#i gotta stop reading the posts about what people want to see in the sunshine court

[andrews-jort-loving-pipe-dream]

Me at me: Keep your expectations low, my dear. Otherwise you won't read the new book when it comes out

[ofstoriesandstardust]

chapter 9 - i know it won't work (b.r.b.)

a/n: after ten months of this chapter being at an absolute standstill, i have finally, finally finished this chapter. as always, @gretagerwigsmuse was an extraordinary human being for reading through all of it for me. i don't know if anyone is still interested in this series, but i'm posting it for anyone who is

summary: You're convinced it won't work, despite's Bradley persistence.

flight risk masterlist

warnings: alcohol, insecurities, swearing, this one is a bit heavy but has a hopeful ending

word count: 3.8k

"i've had the thought, tried to work it out through anxious pacin'/what if i'm not worth the time and breath i know you're saving?"

The front door opens as the plate clangs in the dishwasher, forcing you to cringe. You hold your breath, hoping it's not enough to catch the attention of Bradley.

Not just yet.

You aren't ready.

You know you have to talk to Bradley at some point. Tonight, preferably. But still, you're worried that staying might have been the wrong choice, that he doesn't want you here after this morning.

You're afraid to hear him tell you that you have to leave.

Bradley cautiously slips into the kitchen, not quite meeting your eye, almost like he's afraid. His face is hesitant as he cautiously looks up from the floor, to see you standing there, bent awkwardly over the dishwasher you'd been loading for him.

"You're here." He breathes out, almost unsure. "You stayed." He stays put, seemingly thinking that if he takes another step forward, speaks any louder than he currently is, you'll dissipate into thin air. You grimace at the thought that your continued reaction of leaving did that to him.

You shut the dishwasher, wincing as the ceramic plates clang together as you do, before standing straight, wringing your hands together. "Yeah." You breathe, unsure of where to look. "I- I didn't want to leave things between us like that."

He almost looks surprised by that answer, taking a cautious step forward. "So you wanna work things out?"

You lean up against the counter, eyes falling away from his. "I don't know if we can."

He lets out a forced laugh, something underneath you can't read, something that you want to say might be disbelief. "Come fucking on, Sunshine. You're supposed to be in fucking Boston right now. But you're not. You're here. That's gotta count for something, right?"

You push yourself away from the counter, turning away from him. "I don't know, Bradley. Don't you ever think that-" You pause, worrying your lip.

"What?"

You shrug before turning to face him again. "Don't you ever think that if we were supposed to be by now, we would've been?"

Bradley's face softens under his hesitancy. "Sunshine, we were kids when we met. We both had our own baggage and problems; we didn't know any better!" He steps closer to you, closing the distance by almost half. "I firmly believe that if we had gotten together at UVA, we would've blown it."

You huff, rolling your eyes. "Great."

He reaches out for you this time, bringing you back to face him even as you try to turn away again. "Sunshine, please stop reading into everything I say as if I mean the worst. I mean that we were kids and we were young and stupid and traumatized and both just trying to survive. Anything we felt as kids, it wouldn't have been enough for us to persevere against what the real world would've thrown at us." He squeezes your forearms, finally letting you go. "Look at what happened to fucking Tommy and Ella, yeah? They were the perfect couple with the perfect family that ended in divorce because they were kids when they did all that. But look at Eli and Bailey-"

"We're not them." You say, eyes narrowing as you cross your arms. "Stop fucking comparing us to people who don't give a shit about me."

He sighs. "That's not what I meant." He takes a step backwards, running a hand through his hair. "Sunshine, I was not equipped or emotionally available enough to be with you while we were at UVA. I was halfway convinced I was unlovable." His voice breaks as he looks at you pleadingly.

"Bradley, I-" You blow out a breath, shaking your head.

"Sunshine, I've never kept a solid relationship. You know that, a million people have told you that. Even when the other girls were perfect, they weren't you. I have always wanted to be with you Sunshine. I craved you like I crave flying a jet, or spending time with Maverick. You're an integral part of my life and who I am Sunshine, that's never going to go away."

You're unable to bring yourself to say anything, just look at him. Tears are stinging at your eyes for the umpteenth time in the last 24 hours, the emotion crawling up your throat, hearing him talk about how much you mean to him.

"Do you love me?" He whispers softly. “Because I love you - so much.”

You scoff at his question, that Bradley could have ever had any doubt how you felt about him. "Of course I fucking love you. I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since I was 19 and in a shitty relationship you were begging me to get out of. I was in love with you when we were on a fucking camping trip and woke up to you cuddling me. I was in love with you when you were 25 and called me to tell me you were going to Top Gun for the first time and I was in love with you three months ago when you called me and asked me to come visit you. I was in love with you then and I'm in love with you now. I've never stopped, I don't know how."

He frowns as a beat passes. "Why do I get the feeling there's a but coming?"

"It's not realistic, Bradley! It would never- it would never work. We live on opposite coasts. I-" You cut yourself off, unsure of how to vocalize all the doubt you're feeling.

"Isn't the way we feel about each other enough?"

"No!" You nearly shout. "This isn't some Disney movie Bradley, where we all just get a happy ending! We live entirely different lives on opposite coasts. What do you want me to do? Give up my career? Sit here and play happy military wife forever? I can't just- drop everything to come here because I love you."

“That’s not what I’m saying! I’m not saying that you- you have to give up everything for me, much less be confined to the title of your marital status. I’m just saying- you made a sacrifice once before for me.”  

"That's not even in the same stratosphere of being the same thing."

He cocks his head. "Then fine, I'll drop everything to be with you."

You scoff again. "Bradley, no."

"Why not?" He demands. "I don't care what it takes. I just want to be with you."

"Bradley, I'm not letting you give up your career, your friends, your relationship with your godfather! You just got Maverick back, for fuck's sake. I can't-" You pause, your throat beginning to feel tight. "I'd never forgive myself if I took that from you." You struggle to swallow around the lump in your throat as a hot tear rolls down your face. "You have a really good thing going here Bradley. I would never ask you to give that up."

"You're not asking! I would give it all up if it meant I got to keep you, to have you."

You tilt your head. "You know that's not true." You whisper hoarsely. "You know that I'm not- I'm not the girl you should give it all up for."

Bradley’s face falls, a look of defeat replacing it. "What will it take for you to see that you're all I want Sunshine?"

You shake your head, turning away from him as you walk towards the kitchen window. "I can not believe I ended up here." You mutter. "How did I end up here?"

Bradley doesn't say anything.

"You know, I always swore I would never get married and because of some stupid decision we made as kids, I did. I swore I would never fall in love and yet because I trusted some stupid kid, I did." You groan, hands reaching up to rub your temples. "I should've been smarter."

"Woulda, coulda, shoulda Sunshine." Bradley says, but you barely hear him, the panic playing out in your mind.

How had you ended up here?

"I'm fucking stupid for doing this to myself, I know how this ends. My parents fucking hate each other and they had kids who hate them and each other. I've got no idea what good love looks like and-"

"Sunshine." Bradley says firmly, stepping back into your swimming vision. "You are not your parents, do you understand me? You're not like, destined to fuck this up, okay?" He reaches out softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before kissing the top of your head softly. "Please, Sunshine. Just let me love you. Please, that’s all I’m asking right now.”

“And then what happens? What happens after I’ve let you love me and I’ve fallen even more in love with you? We won’t be able to make dinner together every night or snuggle up on the couch watching TV. I won’t be able to sleep beside you or run errands together. No - no, Bradley. I don’t even have all of those things fully now, I’m not gonna let myself have the dream of it happening one day.”

The defeat in Bradley shows in his stature before you ever see it on his face. 

His shoulders slump, exhaustion showing in the lines on his face. He takes a step back from you, hands falling to his sides as he looks at you. Really looks at you. 

“You’re gonna leave again, aren’t you?” His voice is so soft, you’re surprised you can hear the way it cracks in the middle. 

“Bradley.” You respond, voice just as soft as his. 

There is nothing more than you want in that moment to stay, to tell him you’d stay with him forever, to do whatever it took. 

But that fear, the fear that had kept you and your feelings at bay all these years, is stronger as you look at him. 

“It would never work.”

“It could.” 

“It can’t.” 

The sheer devastation that crosses Bradley’s face at your surety is almost enough to make you second-guess your own words. 

“Please don’t make me say goodbye to you again, Sunshine.” 

Yoru throat is tight as you feel the familiar sting of tears in your waterline. 

“Bradley, I can’t.” 

Bradley’s eyes are glassy, haunted. 

It’s a look that haunts your dreams all the way back to Boston. 

- 

You set the phone back down on the coffee table, switching music on as you blink away the sting of the lack of notifications on your messages app. 

You don’t know why you keep waiting – expecting, really – for Bradley to text you. 

You think you made it pretty clear how you feel about him. About where the two of you were going from here. 

The Archer plays softly in the background as you grab the bottle of wine out of the bag, scrunching your nose as the chocolate at the bottom of the bag. 

You didn’t even really like Ferrero Rocher chocolate but apparently the you that had been throwing yourself a pity party an hour ago was miserable enough to buy it. 

You sigh, uncorking the bottle as the song on the tiny bluetooth speaker that sat atop your stove switches over and floats out through your kitchen. 

You pause as you recognize the first few keys of the song, groaning as you set the bottle back down on the countertop before walking a few feet to grab your phone. 

Sure enough, the familiar album cover of good riddance looks back up at you as you quickly swipe away from the song that had come up on your shuffle. 

“Fucking Spotify.” You mutter, slipping your phone into the pockets of the sweats you’d been dying to put on all day. 

Three months of traipsing around San Diego in shorts and leggings all the time had ruined you from ever comfortably wearing slacks again. 

You only just barely make it through your pour before the buzzer goes off, causing you to flinch. 

“Jesus.” You mutter as you re-cork the bottle. 

You sigh, picking the glass up and taking a sip of the shitty five-dollar bottle of wine you’d picked up on the way home from the office. You hear the main door open from downstairs and part of you wonders if your boss followed through on her threat of giving you a fruit basket. 

(“So, how was San Diego?” Your boss asks.

You sigh, glancing up at her from your monitor before looking back at the email you’re typing out. 

“That bad, huh?”

She shuts the door of your office behind her, sitting in the chair across from you. 

“Was expecting you to come back with some good news, especially with you taking a few extra days.” 

You swallow, closing your tabs you turn your attention back to her. 

“I- uh, married this guy in college. It was really- spur of the moment. We were young and stupid and-” You shake your head, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “It just ended up not working out. I went to San Diego so we could get a divorce.” 

“Oh shit.” She mutters. She shifts in her seat before she nods to herself. 

“What if I sent you a fruit basket? Would that make it better?”)

You wonder if chocolate covered pineapple will taste good with cheap white wine as you fish your phone out of your pocket, typing out a text to her to ask if she had indeed sent you a fruit basket when there's a knock at the door. 

“Coming.” You call out before you sigh, setting the phone down on the countertop as you walk a few paces over to the door, before pulling it open, wine glass in hand. 

And then you almost drop it. 

-

He hadn’t, not for a second, considered that following you to Boston was a poor choice. 

Not when he had to ask Ice to pull strings to get him approved leave. 

Not when he booked a last minute flight in the base parking lot on a newly-downloaded Delta app. 

Not when Mav had to gently suggest he book a hotel room in case things didn’t go as planned. 

(“B, I think you should consider maybe booking a hotel room in case this all goes to shit.” Mav says, sitting down on his bed as he packs his duffle bag. 

He freezes, looking at his godfather. 

“Fuck, I didn’t even think of that.” 

His godfather heaves an overexaggerated sigh, nodding. “Yeah, I figured.”)

Not when he spent a majority of his time in the San Diego airport trying to figure how to take the T from the airport to your apartment in Brookline. 

(You’d explained it to him once, something about a blue line and a green line and a Maverick stop, but he’s pretty sure he was admiring the way your eyes sparkled in the sun as the two of sat on the grassy lawn of the courtyard in Balboa Park and decidedly not listening to what you were telling him.)

Not when he took a detour, getting off at a different stop to go to the hotel room Mav and Penny had booked for him and not when he’d taken another stop to get you flowers. 

Not when he’d pressed the buzzer for your apartment and not as he walked up the wooden stairs to your third floor apartment. 

No, the first time he second-guesses any of his decisions of the last forty-eight hours is when you open your front door, wine glass in hand, music playing in the background, and stare at him. 

The flowers feel sweaty in his hand, the brown paper crinkling as he swallows, suddenly forgetting everything he wanted to say. 

“I- shit, are you busy Sunshine? I- sorry, I didn’t even think-” 

You shake your head, turning to set your wine glass on the entryway table as the music softly plays in the background. “Bradley, what are you doing here?” You ask, shaking your head again as your eyes flit over him. 

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. 

“I thought, at first, that maybe you didn’t- you didn’t love me back or care- care about me in the way I did you. But after that last night-” He shakes his head. “I know now that it’s not that you don’t love me. You keep saying that this could never work. And I- I need to show you that it could. It can work, and we will make it work.” He licks his lips, glancing down at the flowers in his hands. 

“Bradley-” 

“No, Sunshine, I need you to hear me out. Please.” You give a little nod, eyes wide, and he sighs again. “I have it all mapped out, all the weekends I’m free to come visit you here. I get home around 6 every night, which is only 9 your time here. You’ve always been a bit of a night owl, so there’s at least a few hours each night we can FaceTime while I make dinner. We can even do dinner dates on the weekend and call each other while we cook together. We can make this work. We’ve made it work enough for the Navy to believe us all these years, now- now it’s just doing all the things we said we were doing all along. I want to be with you and I don’t care how long it takes, we will get this right. We can do this for however long we need to, for however long it takes, I just- I just want to love you.” 

He swallows as his hands jerk out, offering you the flowers as he finally lets himself breathe. You glance down at the flowers and back up to him, eyes wide. 

He glances down at them, realizing you aren’t going to take the flowers from him and his next words leave him without his allowance. 

“I just want to kiss my wife. Just once.” 

The seconds tick by without you saying or doing anything. 

It’s excruciating. 

He feels his face grow warm as he suddenly realizes how ridiculous this all is. This, the flowers, the showing up announced, the flying cross country, all of it. 

“I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have- Okay, I’m- I’m sorry for bothering you Sunshine. I should go.” 

He nods, going to turn, when you surge forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling his lips down to yours. 

The flowers fall out of his hands as he scrambles to cup either side of your head. 

-

The kiss is soft as it is passionate, a juxtaposition you never thought could come from a kiss. His lips are chapped against yours and at the angle you’ve got him at, his nose is nudged against your cheek and yet it’s still the best kiss you’ve ever had. It’s dizzying, the relief and peace that comes from finally knowing what it’s like to kiss him. 

It’s the movement of one of his hands down to your shoulder that grounds you, causing you to pull away. You don’t go far, just enough to look him in his eyes. 

“I can’t believe I just did that.” You say after a beat, a giddy half-laugh escaping you as the adrenaline thrums through you. “Come inside.” You say, tugging on his shirt. “We should stop giving my neighbors a free show. Mrs. Robinson’s probably watching us through her peephole.”

Bradley lets out a small laugh at the mention of your nosy across the hall neighbor, before bending down to scoop up the flowers. He turns to you as you gently shut the door behind him. 

“Do you have a vase for me to put these in?”

“Do I have a- Bradley, what do you take me for? An adult?” He laughs, a real laugh this time, and the sound warms your heart. “Here.” you walk a few paces into your kitchen, Bradley trailing behind you. You open up one of the cabinets, pulling out a tall pint glass. 

Bradley’s eyes grow at the sight of it. “Is that the cup from when we went to Oktoberfest? While we were in college?” 

You nod, filling the glass at your sink before turning back to him. 

While at UVA, your group of friends had gone to Oktoberfest. You’d been too young to drink at the time, a year younger than the rest of them, and Bradley had taken pity on you, giving you his pint glass at the end of the day since you wouldn’t be able to get your own. 

You take the flowers from him, trimming the stems off before setting them in the water. You grab the glass, nodding your head to your couch. 

“C’mon, let’s sit.” 

Bradley follows you as you sit down, if a bit hesitant. 

Hesitation, caution, carefree laughter, kindness, love, they’re all looks on Bradley you know well. 

But this, the timidness, in his eyes, in the gentleness of his movements, in the lines around his small smile is not something you’re familiar with. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, scooting closer to him once he finally does sit down next to you on the couch. 

He swallows before glancing around your place. 

“This is cute. Cozy.” 

“Better in person than in the pictures I showed you, I bet?” He nods, before glancing back at you. “B, I can’t believe you’re here.” You whisper softly, resisting the urge to reach out and thread your fingers through his. 

“You still haven’t told me if you want to try.” He whispers, hazel eyes meeting yours. There’s that timidness again, hidden his voice. “I really want to try, Sunshine.” 

This time, you don’t resist the urge and take his hand in yours. You crawl closer to him, placing yourself gently in his lap. His hands automatically wrap around your middle, even if you can still see the nerves in his eyes. 

“Bradley, I want to try.” You whisper softly. “I-” 

You falter, struggling to find the words to articulate why you had changed your mind. 

Maybe it was the love Bradley had for you, was so openly displaying. 

Maybe it was the determination he’d had that this could work. 

Maybe it was the effort it took to follow you out here. 

Maybe it was the knowledge that your fear would deny you the best thing you’d ever had, the best person you’d ever had. 

Maybe it was all of it, knowing you’d spend the rest of your life regretting it if you didn’t. 

Bradley would be your one that got away. He’d be the one you’d think of what ifs when he inevitably got married to another girl, had kids, and a picket white fence future. 

“Sunshine?” Bradley prompts softly. 

The thought alone makes you nauseous. You couldn’t let that happen. 

“I wanna try, B. I wanna try so bad. I have to try.” 

The smile Bradley gives you in return is soft, yet no less sweet and full of love before he presses another kiss to your lips. 

“Then we’ll try.”

[cato616]

NEGOTIATING OVER US (part one)

roman roy x fem reader

note: hey! so this is my first post so please be nice♡ (oh and english isn't my first language either so)

another note: i may confuse myself by saying me/I'm instead of you/your and such. my bad

• there's some original characters!! not from the show (Ernest, Liza, and Kate!)

summery: you've been living your life as local coffee shop owner and roman roy is trying to buy it from you just for its territory (for waystar's use) but of course you don't want to. Although having you say yes to his offer would mean him stop seeing you to convince you

warnings: well roman being a mean bitch, some spicy here and there(or at least not in part one) emotional backstory?

It's the usual afternoon for you. making some cappuccinos, macchiatos and so more for you costumers.

[your coffee shop it's somewhat successful, that local café in the area that everyone knows about; it's not very big but it is cozy, people like to stop by to chat with friends, work or study, or even just to be with their selves; they like it here, it's a nice safe space for them, and for you too]

"hey darling!" said your most frequent costumer, sweet old lonely Ernest, sitting on those individual seats by the counter, giving a warm smile. "hey Ernest how's the eye?" (Earnest was robbed last week and was hurt pretty bad, those fuckers hit him pretty hard, that poor old man) "oh!" he said while slightly touching the bruise like if he'd forgotten about it. "yes I suppose it's getting better" he smiled. "the usual?" you asked. "yes ma'am" he responded pointing his finger in the air like the good old man he is. you smile back and get to it.

while you get the coffee ready, you start observing your coffee shop, how nice it looks, friends chatting on one table, someone reading a book alone, and so everything seems good. You can't help but notice the sunshine coming in through your big windows. You realize how much you like your job, making people happy, 'cuz that what you see around you.

But there's a problem coming in trying to stop your dreams; and actually, that problem just walked right in.

you sigh when you notice roman roy coming in through the door. "what's wrong?" asked Ernest. "oh it's just roman who came in, i hate him." said to him while giving him his coffee with a concern look on your face. "roman roy yeah!... oh, roman roy" said Ernest disappointed. i nodded agreeing with his feeling at the situation.

"how's it going darling?" he said teasing me and then sitting next to Ernest by the counter as well. you didn't say anything, just standing there looking at him with more of a disgusted face. Ernest was still there drinking his coffee, looking at us without saying a word. "oh... so you're not in a moody today mhm? roman kept coming at me by making fake puppy eyes. he's just the usual bully. "you can be mean all you want, I'm not selling my coffee shop" said to him directly looking into his eyes. "mm-yeah well.." he seemed kind of defeated by that and so he avoided eye contact like when a child losses a game and wants to deny it. but he looks at me again with something on his mind "you know it's a lot of money right? you can immediately have some other coffee shop elsewhere, im sure of it, and i can even make it happen very fast, and well... we can make some modern arrangements" he said looking around the place like if it was fucking rats and trash here. "he has some points there dear" said Ernest, still there. "Ernest you're not his lawyer, respectfully, zip it" felt kinda bad saying that but my blood boils when roman roy is around. "yeah Ernest shut up!" he said laughing and then you stared at him annoyed. you can't shut up Ernest, only i can kind of stare.

"i won't bother you anymore darling I'll be on my way out" said Ernest. you followed him to the door to quickly apologize "oh yeah don't worry dear, he's a prick i know that" he smiles at you. "but i gotta tell you, he's been here a lot, they could've sent someone else after a while, but he still comes here... I'm not blind that's all". he smiles again and then leaves; you're standing next to the door confused at what he just said. you get back to the counter still processing what he meant, your face is zoned out. "cool battle scars the old man got" roman suddenly says, you sigh and close your eyes zoning back in. "yes, he was assaulted last week by some thieves" you responded in a serious tone. "ah wow, tough old guy".

You turned to him, wanted to get open with the guy and then finally said "i can't just leave this café and open some other one somewhere else" you said more relaxed, avoiding eye contact; there's some silence between you too, he doesn't answer, he's letting you open up. "I opened this place with someone else, someone special to me... they've got very sick until the end and, this place- this place was our dream since we were little kids, we built it together, i can't just close it and open some meaningless café two blocks away." you almost caught yourself crying, you haven't talk about this in a while. You're still waiting for a response but looking down at the floor, not wanting to look into his eyes, you didn't expect to share this with him.

"aw shit" you heard him whisper to himself; he started to bite his nails as he didn't know what to do next. You looked up to see him kind of anxious at the situation, but you didn't know why. "w-what?" you were still kind of emotional. "nothing i just gotta make a quick call you know... j-just roy family stuff." seems like both of you got tongue tied. You get confused as you see him rapidly leaving and seeing him outside speaking with someone on the phone, of course you suspect it's because of what you've shared just now.

He walked right back in and then very confidently walked straight to the counter and asked "hey so, do you mind maybe coming by my office?" he seemed pretty nervous asking the question. "n-now?" you asked, he got super annoyed again very fast, classy roman. "ugh yes whatever we can go now." he started to walk outside while looking at his phone, and you were just standing there not knowing what to do, until you noticed he was outside, and you weren't, so he started making gestures with his hands to make you come out already. Felt pretty pressured by his commands "um um... liza take over for a few hours, thank youuu" you said to you co-worker while taking your apron away and then sprinting outside to meet roman.

"nice finally you're out, so... go, get in the car" felt pretty awkward getting in there, you thought you were taking a walk down the office but now that you think about it, of course it wouldn't be like that.

you looked over the window watching all the big corporate buildings in the city; pretty amazing you thought, just enjoying the ride to the his office. However, you felt someone staring at you, but you didn't want to make it obvious and turn, you let roman stare at you while he was beside you the whole ride, you didn't seem to feel annoyed by it somehow, because it doesn't feel invasive, it feels somewhat different.

continue .⁠｡⁠*⁠♡✧⁠*⁠。

[baekhvuns]

BESTIE

THAT MAN HAD A GF ALL THIS TIME.

😭

I mean he was never mine to begin with, and it was obvious he'd HAVE a gf with THAT face but ong I felt like I got cheated on Bcz we made eye contact for like 0.00001 secs tht one time 😩😩

I wasn't even able to go at my job Bcz I was sick my co workers told me that he had a gf, who was apparently at the restaurant and he made it so obvious that it was his gf. Which is a top trait for a man. BUT I COULDN'T SEE HIS GF 😭😭😭 I WANTED TO AT LEAST SEE THE FACE OF THE LUCKY WOMAN

Anyways....about my life, i got sick somehow, and got a cold but now I'm getting better AND MY PHONE FELL INTO MY BATHTUB 😭 SEE THIS IS WHY I WANTED TO BUY A BLUETOOTH SPEAKER!! it was so unfortunate, Bcz I was in the bathtub, scrolling thru my phn finding the perfect song and MY Clumsy MY CLUMSY HANDSSS 😭 anyways, its still working but the screen... is now discolored??

Enough of me ranting abt my life. How are you? The blog has been so quiet lately, like WHERE IS DV ANON?? WHERE IS JAEHUNNY ANON?? WHERE IS NOTHINGJUSTME ANON?? WHERE IS CHILDHOOD! BESTFRIENDHWA ANON?? Guys come back...life is so...lonely 🥺 (i hate this emoji)

Speaking of childhoodbestfriend!hwa anon, i literally made a story inspired by your username 😔 so i hope you don't sue me. I was sick i had nothing to do so I just posted the story, it's a part 1, idk man I hope people will like it.

I see you like angst YOU LIKE LOTS OF ANGST AND UGLY FIGHTS AFTER WHICH THE COUPLE LIVES HAPPILY EVER AFTER!! Me too. But I feel like daytime star is a comfort manhwa, like they went thru hurdles..they did but not in their relationship but more like, they went thru it together. Like....it wasn't anything between them ..bt them against the world thing?

Speaking of the whole fight THATS HOW YOU COME UP WITH THE FORMULA OF YOUR STORIES RIGHT? damn no wonder I'm in love with them..

Bt look i found a few fics that perfectly explain d&tg, change the Hongjoong to yn in the first one AND THE SECOND ONE!!! 🤚😭 PERSON B IS SO GENERAL!YN ..is the how you spell it-

THIS LAST ONE 😭😭😭 IM GETTING FLASHBACKS TO THE FIGHT HWA AGREED TO SO CONFIDENTALLY AND THEN GOT BEATEN UP!

Omg yes the baby against his tiddies 🤧🤧🤧 they're so cute, and the baby is so cute and everything is so cute. Whenever I read it, it feels like I'm melting. And it feels so satisfying to see haebom (the black haired dude) who is so intimidating get all soft cuz of a baby AND HER FATHER 😭

NO NO YOURE RIGHT THE GOLDEN RETRIEVER AND THE BLACK CAT DYNAMIC IS THE BEST! I read another bl...pls I'm getting addicted to them...and it's actually good, AND ITS TBE SAME DYNAMIC!!! Person A (complete black cat persona, depressed with anxiety and a rich kid, [guess where the depression came frm?] ) and Person B (literal human sunshine, even his hair are blonde, a tired working man who gv up on his dreams)

And then they unite....god, it was the healthiest thing I read probably.

WOOYOUNG'S OREO HAIR ARE BACKKKKK! I cannot....express my joy ENOUGH! AND WE GOT PONYTAIL SEONGHWA 😭😭😭😭 when I tell you I waited so much since the Deja vu era LIKE FINALLY MAN YOU BETTER KEEP THE SCISSORS FAR AWAY!

Girl u gotta tell me where should I read secretary's escape BCZ I READ AT AN ILLEGAL WEBSITE AND IT WONT SHOW ME IT 😭😭😭😭 I WANNA READ IT SHOULD I DOWNLOAD WEBTOON OR SOMETHING??

STOP.

NO FUCKING WAY.

he brought his gf the day u weren’t at work 😭😭 crying this is like when u miss a day at school and rihanna performed in the cafeteria like CRYING GRKWHDKW ANON WHYDKWHDKW it’s time to come back to ur roots <3

i hope you’re better now- what the fuck 😭😭 WHY DO U HAVE UR PHONE IN THE BATHTUB WHAT HAPPENED TO KEEPING IT AT THE COUNTER ????? did u at least put it in rice pls jfbwkfhsk and did u find the right song

i am good! i was also sick with a scratchy throat recently, uni’s back on 😀 blogs been quiet i know 😭😭😭 NO BC WHERE ARE THEY IVE BEEN WONDERING WHAT HAPPENED TO THE HAGWON ANON PLS HOWS SK ARE U BACK??? ARE U OKAY??? DV ANON IS THE JOB TAKING UR TIME HOWS UR CATS JAEHYUNNY DID U SEE THE LAST RACE, NOTHINGJUSTME HOW WAS UR DAY DID U WATCH ANYTHING CHILDHOODBESTFRIEND HOW IS THE DRAFT GOING FBWMDHWK wow i am so attached <3

omg u posted … 🤲🏻

I DO I RLY DOO I LIKE THE DRAMA MAYBE THATS WHY I FOUND IT A LIL NOT MY TYPE FHKWFB damn how did u know that’s my formula

CRYING THAT IS EXACTLY GENERAL!Y/N AND HWA FBWNDHAKHDKA IT WAS SO FUN WRITING THEIR BANTER a quiet unbothered person vs the hectic egotistic duke sigh, what a pairing i miss them ngl i miss the mr and mrs park one too what good times they were omg do u know the song im yours by isabel larosa i wrote half of my etl’s based on it

STOP I LOVE THAT THE INTIMIDATING ONE GETTING SOFT FOR KIDS CRYING

EXACTLY!!’!!! PEAK ENTERTAINMENT IS GOLDEN RETRIEVER AND THE BLACK CAT OH HOW I WISH EVERYONE HAD SOMEONE LIKE THAT RHLWHDWK MANIFESTING 😭😭

healthiest thing u read 😭😭😭😭

NOT ONLY OREO BUT A FULL ASS MULLET???? JESUS CHRIST AND *** ?????

KEEP !!!! THE !!!! SCISSORS AWAY !!!!

PLS DOWNLOAD WEBTOON THATS THE ONLY PLACE I READ SECRETARYS ESCAPE ON I WAIT FOR THIS ONE PATIENTLY and he’s just so,, imagine a ceo hwa like that like.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Mechakoopa

Debut: Super Mario World

So a very polite anon has humbly requested we write a post about Mechakoopa! They are apparently this person's favorite, so today's their lucky day! See I don't like to brag but, I'd definitely consider myself as part of the top 100 most qualified people to talk about Mechakoopas in the world! And who am I to turn down such a request?

Now the 90s you see, were a turning point for good Mr. Bowser here. With a brand new clown-helicopter thing to pilot around you might think he's all set, but what kind of self-respecting villain would he be without filling his evil lair with a number of Evil Wind-up Toys based on himself? So he does exactly that- a whole fourteen years before Mario stole his idea, mind you!

Yes, you read that right! Despite their name, Mechakoopas are tiny mechanical versions of Big Bowser himself, not just any run of the mill Koopa, which explains their green heads and funky hair! You know how Koopa is actually Bowser's Japanese name? Yeah! They could've localized them as Mecha-Bowsers, but Mechakoopa just flows nicer doesn't it? And he is still technically a Koopa!

"Yo, somebody rang?"

No!! Not you, Mecha-Bowser from Super Mario Sunshine (2002)!! You'll get your turn eventually! Geez! Anyway. Where was I. Oh! Yes!

This is the obligatory part of the post where I'm like “Get a load of this funky guy”! Get a load of this funky guy! Instead of reinterpreting Bowser’s design very literally in toy form, the Mechakoopa is very much its own beast, with its funny beak and little funny legs. Our aforementioned anon mentioned the wind-up key, and oh, what a wind-up key it is! And of course the raisin d’eclair- the fantastic little googly eyes! Oh where would we be without those googly eyes?

Naturally though, Bowser doesn’t just use his toys to populate his spooky castle- he always has to keep a few on his person! So he chucks them at you in the game’s final boss fight, but he didn’t account for the fact that, in this game only, Mario can throw upwards! Oh no! His one weakness! Being pelted with plastic!

By the by, I’ve always thought the original Mechakoopa sprite from Super Mario World looked super funky! The hair almost looks like its on fire! And I like the goofy grin. 

The Super Mario World cartoon decided to interpret this sprite by turning him into a horrible little man. No, I don’t want this! He shouldn’t have arms!

The Mechakoopa’s next appearance in a mainline Mario platformer was in New Super Mario Bros. Wii, where they act... exactly the same as they do in Super Mario World! Cool! This basically established them as modern Mario enemies, but there isn’t much to say other than that!

Like all our posts about Common Mario Enemies, it would probably be boring if I just listed off their every appearance, so I will just bring up the ones that are worth mentioning. For example, Super Mario RPG! In this game, Bowser’s strongest special attack is Bowser Crush, which summons a giant Mechakoopa to stop on foes! According to the Player’s Guide, this Mechakoopa was a top secret weapon developed by Koopa researchers... to stomp flowers and scare butterflies! Wow! That is so so evil! These big guys would definitely live up to the name “Mecha-Bowser”! 

“Hey guys, are you talking about me?”

NO, we are NOT talking about you, Mecha Bowser (with no hyphen) from Mario Kart: Double Dash (2003)’s Bowser’s Castle course! Get the heck outta here! Gosh, some people just don’t know when they’re not wanted!

I am sure after all this you are wondering, they may be mechanical toys but can they do math? The answer is yes obviously! This is Mechakoopa from Mario Party Advance, and they’re a mathematician! They invented Mechakoopa’s Theorem, the very real mathematical theorem that we all used in school! Everyone give them a round of applause!

I’d like to bring up their appearances in the Mario & Luigi games, not because it’s particularly notable, but because of how much I like their sprite and idle animation! Look at the wind-up key spin around and the eyes go up and down! So cute! Oh, and also because in the Superstar Saga remake they replaced the Mecha-Chomp enemies (may god rest their souls)!

Super Mario Maker 2′s final update was an epic win and a #1 victory royale for Mechakoopa fans anywhere, since it not only added Mechakoopas to all four main game themes, but also two brand new variants: the Blasta Mechakoopa (in red) and the Zappa Mechakoopa (in blue)! 

As you might expect, they can Blast (missiles) and Zap (lasers) respectively! I’ve no idea why they added these random functionalities to Mechakoopas specifically, but they’re a lot of fun and some of the most unique projectiles in the game! Zappa? I barely know ‘a! 

Oh, and I almost forgot! They are in Super Smash Bros. as well! Bowser Jr.’s moveset is a treasure trove of little references to Mario gadgets, and even though Bowser no longer tosses these guys from his Clown Car, his son has taken up the job! Only in this game, Mechakoopas explode. Uh oh! They didn’t do that before! Still, I really like popping a Mechakoopa out of its Mechakoopa Compartment just to see it wander around the stage. It’s fun!

Now that’s all I have to say about good old Mechakoopas, but I’d like to give a special shoutout to this guy in particular- the Micro Mecha-Bowser, from Super Mario Galaxy! For a long time, I assumed they were just Mechakoopas with a different design... But this definitely looks like a beefed up version of the Mechakoopa, with their big goofy teeth, their pig nose and their funky cross-hair eyes! These dudes can breathe fire too, so they really are more like Bowser! And if there’s a Micro Mecha-Bowser, there’s gotta be a normal one!

“Whassup? I heard somebody call my name!”

Harumph! Nobody called you, Mecha-Bowser from Super Mario Galaxy (2007)’s Toy Time Ga- Er... hold on a second. You actually are exactly the person I was talking about after all! My mistake! Though I do wish you’d at least give us a heads up when you’re gonna show up, given you’re the size of a small planetoid!

Yeah, the Micro Mecha-Bowsers are named after this big robot from Toy Time Galaxy, Mecha-Bowser (not to be confused with Mecha-Bowser or Mecha Bowser)! Though I have to say, there isn’t much family resemblance! He’s so blue and un-turtle like! Still, this must’ve been my favorite mission in Galaxy as a kid- I’d replay it over and over again just because the idea of climbing on a giant planet-sized robot and dismantling it piece by piece was so cool! It was like Shadow of the Colossus before I knew what the heck that was!

Well that’s about the extent of the Mechakoopa family. Isn’t it fun? There’s a moral to be learned here, and it’s that, uh... little wind-up toys are very charming! Um, I suppose. Look, writing conclusions is hard! 

Mechakoopa

[mischiefandspirits]

Bernard Figures It Out

Was reading through all the comments on @frostbittenbucky's post and all I could think of was that it was Bernard talking to Tim. Then I got to thinking...

"I've connected the two dots."

"You didn't connect shit."

"I've connected them."

Bernard figures out Tim's a superhero... sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim fidgetted nervously as he waited on the front porch of his boyfriend’s house. Bernard had sounded so serious when he’d called during Tim’s lunch to ask him to come over after work so they could talk about something.

Which Tim had done, after spending an entire board meeting just going over the past week trying to figure out what he’d done.

The only thing he could think of was that he’d ducked out halfway through their lunch date on Wednesday to give Duke some backup, but Bernard had seemed understanding when Tim explained there was an emergency at GRC Labs. It couldn’t have been a tipping point, either, since Tim had managed to only flake on three other dates over the past few months they’d been dating. Kate had been happy to cover for him as often as she could “out of queer solidarity” when she found out Tim was dating a boy for the first time and Tim had managed to trick Bruce into covering a few actual Wayne Enterprises emergencies for him when they came up.

There had to be a reason Bernard was breaking up with him, though. Had he missed something? He definitely wasn’t forgetting an important day. He was good with days and Tam was even better, so she would have reminded him on the off chance that he had forgotten.

What was he missing?

Bernard was smiling when he opened the door, but there was a nervous energy to it that had Tim’s stomach sinking. “Hey, Tim.”

“Hey.” Tim gave his own nervous smile then slipped inside.

They went into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Tim frowned when Bernard grabbed a manila folder off the coffee table. Crud, had he screwed up enough that Bernard had had to make a list? He knew he was new to dating a guy, but he hadn’t thought he’d done that bad. He’d really been trying, especially with how his and Stephanie’s relationship had fallen apart at the end. “What -”

“Just let me speak, Tim,” Bernard said, waiting for Tim’s nod. “Okay, so you know Clark Kent, right?”

Tim blinked as Bernard opened the folder to show a picture of Clark. It looked like one of the employee pictures from the Planet’s website, with his dorky “I’m just a humble country boy” smile and the golden globe from their roof photoshopped in as the background. “Uh, yeah? I think so. He works for the Daily Planet, right? I think he’s worked at a few of Bruce’s events. Not a lot of outside reporters are willing to come to Gotham.”

“Exactly!” Bernard said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Tim.

“What?”

He pulled out the picture to show the next page was an article titled, “DAILY PLANET REPORTER… BATMAN!?”

A wave of relief washed over Tim and he placed his face in his hands. “Were you up all night on the hero conspiracy boards again?”

“No. I mean, I found this on a board and was up all night thinking about it, but I found it reasonably early.”

“One in the morning isn’t reasonable, Bernard.”

“Says the guy who’s always wide awake when I call to infodump.”

“Touché.” Tim leaned against Bernard and gave him a smile. “So tell me, why is some reporter from Metropolis from all places Batman.”

“First of all, living in Metropolis is the perfect cover. Everyone assumes Batman would live in Gotham, no one would consider he could be from anywhere else. Metropolis is outside the GMA, but close enough that the commute is still possible.”

“But it’s Metropolis.”

“And who would think Gotham’s Dark Knight lives in the sunshine capital? Plus, I hear he disappears a lot on the job. There’s gotta be a reason for it!”

Tim made a note to let Clark know he needs to cut back on the disappearing act some since people are catching on.

“And have you seen the guy? He is swol AF, babe.”

“Please don’t call me babe while you’re talking about how hot another guy is.” Especially Tim’s honorary uncle.

“You know I prefer twinks.”

“BERNARD!”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring Tim’s shout. “The guy is definitely hiding something! Besides, Kent is an investigative reporter. He’s gotta know a lot about cases and the underground and detective work.”

Not as much as he likes people to think, but more than he likes people to know Superman does, Tim mused. “But what about the other vigilantes?”

“Well, Kent has a cousin…” Bernard flipped through a folder and pulled out a picture of Kara. It looked like a screenshot of her interviewing Lena for CatCo. “She’s obviously the latest Batgirl. Look at her hair. And the first Batgirl and the current Batwoman were obviously Lois Lane, the red hair is just a wig. Did you see how she kicked butt at that last event she went to? She’s not as subtle as Kent. That means their son is the latest Robin. He’s exactly the right size.”

Oh, Damian better not hear about this, Tim cackled internally. His youngest brother hated being reminded that Jon was the same height as him despite their two years age difference. Damian definitely took after Talia when it came to body type, no matter what he said.

“And Kent also has a brother.” This time he pulled out a picture of Kon. The clone must have been caught by a reporter out shopping with Ma since he was carrying some paper bags and glaring at whoever was behind the camera. “At least, he’s supposedly Kent’s brother, but he was a teenager when he first showed up with the Kents. A lot of people think he’s actually Kent’s son, that Kent got a girl pregnant when they were teenagers and something happened to the mom so Kent had to take him in. Now the Kents are trying to hide it by saying the two are brothers.”

That was… scarily accurate actually. Especially given Luthor and Clark were close friends at the time that Kon would have theoretically been born.

“And that beef would explain why the younger Kent brother went all crime lord on Gotham for a while before reconnecting with the family.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Kent Jr.’s got the perfect build for Red Hood.”

Tim bit back a comment on how Kon was shorter than Jason by a good foot. Timothy Drake-Wayne should not know that. Add Jason to the list of people who can’t hear this theory.

“And then there’s this girl,” Bernard picked up a picture of Lois, Jon, and Natasha Irons walking down the street together. “No one’s sure exactly who she is, but she’s been spotted with the Kents a few times. I think the cover story is that she’s Jon’s babysitter.”

“And the actual story?”

“She’s Black Bat, obviously. That’s why she wears a mask that fully covers her face. She doesn’t want to stand out as the only African American Bat.”

“Isn’t Signal also Black?”

“Yeah, but he works in the daytime so he’s already a standout.”

“And who is Signal in this? And what about Nightwing and Red Robin?”

“Well, Nightwing’s just a Blüd who came to Gotham. He doesn’t count.”

Ouch. Sorry, Dick.

“And Red Robin is obviously an older Robin, the one who was Robin when we were kids. Kent wanted to keep him on, and I don’t blame him. As for Signal, he’s got the same backstory as all the other Robins Kent picked up, he just went the Signal route because he didn’t fit the usual Robin mold.”

“Because the female Robin fit the mold,” Tim snorted. Robin Mold, as if he and his brothers were even the same ethnicity. Or even had the same hair color. Jason dyes his hair, Dick’s is brown-black, Tim’s is pure black, and Damian’s is more a dark brown and it’s only getting lighter as he gets older.

“She didn’t, that’s the point. Kent tried to give breaking the Robin mold a chance by letting his cousin have a go at it, but he realized it just didn’t work so she went back to being Spoiler and he got a new Robin.”

Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Right, and where does he get the usual Robins? Please tell me you’re not back on the secret government orphanages theory.”

“No, no, no. Kent travels sometimes for his job, right? And a lot of the time he’s going to places that have been hit by disasters or major crimes. So he’ll take in some of the displaced children to train as his robins.”

Tim pressed his face back into his hands.

“You see it, right?”

Honestly, Tim was just wondering how his boyfriend could be so close, and yet so far off. “How would Kent even afford taking care of a bunch of secret -- possibly illegally acquired -- children without anyone noticing?”

“Simple. Bruce Wayne is funding him.”

“Bernard, I love you, but what the heck?” Tim blushed and looked up as he realized what he’d said, but Bernard didn’t seem to notice as he steamrolled ahead.

“It’d also explain how he can afford all the gear and how he’d be able to travel to Gotham or anywhere else Batman goes without anyone noticing. He probably has a secret Batplane or something.”

“Why would Bruce do that?”

“Because Wayne cares about Gotham, everyone knows that, and this way he can make sure someone’s taking care of the city without anyone putting two and two together.”

“And two plus two is?”

Bernard gave him a hard look. “I’m not stupid, Tim. Bruce Wayne is obviously Superman. His face is right there.”

Oh, the others are going to love this! Too bad I can’t tell Damian or Jason. Jason especially would have loved this. “Right. Bruce is Superman.”

“He is. Superman is known for being nice and Bruce Wayne’s basically all that’s keeping the city running at this point. That’s nice as hell.”

Oh my god.

“And Wayne does charity for the victims of cataclysms, doesn't he? I bet he first saves people from them as Superman and then builds them new homes for free.”

Oh my god! Why am I not recording this!?

“And the Wayne’s were rich enough to hide the fact they adopted an alien baby.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to tell me this is why Bruce’s parents got killed, you might want to stop while you’re ahead.”

“It’d make sense. There’re all sorts of unanswered questions about their deaths,” Bernard muttered under his breath, flipping through the folder. He pulled out another picture of Kara. This time she was in full Supergirl attire with a bus held overhead. “So if Wayne is Superman, then that’d mean your ex-girlfriend could be Supergirl. They look a lot alike and it’d explain how she got involved with you all.”

“Bernard, she has a human dad. You know, Cluemaster. The supervillain.”

“Yeah, her dad. But we don’t know anything about her mom!”

“Let me guess…”

Bernard pulled out a picture of Karen. She and Helena were suited up and talking to a group of cops, two goons held over each of Karen’s shoulders. “Her mom could be Power Girl! Some makeup and a wig and she could look just like Crystal Brown! And Damian Wayne is obviously the new Superboy! That’s why his background is such a mystery, right? He had to stay a secret until he could control his alien superpowers. That’s why he’s always so mean. It’s a cover since everyone knows Superboy is super sweet!”

Sure, when he’s not helping Damian pull pranks or using his adorable powers to put the blame on Kon and I. “No, Bernard. Damian and Steph are just very human hellspawn. And Bruce and Crystal are human too. I can’t believe you called me over here just to tell me you think Superman is both Batman’s sugar daddy and my adoptive dad.”

“Well, that’s not exactly why I called you over,” Bernard admitted, the nervous energy coming back. He grabbed Tim’s hands. “Tim -”

Tim’s stomach sank. “You are breaking up with me!”

“What? No! I don’t want to break up!”

“Why are you acting all nervous and serious then!?” Tim asked, pulling his hands away to throw them up in the air.

Bernard shook the folder. “Because I’m trying to tell you I figured out you’re Superboy!”

Tim’s brain blue-screened and his hands slowly dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know you’re Superboy. The older one, obviously. By the way, you and Damian really need to figure out separate names.”

Forget Jason and Damian, Kon can never find out about this. He’d never let me live it down. “Bernard, you called me a twink five minutes ago. Su-” Shoot, I can not risk getting Kon’s attention! “The older one might not be as big as Superman, but he’s not a twink.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the shapeshifting at work.”

“The what?”

“Obviously you Kryptonians can shapeshift. Why else would you look so much like humans?”

… Why do Kryptonians look so much like humans? Was there some - Wait, no! Break into the Fortress of Solitude for research later! Reassure your boyfriend that you’re not an alien now! “Bernard -”

“And that explains why your step-mom was so hot.”

“Gross.”

“She and your dad were actors hired by Luthor so you could have a normal life! But now Bruce has custody so he adopted you.”

“No.”

“That’s why you and your dad were so weird with each other when I met him.”

“We were weird because he’d just gotten out of a coma not long before to find that his wife was dead so he decided to actually be a dad for once in his life, but overcompensated and became a helicopter parent to a kid who was mostly on his own for his entire life!” Tim blurted out. “I am not an alien, Bernard!”

“Well, not technically since you were cloned from Superman on Earth.”

“Oh my god! You were just talking about Steph being Supergirl! Why would I date my dad’s cousin?”

Bernard blinked. “Supergirl and Superman are cousins?”

Right, Timothy Drake-Wayne wasn’t supposed to know that. “I thought they’d said something like that before, yeah. Are people seriously saying I’m Superboy on the internet?”

“NO! No, I swear I would have led with that if I thought your identity was compromised. A few people have mentioned Wayne and Damian, but not you or Steph or Jason.”

“Wh-Jason!? You think Jason was an alien too!”

“No, not exactly, but a few times when I’ve visited I swear I’ve seen a guy in the manor who looks like Jason. It’s just been out of the corner of my eye and he’s gone whenever I look so I’ve always thought it was just Dick or Bruce or some picture of Jason that my mind was playing tricks with, but it makes sense now that I know Wayne is Superman. He must have been able to heal Jason with alien tech, but couldn’t say anything because that would give away that he’s Superman.”

Damn it Jason! And damn it Bernard! I’m dating the smartest moron in the world! “Bruce did not bring Jason back with alien technology and none of us are aliens!”

“It’s okay, Tim. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tim grabbed Bernard by the jacket and pulled him into a kiss. When he started to feel lightheaded, he pulled back, “Could someone whose skin is as solid as stone kiss like that?”

Bernard blinked dazedly at him for a moment. “How do you know what Superboy’s skin feels like?”

Tim screamed internally. “He’s saved me from a kidnapping before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can get you the police report if you want.”

“Huh… And the others?”

“Not Supers. I can stab Damian the next time we’re at the manor if that’ll prove none of us are aliens.” He’d rather stab Jason, but that would probably only confirm to Bernard that Bruce used alien technology to bring him back.

“You probably shouldn’t stab your brother if he isn’t an alien.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I won’t stab him anywhere deadly.”

“That’s not the point,” Bernard said slowly.

“He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“So do you believe I’m not an alien now?” Tim huffed, letting go of Bernard’s jacket.

The blond’s eyes dipped down to Tim’s lips. “If I say no, will you kiss me like that again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tim said, but he kissed him anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, but I still say Clark Kent is definitely Batman.”

“Sure, Bernard.”

[wolf-and-bard]

What the hell is ‘Geraskier’?

A silly ficlet born from a conversation I had with @frogcheesedoesthewitcher

warnings for mild gore and explicit language. enjoy <3

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

"Geralt, check this out," Jaskier says, grinning like a child and waving his phone. "I found this whole website where people write about us."

"Jaskier," Geralt grunts. "OUT OF THE WAY." He flashes by across the parking lot and close to where Jaskier leans against his car, grappling with a werewolf that snaps its jaws at him, barely missing Geralt's exposed neck. It has already torn Geralt's armour to shreds and the witcher is down to a thin black shirt that hugs his muscles and falls open at the neck.

"Oh, Tumblr is going to love this." Jaskier discards the post he's been reblogging - a picture of himself in the most beautiful, pale blue medieval doublet - and switches to his camera app. He aims to angle away from the carnage and focus exlcusively on Geralt's muscles. This is going to be the perfect kickstart to his new career. Maybe he can use the site to promote his songs.

When Geralt buries his sword in the werewolf's thigh, Jaskier has to stop filming. This is the ugly part and he's not too keen on watching it either, so he refreshes his dashboard and sees a new FanFiction pop up. He likes them, these FanFiction. This one is tagged 'Geraskier'. He's no clue what that means, but it's about him and Geralt and some fight they had so it's gotta be good.

He's halfway through when the werewolf dies with a gurgle and Geralt hovers over it, panting.

"Jaskier, what the fuck," he says when Jaskier saunters over, eyes glued to his phone screen again. "You could have gotten hurt."

"Nah. Look, I've been reading these stories on the internet. About us. Dear gods, they are amazing. Did you know you experience intense sexual heat on the regular? Do you, Geralt? I never noticed."

"What?"

"Yes. And, apparently, I'm immortal. And earlier I read one where Valdo gets publically flogged. I love it."

Geralt shakes his head and whips out his dagger to take a trophy from the werewolf. The monster's been terrorizing the factory grounds of a large car producer by night and the man will want solid prove that he can start production again. Jaskier would usually make Geralt take a silly picture with the head, but he is too distracted by the story.

"Okay, but listen here: in this one you apologize to me after we have a fight like you actually appreciate me."

"I appreciate you," Geralt says, sounding mildly irritated, and dumps the werewolf's head by their feet.

"Oh, come one, you barely tolerate me." Jaskier laughs and puts a hand to his hip, rubbing one shoe over the other so the blood stains won't set. He only just got them.

"What happens next? After I apologize?"

"Let me see... uh... you pull me close by the front of my shirt and cup my face with sword-roughened hands. They are warm and dry against my cheeks. You..."

"I?"

"... you smile and turn away," Jaskier finishes hastily, veiling his embarrassment with a cough. Wow, this random person on the internet really understands his deepest desires. He can never let Geralt find Tumblr or FanFiction or whatever. His face feels hot.

"You're lying," Geralt protests and makes a grab for Jaskier's phone.

"Am not."

"Yes, you are. I know your tells, Jask, give me that phone."

They grapple for a bit, but if Jaskier doesn't want his phone to get crushed in the frenzy, he has to admit defeat. Shit. This is not what he wanted.

Geralt holds Jaskier at arm's length with one hand splayed over his chest and uses the other to unlock Jaskier's phone.

“What the hell is ‘Geraskier’?”

“You don’t want to know,” Jaskier sighs, giving up the struggle. He watches Geralt’s eyes flick, left and right, left and right, as he reads on. His expression is unreadable.

"Hmm," Geralt concludes when he's done and hands Jaskier the phone. Usually, Jaskier prides himself in being able to translate all of Geralt's grunts and hums, but this one could mean anything.

"Yeah, well. The internet, huh?" Jaskier could smack himself for how awkward that comes out.

"It's not that big."

"What?"

"My cock," Geralt says, and tilts his head to the side, looking at Jaskier. "It's not that big."

"Why are you telling me this?" Jaskier splutters.

"Just so you won't be disappointed." And Geralt pulls him close by the front of his shirt and cups Jaskier's face with sword-roughened hands. They are warm and dry against his cheeks. He kisses him and it tastes like sweat and werewolf blood and sunshine and something that is uniquely Geralt.

[kingofkingdom-archive]

1979

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (Read part 2 HERE)

Rating: T (Teen) - part 2 will be E

Summary: The year is 1979. You need a ride to anywhere that’s far away from where you are. When a handsome stranger in a rustbucket pickup gives you that ride, neither of you could predict any of the events that follow.

Warnings: Smoking (and lots of it), mild violence (a punch is thrown), brief harassment of reader, food, mention of a gun (one is encountered but not used), mention of homelessness, brief mention/description of war (Vietnam), child abandonment, mention of abusive/dangerous father figure, passing mention of serial killers, vague description of non-specific events leading up to reader resorting to hitchhiking, very meta mention of a certain beloved space opera

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: Whew! This one has been in the shop for a LONG while. Originally I meant for this to be a single work, but I’ve hit a bit of a slump with the last bit. I decided to post this to see how y’all feel about it! The second part will be much longer :) Also: I know there has been some discourse recently about Din’s characterization in certain fics, so I hope this does him justice for you! I’m always open to comments, and like I said I’m very interested in hearing what you think! As per usual, no use of Y/N and please heed the tags/warnings.

8:47

You lean against the streetlight, glancing down at your watch and then back up to the motel across the street. You told yourself you'd wait until 8:30 and then you'd go back and reserve a room for another night. As you watch the second hand wind its way around the small, plain face of your 2-dollar timepiece, you've convinced yourself that maybe staying out until 9 is the ticket.

Your ticket, out of this shithole town.

The summer air is hot and thick around you. It's especially unbearable both between your legs and at the band of your bra, the elastic stretched around your middle doing its best to make you feel as sweaty and uncomfortable as possible. At least you're wearing your cutoffs, giving your legs the chance to breathe. You've also got a loose tank on, which flutters in the sticky wind as cars pass you by.

8:51

Your thumb has been stuck out for passerby to see for the past three days. No one has picked you up. You suppose you should be more wary of taking lifts from complete strangers with all the murder and kidnapping that's been in the news recently, but you're more than a little headstrong with a dash of stupid to go along. That's what your mother always told you, anyway.

Some Cadillac speeds past you, blaring what you think is a Donna Summer song, and you watch as the music and taillights fade into the night.

You shouldn't be surprised, you figure, as the minutes continue to tick on by. There's a gas shortage, you reason with yourself as you bend down to pick up your bag, thumb still stuck out, elbow resting on your waist. People don't do this anymore. Afraid of getting picked up by a pervert or a killer. Afraid of picking one up, and then a streetlight just like the one you're under is the last thing they see.

8:58

You sigh, ready to head in for the night. Marvin, dude who sits at the motel's front desk, is sure to give you shit about it again.

You're preparing to cross the street when you hear the low growl of a pickup truck approach. Not looking to get creamed by some fuckin' rusted-out GMC, you step back onto the curb where you'd been posted.

Except the truck slows up, and the window rolls down as it crawls to a stop in front of you.

Your heart races. Finally.

You walk up to the passenger side window and look in, expecting some fat old putz looking to get some tail in exchange for a ride.

That's not what you see.

"Need a lift, young lady?"

The truck's driver is older than you, sure, but you were wrong about pretty much everything else. He's got short dark hair and a 'stache, with some stubble across his chin. He's wearing a leather jacket over a plain gray tee, with a pair of sunglasses hung on the collar. One hand is on the wheel while the other is laid across the back of the bench seat, a cigarette perched in between his first two fingers.

You lean forward on your tiptoes as best you can, forearms resting on the door's open window. Pretending to survey the interior, you look around and take the opportunity to check the man out. God, you think. I wouldn't mind giving him whatever he wants in exchange for this ride. Maybe another kinda ride. Ha!

"As it turns out, I do. You offering?"

You rest your chin on your arms and give him the sweetest smile you can muster. The man eyes you up and takes a drag from his cigarette. You watch with rapt attention as he inhales deeply and then exhales the smoke out through his nose.

This guy's got you all hot and bothered and you haven't even gotten in the truck.

He gestures with his hand. "Come on, kid. I gotta make the state line by midnight."

You definitely like the sound of that. Eager and supremely stoked to finally have a way out of this dump, you pull on the handle, jump in, and swing the door closed behind you. Your backpack finds its place between your feet, and the stranger starts driving again as you pull your seatbelt across your shoulders.

"Where're you headed?" the man asks, glancing over to you and then looking back at the road. The asphalt seems to stretch into infinity, flanked by trees and fields and the occasional watering hole.

"Away from here," you chuckle as you fidget with your fingers. Black nail polish decorates your trimmed nails. It's chipped and uneven in some spots; you never were great at painting your nails, especially your right hand.

"I got that," the man drawls, voice deep and smooth like honey. "Any particular destination in mind?"

You shrug. To be honest, you hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. Your first and only priority was a way out, and anything after that was a problem to be handled when it came to it.

"Nope. Just as far as you're willing to take me."

The guy nods and takes a drag. The smell of cigarettes never bothered you like it does some other people; you find it relaxing, calming, especially when it's fresh and all-consuming like it is in this guy's truck. The vehicle itself is old, maybe 10 or 15 years, and a glance into the bed behind you tells you he's traveling with a couple boxes and nothing more.

It's certainly not state-of-the-art, but that's all the better for staying under the radar.

The silence looms over you like a cloud. The stranger seems content to just listen to the engine and the tires on the road, but you're prone to fill silences unprompted.

"What's your name?" you ask, and look over at him. He glances at you and raises a brow.

He clears his throat, eyes moving back to the road. "You can call me Mando."

"Mando?" you retort before you can stop yourself. "What kinda bogus name is that? Like, what... you got a thing for mandolins or some shit?"

The man huffs. "It is what is, kid. Get used to it."

You sigh, crossing your arms. "Alright, alright... Mando."

He doesn't try to continue the conversation, so you don't either. Minutes pass, and then hours, and you find yourself drifting off not too long after the clock reads 10:00. You shake yourself awake, wanting to stave off sleep until he pulls over to rest for the night.

But the engine is like a lullaby, the soft swaying of the truck a gentle rocking motion, and your eyes fall closed despite your best efforts.

When you wake up again, the truck is no longer moving, and the clock reads 12:30. 

You must have been woken up by Mando putting the truck into park. The darkness outside does not give any clues as to where you are, but as your eyes adjust you can just make out some picnic tables, garbage cans, and signs.

A rest area. Makes sense.

Mando is fumbling with something beside you. It's a map, you realize when you look over.

"Where are we?" you ask with a yawn.

"Just over the border. Made it a bit later than I would've liked, but that's not a big deal. You can sleep here in the cab. I'll take the bed, since I sleep there anyway."

You nod, though you find it odd the way he's... not asking you for anything. He hasn't mentioned payment, monetary or otherwise. You watch as he folds the map back up, and catch his gaze as he stashes it in the glove box.

"I gotta repay you somehow, mister," you mutter. "For how nice you're bein' to me. 'Specially since I made fun of your name and all."

At your words, Mando gives you a stern look from under one of his furrowed brows. "No, you don't. Blanket's under the seat. Get some rest."

He turns away, grabs the keys, and is out the door before you can reply.

It's just so unusual for a guy to pick up a girl like you and refuse payment, much less not ask for or take it outright. It's a shame, really. Any other guy, you'd give him what he wanted sure, but with less than enthusiastic participation. The one man to whom you'd gladly deliver anything he asked... and he seems not to want it.

You suppose you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Better a prude than a murderer, that's for sure.

As you reach under the seat for the blanket, your hand brushes against some sort of canvas bag, long and zippered. You lean over to look in at it upside-down, hair brushing against the dusty floor mats.

It's a rifle bag. You reach in to feel at where the barrel would be, and sure enough, there's something distinctly rifle-shaped inside.

Huh. It's not a surprise that a guy like him's traveling armed, but it makes you wonder. A hunter, maybe? Probably. There's a lot of those around.

You spot the blanket and pull it out. It's gray, scratchy wool, but as you pull it over yourself, you find it keeps the nighttime chill away quite well.

-

You wake up to Mando swatting at your feet.

"Time to get up, sunshine. Gotta get going."

His deep voice pierces through the fog of sleep still hanging thick over your mind. You groan and push yourself up onto your elbows, drawing your feet in to give him space to slide into the drivers' seat. 

It's still dark out. You see a hint of light on the horizon, the beginning of the sunrise peeking over hills and fields.

"What time is it?" you ask, rubbing at your eyes. You're a chronic over-sleeper, so seeing the sunrise is a rarity. It seems Mando has no such problem.

"A bit after six. We'll stop at a diner for something to eat in about an hour. You're welcome to go back to sleep until then." He turns the key in the ignition and the truck rumbles to life, a blast of lukewarm air hitting you in the face. 

"No, no. I'm up," you assure him, shrugging the blanket off your shoulders. As you fold it, you look over at the man beside you. He's wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket as yesterday, but the shirt underneath has changed. The sunglasses are still hung on the collar, but now it's some faded band tee from like 8 years ago. 

You set the folded-up blanket on the seat between you and him, watching as he puts the truck into drive and starts off. Before you know it, you're watching the early-morning world pass by outside your window. You kick off your sandals and tuck your feet up under yourself, sitting crosslegged on the seat.

About 15 minutes later, you've grown tired of watching farmhouses and cornfields fly by in the dark.

"So, uh..." you start, not really knowing where you intend to finish your sentence, "you like music?"

Stupid. That was stupid.

Mando chuckles. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" you reply, hopeful that he might have more to say.

"Yes. I do like music."

You roll your eyes. "What kind of music? Jazz? Opera? Country-western? Who's your favorite artist? Got any favorite records?"

He glances over at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "You sure do ask a lot of questions."

"Well, I figure if I'm gonna be traveling with you for a good while, I might as well know a bit about you. And vice versa."

Mando just hums. 

"I'll tell you mine, then," you inform him, grinning widely now. "My favorite record right now is Parallel Lines. By Blondie, you know? I really like them. This time last year I woulda told you my favorite album was something by Wire or the Sex Pistols - I was real into punk, if you know anything about it. Now I'm more into poppy stuff. I just think it's fun, to be honest."

You continue to ramble to Mando well into the drive. The sky grows lighter and the road grows more crowded, but he does not stop you. At the end of a tangent about Bowie, you turn to look at him, and he's sitting there like you haven't just talked his ear off for the past twenty minutes.

"Sorry. I jus-"

"Don't apologize. It's... I don't mind," he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, looking at the sandal-shaped marks on the tops of your feet. "Don't you have any particular songs you like?"

Mando's quiet for a minute. You wait, looking up out the window. The sky is a pale pink and blue, with a hint of orange off to the east. A field of cows comes up on your left - your eyes track them as they pass by, wondering what it's like to pet one.

You bet they're soft. Soft and cuddly and so dumb they're cute.

"You have to promise not to laugh." 

The words come as a surprise. You look over to Mando, eyes wide and interested.

"Never. Favorite music is sacred."

He sighs. His grip tightens on the wheel, like sharing even a small part of himself causes him distress.

"Tapestry. Carole King," he says, though the words are quiet and guarded.

That wasn't the answer you were expecting. "Really?" you ask, smiling brightly.

He just nods, though he spares a glance towards you, like he's gauging your reaction. You lean back against the seat, turning towards him more fully.

"I wouldn't have guessed. Color me surprised, Mando. You have good taste." It's true. The album's a classic, though more so with girls your age, not guys who pick up hitchhikers and keep rifles in their trucks. "What do you like about it?"

Mando shifts, bringing his left arm up to rest on the door, elbow propped so his head can rest on his hand. "Not sure. She writes a good song, that's all I know."

You're not satisfied with that answer. You'll get to know Mando, even if it's like pulling teeth. "Bull-shit. Pink Floyd writes a good song. Paul Simon writes a good song. Why her? Why that record? It came out like ten years ago, there's gotta be a reason - a real reason - you still like it."

The drone of the engine and the road is like a soundtrack in itself to the silences that loom heavy before every sentence he speaks. You wonder when the last time he really got to talk to someone was - talk like this, not small conversation with the waiter or grocer. 

You're no psychiatrist, but it doesn't take a genius to spot someone who's been alone for a while.

Mando hums. "I guess I relate to her songs... in a way I didn't expect to when I first heard her music."

You smile at that, pleased as punch that he trusts you with that information. It's like cupping cool water in your hands on a hot summer's day, fleeting and precious. "What's your favorite song on the record?"

He turns his gaze to your for a moment, dark brown eyes staring at your dirty feet and day-old shirt and messy hair. You're not sure what exactly he sees as he takes you in, but you sit there and allow it regardless.

Mando looks back to the road, watching the small town approaching slowly on the horizon. "I Feel the Earth Move."

You nod. "A classic."

He just hums in response, and you expect the truck to fill with silence once again.

Except it doesn't.

Mando reaches out and presses the button to turn on the radio. Blondie's Heart of Glass flows out through the speakers - and you laugh.

-

The glowing neon sign advertising Lindy's Diner, with her promise of pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee, gets you more excited than you care to admit. Mando pulls into a parking spot along the street, and you're out the door before the wheels have stopped turning.

Admittedly, you do also have to pee. 

You rush into the diner to take care of your business, also using the provided sinks to brush your teeth and the mirror to comb through your hair with your fingers. 

It's not much, but you do feel better. Hopefully tonight you can stay in a motel at least, maybe take a shower.

You exit the restroom and look around the diner. Mando's sitting in a booth, smoking a cigarette and looking out the window. You head over, tossing your backpack into your side first and sliding in after it.

"I'll be right back," he says, and leaves. You watch him walk over to the men's restroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Whatever. Kinda rude. Not like you care, anyway.

You lean back in the booth and take a menu from the stand at the end of the table. The classic breakfast platter is looking particularly tempting, with its hash browns and bacon and eggs-however-you-like. You're contemplating scrambled versus over-easy when you hear a pair of footsteps walk up to your table.

Two strange men stand over you, looking at you like they know exactly how homeless you really are.

"You here alone, baby?" the shorter one asks, putting a grimy hand on the back of your booth, right behind your head. You open your mouth to say no, in fact, I am not, but the other guy speaks for you.

"It looks like you are, honey. Just our luck, a girl like you all on her -"

"Is there a problem?"

Mando's deep voice cuts through whatever it was the creep was planning to say. The low timbre of his voice, normally soft and kind, is uniquely dark - almost menacing - when it hides a threat. 

You slowly cross your legs, hoping no one notices the movement under the table.

The two guys turn, and behind them you see Mando, looking extremely pissed. He puts a hand on the back of the taller man's neck, cig still perched between his fingers, and yanks him away from where he'd been standing in front of Mando's side of the booth.

"Jesus, man! We didn't know you were -"

Mando puts his hands on his hips, eyeing them up like a lion might size up its prey. "What? You didn't know what?"

The guy gulps. "Uh..."

"Come on," Mando taunts, something dark glinting in his eyes. "Don't get nervous on me, now."

"We didn't know you were with her, man. Sorry."

Mando shakes his head. "No. Don't say that to me. Say it to her." He nods hid head towards you, subtly positioning his body in between yours and theirs.

You're frozen in your seat, torn between fear and arousal.

The tall guy glances at you. "Sorry," he mutters. The shorter one's still looking at you funny, though.

Your companion jerks his head towards the door. "It's best you both leave, now." 

You realize the diner's gone quiet, customers and employees alike watching the exchange with bated breath. The taller guy glances around and turns, heading straight for the door. His buddy hesitates, gaze shifting from Mando to you and back again. Eventually he also turns to leave, following the other one out.

Mando slides into his seat, though he won't quite meet your gaze when you look at him. Noise picks up in the diner once again and you let out a shaky breath.

You're about to say something when the two guys pass by the window. The shorter one peers in, works his jaw, and spits on the ground on the other side of the window from you. You see him mouth the word 'bitch!'.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Mando to try and joke about it, attempting to brush off the uncomfortable encounter. But he's not there, and you realize belatedly that he's now storming outside.

Mouth agape, you watch as Mando stalks up to the short guy. Jesus, you think, if looks could kill... 

The creep whirls around, throwing a fist at Mando before he even gets a good look at him. Mando dodges it easily with a step back, looking simultaneously murderous and annoyed. He winds his arm back and sends his fist flying at the creep's face. The guy stumbles and falls, clutching at what is now a bloody and broken nose, landing on his back on the sidewalk. His friend has long run off.

Mando puts a boot on the guy's sternum, pressing down so he can't get up no matter how much he struggles.

You see him lean down, elbow on his knee, and say something. The guy's eyes widen and he nods frantically. Mando then removes his foot and, without sparing the guy a second glance, re-enters the diner.

He slides into the booth again and takes the menu from you. There's blood on the knuckles of his right hand, but he makes no move to wipe it off. He flips through the pages as if nothing happened. You stare at him.

"You didn't have to do that," you mutter, voice soft and wavering. 

Without looking from the menu, he responds. "Yes, I did."

"But, you coulda just... just let him go..."

"I could have," he replies, and turns a page. "But I didn't."

"But -"

For the first time since you both entered the diner, he looks up at you, and you're taken aback the intensity of his eyes. "He deserved worse, kid. Far worse."

He sounds so sure of it that you can't bring yourself to say otherwise. You sigh and clasp your hands together on the table, unsure of where to go from here. 

Just then, the waitress comes up to your table, notepad and pen in hand.

"You two know what ya want?" she asks as Mando puts the menu back in its place.

He gestures for you to go first.

"Uh, yeah. I'll have the classic platter with scrambled eggs and white toast. And black coffee, please."

The woman nods, writing your order on her pad. "And you, sir?"

"I'll have the blueberry flapjacks, please. And coffee, black, for me as well."

The waitress nods and turns away. As you watch her push through the silver kitchen door, you realize that maybe you should be grateful for the way things went. That they didn't get uglier.

That Mando was there at all.

"Thank you," you say softly, doing your best to convey your sincerity to the man sitting across from you.

He simply nods, observing you with a look you can't quite place.

-

After breakfast, the two of you set off down the highway again. Fleetwood Mac flows out through the speakers and you don't expect to stop until after noon, when Mando will have to refuel (both the truck and your stomachs). Until then you kick off your shoes and put your feet up on the dash, window cracked about an inch so the summer wind can flow through your hair.

Despite the rocky start to the morning, the hours pass by easily, weightlessly. Sometimes you talk with Mando, other times you simply sit and watch the world pass by. You don't think you've ever seen this much land in one go, and it thrills you. The idea that there's so much more. 

The topics vary from your time in school to movies to the truck. You're surprised to find out that Mando's never seen Star Wars, a fact nearly unheard of to you. You promise yourself that you'll make him watch it sometime, somehow.

Lunch passes without incident; you insist on paying for your ham and cheese sandwich, because Mando had covered breakfast before you could protest. It hits the spot, along with your ice-cold Coke from the little market's freezer. There's a line to get gas, as there is everywhere, but luckily it isn't too long, since you're in the middle of nowhere. Mando won't be able to fill the truck up again for a few days, meaning you'll have to stop for the night earlier tonight than you did yesterday.

You do find something interesting at the market and you decide to shell out the money for it because it intrigues you. A new style of Kodamatic camera, complete with a pack of instant film - 12 potential photos.

In your mind you see pictures of mountains, and the truck, and Mando, and you stuff the camera in your bag before your mind can wander any further down that road.

You have to admit - traveling with someone who you know can protect you if the need arises is comforting in a way that almost makes you nervous. You keep telling yourself not to get used to it, that this is just a temporary situation for as long as he sees fit to keep you around. After he decides he's had enough, he'll leave you, and you'll be on your own again. You can't get too dependent on him.

Nighttime arrives much too quickly. The sun has just dipped below the horizon when you drive into another small town, not much more than a stoplight and a few bars. You get lucky, though, because the unmistakable neon of a motel glows just ahead.

"Thank god," you groan as Mando pulls into the parking lot. "I need a shower so goddamned bad."

Mando chuckles. His arm rests with his hand out the window, flicking the ash at the end of his cigarette out onto the pavement. The orange glow at the end of it brightens as he takes a drag, and you tear your eyes away from his lips before he can catch you staring.

That's another problem. He's every inch as attractive to you now as he was before, except now you know he's nice. The mustache and the dark curls and the broad expanse of his chest are all only made hotter by the knowledge that he likes Carole King and Elton John (he knew all the words to Tiny Dancer) and blueberry pancakes.

Plus there was that whole punching a guy to defend your honor business.

The guy at the motel's front desk reminds you of Marvin. Greasy blond hair and acne on a kid not much younger than you. You give him a disgusted look when he eyes you up, but he cuts it out when Mando walks in behind you. It gives you a small sense of satisfaction to see him so meek before your companion.

"We need a double for the night," Mando drawls, counting cash on the counter, cig perched between his lips. The sign advertised a night's stay for $22. You'd tried to pay Mando your share, but he'd refused your money.

The kid shakes his head. "Only got singles available."

Mando raises his brows. "Really."

The kid, whose name is Matt according to his name tag, nods. It takes Mando a moment to think on it, and then he looks to you.

You shrug. "I'm fine with it if you are, Mando."

He nods once and pays for the room. 12. You take the key and head over to get a head start on your shower while Mando parks the truck and gets his stuff.

The hot water feels divine. Even the towel feels great, because as threadbare and shitty as it is, it's clean and warm from sitting under the vent. You finish up in the bathroom and emerge in a pair of old track shorts and a loose-fitting tee.

Mando's sitting on the bed, back against the headboard. His jacket's draped across the table and he's kicked off his boots, so he sits with the remote in hand, barefoot. It's the most casual you've seen him thus far, and it makes your heart race.

"Shower's all yours," you tell him.

Mando looks at you from the corner of his eye. It's hard to tell what he's thinking at any given moment, so you fidget with the hem of your shirt as he looks at you. 

A thought blooms unbidden in your chest. I wish I could kiss him.

You blink, taken aback at the sudden, intense nature of your desire to feel his lips against your own. Not knowing what else to do, you cross your arms and turn to the TV. Bonanza is on.

"Seen this episode before?" you ask. It's an old show, but you still like it.

Mando nods, humming. "Used to watch these every week, right when they came out. Only the first few seasons, though."

"Why'd you stop?"

He turns to sit on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the ground. He gives you a small smile, though his eyes hide something pained.

"I got drafted."

Oh. "Oh. I didn't mean -"

"It's fine," he says and gets up, brushing past you to enter the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him.

You walk over to sit on the other side of the bed from where he was. Drafted. Jesus. You feel bad for bringing it up, even if it was unintentional. The TV plays though you aren't watching, mind wandering to thoughts of Mando in Vietnam. You picture him in the jungle or in a helicopter, the deafening noise of artillery and gunfire filling the air around him.

Maybe that's where he got the nickname. It certainly explains the rifle.

You reach over for the remote and shut off the TV. The clock on the wall reads about 8:00, still early for you, but you tuck yourself under the sheets and blanket regardless. You face the door, away from where Mando will sleep.

Just as you're drifting off, the lamp on the bedside table clicks off. You feel the weight of Mando crawling in beside you, and he too curls up on his side, back turned.

You fall asleep hoping he's not too upset with you.

The next thing you know, you're awake, though the world is still dark outside. Behind you, Mando snores softly, warm breath fanning out across your neck.

Wait.

You blink a few times and realize the two of you must have shifted in the night. Mando's body is pressed right against yours, chest to your back, arm draped over your middle and hand tucked under your chin. Your legs are intertwined and against the back of your thigh you feel -

You feel him.

Sleep is a powerful drug, however, and the realization is not enough to make you move. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you think maybe this isn't so bad. Your tired brain convinces you to revel in it, to enjoy this position you've found yourself in. Before you can second guess that reasoning, you drift off.

And then you're awake again. 

This time it's thanks to a rush of cold wind in your face. You reach back to feel for Mando, but the warm pillow tells you he's not there. You open your eyes to see him standing in the doorway, looking down at something. It's still dark out, but the lights of the motel parking lot put him in silhouette before you.

"What is it?" You lean up on your elbow to get a better look. The nighttime air is cool on your face, smelling faintly of gasoline and rain.

He bends down and picks up whatever it is that's in front of him. You watch as he turns to look left, then right, seemingly in search of something. He turns around and you see what he's holding.

It's a baby's carrycot.

You immediately sit up, heart racing. "Is it -?" you whisper.

Mando nods, closing the door behind him. You get out of bed and rush over to stand next to him, peering into the carrier.

Sure enough, there's a baby asleep inside. It looks to be a boy, about a year old. You bring a hand up to your mouth.

"Why - who would - what?"

Mando shakes his head, staring at the little guy. "I don't know. I heard a knock at the door and there he was - no sign of anyone else."

"We should - what do we do, Mando?"

He brings the carrier over to rest on the table beside his jacket. The boy is out cold - his little hands grip the blue knitted blanket and his mouth is just barely open. He's got dark hair, wispy and soft atop his head. As you observe the sleeping child, you notice the corner of a small piece of paper tucked in between the blanket and the cradle. You reach out and grasp it between your thumb and forefinger, unfolding it carefully.

"What does it say?" Mando whispers. Your voices are low so as to not disturb the child.

"Grogu. Please take him far from here," you read, and feel your blood run cold as the note goes on. "Not safe in this area. His father is dangerous."

It's scrawled in blue ink on half a sheet of lined notebook paper, the fringe from being torn still attached. Your hands shake as it hits you - there's some mother out there so scared for her son that she left him in the care of strangers. That there's a man out there who legitimately threatens this boy's life.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, rage and sadness simmering in your chest.

"We have to, Mando." Your words are shaky but certain. The man beside you rests a hand on the carrycot, still looking at the sleeping child within.

You turn your eyes to him. He nods, solemn.

"Let's let him rest. We'll leave in the morning, get as far west as we can. Might even be able to make Texas if we leave early enough. We can figure it out from there."

His other hand brushes against your back, and then he's drawing you into his chest. The embrace is soft, unhurried, and you lean your head against his shoulder, hands tucked against his chest. Letting your eyes slip closed, you think back on the previous day, how you never could have predicted this turn of events. How you've never felt so uncertain of things, even when you'd lost everything.

Together you return to bed, but neither of you gets much sleep.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief,@whiskeycherrypie donated $25, and requested Sam/Dean, very late seasons, switching. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

The second hunt, after, is when things start to feel real again.

First job was the shapeshifter and even after just a few weeks of post-almost-apocalypse vacation they were rusty, as much as they ever got rusty. Sam broke his damn finger, which Dean made fun of him for, and Dean limped around on a half-busted shin that Sam can just stop smirking about, any time now, but they felt—like what? Hard to pin down. Like they were stepping out into a strange world. Like they'd fire a gun and didn't know if it'd recoil the same way it always would, because the world was different. New. At least, Dean kept feeling that way, and he thinks he's known Sam long enough to guess Sam was feeling about the same. Every part of that job was—feeling for a step down in the dark, and then being surprised when it was there. Sam flicking through the local paper checking obits, cautious when he pointed out a possible connection, like he hadn't done the same thing a hundred, thousand, times before. Dean going through the trunk and pulling out their supplies and holding a fistful of silver bullets in his hand and thinking—is this it? Sam, getting the motel room after, when they'd been to the Urgent Care to check out Dean's stupid shin that it turns out, okay, wasn't broken after all, and the woman at the counter asking what kind of room, and Sam hesitating, and glancing back at where Dean was propped up in the office doorway.

But it was right, in the end. They did right. They saved most of a day and killed the bad thing and it turned out that after everything they were still the same guys they always were. After the world ended it was supposed to be maybe something else, but, shit, the world didn't quite end after all, and it turned out… Sam gave his stupid shin a few more days to rest up and kept his finger splinted and then after a week there was Sam, laptop open on the table when Dean came in for breakfast, and he said, "Hey, you want to work?" with every expectation that Dean would, and that—that was new, kind of, in the way that Sam wasn't trying to distract himself or Dean, and it wasn't to patch up some broken thing that couldn't be fixed, and it wasn't because they owed anything to anyone. It was because it turned out that after all this was who they were, and Dean looked at Sam over the island while he whipped up some eggs semi-capably (although he never used enough salt) and Sam glanced over his shoulder when the toaster popped and saw Dean looking, and raised his eyebrows like—what?—like this wasn't just the best hope of Dean's life being realized, finally, right here in a hole in the ground at eight in the morning, on the wrong side of forty. "What's the job?" was all Dean said, then, and then—that was it. That was that.

Second hunt's a success, too. Vetalas, in Wyoming. Dean hates Wyoming. Not for the people or the scenery or the weather, even, though the weather can be a bitch, but because you can't get anywhere with a damn mountain leaping up into the middle of the highway and having to drive three hours the wrong direction to get to where you're going. Sam has heard this argument, and rolls his eyes mostly, but this time, this second hunt, he laughs, and stretches out in the passenger seat with the window rolled down and his elbow hanging out, and it's summer and he's stripped out of his jacket and has his sleeves rolled up and he just looks—good. Dean recites his lines: "Lander to Pinedale should be, what, forty minutes, but no, we gotta drive a hundred miles out of the way to get around this stupid—" and Sam sighs and says his line, which is, "Don’t you like driving?" and Dean says, "Don't get facts in the way here, man, that is not the issue—" and it's… the same ruts, the same life, but Sam's face is all folded up in glad creases, his dimple carved in so deep it looks like it's going to set up residence there full-time, and Dean eases off the gas a little, stretches out the drive, even if it's around the same damn mountain they've circled three times, looking for the same damn vetalas. They find them, of course, and they kill them, and they find three men drained of life in the cellar at their cabin but there are two more that Sam and Dean save, and on the drive back to Kansas through the night Sam's not in that same sunshine mood but he's not anything but content, either. Dean had—he'd hoped, in some shriveled part of himself that hadn't really had much luck with hoping—and maybe the last few years he'd gotten some proof, that what he'd wanted was what Sam wanted, too—but to have the proof, right here, it's��he doesn't pray, really, but he says inside his head very clearly thank you, to whatever might be listening. It's all he's got. He hopes it's enough.

They stop for a booze restock, for stuff to make dinner, and back at the bunker Dean's slow, watching Sam unpack his half of the car. His finger's still splinted but it can probably come off, soon. He gets his backpack on his shoulder and his duffle over his arm and the twelve pack in the good hand, and glances at Dean, and says, "What?"

"Nothing," Dean says. Sam's eyes narrow in that tiny tiny way where he smooths it out so fast he must think Dean won't notice, but Dean's honest, here, and he smiles without meaning to, and Sam frowns at him but smiles back, confused. Dean claps him on the shoulder and Sam shakes his head, says, "Dude, what?" and Dean says, "Nothing, you deaf? C'mon, let's get the beer in the fridge before it gets any warmer," and Sam shakes his head again and says, "You're the weirdest person I know," and Dean looks over his shoulder and says, "Takes one, Sammy," and he's just—sure. Sure, all through his body, from gut to his heart to his stupid brain, always lurching, looking for the exits. What a thing.

Spaghetti and meatballs, for dinner. The sauce is from a jar but Dean takes his time with the meat. Half pork, half beef, the spices he likes, a bunch of garlic. Sam practically inhales it and gets sauce on his chin and Dean grins at him until Sam colors and says, "Shut up," and swipes it off with the heel of his hand, and then shrugs and licks his palm. They're on season two of Game of Thrones and they watch an episode, and Dean wants Joffrey to die and asks Sam to tell him it'll happen soon, and Sam just smiles and says, "Dude, I'm not giving you spoilers after how long I had to wait to read the books. Hold your horses." Dean mutters, "I'll hold your horses," and Sam raises his eyebrows, but Dean just waves a hand instead of getting into the bickering match they could.

They get fresh beers and Dean says, "Hey, let's—" and so they head upstairs to ground level, and Sam brought two spare bottles each, and they go around to the back side of the big abandoned power plant where there's an ugly concrete bench they hung out on, sometimes. Especially before, when the bunker was fuller than it is now. A place to be quiet, to breathe. To watch the moonrise, as they're doing now, and drink in quiet companionship, their knees touching because they both tend to sprawl, and they've never, ever minded each other's warmth. Even when they were pissed at each other, or when it hurt.

Dean holds his beer in both hands, leaning his head back against the stone wall. Sam's quiet at his side. A three-quarter moon, so it's bright enough to lay white-silver on the planes of Sam's face. His nose, a gleam of that goofy ski-slope swoop. His brow. A light shine on his hair, and brighter on the silver that's started to come out in it. Dean's always been a little entertained by that—Sam's four years and a handful of months younger than him, and it's Sam who's been going grey faster—but he never said anything about it because—well, it's just something, that's all. Sammy, with grey hair. He's so damn lucky to see it he can't really pull Sam's pigtails about it.

Everything else, though: fair game.

"Never have I ever?" Dean says, after who knows how long sitting in silence. They're on their second beers, anyway.

Sam huffs. "You're kidding," he says. He tips his head on his shoulder, looking sidelong at Dean in the dark. "Anyway, wouldn't you just get… trashed, at that game? You've done everything, right?"

"Very much underselling your weird kinky shit, brother mine," Dean says. Sam's eyebrows jump and Dean's stomach rushes hot, in a way he didn't expect, even if he's been halfway thinking, all day, about how they were going to get here. "Try this: never have I ever… ate out a chick during shark week."

Sam half-scoffs, weak. Dean raises his eyebrows back, and Sam says, "Seriously?"

Dean spreads a hand, expansive, and Sam says, quiet, "This is so stupid," but then, because Dean knows his brother very well indeed, Sam takes a drink, and Dean says "Ha!" out loud and shoves Sam's shoulder, and then says, after a second's thinking, "Dude, seriously?"

"It's just blood," he says, and it's not exactly defensive but there's a shard of it buried somewhere in there. Dean laughs, half-surprised and half-not. "Not like we don't deal with it every day. You should broaden your horizons."

"Oh, my horizons are plenty broad," Dean says. It's bubbling in his chest, now, ready to come out. This is stupid—"This is stupid," Sam says, out loud—and teenage, and dumb, but he feels… "Come on, your turn," he says, and Sam lets out this long exasperated sigh, but even in the moonlight Dean can see that he's smiling, and Sam says: "Okay, fine: never have I ever had a threesome."

Dean sits up straighter. "What, seriously?" he says, derailed, and Sam shrugs, and of course Dean has to take a drink because Sam knows that Dean—and then it's on, really.

Dancing on the edge. The things they know about each other, the things they might could guess. Dean kills his last beer on never have I ever had sex in a movie theater, and he tells Sam after that that he needs to live more, and Sam smiles at him kind of bitchy and then says, "Hang on, stay here," and Sam gets up and half-jogs away, disappears down the recessed hidden driveway that leads to the garage, and Dean sets his bottle down among the empties and rubs his palms over his thighs, letting the warm denim scratch him up, taking a deep breath. It feels too big to say. Even if he's sure. It's too big to even be true, if it's…

Sam comes back, quick, like he ran the whole way. He has two more beers and the bottle of bourbon they bought today tucked under his arm. "Okay, sucker," he says, handing Dean an open bottle and plumping back down on the bench. Their thighs are solid together. He clinks his bottle with Dean, setting the bourbon down at their feet. "Never have I ever…" He licks his lips, shine in the dark. "Slept with a demon."

Dean blinks. He takes a breath. "I don’t think that's how you're supposed to play," he says, and Sam bites his lips between his teeth and shrugs. Maybe he's a little tipsier than he seems, even if they're only three beers down. Sam takes a drink, quick, but his eyes are focused on Dean's face, the moon a little behind his shoulder, and Dean bites the inside of his cheek but drinks, too, and Sam lets out this quick short breath that—Dean doesn't know, what that means. He feels caught at something.

"Did you—" Sam starts, and cuts off. Quiet, for a second. Dean's cheeks feel hot. "I didn't mean… I meant on Earth, not in…" Awkward. The air goes out of Dean, realizing that Sam's trying to give him an out.

"Me too," he says, voice weird in this way he could be embarrassed by but—he isn't, and Sam's face turns away, and even with full moonlight Dean can't tell what that expression is.

He puts his beer down. "Never have I ever slept with a vampire," he says.

Sam's chin ducks down. Dean licks his lips and folds his hands between his knees. Sam puts his beer down, too, and braces on the edge of bench. There's barely enough room between them for his hand to fit; his knuckle presses against Dean's thigh and Dean licks his lips.

"Never have I…" Sam shakes his head, huffs. He looks up, out at the empty farmland spilling out from the back of the plant. His eyes shine, open, though Dean doesn't know what he's looking at. "I've never slept with a guy. On Earth, I haven't."

Dean bites the wet off his bottom lip, dragging, and then ducks down and gets the bourbon instead. Twist of the cap and a glug goes down—christ, hot. He coughs. "I hate the cask strength shit," he says, and Sam says, "Wuss," thin, and Dean could bicker back but it's here. Here. All this stuff he didn't know Sam was thinking about—things Dean kept secret, and things he didn't—and he didn't mean to dredge it all up at once but maybe it's better. Like this, in the dark. The night warm, smelling like grass and the weeds growing up among the fallow field, and Sam's knuckles still pressed up right there, where if Dean put his hand down he'd cover them.

"Do you remember that time in, uh," Dean starts. Swerving around the mountain, the long way through the dark. Sam's head turns towards his, a little. "Montana, I guess it was. Somewhere. You were… seventeen. That July. You got so wasted."

"Whose fault was that?" Sam says. Dean grins, makes sure it's wide and wicked, and Sam glances up at him and huffs again, more of a laugh this time than whatever the last one was. "That was when we invented beer bowling."

"Yeah, and you sucked," Dean says, and Sam shakes his head and leans back against the plant wall, tipping his head back to look at the stars. They did play, ten-pin with glass shattering because the only ball they had was a half-rounded rock. Then they sat out with Sam tipsy and Dean getting that way himself, only twenty-one and not quite as sure of what he was doing as he is now, and they just… talked. He can't even remember about what. They just sat and they were together and it was about the happiest Dean was that whole year. Like if he could just have that, forever, things would be okay. That was… god, twenty years ago.

"One more round," Dean says, now. Sam's eyes close. Dean leans the bottle on Sam's thigh so he can feel it. "Never have I ever kissed you."

Sam's eyes pop wide when Dean picks up the bottle, and takes a drink. He sits up straighter. Dean lets the burn of the swallow go all the way to his stomach, a bonfire there, and watches Sam's face as the thoughts flicker across it, limned in moonlight. Sam opens his mouth, and closes it, and he's not mad just like Dean knew he wouldn't be mad but it's still enough of a relief that Dean tips the bottle his way, says, "Technically, you did too, so—"

Sam takes it out of his hand but doesn't drink. "No, we didn't. When?"

Dean wipes his mouth, dragging his hand over his chin, and down. Sam's watching him. "After the second trial," he says, finally. Sam frowns. "Your fever was pretty bad. You kept talking about…" He shakes his head. All sorts of things Dean doesn't like remembering. About worth, and right, and being clean. Nonsense, as far as Dean was concerned, though he didn't know how to say it that way, then. With how it was. Instead he leans back against the wall and says, because it's true, and he can say it now: "I just wanted to… I guess, to prove something. How I didn't think of what you were saying the same way you did. How I didn't believe all that crap you were saying about yourself. It was bad and I didn't want you to believe it, either, and I didn't really know how else to… You didn't remember, though, so I guess it didn't do the trick. To be honest, thought I was a better kisser."

Sam doesn't smile. It was a pretty weak attempt. He stares at Dean, and Dean lifts a shoulder.

How it was, then. In the hotel, where Metatron was staying. When he found Sam on the floor and about had a heart attack. Sam's skin burning and ice-cold by turns. His body this huge out of control thing, being taken over by something Dean didn't understand. He woke up while Dean was trying to drag him to the bath, but he wasn't really conscious, hardly making sense. Babbling, half-frantic, trying to make Dean understand—how it was okay, how it was fine if he burned, if somehow the trials scoured the marrow out of his bones, because it was just right after all he'd done and all he hadn't, and it was a use for him, when he hadn't been worth anything in so long. Dean had told him no, over and over, and no again, and he'd slapped Sam at some point to get him to shut up, to try to shock him out of the awful monologue, but Sam didn't even register it, clinging to Dean's shirt while the tub filled, the sack of ice Dean had brought bobbing to the surface. It can mean something, Sam had said, nodding, tears in his eyes, trying to smile, and Dean wanted to throw a chair through the window but he grabbed Sam's face instead and he said it does and Sam shook his head, confused, and Dean leaned in against him, ready to cry too, and instead he…

"I thought," Sam starts, and immediately stops. His hands twist around the bourbon bottle. "I dreamed that."

Dean thinks of a joke to make, something about Snow White, but he keeps his mouth shut. He remembers it, clearly. Sam's mouth, hot and dry against his own. His hands clenched in Dean's shirt, and on the side of his neck. Weak and strong at once. If Sam dreamed it, what does he remember?

Sam looks down at the bottle for almost a minute, Dean counting it away with beats of his heart. A breeze picks up, light and warm. A cricket, somewhere, chirping and then going quiet. It could feel bad but it doesn't. It could be terrifying, but it's just—Sam, and him. Like always. Like it will be, always. He knows that, now. No matter what.

Sam smiles, eventually, for no reason Dean can tell. He wipes his thumb over the rim of the bottle and then takes a drink, two long swallows that are loud as they go down, and then he takes the bottle away from his mouth and puts his hand on Dean's jaw and leans in and kisses him. Brief, hot. Not dry. His mouth tastes like bourbon. It tastes just like Dean's.

Sam leans back. Dean takes a deep breath. Sam looks at him, very close, and Dean puts his hand on the side of Sam's neck, his fingers sliding into Sam's hair, and Sam's lips quirk and he nods and Dean leans in and kisses him, again, slower, pressing in soft with his lip plush against Sam's, tipping to make it good, and his jaw's cupped in both big mitts and Sam opens for him and it's…

He pulls away eventually. He must have been breathing, during, but he hardly sees how. Sam kisses the corner of his mouth, weirdly sweet, and his hands drag down to Dean's chest before he pushes back, blinking. "You better remember that one," Dean says, and Sam smiles briefly, but shakes his head, not letting them off the hook.

"I didn't…" What goes there? Dean could guess but he doesn't want to. Sam's thoughtful now, but his hand's on Dean's forearm, because Dean's hand is—oh, still locked there on the side of Sam's neck, holding on. Sam's still, doesn't seem to mind, and Dean lets his thumb brush over Sam's stubble. Familiar. The world new, and not-new.

Sam squeezes his arm. "Did you start the stupid game just to say that line?" Dean shrugs. Sam rolls his eyes, and detaches Dean's hand from his neck, and stands, but pulls Dean up at the same time, and this time when he kisses Dean it's—full, real, Sam holding him close and Dean lifting his face up for it and Sam getting an arm around his shoulders and Dean pressing his mouth open, just a little, licking Sam's top lip and getting a slow, deep inhale where Sam's close enough that he can feel it.

"Sammy," Dean says, and maybe there's more to say. More that should be said, if this is what—but Sam shakes his head, and says, "Come on," and scoops up the bourbon and his empty beers, and so Dean scoops his up, too, and follows Sam around the plant and down the stairs to the bunker and to the kitchen, where they drop the bottles in a rattle of glass into the recycle bin Sam insisted they get, and then Sam looks at him in the light, his hair a little rucked-up at the back from where Dean was messing with it and his mouth a little pink and his expression just… considering, open, honest, and Dean looks back, not trying to hide a thing. How can he? It's Sam.

*

In the morning, Dean wakes up slow, alone in his room. He has a shower, taking his time, and wraps up in his robe, and comes into the kitchen to find coffee made but no breakfast, and he pours a cup and thinks about eggs, or maybe waffles if he wants to wrestle that ancient cast-iron waffle pan down from the top of the shelf, and he's thinking mainly about the food but he's also thinking, of course, about Sam, and it's only about five minutes of him standing there with his hip against the kitchen island before the door creaks, distant, and then—Sam, in the doorway, shining with sweat.

Dean's stomach flips, very slightly. It's just Sam, soaked and gross after a run. It's every morning, like the last, except, of course—

Sam hesitates for just a second. His mouth turns up at one corner, a little rueful, and then he comes in and grabs his metal bottle from the fridge, and gulps water. Dean turns to watch him, coffee warm in both hands, and when Sam's done he leans against the fridge, breathing deep, and then says, "I don't know, it feels like it should be weirder," like he's continuing a conversation they were in the middle of without interruption.

"Nothing weird about being hot for my bod," Dean says, calm, and Sam snorts. He looks at Dean sidelong, and then turns and really looks at him. Looks, from Dean's mouth to his slippered feet, and it's not much of a view in the robe but Dean spreads his arms out, anyway, and Sam bites his bottom lip, half-smiling. Dean sets his coffee on the island, runs his thumb along the lipstick-red rim. "You know," he says. "It doesn't ever have to be more than this. Just… how we've got it. It's good, now."

"It is," Sam says, easy. He twists the cap back on to his bottle, sets it on the counter, and folds his arms over his chest, and he's still just looking but Dean feels, now, the difference in it. It's just Sam but it's also… maybe a new part, a Sam that Dean didn't really get before, and the consideration there, the curiosity, the attention, it's… He tilts his head back, looks at Sam right back. Sam smiles.

Last night they did nothing more than kiss. Dean stepped close in the kitchen and tipped his head up and Sam met him, one more time, and it was soft and a little strange and a little new, but it felt right, in a way that's been full in Dean's chest, from the first moment of Sam's hand on his face to—well, it hasn't gone away.

"I was thinking I'd make waffles," Dean says, still buoyed in it. "You want one or two?"

"Two," Sam says, and Dean nods, and Sam gets the pan down—showing off, tall bastard—and then goes off to shower, and Dean mixes up the batter and butters the pan and pours in the mix and watches for when the steam stops, eyes on the cast iron but his thoughts around the corner of two hallways and down a few doors, and when he's got four waffles stacked on two plates and he's wondering if he's gonna need to send in a rescue team, Sam comes back into the kitchen with wet hair and says, "I'm going to run a marathon," and Dean blinks at him, entirely derailed, and says, "What?"

A marathon. Apparently Sam's been thinking about it for a while. His runs, he says, in the morning, are usually five miles, but he's been running a little longer each time, and he's at seven now without much worrying about the extra distance. He wants to go the whole way. See if he can do it, he says.

Dean's busy smearing as much butter as he can feasibly fit into the squares of his waffle, but he gives Sam a look. "If I can, he says," Dean mutters, and maybe it's against usual policy to give Sam full credit but it gets a surprised blink and then Sam looking down at his own syrup-free plate with a soft curve to his mouth, so—worth it. Dean cuts a four-square bite and pauses, watching the melty puddles form on the plate. "So, what. Are you going to enter one of those city things? Am I gonna have to drive along the route with Gatorade and applaud from the sidelines? Are you dressing up as a moose for charity?"

Sam shakes his head. "I can donate to charity on my own time," he says, although to be honest Dean's now taken with the moose idea. Sam sees him thinking about it and rolls his eyes. "No. But—I can figure out a route with my phone. Just around here. Anyway, it can't hurt, for the job."

"Yeah, I'll let you chase down the next werewolf," Dean says, shaking his head. Marathons. His brother.

They finish eating about the same time. Sam sips at his coffee while Dean sucks maple from his thumb. "You want to find a job," Dean says, while Sam's piling their forks and plates together, "or do you want to go for another jog? Gotta get up to twenty-six miles somehow."

"Twenty-six point two," Sam says, standing up with the dishes in hand, and then he leans over and brushes Dean's thumb away from his mouth and kisses him, again, and Dean grips the edge of the table and Sam's shoulder, his mouth pushed open on Sam's tongue, sliding in easy like he's got the run of the place and doesn't expect an ounce of resistance. Fair enough. Dean tips his head back and tastes Sam, syrup-and-coffee, and when Sam pulls back his eyes are half-closed and he licks his lips, and his eyes drop to Dean's mouth.

"Weird?" Dean says.

"Should be," Sam says, quieter, but he stands up, and lets his thumb drag over Dean's jaw before he steps away, to the sink, and he doesn't say anything more when he puts the dishes in and stands there with hands braced on the edge for—ten seconds, twenty, thirty—before he turns the water on.

Dean could say something but there's nothing to say. It's weird. It's not. That it's not is weirder. He gets up, refreshes his coffee with the hot from the pot, says, "I'll look for a job," and goes to the library, and lets Sam think, with his hands in soapy water, and quiet to do it in.

There are odd stories—news of the weird never fails to deliver—but nothing so pressing as to drag them across the country on an urgent mission. Dean doesn't feel the need to fake anything, either, to yank out of the bunker on a long drive of not talking through the night and too-loud music and burying their thoughts into means/motive/monstrous opportunity. He sends some links to Sam's email and goes and finds clothes instead, finally, and figures—well, today's a day off. He changes the Impala's oil, washes her. Goes through the trunk, sitting on a stool dragged over from the garage's weird little office, and makes notes of what they're out of, what needs replaced. More salt. More holy oil. Or—not more holy oil, since they haven't seen hide or nor hair of angel or demon in weeks and weeks and maybe never again, and he sits, then, with the empty flask turning over and over in his hands, looking into the trunk, thinking about—how the world is, now. How there's downtime. How, incredibly, there are marathons to run.

In the library, later, Sam's reading on his laptop. "That thing in Pierre might be something," he says, without preamble, and Dean nods—it could be—but then Sam says, "I sent it to Jody, to see if she and the girls want to take a look."

Dean sets the empty flask on the table. Sam's eyes barely flick to it. "What are we gonna do, then?" he says, and Sam sits back in his chair, laptop lid half-closed. He half-smiles, looking down at nothing, and then he looks up at Dean again.

They sleep together that night. Nothing complicated. Dean's room, and the lamps all off but the one over on the table by the door, so Sam's half-haloed in amber light this time, instead of the white moon. Dean's shirt comes off but Sam's stays on, and they're still in their socks, and Sam leans over Dean on one elbow, touching his chest, curious. It's not romantic, or urgent, but Dean keeps smiling, and Sam finally catches him at it and whispers, "Shut up," and kisses him when he opens his mouth to protest that he wasn't saying anything. While they're necking Dean gets Sam's jeans open, and slides his hand inside, and Sam bites his lip but he's half-hard, and gets harder while Dean learns the shape of him. Sam rocks a warm palm over where Dean's swelling up and Dean rips at his own belt, unzips, and then rolls them over so Sam's on his back, and Sam grips his hips, looking up, his hair loose on the pillow and his face just…

After, Dean wipes his hand on Sam's shirt. "Dick," Sam says, and Dean says, "Hey, it was already a disaster, I just added to the general—" and Sam rolls his eyes and nudges Dean off, and pulls the shirt over his head, tugging it off careful from the back. Dean rolls onto his side, looking. Sam's shoulders, and his back. Muscle and, miraculously, no scars. His skin that same all-over bronze, like he's immune somehow to farmer tan. Sam tosses the shirt in the same vague direction that Dean's went and then looks over his shoulder, finds Dean looking. Half-smiles. He lays back, his head on the pillow, and tucks a hand underneath it, looking up at the ceiling. Dean just keeps looking at Sam.

"It should be weird," Sam says, after a second.

"It's a little weird," Dean says. Sam snorts, one corner of his mouth turning up. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Sam's head tips, on the pillow. He looks into Dean's eyes, then at his lips. He reaches over and presses his thumb against Dean's bottom lip, and Dean lets Sam dent it, pulling, and then he flicks his tongue against Sam's skin. Faint salt, faint bitter. Sam drags his thumb down, wet trail over Dean's chin, and then settles his hand on Dean's chest.

This. This is weird. Sam looking at him, quiet. Sweat's still drying in the middle of Dean's back and he has the sense of what it feels like to have his brother's hand on his dick full in his head. The body part, though, that—matters, of course it matters, but it feels secondary to Sam just... fully present. That they're both in the same weird, weird boat, and that it could go on like this forever, and it wouldn't change a thing.

"I don't want to wonder about it anymore," Dean says. He gets his hand on Sam's wrist, squeezes. "There's—I don't know, man. There's a bunch of crap we should probably be talking about, freaking about. But it's…"

"Beside the point?" Sam offers, and Dean nods. That's it. Sam nods, too, and closes his eyes, and maybe that makes it easier.

Dean closes his, too, and it's just the amber-colored haze of dark, and the kinda-too-warm of the bed, and his hand sticky and needing to be washed, and vaguely wanting a shower. And he's an adult, and he's fucked before, and so it's also that one article about that disappearance in Winston-Salem that he's been half-thinking about all day, wondering if there's more—and then remembering that they're out of milk—and then, when Sam's thumb drags over his pec, under his nipple, the vague jolt of: Sam, and maybe that should be all that fills his head but Sam suffuses every other thought. Dean can't make any more room in himself than he already has.

"Did that woman in North Carolina disappear at night?" Sam says, after another minute.

Dean's eyes fly open. "Shit," he says, to Sam's frown, and they sit up at the same time, and then—it's them, and the job, and nothing's really, in the end, that different.

*

Sam keeps running. He tracks his step count with an app, figures out mile by mile how far he can push it, how fast he can go. Dean goes into Lebanon by himself one day, hitting the post office and the market and just getting some air, and then he rolls to a stop at the single stop sign and checks his odometer, and then drives—a square, basically, twenty-six miles around the farm-fields both worked and fallow, and he imagines what it would be like to run the whole way. He's run for his life, and he's run for the lives of others, but just to do it for himself—no. He gets Sam, most every way, but this one is gonna stay a mystery, he thinks.

"What took so long?" Sam says, when he gets home.

The milk's still mostly-cold. "Estelle wouldn't stop hitting on me, man," Dean says, hauling in his half of the load, and Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean slots the barely-frozen pizza into the freezer and stocks the eggs into their holder and then, when Sam's done putting the cans onto their spot on the shelf, tugs at Sam's belt-loop and gets Sam surprised and then leans up and kisses him, pressing him against the dry goods, and Sam kisses back good and pleased and open and then, when Dean sets back down on his heels, touches the back of Dean's ear and murmurs, soft, "If I knew angry old ladies got you hot I would have tried something different, last night," and gets Dean laughing, unexpected, tucked into the corner of their kitchen.

They've been slow with each other. Dean has more experience but he didn't realize how much more. Sam's not uncertain, not nervous—incredible, how not-nervous Sam is, and Dean got finger-shaped bruises on his triceps one day when Sam just held him down and kissed and kissed and kissed him, body-confident and knowing, smiling pleased and half-smug when he pulled back and Dean was nearly dazed with wanting him. Little shit. Still: Sam's not a virgin, not by half, but he was being honest when he said he'd never screwed a guy—on Earth, that is, and Dean knows exactly what he meant by that qualification, and it was a very very brief conversation afterward ("It doesn't count," Sam had said, firm and honest there too, and Dean had nodded because, after everything, he trusts Sam to be honest), and they left it at that.

It's Sam who brings up more. Dean's content to follow. It's Sam who gets Dean's jeans open one night, petting at the base of his dick and sliding down to cup his balls, long fingers and big broad palm, and it's good but it's Sam who hmms, and then says, "Mind if I—" and crawls backwards down the bed—Sam's bed, the mattress tipping with Sam's weight—and Sam who bolsters Dean's dick up out of the split of his fly and breathes there, eyes flicking up the length of Dean's body where he's propped on his elbows, briefly dazed. "Go ahead," Dean says, voice coming from somewhere approximately at the center of the earth, and Sam snorts, and fists Dean capably from root to tip, and then leans in and licks, flat and deliberate up the spine of it, a wet warmth that shocks in Dean's thighs and between his shoulders and sparking in his hands, making him fist into the blanket. Sam's eyes are closed, like he's concentrating. Dean tips his knee out wide and touches Sam's cheek, and Sam's mouth tips up at the corners, and he shifts forward and takes the head in his mouth and—oh, that. He doesn't quite know how to get his mouth around it at first but he figures it out quick, and he sucks the tip and licks under the crown and fists the rest and when Dean's close, clenching, Dean says, "Come up here," and Sam opens his eyes after who knows how long and they're black, practically, and he crawls up over Dean's body still jerking and Dean kisses him, licks the taste of himself out, and Sam breathes hot into his mouth and groans when Dean comes, looking down at the spill over his fist, and he says, "Fuck, that's good," rough and true. Dean pants through it for a few selfish seconds before he squirms down to return the favor, and Sam's mostly-hard just from sucking Dean, and he's weirdly a gentleman when Dean goes down on him, hands off and careful until Dean lifts off, gulping, and says, "Like you mean it, dude," and Sam laughs and then grips him and that's how they learn that Sam likes dick just fine, in fact, and that Dean likes even more how much Sam likes it.

Sam runs farther. Dean paces him, one day, when they fell asleep in the same bed and mostly managed to sleep through the night together, except for some moment around three a.m. when Sam kicked too hard and Dean threatened blurrily to murder him or dump him out of the bed, one or the other—and way too early after that, Sam nudged him awake, lacing up his running shoes, said, "Come on," and Dean groaned and pulled the pillow over his head and then, well, he came on.

Seven in the morning, autumn settling over the farms. Cold enough that Sam's breath fogs and Dean rubs his hands together, sitting in the idling car with the window down while Sam stretches his hamstrings. "You look ridiculous," Dean says, just to say something. Sam ignores him, of course. "How far are we going?" he says, instead, and Sam says, "Thirteen," and Dean checks the odometer and says, "Okay, Speedy Gonzalez, you just say—" and Sam says, "Go," and takes off, and Dean rolls his eyes and lets off the brake, and the Impala rolls forward, chasing Sam down the farm road, the sun glinting behind them so the whole damp stretch of gravel sparks silver. Nine miles per hour is the pace Sam asked for and Dean keeps it going, on the far side of the road while Sam lopes along on the left shoulder, and it's boring but not as boring as he thought it would be. He keeps an eye on the speedometer, makes the turns just behind Sam as the roads weave around the cornfields, the soy beans, the farm that's just gone to dead-dry grass that waves in undulating strange patterns in the morning breeze. He goes through Zepp one side one, side two, switches to AC/DC and cranks it during Big Balls so loud that a bird startles up out of the bushes by the road, and Sam laughs, coughs, keeps running. His pace doesn't slow, not by a step.

Sam stops, finally. An hour and a half, and Dean has to piss. He parks, turns off the car, while Sam breathes hard with his hands on his knees. "How was that?" Dean says, and Sam shakes his head, still panting, and Dean can't wait any longer and goes over to the other side of the fence post and communes with the morning.

"Dude," Sam says, vaguely accusatory, but Dean only shrugs, and zips up when he's done. When he turns back around Sam's leaning on the car, sweat slicking his hair back behind his ears, and Dean raises his eyebrows and Sam shrugs. "That was good," he admits, finally. He's drinking the water bottle Dean's had sitting in the passenger seat the whole time. "Too fast to go the full twenty-six, but—yeah. Good."

He looks—content, again. Not smug, not even really glad. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, leans back against the car. Looks out over the little pond, the trees around it. Dean smiles, while Sam isn't looking, and then says, "Well, I left my gold medals at home, but if you want you can run back and get it—" and Sam rolls his eyes, and gets into the passenger side, and Dean gets to fake-bitch then about Sam's stinky sweaty ass on the vinyl, and it's a good morning, like they all are, anymore.

On the way home from a hunt—Ajo, Arizona, and vampires, in what Dean insists is the most ironic job they've ever been on—Sam has Dean stop at a drugstore. Two in the afternoon. Dean heads for the booze aisle and gets a six pack, and swings through the specialty candy and gets some pre-Christmas stocking filler, and then he walks around the aisles looking for Sam, and finds him in—

"Condoms?" he says. Sam glances up at him, holding a box, unfazed. Dean feels the black orb eye of the security camera on the back of his neck and feels—surreal. He tips his head. "I mean, not to go all sex-ed, but it's a little late, don't you think?"

Sam snorts. In lieu of responding he turns the box around in his hand and—not condoms. Astroglide. Dean licks the corner of his mouth and watches an old lady go by with her little cart on the far end of the aisle. "Yeah?" he says, and Sam lifts a shoulder, says, "You have a preference?"

Long time since Dean's had to think about it. He hitches the six-pack onto his other hip and comes and stands next to Sam, looking at the options. Fire & ice, spermicidal. Water-based. Sam's radiating heat, enough to feel six inches away, and Dean thinks about Sam thinking about this: driving through the cold desert, both of them tired after a night of chasing down the vamps, planning to crash in Amarillo. A motel, in Amarillo. He feels boring, normal. Shopping, with a bag of red-and-green Kisses in hand, and the wall of intensely pink pads and tampons looming at his back, and his—brother, waiting, while Dean reaches for the silicone-based KY he used to buy, when he used to have to buy it. The packaging's different but he's guessing the product's the same. He puts it in Sam's hand and Sam looks at it with his cheek sucked in on one side, and then Dean says, "You want something with, I don’t know, electrolytes?" and Sam says, "Yeah," and so Dean goes back to the wall of coolers and pulls out two Powerades, and Sam meets him at the cashier with rolled bandages and aspirin to replace what they used up out of the kit during this hunt, and the woman at the counter glances at their faces as she's ringing them up and Dean says, smiling, "Can I get a two-pack of lighters, too, miss?" and she's like seventy if she's a day but the charm offensive still works, and she's over-the-top as she hands them their receipt and tells them to be well, and Sam's giving him a sidelong look as they take the bags out to the car but, shit, Dean's had enough people giving him looks in his life, and Sam gets to but just about no one else does, now.

A motel, in Amarillo. Raining in west Texas like it never does. They get tacos and margaritas at a hole in the wall and it's still early, when they get back to the room, and Sam checks the stitches on Dean's shoulder—still holding—and Sam takes two aspirins to help with all the bruising on his side, and then Dean eats a Kiss from the mess of the Walgreens bag, and then he tosses the box holding the lube onto the closer bed, and he says, "So," and Sam shrugs, and says, again, "You have a preference?"

Shadow of a smile on his face. Dean gives him a look and Sam raises his eyebrows, all innocence, and Dean says, "You're a dumbass," and goes over and pulls Sam in by that godawful orange jacket and kisses him, and then he goes into the bathroom.

He takes his time. Showers, cleaning up. Leans his forearm against the wall and leans his head against his forearm and pushes his fingers inside, on the thin glide of the little complimentary bottle of conditioner, reminding his body that this is—yeah. This is good. He comes out with a towel loose around his waist and finds Sam mostly-stripped, leaning back on the bed with the TV on mute and his hand in his boxers. Dean glances at the screen—ESPN, showing basketball highlights—and says, "Jeez, you got a kink you haven't told me?" while Sam snaps the TV off, and Sam says, flushed, "Not my fault you took forever," and Dean says, frank, "Figured you wouldn't want any Mr. Hanky guest appearances on our first trip on the backroads, but if you'd rather—" and Sam says, "Jesus, Dean," and Dean grins like an asshole, and Sam rolls his eyes, and—

Sam's screwed women like this before, turns out, and knows to go slow. Dean's on his back, his one leg caught over Sam's arm and the other curled around Sam's hip, and he's not sure slow is slow enough. "Fuck," he says, grinding his head back against the pillow, and Sam kisses his jaw, murmurs, "Sorry," and Dean grips his shoulders and says, through a groan, "No, you're not," and Sam smiles against his skin. Dean knew it. Little shit.

Sam lifts up on one elbow, touches Dean's cheek. He drags his hips back, pushes in. Dean breathes shakily out and Sam's expression changes. "Is it—" he says, but thankfully doesn't ask the stupid question. He leans in, tilting Dean's hips to a new angle, and pushes again, and Dean drags a hand down Sam's chest, and Sam's watching his face, he knows, watching everything, learning him, figuring out what he likes, like he has with every new thing they've tried—probably cataloguing it on some insane chart, like he's been doing with the running—but just now, Dean doesn't care. He didn't realize how much he liked this, or how much he could. "God," he says, gripping Sam's hip, "go—" and Sam, thank christ, for once does what he's told.

Sam sucks him, to finish him off. When Dean's spent, Sam spits to the side, and then slides back up, kissing Dean's nipple and then the sweaty angle of his collarbone and his jaw and his cheekbone and the very end of his eyebrow, for some reason. "Freak," Dean sighs, content, and Sam cups his other cheek and says, "Back at you," quiet, and Dean tips his head in towards Sam's and breathes with him. Sam's mouth tastes like dick and it's a combo Dean is extremely fond of, but that's not, anymore, anything new. He reaches down and holds Sam's dick—still slick, because this is indeed the good lube—and half-hard, and sensitive apparently after doing its work, from how Sam hisses, and squeezes his forearm. Dean says, "If anyone gets to complain," and Sam lifts up then, and watches Dean's face while he slides a hand back between Dean's thighs, and presses gently. Dean bites the inside of his lip but lets Sam try it, and after a second Sam—slides a finger inside, where he's busted Dean open, and Dean lets his knee fall wide with the slick sting, and wonders. How much he could take, if Sam asked.

In the morning, Sam goes for a run. Dean stays very firmly in bed. "How'd it go, Romeo?" Dean says, drowsy in bed when Sam finally gets back, and Sam says, "You know that makes you Juliet?" but then, while Dean's frowning and trying to dredge up a comeback, he says, "Sixteen miles, mostly eight miles an hour, and I brought back coffee," and Dean lifts up enough to see the carrier on the table, steaming, and says, "You're forgiven for the Juliet thing."

He has Sam drive. He's feeling—hard to pinpoint, how he's feeling. Still cloudy, over Texas and then over Oklahoma, and Sam's driving a regular level of fast so they're going to get home around maybe dinnertime. He's thinking about steak—they could stop at that butcher in Smith Center—when Sam says, "Hey, let me ask," and Dean grunts, and Sam says, "What's it like?"

No guessing what he means. Dean says, "I mean, my ass is sore," and Sam rolls his eyes, and he's not being a dick about it or anything, and Dean thinks about how to answer. What's it like.

What came before doesn't matter, so much. They already talked about how only Earth counts, and that's true for a bunch of reasons, but on a physical level there's just no comparison. Even on Earth, though, this was different. What came before was mostly something Dean was okay with, either because he wanted it or because he needed it or because he had a job to do, and he's not someone who dwells on shit that could be different, and he doesn't really wish any of that was different. No point in it, and it doesn't bug him. It was always better, though, when he liked the person, and he got that sometimes, and when he got that it was… good, but. Maybe what he and Sam have isn't romance, isn't some big sweeping thing like from a movie—if Sam tried to sweep him off his feet, or vice versa, they'd probably just bicker and then fall over—but. But. What was it like?

He's been quiet too long. "It feels good," he says, honest. Lame, and Sam knows it, from how he glances across the seat. Random section of I-35, while Sam passes a semi. Dean watches the approaching road rather than look at Sam. "I don't know, man. Hard to describe. When you're with someone and you're figuring out what works, what makes the fireworks, that's the same from either side. But it's…"

Quiet, again. In the corner of his eye he can tell Sam looks at him, and he shifts his weight. His ass does hurt. Sam's got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, in the jockstrap department. That he can get used to; the weird feeling under his breastbone, this thing he's been carrying all morning, that's going to take a little longer, maybe.

"Jessica used to say she felt like she was taking care of me." Said—casual. Dean stares across the bench seat, can't help it, but Sam's just looking out at the road. One hand at ten, the other at about five thirty, his hair tucked behind his ear. His jaw clenching and then unclenching. "I don't know. I didn't get it—felt the other way around, to me—but I always… wondered, I guess."

Taking care? Maybe that's it. Dean finds he's holding his hand over the weird feeling in his chest and shakes his head. Last night: Sam's head bent next to his, Sam's chest against his, his back drenching sweat against the bed, his body loose-open finally to Sam's dick after so long of the punishing stretch. Sam's hips grinding in against his hard and low, and his arms around Sam's shoulders, and his eyes closed and just—taking, feeling the slick parted jolt and feeling Sam quicken and feeling, deep, in this jolted raw way, how Sam was getting close and Sam was winding tight and how Sam was coming, how he hitched and crushed in and breathed strange and didn't make any other sound but held Dean still and close and tight while he unloaded. With other men Dean was tired or sore or impatient, wanting his turn. Last night, he held Sam's shoulders and felt Sam's face duck in to his throat, and Sam's lips pressing there, and he put his fingers in Sam's hair and twined his leg around Sam's and wanted it to go on and on. Perfect.

"Guess you'll have to try it and find out," Dean says, after way too long.

Sam glances at him again, and pulls into the right lane, and settles in for the long drive. "Guess I will," he says, and he's watching the road, and so maybe doesn't notice the deep breath Dean takes, and lets out slow.

It turns out a marathon is not, in fact, twenty-six point two miles. "Technically," Sam says, while Dean's on his back under the Impala, "it's 26.21875 miles."

Dean rolls out on the bench to give that the incredulous look it deserves. On the stool, Sam shrugs. "Why," Dean says, "on earth, ever, would anyone care."

"It's the rules set by the competition," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes and slides back under the car. "It's just the length. Same reason a football field's a hundred yards."

"Isn't it the length of the run that Greek dude did?" Dean says, later, chopping up potatoes for salad. Sam looks surprised, but not as annoyingly surprised as he's looked other times. "Did the length of that change, somehow?"

"Dean," Sam says, patient, "I hate to say it, but I am not in charge of the rules committee for marathons. I'm sorry to disappoint."

During dinner Sam's doing math. 26.21875 isn't that much longer than 26.2. In March he did twenty-five miles in three hours and fifty-five minutes, looping back from the pond and then running way out to town and back again, and he's nearly there. "What's the difference between 385 and 352," he mutters, and Dean doesn't bother even attempting to work it out in his head before Sam says, "Thirty-three yards."

"Doesn't seem worth making a whole-ass rule about," Dean says, but Sam's just ignoring him at this point, probably looking at his dumb running spreadsheet, and that's fine. Thirty-three yards, Dean thinks.

There are weird old surveyor tools in one of the archive rooms. One morning when Sam's back from his run, soaking off the ache in the shower, Dean figures out how the hell to use the damn wheely thing, and he walks it off. He drags his boot in the dirt, right in front of the stairs down to the entrance, and then walks it out: ninety-nine feet, up the driveway, out to the gravel road. Almost exactly the length to the gate. Dean smiles, and walks back from the gate, and then marks ninety-nine feet precisely, with his boot and then with three stones, so he'll know.

Sam's planning for May 1. Dean doesn't ask why; he figures he can guess. They find a job, April 21, and it's a family of ghouls that's gross and shitty and time-consuming to put down, but they manage it on the seventh day, at least, so they don't overshoot the deadline. Sam sleeps in the passenger seat while Dean drives straight through all the way back from Pensacola. When they get back to the bunker it's two in the morning and Dean has to shake him awake, and he blinks in the barely-moonlight, and Dean has to say, "Up and at 'em, Sasquatch," for Sam to rouse, and Sam follows him down the stairs and into the bunker and through the dark halls and then, quiet, straight into Dean's bed, barely kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacket before he curls over the pillow, sighing into the mattress. Dean stands at the foot of the bed, looking at him. Then he goes upstairs, and does the thing he's been thinking of doing for weeks, and when he finally gets back to bed he strips down to a t-shirt and boxers and slides in right up against Sam's back, and Sam doesn't wake up but he does make this tiny sound in his chest, when Dean's arm goes around him, and Dean sleeps, finally, like the dead.

Thursday's a slow day. Sam's not running again, apparently, until Saturday—he ran pretty flat-out a few times during the hunt, and Dean guesses that's probably training enough. Because he is, in fact, supportive, Dean makes food that Sam actually likes—chicken breast and broccoli and some stupid grain thing that he read was good for slow-release energy, and Sam says, "I didn't know you knew what farro was," which proves that in fact it's Sam who's the dickhead, but then Sam practically inhales all of it, so. Success. They watch Chariots of Fire so Dean can remember the stupid song, and Sam goes and does his weird yoga stretching after that, and then they sit together in the workroom and make silver rounds for a while, since Dean got a load of pawned shitty jewelry in and it's one of those chores that falls down the priority list when bullets are flying, and then when they've packed up the bullet boxes, and there's really nothing else left to do with the day, Sam stands up and stretches with his fingers reaching way up and his body arching, pulling long after the hunched work, and Dean's mouth goes wet, and he says, without much thinking about it, "Hey, Sam," and Sam says yeah without hardly paying attention, and Dean says, "I want to fuck you tonight."

Sam looks up at him. Dean lifts a shoulder and Sam takes a visible breath, and he says, "Smooth, Dean," but it's not a no.

Dean shaves, while he's waiting. He takes a whore's bath in his sink, and waits in his boxers just like Sam had, that first time, sitting on the little loveseat in his room. Sam comes back in a t-shirt and unzipped jeans and bare feet, his hair barely wet at the ends, and he frowns at first at the empty bed before he sees Dean, sitting, and Dean says, "Took you long enough," and Sam says, "Don't start."

He's not nervous. He lets Dean kiss him slow, though, laying together on the bed, and with Dean's hand in his jeans, and he's hard all the way and wet at the tip and a tight grip locked on Dean's hip before Dean finally slides his jeans down, feels. Damp, and a little soft, and small, and he rolls his hips back against Dean's thumb, making this deep sound in his chest. "How do you want it?" Dean says, and Sam shrugs and then laughs, shaking his head. "However," Sam says, honest, and Dean rolls his eyes and kisses him and then pulls his jeans all the way off while Sam pulls his shirt over his head, and Dean gets him on his knees, then, pulls his hips back, and applies his mouth to Sam's asshole, and that's not entirely new but Sam yelps, flinching, and Dean has to hook an arm around his hips and hold him in place to lick in deep, like he wants to.

"Tell me," Dean says, and Sam groans. He's reaching past Dean's arm, fisting his dick. His balls warm and heavy, and his body—open, yeah, from the shower, from prepping himself, from knowing how—from watching Dean do it, from doing it himself, sliding his fingers in and working the muscle soft and learning how it can be good. Sam's hips push back and Dean breathes out hot, ducks his head down, suckles one of Sam's nuts and then licks back up over the flattened-wet hair and the crinkle of his hole and scrapes his teeth over one asscheek, and Sam's hand reaches back and grips his shoulder and Sam says, deep, "Are you going to fuck me, or what," and Dean slides up, kisses between Sam's shoulderblades, presses his dick swelling up in his boxers against Sam's ass.

It'd be easier if he kept Sam on his knees. He turns him over instead, and Sam's—god, hot for it, his dick huge and curving up to his navel, his chest flushed in that deep way it gets when he's nearly ready to come, his eyes heavy. He props himself up on his elbows and watches Dean lube himself up, and when Dean slots a slick thumb inside Sam—still tight, christ—Sam's eyelids dip but he just pulls his knee higher, and reaches down and feels Dean's dick, fingers slipping over the head. He gathers his balls up out of the way while Dean pushes up between his legs, and he's watching down between them, avid, for the moment it happens. Dean watches Sam's face instead, and on the push inside—Sam's lips part, and his jaw loosens, and his breath stills, and his eyes—Dean pulls back an inch, slides in deeper, and Sam's face tips up and he meets Dean's stare, dragging in air, gripping Dean's thigh, arching. Dean gets a hand on Sam's jaw and holds him there, their noses brushing, and he feels it, the moment Sam's body ripples. How Sam lets him in.

Sam doesn't come from being fucked. Not that Dean expected him to. Dean holds his balls and kisses his jaw, his mouth, lets Sam bite his lips, while Sam jerks his own dick, and when Sam finally spills he groans, his thighs twitching around Dean's hips and his asshole rippling. Dean slides his hand up, following Sam's, squeezing and getting the wet over his own fingers, and finally his dick slides free from Sam's body. Sam says, low and surprised against his ear, ah, and Dean loves him, is all, and always has, and always will, and now is, really, no different.

"So," Dean says, much later. His head on Sam's shoulder, and Sam's fingers in his hair. "What's it like?"

He'd watched Sam clean up. His nose wrinkling as he wiped between his legs. Sam had said, "You like this?" and Dean had said, "The proof is in the pudding," and Sam had stared at him and then said, horrified, "Never talk again." He'd gone and got them both beers as repayment, and now those are gone, and they've cooled off but the bed's still kind of gross and smells like sweat and jizz and, honestly, Dean's about as comfortable as he ever is.

Sam's fingers go still in his hair. "Huh," he says, after a few seconds' thinking.

"Told you," Dean says.

Sam pulls, what little he can pull, at the top of Dean's head where he should really trim it up. "I'll think of something," he says, and Dean says, "Sure you will, Wordsworth," and Sam says, "I don't know why I thought this would make you less annoying," and Dean says, "It's a gift," but he's smiling, tipped in against Sam's side, and he can't see it but he'd bet that Sam is, too, or at least that Sam's got that dimple tucked into his cheek. Sam's hand spreads, cupping the back of Dean's head, and his mouth brushes Dean's temple. Yeah, Dean decides, warm. Dimple. Maybe two.

On Saturday, Sam goes for the run. His route's pretty simple. Looping west away from the bunker and back for thirteen miles; looping east and back for the other thirteen. The point two gets sorted out somewhere in there, as Dean understands it. He offered, a few months back, to pace Sam in the car if he wanted, and Sam looked surprised but then shook his head. "I'll be fine," he said, and Dean knows it's true. Still, he set out water at few-mile intervals—no one's out here, so unless a rabbit stole one of the stashes Sam should get the benefit—and Sam's pace is pretty damn consistent, so Dean knows when he'll hit the various markers, and knows when he'll be home, when it's done.

Sam stretches easily, on the stairs by the entrance. "If you twist your ankle a mile out, call me, but give me time to laugh," Dean says. Sam rolls his eyes, dropping his one foot and pulling up the other. "Do you want me to grab a pistol? Starting gun, or whatever?"

Sam shakes his head, and pulls out his phone. "See you in a few hours," he says, and presses a button, and takes off, and Dean watches him go, down the driveway, to the gate, and then turning and running from the morning sun. Nine a.m. Dean checks his watch, and says, "Okay," to no one, and goes back inside to at least do something with the morning.

An hour and fifty minutes later, Dean's leaning on the gate, drinking a beer, when Sam comes running back up the road. "Woo!" Dean calls, sort of sarcastic and sort of not, and Sam's breathing hard when he comes up but he steals the beer right out of Dean's hand, takes a few deep swallows. "Hey!" Dean says, and Sam shakes his head, burps abruptly, says, "Thanks for the water," and takes off again, and Dean checks his watch—right on time. Maybe faster. He finishes the beer, tasting Sam's salt on the rim, and then goes and sets up his minimal surprise.

He disassembled the bench those weeks back. Too heavy to move any other way. While Sam's completing the second half, Dean moves the pieces out of the side of the plant where he'd moved them, and puts the thing back together. Big concrete supports; concrete slab, that he about gets a hernia hauling back up into place. He's sweating, when it's done, but it's right at the end of the drive, just in front of his three-stone marker.

It's where he's sitting, forty minutes after noon, with a bottle of the whiskey Sam actually likes on the step, and two glasses waiting to be filled, and the sun coming down soft and easy, not yet hot or humid, not like it'll be later this summer. He stretches out his legs, propped on his arms, and watches down the lane while Sam comes around the corner again. Sweaty, tired, but keeping pace, and Dean doesn't mock or call out or say any of the dumbass shit he could say. Sam pulls out his phone, as he's running down, and Dean knows because he paced it exactly how many steps are left, exactly how far Sam has to go. Sam slows, as he's approaching the marker, and when his sneaker hits the stone he presses something on the phone and it beeps and he says, "Done," and takes a huge deep breath, panting.

He tips his head back on his shoulders, eyes closed. Dean watches him. His heaving chest, the sweat darkening his hair to black at the temples. His body.

"You set up a cheering section," Sam says, finally. "I'm touched."

Dimpling. Dean cracks the bottle, pours two glasses. "What can I say," he says, while Sam tips his head back down, tired. "I'm a fan."

"Sure you are," Sam says, tired. He sits down, finally, and takes his glass from Dean. Their shoulders together, and Sam's knee tipped against his. "Whiskey's probably the opposite of what you're supposed to have after a marathon."

"Well, good thing I'm not a stickler for the marathon rules," Dean says, holding his glass up to toast.

"Yeah," Sam says, smiling, "it is," and lets their glasses clink. They drink, quiet, looking out together at the warm day.

[extorchic]

TOP 5 SK8 Episodes

So I got tagged by @akira-cr to make this list, it took some time but I think I've sorted out my mind, thank you for considering me 😊. Now here comes the list, sorry if it's supposd to be objective, but I'm gonna let my heart out over here (It's gonna be a long post and I'm not gonna cut it ):

NUMBER 5 - Episode 6 - Steamy Mystery Skating?! (A.K.A. The beach episode 🏊‍♂️)

Well this is supposed to be "breather" episode, and it's basically the one that sold the series to me. I like how fun and chill this episode is, although it does (further) foreshadow Reki's insecurity issues. The music is of course SUBLIME! "Seize the Moment" is probably my favorite insert song of all time! (it's been present in Reki's beefs as well, but here it really reflects the fun nature of his character and the show overall). And of coruse, FANSERVICE, not so much in how the boys were in swimsuits (though I gotta admit Reki does look good in them), but on the RENGA interactions!

That hug gave me life! How Langa was worried 24/7 about Reki being injured, at the end when they skated together to escape from the Bantu! I gotta admit that I have some mixed feelings about the implications of Reki being attracted to the faceless girl (I mean, Bi rep is very important too), but I guess my shipping side was just as jelaous as Langa was supposed to be (according to the fans LOL).

NUMBER 4 - Episode 11 - King vs. Nobody (A.K.A. Reki rising! ✨🌺🌞⚙️)

Reki is, without a doubt, my favorite character. He doesn't need to win, he doesn't need to be super flashy while skating, he just needs to be himself. He's been through a lot, many people (including me) have felt tremendously related to him, and seeing him in this episode is just satisfying. With his issues behind, with a promise to skate with Langa after he wins and no longer fearful, Reki rematches against Adam; and the way he does is fantastic! Taking advantage of his creativity, observative skills and mechanical knowledge on skateboarding, he faces up against the main boss and manages to not only endure his violent ways (which were gruelling to see, TBH), but also SOUNDLY HUMILIATE HIM in front of the whole S Community!

Yes, Adam, the "God of S", in the ground covered in mud by a boy almost everyone dissmissed! It was really sunshine through rainfall! I must also add how much I liked to see his renewed relationship with Langa, how much they treasure their company after patching up. I want to elaborate on this in its own post but I personally see that their interactions from this point on are more, I don't know, tender, caring, still playful but not in an entirely comedic way. The way they see each other is also deeper, anyway, it's just what I see.

NUMBER 3 - A DRAW: Episode 8 - The Fated Tournament! and Episode 9 - We Were Special Back Then (A.K.A. The month in which I was in an emotional crisis because of anime sk8t3r b0is 🍎🐍😭🛹❄🍵🌸 )

This is the point in which I got into the show, and the fandom (Yeah, haven't been around for too long). At this point the show wasn't the same, and I realized it when I caught up. Though there were some cool skating scenes in these episodes, the events that caught my attention were outside the road (Yeah, this was no longer just a skateboard anime, it's a whole lot more). Though I had been mainly focusing on Reki and Langa, I really liked having more backstory related to Joe, Cherry, Adam and Tadashi. Seeing how Adam went through a terrible childhood, convoluted teeange years to culminate in an adult with too much power for his own good and a twisted sense of "love", along with some extremely serious psychological issues was very interesting.

I acknowldge him as a complex villain, but that DOES NOT justify what he did to Cherry. This only proves that just because we know his backstory, we don't have to sympathize with him (Adam's just such a terrible person). On the RENGA side, we see Reki avoiding Langa after their rift, and how this affected both. We have Langa's sadness increase scene after scene, as well as his passion for skating dwindling as progressively. Reki on the other hand, just falls deeper and deeper in his depression, but also being unable to stop thinking about Langa, and he ends up going to S to see the latter's match against Joe. It's hard to see whether there's envy, jelaousness, frustration, admiration, pining or fear of being left behind in his mind. It must have been hard for a 17 y/o.

Reki also defends Langa from people speaking behind his back and shouting his name during the race boosts Langa's performance tremendously. This culminates on Reki realizing that the thing he actually wanted was to skate alongside Langa, not on the side, not as support, but together, he just couldn't. There's also the scene which may or may not confirm that Langa's feelings for Reki are more than just friendship! (Felt represented, for reals).

NUMBER 2 - Episode 7 - We Don't Balance Out (A.K.A. This was supposed to be a fun show!😭⛈️💔️)

I wrote a lot about the episodes in the previous spot, but this is the one that flipped the tables, the game-changer, and the one that hit closer home. It is a sad episode, no races there, it's just here for us to see how the circumstances affect the characters. It was hard to see how Reki, who at this point had been nothing but supportive and proud of Langa, starts to see him flying farther from him. Is it jealousness? Dissatisfaction? Is it fear of loneliness? Adbandoment issues? Is it feeling inferior? Frustration? Not being able to improve? Admiration? Care?

And on top of that a broken promise. I just can't imagine how hard is it for a 17 y/o to deal with all of those conflicting issues in his head, as well as the toxic competitive environment on the "S Community". This just came to show that he wasn't just the excitable, goofy sidekick character, he goes deeper than that, and makes him relatable. We also see a deconstruction of the cool, aloof prodigious character in Langa, as he just can't comprehend what's going on with Reki, and he's hurt by it, but still needs to figure out his own ambitions and desries. This leads to the emotional conclusion of the episode (which in turn left me in the aforementioned 4-week-long emotional crisis, thank you)

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Episode 12 - Our Infinity! - The race was cool, the Renga hug gave me life and everyone had a happy ending

Episode 5 - Passionate Dancing Night! - Despite the beef between Langa and Adam being cool, we start to see Reki worrying about Langa and opening up to him, further deepening their bond.

Episode 2 - Awesome for the First Time! - There's just something special about sharing something you're passionate about with someone else. Watching Reki teaching Langa the basics of skateboarding was heartwarming

NUMBER 1 - Episode 10 - DAP Not Needing Words

After 4 weeks waiting, the anticipation for this episode was gargantuan. Reki's depression was hitting its lowest point, bordering in self-harm, and hurting others as well. Langa continues to look for Reki after seeing him briefly at the hospital while visiting Shadow and we get to see this loving scene where he watches videos of Reki learining how to skate. After confronting Tadashi and realizing that he loves skating because it's fun, he returns home to find out that Langa had been waiting for him but left shortly before he arrived.

This leads to a heartful reunion, where words can't express their feelings, so they resort to do their thing, to skate, and that's where the feelings flow. This is when Langa tells Reki how he admires him tremendously and Reki understands that Langa'll be there by his side, and leaves his fears behind. With a mutual desire to skate together infinetely and a new dap, they rekindle their bond. People watched this show for different reasons, and though I like the skateboarding aspect because it looks cool, my interest leans more on the relationship aspect, and Reki and Langa's is so deep and intimate, and I liked seeing it grow from zero through different hardships (in other words, in all of the years I've been in a fandom, I had never shipped any other pair like these two, I needed to say that).

So I guess it's time to tag some people:

@pico-sour, @sleebycryptid, @elizabethslee, @itsamole, @kaorucherry, @blueflame97, @trieizieme, @tardiskitten, @lady-pendragon-9

So, if you've read until this point, thank you very much (I know it's not supposed to, but this post is yet again a very long "I love Renga" one, but it's what my heart wanted me to write 😅). I'd love to see people other than the ones I tagged showing their lists 😃

[lovemeleo]

New York State of Mind (Part 2)

I had planned to have this posted earlier but here I am, right before the end of our Peanut’s birthday. Whoops. Here is Part 1 if you haven’t read it yet.

These OCs and their world belong to @lumosinlove.

cw: mentions of food

_________________________________

It took the three of them around 30 minutes to finish getting ready with only minimal interruptions, which honestly wasn’t bad. Sometimes they could take an additional hour if they were distracted enough. But once Finn was reminded of the plans, he was not going to get off track. 

Finn knew people didn’t think he was good at presents. They honestly weren’t wrong, he was really bad at buying gifts. He never knew what to buy. But experiences. That he could do. He liked planning things that he thought the people he cared about enjoyed. And his boys. He knew his boys better than anyone. So when it got close to Leo’s birthday, him and Logan sat down and began planning. While Leo was easy to please, and would’ve probably been happy just having dinner at their house, this was 20th birthday. It had to be perfect. And it honestly had been so far.

He watched as his boys pulled on their jackets, tucking wallets and phones into pockets, “Don’t forget gloves. And a hat. Not a snapback, Lo. An actual keep your ears warm hat. We’re walking and I’m not gonna give you mine when you get cold.” Finn announced, pulling his own hat down over his hair. He also made sure to grab a small backpack, just in case they purchased anything while out and that way it was all easier to carry.

“How far we walking, Harz?” Leo asked as he pulled his gloves out of his suitcase, tucking them into his pocket as he followed the other two out of their room to the elevator.

Finn hummed, glancing up from his phone, “Ah, less than three miles. But we’re going to make some touristy stops on the way to the final destination.”

Raising an eyebrow, Leo glanced over at Finn, “Final destination? Sounds sorta ominous, mon rouge.” He said as they made their way out. A wall of cold air hit them as soon as they walked out of the hotel.

Finn began leading the way to 7th Ave, tucking his phone back into his pocket. This was his city, he knew where he was going. 

Him and Logan had taken turns planning days during the trip, and today was his day. It was probably his favorite one that he planned. He even kept most of it a secret from Logan.

As they walked down the sidewalk, Leo’s head was constantly on a swivel as he took in the huge busy city. He had been to New York for games, but he never really got to look around or do any of the fun touristy stuff that everyone talks about.

“I know where we’re going.” Logan shouted as he looked around, recognizing the area from when Finn had shown him around. “We’re go-” 

A swift elbow to the ribs cut him off as Finn gave him a look, “Don’t tell him!” He interrupted, hooking his arm through Logan’s as they kept walking. 

Letting out a chuckle, Leo looked up ahead to see tons of lights and people. His eyebrows furrowed before his eyes lit up with recognition, “That’s Times Square, isn’t it?” He asked, bouncing excitedly on his toes as he picked up the pace a bit.

Finn grinned, dragging Logan along as they tried to keep up with the giant speedwalker, “You got it, baby. We’re gonna do a longer stop here later in the week to look around and shop and such but I figured you’ve gotta get your tourist in Times Square photo to start out with.”

As they finally got into the square, Leo couldn’t help himself as he stopped right in the middle, spinning a bit to try and get a look at everything. He’s seen it in movies and pictures, but those could never do it justice. “This is insane! There’s just so many people.” 

Finn took a couple pictures as Leo looked around, a grin spreading across his face, “Peanut, this way. I’ve got the perfect place to take a picture.” He insisted before he began leading the way.

“The top of these stairs is the perfect spot. You can get like all of downtown in the background.” Finn explained excitedly as he led Logan and Leo up to the top. The two boys shared a look as they followed him up, a warm smile on both of their faces as they listened to him talk. “So first we’ll do Leo by himself for his birthday, and then we’ll ask someone to take one of the three of us, okay?”

Leo smiled, making his way up carefully, “Sounds good, sweetheart. This a good spot? Can you get everything in?” He asked, as he leaned on the railing. Finn leaned back with Logan standing behind him to make sure he didn’t fall.

“That’s great, Nutter Butter. Now gimme a big smile!” Finn said, unable to hide the giant grin behind his phone as Leo smiled. He loved that smile. It took over Leo’s face, lighting up whatever area he was in. You couldn’t help but smile right back at him.

Him and Logan both quickly looked at the pictures, smiling as they scrolled through to make sure they came out okay, “Perfect, Sunshine.” Finn said with a soft smile as he looked up at his boyfriend.

As he showed Leo the pictures, Logan found a lady to take the pictures for them. She followed him up the steps with a grin, “Alright, who’s phone should I take it on?” She asked.

Finn quickly switched over to the camera app and handed it over, “Mine please. Thanks so much.” The three of them moved to the top again with Leo in the middle as she situated herself to get the best picture.

“Alright, boys, smile!” She said with a grin. Logan couldn’t have picked a better person, as she seemed to take a bunch for them, moving to get better angles and everything. When she handed the phone back to Finn, there were at least 20 photos taken.

Finn scrolled through them, setting his favorite one as his background before looking back at her, “These are perfect, thank you so much.” 

She shrugged with a smile, “It’s no problem at all. Hope you guys have a good rest of your day.” They watched as she headed back to her group.

“Can you send me all of those please?” Leo said, resting his chin on top of Finn’s head as he looked at the cute shots of them. Finn had already created an album on his phone just for pictures from this trip, so he added Logan and Leo in so they would have access.

Looking at his boyfriends, Finn smiled happily, “Y’know, we’re pretty fucking adorable.” He said, holding up his phone background.

Logan shook his head with a laugh before pressing a kiss to Finn’s cheek, “Well yeah, mon rouge. I could’ve told you that.” He said with a smile. It was still weird to be able to kiss or touch in public without worry. They had only come out a month or two ago, so there was still that brief moment of panic of ‘Oh no, did anyone see?’ before realizing that it didn’t matter if they could. It was nice. 

“Alright, let’s keep moving. If you see anywhere you want to stop today, we can. We’re actually a bit ahead of schedule.” Finn said as he glanced at his watch. They made their way down the stairs and continued heading down the street.

They hadn’t even made it two blocks down 7th Ave when Logan let out a gasp, his eyes wide as he clutched at Leo’s hand. The taller boy followed his gaze before letting out a laugh. On one side of the street was Hershey’s Chocolate World. The other had M&M’s World.

“Guessing you wanna make a stop, Lo?” Leo asked, squeezing his hand.

Logan looked over at Finn, puppy eyes in full effect, “Pleeeeease, baby. You know how much I love chocolate and it’s Hershey and M&Ms, I promise I won’t be too long! Please please please!” He begged, his hands coming up to squeeze Finn’s cheeks.

Letting out a laugh, Finn nodded, “Of course, Lo. But what if we just do one today? We’ll be coming back this week and that way you don’t have to rush through both of them?” 

“Yes! Hershey’s it is! Let’s go!” Logan cheered, quickly making his way to the shop. Leo and Finn quickly walked after him, following his red hat as he ran through the doors. When they got inside, he had stopped in the doorway, eyes practically the size of saucers. The store was covered in different types of Hershey’s chocolate, as well as things like caramel apples covered in Hershey’s chocolate. 

Finn chuckled softly as he watched Logan’s face, quickly snapping a couple of photos of the awe on his face. Fingers intertwined with his as Leo came up next to him, snapping a couple pictures of his own, “I’m gonna send a picture to Loops. He’s going to be so jealous.”

“Lo, you okay? I think this might be the quietest I’ve heard you.” Finn asked, nudging his other boyfriend with his hip.

Logan turned to him, eyes still wide, “I think this is heaven.” He whispered.

The two boys couldn’t hide the giant smiles that formed as they watched the shorter man start to wander the store. After the fourth bag of candy was handed to them, they finally relented and grabbed Logan a cart.

“Lo. Babe. Love of our lives. My backpack is only so big. Where do you think we’re going to put all this chocolate?” Finn asked as he leaned on the cart.

Logan shrugged, putting an XL KitKat bar into the cart, “It’s alright, Harz. The nice Hershey’s lady told me I could leave it here and pick it up later.” 

Throwing his hands in air, Finn let out a laugh, “Of course she did. Is she gonna let us use the cart to carry it to the hotel?” He shared a fond look with Leo over the cart. In all honesty, he would carry all of the chocolate in the world on his back if it kept that smile on Logan’s face.

After around 30 minutes in the store, Logan had fully filled their cart as well as got on first-name basis with the ‘Nice Hershey’s lady’ who’s actual name was Liz. Now he was finally finished. They left his treasure of treats in the capable hands of Liz before heading back out to the road.

“Alright, now we’re heading to the surprise. It’s about 30 minutes, but it’s a nice walk. We go past part of the park.” Finn said, fixing his hat over his hair again.

They started their trek, stopping every once and awhile to take pictures at various spots like Strawberry Fields and The Dakota. Then they finally arrived, Finn stopping abruptly in front of a cool looking building. He was practically bouncing in place.

“We’re here!” He said, gesturing to the building.

Leo looked up, reading the name across the side of the building, “Rose Center for Earth and Space.” His eyes widened as he turned to look at Finn.

“C’mon then, it’s almost time for our turn.” Finn said with a smile, opening the door for them. 

As they walked in, smaller versions of the planets were above their heads. Finn walked up the front desk, talking quietly with the man at the desk who smiled. He looked back at Leo and Logan, “You guys ready?”

Leo was clutching Logan’s hand as he looked around before nodding, “I mean it’s hard to be ready when I have no clue what’s about to happen, but let’s go.”

The man behind the front desk led them to a dark room that had a theater set-up, “Welcome to the Hayden Planetarium. You guys can sit wherever you’d like.”

“Where’s everyone else?” Leo asked as they sat near the middle, staring up at the huge screen.

Smiling, the man shook his head, “This is everyone. You have it to yourselves. Enjoy.” He said before walking out.

“Mon dieu..” Logan said, eyes wide as he looked around. 

Finn fiddled with his shirt as he watched their faces, “They were advertising their newest show on the hotel website.. This one is called Journey to the Stars.” He shrugged before looking up at Leo. “Told you I’d bring you the stars, Le.”

Reaching forward, Leo quickly pulled Finn in for a kiss, “Sweetheart..” He murmured, resting his head on the other boy’s forehead.

They pulled apart as the show began to start, sitting back in their chairs. Logan smiled softly, reaching across the back of Leo’s chair to grab Finn’s shoulder, “I don’t think anyone can say you’re bad at gift-giving anymore, Harz.” He whispered. 

Leo sniffled softly as he watched the solar system spread around him, the planets and the stars right there in front of him. Finn really got him the stars. His boys took him to New York just for his birthday. The amount of love he felt for them was overwhelming while also never being enough. He would spend the next 20 years and all of the years after that giving his love to these boys. 

Watching as the entire universe flew in front of their very eyes, Leo smiled. 

Because he already had his entire world. Right next to him.

[infinitegalahad]

DON'T LET THE SUN GO DOWN ON ME

Summary: The one time Joe Toye saved you and the one time you saved Joe Toye.

Word-Count: 3.1k

WARNINGS: PLEASE READ! attempted suicide, descriptions of assault, blood/bruising, angst with a happy ending

A/N: Inspired by this post! When I was reading this and listening to Elton John, it hit me like a bus. It's not one of my best works, but I hope you enjoy! :)

Tag-list: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @capsparkyspeirs

Masterlist | Send In A Prompt!

Toye was one of the toughest sunva’ bitches (Guarnere’s words) that you had ever met. Tall, dark, and brooding, easy company respected and feared him. He had a gloomy expression and zero-tolerance from bullshit from anyone and anything. The number of fights you had seen him get into, the way he’d hold the collar of a soldier’s shirt, or simply the look of disappointment would make anyone shit their pants. You were a visual learner and always associated the men of easy company with the weather. Joe Toye to you was like a gloomy storm cloud, thunder booming behind it.

Unlike Joe Toye, a gloomy storm cloud, you were a ray of sunshine. The war was a tough time for all the man and your mere presence would shine brighter than a thousand stars. A natural smile always donned your face, and the men simply loved it. Your sweet voice was like a lullaby to them. Whenever they needed someone to be vulnerable with, you always had their backs as a close friend. You had always been someone who had tried to find the positive in life, despite it being hard. Your smiles and bright attitude had earned you the nickname of “sunshine” or for short, “sunny”. You wore the name with pride and whenever one of the men of easy company would call you it, a smile would grow as you’d shake your head. The men of easy company adored the ray of light you brought to the company.

Despite the differences, even if you were scared shitless of Joe Toye, he made one thing clear around the company; that nobody would hurt you.

Joe wasn’t one for nicknames or social interaction. You had talked to him a few times, but it was brief. His brooding appearance was intimidating and yet strangely so prepossessing to you. You knew that opposites attracted. Whether it be his dark features or the way he’d growl in his low voice, it would always make your cheeks warm.

He wouldn’t have to speak. If someone had been bothering you or making lewd remarks, he simply hovered over you. You’d see the man who’d be bothering you, looking like he had just pooped his pants, scram away. You turned to thank Toye, but he’d be gone in a flash. It made you feel guilty. You wanted to thank him-but he always slipped out of your fingers.

You confronted about the Toye's attribute. Guarnere would look at you and give you a little goose laugh, stating the same phrase.

“Means he’s gotta a lil’ crush on yah, sunny. Ain’t want nobody to hurt this girl.”

“But that’s what I’m confused about!” You would exclaim in frustration, “Why doesn’t he let me say thank you? Why does he only nod his head when I say hi? Why does he look at me and smile, but then he looks away? Why does he-“

“Jeez laweez girl!” Guarnere would interpret your little rant and pat your shoulder, “I got sisters, I know what I’m doin”. Just let it play out.”

Letting out a groan of frustration, you’d bury your hands in your face and let out a loud groan. It was simply hopeless. You were in the middle of a war, and Toye and you knew that love had no place in war. You were probably an annoying babbling idiot in Toye’s view.

But little did you know-Toye thought differently of you. There was something about you that would turn his face and show his dimples whenever you’d cheer up a soldier or help out a friend. Toye didn’t understand how you could be so damn cheery all the time, but something about you made him do something he had trouble doing-smiling.

———

The first time Joe Toye saved you was in Aldbourne.

You had been having trouble sleeping most nights. One night, you couldn’t stand twisting and turning in bed, so you opted for a late night walk. Aldbourne was a quaint town, and you knew that there were no threats surrounding you. If one of the men of Easy had found out, they’d be horrified, but you knew that you were capable of taking care of yourself.

There was not a single noise in the small town. It was an odd hour in the early morning with the fog covering Aldbourne with the sky still being pitch black. Wrapping your large jacket around your body, you looked down as you wandered down the road.

Joe had been acting strange lately. He was more distant from the crowds, simply avoiding all conversations, all but you. It wasn’t that he followed you around, but he looked after you. He spent his time around you. It was the first time you didn’t seem him as irritated or annoyed, at least when he was around you. Whenever Luz would look at or simply tease him, his face would scrunch your and he’d stand up to go give the company’s comedian a piece of his mind. You’d sigh and gently grab his arm, holding him back.

Normally, Joe would ignore you and move on. Nobody’s opinion mattered to him.

But with you-he felt like his whole world shifted. Your soft face and gentle touch would enchant him.

A grumble would escape Joe’s lips as he turned around to sit down. He’d mumbled something in your ear, in which didn’t mean much at the moment to you,

“What would the company do without you, y/n?”

Nobody ever called you by your real name except for two people; Eugene Roe and Joe Toye.

In the corner of your eye, you’d see a faint smile. It wouldn’t be caught by anyone by you.

You were prideful in yourself. You, making Joe Toye smile. Nobody would believe you. Maybe you had been the only one who caught onto it-but you were the sunshine of easy company. Joe Toye was a cloud who was almost dark and gloomy, and you were the sun that would outshine him.

Sure, it was childish, but it still made your cheeks warm up and a smile grow on your face. You were in the middle of a war, and making someone smile or happy was your job.

As you walked through the night, the muffled voices of sobs and curses could be heard. Buried in the collar of your jacket, you raised your head. The pained noises were coming from further down the road. You picked up your pace and hurried down the road to see one of the men in another company. He wasn’t someone you knew well, but you were familiar with it. His voice and mannerisms identified him as Lowery.

Lowery sat slunched under a lamppost, sobbing with a few broken bottles surrounding him. His cries of pain and curses only made your head break.

“Lowery…?” You whispered, loud enough for him to hear you.

Lowery still had his face in his hands but stopped his loud sobs. “Y/n...that’s you?” He said in a slurred tone, completely intoxicated.

“Yes, it’s me.” You said as you walked over and bent down to put a hand on his shoulder, “Do you know where you are?”

Lowery didn’t respond and simply looked down into his hands. You knew he would need some assistance getting back to his barracks and some water to ease him.

“Come on,” You gently stated as you grabbed his shoulders, “Let’s get you back”.

Out of nowhere, Lowery sprinted up and grabbed you, spinning you and pinning you to the lamppost. His hands attempted to grab your neck and you fought them off, screaming for help. One of his hands held your hands together as he dug through his holster to pull out his jump knife.

“You fucking tramp, shut your damn mouth.” He hissed, spit forming through your mouth. With a firm grasp on the knife, his feet stomped onto the soles on your boots as he began to slowly drag the knife towards your stomach. “Always smiling and acting all prissy and shit. If you this doesn’t shut you up, then I don’t know what wi-“

Suddenly, Lowery’s cheek was met with a pair of brass knuckles. He groaned in pain, holding his bloody cheek. Seeing your opportunity to escape, you wobbled away and fell down in shock. Covered by the darkness, you managed to make out two figures. Lowery, on the ground, and another tall figure making his way towards Lowery.

The rough voice made it clear that it was none other than Joe Toye.

Toye grabbed Lowery and dragged him to the lamppost, pinning him with a single hand choking this throat. Lowery’s skin has gone pale, covered in blood as he struggled to breathe.

“Damn you, Lowery. You ever threaten y/n again and I’ll kill you. Got it? I’ll kill you,” Joe had spat out at Lowery. Lowkey didn’t respond and he punched him again, except on the next cheek, making sure to leave him brushed and bloodied.

“I’ll kill you!” He hissed, and Lowery began to nod. The second time Joe spoke made you jump out of your little shock. Pushing yourself up from the mud, you began to run down the road away from Toye and Lowery. Toye had seemingly appeared out of thin air.

As you ran, it took you a second to stick it together. In the barracks, there was another empty bed and it had to have been Toye’s. You had told him about your late night walks and he wasn’t over the moon about them, scolding you as a father does to a child. Toye was worried about you, being a woman, getting attacked or lost or anything bad happening to you. You would smile and sway your shoulder, saying that you were fine.

Next time, you were going to listen to Joe Toye’s advice since he had saved your life.

———

The second time, you had saved Joe Toye’s life also in Aldbourne.

You had all been sitting in a pub. It was a typical Friday night; the men were drinking, laughing, and chatting about whatever was new. You sat at the edge of the bar, swirling your beer in your hand. The incident that had happened a few nights ago was still fresh in your mind. There were visible bruise marks on the side of your neck and hands. They burned and hurt, but there was nothing you could do. The memories were still fresh in your mind, and it made you go quiet. You had told the members of Easy about the occurrence, but left out the part of Toye.

He must have followed you to witness the attack. It creeped out you, but then again, you shouldn't had told him of your midnight walks. In a way, it was a brave and kind action of Toye. If hadn’t been there, Lowery could have hurt you or even worse-killed you. But you felt guilty for running off like a coward, not thanking him for saving your life.

You saw Toye around, but he always avoided you and the men. He was usually standoffish, but it had become more noticeable. He would prefer to be on his own, not bothered by anyone, even you or Luz. Luz attempted to converse with Toye, but Toye looked at him, grumbled, and walked away. Luz looked defeated and you would sit by his side to comfort him.

“It’s just Toye,” You would say, even though you were uncertain, “Sure he’s in a funk.”

You had seen Toye head out to take a leak, but he hadn’t returned in an hour. Slugging by the end of the bar, you looked at the ticking clock as the hands would slowly move by. He had been gone for a strange amount of time, and it was beginning to worry you. Aldbourne was a safe town, but what if? It had happened to you, it could happen to anyone, even someone was frighting as Joe Toye.

Since the men were either too distracted or drunk, you put your foot down and chose to go after Toye. Going up the stairs, you went to each floor and looked for him, but found nothing. Your worry began to increase as you began to pick up your pace and check every room for a sing-yet you found none. On the highest floor, you noticed that a door had been opened. It had to have been Toye-nobody else would go up this bar. Walking up the small staircase, you were greeted upon the night sky and the roof of an atrium. The roof was made of glass, held up chicken wire. Joe stood in at the edge, looking down. He hadn’t even noticed your presence as he took slow steps towards the edge.

Realizing, your heart dropped as you took slow steps, “Joe!” You called, panic in your voice. There was no response from him.

You chose to become louder, “Toye, it’s y/n. Look at me.”

Still, nothing but silence. You could see his head tilt down to look at the three stories below him. Tears began to form in your eyes. No, he couldn’t.

“Toye!” You yelled as the wind threw a big gust. “I know you can hear. Look at me. Please.”

Just as his foot was about to hang off of the edge, he froze in place. The voice was familiar. Hearing a voice he associated with happiness become distorted made his brain freeze. He became paralyzed. Letting out a shuttered sigh, he redacted his foot and turned to look at you.

Like you, Toye looked different. He didn’t look like he wanted to hurt anybody or intimating; but like a scared child. His dark eyes were red and puffy. Everything that you needed to know was right in front of you. Holding your hand out, your fingers bent, signaling Toye to come forward.

You murmured under your lips, “Let’s go.”

Toye turned around and walked over the atrium. Joe looked like hell as he  grabbed your hand, grasping onto as his life depended on it. You carefully lead him down the stairs. Reaching the end of the stairs, he did something you would have never imagined him ever doing. It was  human emotion that most men felt, but you never thought Joe Toye would do it.

Joe fell onto his knees, crying. Big tears falling down his face. His burly, worked hands glided up against the side of your legs. It took you back. You couldn't believe he was in tears. Just a minute ago he was standing on the edge of an atrium to a three-story drop and there he was, crying as he held onto your legs for comfort.

So you did what you did best for the men of easy company. Bending down, you wrapped your arms around his back as you gently ran them down his back.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” You whispered into his shoulder, “Let it all out. I was worried about you.” When you got Joe to look at you, you cupped a hand on his cheek. “Why did you go up there?”

Joe shook his head, unable to use words. You patted his cheeks in reassurance, “Well, we were all worried. I was worried about you. What would I have done without you?”

Inhaling, he tilted his head down as he pulled you close. His head rested in your stomach as he began to speak. “I don’t know what I would’ve done with you. I don’t know what got into me...It just seemed like an escape. But you came and put me back in the right place. Saved me from myself.”

“Consider it a favor returned,” You mentioned. Toye looked up at you, he knew about the night just like you did.

“By the way, thank you.” You thanked him as your hands rested on his shoulders, “I ran away only because I was scared…”

Joe’s face softened at your worry. You shook your head and clarified, “Not of you, I just...yeah. I was a little shaken up.”

Seeing your hesitance, Joe’s fingers touched your chin to lift it. His fingers ran over the developing bruise marks. His hand rested on your waist as he pulled you closer.

“They’re not as bad as you think.”

“Bullshit.” Toye hissed. You took his hands as he held them, “If I see that fucker again, he’ll be a dead man. Someone’s gonna fuckin’ die.”

Seeing the tension rise, you patted his shoulders as he looked up at you with a disappointed face. “Joe, I understand. But, I don’t want you to get hurt as well. Don’t it for me...Please?”

Looking up and down, Joe buried his head once again in your stomach and grumbled grumpily, “You’re too good for me, you know that?”

As his head rested, you brought your hands to stroke his dark hair. You hummed in response, “How so?”

“You’re so damn smiley all the time. Thought it was because you were a woman, but that ain’t it. You’re just a good person-and that’s hard to find now,” Joe hinted at. It was a confession of love, in his own way. You knew what he was trying to say. You smiled down at him and stroked his cheek, in which he laid into. “I don’t know, I just like being’ ‘round you. You make me a better person.”

“That’s the point of my nickname, Toye.” You stated, “You know I’m here for you. You know that I love you, right?”

Toye nodded his head as he stood up and held your hands, “Yeah, I do. From the first day I saw you.”

The two of you began to talk down the staircase, hand in hand. You tilted your head, a smile on your face.

“You're joking! I thought you hated me. Always thought you did.”

Toye shrugged his shoulders, “It’s hard to hate somebody as kind as you, doll. Just promise me one thing.”

You looked over at him and nodded. The two of you stopped at the door before entering back into the busy bar.

“Yes, Joe.”

“Don’t let the sun go down on me.”

Little did you know, those words would stick with you and Toye for the rest of the war. From Toccoa to Aldbounre to Brecourt to Bastogne-that was your phrase. You were the sun to Toye’s cloud. You brought the light instead of him, and he became a better person from your sheer positivity. Through hell and back, no matter what, you had kept your promise to Toye-Till death do you part.

[sweetsubharry]

do you have any friends to lovers au full of fluffy?

Yes I do!! It is a favourite of mine so be warned there’s 36 fics in this rec!! Isn’t friends to lovers fluff just the best??  💖

Please stay safe and read the tags!!

It's A Start by Magiic_Shop

“This is dangerous, love,” Louis smirked, his lips pressed against Harry’s shoulder blade.

“Why’s that?” Harry asked.

“Because,” Louis’ smirk grew into a smile, “I might never want to let you go.”

Harry shifted against Louis, reaching up to cover Louis’ hand on his stomach with his own, “Then don’t.”

--

Or, the one where Harry can't sleep at night, and because of that, neither can Louis. Louis thinks it could be the start of something.

everything i can arrange, every part of me you change by orphan_account

“Don’t you try that shit with me,” Niall spits the second he reaches Louis, pulling off the hood with force. “What the hell is this?” He plops down next to Louis on the empty bleacher and unceremoniously pushes a sheet of crumpled paper in his face.

Netflix and Chill Buddy Application

It’s like no matter how hard Louis tries, he can’t seem to run away from this stupid fucking flyer. All the girls (and some of the boys) in every one of his classes have been talking about it all week. It’s on every wall of every building on campus. Louis went for a jog last night and he nearly tripped and died over a loose one on the football track.

[Harry needs a big spoon and Louis refuses to let anyone steal his position. Based on this post.]

One Plus One Is Also One (Sometimes) by justgotowisharder

“Dear Mrs. Sissy,” Anne read out loud and Harry only wanted the ground to swallow him up, “you asked me to write about my hero but I don’t have a hero, I have a superhero. Superheroes are better and have superpowers. My superhero is Louis Tomlinson.”

(Or the one where Louis Tomlinson isn’t really a superhero, but he’ll always do everything on his power to protect his baby Harry)

Love You But I Gotta Let Go by FallingLikeThis

Harry’s father is never going to be satisfied with anything that he does. But maybe that’s okay when his best friend is there, always cheering him on anyway.

Prompt 947: The despair of ever living up to his standards.

Pour Your Heart Out by hrrytomlinson

Louis is his soulmate. Or at least Harry thinks he is. Louis feels the same as Louis. But there are a lot of people named Louis in the world and this Louis might not be the Louis. It’s besides the point though, because Harry knows he can’t allow himself to get close to any boys. He just can’t and he’s told himself this multiple times. He has to simply stay away from Louis Tomlinson. But he can’t. Harry Styles can never stay away from Louis Tomlinson. It’s physically impossible for him to. 

Take This Sinking Boat and Point It Home by goodgirlfaith (boomersoonerash)

Five times Louis Proposes to Harry and the one time he doesn't.

Just Ask Me To by TellMeThisIsNotLove

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers.

“Of course I’m telling the truth!” Harry doesn’t even care that he sounds exasperated.

“Oh my god.” Louis grabs the wall behind him as if looking for support. His body slides down against it until he’s sitting crouched on the floor.

He mumbles something but Harry can’t really figure out what it is. He crouches down, and looks desperately at the breaking boy in front of him.

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers. “You were not supposed to–”

“I was not supposed to do what? Tell me please,” Harry urges, taking Louis’ hands gently in his.

Or the X Factor era canon fic where they learn how to be a couple and that not everyone is going to be on their sides especially those with plain white t-shirts and saccharine smiles.

Burning Skies by emeraldharry 

They both watched as ice and fire danced across their palms, hypnotized by the small things they could do with their powers. Snowflakes swirled around each other as the mist twisted about like a small tornado, while the fire in Louis' hands swayed and twirled gracefully—bright and warm and beautiful.Before, Harry couldn't even think of touching him with the fear of turning his skin to ice. Now, he knew that Louis wasn't some ordinary human to shy away from. Louis was bright, fiery flames, a body of powerful waves of heat. Louis was everything he was not, his polar opposite, but it was all the more reason that they fit together just right.or[Mutant au: Harry likes to think he's normal. Except, normal boys don't freeze everything they touch. Louis thinks he's perfect just the way he is and shows him just that. Zayn is a telekinetic, Liam is a rising YouTube star, and Niall is the best human best friend there is.]

I see the love light in your eyes by larrycaring

For as long as Harry can remember, Louis has always been his best friend.

There are a few constant things in Harry’s life: his family, this town he’s grown up in, and Louis.

He had his other friends, of course, but Louis had always been and still was the person that Harry was closest to. Maybe it was due to the fact that they live next to each other, and that, since the first night they’d talked, when he and Louis shared a conversation on their conjoining roofs, they instantly hit off, and a friendship developed. Or maybe it was that Louis was always so cheeky, almost the opposite of Harry, but it complimented Harry’s slow and thoughtful way of life perfectly. Either way, it just kind of happened.

or an AU where Louis and Harry are very much in love. Featuring football & late night rendezvous.

you fit me better than my favourite sweater by brightbluelou

Harry didn't mean to fall in love with his best friend, and he definitely didn't mean to get pregnant. Despite that, it’s probably still the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And after that, well. It just kept getting better.

or; the one where Harry and Louis are friends-with-benefits and Harry unexpectedly gets pregnant. Harry never wants to stop getting pregnant after that, but Louis thinks seven kids is probably enough.

put your head on my shoulder by wayfared

Niall gives Harry until the end of marching season to either a) make a move on Louis Tomlinson or b) get the fuck over him. Either is easier said than done. Basically, your High School AU with a drum beat.

My Only Sunshine by DontLetHimGo

Harry and Louis have known each other since the start of everything.

When Harry is only a few weeks old, and Louis is two, the older boy is immediately intrigued by the little person in the carry cot. Jay knows that it will be difficult to keep her son away from her best friend's little boy.

baby, hold on to my heart by icaarusfalls

Here was the dilemma: Louis and Harry were out with their mates window shopping because there was nothing else to do and Louis brought an antique ring, hoping to pawn it off to get some quick cash. It was a small, old thing, all rusted and gold, but it had its charm. The owner didn't take it because of the minuscule crack down the middle of the jewel, so Louis just shrugged and handed it to Harry without a thought.

—•—

Louis gives Harry a ring as a joke, but Harry starts wearing the ring everywhere he goes.

So Put Your Hands In (The Holes of My Sweater) by Kat_rawr

“Are you gonna kiss me then?” He asks so quiet he isn’t even sure Louis heard him.

“I think it’s bad luck if I don’t.“ Louis’ breath is hot on Harry’s skin in the cold air. They stand in the dark; Louis’ face only lit up by the yellow-ish light from the street light a few metres away. The light over the door of their building hasn’t worked in years.

“Okay,” Harry says, and of course his cheeks heat up. There are definitely butterflies in stomach and his mouth is definitely dry.

or,

Harry and Louis go on a lot of not-dates.

It's the Sun In Your Eyes by Bearandleonardwrite

Harry's not the best with relationships. Then he finds Louis.

(Basically; Harry's insecure and hurt, but Louis loves him anyways and knows how to help.)

Sun-Dappled by QuickedWeen

Louis and his best friend Harry are in their seventh year at Hogwarts, facing down their future together. Louis has been in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember, and he begins to feel a sense of urgency as the second semester begins. Finally he hatches a plan to tell Harry about his feelings on Harry's birthday.

Stop Making Tired Excuses by midnightskies

Louis hates many things; cold tea, countdown, tuesdays, and university, but most of all he absolutely, categorically despises Eric Davidson, current boyfriend of Harry Styles. 

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

every december (your star lights the sky) by larrystomlinsons

Louis needs a date for the Christmas dance and Harry is the wingman that has feelings for him.

Counting The Steps Between Us by zarah5

AU. So, yeah. That year abroad helped Harry establish that he is in love with his best friend. Now, if Louis would stop treating him like a little brother, that would be awesome. (Additional ingredients: a collapsing tree house, a lot of pining, the other three boys as Louis' new best mates from university, and a camping trip. Serve hot.)

waiting on the sun by midnights

A third year counselor at Camp Weehawken, Louis just wants to get through the summer without accidentally professing his love to Harry during movie night.

ft. night swimming, lots of cuddles, and even more fluff.

Right From the Start (You Know I Got You) by FallingLikeThis

Louis grows up protecting Harry. Harry loves him for it.

Let Me Give You My Life by midnightskies

Gemma has one rule for Louis while he stays with her family at Christmas; not to hook up with her little brother, so of course that's the one thing Louis does.

deep in my heart i know there's only you by ballsdeepinjesus

"Will you do it?” Harry whispers. Louis has to lean closer just to hear him. He furrows his brows and shakes his head, not knowing what Harry means. “Would you donate for me?”

Louis is dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, I thought you just asked if I’d donate my sperm. Can you repeat yourself?”

[harry and louis are best friends who engage in some platonic baby-making. very platonic.]

You Are The View by larryftnoctrl

Louis is running out on time for his photography assignment and Harry looks lovely in red. It only made sense.

the most beautiful thing by sunflowergolden

“Well, I came prepared of course. I actually have a full on suit with me.”He had to be joking. “Lou, you have to be joking. There’s no way you took a full on suit with you all the way from the States.”“I was raised right, H. You never know when you’re going to need it, so you take it with you. In case a cute boy asks you out.”or, the one where louis and harry have been friends for a while, but they live 5.404 miles away from each other, and louis goes to stay with harry for a week

Take Me As I Am by lovelarry10

“Suppressant? But… why would I need a suppressant? Alphas don’t take suppressants.”

“You’re right, they don’t.”

****

Secrets. Lies. Deception. Betrayal. Self-discovery.

Alpha. Omega. How far will they go to hide the truth?

don't call me baby by 28sunflowers

A short and cliché roommates AU inspired by To Be So Lonely, where they’re both oblivious to each other’s feelings and Harry gets sad and jealous over nothing. It works out in the end.

Spin Me Like A Record by zarah5

Uni AU. Sometimes, Louis poses as Harry’s boyfriend. It doesn’t mean anything. Really.

Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic by larrycaring

Call him hopelessly romantic, but Harry was convinced Louis was the one for him. He had never really believed in love at first sight until his special person had come along and stolen his heart. And really, as soon as he had first met Louis on the train, Harry had felt something. Their love, at first sight, had started when they had met, and it had never ended since they had found each other. Harry hadn’t known it back then, of course, but even during his first encounter with Louis, he had felt that fluttering feeling from deep down inside, when Louis had first smiled at him. It had been like gravity had moved, and nothing had mattered more than him.

or even in a magical world, Louis and Harry's love is the most magical and beautiful thing in the world, Zayn is the smart Ravenclaw who falls for his best friend, Liam's true feelings are revealed and Niall is Niall.

or my first Larry Hogwarts AU that I just had to write.

Close your eyes (and let the word paint a thousand pictures) by larrycaring

They were attached at the hip as soon as they met on the Hogwarts Express. They became good friends within the first week of school, and from that day on, Harry just kind of snuck his way right into Louis’ heart. It’s just his charming side, his genuine and caring personality, his stupid puns (and now pick-up lines) that make Louis laugh his ass off, and his bravery and determination. His endless support and loyalty, his friendship… Everything about him, Louis loves. Merlin’s beard, he’s truly gone for him. And he doesn’t know how to tell Harry.

or another Hogwarts AU where Harry thinks it’s a good idea to use cheesy pick-up lines to reveal his feelings to Louis.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

A Real Work of Art by lululawrence

“I don’t understand,” Liam said for probably the fiftieth time in ten minutes. “You have to explain again how this is a bad thing.”

“Leeeeyummm,” Harry whined into the phone as he leaned his head onto his desk. “I felt like this year was my year for getting his attention, you know? That senior year I would finally get Logan Thompson to realize I exist! But he’s in almost every single one of my classes, Li. How am I supposed to survive that?”

“Easily,” Liam answered, with the same matter of fact tone his voice always took when Harry was in one of his fits. “He doesn’t know you exist, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Right?”

Or the one where Harry calls on an old friend, the super popular Louis Tomlinson, to help him change his look to capture the heart of Logan. Things only mostly go as planned.

wanna taste your heart, don't interfere by orphan_account

Harry still remembers how unsure he felt when he first told Louis, how self-conscious he was. Louis had been nothing but understanding and kind, though, reassuring him that nothing’s going to change between them, that they’re still best friends regardless of sex. Harry had been mostly relieved at that, because he really doesn’t want to lose Louis as a friend over this, but another part of him had been a bit sad because… well, because nothing changed between them. Or rather, there is change, but it’s completely one-sided as far as Harry can tell.

This change being him not getting enough of the way Louis smells. He just can’t help it, is the thing, unable to stop himself from trying to subtly press his nose against the fabric of Louis’ shirt by his shoulders. He still smells like faint cologne and sweat, which is enough to make Harry start feeling slightly dizzy.

(harry presents as an omega, louis is his alpha best friend, and there are hidden feelings that just get harder to control.)

Picture Perfect by LittleBubbleStyles

an AU where Louis Tomlinson is a misunderstood football player, and Harry Styles is a misunderstood photographer. Somehow, they're understood together.

this is a wip but it is updated regularly, almost finished, and I highly recommend it!!

[thestorytellersapprentice]

Why Do-yeok

I cannot believe I'm writing another one of this "Why" post. I thought it's a one-time thing with Love Alarm... But, here I am. Maybe because just like the previously mentioned Netflix series, Nevertheless causes huge discourse among its viewers. Team Potato and Team Butterfly. Jae-eon and Do-hyeok. Sanctuary or the gravitational pull.

And first off, an important note: my intention by writing this is not to seek any debate with anyone. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions, so here's mine. Feel free to read it or definitely not to read it if you're firmly on Jae-eon's corner and you can't imagine Na-bi with anyone else but him. I just want to sort out my thoughts simultaneously through writing this. And this is gonna be a bit long, I suppose.

So, as the title already declares, I'm Team Potato all the way. And, yep, this means I'm thoroughly on Do-hyeok's side and I want him to be happy because he deserves it. (Still need to see what's in store in the final episode, but I'm perfectly okay with an open ending: Na-bi ends up not choosing anyone but herself, as long as her friendship with Do-hyeok remains intact.)

And this comes down simply because of who Yang Do-hyeok is as a person.

If Do-hyeok is real, then you can bet that I'll date him myself too. At the very least, I'd definitely like to be friends with him.

Why?

Because....

One. His whole vibe is just so....warm and comfortable. We often see Do-hyeok's cheerful sides. He smiles a lot (and boy, Chae Jong-hyeop's smiles are just so endearing, but we're talking about the character here. Ahem.) He's attentive, thoughtful, and open. And he's not only like this with Na-bi. He, by nature, is a very friendly person, as you can see from his interaction with Do-yeon, his cousin, also with Na-bi's friends and the hyeongs in the noodle restaurant that he works at.

And I like it a lot that even just after Do-hyeok confesses to Na-bi and she turns him down, the very next day, they're able to speak with each other normally and just talk about his videos and how she'll watch them and give him feedback. That night, Na-bi also answers his call with a smile on her face. They joke around and not even stopping after Do-hyeok throws her some arguably-cringey-lines (if uttered by other guys and not handled properly). Clearly, Na-bi's very on ease and comfortable with and around him despite everything that has happened.

She even says this on her own: "And most of all, I feel comfortable when I'm with him."

Two. With Do-hyeok, the communication is sterling. Honesty and communication is also very important in a healthy relationship. Your partner isn't a mind reader, so you gotta tell her/him what you feel and think about, especially when you're having a hard time, so you both can work on it together. And our potato guy is the perfect example of openness and honesty.

Even when he's having a hard time, he doesn't lash out (unlike a certain someone), but he communicates it clearly to Na-bi: "I saw you and Park Jae-eon going into your house together. I know I said that I could wait for you as long as it takes. But I felt so jealous."

Do-hyeok also casually throwing lines like: "It's nice to hear your voice. The whole neighborhood seems empty without you." which can be really cringey, but hearing these with Chae Jong-hyeop's delivery = it's just Do-hyeok openly sharing his thoughts. And, again, he's not just like this with Na-bi. That's just the way he is. He openly states his concerns and thoughts to people close to him.

After her first disaster relationship and Jae-eon (who's a master deflector on all personal questions and is truly opaque), IMO someone like Do-hyeok is what Na-bi needs. With Do-hyeok, she never has to guess where she stands. And Na-bi responds to his openness accordingly. She shares her worries and not-so-good moments ("I was spacing out because the critique went badly. I got scolded. This semester is really the worst. I didn't get accepted to the exchange program as well.") And of course, Do-hyeok responds by reassuring and encouraging her.

Three. They begin as friends. Childhood friends, even. And while some may point out that she friend-zones him, I beg to differ. The expression on Na-bi's face when she first sees Do-yeon and hasn't recognizes her is not the expression of someone who sees her just-platonic-friend conversing with a girl. You can practically see the gears in her head turning and she suddenly looks unsure: "Who is that girl talking to Do-hyeok?"

But anyway, iIluminatedquill has written here and here what I want to say and more, so I won't add any more here, other than this: it's my own personal preference as well. I'm just more drawn to romantic relationships which also evolve from friendship. I feel that lust will only get you so far, and the companionship aspect is what makes it long-lasting. (Even in my personal life, my boyfriend is not only my boyfie, he's my friend and partner in crime also.)

Four. Do-hyeok has good and normal relationships with his family. He obviously has good relationship with his Grandpa (judging from the way he's reviving his Grandpa's noodle place until his Grandpa feels better) and is close with his cousin, Do-yeon. While this is based on what's been shown and even though we never see or hear about his parents, I think it's safe to say that Do-hyeok most probably grows up in a loving family and he carries their values with him as he approaches his relationships with people as an adult.

Again, this is mostly personal preference, but as someone who highly value family, for me this is another point for Do-hyeok. I'm not saying that someone with dysfunctional family cannot form loving relationships, but it's what one aspires for.

Do-hyeok cares for people. He takes care of them (e.g. voicing concerns over Do-yeon's plastered hand, preparing umbrella and coffee for Na-bi, etc etc). And, sadly, Jae-eon's distant family background just makes him even more detached and non-committal towards people.

As for Na-bi, she wants to learn from her mother and not following in her footsteps. "I promise myself I would never date while watching my mom." It's heavily implied (and is practically confirmed by her aunt) that her mother dates around as well, and from the one scene we're shown during her birthday weekend, she always feels like her mother neglects her and she's upset about it. So, yeah, Na-bi wants to live differently, and it's clear who's a natural at it already.

Five. I can see them growing together. Yeah, Na-bi's mostly the one who needs to sort out her life, but she also can be a good influence to Do-hyeok. She gives him feedback on his videos (as an example) and he builds upon that.

From Na-bi herself: "I don't want to ever disappoint Do-hyeok." She sees him as such a good guy and always receives things from him. I interpret her line here as her desire to improve herself, to be better. And that's how a good relationship should be, right? It brings out the best out of each other.

That's it from me for now.

I guess some of the points up there can be different priorities for different people, and that's okay. As I've said at the beginning of this post, this is all mine, so feel free to disagree.

To me, Jae-eon is like this very strong gravitational pull: he's sexy, mysterious and very alluring, yet he displays oh-so-many red flags. It's all such a rollercoaster ride with him: very fun and thrilling, yet can also cause you extreme dread.

While Do-hyeok is like a sanctuary. He represents safety, stability and ease. With him, it's like strolling on a park somewhere under the sunshine: things feel warm, pleasant, and cozy.

Na-bi probably still feels the gravitational force of Jae-eon. It's hard to shake off completely on such a short span of time, but I hope she remembers that just like her namesake, she always have her own strength to fly and defy gravity.

[ramp-it-up]

Fresh Squeeze, Chapter 7

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x OFC Linden Marshall

Set in 2023, post-pandemic

Warnings: Lots of pics, Cursing, Angsty Angst, Mention of Death, Lots of Plot, Anthony Ramos, Afro Samurai, Clothes altering, SMUT: Fingering, Thumb sucking, Fluff. 18+.

Word Count: 6.6 K 

Plot: Linden Marshall just finished law school at Columbia University in NYC. Daveed Diggs is still creating magic with his platonic life partner Rafael Casal and nursing his broken heart post pandemic. 

Linden’s boyfriend WAS Mark Monaco, movie star.  They were together for years, and her trauma and his addictions were chaotic. She knows now that wasn’t love. 

Read the Previous Chapter.

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Thursday night/Friday, May 6-7, 2023

After Daveed heard what you said, he stood stock still, trying to decide whether or not to go back into your room.  He clenched his fists and concentrated intensely to not break the fucking door down. All he needed was for you to call his name…

You stood in the middle of your room, naked except for the towel.  You closed your eyes and prayed for strength to not go running after him. You had to stay in control.  

But if you saw him turn your door handle, you would fuck him right there on the floor of your room.

After a few minutes, you both turned around and went about your business, Daveed to his room and you to the shower. You thought of Daveed in the shower and fell into bed still thinking of him. 

What did you want for your birthday, if not Daveed?

Daveed, alone in his bed, thought of all the feelings involved.  He knew you were fragile, but it seemed you were relaxing a bit, deciding to trust him if just a little.

He resolved to give a little bit of chase. You just needed to feel safe and accepted. 

You dreamt of each other so deeply that all that was left when you woke up was a wisp of a memory.

------

Daveed did not sleep long.  Even though it was after 4 o’clock when he went to sleep, he was up by 10, hard on raging under the sheets.  

He’d be damned if he jerked off, but he remembered your voice through the door of the room last night, and he had to strip the sheets away, as he was making a mess at the thought of you.  

He decided to go for a run on the beach. He pulled on some basketball shorts and decided to go shirtless, as the temperature outside was already 80 degrees.

Daveed ran with his music blasting in his ears.  He played out song lyrics and lined up preparation for upcoming roles.  Before he knew it, he was three miles down the beach from the house.

He turned around as the tropical heat and the sun was getting to be a bit much. He went back in and went to his room to shower and put some clothes on. You didn’t know the sight you were missing.

When you woke up at Noon, you pulled on Mark's t-shirt and basketball shorts and made your way to the kitchen which had floor to ceiling windows and glass doors facing the ocean. It was breathtaking. The doors were open and the ocean breeze felt amazing.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" 

You turned to see Daveed at the stove, greeting you and smiling. 

He was wearing an orange Oakland tank top and some pajama pants slung low on his hips. You smiled at his hair, which was tied up in two curly puffs at the front, with the back down in his wild curls.  

Even though it was an odd hairstyle for a grown man, you knew the curl life. And it did not take away from his masculinity.  

Not. At. All.

Besides, his curly puffs gave you a place to focus rather than on his well-muscled arms.  

Daveed’s hair reminded of when your mom did your hair only to have Dell try to pull your pony tails out as soon as she dismissed you from the kitchen chair. 

Ya’ll would get into so much trouble for fighting yet again. The thought gave you a warm feeling at the memory as you smiled wider and patted your own pineappled hair. 

‘Damn, her smile is a killer,’ Daveed thought as he watched you look around the kitchen for other signs of life. Now he was glad that he couldn’t sleep, and that he decided to be productive.  

He would have the chance to talk to you. As friends. Yeah.  He nodded to himself, trying to emphasize that last thought.  Friends.

Fuck.  He was in serious trouble.

Noticing that you and he were the only two humans in the kitchen and sniffing the air for the delicious smell that was wafting over from the stove, you finally greeted Daveed.

"Good morning, D.  Looks like everyone else is still knocked the fuck out.” 

Your other four friends were nowhere to be found.

You laughed, yawned and stretched.  Daveed turned back to the stove, cursing to himself. You were so damn fine.

“Calm the fuck down boy,” he whispered.

“What’s that?” 

You ventured over to see Diggs making French toast and bacon. Your stomach rumbled.

"I said sit down. Sounds like you’re hungry, haha. We gotta feed you. Grab some fruit over there and I'll serve you right up."

You grabbed something and sat down at the bar facing the windows. When Diggs turned to offer you some fresh oj, you didn't notice him watching you eat your banana. 

Your lips were a problem for him. When you looked away from the ocean, Daveed turned back to the stove and looked over his shoulder to smile at you.

His smile made you feel some kind of way.

"Why do they call you ‘Smiley?’" 

Daveed laughed, a sound that was quite nice.

“Because I started out as a clown. A professional clown.” 

You tilted your head, convinced that he was fucking with you. But maybe, he and Rafa always talked about the random shit they did to make money before they made it.

When he winked and turned back to the stove to the food, you just shook your head and ate the rest of your banana, positive that Daveed was fucking with you.

Meanwhile, Diggs was trying to stop himself from thinking about fucking with you. He did not need to watch you eat a banana. He licked his lips as he thought of how your lips tasted.

You smiled at Diggs’ broad back. He seemed different this morning.

He turned to plate some food for you and smiled again, shaking his head.

“Most times it’s a nervous tick.”

You were confused. “What’s a nervous tick?”

“My smile. I'm actually a really shy person.  Most times my smile is a defense mechanism.”

You were not sure about all that. Daveed had to know how he affected people.

“I’m not sure I believe that. Man. You are famous for performing in front of hundreds of people a night.  You’re on tv, movies, for goodness sake! You do live rap shows with your shirt off. I ain’t boo boo the fool.”

Daveed’s laugh filled the kitchen.

“How many clipping. shows did you watch on YouTube?  Or did you only watch the ones where I'm shirtless?” 

His look was hungry, and surprised, like he couldn’t believe he’d said that out loud. Then he barrelled on.

“I am shy, but I get my energy from crowds. I'm an introverted extrovert. Ya feel me?"

You nodded, understanding. You noticed that he was fiddling with the spatula he had in his hand. Uncertain again. He really was awkward. It was sweet. And hot.

Diggs continued.

"When I perform, I'm probably under the influence."

Pause.

"Hold up. What?" 

You flashed back to Mark. You couldn’t be around this again. Daveed caught your panicked look.

"Oh, it’s not like that, haha."  

That laugh and that smile. It automatically put you at ease. 

"It just takes a little. Drink; like last night at Criag’s Adrenaline; when I used to run track. Now it's performing." 

Daveed watched you carefully, gauging whether or not to continue. Fuck it, he thought. He felt as comfortable with you as when he first met Rafa.

"You know what the best drug is?" 

You cocked your head to the side, intrigued despite yourself. That smile. It was angelic and so opposite of what came out of his mouth next.

"Fucking. You know? When it's that good good. Or even better, that feeling when you haven't smashed, but the sexual tension is everything?"

There was suddenly little air in the room. You had to open your mouth to get oxygen. Oh. You knew the feeling alright. You gulped down your orange juice and continued eating.

"Hard-dick dopamine delivers every time." 

He said it so casually. He was playing innocent, but he was going for it.

You choked on your bacon. Daveed came up beside you.

"Raise your arms above your head.”

You turned toward him, held your arms up and he helped you, his hands holding your hands up. You stopped coughing pretty quickly but you stared at each other with your small wrists in his large hands. Daveed shifted on his feet and cleared his throat.  

“You good?" His voice had to be a couple of octaves lower. 

You gaped for a second, mouth still open, then laughed and nodded, pulling your arms slightly to get him to release them.  Daveed let go, stepped back and laughed along.

"But yeah. Back to what we were talking about...It just takes a little high, and I'm a completely different person." 

You watched him as he crossed his chocolate arms. 

"So what's your drug? Your motivation?"

That was something you didn't want to think about too hard. You tried to avoid his eyes. You cleared your throat and took another drink.  

“You got any vodka for this orange juice?”

-------

“C’mon. I made you this gourmet breakfast and everything…” You could hear the smile in his voice even though you were looking down. You didn’t feel pressed, you just felt like telling D this would open up so many things to him.

"Well, I don't do hard drugs if that's what you mean. No pills, or coke. Don't need molly," you winked and filled your mouth with French toast. 

"Gosh. This food is amazing!"

Daveed could barely make out the words through the food in your mouth.  He shook his head.

"Thanks, but don’t play me Lindy. Is french toast your motivation?"

Diggs wasn't letting you off the hook. You thought about it.  He was being very cool, and you felt safe with him.  You plunged ahead.

"I think about how fragile life is. How it is not guaranteed from day to day. How it can be taken away in a moment." 

You tried to push the emotions down and took a deep breath.

"I lost my twin brother when we were 17 in a car accident. I think a lot about what he didn't get to do. And that motivates me to do better with my life."

Daveed just looked down at the counter, mortified that he had pushed you to share something so personal. Then he finally looked up at you.

"That's a good reason to be motivated. I'm sorry for your loss." He looked down at his plate again.  "Look, I didn't mean to press you...."

Telling Daveed about Dell just felt right, even though you really didn’t know him like that.

"Don't apologize.  You didn't know. And I'm glad I told you." 

Diggs looked up at her and smiled. You smiled back.

He got up and stood next to you to grab your plate. Daveed smelled like coconut. It was nice. You closed your eyes and sniffed him.

"You done?" He was laughing at you.

"What? Oh, yeah. Thanks."

"Where is the fooood?"

Craig padded in the kitchen, with a wide smile. 

"There you are." You grinned at your cousin.

"Goood morningggg peopleeeee! I smell the Diggs Special. Hey. You two fuck last night?”

Rafa came in already on one this morning. Unlike his best friend, his confidence seemed to seldom waver.

He ignored your shocked looks and Craig’s laughter and went to get some food.  He continued as if he just walked in and said, “Good morning.”

"Ay, D, you gonna go check out this venue in town with me?"

Daveed shook his head at his friend. But he was chilling.

"Sure, what up?"

"I figure we can turn up on stage tonight"

"Cool. Let me eat and chill a little bit before we go." He looked at his watch. "About two?"

"Dope."

Jasmine walked into the kitchen. 

“Lindy needs to go shopping. We should come with.  You down, Craig?”

“You know it. That reminds me, we gotta fix you up.  Start destroying Daveed’s pants, since Lindy won’t do it for real.”

“Y’all gonna get enough…” you were getting swole.

“Calm down Ms. Fussy pants. Let’s go.”

Craig grabbed some shears from the kitchen and went toward Lindy’s room.

When you got to your room, Craig gave you the business.

"You are so tiresome."

“What?”

“You just need to fuck the man. We are all tired of feeling this sexual tension. It’s bothersome.”

“Leave me alone, Craig.” You watched as he worked his magic on the jeans. “What if I don’t want t…”

“Lie.”

“What if I’m not read…”

“Fuck that.”

“What if he hurts me? What if I hurt him?”

Craig put the shears down and turned toward you.  

“Listen, stop over thinking and do what you feel. What you want. Turn up. It’s your birthday. Anybody can see that man is all about you.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. But you deserve…” He didn’t say it. 

“You deserve. Now put these clothes on, bitch.”

----- 

You emerged from the room and no one paid any particular attention to you, no one but Daveed. 

His eyes swept from your feet, which were housed in some of Jasmine’s high heeled sandals, to your long, brown legs which were highly moisturized and seemed to go on and get better from your juicy calves to your generous, muscular thighs. 

Craig had cut and distressed some jeans that Daveed didn't particularly love to garments that he felt he could not live without. 

On you. 

Damn, Daveed gaped as he remembered that you probably didn’t have any underwear on. 

His eyes moved up to notice how his blue Oaklandish t-shirt was huge, but the way you had it tied up let it accentuate your waist, breasts and shoulders.

‘Good God,’ he thought. As his eyes moved up to yours, he saw that you noticed his reaction and were smiling at him. He smiled back. He wanted you to wear nothing but his destroyed and altered clothing for the rest of your life.

“OKAYYYYYYY, you look cute as hell.” Jasmine admired your outfit.  

“Thank you!”  Craig responded. 

“Yes, you did that!” Jas laughed.  “And the model ain’t half bad.” Jasmine got up, took your hand and had you twirl.

“Got DAMN!”  

Everyone turned and looked at Rafa as he yelled.  He put his hand over his mouth. “Oh, did I say that out loud?”

Daveed was so grateful that you did not have any of your own clothes. Your ass in those distressed shorts were everything. He gulped and you and Jasmine giggled.

“Be quiet!” 

Anthony shushed everybody and then gave you a double take. 

“Nice, Lindy,” but then he turned back to the tv. He was used to Jasmine’s glorious ass, so he was nonplussed. 

“Let’s just finish this episode before we go. It’s my favorite,” he said as Jasmine went back over to sit down with him.

Black Dynamite was on the tv while they were waiting. It was the alien episode. 

Ant and Jas were curled up in a big white overstuffed chair, Craig was on the other,while Daveed and Rafa were on the couch. You sat down in between them. 

You leaned your head on Rafa’s shoulder, looking at Daveed. Rafa put his arm around you, watching the show, as you put your legs up on Digg’s knees. 

You didn’t see Rafa wink at Daveed, who just smiled at you and turned toward the screen. After a couple of minutes, he put his hand on your shins, looking over to see if it was okay.  

Your chill smile indicated your assent.  He started lightly rubbing, looking down at your caramel skin. Your legs were so soft. 

Diggs peeked up at you relaxing and accepting his touch, and snuggling into Rafa’s embrace.  The way you were looking at him was everything, even if you were in Rafa’s arms. 

Rafa was his boy. And he knew what you wanted. As for Daveed and you, you two were watching each other and not the screen.

Daveed decided to move his hand up your leg, but a flash went off and he stopped. He hadn’t noticed that the show was over and that Craig was taking pictures. 

"This is so cute! Family love!" 

He was cheesing as he snapped a wide-angle selfie and some pics. Jasmine came and sat on your lap, the couch becoming a crazy twister game. 

Anthony came behind the couch and snuck in the pics with the crazy eyes flipped a double bird behind Rafa’s head. You were all being so silly.

"What is this, a orgy?” Rafa with the jokes. 

“Not that I’m saying there’s anything wrong with that.” That devilish smile. Everybody laughed. 

“Y’all are some beautiful people, but ain’t nobody got time for that. Let's go."

Anthony seemed hype.  He slapped his hands together and then rubbed them.

“Okay, we have a choice, since we are going into town we can drive….” he looked around at everyone.  “OR, we can go over in my new boat!”

Everyone sensed that there wasn’t really a choice, so they all said, “Boat!” and laughed.  

Anthony’s grin was wide as fuck.  Jasmine harshed the flow.

“The only thing is, it only has four seats…”  Everyone looked around and counted six people. Ant spoke up.  

“I’ll be piloting, so I will stand, but it takes about 20-30 minutes, soooooooo…..”

“Sooooooo, Lindy… would you mind sitting on D’s lap? We need to get creative.” 

Her eyes sparkled as she smirked. 

“Would that be okay with you Diggs?”

Rafa coughed “Setup” into his hand.

You looked at Jasmine and Anthony and Daveed, who was looking at you expectantly.  You were in agreement with Rafa, but you weren’t mad. It seemed that everyone was looking at you.

“Sure…” said Daveed whose eyes were fixed on you.  “Is that okay with you, Lindy?” 

You smiled and nodded your head.  “I’m cool with it.”   Daveed smiled wide, eyes crinkling with happiness.

Jasmine and Anthony led you all out onto the back deck, where you and Jas took off your heels, and down to the beach, a little ways away to the boat dock.  You and Daveed brought up the rear of the little ensemble.

You were watching the waves and the beautiful surroundings, trying not to focus on the awkwardness. 

Daveed was watching you.

“You good Lindy?” 

Daveed’s voice broke your reverie.

“Yeah.” 

You two stopped and looked at each other.  Your head was tilted back, looking into D’s eyes. He smiled down at you and you felt warm.  Must have been the sun.

“Heyyyy youuu guuuysss!”  

Daveed nodded his head toward the boat. 

“Leggo.”

You smiled and followed him. Ant was at the helm, Jasmine and Rafa were at the front, and Craig was in the second row.  

Daveed stepped on the boat and turned around offering you his hand. You flashed back to that January night.

You swallowed, smiled and tried to board. And immediately fell when you misjudged the deck while stepping on the boat.

Daveed helped you up, chuckling, while Craig howled and Rafa shook his head. Jasmine just stared, open mouthed, said “That’s not funny,” then burst out laughing.

Anthony was busy getting the boat ready but had a grin on his face.

“Fuck all y’all!”

“No, not all of us, just D…”

“Shut the fuck up Craig.”  You gave him the gas face and then turned and smiled at Daveed.

Daveed was seated and spread his arms out so you could sit down.  Anthony started the engine, so you got settled in on his lap as carefully as you could.  

“You okay?” you asked him softly, turning on his lap and feeling the muscles in his thighs. And maybe something else. 

You tried to adjust your shorts to cover your core adequately, because like this, he would easily be able to ascertain your situation.

Daveed looked into your eyes and whispered, “I’m perfect.”

You agreed silently as you stared back into his big browns. 

You were thrown against Daveed’s chest as the boat gained speed. You were able to feel his abs through his t-shirt and your rear shifted and came into contact with his crotch. 

‘This is going to be a fun ride,’ you thought, smiling to yourself.

Daveed put his arms around you, one at your waist and one on your legs, to try and hold you steady.  The movement of the boat allowed him to feel you, just as he wanted.  

He turned his head and looked at the water, concentrating on keeping his hands in neutral locations.

Jas looked over at you.  “You okay?” she mouthed.

You smiled and nodded, giggling a little.

D turned his head back quickly to look at your face. You looked at him and winked. He smiled and unknowingly started stroking your leg.

You stopped laughing and all of your attention turned to his hand on your leg. You adjusted yourself in Daveed’s lap. You were getting a little moist and could feel his cock becoming hard. 

Your lips parted and you started breathing a little faster.

The feel of you on his lap was what was up. There was a definite heat from your core. Daveed happened to look down at his t- shirt on you and saw that your nipples were hard.  

All he wanted was for them to be in his mouth and to be enveloped in your heat.

Daveed turned his head to look at everyone else to see if they noticed you two, and his lips brushed your shoulder.  He heard your sharp intake of breath.

Geez, he felt like he could take you on the boat in front of everyone. By the way your body was reacting, he thought that you would let him.  

He finally noticed he was stroking your leg and stopped himself.  He sat up straighter and tried to get control.

You closed your eyes and moaned a little when Daveed pulled away.  All you wanted at that moment was him inside you. When you opened your eyes, Daveed was looking at you.

“You sure you’re comfortable? I could sit on the boat deck if you want.”

“No!” you said a little too loudly.  Craig smirked at you.

You blushed, then relaxed again in D’s arms. How could a moment be so awkward, yet so perfect?.  

After about 20 minutes, the view of the pretty little town of Isabela became clear.  It looked like a neat spot to spend the day, but you were sad that the boat ride was over.

As the boat came to a stop and tied off at the dock, you and Daveed let everyone get off before them, then D climbed out, turned around and held out his hand for you.  

You took it and stepped out onto the dock. You didn’t let go and Daveed didn’t either. No one said anything, just exchanged glances as you and Daveed concentrated on being casual with it.  

Truth be told, each of your hearts were pounding in your chest.  

This is another world. You could be free and do what you wanted to do.  And what you wanted to do was to hold Daveed’s hand.

Daveed’s chest was puffed out, proud that you decided to show affection. In front of the crew. 

This was a big step but he tried not to make it a big deal.  

You strolled together and admired the architecture, holding his hand until you walked to the shopping center on Barbosa Street.

They were going to check out a venue to do a show later in the weekend. Daveed didn’t want to let you go.

Rafa and Ant just walked on and let Daveed handle his business. 

“Go to work.” 

You smiling at him was everything, as Daveed played with your hand, moving it up to lace his fingers in yours and press your palm upright.

Jas and Craig went into the store.

“It’s not work. Having fun creating with friends…”  

Daveed really wanted to create fun with you. He felt like he should kiss you goodbye, but he didn’t want to push it.

“Bye Daveed.  See you in a few.” 

You laughed, cause it was like he was going off to war. This was too much.

“Bye Linden…” 

He finally let your hand go and then backed up the street in the direction that his bros went, not wanting to let you out of his sight. 

When you disappeared into the store, he turned and ran to catch up.

------

Rafa and Anthony were talking to the club owner in Spanish, Daveed following along, but not very well.  He thought they were talking about lighting and sound, but couldn’t get the entire conversation.

“Tienes tu propio gaffer o tenemos que hacer nuestra propia iluminación?”

“Nosotros tenemos un capataz, pero él cobra una tarifa separada.”

Daveed zoned out and planned how he was going to get closer to you.

Rafa turned to him and said something, and Daveed nodded. 

“Oh, absolutely.”

 He had not one clue what was happening in this club right now.  His mind was on you.  Rafa and Ant looked at each other.

“So, when they bring up the pigs in tutus, we cut one open and smear the blood all over you…” 

Anthony wanted to see if Daveed was paying attention.

Daveed smiled. “Sounds dope.”

Rafa and Ant shook their heads at him.

“Listen dude, your head is not in the game right now. You need to get right.”

They didn't have to tell him twice. 

------

You were going to town.  Craig and Jasmine had abandoned you and were already down at Pinkheart and Loft.  You were not moving from H & M.

You didn’t mind being alone in the store, as you minored in shopping in undergrad. You were in the zone. And zoned out from what was happening with Daveed. You needed some headspace.

Your hands were full of clothes and your heart was feeling light as you headed toward the dressing room. 

You could barely see over your pile when the cute top you just recently grabbed off a clearance rack fell on the floor as you rushed ahead.  You walked past it before you realized, then went back to try and pick it up.

You jumped as soon as you turned around.

Daveed was standing there with your top in his hand.

"Drop something?"  That smile was everything.

You stared at him wide-eyed. 

‘Fuck. Me.’ Daveed thought. 

"Here, let me take your pile, I'll help you to the register."

You smiled at him again. He'd do anything to see that smile forever.

"Oh, ok. Thanks." 

You handed over the clothes to reveal a handful of sandals underneath which you kept. Daveed slowed himself to appreciate you fully.

“I really like that shirt on you.” Daveed bit his lip. “And those shorts..”

You saw him checking you out and you watched him, your eyes fixed on his lips. 

You recalled the talk about what mouths could do from months ago but were thinking about his succulent lips. And you couldn’t stop.

You needed to remain in control.

"I'm not going to the register, I'm going to try these on.  You can drop them at the fitting room." 

Daveed looked around to tear his eyes away from you.  He caught you checking him out when he swung his eyes back around.  His stomach flipped a little.  

He smiled.

"Well."

You were at the fitting room, the attendant eyeing Daveed as he gave you a number and pointed you to a stall.  

You took the 10 garments you were allowed and started to go into to your fitting room, looking back at him over your shoulder. You disappeared into the room.

Daveed just stood there.

He made a decision.

You stood there for a minute, shook, before you thought you had yourself together. You were about to take off his shirt when Daveed opened the door at came in.

The look on your face was everything.  The wide eyes, that mouth in an "O." So damn fuckable.

"The guy out there said I could bring you the rest of your clothes."

That was true, after Daveed paid him 20 dollars.

He got close to you, reached behind you and put the clothes on the hook.

You could smell him. He smelled like the coconut and his cologne, and your dreams.  You closed your eyes.

Daveed wanted your lips. He wanted to own them, to command them, to hear them command him.

You opened your eyes and he backed up.  He tried to contain himself despite your proximity.

“Look. Daveed. That night. The launch party. I was wasted. I usually don’t lose control like that… I don’t want you to think that’s really me.”

You were keyed up and stressed because you were losing control.  He could tell.

God, he wanted to put his hands on you. In a good way. You’d calm down then.

He knew you had baggage.  And that he should probably stay away.  But he didn't want to.  Hell, he had matching luggage. 

"Well, I think it is you. I have a theory that people are more their real selves when they are drunk or high. Inhibitions are gone. They get to act out like they want to. Do what they want to."

Daveed looked into your eyes.

"What do you want to do, Lindy?"

You wanted to do a lot of things.  To Daveed. In this fitting room. You almost gave it all up for him right there.

Then you got mad. At Daveed or your feelings, you didn’t know.

"That's just it, adults don't get to do what they want to do all the time. It's called adulting, you know. Responsibilities...?" 

You fired back at him.

He opened his mouth and spoke.  To himself as well as you.

"Chill."

He said it gently, not raising his voice at all, but the force behind it made you shut the fuck up. 

Your knees were weak and the small of your back was acting up again. Your body was reacting without your permission. You shivered.

Daveed could tell you were reacting to him physically.  But he wanted inside your mind, not just your body. He was going to give you some space. 

He backed toward the door of the fitting room. Leaning against it, his long body in jeans and t-shirt delectable.

“What do you want, Linden?” 

His voice was deeper, more commanding now. You swallowed. You were exhausted from fighting it. Maybe you could have a taste.

“I-I want a kiss. Just a kiss.”

Daveed felt triumphant.  He smiled and looked down at his shoes, then back up at you.

“Come get it.”  

He was going to let you make the first move.

You bit your lip through a smile.  You walked the five steps toward him in slow motion it seemed, as you raised up on your tiptoes to reach up and peck his lips, your hands behind your back.  

Your lips met his pillowy goodness and you leaned back to look into his eyes.  

Then, you put your hands on his shirt, tracing his abs all the way up and going back in for more, Daveed’s tongue prodding it’s way between your lips, and your tongue dancing with his.

You moaned as Daveed put his hand on your hips and then slid them up the sides of his shirt, skimming your breasts, and resting under your arms as you two went for it. 

He lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, as he backed you into the wall. 

He palmed your ass in the shorts, his long fingers reaching inside the distressed rips and squeezing your ass. He spread you apart and squeezed you closed, so that his fingers barely grazed your core and drove you crazy.  

When you reached up and pulled his hair, that’s when he stopped kissing you, leaned his head against your forehead and breathed, “Fuck, Lindy. You don’t know what you do to me.”

You just looked at him and craned your neck for another kiss which he couldn’t deny, but then he stopped and let you down.

“What do you want Daveed?”

Daveed put his hand on the wall above your head. You looked up at it and at him and he had to remember to breathe.

“Fuck it. Linden, I want you. You know that.” 

You raised your eyebrow and smiled up at him, then bit your lip, playful. Daveed’s throat became dry.

“And I think that I know that you want me too. But I know it’s hard.”

Your eyes swept down his torso to his pants, and damn, well…if it wasn’t hard right now.

He cleared his throat.  “It’s hard for YOU.”  You smiled wide. 

He rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean. It’s hard for you to be vulnerable, but Linden, I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

The way he looked in your eyes. You couldn’t go there with him, but the physical was okay for now. You decided to indulge yourself.  It was almost your birthday.

“What if I want you... to hurt me?” 

The innocent look in your eyes masked the devilish intent in your words. Daveed, stomach flipped again and he screwed his eyes shut. He masked a whimper and opened his eyes again.

“Huh. Don’t play with me Linden.” The menacing tone of his voice was making you wet.

“But what if I want to play with you, Daveed?” 

You reached for his belt buckle; Daveed stopped you, grabbed your hand and put it above your head against the wall, his arms now caging you in. 

You raised your chin, meeting his glare with yours. His eyes were fucking you so rough right now. You had to open your mouth to breathe, your tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip.

Daveed was looking as if he was going to devour you..  That mouth. He wanted to take it, but he restrained himself.  He had to know.

“Tell me. What. You. Want.”

You held his stare, the air around you crackling with energy.

“I want you Daveed.”

His smile was wide. Then he bent down, grabbed your thighs in his hand, picked you up and carried you to the mirror and pressing you against it, running his hands back down your body to your ass, cupping and grabbing it to memorize how it felt.

“We are NOT about to do this in the fitting room at H & M.  But somebody is going to cum. Right now.”

You kissed him as he ran his hands under your shirt to your nipples, pinching and rolling them in between his fingers as he kissed you again.

You started whimpering in your throat as you let him make you wet. 

“God, Daveed.”  

You kissed him again, but he did not stop what he was doing to your breasts.

“What?”  Daveed asked when you came up for air. “You wet?’

“Fuck yes.”  

You moaned as you threw your head back and huffed.

Daveed pulled his shirt up off your waist and exposed your breasts.  

“So fucking beautiful.”  

His mouth watered at the sight. Daveed licked his lips and leaned toward those beauties.

“Can I?”  Daveed paused.

“Please!” You whispered.  

He leaned down. His mouth got so close that you could feel his hot breath. Then he paused again.

“Please what?”

At first you could not think of what he was talking about. Then you got it.

“Please. Sir.”  

Your eyes sparkled under your lashes as you looked down. His dick got even harder.

“Such a Good Girl for me Linden. Fuck.”  

Damn, he had the key to your pussy.

Your wetness was leaking down your thigh, now reaching the tips of Daveed’s fingers.

Daveed proceeded to alternate his attention to each breast. Delicately at first, he kissed your nipples, then suckled them gently, then harder, more insistently, until his mouth was pulling at them rhythmically and firmly, to the point of almost hurting you.

You were groaning pretty loudly and Daveed released a nipple from his tightly clamped lips with an almost painful pop.

“Suck this,” he said, and put his thumb in your mouth, pushing your head back into the mirror. 

While still suckling you, he then moved his other hand down your body to your crotch and stuck his hand into the jean shorts, his long fingers grazing your folds, feeling a small patch of hair and your oh so slick lower lips. 

He looked up at you and how you were enthusiastically sucking his thumb, fellating it like it could cum down your throat.  That sight and feeling, combined with how you felt at your core, was fucking him up.

“Damn, Lindy? All this. For me? You sure?”

You nodded vigorously, his thumb deep in your mouth as he kept you pressed to the mirror. He found your clit and started rubbing, while inserting a finger into you. 

You were so fucking tight, it was a stretch to fit two in, but you were humming with pleasure now, your eyes rolling back in your head.

You nodded again, and as he pried your mouth open, your sounds became louder before he put his mouth on yours and kissed you, muffling your moans as his thumb and fingers worked in concert to bring you close to the edge. 

You tried to reach for his belt buckle again and he moved out of the way.

“Unh unh, it’s not about me right now.” 

Daveed grunted. He spun you around and had you face the mirror, his hand in your mouth and your pants, and his cock pressed into your ass.

It was big and your eyes matched it. You two stared at each other.

“Look at us.  Don’t we look good together? This should be a thing.”  

You watched what he was doing to you and it did look hot as fuck.

He pressed deeper into you through your pants.  He could feel you quiver on his fingers. 

“You want it Lindy?”

Daveed could feel your clit harden and vibrate like a guitar string.

“Maybe later, but you could cum… not now…” 

You whimpered around his thumb, but he sped up.  

“Not now…”

You were almost crying now. Daveed was smiling, his teeth bared against the shell of your ear, whispering his commands to you.

“NNNNot now….” 

Your legs were shaking from holding it.

“Good girl. Now cum.”  

Daveed spoke into your ear and you exploded from the inside out. It had been months since anyone else made you cum.

He reached down and grabbed you under your knees and sat down with you on the fitting room bench. You were draped around him like a vine, exhausted.

D held you for a few, taking care of you and waiting for his hard on to go down. You clung to him, eyes closed, trying not to panic. This was good. You wanted this.  And you told him so.

“Me too, Lindy.”  

He helped you stand and stood himself, standing behind you and watching you straighten yourself out in the mirror.  He pulled you back against him, wrapping his arms around your front and putting his chin next to your forehead.

“I meant what I said, Linden.  We look good together.  Let this be a thing.”  

You just smiled at him as you thought about the weekend to come.

-------

Read the Next Chapter

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[paper-chain-queen]

The Bake Sale * Yuki Soma X Reader

I know I’ve been kind of MIA. Just been caught up in a lot but I do want to get back to posting one shots and short stories now and then. I’ve had this sitting around, practically finished since early Summer. Just got distracted and kind of forgot about it... whoops XD

This is just a little something I thought would be cute :) hope you enjoy

Summary: Kakeru decided that he needs to be a good wingman and his best plan? Lie to the girl that Yuki keeps staring at about a bake sale that’s in need of cookies.

Also a huge thank you to @bubblegumnnebula​ for reaching out to me with such kind words of encouragement and reading this one over before I posted <3

Rating: Teen

Words: 5,000+

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.

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The first week of the new school year and soft pink petals fell like snow in the courtyard. First-year student Sohma Yuki was finally able to find some space from groups of giggling girls as he carried his lunch in one hand, looking for a spot. 

“That’s not much of a lunch.” A matter-of-fact voice spoke out, and it made Yuki slightly jump as he looked over and saw a cute girl looking at the single rice ball he had bought for the convenience store last night. 

“Oh. Um. I guess I never really learned how to make myself lunch.” Yuki admitted, slightly embarrassed, but the girl just smiled, and Yuki felt his heart skip a beat. 

“Well I’ve got lots! Come on.” The girl took him by the hand and started heading to a tree were a few other students were hanging out. 

“By the way. I’m (l/n) (f/n). From class 1-B. Nice to meet you.” 

“Sohma Yuki. It’s nice to meet you too.” 

“Where is Nabe-Kun?” Another student asked as he raised a brow at Yuki, who clearly wasn’t ‘Nabe-Kun.’ 

“He stole my pudding cup and ran off! But look, a fellow first year!” (y/n) cheered as if she made some great discovery. 

It was a group of people he had never seen, but he looked over at the girl who had all but pulled him over was smiling at him. She wasn’t blushing and giggling like all the other girls. 

(l/n) (y/n) was just treating him like he was just another student, welcoming him into her group of friends like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

He still felt anxious about the new school and worried about by mistake exposing the curse in a school full of girls. But there seemed to be kind people who only wanted to sit and enjoy the sunshine and good company. Even with all of Yuki’s fears about the new experience, he looked over at the girl who had befriended, and she was happily chatting away with her friend before turning back to him. 

She was just smiling at him, offering him a tart pastry from her yellow bento and saying that he was free to take whatever he wanted. A smile as warm the sun, and Yuki felt his heartbeat quicken as he joined the small group and took part in their lunch.  

Yuki brought the desert to his mouth and timidly bit into it. He was with a burst of flavour and quickly devoured the treat that was a hundred times better than anything that could be bought in a store. 

The boy was looking forward to spending more time at school, with people who were kind and shared their lunches. Perhaps even make friends with people with warm smiles. 

. 

. 

 * year and a half later*

“Have a good weekend!” A cheery voice called out to a few girls who were on their way out. 

“You too (y/n)-chan!”  

2nd-year student (l/n) (y/n) waved to the girls before checking her phone. Something made her giggle to herself before pressing a few buttons and slipping the phone into her school bag. 

“What are you looking at, Yun-Yun?” Vice student council president Kakeru Manabe asked as he tried to follow the popular boy’s eye line. 

“Huh, oh um, nothing.” 

Kakeru looked over to where the school’s Prince had been looking, and there stood a fellow classmate. (L/n) (Y/n) from Kakeru’s class slipped on her shoes while putting away her school slippers. 

“YO! (l/n)-Chan!” The energetic boy yelled out to the girl who looked over at the boys. 

“What are-” Yuki tried to stop his VP, but he’d already skipped over to the girl and started up a conversation, throwing his arm casually over her shoulder, and they seemed to be close. Yuki battled with himself on whether to walk over and smack the boy upside his head. 

Kakeru said something which made the girl laugh sweetly, and Yuki couldn’t help but glare. 

What are they talking about? 

The Vice President looked back over at Yuki and waved him over, and the grey-haired boy suddenly felt very nervous. Yuki let out a sigh and walked over, hoping that no one would notice his sweaty palms. 

“This is our president, Sohma Yun-Yun.” This earned Kakeru a cold glare from Yuki, but his eyes widened when he heard the girl’s light giggling.  

“Ah, we’ve actually met before. But nice to see you, Sohma-San. I’m from 2-A’s class with Nabe-Kun (l/n) (y/n).” She bowed, and Yuki mimicked, trying to fight back the urge to deck the Vice President for dragging him into this. 

“Prez and I were just talking about a fundraiser for the cultural festival, and we thought maybe a bake sale.” 

“Wait No-” Yuki was about to correct him, but Kakeru brought him into a headlock and covered his mouth. 

“AND I know that your parents have the best bakery in town, and I thought maybe you could whip up some treats. With the Prez and my help, of course!” Kakeru proposed a broad grin on his face. 

“Sure, I would love to help. I’m working today and tomorrow, but I’m free Sunday if you guys want to come bake. Ah, speaking of work, I’m late. I gotta go, later!” The girl was off, waving to the boys as she speed-walked away before disappearing around the corner. 

Yuki was finally able to break free and brought a fist to the top of Kareku’s head. 

“Why would you do something like that?” Yuki scolded him, but he just gave him a cheesy grin before raising his arms and resting them behind his head. 

“Aww don’t be like that, Yun-Yun, I just thought I would help move things along. You’re always looking at (l/n)-chan.” Kakeru wiggled his eyebrows, and Yuki felt his face go hot. 

“I do NOT!” 

“You do” 

“NOT.” 

“Do too.” 

“DO NOT! Enough I’m outta here.” Yuki angrily put away his school slippers and marched off. 

“Don’t forget about Sunday! I’ll text you her address.” The energetic vice president waved vigorously at the blushing Yuki, who tried to block him out as he marched home. 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- 

The Prince stood in front of a baby blue and white two-story building. It looked like something out of a small European town, a wooded sign in the shape of a bird reading - ‘blue whisk bakery.’ The display window was full of baked goods, from loaves of bread to glazed donuts. 

Just looking at the delicious display made his mouth water. 

“Need something?” A tall man who looked to be in his early twenties, a large crate in one arm, glared down at Yuki, and suddenly, he felt like he was the size of a mouse. 

“I’m... I’m here to see (L/n)-San?” Yuki told him, a little nervous with the way he was looking at him. 

“I’m (L/Y). What do you want?” Yuki was now able to see the slight resemblance between this man and the girl from his school. It was subtle, but it was there. 

The colour of their eyes.... but (y/n) ’s are more...welcoming

“(L/N) (Y/N).” Yuki corrected, feeling smaller and smaller the longer he stood there. 

“She’s not here. Go Away.” 

“Nii-san!” A voice broke through, causing the two boys looked over, and there stood (l/n) (y/n), hands on her hips wearing a baby blue apron with daisies over her simple t-shirt and jeans, her hair up in a ponytail. 

Cute... 

“I don’t remember saying you could have a boyfriend?” The older boy scolded, but the slightly annoyed girl just rolled her eyes. 

“Okay, first of all. Where do you get off telling me that I can’t have a boyfriend? Secondly, He’s not my boyfriend. He’s the student council president, and he’s here to do baking. Remember? I talked about it at dinner last night?” (y/n) explained to him as she put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot.  

The tall man then scoffed and turned away, muttering something incoherent. 

“Fine, whatever. Figured he’s not your boyfriend, he’s almost prettier than you are.” The brother smirked as he kicked her behind the knee lightly, just enough to make her stumble.  

“Just go make your deliveries already, or I’m gonna tell Mom that you’ve been hiding a pet tarantula in your room.” (y/n) threatened, sticking her tongue out at the tall man. Yuki had to slightly turn his head to try and hide a laugh. 

“Alright, alright. I’m out.” the man scoffed before adjusting the crate in his arm before putting it in the back of the bike and driving off. 

“Sorry about him, he’s kind of annoying, but he’s my brother.” The girl apologized as she smiled at Yuki and invited him in. 

Before the two could step in, Yuki’s phone went off, and he excused himself to check it. 

A text from Kakeru -  

‘Can’t make it, sorry! Enjoy your date Yun-Yun. Oh and don’t worry (l/n)-Chan isn’t one of your fangirls XD’-  

“Is something wrong?” (y/n) asked as she noticed that Yuki had stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Kakeru-San can’t make it.” Yuki said through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, is he okay?” She brought her phone to check her texts and seemed to roll her eyes at something. 

He won’t be when I’m done with him 

“He’s fine.” 

“We can do this another day if you want?” (y/n) offered, worrying that maybe it would be uncomfortable with just the two of them. 

“No!” Yuki yelled out a lot louder than he meant to as he reached out and (y/n) widened her eyes a bit. 

“.. I mean.. Um. I wouldn’t want to put you out anymore. We should get on with it.” Yuki quickly rushed out awkwardly. 

“Okay?” (y/n) seemed unsure, and Yuki cursed himself for his poor word choice; his nerves felt like they were all over the place. 

Stepping into the cute bakery, his senses were met with the smell of freshly baked goods. 

“Oh is this the boy?” The woman from behind the counter had just finished helping a customer and turned to the two teens. 

“Sohma-San this is my mother, (mother’s name). Mom, this is Sohma Yuki, my school’s student president.” (y/n) made the introductions while her Mother fixed something on (y/n) ’s apron, fussing as he supposed good mothers did. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you (l/n)-San, thank you for having me in your shop.” Yuki was sure to be polite and bowed to the kind-looking woman who certainly shared many similarities with her daughter. 

“Hello sweetheart, nice to meet you. So exciting that you asked our honey bun for help with a bake sale. She’s been so excited, she was basically vibrating when she told us.” Her Mother teased as she gave the two teens a knowing smile. (y/n) only smiled back, a slight blush on her cheeks. 

“We’ll be in the back. Come get me if you need a hand with anything.” (y/n) told her 

“No need, enjoy yourselves.” 

“Oh, and Yuki-Kun. These cheese and jalapeño scones are delicious. She made them fresh this morning.” The woman grabbed one from under the counter and put it in a small bag before handing it to Yuki. 

“(l/n)-San I couldn’t possibl-” 

“Please, it’s on the house.” she winked; Yuki bowed his head and tucked the baked good in his bag before continuing to the back of the store. 

(y/n) was running around, grabbing containers and placing them at a station in the corner. The back of the bakery was bustling with a few other people working, baking, mixing ingredients and checking the oven for their baked goods. 

It smelt amazing, Yuki felt like he could practically taste the air if he just stuck out his tongue. 

“So what would you like to make?” (y/n) asked as she washed her hands at the sink and gestured for Yuki to do the same. 

“Umm.” 

Yuki wasn’t actually very familiar with sweets and (y/n) had might as been speaking another language because after cookies and cakes, what else was there? 

“We could do cupcakes or cookies? Cream puffs? Eclairs? Macarons? Macaroons? Or maybe even strudel? Oh, how about tarts!?” 

Yuki noticed she sounded a little more excited about the final suggestion. 

“Tarts?” 

“I’m in charge of the pastry shells, so we already have a lot in stock. We would just have to make a filling. Maybe a lemon meringue tart, they’re pretty easy to sell.” 

“........” 

“You’re not very familiar with sweets, are you?” The girl noticed the clearly bewildered look on the Yuki’s face and worried that she had overwhelmed him. 

Yuki just shyly shook his head, feeling like a fish out of water. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

(y/n) returned with a plate of various cookies cut in half and a few different tarts. 

“I figure we should have a little variety, and cookies would be simple enough to make alongside the tarts.” 

“Now, here is a small tart sample, and then these are a few cookies types.” She gestured for Yuki to try them, and he polity thanked her for the desserts. 

“The chocolate chip is a classic, but the oatmeal raisin sells well along with the molasses sugar, or we have delicious peanut butter cookies, and then there is the bird-nest, and we have sugar cookies with blueberry glaze. Those are a specialty.” (y/n) spoke with such enthusiasm that Yuki could hardly pay attention to anything but enjoy the beautiful smile on her face or the excited look in her eyes as she explained each cookie. 

“But my favourite is the macadamia nut cookie with white chocolate chips.” 

(y/n) was about to hand the cookie to Yuki, but it was snatched right out of her hands. 

“Thank’s for the cookies.” 

“We’ll take those too.” 

“WAIT, we were using those!” Yuki’s schoolmate raged, fire in her eyes as she looked at the cookie thieves. 

The identical-looking boys just stuck their tongue out at (y/n) before running off. 

“Sorry, my brothers are a bit of a pain.” She laughed while shaking her head. 

“How many brothers do you have?” The grey-haired boy was still in shock over how quick the two boys came and went. 

“Five.” 

“Five?!” Yuki’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as his jaw dropped, and this caused (y/n) to giggle. She had seen the infamous Prince around the school but never imagined him, such as an expression. 

She liked it. 

On the other hand, Yuki was still having trouble imagining having 5 brothers, he only had one brother, and he was a handful, sounded like some sort of nightmare. 

“Yep, and I’m the youngest, my parents REALLY wanted a girl.” She laughed while rubbing the back of her head, a small blush on her cheeks. 

The two got back to trying to decide what they would bake, but the answer seemed obvious to Yuki. 

“Let’s do your favourites.” 

“Are you sure?” She asked, but it was hard to hide her grin, excited to share her recipe with the boy. Yuki nodded, and she rushed to grab him a plain blue apron for him to throw over and even tied it for him as she rambled on about what she had to grab from the pantry. 

The counter was soon filled with various sheet and mixing bowls, and lots of different ingredients. Yuki could only recognize one or two. The flour and sugar. 

 (y/n) learned that Yuki is very much useless in the kitchen, but she helped him with everything. Patiently teaching him to properly whisk ingredients and roll out dough.  

The brother that been out on deliveries was back and was now working in the kitchen, he made sure to keep his eyes on Yuki, and the boy could feel his stare. Looking over his shoulder as (y/n) was busying and measuring something out, he caught the brother’s eyes as he took two large trays down with perfect balance. Even spinning them one-handed as he was trying to assert dominance over the workplace. 

It was slightly impressive to see a big guy so delicate with the baked goods; Yuki would give him that. 

“Soo, how long have you been baking?” 

“Probably since the moment I could stand up on a chair and reach the counter.” Yuki watched her soften as she thought back on the happy memories. He could just picture it, her as a little girl excitedly helping her mom make cookies in the kitchen, laughing and making a mess. 

“You seem to really enjoy it.” Yuki’s small smile made (y/n) ’s heart race. 

“I do. I always feel happy when I’m in the kitchen, like everything in the world is right. I get to create something that many people can enjoy, and I get to experiment with things to make something new every now and then.” 

“Sorry, I must sound so silly.” 

“It’s not. It’s... I think I understand, actually.” 

While Yuki wasn’t a cook or a baker, he was a gardener. It was something he did that made him happy, something that needed him, and he felt he could make the world maybe just a little greener. 

The two we’re placing their finished creations on the cooling rack when the bakery’s back door was pushed open, and a booming voice filled the work kitchen. 

“We’re home!” 

“Hey Pops!! (y/n) has a boy in the kitchen!” The twins piped up and (y/n) let out a sign while muttering that she was never gonna do anything nice for the twins ever again. 

“WHAT?!” Yuki heard heavy footsteps rushing through the room, and a part of him felt the need to run. 

Yuki was now looking up at two tall men, one was clearly (y/n) ’s father, and the other just seemed like a younger, male version of her Mother. 

Another one of her brothers? 

“And you are?” The tall man stared down at Yuki as if sizing him as he crossed his arms. 

“Dad! I told you-” 

“Sohma Yuki, I’m the student council president at our school.” Yuki subconsciously put on polite prince act, hoping it would be enough to get him by. 

“And you’re here because?” 

“....” This man’s stare was something else, and Yuki wished Kakeru was here to help. Or at least there to suffer with him at the mercy of the tall, intimidating man. 

“Dad, I told you! There’s a bake sale.” 

“And they couldn’t do it themselves?” The man didn’t take his eyes off Yuki, and the teenager had to gulp a bit. 

“Dad!” (y/n) whined, embarrassed over her father’s attitude, and that’s when an angel must have been listening to Yuki’s prayer because a saviour appeared. 

“Okay dear, that’s enough out of you. How about you go get started on closing up, and I’ll get started on dinner.” (y/n) ’s Mother came to the rescue as she dragged off her husband and what had to be another one of (y/n) ’s brothers. 

The Mother sent a wink Yuki’s way, and he covered his face, exhausted by everything. 

“I’m so sorry. They’re just... well protective, I guess.” (y/n) sighed as she continued topping the lemon tarts with the meringue. 

“I should tell you the truth..” Yuki decided to come clean. 

“huh?” 

“There is no bake sale.” 

“What?! Then... why?” (y/n) looked at him, and Yuki really wished there was a bake sale, so he didn’t have to come clean right now. 

“Kakeru-San was trying to help me, I guess..” Yuki admitted, and it made (y/n) freeze in her actions and turn to face him. 

“Help you with what?” (y/n) truly had no idea what he was getting at. She was honestly surprised that Yuki, the most handsome boy in school, even knew who she was. The brief meeting in the first week of school was most likely forgotten by the popular boy. 

Why would Yuki need help from her friend Kakeru with anything concerning her? 

“…. what happened?” Yuki asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

Yuki had been racking his brain, wondering what had made (y/n) stay away. He had seen her around the school; she had a warm laugh and always seemed to be a kind and friendly person. 

He couldn’t help but notice that she would smile at him when he passed her by, but it wasn’t like the other girls. She wouldn’t blush and get all fluttery and call him prince Yuki or anything, just smile like a passing hello and then return to her friends. 

“Did I do something to offend you, maybe?” Yuki asked, and (y/n) let out a sigh, and Yuki decided to push forward, knowing he probably wouldn’t have another chance. 

“No that’s” Yuki had stepped too forward and somehow pushed the bowl of the whipped meringue into the air, and it flew before landing. 

Right on top of Yuki’s head. 

I want the ground to swallow me up 

Yuki stood there with the silver bowl on top of his head, the white froth of the meringue and a gentle hand lifted the edge, peeking under while trying not to giggle. 

“I imagined none of your fangirls have ever seen you this side of you. I feel a little bad for them.” (y/n) giggled cutely as she lifted off the bowl and handed him a towel. 

Yuki looked over at her and the soft look on her face, her cheeks’ gentle flush, and warm, inviting eyes. Yuki felt his heart race as she reached out and wiped away some of the sweet froth from his face with a wet cloth. It was done so tenderly, and he found himself wanting to lean into her touch. 

“Back at the beginning of first year. You invited me to eat lunch with you but then..” 

“Oh..... well... um.” 

“You’re… fangirls made it pretty clear that I was to stay away.” (y/n) remembered that day like it was yesterday. She had been cornered the day after she had lunch with Yuki. One of the girls was even in his class and insisted that she had bothered Yuki with her presence. 

It had hurt. 

Because she was interested in getting to know the quiet boy with the small convenience store lunch. Yuki had been a little awkward at lunch, but there was something aloof and awkward about him, something that made (y/n) want to know more. But there was never a chance to talk to him, and the Prince Yuki Fan Club was more like an army then it was a fan club. 

So, she stuck to just giving him friendly smiles whenever they would pass each other in the hallway, which she doubted he noticed. 

“And then you never seemed to... always feel so far away. I figured that you just didn’t want to be friends-” (y/n) was cut off by Yuki, who had reached forward and grabbed her hand and (y/n) felt a jolt of electricity from the skin on skin contact. Both looked a little taken back, but Yuki continued on, wanting to be heard. 

“I really wanted to spend... More lunches together.” Yuki admitted, and it felt like some sort of mysterious weight had been lifted from (y/n) ’s shoulders. 

“Really?” 

“I’ll get the bath ready.” 

“And... maybe you wouldn’t mind staying for dinner? I know my family is a bit much, but my mom is a great cook.” 

“I’d love to stay.” 

. 

. 

. 

Yuki was now wearing some of (y/n) ’s brothers’ clothes, the second oldest who was away for college. He was studying business and was supposed to be graduating come the spring. He even came in for video chat for a bit while the Mother fussed over how he was eating and if she needed to go pay him a visit to restock his fridge. 

This was a close family, and Yuki felt like it was something that he wanted so bad that it almost hurt. 

Yuki was properly introduced to all of (y/n) ’s five older brothers, and while a few poked fun at (y/n) for having a boy over, it seemed she wasn’t afraid to sick her father on them. A glare from him was enough to shut them up. 

Yuki couldn’t help but notice that throughout dinner (y/n) would give the best things on her plate, which led to the brother who had come in with her father earlier, cutting his portion in half and sneaking it onto her plate. It was a sleight of hand, but he caught it. 

Conversations flowed with ease; Yuki had worried that he would feel like an odd man out, but somehow the family made room for him. 

The food was delicious, and the company was warm, and they made him feel like he had been simply part of their family for years. He could see where (y/n) seemed to get her cheerfulness and confidence; how else would one survive in a family with 5 older brothers. 

There was a bit of a break between dinner and dessert which (y/n) had made, and there was time for some sort of game that Yuki had never played, but (y/n) ’s father was actually quite patient in telling him the rules of ‘Cheat.’ 

Turns out the best player in the house was the Mother who came in for one last round and wiped the floor. The woman had a powerful poker face, which was surprising coming from the seemingly innocent woman. 

The strawberry shortcake that (y/n) made was the best thing that Yuki had ever eaten, and he even got dragged into an arm-wrestling contest for the final piece. He lost, but the other brother just laughed and split the last piece in two while saying ‘no hard feelings, pretty boy.’ 

Maybe it should have bothered him, but it also felt like he could fit in, just a little. 

A spot for him in that large warm family. Where the siblings looked out for one another, where the parents fussed over their kids’ eating habits, where everyone laughed together as they shared a meal. 

“Thank you for having me.” Yuki bowed to the family, and the Mother gushed over how polite he was while the father said he was welcome to come back. 

Y/n walked him to the door downstairs. 

The two teens stood on the sidewalk; the display window of the family baker way now empty. A ‘Closed’ sign hanging off the door. It had gotten so late, but Yuki had barely noticed as the time really had flown by. 

“Here, the cookies we made together and a few tarts to share with your family.” (y/n) handed him a nice blue bag paper bag that had some weight to it. They had certainly made a lot of goodies. Okay, (y/n) had done most of the work, but she would insist that they had shared the work. 

“I’m sorry about lying to you... about the bake sale” While Yuki hadn’t been the one to tell her about the bake sale, he had still gone along with it. 

“Don’t be, I know how Nabe-Kun can be. I’ve known him since middle school, should have known. I hope you had fun, though. I’m sorry about my family. They can be... a little much.” (y/n) loved her family but they had undoubtedly given Yuki a hard time it seemed, she worried that they had scared him away.

“Your family is very kind. I enjoyed getting to know them.” (y/n) let out a sigh of relief and gave Yuki a smile that could have lit up the darkest nights. 

“But I was really happy.... that you wanted to bake with me... And that you spent time with my family and me, Sohma-San.” 

“Please... call me Yuki... And It... It made me happy too.” Yuki admitted, and he wondered if only he had been braver, then maybe they could have been making cookies and having dinners together a long time ago. 

“See you at school tomorrow?” 

“Let’s have lunch.” She smiled, and Yuki couldn’t help but stare at cupid’s bow of her lips. 

“oooooh are they gonna kiss?” The twins called from the upstairs window, and the teens both erupted into red. 

His heart was hammering in his chest, still not believing he had been so close that maybe if he just leaned down a little, they would have connected. 

And soon, the entire family was popping their heads out the windows of their second-story apartment and peeping on the two teens. 

“Aww he’s so cute, honey bear, you better catch him before someone else digs in.” (y/n) ’s Mother teased, and she called out to her family to please stop. 

“Wait, no! No one’s touching my baby sister!” The 1st most protective brother called out, waving his fist at Yuki. 

“Wait I’m not-!” Yuki shook his hands and stepped away from (y/n) as if to give her space, but this started a whole new argument with the brother. 

“Are you saying she’s not good enough!” 

“NO! I-” 

“Then, What?! Do you not like her!? I OUTTA-” The older brother was practically hanging out the window with the middle brother holding the back of his shirt to make sure he didn’t actually fall. 

“I DO LIKE HER!” Yuki snapped under all the pressure as he clenched his fists. 

Silence.... dead silence, except for maybe the sound of his heart beating so fast that it wanted to jump out his chest and get out of there. 

“I like you too.” (y/n) broke the silence, and everyone watching from the balcony above laughed and started goading the two teenagers on. 

“Just kiss already!” The twins called out, laughing as they taunted, and Yuki could hear the parents scolding them and trying to get all their kids to leave their only daughter in peace. 

Both of the teens were bright red, but Yuki’s chest somehow felt so light. This family was certainly... loud and a little out there. But there was nothing but love and joy to be felt all around. (y/n) smiled up at him, her cheeks still dusted with pink, but her eyes kept looking up at him and then averting to the ground shyly. 

Adorable

Yuki wasn’t sure what came over him. He certainly didn’t want the large audience of her family’s hooting and hollering, but how could he resist when she was finally within reach? 

The teen leaned down, careful to keep the distance between them, even using his hand as some sort of force to hold her back and slowly, gently met her lips with his. 

As he expected, she tasted so sweet, but with a slight tang, a tartness from the strawberries they had been eating earlier. 

He wanted to lean down again, but an angry voice brought him back to earth. 

“Thats IT!!! I’M GONNA KILL HIM!!” 

“You better run.” (y/n) advised, unable to hide her giant smile and her pink cheeks, even in the dim lighting. 

“Lunch tomorrow?” Yuki asked, feeling confident that they would no longer just share brief smiles in the school hallways. 

“It’s a date.” And she leaned up and placed a quick kiss to Yuki’s cheek before he ran off before (y/n) ’s brother could lay his hands on him. 

As he walked home, Yuki felt like he walked on clouds and never looked so forward to school. Yuki could barely wait for the lunch hour where he could look upon that bright smile and perhaps even sneak a sweet kiss. 

His phone beeped, and Yuki checked the phone to see another text from Kakeru. 

- How did it go, Yun-Yun????????? I GOTS TO KNOW?!?!?!- 

Yuki never thought he would find himself doing this, but he was in such a good that he figured it would be fine. 

 - Thank you - 

Yuki also made a note NOT to share any of the tarts or the cookies he and (y/n) had made together. 

…. 

Okay, maybe just one, but that’s it. 

. 

. 

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