#fic: ​go back to bed

[promisingyounglady]

go back to bed. | JP x Reader

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Pregnant Wife!Reader

SYNOPSIS: after a difficult nights work, javier just wants to patch himself up in peace. of course, you’re not gonna have it.

WC: 1.3k

WARNINGS: mdni! reader is afab, no y/n, mentions of pregnancy, weapons, javi getting mildly hurt, profanity, suggestiveness, little bit of angst but a lot of sweetness too;(

AUTHORS NOTE: reblogging and feedback is appreciated

The sound of running water is what wakes you up.

Your vision’s blurry from sleep, but you still make out the dimly lit room, a sliver of light peeking through the crack of the bathroom door. The sound of crickets chirping softly outside tells you it’s the early hours of the morning.

You hear shuffling, the obnoxious sound of objects hitting your tiles, and a quiet string of mumbled curses that you know belong to him.

“Mierda”

You blink softly, sitting up from your warm covers as your senses come together. More clanging of objects and a pair of scissors falling to the floor follows, and this time you paddle softly to the door, a shiver going up your back from only wearing a thin, white cotton nightgown.

You squint gently, pushing the door just enough so that you could confirm it was Javier.

“Fucking cheap ass bandages” you hear him mutter under his breath, struggling to cut the cloth with scissors, using his teeth instead.

With his broad back facing you, you make out a disordered array of disinfectant alcohol, medical supplies and gauze on your bathroom counter. You cross your arms, worried as you step closer.

Javi looks tired in his mirror reflection, brows furrowed and moustache in a frown as you watched your husband struggle with bandaging a fairly large cut on his right hand.

Your eyes widened at the blood.

”Javier.”

Javi looks up in the mirror, caught red-handed (quite literally) in the act of secretly bandaging his bloody hand so his very protective, and might he add, very pregnant wife didn’t freak out.

You stepped forward into the bathroom light, your large bump peeking through the nightgown you wore.

“Go back to bed, querida” he quickly says, hunched as he tries his best to hide the blood stained tissues beside him from your gaze. You sighed, knowing why Javi doesn’t like showing you.

“Ay, Javier” You spit harshly, waddling over as you scolded your tall husband who stands timid underneath your concerned gaze.

You snatched the rubbing alcohol from his hand. “You really want to make your pregnant wife mad by sneaking around with cuts and bruises?” It’s now your turn to furrow your brows and inspect his bleeding hand, shaking your head as you saw his fugle attempts at bandaging it up.

“Do you even stop to think how I feel when I see you get hurt like this?” You exclaimed, glaring at the man.

You see the pair of medical scissors lying on the bathroom floor, a few tissues and bloodied cloths with it. Despite being six months pregnant, you tried to pick up the objects, a hand against your back in support as you awkwardly shifted down.

Javier already feels too guilty that his heart hurts even more when he sees you struggle to perform basic activities. “Querida, querida, stop” he quickly bends down, swiftly picking up the lying tool with his left hand and putting it on the counter before you could.

You straightened your back, sighing at the sight of your husband on his knees, picking up the bandages as well as evidence of another one of his violent encounters with criminals as a DEA agent.

“I’m fine, I promise mi amor.” He reassures you softly, trying to say something that could make you use a different tone than the one you’re using one with him. “I bandaged it up earlier, but it just unraveled so-“

As Javi is eye-level with your stomach, you softly run your fingers through his hair, feeling his words stop and body tense at the action for a split second before melting into your touch. Javi shuts his eyes, pressing his forehead against your stomach and giving you and your child a kiss.

At least he was home. At least he was here with you.

“I know.” he breathes out amongst the silence. “I’m sorry honey.”

Hm, is all you reply in return, acknowledging that your husband knows he was wrong to give his pregnant wife such a scare in the middle of the night.

Javi looks up at you, big brown eyes searching for forgiveness in your own.

“I tried to be careful, I really did. But then the guy pulled out a knife, and-“

Your eyes widened softly before an unsettling feeling resided in your chest. Thinking of your husband being so dangerous to protect his country was conflicting. But it was for his people. As well as you and your child.

”Get up, carino” you say firmly.

Javier pauses, sighing as he obliged to your every word like it was his command.

Now your husband looms over you, right hand facing upwards with his makeshift bandages, as his left gently touches your back, pulling you closer to him.

You try not to let the endearing action cause your heart to flutter. You weren’t letting him slide so easily.

You bite your lip, frustrated at the fact that Javier continued to go on dangerous chases and stakeouts to catch Escobar, meanwhile you were sitting at home everyday with a dull ache in your heart as you envisioned your child not getting the chance to meet their father.

But seeing the bags under Javi’s eyes, along with the way he lowers his head quietly, you sigh and grab the stained cloth on the edge of counter. In silence, you took his large, rough hand into your soft one and patched his cut.

Javi knows better than to say anything at the moment. Instead he promises something you know he means more than actually committing. “I’ll be more careful”

You pressed the rubbing alcohol firmly in his wound, causing him to wince slightly.

“Damn right you’ll be” you mutter, protectively helping your husband.

Javier smiles at your actions, an overwhelming sense of love filling his heart.

“Murphy almost got shot if it makes you feel better”

You pause from cleaning up the medical supplies and his newly bandaged. You looked into your husbands eyes, pure shock and horror.

“By our boss, carino” Javier smiles. “The targets got away because Murphy was dumb enough to- AY“

You drown the sounds of your husbands laughter and words with a smack to the back of his head, cursing at him under your breath as you left the washroom with pursed lips.

Javier didn’t need to take many long strides to catch up to you, wrapping his arms around your belly, latching onto your sides and laughing as he tried to hold onto your tiny but furious form.

”es broma hermosa, I didn’t mean to-“

”Have fun sleeping on the couch, Peña” you swatted his hands away. Javier locks eyes with your waddling form before holding on to you and spinning you around swiftly in strong arms. Now standing in the dim bedroom, with your belly close to his body and noses almost touching, he looks at you with a hope of forgiveness in his crinkled eyes. The distance makes you hate him even more.

“It’s a joke my love, I’m sorry” he says grinning stupidly like a fool, only wanting to have seen you smile. You smack his chest hard, glaring up at him. “You’re an idiot, I hope you get shot next time”

Javier roars with laughter, unable to take your venomous words seriously when you looked so innocent and cute in his arms. In order to apologize, Javier bends down to kiss your lips.

However, you’re stubborn and shift your face away, trying your hardest not to smile as Javier tries to show his love to you.

“Javi! I hate you” you exclaimed, the pregnancy hormones making you meaner than you really were.

Your husband doesn’t mind at all, not when he cheekily sneaks a hand under your slip and grabs the soft mound of your breast. The action makes you gasp, Javier grinning in victory when you finally let your lips press into his.

God, did this man drive you insane.

[lotus-pear]

i think you guys are onto smth..

i unironically got invested in this HELP

[luxaofhesperides]

Wings AU ; requested by @justwannabecat!

“Are you sure it looks good?” Duke asks for the sixth time in an hour.

Tim sighs and says, yet again, “It looks fine. Just give it to him! If he doesn’t love it, I’ll beat him up for you.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I could! But you’re right, I wouldn’t. I would just psychologically torment him until he broke.”

“Don’t do that, please. I’d like to actually have a chance with him, even if he hates this.”

“He won’t,” Tim says. He actually stops typing to give Duke a severe look. “Go and give it to him. If you don’t go now, he’s going to think you bailed.”

Duke glances at the time, then jumps. “Shit! Thanks for your help, man!” He’s out of the door before Tim can say another word. He doesn’t bother with the front door, or even going down the hallway. Instead, he opens the nearest window and flings himself out of it, unfurling his tawny wings to catch the wind beneath them and ride them into the city proper.

He briefly considers stopping for a moment to change into his Signal outfit so he can fly above civilian jurisdiction, then decides that it’s far easier to just bend the light around him so he’s invisible. He wouldn’t want to be late meeting Danny, after all. Especially not for this.

He hadn’t been expecting Danny to be into traditional courting methods. Most people tend to go the more modern way of dating, but Danny had mentioned once or twice that he thought it was romantic. He had blushed, mumbling the words, but Duke heard them and went into researching courting methods to see which ones Danny might like best.

Sure, he could just ask Danny out on a date like he normally would if he liked someone, but if Danny wants to be courted, then Duke is going to court him!

It’s why he’s been planning this out carefully, gathering his primaries after his wings molted a few months ago so he could string them together into a thin wing covering. 

Admittedly, this courting method isn’t super common, but the thought of giving Danny his feathers, making it look like their wings are one and the same, has kept Duke up some nights, wanting it so badly. 

Besides, he thinks Danny will like it. Considering the state of his wings after the Accident…

Duke holds his handmade wing covers closer to his chest, flier lower as he leaves Bristol and enters Diamond District. The streets are busy, full of people. Most tend to stay on the ground, wings tucked close to their bodies, but there are plenty still flying above cars and buses that Duke has to carefully fly around. 

It takes another twenty minutes to get to Robinson Park, where Duke drops down to the ground and takes a moment to make sure all his feathers are straight and neatly displayed. Then he walks into the park, heading towards their usual meeting place.

For once, it’s a nice, sunny day in Gotham. Everyone’s taking advantage of it. The park is full of couples and families, walking around slowly, and kids dart through the air, still unable to go very high with their wings not yet fully grown in. It’s nice to hear the laughter and general chatter of people wandering the park. 

Duke doesn’t spend too long walking the paved paths through the park. He steps off of it near the second water fountain on the path, then heads into the trees, passing two moms on a picnic with their three kids rolling around the grass nearby. 

Tucked away in this corner of the park is a small clearing surrounded by thin trees. The tile is dirty and cracked, no one maintaining it at all with it hidden away. 

He sees Danny’s wings first, with long feathers that trail onto the ground, a black that shines dark blue in the light. He follows the lines of his wings back to his body, where Danny sits on a bench, leaning his weight back against his hands as he lifts his head up into the sunlight, basking in the warmth.

He really is so pretty. He insists that he isn’t, but Duke regularly spends time with the Wayne family, all who have modeled before, so he’s got a better idea than most about what pretty  looks like, and Danny fits the bill. 

“Hey,” Duke calls out softly, watching as Danny slowly blinks his eyes open and turns to give him a warm smile.

“Hey! I’m free for the rest of the day, which means we have so much time to complain about things today.”

“I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?”

“Nope,” Danny says. “I wouldn’t mind waiting, though. I like hanging out with you.”

Heart pounding in his chest, Duke walks forward. He doesn’t know if there’s something specific he has to say when presenting his gift, if there’s a courting tradition involved that he didn’t learn about. He’s terrified Danny’s going to reject it. He’s praying that Danny accepts it.

“Are you okay?” Danny asks, standing to get a better look at him. “You seem tense…” He trails off as he catches sight of what Duke holds in his hands, breath stuttering.

“I’m fine. I, um.” Duke steps into the clearing, entering the sunlight, and holds out his wing covers. “I made them for you. You mentioned before that you thought courting traditions were romantic… I don’t know if you like wing covers, but I thought you’d look good in my feathers… Only if you want it though!”

He’s trying so hard not to cringe away in embarrassment. He’s flirted with Danny before, half jokes and half serious, always playful. Duke was smooth then, delighting in how flustered it made Danny before he hit back with his own flirting. Now he’s a hesitant, stuttering fool, tripping over his words and struggling to find the perfect things to say. Maybe he should have thought up a speech, or something. Memorized a few lines to speak his intentions with this courting gift. Done literally any prep for giving the gift instead of focusing only on making it.

Danny doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move either. He just stares, wide-eyed at the wing covers in Duke’s hands.

That’s a bad sign, isn’t it.

His hands lower just a touch, and he quietly prompts, “Danny?”

Just as he’s about to pull back, step away and try to fix things, messily attempt to salvage their friendship because clearly Danny doesn’t want to be courted by Duke, Danny’s hands snap out whip-fast and latch onto his wrists.

“This is… for me?” he whispers, awed.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s for you.”

“And you’re courting me? Like, for real?”

“Yeah, definitely courting you for real. Do you accept?”

Danny throws himself into Duke’s arms, careful not to crush the wing covers between them. “In what world would I say no?” he laughs, bright with joy. He pulls back a second later, not giving Duke time to hug him back, and turns around, carefully stretching his wings out. “Put them on for me?”

“Of course.”

He starts by smoothing out some of Danny’s feathers. He doesn’t get to do this often; Danny hates having his wings on display for anyone, with how they spasm occasionally, and have empty patches where feathers will never grow in again. The Accident, all that electricity coursing through him, it permanently damaged his wings. There is no healing to be done. 

His wings are lacking too many flight feathers and primaries for him to fly. He’s stuck on the ground now, unable to use his wings for more than a minute. Old burns are still visible closer to his spine. 

Danny prefers hiding his wings away. He hates thinking about the Accident, hates how it’s taken his wings from him, how it’s changed him completely. 

But Duke loves his wings. He loves the softness of Danny’s lower feathers, how they shine in the light, how they always puff up when it gets windy. He’s only gotten to preen them twice before, and he treasures those memories more dearly than anything else.

This easily outshines both those moments.

He gently combs his fingers through Danny’s feathers, straightening them out, then lays the first wing cover over his right wing. His own brown feathers drape over the top of Danny’s wings, hiding the featherless patches from view. He does the same to the other wing, then adjust both until they lay perfectly on Danny’s wings.

As soon as he lifts his hands away from Danny’s wings, Danny is spinning around with a grin, flaring his wings out.

“How do I look?”

“Perfect,” Duke answers. He was right; Danny looks good in his feathers.

He watches, fond and amused, as Danny spins, keeping his wings flared, admiring his new look. “I’m never taking these off,” he says. “I love them so much. I can’t really make one for you, though…”

“You don’t need to.”

“I can’t just accept this and not give you something in return!”

“Well… There is one thing you could give me. Something I’ve been wanting for a long time.”

“What is it?” Danny asks, leaning towards Duke. He’s eager, ready to please, so delighted to be courted. 

Duke smiles. “A kiss.”

“Done.” 

He doesn’t have time to react before Danny is pouncing on him, hands fisting the collar of his shirt as he tilts his head up and kisses Duke. He pulls back before Duke can kiss back, blushing and unbearably cute.

And all Duke manages to say is, “Cool.”

He’s so good at this.

Danny rightfully laughs at him, then grabs his hand and pulls him down to the bench. “Come on, I promised to complain about my teachers today and I intend to deliver. And maybe later, I could take you out on a date? If you want.”

“Danny, of course I want to go on a date with you. I’m courting you! I thought I made my feelings clear!”

“I’m just making sure!” Danny shouts over him, and Duke can’t resist the urge to pull him closer and pepper kisses along his cheek. “Okay, okay, I got it. You’ve made your feelings clear. I’m going to date you so hard.”

“You better. It’s about time you put some work into our relationship.”

“Excuse you?!” Danny gasps in mock outrage, and they start bickering lightheartedly as they always do.

Even with their feelings come to light, even with a courtship started and a date promised, it doesn’t feel like anything between them has changed. 

It’s just them. Just as it always has been.

Duke couldn’t be happier.

[newoozi]

your new friend vernon is walking you home one night, telling you all about the date his mom is setting him up on in an attempt to “get out there more”. he admits it’s been a while since he’s taken somebody on a date, and he’s sort of nervous and half dreading it. he doesn’t even have any idea what he’s going to wear.

the two of you reach the front of your apartment building, and you face to look at him. placing your hands on his shoulders you teasingly say, “wear that navy blue polo shirt of yours. it almost makes you look nice.”

he huffs out a small laugh in response, but the truth is he’s sort of spiraling. you notice what he’s wearing beyond an aesthetic sense? do you pay attention to how the shirt fits him perfectly, how it hugs at his chest and shows off his arms? of course, vernon knows he’s attractive — people swoon over him on the daily, and many times he can get away with not paying for ramen at the convenience store if the girl at the counter is young. but, it never crossed his mind that you thought about him in that way. it was different with you, wasn’t it?

he thinks about that, and you, on the way back to his dorm.

you text him to ask about his date the next night, the curiosity getting the better of you.

how was ur date? did she appreciate the polo?

he admits he didn’t wear the polo, but doesn’t offer any explanation as to why. he adds that the date was going fine until they were saying goodbye and she went in for a kiss on the cheek and he held out his hand. he probably won’t see her again.

you laugh out loud at his message.

when it’s your birthday a week later, he wears the polo to the casual dinner you host at your place with your closest friends. he notices when your eyes linger on his lean figure, and the way you blush when you know you’ve been caught. you’re almost sure he’s worn it on purpose.

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 15

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | AO3

-----

Eddie can hear the sound of thunder overhead, the smell of rot fills his nostrils, and the taste of bile lingers at the back of his throat. Part of him has been fucking terrified beyond comprehension since the moment he went out onto the lake, but it's been kept at bay - barely - with reminding himself that the others are right there, with distracting himself by talking to Steve.

But he must have gotten separated from them, because when he looks desperately around the filthy, decaying forest, he's all alone.

"Steve?" he calls out, his heart pounding in his ears. "Robin, Nancy?"

There's silence, except the distant shriek of the demobats and a low, otherworldly growling, growing closer.

Shit.

He lurches forward, stumbling his way through the forest as he tries to remember where he was supposed to be going - the Wheelers' house, to get guns, or was it to his place, to go through the gate? He's so focused on where he's going that he doesn't pay close enough attention to his surroundings, and it's not long before he's stumbling over something.

A something that immediately grabs his ankle.

Eddie looks down, panic already filling him at the expectation of seeing a vine wrapped around his foot, of knowing that he'd alerted Vecna.

The thing on the ground is distinctly more humanoid, though, and Eddie has a brief moment where confusion wins out over panic - until a crackle of lightning streaks across the sky at the same time as the thing looks up, and he meets Chrissy's wide, vacant eyes.

Eddie screams, so loud he can feel it tearing through his throat the way he usually associates with a particularly good night at the Hideout. He scrambles back, forgetting what had drawn his attention to the ground in the first place, and nearly trips over himself when his ankle is held tight.

It's Chrissy's hand.

Her arm is broken and bent, stretched out at an angle that shouldn't be possible, fingers swollen and rotting, and yet her grip around his ankle is solid as steel.

You left me, echoes in his mind, cutting through his screams.

But not through his terror, and he keeps trying to yank his foot from her grasp even as he's shouting, "I'm sorry, Chrissy, I'm so fucking sorry, please-"

Chrissy's mouth opens in a silent scream as she stares up at him, neck broken and distorted, and she drags herself closer to him, her other hand reaching for him - though that arm is all twisted up behind her, and she can't quite make it.

"Please," he begs again, giving one more desperate yank of his leg.

It works, incredibly, but he wasn't expecting it, and he ends up on his ass on the ground in front of her.

Eddie tries to push himself up, but now she's so much closer, and she's able to grab his leg and drag him towards her.

"No no no no no no," he chants desperately, fingers scrabbling at dirt and leaves, trying to get a hand hold.

"Eddie?" someone calls, and he nearly weeps with relief as he realizes it's Steve.

Eddie starts to call back, but his hand slips and he's pulled closer into Chrissy's grasp, and he shrieks.

"Eddie, it's okay, I've got you," Steve says.

Something grabs his hand, and Eddie instinctively yells and tries to rip his hand free - but then he looks back, and realizes he recognizes the hand grabbing his.

Steve.

"Steve?" he asks, because he can't see him, fuck, he still can't see anything but Chrissy's bleeding eyes and the Upside Down and -

"It's all right, Eddie, you're okay. You're safe now, I've got you," Steve is saying, and Eddie doesn't -

The world tilts and fractures, and when he looks down at his legs, there's only sheets and blankets tangled around them.

His throat hurts, his shoulder and wrist hurt, his sides and stomach and legs hurt, just - fuck, everything hurts, and it's not helping that he can barely breathe and he feels like he's having a fucking heart attack and all he can see is still Chrissy's broken body and -

"Breathe," Steve says, and if Eddie had enough air for it he'd laugh, because shit, what does Steve think he's trying to do, and -

Steve's still holding his good hand, and abruptly he finds it pinned to Steve's chest, with Steve's other hand pressed palm flat against Eddie's own chest.

"Breathe," Steve says again. "In and out. In and out."

He times each word with the rise and fall of his chest, and Eddie can feel it expanding and contracting under his fingers. Steve's palm moves every time Eddie manages to pull in a breath or let it out, and slowly, instinctively, his breathing starts to match Steve's.

"You're safe," Steve's switched over to saying. "You're not alone, I'm right here."

"Where'd you learn how to do this?" Eddie asks when he's got his breathing under control again, when he's come back to himself enough to remember that he's not in the Upside Down anymore.

Steve quirks a little smile. "You're not the only one who has nightmares about all of this."

Eddie doesn't ask if Steve means himself, or one of the other members of their party. He kind of assumes that the answer is all of the above.

"You didn't have any at the hospital," Eddie points out.

Steve shrugs - or shrugs as best as he can, when he's got one hand over Eddie's and the other still pressed to Eddie's chest. "Neither did you."

Eddie considers that for a moment, not sure what to say. He didn't - it didn't occur to him to wonder why until now that he's had one. The meds, maybe, or that his fears seemed to come out as he was waking up instead of when he was unconscious.

But mostly, he doesn't say anything because Steve looks like he's considering admitting something, and Eddie remembers that Steve will keep talking if Eddie stays quiet and attentive and doesn't judge him.

"It's better when I have someone with me," Steve says finally. "Or not just someone, I guess, but one of you guys. My nightmares are about - well, they're about a lot of things. But it usually ends up in me not being able to protect someone. It helps having them right there to remind me that it's not real, that they're okay."

And just like that, the thing he felt like he was just missing when he kept seeing people in Steve's hospital bed clicks into place. "Does everyone know?"

Steve makes a face. "Robin and Dustin do. I think Erica and Max have figured it out. Nancy… she knows how it was that first year, I think she might know more now, too."

He remembers Nancy telling Steve he needs to rest, asking it's worse now, isn't it? He takes a closer look, then, seeing the exhaustion in the slope of Steve's shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. "Were you having one tonight, too?"

"Nah." Steve finally pulls his hand away from Eddie's chest, scrubs it over his jaw. "I, uh. Hadn't gone to sleep yet."

Eddie isn't sure exactly what time it is, actually. Late, he guesses, but not tipping into early morning, since the room would be pitch black if it weren't for the soft light of the lamp. He thinks about scolding him, teasing a little that Steve is supposed to let Eddie look after him too.

"Stay in here, then," is what comes out, and Eddie - yeah, okay, guess he's going to have to stand by that.

Steve drops his hand, looking at him with a furrowed brow. "What?"

"You said it helps, right?" Eddie tries to look a lot more careless than he feels. "And obviously we discovered that I do a lot better with someone here when I wake up, too."

With Steve. With Steve here when he wakes up, specifically, but Eddie doesn't want to think about that.

Shit, he's developing a pretty hefty list of things he doesn't want to think too closely about. It's probably going to come back to bite him in the ass, later, but as long as it waits until he's done recovering from his actual bites, he can deal.

Steve's looking at him in a way that seems familiar - almost like how he'd looked at Max, Eddie thinks, when she'd shoved her way into his hospital bed. "Yeah, all right. Just let me go get the walkie. I already talked to Robin and checked in with Henderson, but I promised him I'd keep it close."

He's gone and back before the shadows in the room can grow too uncomfortable, before Eddie starts to feel eyes on the back of his neck, before he's too afraid to look up or look down - but only just.

"So, uh. How do you want to do this?" Eddie asks.

Steve bites his lip, like he knows exactly how he wants to do this but isn't sure he wants to say it, and he sets the walkie on the nightstand before he lets out a soft breath. "Can I have the side closest to the door and the window?"

"Oh." Eddie'd kind of been wondering if Steve might offer to sleep on the floor, or the reasonably comfy looking chair. His brain is scrambled mush right now, and he doesn't know what to do with the fact that Steve immediately jumped into sharing the bed with him.

And putting himself between Eddie and the main points of entry, though that at least he'd kind of expected with what he now knows of Steve.

"Yeah," Eddie agrees hurriedly, because he can see the little scrunch developing between Steve's brows, and he doesn't want him to think that Eddie's uncomfortable with that. "Yeah, that'd be nice. Good. That'd help."

Fuck, what is wrong with him?

It just makes Steve look a little relieved, though, and Eddie scoots over to one side to give Steve room to climb into the bed next to him.

"You want another dose? It's been long enough," Steve offers.

Part of Eddie thinks he should ration them more carefully, despite the fact that Steve already dumped almost all of his pain meds into Eddie's, but - fuck it, he still aches everywhere, and he nods.

"Thanks," he says, accepting the pills and glass of water when Steve hands them over.

Steve doesn't ask if he wants the light on still, which Eddie is kind of grateful for - he's also grateful for the fact that he has to lay on his back to be at all comfortable, and can't be tempted to roll over onto his side to watch Steve.

Steve is right there. He's wearing pajama bottoms and a long sleeved shirt, so there isn't any risk of Eddie seeing the writing on his skin, and - fuck it, Eddie tips his head to the side so he can watch him anyway.

Steve's eyes are closed, head tipped back against the pillow as he lays on his back, too. If he can feel Eddie watching him, he doesn't give any sign of it.

After a long handful of moments of Eddie just looking, memorizing the shape of his nose and the line of his jaw, Steve breathes out.

"Night, Eddie," he murmurs.

"Night, Steve," he whispers, taking that as his cue to turn his head away.

He thinks it's going to take him a long time to fall back asleep again, with the dueling distractions of the lingering effects of his nightmare and the acute awareness of Steve Harrington sleeping right next to him, but - he's out between one breath and the next.

—

He's shocked awake by something he can't place, but at least it wasn't a nightmare. He doesn't feel terrified, just warm and sleepy and - kind of in pain, ugh, the meds must have worn off. Eddie hopes it's been long enough that he can take more.

There's a static feedback sound coming from a few feet away, and an equally staticky voice saying, "Come in Hawkins crew, over."

Must have been what woke him up.

Eddie's all set to ignore it, but his source of warmth - Steve, his brain supplies, though he's still too groggy to do anything with that thought - is moving away. He grumbles, wiggling as much as he can to scoot closer to him.

"It's Mike," Steve tells him, grabbing the walkie from the nightstand and bringing it closer.

Eddie can hear a chorus of other voices coming from it, louder now that it's right by him.

"Nooooo," he complains, even though Steve's already responding. "Wanna g'back to sleep."

"Jesus, Steve, do you have some girl sleeping with you?" Mike's voice demands from the walkie.

"That didn't sound like a girl, brochacho," another voice says helpfully.

"Yes there's someone with me, no it's not some girl," Steve says, and Eddie can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice. "It's-"

"Gross!" Mike shouts, and fuck if that doesn't feel like a douse of ice water all over, shoving Eddie the rest of the way out of sleep.

He sits up, gingerly, feeling a little sick to his stomach.

"You want to take a second to think about what you just said, Michael Wheeler?" Steve's voice is cold with disappointment, somehow managing to make that both a question and a statement.

Eddie resists the urge to look over at him. There's a long pause, where he can't hear anything but the unsteady beat of his own heart, then -

"What? No, not gross because it's a guy, that's - I don't care, that's not - gross because it's Steve!" Mike says, sounding just a little bit frantic - and his voice just a little bit more distant, like he's talking more to someone with him than to the walkie.

He feels a rush of relief, and he lets himself sit for a moment before he risks looking over at Steve. He looks - tired, in the faint light of the morning sun streaming through the blinds, but the pale yellow catches in his sleep rumpled hair, and Eddie has to look away again.

"Walkies are supposed to be for party members only, Steve!" Mike hisses, directly into the walkie this time.

Eddie latches onto the easy distraction that provides, looking back at Steve and making grabby hands for his walkie. Steve raises an eyebrow at him, but he hands it over without protest.

"I did not spend all year welcoming you into Hellfire just to get kicked out now that I'm in the party for real, Wheeler," Eddie says, putting on his best I am your DM and is this really the choice you want to make voice.

"Eddie?" Mike asks after a moment of silence, sounding confused. "What're you-"

He must put together some guy sleeping with Steve and Eddie on the walkie, because the next sound is a shriek that's half static feedback and half Mike Wheeler.

"No!" Mike shouts. "Steve, what the fuck, come on, first my sister and now my DM?"

He sounds so indignant that Eddie can't help it - he cackles, despite the ripples of pain it causes, and he can hear laughter from a few different voices spilling out over the walkie.

"Get out of my life!" Mike demands.

Steve takes the walkie back from him. "Is that any way to talk to your step-DM?"

The smug look on Steve's face only makes Eddie laugh harder, and he smacks at Steve's shoulder. Steve's laughing, too, more like a soft little huff than Eddie's near rib cracking glee, but Steve is smiling so wide his whole face lights up with it, and he's looking at Eddie like he's the best thing he's seen all week, and -

Hell if that doesn't make Eddie feel on cloud nine, like if he can make Steve look like that, he can do anything.

It almost makes him feel like maybe he has a chance. Like maybe, even though he'd resigned himself to having a platonic soulmate the moment he saw I'm not in love with her show up on his skin, he might have something, here. Mike Wheeler clearly thinks he and Steve are fucking, and Steve hadn't hurried to deny it, hadn't pulled away from him - he'd just played into it, and now he's leaning into Eddie's space and giggling with him, and Eddie lets himself hope.

In the background, there's still distant protests coming through the walkie, but someone more adult shaped must have grabbed it from Mike, because someone sounding closer to Eddie's age says, "We're almost to Hawkins, guys. Another hour or so and we can be at Nancy and Mike's."

"Yeah, it's going to be longer than you think," Dustin says. "It's a little bit of a mess out there."

There's a pause, then, "Sorry," someone says, very quietly - a girl, probably around the same age as the freshmen.

The walkie blares with static from a handful of voices trying to reassure her - Eddie can only make out Steve's, since he's there in person.

"Hey," Max says, cutting through it. "If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead. No sorries."

"No sorries," the girl - who Eddie is guessing is El - echoes, and this time there's a trace of something like a smile in her voice. "Thank you for your message. I need you, too."

"It was Steve's idea," Max says, very clearly deflecting.

El rolls with it, though, very seriously saying, "Thank you, Steve."

Steve's ear turns a frankly adorable shade of pink, and Eddie has to look away before he does something stupid like bite it. "I'm glad it worked, and everyone's okay."

"Party meet up at my house?" Mike says, a little bit of an edge in his voice - like he's worried, like he wants to see for himself that everyone is actually okay.

Eddie hasn't actually seen the kid in action, but he gets the feeling it's similar to the paladin he'd played at Hellfire.

There's a chorus of agreement to meet at the Wheelers' in two hours, then Steve sets the walkie back on the nightstand and slides out of bed, pausing to stretch. It makes his shirt ride up a little bit, and Eddie's feeling just reckless enough to let his eyes linger, greedy for the strip of skin it'll reveal.

He sees mostly gauze, though, and the reality of why he was in bed with Steve Harrington crashes back into him.

"How's your pain?" he asks, instead of saying how're you feeling. There's still wiggle room for Steve to get around it, of course, but at least it won't let him deny he has any at all unless he wants to flat out lie.

Steve makes a face at him. "Exactly how you think it is, man, probably a few steps below yours."

And - all right, fine, well played. Except for the fact that Eddie has no fucking shame about acknowledging that he hurts, that everything hurts, so really, Steve played himself, and Eddie grins at him. "Hurts like a bitch, then? Great, glad we're on the same page, here. I'll be sure to radio Robin and Dustin and tell them to send you home after a few hours so you don't collapse again."

"Almost collapse, Eddie, I almost collapsed."

Eddie's pretty sure the look he gives Steve tells him exactly what he thinks of that distinction, because Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn't insist on it.

"You're okay with staying here today, then?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, I know I'm basically on house arrest for a little while, I'm not going to fight it. Besides, I, uh. I'm not sure I could even if I wanted to," he admits. "I know me surviving the first time was as much of a deus ex machina as the Great Eagles carrying Samwise and Frodo out of Mordor, I'm not about to try to test it by over exerting myself now."

Steve's frowning at him, brows doing that cute fucking scrunched thing that he does when he's thinking, and shit, it's too early for this. "Does that make me the great eagle in this metaphor?"

Eddie huffs out a little laugh. "Guess so. Thanks for carrying me out, by the way."

He gets a little shrug in response, Steve's gaze shooting away like he's trying not to show whatever he's feeling about getting thanked for that. "I'll be your deus ex machina any time, Munson."

That's -

Hmm.

Somewhere Eddie's not sure he wants to go right now, when both of them are still all bitten to hell. So he says nothing, looks down at his own hands until he can hear Steve moving again.

"Gonna go make us some breakfast. Yell if you need anything, all right?"

Eddie flashes a thumbs up at him, then begins the careful process of getting out of bed and shuffling over to the bathroom. Moving around doesn't take as much out of him as it did yesterday, but it's slow going. Still, even though it takes far longer than he'd like, he's not winded by the time he takes a piss, splashes water on his face, uses some of the brand new deodorant stashed there - seriously, who keeps toiletries still in their packaging in their guest room? - and makes it back to the bed, so he's feeling pretty pleased with himself.

Steve comes back up just a little bit after with a plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of juice, shoving what looks like an entire half of a piece of peanut butter toast in his mouth.

"Didn't save any toast for me?" Eddie teases, reaching out for the plate.

Steve sets the juice down on the nightstand and hands the plate to him, waiting until he swallows his toast before he says, "Soft foods only for now, I read the doctor's instructions."

He thinks about complaining, just because he can, but decides it's not worth the effort and just shoves a forkful of eggs and cheese into his mouth instead.

Steve heads out to go get dressed, returns when Eddie's just about finished, wearing jeans and a blue sweater. There's a few books tucked under one arm, and he shoots Eddie a little smile.

"So you don't get bored," he says as he drops them into Eddie's lap.

Eddie looks down, half expecting to see books on sports facts or something, but - no, it's fantasy. Dark Tower: The Gunslinger, To Ride Pegasus, So You Want to be a Wizard, and even the first Lord of the Rings book stare up at him. Eddie seizes on that last one, holding it up with an affronted look at Steve.

"You acted like you didn't know what Mordor was!" he accuses. "Is this like that thing where you keep saying Dungeons and Dragons wrong even though I know you know what it is?"

Steve smirks at him, and for a moment Eddie thinks he's not going to answer, but then he's shaking his head with a soft laugh. "Nah, that one's Dustin's. He made me borrow it when he found out I've never read it, but it's such a slog to get through."

Eddie gasps, flinging a hand to his chest like he's been mortally wounded, and collapses back against his pillows.

Steve just laughs at him, but that's a good enough response for Eddie, and he grins back.

"Need anything else before I head out?" Steve asks, collecting the empty plate from him.

"Nah," Eddie says. "I'll have plenty to occupy myself seeing what Steve Harrington thinks is a better read than Tolkien."

Steve leaves the walkie talkie with him, promising to radio when he's there and when he's on his way back, and then he's gone. Eddie can hear him tromping down the stairs, the sound of the garage door opening and closing, and if he closes his eyes -

Well.

He doesn't close his eyes for long, because if he does, he lets himself feel like it's almost domestic, like this is them - like Eddie's lazing around with a good book after being delivered breakfast in bed, like waking up to Steve in the morning and listening to him head out is something they do.

The walkie blares to life, and Eddie reaches for it as Dustin's voice calls out to him and Steve.

"Steve just left," Eddie tells him. "Just me for now."

"Switch to channel four?" Dustin says.

Eddie gives an affirmative, switching over. "What do you need, Henderson?"

There's silence for a moment, which immediately gets Eddie's stomach twisting into knots as he thinks oh fuck, what is it, then -

"You guys are doing okay, right?" Dustin asks.

He sounds so small, so unlike the confident, brash kid that Eddie knows, and it gets Eddie right in the soft underbelly that's getting harder and harder to pretend he doesn't have.

"Yeah, we're doing okay. You were right about Steve making breakfast," he adds, because he doesn't really want to expand on what okay means, and he kind of figures telling the kid that he was right about something will get him going off.

Sure enough, Dustin's voice brightens. "See? I told you."

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie says, but there's no heat in it. "Harrington makes a killer breakfast and rips apart demobats with his teeth, who'd have thought."

"He what?" Dustin screeches, and it's then that Eddie remembers Dustin wasn't there for that part, and there probably wasn't time for anyone to catch him up to speed.

"With his teeth," Eddie repeats, throwing a little flare to it. "Then he swung one around by its tail and slammed it against the ground, again and again, and when it still wouldn't give up he pinned it down with his bare foot and tore it in half."

"Holy shit," Dustin breathes out. "And Max thought he was insane before."

Eddie snorts. "Insane is one word for it."

"And you didn't believe me when I said he was a badass," Dustin retorts smugly.

"Forgive me, oh enlightened one, for not being immediately sold on the idea that the coolest of cool kids is secretly a badass monster hunter."

Dustin scoffs. "Steve isn't a cool kid. He's just Steve."

Eddie makes a noise of disbelief, exaggerating it a little because Dustin can't see his raised eyebrow.

"Steve is a dork," Dustin insists. "If you don't believe me, ask him about our secret handshake."

"Secret handshake?" Oh, Eddie can't wait until Steve is back so he can badger him about that one.

"Uh-huh." The kid sounds even more smug now. "We made it Steve's senior year. It's got a lightsaber battle."

Steve's senior year? All right, yeah, okay, he's accepted that Steve's different than how he thought he would be, but - maybe part of him had just kind of slotted that into Steve changing after high school, that he graduated and moved on and didn't care about being popular anymore. Being forced to think about it now means being forced to reconcile the image that Eddie had of him last year, to realize that Steve Harrington had a secret handshake with lightsaber battles at the same time that he was getting crowned prom king.

It forces him to acknowledge that he never knew Steve Harrington at all, that probably everything he assumed about him was wrong. That everything Eddie assumed about his soulmate might have been wrong, that he -

"-the walkie talkie on?" Dustin is saying, and Eddie snaps himself back on track and forces himself to listen. "Just so you can be a part of it, too?"

Oh.

Eddie considers that for a moment, but honestly, the idea of being looped in via walkie talkie while the rest of the party does their thing immediately sends him back into the time he spent in the boathouse with the walkie as his only connection to them.

"I'm probably just going to sleep, man, I'll catch up with everyone when you can all come over here."

"Oh. Are-" Dustin cuts off, and Eddie has a moment of panic before his voice picks back up again. "Steve's here! I'll still keep the walkie with me just in case, okay?"

And then Eddie's alone, really alone, for the first time since they all came to his rescue out at Skull Rock. He thinks he should - feel some kind of way, thinks it should be catching up with him now the way it hadn't caught up with him when he'd had a similar thought last night.

It doesn't.

He doesn't know if he should be grateful for that or worried that it's going to sneak up on him, but he doesn't really want to think too hard on that at the moment.

Instead, he takes another dose of pain meds, gets comfortable with one of the books Steve'd brought for him, and dozes off reading about a teenager who finds a book and discovers a whole new world of magic that'd been right there all along.

Taglist (always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

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Part 16

[stsghrs]

an old married couple satosugu fic where they visit the jujutsu high and tell everyone how their teachings are wrong, how "back in the day we were the strongest...", and are generally just annoying old grandpas, but we know everyone loves and respects them

[crybaby-bkg]

Arranged marriage AU with Barbarian Bakugou who is so daunting to be around at first. He’s all gruff curses and broad shoulders and scarred cheeks and neck and jaw. He scowls constantly, stares at you while your parents auction you off like some show pig, but doesn’t say much to you besides a grunt of his name. You’re terrified, thinking that he’ll be cruel to you, that you’re being set up for a life full of unhappiness and terror and regret.

But he’s the exact opposite. Bakugou is gentle in ways a man of his size typically wouldn’t be, but he shrinks himself for you. Not in a way that diminishes his status as the newly appointed king, but to respect you, show you that you’re beside him instead of behind him.

He picks you berries on his hunts because he knows the smell of a fresh kill brings nausea to your stomach. You find him along with the other maidens and helpers around his village, sitting beside them, big fingers holding tiny little flowers that he weaves into a crown for you. When he sets it on your head, he purses his lips, mutters something under his breath in his language that you’re still not too familiar with, but sure it means something along the lines of pretty and soft.

And when he finds you bathing in the river only few have access to, he’s sweet the whole time. Doesn’t make a spectacle of you being naked, and is relieved when you don’t instantly cower when he wades his way over to you. You try not to stare at the clawed scars that decorate his pec and jaw when he stands above you, and it helps when he suddenly dumps water all over your head. He shushes you when you splutter, continues on with cupping his hands and letting the water run off of your hair and down your shoulders, scrubbing at your skin until your flesh squeaks. He doesn’t expect you to do the same for him, but he hums in satisfaction when you push him down a little lower so you can wash the crown of his head.

[dipplinduo]

Fun fact about me: April 18th is my birthday! :)

And part of what I wanted to do to celebrate this year was to give back. Introducing * ~ a dipplinshipping birthday oneshot ~ * :

Rating: T

Summary:

Today was Kieran's birthday, but it was the last thing that mattered to him. In fact, he vowed it would never matter to him again. Instead, he would focus on things that would keep him strong: his battling, his strategizing, and his crown as the Blueberry Champion. His sister and the Elite Four won't stop asking him random questions, though, and if anyone brings up Juliana any more than they already have since she arrived as an exchange student, he's seriously going to lose it. But...why can't he stop thinking about her? And why is everyone acting so suspicious?!

A bittersweet birthday celebration fic for anyone who's had complicated feelings about their birthday. <3

Take this as a thank you to all of those who have followed my work and/or my Tumblr blog. I wouldn't have imagined having the support of this wonderful community on my last birthday, and I can't even begin to describe how encouraged and inspired I have felt to write since finding you guys. I have never written this much for this long, consistently, and your constant feedback and comments seriously brighten my day more than Juliana brightens up Kieran, LOL. Hope you enjoy this! <333

(And yeah, this fic is the "event based idea" that this poll was about. I thought it was so funny that some of you thought it was gonna be some devastating angst LMAOOOO. That's for after TTPD releases, tysm for the bday gift Taylor.)

[kerryweaverlesbian]

I wrote another soppy angsty romantic destiel fic 😇 read it here on ao3 or below:

Cas wakes, as he often does when he sleeps, on his side with Dean wrapped around him. It's the early hours of morning, although the room is lit just as it was last night; the lamp on Cas’s side of Dean's bed stays on overnight. Neither of them enjoy being plunged into darkness. 

Dean's arm hangs heavily over his bare chest, his nose is pushed up into Cas’s hair, and Dean's knees have caught one of Cas’s thighs between them. It's warm, not just from their body heat and the comforter, but from the inside. He's never felt more at home than in Dean's arms. 

On Cas shifting forward a little, Dean shuffles forward and nuzzles his nose into the back of his neck. Cas stills, then grips Dean's wrist, overcome. A certain self-knowledge has been uncovered in his head, like a delightful worm found under a lifted rock. He didn't mean to wake him, but Dean grumbles into his skin, "Cas." 

"Go back to sleep," Cas tells him, but when Dean's arm shifts it crosses over the left side of his chest. 

"Your heart's beating like crazy. What's up?" Dean's voice is still slurred with sleep, pressed up as close to unconsciousness as he is to Castiel. 

"I just realised something," Cas says, bumping his thumb across the back of Dean's knuckles slowly which makes Dean half-hum contentedly. "I love you." 

The fact blankets them further, soft but undeniable. Dean inhales and exhales deeply twice, and then says, breathy, "Oh." 

"It's a surprise?" 

"No," Dean says, pressing his forehead to the base of Cas’s skull. Then: 

"Can you stop?" 

"No." The first comes out annoyed - how can Dean doubt him, even now? - but when Dean's arm tightens around him, Cas gentles, "No, Dean. I can't. I've tried." 

He has. Early on, sent to Heaven for disapline over and over for perceived slights against the Host he could barely understand. When Dean was the only thing standing between Cas and angelic redemption. When Dean has been callous, and bitter, and cruel. He's tried. Dean is too lovable for it to ever stick. 

"I'm afraid I will love you for the whole of my life." 

"Don't," Dean pleads, and it's not clear whether he means don't love me or don't tell me. Either way, Cas is going to let him down. 

"I love you," Cas repeats, firmly, "I have loved you. I will love you. That's all." 

"That's all," Dean echos, with a little huffed laugh. His voice is shaking, "Just, 'I love you, that's all'. What the hell, man?" 

"It's a new thought, I don't have a speech prepared." 

"You didn't know before? Seriously? When you - when we ripped up the rule book? You didn't know?" 

"I had my suspicions," Cas admits, and he goes willingly when Dean pulls at his shoulder so that Cas is on his back, looking up at Dean in the golden light of the bedside lamp. Oh. "You're beautiful." 

"Cas," Dean grumbles, looking away briefly but then back to Cas's face, a conflicted expression set into his features. "Cas..." 

That seems to be it for several long seconds, during which they examined each other openly. It's Dean who breaks eyecontact again first, casting his gaze out into the room. He rubs a hand over his own jaw roughly, and Cas sees his fingers pinch despite him trying to conceal it under the bolt of his jaw. Checking if it's a dream. Cas doesn't blame him. 

Dean takes a deep breath, then says, with difficulty and closed eyes, "I don't want you to." 

Cas tilts his head, and puts his fingers to the place Dean had pinched. Dean lets out a little cut off sound, a dimmed whine. 

"Is that true?" 

"Yes," Dean says, his voice tight - but he clutches the front of Cas’s shirt just as tightly. When Cas gently slides his palm up to Dean's cheek, Dean presses into it hard, his eyes still squeezed shut. Cas gives him the time he needs, moving his pinkie finger in soothing strokes next to Dean's crow's feet. Love, yes, it is love. Patient, kind and stubborn. That's the feeling that rises in Cas every time he gets the chance to look at Dean. He wouldn't trade it for anything. 

"I'm not-" Dean says eventually, taking a sharp breath in partway through, "You shouldn't feel that way." 

"I've had quite a lot of people tell me what I should be feeling. It hasn't stopped me thus far. No one has changed me as you have." 

"Don't say that. Don't blame me. I didn't do anything." 

Cas shakes his head, though Dean can't see it. It's a little humanoid habit he's picked up. One of those little things Heaven can't stand about him. One of hundreds. 

"Dean, I'm not blaming you. I'm thanking you." The loneliness of Dean's closed eyes is becoming too much to bare. "Will you look at me?" 

He does, and the action frees tears from his eyelashes. One runs down to Cas’s palm, and Cas wishes he could kiss the drop, to keep it safe forever. The green of Dean's eyes stands out strong against his wet lashes, and he blinks back more rising tears. All this from three simple words. 

Dean has a few words of his own to say. He presses the heel of his hand down on Cas’s forehead, like he's smiting him, and says, brokenly, "I've ruined you." 

"Dean," Cas says, struck with a burst of love in his chest, "you saved me." 

"No," Dean insists, pressing harder. "I've made you vulnerable. Now you're gonna - you're gonna die and it's my fault." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Everyone. All the time. Everyone I-" Dean shuts his eyes again, and Cas misses him instantly, "Everyone I love. If I start to think it's possible then it's too late." 

Cas thinks about it seriously. "Maybe I will die." Dean makes another noise of suffering, so Cas tries to mitigate his words with another sweep of his little finger on Dean's face. "Dean. I might die. I can't promise you otherwise, with the lives we lead." 

"Stop," Dean moans, "Stop it. Why are you doing this to me? What did I do?" 

"You cared about me. You believed I could be better than I was, more than a tool for Heaven's will. You were right." 

"What good has it done you?" 

Cas narrows his eyes. "Don't insult me. Look at me." Dean complies, and swallows, his throat bobbing with it. "I'd rather die than never live. I'd rather love than be silent. And if I die, I will return to you. Always." 

The tears are running thick and fast now, Dean's face is red and his chest heaving. 

"Cas." He says again, beseeching, then he leans down. He kisses the back of his own hand, still pressed on Cas’s forehead, and it's Cas’s turn to close his eyes, just for a moment. "You don't know what you're doing to me." 

Cas thinks he might. They have both been in this partnership for a long time. They know each other well. 

"I have my suspicions." 

When Dean's eye catches his, Cas smiles, just a little, and it grows when Dean kisses him on the mouth, once, quick. 

"I liked that," Cas tells him, and Dean groans, then kisses him again, and again, another groan coming through from the back of his mouth when Cas kisses back. 

They stay that way, kissing tenderly for a small eternity, until Dean's alarm goes off at 5am. Cas makes a noise of complaint when Dean turns away and untangles their linked hands to switch it off, which makes Dean laugh. The tension and fear had slowly receded as they made out, replaced with a quiet, sparkling joy. 

"Thanks," Dean says, holding himself off a little from Cas rather than coming back for more. 

"You're welcome," Cas says, with a confused frown, which gets Dean smiling, toothy, "What for?" 

Dean shrugs with one shoulder. "I dunno. Everything. All of it. I can't believe you just said it as soon as you knew, man. You're supposed to hold that stuff in until you're about ready to explode whenever the other guy looks at you." 

"Is that what you were doing?" 

Another shrug, and a sly smile. "Hey, it worked didn't it?" 

"Hm. Well then, thank you too." 

Dean huffs, and settles his head down on Cas’s chest. Cas pets through Dean's hair, marvelling at how soft it feels, and gets a sleepy, pleased hum in response. 

"You're welcome, Cas," Dean mumbles his eyes fluttering shut, and that same warmth that pushed Castiel's realisation of love suffuses him again. 

Truly, he considers while Dean's breathing evens out to sleep again, here, he has always been welcome.

[lover-of-mine]

Me waking up in a cold sweat: buddie should get together in a storm because rain took a lot from them, it should give them something too.

[becauseplot]

anyway yeah fr i miss ordo theoritas. i miss the theory crafting i miss the hugeass meetings before/after Big Lore Event to brief/debrief everyone involved i miss the chaos and confusion and laughter and teamwork. i miss the cellbit, bad, and phil (key-keepers my beloveds) being the heads of the ordo working together to untangle the mysteries to the island. they were hardly ever on at the same time bc schedules and time zones (WAILS) but in my head they had so many late nights down in the evidence rooms like this

just. yeah. yeahh.

[polkadotdragonx]

Fanart for the fanfiction Through the Ice by Tallihensia.

[shardminds]

all is for love, is for mind

pairing: elain archeron x lucien vanserra rating: g for god this is tame wc: 1k and a bit also available on ao3!

warnings: literally none, this is sappy as hell (some mention of canon typical past 'trauma' i.e. greysen, hyburn, the aftermath etc)

Lulled by the song of the wind as it called through the valley, Elain watched the clouds form impossible shapes, carried on the same breeze that cooled her heated skin, and asked the only question she had left. “What does love feel like?”

a/n: wrote this between flu med induced naps. you’re welcome. canon in the way that i took actual canon outside and shot it then rifled through its chest like a crone trying to divine the future but then only keeping the parts i needed to write this. if you see any typos, that's on me.

Somewhere between the border of Summer and Autumn, in a sprawling tall grass meadow littered with wildflower blooms that swayed to the cool breeze, Elain thought of only one thing. 

A simple question, really. Elementary to most. She thought she had the answer once. But old memories seen through human eyes had turned tattered around the edges in her mind, like sketches touched too many times, her fingers dark with charcoal smudges every time she dared to think on them too long. Tainted by the actions that followed — Hyburn, the Cauldron, the dark. Each time she saw a little less, each day she missed them a little more. 

She’d been happy, as a human. After their fortune returned and favour saw fit to grace them again — she knew now of its origin, how the glamour of belonging had shadowed all else. Part of her wanted to thank Tamlin. Another, less familiar part, would only ever crave his suffering. Perhaps she felt the dark ache of guilt about it now, knowing the suffering Feyre endured to ensure her ignorance, but she had been happy before Hyburn came — happy and blissfully unaware of circumstances beyond the wall. 

Her garden thrived, she found comfort in old friends and new, a good man she adored knelt before her father to ask for her hand. Life was simple then. She gave everything she had to Greysen beneath groaning boughs of ash trees, in the circle of his arms, skirts pushed to her waist. Rough scratch of gnarled roots against her back, the only memory that hadn’t faded with time. To touch the smooth bark of those same trees now— Elain had many regrets. 

And then there was this; a life she’d never asked for, that she’d never wanted. Irrevocably changed in the dark waters of creation. Everything she had, ripped away to nothing. She never saw that garden bear fruit, her friends never enquired after her (not that she would ever know), and her betrothed — his eyes held such violence as he tore out her heart and threw it to her feet, wet and thumping. 

Those memories were still fresh, in all their visceral clarity. 

A warm cloak, chestnuts and bonfires and petrichor, auburn and russet and gold. Mate he said, the most beautiful male she’d ever seen, as if the word meant anything in the wake of such encompassing loss. 

At first, it was darkness. Impenetrable. Elain could barely move with it. And then, a heartbeat. It followed her like a shadow, in the walls, in the floor, seeping through the stone to taunt her every moment, both sleeping and waking. But she could not bring herself to resent it, as much as she longed to. 

Her mind told her stories, a great many tales, of things that had and could and would happen. Faces and locations unfamiliar to her plagued her fitful dreams. There was no shaking them. 

She was cared for like glass. An object so delicate, as if to speak too loudly would shatter her completely.  

Through it all, he was there. In her head, in her dreams, a chord weaved taught between her ribs. She avoided him, and yet he stayed. She sought the favour of another, but he never wavered. He listened when others did not, fought for her cause whilst others watched helplessly as she wasted away. Even when he wasn’t there, Elain could see him, feel him, in the visions the dark had gifted her on her rebirth. 

Once, she’d seen him visit her father’s grave. Kneeling, he placed four white chrysanthemums in the dirt. The vision drifted, as they often did, into something else, but Elain was haunted by those flowers. Grieving flowers. The stark white of them against dark earth such a bright contrast in the starlight. They’d arrived at the battle together, their acquaintance obviously a result of that, but why? For her? For himself? 

She had Rhysand take her there the next morning, only to be met by four wilted stems at the foot of the headstone. 

Rhysand held her as she cried. Her sister’s mate, for all his faults, at least understood this.

The next time he arrived, announced by Cassian as they entered the river house, Elain sought him out, like a sunflower to the sun. Resisting such gravity was impossible, as much as she’d once tried. Whatever this was, whatever it could be, she wanted to try again. Thankfully, the rest came easily. 

Lulled by the song of the wind as it called through the valley, Elain watched the clouds form impossible shapes, carried on the same breeze that cooled her heated skin, and asked the only question she had left. 

“What does love feel like?” 

Lucien Vanserra, in all his sun-kissed glory, rolled to his side to face her, head resting on his palm. His golden eye caught by the light, glinting with promise.

“What do you mean, Elain?” 

“To love, or be loved,” she said, shifting to meet his gaze. “How does it feel?”

A furrow formed in his brow, never marring the beauty of him. Not even his scars had the power to do that. She doubted anything would. “Don’t you know?”

She turned away, back to the clouds overhead and their mercurial patterns. Yes? No? Her love for her sisters was sometimes fraught with tension, with too many things they hadn’t quite forgiven yet, but it was better than it ever was before — more equal, more permanent. The love she once had for Graysen had been relief, to be wanted after such hardship had been a gift at the time, but his cruelty had revealed it for what it was; possession. She loved the Inner Circle in their own way — their acceptance of her into their family in the wake of such devastation was a kindness she had never been afforded as a human, but they did not know her past the surface. She did not want to be a fragile thing forever. She didn’t want to be fragile at all. 

Lucien, for some reason, felt different. Lucien and his patience, his understanding. He saw through the veils she hid behind and did not flinch away. He gave her space when she needed, fought when she wanted, and took her from the dark place she’d been secluded to, partially by her own merit. He’d shown her Summer, Spring and Autumn. Winter, Dawn and Day. Velaris was beautiful, truly, but it did not feel like home. At least, not without him. 

She felt the bond simmering between them, a golden thread of light binding two souls. It begged to be acknowledged, accepted. She thought about it often, these days. How easy it would be to hand him a still-warm pastry — crisp apples wrapped in a choux crust, topped with almond flakes — and kiss him after, sugar sweet and breathless. How easy it would be to kiss him at all. 

“Elain.”  He said, soft palm meeting her cheek, easing it to face him once more. His russet eye full of something intangible, like if she tried to catch it, it would slip between her fingers like smoke. 

“Hmm?” 

“Like this,” He smiled, softly. “Love feels like this.”

[sunshinediaz]

tease tuesday + wip wednesday 🕊

(i'm smashing these 2 days together because i like to break the rules)

anyway have a lil bit of hoa eddie, uh, getting a hard dick for buck before dinner with his Nemesis

“You’re staring at me.” Buck shuffles forward, a few steps away from Eddie; he smells like mint and vanilla because he used Eddie’s shampoo like he always does and roses, too, that expensive cologne he pays half an arm for.  “I am.”  “Do I look bad?”  No. Not at all. He’s wearing tight black jeans that hug the length of his long, thick legs in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination and a black knit sweater that has his biceps bulging and his tummy poking through and it’s obscene because he’s so goddamn thick that even normal clothes look small on him.  Buck looks all different kinds of great and Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that or the tickle in his chest, the heavy heat in his gut. The gold chain with the little sunshine at the bottom sits pretty between his tits, a present Chris got him last year for Christmas that’s a fucking gift right now for Eddie. Christ.   He blinks. “No,” he says, maybe a little too fast, but he can’t be blamed. Especially not when Buck looks as gorgeous as he does, in front of Eddie and in his bedroom with a door that locks. “You look pretty. That color is nice on you.”  “It’s black.”  “Okay?” Eddie bristles. The tips of his ears burn. “It looks good.”  Buck fingers the hem of his sweater. “Thanks,” he says, whisper-soft and ruddy-cheeked like he’s embarrassed or something, before looking up and giving Eddie a dazzling smile. “You, uh, look good, too.”  And Eddie does. He’s wearing his best pair of blue jeans and a dark green sweater he found in the back of his closet that he knows looks good on him because Marisol couldn’t keep her hands off when he wore it, but he has nothing on Buck. Nothing at all.  “Buck—” “I need—” Christopher barges in the room, knocking the door against the wall like he pays the bills. “You guys take so long.” 

tagged by @daffi-990, @jesuisici33, and @wikiangela mwah i adore all of you!

tagging @callmenewbie, @callaplums, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @eddiediaztho, @honestlydarkprincess, @wildlife4life, @thewolvesof1998, @try-set-me-on-fire, @exhuastedpigeon, @fortheloveofbuddie, @giddyupbuck, @ladydorian05, @loserdiaz, @monsterrae1, @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy, and anybody else who wants to share 🫶🏼

[thebest-medicine]

Day 17: Interrogation

Tickletober 2023 - Critical Role - Campaign 2 Mighty Nein - lee!Caleb 

[see my other tickletober 2023 fics]

A/N: [continuation of day 10] Beau is determined to get Caleb to sing like a bird, even though she already knows the song. 

[ao3 link]

Words: 1.4k

—

“Ah, wait, Beauregard, there’s no need for—”

“Shut up, ya little shit. I know this was you. It has been for weeks now.” Her glare morphed swiftly into a smirk. “And I know just how to get you to fess up.”

“Wait—” Caleb stammered as he backed up toward her bed, cheeks lit up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about— please.”

“Wanna talk now, make it a little easier on yourself?” 

Caleb was stubborn, they both knew it. Beau stared at him for a few long seconds, waiting. 

He stayed silent.

Then, she shrugged, still smiling. “No, of course not. I figured. Don’t worry, they all talk eventually.” 

She cracked her knuckles, the sound causing Caleb’s eyes to flick down to her hands. He swallowed, his legs meeting the foot of her bed. Shit. 

“Now then.”

“Wait- please, I—” Caleb implored her, eyes wide. “I didn’t even do anything!” 

“Bullshit.” She pushed him gently but firm onto the bed. He stared up at her like a caught rabbit, heart hammering in his chest. She almost felt bad for everything she was about to put him through. Almost. 

 It was easier than breathing to maneuver the wet mop of a wizard around on the mattress. She straddled his waist, crushing both hands to his sides with her thighs. Caleb put up a good show of squirming, but it wasn’t what anyone could truly call a fight. Beau loomed over him, her fuming annoyance from earlier already melting away easily to play. But, she had to keep up the charade. 

And besides, she was curious to know how this tickle magic shit worked.

Caleb scrunched up under her, wincing as hands drew nearer. He bit his lip, shaking his head. 

“Telllllll me. Or this is gonna get a lot woo-oorse.” Beau explained in a sing-song tease that seemed to derive from the mouth of a tiefling. 

Caleb shut his eyes as he flinched hard just as Beauregard’s fingers touched down on his stomach, unmoving but steady. He took a shaky breath, making a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

“What, you’ve moved on from denial to the silent treatment? We’ll see how long that lasts.” Beau snickered. “Let’s get you talkin’.”

Deadly, accurate, precise, and fast — so fucking fast. Beau’s damned fingers scribbled wild patterns and shapes lightly all over Caleb’s midriff. They traced along his belly and wiggled into the negligible space his sides and his arms. They prodded a few times at his lowest ribs and poked at his hips. Caleb wheezed, barely holding in a shout. He couldn’t help but snicker madly into his shoulder where he tried his best to hide. She started tickling quicker, pinching here and there too. Soon Caleb lost his battle and the room lit up with his laughter. 

Beau laughed along triumphantly. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Maybe I need to go up a little higher?” She poked along his short ribs and he squealed.

“Nohohoho!” Caleb protested through frantic laughter. “Beahahaahau! Don’t- dohohohon’t!” 

“Such a way with words. Care to tell me more about what you were up to in the store, then?” 

“Neihihihin, plehease!” 

“Well now. You’re just begging me to go for the ribs, then, you know.” 

“Nohohohoho!” 

“Yeeeeees!” Beau teased right back. She began the crawl, moving up from his lowest ribs slow and deliberate. 

Caleb buckled, his legs kicking out as his head shook in protest. Not fucking there. “Wahahahait! Bitte, dohohon’t! PleheasEE NOHOHO—” He pulled his elbows in as closely as he could for protection. 

Beau grunted in frustration, and through his cackling Caleb picked up her saying. “—stupid lanky arms in the way.” 

A welcome respite came not a moment later when Beau took her hands away, and then she lifted her weight off of him. Caleb heaved a few breaths, unsure if it was over. When Beau looked back at him, though, and tugged one arm out before resecuring him in place, he knew it wasn’t. 

“Wait, Beau no! Don’t!” Caleb cried, wiggling his arm frantically in an attempt to pull free of her iron grip. 

Beau ignored him, moving his arm up and pinning it over his head with ease. Caleb practically whimpered under her, eyes big and scared like a lost puppy. “Look, man, you know what I wanna know. You don’t have to put yourself through all this.” Beau insisted. She wiggled her fingers toward his armpit to make him jump. 

Caleb was the one to grunt frustratedly this time. He knew there was an out. And he knew Beau was as stubborn as he was. This was only going to end one way. Yet here he was, thinking instead of talking.

“Alright, you were warned.” Beau smirked and instead of returning to the crawl up his side and ribs, she started up at his wrist and marched her fingers down his arm. She already had him squirming by the elbow. He was trying to twist and wriggle away inches before she made it to his armpit. Caleb howled with laughter and frantic giggles as she scribbled in place for a while until he went from red to pink. Going for the kill, Beau tickled a bit lower, pinching and scratching at his ribs with nimble fingers. 

Caleb was shouting with laughter, his voice wheezing and hoarse. His eyes welled up with tears that splashed in tiny pitters from the edges of his lashes. He couldn’t fight her off. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t take that fucking spot. Why did he have to be so damn sensitive on top of being so damn weak? Caleb tried to say something when Beau started digging her knuckles in to the tops of his ribs and Caleb shrieked. 

A few moments longer, and Beau stopped, watching him catch his breath with an expectant look in her eye. Eventually, she prompted him, “well?” 

“I- I, well, first of all, I hate you.” Caleb laughed shakily. 

Beau made a grab for his rib cage again and Caleb yelped. 

“Fine! Fine, ja, it was me. I’m sorry!” Caleb’s tickled-out grin added a comical look of insincerity to the apology. 

“I told you, I know it was.” Beau huffed. “I wanna know how you did it.” 

“It’s- it’s a spell.” Caleb explained, still giggling through his words. “Nothing of my own making, a relatively common spell — Unseen Servant. It can be used for lots of things, tasks, and whatever you ask really.”

“So it’s not a tickle spell?” 

Caleb laughed at that, blushing more. “No, no that is simply one of many uses.” 

“….Can Jester learn it, do you think?” 

Caleb and Beau stared at one another, a look of worry on their faces before bursting into laughter. 

“Alright. Well. I’m not gonna tell everyone yet.” Beau narrowed her eyes. “You gotta help me get Yasha with it though.” She winked.

Caleb nodded, and finally his hand was released.

Beau slide off to the side of him and patted his cheek, letting his noodle arms flail weakly back to cover his sides and wipe away the residual tingles of sensation. 

He flinched when she moved to try to help him sit up, and she laughed. “Relax, I’m done.” She nudged him. “For now.”

Caleb crumpled in on himself in relief, a tiny sound slipping from him involuntarily that made Beau laugh even harder.

“Bold move, provoking us like that.. Secret’s safe with me for now but I’m not helping you whenever someone else figures it out. You’re gonna get yourself into trouble if you keep using it to set people after Fjord.” Beau raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “And when Jester figures it out.” 

Caleb swallowed nervously. “Well, as I said it’s, it’s not just a spell for… that. It can be used for all sorts of tasks. I think I should stick to those for a while.” He continued, answering a few questions Beau posed on the parameters of the magic.

“Sounds like a cool utility spell — I’m impressed.” She punched his shoulder as lightly as she could manage. He still flinched. “Why’d you even think to use it on us like that though? Had to know we’d figure it out eventually.”

“Perhaps I- perhaps I just wanted a chance to participate in your shenanigans without being constantly victimized.” 

“Mmmm, and how’s that working out for you, buddy?” 

Caleb laughed, letting his head lull back against the floor. “Ja…not so great.” 

[thatgirlonstage]

sometimes a show throws a scenario at you that you could see coming a hundred miles off but that in no way is gonna prevent you from going absolutely feral over it. Anyway I binged all of Link Click in like three days and I'm going to start chewing furniture about the end of S2