stop fighting me and admit you're enjoying yourself!" Daniel crowed, the bucket swinging happily over his head. "You already like having me around. I'm charming, and I'm useful, and I'll pay for your dinner." 

They stared each other down, inches apart, Sam's already burnt out brain churning desperately to make sense of the situation and figure out how to proceed with such a relentless prick holding him up like this. Finally, he dropped back down to the balls of his feet and let his arms rest at his side, letting out a furious huff through his nose and walking away from Daniel.

"Keep them, I could give a fuck," Sam declared. "I'm going the fuck home. Get the fuck out."

Daniel laughed again, and Sam could've strangled him for it. He heard the clank of the bucket hitting the floor and then the soft tread of Daniel's footsteps approaching. He drew in a sharp breath when Daniel's arm came around his side and extended the ribbon to him, his palm up as if in surrender. 

"At least let me walk you home," Daniel maintained, his voice low and velvet soft. "I don't want any criminals snatching you up on your way."

Sam's hand came up and gently took the ribbon from Daniel, the tips of his finger grazing the warm roughness of his hand and then retreating just as quickly, tucking the ribbon into his pocket. He sighed deeply and looked over his shoulder, trying not to startle physically when he realized how close Daniel was, the front of his dark linen top nearly grazing the curve of Sam's back. 

"Get your coat," Sam muttered, stepping out of the near embrace and making his way to the back door. "And stay away from the register."

Daniel laughed as he went back for his corduroy jacket, sneaking a look at the back of Sam's head and graceful figure.

"You really think I'm a lowdown dirty thief, don't you?" Daniel accused, catching up to Sam and opening the door before he got the chance, a gesture which Sam begrudgingly accepted as he stepped out for the second time that night. 

"Yes, I do," Sam agreed, all but yanking Daniel out the door and locking the door with a firm click that soothed his soul a little, certain the craziness of the night was locked away with it.

"You have no idea," Daniel murmured mysteriously, dipping down to hum it in Sam's ear. The feeling of his hot breath ghosting the cold shell of his ear sent chills down Sam's neck that made him involuntarily speed up his pace as they walked down the dim, quiet alleyway. 

This walk usually took about 10 minutes when he walked with Josh, slowing his speed ever so slightly to account for the gangly legs that Josh simply did not possess. However, with Daniel beside him, Sam arrived at his door in record time, not needing to check the time to know it had been about half his usual time. Daniel had tried a few times to strike up a conversation, but Sam had chosen to satiate him only with simple replies and looks, far too worn out to put up with his relentless cheer any longer. 

"Well, this is me," Sam said with finality, pulling his keys out again and giving Daniel a polite smile. "Thank you for walking me home, it was nice to meet you."

"Of course," Daniel replied, his eyes tracing over Sam's face as Sam quietly slid the key into the lock and opened the door a crack. Before Sam could get inside and finally wind down for the night, Daniel reached out and grasped his arm with gentle force, turning Sam ever so slightly towards him.

"Listen, before I go," Daniel began, his perky expression fading ever so slightly into a calmer look Sam couldn't quite read, his features softened by the hazy moonlight. "I know I've been a lot, and I know you probably don't care for me very much, but I really would like to take you to dinner tomorrow."

Sam let out a long, heavy sigh, looking longingly towards the door. Once inside, he would be able to fall into his nice, warm, comfy bed and just sleep. He could even sleep in if he wanted to, and then in the morning, he would get to hang out with his brother, whom he hadn't seen in 2 full years. But here he was, being tugged on by an aggressively cheerful sailor, who was also aggressively into him. Standing on worn, tired legs, in the cold, in the dead of night. There was only one thing standing between him and that sleep he was fantasizing about.

"Sure," Sam finally agreed, shifting awkwardly to accommodate the grin that burst onto Daniel's face at the affirmation. "If it'll get you off my doorstep."

"Wonderful," Daniel said, his smile bleeding into his voice. "Meet me at the pub by the inn at 5 tomorrow. I'll have you back before your shift starts."

"How do you know when-"

"Have a good night," Daniel cut him off, patting Sam's shoulder before spinning on his heel and setting off towards the inn, whistling the jukebox tune he'd played earlier in the night as Sam watched his dark form bounce away. 

Sam waited until he was out of sight to release the tension he'd been holding in his chest in the form of a fast, hot huff of breath, bracing himself against the doorway as he took in another drink of cool air and tried to stave off the perplexing dizzying feeling that overcame him. He entered his house as quietly as he could and shut the door firmly behind him, his fingertips shaking from the adrenaline that had overcome him and seized every bodily motion with uncomfortable velocity. Clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to get it out of his system, Sam silently padded by Josh's room, listening only for a second before he heard the soft and unmistakable rattle of the snoring his brother claimed not to do. Next, he stopped in front of Jake's door, finding it ajar and peeking in to see him curled up on top of the blanket and sheets, one of his comically large wide brimmed hats sat crookedly on his head and tipped over his face. Sam went to shut the door but stopped halfway, recalling a memory of Jake tossing a shoe at his head when they were much younger, bitching to keep the door open because he "needed the air". Sam left it open, and retreated to his room.

Sam immediately collapsed on the edge of his bed, slipping his shoes off and ridding himself of his shirt and pants in a flurry of motion, rolling over with a grunt and taking the blanket with him.  He faced the wall for a few minutes, trying to steady his breathing so he could dip into the sleep he so desperately craved, but his eyes didn't close and his mind didn't slow to allow unconsciousness. He turned so he was laying on his back, pulling the covers over his bare chest and staring up at the blank ceiling, trying to clear his mind. 

It was around 5am when Sam finally got his shut eye, sinking back into his thin pillow with his lips parted, the darkness outside starting to lift with the first flickers of morning light. It had only taken an hour of tossing, turning, and indulging in the relentless parade of images flickering against his eyelids, counting the freckles on the strange sailor's nose until he drifted away.

~~~

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand 6 - Lap of Luxury

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: Canto Bight's opulent suite offers its fair share of comfort, amenities... and bath time shenanigans.

note: Thank you all so much for the likes/reblogs! Please keep them coming. If you like this story, let me know. Also remember that my ask box is open for short story requests/headcanons, etc. For your support, take a very silly and long part

“Your suite, sir. We hope the accommodations are to your liking.” The bellhop opens the door to the hotel room and bows his head, allowing them to venture inside. She takes the initiative, pushing past and striding in. Instantly, her eyes widen and she gasps.

The suite is larger than any apartment she had ever seen, so neat and luxurious. The window on the back wall overlooks all of Canto Bight, showing each light, each cruiser, every casino on the strip. She wanders in further, turning to the left to see the walkway to a door. Pressing the button next to it, it slides open and reveals the marble bathroom inside with a tub that could easily fit two, maybe three people. Next to it is a shower and then across is a double sink. With a giddiness in her step, she scurries across the suite and crosses the doorway, past the couch and lounge chairs, and into the main bedroom. The bed stretches wide with perfectly smooth, clean sheets that practically beg her to jump on it.

Behind her, the Mandalorian peeks into the room, touching the windows, looking underneath the bed, and sliding the closets open. Once he determines it’s secure, Grogu’s pram floats in, finding a place to park itself. “Hm.” He walks away from the room, continuing to sweep the rest of the suite.

“Since you are participating in the tournament,” says the bellhop, “food and drinks are complementary. Simply use the console to contact room service.”

“What does that mean?” she asks. “Food is free?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

For someone that grew up starving, that confirmation made her mouth salivate. She is going to order enough to feed a whole cantina. The Mandalorian emerges from the bathroom, reaching into his back pocket. “Thanks,” he says tossing a few credits to the bellhop. “We’ll take it from here.”

The bellhop catches the tip and smiles, bowing before taking his leave. Once he is gone, all of the excitement she was holding in bursts out at once into a happy yell. She tosses herself onto the couch, her feet kicking. “This is so cool!” She sits up. “Hell, I have no idea what I should do first! Order everything on the menu maybe? Take a nap?”

“You’re not ordering everything on the menu.”

“Tch. Kill joy.” She scratches her cheek. Come to think of it, he hasn’t had an opportunity to eat this entire time, has he? He must be starving. “...I have an idea. I think I want to take a nice, long bath. Why don’t you order food for us and you can eat in peace?”

He thinks on it for a few moments. “Fine with me.”

She bolts up, shuffling over to the tub. Inspecting the buttons, she sees that it comes with multiple features. “Hmm…” Pressing one starts the pipes and hot water gushes forth, filling the bottom of the tub. Another button mixes a shimmering soap with it, forming large bubbles. “Ah, perfect!” Just as she turns to shut the door, she looks down to see that Grogu had followed her, trying to peer into the tub. With a smile, she lifts him to the edge so he can see. “Looks fun, huh?”

He coos in response, looking up at her with those eyes that no one can resist.

Rolling her eyes, she peeks out the door. “Hey, uh… Mando? I can call you ‘Mando,’ right?” He responds from the couch.

“What is it?”

“Do you mind if I take Grogu with me?”

The Mandalorian does not response back quickly, but he eventually sighs and relents. “Just keep the door unlocked.”

“Unlock – seriously?”

“...Not remotely what I meant.”

She pouts, sliding back into the bathroom and closing the door, not putting the lock on it like he asked. “He’s so protective of you, isn’t he?” she says to Grogu, placing him on the sink counter. “It’s kind of sweet, actually…” She kicks off her shoes and pulls off her clothes, shedding off each article of clothing one by one. “Annoying.” She shakes out her hair. “But sweet.”

Grogu lifts his arms and allows her to pull his burlap shirt off, then the chain shirt underneath. Upon finding it, she laughs and holds it in her hands. “Aww! It’s so tiny! Is this beskar?” Grogu makes a happy squeak. “That’s adorable. Your dad is just a big softie, isn’t he?” She takes Grogu from the counter and steps into the hot bath, settling in with a long sigh, balancing him on her knees. “Stars, that’s amazing…”

The silky waters of the hot bath melt away the layers of dirt, leaving her skin smooth and unblemished. Bubbles cover the surface, a few of them floating and bouncing throughout the room. Grogu stares at his own reflection in one that flies near his face, popping once he pokes it. She slides her feet against the bottom of the tub, her knees inching further into the water so Grogu could submerge a little.

She looks around the luxurious bathroom, her shoulders sinking into the water as she breaths in the clean, flowery scent. What a weird moment. Here she is, living like a queen, bathing with a small child while someone waits on the other side of the door. It’s strange having someone physically close to her, especially a child. Even Grogu’s splashes make her smile and laugh.

For the first time in her life, she doesn’t feel so alone.

She thinks to herself that it’s time she washed her hair – that is sure to take a while. “Where is the shampoo…” It’s nowhere near the tub. Finally, she spots the bottle sitting atop of the sink, much further than her arm can reach. “Damn. Sorry, kiddo. Just give me a moment…” She trails off.

Grogu closes his eyes and extends a tiny hand toward the sink. What the hell is he doing? She glances between him and sink and then, she sees the bottle of shampoo. It’s floating towards them. Her reaction is completely involuntary, and she makes a loud noise in surprise, disturbing enough water to push some over the edge.

Rapid footsteps approach the door and it slides open. The Mandalorian barges in, blaster at the ready. “What happened?”

“Hey!” She snatches Grogu, using him to shield her chest. At that, his concentration breaks and the shampoo bottle falls to the floor with a loud pop. “D-Don’t look!”

“Ah…” She cannot see the Mandalorian’s expression, but the tone of his stuttering sounds tells her that he’s caught off guard. He clears his throat loudly, turning his head away and putting the blaster away. “Why did you scream?”

“I didn’t scream, I just…” She looks down at Grogu then back at the shampoo bottle. “Did you see that bottle floating in the air?”

He kneels down, picking it up. “No.”

“I swear it was moving. It was like… it was like the kid was–”

“Moving it with his mind? Yeah, he does that.”

“He–,” she frowns. “‘He does that,’ how long exactly has he been ‘doing that?’”

“I don’t know,” he responds, irritated. “Look, can we talk about this when you’re finished?”

“Oh… yeah, that’s fine…” She bites her lip. “Can… I have the shampoo, please?”

He sighs. The Mandalorian grabs the other bottles and sets them next to the tub, all the while his visor looking away. “Hurry up.” He walks out of the bathroom and presses the button to close the door. With him finally out, she sighs in relief.

She’s lucky the bubbles covered everything.

[inkformyblood]

love you then and now (CWFKB #21)

first and last kiss fill for @codywanfirstkissbingo, I didn't have the capacity for too much angst so this canon divergence happened instead <3 Canon Era, Not Canon Compliant, Time Travel Force Shenanigans

The main deck of the warship is close enough to the simulations that Cody has to bite the tip of his tongue whenever he walks onto it. It’s a quick check, lasting as long as a breath, the same way he would skim his hand across his blaster before he leaves his quarters. It still smells like fresh metal, the odour that permeated the lower levels of Kamino along with the steady drip of saltwater working its way through decaying metal. He is still on the warship, countless days of steady travel and a handful of hours hyperjump away from Kamino. The only difference is he can see two Obi-Wan Kenobi’s. 

One is his new general. He’s young, maybe Alpha batch if Cody had to try and put a sense of time to him. He stands wide-stanced, ready to move despite the incessant curl of his fingers around his wrist, twisting a series of corded bracelets tighter then releasing them. His robes don’t look like they’d do much to stop a blaster bolt, but they swing with the juddering kickback of the ship’s engines and Cody can’t stop sneaking glances at them, at him. He is paler than a brother, not the same shade as the Kaminoans or sickness, just paler and splattered with dark marks over his face and arms. He shifts his gaze sideways, blue like the hazy boundary where the sky meets the ocean, and smiles at Cody. Cody returns the gesture, ducks his head to bite his tongue once more. Still real. Cody thinks he is halfway in love with Obi-Wan already and he isn’t the only one. They were made to get attached, to care, to love so fiercely that they would die for their Jedi and Cody is a good soldier. This is one order he wouldn’t mind following until his final march.

The other Cody has known his entire life but no-one else can see him. This Obi-Wan is older, his skin weathered and worn, his hair the pale sheen of fresh plastoid, but he is still the same man. His smile is the same and Cody loves him too but differently. Cody doesn’t need to look to know where his Obi-Wan is. He pulses like a tracking beacon at the edges of his thoughts, a constant awareness that is as much comfort as it has been confusion. Cody shouldn’t be able to know the code for the store rooms so he can hammer his own programming into the replicator, or the boundary needed for the test scores for the next quarter to keep as many of his brothers from being decommissioned. But he does. Because his Obi-Wan told him. 

“How are you finding everything, Commander?”

Cody turns towards Obi-Wan, newer and still fresh out of the packet to him. “Everything has been satisfactory, sir.”

Satisfactory, his Obi-Wan chuckles. He’s sprawled back against one of the consoles like it is a table at a cantina. Cody’s never been to one in person, but he’s seen the programmed civilians in the simulations and the handful of holovids they were able to hide away amongst a network of files. They lounge like his Obi-Wan does. It is the bare bones, my dear, and you know it.

Cody doesn’t respond to him. He tucks his hands behind his back and brushes his fingers through a battle sign for mics off, adding the necessary finger curl so he won’t have a brother respond instead. They’re used to him by now. The occasional bout of talking to something no-one else can see is an easy enough trade off for not being decommissioned. 

“It is bare bones that the Republic could have given us,” Obi-Wan says. He steps closer to Cody, carefully orbiting around his side so they’re both looking the same way. The holoscreen is inactive showing the stars striping past them as they travel to whatever battleground they’ve been assigned. “I will try for more when we have some pull behind us.”

I don’t miss that mess of bureaucracy.

“I will help wherever I am able to do so, sir.” Another flicker of mics off, tucking in a request at the end that Cody knows is going to be ignored. “How are you finding this situation, sir?”

“Obi-Wan, please, Commander.” Obi-Wan breaks into a tight grin, the tendons in his neck drawn into sharp relief. There is a deliberate watchfulness to him, his gaze never shifting from the holoscreen window but Cody knows he is aware of every brother on the ship. “While this isn’t the first war I’ve been involved in, I was hoping I wouldn’t be involved in another.”

Crush that hope, it doesn’t serve us. His Obi-Wan moves forward, settling next to the other Obi-Wan. Cody can just make out a shimmer beyond Obi-Wan, a wavering of his form. This wouldn’t have been our last war unless it can be changed. 

Fear twists through Cody’s belly, turning the warm haze sour. 

Sorry. His Obi-Wan reaches through the other version of himself, pressing his hand into Cody’s shoulder. It’s heavier than a normal human touch would be out of necessity. Obi-Wan shivers, twisting his bracelets around his wrists tighter before he releases it. 

“We should be there in a couple of hours,” Obi-Wan says. “If I could steal you away from the main bridge, Commander, I’d appreciate some help in drawing up initial plans based on the intel.”

“Yessir, uh— Obi-Wan.”

His Obi-Wan laughs, a full-throated thing that booms through Cody’s ribcage and knocks him sideways with the delight of it. That’s why he turns when Obi-Wan does, the pair moving in tandem but not synchronised. They knock against each other, their skulls ringing with the impact, and Cody bites back a groan. Obi-Wan yelps like he’s been shocked, one hand flying up to the mark on his forehead, the other stretched out to reel Cody back in. The support is unneeded but appreciated as Cody quickly takes stock of what has just happened. 

He’s just kissed his General in the traditional Mandalorian fashion, a headbutt being the foundation of the gesture. His Obi-Wan had been midway between the empty space and the patch of the floor where Obi-Wan had been moving into so Cody thinks he has kissed him too and he can’t see him. Can’t sense him anymore. 

Obi-Wan blinks, his eyes wide and, for a moment, his mouth curls into a familiar grin, his hair pale and his skin weathered. “I think we have something to discuss, Commander. The Force does work in mysterious ways, after all.”

“Yes Obi-Wan. I think we do.” 

[lonewolflupe]

aLoF ch5 | Fives Past Midnight

I've written this chapter quite a while ago, and I'm so SO happy to finally share it with you! It's not very long, but it is very dear to me. Just a lovely little comfort chapter <3 I really hope you enjoy it as much as I do! I know Lupe will be enjoying it (:

Summary: Lupe finds herself in trouble with a familiar face - only to flee the scene to spend some private time together Rating: Mature (16+ due to alcohol usage) Tags: comradery, drinking, intoxication by booze, insulting, swearing (usage of slang; kriff/kriffing = fuck/fucking, kark = shit), comfort, fluff Words: 2.434k Characters: Lupe (OC), ARC-5555 Fives, ARC-1409 Echo, unidentified Coruscant Guard troopers aLoF masterlist | AO3 < Previous chapter | Next chapter >

21 BBY, Coruscant

Whenever there was a moment to spare, Lupe found herself at 79's at night. She was accompanied by troopers of the Wolfpack most of the time, or even by the Lone Wolves now that they were getting to know each other better with every mission they completed. But Lupe found herself getting more attracted to the place recently, visiting without her troops more often. Whenever she was in luck, she would find the ARC troopers Fives and Echo at the bar.

And she was in luck that night. She found them at their usual spot, and when Fives noticed her, he gestured her to come over. "How Dupe you do?" she asked with a grin as she reached them, crashing down on a barstool beside them. Fives groaned as he threw back his head. "I really wish you'd forgotten about that," he said, grinning at her anyway. She aimed a friendly punch below his pauldron before ordering them another round of drinks.

"Are you holding up, Echo?" she asked the trooper, who was sitting at Fives' other side. "Barely. You know what a karkhole the barracks can be," he replied before finishing his drink. The new round got served, and Echo accepted his drink gladly. Fives slid one glass over to Lupe before he grabbed his own. "Echo's just letting off steam. Jesse hid his reg manual and he hasn't been able to find it," Fives elaborated, as he shrugged and took a sip of his beverage.

Lupe raised a brow and bent over the bar, so she had a better visual on Echo. "Can't you just.. Get a new copy?" she asked him, not knowing any better. Fives almost choked on his drink and tried subduing his laughter, as Echo hit his fist on the counter in a sudden rage. "It's irreplaceable! I've been putting notes in it for a revised edition ever since we got out of cadet training!" Lupe gritted her teeth as she slowly sank back on the barstool again, letting Echo rage on about his irreplaceable reg manual.

"There there. I'm sure we'll find it eventually," Fives said as he patted Echo on the back. He turned to Lupe, his hand to his mouth so Echo couldn't hear him, before adding: "Rex might be using it as a caf stand." Lupe chuckled and promised him she wouldn't tell Echo.

---

A few more rounds were served before three troopers of the Coruscant Guard entered the cantina. As soon as Fives noticed them, he gave Lupe a quick bump with his elbow, nodding their way. "We didn't do anything wrong this time, right?" he asked, grinning. Lupe looked back at Fives, an even bigger smirk on her face. "Not yet," she replied.

The guards walked over to the bar near the entrance of 79's, ordering some drinks. Fives straightened himself in his barstool, Lupe grinning from ear to ear beside him as she could guess what he was up to. He put his hands around his mouth and shouted towards the guards: "Look what the tooka dragged in!" Lupe snickered as she pulled his arm, trying to get him in cover as the guards looked over to them.

The guards, just trying to enjoy a long awaited night off, shook their heads as they reached for their drinks, trying to ignore the agitator. But now it was time for Lupe to join in on the shenanigans. "Tooka got your tongue?" she called out, as Fives spat out his drink. Echo tensed beside them, groaning and lowering his head, trying to keep unnoticed. "You guys really didn't think this through, did you?" Echo asked rhetorically, before quickly finishing his drink, knowing just too well how this was going to end.

The guards put down their drinks and started walking towards them ominously. Lupe and Fives, still smirking and giggling, jumped off their seats, not planning on getting thrown into a cell this time. "The tooka's out of the bag now," Echo groaned, before Fives pulled him from his barstool. "Run for it!" he urged, as the three of them jolted into the crowd to get some cover from the guards.

Lupe and Fives ran outside, Echo not far behind, the Coruscant Guards on their heels. Fives gestured to Echo to scatter, which his brother gladly did. Fives on the other hand stayed right behind Lupe as she zigzagged through the Coruscanti alleys, trying to shake off their provoked pursuers.

---

Coruscant | Entertainment District

Lupe laughed as they turned another corner and finally slowed down, their chests heaving from the running, as they made sure they weren't being followed anymore. Her mind completely running out of control, from the adrenaline rush, the physical exercise and of course because of the booze, she lost her balance and stumbled. But Fives was quick to catch her, preventing her from falling. "Woah, gotcha," he said, smiling as she looked up at him. Their eyes met, and it took her a second to divert her gaze again, as she found herself losing in those big, brown eyes.

A voice in her head telling her to stop, to pull away; to thread carefully. But the strings on her heart seemed to be pulling way harder.

Finally, Lupe looked away and cleared her throat as she put a strand of silver hair behind her ear. "Should- Shouldn't we go look for Echo?" she said hesitantly, partly because she was genuinely concerned about Fives' brother, but also to try and ignore the fact that she had just been looking into his eyes a little bit too long. She didn't want things to become awkward, and Fives went with it. "He's an ARC trooper, I think he'll be able to find his way back to the barracks," he replied with a grin. Lupe nodded understanding, avoiding Fives' gaze as she tried to collect her thoughts. "Now that we've come this far, let's check out this area," Fives finally said, as he put his hand on Lupe's shoulder to gently nudge her to come with him. Which she gladly did.

They found themselves in one of the entertainment districts on Coruscant. The streets were crowded with colourful people and it was housed with bars and clubs, providing services such as drinking and gambling. Since not a lot of businesses welcomed clones, they stayed on the streets, wandering around and admiring their surroundings. None of them had ever been this deep into Coruscant, as 79’s was their usual spot. Lupe bought them some street food at a shabby booth, making their booze-induced state improve slightly. Lupe felt her head become clearer immediately.

The roof of some seedy cantina turned out to be the perfect spot to spend the remainder of their night together. It was a secluded place, away from prying eyes, where no one would notice them as they sat down and watched over the district. Coruscant never seemed asleep, as they were surrounded by neon lights on the buildings around them, the sounds of the people on the streets below and the never ending traffic lanes in the near distance.

They ended up in deep conversation, about the war and its battles, their victories and defeats, losses and sacrifices. They covered both the clone and the Jedi sides, creating a better understanding of choices that were being made, of previously unspoken fears and desires. The subject of their conversation shifted to their different childhoods, both far away from Coruscant. After telling her about his training back on Kamino, he asked Lupe about her homeworld, Lothal.

“I don’t remember much from my homeworld. Just the wolves,” Lupe said dreamily, as she tried to remember anything else. Fives raised a brow, as he looked at her in confusion. “Wolffes? There’s more than one??” he asked in shock, almost afraid, as one was more than enough in his eyes. Lupe started laughing as she wacked him on his shoulder. “No, silly. Wolves, like loth-wolves. The animals?” He nodded as it made sense, a rush of relief as he realised there was only one Commander Wolffe.

"So, er- what about your parents?" Fives asked warily, as he knew most Jedi were separated from their parents at a young age. "My parents? There's nothing about my parents. I don't remember them," Lupe answered, her voice abruptly shifting to a cold tone. Fives swallowed as he swiftly glanced towards her before continuing the subject. "Were you that young, when the Jedi came for you?"

Lupe sighed as she stared into the distance, searching for the right words. She didn't want to sound too careless, as she knew too well Fives and his brothers didn't have any parents at all. "My parents abandoned me as soon as they realised I was Force sensitive. They knew the Jedi would come for me eventually," she said at last. A wry smile on her face as she added: "Ironically, by doing so, they seemed to agree with the Jedi way. Form no attachments." A moment of silence. "I can't blame them, tho," she added softly, slightly hanging her head.

"So you dig the whole form-no-attachments part of being a Jedi?" Fives asked eventually, after another moment of silence. He was trying to choose his words carefully, to not upset her any further, but also to listen to her sorrows at the same time. "Abso-kriffing-lutely not," she blurted out. She shouldn't be questioning the Jedi Order out loud, and it especially seemed unwise to do so in the presence of a clone trooper. But she came to trust this one, and she felt she could share this with him. It was safe with him. She felt safe with him.

"I think attachments define who we are, who we choose to be. They shape us, they make us grow into better persons. They can make us whole. Or so I hope, at least," she finally said, after considering her words carefully, her lips forming a cautious smile. Fives didn't answer, but as she glanced at him sideways, she saw the look on his face and she knew he understood. They sat for another moment in silence, her words sinking into both of them.

As they were both sitting on the rooftop, leaning backwards, their hands supporting them behind their backs, she felt Fives' fingers creeping closer and finally touching hers. Her heart was racing. She should pull her hand away; this was wrong. She was a Jedi, he was a clone trooper. No attachments.. But if this was wrong, why did it feel so kriffing right? She didn't pull her hand away, and he took that as an invitation to put his hand on top of hers.

Breathing faster, she could feel her heart beating louder and her blood rushing to her head, almost making it spin. A strange sensation in her gut. She was so used to the fighting, to be a warrior and general, the death and devastation around her, that she hadn't thought there could be more to life. Was this it, was this what living was supposed to feel like?

"Fives..," she whispered slowly, as she turned her face towards him. But he wouldn't let her finish whatever she was going to say. He took her chin in his free hand and, as he leaned towards her, pulled her closer. She didn't have the chance to protest as he pressed his lips on hers. She closed her eyes as she let him. She could protest all she wanted, but in the end, this was exactly what she wanted. Her heart won from her head.

If this was whatever life was supposed to be, she wanted it. She had never felt this alive before. Her body was tingling as her senses seemed to be more present than ever. The Force around her seemed to flow stronger, more vividly. Their kiss evolved from a careful, asking one into something more longing, more desiring; something more passionate. Something they had both been searching for, and that they now had found with each other.

Lupe's heart was racing, and when she thought it would come running out of her chest, she pulled away. Her chest heaving, she looked him into his eyes again. This time, she wasn't going to look away. She was totally lost in his eyes now. Those big, brown eyes..

It was Fives who averted his glance at last. As he slightly moved to lean forward, his back partly towards her, he started fidgeting around with the rim of his kama. "I’m- I’m sorry. We can be Jedi and trooper again in the morning, just occasionally meeting at 79's. I don't want to put you in an awkward situation," he finally said, his gaze still averted as he didn't want to look her in the eye, as he felt surprisingly vulnerable as he spoke those words, but didn’t want her to notice.

Lupe didn't need to think about her words this time; she just let her heart speak. "I- I don't want that. And you didn't. Well, maybe you did, but- I'd like to be in that awkward situation, with you," she said, as she put the palm of her hand on his cheek and turned his face back towards her. She smiled at him, and she noticed a flicker in his eyes.

She was caught off guard again as he launched himself towards her in a warm embrace, and she laughed as she regained herself. She returned the gesture and put her arms around him, softly caressing the hair on his head as they sat there, on the roof in a never silent Coruscant, in the middle of an ongoing war. But for the remainder of that night, it was just the two of them.

...

Epilogue

The barracks' hallways were deserted when Echo roamed them that night. Fives wasn't in his bunk and was nowhere else to be found. As Echo was searching for his brother, he passed the officers' mess. Protocol said it was only accessible to officers, so Echo had no intention to enter the room. But in the corners of his eyes, he noticed something familiar inside the room, something.. Irreplaceable.

"For karking out loud," he sighed out loud, as he walked into the mess to find his reg manual being used as a caf stand. Brown rings from spilled caf stained the cover of the manual. He put aside the empty cup that was still standing on it, the worn '#1 Captain' print on it barely visible anymore, took his reg manual and went back to his bunk to call it a night.

[queer-starwars-bracket]

Queer Star Wars Characters (Round 1): Well Known Characters Bracket Match 11

Flix | Identity: mlm | Media: Star Wars Resistance

Flix and his romantic partner Orka ran the Office of Acquisitions on the Colossus, bringing them into frequent contact with the shenanigans of Kazuda Xiono when he purchases parts for his employer. They are part of the wider ensemble cast of the show, forming the loose found family you often get in cartoons set in small towns. Compared to his partner, Flix is the more shrewd and technically minded of the pair.

In Resistance’s short run, Flix got an episode focusing on his backstory, where the Colossus needs to get fuel from the refinery he was raised on. Flix saw his family as backwards and left them to become a cantina singer, which got him disowned. Over the course of the episode, he is able to make up with his cousin- the kind of mutual understanding and compromise you get in episodes like this. 

If you don’t count Kallus and Zeb, Flix and Orka are the first queer characters in a Star Wars TV show. In fact, if it wasn’t for outside clarification, they have the same level of textual support, which played a large part in the decision to include Kallus and Zeb.

Lando Calrissian | Identity: Pansexual | Media: Solo WoG

Sigh, I’m sure you all remember this clusterfuck. During the promotional tour for Solo, the screenwriter Jon Kasdan established Lando as pansexual, seemingly because of his attraction to L3-37 and did some pretty textbook queerbait about Lando x Han. Unlike other instances of authors clarifying what specific identity they intended or that the subtext audiences were seeing is entirely intentional, this is more the maligned “Making a character queer just in marketing”. 

Despite the good track record for queer representation in Star Wars publishing, there has been almost no follow-up to this. Lando has appeared a bit since then, and all his flings have been with women. The only exception was that he featured in the 2021 Pride Variant covers.

[clonemedickix]

🎶Welcome to my jungle, I’ve got art and a story🎶

Greetings!

I’m a simple girl making my way through this galaxy of artwork and fan fics, hoping that my doodles and romance novella give you even a small moment of entertainment. My art is 99% Star Wars: The Clone Wars related, though I am always learning and willing to make attempts at other things.

My fanfic is more of an epic saga, centered around my original character, General Lara Lin and her relationship with the clones, spanning the time period from the start of the Clone War to the future end of Captain Rex. It is a story with mature themes, violence and battle, graphic medical procedures and physical trauma, as well as smut (fairly tame marital/relationship bound smut). While the legend works to portray a larger tale, there are multiple adult scenes, so 18 and under DNI. The yarn is a bit of fusion from some LOTR and GOT backgrounds, but mostly remains in the Star Wars universe.

If you’d like to join my ART tag list or make a request, click here.

If you’d like to join my FANFIC tag list, click here.

Art Masterlist

Primer Recruitment Poster Howzer Tagging Adm Rampart Back

Volte Recruitment Poster Boost Recruitment Poster

If Only They’d Held On a Little Longer Fives and AZ3

Fives Recruitment Poster The Salute

Rex At Cid’s Cantina Ahsoka at the Siege of Mandalore

General Lara Lin Headshot with Crown Jesse’s Helmet

Grogu Evil Shenanigans Jesse and Fives

Howzer Recruitment Poster Gregor Smolder

I’ve Got You General Lara Lin with Rex

General Lara Lin Recruitment Poster Rex Steps Up

Ahsoka and Rex Have Each Other’s Backs Rex Holding Fives

Rex Are You Alright? Haunted: Last Clone Kix

Omega Headshot Rex and Anakin

Fives Headshot Betrayal

Captain Rex, All the Smolder Wrecker Headshot

Ahsoka Order 66 Fallout Fives Watching Echo Parent Omega

Captain Rex in Barracks Mandalore Ahsoka

Some Things Never Change Echo Past and Present

General Lara Lin Fighting Morgoth Tup Cordially Invites You

Echo Headshot Ruffian (not SW related)

Close Up The Wall Come Here, Meshla

Lara and Captain Primer Elara McTavish and Hunter

CT 5609 Captain Primer Princess Leia Organa

The Lean In The Red Trees of Seatos

Forged in Friendship It’s Captain Traitor

That Smirk

Commission Work by Other Artist:

Blue/Leaving Kamino Fives and General Lara Lin

[tiredassmage]

WIP game: distracted or distraction

Send me a word and if it’s in one of my WIPs, I’ll post the sentence or line it appears in!

Aksfnldsf, this one was too perfect. From a slightly, by a hair, AU absolute shenanigans of Tyr running into Leo in a Nar Shadaa cantina while Dash is out with Jonas because Leo's not coping - spawned by the which of my ocs would you romance in a game ask, lmao affectionately temporarily titled I Spy bc I think I'm hilarious:

Tyr lets out a chuckle as he shakes his head and brushes a hand under Leo’s jaw. The smuggler almost instantly caves to the gentle caress, leaning forward eagerly. There’s something flickering in his dark blue eyes that the agent could’ve recognized just about anywhere: an unfulfilled longing begging desperately for fulfillment, even if only in distraction.

[oneinathousand]

I’m incredibly sick of seeing Tatooine all the time in Star Wars, BUT I have an idea for a way they could take it in a different direction in the future… it becomes gentrified by tourism.

If they ever make new stories set many decades in the future like the now-Legends Legacy series, let’s imagine that the biographies of the Skywalkers become more well known over the years and eventually become part of the galaxy’s cultural consciousness like the Founding Fathers are to the U.S. and the various royal families are to the English, and some people realize, “Hey, these homes of a couple of the galaxy’s greatest heroes/enemies (the husk of the Lars home and Watto’s slave house) are still on this planet, we could make some money off of this!”

And so, entrepreneurs build up a whole tourist trap town around Luke and Anakin’s homes (you can’t show anyone Leia’s home anymore, Han didn’t seem to really have a steady home on Corellia, and Rey lived under junk, so these are the only options to make tourist traps from) , much like how the homes of many U.S. presidents have been preserved.

You could leave it like that, that the homes of Shmi and the Lars have been surrounded by pretty tacky gift shops and hotels, or you could go even further and have Tatooine be made into Las Vegas in space, that these tourist attractions spark even more business people across the planet to transform the biggest cities on the planet into desirable vacation destinations for the rest of the galaxy using the adage, “Come for the history, stay for the entertainment!”

It wouldn’t just be Luke and Anakin’s homes that become landmarks, but a few other places where they had shenanigans like the Mos Eisley Cantina or Jabba’s palace.

Pod racing really blows up in popularity, albeit with way more safety regulations than when Anakin participated so that the races can be broadcasted galaxy-wide, though like with NASCAR races there’s still a chance death could occur.

Huge zoos are built holding all the dangerous fauna both native to Tatooine and brought in from outside.

The Hutts finally agree to join the new Republic, and they’re less outwardly evil than before, following the formal abolishing of slavery, although many are still involved with criminal dealings.

Mos Eisley is the hub of all this, being the city closest to the historical landmarks, although several other cities are able to get some pieces of the pie by providing cheaper alternatives to much of the entertainment found in Mos Eisley.

Many Jawas are able to transition pretty smoothly into this new era, but the Tuskens… not so much, the cities hog pretty much all the resources and they encroach on their land.

Otherwise, I never want to see a desert planet ever again in Star Wars unless it looks completely different from any that have come before.

[megamindsupremacy]

Star Wars Fic Recs (Part 2)

capture the flag by artemis_neardos It's all fun and games, but a good portion of the galaxy is fairly certain that at least part of the GAR has quietly lost its mind. Obi-Wan isn't completely sure what's going on. His men are having fun and no ones getting hurt, so he has no problem playing along.

-

scraps by grumpyhedgehogs

Scraps of fic about a Cody who wakes up from Order 66 in the worst way possible: watching Obi-Wan Kenobi fall to Vader's blade. Scraps of fabric tie each fic together.

-

a beautiful day by artemissol

Ahsoka gets to say goodbye to her oldest and dearest friend, a luxury neither is often afforded.

-

Bonds broken by snap_crackle_spock

A former Master and Padawan walk into a space cantina.

The Master asks:

How do you break a Force bond?

Easy, the Padawan says, break all the trust that came before it.

-

Turn my sorrow into treasured gold by cosmicocean

“It might be better for you to die,” Obi-Wan muses as she holds her children in her arms. Padmé looks up at him and arches an eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean literally,” he clarifies.

“I know what you meant. I’m thinking about it.”

Padmé survives childbirth, dies as far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned, takes her children with Obi-Wan, and runs.

Pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow.

-

The grace of madness by lightningstarborne

Based on this prompt: Maybe Obi-Wan was tortured and captured on a early mission with Qui-Gon. Obi ends up acting like River(Firefly) by the time they are rescued/escape. The Council urges Qui-Gon to get a new apprentice because Obi-Wan will never be the way he was, they think he can't become a Jedi. Qui-Gon refuses, he believes Obi can still become a Jedi despite his mental instability.

Over the years Qui-Gon and Yoda are the only ones who can understand Obi and are both comfortable in his presence.

The Phantom Menace happens. Yoda approves Obi in training Anakin, the others on the Council disagree, but Yoda is da Boss.

How does Anakin do with Obi-Wan? Does Anakin still become Darth Vader?

-

Shenanigans by missteavee

You'd THINK that clones can tell each other apart. But apparently all it takes to fool even your best buddy is to dye your hair to the regular brown and wear shiny armor.

Rex has a laugh, Ponds can't believe these dummies.

-

The end of all things by husborth

Obi-Wan returns from a solo mission to a horrifying, terrifying, awful discovery; his fifteen-year-old padawan is now taller than him. -

A walk on part in the war by victoria_p

Vader presents Ahsoka with an ultimatum -

The honey between our shadows

A decade after the dawn of the Empire, Purge Trooper CC-2224 discovers a former Jedi general hiding on Tatooine. But the traitor isn’t what he expected: wisecracking and magnanimous—and heartbroken. And then there’s the unnerving way he looks at CC-2224, like he’s seen his nightmares and been acquainted with every blaster scar on his body.

Or: a roundabout justification for why Darth Vader never finds Obi-Wan and Luke on Tatooine.

[ao3feed-obikin]

That Business on Cato Neimoidia

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/44644948 by CheshireLothCat As far as Obi-Wan could remember, nothing even happened on Cato Neimoidia, except maybe him proving his prowess with a lightsaber by taking out a score of droids while inadvertently blitzed out of his mind on fungus spores. It's not until later on Naos III, halfway through a mission-turned-cantina-crawl with Anakin, that Obi-Wan remembers... something might have happened on Cato Neimoidia after all. And he's never been good at hiding anything from Anakin. Words: 1134, Chapters: 1/6, Language: English Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: M/M Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker Additional Tags: Gay Panic, Intoxication, Misunderstandings, Planet Cato Neimoidia (Star Wars), Touch-Starved, Getting Together, Fluff and Angst, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Obi-Wan Kenobi Has a Bad Feeling About This, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Top Anakin Skywalker, Bottom Obi-Wan Kenobi, Alcoholic Obi-Wan Kenobi, First Time, Force Healing (Star Wars), Guilt, Consent, Past Character Death, Harm to Children, Hurt/Comfort, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Simultaneous Orgasm, Aftercare, Mild Blood, Force Choking (Star Wars), Character Death In Dream, Binge Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Hangover, Porn with Feelings read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/44644948

[ofthecaravel]

Brandy

Chapter Two

Summary: A port on a western bay serves a hundred ships a day, and the lonely sailors flock to the Caravel Cantina, run by the Kiszka brothers (minus one). But when their brother returns with a handsome sailor in tow, the youngest Kiszka brother finds his perspective about his family and himself turned upside down.

Tags: Even more brotherly shenanigans, angst, tension (both good and bad), cutesy first date butterflies, some tears

Words: 9.7k

A/N: Very cute lil chapter but...something's definitely up

~~~

Sam was awoken by the unmistakable feeling of a gentle pressure on his forehead, as well as hushed whispers he could barely make out. He started blinking and trying to open his eyes when he heard Jake go "Fuck!" and audibly drop something, and when Sam tried to turn his head, the pressure on his head left and he heard even more things hitting the ground. He sat up with a jolt and looked around in a frenzy, trying to make sense of his surroundings as he tried to gain coherency. He was met by the sight of his brothers in their pajamas, Josh with a stack of books and a poorly concealed smile, and Jake with a book in his hand right at the head of Sam's bed. At his feet was a pile of books, varying from thin pamphlets to thick textbooks. 

"Oh, for crying out loud, you guys," Sam moaned, his voice still gravelly with sleep. "When was the last time you did this forehead book balance shit? I was, like, seven." 

"We just missed it so much," Josh whined, flashing a wide smile that Jake mirrored without even having to look at him.

"We're recreating memories of yore," Jake insisted, bending to scoop the books up, stopping to gently smack Sam on the side of the head with a book when he straightened and handed them to Josh. Josh's knees buckled slightly at the further onslaught of weight and let them collapse into a sliding pile across Sam's desk.

"Then I suppose you'll let me relive the glory of  when I filled your shoes with shrimp?" Sam smiled blearily. "That's one of my favorite pieces of 'yore'."

"Absolutely not," Josh hissed as Sam giggled, turning to swing his legs out of bed but Jake put a firm hand on his chest and held him steadfast.

"No, no, no, don't move," Jake commanded, exchanging a look with Josh that sent him out of the room before turning back to grin at his little brother. "Since you slept so late, we've decided to pull out another abandoned Kiszka brothers tradition to celebrate my glorious return."

As if on cue, Josh came sailing into the room balancing three plates, terribly singing a childhood Sunday school song as he distributed them to Jake and Sam, who accepted them with oohs and ahhs. 

"Aww, you shouldn't have," Sam fawned. "Breakfast in bed day!"

"A Kiszka classic," Jake proclaimed as he and Josh sat heavily on the end of the bed, crossing their legs and immediately tucking into their breakfasts.

Sam felt a warmth in his chest he hadn't felt in a long time as he stared down at the eggs dumped sloppily over darkly toasted bread ripe with nuts and seeds, with a scattering of chunkily cut apple slices. Josh had even served it on Sam's designated plate, a pale blue porcelain with a slight chip that had come from the first time Sam had ever done the dishes himself.

"Is it really that late in the morning?" Sam asked sheepishly, snapping an apple slice cleanly between his incisors. "We only did these after I slept in super late when I was sick."

"It's 11ish," Jake explained through loud chews. "But we both woke up early so, to us, this is late."

"You don't have scarlet fever again, do you?" Josh prodded, squinting suspiciously at Sam.

"No, I certainly do not," Sam replied indignantly as he swallowed his bite of apple.

"You had me fooled," Jake hummed coolly. "Last night, you looked unmistakably...flushed."

Josh snickered into his bite of toast and Sam frowned, his brow knitting in the certain way that always made his brothers even more entertained in their razzing. 

"Well, yeah, you had me working like a dog," Sam explained, pointing his fork purposefully. "I was running all over the place for hours."

"Oh, like when you ran over to the jukebox?" Josh asked innocently, and Jake giggled as Sam felt the calm warmth in his stomach shoot up to his cheeks and ears as a hot rush of adrenaline as the memories of the night came trickling back in.

"Or when you closed?" Jake egged on as Sam shot glares between his two chuckling brothers. They were all grown men, but as they giggled and Sam scoffed, it was like they had traveled back in time to when they were small and all their energy was reserved for picking on one another over the breakfast table.

"I don't know what you mean," Sam muttered as he took a big bite of eggs, hiding any expression his face might betray while he chewed. 

"Mmm, I think you do," Josh sang, batting his lashes at Sam theatrically while Jake twirled a piece of his hair.

"Ooh, I'm Sam, what's your name, sailor?" Jake mocked in a high pitched voice. "What's that? Your name is Daaaniel? What a handsome name!"

"Fuck's sake," Sam groveled, pushing Jake's shoulder. "I was going to ask you about that!"

"So you are going out with him this week?" Jake perked up, and Josh's eyebrows shot up as his mouth fell open, revealing the half chewed food in his mouth. 

"Why did you tell some poor lackey on your ship that I was dying for a date?" Sam complained, his frustration from last night finally being released. "Does the whole crew think I'm some desperate floozy? Huh?"

"I didn't say that!" Jake insisted, putting his fork down and adopting a serious look. "You know I love talking about you guys, and when we took on Daniel he just seemed so perfect for you! I mean, he looks just like the guys you would write about in your-"

"YOU READ MY JOURNAL?" Sam shrieked, putting his plate on his nightstand with a loud clack as Jake recoiled with a nervous grin. "YOU READ MY JOURNAL AND YOU TOLD A STRANGER?" 

"Sorry, what's going on?" Josh interjected meekly, his legs pulled up to his chest as he watched Sam's fiery gaze burn through Jake, who was protesting through weak, restrained laughter.

"Sammy, c'mon, give me a second to explain," Jake choked out as Sam spun his fork in his head fiercely, giving a loud exhale through his nose. "I never said you wrote about hot guys in your diary, calm down, I'm not completely evil. I sAAAID, mister, that you two have a lot in common and would be a good match. He asked about you all the time after that, and I didn't have any pictures to show him of you, so, you know, last night was a culmination of a lot of waiting."

"I guess that would explain some things," Sam grumbled, recalling Daniel's enthusiasm and saccharine charm. "But, I mean, he wasn't all bad. Except that he's a damn thief."

"What'd he thieve from you?" Josh asked amusedly, reaching out and plucking an apple slice from Jake's plate. "Your heeeart?" 

"Can't you two get out?" Sam whined, only getting laughs in response as the twins continued to happily eat their breakfast. Jake seemed to take the hint that one more tease would end in a sea of porcelain shards and launched into a retelling of he and Josh's morning adventure on the wharf. One of the things that Sam had missed so much about his brother was his shocking abundance of grace; Jake could rile him up to the point of complete fury, but never pushed hard enough to make him explode. He was the perfect diffuser for Sam's ticking time bomb temper, a skill quickly learned in the aftermath of their parent's death. That was when Sam's fuse had been the shortest and spared no one. 

But that time had passed. Now, they were all back together again, piling commentary and laughter on each other as Josh elaborated on their haggling with the egg vendor at the crack of dawn. Sam leaned back against his headboard and just observed for a minute, refamiliarizing himself with the way that his brothers would trade off sentences and throw words in for the other to enhance their part of the story. 

"Hey, where'd you go there, Sammy?" Jake asked, wiggling his fingers in front of Sam's face, making Sam blink back to the present and smile without thinking.

"Sorry, still a little sleepy," Sam lied, sitting up straighter and cracking his neck.

"You didn't miss the part where the chicken followed Josh home, did you?" 

"I'm an animal whisperer," Josh declared proudly. "She wouldn't even look at Jake. She just trotted up right behind me all the way up to the front steps. I thought that chicken was gonna break down the door the way she was pecking at it."

"Where is she now?" Sam asked through a laugh. This was such a thoroughly Josh situation, running into oddities at every turn. Sam had to be the sole errand runner for a while when the woman who sold from the dairy cart had her sister visiting and she kept trying to marry Josh off to her daughter in the Côte-Nord. 

Josh paused for a moment and Jake started cackling, collecting the plates from him and Sam.

"Don't tell me there's a chicken in this house, Josh, don't you dare," Sam started lamenting, kicking at his brothers to get off the bed with his legs still covered by the quilt. Josh immediately scrambled off the bed and closed Sam's bedroom door with a bang, blocking it with outstretched arms. Sam swung himself out of bed and rushed to the door, only to be stopped by Jake setting down the plate and then grabbing him around the waist in one swift motion. 

"Let me go!" Sam shrieked, smacking at Jake's head. "When did you get so freakishly strong?"

"When I started working on a fuckin' cargo ship!" Jake replied cheerfully, hoisting Sam an inch off the ground and whooping in delight when Sam started full on screaming and kicking.

"Show me the chicken! I know she's out there!" 

"You have to say the magic word!" Josh announced, looking up at Sam with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, Sammy, we raised you better than this. Where's the courtesy?"

"Show me the chicken, please and thank you!" Sam obliged defeatedly, wiggling free of Jake's grip and swatting at Josh's arms. 

"You can meet Clarice after you answer a few questions," Jake assured, clapping a firm hand on Sam's shoulder and shaking him back and forth a few times, Sam bending like a ruler under his hold. 

"Clarice?" Sam snorted. "That's the name you went with? Is this chicken 80 years old?"

"Hey, she's a part of the family now, show some respect," Josh chastised, his arms still splayed out firmly over the expanse of the door. "Now. We have some serious stuff to talk about."

"Okay..."

"So..." Jake trailed off, strolling casually over to Sam's dresser, and then suddenly started to throw the drawers open. "What are you wearing tonight?"

Sam flushed and spun, letting out a cry of protest when Jake crouched to open the lower drawers and started pulling out shirts and pants, tossing them over his shoulder into premeditated piles on the floor.

"Hey, hey, hey, gentle, gentle!" Sam cried, dropping to his knees next to Jake and picking the clothes right back up, starting a cycle of him shoving them back into the drawers only for them to be yanked right back out by Jake. 

"You need the perfect outfit for your date," Jake insisted, handing a shirt to Josh, who had come over to sit cross legged with them and was sifting through Jake's piles. "Too much?"

"Too much," Josh agreed, tossing it onto the bed. "What's Daniel's favorite color?"

"Indigo," Jake said, pulling out a dark blue button down. "This is sorta indigo."

"You guys really have nothing else to talk about on the ship, huh," Sam teased, still grabbing clothes and neatly folding them. "What's his second favorite? Vermillion? Chartreuse?" 

"No, smartass," Jake replied, handing the dark blue shirt to Sam. "It's goldenrod. Try this one on."

"You guys are being so weird about this," Sam accused, slipping the shirt on and buttoning it over his bare chest. "It's just dinner. I don't even know the guy."

"Daniel's my best worker," Jake said, shaking a finger at Sam. "And my best friend on the ship. He's not just some guy. I really trust him."

"And you obviously already like him, so stop pretending like this is some arduous task you're doing for charity," Josh scolded good-naturedly, cocking his head to the side to appraise Sam. "Mm. That's not working for me. Jakey?"

"I agree, off with it," Jake affirmed. "Josh, you wanna decide on some pants for the young lad?"

"Already done," Josh said proudly, plucking out a pair of espresso tweed pants. 

"Oh, I love those ones," Sam gushed as he shed the shirt, finally giving in to letting them play dress up. This was another childhood tradition being resurrected, Sam realized with a nostalgic pang. Only this time it wouldn't end with them sending him out onto the street decked out in their mom's wedding jewelry and a pillowcase dress and locking the door when he flew back to the doorstep wailing. 

"Heeeere we go," Jake whistled, holding up a button down colored the warm yellow of the inside of a dandelion. "This is one of the ones I sent you, right?"

"Uh huh," Sam affirmed, taking it from Jake and putting it on. "From Sierra Leone. You said you bought it from a guy with one eye."

"You remember all that?" Jake looked genuinely surprised, finally stopping his frenzy and casting soft eyes on his baby brother. "I've sent a hundred letters and you remember a throwaway detail like that?"

A sudden hush fell over the brothers in their wreckage of Sam's room. 

"Of course," Sam replied, his tone the gentlest it had been all morning, maybe in years.

"It's not like we have much else to read," Josh continued, clearing his throat thickly. "We missed you, you know."

'More than anything,' was said silently by both Josh and Sam. The afternoons they received a letter or package from Jake were followed by a night of reading and re-reading and then an evening of closed doors and lamentations.

"Yeah," Jake said weakly, looking at the ground. "I do know. And you know I'm sorry."

'So, so sorry,' was the silent reply of Jake. It had always been written in invisible ink right after he signed his name on his letters, folded and sealed with shaking fingers and guilt that pounded behind his eyes like a headache. The crew knew not to bother Jake after they touched down on a port with postal service; they just bought an extra bottle of whiskey and put it out for him to take to bed.

"We know," Sam said, his voice slightly above a whisper. "I'm happy to have you back, even if just for a little bit."

"Me too," Josh agreed, gently tapping his socked foot against Jake's knee.

"I'd stay longer if we could," Jake said seriously. "If it was up to me, we'd stay for a month. Maybe two."

"Isn't it quite literally up to you what you guys do?" Sam pointed out, trying not to let any frustration creep into his voice. 

"Not really," Jake explained, almost meek. "We have a schedule to stick to when it comes to docking and buyers and suppliers and all that technical bullshit. Some shipyard in St. John's is expecting us next week."

"That's dumb," Sam mumbled petulantly, playing with the sleeve of the yellow shirt. "You've barely even told us what your cargo is. Don't they have whatever you guys carry already?"

"Don't be snippy, Sammy," Josh scolded, even though Sam knew damn well that he was thinking the same thing. "We're very proud of you, Jake. Just...hopefully next time you can stay longer."

"Hopefully next time you can stay," Sam whispered, fully sinking back into the hole he'd been digging the past 2 years. This morning was a dream, but he was starting to wake up again. 

"I'm here now," Jake reminded them, putting a hand on each of their shoulders and leaning in. "Let's make the most of the time I have, okay? I don't want to spoil this time with my favorite brothers."

"We're your only brothers," Josh finished the age-old joke with a small smile. "You're right. If anything, Sam is the one impeding our time with his little date tonight."

Sam scoffed loudly, pushing both of them back and getting to his feet while Jake and Josh started giggling again.

"YOU guys are the ones who- y'know what, forget it," Sam threw his hands in the air. "Everybody out! Let a man put his pants on."

"Aye, aye, captain," Jake agreed, both him and Josh getting up while trading glances in an unspoken conversation. "We know you want to get all primped and proper for your suitor."

"We'll walk you to Skipper's," Josh asserted, ducking his curly head when Sam raised his hand in preparation for a noogie.

"Like hell you will!" Sam argued, firmly shutting his scheming brothers out of his room. 

-

At 4:50, Sam was blushing 10 angry shades of pink as he walked down the street to Skipper's Pub to meet Daniel, with Jake, Josh, and Clarice the chicken in tow. 

"Stop following me," he hissed over his shoulder for the thousandth time. "I'm fine."

"We need to make sure you get there safely," Josh insisted with a shit eating grin on his face, his hands happily stuffed in his pockets while he strolled with a spring in his step.

"I need to lay down the law with Daniel," Jake explained looking mock stern, clearly enjoying this just as much as Josh. "He needs to know how to behave around my beloved baby brother."

"BAWK," squawked Clarice, drawing the attention of every passerby and storefront as their misfit parade continued onwards as Skipper's came into sight. 

Sam could see a tall, familiar figure leaning against the lamp post up ahead and his body started to come alive with an entire power grid setting his nerves alight. His palms started sweating and he spun around one more time.

"Go. Away!" he whispered furiously again, nearly jumping out of his skin when a yell cut off Jake's impending reply.

"Kiszkas! What a pleasure!"

Daniel had spotted them and was giving them an enthusiastic wave, approaching them at a rapid pace that left Sam faltering slightly in his stride. It wasn't until he was right in front of him that Sam realized just how unprepared he had been to see Daniel in the sunlight. He was donning a lightweight, cream shirt and simple black slacks, but the thing that made Sam clear his throat to avoid choking on a gasp was how Daniel had thrown up his hair in a curly twist, leaving his face somehow more open. A few curls had escaped and curled up under his jaw and bounced as he moved his head and gestured, taking a moment to acknowledge Sam's brothers and pointing to the chicken.

"I see you've brought your posse," Daniel teased, raising his brows at Clarice, who clucked quietly in response and clung to Josh's ankles. "I don't remember mention of a chicken, Jake, I'm surprised you'd leave that out."

"Clarice is a new addition to the family, Daniel," Jake chuckled, admiring her dark plumage. "You know me, I'd never not tell you about the family chicken. How was your sleep at the inn?"

"Deepest sleep I've had in years," Daniel laughed, his body language reading nothing but comfort and confidence. "Much easier to nod off when you don't wake up seasick every 2 hours."

"Amen to that," Jake replied, shaking his head. "I slept like the dead last night. I don't even think I dreamt."

"That's a bummer, the crew always looks forward to hearing about the crazy shit you get up to in Dreamland."

Sam cleared his throat again, this time to snap his brother back to reality. As he had gotten ready, he had wanted nothing more than to get dinner over with. But now that he was here, and Daniel was standing so tall in front of him with the early evening light bathing him in warmth, he suddenly felt he wanted Daniel all to himself for a few hours. Or the whole night. Dinner would decide that, he figured.

"We have reservations, gentlemen, shall we catch up later tonight?" Daniel proposed coolly, picking up on Sam's signal before one of the twins jumped at the chance to make a teasing comment. "I'd love to swing by for this famous Jake whiskey I've heard so much about."

"Sounds perfect," Jake agreed, giving Daniel a professional handshake that made Sam want to roll his eyes into the back of his head. "We just wanted to make sure our darling Sweetie Sammy didn't get to wandering."

"He was born without an internal compass," Josh confirmed, nodding sagely as Sam stared daggers. "Poor Sammy."

"Well, I'll get him where we need to be," Daniel assured them, putting a warm hand on Sam's upper arm and sending a jolt through his system. "Think you can manage the 1 minute walk without getting lost?"

"I can manage, thank you," Sam finally spoke, his heart giving an embarrassed jump at how his voice wavered ever so slightly. Jake and Josh noticed this subtlety and gave him identical looks of subtle amusement.

"Good, good," Daniel murmured, rubbing his arm twice and finally steering them away from Jake and Josh and the chicken that had now begun to wander between Josh's legs in boredom. "See you guys later!"

"Bye, Daniel!" they both called in the sing-song voice they had teased Sam with that morning, and Sam wished with all his might that they would explode as he heard them whispering excitedly while they walked away.

"They never leave you alone, do they?" Daniel asked Sam, his voice pitched in a lower register that made Sam's ears twitch and spine straighten. 

"Not since I've been alive," Sam responded, his nerves escaping as a breathy little laugh he wasn't expecting. "They're the most embarrassing people on Earth but I love 'em."

"That's good, they certainly love you," Daniel hummed, letting his hand fall from Sam's arm. "That's why they annoy the shit out of you. I should know, I'm an older brother myself. Thousands of miles and a sea that's as deep as it is wide couldn't stop me from bugging my baby sister."

"What's her name?" Sam found himself asking as Daniel opened the door to the pub for him, and Daniel blinked in surprise at the question.

"Josephine," he answered with a smile, the bell on the door chiming cheerfully as they stepped inside. "Pretty as a peach. I'm sure you two would get on." 

As Sam took in the scene at Skipper's, he became aware of the sheer lack of ...well, the scene itself. There was no hazy cloud of tobacco blanketing everything in its scent, no loud cacophony of shouting men, no violin whistling in the corner with its accompanying hat of crumpled bills and scattered coins. No waitresses bustling, no bartender snapping, no smell of grease and salt. 

"Uh," Sam stuttered, looking around with visible confusion. "Wow, I've never seen it so empty here. It's usually a madhouse."

"I figured," Daniel said slyly, walking ahead of Sam and training a cool grin on him. "I got here early this morning and talked to Skipper and rented it for a few hours. We have the whole place to ourselves until 8. You think you can fit your interrogation of my character into that time frame?"

Sam had never been one to be rendered speechless, and yet there he stood, his mouth slightly ajar as Daniel's smile grew while he watched Sam blink, knitting and unknitting his brow with sweaty palms.

"Last night, at your bar, it was pretty crazy with the guys," Daniel started to explain, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I saw you flinch every time somebody yelled. I thought you might appreciate the peace and quiet."

"What do you want from me?" Sam asked quietly, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he squinted at Daniel. 

"This one dinner," Daniel said simply, walking backwards towards the backroom. "With you. Come on, let's sit down and get a drink."

Sam followed Daniel as he led him over to one of the booths, one in the corner that was usually snatched up as quickly as they opened. The table was laden with a stubby candle, a wilting flower in a smooth blue vase, and two menus carefully placed across from each other. Sam slid into his seat, landing hard as he took the weight off his weak knees. He was having a very hard time adjusting to this environment. How was it he had gone 20 plus years and never been on a date before? How had he gone this long and never been thought of with this much care?

"You're over 21, right?" Daniel asked nervously as he settled in his seat, picking up his menu as he sat back and spread his legs, his knee knocking against Sam's under the table and making him jump. Daniel didn't seem to notice this, not moving his leg and poring over the menu's measly contents.

"Yeah, I'm 22," Sam replied, trying not to shift around as much as he wanted to while he started to look over the menu himself. God forbid he bumps Daniel and he moves his knee from his. "But they don't ask here. Or anywhere else in town, really. If you're old enough to walk and keep a coin in your palm, they'll serve you."

"Surely not at The Caravel?" Daniel accused over the top of his menu. 

"We're young enough to know who's who and how old," Sam elaborated, a smile creeping onto his face. "We only throw 'em out if we don't like them, but those people usually stay away. The rest, we just water down their drinks a little and keep an eye on them."

"That's pretty courteous," Daniel complimented. "That's probably why you guys are so popular. It has a good atmosphere. Very inviting energy."

"And great service, right?" Sam joked, raising an eyebrow. "That's the one I always hear. Even though I'm not sure that's really what they mean when they say it."

"Sounds like you deal with a lot of colorful characters."

"That's one way to put it."

"I should know, I have a feeling I'm one of them," Daniel grinned, and Sam laughed.

"Honestly? I've dealt with so much worse," Sam replied truthfully. "Overall, you rank pretty low." 

"Sounds like you're liking me better," Daniel said triumphantly. "I knew this would happen. I've charmed you."

"It's only been 3 minutes," Sam pointed out coolly.

"And I've already had you speechless," Daniel countered, his eyes flicking over Sam's face and upper body for a few seconds. "That's the power of my charm. It works fast. I like your button down."

"Thanks," Sam replied, his heart beating against his rib cage so fast he was nearly breathless. "I like yours, too."

"I'm so glad you like my plain, white shirt," Daniel chuckled. "I was really worried."

"I'm bad at compliments," Sam blurted, his face heating up at his own admission. "I do mean it, though. It's...nice. More formal than I see a lot of sailors wear. And, I mean, we're a port, so I see a lot of sailors."

'Oh my god, stop talking,' screamed his inner monologue, whom he indulged by biting on his lower lip and turning his attention back to his menu, pretending to be suddenly engrossed by the misspelled description of a tuna melt.

"Are you nervous, Sam?" Daniel asked slowly, resting his forearms on the table with a flirtatious grin, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "You seem a little nervous. I mean, it's not like this is your first date or anything, is it?"

Sam tried not to bristle at his words, instead maintaining eye contact for a brief moment before silently returning to his fake menu reading, politely scratching his nose and willing himself to not go beet red in the cheeks. All the teasing joy on Daniel's face slowly faded into a genuine shock, his mouth opening ever so slightly as he leaned further across the table.

"No way in Hell," he whispered. "Ain't no way. You? You mean to tell me YOU have never been on a date before?"

"What do you mean, me?" Sam asked, lowering his menu finally to look Daniel head on. "It's really not a big deal."

"I'm not saying it is, I'm just saying it's odd. I mean, from a statistical standpoint."

"Sorry?"

"You're attractive," Daniel breathed, adopting a look of real confusion. "You could have anyone you wanted."

"Oh, please. Now you're just buttering me up," Sam scoffed, shaking his head reflexively as he tried to look anywhere but the hazel abyss of Daniel's stare. "I just, I don't know. I'm busy."

"Sure," Daniel rolled his eyes. "You must have been asked two dozen times."

"A night," Sam corrected. "I never said I hadn't been asked."

"But you've never said yes."

"Let me put it this way, Dan," Sam said, leaning forward in a spontaneous moment of bravery until there were only inches separating their noses. "The dates I get asked on aren't really meant to take place during the day, or exceed more than 10 minutes. After a while, the "flattery" gets sort of lost on you."

Daniel blinked and frowned, his face deflating into a somberness that confused Sam. 

"So..." Daniel started, twiddling his fingers pensively. "You didn't think I was actually going to take you out on a real date?"

 Sam held his gaze, feeling nervous for a minute that Daniel could see right through his eyes and into his head, nervous that he would see the replay of all the crude comments and requests that Sam had accumulated over the years and never, ever forgotten. No matter how much he pretended they didn't bother him. 

"No," Sam relinquished quietly. "I did not. And, if I'm being completely honest, I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"What would I ever spring on you?" Daniel asked sincerely. Sam realized, then, that Daniel really didn't know the answer, and his heart ached in a foreign way that felt almost uncomfortable.

"That your intentions with me are not as pure as you're pretending they are," Sam said, but he immediately knew that his concerns were not the accusation he had been so certain of. "But maybe you're starting to change my mind a little."

Daniel's puzzled frown lifted into a small smile, his big eyes softening as he looked at Sam for a beat more, stretching the silence until it twanged with a tension that Sam was starting to get a taste for. 

"I'm happy to hear that," Daniel murmured, leaning back against his seat again. "I hope to change your mind more than a little bit by the end of the night. And I hope you know that Jake would have my ass if I ever tried to hurt you."

Sam let out a laugh, relaxing into its release as Daniel lifted the darkness from the booth with his crooked grin and ease. 

"It could be fun to watch you get thrown overboard," Sam teased, and Daniel scoffed in mock offense. "We'll borrow a plank from a pirate ship. Get a good crowd, pass around some smokes. It could be a whole event."

"Your cruelty wounds me," Daniel accused, even though his smile was practically dripping off his face. "Hey, that'll be our next date. I'll give you a proper tour of The Barbarian."

"We haven't even finished this one," Sam laughed, looking around the empty restaurant. "Are they even going to serve us? You promised me dinner."

"And dinner you will get," Daniel promised. "I already ordered for us both ahead of time, don't worry about it."

"What?" Sam said, shocked by Daniel's preparations once again. "Then what did they give us menus for?"

"I thought keeping them would be more authentic," Daniel admitted sheepishly, securing Sam's menu with a finger and sliding it under his own. "Plus, I knew I wanted to set up as many opportunities as possible to see your cute little surprised expression. Why would I pass up on such a fun chance?"

Sam felt the heat rise to his face again as Daniel tossed him a casual wink. A minute later, a waitress came through the kitchen doors carrying a slew of plates topped with pink fish, greens, and golden potatoes that threatened to roll over and across the floor. Daniel whooped excitedly and the waitress laughed, the two of them striking up a lighthearted chat as she set down the plates and their rolls of silverware. 

"Can I get you two any drinks?" she asked, pulling out her notepad and pen. "They're on the house."

"Are you sure?" Daniel asked as he unfurled his napkin. "It's not an issue if-"

"Oh, no, no," she refused, flashing Sam a smile. "The Kiszkas supply all our best liquors, it's the least we can do, really."

"You guys are regular tycoons, huh?" Daniel whistled, and Sam waved him away.

"No, no," Sam insisted humbly. "We just look out for each other. We'll both have a brandy on the rocks, please, Violet."

"Of course, Sammy," she smiled as she jotted it down, nodding politely before walking away. As Danny looked down to admire their dinner, she caught Sam's eye, pointing at Daniel and mouthing 'Wow!'. Sam laughed and Daniel looked up, his fork already deep in his salad.

"What?" he asked.

"It's nothing," Sam replied with a mysterious smile, popping a baby potato into his mouth and looking down shyly. He could still feel Daniel's eyes on him as he chewed. 

"Brandy, huh?" Daniel continued, and Sam silently looked up at him, shrugging gently.

"Yep," Sam said simply. "Brandy."

-

At 8:15, Daniel and Sam rolled into the Caravel in a burst of giggles and flushed cheeks, the sound of their chatter filling the empty expanse of the bar. Jake and Josh had been engrossed in a lively conversation as they prepped for the evening, but they went silent with wonder as they watched their brother float up to the bar with Daniel right behind him, watching Sam unwaveringly as he babbled enthusiastically. 

"Hey, you two," Jake greeted gingerly, almost as if not to scare away whatever demon had clearly possessed Sam to be this bright before a shift. "How's it over at ol' Skips?"

"Delightful," Daniel grinned, patting Sam loudly on the back as he took a seat next to him. "I learned so much about this guy right here. Like the fact that he cannot handle his liquor."

"For the last time, I'm not drunk!" Sam exclaimed in annoyance. "I had two drinks. Two. God forbid I let loose a little."

"I don't know, Sam, I haven't seen you this "relaxed" in a while," Josh teased, pulling his wild halo of curls back into a weak little ponytail as Sam gave him a private look of warning. "You can work tonight, right?"

"Of course," Sam defended, mirroring Josh's motions and starting to comb his fingers through his hair and brushing it away from his face. "Like I said, I'm not drunk."

He really wasn't. If he was drunk on anything, it was Daniel. Hours had sped by as they talked over dinner about everything and anything that came to mind. Daniel had clearly prepared some talking points beforehand, but the conversation had taken natural twists and turns of its own that had followed them all the way to the bar. Sam was already trying to memorize what he could of Daniel; his favorite season was summer, he cracked his knuckles when he was deep in thought, he was the quietest guy on the ship (which came as a big surprise to Sam, all things considered). 

"Well, even if you were, I don't expect we'll get many patrons besides a few of my men," Jake said as rubbed a glass on his shirt before putting it back. "You need a hair tie, Brandy?"

"I got it," Daniel interjected before Sam could snap at Jake for calling him Brandy yet again, reaching up and releasing the jaws of his hair clip. He casually shook his curls loose, one of them brushing Sam's cheek as Daniel leaned over to fasten the clip over the mess of hair that Sam had bundled at the back of his head. The contact made Sam inhale sharply and sit straight as a board while Daniel worked securing every loose strand of hair, humming as if it were nothing. Jake and Josh stood there in awkward silence, both of them making intense eye contact with Sam as they all had an unspoken family talk. 

'Get a room,' started Josh, speaking through a smile playing on his lips.

'I knew this was a good idea,' added Jake by purposefully looking down into the glass in his hand.

'I hate you both,' replied Sam by narrowing his eyes at them. They all snapped back to reality when Daniel held his hands up and admired his handiwork, patting Sam on the back yet again.

"There you go," he said proudly, tucking his own hair behind his hair and assessing Sam's bun. "Looks close enough to the one you were rockin' last night."

"What do you say, Sammy?" Jake sang, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Thank you," Sam muttered. 

"You're welcome," Daniel replied with a smile. "I do all the guys' hair on Barbarian. I guess that's the perk you get with being the only one with a sister. Can you believe I'm the only one? I've never met so many only children in my life."

"Barbarian?" Josh echoed, knitting his brows. "I thought-"

"Can I get you anything to drink, Danny boy?" Jake blurted, loudly placing an empty glass in front of Daniel and startling Josh away from his train of thought, who instead just threw him an annoyed glance. "Whatever you want, that was the deal."

"The deal?" Sam asked critically. "He buys me dinner, you buy him a drink?"

"You betcha," Jake laughed, pulling out a bottle of his whiskey and pouring Daniel a tall drink, loudly dropping a few ice cubes in the liquor and sliding it until it nudged Daniel's hand. "Bon appétit."

Daniel looked embarrassed as he took the glass, melting under Sam's pointed glare. Sam realized he wasn't all that justified in being as annoyed as he was; Jake had told him that he had set this date up from the get go. But Daniel had been so sincere and fun and genuinely caring during their dinner that maybe for a second Sam forgot he might only be doing it to fulfill that agreement, and not because he was actually interested in Sam. 

"Well, enjoy your hard earned drink," Sam bid sarcastically, getting up with a start and stomping to the back to grab his apron and tray. 

"Oh, come on, Sam," Jake called after him, but Sam didn't look, simply turning the corner into the cramped backroom and snatching his apron violently from the wall. He stood in front of the cracked mirror next to the hook that held the aprons and maintained a steely staring contest with himself as he cinched the fabric around his waist, his heart hammering angrily in his chest. Sam had never felt so stupid in his life. Something during that date had made him a little lighter, but here he was, crashing back down to Earth like he had this morning. He scolded himself for getting so caught up in temporary reliefs from reality, letting out a heavy sigh as he clenched his jaw and tried to trick his mind into ignoring the pressure building in his waterline and clouding his sight.

"Fuck," he whispered, holding the heels of his palms against his eyes and swallowing purposefully, steadying his breathing as he tried to force any runaway tears back into his tear ducts. This was so stupid, he thought. So fucking stupid. He was getting worked up over nothing.

"Hey."

Sam cursed and removed his hands from his face, wiping his palms on his apron and harshly turning to face the voice in one, fluid motion. 

"Woah," whispered Daniel, who was standing behind him with an apron in his hand, concern painted all over his face. "I..."

"I'm fine," Sam snapped, the emotion in his voice betraying him. "You're not supposed to be back here."

"I'm serving tonight," Daniel announced, holding up the aforementioned apron, which looked almost like a washcloth in comparison to his arm. "Captain's orders."

"For fuck's sake, I can handle myself," Sam groaned, trying to grab the apron from Daniel, who held it tight in his hand. "Can't you just leave me alone?"

"It didn't seem like that was the case half an hour ago," Daniel retorted, pulling the apron away from Sam and tossing it over his head. "It seemed like you were pretty happy to be in my company."

"Yeah, well, that was before-" Sam stopped, unsure of where that sentence was going.

"Before Jake uncouthly reminded us both that our date started out as a scummy sailor's deal?"

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes, turning back around to the mirror. Of course, he could still see Daniel in the reflection, and the frustration surrounding his expression tensed his nerves even further. Daniel with his sad, lapdog eyes roaming over Sam's face, which was flush with color and adorned with his trademark scowl.

"Maybe that's what it was supposed to be," Daniel spoke again. "But it was never at your expense. Jake made it very clear from the beginning that I didn't have to do a damn thing. It was just an idea, but I was the one who agreed to actually do it. And maybe I was playing it up a little bit initially last night but..."

Daniel paused, his eyes wandering in space as he finished tying his apron until Sam finally caught his eye in the mirror.

"I only continued playing it up because I realized I actually liked you as a person," Daniel confessed. "It wasn't a bet anymore. I just wanted to get some actual one on one time with you when you weren't on the clock and rightfully annoyed with me. And I meant what I said at dinner tonight. No bad intentions. My cards are on the table."

Sam stood there numbly, trying to absorb what he was hearing and trying to sort through his thoughts. If there was one thing Sam was good at, it was being overwhelmed.

"And, I mean," Daniel plowed on, smoothing the apron against his legs and allowing a hesitant smile to tug at his lips. "I don't have enough time to make any other friends, so you'd really be doing me a favor by hanging out with me some more."

Sam stayed silent, keeping his lips tight to avoid Daniel's smile from infecting him too, instead sniffing once and staring at his shoes.

"I'll give you a dollar if you get breakfast with me tomorrow?"

"Shut up, man," Sam finally said, giving in to a little laugh and turning to face Daniel. "I guess...I guess it wouldn't be so bad if we hung out again."

"Thank goodness," Daniel said with an exaggerated sigh of relief, half of it genuine. "I'm sorry I keep giving you so many reasons to hate my guts."

"I don't hate your guts," Sam replied softly. "But I am going to give you all my worst tables tonight."

"That's fair."

"And I get half of your tips."

"Take them all, I don't want them," Daniel grinned.

"How can you turn down spare change like that?" 

"I don't need it."

"Surely you don't make enough to always live this lavishly when you're docked," Sam accused as he grabbed his tray from its little shelf and handed one back to Daniel. 

"I have a great accountant."

"Maybe you're a pirate."

"Maybe I am," Daniel smirked devilishly, raising an eyebrow at Sam and making his heart race faster than it already was. Sam approached him, feeling a little emboldened by the equal ground that Daniel had established and the liquor that lingered in his bloodstream.

"You're too nice to be a pirate," Sam murmured, smacking his serving tray against Daniel's broad chest. Daniel held his gaze and his crooked smile grew, cocking his head and appraising Sam from under low lids and heavy, dark lashes.

"You sure about that?" he responded calmly, his voice low and husky as his eyes flicked down to Sam's lips, reminding him of just how close he had gotten. He felt his breath rattling excitedly in his chest as he watched Daniel's pupils unmistakably expand in their hazel pools when the tip of Sam's tongue flicked out to lick his lips, feeling the few seconds that passed like they were hours. 

"BOYS!" came the rolling shriek of Josh's voice, jolting them away from each other as they turned to the sound. "Customers! Quit sucking face and make me some money!"

"We are NOT!" Sam screamed back, immediately powering towards the eruption of laughter from the bar. He left Daniel standing there, who took only a second to catch his breath and stifle a smile before obediently following after him.

The Caravel didn't have many patrons that night, but Daniel made it more than worth their while. The Kiszka kept having mini meetings at the bar where they hunched over and spoke in rapid fire whispers and giggles as they watched Daniel weave between tables and charm every customer into turning out their pockets for him. Sam was still at the beck and call of a few of his regulars, but after someone had suggested he "show a little skin" to get a tip, Daniel had swooped in, pointedly tied up his own shirt, and skirted Sam to the sidelines. 

"Pigtails next, Wagner!" one of Jake's men called from a corner table, where 6 of them had huddled and crammed their glasses together on the small surface.

"Do a spin!" yelled the guy next to him, and they all cracked up when Daniel did just that, blowing them a kiss as they wolf whistled and yowled while hustling over to the bar to discard his tray of empty glassware. 

"You want a job, Danny?" proposed Josh, pouring up a new round. "I can't pay you much more than Jake, but if you keep this up you'll be drowning in tips."

"Then who would carry all of Jake's big, heavy boxes?" Daniel said, cracking his back and rubbing his neck. "I'd think about it but I'm not even keeping these tips."

"What?" Jake spluttered, pulling down his sunglasses to stare Daniel down. "You just made 40 bucks in 20 minutes. What are you going to do with all that?"

Daniel looked over at Sam, who had been leaning against the bar resting his chin in his hand and enjoying the break that Daniel had allowed him. Plus, he couldn't say he hadn't been enjoying the view a little, too. Sam looked up at Daniel and they all watched as Daniel scooped out all of his tips and piled them in front of Sam, giving him a wink and striding off back into the fray. The brothers stayed silent for another minute, blinking at the pile of money glimmering on the wood. 

"Sammy," Jake said slowly as Sam quietly started separating the coins and bills. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. You need to marry him."

"Shut up, Jake," Sam muttered, pursing his lips slightly to keep a giddy smile at bay as he pushed the stacks of coins towards Josh to roll. 

"I've never seen anything like that," Josh remarked as he slid the coins into their paper towers and pushed them right back to Sam. "I mean, I thought I was a gentleman, but, wow."

"I told him I got half of his tips tonight," Sam explained as he slid the money into his apron pocket.

"Pretty sure that was more than half," Jake scoffed, looking back over to Daniel, who was laughing with the men at the corner table. "Look at that, he's even got Carson and the guys docile. I can never get them to settle after a few drinks."

"What a guy," Josh sighed longingly, shaking his head theatrically. 

"He's alright," Sam said, sneaking another sidelong glance at Daniel and startling when he saw Daniel had already been looking at him, shooting Sam a surprisingly shy smile before turning back to his customers. 

'He's more than alright,' Sam thought to himself as he watched Josh place a round of shots on his tray. The thought scared the shit out of him.

"Walk you home?"

Daniel bumped his shoulder against Sam as Sam locked the register up for the night.

"I won't be alone this time," Sam reminded him. "My brothers are surprisingly sober tonight."

"Whatever," Daniel said, pulling off his apron and messily folding. "We can walk ahead of them or something."

"You're so obsessed with me," Sam accused, taking Daniel's apron and walking to the back room to hang it next to his. Daniel followed him and offered an offended scoff, standing in Sam's way.

"Forgive me for wanting to keep you company," Daniel teased, reaching up and flicking the end of Sam's nose, who scrunched it in annoyance and slapped his hand. "Alright, I'll leave you alone this time. What are you up to tomorrow?"

"I have to go to the market in the morning, and I planned on stopping at the glassblowing shop sometime before my shift," Sam groaned, his lip curling. "Customers break our glasses like they think we're made of money. Glass is more expensive than you'd think."

"Well, if you have any free time, you should swing by the inn," Daniel smiled, leaning his head against the wall and appraising Sam with a soft look. "My room has a record player and a great view of the alley where all the drunks go to fight. It's a pretty sweet deal. Room 1, 'cause, you know, I'm your number one."

"How tempting," Sam hummed, crossing his arms. "I'll think about it. But if you're trying to seduce me, it's not working."

"Isn't it?" Daniel purred, winking and sending Sam a flurry of butterflies in his stomach, which he masked with a roll of his eyes and smacking his shoulder against Daniel's, trying to pass him.

"Go home, get outta here," Sam ordered as he strode into Daniel's side again, trying to make him budge. Daniel grinned, unmoving.

"Mm, nope, try again," Daniel challenged, leaning further against the wall with a cocky look. "Push me aside."

"Fuck off," Sam grumbled, slamming his shoulder into Daniel's but stumbling backwards instantaneously. He then proceeded to place his palms flat against Daniel's chest and push with all his might, causing Daniel to shuffle ever so slightly and chuckle. 

"You're killing me, man," Daniel laughed, looking down at Sam with a delighted warmth in his eyes. 

"Move!" Sam whined, slapping his palms on him again, nerves fluttering in his stomach with every moment that passed with Daniel's body so close to his. He made the mistake of making eye contact with Daniel, finding himself frozen with his hands still pressed against Daniel's shirt as he became more and more aware of how little there was separating their skin. Sam's heart jumped into his throat when Daniel leaned down so that their noses were nearly touching.

"You're adorable," Daniel whispered. Sam could feel his sweet breath on his face, blowing the loose strands that brushed against his ears. Before Sam could reply, Daniel straightened again and flattened his back against the wall, allowing Sam to breeze by him and burst out onto the floor. 

Jake and Josh were huddled by the jukebox, talking in a low register that would have surprised Sam any other time when he wasn't so overwhelmed and jittery. 

"Ready?" he asked, trying to keep the strain out of his voice.

"You two go ahead, I'll wrap up here," Josh insisted, clapping Jake on the shoulder and turning him in Sam's direction. His voice was oddly tight, and Sam passed a curious look between the two of them before Jake grinned cheerfully and moved past Sam.

"Come on, Sammy, you know if we linger he'll change his mind and give us chores," Jake said, yanking on Sam's arm and looking back at Josh. "Hey, we'll talk in the morning, yeah?"

"Yeah," Josh answered simply, immediately spinning to give his attention to the jukebox and leaving Sam even more confused as Jake led him to the back. Daniel was still there, waiting by the door.

"What are you still doing here, sailor?" Jake laughed, blissfully unaware of the tense stare Sam was sneaking at Daniel. "Aren't you sick of us yet?"

"Completely," Daniel shot back, nodding his head at the door. "But I can't leave in good conscience without knowing if the ol' girl is safely locked up or not."

"You don't trust us to remember to lock our own establishment?" Sam countered as they stepped out into the fresh night air. 

"Like anybody would try to break into this dump," Jake snorted as he locked the door behind them with an exaggerated jangle of the extra key ring. "There. Now Josh is locked in."

"Oh yeah, Josh," Daniel said as they started walking. "Why's he hanging back? Did our boys bust up the place that bad?"

"Yeah, what's up with him? He seemed cranky," Sam chimed in. Jake let out a half laugh, half sigh as he shook his head.

"He's fine, he's just..." Jake thought about it for a moment before settling on a diagnosis. "It was a hectic night and he's just sort of wound up. You know what I mean, Sam."

"I don't know, J, he seemed pissed at you."

"Whatever it is, don't get me involved," Danny interjected. Jake laughed.

"Dan, you schmoozed a mountain of tips for us tonight, Josh couldn't get pissed at you if he tried," Jake smiled, reaching past Sam to pat Daniel on the shoulder. "Sure you're not gonna leave your ol' captain behind to work for Josh?"

"Nah," Daniel said flippantly. "Although I admit it's very tempting." 

Daniel gave Sam a private elbow to the ribs and Sam stumbled, glaring at him while Daniel gave him a wink. 

"How did you get into the cargo biz, anyhow?" Sam asked as they turned onto their street. 

For the first time, Daniel hesitated. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd think he exchanged a look with Jake, but it was over before he got the chance to figure out if it was the dim light playing a trick on his sleepy eyes. 

"Well," Daniel started, knitting his eyebrows in thought. "It's a complicated answer. I needed a job but I knew that'd mean working at the schoolhouse in my hometown and I...I don't know. I wasn't sure if I was teacher material. I had bigger dreams. So, I hopped a boat and sailed away."

He smiled at that, looking down at his boots as they echoed over the cobblestone.

"I'm happy you did, Dan," Jake hummed as they approached the door. "I only wish we could've gotten our hands on you a little sooner. There were some keg shipments before your time that still haunt my dreams."

"You can probably lift those like a beer can," Sam blurted, allowing his thoughts to bleed through into his speech and immediately flushing hotly at it. Daniel and Jake looked at him in amusement as he tilted his face away to pat his pocket for his keys.

"You bet I do," Daniel agreed, a laugh tittering on the edge of his voice. "Come here and I'll lift you like a feather."

Sam squeaked out a protest and shimmied away from him. Daniel chuckled as Sam stuck his key in the door, scowling at Daniel over his shoulder as he opened the door and held it open for Jake to strut through.  

"You two kill me," Jake teased, giving Daniel a side hug before strolling into the threshold of their home. "You want to come in for a nightcap?"

"I should turn in," Daniel declined politely, shyly rocking back on his heels. "But I'd love to come by sometime before we head out."

"We'd love that," Jake smiled, turning to Sam. "Wouldn't we, Sammy?"

"Sure," Sam agreed softly, not quite looking Daniel in the eye as he lingered in the doorway. 

"Sure," Daniel mocked quietly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with a smile on his face. "So enthusiastic. I feel sooo welcome."

"What's happened to your manners since I left?" Jake scolded Sam. "Sheesh."

"Sor-ry," Sam drawled, looking up at Daniel with a toothy grin. "Daniel, it would be ever so wonderful if you'd join us for a meal sometime."

"Why, thank you, Brandy," Daniel replied just as mockingly, dipping into a sarcastic curtsy before taking a step back. "Goodnight, you two. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Jake bid, raising a hand before heading off towards his room, his hat already off his head as he let out a deep sigh and disappeared into the dark house. 

Sam stayed in the doorway for a second, stepping inside but looking over his shoulder one more time. Daniel gave him a little wave.

"What are you waiting for?" Daniel asked, raising his eyebrows with his hands deep in his pockets. "A goodnight kiss?"

Sam slammed the door behind him, locking it loudly. He heard Daniel's laugh muffled through the wood and Sam smiled bashfully at the sound, leaning his forehead against the door as he listened to Daniel walk away.

~~~~~

[orphancookie69]

Now Traveling: Lake Havasu City, AZ

It is that time of year again. Work is slowing down and I am ready for a vacation. Is there a purpose this time? (Do I need one?) Yes, holiday shenanigans ya know?

Friday:

Drive up was relatively quick, 4 hours or so. Stop by Oatman,CA. I have been by Oatman before, but it was my sister's first time. The donkey's are so cute. There was a scavenger hunt there at night but I was the only one that wanted to go. After we stopped by Bunker Bar. It was 3 miles off the road. We went off roading in a Cadillac. We were supposed to stop by walmart for supplies but the day ran real long. We went to Javelina's Cantina and had nachos for dinner. The christmas lights out there are wonderful. The weather? Cold AF. We watched, A Boy Called Christmas, on Netflix and it wasn't bad.

Saturday:

We got an early appointment with our family friend/Hair magician at Secrets of Beauty! It always does my heart and soul so much good to see her. We came back, stopped by College Street for lunch. We went to Walmart for some supplies. We had dinner at Angelina's. Seriously some of the best pasta ever, like not including from Italy directly. A big part of the trip was supposed to be the 2023 Lake Havasu City Boat Parade of Lights, but I am telling you-people were camping at the channel to watch it in the evening as early as 10 am. It was really cold outside, besides a high of 60/low of 40-there was a wind factor. So we watched from our balcony. We played some Farkle and I won no money.

Sunday:

We woke up and got some breakfast at Makai's. Me and my sister love that diner. My grandma was supposed to practice at the shooting range and we made plans to go Axe throwing, but when she heard about our plans she cancelled hers. So we tried to have lunch at a new Mediterranean place called Majik Bistro, but it was closed. We tried an italian deli that just opened up called Marisa's Italian Deli. The food was so good, they also sell pasta and coffee imported from Italy. I got chocolate lavazza coffee. We got a shake at Dutch Bros, has anyone looked at that menu? It is so massive. I got a Pink Flamingo Frost. We watched a couple of movies: The Secret Dare To Dream and Wind River. The Secret: Dare to Dream was a romantic movie based on the book-better than it should of been. Wind River was a crime movie based on a true story. We went to Yosemite Axe Throwing Havasu. That was way funner than that should of been. We looked at our family friends house being built and its coming along, new houses and construction is everywhere it seems. We tried to go to an arcade bar but decided to save that for next time. We played some farkle before getting ready to go home the next day.

Monday:

We left early, on top of the fact that AZ is an hour ahead, to head home. Drive home took about 4.5 hours. The worst part of the drive is always the california traffic.

Good trip, some old things some new things. Definitely not enough sleep and way too cold. But it was a nice way to round off the year as December just mulls us all over. I for one can't wait to find a local place to go axe throwing.