#of course neither of them will have Any Idea where to even START with whatever the hell daffy's doing

[duckapus]

Tai Quan Duck

Ash and Ranma decide to train together and swap notes, having become interested in learning more about each-other's fighting styles after their duel during the Escape Crew's attack. Things quickly take a turn for the looney when Daffy catches wind of their plans and decides to join in with his own extremely unconventional style, whether they want him to or not.

Meanwhile, Tulip and Shantae help Alice set up her human-based model, now that she's got enough processing power for her projector to render it.

[supermenz]

one

summary: One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do; two can be as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one. Or: you're two years old when you lose your parents. Your brother, a kid himself, is unable to give you the love you deserve, and you end up at twenty being as burn out as only a Gotham University student can be. So, what do you do? Change scenery, of course.

pairing(s): clark kent x wayne!reader, bruce wayne x sister!reader, eventual platonic batfam x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: genius kid trope, kinda doomed siblings, language, there are reference to what happens in "the batman" but there will be a merge of both comics and films, written with david!superman in mind cuz he's my pookie 😞, bruce is so pathetic i love him sm

word count: 2.2k

author's note: my first ever fanfic for the dc universe!! constructive criticism is welcomed as english is not my first language,

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Gotham has left you feeling more claustrophobic in the last few months than it did all your life. 

Maybe it’s because you’re seeing your brother slip into his work — aka beating criminals in the night as a hobby — more and more, or maybe it’s just your brain playing tricks on you. It’s probably the latter. 

You’ve never been good with emotions — it comes with being a Wayne, and surely, having your parents die before you were three didn’t help your situation. Bruce spending most of your childhood abroad with barely any contact with you also probably didn’t help either. 

“But I’m here now,” he had said once, “Am I not?”

He is, but even if you love him with all your heart, sometimes you think that you’re more like colleagues rather than siblings. Your bond is strained, with him being so closed-off and spending most of his free time cosplaying as a bat, and you having just entered your twenties, trying to get your second degree in biology after an early graduation and an even earlier PhD in engineering. And since his first big case four years ago, neither of you has been the same. 

Your relationship has never been easy. The flood and the Riddler’s case basically forced you to trauma bond over what you both had experienced, as surely no therapist would’ve wanted to hear about all the horrors that you two experienced, even for all the money in the world. Besides, it’s not like Bruce could just enter a therapist’s office and tell them that he’s the fucking Batman. 

As of now, you tend to have your… ups and downs. Both prefer to just hide behind paperwork, projects, cases or research rather than just talk some things out. Because yes, Bruce’s your brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s easy to love. There are some days where he seems to be barely able to talk to you, others where you know he just wants to scream at you for whatever reason, others where… others where you think he might just crumble at your feet and start crying. 

You don’t have a lot in common. Maybe that’s why he manages to stay in Gotham even after all that’s happened — combined with the fact that he’s spent ten years or so abroad. Maybe you need that, too. 

“I’m thinking of moving out,” you tell him during one of your rare dinners together. You have already talked about your plan to Alfred, who has shown his support towards the idea and urged you to get out of Gotham as soon as you could, but you also wanted to tell Bruce — just to be honest with him. 

Yes, he left you to study abroad all those years ago without any kind of goodbye or anything, but you have no intention of leaving him behind like he did to you — you may be grown adults now, but that doesn’t mean that being left behind doesn’t exist anymore. You doubt Bruce would ever feel left behind by you, of all people, but still. “Found a faculty in Metropolis that will be able to transfer all my credits and studies and a nice flat downtown near the Wayne Enterprises’ site there. I think I need a breath of fresh air– I need to go somewhere where the sun actually shines and not everyone has hidden agendas.”

You’ve heard good things about Metropolis, and you think that the Martha Wayne Foundation could be expanded a bit more — somewhere far from Gotham, where surely there are other orphanages, other people in need that could use some help. “I could handle Wayne Enterprise’s gestion and settle our matters there while continuing my studies in a more… calm environment.” calm is a big word for a metropolitan city as big and populated as Metropolis, but every city is calm in contrast to Gotham.  

Your brother doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, wide-eyed, fork still raised to eat the potatoes Alfred cooked, his face blank. Is he having a heart attack? You didn’t think that you moving out would’ve been such horrendous news for him. Yes, even if you are not that close he’s still very protective, but he went to live abroad at ten. You’re twenty and you’re just… moving to Delaware. It’s not like you’re going to the fucking Himalaya mountains as he did. 

(Meanwhile, Bruce is spiraling. He wonders when the hell did his little sister grow up, how it can be that she isn’t the little girl he used to sway around anymore, and why would she ever want to move out. Is it because of him? Did something happen? 

Isn’t Metropolis in another state? Is he so tremendous that you have to move states in hopes to forget about him? Is he too overbearing? He thought he had always given you enough space to do your own thing–)

Instead of saying all of the things he’s thinking, he tries to muster up a smile, even if it comes out as a grimace. “Alright.” 

He nearly jumps out of his seat when you beam at him — is he really that obnoxious that you can’t wait to move out and have him out of your life? “Oh, I’m happy that you’re taking it well! I was afraid you’d freak out.” you get up from your seat and move over to hug him, and he chuckles nervously. “Why would I? You’re an adult, you can do what you want.” 

(What do you mean?!, his conscience screams in his head, She isn’t even twelve! Just yesterday she was talking about going to the homecoming dance with her friends–

But time has passed, and even if Bruce feels that it was particularly hard on him, he didn’t think it’d affect you too, somehow. It’s weird acknowledging something’s — someone’s — changes in the years in… so little. He had gotten so used to you being his little sister that he didn’t even think about you becoming a full on woman. He still remembers the pink bundle of blankets your parents had given him that day at the hospital, telling him to be careful with her, she’s your little sister.

When have you grown this much? Where did the time go? He swears it was just yesterday when you were admitted to Gotham University.) 

“But… a flat? Are you sure you’ll be comfortable there? It’s not exactly as big as a manor.” 

You avoid his gaze, scratching the back of your head. “Yeah, about that…”

He raises an eyebrow, “Let me guess, you bought the whole building?” 

You snap your fingers, “They don’t call you the greatest detective for nothing!” you sit back down, cutting the meat on your plate, “I plan on making the floors I won’t live in into a laboratory of sort– almost like the Batcave, y’know, so I can continue working on the models I designed undisturbed.”

When Bruce had started his crusade as Batman, you had just gotten your bachelor’s degree in engineering, and were working on your master’s degree. You had basically given him the head-start, creating the software of the Batcomputer (or of the computer, as he calls it), designed and adapted a sport’s car to the Batmobile (just call it the car, Bruce always insists) and basically modified and created every single one of the gadgets and systems he uses. 

You just hope he won’t let the Batcomputer get hacked as soon as you land in Metropolis — you spent weeks programming her and years perfecting her system. You spent so much time on her, she might as well be your firstborn by now. 

“I’ll always be a call away,” you murmur when your brother’s eyes get a little dazy, unfocused– like he’s in another world, always thinking about the worst that could happen. “You know that, right?”

Bruce blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, I– I know that.” 

(He isn't sure about that.) 

You pat his hand, mustering a smile. "Maybe you should take a break, too. Why don't you book a vacation in, let's say... the Bahamas? Just to get a bit tanned and remember what the sun actually looks like."

He shakes his head. "Can't. Batman doesn't go on vacation."

You raise an eyebrow, sighing in defeat. "Well, I'm sure the GCPD could handle Gotham for a few days, but do as you like."

Your arrival in Metropolis is, of course, followed by an unhinged swarm of journalists and press that surround you as soon as you land.

You can already see the headlines — THE PRINCESS OF GOTHAM NOW IN METROPOLIS or some other corny predictable shit like that — as they shove their cameras in your face, screaming and trying to grab you, as your bodyguards try to contain them. You're much calmer than they are, having already endured years and years of invasive journalists.

“Miss Wayne, would you care to tell us the reason for this abrupt change in scenery?”

“Has your move got anything to do with your relationship with your brother?”

“Miss Wayne, look here! A smile for the front page–”

“Miss Wayne, why Metropolis, of all places?”

“Miss Wayne, a word for the Daily Planet?”

The guy for the Daily Planet catches your attention– he seems far too nice and isn’t elbowing anyone; he must be either new at the job or is too nice for it. He’s got a mop of curly, black hair atop his head, thick glasses perched on his nose, baby blue eyes behind them. His posture is a little crooked — he’s getting squeezed by reporters on both of his sides — but, even as disheveled as he is, you notice a thing. 

Ohh, he’s pretty. Like, jaw-dropping pretty, the kind of pretty that makes you want to bite his cheek and never let go for the rest of your life. 

You stop in your tracks, lifting your sunglasses to your head, bodyguards panicking at the swarm of journalists that suddenly all point to one direction; you reach for the pocket of your jeans and take out a business card that you pat on the pretty reporter’s chest. “Another time, pretty boy,” you promise as he takes the card, his fingers brushing yours, the other journalists speechless around you. “I’m kinda busy right now.” 

You don’t stay long enough to see him blush and hold the business card tight in his palm so that the other reporters don’t snatch it out of his grip — the bodyguards urge you forward, towards the SUV with obscured windows that is waiting for you right in front of the arrivals’ exit of the airport. One of them opens the door for you, and you don’t hesitate to get inside, the car speeding off as soon as everyone’s inside. 

“Never seen anything like this,” one of the men mutters.

You shrug, “I’ve had worse.” 

The ride to your building is short, mostly because it’s late in the evening and there aren’t many people still around. You leave a generous tip to both the bodyguards and the driver, thanking them but assuring them that you can walk alone the thirty steps that separate you from the entrance to what’ll be your home for the foreseeable future. They help you take out your trolley and duffle bag, which you swing over your shoulder right after taking the keys of the building out. 

You open the front door, carefully closing it behind you, taking the elevator right in front of it. You press the number thirty out of thirty-four, which turns green with a ding, and wait for the doors to open back up. And once they do, you’re not disappointed. 

The loft is arranged just like how you asked the movers to — it would’ve been hard not to, as you sent them the 3D interior design plan you had made, but still. You’ve been raised with the idea that if you want something done well, you have to do it yourself, so you’re pretty happy about how it turned out. 

Still, something’s missing. 

You check around the loft for any pieces of missing furniture or something like that, not finding anything. You even go back to the 3D model to make sure that everything got here safe and sound, only to find that yes, everything is in the colour you ordered and exactly in the place you asked for it to be. 

You sit on the U-shaped couch that sits right in front of the giant windows that let on the skyline of Metropolis, eyebrows knit in deep thought. The house is nice — for fuck’s sake, you bought a whole building just for you and your projects — but it’s weird not having anyone else around. There’s no Alfred to welcome you, no half-asleep Bruce roaming without an idea of where he is, no squeaking and creaking of the floor when you walk. 

You sigh. “Maybe I should get a cat.” 

[lila-lou]

✨Age gap crush - Pt. 1/2✨

Summary: Jensen froze—biggest age gap crush? Jared smirked, already knowing the answer. Because Jensen didn’t do attachments. But with you? He already had.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 6341

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 🩷

The hotel room was quiet, except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the soft rustling of sheets behind you. Stepping out of the bathroom, steam curled around you as the cooler air of the room brushed against your damp skin. The towel wrapped tightly around your body felt like the only barrier between you and the weight of his gaze.

Jensen was lying on the bed, one arm tucked lazily behind his head, the other resting against his bare stomach. The soft morning light cast shadows over his toned chest, highlighting the ridges of muscle beneath his skin. His green eyes, sharp and amused, traced you slowly—like he had all the time in the world.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, good morning to me”, he murmured, voice thick with sleep and something else—something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You tightened your grip on the towel, swallowing the warmth creeping up your neck. “Enjoying the view?”, you muttered, trying to sound unaffected.

He chuckled, low and husky, shifting slightly but never breaking his gaze. “Oh, absolutely. Best way to wake up”.

Your stomach twisted at the way he was looking at you—like he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how flustered you were.

You cleared your throat, the towel still clutched tightly in your grasp. "I thought you'd be gone by now", you muttered, eyes flicking toward the digital clock on the nightstand—but the numbers blurred together. You had no idea what time it was.

Jensen’s smirk deepened. "Didn’t have the heart to leave you just yet", he drawled, stretching out like he had no place to be, no convention to rush off to. "Besides, you looked too damn peaceful earlier. Didn’t want to wake you".

You scoffed, rolling your eyes to mask the way your stomach flipped. Peaceful wasn’t the right word. Wrecked, maybe. Spent.

Last night had been… intense. The kind of night that left your body sore in the best possible way, your mind hazy, your legs barely functioning by the time he'd finally let you rest. And now, standing here, the memory of his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against yours—it all came rushing back so vividly you had to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

Jensen noticed. Of course, he did. His eyes darkened, amusement flickering beneath them like he was reading every damn thought in your head. "You okay there, sweetheart?". His voice was smooth, teasing.

You huffed, turning toward the dresser for something—anything—to distract yourself. "I don’t even know what time it is", you admitted, your voice quieter this time. "You really should be gone. The convention—".

"Still got time". His voice was lazy, like he didn’t have an entire schedule waiting for him. "And you really think I’d leave without a proper goodbye?".

This—whatever this was—wasn’t supposed to feel so dangerous. The two of you had set the rules from the start. No public outings. No red carpets. No standing in any kind of spotlight.

After all, he had enough attention on him—especially after the divorce. He didn’t need the world picking apart his personal life, and neither did you. It worked this way. Just the two of you, in stolen nights like this.

But mornings like this? Where he stayed longer than he should, watching you like you were the only thing worth his time?

Those were the moments that scared you.

And when Jensen sat up, his bare chest shifting with the movement, his smirk softening into something almost… fond, you knew you were in trouble.

"C´mere", he murmured, patting the space beside him.

You swallowed hard. You should tell him to get dressed, to go. To remind him of the agreement.

But your body had other plans.

And Jensen knew it, too.

You hesitated as you reminded yourself what this was supposed to be. Casual. Private. Simple.

But Jensen made it impossible to keep things simple.

The way he looked at you—like he had all the patience in the world, like he knew you’d give in before you even did—was downright dangerous. You hated that he was right.

Slowly, reluctantly, you moved toward the bed, stopping just short of where he was sitting. His gaze flickered down to your legs, still damp from the shower, before dragging back up to meet your eyes. He reached out, fingers ghosting along the edge of your towel, not tugging—just there—a silent invitation.

"You’re thinking too much", he murmured, voice low, rough from sleep.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head. "Maybe because I should be thinking", you shot back, but you didn’t step away.

Jensen’s smirk returned, but there was something softer beneath it. Something more dangerous than the teasing. "Tell me you don’t want me here", he challenged, his hand resting on your hip now, warm and steady. "And I’ll go".

You parted your lips, inhaling as if you were actually about to say the words. You knew he’d keep his word. He always did.

But you didn’t want him to go.

You wanted this—the way his presence wrapped around you, the way his voice sent shivers down your spine, the way his hands on your body made everything else disappear.

That’s what scared you the most.

Jensen tilted his head, waiting. Not pushing, not rushing. Just waiting for you to be honest with yourself.

And you hated that you broke so easily.

Instead of answering, you exhaled shakily and let your knee press onto the mattress beside him, crawling up just enough for him to lean back slightly, welcoming you. His hands slid up your thighs, warm and familiar, but his eyes never left yours.

"That’s what I thought", he murmured, pulling you onto his lap, your towel slipping just enough for his fingers to dip beneath it.

Your stomach clenched. "You’re an ass", you muttered, but there was no bite to it.

Jensen chuckled, his lips grazing your jaw as his grip tightened, anchoring you to him. "Yeah, but you like me anyway".

And you hated that he was right about that, too.

Your breath hitched the moment you felt it—him—hot and hard beneath you, pressed insistently against the thin barrier of your towel. A sharp contrast to the teasing smirk still tugging at his lips, like he wasn’t fully acknowledging just how much you could feel him right now.

But he knew. Of course, he knew.

Your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, fingers pressing into the warm, firm muscle beneath your palms. He was still naked, still radiating heat, and the moment your hips shifted—just the slightest bit—the friction sent a sharp pulse of heat straight through you.

Jensen groaned softly, low in his throat, his hands tightening around your thighs. "Shit", he muttered, voice raspier now, thick with something that wasn’t just amusement anymore.

You swallowed hard, pulse thrumming against your skin. "You should be getting ready", you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction, breathless as it was.

Jensen hummed, tilting his head, his lips brushing your jaw, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. "Mmm. Could say the same for you", he countered, his fingers toying with the edge of your towel. "But here you are. On top of me".

Your stomach flipped, your thighs squeezing instinctively around his waist. He was right there, and your body knew it, heat pooling low in your belly, thighs already aching from the way last night had left you.

His hands slid up, tracing the curves of your waist beneath the towel, moving slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. "Y’know", he murmured against your skin, voice dropping lower, rougher, "if you’re really worried about me being late, maybe you shouldn’t be sitting on my dick right now".

A sharp exhale left you, your fingers flexing against his shoulders. "Jensen—".

"What?". His lips ghosted over your neck, fingers finally gripping your hips properly now, rolling you against him just enough to make your breath catch. His cock pressed right where you needed it, even through the towel, and suddenly, your brain short-circuited.

You weren’t sure who moved first—if it was him guiding you, or your own body betraying you—but the moment your hips rocked, the friction made your nerves spark, made heat flood your core.

Jensen groaned again, this time deeper, almost gritted, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. "Yeah", he muttered, breath warm against your ear. "Exactly".

You hated how easily he ruined you. Hated how you didn’t stop, how you didn’t want to stop.

"Fuck you", you breathed, but you were already rolling your hips again, chasing that slow, delicious friction, the warmth pooling between your legs unbearable now.

Jensen laughed, the sound vibrating against your throat. "You already did, sweetheart", he teased, nipping just below your jaw. "And by the way you’re moving? You’re about to do it again".

With a sharp tug, the towel was gone, slipping from your body and pooling somewhere on the sheets beneath you. A rush of cool air ghosted over your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat burning between your thighs.

Jensen's hands were everywhere—firm, claiming—gripping your waist, sliding down the curve of your back, fingers pressing into your hips like he was anchoring himself. His green eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze flickering from your lips to the bare expanse of your chest, down to where your bodies were about to connect.

“Fuck baby”, he muttered, his voice thick with something between admiration and desperation. “You’re gonna kill me”.

One hand slid between your bodies, guiding himself to where you were already dripping, already throbbing for him. The swollen head of his cock nudged against your entrance, teasing, pressing, the sensation enough to steal your breath.

Jensen sucked in a sharp inhale. "Fuck—you're still so sensitiv from last night", he groaned, his voice strained now, his fingers tightening their grip on your waist.

Your stomach clenched at his words, your thighs trembling around him. "Maybe if you hadn’t—". You gasped as he pushed in just a little, stretching you open with maddening slowness. "Hadn’t wrecked me so hard, I wouldn't be".

Jensen let out a low, breathy chuckle, but his control was thinning—you could see it in the way his jaw tensed, feel it in the way his fingers flexed against your hips. "Oh, sweetheart", he murmured, his other hand sliding up your side, palming your breast before his fingers curled around the back of your neck, tugging you down. "That was barely me wrecking you".

And with that—he pulled you down onto him, fully, completely, stretching you inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt inside you.

A ragged gasp left your lips, your body clenching around him, adjusting to the sudden, overwhelming fullness.

"Ouw—", you choked out, nails digging into his shoulders.

Jensen groaned, his head falling back against the pillows for a moment, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Fuck, baby. Look at you”. His voice was wrecked, strained with restraint, with the effort it took for him to not move just yet.

Your breath shuddered, your body trembling at the way he filled you, at how perfectly he stretched you. Every inch of him throbbed inside you, heat coiling at the base of your spine, your thighs quivering where they straddled his hips.

"Jensen", you breathed, barely able to form words, your nails dragging down his chest.

That was all it took.

His fingers flexed against your waist, and then he moved.

A slow, deliberate roll of his hips that sent blinding pleasure spiraling through your core.

You whimpered, your hands flying to his chest for support, but he didn’t stop, didn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. He lifted you just enough before pulling you back down, forcing you to take every inch of him, again and again, harder, deeper, until the only thing spilling from your lips were broken, gasping moans.

"Fuck, that’s it", he gritted out, watching the way your body took him, the way your back arched, your mouth parted in pleasure. His grip on your waist tightened as his hips snapped up, meeting you with every downward roll, sending sharp jolts of electricity through your veins.

"You feel so good", he growled, his voice raw, his fingers possessive as they dug into your skin. "So fucking tight. Like you were made for me".

Your head tipped back, pleasure burning through you, your body already starting to tremble. The grinding, the pace, the deep, deep thrusts—it was too much, and not enough all at once.

"Jensen—". His name spilled from your lips like a plea.

He grinned, though it was more of a snarl, his control slipping. "That’s right, sweetheart. Say my name while I ruin you again".

And he did.

Jensen's grip tightened as he slammed up into you, pulling you down to meet each thrust, forcing you to take him deeper, harder, rougher. The stretch was overwhelming, the pleasure devastating, your body reduced to nothing but fire and sensation as he filled you over and over again.

Your fingers clawed at his chest, nails dragging against the firm ridges of muscle, desperate for something—anything—to ground you. But there was nothing to hold onto. Nothing but him.

"Jensen". His name left your lips in a gasping, broken moan, your head tipping back as your body clenched around him.

He groaned, the sound wrecked, his hands sliding from your waist to your thighs, lifting you slightly before slamming you back down onto his cock. "Fuck—just like that", he muttered, his breath coming ragged now, but his pace never slowed. If anything, he was getting rougher.

Pleasure shot up your spine, white-hot and blinding, your nerves on the edge of snapping. Every thrust hit deep, hitting that spot that had your toes curling, your stomach clenching, the coil inside you winding impossibly tight.

Jensen noticed. Of course, he did.

"Shit, you’re close already", he rasped, voice thick with pride, with something dangerously close to obsession as he watched you, completely undone on top of him.

You whimpered in response, your nails digging into his skin, your thighs starting to tremble.

He smirked—dark, satisfied, in control—as he sat up suddenly, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other gripping your jaw. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your moans as he thrust up, sharp and precise, stealing the last bit of composure you had left.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?", he murmured against your mouth, his breath hot, teasing. His hand slid down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that had you shattering within seconds.

The orgasm slammed into you with a force that left you breathless, your body tensing, then shaking apart, pleasure pulsing through every nerve ending. A strangled cry tore from your throat as you clenched around him, waves of heat rolling through you as he kept fucking you through it, dragging it out, making you feel every second of it.

"That’s it", Jensen groaned, voice gritted, strained, his hands bruising as he held you still, as he thrust up one last time, burying himself deep. A guttural sound tore from his throat as he spilled inside you, his whole body tensing beneath you, pleasure rolling through him in hot, shuddering waves.

For a moment, the world spun, the only thing grounding you was him, his grip on you, his breath ragged against your skin.

Silence settled between you, thick and heavy, the aftermath still buzzing in the air. Jensen didn’t move, still buried inside you, his arms still wrapped around your body like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t either.

But the moment couldn’t last.

He sighed against your neck, pressing the faintest kiss to your damp skin before finally leaning back, his hands gentler now, smoothing over your sides. "If I wasn’t late before", he muttered, voice still rough with exhaustion and satisfaction, "I definitely am now".

A weak laugh escaped you, your forehead dropping to his shoulder. "That’s your fault", you murmured, your body still tingling from the aftershocks.

Jensen chuckled, but instead of answering, he slid his hands up your back, slow, lazy, his fingers tracing soft patterns against your skin.

And that? That was what scared you the most.

Not the sex. Not the sneaking around.

But this—the way he lingered, the way he touched you even when he didn’t have to. The way he stayed.

Because deep down, you knew…

You were breaking all your own rules.

The loud pounding at the door jolted you from the haze of aftershocks and warmth, panic surging through your system.

“Ackles!”, Jared’s voice boomed through the room, followed by another aggressive set of knocks. “We’re fucking late! Get your ass out here!”.

Your entire body stiffened, still perched on top of Jensen, still connected, your thighs sticky, your skin hot from the lingering heat of what had just happened.

Jensen groaned dramatically, his head falling back against the pillow, one lazy hand brushing over his face. “Fuck, Jared”, he muttered, completely unbothered, like he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion and left you a trembling mess.

Your eyes widened, panic gripping your chest. “Oh my God—”. You scrambled, instinct taking over, hands bracing against Jensen’s chest as you tried to get off him, but his grip tightened.

“Not so fast, sweetheart”. His voice was low, smug, his fingers digging into your waist just enough to make you shiver.

Your heart slammed in your chest. “Jensen—he’s right there!”, you hissed, eyes flicking frantically to the door as Jared knocked again, harder.

“Jensen! If you don’t open this damn door in ten seconds, I’m coming in! I will use my keycard, asshole!”.

Jensen just smirked, his other hand trailing down your thigh, so slow, so possessive, like he wasn’t at all worried about getting caught.

“Let him”, he muttered, his voice gravelly, his hips rolling up just a fraction, making you gasp, clench around him involuntarily.

Your stomach flipped, a sharp pulse of pleasure shooting through you even as your mind screamed in panic.

“You’re insane”, you whispered sharply, shoving at his bare chest, your pulse racing, the heat of him still inside you, still filling you so perfectly.

Jensen laughed, low and smug, but he finally released you, letting you scramble off him just as another aggressive knock rattled the door.

You stumbled, nearly falling, your legs still weak, your thighs still aching from the way he’d ruined you minutes ago. You barely managed to grab your discarded towel, wrapping it around yourself in record time as you bolted toward the bathroom doorway, trying to make yourself invisible.

Jensen, meanwhile?

Completely unbothered.

He stretched slowly, rolling out of bed with a lazy ease that made it clear he wasn’t in any kind of hurry.

Another pounding knock.

“Jensen!”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face, clearly in no rush to deal with the six-foot-four nuisance on the other side of the door.

Little did you know, Jensen had already told Jared about you a couple of days ago. He’d expected this moment, knew it was only a matter of time before you got caught sneaking around.

But seeing you panic like this?

Adorable.

So, he let you squirm.

He smirked to himself as he tugged his shirt over his head, deliberately taking his time, knowing full well that you were still pressed against the bathroom door, heartbeat racing, eyes wide with the kind of panic he found way too entertaining.

Another pounding knock.

"Jensen! Open the damn door, or I’m—".

Finally, finally, Jensen swung it open, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the frame, giving Jared a bored look.

"Jesus, Padalecki", he muttered. "Ever heard of patience?".

Jared’s eyes narrowed, already looking pissed as hell, his gaze flicking over Jensen’s still-rumpled appearance—messy hair, swollen lips, trunks thrown on in a half-assed attempt to look presentable.

Jared’s brows lifted.

"Oh", he muttered, crossing his arms. "You definitely weren’t sleeping".

Jensen just grinned. "Didn’t say I was".

Jared squinted, eyes flicking past him into the room. Jensen angled his body slightly, blocking just enough of the view to keep you hidden, even though—let’s be real, the entire scene was screaming of exactly what had happened.

The unmade bed. The disheveled sheets. The fucking smell.

Jared let out a long, slow sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Dude".

Jensen smirked, playing dumb. "What?".

Jared’s lips twitched, like he wanted to laugh but was too annoyed to let himself. "You serious right now?".

Jensen shrugged. "Look, man, if you’re mad I didn’t invite you, just say so".

Jared grimaced, shoving his shoulder. "Oh, fuck off".

Jensen chuckled, but before Jared could barrel past him into the room, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough.

"Don’t be a dick", he murmured. "You already know who’s in there".

Jared stilled.

His brows shot up, just slightly, before his expression shifted—less annoyed, more intrigued.

"Oh, so you finally told her I know?".

Jensen’s smirk deepened.

"…Not exactly".

Jared let out an exasperated groan, dragging his hands down his face. "You’re such an asshole".

Jensen grinned, clearly having way too much fun with this. "Yeah, but I’m your asshole".

"Unfortunately", Jared muttered, shaking his head. He peered past him again, curiosity flickering behind his eyes. "So, are you gonna let her out, or are we pretending she doesn’t exist?".

Jensen chuckled, finally turning his head toward the bathroom.

"Sweetheart?". His voice was sickeningly amused, way too pleased with himself. "You gonna come say hi, or you planning on hiding in there all day?".

You froze, heart pounding, throat suddenly dry as hell.

Jared knew?

Jared fucking knew?

And Jensen never told you?!

You were going to kill him.

Slowly.

You exhaled sharply, gathering yourself, before stepping out of the bathroom, towel still wrapped around you, your face heating instantly when Jared’s knowing gaze landed on you.

Jared blinked.

Then, with zero hesitation, he smirked.

"Oh". He nodded, fighting back a laugh. "Yeah. That definitely tracks".

Jensen’s grin widened, watching the way you glared daggers at him before crossing your arms, clearly one second away from launching something at his head.

"You knew", you said flatly, eyes locked onto Jared.

Jared snorted. "Oh, yeah. Jensen spilled days ago. Thought you knew".

Your eyes snapped back to Jensen, murder flashing behind them.

"You are so fucking dead".

Jensen grinned like a bastard, completely unbothered.

"Yeah, yeah", he murmured, stepping closer, hands slipping around your waist as he pressed a slow, teasing kiss to your temple, just to piss you off more. "Still worth it, though".

You swore you saw red.

And Jared?

Jared just laughed his ass off.

Eventually, Jared shifting his weight before casually holding out his hand toward you.

"Well", he said, smirking, "since we’re not pretending you don’t exist anymore, I guess I should properly introduce myself—".

But before you could take it, his expression shifted, realization hitting him like a freight train. His hand hovered in midair for a second before his face twisted in horror, and he yanked it back.

"Actually, you know what—never mind". He grimaced, shaking his head, his face scrunching up like he just walked into something disgusting. "I just remembered exactly what you two were doing before I knocked".

Your face flamed, heat rushing to your ears as the memory of exactly what had just happened surged through your mind.

Jensen, meanwhile?

Losing his damn mind.

He let out a loud, unrestrained laugh, gripping his stomach as he leaned against the doorframe, fully enjoying the absolute mess unfolding in front of him.

"Wow, Padalecki", he mused, mockingly wiping a fake tear from his eye. "And here I thought you were all about bonding".

Jared shot him a flat look, clearly unamused. "Yeah, I’m good, thanks. No need to get that close".

Jensen just grinned, slinging an arm lazily around your shoulders, pulling you closer as his fingers toyed with the edge of your towel—just to mess with you.

You immediately tensed, glaring up at him. "Jensen", you hissed through clenched teeth, shifting slightly, hyper-aware of just how little was covering you.

He winked, voice dropping.

"Relax, sweetheart", he murmured, lips brushing your ear, "not like Jared hasn’t already figured out how thoroughly I just fucked you".

Your entire face ignited, heat rushing through you so violently you had to physically shove him away.

"Jensen!", you sputtered, barely resisting the urge to smack him.

Jared groaned loudly, rubbing his temples. "For the love of God, can we go now?".

Jensen let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his shoulders like getting up and leaving was the biggest inconvenience in the world. "Yeah, yeah. Just lemme grab a shower real quick", he muttered, stretching. "Need to get her off my body first".

Your face somehow got even hotter, and Jared immediately threw up his hands.

"NOPE", he declared, turning around so fast it was almost cartoonish. "I refuse to hear another goddamn word. I will be downstairs, waiting, pretending none of this ever happened".

And just like that, he was gone, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared down the hall.

The second the door clicked shut, you spun on Jensen, smacking his arm hard enough to make him chuckle.

"You are such an asshole", you snapped, mortified beyond belief.

Jensen just laughed, stepping closer, hands gripping your waist again.

"Yeah", he murmured, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to your lips, "but you like me anyway".

Only ten minutes later, Jensen was moving around the room, hastily buckling his belt, his shirt slightly wrinkled, his hair damp from the world’s fastest shower.

You were still sitting on the bed, still half-naked, towel barely hanging onto you, watching him with a mix of amusement and exhaustion.

"Never seen you move this fast", you teased, tilting your head as he grabbed his SnapBack off the dresser and shoved it on backwards, clearly prioritizing speed over style.

Jensen shot you a look, smirking. "Yeah, well, someone made me late", he murmured, pointedly, as he reached for his watch—

Only to realize you had already picked it up.

You held it out lazily, wrist dangling over the edge of the bed, watching as he stepped closer, his fingers brushing yours as he took it.

That little touch—as brief as it was—made your stomach flip, and suddenly, you were too aware of the way he was looking at you.

Like he was thinking about throwing you back onto the bed all over again.

Like he was debating if being late was really that big of a deal.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. "Better hurry, or Jared’s gonna come back up here and kick the door down".

Jensen exhaled sharply, reluctantly strapping the watch onto his wrist, still smirking like a bastard. "That man needs to take a breath. It’s not like they’re starting without me".

"You mean the convention where thousands of people are literally waiting for you?".

He shrugged, completely unbothered, but then his eyes flicked back to you—still sitting there, still wrapped in nothing but a towel, still looking too goddamn tempting for your own good.

His smirk turned dangerous.

"You’re really not making it easy to leave, sweetheart", he muttered, fingers trailing lightly along your bare thigh, like he was considering being just a little later.

Your breath hitched, body still sensitive from before, but you quickly swatted his hand away, sending him a warning glare.

"Nope". You shook your head. "You’re already late because of me. I am not responsible for you missing your flight next".

Jensen chuckled, hands up in mock surrender, but you could see it—the way he hesitated, the way he looked at you like he wanted to stay just a little longer.

And that?

That was dangerous.

Because you couldn’t let this become more than what it was.

So you forced a smirk, tilting your head as you leaned back against the pillows, stretching slightly.

"Besides", you murmured, voice laced with mock innocence, "I think you’ve had more than enough of me for one morning".

Jensen’s jaw ticked, his smirk faltering just for a second before his gaze darkened, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you again.

But instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a grin, before taking a deliberate step back.

"Yeah, we’ll see about that", he muttered, winking before turning toward the door.

And as he grabbed his keycard and slipped out, leaving you alone in that messy, wrecked hotel room—

You had a feeling he was right.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The silence in the room was deafening now that Jensen was gone.

You sat there for a moment, towel still wrapped around you, staring at the mess of sheets, the faint imprint of where he had just been. The room still smelled like him—his cologne, the heat of his skin, the lingering scent of sex and something more.

And yet, all you could think about was what had just happened.

Jensen told Jared about you.

Your stomach twisted at the realization, your fingers gripping the edge of the towel tighter.

Why?

The two of you weren’t even labeled. That had been his rule, not yours.

No commitments. No expectations. Just this. Stolen moments, hotel rooms, late-night calls that always ended the same way.

Jensen had made it clear from the start—he wasn’t looking to settle down again, not after everything with Danneel. You were his secret affair or whatever the hell this was.

So why the fuck did he tell Jared?

Jensen wasn’t the type to just share information for no reason. Jared was his best friend, sure, but that didn’t mean Jensen had to tell him everything.

Especially about you.

And yet—he had.

Days ago, apparently. And he hadn’t even mentioned it. Hadn’t even warned you.

Your heart did a weird, uneasy flip, frustration creeping up your spine.

What did it mean?

Was it just Jensen being careless?

Or was it something more?

You hated that the question lingered, that it stuck in your chest, leaving you restless in the empty bed. Because no matter how much you told yourself this was casual, simple, no strings attached—

Jensen had just tangled you up in something you weren’t prepared for.

And you weren’t sure what the hell to do about it.

Inside the car, the steady hum of the road filled the space as Cliff sat in the front seat, engaged in casual conversation with the driver. The ride to the convention center was smooth, quiet—until Jared turned to Jensen, his voice low, casual, but laced with curiosity.

"She’s pretty young, huh?".

Jensen’s jaw ticked, his fingers drumming lazily against his thigh as he leaned back against the seat. He didn’t react right away, just let the words sit in the air for a second before exhaling through his nose.

He knew what Jared was doing.

"She’s twenty-five", Jensen muttered, glancing out the window like that was supposed to end the conversation.

Jared tilted his head, not buying it. "So… twenty-one-year age gap?". His brows lifted slightly, his tone neutral, but Jensen knew him too well.

"Jesus", Jensen grumbled, running a hand through his damp hair, still backwards in the damn SnapBack because he hadn’t even bothered fixing it properly. "Thanks for the math, professor".

Jared smirked but didn’t drop it. "I mean… it’s kinda a thing, dude", he said, shifting slightly to look at him. "Not saying it’s bad. Just… different for you".

Jensen didn’t respond immediately, but the muscle in his jaw twitched again.

Because yeah, Jared was right.

It was different.

Jensen wasn’t blind. He knew people would raise eyebrows if they knew. Twenty-one years. That was a big gap, no matter how he spun it. And yeah, you were young, but you weren´t a kid—you were smart, independent, and didn’t take his shit.

And yet, that wasn’t the part that bothered him.

It was the fact that Jared was bringing it up at all.

Which meant he noticed something.

Jensen sighed, shifting in his seat, still staring out the window. "She’s not some kid, man", he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "She knows what this is. I’m not leading her on".

Jared made a small humming sound, still watching him. "Right".

Jensen glanced at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "What?".

Jared shrugged, tone even. "Nothing", A beat of silence, then— "Just saying, if it’s really nothing, you wouldn’t have told me about her".

Jensen’s stomach clenched, but he kept his face neutral.

"Thought you’d figure it out anyway", he muttered, shrugging. "You always do".

Jared huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. But you never tell me unless you want me to know".

And there it was.

Jensen’s fingers flexed against his knee, his teeth pressing together slightly, but he didn’t argue.

Because Jared was right.

Again.

And that?

That was the part that fucked with him the most.

Jared sensed the difference immediately.

It was subtle, something most people wouldn’t catch—but Jared knew Jensen too well.

During the double photo ops, Jensen was usually his usual self—smiling, laughing, making fans feel comfortable. But there was always something else, something second nature to him.

He looked.

Jensen always checked out the women who caught his interest, just a quick glance, a flick of his green eyes as if gauging if they were worth a second look.

He’d done it for years.

Hell, even when he was married to Danneel, he still had that instinct—never acting on it, never disrespectful, but the habit was there.

But this time?

Nothing.

Jensen’s gaze never lingered. Never even flickered to anything other than the camera, the fan he was greeting, or whatever dumbass joke Jared was cracking beside him.

Not once did he do the subtle once-over. Not once did he let his eyes wander, even briefly.

Jared took note.

He took a lot of notes.

Especially when, during a break between photo ops, Jensen pulled out his phone, his expression shifting just slightly—a look that Jared had never seen Jensen wear while texting someone.

Not some smug grin like he was setting up a fun night. Not some casual response like he didn’t care.

This was different. This was soft.

Jared leaned over slightly, trying to get a glimpse. "Who’s got you smiling like that?", he teased.

Jensen immediately locked the screen, tucking his phone away without so much as a word.

And that?

That spoke volumes.

Jared smirked to himself, shaking his head.

"Yeah", he muttered under his breath. "That’s what I thought".

The panel was going smoothly—plenty of laughs, plenty of inside jokes, the usual back-and-forth banter that fans ate up. Jensen and Jared had been doing this for so long it was second nature at this point.

But then, the question happened.

A fan stepped up to the mic. “What’s the biggest age gap crush you’ve ever had?”.

Jensen froze for a second, his brows knitting together as he tilted his head.

He was clearly trying to decipher the question, his brain gearing up for the wrong interpretation.

“I don’t know.. I don’t… I mean..I didn’t really have like.. uh.. crushes on celebrities when I was… I was too busy…“, he mumbled, still trying to piece it together.

Jared, standing beside him, instantly sensed the opportunity.

He grinned, just barely, leaning into his mic. “Doesn’t have to be a celebrity”.

The moment the words left his mouth, Jensen stiffened.

It was so fast, so subtle, but Jared caught it.

“Well”, Jensen started, but Jared interrupted him. “I‘m gonna answer for him“.

“Oh, great”, Jensen muttered, taking a long, slow sip of his coffee, like he was bracing himself for whatever the hell was about to come out of Jared’s mouth.

Jared, still grinning like a smug bastard, paused for dramatic effect, scanning the audience before leaning forward again.

“He has… he currently has.. a crush.. on somebody who is… ”, he drawled, dragging it out.

Jensen’s entire body tensed.

His eyes flicked with panic, just for a second—the kind of split-second panic that screamed oh, shit, I just got caught.

And that reaction?

Worth every damn second.

Jared barely bit back a laugh as he pivoted, fast as hell, finishing the sentence smoothly.

“34 years younger and 31 years younger”, He nodded dramatically. “And they’re his daughters”.

The audience roared with laughter and `aaaww´s´ completely missing the tiny moment that had just unfolded.

Jensen exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching, before leaning into his mic with a deadpan look.

“What he said!”, Jensen quickly shot and earning more laughter from the fans.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Part 2

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four Five

Eddie smells fresh and clean, his hair is fluffy and...really quite long now. Steve is vaguely aware that cutting curly hair is like, a separate thing to cutting straight hair. Like a totally different thing that needs to be learned. But still, Eddie doesn’t want to get an actual hair cut, and he seems to have a strong aversion to the idea of going outside and dealing with strangers, but his bangs are really getting in the way now, so Steve just carefully snips, a little at a time, not taking too much off. Steve uses his fingers to fluff Eddie’s bangs, snipping again at the curls that are longer than the others, “what do you think?”

Eddie stands, inspecting himself in the mirror, “yeah. Thanks Steve.”

He uses the towel to flick stray hairs off his face, wafting his shirt a little, scars showing at his midriff. He catches Steve looking, so Steve shuffles away, making an excuse, “I’ll get a broom.”

Steve sweeps while Eddie wipes stray hairs off the counter. “Anything else I can help with?” Steve offers.

Eddie sighs, looking a little squirely for a second, before he clearly comes to a decision, “I, the kids have been...asking me to run a game?”

“Right,” Steve starts slowly. He knows Eddie has the books out sometimes, knows he’s planning campaigns when he has the energy to do it, but he blows the kids off every time and they don’t push, clearly able to sense Eddie’s still...recovering.

“I think I want to try...I’ve got an idea for a campaign, just a little one. Just an afternoon.”

“Of course, I think...that’s good. If you feel up to it. Do you need my...help?” Steve has no idea how he could possibly help.

“Yeah...could I...talk you through the campaign, see what you think? And on the day, would you help me set up?”

“Yeah, yeah of course. Anything you need, okay?”

“Okay...thank you.”

“They won’t concentrate if they’re hungry, trust me.”

Eddie just watches as Steve makes up a tray of sandwiches. Some deli meat and cheese, some just cheese, and some he pushes his luck with, adding lettuce and cucumber to the mix. Who knows, they might eat it.

He has eggs boiling, and when the timer dings he cools them in the sink, tipping away the boiling water and running cold over them so he can peel them, “want an egg?” He offers one to Eddie, who, surprisingly, takes it, eating it in small bites.

Eddie’s more of a grazer, and he rarely sits and eats a full meal with Steve. Steve just keeps making extra of whatever he’s having, just telling Eddie where it is. It’s at least half gone most of the time, so Steve takes it as a win.

There’s a bowl of boiled eggs, a tray of sandwiches, a big serving bowl of chips and jugs of fruit juice out on the side by the time Steve is done. “I dilute the juice a little,” Steve confesses, “too much sugar in it. Those kids are hyper enough.”

Eddie actually smiles.

Steve moves the table and chairs while Eddie watches, “you got your map? And your shield thingy?”

Eddies goes, coming back laden with his books and his notes. A second trip brings out the hand drawn map, the shield thing that he unfolds in front of the seat at the head of the table.

“I think you’re going to do great,” Steve tells him. Eddie just nods, extra quiet today.

Maybe he’s saving his energy up for the kids. Or maybe it’s nerves, who knows? Either way he’s fiddling with his hair, starring at nothing, free arm wrapped tightly around himself. Steve can’t leave that.

Eddie almost startles, when he gets close, not realizing until the last second that Steve’s in front of him, “hey, come on, it’s okay,” and Eddie accepts the hug easily. Eddie sighs big in Steve’s embrace, settling, “you smell different to him,” Eddie whispers.

“Better or worse?”

“Neither...just different.”

Steve swallows thickly, giving one last squeeze before they part. Steve finds things to do in the kitchen while he tries to gather himself together, the kids will be here any minute.

The kids are watching a movie. Steve’s pretty sure the evening went well; whenever he stuck his head in the dining room, they all seemed engrossed, at least. Every now and again, there would be raised voices, or cheering, so, yeah, Steve figures they had a good time.

When Nancy’s car pulls up in the drive, Eddie tells Steve, “I’ll be a minute,” and then sheepishly slips out the front door.

Steve sees him in the passenger seat, talking to Nancy. He figures something emotional. Probably. Something Steve is too stunted to handle. Steve’s glad really, that Eddie has the girls to talk to about all this stuff. And then immediately feels a little guilty for escaping the burden of whatever that conversation is.

Steve knows there’s something up, from the quiet way Eddie’s watching him. He has something on the tip of his tongue, Steve can tell; it doesn’t come until the next day.

“I’m...moving back in with Wayne. Nancy said she’d help with my stuff, tomorrow, probably.”

It feels out of left field, Steve made unsteady by it for a second before he redirects. Eddie is an adult, and Wayne is family, Steve can’t keep him here.

He remembers the state of Eddie’s room, the stench of alcohol and stale sweat and fresh vomit, “will you be alright?”

“Yeah I...I’m pretty sure I’m done with the drink now, if that’s what you’re asking?”

It kind of is what Steve’s asking, but also, it isn’t, “well. Kind of. But...besides that, will you be okay?”

Eddie shrugs, “I think I need to...find some work, or something. Start standing on my own two feet, if I can. Be a...person.”

Two days ago Eddie couldn’t even face getting a haircut because he’d have to speak to a stranger, so it all kind of stinks of bull to Steve, “if that’s...what you need to do. But...you know you can always be here right? No matter what? Don’t feel like you have to go, or anything.”

“No...I know. You’re...you’re a really good guy Steve. And I...appreciate everything, you know? Really.”

“Yeah, I mean, yeah, no worries.”

It happens way too fast. Eddie’s meager belongings are boxed, his clothes are in trash bags, and apparently Wayne has redecorated Eddie’s room at the new trailer.

“I could have taken you?”

“It’s fine...Nancy’s good to help,” Eddie pulls a pensive face, "I really gotta’ get my van sorted, she hasn’t even been started for...months. Hell, I don’t even know if she will start. I should...go and deal with that.”

“Okay.”

Steve carries out two boxes and then makes himself scarce, doing a final once over. It’s not like Eddie’s going far; if he leaves something here by accident, Steve can just drop it out to him, it’s not like it would be an issue.

Still, he finds some last bits of clothes, forgotten in the dryer. Steve folds them before he carries them from the utility, stopping at the corner of the lounge, just out of sight. He shouldn’t listen to Eddie and Nancy’s hushed conversation, but he does.

“Wayne’s fine,” Nancy’s voice is low enough Steve has to strain to hear it, “he’s fine if you’re here or there. You need to do what’s best for you Eddie.”

“I can’t...I want to stay here.”

“Then-”

Eddie cuts her off with a frustrated noise, speaks with a fierce whisper, “I love him. I love him so much it hurts because I don’t know if it’s him I love or some magical Steve I dreamed up, okay? He keeps, doing things Nancy. You don’t understand. He keeps being so nice, and good and just...Steve. He’s just so much like my Steve and I can’t fucking stand it any more, okay?”

“Okay,” she shushes him, comforts him, “hush, okay, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, whatever you need.”

Steve takes the clothes back to the dryer; he’ll pretend to find them in a couple of days.

Part Seven

[thoughtfulfiction]

Slippery Slopes

Author’s Note: I’m back?

Memorial Day weekend wasn’t usually something you ever had circled on your calendar.

But in recent years, it has become something special. It was one of the rare times you and Justin could actually get away together without work pulling you in opposite directions. You had time off for the holiday, and he had a few days free before starting OTAs, so the timing (and the stars) aligned perfectly for a long weekend in Aspen, Colorado. Just the two of you…plus a house full of your favorite people.

You’d even convinced Simi and his wife, Bailee, to join, knowing full well Justin had been missing him since their brutal separation when the Fehokos moved to Arizona.

“Uh oh,” Justin called from across the room, phone in hand. “Charlie, Tate, and Bree just got to the house. Bree made them take the early flight so she could scope out the best room. After ours, obviously.” You laughed softly to yourself because of course she did, the girl barely stayed in hotels with less than four stars.

He walked into the master and tossed his bag over his shoulder while reaching for your suitcase, following you down the stairs. “You do realize we’re only going for four days, right? Why does this feel like you packed for a two-week expedition?”

“I didn’t want to forget anything,” you said, grinning. “Besides, snow gear takes up more room. You know that.”

He rolled his eyes and started loading the car, stacking the bags like a life-sized game of Tetris.

Three hours later, you were standing in the giant rental kitchen with Bree, stirring spiked hot chocolate while the guys yelled obscenities at each other over some chaotic video game. The cabin smelled like pine, chocolate, and whatever cologne Justin had worn on the plane that still lingered on your sweater.

Simi and Bailee arrived about forty-five minutes before dinner, just as the sun started to dip behind the mountains. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed them until they walked through the door.

But more than anything, it was nice seeing Justin like this: relaxed, recharged, and free from the constant weight that came with being the face of the franchise. A little breather before the season came roaring back and tried to eat him alive again.

Over Spanish rice and chicken enchiladas, everyone started debating the weekend plans. You, Charlie, Tate and Bree really wanted to ski. It had been a while since you'd gone but after a few lessons back in LA you felt comfortable getting back on the slopes. Besides, what was an Aspen trip without it?

“Simi and I can’t ski,” Justin said, patting your leg like he knew exactly where your brain was going—which he did. You’d been talking about skiing pretty much nonstop since he first suggested the mountains. “And neither can Bailee. But you guys are free to do your thing. We should have a family dinner one night though, somewhere nice.”

"I love that idea," Bree pipes up. "I'll start looking at places, especially if...you're buying?"

“Yes Bree, it’s on me,” Justin said with a laugh as you shook your head. The second she got the green light, she took off for her room to start planning like it was her Olympic sport.

Simi mentioned wanting to walk around town and do some shopping while Bailee offered to head to the slopes as the group's designated photographer. Just because she couldn't ski, didn't mean she wanted to miss the views. Charlie and Tate started tossing around ideas for yard games and a chill pizza night at the house after skiing, texting Bree to make Sunday night the fancier dinner since they knew they'd be too tired to dress up any earlier.

Once the plans were semi-hashed out, everyone slowly began trickling upstairs. You stood too, stretching a little, ready to follow the natural flow of the night, until Justin gently grabbed your hand.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

You looked at him, slightly confused. “Everyone headed off to bed. So, I was gonna do the same?”

He shook his head, already standing up and grabbing his keys, still holding your hand. “It's not time to sleep yet. We’re going for a little drive.”

Justin’s idea of a little drive took almost an hour, winding up a snowy road with no clue where you were headed. You kept throwing questions at him, all of which he expertly dodged, until he finally pulled in somewhere and parked.

You squinted out the window.

“Iron Mountain? How did you even get this booked after hours?”

He grinned and climbed out of the car, grabbing a backpack you hadn’t noticed he packed. “Let’s just say, I pulled some things together.”

Inside were both of your swimsuits.

The place was completely empty except for one hotel employee standing by with a platter, two glasses of champagne and a tower of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Mr. Herbert and guest,” the employee said with a smile, “welcome to our hot springs. Please enjoy all 32 pools. The entire place is yours for the next three hours. If you need anything, just press the service button to your right, and I’ll assist. Enjoy your stay.”

You turned to Justin, stunned. “Oh my god, when did you even have time to plan all of this?”

“I just wanted to have some time to ourselves for a bit, couldn’t think of a better way to get you alone,” he smirked, grabbing your hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Let’s get changed. It’s freezing out here.”

The changing rooms were heated and quiet, tucked away behind a wall of glass that looked out onto the steaming pools. You slipped into your swimsuit quickly, heart thudding as the reality of the moment sank in. You and Justin. Alone. In a private hot spring resort under a blanket of stars. No cameras. No schedules. Just time. Precious, uninterrupted time.

When you stepped out, Justin was already waiting, shirtless, barefoot, his swim trunks slung low on his hips and his hair looked extra dark with the haircut. His eyes scanned over you once, slowly, and then again with a quiet sort of reverence.

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “Do I officially win boyfriend of the year?”

“Absolutely.” You smiled at him, pulling your robe tighter as you followed him down the steps into the pools. The water was warm, mineral-rich, almost too hot at first, but within seconds it melted the chill right out of your bones.

The two of you found a quieter pool tucked in the corner, surrounded by rocks and pine trees. Justin leaned back against the edge, arms sprawled out on either side like he owned the place. You swam over and settled beside him, the steam curling around your shoulders as the silence settled in.

Not awkward silence, the good kind. The kind that feels full and safe.

“This is absolutely insane,” you whispered, your head resting on his shoulder. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, turning slightly to press his lips to your temple. “Just be here with me.”

You let your fingers trail under the water, skimming across his thigh. He inhaled sharply, the kind of inhale that made you smirk.

“So,” you said, not-so-innocently. “All 32 pools, huh?”

“Mmhm,” he nodded, eyes closed like he was definitely not thinking about the way your hand was still touching him. “Not saying we have to hit every single one, but…I’d say we try a few.”

You could feel the heat of the water rising between you, mixing with the adrenaline humming low in your belly. His skin was slick beneath your fingertips, the scent of pine and champagne hanging in the air. You weren’t sure if the shiver running through you came from the chill in the air or the way Justin’s eyes kept dropping to your mouth.

You shifted to face him, your legs brushing against his beneath the surface. “I feel like you’re trying to behave right now.”

“I am trying to behave,” he said, eyes opening, meeting yours. “You think I planned a surprise like this just to act like some guy trying to hook up in public?”

“I don’t know, Justin. You’re looking at me like that and your hand is definitely on my waist.”

He sighed dramatically, pulling you closer until you were nearly sitting in his lap.

“It’s not my fault you look like that,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “You know I love spending time with you. Real time. Not phone calls between practice or rushed dinners or quick weekends. This. I needed this.”

You brushed his wet hair back from his face, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. “Me too.”

The first kiss was gentle, but there was nothing casual about the way his hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there like he didn’t want the moment to end. It deepened with a hunger you hadn’t felt in weeks—months, maybe. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been starving for it. For you.

His other hand was at your waist, then your hip, then lower, pulling you flush against him with a low groan that vibrated in your chest. It wasn’t rushed, but there was urgency. Heat. A need he was no longer trying to hide.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, his breath ragged. “I swear, I’m trying to be good.”

You didn’t answer—just kissed him harder, hands exploring the cut of his shoulders, the dip of his back, the way his body tensed beneath yours like he was walking a tightrope.

“You think this is behaving?” you whispered when you finally came up for air, your voice wrecked and uneven.

His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your thighs, up your spine like he couldn’t decide where to settle. “No,” he admitted. “But I’ve got about ten percent of my self-control left, and I’m trying to use it wisely.”

"Then don’t waste it,” you said, mouth brushing the shell of his ear. “Save it for later. When there’s no water. No time limit. No clothes.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he might lose it completely.

“You are dangerous,” he said, his voice low and ruined. “You know that?”

“Only for you.”

He kissed you again—deeper, slower, more deliberate. A promise. A prelude.

You laughed, tangling your fingers in his hair. “This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He tilted his head to meet your eyes again. “You deserve it. Every bit of it.”

You didn’t say another word. You just kissed him again, and let the night stretch endlessly ahead.

17 pools and a warm midnight swim took it out of you. And you didn't actually open your eyes until 11am when Justin walked in with breakfast. The expansive room with an impeccable view of the snowy scenery was something you'd never get used to. The room had it's own tub and fireplace in the corner and the bed felt like it stretched from one end of the room to the other. You happily sat up as he laid out the food before you, several plates filled with eggs, fruit, fresh bread and orange juice. "You're really pulling out all the stops this week aren't you? One more fancy surprise I might actually get down on a knee and propose."

Justin looked up from the bowl of kiwi he was sticking his fork in to give you a serious look, "you'd rather mop the ocean than propose. So we can probably leave the knee bending to me, you just eat and get ready to ski your heart out today. Are you guys heading out soon?"

"Yeah we're probably gonna get there around 1, hang out for a few hours and let you guys explore and then meet back here for pizza tonight? Maybe around 7:30?"

"That sounds good," he sighs, standing up to clear some of the empty plates, "don't have too much fun without me."

One by one, the ski crew brought their stuff out to Charlie's car and got situated. Simi and Justin saw everyone off, the quarterback reminding you to be safe and to call if you need anything. Bailee kissed Simi goodbye and told him to stay within his self appointed budget, which they both knew he definitely wasn't going to do.

Charlie drove up to the mountain and everyone got checked in. You and Bree had matching goggles and Bailee proudly took a group picture before everyone headed up to get their skis on. One of the employees ushered Bailee where to stand to take pictures and gave her a guide guy to ride around with so she didn't freeze waiting for everyone to head up and down the mountain.

The slopes were absolutely perfect. It was everything you wanted and you picked it back up with ease. Charlie and Tate tried to race you, losing badly. You and your crew took several selfies and got prime GoPro footage of Tate wiping out. You were absolutely in your element, being out there was the adrenaline rush you needed, it made you feel so powerful. So, in control. Bailee was there every second taking candid shots and visiting the gift shop to get her son something the toddler would think is fun.

Right before you all called it a day, you just wanted to go one more time. The day had been too good to end. You just needed one more ride down the mountain.

"I'll go with you!" Bree says excitedly, "this might be our best ski day ever. Let's go again."

You held hands with her as you went up on the ski lift, noses getting a little runny and starting to lose feeling in your fingers and toes but also feeling like you were on top of the world, which you technically were. The clouds were rolling in just slightly, soft flakes starting to drift again, making visibility a little fuzzier than it had been earlier.

Admittedly, you started a little faster than you should have. Bree was just ahead of you, laughing and calling your name over her shoulder, her voice carried by the wind. The cold stung your fingertips, but your face was flushed with heat—the rush, the altitude, the high of being alive.

You could’ve done this forever.

And then—

A sharp jolt. A sickening tug at your foot.

A rock.

You didn’t see it—you felt it, like the earth itself pulled out from under you. Your left ski caught, your body pitched forward, and suddenly gravity betrayed you.

“Oh fuck-”

You barely heard Bree’s voice before the white blur of snow turned into the stark, unmoving brown of a tree trunk. You twisted, trying to slow your momentum, poles digging into the powder—

Too late.

The impact cracked through your body like lightning.

Then—nothing.

Silence.

A void.

Noise, like the world was underwater. Your heartbeat pounded in your skull, your ears ringing as consciousness came creeping back.

You were facedown in the snow. You couldn’t move. Cold seeped into your bones. Everything felt heavy and far away.

Then...hands.

“No, no, no—” Bree’s voice cracked as she gently turned you over, breathless and terrified. Her goggles were on top of her head, hair wild, cheeks flushed with panic as she dropped to her knees. “Hey. Hey, babe—look at me. Come on, open your eyes—”

You blinked slowly. The world shimmered. The sky above you spun.

“Oh my god. You’re bleeding—” She was ripping off her glove and using it to apply pressure to the area. “Charlie!” she screamed, voice splitting through the air. “Call ski patrol! Right now!”

“I’m doing it!” Charlie shouted from somewhere behind her, already fumbling with his phone. “I’ve got ‘em—just hang on—”

Your mouth tasted metallic. Blood from your nose? Your lips? You didn’t know. You tried to speak, but it came out as a choked breath.

“She’s trying to talk,” Bree said, crouching lower, her hands cupping your face as she scanned for more injuries. “Don’t move, okay? Don’t try to move.”

Footsteps crunched in the snow behind her. Tate, pale as a ghost, his expression stricken. “They’re sending someone now. Ski patrol’s on the way. Five minutes.”

"Shit,” Bree whispered, staring at the cut on your forehead. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just keep looking at me, alright?”

Your chest ached. Your side throbbed like something inside you had torn. You couldn’t feel your fingers anymore.

Then Bailee was there, sliding into the snow beside you, her camera tossed somewhere behind her, long forgotten. Her hand gently pressed to your chest, grounding you.

“Stay with us,” she said softly, trying to sound calm even as her eyes welled with tears. “Help’s almost here.”

Bree didn’t move. She gripped your hand tight in hers, whispering your name like a prayer, like if she just said it enough times, she could will you back to being fine.

Ski patrol arrived in record time, assessing your injuries. Everything was hurting but your head was swimming and your hair was wet?

"Definite head trauma. She may need a few stitches. Possible concussion too, we gotta move. Is someone riding down with her?"

Bree didn't even say anything, she just climbed in, grabbing your hand.

"Where are you taking her, so we can meet you?" Charlie says, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Aspen Valley. About 20 minutes away from here."

That was all they needed before rushing off to the car.

Charlie puts the keys in the ignition. “So... which one of you two is calling Justin?”

Tate stares at him like he’s just suggested amputating a limb. “What do you mean you two? I don’t remember your phone being broken.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve gotta focus on driving. Can’t exactly give him all the info while navigating the goddamn mountains.”

Bailee groans. “You’re all pathetic.” She pulls out her phone and dials without another word. Her hand shakes slightly as she lifts it to her ear, like she knows exactly how this call is going to go.

Meanwhile, Justin had just spent twenty minutes listening to Simi argue with a sales associate about the difference between two shades of off-white. The boutique reeked of cologne and money, and his patience was wearing thin.

“This is the worst store on earth,” Justin muttered. “No way in hell I’m buying $900 sneakers so you can say drip in your caption.”

Simi snorted. “Yes you are. You’re gonna miss me and my fashion wisdom in a few months when we’re both back in grind mode.”

Justin laughed. He would. He already did, in some ways. These were the last quiet months before training camp swallowed them whole again. It wasn't often that the starting quarterback befriended a fifth round pick with one career receiving touchdown on his resume. But Justin knew that he had a brother in Simi for life and he was going to really miss having him around. They had been talking about how sad it was that their teams wouldn't face each other this season, making way too early bye week plans to try to see each other.

Then Justin's phone buzzed. Bailee.

He froze.

“That’s weird,” he said slowly. “Why’s Bailee calling me? Did you miss a call from her?”

Simi checked. “That is weird. She hasn’t called me today.”

Justin’s stomach dropped.

He hadn’t even hit the answer button yet, but he already knew. Something was wrong.

“Hey, Bailee, what’s going on?”

No small talk. His voice was low, taut, sharp with unspoken urgency.

“Something happened when we were on the slopes,” Bailee began. Her voice cracked. Not a lot, but enough for him to notice.

Justin’s entire body tensed. His fingers gripped the phone tighter, knuckles going white.

“She fell. It was pretty bad. Bree is with her now and they’re in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.”

No. No, no, no.

His mind reeled. What does ‘bad’ mean?

Broken leg? Broken spine? Is she bleeding? Is she okay?

“Which hospital?” he demanded, already striding toward the door.

“Aspen Valley. About twenty minutes from the slope. She—she hit a tree, Justin.”

He stopped short. His heart punched against his ribs. Hit a tree. That wasn’t just a fall. That was a crash.

“Was she awake?” he asked, voice tight. “Was she talking?”

Bailee hesitated. That pause felt like it lasted hours.

“She was conscious, yeah. But...out of it. She couldn’t really talk. She was bleeding. Her face—” She cut herself off.

Justin squeezed his eyes shut. He could see her face in his mind—laughing, teasing him over morning coffee—and now it was smeared with blood in Bailee’s voice.

“We’re on our way,” she said quickly. “We’ll meet you there.”

“No. I’ll meet you there,” Justin said. “We're leaving right now.”

He hung up. Stood still for a beat, phone shaking in his hand.

“She hit a tree,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

Simi grabbed the car keys off the counter. “Let’s go.”

Justin didn’t say anything after that. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Every cell in his body was screaming to do something, but there was nothing to do except wait. Get in the car. Pray the roads were clear. Pray she was still awake when he walked through those hospital doors.

She’d just been fine this morning. He’d kissed her before she left, teased her about bundling up like a little marshmallow. He’d offered to go skiing just to be with her. And now he was completely powerless.

He didn’t even realize he was shaking until Simi looked over from the passenger seat and said quietly, “She’s tough, bro. She’s gonna be okay.”

Justin couldn't answer.

He didn’t know if he could believe that until he saw her himself. Alive, talking, moving.

Until then, he would hold on by a thread.

A grade two concussion and five stitches on your forehead. By all accounts you were incredibly lucky. Other than the fact that you were nauseous and exhausted and your vision was still a little blurry and you were cold, yeah everything was great. Bree held your hand while they stitched you up and promptly grabbed you some water when everything was done and you had a bandage on your head. The plastic surgeon said that the scar wouldn’t be noticeable, which helped. But you were still dizzy. And tired. Too tired to even think about the fact that you haven’t talked to Justin since your fall.

And then suddenly—he’s there.

The door bursts open with a force that startles even the nurse. Justin strides in like he owns the damn building, eyes scanning your body like he’s expecting to see blood. His hair’s a little messy, probably from dragging his hand through it too many times. His eyes—stormy, wild, terrified.

Bree takes that as her cue to head out and give you some privacy. She gives your hand a squeeze and whispers that she’ll be right outside giving everyone an update. All you can do is nod. Her hand is quickly replaced by Justin’s much larger one, kissing your knuckles and letting out a deep breath he’d been holding since he got Bailee’s call.

“Hi baby,” he says, in the softest voice you’ve ever heard, “how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good honestly, all things considered.”

“What happened?”

“Um…memory is a little fuzzy but I was going and I think I hit a rock or something and I couldn’t regain control of my skis and I hit a tree. And then everything after that is a little gone. So you’d have to ask Bree, she saw the whole thing.”

He looks visibly uncomfortable at the retelling of events, trying not to physically flinch when you mention hitting the tree. Bree’s description is even worse and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever let you out of his sight again. The doctors recommend you stay in the hospital for the night just because of the head injury and they give you the all clear the next morning.

You wake slowly.

Not from pain this time, though it’s still there, a dull throb behind your eyes and the itchy tightness of the bandage on your forehead, but from something gentler.

Warmth.

A hand wrapped around yours.

Justin.

He’s slumped in the plastic recliner next to your bed, head tilted back, lips parted slightly, fast asleep. His legs are too long for the chair, one is kicked out, the other folded awkwardly under him. His hoodie is bunched up around his shoulders as a makeshift blanket, his hands still loosely tangled with yours.

And there’s a paper coffee cup, half-crushed, resting precariously on the window ledge. Definitely hospital coffee. Probably cold. You stifle a laugh.

He didn’t leave.

You squeeze his hand lightly and he stirs immediately, jerking upright with a soft grunt. His eyes are still hazy with sleep, but the second they land on you, he’s wide awake.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice rough from sleep. “You’re awake.”

“I’m awake.”

“You okay?” His hand comes up to brush the hair from your cheek. His fingers linger at your temple, tracing the edge of the bandage with infinite care. “Does your head still hurt?”

“A little. Everything hurts a little.”

His face falls.

“But,” you add, “waking up to you helps.”

That earns a small smile. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Even if you look like you fought a vending machine in your sleep.”

He glances down at himself, groaning at the way his limbs are tangled. “That chair’s definitely not regulation size for someone who is six-foot-six.”

“Your dedication is noted.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere.” His voice drops, steady and certain. “Not after yesterday.”

You watch him for a second. The bruised look under his eyes, the worry still faintly clinging to his expression even now. You realize he probably didn’t sleep more than a few hours.

��Did you stay here all night?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t deserve you.”

He lifts your hand again, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he says quietly. “But you’re here. And I’m here. That’s all I care about.”

A soft knock sounds at the door before the nurse peeks in to check your vitals. Justin stands aside but doesn’t let go of your hand. You think he might never again, and honestly? You’re okay with that.

When the nurse leaves, Justin looks around.

“Alright,” he says, stretching. “Let’s talk about priorities. You need food, pain meds, and something to cheer you up. What’s first?”

“Honestly? Real coffee. Not that crime scene on the windowsill.”

He grins. “That’s fair.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead, right beside the bandage.

“Back in five,” he promises.

And somehow, even with a pounding head and half your memory still scrambled, you feel… safe.

Like you’re already healing.

Because Justin showed up.

Because he stayed.

Because he loves you in a way that feels like peace.

That peace was a little disturbed when you got back to the house. The first day Justin barely sat down. After reading that green tea helped with concussion recovery, there was a fresh mug of it waiting for you every two hours. Pillows were fluffed, blankets were on standby, snacks were provided before you could even ask. Everything was done so you didn’t have to lift a finger.

It progressively got worse.

He was always in the room but he wasn’t with you. Not mentally anyway.

Tea was made—not because you asked, but because it’s been a while since your last cup and you might want another. He sets it down, perfectly aligned with the coaster, and murmurs, “Careful, it’s hot,” without even looking at you.

He’s sleeping on the edge of the bed, scrolling mindlessly when you’d usually be talking or cuddling. He kisses your forehead but pulls away fast. He sits next to you but stares at the wall or out the window like he’s somewhere else entirely.

When you reach out and link your fingers. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t squeeze back either. Just let your hands rest there, like he’s too tired to pretend to be relaxed.

He quickly changes the subject when you bring up the accident, downplays his feelings, or deflects anything too real.

“You okay?” You ask gently, watching him set another bottle of water on the nightstand.

“Yeah. Just trying to keep you comfortable.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He pauses, hand still on the bottle cap. “Do you need anything else?”

And just like that, he’s gone again, in the room, but nowhere near you.

You feel the difference but can’t name it. He’s there, but you miss him.

He hasn’t left your side in days. But you’ve never felt so alone.

He keeps touching you, a warm hand on your back, rubbing your ankle under the blanket—but every touch feels like he’s checking for signs of life, not giving love.

It’s uncomfortable and makes you feel like a problem to be solved. At this point you can’t wait to be back in Oregon.

The flight home is quiet.

Not peaceful quiet. Not the kind where your fingers are laced and your heads rest against each other, but the stiff, brittle kind that makes your skin crawl and makes you want to scream.

Justin’s beside you, his knee just brushing yours, but it feels like he’s in another row entirely. He only speaks to ask if your seat’s okay. If you need water. If you’re cold. You nod. Say thank you. He nods back. And then it’s quiet again.

He scrolls through his phone without really looking at it. The window reflects his profile, jaw tight, eyes shadowed and you wonder if he even knows he’s clenching his fists in his lap.

The ache in your side pulses dully. You shift in your seat and catch him glancing over. He sees it, the wince, and immediately reaches for your bag.

“You want the meds? I can get them,” he says, already unzipping the pouch.

You put your hand over his. “Justin. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t relax either. His fingers tighten around the zipper and stay there, like he needs to do something to keep from saying what’s really on his mind.

You both fall silent again.

The house is still when you return. Everyone’s gone. The bags are dropped inside the front door and Justin helps you to the couch like you’re made of glass.

He gets you a blanket. Water. Your phone charger. He asks if the temperature’s okay. If your head hurts. If you’re hungry. If you want to watch a movie.

“Justin,” you say, before he can rattle off another question.

He freezes. Slowly turns back to face you.

You stare at him—really stare—and it hits you how present he’s been physically, but how far away he’s really felt for the last few days.

“You’re mad at me,” you say. Quiet. Certain. “You haven’t looked me in the eye since we left the hospital, and every time I ask how you’re doing, you change the subject or ask if I need more water.”

He opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

“I need you, Justin,” you say, voice cracking just a little. “Not more Advil. Not another blanket. I need you to talk to me. So if you’re upset, say it. Tell me what's going on.”

His chest rises sharply and runs a hand down his face and paces to the window like he needs to physically walk off the anger radiating from his body. “I just can’t help thinking about it. You could’ve broken your neck. Did you even think about that? I mean, I know you were excited about skiing but we talked about it and you promised—you promised me you wouldn’t be reckless. And you still went out there with no regard for your safety. I mean god, you hit a fucking tree. Do you know how horrible that could’ve been?”

You let him speak.

All of it.

The pacing. The hand in his hair. The cracks in his voice. You let him pour every ounce of fear and guilt and helplessness onto the floor between you, watching as it piles higher than either of you knows what to do with.

And when he finally stops—when he finally lets silence settle back into the room, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot—you nod once. Calm. Even. Too even.

“Are you done yelling at me like I’m a child?” you ask softly.

Justin’s head jerks back like you slapped him. “I’m not yelling at you.”

“You kind of are,” you say. “You’ve been holding that in for days and now it’s all just…” You gesture between you. “Coming out.”

His face hardens in an instant.

“If you don’t want to be treated like a child,” he snaps, “maybe don’t act like one.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t stop.

“You could’ve died. And I’m sorry if it pisses you off that I care enough to be upset, but you had no regard for your safety. You pushed too hard, went too fast, and now look where we are.”

You nod slowly. A tight, bitter smile pulls at the corner of your mouth.

“Right. Well,” you say, standing before he can see your hands shake, “I hope you feel better after that. I’m gonna sleep in the guest room.”

“Wait—” he starts, reaching for you, but you take a step back.

“I get that you’re scared, Justin,” you say, voice calm and cracking all at once. “But you don’t get to punish me for getting hurt. You don’t get to scold me like I’m some irresponsible kid who did this on purpose. I fell. It was an accident. And if you can’t talk to me without making me feel like a burden, then I don’t really want to hear it.”

His expression breaks—shame flickering under the frustration—but you’re already walking away.

And the silence that follows is the loudest it’s been all trip.

Justin didn’t sleep.

Not for lack of trying—he headed upstairs to lay down when you walked away, stared up at the ceiling for hours, counted the shadows stretching across the walls as the moon shifted outside the window. But his chest wouldn’t stop aching. His jaw stayed tight. And his mind replayed every word he’d said like a highlight reel of regret.

He’d meant it when he said he was scared. He just hadn’t realized how much of that fear had turned into anger, misplaced and sharp and aimed at the only person who didn’t deserve it.

Even Nova left him.

She curled up at his feet at first, her warm little body some quiet comfort in the dark, but by 2 a.m., she got up and padded out of the room. He didn’t need to ask where she went.

He pictured her curled next to you on the guest bed, protective, loyal, knowing instinctively where she was needed.

He wanted to do the same. Wanted to check on you. See if your head still hurt, if the nausea had passed. If you’d stopped replaying that fall in your recovering mind.

But he didn’t go.

Because after everything he’d said, after treating your fear like an inconvenience and your accident like a mistake, he wasn’t sure he had the right to be in your space. Not yet. Not when you needed distance, peace, safety. And he had been the opposite of all three.

So he stayed in bed, silent in the dark, and tried to understand the ache behind his ribs.

And it hit him.

This is what she feels every time I go down.

Every time he limped to the sideline. Every time you had to grab him an ice pack or sit beside him in silence while he pretended the loss didn’t gut him. Every hit, every stumble, every late night icing his shoulder while the world slept.

You’d been here. Quietly. Strong. Present.

And you’d never once made him feel like a child for it.

He rolled onto his side, burying his face into the pillow that still smelled like you, and shut his eyes against the sting.

He’d say something in the morning.

He had to.

Because if you could show up for him—again and again and again—the least he could do was find the words to say I’m sorry.

And thank you.

And I get it now.

The house was still dark when Justin finally swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His chest felt too tight, the silence too loud. He couldn’t take another minute lying there and pretending he didn’t want to be somewhere else.

With you.

He padded down the hallway in his sweats, pausing outside the guest room door. Light flickered faintly under the crack, the TV was on. He raised a hand to knock, then stopped. What was he even going to say?

But before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the door open.

You were awake. Sitting up in bed with a blanket pulled to your waist, one arm loosely draped around Nova, who immediately perked up at the sound of the door. Your eyes were tired, but not surprised. Like maybe you'd been waiting for him too.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, like if he was too loud the moment might vanish. “Can I come in?”

You looked at him for a beat, then gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

Justin crossed the room slowly and stood at the edge of the bed, hands in his pockets. Nova hopped down with a soft huff and found a new spot on the rug, curling into a ball like she understood her work was done for the moment.

Justin sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress and looked at you. Not your bandage, not the bruises or the shadows under your eyes. Just you. Safe. Alive.

“I’m sorry,” he said, almost before you could brace for it. “The way I talked to you was unacceptable. I—I lost it. And that’s on me.”

You didn’t say anything, just blinked at him, waiting.

“That call was…” He exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through his hair. “It was the worst feeling I’ve ever had in my life. Not knowing how bad it was. Or if you were even conscious or—if it was your spine or your head or if you could still talk or walk or—just, not knowing if you were okay. If you could even talk. I was sick with it. I kept thinking about everything that could’ve happened—almost happened—and I couldn’t do anything to fix it. I just had to sit there and wait and hope someone would call back and say you were alive.”

He paused, voice thick. “I think I carried that fear around with me all week. I didn’t know what to do with it. And I just…exploded. I’m so sorry for putting that on you. For lashing out when all you did was survive something terrifying.”

Your eyes softened, but you still said nothing. Just listened, taking in every syllable like it meant something. Because it did.

Justin glanced down at his hands. “I think I finally get it now. All those times you were the one sitting in the stands or the hotel room or the locker room waiting for me to walk out okay? I get it. I hate that I do. But I do.”

There was a beat of silence, and then you whispered, “It sucked.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“While I do appreciate you being honest and saying what you feel, you need to understand something. Just because you’re scared doesn’t give you permission to control me.”

“You know I’m not stupid. You know I don’t take risks lightly. You’ve seen me wrap your ankle, ice your shoulder, sit with you through weeks of bruises and headlines. I’ve been terrified every single time someone blitzed and you didn’t get up as fast as you usually would. But I never made that fear your fault.”

Justin reaches for your hand. This time, you let him hold it.

“I never want to make you feel like I did tonight. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You deserve someone who supports you when you’re hurt, not someone who kicks you while you’re already down.”

You let out a breath and lift both of your hands so you can kiss his knuckles.

“We both scare each other sometimes. That’s part of loving someone, isn’t it? But we’ve gotta learn how to handle that fear without turning it into something ugly.”

You shifted under the blanket, just a little. “You can sit closer if you want.”

So he did. He leaned in, slowly, giving you time to stop him, but you didn’t. Your legs brushed under the covers, and he reached for your hand, hesitated—then finally wrapped his fingers gently around yours.

“I missed you,” you murmured.

“I never stopped being with you,” he said, voice rough. “Even when I was being an asshole about it.”

A pause. Then, “can I stay here tonight?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

So he did. He crawled under the blanket next to you, pulling you close without putting pressure on your bandaged head or bruised ribs. You curled into his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world, and for the first time in days, Justin felt his heartbeat finally start to slow.

Neither one of you said much else. You didn’t need to.

Because you were here.

And so was he.

Finally.

You woke up tangled together, limbs looped, faces close, your cheek pressed into the curve of his chest. The kind of closeness that only came from surviving something. Nova jumped up on the bed like she hadn’t spent half the night there already, tail thumping against the comforter as she nuzzled between them like a proud little guard cat on duty.

Justin blinked against the morning light spilling through the windows, golden and forgiving. For the first time in days, he didn’t feel like he was holding his breath.

He looked down at you, still tucked safely against him, and smiled. A genuine one from the depths of his being.

“Hey,” he murmured, caressing your face.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice gravelly from sleep.

“You want coffee?”

You nodded, still half-asleep. “With that cinnamon oat milk you hate.”

He smirked. “Only the best for you, babe.”

He kissed your lips and climbed out of bed, grabbing one of his oversized hoodies and helping you into it like it was the most natural thing in the world. You winced a little when you stretched, and his hands instinctively steadied you.

“Sore?”

“Like I got hit by a tree,” you deadpanned.

He snorted. “Too soon.”

“In my defense, it hit me.”

Justin shook his head but kissed the top of your head before heading to the kitchen. You followed slowly, Nova glued to your side. By the time you made it to the living room, he had your coffee ready in your favorite mug—the obnoxiously large one with the handle shaped like a football.

“Ski trips are officially banned,” he said, handing you the mug.

You blew on the steam and took a careful sip. “I’m going to petition the NFL to ban you from throwing into double coverage.”

“Wow,” he said, feigning offense. “You’re really going to bring up the playoffs right now? You know some of those picks weren’t my fault.”

“Just keeping you humble.”

He laughed, the sound warm and easy. It felt like normal again.

You sat down together on the couch, Nova curling up between your legs. Justin slipped his hand into yours, fingers laced, firm.

“I love you, you know,” he said, voice quiet but steady.

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Even when you’re bossy?”

“Especially then.”

You smirked. “Good. Because I’m never letting you get away with treating me like glass again.”

He nodded, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “And I’m never going to stop protecting you. Even from myself.”

The mug was warm in your hands. His fingers were warmer.

And for the first time since the mountain, it didn’t hurt to breathe.

[oceaneyesinla]

This idea appeared in my brain in the shower and I think it's ADORABLE. Shoto just brings out the cuteness aggression in me

Shoto x gn!Reader

A knock at your dorm room door distracts you from your book, but when you open it, you're met with beige walls and blue carpet, neither of which are known for their ability to knock on wood. This has happened a fair few times in the last month , and that knowledge prompts you to look down.

You can't help your pleased little smile when your hunch is proven correct. Sitting neatly in the doorway is a bunch of pretty flowers wrapped up in blue plastic. They're your favourite, just like always, and they've arrived just in time - like clockwork, just as the old ones are beginning to wilt, a new bouquet appears. There's differences every time, but whatever extras have been added, your favourite flower is always there.

There's a distinctive amateur feel to the way the bouquet is wrapped up, and it endears you to your secret gifter even more. It's clear how much time and effort is going into this gesture, in more ways than one. Someone listened to you, when you rambled about the flower patch in your childhood garden, the one you tended alone while your brother trained with your parents to become a hero. Someone remembered you fondly reminisce about pretty leaves and bright petals, and decided to make you smile.

You crouch down to pick up the flowers, and there's a note tucked amongst the blooms, just like every other time. It's never signed, and it's always so blunt and honest that it circles right back round to being charming. Whether it's complementing your sunshine smile or praising you for your latest training success, it never fails to make your cheeks heat up. You keep them all, tucked away in the drawer underneath where you display your flowers.

Your admirer is making a valiant effort to keep their identity hidden, and you find it adorable - mostly because you figured it out as soon as you saw that first note. He forgot that you know him as well as he knows you. The way he writes his characters is ever so slightly clumsy; he spent a lot of time teaching himself to write - Endeavour more interested in teaching him to fight than to live - and there's a couple of little details that make his handwriting distinctive. Plus, you're shared a class with him for three years; you've seen his writing more times than you can count.

There's a flash of red out of the corner of your eye, and you press your lips together to hold back a giggle. He may be a nearly graduated Hero course student, but he's not very sneaky. He doesn't usually stick around to see your reaction to his creation, instead listening intently from his desk as you gush about them to Momo.

Your eyes widen as your eyes scan over familiar script, and now you know why he's loitering - Todoroki Shoto is asking you on a date. You read the words three times, and pinch yourself for good measure. Part of you is surprised - he knows all your darkest moments and he's choosing you anyway? - but a bigger part of you knows this was inevitable. You've been gravitating towards each other since first year, and honestly, you've been driving your classmates mad.

An almost painful grin stretches across your face as you straighten up, "Sho? Come here."

He obeys almost immediately, emerging from around the corner to stand in front of you. The cautious hope glittering in his eyes makes you want to squish his cheeks and boop his nose and you feel giddy when you remember that yes, you'll be able to do just that. No more hiding the urge to hold his hand or kiss his cheek when he remembers your favourite snack or brings an extra hoodie to movie night just in case you get cold.

Maybe you're getting ahead of yourself. You still haven't actually given him an answer, and he's starting to worry, his bottom lip pushing out into a little pout. You can't take his sad face any longer - you reach out and grab his hand, infinitely entertained by the immediate red flush that spreads across his cheeks.

"Of course I'll go on a date with you. How about this weekend?"

"Okay." His smile is reflecting yours like the moon reflects the sun, and oh, he might be the prettiest person you've ever met.

He lifts your hand and shyly drops a kiss to your knuckles, looking up at you through unfairly long lashes. Now you're blushing as well, heat pooling in your cheeks as he lets your hands fall back between you. Neither of you let go, and you make an impulsive decision - after all, Shoto was brave enough to take the first step; the least you can do is meet him where he is.

"Actually, I'm free right now. We could go and get dinner?"

Your bravery is instantly rewarded with another devastatingly beautiful smile, "Yeah, I'd like that."

[that-hazbin]

Sorta AU/story idea where Alastor's a serial killer but he doesn't... completely realize that he's a serial killer.

He's super mentally Not Okay with a whole load of traumatic baggage, and sometimes when he gets past a stress threshold, he sort of... blacks out. Not faint, exactly, but his body moves on autopilot while his consciousness is just. Not there.

The first time it happened, he was fourteen. His father had beaten him black and blue, and left him limp on the floor to go beat Alastor's mother. When Alastor came to the realization that his mother stopped moving, his vision went blurry.

When he regained consciousness, his father was on the floor, bleeding from the head, eyes glazed over. It looked like he fell and hit himself on the corner of the dining table. Alastor lost both his parents on the same day.

After that, Alastor started having "episodes" a bit more often. A majority of the time, he manages to get home, and when he wakes up, he's hiding under his bed or in his closet, confused as to how he even got home. He doesn't want to be admitted into an asylum, of course, so he keeps quiet about this.

Sometimes, though?

Sometimes, he'll wake up knee deep in water, staring into the dark of a bayou. Sometimes, he'll wake up half-submerged in his bath, red going down the drain, with no clue as to where he's injured. Sometimes, the person who was screaming at him before the episode hit just went... missing the next day.

Alastor keeps quiet.

Naturally, when Alastor dies, he goes to hell. He doesn't remember the crimes, but he did commit them regardless. Of course, when people ask him what he did to end up down there, he can't give a real answer. The truth of the matter is that he doesn't know. Sure, he has... suspicions. Theories. But he doesn't know.

Things happen. He has several black out episodes in Hell before they simply stop happening, because he's stressed all the time and he can't just block every single second of every day from memory. He learns how to consciously survive in hell. Makes a name for himself.

Things roughly stay truthful to canon from there.

Then, one day, Charlie has a brilliant idea for a hotel activity. Part of redemption means acknowledging what brought you to hell to begin with, and what you can do now to make up for those actions! They go around the room, talking about the sins they committed, and what they can do now to improve. Alastor fully intends to stay out of the activity, he's not working towards redemption after all, but... Of course, Lucifer has to taunt.

Lucifer: What, you're just gonna sit around judging us?

Charlie: Er, dad—

Alastor: Hilarious coming from you, your majesty, truly. In any case, your memory seems to be failing you, I'm not here for redemption. I have no reason to participate.

Lucifer: Uh huh, neither is the bartender or the maid, you think you can be exempt just because you're staff? I'm the King of Hell and you don't see me skipping out. And here I would've thought you would have taken the chance to brag about the fucked up shit you did up there.

Charlie: Hey, guys, I don't think—

Alastor: Husk and Nifty are grown adults who are perfectly capable of making their own decisions. I am also a grown adult, and my decisions don't need to reflect theirs.

Lucifer: Oh, I see, you're a coward then?

Alastor: Believe whatever you want to, it makes no difference to me.

Lucifer: Sure it doesn't. Why don't we make this a game, huh? I'll guess your sins, and you stop me when I get it right.

Charlie: Dad, Alastor—

Lucifer: Can't imagine you fucked before marriage or anything, I mean, you scream prude. Bet you died a virgin.

Alastor: Hah, I wouldn't know. Are you done with your childish taunts, or are you going to allow your daughter to continue?

Lucifer stops dead, both because of the reminder that he's interrupting Charlie's activity, and also because he's replaying Alastor sentence back in his head. And, as the father of lies himself, he realizes that Alastor... wasn't lying when he said he didn't know.

Charlie: Great, yes, thank you Alastor! So, anyways—

Lucifer: Wait.

Charlie: Dad!

Lucifer: Seriously, wait. Bellhop, what the fuck do you mean you wouldn't know?

Angel: ... Oh shit.

Alastor: ... Charlie, continue your activity.

Charlie: Uh.

Lucifer: Oh, FUCK YOU! No, what the fuck did you mean by that?! What, were you like, drugged or—

Angel: HEY LET'S TALK ABOUT MY DEEP DARK PAST AS A MEMBER OF A MAFIA FAMILY!

Charlie: YES THANK YOU ANGEL LET'S TALK ABOUT IT! I'M VERY PROUD OF YOU FOR VOLUNTEERING!

Alastor gets the fuck out of dodge, and Lucifer finally gets the hint that he definitely stepped on a landmine that he very much should have not touched. Unfortunately, Lucifer alongside everyone in the hotel are left with a misunderstanding regarding Alastor's history.

[sirxlla]

It Comes Naturally

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

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Slight Angst

Prompt: "Dad things he does subconciously" with buck (request by anon)

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

A lot of the fatherly things he did initally came out in ways of making sure that you had properly bandaged your finger or carrying you to the bedroom when you fell asleep on the couch. It was just casually caring for your partner as one should, like making sure you had enough dinner or that you got to work safely.

As time went on in the relationship progressed, you noticed how fatherly he seemed to Chris. How he would help him every single time he had the opportunity, maybe with homework, girl talk or other general things.

Buck is so kind and attentive, most of the time he can tell how someone's feeling just by looking at their face or reading the room. He is always so good at making sure to clock your emotions and how you're feeling.

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asked as he came into the room.

"I promise it's nothing." You had said not wanting to put your shitty day on to him.

"I know that's entirely bullshit." He smiles, gently grabbing your chin so he can gaze into your eyes.

"I'm just having a rough day, I'm remembering some shit from my childhood." Your eyes slightly teared up as you are trying your hardest not to cry. He pulled you into a hug and everything starts to feel right, his hugs were all encompassing. You know how they say that everything faded and it was just you and him? Like the movies. That's exactly how it felt with him his hugs were just the best thing you could think of whenever you're feeling like shit.

His dad behavior seem to spike when his sister had a baby. Every single time that Maddie needed a babysitter he was the first person to jump on it. He tended to carry Jee around everywhere, showing her how he does everything even if she can't understand.

"And this is the smoke alarm." He held her up so she could see the smoke alarm. There was no rhyme or reason to the things that he showed her just random things around the house like the top of the fridge, the pantry or the microwave. Of course considering the fact that she's a baby she has no idea what's going on but she enjoys it just the same.

You often caught him watching Bluey, Max & Ruby, Blue's Clues or whatever TV show he had put on for the little girl, he had gotten sidetracked and sat down and started watching it. Of course it started the same way it does for every other father where they glance at the TV and slowly get sucked into the plot of the episode. A couple of times you've caught him passed out on the couch with her because the both of them had fell asleep watching television.

In a way he is very much an uncle but in so many different ways he is like a father, he's patient, kind, and understanding. Evan is the perfect partner and the perfect person that you could see yourself building a life with.

When there's a problem he always talks it out with you and you both come to an understanding and say sorry because what he says is that "it takes two people to argue" and both of you are to blame; apparently this is something that Maddie taught him when she essentially raised him. It was a way of making sure everyone felt understood and cared for in any type of relationship, it took him some time but he did realize it slowly that it was indeed true in most situations.

Evan isn't just fatherly but motherly as well, he's perfect with kids, he's a fantastic partner and a wonderful human being.

It was really early in your relationship and neither of you had talked about it, having kids. So when you saw that little blue plus sign you're nervous, not because you don't want this but because you're worried it's too soon.

"Baby, I-" You take a breath as you come out of the bathroom in your pajamas. Buck is remaking the bed that both of you didnt have time to do this morning. He hears the worry in your voice and turns around.

"Hey..." He sits at the end of the bed and pulls you between his thighs, those ocean eyes staring into yours with love and care.

"I- um... I missed my period and I didn't think anything of it because I've been stressed. You know with everything that's been happening, the fires and all?" You tell him, your heart heavy in your chest. He just listens as he knows that you'll continue when you're ready, his hands slowly rubbing your hips in silent support of whatever you have to say.

"...We- We only had one test laying around." You handed him the test and watched his reaction on his face, it took a minute of his brain processing but a huge smile covered his face.

"Oh! Oh my God! Baby, you're pregnant! This is- this is good news, this is great news!" He pulled you into his lap and hugged the doubt and worry out of you.

"You're not mad? It's really early in this relationship and I really didn't want to push anything on to you." You started crying cause you were so sure he'd be upset cause generally a lot of guys would be, it was a relief.

"Mad? Baby, I've never been happier. You- You're amazing. We can do this. Right? You wanna keep it, dont you? If you don't its okay but I just-" Evan starts to get nervous as he speaks cause he realizes he doesn't want to force any decision on you or make you feel obligated to keep this baby if you don't want to.

"I- Yeah. I do." Tears pouring down your face and onto his neck.

"You're going to be the most gorgeous mother out there." Buck rubs your back as he tries to help with the tears that are dampening his shirt You had never had this type of support in your life and you knew at this exact point you wanted him in your life in any way possible.

If at some point down the road you guys didn't love each other the same way that you do now, you know that you would want him in your life as a friend at least just to have him in your life. You'd always have a connection to him and that was even before you got pregnant, but now there was a bundle of life growing within you that was part you and part him stringing the two of you together forever.

"I'm going to be here with you as long as I breathe, I promise." He whispers into your ear before pulling back so he can see your face. Buck covers your salty tear filled face in kisses.

He always knew exactly what to do to make you smile and this was no exception, the love he gave you and the compassion and care was to be unmatched by anyone no one could make you feel like this but him.

Masterlist

[misssakuramochi]

GENERAL RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS FOR SENKU

Age Rating: N/A

Warnings: None

Genre: General, Fluff

○ Senku is the most practically-minded and goal-driven man currently alive; romance is neither practical, nor his goal. What I'm trying to say is it takes both a person as unique and as patient as Senku himself to put it into his mind. Any romantic feelings on Senku's end are extremely gradual, and develop over time spent together, learning to trust and rely on one another. By the time Senku realizes how he feels he's too far gone to fight it.

○ Much as Senku can't fight his own brain, he still hopes things will pass over time if he focuses on other things. It probably takes Senku's romantic interest to initiate, picking up on him drawing away and confronting him about it, before anything will truly progress anywhere. It takes Senku some time to ease into the idea of a romantic relationship though, so he'll need some time to process before giving them a proper answer. In the end, he's upfront that his own goals and love of science will always be his first priority, but if they can put up with that he can't deny that he finds them exhilarating.

○ Dating Senku, honestly, isn't all that different from being his friend. For the most part Senku treats his partner the same way after he starts dating them as he did before. Mushy, flowery words that don't mean anything are a waste of time in Senku's mind, and cute little dates are a waste of valuable production time. He's probably the least romantic boyfriend in recorded history. That being said, there are some differences in how he treats his partner once they start dating - they just tend to be more subtle. Senku takes to teasing his partner more often to see their cute flustered face, is a touch more protective socially, and puts up with much more from them then he would most others. 

○ Additionally, once Senku has settled into a relationship, he actually relies on his partner more heavily. If he’s dating them he certainly admires them in some way or another, and holding back their talents because he’s worried unnecessarily would be illogical - it would also hold them back from growing, and having a relationship where he and his partner constantly inspire and push one another to be the best they can be is important to Senku. As such, Senku makes even fuller use of his partner’s abilities once they’re together as he’s able to get a much more intimate understanding of the strengths, weaknesses, and limitations. Of course, they always have his support ten-billion percent behind them in whatever task he’s appointed them to, or anything they take on for themselves. They’re partners in every sense of the word, and they work together with full trust behind them.

○ Senku's lack of use for dramatic prose shouldn't be confused for either a lack of communication nor a lack of praise. Quite the opposite, in fact, Senku is an extremely honest and forthright partner. Though his bluntness can absolutely be harsh and hard to hear, Senku's partner never has to worry what he thinks or where they stand. He'll just tell them. While this does mean he's expecting to be able to have the hard conversations at least productively, it also means his partner knows he's not just flattering them when he compliments them. Senku encourages the same kind of honesty and communication from his significant other, too. After all, how can they work together if they can't communicate?

○ As aforementioned, Senku's first and greatest love will always be science. Sharing this passion is one of the biggest ways Senku tries to show his partner he loves them. Though he's perfectly happy indulging in his version of quality time (read as: being in the same room as his partner while he experiments and researches and they do… whatever they want, really) he's elated whenever he has an opportunity to explain something he's working on and how it works. Though he hardly expects his partner to follow every equation and formula, he can't help but feel his heart flutter when they ask questions and try their best to follow - just a little bit.

○ Eventually Senku sharing his love of science as a way to show his partner he loves them evolves into gift giving; specifically, he’ll make gadgets for them of varying complexity. Of course, these creations are always extremely practical in nature (Jewelry? Why would he make them something useless like that? Flowers? What, do they want to try making medicine?? You get the idea.) but they’re romantic in Senku’s own way. Very often whatever gift he provides them with is a direct solution to some complaint they’d brought up at some point or another, even if he won’t tell them that directly.

○ Which brings us to the point of Senku having an impeccable memory when it comes to his partner. Of course, Senku has a sterling memory in general, but he’s extra sure to keep any information about his partner locked away for safekeeping, regardless as to how mundane it may seem at the time. Senku wants to understand how the person he’s learning to love ticks, how they think and why. It’s rather often than Senku will surprise his partner by bringing up something they’d mentioned what feels to them like ages ago - though he always downplays their obvious surprise that he cared enough to remember as if was an obvious thing to do (it is for him, but admitting it would be cringey.) Senku’s genuine interest in his partner makes him a fantastic listener.

○ It’s also that genuine interest that makes him scarily perceptive when it comes to his partner. He’s studied them, consciously and not, and he knows their tells. If something seems to be wrong Senku isn’t the type to let it go, either, and his complete lack of fear around blunt confrontation make it almost impossible for his partner to lie to, or hide anything from him. If there’s a problem the most obvious thing to do is to find a solution and fix it, so that’s his goal and he won’t let up until he’s able to start working on that solution. Unfortunately, this also makes it almost impossible for Senku’s partner to surprise him with anything ever - at least without a little help from friends.

○ It’s almost subconscious, but Senku involves his partner in every consequential project he can get them on board for. It isn’t that he’s clingy; far from it, actually. Senku is perfectly happy to spend time on his own and has absolutely no trouble entertaining himself for extended periods of time. Senku’s partner is more often than not the one seeking him out to spend more time together if anything. All that is to say that it’s less that he requires his partner’s company, and more that he becomes rather attached to being able to share accomplishments with them. The closer they become, the more the idea of finishing a sizable project without their smiling face cheering for the victory next to him makes him feel dissatisfied.

xxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Dr. Stone has had me in a vice grip recently, and this perfect little leek will not leave my brain alone. I hope you enjoyed reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them!

Requests are currently OPEN, so feel free to ping my inbox with anything you'd like to see written!

Safe travels, reader!

[munsonsmixtapes]

Joel request for you- maybe Tommy wants to meddle and find someone for Joel so he tries to push you and Joel together. Joel is resistant, of course he is, but the moment he sees you he’s like instantly smitten and back tracks on not being interested in being set up and Tommy teases him about it

The New Year’s Eve party is in full swing when you show up. It isn’t your first and it most certainly won’t be your last. You’ve come to adore this little town and all the people in it and sometimes you forget that this isn’t where you grew up. 

You grab yourself a drink and mingle as the night goes on. You’re one of the more social people around and it seems like everyone just loves to talk to you. You make it easy, you’re relatable. And everyone seems to want to be your friend. Well, everyone except for Joel. 

You’d never admit how badly you’re crushing on him because it’s actually quite embarrassing. You know Tommy has been trying and failing to set the two of you up, but that’s not why you’re interested. There’s just something pulling you to him. And even though you told yourself you weren’t going to get attached to anyone, you find yourself heading towards him anyway. 

He’s at an empty table, busting a beer while keeping an eye on Ellie who’s dancing with Dina. You have no idea what’s going on with them, but you know that it’s definitely something. They used to be attached at the hip and how she won’t even talk to him. 

At this point, you just want to do whatever you can to get that sad little pout off of his face. He looks like a kicked puppy and it breaks your heart. Even though you know your can’t fix it, you’re going to damn well try. 

You take a seat next to him and plaster on that infectious smile of yours, but he doesn’t even look in your direction. He’s just staring off into space and for once, you have no idea what to say. 

“Hi,” is what you start with and it’s enough to get him to turn in your direction. “Joel, right?” You ask and he nods, confused. No one ever talks to him like this. Something’s off and he knows it. 

“Look, you’re a nice woman and all, but I’m not really looking for anything right now so you can tell Tommy that I’m not interested.” With that, he takes a sip of his beer as he turns back towards the dance floor, letting you know that the conversation is over. 

“Tommy didn’t send me over here. Sure, he hyped you up to me, but you didn’t need it. I was already interested.” Now he’s intrigued. He turns back in your direction and gives you a once over. God, you’re gorgeous. And you’re into him? What kind of alternate universe did he enter? Because there’s no way that a woman as beautiful as you would ever be interested in him in this reality. 

Neither of you seem to notice that Tommy is watching from afar. He’s smiling to himself as he watches the two of you talk. So proud of himself like an “I did that” sort of thing. He just wants his brother to be happy, to finally settle down with someone in a romantic sense. He knows that maybe he’s overstepping, but he thinks this is for Joel’s own good. 

You’re eventually able to get Joel to loosen up, and now you’re laughing at something that definitely isn’t funny. He’s got a pretty smile and he thinks the same about you. You’re probably the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and you could have any other younger man here and yet you’re sitting here talking to him. 

You’re definitely out of his league but why does he care? It’s not like anything’s going to come of this. You’re just talking and that’s it. But he likes your company, loves it even. You’re funny and sweet and he’s seen the way you’ve interacted with Ellie. You’re the perfect woman in his eyes but he doesn’t think he deserves you. He doesn’t think he deserves to be happy. Not after all the horrible things he’s done. 

Everything’s going smoothly and you just know that he’s not as rusty as he thinks he is. He’s flirting just fine and even if nothing comes of this, you’re going to enjoy it. You’ve been crushing on him for so long and are willing to take whatever he’s willing to give you. 

Everything shifts, though, when your hand hits your glass of red wine and it gets all over the both of you. It happens so quickly that you both barely have any time to register what’s happening before you’re both covered in the stuff. 

You quickly take Joel by the hand and lead him to the bathroom-in the perfect line of sight for Ellie to see where the two of you are heading. Even though things are complicated between the two of them, she can’t help but feel happy for him. That maybe he’s finally found someone after all these years. 

You pull him into the women’s bathroom and he’s internally panicking because he feels like he shouldn’t be here. But you on the other hand-you’re cackling. You’re laughing so hard that he can’t help but stare, wondering what the hell is so funny. 

“Of course this would happen to me,” you say between laughs, trying so hard to catch my breath. “I finally try to put myself out there and now we’re covered in wine. I’m so sorry. Guess I’m just bad luck.” 

“You’re not bad luck,” he shakes his head as he takes a paper towel and wets it before stepping forward slowly like you’re a spooked animal. “It could have happened to anyone. And you don’t have to apologize. It’s not like you did it on purpose.” 

You step closer and you watch as he dabs the wet paper towel against your shirt. It’s amusing how he’s trying his best to not actually touch you. And you know it’s not because he’s repulsed. He clearly just doesn’t know how to approach this whole thing. 

“You can touch me, you know,” you tell him, hoping that it will ease his nervousness. “I don’t bite.” 

“But I have to-“ 

“Do whatever you have to do, Joel. Whatever gets the stains out.” 

Without another word, he slides his hand up your shirt and pressed it against the fabric so it’s easier for him to dab stains. He’s not even touching you and yet you can still feel the heat emanating off him.  

You tilt your head to look at his face and he seems so focused that he doesn’t even notice that you’re staring at him. You’re taking the chance to take in his features while he’s up close. His warm brown eyes that always look so soft. His hair that has grown out that you just want to run your fingers through. That damn mustache that you’re desperate to feel rub against every single part of your body. 

You hate how wet this is making you, how desperate you are for him. You know how pathetic it is but you can’t help it. You just want to know what his lips feel like on yours but you’re willing to take whatever he gives you, even if it’s just the conversation. 

Before you can stop yourself, though, your arms are wrapping around his neck, pulling him in. And as soon as your lips touch, it’s fireworks. It’s only a few seconds before you pull away but you swear it’s magic. There’s something about it that feels so good-so right. Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve done but he’s just staring at you like you’ve hung the moon. 

“I’m sorry,” is all you say before you hurry for the door but Joel’s quick to grab your wrist and pull you back. You’re chest to chest and he’s got on a dopey grin, a smile that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before on him. You like it and wish he’ll do it more often. 

“I’m not,” is all he replies before his lips are on yours again. It’s passionate and hungry and you let him take whatever he wants from you. His rough hands slide up your shirt just a little bit, wrapping around your waist as yours wrap around his neck. 

“Do you want to go back to my place?” you ask and god does he. 

“Please,” is all he says and you’re leading him out of the bathroom back into the party. The two of you are smiling ear to ear as you pull him towards the front door and he spots Tommy on his way out who’s giving him a knowing look. Surely by tomorrow, everyone is going to know that the two of you are together.

[fishermanshook]

SHELLS BY THE SEASHORE.

( Shelly Fossilian ) + gn!toon!reader

✶˖*°🐚 ࿐ pfp/ icon by: jaywuzheree on tt , dw’s dating h/c’s , not pre-read , possible ooc-ness , small size intended , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

To love someone means to embrace them exactly how they are, flaws and all. You’ve had no problem with this, and neither has your loving girlfriend.

꒰wc꒱ n/a

☆ SHELLY FOSSILIAN has always been one to put others before herself. Whether that be making sure everyone’s at full health or giving up her tapes to stop Dandy from twisting make Dandy happy, the shell’s taking care of the wellbeing of her friends first —so obviously that doesn’t stop when it comes to you. Hell, her selflessness only grows drastically when she’s by your side.

☆ It’s not the hardest to tell she’s got the hots for you, especially when you’re always the first person getting boosted when on a machine. She tries not to make it so obvious, even when she’s not in your line of sight, but it’s legitimately SECONDS after you touch the damn thing. The purple aura surrounding you and Shelly’s eager little giggle is all you hear before she disappears. [ it’s the cutest thing ever I swear. ]

☆ SHELLY FOSSILIAN who isn’t one to shy away from making it known that you’re her one and only. From matching dinosaur bracelets that Cosmo and Sprout helped her to make to the affectionate nicknames you both have for each other, it's plain to see that the two of you are more then engaged with each other.

⤷ There was a time where Shelly hadn’t been careful enough, and had the bracelet break in front of her eyes the moment the elevator door closed, leaving the beads and charms scattered across the hardwood tiles of floor twenty four. She was devastated, and Tisha had to help her calm down, tell her that there’s no possible way you’d break up with her just because the friendship bracelet had shattered.

And of course you weren’t mad, you’d never be, especially at an unfortunate accident like that. You instead purposed the idea of making new, much more adorable matching bracelets for the two of you. Something that better reflected your new found relationship with each other.

“You sure y-you’re fine with it?” Shelly muttered out, still recovering from the past run.

“I’d be more than happy to re-create them, and they can be new this time! We’ll spice ‘em up so that they match again.” You reply back, huffing when Shelly comes to hug you tightly. You flash a small smile to Tisha standing not too far away, one that says a small “thank you” for her help earlier. The tissue box can only snicker lightly to herself before carrying on wards to her room.

☆ SHELLY FOSSILIAN who is just a sucker for any form of physical contact with you. Surprise hugs from the back are her go to for when you’re not looking, and cuddling till the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms? Must be Toon Heaven for this girl.

☆ SHELLY FOSSILIAN who just can’t help but hold onto every piece of love you’ve given her. The shells sentimental to a fault, and she can’t find it in herself to get rid of every little treasure you’ve given her, even before the two of you started dating. It might be an old hoodie you once left at her place and never went back to retrieve, or a pretty tube of mascara left stranded on the vanity in her room. Whatever it may be, she holds onto it like it’s the last piece of you she’ll ever get.

☆ SHELLY FOSSILIAN just can’t help but ramble and ramble and info dumb on your 24/7, 365. To the average toon, this would’ve drove them crazy out of their MIND annoyed, but you stay silent as she chirps away about the newest facts on Theropods and such. It’s cute, and seeing Shelly being so passionate about the one thing she adores with all of her heart [ besides you ] makes you adore her even more.

⤷ On a side note, you’re constantly heading to Gardenviews ginormous library, containing information on a wide variety of topics you hadn’t even know about. There’s no need for Brightney to guide you over to the dinosaur section —that you’ve been able to locate on your own for quite a while now— and it’s always where you find Shelly, cooped up on her favorite teal beanbag, nose deep in Dinosaur facts. It’s not until you find yourself on a similar pink beanbag does she take note of your presence, scooting herself closer to you so you’ll be able to read together. Truly though? You’re just here to be in her presence, and that’s all you need.

—

note: hi and HELLO DANDY’S WORLD FANDOM !! I have come to write for this new and blossoming fandom here on tumblr, and to give you all a warm welcoming gift, I bestow to you a Shelly x reader fic :3 There will be more to come soon, but it’s nice to be here 😽

© fishermanshook — no stealing , translating , plagiarizing or reposting my work on other any other sites + reblogs adored !!

[sunderwight]

Time travel fic where Vader gets the chance to go back in time, any time, and change his history.

So he goes back to when he was still a slave boy living on Tatooine with his mother.

He avoids the Jedi. Qui-Gon doesn't get the money for the parts they need, so the Queen doesn't reach Coruscant in a timely fashion, and the ousting of the Trade Federation is delayed. Which sucks ass for Naboo. But, on the other hand, the confrontation with Maul happens smack dab in the middle of the desert, so Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan actually overpower him together and neither of them dies.

After the Jedi leave, Anakin uses his future knowledge and expertise in cybernetic implants to remove his and his mother's slave chips. A tragic accident befalls Watto, and a fire in the junk shop destroys most of his records, so no one who inherits the remainder has any knowledge of slaves (or anything else) missing from the inventory.

Shmi knows that something has changed. But Ani's always been a miracle, strange and unknowable in many ways, and yet still her son regardless. She goes along with it, even though she's apprehensive about affording water, shelter, and food as they are.

She needn't have worried.

At every turn, Anakin miraculously seems to uncover things they need, or opportunities for them to explore. Shmi finds decent work in various establishments -- cleaning garages and hangers, and cantinas after closing, mostly. There always seems to be someone willing to hire her on for a while, even if they already seem to have staff. Ani works his magic with scrap parts and whatever better pieces they can afford, when they have enough to spare (which is surprisingly often), and sells contraptions to the Jawas, junk dealers, or other interested parties. If he makes and sells some weapons to some enterprising bounty hunters or mercenaries, Shmi doesn't discern it, and Anakin doesn't volunteer the information.

But mostly, he works in prosthetics.

There's a pretty big demand for such in the Outer Rim, especially Tatooine, where the idea of anyone hopping into a Bacta tank is even less realistic than the idea of public swimming pools. People are losing limbs all the time, and good prosthetics are hard to come by.

Anakin makes good prosthetics. Even with limited parts and visible frustration, by the time he's thirteen, most of the planet knows where you go if you need an "extra hand", so to speak.

It's not long before the Hutts take an interest in monopolizing the resource, and seeing what else this talented young mechanic can build. Even if most Hutts rarely need prosthetics themselves, they like to be in charge of a hot commodity, after all. And it's hardly unheard of for them to lose an arm or two either.

Shmi worries. Anakin doesn't. Somehow, all of the local crime lords start to be met with unfortunate accidents. Their relatives and allies investigate, of course, and no one really believes in coincidences in the Outer Rim. But nothing turns up either. Falling cargo, suicides, misfiring weapons, heart attacks, choking on food, slipping and falling into sarlacc pits, it's all stuff that does happen. It just usually doesn't happen so often, to such a specific group of people, within such a short amount of time.

When Anakin is fifteen, Sidious sends people to fetch him. They approach him with sweet offers and seemingly-generous gifts, at first, as if it's not the most suspicious way they could go about it. His mother too, but it's such a stupid effort that Shmi finds them suspect even without prompting, and senses something off about them. Anakin's mother might not be nearly as Force sensitive as he is, but she is, and she doesn't like Palpatine's people even if she doesn't know who they are.

The next ones just try and abduct him. It's at least less insulting in its directness. They find themselves falling afoul of the many dangers of Tatooine instead. Such a risky place, people disappear out here all the time. Mind the womp rats and the krayt dragons.

Finally, Sidious goes himself.

His ship suffers a terrible malfunction upon its descent towards a planetside dock. A true tragedy. The Chancellor will be missed.

History remembers Anakin Skywalker as a footnote in the development of several innovative prosthetic enhancements, and a semi-obscure abolitionist who also advocated for the rights of clones.

[callalillywrites]

Bad Idea Made Better

My first entry for @flufftober's Fluff Bingo. A5 - "This is a bad idea."

This is also my first real fic for Aaron Hotchner and the Criminal Minds fandom. I hope I did him justice here.

Fluff Bingo Masterlist | Aaron Hotchner Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x F!Reader

Word Count: ~2200

Summary: Everyone is wanting to celebrate Dave's newest bestseller, but things go a bit awry. Thankfully, you and Aaron know how to work together to make everything better.

Warnings: mentions of illness; surprise parties; lots of fluff and sweetness all around

A/N: I really do adore this story, and I'm definitely looking forward to writing more of Hotch as he's always been one of my favs from the show.

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

*****

"I don't know, Aaron. This feels like a really bad idea," you couldn't saying as you both juggled the multiple objects in your hands. "Dave doesn't strike me as someone who appreciates others invading his space."

Aaron Hotchner had the audacity to chuckle at your misgivings.

When you would've liked to nudge him or playfully shove him for laughing, all the stuff in your arms prevented you. The only thing left in your arsenal was snark, and you'd always had plenty of it.

Before you could unleash any though, Dave's front door opened.

Penelope squealed upon seeing the many items you two carried, motioning you both inside. "Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh, I'm so glad you're here. We could really use your help, my sweet lady."

You didn't get to ask why because Penelope had grabbed the only free space she could find and dragged you from Aaron's side. A glance behind you to see Aaron shaking his head, his smile visible and growing, before you were pulled deeper into Dave's home.

Penelope didn't let go until she'd gotten you into the massive and beautifully kept kitchen.

Well, used to be beautifully kept, you realized. It honestly took you a few moments to find the kitchen you considered your dream kitchen under all the mess.

"What happened in here?"

That was all it took for Penelope to dive into the juicy info she'd gathered since she arrived that morning.

From your understanding, Joy had been in the process of starting some food prep with her hubby when Kai woke up sick. Of course, they'd dropped everything and took Kai to the ER. His temp was way too high, and he complained of tummy ache. The ER took them forever. Kai was diagnosed with a stomach bug that should resolve itself in a few days. By the time they returned to Dave's place, they'd been too exhausted to even recall the mess they'd left behind.

Kai, understandably, has been their priority over any cleaning they might've done this morning before Penelope and Derek arrived.

"Penny," you surveyed the damage, not comprehending how a little prep has led to this much mess, "this can't be all Joy."

"Oh, it's not," she assured you before she recounted more of this kitchen's odyssey.

When she and Derek arrived, they did set out to clean up and start over, but neither of them had ever really been so great at making pasta, let alone Dave's favorite dishes. They'd gathered every cookbook they could find around the house before Penelope got out her laptop.

Every appliance Dave owned had been pulled from their respective spaces and used in some capacity. Not one of them had been saved from a dusting of flour or whatever paste the two had seemed to create instead of pasta dough. Some of it even appeared to have started crusting over, hardening where it'd been left.

"Take these," you said in a nonsense but gentle tone, "and get Aaron. I'm going to need his help in here. Oh, and Penny, please pray I can get through this mess and still have time to make everything we agreed to make."

"On it, sweet lady," she said, her heeled steps clicking her departure. She paused in the doorway and met your gaze over her shoulder, her smile sweet and infectious. "I'm really glad you're here, and I have complete faith in you."

You surveyed the mess once more, developing a working game plan. The mess would take at least a half-hour to clean. Another hour or so to make enough food for the surprise party. Time would be cutting it close, but you felt confident this could work.

"What do you need, honey?" Aaron asked, his arms coming around your middle.

Your confidence increased at his arrival and sweet words of assistance.

Turning in his arms, you rose as high as your toes allowed to place a sweet kiss on his lips. A smile crept over your features as you met his warm brown eyes. "Your attention to detail and some elbow grease."

"You've always got those," he said with such promise. His lips curved into a grin that had your insides melting a little, but you reluctantly pushed those feelings aside. Oh, this man could do things to you that you never thought anyone would be able to do.

It took a moment before you regained your professionalism and set him to work.

Between you two, Dave's disaster of a kitchen returned to his level of pristine cleanliness. You'd even done it with a few minutes to spare with the half-hour block you'd estimated earlier.

It helped that you two had learned to work so well together, having cooked many meals together.

Sure, the days where Jack joined were a bit more chaotic, but they were no less fun and soul healing. Jack, not so little anymore, still proved helpful and resourceful whenever a mishap threatened to topple whatever plans had been made. He'd even picked up quite a few skills from both you and Aaron, doing his part whenever it was called for.

You wouldn't trade any of the days you've shared with Aaron and Jack for anything, you realized, as he set up the few appliances you needed. Your love for them had been set deep within your heart, and you looked forward to having as many more as they'd allow you.

"What's that face?" Aaron asked, his hand coming up to trace over your cheek. "I don't know that I've seen that face before. You okay, honey?"

Shaking yourself, you smiled with all the love you had. "Yeah, I'm good. Really good."

He studied you another moment. Whatever he saw must've lent truth to your words because he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

A squeal from the doorway had you both turning towards it. Wry grins stole over your features as only one could make that noise from the team, and that was Penelope.

"You two are just so cute," she gushed.

Her hands were clenched beneath her chin as she practically vibrated where she stood.

You could only shake your head as you asked, "Need something, Penny?"

"Oh, yeah, I need to borrow Hotch. I'll send him right back, sweet lady."

After assuring Aaron and Penelope you could manage on your own for a bit, you quickly set about to work. The first task you needed to complete was making enough pasta for everyone joining for this celebration of Dave's latest bestseller.

A quick glance at the clock promised you'd have just enough time to get everything finished on time as long as no other hiccups occurred.

Aaron returned a few minutes later, and Joy even managed to join you two. She quickly figured out what was left and set about doing that, her gratitude evident despite her exhausted state.

When you were certain you had everything under control, you quickly searched out the fully stocked fridge and cabinets of Dave's kitchen. After grabbing a few items, you set them down on the counter and quickly made up something soft but filling for Joy, Kai, and Shawn. It wouldn't do to make them wait another hour or so for Dave's surprise dinner to eat something.

"You really don't have to do that," Joy said when she realized what you were doing.

Shaking your head, you shushed her. "It's not a problem. I've learned how fussy a young boy can be when they're not feeling well. This was one of Jack's favorites whenever he caught something. Maybe it'll help Kai as well."

Joy didn't argue after that, simply sat and watched as you finished everything up yet again.

When you would've trayed it up, Aaron stopped you, nudging you aside and taking over. His hands took up the few plates and bowls you'd prepared and set them in a manner that only one trip would be needed.

"I'll bring the tray if you'd like to grab the drinks, Joy," he said and waited until she led the way from the kitchen. When he reached the doorway, he paused a moment to meet your gaze. The softest smile graced his features as he said, "Do you know how much I love you?"

A smile bloomed until your cheeks hurt.

You nodded. "I do, and I love you just as much, Aaron."

"That's impossible, honey."

He didn't give you the chance to argue, his feet quickly taking him out of the doorway and catching up to Joy.

With the kitchen to yourself once more, you turned back to what was left to do.

Well, you thought you had it to yourself.

A noise near the back door had you turning to find Dave standing there. His suitcase sat at his feet and an amused but affectionate expression rested on his own obviously face.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough, mia bella," he spun his keys in his hand before coming further into the kitchen and sitting at his large island, "to know how much you mean to this team and even to my family."

Being the premier profiler, he didn't give you a chance to flounder but rather continued by changing the subject. "So, how much damage have they done to my house?"

You huffed, shaking your head at him. Amusement filled you when you caught the twinkling humor lurking in his expressive eyes. He only allowed a few people to see his mischievous side, and you felt quite honored to be one of those people.

"I'm sure it's not too bad. I did try and tell them this was a bad idea, but they were quite insistent as I'm sure you're aware."

"You're a good kid. If Aaron doesn't put a ring on your finger soon, let me know. We'll find you a good Italian boy, someone who'll appreciate all you have to offer."

To emphasize his words, he reached into the pan closest to him and snatched some of the pasta you'd just finished preparing. A soft moan of appreciation left his throat almost involuntarily, chewing slowly to enjoy each of the flavors you added.

"If I were twenty years younger…"

"You would make me wife number five?"

"You wound me, mia bella."

"My apologies, Dave," you said sincerely.

"Hotch is gone five minutes, Rossi, and you're over here trying to propose to his girl," Derek said from the doorway, his brows raised even as a wide grin spread over his face. "You're either a brave man or a stupid one. Ring or no ring, we all know Hotch is all in with Pretty Mama."

"That I am," Aaron agreed, stepping back into the room.

He didn't stop until he returned to your side where he belonged and had belonged for some time. His arm came up to wrap around your waist even as he dropped a kiss into your hair.

In a voice low enough only you'd hear, he said, "I have the ring at home. I'm taking you to dinner this weekend. Your favorite place. Our favorite table there. Have them slip it into your favorite dessert. Hope with everything in me that you'll say yes."

"You got Jack's blessing?"

He nodded. "He helped me pick out the ring. Even told me it took me long enough."

Laughter spilled out of you at that. Leave it to Jack Hotchner to know what he wanted before his father did. It heartened you to know that Jack cared about you that much as you cared about him just the same. You'd do anything for Jack, including stepping aside if he didn't want you in his or his father's life anymore.

Meeting his gaze, you found yourself getting lost in the love he so freely expressed in his gaze. It was enough to have your breath catching. His love for you hadn't been a secret for several months now, but every time he looked at you like that, you always lost your breath. How could you not when you had a man like Aaron Hotchner?

"What do you think?" he asked after a moment too long in silence. "Bad idea?"

You shook your head. It took several rapid blinks to get your emotions back under control. One of your dreams was coming true even if it was going to be another couple of days. You could wait. You would wait forever if it mean a lifetime with Aaron and with Jack.

"No, no," you said, swallowing down the lump that had risen, "it's a very good idea. The best idea you've ever had."

"So, you'll say yes?"

Happiness swelled within you, but you tempered it. No reason to not tease him for a moment after the incredibly sweet bombshell he'd dropped on you. Your eyes were surely twinkling as you said, "Guess you'll have to wait until this weekend to find out. Though, I'm certain the odds will be in your favor."

"You're going to keep me on my toes, aren't you, honey?"

"Always."

He pressed a kiss to your hair again as he whispered, "Good."

[candyheartedchy]

Part two of this, so if you want more context on this analysis, please read the first part!

In part one I went over the struggles of SpongeBob’s desire to fit in and how he falls into this perfectionist nature. And because of this, he also falls into being a people pleaser A LOT. Where he’ll put the needs of others (mostly his friends) before his own. He also gets tricked and manipulated constantly by folks for their own personal gain and selfish reasons. Not to say SpongeBob doesn’t have any himself, but he tends to put his own on the back burner in order to please his friends. Again, he’s a people pleaser, he wants everyone to like him. The episode “Not Normal” is another example of him worrying he’s not normal enough and changes his personality and appearance because he thinks he’ll be better. He also worries what his own parents think of him, even though his parents don’t mind his energetic nature and childlike wonder.

Once again trying to prove himself to people. But the question still stands, will he ever “grow up” and “be mature”?

Well, that’s where Coraline (my self insert) comes in.

Coraline is a sea monster. Her species is well known for being scary and dangerous. But she’s not. She’s an outcast. Spending her entire youth bullied by other sea monsters due to being seen as “sensitive” and “weak”. And once old enough, she leaves her trench. Going from town to town trying to find a place to call home, before finding herself in Bikini Bottom and ends up working for Plankton because no one else will hire her. Already sealing her fate of crossing paths with SpongeBob. And once the two do meet, SpongeBob of course wants to befriend her, offering to show her around because he wants to make a good impression. But due to Mr. Krabs threatening him when they find out she works for Plankton, the sponge once again puts others before his own needs, causing Coraline to get stood up by him. And then SpongeBob ends up having to apologize later on.

[More context of this in the first two chapters of the fanfic about them here!]

Eventually he forms a friendship with the sea monster, almost in secret from his own boss.

Right away the two hit it off, discovering that they share a few similar hobbies and interests. But the two also start to notice that they share the same struggles as well. People pleasing. SpongeBob does it to avoid being alone, while Coraline does it to not be seen as a threat. Unlike SpongeBob, Coraline accepts her loneliness, purposefully avoiding folks and will sometimes deny the sponge’s offers in fear of scaring him off, but because she wants to keep peace, she keeps accepting them.

But SpongeBob is scared. Not because Coraline is scary. He’s afraid of being tricked and disappointing his boss. With Mr. Krabs filling his head with the idea that Plankton is using Coraline to get to him to get to the secret formula, SpongeBob starts to get paranoid. While Coraline on the other hand feels trapped because she has to do what Plankton tells her or else she loses her job. But because she’s honest, she’ll let SpongeBob in on the plans, allowing the two to be one step ahead of their bosses to avoiding any conflict between them. The two then start to make a game out of it, sneaking around and being very tongue in cheek whenever they have to “confront” each other during work hours. But once the two starts to catch feelings for each other, it gets messy really fast.

Coraline believes she’s a mistake. Believes every time SpongeBob is nice to her is out of either pity or as a joke. She wants to avoid him but can’t, SpongeBob is stubborn, but so is she, so it’s a constant push and pull between the two. SpongeBob genuinely enjoys her company. He never met anyone who treated him gently before and he doesn’t want to mess up whatever they have going between them because he’s afraid he won’t find it again.

Skipping forward to them dating. For another analysis post on the whole thing about SpongeBob and dating can be found here!

Neither have any dating experiences. The only time SpongeBob had form “relationships” was with a boat, a spatula and a krabby patty.

With “Spatula” he had to get a replacement in order to continue his work and the episode is kinda treated like a “cheating” allegory in a way that SpongeBob chose his work before the spatula, later in tears asking “Spatula” for forgiveness. Again we could see this as an internal battle SpongeBob most likely have that he himself worries about being replaced and sorta acts the scenario out. I know this (and the other episodes) is played for laughs, but I’m making this deeper than it should because I like him to have depth dammit!

“Boatie” comes from SpongeBob’s loneliness of everyone leaving town and once again starts to believe the boat has it out for him while he talks to a puppet of Patrick, again most likely acting out a scenario he most likely fears will happen to him one day. I could also go on about the whole “National No Spongebob Day” subplot at the end of that episode, but that would end up being a rant…

Heck even Bubble Buddy plays into this since SpongeBob created him out of loneliness due to all his friends being busy (before it’s revealed that the bubble is alive).

And then there’s “Patty”. He becomes infatuated with a krabby patty and I think the little teasing comments from Squidward about it triggered the attachment into an obsession from SpongeBob. Because if we once again go by the one comment in the episode “The Chaperone” where he never had a date to prom, it’s most likely he never dated in general.

He wants to feel wanted, but doesn’t know how to get it without it backfiring.

Once getting closer to SpongeBob, Coraline catches on right away that SpongeBob goes to desperate measures to make her happy, which makes her uncomfortable. To her SpongeBob is more mature in her eyes since he has more life experiences than her and she’s the only one who treats him with respect because of it, so once noticing his people pleasing nature, she tries to step in out of concern. Because he doesn’t need to change for her, she already accepts him as is. Which of course throws SpongeBob out of loop because this is what he always does, he has to help others however he can, and he recognizes Coraline’s struggles and wants to help her too. Eventually the pair starts to get frustrated by each other due to this, not realizing that they are both not only forcing themselves out of their comfort zones, but also growing as people from their impact on one another. Causing them both for the first time in their lives to “grow up” and accept being different.

[lightlycareless]

Why do I feel like y/n would be shy wearing her lingerie and showing it to naoya during sexy time? This is just a thought I'm having recently. Btw it's been so long since i check up on you! I hope you're having a good day 💖🫶

Omg hiiiiii!!!!!

I know, it's been a while hahahah I've seen you here and there and I always appreciate that you remember me 🥺💖 I've been doing ok, just very busy with both my personal life and work, and trying to finish all the requests. But I'm here again :> I hope you've been doing well too!!!

Your ask that kept me very entertained ngl🙈🙈🙈 I've always liked the thought of Y/N doing little things for Naoya that just make his libido become even bigger so this was right in the spot!!! I won't say more, I'll just let you read it :)

Now, onto the warnings: slight mentions of smut. there's innuendos and certain words here and there so MINORS DNI. y/n is always shy but come on who is she fooling. minimal proofreading.

Happy reading!

There were many, many experiences you and Naoya wanted to explore upon finally dating, that is an undisputable fact. However, not all of them were easy to bring up, specially those that lingered more into the intimate.

Yet, once growing comfortable enough, there were no limits.

Neither strayed from sharing whatever idea crossed your mind. From cute suggestions for everyday outings, to more… passionate affairs, the two soon discovered you were down for anything—with some exceptions, of course.

Thankfully, lingerie didn’t fall into that category, Naoya eventually bringing it up right after a particularly long mission where all he wanted to do is come back to your shared apartment, relax, and enjoy his lovely girlfriend to his heart’s desire.

Think of it as a treat for all he’s done for the sorcery community, a reason to keep coming back even though his efforts will mean nothing in due time. HQ should be commending you for maintaining him lenient into serving them, without you… well, it would be another story.

“Come on, now. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten shy.” Naoya teases, having grown tired of seeing the stunning, night sky view of the city through the window, when he could be having something much more exquisite, something he’s slowly starting to consider a tease given how long you’ve been behind the closet door.

“I’m not—I’m not shy, Naoya. Just not used to this…” you murmur, fingers fidgeting with one another as you take one last breath, one last reassurance before grabbing the door and sliding it open—revealing a sight that makes his breath hitch.

With amusement, that is.

“What’s this about?” he chuckles, scanning the black satin robe that covetously covers your body. Not for long, anyways.

“Don’t laugh.” You quickly answer, pulling the garment closer to you. “Or I’ll—"

“You’ll what? Scold me?” Naoya laughs.

You frown.

“Alright, princess; no need to get all pouty on me.” Naoya teases one last time before relaxing back into his seat, signaling you to come forward. “Or bratty, come here, now.”

You obey immediately after, with a slight hesitation on your footsteps that reflected both excitement yet uncertainty for said decision; perhaps fearful to disappoint him. Turning out to be a sight he wouldn’t enjoy, if not regret.

But oh, if you only knew the restraint Naoya currently exerted over himself to not break loose and rush the enjoyment of this promising, delightful evening.

Now mere centimeters away from him, and his gaze heavy on you, you carefully reach for the knot holding your robe together and undo it. A few more small adjustments, and the robe finally begins to slide down; first from your shoulders, to your arms, and lastly, the floor.

Rewarding Naoya the adornment of your bare body with his expensive gift—a light blue, lacy lingerie embellished with white flowers around the edges that barely provided any coverage, simply fulfilling a purpose of… artistic decoration, perhaps. Incite desire in the eyes of the beholder.

And this was the most modest one of his selections. A soft start that already has you an agitated mess, and him… well, he had to shift his posture in order to slightly ease the situation down there and proceed without pandering his desires.

The night just started and the two were already flustered? One could only imagine how the evening would proceed.

“Well? What do you think?” you blush, doing your best to avoid succumbing into his burning stare as he travels across your body. How you remained shy even after doing all kinds of unimaginable things in bed is a mystery yet to be solved, but Naoya can’t say he didn’t enjoy it, more so as you squirmed underneath his touch once his hands reached for your waist. “Naoya…”

 “Ah, I apologize, mochi. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He smirks, leaning closer, enough to smell the sweetness of your body wash, while reaching to the edge of your panties and the softness of your hips, legs…

You may act coy, even doubtful of this whole thing, but you still meticulously prepared for it, didn’t you? That much he could feel and smell on your skin. To imply otherwise would be foolish, if not stirring for his cock.

“How would you like me to show my opinion?” he adds, hand still roaming your legs until eventually settling in your ass, where he’d give them a quick, tight squeeze that made you flinch before pulling you closer onto him.

“…You can just tell me if you like it. You don’t need to do much beyond that...” You quietly add, he lets out another breathe chuckle.

Letting you feel insteadwould be a much more assertive manner of disclosing his approval, Naoya believes, but doing so would cut the fun far too abruptly.

“I can’t do that without seeing the product through all angles, my love.” He responds. “And you know that.”

You press your lips together.

“How—how would you like to see me?”

“Turn around, for starters. Give us a twirl, surely you can do that, princess.”

Even though it filled you with embarrassment to indescribable lengths, you did as requested. Slowly turning around as you gave him the sight of your plump ass, far more enticing with the presence of his little gift… not that it did much difference, if he was being honest. It was more the thought of it that sparked his lust even further.

However, his interest was already placed on the one thing he looked forward to the most, the bane of your existence once given permission to do what he desired.

“You look delectable, my love.” He gleefully finally acknowledges, placing his hands on your waist before trailing up to your chest, cupping your breasts and squeezing them together—admiring how you shuddered underneath his touch, even after all this time…

 “They’re not uncomfortable, are they?”

“No—no, it’s not that.” You quietly admit, shyly looking down to him as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “I’m just… not used to this.”

“We’re hardly in the position to be shy, princess. We’ve done more than enough to remove all… formalities.” Naoya murmurs against your neck, making his cock twitch at the way you squirm in response. “You know, I worried you might’ve found all this painful, if not undesirable to at least give it a chance but I’m glad to see I was wrong.”

“…I didn’t want to let you down.” You whisper back, he smiles.

“No, of course not. My love could never strive for that, could she?”

You shake your head. You’d never dream of ever going against him—and to see such approval from him made you grow fuzzy.

Needy.

“Now, while I know there’s another way you’ll look even more ravishing… I’d still want to see you in the other sets; after all, it’s only the bare minimum after all the trouble we went to get them.”

“…we?” you repeat carefully, a bit unsettled by the unknown addition to your private endeavors. “Ranta?”

“Oh, no—he’s too green for these types of things.” Naoya scoffs, as if the two weren‘t around the same age. Well, not everyone is as debauched as your boyfriend. “Besides, he ought to know better than to muse about mywoman.”

You blush; you like this protective side of his—although with Ranta… you can’t help but feel pitiful towards him. Always involved in Naoya’s antics and simply never enough.

Unfortunately that sentiment is short lived once the following words nonchalantly escape his mouth, soon making you realize he wasn’t the only defensive one in this relationship.

“I had to rely on the employee at the store, told me these are supposed to be rather soft, with none of those metal wires you hate so much. Guess she was right, hm?”

“She?” you utter, growing fervently jealous at the mention of a woman being so close to your boyfriend.

No, it’s not because he couldn’t socialize with others. That was fine, really (or so you try to tell yourself) but rather, the context behind said occurrence… it was always that.

You’re not ignorant to the attention he attracts wherever he went and the subsequent reactions; it even happened right in front of you: women blatantly asking him out while completely disregarding your presence. Your significance in his life.

Naoya would swiftly put them in their place by highlighting his relationship to you, however. Earning you a few snide glances but eventually the peace you deserved while out on a date.

Didn’t mean you’d ever grow accustomed to these things, or indifferent to whenever he went out alone— Even if Naoya never gave you reason feel such way by burying your insecurities amongst oceans of gifts and reassuring gestures… they still managed to arise from time to time

Just like now.

“And what? She gave you a preview of what they looked like…?” you say under your breath, yet loud enough for Naoya to hear and naturally, laugh.

“Oh, is this jealousy I’m hearing, mochi?” He snickers, pulling you closer to him in hopes of getting a better look of your pouty face and of course, use it against you. He just loved teasing you, it was in his nature! But you were not to play into his hand. “Don’t look away, princess, I’m just joking! Hey, hey—!”

“You’re quite bold to tell me that after coming back.” You frown, trying your best to get off his lap, but each attempt simply pushes you closer to him. “Let go of me!”

“Do you really think interest in anyone else but you? That I’d rather see some other insignificant woman’s body instead of yours? After I showed you all it does to me?” he breathes, brow furrowed as he firmly kept you in place. “I didn’t say anything, you made it all up in that silly mind of yours.”

“I’m sure she wanted to do so.” You insisted, refusing to let the matter go. Naoya smiles.

“You wound me, my love. Are you really telling me that being like this isn’t proof enough of my desire for you?” He asks before pulling you onto his lap, where you’d soon feel the hard, protruding bulge painfully nestling against his pants; the full display of his raging libido, awoken since the very moment you suggested this whole endeavor.

Kept at bay solely because he wanted to enjoy this moment a little longer, perhaps even let you take the lead, because the moment your robe felt onto the ground, he wouldn’t taken you right then and there.

Naoya can be a man of delicate taste from time to time, his willingness to indulge such foreplays are a testament to that.

As well of his devotion to you.

“Unless… you’re doing so to aggravate me as well.” He suggest, his voice dropping a few tones and instinctively making you shudder with anticipation. A sign that he wasn’t too off the mark. “And here I thought we were to have a nice evening, but you just couldn’t behave for once, could you?”

“It’s—that’s not what I’m—” you cry, before relenting your truth. “What am I supposed to feel after you’ve been gone for days, and when you finally come back, you’re talking about another girl?! No lonely girlfriend wants that!”

“Princess, nothing happened between her and me. I just went inside, demanded for the best things, and left.” Naoya says, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you even closer. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? You just want to stir things between us—are things really that boring without me?”

“I missed you.” You lament, revealing the true nature of your so-called reproach. “I don’t want you to leave ever again—and if I need to dress up like this every day to make you stay, I’ll do it!”

“Be careful, princess, you’re playing a dangerous game.” He says before placing a soft kiss on your shoulder. “But I always got the particular impression you didn’t enjoy doing these things; after all, you get all flustered when doing so.”

“I guess I’m just… overjoyed in making you happy, I can’t contain it in my heart, I have to show it in my face too.”

“Don’t say cute things like that—not when I’ve been holding myself back from… that” he cautions, taken aback by your unusually sweet confession as seen in the heat settling in his face.

“One thing or the other don’t have to be mutually exclusive, you know? I can be cute, but still want to do that.” You persuade. “And I really want to do that.”

“It would be too cruel of my part to keep my needy princess waiting, then.” Naoya smiles, taking hold of one of your garters and snapping it open, much to your shock.

“Be careful, Naoya you just got them!” you plead, attempting to retrieve the fabric for a hopeful repurpose, only for him to stop you in your tracks.

“We have many more to go through, I’d hardly worry for something as insignificant as this.” He explains, in his usual, I simply have too much money for my own good way. “Though there is one I wish to see you before we move onto the main course—in other words, I’d like to fuck you in it.”

“It’s—it’s going to get stained.” You correctly asses, he chuckles.

“Then we’ll simply use the next one; and the one after that, and the—”

“Naoya!” you gasp. “I’d like to keep some for another occasion, at least!”

His golden eyes glisten at the possibility of a repeat of this evening; or perhaps even better, a moment where he unsuspectingly comes home to you, to be received with a soft, warm smile that conceals your lascivious intents underneath your seemingly innocent attire—alongside toys that match just well with the colors of whatever lingerie you may be wearing then.

It’ll be like a welcome home gift for him to unwrap, which he cannot wait to ravish.

I liked the jealous y/n trope from before so I ended up adding it, mainly because I was writing both around the same time hahah.

Also, just imagine how excited Naoya would be to see his wife all dressed up proper, like in a kimono when she eventually lives at the estate only for her to be like "husband, I have a present for you." and it's her wearing lingerie WOW. The man is living his dreams hahahah!! Might write a little something tomorrow.

Anyways, I really hoped you enjoyed this and thank you so much for checking in on me (as well as your patience for this!!) 🥺💖 it always brighten my day whenever I see you in my dashboard; I hope we can continue seeing each other :')

Now, take care and hope to see you soon!!

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

OmfffffGGGG the fun I had writing this chapter GUYS—

I mean start to finish, I've been giggling like an idiot the entire mfing TIME

Well, alternating between giggling like an idiot and snickering deviously like a witch huddled over a cauldron but that's neither here nor there

Of course we have banter between Garp's dippy ass and Bogard's far more poised and reasonable demeanor, but also

BUT ALSO—

No

i cannot

I can't spoil it I cannot I will not I must not I shan't it would be positively rude in all honesty i will not—

Just———muffled screaming

Look I'm sorry in advance I had way too much fun with this

even mihawk is done with my shit at this point

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 4 of who even fcking knows at this point honestly, five? Six? Fifty? Whatever just let me vibe

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. Your first recon mission, while more or less a success, left you wounded and your commanding officers more divided than ever over the operation at hand. You have since arrived at Marineford to complete your training for the mission, and gods only know where things might go from here....

Previous chapter, First chapter, Next chapter

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later Word Count: 4,832

Taglist: @i-am-vita thank you so much you have no idea how much this means to me

♫♬Halloween Blues - The Fratellis♬♫

Well, I'm gonna make ya love me, gonna make ya wish that you'd never been born

Now ya wish you'd never met me, I could be the joker that you couldn't shake off

It was agreed upon by all parties involved that not a word would be spoken of your ill-advised “test” at Kuraigana Island to anyone but Fleet Admiral Sengoku. The brunt of the chastisement fell upon Garp and Bogard, as the commanding officers overseeing the mission; and while you were scolded yourself for getting far closer than your orders had suggested you should, you were still commended for providing valuable new information.

The Marines were now aware that Kuraigana Island was home to a population of large primates, of undetermined size or intelligence but with enough intellect to use basic weaponry.

The Marines were also now aware that the presence of Dracule “Hawk-Eye” Mihawk on the otherwise abandoned island was confirmed, and that the volatile pirate had most likely set up at least a temporary base amid the desolate castle ruins.

You were permitted to keep in contact with your mother over the following months of your training as promised, with the stipulation that your letters would be screened to ensure you didn’t relay any confidential information to outside parties. As such, you wrote your final letter aboard a small unmarked vessel bound to pass by Kuraigana Island perhaps four months after the first, and had handed it over to Bogard to scan over.

Hi, Mom!

I’m still doing great, I promise. Training has been exhausting but I’ve learned a lot, and it’s been a breath of fresh air to be among people that actually seem to like me. My commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay. I trust them.

This will be the last letter for a while since I’m being deployed. You don’t have to worry, it’s nothing serious and I’ll be fine, I just won’t be somewhere that I can receive any mail. You can still write me though, and I’ll be able to reply the second I get back to my base. I don’t know exactly how long that will be, but the tentative estimate is two months. It could be sooner, but it could be a little longer.

Love you, and give my love to all our feathery friends.

“Ten minutes out,” said Garp, sitting against the railing with a doughnut hanging out of his mouth as he finished filling out the remainder of the paperwork he had put off until the very last minute.

“‘Commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay,’” Bogard read aloud, lowering your letter to glance down at you with a wry look.

“She’s not wrong, you’re pretty damned irritating,” said Garp. Bogard lowered his eyes to the vice admiral sitting on the deck of the ship, lifting an eyebrow.

Garp only raised his doughnut with a nod and took another bite before returning to his report. Bogard huffed out a sigh and folded the letter, turning his gaze to you as you paced back and forth across the small deck. The vessel was little more than a sloop, designed for no more than one or two people to sail on their own, sturdy enough to withstand the unpredictable weather patterns of the Grand Line but far less advanced than the standard Marine vessel. You barely noticed his gaze upon you, staring down at your feet as you paced, counting the nails in the deck boards in a futile attempt to keep your mind clear from the quickly approaching start of your mission.

You stopped in your tracks the moment Bogard cleared his throat to get your attention, lifting your head sharply and standing at attention.

“A…at ease,” he said slowly, watching you shuffle your feet and fold your hands behind your back. “Your letter will be sent once Garp and myself return to Marineford,” he assured you. “Once you have left this ship, your own contact with the Marines will cease for a period of no less than two months, unless you are forced to make emergency contact. Emergecy contact will only be employed—”

“Under the circumstance that my own life is in immediate and unquestionable danger,” you responded immediately, to which Bogard gave a curt nod.

“Correct,” he agreed. “There will be a covert Marine presence at every island neighboring Kuraigana. Should you require rescue, the closest vessel will be able to arrive within twenty-four hours.”

“She won’t need it,” Garp chimed in through the last bite of his doughnut, and in a rare break of his iron composure, Bogard reached into one of his overcoat pockets and threw a pen at him in response. You watched as Garp caught it and used the implement to sign his name at the bottom of his paperwork before flicking it across the deck of the ship. “Have a little faith, Bogard. We have at our disposal a trained weapon of subterfuge.”

Garp wrapped his hand around the railing behind him and pulled himself to his feet, strolling over to your side and clapping you on the shoulder.

“Trained under our own supervision,” he went on proudly, while Bogard closed his eyes and heaved a slow, impatient sigh, waiting for him to go on. “Who has already provided us with more up-to-date information on the target than anyone else in our ranks—”

“—I’m still not saying your impulsive little test was anything but idiotic—”

“—and humbly declined to take credit for any of it,” Garp went on , ignoring his partner. You jolted as he gave you a sharp pat on the back. “She’ll be just fine. Won’t ya, kid?”

“I’ll—perform my duties as expected of…” You trailed off into a sigh yourself when Garp rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” you said stiffly. “I’ll be fine.”

“See? She’ll be fine.”

Garp gave a firm nod, as if your word was more than enough to affirm your fate as solid fact.

And then his brow furrowed as he stared across the deck.

His eyes narrowed into a squint, and he turned his head the slightest bit, his hand lowering from your shoulder and back to his side,

“No…that’s not…”

By the time Bogard turned his head, Garp was already striding across the deck, extending a spyglass as he leaned over the railing and stared through the scope. He gave a growl of annoyance as he held the scope out behind him for Bogard to take. Your heart raced as you slowly crossed the deck to join them, your already thin resolve faltering when Bogard slowly lowered the scope to glance at Garp.

“This changes—”

“It changes nothing,” said Garp, jerking his head to look at Bogard.

You didn’t need the spyglass to see the foggy haze around Kuraigana Island past the railing, no more than you needed it to see the small ship docked near its southern banks. You couldn’t make out much about it, but you could see the one thing that mattered—it flew a black flag.

“Red-Hair,” said Garp. “I knew he’d be trouble. I told Sengoku, I told him—”

“Why the hell would he be here?” Bogard said slowly, looking back out toward the island. He glanced behind him, and held out the spyglass for you to take. You moved to the railing between them, holding it to one eye and shutting the other to look through it at the distant ship. “There’s no chance any information has—”

“No, there isn’t,” agreed Garp, as your vision adjusted against the magnification of the lenses. You scanned over the small ship, which appeared to be empty, before lifting your head to focus on its flag—a jolly roger, decorated with a pair of crossed cutlasses and a skull with three slashes across one eye.

“Red-Haired Shanks…?” you said slowly, lowering the scope, glancing between Garp and Bogard as they stared out at the ship. “Ah—three hundred million, two hundred sixty-two thousand berry bounty.”

“Sixty-three,” corrected Bogard absently, glancing at Garp. Garp remained focused, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the ship, his grip tight around the deck railing. “Vice-Admiral.” He glanced over sharply when Bogard spoke up. “This does change—”

“It changes nothing,” Garp growled firmly.

You didn’t particularly like the way Bogard leaned over the railing, holding his hat in place as he shook his head, staring at Garp with no small degree of trepidation. Your eyes shifted to Garp when he turned around to face you, frowning down at you thoughtfully,

“Or it could change things for the better,” he said slowly, letting out a small chuckle. “Well, lass. This is your call. Seems more than just Mihawk might be docked at the island ahead of us.” You nodded shortly to show you were following, waiting for him to continued. “Not much is known about Shanks as yet…to the masses.”

“Garp—”

Garp held up a hand when Bogard tossed a warning look at him.

“—but I have on good authority that he trained under Gold Roger himself.” Your eyes widened, flickering back toward the ship in question, as Bogard let out a growl of annoyance and stormed back toward the opposite side of the deck. “This is an unexpected turn.” Your gaze shot back toward Garp as he straightened out, folding his hands behind his back and staring down at you. “We can head back toward Marineford and go through all the meticulous to-do’s of officially changing our plans, spend a few more months buried in paperwork, or—”

“I’m going.” He raised his eyebrows, his lips already twitching toward a smile at the firmness of your words. “The Red-Hair pirates would be no more aware of who I am than Mihawk. There’s no point wasting any more time.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” he agreed, grinning. He cleared his throat, cupping a hand around his mouth and making a show of calling across the small expanse of the deck to Bogard. “You might just be able to gather us a little more intel than we expeced. Hear that, Bogard? No need to delay!”

“No need to pull a muscle patting yourself on the back, either,” Bogard grumbled, just loud enough to ensure Garp heard him.

“Alright, kid,” said Garp, happily ignoring him as he leaned against the side of the railing. “We’ve got under ten minutes, so here’s the rundown.” He turned his head, looking out toward the ship moored just off the edge of the island. “Shanks, as I said. Captain, pupil of Gold Roger himself. Primary weapon is a sabre. Straw hat, bright red hair, difficult to miss. There’s Yasopp, the first man to join his crew, at the time he was regarded as the sharpest shooter in the East Blue. Dark skin, dreadlocks, carries a pair of flintlock pistols.”

“So...that’s his first mate?”

“No.” Your brow furrowed. “That would be Beckman. Dark hair, ponytail, built like a brick shithouse. Carries a flintlock rifle. He’s a damn good shot himself but he’ll use the thing as a club in close quarters. Lucky Roux, the cook, bastard’s probably as wide as he is tall…”

You listened closely to Garp’s continued colorful descriptions of the crew officers of the Red Hair Pirates—and the potential dangers they could pose to your health should anyone discover what you really were.

“Red Hair isn’t the brightest match in the box,” he went on, “but there’s a great deal of evidence that he closely rivals Dracule Mihawk in swordsmanship. Should the two end up fighting, you keep your distance. Otherwise, be exceedingly careful around Benn Beckman. He’s the idiot’s first mate for a reason and probably accounts for ninety percent of the collective brain cells of the entire crew. You’ll have to keep a close eye on him while you keep up your act. There’s no telling why they’re docked here, and it would be in your best interest to figure it out. If they’re going to be around for a while, keep your distance.”

“I...sort of doubt any of them are ornithology experts,” you said, frowning.

“As much as one might doubt that a species of unknown primates could learn to use relatively modern weaponry.” You turned your head sharply at the sound of Bogard’s voice close behind you—you hadn’t heard him cross the deck. Your frown deepened as he gave a pointed glance at the scar spanning nearly the entire length of your right upper arm. Garp, gestured to the other Marine pointedly at his statement, and you couldn’t deny that he had a point either. “You’ll keep your distance. Fooling one pirate alone is going to be a great deal easier and safer than attempting to fool an entire crew of them.” He turned his head to Garp. “This is still the most ridiculous mission I’ve ever had the displeasure of being involved in.”

“Ah, girl’s got her act down fine,” he said dismissively—and Garp wasn’t wrong about that. Your favorite part of your training by far had been simply flying around the massive base at Marineford, taking tally of how many of the staff and officers you could fool. The only individuals privy to the exact nature of your mission were Garp and Bogard, a small selection of admirals and vice admirals, and Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself. Your performance had been enough to levy a unanimous vote to go forth with the mission. “Your persona, cadet?”

“Gray parrot, previously the pet of a pirate crew that perished in battle, therefore comfortable around pirates in general,” you said. “Able to repeat a number of sounds and phrases that might be heard aboard a ship, capable of learning new phrases and words faster than most other similar species of bird. Particular disdain for Marines and may fly into a frenzy at the sight of their vessels.”

“See?” said Garp, clapping you on the back hard enough that you flinched. “I’d say we’ve got this in the bag.”

Bogard stared between the two of you for a moment, frowning, before shaking his head. “God help us all,” he muttered under his breath, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

The final few minutes of the voyage were spent with Garp and Bogard grilling you about the small amount of information known by the Marines about Dracule Mihawk, about the quick briefing you had just received on the Red Hair pirates, about your memorization of the den den mushi numbers you were to contact in the event that your life was in immediate danger or that you found any information useful enough to wrap the operation up early. Garp gave a resolute nod as you neared your destination, around a mile and a half off the shore of Kuraigana Island, and Bogard gave a heavy sigh and a short nod in silent agreement—no matter how little he approved, you were as ready as you were going to be.

“Alright, then, cadet,” said Garp, his wide grin a direct contrast to his partner’s pessimism. “Bird mode, activate.”

“Must you call it that?” said Bogard, tossing a weary look at Garp as you gave a quick salute and immediately shrank down into your devil fruit form on the deck. You fluttered your wings enough to hop up onto the deck railing in front of them, and Bogard frowned down at you. “Best of luck,” he offered. “Should all go according to plan, we’ll see you again in no more than two months.”

He cringed the slightest bit when you raised your wing in another salute, squawking out over Garp’s snort of laughter, “Wind in your sails!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Garp, waving you off. “Now shoo, bird. And no getting yourself killed.”

And once more, you found yourself flying out toward Kuraigana Island.

You made a high pass over the Red Hair’s ship, squinting down toward it as you soared overhead, and the cause of their mooring near the island became quickly clear—it appeared that there was work being performed on a few sizable cannonball holes on the port side of the vessel. You were surprised to see a handful of the crew on the beach near the edge of the forest, seeming to be laughing among themselves and having a grand time, the primates that had attacked you nowhere in sight. Lucky Roux was easy enough to pick out, exactly as Garp had described him—striped shirt and tinted goggles, easily as wide as he was tall, sitting against a tree and taking a bite out of what looked like an entire leg of lamb while another crewmate assisted in bandaging his arm.

Perhaps they had had a run-in with the local apes.

You took that as enough reason to remain vigilant as you flew high over the forest, scanning the treetops below for any signs of movement. It was a relief that there seemed to be none—if the Red Hair pirates had come in contact with the violent creatures, it seemed they had managed to beat them into submission. You considered how Garp had told you that no one had ever entered the island on foot and lived to tell the tale, and it sent a shiver over your spine to think that the crew might be that formidable.

The first signs of movement you witnessed came only once you neared the castle itself, and you nearly faltered in your flight.

Your target was directly below you.

Sitting on a broken piece of stone wall in the courtyard, clad in a white shirt with a ruffled collar and a pair of black pants, his hat sitting to the side next to him, his massive sword lying across his lap as he polished the handle. You slowly, cautiously circled lower, keeping a fair distance, your eyes remaining on the pirate. His mouth seemed to be fixed in a scowl, his posture tense.

You cautiously landed in one of the castle windows several feet away, side-stepping until you were perched in the very corner of the indentation, your gray plumage a perfect camouflage against the rugged stone, and the reason for Mihawk’s clear irritation became immediately evident as the sound of a nonchalant voice tore your gaze away from him.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Hawk-Eye.”

Shanks.

Garp’s description had once again been right on the money—his stringy scarlet hair was capped by a straw-hat, his hands tucked behind his neck as he paced across a pile of rubble that might have once been a wall, a long sabre tucked into his red cloth belt at his right hip. He hopped down to the ground as you watched, resting his elbow on the hilt of the sword as he stared up at the castle. “Be a shame if something happened to it.”

He reached over with his left hand, wrapping it around the handle of the sword, and you tensed immediately, prepared to take flight as he grinned and glanced over at Mihawk.

“Divi—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, his sword extended out at arm’s length, the blade less than an inch away from Shanks’s neck, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing to threatening slits as Shanks lifted his hands up in mock-surrender, still grinning.

“Only kidding,” he said, taking a cautious step back from the edge of the black blade.

Mihawk eyed him with a venomous glare for a few seconds longer before pulling his blade back swiftly to his side and rolling his eyes, a growl of annoyance leaving him as he turned on his heel and stormed back over to the broken wall, sitting down once more. “Remind me of what the hell you’re doing here and precisely why you haven’t left yet?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my friends?” said Shanks, clutching at his chest dramatically in feigned offense. Mihawk ignored the redhead as he sat down heavily on the ground, grabbing a bottle of dark liquor propped up against the pile of rubble and working the cork loose. “Hey, it’s not my fault. This is where the Log pose pointed us. We needed to do a few repairs on the ship. Noticed your old rowboat moored nearby—”

“Rowboat,” Mihawk repeated under his breath, one of his eyes twitching the slightest bit.

“So what’s with the pissed off monkeys, anyway?” said Shanks, nodding toward the forest before taking a swig from the bottle and flicking the cork over his shoulder. “Few of them were damn near as good with a sword as you are.” Mihawk’s eyes shot toward him in a warning glare, and rolled away when Shanks gave a broad grin in response. “Train them yourself?”

“No,” he said shortly. “The humandrills were already quite capable with a variety of weapons when I arrived—”

“Aww, you named them?”

“I discovered the name among the historical documents in castle,” he said through his teeth. “It seems they learned to use weapons by watching their human neighbors before they managed to wipe themselves out. Perhaps,” he went on, before Shanks could speak up again, “your time would better be served overseeing the repairs on your ship so you can leave the moment they’re done.”

“Oh, the repairs are almost finished,” said Shanks, waving a dismissive hand. “Just waiting for the log pose to finish linking up.” He took a sip from his bottle, lifting his eyebrows. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying the company?”

“Oh, yes, immensely,” Mihawk responded dryly.

Your eyes darted between the pair of pirates amid their exchange, keeping yourself perfectly still in the stone windowsill. It was clear that Shanks, at least, was enjoying himself, and that they seemed to have some sort of history between them. It was equally clear that Mihawk would have very much preferred that his company take a long walk off the nearest short pier. He still kept his irritation in check, though whether it was out of any actual sense of camaraderie or he simply didn’t feel like wasting his energy fighting remained unclear.

Their exchange gave you an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and you made a mental note to inform Garp and Bogard of it the next time you saw them.

���Oh, so grumpy,” Shanks commented, leaning back against the rubble behind him, stretching an arm out across one of his knees. “Why don’t you go take a nap, old man? I’m sure there are plenty of beds more than suited for someone of your positively regal manner.” Mihawk went on polishing the golden handle of his sword, not bothering to glance up. “Probably more than enough beds for any number of guests—”

“No,” said Mihawk coolly, still keeping his eyes turned down toward his sword.

“Oh, come on,” Shanks groaned in complaint, laying his head back. His mouth turned down into a despondent sort of pout, tilting his head to look over at the castle—and you tensed immediately, holding your breath, remaining still as a statue. “I’ve never even been in a castle before—”

“No,” Mihawk said again, louder this time, his yellow eyes fixing on Shanks with a firm gaze this time.

“You’re absolutely no fun at all,” Shanks huffed, lifting a small piece of stone from the ground and tossing it in his direction in a half-hearted manner. “You know, you’re going to die sad and alone one day in your desolate castle.”

“And what a peaceful end it will be,” said Mihawk disinterestedly, rolling his eyes back down to the sword across his lap as he buffed a rag across the gleaming blue gem at the end of the hilt.

“But not friendless,” Shanks added, completely ignoring him. He offered another broad grin. “I’ll always be your frien—”

“Would you just go away already?” Mihawksighed wearily, lifting his head and tossing the rag aside. “It’s abundantly clear what you’re attempting to do, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, and just what am I trying to do?” said Shanks...and he seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, before adding in a cheeky tone, “...friend?”

“You’re fishing for a fight,” said Mihawk, gritting his teeth, briefly gripping the handle of his sword before releasing it from his grasp. “And I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh come. On,” Shanks groaned once more, leaning back heavily and pouting. “I’m bored. There’s literally nothing on this damned island except a pile of rocks and a bunch of trees and a particularly nice castle—”

“No.” Shanks gave a huff of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Mihawk. “Go off and play with the other monkeys if you’re so damned bored.”

“They’re already afraid of me,” he huffed, pouting like a child. He brushed a few unruly strands of hair away from his eyes, turning his gaze out toward the forest. “Stupid apes.” Mihawk only rolled his eyes, shook his head, and returned to the idle task of sword maintenance. “I’m frankly surprised you didn’t just slaughter all of them the moment you set foot here.”

“They make for a decent security system,” he said levelly.

“Or you’re secretly just a big softie—”

Shanks straightened out and gave another broad grin when Mihawk tossed a sharp glare at him...and then slumped back down in defeat when his supposed “friend” gave a heavy sigh and turned his attention back to his sword.

It went on this way for some time—Shanks continually poking and prodding, attempting to annoy Mihawk enough to coax him into a fight; and Mihawk persisting in the task of sword maintenance, running a whetstone across the already razor-sharp edge of the blade as he fought to keep his composure. The entire spectacle was rather like watching an excitable puppy yip at a surly cat.

You shifted your gaze to the edge of the nearby forest when Shanks looked over, the young captain waving once the rustling of the dense leaves gave way to a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black shirt, picking leaves out of his ponytail—no doubt Benn Beckman, from the description Garp had offered you. There was indeed a large rifle slung back across one of his shoulders, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He glanced toward Mihawk, before stopping just short of his captain, looking down at him.

“Repairs are finished and the Log Pose’s set,” he said, his brow furrowing when Shanks frowned in clear disappointment. “We getting off of this rock or are you still antagonizing the current inhabitants?”

“I am visiting with a dear old friend,” said Shanks, giving an indignant huff and crossing his arms. He rolled his eyes back over to Mihawk. “Isn’t that right, Hawkie—?”

“Call me that again and you’ll be leaving this island wearing your entrails as necklace,” said Mihawk coolly.

“See?” said Shanks, gesturing toward Mihawk. “We’re just catching up on old times.”

Beckman stared down at his captain for a long moment, frowning, his cigarette smoldering at the corner of his mouth. He finally shook his head and stepped back a couple paces, leaning back against a pile of stones and crossing his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I am,” Shanks assured him with a positively gleeful grin. He rolled his shoulders and took a drink from the bottle of liquor clenched in his hand, his eyes drifting back over to Mihawk. “Well, it seems our all too pleasant reunion may be drawing to a close, Hawkie—”

Shanks’s grin only widened when Mihawk lifted his gaze to glare at him, his hand gripping tighter around the whetstone.

Shanks seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, pursing his lips to suppress his growing amusement at Mihawk’s growing annoyance, before his expression spread back into a grin as he lifted his eyebrows.

“How about a little kiss goodbye—y’know, between friends and all—”

“That’s it—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, tossing the whetstone away.

Shanks was on his feet just as quickly, a look of absolute glee brightening his features as he drew his sabre.

Beckman took a few casual steps off to the side, pulling his cigarette down from his lips to flick the ashes away, shaking his head, his hand tightening around the butt of his rifle almost imperceptibly.

And you, in spite of yourself, let out a tiny squawk of alarm at the entire spectacle...and quickly realized your mistake.

While Mihawk surged forward with his blade drawn, while Beckman kept his sharp eyes flickering between him and his captain, Shanks’s gaze flickered over toward the sound you had just let out.

And his eyes widened the slightest bit as his eyes met yours.

And he lifted his sword to block what would have been a deadly blow from Mihawk as he continued staring at you as you froze in the windowsill, your feathers ruffling out the slightest bit in response to the terror dawning over you.

Beckman also followed his captain’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow as he noticed your presence.

Shanks drew in a sharp breath, his eyes growing even wider, wide as the eyes of a child with a bottomless wallet in a candy shop. One single, almost breathless word left his lips as they spread into a delighted smile:

“Parrot.”

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