#technically it’s Apple Music wrapped but whatever

[nach0]

Spotify Wrapped #78 - & by Tally Hall

Nyx looks like she’s in a hurry.. I wonder where she’s running to? (Or who she’s running from?)

[mass-convergence]

Okay ask me a number between 1 and 100. Yes it’s for that playlist thing.

[bisexualbuckleyy]

79!

thank you so much for the ask!!

79: “I Got the Music” from Julie and the Phantoms

honestly love that i once again listened to julie and the phantoms enough for the entire album to make it into my top 100. the power of madison reyes truly

[blushing-starker]

Of sleeping angels and forgetful lovers

im back y'all, enjoy

Tony slips between the billowing curtains, careful to make his arrival as silent as possible: there is an angel slumbering just a few feet away and God help whoever awakens them with anything less than a kiss and sweet murmurs.

Not wanting to be struck down by another celestial deity twice in a millennia, he carefully maneuvers around the scattered objects on the marble floor; a low table straining under the weight of scrolls, thick manuscripts and what honestly seems to be a stone tablet; a few chests clumsily tipped over, gold, silk and fragrance oil bottles spilling from them luxuriously. Surprisingly enough, Tony has to avoid staining four lace dresses thrown on the floor.

Poor thing. Any admirer of the creature basking inside this chamber should have known better. It's an insult to even suggest a holy being should disgrace themselves by wearing anything lesser than silk or pure gossamer. Ignorant gnat is probably swimming in the underground by now.

Still. It would be rude to tarnish a gift that isn't his to rip apart and incinerate. His lover would take pleasure in doing that himself. So he moves his body to the side, inhaling sharply when the wind shifts a garment closer to his dusty lower half. Oh, he'd get back at the wind god after this.

To honestly believe he's ancient and unable to persevere under the childish attack, how ridiculous. The offending yard and a half of pink lace (angels tended to take up more space than human minds could comprehend, but the ones who liked to roam the Earth often diminished their size; his paramour would never dress in something that large with an altered body. He's self conscious of his low stature as it is.) flies overhead and he muffles a snicker. Asshole wind god can't calculate how much strength to use.

Finally, he's at the bed. Home at last. And then the wind blasts through the chamber and he picks up the smell. Dried blood, decomposing flesh, something musky and tangible in the air. After that comes the sound. A deep rasp, powerful and similarly fear inducing as a lightning storm amidst the sea. It's a warning growl Tony had ignored, once, an uncountable number of years before. He counts them now, hastily and quickly, because surely his nemesis has grown tired and. Well. Not slow, but certainly slower in that long expanse of time. Just as he had. Fuck.

The beast appears, a vengeful mass of writhing smoke and viridescent ash hovering near the side of the bed he's currently trapped against. His lover disliked it when he brought war to the chamber, said it reminded him of harsher times and a dying Tony; he had left his knives and whip with his second in command, had gone so far for his beloved as to purge the poison from his body. (Listen. Listen. A shit ton of years past, a moron tried to eat him. Actually hoisted him on a spit before he woke up and strangled the fucker. So what if he has poison coursing through his veins to defend himself, it's not that nonsensical.)

From the grey and green smoke, a dark head emerges. And another. And another. And four fucking others and why hadn't his lover mentioned anything, why hadn't he warned Tony of the very amused looking, incredibly spiteful monster currently hissing at him? He has no arms here, the chamber's strongest weapon was currently dozing on a six feet wide bed, soft snores muffled against fluffy pillows. Oh, if his father could see him now, facing death at the hands of his enemy rather than bring his partner back from the golden fields of dreams.

Technically, he's facing the many headed beast in favor of facing his darling, a much more wrathful creature, but his father need not know that.

Death looms closer, is rearing its ugly heads and flaunting the seven inch fangs that will most likely shred him to pieces. There are ruby droplets splattered on the neck of the monster and ah, there's the ignorant admirer. At least he won't be devoured hungrily. Granted, he will definitely be devoured slowly and tortuously no matter what.

As his vision is swarmed by the huge monstrosity, Tony thinks of his beloved. Of his soft, brown hair. A little long, a little curly and always brushed aside uselessly. (There is one lock he particularly enjoys playing with because it never grows enough to be tucked back. It often annoys his lover, but he adores that stray curl.) Soft cheeks, tinted rosy during the chilly winters, a healthy tan when summer sweeps in. Lips softer and more colorful than a rose. Dimples. They appear and he's tripping in love all over, stumbling after his lover's affection just to see the two indentations on the side of his mouth.

His body is a masterpiece, graceful and as elegant as a star. Tony adores subtle, enjoys the fine curve of his paramour's neck, takes pride in making shapely thighs tremble beneath his worshipful mouth, is set on fire when the sweetest sighs and loveliest moans slip from bruised lips. All he needs in this life is to bring happiness to his companion. And, he supposes, he has, so death won't be a complete tragedy. Although, Tony would have liked to see his beloved's eyes one last time. They shone like amber, like the heady drink the humans call whiskey.

Once, when he was shy and his darling was unsure of his intentions, he had blurted out a confession under an apple tree, words spilling, spilling, going so fast that breath abandoned his chest.

"Your eyes are like star fire. Like the sun left the sky to shine inside you. It's amazing, something so beautiful I can believe in life again. How could I not when someone as lovely as you exists so gracefully?"

They had stood there, tree branches creaking overhead, leaves drifting down slowly and bees sluggishly swimming through the air in search of flowers and the ichor of life. His companion had blinked at him and then smiled, slow and sweet and pure. Whatever breath remained in his lungs was stolen, vanished without a trace. Tony had been a goner ever since.

He thinks of that time now and discovers that he is not afraid of death. After all, his lover could simply visit him in the fields of the dead, what, with being the Angel of Death, and everything.

The hydra leans back, prepares the killing blow and he thinks, Peter.

A whisper of movement, the growl of the beast; he's ready, he's going to meet his fate head on and not falter and-

A warm hand scoops him up. He tentatively opens his eyes, is met by a bleary pair much prettier than those this body has. There is amusement there, tangled with fondness and love. It's such a beautiful sight that he melts, sinks deeper into the cradle holding him up to Peter's pillow marked face. He always had a thing for his lover's hands; they could kill with just a hint of touch, but they only ever brought Tony to life.

"Anthony," oh, to hear that teasing sigh, to be given the gift of that music, "did you forget you were in your snake body again?"

Embarrassed, he dips his head, agile tongue flickering into the air to taste Peter's affection as a distraction from the flush valiantly trying to survive in his cool cheeks. The angel before him giggles, grins at him before stroking his scaly head gently.

"You forgot about your body and the fact that Milos here is, like, three inches smaller than you when you stand up?" Tony grumbles, slithers across Peter's wrist and forearm. His lover just sighs, rolls over in bed and lets him travel all the way up to the base of a long neck. He loves Peter's entire body, of course, but this is the perfect spot to settle into while he's in this form. Lightly, because it's rude to tease him, goddammit, he's the fallen angel, not a stable boy, he nips at Peter's hair, pulls at a few strands until Peter halfheartedly swats at him.

"Just because I can revive you doesn't mean I won't kill you, Tones. I've got a hundred," his beloved yawns, drags a blanket over the both of them, "and fifty four souls to pick up in the afternoon. I can squeeze you in among them and nobody would know." A lie, obviously. His best friend James would know. The rest is true, Peter would kill him if he called on him again while it was nap time, even if it was an accident.

Thing is, now that Milos is brooding in the corner of the bedchamber and some good ten feet away from him, Tony has no need to call on his angel. Why would he, when he's right by his side? Just as he always has. Just as he always will.

With snake lives saved and fates changed, the first fallen angel and the Angel of Death fall into a deep slumber; tail and hands wrapped around each other, as it should be.

[wynniewright]

Secret Santa (Drabble)

→  This piece is a part of the Secret Santa event hosted by @bwcsecretsanta and was created for @n8dlesoupguk

→ Rating: PG-13

→ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

→ WC: 2.4k

→ Genre: secret santa au

→ Summary: When you pick Yoongi’s name for the dreaded secret santa event at work, things didn’t go exactly as you expected them to.

→ Warnings: much fluff, some mild vulgar language (I tried very hard not to use the f word)

AN: Okay, it’s 4am and I don’t have the mental capacity to do tags and the proper set-up into the story so I did the absolute bare minimum until I’m awake and actually able to process what the hell is going on. AS MENTIONED ABOVE, it’s a secret santa piece for my dear @n8dlesoupguk. I’m sorry this piece took so long to get out but I hope you enjoy it, even if it is a little on the drabble side. Thank you for letting me be your secret santa and I hope you had a wonderful holiday season.~ <3 

PS: Sorry I forced you to wait until the last possible moment and thank you for your patience love!

It’s official. You were officially the worst secret santa in the history of secret santas and honestly, even that was giving yourself too much credit. You could barely call yourself a secret santa. The qualifications were somewhat loose, being that all you had to do was fill in a gift card for your own secret santa to receive while you received one from a co-worker. 

If you were honest with yourself, you wouldn’t have even signed up if you didn’t think your manager, Seokjin, wasn’t looking over your shoulder. Sure, he said it was optional, but you were looking forward to a promotion to serving role so that you didn’t have to bus tables anymore. If getting on Jin’s good side meant you had to participate in some cheesy holiday event for work then that’s exactly what you were going to do.

You couldn’t even blame your poor time management skills on your strict manager, since he specifically told every staff member the rules:

Gifts cannot go oer the $30 budget

Gifts must be ready for the exchange on the morning of the 24th

That was easy enough, right? Whoever’s name you pulled, you could’ve gotten away with buying them a candle or maybe some fuzzy socks and a sheet mask. It was supposed to be easy. But instead of ease, panic set in the moment you opened your locker and realized whose secret santa you were.

Min Yoongi.

Out of the twenty-something other employees at the restaurant, you managed to pick THE Min Yoongi. How? You wished you knew. 

Pulling his name from the hat wasn’t horrible because it was him, in fact, if you actually cared about the work festivities, you would’ve jumped for joy and screeched into your pillow the moment you got home. But you didn’t care about the exchange and had no plans to put any thought into a personalized gift for the recipient. Hell, by the time you actually bothered to take a peek at the name was nearly 72 hours before the exchange. That’s exactly why you were at the mall before your shift, less than 24 hours until the gift exchange in front of the other staff, in search for a suitable gift for the cute boy.

No pressure, right?

You tossed out your idea of fuzzy socks and body care products and immediately headed to the mom-and-pop candle store in search of fall-scented candles. There should’ve been more space for additional details because, c’mon, how many fall candles existed? Since it was the day before Christmas Eve, you expected to have plenty of options with fall scents - but not as many as there were.

It was understatement to say that there were plenty of options when the entire store was just one massive cloud of the perfect holiday fragrances, cinnamon and apple wafting right out the doors and flooding your nostrils before you even stepped into the place.

It took a whole hour for you to test all of the scents, a bulk of the time wasted on debating whether or not Yoongi was the Christmas cookie type, or if he’d like Apple Pumpkin or even Holiday Hearth, whatever that was. After the first 10 minutes of sniffing, all the candles started to blend together and smell the same as the one before it, leaving you defeated.

Shortly after leaving, there was a brief moment where you thought about checking out another store for some candles, but considering your nose was fried with all those powerful scents, you didn’t think you could sniff another freaking candle without losing your sense of smell. Perhaps the beanie on his list would’ve been an easier find.

Boy, were you wrong.

After shopping at three different department stores, you came to the conclusion that trying to find a beanie during the peak of the winter season was an even worse idea than the candles. You knew better than to waste time looking for one of the most popular items for the season so you weren’t sure why it was a shock to you when you couldn’t get your hands on one. The last item on his wishlist was sour watermelon gummies and although those sounded like a decent idea for a multi-item gift, there was no way you would give him a $30 bag of candy. 

With slumped shoulders and a pout, you decided to head into Guitar Center with less than a half an hour until the start of your shift. You didn’t know what to look for, only that you needed to find something budget-friendly that Yoongi would definitely take a liking to. The only possible solution was to give him a sad $30 gift card and call it a day, huffing your way across the mall to where the restaurant was located on the other side.

Technically, a gift card to Guitar Center was the perfect gift for Yoongi. There was a level of passion in which Yoongi spoke about his instruments, talking about music as if it were alive. That’s exactly why you couldn’t screw up the gift by getting him a gift card, right? Even if it was $30, that money could’ve gone towards something he wanted to buy in the future and even if it wasn’t much, you were sure he would still love it.

With a little newfound confidence, you strode through the open doorway and greeted your longtime friend, Jeongguk who stood behind the host desk, scribbling onto something you couldn’t see. 

“Hey, Gukie,” you offered a friendly wave, catching his friendly grin and returning it with one of your own.

“Y/N! I can’t believe you came in today,” he said, maneuvering his way around the desk to wrap his arms tightly around your shoulders. “Did you manage to find something good?” He whispered in your ear and you couldn’t help the sigh that pressed through your lips. 

You grumbled, “I got him a gift card?” 

His almond eyes rounded out, widening as if you had another head sprouting from your shoulder. “You totally forgot rule three.”

“Rule three?”

You thought back to Jin giving everyone a mini lecture on what was allowed to be given as a gift, running through rules one and two but ultimately coming to a blank.

Jeongguk brushed his lean fingers through his perfectly styled hair, causing some strands to fall in his face before he ruffled the locks in the back. “Rule number three, no gift cards or restaurant merch.” He deadpanned.

The moment those words left his lips, your mind flashed back to your manager saying those exact words and nearly lost your shit right as Yoongi and one of his best pals, Hoseok, strolled on in. 

“Are you fu-”

“-oh, hey, Y/N.” Yoongi flashed his signature gummy smile, reserved but enough to break some hearts as they stopped right by the two of you.

Your heart sank with the realization that you somehow managed to become an even worse secret santa than you managed before, which honestly would be an achievement for you if it wasn’t for the fact that Min-freaking-Yoongi was going to the one disappointed in you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you gave a half-hearted wave, trying your best to put on a smile while knowing full-well that it was flat and obviously painful. He passed by after a quick “it’s nice to see you again” and headed to the lockers in the back. 

Jeongguk watched the interaction and kept looking between the two of you as Yoongi walked further away, letting out a short whistle with a shake of his head. 

“You, my friend, are absolutely screwed.”

-----

You didn’t know exactly what you were thinking. A gift card? A freaking gift card? Seriously, how lame is that? People probably wrote poems about their recipient, shopped tirelessly for their favorite things until they were sure they were going to give the best gift a secret santa could give and there you were with a tiny, half-assed gift card that didn’t amount to anything nearly important enough and hoping that would suffice. 

You were disappointed in yourself. Sure, maybe time slipped by a bit too fast and left you with the last possible moment. Perhaps you could have blamed the sudden incline in hours after an excellent food critique brought an even larger crowd, telling him that’s why you didn’t have time to get something - anything - better. But that was just it. You couldn’t tell Yoongi that you didn’t care enough to buy a gift for anyone until you realized it was him. No way.

Feeling badly about the decision to get him a gift card, you managed to find a pair of fuzzy black socks - even though the color he put for his favorite was green but you knew that a majority of his closet was black - and a small, autumn-scented candle that anyone would enjoy with it’s subtle flair. You stuck those in the bag with the gift card, ultimately choosing to give both gifts despite them collectively doubling the budget. 

To say that nerves were getting to you wasn’t even the half of it. Your leg wouldn’t stop bouncing as each person around the circle was called to stand up and find the receiver of their gifts to hand them their early Christmas presents. The closer it got to you, the worse the bounding became, practically jumping up and down with every pull of your leg until you smacked it against your neighbor when they returned to their seat after their exchange.

“Alright, next is Y/N,” Seokjin clapped happily. You wished his positivity would’ve rubbed off on you and given you the strength to look Yoongi in the eye and hand him the monstrosity of a gift that you gave him. 

You pushed yourself up from the chair and and walked over to the other side, knees wobbling and hands growing slick as you neared Yoongi’s seat. With a deep breath, you extended the small bag his way and immediately ducked your head down when he took it, flying back to your seat on the opposite side and avoiding his gaze. 

It felt like hours going through everyone’s secret santa gift and you were too happy when Seokjin didn’t require us to open our presents in front of everyone. Presents were personal, right? Nobody wants to be exposed like that. 

You would’ve dipped on out of there as soon as the gift exchange ended but the nagging guilt forced you to make your way over to where Yoongi and Jeongguk were casually chatting. When you reached them, they both looked up at you with each of their own expressions: Yoongi’s eyes were dark yet curious as to what you wanted whereas Jeongguk knew exactly what was about to go down. 

“I’m actually going to catch Syd before she leaves. I’ll be right back,” he excused himself and made his exit, turning around the moment he was behind Yoongi to give you a supportive thumbs up. 

“Ah, right. I wanted to thank you for your gift, by the way. I really like the candle and I’m kinda digging the fuzzy socks so thanks.” Yoongi flicked his head to the side, pushing his dark hair out of his face as he smiled that heart-melting smile. 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” You nibbled on your lip.

How were you supposed to go about this? Was it something you had to sort of dance around and hope he’d understand or something you have to tell straight up? While neither answer seemed desirable, there was nothing more terrifying than the thought of having to say, “I bought you what I was going to buy for anyone else that was my secret santa”. 

“The gifts?” Yoongi raised a brow, no doubt confused with the way you were taking things.

“Yeah,” you puffed out. “Is there any way I could give you something else? I was the worst and I waited to go shopping and the things on your list weren’t available no matter where I looked. I would say I tried but I don’t even feel like I did… I’m so sorry for being so stupid, I can’t believe I actually got you th-”. 

“-I don’t want anything else, though. I already have more than enough.” He stuck his lip out, his cheeks puffing out as if he were a child being rejected for some sweets. 

“I don’t think you understand. I really messed this up and I’m so embarrassed,” you pushed further, lowering your head into your hands with a groan. 

Yoongi was silent, thoughtfully watching you have a meltdown in your seat as he contemplated his next response. “And if I said there was something?” He asked.

“It’s yours.”

In a blink of an eye, Yoongi closed the space between the two of you, lips crashing into yours in a gentle yet exploratory kiss. Fireworks shot off somewhere in the back of your mind as you shut your eyes and grazed his cheek with your thumb. The kiss didn’t last nearly as long as you wanted it to, but it took your breath away regardless. The last of him still lingered on your lips as you opened your eyes, cheeks flushed and eyes wide as you took in the situation.

Min Yoongi just kissed you.

THE Min Yoongi just kissed YOU.

“What was that for?” you murmured under your breath, almost as if you wanted an answer but didn’t even want him to hear the question. 

He hummed, a playful glint in his eye as he gave a shrug. “You said I could have something I wanted in return. That’s what I wanted.”

His words warmed your heart and turned you into a giggling mess, leaving you hiding behind your purse with nothing but your eyes peeking over the top. 

“You’re serious? You’re not serious, no way.” You spoke half to yourself and half to him, still processing the feeling of his soft lips against yours. 

“I’m serious. In fact, if you want to go even further to make it up to me, let me take you to dinner next Friday.” He stuck out a hand between your two bodies, the offer laying right there in front of you while you still couldn’t believe what was happening.

You gripped his hand as quickly as possible and bounced in your seat, beaming with excitement as he matched your enthusiasm. “Yes! I mean,” you coughed. “Absolutely, yes. I’d love to.” You grinned.

Little did you know that being the worst secret santa in history would lead you to give Min Yoongi exactly what he wished for: you.

[emiewritesthings]

a place of our own - jay halstead

jay halstead x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n and jay throw a small get together in celebration of buying their first house together

requested?: yesss by anonymous  (can I request a Jay x reader where it took some time for the together but they've been now dating for 2 or 3 years and decided to move in together and they celebrate it throwing a party with close friends and jay surprises her proposing with a heartfelt speech? please and thank you 🥰 )

warnings: none

a/n: thank you for all your support over the past week :) it literally makes me so emotional to think people are liking what i write. any feedback is always welcomed, thank you for everything 

- emie <3

masterlist

in all honesty, when jay had put the deposit down for the house, y/n didn’t know what he saw in it. it was their first time buying a house as a couple, both giving up their apartments that were on the opposite ends of the city to be reunited in a place of their own. 

it was beaten up pretty badly; a few of the front windows were missing the glass, spray paint decorated a few of the bricks courtesy of some local kids. not to mention it was cold and damp, not giving off the warmest of welcomes. but jay was adamant that it was their house, their home.

it took its time, but months later y/n had to admit that the transformation the brick structure had undergone was remarkable.

everything y/n could want was handed to her on a silver platter. the once yellow tinted cream, mouldy walls had been covered by a fresh layer of grey paint. the broken floorboards replaced and covered by thick, soft carpets. y/n had nominated herself as chief decorator, since she had no desire to help jay deal with the technical stuff earlier on in the project. not that jay was complaining.

y/n could still remember the look of shock when she had returned from her ‘quick trip’ to ikea with a large amount of pillows and throws, stressing they were essential pieces of her aesthetic. but jay didn’t mind, he loved the thought of living a house that was covered in reminders of the woman he loved so dearly. 

it was sometime in mid-july when y/n had declared she had officially finished the renovation of 1135 Butterfly Gardens. for a week or so, the pair allowed them to soak in their hard work, admiring how each room was a reminder that they were finally together. 

to think that the two had been so hesitant to start dating in the beginning felt ridiculous. y/n cursed her past self for never daring to admit her feelings to jay earlier, but she was thankful for the last 3 years they had spent together. 

side by side till the end of the line.

 it had been one of those cliche quotes that jay had bought on a card for their first anniversary, but it had strangely stuck. y/n had assured that in their room hung a picture of the two with the words carefully printed beneath it.

of course, in traditional y/n style, she couldn’t wait to invite their friends over. it had been on their day off that they had invited the members of their chosen family over to the house. y/n had been rushing around cleaning every surface in sight, as if their friends would turn their noses up at the sight of a speck of dusk. but y/n couldn’t help it, cleaning was her coping mechanism. and she couldn’t deny the anxiety raketing through her veins.

unfortunately she had been so caught up in her own head, that she had failed to notice the strange behaviour she was receiving from her other half. jay had been acting rather distant in the days leading up to the party. he would go out for long ‘walks’, coming back and locking himself in what y/n called his ‘mancave’. he would take calls outside and when y/n asked him what was wrong he would brush it off and just kiss her lips in hope of distracting her. obviously it worked every time, who wouldn’t be with a man like jay halstead kissing them?

the ringing of the doorbell had caught y/n off guard. having spent the majority of her day in the kitchen cooking every recipe her grandmother had ever taught her, she abandoned the oven mitts and sprinted in the direction of the front door. thankfully, however, by the time she reached it, jay was already stood with kevin, adam, will and nat. 

“there she is, the woman of the hour!” kevin cheered, being the first to embrace her tightly into his large, muscular arms. his lips pressing a sweet kiss onto her forehead in joy of seeing the woman.

kevin and y/n had gone to school together since elementry, in fact y/n had helped kevin for years raising his two siblings. he had been the one to introduce jay to y/n, when she showed up to the district, ready to spend her lunch break with her best friend.

let’s just say kevin had given her a slight nudge to reveal her true feelings to jay, telling her he had already brought a suit for their wedding. classic kevin, dramatic as always. 

letting her go, y/n hugged the rest of the group. thanking them for their house warming gifts that they had given to jay. by the end of the hour their house was filled with close friends. y/n had been so busy catching up with those she hadn’t seen in weeks that she had hardly seen jay all day. the times she had seen him, he had made an excuse to leave and go find will, who now she thought about it had been smiling at her an awful lot. 

walking into the backyard with kim and nat stuck to her side, she couldn’t help but feel her entire soul relax at the sight of her man sat in a garden chair, chuckling along with something that adam had said.

with a mission in her hands, she didn’t even glance at the spare garden chairs littered around the garden. instead, y/n walked up to jay and perched herself on his lap. a worrying thought passing her mind that she was too heavy, but before she could consider getting off, jay weaved his arms around her waist pulling her closer. 

“hey, baby.” he greeted, pressing his lips against the skin her yellow sundress exposed on her shoulder. the feeling was addicting, but with company around, it was gone as quick as it arrived. 

“am i losing my mind or have you been avoiding me?” blunt as always, y/n looked back at jay. her eyes studying how his adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. y/n knew jay was a good liar, i mean part of his job was going undercover and keeping up a lie. meaning whatever he was hiding, whatever he wasn’t telling her had to be big. 

“of course not, i’ve just been busy, you know?” y/n didn’t know, because he had been taking extra measures to spend time with anyone but him. she had seen him have a thirty minute conversation with mouch about his favourite type of chile. if that was what busy looked like, she might have muddled up her definitions up. 

“okay then.” she stated blankly, standing up with such force that jay’s arms instantly fell off her body. jay watched with cautious eyes, half expecting y/n to dig deeper into whatever was going on, but instead she took a seat in between adam and kevin. her eyes didn’t glance over to him once, instead she began conversation with the two men with no intentions of inviting jay into their whispers.

jay frowned, knowing she was serving him a large dish of his own medicine. the feeling of someone patting him on the shoulder made him draw his eyes away from y/n and land of his brother, who was smirking like an idiot.

“she really has you wrapped around her finger, huh?” he teased, handing jay another beer that he had left for a few moments before y/n’s arrival. not bothering to give his brother the satisfaction of answering, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a large swig. feeling the taste ease his nerves before shoving it back in his brother’s hands.

“i’m gonna do it.” he confirmed, nodding his head more to motivate himself than will. the doctor patted his back lightly, urging him to go on. subtly jay tapped his jacket until he felt the cube-shaped object against his chest. briniging himself to his feet, he wandered away from the group and stood in the middle of the garden.

“excuse me! excuse me!” the music that was lightly playing from the various speakers placed around silenced, thanks to the help of will. all eyes, including that of his beloved, moved to him. a slight chill running through him as his mind reminded him that he was doing this and he was doing this now. “i just wanted to say a big thank you to all of you for coming to celebrate with me and y/n. hell knows, we would most likely not even be together if it wasn’t for some of you guys, so it’s a pleasure to be sharing this step in our relationship with you guys.” 

jay’s chest fell tight with anticipation. breath, come on halstead, he thought.

“sometimes i think about the first time i met y/n, i think about how much time we wasted trying to trick ourselves into believing we were ever ‘just friends’. quite frankly i think i fell in love with her the moment i met her. i had this beautiful, intelligent, unbelievably challenging woman in front of me and i nearly let her go.”

jay had to take a second to keep the tears in his eyes at bay, mustering up the courage to look at y/n, who had began to become emotional herself. with a simple outreached arm, y/n got the hint that he wanted her by his side, as she pushed herself away from the white plastic chair and joined him. hand in his, smiling up as he continued.

“i don’t want to imagine a life without you. without your awful singing, without your obsessive cleaning, without your strange taste in tv shows,” the crowd chuckled, but jay wasn’t even paying attention, caught up in the loving storm behind y/n’s eyes. “i’m done wasting my time because for once in my life i know what i want.”

not knowing what was about to happen, y/n’s face dropped as jay fell to one knee. his hands shaking as one of them searched into his jacket pocket before bringing out a scarlett velvet box. y/n had to swallow the sob of pure joy, when he pried it open revealing the significant jewel resting on the gold band. 

“y/n y/l/n i love you,” his voice cracked, making the crowd hollar in excitement. the sound of people taking photos didn’t throw off jay’s roll though. “and it would make me the happiest person alive if you would do me the honour of being my wife.” jay’s words were deep from his heart, as both pairs of watery eyes held one another’s gaze comfortingly. 

y/n had never imagined a life with anyone but jay. she couldn’t remember how many times they had stayed awake deep within the hours of the morning talking about their future together: getting married, having kids, getting a dog. but none of it felt quite as real as the moment she saw jay on his knee, with hope glazing all his features.

“yes.” she sang so softly that it could have easily been missed by anyone, but to jay it might as well have been yelled through a megaphone. 

“she said yes!” kevin yells, erupting the audience of the intimate moment into an uproar. jay stood from his position on the ground, not giving it a minute before pushing his lips against her’s. the kiss was filled with every ounce of passion they had felt over the years they had known one another. 

when y/n felt her chest squeeze against her lungs, she allowed herself to retract. keeping her forehead against his, she watched as he slid the ring out of the box and onto her finger. the midsummer sun catching the large diamond, making it light up like a disco ball. 

“so this is why you have been ignoring me?” she snorted, feeling ridiculous for thinking that he had been hiding some bombshell of a secret. jay’s cheeks filled with heat, as he looked from her eyes to her lips, before returning them to the loveable pools of colour.

“side by side,” he began, looking at her expectantly.

“till the end of the line.”

[jungshookz]

Idk if this has been sent before but imagine like baker jin and forgetful y/n like she needs to get a cake for yoongi asap bc she forgot his bday and jin is completely okay w working at supersonic speed for this cute little teary eyed person who seems to be in big trouble

➺ pairing; kim seokjin x reader

➺ genre; baker!jin duh, fluffier than jin’s popular angel food cake!! jin and y/n are a couple of cuties :’) 

➺ wordcount: 3.9k

➺ what to expect; “okay! that’s easy. a birthday cake is doable! see? nothing to get teary-eyed over, darling!”

➺ note; i’m not going to lie the one thing that motivated me to finALLy write this request was the phrase ‘cute little teary-eyed person’ i am soFT! I AM SOFT! okay bye i love baker!jin 

                                        »»————-　🍰　————-««

you’ve been sitting in your car for the past twenty minutes trying to remember what exactly it was that namjoon asked you to do for yoongi’s birthday

you know it wasn’t to get everyone to sign his birthday card because that was your job lasT year and also jungkook is in charge of that this year because last week he literally asked you to sign yoongi’s card

and it definitely wasn’t to decorate the venue because namjoon always takes care of that (because he likes things done a certain way and doesn’t trust anyone else with the important job of whEre to place the balloons)

and it also wasn’t to wrap his birthday gifts because according to jimin your wrapping skills are awful and you have the cutting skills of a toddler using those play scissors

it certainly wasn’t to pick yoongi up from his apartment because if that was your job then yoongi would be in the car with you right now (it’s hoseok’s job this year)

and taehyung was the one who curated the invite list aNd took care of the music playlist so you know that wasn’t your job either

so what… in the world… did namjoon ask you to do?

your memory has always been pretty shitty so you probably should’ve written it down

actually you dID technically write it down the day namjoon asked you to take care of it because you remember vividly using your pen and writing it on the back of your hand and then you remember namjoon scolding you and delving into a lecture about the dangers of ink poisoning

but then you washed your hands

and once it was wiped away from your hand it was wiped away from your memory

and that was two weeks ago

so now

here you are

in the parking lot of the venue (you guys are celebrating yoongi’s suRPRISE party at his favourite video game arcade) sitting in your car in complete silence hoping that whatever task you were supposed to complete will just naturally come to you

the party starts at 8 and it’s 7 right now so you still have an hour left to think

you came early to help namjoon set up but then the whole ‘i feel like i’m forgetting something’ thought creeped into your mind and now here you are

and you’re a little afraid to go in and ask namjoon about your mystery task because you feel like he’s going to skin you alive if he finds out that you have noT completed the mystery task

but then again he’s namjoon and namjoon wouldn’t hurt a fly!!!! he’s a sweetie pie!!!

hm

whatever your task is it probably wasn’t that important because namjoon should know better than to send you off with completing something that is integral to the success of yoongi’s surprise party

“you have three seconds to tell me that you’re kidding before i actually lose it.” namjoon presses his lips together before exhaling slowly

okay

so

quick breakdown of what happened after you decided to leave the safety of your car

you came in

said hello to everyone

complimented jimin’s gift-wrapping skills

snuck one of the mini cheeseburger off the foods table

asked tae if he could add dancing queen on the playlist because no party is complete without some ABBA

snuck a mini corndog off the foods table

and then wandered over to a busy namjoon to say hi but before you could say hi namjoon asked you where ‘it’ was, to which you responded with “what… what is ‘it’?”

“by it, i mean the birthday cake. yoongi’s birthday cake. yoongi’s birthday cake that you were supposed to take care of this year because of the revolving system that i- y/n, i need you to say something and stOP staring at me like you don’t know what i’m talking about-“

“oh, the birthday cake!” you snap your fingers before putting your hands on your hips “god, thanks for clearing that up for me. i was literally scratching my head over it for like an hour.”

well there we go!

the mystery has been solved!!!

now you know what namjoon asked you to do for yoongi’s birthday

you were supposed to get his birthday cake!

…

…

…hollup

the smile immediately drops from your face

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET YOONGI’S BIRTHDAY CAKE

“oh my- oh my goD-“ your eyes practically pop out of their sockets when it finally registers that you were supposed to order a custom birthday cake for yoongi and you definitely did noT order anything for yoongi

“y/n, i asked you to do one thing-!” namjoon groans and throws his hands up into the air

“i know, i know!!!!! it’s okay, i’ll fix this!” you reassure as you rummage through your purse for your car keys “what flavour should i get??? classic birthday cake?? lemon curd??”

“lem- leMON CUR- oh my GOD i want to hurl you into the middle of a busy intersection-“ namjoon feels like he’s about to have a stroke christ almiGHTY

LEMON CURD????

yoongi’s not turning EIGHTY

“lemon curd??” your voice is turning piTchy and that’s an indicator that you are PANICKING “was that a yes for lemon cur-“

you freeze in fear when namjoon suddenly reaches forward and squiSHes your face in between his hand

“shut up and listen to the words that are about to come out of my mouth.” he says lowly and you swallow thickly before nodding

you’re not sure if you like this namjoon

“a four layer cake. alternating layers of chocolate cake and confetti cake. light blue buttercream frosting in between the layers. dark blue buttercream frosting all around. black sprinkles around the cake - not the top, just around the cake, it’s crucial that there are no sprinkles on the top. in black buttercream frosting, ‘happy birthday yoongi’ in block letters.” he almost growls and you feel like your heart is about to fall out of your ass

if anything will teach you to nevEr forget anything again it’ll be this version of namjoon

he’s like bridezilla except instead of a bride he’s a self appointed party planner

“four layers. chocolate. confetti. light blue in between. dark blue all around. black sprinkles all around, not on top. happy birthday yoongi. block letters. black letters. block black letters??” you probably look like a crazy person muttering things to yourself as you huStle back to your car

namjoon said that if you don’t get back to the party with a custom birthday cake by the time the clock strikes 9:00 he’ll kill you and you beLIEVE him

since you’re not going to be there when the party starts jimin said he’ll come up with some buLLshit excuse about you running late so that yoongi doesn’t get too suspicious about your whereabouts

he mentioned that he didn’t really want a cake this year but all of you know how much yoongi loves cake

and you love seeing him make that ‘i’m pretending i’m surprised but in reality i knew this was going to happen all along’ face

it’s so cute!!

you slam the front door shut and hurry to buckle yourself in as you type ‘custom birthday cakes near me’ on google maps

it’s fine! you’ll be fine

you wiLL definitely be able to find some bakery to put together a suPER last minute custom birthday cake

more specifically, a four layer cake with alternating layers of chocolate cake and confetti cake slathered with blue buttercream frosting and covered with sprinkles around it (not on top! just around! very important!) and also it should say ‘happy birthday yoongi!’ and the writing should be in chunky letters using black buttercream frosting

“why do bakeries close so early???” you wonder out loud as you continue to scroll through the results

literally everything is closed

if there’s one thing you’ve learned from this it’s that bakers are noT night owls

c’mon come oN

you’ll take anything at this point

you nearly scream in joy when you see that there’s one bakery that a) specialises in custom cakes and b) is still open for another thirty minutes and c) is not that far from you!!!!

according to google the place called sweet kimfecjins

oh dear god

what the heLL kind of a name is that???

whA-

and it is far from you!!!! it’s a twenty minute drive away from you!!!

under these circumstances that’s not close at aLL

you need a place that’s at the most thirty seconds away from you (you are noT kidding you really need this cake right here right now)

what other options are there

well

there’s a mcdonald’s near you

maybe you can just buy a bunch of those apple pies and use the oreo mcflurries to glue them all together to buiLD a cake

sure, it’s literally the farthest thing from what namjoon told you to get, but it’s a cake!!!!!

…okay you can’t do that to yoongi

if you were presented with an apple-pie-mcflurry nightmare as a birthday cake you would be pretty bummed out

so this means one thing

sweet kimfecjins here we come

surprisingly enough you make it to the bakery in twelve minutes time without running any red lights oR running any pedestrians over

you did honk at a couple crossing the street but you made sure to shoot them an apologetic smile

they still flipped you off but the point is you made it to the bakery with like fifteen minutes left to spare until they close up for the night

and-

“oh- oh no- nonONoOnONONO-“ your eyes are as wide as saucers as you practically slam yourself up against the glass doors right as the (presumable) owner is flipping the sign to ‘closed’ “oh, please- please, google said that you’re not closing for like another fifteen minutes, please, you haVe to help me i nEED a cake-“

namjoon is going to have your head on a stick if you don’t get this cake so you are going to have to beg like you’ve never begged before

jin sighs to himself as he watches the clock tick tock tick tock

it’s been a slow day today

he had a couple people in this afternoon but they only bought like one strawberry turnover to share in between the two of them

who shaRES one single strawberry turnover???

psychopaths, that’s who

and also he had some tourists come in and they bought a box of his carrot cake cupcakes so that was pretty good

he also managed to convince them to buy another box of red velvet cupcakes >:-) it was actually pretty easy because he just had to flirt with the two girls and they immediately were like okAY more cupcakes won’t hurt

…what???

he has to make a living!!!

yoU would do the same if you had to make money

but other than that business has been a little slow

last week he had a bachelorette party cake request and he spent five hours moulding a penis out of fondant so that was pretty exciting

they even gave him a bonus tip because they said it looked very realistic

what can he say?? his hands are magical

but now he’s bored out of his mind and honestly he wouldn’t even mind if he got another request for a penis cake

he just wants to maKE something!!!

he made a couple cakes this morning and put them in the display cases hoping to lure people in to buy them but they’ve been untouched!! so he’s just going to pack up all the leftovers of the day and deliver it to the food bank

hopefully they’ll enjoy all his delicious treats.,.., that they’re getting for free.,,.., even though he would much rather prefer getting compensated for his hard work

do you SEE how beautifully braided the puff pastry is for his apple tarts???????

since no one seems to be buying baked goods at this hour jin decided to close up a little earlier tonight

he’s going to clean up a little bit and do some prepping for tomorrow (his secret to the best chocolate chip cookies is chilling the dough overnight) and then he’s going to pack up all the leftovers and deliver them and thEn he’s finally going to go home and maybe order some dinner or something

as he flips the sign to ‘closed’, he-

“jeSUS fuCJK-“ jin jumps thirty feet in the air when someone suddenly slams up against the glass doors

goD

“oh- oh no- nonONoOnONONO- oh, please- please, google said that you’re not closing for like another fifteen minutes, please, you haVe to help me i nEED a cake-“

thank god the doors are locked because whoever you are you seem INSANE

“i’m sorry, i’m closing up for the night!” jin replies and gives you a shrug “come back tomorrow! i open at 7am sharp-“ jin immediately stops talking when he notices your eyes starting to well up with tears

oh god

he didn’t mean to make you cry!!

why are you crying????

is 7am not early enough for you??

“i- um, i mean i guess i could open at 6:30 but to be honest i might pass out while frosting your cake that early because my beauty sleep is-“

“no, you don’t understand- it’s my friend’s birthday tonight a-and we’re throwing him a surprise party and i was supposed to get the cake for him because that was the task that namjoon- he’s another one of my friends - that he assigned to me but i- well, i wrote it down on my hand but then i washed my hands and then i kinda forgot about it but that was two weeks ago and now i have to get yoongi - that’s the birthday boy - i have to get him his special cake otherwise namjoon’s going to be so upset with me and-“ your mouth is running like a motor and jin can barely keep up with this story because you keep throwing in new details and also it’s hard to hear you through the glass

something something birthday cake something surprise party something bukjoon something something

okay

you know what

you made a fair point

he iS technically still open so he’ll let you in

(and also you’re…,,. kind of cute so there’s that)

a fat tear threatens to roll down your cheek as you continue to blubber and jin holds a finger up

you immediately shut up and jin offers you a smile before opening the door “i’ll help you if you stop crying.”

you nod quickly and reach up to wipe at your drippy eyes

your nose has gone a little pink and your eyes are glossy and jin can’t help but find that even moRe endearing

“now - what did you need?” jin asks calmly as he leads you towards the front counter

“a birthday cake.” you sniffle before clearing your throat

“okay! that’s easy. a birthday cake is doable!” jin claps his hands together after he makes his way behind the counter “see? nothing to get teary-eyed over, darling!”

okay woAh

he’s not sure where the pet-name came from

it just rolled off his tongue so naturally!!!

you hiccup and your nose twitches and jin feels his heart pit-a-pat in his chest

o boy

“but i- it has to be four layers and it has to be chocolate confetti chocolate confetti and then i need blue- light blue buttercream frosting in between the layers and… and i think dark blue buttercream around- or maybe it’s dark blue in between and light blue around-“ you start to ramble again and jin’s eyes widen

chRist

this birthday cake might not be that doable after all

usually he just has to write ‘happy birthday ____!’ on top of a cake and maybe make some pretty frosting roses on top and that’s it

“how about-“ jin interrupts you agAin with a gentle smile, “how about i get you a pen and paper and you can list out all the requirements for this special cake? in the meantime, i’ll heat up a cup of my homemade strawberry milk for you and- are you a fruit person or a chocolate person?”

“chocolate?” you pull a chair out from a table and drag it over so that you’re sitting right by the front counter “i like milk chocolate.”

“lucky for you, i use milk chocolate for my chocolate mousse cake. do you like whipped cream?” jin asks as he slides a notepad and pen over to you

you nod before offering him a shy smile

okay

so far so good

your cake actually isn’t that complicated! it just has a loT of different pieces that have to be put together

and it’s a good thing jin still has some pans of cake that he baked this morning (usually he bakes the cakes in the morning and then lets them rest for the night and then he frosts them the neXt morning so that it’s ready for his customers)

unfortunately he didn’t have any confetti cake so instead he replaced it with plain vanilla cake and then in the blue frosting he threw in a whole handful of sprinkles

and the buttercream frosting is easy to make because he makes them by the buCket so all he had to do was dump food dye in it

and he knows about your time limit so he’s working as quickly as possible

he really wants to strike up a conversation with you but a) he needs to focus and b) for some reason he can’t seem to turn his usual boyish charm on with you because you seem so… delicate?

and you seem to have calmed down from earlier

you’re still working through the chocolate mousse cake and-

jin’s lips press together in a poor attempt to suppress his smile when he notices whipped cream on the corner of your mouth

you seem to be enjoying the cake which is a good thing

“this whipped cream is like, really good-“ you look over at jin (you asked for his name when he first started putting the cake together and just like that the name of his bakery suddenly made sense) ((and now that you think about it it’s actually a pretty clever name so braVo to him!!)) “what brand is it from?”

“oh, it’s- i actually make my own whipped cream, so it’s my own recipe.” jin smiles proudly and stands up a little straighter

“what do you put in here that makes it so good??” you wonder out loud as you scrape some off the top of the cake before sucking it off your pointer finger

“it’s easy, i pretty much just-“ jin suddenly stops whipping the frosting before narrowing his eyes at you playfully “actually, that’s for me to know and for you to nEver find out. how do i know you’re not from some rival bakery??”

“-if i was from a rival bakery i think i’d probably be able to make this cake on my own. instead i came to you and started crying when you said you were closed for the night.” you raise a brow before narrowing your eyes baCk at jin

“touché.” jin snorts as he starts to pipe the message on the top of the cake “so, um-“ he clears his throat and glances over at you briefly “this yoongi - he’s your boyfriend, you said?”

“yoongi?” you laugh lightly before shaking your head, “no, no way. yoongi is not my boyfriend. god, that’d be…. nO, yoongi is not my boyfriend.” you wipe your mouth with a napkin before dropping it on the plate

“right, right- and namjoon is-“

“namjoon is dEFINitely not my boyfriend- i don’t have a boyfriend, so-“ you lean back against the chair as you watch jin slowly piping out yoongi’s name

“ah, i see, i see.” jin nods in understanding

a moment of silence goes by

…he doesn’t know how to continue this conversation

when did he get so awKWARd at flirting????

maybe if he tries to sell you a box of cupcakes like he did with those tourists he’ll become charming again

“do you have a- is there, like, a mrs sweet kimfecjins-“

…and it’s just hitting him that yoU seem to be just as awkward as him when it comes to subtle flirting

“well, if you play your cards right you might just end up with that title, darling.”

your cheeks immEDiately go bright red and jin can’t help but smirk to himself

he’s still got it

“thank you so much for doing this at the last minute, you’re a literal life saver-“ you gush as you dig through your purse for your wallet

there are approximately 18 minutes left until the clock strikes niNE so if you drive as crazily as you did when getting hEre then you should make it back to the party before namjoon gets the chance to bite your head off

“oh, you know what?” jin shakes his head as he makes sure the cake is secure in the box “you can just take the cake - i feel like you’ve been through enough, so this one’s on me.”

“what?? no, i can’t do that to you! it’s such a nice cake!! i can’t just take it-“

“how about-“ jin stops you before you can get into another one of your five minute rambles (you seem to do that a lot) “how about in return for the cake, you let me take you out on a date?”

you blink owlishly at him and jin beams when he sees colour rising to the apples of your cheeks once again

“you- you want to take me out on a date?”

“the journey to becoming mrs sweet kimfecjins has to start somEwhere-“ jin jokes lightly before shaking his head “if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine, but i’m still going to give you the cake on the hous-“

“no, i want to!” you blurt out a little toO enthusiastically before clearing your throat and rEELing it way back “i mean- yeah, a date sounds nice… or whatever.”

“or whatever?” jin teases as he slides the box over to you “i wrote my cell number on the back of the receipt, so… text me, or whatever. let me know when you’re free and we can sort something out.”  

good lord

jin seems to know the way to a woman’s stomach aND her heart

‘i scrape fresh vanilla beans into the whipped cream - that’s what makes it so yummy! there’s also another ingredient but i’ll tell you what it is on our date. see you soon, darling. -your favourite very super unbelievably handsome baker, jin’

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

requested drabbles masterlist

[hansoulo]

dissimulato

Pairing: Cassian Andor/f!Reader

Warnings: cursing, Sensual Salsa Dancing, K-2SO is an asshole, lots of talk about high heels, mild violence

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: i was watching blade runner and actually named the guy deckard but whatever. also took some dialogue from havana nights. half of this is canon-compliant and the other half i made up so... don’t think too much about it. just think about salsa dancing with diego luna. (also in my head this is like 5-ish years before rogue one. baby cass.)

“Stop fidgeting,” Cassian mumbled, not looking up from the ship controls.

“I can’t, it’s this stupid dress,” you said, hiking the fabric up as you stood. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d worn a dress, let alone one that cost more than an entire year’s worth of ration packs. When you asked Cassian where he’d found it, he just shrugged and handed you a case of makeup. Rouge, little pots of millaflower pigment, spiced perfume. They were the most luxurious things you’d seen since this whole mess started. Makeup, you thought with a shake of your head. Where the kriff was he taking you?

“That’s because it’s not done up all the way,” Cassian said, and it took a moment before you realized he meant the dress. You glanced down at your shoulders before reaching up to your back, curling your hands awkwardly in a vain attempt to tighten the bodice.

“Damn thing. I can’t-” you struggled with the fabric. and he pushed away from the console, standing up.

He waved a hand over. “Come here.” His voice was clipped. Brusque. Mission-mode Cassian, you called it. You supposed it was fitting, given you were en-route to a mission, but it didn’t feel like it. All the bangles on your wrists and the spray in your hair made you feel like a child playing costume. You missed your tactical pants. All he had to do was put on a buttoned shirt and boots that didn’t have holes in them.

Sighing, you stepped forward and turned your back, letting him reach for the laces. You sucked in a breath when he pulled them tight across your back, your palm flying to press against your stomach. “A little looser,” you choked out. Cassian obliged, letting the ribbons go slack in his hands.

“Better?” he asked, his breath hot and tickling your neck as he leaned forward. If you dared, if you were to just turn your head, he’d be close enough to-

“Am I interrupting something?”

You whipped around to see K-2 in the doorway of the cockpit, a metal hand reaching to gesture vaguely as it looked at you.

“No!” you both shouted and Cassian pushed away from you, his back knocking against the wall and his arms still outstretched.

“No, you’re not! Cassian was just- my dress needed to-” you said as you tried to hide your embarrassment, shaking your head. That was impossible. Laughable, even.

“I'll make sure to knock next time,” and with that K-2 turned, stepping back into the main hull.

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

You sat on an upturned weapons crate, the emerald fabric of your dress pooling around your legs as you eyed the heels in your hands. They were a death trap, with strappy, gold ties that were possibly meant to cross around your calves. At this point, you couldn’t be sure. You turned one over in your palm and the heel slipped down between your fingers, stabbing you in the leg.

Cursing under your breath, you rubbed at your thigh with your palm, letting the other shoe fall to the floor. If you were going to wear these, the least Cassian could do was tell you why. Knowing him, though, that wasn’t very likely. He had a habit of keeping all his cards hidden, which made for a good intelligence agent but a damn annoying person to work with. He hadn’t even told you what you’d be doing. I’m tracking an Imperial weapons supplier. We’ll be undercover at a party. That’s all you need to know.

“We’ll be undercover at a party,” you mimicked to yourself, your voice whiny and high-pitched, “That’s all you need to know.”

So now, for reasons still unknown to you, you were dressed like an Inner-Rim escort. You would’ve said no if you’d been told the details, which was probably why Cassian only handed you the clothes after you’d taken off. Damn him.

K-2 turned to you in the pilot’s seat, the ship coasting through hyperspace. “Would you like to know the probability of stumbling in those shoes?”

You glared as you attempted to untangle the straps from your hands. “Go eat a blurrg!” you called out.

“It’s high,” it spoke again, unfazed by your response. “Very, very high.”

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

Setting down the jar of pressed powder, you frowned at your reflection in the mirror. If you were being honest, the whole get-up wasn’t half bad. The kohl lining your eyes was a bit heavy-handed and the dress made you feel like you were stuffed in a bantha sausage casing, but you’d be lying if you said it was unattractive. It was a change from your usual appearance, that was for sure.

You stepped out of the refresher and made your way back to the cockpit, the shoes still in your hands. You weren’t going to put those on until you had to. Cassian sat in the copilot seat, one foot on the armrest as he laced up his dress shoes. Leaning against the doorway, you struck a mock pose and put a hand on your hip.

“How do I look?” you asked with an exaggerated pout on your lips. Shaking your head at the absurdity of it all, you choked down a laugh. He didn’t say anything. “Cassian?”

“You look...” and his eyes followed down the length of your body, making your skin tingle. It should’ve made you uncomfortable, but something about the way he looked at you was… admiring, although the idea of Cassian admiring any part of you was too dangerous of an idea to entertain. You chalked it up to novelty. The shock of seeing you with rouge on your cheeks instead of dirt.

“You look,” and Cassian swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Good. You look good,” he finished. When he finally met your gaze, your cheeks burned.

Wrapping your arms around your waist, you let your eyes drop to the floor. “Thanks,” you whispered.

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

“Remind me again why I have to come with you?” you asked, crouching over to strap your shoes to your feet. K-2 was off in the ship somewhere, powered off for the night after you landed in the hangar. Cassian sighed and pulled on a suit jacket.

“They’re high-profile, it'd look suspicious. Better to be seen with someone,” he explained as you stood up. Smoothing down your hair, you raised an eyebrow.

“So I’m your arm candy?” and he didn’t look up from the side controls as he opened the ship.

“For all intents and purposes, yes.”

You rolled your eyes, pressing a palm against the wall to keep from falling over. You could do that. Smile, look pretty, kill time until Cassian did whatever he needed to do and you could make it back to the ship. Child’s play, right?

You made it about two steps down the ramp before you almost fell flat on your face.

“Hey, hey, hey, easy,” Cassian said, slipping an arm around your waist to steady you. His voice was hot against the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your hair and sending a zip of electricity down the base of your spine. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. Fuck, since when was his voice so... so...

No. Stop it. You’ve known Cassian for years. You’ve dealt with looking at his stupid face on missions for years. Stars, if you really thought about it, which you didn’t like to, he was technically your boss. This was a mission. You were an intelligence officer. A damn good one, too - even if Cassian hadn’t thought to brief you on anything. An intelligence officer.

You should probably say something now. Intelligent. Fuck.

“You okay?” he asked as he walked you out of the docking zone into the city streets, his hand still resting on your waist. You nodded, your tongue thick on the roof of your mouth, and vaguely registered the tips of his fingers as they pressed against your hip. For balance, right? Just so that you wouldn’t fall over again.

Adjusting the bracelets on your wrists, you spared a glance up at Cassian as you reached the entrance of a brightly-lit casino, the open double-doors spilling over with music. Watching as he handed two forged invitations to the security droid, you sucked a breath in through your teeth.

This was going to be a long night.

-----------

Correllian wine was nice. Correllian wine was really, really nice. Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking on the job, but so far all you’d done is trail alongside Cassian as he skirted around the edges of the party, his eyes scanning over the heads of party guests and searching for something. Someone, more like. The rumored Imperial weapons supplier.

You could afford to be a little tipsy if all you had to do was walk around and look stupid.

Cassian didn’t look stupid, though. He looked… clean-cut. Handsome. Besides the tension in his shoulders and the fact that you’d seen him tuck a blaster into his waistband, he played his part well. You could only hope you were doing the same.

He paused in his stride - halting with his face half-cast in the shadows of the revolving lights - and you lost your balance again, thrown off-kilter at his lack of movement. Righting yourself, you furrowed your brows and shot him a quizzical look - receiving a small shake of his head and a whispered explanation in return. “Found the supplier. Need to put a tracker on him,” and you turned your head, following his gaze to see a thin, sharply dressed man - maybe 40 or so - with a plastic smile sitting at a table off the main dance floor. He was surrounded by empty glasses and a crowd of Twi'lek… dancers? Prostitutes? Barely-clothed party guests? It was hard to tell.

“Seems like a fun guy,” you mumbled. Cassian scoffed under his breath and nodded, raising his eyebrows when you plucked a flute of champagne off a waiter’s tray. You shrugged but your nonchalance quickly turned to irritation when he took it from your hands. “Hey what’re you-”

“Shh. Trust me.” You scoffed and followed him through the crowd, eyeing the champagne. If you had a credit for every time he told you to trust him you’d be knee-deep in your own Twi’lek dancers.

As he approached the man’s table, Cassian let the glass slip from his hands, spilling champagne across the floor and the tops of the man’s shoes. The stony expression he had worn before slipped off, a mask of calculated charm taking its place. If you weren’t so used to seeing it, it’d be unnerving.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, seemingly sincere as he picked up shards of glass. The man grunted and moved his foot away, waving toward one of the waiters.

“It’s fine, just… watch where you’re going next time, alright?”

“Of course, of course,” Cassian said, flashing a blinding grin before wiping his hands on the front of his pants. He had a nice smile. Nice... teeth. Maker, what had gotten into you? Maybe the wine wasn’t a good idea after all.

“Very sorry about that, Mr…”

“Deckard. Julian Deckard.”

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Deckard,” Cassian said, sticking out a hand. Deckard took it tentatively, giving it a hesitant shake.

As Cassian walked away, you caught the slightest brush of his fingers against the man’s collar. Ducking your head as you followed him to the edges of the party, you tried to maintain appearances as your legs wobbled slightly. Whether it was the wine, the heels, or Cassian himself that caused this, you didn’t dwell too much on. Laughing when you saw him sit at the bar, you nudged him with your shoulder as he called the bartender over. Apparently, he liked spiced whiskey.

Sliding onto the stool next to him, you opted for a water. You’d had enough to drink for tonight. Tracing your finger across the rim of the glass, you looked over your shoulder to see Deckard, who seemed unsuspicious of anything besides having to get his shoes rebuffed, taking a body shot off one of the Twi’leks. Classy.

Cassian scanned around the bar and, satisfied that no one was listening or sober enough to care, spoke quietly. “I placed the tracker when we walked past. Now, if he really does meet with the Imperials, we’ll know.”

You hummed and nodded your head. That was fairly painless, right? You got a few drinks out of it, at least. “So we’re done, then? I can take all this” you motioned to your dress and the gold paint on your eyelids, “off?”

“Not so fast,” Cassian said, his eyes with a look you couldn’t place. You frowned at him, cocking your head as he downed the rest of his drink.

“Cassian, what are you playing at? We are done, aren’t we? That was all?”

“No, not all,” he motioned towards the crowded dance floor. “Do you want to dance?”

If you didn’t already think he was crazy, this cemented it. He’d gone absolutely batshit.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re drunk.”

Cassian shook his head, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. “You’re a sadist, then. A sadist who wants to see me trip, fall, and break my nose.” He stood up and slid a few credits to the bartender. Well, his face seemed to say, aren’t you coming?

“Cassian I-” and he pulled you towards the crowd, not listening to your pleas. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t really-”

He stopped at the outskirts of the dance floor. “Shh. I can teach you.”

You could feel the pulse pounding in your ears, in the soles of your feet, thumping in time to the music and making you feel like you were drowning. In him. All around you was movement, sweaty and magnetic and way too close. You were in out of your depth, clothed in a dress that barely covered anything with heels that legally should be classified as skewers and now Cassian, who’s your commanding officer, a captain of the Rebellion Alliance for Maker’s sake, is asking you to dance. Did this count as a direct order? Could you say no? Did you even want to?

Before you could protest any more, he slipped an arm around your side. Fuck, okay. You were dancing. People did that all the time. You’ve danced, right? Maker, this dress was low-cut. Okay. Alright. Dancing. With Cassian.

“Did you um-” you tried to make conversation as he led your feet forward. “Did you make a habit of this? On Fest?” He chuckled and guided your hand to his shoulder, taking the other one in a gentle grip out towards his side.

“We are a people of music. It’s in my blood,” he shrugged, twirling you in an easy spin. You laughed when he pulled you into his chest, more out of nervousness than actual humor. “Relax, it’s just dancing, hm?” he mumbled into your ear, motioning towards the throng of couples. Everything was bathed in soft neon, streaking and fogged over with the heat of compromised bodies. This did not seem like “just dancing.”

Cassian stopped when you tensed at his touch, exasperation - and maybe amusement - clear in his tone. “You’re too stiff,” he said, and your arguments were quickly silenced when he placed his hands on your hips. “Here, move in a circle,” he explained, guiding your body in a slow rotation. You gulped down a breath and pressed a hand to your forehead, the silky fabric of your dress sticking to your chest. He let go and watched your attempts, only to sigh. “No, that’s a square,” he laughed. You pouted and stepped away, indignant.

“Well, how am I supposed to do it, then?”

Cassian led you in by the small of your back, his hands barely skimming the top of your ass as he pulled you close to his chest. Then he pushed down against you, pelvis to pelvis in a way that made your knees threaten to buckle. “Like this,” he whispered.

You were drunk. You’d tripped and hit your head on those damn high heels. Cracked your head open, died and were sent to hell. This could not be happening.

“Oh,” you managed to choke out. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Cassian asked, dark strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

“Okay,” you nodded, gulping down your fear and the rational, sober part of your brain that told you this was probably not a very good idea.

“Okay,” he chuckled, letting his palms rest on your waist. If you could make it out of this casino with your ankles and your dignity intact, you’d count the night a success.

Cassian led you across the dance floor, his movements steady. He was always so sure of himself. Confident, but in an understated way. It was the kind that simmered, underneath the quiet stoicism and the soft eyes. It was the kind that made you really, really want to kiss him.

You weren’t a great dancer by any means, but the longer he held you, the longer he rocked against you like it was the easiest thing in the world, the more it felt like it. Underneath the darkened lights, surrounded by strangers just as depraved on a planet where no one knew your name, you allowed yourself the feeling of touch.

He was everywhere. Palms scraping against your arms. His chest against your back, solid with the rhythm of his quickened heartbeat. His lips ghosting over your hair. It was suffocating, all-consuming, and you were certain your lungs had filled with concrete, incapable of drawing in a breath without having it rattle in the back of your throat. You were drunk, but it wasn’t on wine. It was just Cassian.

You were so fucked.

You weren’t entirely sure how long you stayed there, sweat beading between your breasts and flushing your cheeks. It didn’t matter. Nothing did. Not the Alliance, not the supplier, not K-2 still waiting at the loading port. It all fell away underneath the evening heat, turning your body to liquid and your common sense to dust. All that mattered was that you were here, dancing with him.

Cassian turned you and your back met his chest, your head falling against the curve of his shoulder. You looked at him through your lashes, following the dip of his chin as he eyed you. His mouth was close. Like, really close. Like you were sharing the same air, noses almost touching, barely inches apart close.

You can’t remember who kissed first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. You didn’t really care, as long as he didn’t stop. Maker, you wished he never stopped. You could live your whole life with your lips on his, never knowing anything besides the taste of him and the feeling of stubble beneath your hands, incapable of telling where Cassian ended and you began. You gasped when he slid a hand down the side of your thigh, the movement knocking you out of your trance.

You both pulled away, just as you had both leaned forward, eyes half-hooded and blown over with something too risky to dwell on. He coughed and stepped back, tearing his gaze away from your lips. “We should get back to the ship,” Cassian said, his voice tight in his throat, “It’s getting late.”

Yeah, it was getting late. Don’t think too much. He probably didn’t mean it, anyway.

You were both silent as you left the party, bodies that were once loose-limbed turned to practically marble. Neither of you dared say anything.

When you stepped out of the casino, Cassian let you balance on his arm as you reached down to take off your shoes. You couldn’t be bothered with them anymore, sparing a cursory look towards the ground and deeming it clean enough to walk on. You swung them on your hands, the straps digging into your fingers.

“So…” you began.

He said nothing, just kept walking beside you. Through all of this, you can’t remember when, the first few buttons of his shirt came undone, revealing the hollow of his neck. Shaking your head with a soft sigh, you shivered against the chill of the night air as it bit your bare skin. Cassian didn’t want to talk. Okay.

He looked over to see the rising goosebumps on your neck, pausing on the walkway to take the suit jacket from his arms and drape it around your shoulders, still silent. It smelled like smoke and blaster-fire, something grounding and earthy. You avoided his eyes as you wrapped it around you, resisting the urge to bury your face in the collar and inhale.

When you climbed inside the ship hangar, you worked up the nerve to speak again, his name soft and pleading on your tongue. “Cassian,” you said as he walked ahead of you. He stopped then, turned back just enough to give you hope.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it,” he mumbled, “I knew you didn’t feel the same-” and he was interrupted by the sound of your heels falling against the floor, your hands flying to his face as you crashed your mouth against his. He was so stupid sometimes. So handsomely, lovingly, blindingly stupid.

You heard the hull doors hiss as they opened, not registering the sound of K-2’s voice until it called out. “I should have knocked, shouldn’t I?”

Cassian didn’t look up from your face as he pressed your back to the ship wall, his arms never loosening their hold around you. “Yes,” he breathed out against your neck, “Yes you should’ve.” Tipping back when Cassian ghosted his lips across your throat, your head met metal as his suit jacket fell from your shoulders.

“I’ll power off again and give you lovebirds some privacy,” K-2 sighed with a shake of its head. “Absolutely vile.”

Tag List: @youmeanmybrain​ @ah-callie​ @itzagoodthing​ @damndamer0n​ @chelsfic​ @agirllovespasta​ @glowingpena​ @poeticandors​ @symbiont13​ @squidlywiddly87​ @1zashreena1​ @padfootwantsatummyrub​ @lesqui​

[coureirsix]

supernatural season 16 episode 4 - “lifeline” |  ao3 link

it's roughly 11 PM on january 23rd when dean gets a call from eileen. he'd been out of the bunker with jack and cas for nearly three days; they'd taken jack to an amusement park. something about never seeing one before which reminded dean the last time he'd ever been to one, he was three years old and didn't remember a thing. which was fine, except that jack had wanted to go to six flags. he'd said something about finding old commercials with a dancing old man and the closest one was in kentucky. naturally, this wasn't an issue with dean. he'd driven farther for less, but on the way back he'd begun to realize that as he got older, the drives took more out of him. 

they'd gotten back earlier that afternoon and had spent most of the day lounging around until the exhaustion got the better of them at around nine. well, except jack. who could have just driven back to kentucky if he wanted to. cas made sure he didn't want to. so, it's saturday night, cas is breathing deeply beside him, completely asleep, jack is probably watching TV in the dean-cave, and dean has been drifting in and out of sleep for the past 20 minutes when his phone buzzes to the tune of the Call Me Maybe song. it's the tone he'd set up for eileen because, well, she never calls. so, when she does call, it's usually an emergency flare that's followed up with an explanatory text.

dean's eyes shoot awake and he watches the call miss as he waits a second for eileen's message to come in. 

dean, sam broke the tub. he can't get the hot water to stop running. SOS. please, my hair is disgustingly humid. his too. 

and dean laughs. it was an emergency, but the kind that didn't have him spiraling into a depression. that was... almost nice, he thinks. they have normal people problems now. he leans over to where cas is asleep beside him and cas' trained as well as dean is. he stirs awake with the movement and opens his eyes in a half-awake gesture.

“sam’s in trouble,” dean says with a smile. cas’ eyes shoot open, but dean’s demeanour doesn’t change, instead he follows up with, “he.. broke his bathtub somehow.”

cas squints. dean laughs some more and gets himself out of bed. he’s gotta find the little duffel bag that they’d dedicated to tools that didn’t include weapons of mass destruction. it shouldn’t be too hard to find. the last time they’d used it was when sam actually broke a door off its hinges. 

“i’m going back to sleep,” cas says, turning over as dean redresses. and dean laughs again. cas was grumpy when he was exhausted. it was endearing. 

it doesn’t take him too long to get ready to leave the bunker. he finds the duffel bag underneath the bathroom sink and before he knows it, he’s pulling out of the bunker’s vicinity in the impala and headed toward sam and eileen’s place. the issue with them is they live roughly 45 minutes away. he texts eileen back, letting her know he’s on his way. 

and dean thinks, as he drives over. that it’s his birthday tomorrow. well- he checks his phone, it’s basically his birthday. sunday january 24th, 2021. he didn’t think he’d live this long. he was the answer to the universe now, technically. 42. he looks down at his hands on the wheel. they’re worn. they’re the hands of a tired man who fought multiple apocalypses, multiple archangels, god himself. and won.

he takes a deep breath and thinks about sam. he loves his little brother more than he can ever explain. it’s unhealthy, probably, how much he’d done to save sam from everything. death, despair, sam himself that time he lost his soul. dean was there and willing to bleed for whatever sam needed. and he knew sam would always do the same. it was comforting. and even moreso now that they’d decided to take some time to really asses what was best for either of them. sam let himself want his apple pie life again. and it was the happiest day of dean’s life to see his little brother decorating the house he’d leased with eileen.

dean doesn’t hunt fulltime anymore. he’ll do an odd ghost job here and there, but mostly he mans the phones. he’s now FBI Supervisor Agent Harkness, police chief Richard Grayson, at cas’ request Texas Ranger Dean Swift, and at jack’s request Marlo Bridgers.it’s a living, he thinks. he still helps out other hunters and he passes off the bigger jobs to the younger people that’ve unfortunately ended up in the hunting life. 

mostly, though, he and cas have been making up for lost time. they go out on dates. dates, like embarrassing 15 year olds. he’s taken cas to the movies, they’ve gone for walks at the mall. dean held cas’ hand under a tree and it was the most incredible thing in the world. 

it’s embarrassing, it’s enough to make himself blush at the memory of it, but it’s also nice in that same breath. it brings him a sense of peace like he’s never fully properly known. because it’s about trust. and not trust in cas, not trust in himself, hell, the trust has nothing to do with either of them. it has to do with the fact that dean has finally let himself trust that things are going to be okay. that no matter what happens, he’s going to be okay.

and that’s what he thinks about when he’s sitting across from cas at the baskin robbins. that they’re safe. that things are okay. because they are, dean’s earned that much through his own tears and blood.

the sound of wind hitting the impala as he drives down the highway closer to sam and eileen is the melody to the memories of his life as it has been since they got rid of chuck and jack put god’s power back into the universe.

he pulls into the driveway of sam’s cookie cutter house. he’s in the middle of the driveway but dean doesn’t care and he knows neither sam nor eileen would care either. besides, the impala outshines the two normal cars they drive. he grabs the duffel bag and heads for the door, waiting for a second before the door clicks and he sees eileen in a crack in the door. he smiles at her.

“dean!” she says, visibly excited. dean keeps his smile on his face and waves, unsure why she’d be so excited that he’s here at practically midnight to fix her bathtub. she reaches out to grab his wrist and pull him into the house. she leads him through dark down the little hall that dean knows leads into the bathroom. dean notices there is no humidity in the house.

“eileen? is everything-” dean starts to ask when the lights flick on, blinding dean for a second before it clicks that it’s a party. it’s a party at midnight for him. 

he sees jody, donna, alex, claire and kaia. sam and bobby among several other hunters dean had come to know. it’s a full house, yet dean notices the lack of jack and cas. there’s a stack of presents in a corner behind the kitchen, a cake with a single candle on the table. claire is approaching him with a party hat in her hands and an evil look on her face. dean glances over at eileen, who’s beaming at him. she knows what she did. led zeppelin comes through a little speaker in the corner, not too loud, but loud enough that its ambiance music now. 

dean lets himself get wrapped in a hug from claire and then lets her put the hat on him before sam approaches him.

“this your idea?” dean asks. sam grins, but shakes his head.

“no, actually. i wanted to do it tomorrow morning. show up at the bunker with everyone, but, i know someone with worse intentions than me who said that tricking you into coming here at the moment of your birthday would be something you couldn’t see coming,” sam opens his arms and dean lets himself fall in. he hugs his little brother back and the emotions from earlier come back. he and sam were alive. dean’s greatest achievement in life was keeping sam alive and now here he was, reaping the benefits.

he goes through similar motions with everyone. jody gives him a hug and then leans up to kiss him on the temple. donna squeezes him so hard he swears his insides are flattened. 

after a few moments of getting caught up with everyone, sam sits him down at the table where the cake is. dean rubs his hands, ready to light the candle in it when sam makes this “uh-uh” sound. dean looks up at him in confusion when eileen brings over a pie with those large novelty number candles set into it. 42 sure was a year. 

dean sits there in the obligatory hot seat as everyone gathers around and sings him happy birthday. it’s awkward, it makes him blush and tears well up in his eyes, although nobody can really see it through the dimmed lights. and he looks around and his smile saddens a bit. he should have told cas to come with him. did sam not think to text jack?

he goes through the motions and cuts the first slice of the pie for himself and passes off the pastry to sam and eileen who take care of passing out the rest of it and the cake that’d been there. dean looks around, hoping cas and jack had been right behind him as sam brings him over a whiskey. it goes down ridiculously smooth. sam mentions he ran one last credit card scam for $3,000 whiskey for this. dean laughs and asks for another.

the night winds down fairly quickly, given it’s nearly three in the morning by the time everyone’s settled down into a less partying mood. dean ends up sitting outside with sam in some lawn chairs from walmart in sam’s cookie cutter back yard. eileen’s gone to bed and most everyone has gone home by then.

“you ever think we’d live this long?” sam asks.

“nope,” dean says without hesitation, “sammy, you died when you were twenty two. i died at twenty seven? twenty eight? god, i don’t even remember.”

“and those were just the first times,” sam says with an incredulous laugh.

“shit,” dean laughs with him, “yeah.”

“and we got out,” sam says. there’s a satisfaction in his voice that makes every single time dean died or did anything stupid for sam worth it. it’s a tone that dean knows means sam is happy. and that’s it, that was dean’s goal.

“we did,” dean agrees, taking another sip of the whiskey, “we beat hell, we beat heaven, we beat purgatory, we beat god.”

“kicked god’s ass,” sam affirms, “we get to choose what we want to do now. we write our own destiny now.”

dean reaches over and outstretches his glass. sam meets him halfway and they toast to that. dean watches sam pull his phone out and send off a quick text message. probably eileen telling him to go to bed.

they sit in silence for a while. and sam’s phone vibrates. dean watches him check it and not respond. trouble in paradise? he doubts it, but he doesn’t really know every single thing about sam anymore.

“i know you’re gonna tell me to shut up, but i do have to say, dean. thank you,” sam looks over at him.

“for?” dean asks.

“for everything, man,” sam has this look on his face like he’s going to cry, “you raised me. you were always there for me. im thirty eight, nearly sixteen years overdue if you hadn’t sold your soul to save me. i’m who i am because of you, and i like to think i’m in pretty good shape. and you, dean. i’m so proud of you. you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met. and i love you, and i’m happy that it was you that i got to have be my big brother.”

dean actually cries, but he turns around so that sam can’t see it. he composes himself in a second and turns back. he doesn’t have it in him to fight sam on the emotional distress this is causing him. instead he says, “thanks, sam. i’m glad i got to be your big brother, too.”

sam’s phone buzzes again. he checks it again and this time does respond. he sighs and looks over at dean again, “i gotta go. eileen says the bed is too cold.”

dean huffs a laugh and nods, “go fix that.”

sam nods and gets up. dean hears the door that leads back into the house slide open and then slide shut. and dean is left with himself at the end of it all. he sighs. he’s happy, he thinks.

and then he hears an unmistakable flutter. 

“dean!” he hears jack yell. it’s louder given it’s three in the morning and most people in this neighbourhood are asleep.

“i’m so sorry,” jack says, rushing up to dean’s side, “we were planning to be there for the cake but it wasn’t ready and we kept trying to fix things-”

“fix what?” dean asks, curiously. he’s not mad.

“the-” jack stops short, looking behind dean. and dean realizes the missing piece of his birthday puzzle has to be behind him.

and he is. the angel castiel is standing behind dean on the cement part of the patio a few feet back, wearing one of dean’s old band tshirts under his trench coat. and there’s a book in his hands. 

“happy birthday, dean,” cas says, a little smile on his face.

dean gets up. his foot nearly kicks the whiskey glass he set down with the speed he gets up at. and he doesn’t waste any time in grabbing the sides of cas’ face and pressing the most heartfelt, loving, tender kiss dean has ever given anyone in his life. there’s a warmth that always seems to be radiating from cas and dean wants to stick to it like a leech.

when he pulls back, cas keeps the little smile on his face and hands dean the book. it’s a photo album, he realizes, once he takes it and opens it. there’s- there’s baby pictures of him there. things that were surely lost in the fire in lawrence. as he flips through the album, he finds pictures of him and sam growing up. things nobody had ever photographed before, he’s pretty sure. at one point he finds a picture of him at age twelve, lying on roof of the impala.

“cas,” dean asks, in completely disbelief, “where did you get these?”

“i did!” jack says coming from behind dean in an awkward hug from behind, “i can still tap into the power of god if i want to. it wasn’t hard to pop into different points of your life and just take a picture.”

dean turns back and pulls jack forward to pull him into a better hug as he laughs. that’s somehow the craziest thing he’s ever heard. 

“happy birthday, dad,” jack says. and he tenses against dean.

“did you just call me dad?” dean asks.

“no,” jack lies. 

“right,” dean says, a grin on his face that he looks up and notices that cas shares.

“well, it’s kinda creepy that you existed for a second at different points in my life, but i love it, jack. a walk down memory lane, shit and all. i love it, thank you, son” and he leans down to press a kiss against the top of jack’s head.

“this what kept you?” dean asks cas as jack lets go and says he’s heading inside.

cas nods and he says with a little shrug, “it seemed like a kind gesture. i sort of gave him points to land on. that way he didn’t land in the middle of a hunt or something. i’m sorry, dean.”

dean shakes his head and goes to set the book down on the chair he’d been sitting in and he walks back over to cas. where cas is standing, there’s a cement step between the cement patio area and the grass that dean and sam had been sitting in. it makes it so cas is a few inches taller than dean. 

dean finds himself turning around so that cas can come around him, head coming to rest on dean’s shoulder and his arms coming around dean’s middle.

“thought you were supposed to be sleeping,” dean says with a mocking tone.

“and miss your forty-second birthday?” cas asks, turning to press a kiss to the side of dean’s face. they look up at the sky and dean wonders how exactly he got there. there’s a feeling in his chest that he doesn’t understand, but he knows what it is. it’s peace, it’s happiness. 

“i have a speech prepared for you,” cas says softly. his hands tap at dean’s stomach and dean brings up his own hands to cover them.

“right, right. something about how my eyes glitter like the moon?” dean asks, his tone is still jokey.

“something like that,” cas says, “and moreso how you’ve been the world’s lifeline and how i’m so happy you’re finally thinking of yourself.”

dean’s heart sinks a little as cas continues.

“you know sam loves you, you know your friends love you. you know that i love you with the wrath of heaven behind me. and somehow that doesn’t compare to the happiness i feel now that i know that you finally love you.”

dean’s face goes completely red. the warmth is different from the warmth of the next kiss that cas places against his cheek again. 

“thank you,” he chokes out, voice breaking because he’s started crying again, “i... i don’t have heaven. but i love you with the power of a guy who fought god.”

cas laughs, “and won,” he adds.

dean’s blush comes down a little and he leans back just a little, so he can turn and meet cas full on in another kiss before turning back to look out at the normal neighbourhood sam’s found himself in. 

“do you think we could do something like this? cookie cutter house. you me and the kid?” dean asks.

“if you think you’re prepared to let the bunker go, i don’t see why not,” cas responds. 

the thought of turning the bunker’s lights out for good makes dean feel a certain kind of way. still, though. now it’s a thought that’s popped into his head. who knows. 

for now, he’s content to stand there with his angel, looking out at the other backyards, at the stars while their respective kids sleep in the house. 

[sunonyoreface]

Forest Nymph | Geralt of Rivia Pt.3

Hello!! Thank you so much for taking the time to read my fanfic!  This is part three of my first series and I can’t wait to see where this series takes us!

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 2105

Thank you to @movies-music-series​ for letting me use their gif!

Geralt awakes with a jolt.  His eyes snap open and are immediately alert.  There is no such thing as a good night’s rest for a Witcher.  Not for Geralt at least.  

Something is watching him.  He can feel it and yet, his pendant is deadly still.  He rises with caution and scans the forest surrounding him. Nothing.  Yet he can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched.

Then he notices you are gone.  You left without a trace sometime in the dead of night.  That’s probably for the best, he thinks.  And yet… Geralt can’t get his mind off of your angelic features.  The delicacy in the way you walk, how your feet barely touch the ground they travel upon.  His mind wanders to your touch, and the electrical current which seemed to surprise you as much as him.  Despite the shock, your hands were soft and gentle.  How he yearns to feel your touch again.

The sound of Roach whinnying alerts Geralt to a possible danger, to which he realizes he cannot see him anywhere.  Geralt’s heart rate picks up at the thought of losing Roach; he starts running in the direction of the call.  His eyes quickly scan the surrounding trees, searching for a threat he may have missed the first time.  After several minutes of searching, he comes across Roach, who excitedly munches at an apple growing from a young apple tree.  The tree is short and easily accessible, with smooth unscathed bark around its stump, the sort of tree that would not normally bear fruit for another five years, and yet, here it is.  Clearly one of your works of art.  Roach must be in love with her, he thinks.  

You left as soon as the embers died and no longer gave off any light. You feel confused and left out of options as to what to do.  If the Witcher chooses not to kill you, then what?  The villagers hire someone who will?  Your options are limited, but right now, you need to get back to your cottage, at least for a little while to think things through.

To the untrained eye, your cozy little cottage blends in with the slightly larger than normal thicket.  Nothing that unusual, unless you know what to look for.  You grew the walls and made them of tightly weaved stalks that keep out the rain.  The trees have since continued to grow on their own to home many smaller inhabitants in their upper branches.  They twist and turn in unnatural angles to allow for extensive windows that let in the warm natural light.  Inside, your floors are covered in a carpet of soft moss.  You almost never wear shoes inside.  All of your furniture is made of natural materials.  Of old trees which toppled over ready for repurposing, uniquely shaped rocks that work perfectly as benches, and anything else you might be able to forage from the bountiful area.  

When you step inside a scent of familiarity wraps around you.  The smell of home.  It’s quiet.  The usual sounds of wind, squirrels, and birds which normally fill the air fade away into the background.  The silence makes you tired.  Oh, how you long for a solid night’s worth of sleep.  So, naturally, your feet instinctually carry you off to your soft, embracing bed. Finally, you sigh.

Geralt doesn’t know what to tell the king.  Maybe he doesn’t tell him anything.  After all, all the king wanted was for him to look into what was damaging their crops.  He never mentioned that Geralt had to take any action against you.  He has a feeling that won’t cut it.  Then again, what harm could really come from telling the king about the dryad?  Geralt isn’t going to kill her, and the King’s army couldn’t find her if they tried. She’s too sneaky, and they're too incompetent at everything they do.  The farmers are too busy getting shitfaced at the alehouse, he doubts they can see past their own feet.  

He was supposed to meet the king for lunch.  It’s currently mid-afternoon.  Maybe closer to late afternoon, he thinks.  It’s hard to see the sun under the canopy of trees.  Either way, Geralt doesn’t care.  The King doesn’t matter.  None of them do.  He has lived through hundreds of kings and none of them stick out as important. They spend their time implementing new policies which really aren’t new, then destroying ones that their past rulers have made and so on.  Nothing has changed in Geralt’s hundred or so years on this Earth.  Humans operate in circles; they always have and will continue to do so until they cease to exist.  Maybe that’s too pessimistic.

Villagers bustle around the center of the town in a lively matter. Why wouldn’t they? Tomorrow is their day of rest and worship; they have the whole night to commit unholy sins. Geralt wonders where Jaskier has gone off too.  The alehouse probably.  Or maybe he is serenading some poor wenches.  What would he think of the forest nymph?

King Cassius of Asenguard lives in a castle so enormous that he has likely never been in every room.  It towers over his kingdom and peers into every grimy rut he rules over.  His people live in the slums while he has never truly worked a day in his life.  Geralt has a special kind of hatred for this kind of man, if one would even go so far as to call him that.  However, his large pocket is quite persuasive.  

“Ah! Mr. Witcher, so nice of you to join us today! I was almost about to send out my cavalry to search for you.” He laughs seemingly in good humour, but the room is tense.  The servants have witnessed enough of his behaviour to know that an outburst is about to happen.  Geralt doesn’t laugh.  He doesn’t even smile.  Cassius’ snarky joke only vexes him.

“My deepest apologies King Cassius, I was too busy cleaning the shit off my boots on your doorstep.  Your kingdom’s full of it.”  Geralt jabs back at him.  The snarky smile is wiped off of Cassius’ face.  He is not used to being talked back to.  While he is technically in charge, the Witcher emanates power.  If things become physical, the King and his guards will stand no chance, and in the back of his head, he knows that.  

“That’s enough, Mr. Witcher,” He drawls. “I just want to know if you have gotten rid of whatever is pissing my farmers off, they’re very persuasive people you know. They even threatened my bread production.  My God, what would we do without bread?”

“I did what you paid me to do.” He responds, the words tight in his mouth through his clenched jaw.

“What so you found the blasted demon wrecking my land, but didn’t kill it? I thought you were the Butcher of Blaviken? The White Wolf? Your job is to kill monsters.  That’s what I am paying you to do.”  The level of threat in the King’s voice raises exponentially.

“You asked me to find out what was causing your little problem.  That’s it.” Geralt spits back.  “You will pay me for my service.”

“Will I?”

“If you want to keep your head, then yes.” The Witcher’s eyes look as though they have turned to flames.  The threat is real, King Cassius, as inept as he is, can sense that much.

“Fine.” He huffs in annoyance. “Then what is it I am paying for? What is the wretched thing eating away at my land?”  

“A witch.”  Geralt states.

“Just a witch?”

“Just a witch.” He confirms.

“You couldn’t kill just a witch?”  Geralt’s hands twitch at his side.  The urge to reach for his sword is overwhelming.

“Just give me my coin.”

“Fine.” he tosses a small bag filled with coins at the Witcher, “Here you go. Now unless you are hunting that witch get the hell out of my kingdom.”

“My pleasure.” But first, he has to find Jaskier.

The first place Geralt checks is the alehouse.  And he is right.  He’s almost scarily right when it comes to Jaskier’s whereabouts, not that they deviate much.  It was the alehouse or the brothel and if he is anywhere else then something is likely wrong.

“We need to go, Jaskier.”  Geralt says before he has fully approached him.

“Well hello to you too!  You just got here, why don’t you have a drink?”

“No, Jaskier, we need to go.”  He is fully aware of the eyes already on him.  The whole village thought he was going to solve their “demon” problem and now he hasn’t.  He has about five minutes before they start throwing food at him and Jaskier both.

“Just relax for once Geralt.  Have a drink! Celebrate! I just finished telling Fleming over there how you are going to kill the thing wrecking their crops.” He laughs unknowingly.  Fleming, a large man sitting only a few chairs over, raises his mug to cheers with Jaskier before taking a large swig of ale.

“I will explain outside but we need to go.” Geralt urges once more.

“I’ll catch up with you.”

“No, Jaskier.” He whispers, “I didn’t kill her and your friend Fleming over there is not going to like that.” The underlying threat is clear in his tone, and finally, Jaskier takes the hint.

“Oh, right then.” A look of guilt crosses his face. “Fleming, don’t you worry, I will be right back!”

They are barely out of the alehouse when a voice calls out from behind an alley.

“Aye! That’s him. That’s the Witcher!”  A man standing with a group of drunks yells out.  “A little birdy tells me you didn’t kill the wretched thing wrecking our crops!”

Geralt doesn’t respond.  

“Well?” He takes a swig from his mug, “Why the fuck not?”

“You seem to be able to handle the situation fine on your own.” He states. With that, they go to leave, but the sound of a sword being drawn brings Geralt’s attention back to the group of men. An odd straggler, likely drunker than the rest of them, honestly thinks he stands a chance.

“Yeah? Well fuck you!” He shouts.

“Yeah!” some other men cheer him on.  This isn’t good.  Before Geralt can talk his way out of this, the man charges at him, sword held high, ready to fight.  Left no choice, Geralt conjures the Sign of Aard and uses it to blast the overly confident drunk and his friends back.  They go flying back, their limbs sprawled every which way, drinks thrown from their hands, until their hurled bodies finally make a rough impact with a ground. That should stop them, he thinks. Time to get out of this shitty village.

Once out of the village, Geralt and Jaskier continue into dusk at a slower than average pace.  The evening is actually quite nice.  Not too hot or cold, almost perfect.  The sky is clear, and the stars will start to come out within the hour.  The birds chatter to each other quietly in the background. Jaskier, while still a bit tipsy, is wound up in telling Geralt about a woman in a beautiful pink dress who was more than happy to have him stay the night in her hot, steamy bed.  Something you could have seen coming from miles away.

Suddenly, a doe jumps out from the forest line, then freezes in the middle of the dirt road.  She looks between them for a moment before sprinting off again, almost as if nothing happened.

“Geralt, why didn’t you get her? That would’ve been dinner for the next week!” Jaskier huffs in disappointment.  While rabbits are easy to trap, he would take venison over them any day.  

Two more deer jump out from the treeline, this time neither pause to look at Geralt or Jaskier, who barely notices their presence.  Geralt pulls back on Roach’s reins.  Roach reluctantly stops.

“Something is wrong.” He whispers to himself.

“What?” Asks Jaskier.  “Geralt I can’t hear you when you mumble.”

The birds have stopped chirping.  The forest is deathly silent.  Something is definitely wrong.  Another group of deer bound onto the road as though the two of them aren’t even there.  More animals now, rabbits, foxes and larger, more unpleasant creatures sprint across the road paying them no attention.  

The wind switches direction and the smell of smoke overwhelms their senses.  Geralt turns around to see the far-off horizon glowing orange.  Sparks explode out of a daunting wall of smoke.  The Asenguard forest is burning relentlessly with no signs of stopping.

---

Thank you so much for your feedback!! I love hearing from yall

Pt.1

https://sunonyoreface.tumblr.com/post/613040114715820032/forest-nymph-geralt-of-rivia-pt-1-hi-this-is-my

Pt.2

https://sunonyoreface.tumblr.com/post/613171373679034368/forest-nymph-geralt-of-rivia-pt2

Pt.4

https://sunonyoreface.tumblr.com/post/613676968381136896/forest-nymph-geralt-of-rivia-pt4

Tag List: @nadia-rosea

[livralph]

Two hours of peace

Simon

Baz has his face pressed into my stomach. We’re on the sofa in the living room which the rest of his family almost completely neglects— Daphne doesn’t like the kids going in here because the furniture is all too expensive to be damaged. Baz said that she’d be okay with the two of them being in there because he was careful and even though I’m really not he said Daphne doesn’t know me well enough to know that. I think everyone knows me well enough to know I could shatter a styrofoam cup just by looking at it.

There’s a chance Baz is asleep. We’ve been lying on this sofa for an hour and he’s barely moved since we sat down. Or, since I sat down with my my legs across the sofa, and he dropped on top of my legs. Eventually, he ended up laying between them. With his face shoved into my stomach. It can’t be comfortable. His arms are pushing into his chest and my legs at odd angles, and I’m not entirely sure how easy it can be for him to breath given that his nose feels smushed into me.

I can’t hear anyone but him. The house is huge though, so I’m not surprised. When we left everyone they were in the kitchen, at the opposite end of the house. Fiona and Malcom had started gently arguing, Daphne was trying to feed her youngest children, and Mordelia looked like she wanted to leave as soon as she could. It’s not like I can say something about that though because, as much as I like Baz’s family, they’re a lot. He dragged me out the second Fiona raised her voice a little above a whisper and Mordelia jumped in with whatever opinion she had on the situation. I think maybe Baz lied when I asked how old she was. No seven year old I’ve met before has known literally anything about politics— but I’ve mostly only met Normal kids. And this family is as far from Normal as it gets.

Before he sat with me — on me — Baz waved his wand towards a docking station in the corner and used thank you for the music to get it to play whatever it was that was already lined up. He doesn’t like ABBA. I said as much but he just mumbled something about them being useful. When the soundtrack for Mama Mia! started playing I nearly laughed. Baz just huffed and dropped onto the sofa with me.

My hands have been sat awkwardly at my sides for the entire hour we’ve been sat doing nothing, and I’m starting to get a little bit restless. Even though my wings are stretched out behind me as limply as I can hold them and I’m trying not to flap them and break anything, it’s not like I can trust myself. It’s impossible for me to stay still for very long now. Penny thinks that it’s because I can’t use my magic at the moment and that because I had so much that was constantly bubbling to the surface I technically was never doing absolutely nothing. Now that’s not happening I find it harder to stay still. Apparently. Penny thinks so.

I move my hands to Baz’s hair, running my fingers through it carefully so that I have something to do with them. So that I don’t accidentally knock the vase on the sideboard behind me onto the floor and break it. Fingers don’t catch a single knot. After a few minutes I mostly stop moving my hand out of annoyance. Even if I brushed my hair ten times a day there it would still be impossible to get a brush straight through it. Also, it’s not like I’m a very gentle person, and I don’t want to wake him up. He hasn’t been sleeping much, and I keep waking up in the middle of the night only to see he’s stood next to his open window looking out. One of my fingers is still softly twirling a strand of hair around it, hopefully too softly for him to feel it.

He stirs a little bit in my lap, face pressing against my stomach harder than it had been and also leaning his head back into one of my hands a little. Baz twists around to look at me and I sigh deeply. He pouts a little bit and copies my sigh. “Why did you stop?” I can hear the pout as he speaks. It’s even more pronounced in his voice than it is on his face.

“Thought you were asleep.”

“I’m never asleep.” His hand reaches up and holds mine against his head to coax me into moving it again.

“You’re like a cat.” I think this a lot. He does act like a cat. The fact that he pretended to hate me and acted like I was the worst person in the world when he was actually obsessed with me only backs it up. One of the homes I went to had a cat, which is how I know they’re weird like that. She scratched my hand when I was trying to give her attention, then when I didn’t she followed me around meowing.

“Cats are evil, Snow.” My hand is back to stroking Baz’s hair, trying to run my fingers through it even though most of it is now wedged between in his head and my stomach. My thumb gently brushes against his cheekbone. It almost seems like he leans into the touch.

I think I’m smiling at him. Have I been smiling at him the whole time? There’s a chance I have. All I’ve done for an hour is watch him as he rested on my stomach while he apparently wasn’t sleeping. Penny says I’m always smiling at him now, but I always say it’s not true. We barely spend time actually together now. He’s at Watford, I’m at Penny’s or Agatha’s. Even if all the while I am thinking about being at Watford with him. “You’re evil.” I retort, cupping his cheek in my hand. This time he is definitely pressing his face into it.

“Maybe.” Then he shrugs, which is awkward from the way he’s lying and somehow his hair ends up caught under him in the motion and we have to move away from each other so that he can sort it out. My legs are still on the sofa, and he’s kneeling between them. Baz uses a hair tie on his wrist to pull back the shoulder length hair in to a bun. It’s horrifically messy, and I can already tell half of it must be still falling out over the back of his neck. Usually he’d look in the mirror and fix it, but he just rearranged himself to have his legs either side of mine then falls heavily against my chest. Somehow he manages to push his arms to be hugging me around the middle and I want to laugh. Baz is not clingy.

“You’re being weird.” I say, allowing his head to tuck under my chin and wrapping my arms around him.

He digs his nails into the base of where my wings join to my back, where his finger tips ended up resting. Not so hard, just enough that it twinges for the second he holds them there. When he loosens his grip again the feeing is gone. “I feel weird. Constantly. The house is too full.” The house isn’t full. There are nine people in it and it could fit a bit over twenty five. I’ve been in care homes with this many people in that barely had room for seven. I don’t say anything though. “I just want to be somewhere with you.”

I tense up at his words. Not on purpose; my stomach dropped and my body just sort of followed suit. It wasn’t in a bad way. It was in a way that felt very much like I couldn’t exactly process the words.

“Sorry.” He mutters, pressing his nose up against my neck softly, touching it to my pulse point. His lips brush my Adam’s apple and I swallow. What time is it? We’ve been here an hour and Daphne was feeding the youngest three. So maybe there’s another hour left until we collect our food from the kitchen.

“We’re alone now.” I point it out even though he knows. We’re alone and mostly will be until tomorrow when Baz has to take Mordelia on her daily walk and listen to her talk about how annoying the youngest three are when she can’t leave the house. Baz keeps saying that his siblings barely leave the house anyway. I’m beginning to think she sees him as more of an older cousin or cool uncle than she does a brother who she can irritate. I’m also not going to point out that’s it’s a little bit ironic that she annoys her older brother while complaining about her younger siblings annoying her. Baz sits further back on my thighs and looks at me.

“I suppose, it’s just... I can live with my family. Three out of four of my siblings are barely sentient, the fourth I actually get on with. Daphne is lovely— too lovely really, I don’t understand her.” He scrunches his nose up in this way that makes him pull a face that I really, really should not find ridiculously attractive, but I do. Everything he does is so gorgeous, even the horrible faces he pulls. Thinking about it, I probably like it because they’re the faces he’d always make back at Watford when we were just roommates who hated each other . “My father just doesn’t talk about uncomfortable subjects, which I can live with, and Fiona does nearly nothing but talk about those subjects, which I can also live with.”

I want to smooth the crease that’s left between his eyebrows after he’s finished. I lift my hands and tangle one in his hair already loosening hair, using the other to brush away the sharp expression on his face. “What about me?” We’ve spent basically seven and a half years sharing a room. I know I’m terrible. We’re sharing a room and a bed most nights even though there’s a room set up for me next door to Baz’s. I had been going to sleep in there but I’d wake up with Baz in the bed too so I’ve started just going to sleep in his room.

Baz sighs deeply and rests his forehead on mine gently, pressing our noses together a little bit at he does. Then his kisses me. Three times. On the lips. Holding my face in his hands. “You’re messy. You watch me eat my food. I put clothes out to wear the next day and then when I wake up you’re wearing them. You hog the duvet. You freak out about the wraiths. My whole family adores you. You don’t pick up your clothes off the bathroom floor. You use two in one shampoo and conditioner.” Every single word sounds condescending and exasperated. Each sentence is punctuated by a kiss to my lips. It’s weird, because even if the way he’s saying the words is normal, the affection they’re being wrapped in is not what would usually accompany what he’s saying, and— Baz is not usually one for bursts of affection. Not ones like this at least. And now it’s me sighing, but because he’s holding one of the gentle kisses longer than the rest.

“Right.” I mumble. I don’t know where he’s going with this. Maybe he isn’t going anywhere and he’s done talking and will now flop back onto my chest and pretend to sleep until Daphne comes to find us so we can take our food up to our room.

“I wouldn’t have it another way, Simon.” He mumbles, a few inches away from my face, but not close enough to feel the breath from his words. I want him to kiss me again. I want him to talk between kisses and make me laugh and make everything feel normal again because it’s been so, so long since things felt normal between us. They never really did and I just want them to. His hands are pushing through my curly hair that is too long, coming across a few knots which pull, but I ignore it because it’s nice. He’s nice. This is nice.

I kiss him, holding the back of his neck in my hands, thumbing gently across the base up to his hairline. Even after everything, hearing Baz say my first name is an insanely rare thing to happen. It always catches me off guard and I never know what the hell to do when he says it. So I break the kiss and say the first thing that comes into my head. “Tyrannus.” He stares at me. I stare back, trying to keep my face as straight and utterly unamused as his, when a hand hits me over the back of the head. “What the fuck?” I mutter, taking my hand from his hair and rubbing the back of my head gently.

“Merlin and Morgana, Snow. Let us have something nice.” He’s shuffled back away from me. Now he’s sat on my knees. They’re above the tiny gap between the sofa cushions and it’s not comfortable at all. It actually hurts a little bit.

“You called me Simon literally just now.” I try and change the angle my legs are at and Baz sits further back, at the opposite end of the sofa, staring across the room darkly. I curl my legs up to my chest, and look at him. Not everyone has self restraint. “Come back.” I say. Maybe I whined a little bit, but if Baz noticed that he didn’t acknowledge it, just pulled the sleeves of his jumper a little further over his hands. Actually I think it’s my jumper, because it’s an old Watford one which definitely never could have fit him properly. I’m pretty sure his family gets his uniform tailored to fit him perfectly.

“I am not going to come back you complete heathen. You called me Tyrannus.” Baz huffs the words at me, sneering, before also tucking his knees up under his chin and wrapping his arms around his legs and managing to hold the hands with my sleeves over to his face, covering the lower half of it.

I straighten one of my legs out and poke his thigh with my toe. He glares at me for a second but doesn’t do anything else. “You called me Simon.”

“If calling you Simon means that you call my Tyrannus then I am never even going to think of doing it again.” The words are muffled by the sleeves covering his nose and mouth. Baz turns his head to me again but this time doesn’t glare. He’s just... looking.

“I won’t call you it. I don’t even know why I did. Just come back.” I stretch my other leg out towards him and poke his ankle with this one. Baz rolls his eyes but squishes himself between the back of the sofa and my side without saying anything. He wraps his arms around my middle and puts his head is on my shoulder. A few minutes pass in quiet apart from the sound of an ABBA song (I think it’s the one Meryl Streep sings to Amanda Seyfried when she’s upset about her growing up. I don’t know. I’ve seen Mama Mia! once, and it was years ago). Then one of the twins starts screaming from somewhere far off, then the other follows suit.

Baz sighs heavily. I snort. One of his legs hooks over one of mine gently and he kicks my foot with his heel.

“What about Basilton?” I say into his hair.

Baz hums in response, but the sound doesn’t tell me an answer because it’s to neutral. “Just call me Baz.” I can feel his jaw move against my shoulder as he speaks. It might have been to conceal that he was smiling but I could still hear it in his voice.

“But is it better than Tyrannus?”

“Snow, I chose basilton over Tyrannus. What do you think?” This time when he spoke his words were slower and he yawned through the last few words. The drawling tone he tried to use didn’t really come through.

I tilt my head and press my lips to the top of Baz’s head and stay still apart from where my hand has come to rest on his upper arm; my thumb is brushing up and down on the sleeve of his jumper. His breathing has slowed slightly in the time since he spoke so I think he’s actually managed to fall asleep. That’s why I barely whisper my next words; he’s a light sleeper. “What about Basil?”

He presses closer to me, which I don’t think I expected. I definately didn’t expect Baz to be awake enough to reply. A few seconds pass and Baz ends up with his face pressed into my neck again, lying on top of me. “It’s nice, Simon.” I reposition my arms to be around his waist, feeling him fall asleep against me and, after mere minutes, I’m nodding off as well.

[amydancepants-peralta]

i love your precious heart

(chapter seven of we’re the fortunate ones) ♥️

season seven: i love your precious heart

For the longest time, there was a part of Jake Peralta that genuinely didn’t believe he was deserving of any special kind of love or affection.  Years of rejection; from the revolving doors made up of fathers, step-fathers and short-lived relationships, had led to the once quiet inner voices growing louder - reminding him every chance they could that any state of legitimate happiness simply was not meant for him.

(Dr. Marcia, the therapist he’s been seeing once a fortnight for a close to a year now, has helped him to understand this.)

This New Year’s Eve, standing here on the fire escape that runs along the outside of the apartment he shares with his wife, is not one of those moments.

Their plans for the evening had skewed slightly from their original schedule, partially because Jake had heard the sighs of dejection Amy made when she’d returned yet another ill-fitting dress back into their wardrobe.  Her body is changing in a lot of ways this year - some of them rapidly, others sneaking up on her so slowly it drove her insane - and when he remembered that Amy hadn’t really had the chance to go shopping for a decent range of maternity clothes yet, Jake had moved quickly to devise an alternative plan that seemed both spontaneous and not-at-all-related to a lack of party outfit options.  

Pouring them each a glass of sparkling apple cider (if Amy can’t drink, then Jake can’t drink - and he’s not interested in hearing arguments that suggest otherwise), he had googled events that were happening nearby, found one with fireworks, and with his brilliant detective skills had deduced that their fire escape will face exactly the right direction to watch the show without ever having to leave their house.  And maybe Amy had already been hoping that he would come to the same conclusion, or maybe she was just a really big fan of fire escape parties (he suspects, though, that it is the former) but either way, her dress had been swapped for sweatpants within minutes of Jake’s suggestion, and the relaxation on her face simply made her all the more beautiful.

They’d spent the entire evening rotating between the living room and the tiny space outside that Jake had stocked up with blankets and snacks, talking and laughing as they reminisced the year that was.  There had even been a sweet little slow dance, to a song playing on Jake’s phone as it stayed nestled in his pocket - and it would have been totally romantic, if it hadn’t been interrupted by some dude yarfing onto the street below.   Still, the feeling of holding his wife in his arms, while their baby stayed nestled in-between them, was something that Jake will hold onto forever.  

The breeze has grown colder now, the wind rustling through Jake’s hair as he waits for Amy to return from her seventeenth trip to the bathroom (sadly, not an exaggeration), and as he reaches into the storage box for another blanket for his wife, Jake finds himself looking back on the last few months with a smile.  Even now, there’s a tiny piece of his mind that is still incredulous that she is pregnant - that the two of them are having a baby.  In just four short months, there will be a tiny human that is part Amy, part Jake and wholly them, and he’s never ever been more excited for the future.  

He can still recall the moment it had all changed for the better - when Amy had turned to him with the brightest smile he had ever seen, and nodded her head.  He’d sat beside her on the floor of their bathroom for longer than he’d realised, staring at the plastic stick with it’s stamped lettering and two thin red lines that told him that Amy was pregnant.  His eyes had kept darting from left to right, his brain frantically trying to reassure himself that he was, in fact, reading it all correctly.  That the love of his life was carrying his child, and the world as he knew it was never going to be the same again.  It just … hadn’t made any sense, how easily it had all changed.  Every part of his life involved filling out some sort of paperwork or prior approval or whatever - it was a reality that he merely tolerated, but Amy adored.  But, in the blink of an eye (and a round of admittedly great sex), Jake Peralta was going to be a father.    

Deciding to start trying had been one of the most uncomplicated decisions of his life, and one that he hasn’t reconsidered for a second (it had surprised him at first, how easily it came to him - but that’s the thing about finally being in a secure relationship.  Even the things that terrified him the most, suddenly didn’t seem so bad when he knew Amy would be by his side).  But it had stunned him, how in just one moment, seeing the word pregnant on a little piece of plastic had made him fall in love with something (or someone, really) that he hadn’t even met.  

He had known, in approximately 0.0003 seconds after seeing their daughter for the very first time on the ultrasound screen, that he wouldn’t ever do anything that could hurt her.  That he will fight for her safety and security, with every fibre of his being, until the very last day of his life.  This tiny little shadow on the screen, with it’s echoing heartbeat and what thankfully looked to be Amy’s nose, was now the single-most greatest thing that Jake had ever done: and nothing was ever going to change that.  These past few months have made Jake understand his father even less, and appreciate Amy all the more, if for nothing else than the fact that she’d given Jake a second chance to show just how capable - and deserving - of love he can be.  

Hearing a soft grunt to his left, Jake turns his head in time to see Amy wriggling through the window frame, the swell of her belly turning what used to be an easy move into something that requires a little more finesse.  There’s a soft metallic thud that reverberates towards the empty streets below as both of her slipper covered feet hit the gridded surface, and she grins in triumph before making her way over to Jake.  

“Starting to get over this whole ‘needing to pee every half hour’ thing that I’ve got going on.”

Grinning, Jake leans against the balustrade of their makeshift balcony, ignoring the gentle dig of the metal against his skin.  “I mean, you know my feelings about water, hun.”

Raising an eyebrow, Amy shakes her head in response.  “Hate to tell you this, but all I’ve been drinking today is orange soda - and we both know that’s your genes at play here, Peralta.”  Amy winks at Jake’s responsive wince, cupping his chin in her hand as she pulls him closer for a quick kiss.  “It’s a good thing that I love you, huh?”

“Oh, it’s a very good thing, Ames.”  The best thing ever, actually, that she loves him.  She tells him a lot - even more so since falling pregnant, a side effect that has been hated by absolutely no-one - and every time feels better than the last.  

A car passes them below, the loud music pumping from the speakers and filtering it’s way up to the two of them, and Amy looks down at her sweats, turning to give Jake an apprehensive look.  “What a wild New Year’s Eve we’ve ended up having.  Maybe we should have gone to Terry’s party after all?  I mean, it is the last child free one we’re going to have for a long time.”

Slinging an arm around Amy’s shoulders, Jake pulls her closer to him, smiling as her hand wraps around his waist in a move that is absolutely second nature.  “No way, Ames.  I’ve got my two best girls here with me, and in five minutes I’m going to have the greatest seats in New York as that building over there lets off fireworks from their roof.  Terry’s party can suck it.”  

Right now, a bunch of fugitives could climb out from the sewer clutching diamonds from the biggest jeweller in town, and he wouldn’t move.  Bruce Willis himself could knock on the door, and Jake would tell him that he needed to come back tomorrow (please, please, please - come back tomorrow).  

This was his home - he’d built a world between these four walls, with the love of his life - the only one to run a hand over his scars, both physical and mental, and still call him beautiful.  His partner, in every way imaginable, and easily the greatest person he’s ever known.  And just when he didn’t think she could be any more magic, she’d begun carrying their child, and now he is absolutely certain that Amy is completely made of stardust.  

Even when her hormones are out of control, and she’s yelling at him for not mixing enough pickles into her ice cream.

There was nowhere he’d rather be, and nobody he’d rather be with.  Literally everything he needed, for the rest of his life, was right here in his arms.  

(Okay yes, technically he would eventually need orange soda and gummy worms and maybe some water if Amy insisted.  But there was a healthy stock of all that in their kitchen, and by ‘right here’ he obviously means their apartment.)

Amy hums - this sweet little hmmming sound that Jake knows to mean contentment ever since he heard it on their first night together, a sound that he’s heard a million times since then and just never, ever fails to transcend him - and she leans a little more of her body weight against him, blinking slowly as fatigue begins to set in.  There were countless books and testimonials that told them to get as much sleep as they could, because once the baby came sleep would become a long-lost memory, and Jake could tell that Amy was secretly dying to curl up into bed.  Baby-growing, it would seem, was a highly exhaustive task - and in all honesty the idea of curling up underneath the blanket with her for the rest of the evening sounded kind of amazing.   

Jake’s just about to suggest a retreat to their bedroom when he hears the first whoosh of a firework streaking through the sky, the subsequent explosion of light piercing his eyes as tiny blue stars litter their previously dark canvas.  Either the revellers had decided to celebrate early, or his watch was slow (entirely possible, he’d bought it for three whole dollars at their local bodega) - whatever the reason, Jake cannot help the smile that stretches across his face as more colours begin to light the sky.  

Now completely awake, Amy moves closer still to Jake, standing in front of him and gripping his forearms in her hands when they wrap around her clavicle.  From behind Jake can hear her tiny gasps as each bang and pop takes place, and after a minute he cries out in surprise, moving quickly to place his hands on either side of Amy’s pregnant belly in a protective stance.

Shifting her head to the side, Amy looks at Jake in confusion, pointing downwards.  “What’s with the sudden coverage, babe?”

Eyes wide and earnest, Jake nods in the direction of his hands, explaining - “I’ve got to protect the baby’s ears, Ames!  These fireworks are loud - and what if she’s asleep right now?  She’s part Peralta, and you and I both know Peraltas are NOT a fan of being woken up.”

Amy laughs, her nose crinkling up in that completely adorable way that Jake absolutely loves, shaking her head as her fingers link with his on either side of her bump.  “Our baby is totally fine in there, Jake.  But I love you so much for thinking of her right now.”  There’s a slight shift underneath Jake’s hands, and he can’t be sure if it’s a kick of just a general nudge from their daughter, but either way he takes it as a sign that their little one agrees with Amy’s statement.  Nodding; he smiles at Amy, suddenly feeling a little foolish - but perhaps, he’s just foolishly in love.  Above them, the fireworks continue to explode, only now they don’t seem so loud.

Moving one hand away from his, Amy cups the back of Jake’s neck, gently pulling him downwards for a soft kiss.  “Only five months in, and you’re already the greatest dad ever,” she whispers against his lips, pressing against them with her own once more.  He’s blushing by the time she pulls away, he can feel it in the sudden tingle of his cheeks, but all he can think about is the title greatest dad ever, and how much he can’t wait until those very words are emblazoned on a mug or some other kind of gift their child decides to buy him.  He wants it on hats, and shirts, on socks and a keyring and everywhere in between - because when it came to Jake and fatherhood, there was not a chance in hell that history was going to end up repeating.        

“Hey,” came Amy’s soft voice, pulling Jake out of his thoughts as her fingers return to the back of his neck and toy with the curls that live along the bottom of his hairline.  Briefly, he remembers that he meant to get his hair cut two weeks ago.  “You okay, babe?”

Taking a deep breath, Jake smiles and nods, waiting until Amy has turned to face him completely before tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.  “Happy New Year, Ames.  I know I’ve said this before, but this year is going to be totally amazing.”

Amy nods back, giggling as Jake swoops in for a kiss.  “I’m going to remember this moment when we’re elbow deep in dirty diapers and our eyelids are being held up by toothpicks.”

Joining in on Amy’s laughter, Jake shrugs his shoulders in defeat.  “This is probably going to sound insane, and I’m definitely going to deny I ever said this when we’re in that situation; but even that sounds a little bit awesome, because it’ll mean that she’s here and we can hold her and talk to her and just love her for reals.”

“Totally insane, and I completely agree.”

It’s less than an hour later that both Jake and Amy are tucked into bed, the sound of Amy’s gentle snores lulling Jake to sleep as 2020 begins to stretch her limbs.  Their apartment is quiet, but filled to the brim with love - right down to the printed sonogram, sharing the space of a heart-shaped magnet with a photo of a young couple falling for each other - and there is a small room adjacent to the kitchen that is almost ready for it’s tiny occupant to arrive.  

As his eyelids grow heavy, Jake thinks back to all the years he and Amy had spent together, and how many times they’ve had to push back against all the things that have tried to keep them apart.  He knows now that it was worth it - all of it was worth it - because truly, the best was yet to come.  

[parkerparts]

My Work is Loving the World

Harley Keener lives alone in Tony Stark’s cabin by the lake. He fills his days with bot-building, AI-coding, garden-tending, and absolutely no spider-killing. It’s fun, sure, but he’s terribly lonely. That all changes when he comes across a red and blue spider in his garden, and to make matters even better, the little fella can understand him.

Truly, it’s a testament to Harley’s sanity — or lack thereof — that he doesn’t run away screaming. Instead, he smiles softly and holds out his hand. “Well then, Peter. Want to come stay with me in the house for a little while? I’m real lonely up there and could use the company.”

The spider Peter doesn’t bother spelling out a response. He just jumps into Harley’s hands, ready to go with him to the ends of the earth.

“Well then,” Harley says again, if only to fill the silence between himself and the nonverbal creature. “Here we go.”

(parkner, 2.6k, no warnings except for fluff and a lil sad boi harley, inspired by this prompt by @offbrand-celestial, title from mary oliver’s ‘the messenger,’ beta’d by the lovely @midorimireio-blog)

Read on AO3 or Keep Reading Below

When he was nine years old, Harley read that killing spiders in a beer brewery was practically illegal. His garage might not be a brewery — though admittedly, he had made moonshine in there once or twice on a whim with a friend or as a dare — but he still outlawed the killing of spiders.

“Why?” his Ma had asked, stepping into the place to bring him a dinner plate. She frowned at the expanse of cobwebs Harley empathetically embraced.

“They’re cool creatures,” he said with a shrug, mouth full with a bite cornbread. “Ain’t done nothing wrong to me, so I don’t see no point in killin’ them things.”

Twelve years later, not a thing has changed. He lives in Georgia now, in the lakeside cabin Tony and Pepper keep as their getaway house. They visit more often as Morgan gets older, needing a break from whatever mess they handle up in the city to spend time as a family — Harley and the other Keeners included. Harley’s Ma lives in New York, has some swanky job in one of Pepper’s departments, but Abbie’s in Georgia with Harley, attending Emory University. Harley, at Tony’s insistence, had finished high school before moving out, though he refused to go to college. He liked living here, alone most of the time except for when Abbie visited from her dorm on holidays and the Starks and his Ma came down every couple of months. He could do as he pleased, tinkering and inventing and regularly blowing things up. He was terribly happy in that cabin by the lake.

He was also terribly lonely.

Sure, he had his cars and his bots and his trusty AI C.I.R.C.E, but they weren’t the same as human connection, something he infallibly yearned for. Some days, when the self-imposed isolation was too much to bear, he’d drive half an hour into the city of Atlanta, stay a night in a hotel, find a bar, and dance the night away with a faceless guy or two before sleeping alone, buzzed but not drunk and temporarily satisfied.

Most days though, he’d just swallow down the loneliness, bury himself in work or bury himself in blankets. It was all the same to him anyway — a hazy blur of sunrises and sunsets and meals he may or may not have eaten, chores he may or may not have finished. The pile of dirty clothes is a testament to that last one, and he spends three days in an engineering binge to create Landry, the bot who lovingly does his laundry for him when he can hardly be bothered to get out of bed.

Some memories in this hazy blur stick out more sharply than others, and they all revolve around the garden.

It had been started by Pepper as a vegetable garden. When its care fell into Harley’s hands, he had lovingly invested in it, throwing as much hard work and passion into it as he did his engineering. Over the years it has grown into a veritable maze — though not an actual hedge maze, which would have been unimaginably pretentious in Harley’s eyes, and much too orderly. He grew nearly every fruit, vegetable, and flower the Georgia climate would allow and spent hours engineering bots to take care of it.

And, just as in the old garage back in Rose Hill, he had a strict no spider-killing rule.

Harley wakes up, sprawled sideways in a chair on the porch. The sun is high in the sky, and a glance at his phone indicates that it’s well past noon. Even then, Harley shivers, the spring air not yet warm enough for his liking. Half a day wasted, though really, Harley muses as he goes inside, he was up all night combing through his AI’s code, so it’s not like he actually wasted time. Just daylight.

“Mornin’ C.I.R.C.E,” he greets his AI, yawning. “How we feeling?”

“Like brand new, after last night’s check-up.”

“Good, good,” he murmurs, rifling through his dresser. At long last he finds a pair of clean jeans, holding them up with a triumphant grin. “C.I.R.C.E., wake Kof-E up for me, will ya? And send Landry in here. She’s been slacking off her duties.”

“You got it, partner.” Tony had been downright scandalized when he heard Harley’s AI’s country twang. Abbie had laughed about the look on his face for days. Harley smiles at the memory as he goes back out into the kitchen, freshly dressed but with his hair as unkempt as ever. His beloved robot Kof-E whirs from his place on the kitchen counter, wheeling closer as Harley approaches to present a cup of coffee. Harley takes it and pats the robot’s head. He heads outside again, slipping on his boots and a flannel as he makes his way to the garden.

He grabs an apple from the trees that line the border of the garden as he walks through, pausing to greet his robots — Go-G and Gerald — by name as they trundle along. Soon he reaches a small clearing by the lake under the shade of an oak tree that’s sure to be over a hundred years old. Here, Harley takes a seat, finishing his apple and tucking and core into a bag in his pocket that he’ll put in composting later.

A flash of light catches his eye, and he stands, moving closer to the source. There, in between the branches of the tree, is a spider web that — if Harley’s not hallucinating — spells out HI.

“Howdy,” Harley says out loud in response, feeling only a little stupid. “Where are you?”

As if it can understand him, a spider skittles out of the shadows of the branches. Harley bends closer to take a look, surprised by the vibrancy of the peculiar red and blue creature.

“Can you understand me?” Harley asks.

He only has to wait a moment before the spider has spun a new pattern, spelling YES.

“You got a name, fella?”

The response takes a little longer this time as the spider spells out PETER.

Truly, it’s a testament to Harley’s sanity — or lack thereof — that he doesn’t run away screaming. Instead, he smiles softly and holds out his hand. “Well then, Peter. Want to come stay with me in the house for a little while? I’m real lonely up there and could use the company.”

The spider Peter doesn’t bother spelling out a response. He just jumps into Harley’s hands, ready to go with him to the ends of the earth.

“Well then,” Harley says again, if only to fill the silence between himself and the nonverbal creature. “Here we go.”

Over the next few days, Harley and Peter figure out how to live together comfortably. All of Harley’s robots are programmed to recognize and avoid spiders and spider webs, so Peter’s safety isn’t much of a concern. Communication, however, is.

They start out with an old-fashioned chalkboard with basic responses, needs, and the alphabet written out for Peter to indicate by crawling on. With that taken care of, Harley sets off on his next engineering binge, with the goal in mind to create a robot that will allow Peter to move and speak.

He begins by programming a new AI called PETER — Personal Equipment for Telecommunications and Electronic Replies because Harley loves is acronyms as much as Tony does — and gives him the voice of a teenage boy or young adult.

If Abbie or his Ma were here to witness this bout of insanity, they’d call him out for his poorly concealed loneliness. Nonetheless, he is alone and shamelessly gives in to his fantasy of finding a best friend, even if that best friend is a spider.

And really, Peter’s not too shabby of a best friend to have. He likes bacon and waffles — really, the fact that this spider liked human foods should have been a glaring clue to Harley that something truly weird was going on — and makes Harley regain a somewhat normal sleeping schedule by wrapping webs gently around his wrists to make him stop working late at night and somehow — Harley has never figured this one out — getting C.I.R.C.E. to play rock music loudly every morning to rouse him awake. He also gets C.I.R.C.E. to wake Kof-E up every morning though, so Harley can’t complain too much. Peter accompanies Harley in the lab, webbing tools over with surprising strength and giving as much input as he can with his limited communication abilities. He accompanies Harley into the garden every evening and listens as Harley speaks, asking questions every now and then with his little chalkboard. Harley can’t wait to build his robot, ready to hear Peter tell him a story of his own.

At long last, after two weeks of work, Harley finishes the robot, affectionately nicknamed “Capslock P.E.T.E.R.,” with Peter’s approval. He guides the spider into the clear container that serves as Capslock P.E.T.E.R.’s head before stepping back with bated breath to watch his genius play out.

“Hiya, Harley,” Peter/P.E.T.E.R. says, and Harley is nearly moved to tears. “I’m Peter.”

“I know,” Harley replies with a breathless laugh. “It’s nice to meet you, Peter.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Peter replies, voice full of emotion that Harley had no idea an AI was capable of producing.

That evening, they go out to the garden, back to the clearing where they first technically met. Peter greets the garden robots as he trundles by, voice adorably becoming more enthusiastic as the robots chirp back. Harley just smiles fondly at the spider inside the robot, quietly regretting his failure to give Capslock P.E.T.E.R. a face, if only to see him smile back.

“I think it’s your turn to tell me a story,” Harley says, settling by the lake. P.E.T.E.R. rolls to a stop beside him.

“Okay,” he says. “Well, here it goes.”

Peter had once been Peter Benjamin Parker, a bright, young science nerd living in New York City with his aunt. He worked as an intern for Tony Stark, who found the boy after heavy surveillance of a masked vigilante who liked to web muggers up in a sticky, fluid substance of his own invention. “Spider-Man,” the media called him, though Tony preferred “Spider-Boy.”

Then, in a tragic twist of irony, Peter was actually bitten by a spider and somehow become a spider himself.

“Mr. Stark was beside himself. The whole thing was so bizarre, and he couldn’t figure it out. Dr. Banner thought it was radiation, but he attributes most unexplainable phenomena to radiation,” Peter explains.

Eventually, a wizard doctor guy Tony reluctantly called in a favor with figured it out. Harley wants to interrupt and ask what exactly he had figured it out, but Peter glosses over it and presses on. Apparently, Tony had been telling Harley’s Ma the story and she, remembering Harley’s affinity for spiders, had suggested that Tony send Peter down to Harley’s place. They wanted it to be a secret or for him to figure it out on his own or something, so they discreetly packaged Peter in the latest care package/equipment shipment they had sent down from New York.

“That was nearly a week before I found you!” Harley cries out, remembering.

Peter reminds him that “You had an engineering binge,” and Harley blushes, unapologetic.

Together, they sit in silence for a moment as Harley digests the story, which really was something straight out of a comic book. Then a thought occurs to him and he says, “Hey, what did that wizard doctor figure out?”

“Oh,” Peter says with poorly feigned surprise, as if he hadn’t wanted Harley to remember that little detail he left out. “Yeah, he figured out a cure.”

“There’s a cure?” Harley turns to face Capslock P.E.T.E.R. with excitement. “Peter, why didn’t you so? We have to fix this! Tell me, what can I do?”

Peter is quiet for a moment, and Harley begins to wonder if he’s said something wrong. “See, this curse or whatever is magic. And the only cure is a kiss. A true love’s kiss.”

Harley’s mind goes blank. True love?

Harley doesn’t believe in true love. He doesn’t buy into the whole soulmate idea. He moved out to a cabin in the middle of the woods with a heavily encrypted, unlisted address, condemning himself to a solitary lifestyle. He’s lonely, sure, but he likes it. He likes his space, his bots, his AI …

And Peter. He really, really likes Peter.

In the past couple of weeks, Peter has become an integral part of Harley’s life as his trusted companion and caretaker. He’s listened to all of Harley’s stories, and Harley wants nothing more than to hear all of Peter’s, get to know the boy beneath the arachnid body. As he thinks about it more, Harley can’t imagine a life without Peter in it, and maybe Peter’s not his true love — not yet, at least — but it’s worth a shot.

“Well then,” Harley says tentatively. “What are we waiting for?”

With shaking hands, he frees Peter from Capslock P.E.T.E.R.’s containment, smiling as the red and blue spider jumps eagerly into his hands. Harley raises his palm to his face, closes his eyes, and before he can think any more about it, he kisses the creature.

Immediately, Harley can feel the ripple of magic course through Peter’s body. The creature in his hands morphs until he’s cupping not a spider but the soft cheek of a boy whose lips are pressed gently against Harley’s. He opens his eyes at long last and pulls away, unable to contain a gasp at the sight of the boy-turned-spider-turned-boy-again, whom he’s come to love.

Peter wears what looks like a spandex suit, though it’s probably some fancy Stark tech, red and blue with black webbing all over it and a black spider emblem emblazoned on his chest. Harley assumes that the mask Peter mentioned is missing, but he’s glad for the fact as he drinks in Peter’s rosy cheeks and amber eyes and tousled brown curls that make Harley’s heart ache with yearning.

“Hi,” Peter says nervously in his own voice, not Capslock P.E.T.E.R.’s.

“Thank God you came back wearing clothes, because that would’ve made for a real awkward situation.” Harley wants to take back his words — which he hadn’t actually meant to say aloud, for goodness’s sake — as soon as he sees Peter’s eyes widen, but when the boy lets out a bark of surprised laughter, Harley relaxes, joining in. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s okay. The first time I met Mrs. Potts, I ran into her — literally — and tried to say either ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Nice to meet you’ but ended up blurting out ‘I’m sorry to meet you,’ instead. I just ran away. It was so embarrassing!”

Harley can’t help but to laugh again, leaning his head on Peter’s shoulder. Peter leans his head on top of his. They sit there together, in the clearing by the lake, where it all began, feeling completely at peace with the world and each other and their state of being.

“Thank you,” Harley says suddenly, grabbing hold of Peter’s hand.

“What for?”

“The efflorescence of love,” Harley replies, “and the gossamer that holds us together.”

Peter says nothing at that, just squeezes Harley’s hand tighter. Together, they watch the sunset, witness the way the world changes colors.

The world might be forever changing, but at the heart of it all sat two boys by a lake with the knowledge that through it all, they’d have each other.

And it would be enough.

“I died, and was born in the spring; / I found you, and loved you, again.”

— Mary Oliver, “Hummingbirds”

[fullregalia]

20/20.

This year, in hindsight, was a real write-off. I had grand plans for it, and while I ushered it in in a very low-key manner since I was recovering from the flu, I’d expected things to look up. Well, you know what they say about plans (RIP, my trip to Europe). I got very, very sick in early February, and I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t COVID. Since March, the days have been a carousel of monotony: coffee, run, work, cook, yoga, existential spiral, sleep. My Own Private Year of Rest and Relaxation, if you will. Of course, life has a way of breaking through regardless; I attended protests, completed my thesis, graduated from grad school, took a couple of road trips upstate, and celebrated the accomplishments and birthdays of friends and family from a safe social distance. It was all a bit of a blur, and not ideal circumstances to re-enter the real world, or whatever this COVID-present is. 

Throughout it all, in lieu of happy hours, coffee dates, and panel discussions, I’ve turned even more to culture and cuisine to fill the the negative space on my calendar where my social life once resided. However, since a global pandemic ought not to disrupt every tradition, here’s my year-end round up of what made this terrible one slightly more tolerable. 

TV

After an ascetic fall semester abstaining from TV in 2019 (save for my beloved Succession), I allowed myself to watch more as the year wore on, and especially after graduation. I caught up on some cultural blind spots by finally getting around to The Sopranos, Ramy, Search Party, and Girlfriends. I wasn’t alone in bingeing Sopranos, it absolutely lived up to the hype and then some; this Jersey Girl can’t get enough gabagool-adjacent content, pizzeria culture is my culture!

Speaking of my culture, there was also a disproportionate amount of UK and European shows in my queue. Nothing like being in social isolation and watching the horny Irish teens in Normal People brood. I’m partial to it because I share a surname with the showrunner, so I have to embrace blind loyalty even though there was, in my opinion, a Marianne problem in the casting. Speaking of charming Irish characters with limited emotional vocabularies, I belatedly discovered This Way Up a 2019 show from Aisling Bea and Sharon Horgan. And while Connell and Marianne are actually exceptional students, I found the real normal people on GBBO to bring me a bit more joy. Baking was abundantly therapeutic for me this year, and watching charming people drink loads of tea and fret over soggy bottoms was a comfort. I also discovered the Great Pottery Throw Down, and as a lifelong ceramics enthusiast, I cannot recommend it highly enough if you care about things like slips, coils, and glazing techniques. GPTD embraces wabi sabi in a way that GBBO eschews flaws in favor of perfection, and in a time of uncertainty, the former reminded me why I miss getting my hands in the mud as a coping mechanism (hence all the baking). Speaking of coping mechanisms, like everybody else with two eyes and an HBO password, I loved Michaela Cole’s I May Destroy You; though we’ve all had enough distress this year for a lifetime, watching Cole’s Arabella process her assault and search for meaning, justice, and closure was a compelling portrait of grief and purpose in the aftermath of trauma. Arabella’s creative and patient friends Kwame and Terry steal the show throughout, as they deal with their own setbacks and emotional turmoil. Where I May Destroy You provides catharsis, Ted Lasso presents British eccentricity in all its stereotypical glory. At first I was skeptical of the show’s hype on Twitter, but once I gave in it charmed me, if only for Roy Kent’s emotional trajectory and extolling the restorative powers of shortbread. For a more accurate depiction of life in London, Steve McQueen’s series Small Axe provides a visually lush and politically clear-eyed depiction of the lives of British West Indians in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Lastly, how could I get through a recap of my year in tv if I don’t mention The Crown. Normal People may have needed an intimacy coordinator, but the number of Barbours at Balmoral was the real phonographic content for me.

Turning my attention across the Channel, after the trainwreck that was Emily in Paris, I started watching a proper French show, Call My Agent! It’s truly delightful, and unlike the binge-worthy format of "ambient shows” I have been really relishing taking an hour each week to watch CMA, subtitles, cigarettes, and all.

Honorable mention: The Last Dance for its in-depth look at many notable former Chicago residents; High Fidelity for reminding me of the years in college when my brother and I would drive around listening to Beta Band; and Big Mouth.

Music

My Spotify wrapped this year was a bit odd. I don‘t think “Chromatica II into 911″ is technically a song, so it revealed other things about my listening habits this year, which turned out to remain very much stuck in the last, sonically. I listened to a lot more podcasts than new music this year, but there were some records that found their way into heavy rotation. While I listened to a lot of classics both old and new to write my thesis (Paul Simon, Leonard Cohen, Prokofiev, and Bach) the soundtrack to my coursework, runs, walks, and editing was more contemporary. Standouts include: 

Saint Cloud by Waxahatchee, which makes me feel like I’m breathing fresh air even when I’m stuck inside all day 

La Bella Vita by Niia, which was there for me when I walked past my ex on 7th avenue (twice!) and he pretended that I didn’t exist 

Fetch the Bolt Cutters by THEE Fiona Apple, because Fiona, our social distancing queen, has always been my Talmud, her songs shimmering, evolving, and living with me every year 

Shore by Fleet Foxes, for the long drive to the Catskills 

Women in Music, Pt. III by HAIM, because these days, these days...

Musicians have been reckoning with tumult this year as much as the rest of us, and the industry has dealt with loss on all fronts. I’d be remiss not to talk about how the passing of John Prine brought his music into my life, and McCoy Tyner, who has been a companion through good and bad over the years. 

Honorable mention to: græ by Moses Sumney; The Main Thing by Real Estate; on the tender spot of every calloused moment by Ambrose Akinmusire; Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers; folklore by you know who; and songs by Adrianne Lenker. 

Reading

What would this overlong blob be without a list of the best things I read this year? While I left publishing temporarily, books, the news, and newsletters still took up a majority of my attention (duh and/or doomscrolling by any other name). I can’t be comprehensive, and frankly, there are already great roundups of the best longform this year out there, so this is mostly books and praising random writers. 

Last year I wrote about peak newsletter. Apparently, my prediction was a bit premature as this year saw an even bigger Substack Boom. But two new newsletters in particular have delighted me: Aminatou Sow’s Crème de la Crème and Hunter Harris’ Hung Up (her ”this one line” series is true force of chaotic good on Blue Ivy’s internet). Relatedly, Sow and Ann Friedman’s Big Friendship was gifted to me by a dear friend and another bff and I are going to read it in tandem next week. 

On the “Barack Obama published a 700+ page memoir, crippling the printing industry’s supply chains” front, grad school severely hamstrung my ability to read for pleasure, but I managed to get through almost 30 books this year, some old (Master and Margarita), most new-ish (Say Nothing, Nickel Boys). Four 2020 books in particular enthralled me:

Uncanny Valley: Anna Wiener’s memoir has been buzzed about since n+1 published her essay of the same name in 2016. Her ability to see, clear-eyed, the industry for both its foibles and allure captured that era when the excess and solipsism of the Valley seemed more of a cultural quirk than the harbinger of societal schism.  

Transcendent Kingdom: Yaa Gyasi’s novel about faith, family, loss, and--naturally--grad school was deeply empathetic, relatable, and moving. I think this was my favorite book of the year. Following the life of a Ghanaian family that settles in Alabama, it captured the kind of emotional ennui that comes from having one foot in the belief of childhood and one foot in the bewilderment that comes from losing faith in the aftermath of tragedy.  

Vanishing Half: Similarly to Transcendent Kingdom, Brit Bennett’s novel about siblings who are separated; it’s also about the ways that colorism can be internalized and the ways chosen family can (and cannot) replace your real kin. It was a compassionate story that captured the pain of abuse and abandonment in two pages in a way that Hanya Yanagihara couldn’t do in 720.

Dessert Person: Ok, so this is a cookbook, but it’s a good read, and the recipes are approachable and delicious. After all the BA Test Kitchen chaos this summer, it’s nice we didn’t have to cancel Claire. Make the thrice baked rye cookies!!!! You will thank me later.

Honorable mention goes to: Leave The World Behind for hitting the Severance/Station Eleven dystopian apocalypse novel sweet spot; Exciting Times for reminding me why I liked Sally Rooney; and Summer by Ali Smith, which wasn’t the strongest of the seasonal quartet, but was a series I enjoyed for two years.  

Podcasts

I’m saving my most enthusiastic section for last: ever since 2018, I’ve been listening to an embarrassing amount of podcasts. Moving into a studio apartment will do that to you, as will grad school, add a pandemic to that equation and there’s a lot of time to fill with what has sort of become white noise to me (or, in one case, nice white parents noise). In addition to the shows that I’ve written about before (Still Processing, Popcast, Who? Weekly, and Why is This Happening?), these are the shows I started listening to this year that fueled my parasocial fire:

You’re Wrong About: If you like history, hate patriarchy, and are a millennial, you’ll love Sarah Marshall and Michael Hobbes’ deep dives into the most notable stories of the past few decades (think Enron and Princess Diana) and also some other cultural flashpoints that briefly but memorably shaped the national discourse (think Terri Schiavo, Elian González, and the Duke Lacrosse rape case).

Home Cooking: This mini series started (and ended) during the pandemic. As someone who stress baked her way through the past nine months, Samin Nosrat and Hrishikesh Hirway’s show is filled with warmth, banter, and useful advice. Home Cooking has been a reassuring companion in the kitchen, and even though it will be a time capsule once we’re all vaccinated and close talking again, it’s still worth a listen for tips and inspiration while we’re hunkered down for the time being. 

How Long Gone: I don’t really know how to explain this other than saying that media twitter broke my brain and enjoying Chris Black and Jason Stewart’s ridiculous banter is the price I pay for it.

Blank Check: Blank Check is like the GBBO of podcasts--Griffin Newman and David Sims’ enthusiasm for and encyclopedic knowledge of film, combined with their hilarious guests and inevitable cultural tangents is always a welcome distraction. Exploring a different film from a director’s oeuvre each week over the course of months, the podcast delves into careers and creative decisions with the passion of completists who want to honor the filmmaking process even when the finished products end up falling short. The Nancy Meyers and Norah Ephron series were favorites because I’d seen most of the movies, but I also have been enjoying the Robert Zemeckis episodes they’re doing right now. The possibility of Soderbergh comes up often (The Big Picture just did a nice episode about/with him), and I’d love to hear them talk about his movies or Spike Lee (or, obviously, Martin Scorsese).      

Odds & Ends

If you’re still reading this, you’re a real one, so let’s get into the fun stuff. This was a horrible way to start a new decade, but at least we ended our long national nightmare. We got an excellent dumb twitter meme. I obviously made banana bread, got into home made nut butters, and baked an obscene amount of granola as I try to manifest a future where I own a Subaru Outback. Amanda Mull answered every question I had about Why [Insert Quarantine Trend] Happens. My brother started an organization that is working to eliminate food insecurity in LA. Discovering the Down Dog app allowed me to stay moderately sane, despite busting both of my knees in separate stupid falls on the criminally messed up sidewalks and streets of Philadelphia. I can’t stop burning these candles. Jim Carrey confused us all. We have a Jewish Second Gentleman! Grub Street Diets continued to spark joy. Dolly Parton remains America’s Sweetheart (and possible vaccine savior). And, last, but certainly not least: no one still knows how to pronounce X Æ A-12 Boucher-Musk.

[mystic-scripture]

#15 for your HARD OTP. The pairing you feel in your soul. Mystic, I'm letting you absolutely indulge!!! (lol can't wait to see what you write)

15. A gentle “i love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss (Couple: Spendy (Wendy Durant x Spencer Reid)

Wendy walked to the elevator, heels in one hand as she rubbed at the back of her neck with the other. The bullpen was dark, meaning she most likely was the last person in, aside from maybe Hotch, but even he disappears upon occasion for food. Her stomach growled reminding her of her own mission for sustenance. The hunger pangs began about an hour ago, but she had reports to finish. 

Today had been one of the good days as much as it had been one of the bad. Three children were finally reunited with their parents while five lived on forever as fertilizer for roses. The former cyber terrorist agent was happy that she and JJ could finally bring closure to the mother of Charlie, a victim of eight years. Wendy smiled to herself, the elevator doors closing after she pushed the button for the lobby. Even the wonder boy of statistical facts was moved, not that he knew he saw her conversation with said mother. 

The ride to her apartment was quicker than she’d anticipated, given her mind couldn’t decide on anything nearby, and a tickling memory of some leftover Alfredo in her fridge. Turning the key, she stepped through the threshold, instantly repeating the process of discarding her footwear. Placing her bag on the table, and hanging her keys, Wendy turned to find an even better ending to the day than she would have hoped for. 

The living room flickered in warm candlelight, apple cinnamon spices wafting toward her. Soft, classical music was playing form the stereo, accompanied by low humming from the kitchen. She was so tired she hadn’t seen the second set of keys hanging next to the door. The kitchen light dimmed as a tall figure walked through the doorway, two bowls in hand, forks tucked under them. There was no surprise at her arrival, and no stop in his efforts until he’d placed the reminisced pasta dish on the coffee table. 

“Hotch mentioned seeing your car on the way out.” Spencer said, clearing his throat as he turned to meet her gaze. “Figured you’d be hungry.” 

She felt herself relax, having tensed at seeing she wasn’t alone in her home. This job got to hall of them a little too much sometimes. Her hand dropped from where it rested on her Glock, sending her boyfriend an easy smile. 

“Don’t tell me you waited for me.” She teased, looking at the second bowl. “I wasn’t even expecting you here tonight.” 

He shrugged, running a hand through his tangled tresses. “Not so much waited for you as god distracted doing other things. Your office is finally back to your standards by the way, sorry for never cleaning that up.” 

Wendy smiled, shaking her head as she pulled her tight ponytail from her hair, letting the slowly forming headache recede slightly. “No worries, I know how you get when you need to find something, case or no case.” 

She made her way over to him, leaning up onto her toes to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek before falling into the couch. The food was still pretty hot, but her stomach lacked a desire to care, and her mouth was used to being burned due to her impatience. Spencer followed her, eating with a little less vigor, and letting her decompress from the day. The two sat in a comfortable silence until Wendy had finished her food, leaning back with a sigh, and thankfully accepting the offered glass of wine. 

“You know, I do have to tease you a little, Sparky.” She started, taking a thoughtful sip before turning the glass in her hand. “I now you have an eidetic memory and all, but sometimes your use of it can be overkill.”

“When did I even use it around you today?” He said, surprisingly not offended. Instead, playful smile stretched across his face as he raised an eyebrow at her. “You were spying on me at work again?”

“It’s not spying if, as you just pointed out, we work in the same place and each happened to have been working in the same hallway.” She countered, pointing at him to emphasis her point. 

“A technicality.” He muttered, placing a hand on her ankles after she stretched her legs over his. 

“A fact.” She insisted. “But that just goes to my point, you are so married to your work that you don’t realize it sometimes.” 

“What makes you say that?” He asked, still unsure of where she was going with this. 

“ 5 years, 7 months, and 19 days? I mean really, Spence? I’m surprised you didn’t count down to the exact time.” Wendy said, sighing as he absently rubbed at the bottom of her feet. “I doubt there is anything else from that office that you keep track of with the same-.”

“4 years, 5 months, 12 days, thirteen hours and six minutes.” He interrupted her, making her eyes widen. “Give or take about 20 seconds or so...black flats, grey dress slacks, and a purple sweater.”

“What are you even talking about?” She said, lost in his warm hands, and pouting when he stopped his massage pull her up towards him. “Hey! That was, oh.”

She stopped herself upon seeing the serious look upon his face. She could barely hear him as he continued to go about their first meeting in embarrassingly intricate detail. He had it all, even down to the transferal paperwork in her hand, along with her credentials for editing. Instead, she watched his face, smiling to herself as she took in the different micro-expressions she’d grown to know and love. When he finished, she almost hadn’t noticed, too lost in the softness of his eyes, and the way his hands tried to draw it in front of him. Then her eyes went to his lips which had stopped moving.

“You’re still talking about work.” She deflected, pulling her legs up so that she was sitting upright next to him, and setting her drink down. She backtracked with a shy smile, admitting, “I didn’t think you noticed me like that then.”

“You say that like it was even possible to.” He said, shrugging. “It wasn’t every day I met a smart, pretty girl, that read and understood what I wrote. I didn’t even know that a girl like you could have existed until-” 

Wendy smiled, at that, pulling at his loosened tie to meet his lips to hers. The kiss was short and soft, more to get him to stop talking than anything else. She could almost hear the unsaid ‘what’ fall from his slightly parted lips. 

“I love you, you know that?” She said, wrapping her arms around his neck as he grinned widely, opening his mouth further to answer. “Don’t answer that with whatever you are thinking.”

He shook his head, choosing not to acknowledge the fact that she was the one that asked in the first place, dipping his head down to meet her in a longer, more meaningful kiss.

Yeah, today was definitely a good day. 

Tagging my Wendy crew! @perfectlystiles @kcnobls @starcrossedjedis @raging-violets @curious-kittens-ocs (Want to be added? HMU)

Send me a Pairing and a Fictional Kiss!

[itsallavengers]

Prompt: "let's get you out of the rain"

Steve hated college. 

He hated the loudness. The constant stress. He hated the assholes who thought they were better than everyone and really, really hated the parties. 

Like the one he was at now. Or at least, the one he had been at. Now, he was just sat on the soaking wet sidewalk, rain dripping down his nose and sinking through his shirt. Behind him, he heard the thumping bass of whatever music they were playing back inside, but he had no interest in going back to enjoy it. He was pretty drunk, too, and wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d even make it to his feet without passing out. 

He kicked an empty can viciously and watched it clatter against the door of some flashy red car. He didn’t even care if it scratched the paint. Life sucked, the world wasn’t fair, sometimes skinny assholes with something to prove ruined your paint job. Guess they were just gonna have to deal with it. 

He hadn’t ever had a chance with Tony. Not really. Tony was beautiful, and popular, and whip-smart. Tony had everything, and Tony could get anyone. And Steve had really had the fucking nerve to think he’d ever had a hope in hell of being the person that boy picked?

How fucking ridiculous. 

Wiping his nose angrily, he blinked back the hot tears and pressed his knuckles against his eyes. He was soaked to the bone; a proper East-coast storm was overhead, and he knew he was probably gonna catch some sort of cold from this. Skinny and sickly, him and bad weather had never meshed well. Hell, a light breeze could knock him flat if he wasn’t concentrating. 

Steve didn’t think a hurricane could bring Tony Stark down, though. He was so resilient. And strong. And he had really great arms. Arms that, two minutes ago, Steve had seen curled around another boy’s shoulders, their faces pressed together as they kissed messily on the dancefloor full of drunk students. Steve had only gone to the damn house party because Tony had begged and puppy-eyed him to come, but in that moment, he didn’t think there was a single force on heaven or Earth that could’ve made him stay there and watch that. Tony had only spotted him as he’d slipped out of the room, and Steve had heard him call out Steve’s name, but hadn’t stopped to look. Just left. 

Now, here he was. Out in the rain, waiting for a cab while Tony stayed inside and made out with… whoever that was. Steve hadn’t seen his face. Steve couldn’t say he gave a damn, either. The point had been made. 

Tony wasn’t interested. All those shy smiles and little touches and stumbled words that they’d exchanged through their slowly growing friendship over the last few months had been just that – friendship. Nothing else. Steve was that kid Tony had been assigned to sit with in Chemistry class, who he got on with pretty well with and enjoyed the company of, but would never truly look twice at. Not in the way that Steve did for him. 

God, and to think he’d thought Tony might kiss him tonight. Him. Hah. 

There was the opening and shutting of the front door behind him, but Steve didn’t turn to look at whoever it was. Probably someone just going home for the night, tired of the noise like Steve was. He brushed them off quickly and then focused back up on feeling sorry for himself, wet and cold and miserable on a Friday night as the boy he loved remained about 30 feet away from him, having the time of his damn life with someone else. 

Except, the 30-feet thing turned out to be wrong. Steve realised as such when he suddenly saw a pair of familiar red sneakers step onto the road beside him, and then the feeling of another body join him in the sidewalk. He turned his head, eyes going wide. 

Tony smiled back at him, soft and sad. “So– unsurprisingly, I managed to fuck this up before it even began, huh?”

Steve just blinked, alcohol-addled mind trying to process what was going on. “Why are you…” he began, before shaking his head and looking away. Didn’t even matter. “Just go back inside, Tony.”

“No, I want to talk to you,” Tony said, “about what you saw just then.”

His cheeks burned, mortified. So Tony knew, huh? Well, that sure made everything ten times worse. “I don’t want to fuckin’ talk about it,” he snapped, “I got my wires crossed and overreacted, alright? You… You feel free to kiss whoever you damn please, it’s none of my–”

“I’m in love with you.”

Northward, a faint rumble of thunder burst through the air, and for a second the rain intensified. It was soaking into Tony’s curly hair, gathering on the leather jacket he was wearing. Whereas Steve probably looked like a half-drowned kitten, Tony just looked… serene. 

Steve choked on his own spit and raised his eyebrows. “Come again?”

“I’m in love with you,” Tony responded, just as confidently and simply as the last time, “I have been for ages. You’re… you’re amazing, Steve. And beautiful and perfect and a whole lot of overly romantic adjectives that I’m not going to bore you with. I was just trying to work my way up to maybe asking you out, but every time an opportunity arose I chickened out last minute. I didn’t want to risk our friendship when you said no.”

This had to be the alcohol. Rain-induced fever. Something other than the truth, for sure. Because the truth made no sense whatsoever.

Tony looked down at his shoes, biting his lip. “Thought maybe inviting you to a party would be a good place to start,” he said with a shrug, “I’m more confident at parties. We’d both be drinking and having fun, and I could make a move, and then if you rejected me I could blame it on the alcohol and we wouldn’t have to bring it up again, saving my ego and our friendship.” 

“But what, you accidentally came onto the wrong guy?” Steve snapped before he could help himself, pulling a disbelieving face and tensing up. “Right, okay. Sure.”

Tony made a noise of distress, his hand settling on Steve’s arm tentatively. “Steve,” he said, “it wasn’t… God, look, I hate to break this to you, but I’m kind of a slut, alright? And when I go to parties, usually a– uh, long term booty call of mine is also at said parties, and for the past three years it’s just been unspoken that if we see eachother at these things, we have sex. Okay? It’s just… I dunno, habit. But not this time! Okay, this time he saw me and he kissed me, and I pushed him off and told him no. I don’t want to, alright, not now.” Tony waved his hands distractedly. “There was someone way more important on my mind– of course, that person had just seen some random guy with his tongue in my mouth and now thought that I was going to be banging someone else tonight, which sucks. And isn’t true.”

Steve looked at him suspiciously. “So you autopilot kissed someone?”

Tony made a face. “Technically, he autopilot kissed me. But I– God, this is a mess. I’m… Steve, I know what you’re probably thinking okay, I know I look like a fucking sleazebag, but I genuinely… it’s only you, okay? I look at you and all I can think about is cuddling you and kissing you and being with you. All the time. You’re funny and you’re sweet, and you don’t treat me like I’m a product. You treat me like I’m worth your time– though God knows why, I mean, look what I give you in return, holy shit–” he shut his eyes and then wiped some of the drops of water off his face, shuffling on his but until he was properly facing Steve. 

Then he rested his palm against Steve’s face, skin warm against he wet rain. “I am in love with you, Steve,” he repeated firmly, “and there is no one else that I want to be kissing. Swear on my life, that’s the truth. I told Ty as much myself. He didn’t take it very well, but then again, he doesn’t really take anything well, so I can’t say I give a shit.”

Steve looked up at him; his earnest open face, his nervous smile, and the fingers that were absently tracing across the jut of Steve’s cheekbone. He wasn’t really sure what to think. 

So he kissed Tony instead, just to see where that would lead him.

The other boy breathed in sharply, eyelashes fluttering against Steve’s cheek as he opened his mouth and let Steve push forward, hands curling around Tony’s neck. The boy tasted wonderful- like apples and coconuts- and his lips were warm. Steve traced his tongue across Tony’s bottom lip and then brushed up inside, making Tony sigh happily and draw him in a little further. Tony was a brilliant kisser. Steve was probably shit, but Tony seemed to like it anyway. 

Then he pulled away. 

“I think you’re still too drunk to decide whether or not you want to do this right now,” Tony muttered, eyes still on Steve’s mouth as he swallowed. “You might still want to be angry in the morning. Which is fair. I’d be upset if you kissed someone else too.”

“I don’t care,” Steve told him adamantly, leaning forward again. Tony giggled softly under Steve’s mouth, kissing back for a second before he pulled back again, his arm slipping around Steve’s waist as the boy wobbled forward. “You’re not kissing someone else any more. You’re kissing me.” He leaned across and tried to reach Tony, but a huge droplet of freezing water fell right onto his neck and slid down his spine, and it made him wince and then shiver violently. He hadn’t really noticed how cold it was. 

Tony looked upward, seeming to realise it too. With a small huff, he butted his head gently into Steve’s, unable to stop himself from giving another small kiss. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you out of the rain. You’re gonna get sick.”

“M’not gonna get sick,” Steve grumbled, feeling Tony tug him into standing position easily and then wrap his hand around Steve’s waist once more. “S’just rain.”

“Cold rain, that you’ve been sat sulking out in for five minutes.”

Steve pouted. “Can’t blame me– thought the boy I loved was off macking with some other asshole.”

Beside him, Tony stilled. “You…” He began, before just shaking his head and looking away. “Right. Drunk. Save it for the morning, Stark.” He mumbled to himself. Steve made another face– just because he was drunk, didn’t mean he was lying. Surely it was obvious at this point anyway?

Eh. Whatever. He could always say it again in the morning. And the morning after that, and the morning after that, and the morning after-

“What are you smiling at, huh?” Tony asked as he walked them over to the cab that had just pulled up at the curb. His eyes were gentle and his face soft as he took Steve in. By that point, the rain had plastered his hair right down onto his skull and the shirt he was wearing was sticking very uncomfortably to his ribs. For some reason, though, Tony didn’t seem to find it unattractive. In fact, Steve would go as far as to say that the look in the other boy’s eyes made him feel downright edible. 

He leaned up and kissed Tony again. Tony hummed, kissing him back. “This isn’t fair,” the boy mumbled, “I’m trying to be… chivalrous, and you’re making it really– fuck– hard, Steve.” He broke off with a frown and then looked adamantly toward the car, helping Steve into it with a steadying pair of hands. 

Steve’s world span a little as he shuffled into the seat, Tony slipping in beside him. “Don’t you wanna go back in?” He asked when Tony had finished giving the driver directions for Steve’s house.

Tony just looked at him, one perfect eyebrow arched. “No,” he said simply, “not at all.”

Steve smiled, and didn’t remember much after that.

-

He woke up, head throbbing, throat burning, and mind instantly made up. He rolled toward the nightstand, ignoring the glass of water and ibuprofen placed out for him in order to reach for his phone and type out a message.

You’re an assholePlease don’t accidentally kiss anyone else againUnless it’s me. I wouldn’t mind if it was me.Because I love you.Asshole

Like my work? Consider donating to my kofi!