at least he's left the nest

25 Days (’Til He’s Mine) - Day 8

Haven’t read any other 25 Days posts yet?  STOP!  Go here to read all the previous installments and get caught up.

I know I’ve been whining about that exchange fic I (still) gotta finish, but I feel like I’ve been seriously neglecting this fic, so I wanted to at least get something out.  So here, have a thing.

Lance dragged himself out of bed with a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach.  He scrubbed a hand through his wild nest of hair as a yawn split his face.  Keith had already gone to work, left early to prepare for a presentation first thing in the morning, and Lance was supposed to be meeting Hunk for drinks after work this evening.  Keith had frowned a little at Lance’s suggestion that he open his advent gift today without Lance, but he’d agreed it was probably the only way to do it unless he waited until tomorrow - an option neither of them had considered seriously.

Shuffling into the bathroom, idly scratching at his stomach, Lance could admit to himself he’d only suggested it because he was a fucking coward.  What Keith opened today seemed silly on the surface, but there was some real feelings buried in there and Lance was honestly glad he wasn’t there to see Keith’s face when he read what Lance had left for him.  Except, now he didn’t know what to expect, and the uncertainty was eating him alive.

He hurried through his shower and other morning ablutions, words flitting through his brain.  For some godforsaken reason he’d thought it would be cute to write silly little holiday haikus for one of the days.  And it had been a cute idea - right up until the poems had taken a hard right turn into the realm of Serious EmotionsTM.  There were four of them in total and the words for each were seared into his brain, unforgettable at this point.

The first, titled Keith wasn’t too bad.  It had stayed pretty close to Lance’s goal of being silly but well-intentioned.  He’d really only wanted to make Keith smile with it.

Sexy, adorable

Unexpected best friend

Wrong about aliens

Lance didn’t think there was much in those three lines that would give his boyfriend pause.  The second, Christmas was much the same.  The only underlying truth it was likely to expose was that Lance really had no skill for writing haikus - the syllables/sound units thing honestly confused the shit out of him.  So yeah, the poem was poorly executed, but heartfelt and cheesy - pretty much everything Lance aspired to be on a daily basis.

Lights, tree, warm cookies

Together with my family

Everything I enjoy

Selecting a suit from his closet at random, Lance dressed with just as little focus as he’d spared for showering.  He couldn’t let go of his own irritation long enough to stop second guessing himself.  Because if the first two poems had been exactly what he was shooting for, that all fell apart with the third, Tradition.

Old and comfortable

There is still room for one more

How we show we care

That was so much more revealing than Lance had planned to be, gave away so much more than he really felt comfortable with at this point.  But instead of fixing it with the last haiku, he’d just fucking doubled down and practically served Keith his heart on a platter when he’d penned the last poem, Family.

None of your own now

Will share mine with you instead

Love making you smile

What in the fuck had he been thinking.  And now he hadn’t been around to see how Keith reacted to those words, to what essentially amounted to a confession of much deeper feelings than anything they’d ever talked about. People said it all the time, often he even agreed, but right now, Lance felt it on a bone deep level - he was a fucking idiot.

He stumbled into the kitchen seeking coffee.  If he was going to keep contemplating his complete and irredeemable stupidity, he’d damn well do it when he was properly caffeinated.  However, he was immediately distracted from that pure and noble goal by a large yellow square stuck to the microwave. Stomach turning over in anxiety, he pulled the note off and read:


There’s eggs inside; just need to be reheated.  Hopefully you didn’t wake up too late to eat them.  See you at work.


P.S.  These things are harder to fucking write than they look, but here goes nothing.


Insane but perfect

Gives me what no one else will

What no one else can


All are born and die

Only chance in between

Stars align; found you


Lance’s hands were trembling and his eyes were stinging by the time he finished.  Oh hell.  It looked like Lance wasn’t going to have to tone down anything - he was going to have to up his game.  Because against all odds, his boyfriend was a motherfucking romantic bastard.

Since Castiel has lived in the bunker with Sam and Dean for several months now, he’s long since learned how to shop with them before routine hunting trips.

This time he can’t hunt with them (only because Dean said ‘no’). The angel is still recovering from Lucifer inhabiting his body for so long. Dean insists he needs at least a full year to feel normal again.

Castiel thinks that his new husband is being slightly – secretly very – overprotective, but he knows that the two of them can handle a vampire nest. Just two nights away from home, a group of ‘bloodsuckers’ and a short drive. “It’s nothin’,” Dean had assured him. “Watch Orange is the New Black on Netflix again. We’ll be back before you’re done.”

If he couldn’t go on the hunt, though, the angel insisted on helping them grab groceries (basically just beer) and personal hygiene items before they left. Halfway down the Home Necessities side of Walmart, Castiel had already stopped four times to study odd objects for sale.

“What is this?” he asked, perplexed, and both Winchesters halted to turn around. Dean sighed impatiently.

“It’s a body pillow, Cas,” Sam answered, swiveling on his feet to keep going.

“You lay your entire form on it,” the angel observed, squinting at the giant rectangle of green fluff as he held it in comparison to his height. His guess had to be correct. Pillows were for laying one’s head on, so a body pillow must be for one’s entire body.

“Uh, sort of,” Sam spoke, stopping in his tracks again. He took the pillow from Castiel and glanced around before hugging it against his side, cheek against it, wrapping one arm and one leg around the thing. “This is… uh, more the idea of it,” he said quickly, tossing the pillow back in the bin before anyone could see him snuggling the thing.

The angel squinted at it for a few moments still before Dean walked up and took his hand, trying to get him to move along. Castiel refused to budge. “Why would anyone need this?” he asked, truly a bit surprised by the inefficiency of such a human invention.

Dean actually wiped down his face now with a small growl. “If you sleep alone, y'know? Some people like to… cuddle. This is for, uh, cuddling when you have no one, okay? Can we go now?”

It was quiet as Castiel finally started to shuffle his feet along, holding Dean’s hand the whole time so that the hunter could make sure he didn’t stop again. A little while later when the brothers were comparing bottle to can beer prices, the angel disappeared and returned with the body pillow in clutch.

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean demanded, both at his casual use of angel teleportation in public and at the fact that he was still obsessing over the pillow.

“I believe it to be a Home Necessity for our bunker,” he stated firmly. “We like to cuddle exactly as Sam demonstrated and you will be gone. I will have no one to cuddle.”

Dean’s face was as red as the wine behind him and Sam couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. “Oh, we’re getting the pillow now. We have to,” the younger Winchester smirked.

Snatching the pillow from Castiel’s grasp, Dean picked a random case of beer and started trudging away from his family as quickly as possible. “Whatever. If it’ll keep you home,” he grumbled lowly.

Castiel’s wings, though invisible, fluttered contently. “Dean… perhaps you need the blue one to take on your trip.”

Sam all-out cackled when his brother grumpily picked up the second one on his way to the checkout area without another word.

Comfort (closed with Justaradioohost)

Carlos tapped at his laptop, trying to keep his mind focused on the grant applications that would fund his team, and give them all paychecks every week. Though even with how important this was, he found his mind wandering.


His sweet, lovely, honey-voiced-honey, Cecil.

It’d been nearly three days since…. Well, since what happened. Since he came home, crawled into bed without more than a mumbled hello. Station Management had given him a few days off. Normally Carlos knew Cecil would be ecstatic at the prospect of a ‘staycation’. Right now…

Carlos shook his head, as if to shake away the thought. He glanced over the application, clicked on the 'save’ button, and closed the lid on the laptop. Science later, boyfriend needs comforting now. Or at least it was worth another try.

Carlos half debated making Cecil something to eat… He honestly wasn’t sure if Cecil had left the same blanket-nest he curled into three days ago. That seemed plausible due to the fact that he was in more or less the same position when the scientist left and came home from checking on his experiments for a couple of hours a day.

He swallowed a little bit, having reached the doorway to the darkened bedroom. From the doorway Carlos could see the small lump of blankets that he knew his love was buried under. “Ceec?” The scientist’s voice was soft. “You awake?”


snasthememelord  asked:

"Ughh... Where, am I?"

Prompto had just left the other guys back in the Crow’s Nest as he went out to scope the area for any possible photo opportunities and stumbled across the other. His appearance startled him, to say the least, but it was still light out and it shouldn’t be possible for daemons to appear. Plus, they both seemed to be equally confused.

“You’re… not from around here, are you?” He asked with a hesitant chuckle, keeping a distance between them just to be cautious. “This is Old Lestallum. Are you alright?”

Do ye say it of me, Sassenach?“ he asked suddenly. He sounded shy, and I turned my head to look up at him in surprise.
 "Do I say what? That you’re beautiful?” My mouth curved involuntarily, and he smiled in return.
 "Well…not that. But that ye can bear my looks, at least.“
I traced the faint white line of the scar across his ribs, left by a sword, long ago. The longer, thicker scar of the bayonet that had ripped the length of one thigh. The arm that held me, browned and roughened, the hairs of it bleached white-gold with long days of sun and work. Near my hand, his cock curled between his thighs, gone soft and small and tender now, in its nest of auburn hair.
 "You’re beautiful to me, Jamie,” I said softly, at last. “So beautiful, you break my heart.

Claire and Jamie Fraser, The Fiery Cross.

Just the way she’s always loved every single part of him unconditionally, sees no imperfections, just beauty. He hides nothing from her and she sees all of him in every way. 

And a moment later, you see his love for her is absolutely no different. Every single part of her is profoundly cherished. Always growing stronger, never fading with time or familiarity, there is always something new for both to learn and love about the other - making Hearthfire an all-time favorite passage of mine, from the entire series, let alone just TFC.