Abort Mission - Steve x Reader. Drabble

Authors/Notes: This was so fun to write! Thank you, love!

Gif: used below

Sent by: My lovely Emma (who sent like a billion and i love her for that!) @girl-next-door-writes

Note/Warnings: Fluffy fluff, kissing, nervousness

Originally posted by bluebrooklynkid

 Steve had just pulled his shirt off and was heading to the shower when you knocked on his door. He walked over curiously but smiled when he saw you standing just on the other side of the frame.

 “Hey, I was just about to shower, what’s up?”

 “Oh,” You flushed at the site of his bare arms. “No, It’s- it’s nothing. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. It can wait.”

 Steve picked up your distress from your first word and his brows furrowed. You turned to leave when he reached out and gently took your hand. “(Y/N) wait. What’s wrong?” As he pulled your arm to lead you to his room he noticed a rise in your body temperature.

 “I just- really it’s nothing important-”

  Steve’s voice was gentle when he cut you off. “(Y/N).” He looked you with those stupid blue eyes. Those eyes that told you you can trust him. 

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Sugar, I’m Goin’ Down// Bad Boy Shawn // Chapter Five

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Chapter Four Recap:

“They don’t seem like very good friends if they make you feel like shit and threaten anyone you like. How the hell are you supposed to ever have a girlfriend?”

Shawn laughs and runs his hand through his hair. “Exactly. I don’t know what to do, I mean, they’re my friends. I’ve known Andrew since I was sixteen.”

“And yet you let him bully you like this,” you turn and walk away. If Shawn wanted pity for having garbage friends, he wasn’t going to get it from you and you had to walk away because you felt yourself starting to pity him. His friends would have to get over themselves because if they wanted to come after you because Shawn had some feelings, well then they had a big storm coming. You get to your table and pack away your laptop and books. You grab your pink taser from the bottom of your bag and head for the doors.

The lock handle on the front door of your house rattles violently, causing you to snap your head up from the book you were reading. It stops and you dismiss it as wind from the storm brewing outside. Ashley, your housemate and good friend, was out for the night with some guy. You hadn’t expected her home so you took up residence on the sofa to read your new book your mom had sent you in a cute little care package last week.

The handle rattles again and now you know it’s not just the wind blowing. The old house creaked and groaned during every storm, it was something you had gotten used to, but this was definitely someone trying to get in. You get up and turn on the main room light, hoping the light flooding through the living room’s windows would give the person a clue that someone was in fact home and they should not break in. There is more rattling and you put your book down to grab the metal bat that you and Ashley kept beside the stairs in front of the door.
With the bat in one hand, handle braced against your forearm incase you needed to swing one handed, you flip the lock and the deadbolt on the front door. You open the door just a little, allowing the additional chain lock to pull taut while you see who was there.  

“Hey, sweetheart,” Andrew says cooly, a smirk on his face. What the fuck was he doing at your house? How did he even know where you lived? “Gonna let me in?”

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“Cas?” Dean knocks on the door–is it the second time, or the third?–then says again, “Cas. I’m worried, man. I’m coming in, alright?”

He’d been walking by, on the way back to bed after a late night snack, when he’d heard thumps and crashes from inside Cas’s room. He’d banged on the door, but Cas wasn’t answering.

Done waiting, Dean announces himself again and pushes the door open. His desk chair is in pieces, scattered all over the room. The middle shelf on his bookshelf is askew, most of the books in a haphazard pile just below it. And there is Cas, slumped on the floor, knees pulled tight to his chest…crying.

Kneeling at Cas’s side, Dean says softly, “Oh god, Cas, what can I do?” He reaches out to put a hand on Cas’s shoulder, but stops just shy of actually touching him, unsure. Cas looks up at him, blue eyes wet with tears, and ever so slightly leans into Dean’s comforting touch.

Cas steadies his breath, then he says, “I was asleep, then I had a nightmare.”

Dean closes his eyes, schooling his face to stillness so he doesn’t wince. Angel or not, all the trauma Cas has been through in the past few years means he needs to sleep sometimes. And that same trauma means his sleep is almost always interrupted by nightmares. It’s a vicious cycle, one Dean would do anything to break.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

Cas shakes his head. “It’s…my room feels too…confined. I need to get out. Could you…would you…walk with me?”

“Outside? It’s the middle of…” He’d meant to finish with ‘winter’ but seeing the hope fade from Cas’s eyes changed his mind. “Sure, Cas. Give me five minutes to change. This robe ain’t exactly cold weather gear.” As he’d hoped, this brings the hint of a smile to Cas’s lips. “And you too. I don’t want you wasting your grace just to keep yourself warm. I know it’s not what it once was.”

Bristling, Cas starts to protest, but Dean holds his hands up to stave off argument. “Come on, Cas. You take care of me. Let me take care of you, too.”

Cas leads them into the woods that surround the bunker, a flashlight in one mittened hand. The snow squeaks under their boots, the only sound in the otherwise silent night. Breath frosts the air around their faces. After ten minutes or so of silence Dean tentatively asks, “Do you have a destination in mind?” Cas nods. Dean shoves his mitten-covered hands into his pockets, content to let Cas lead, both their steps and their conversation. He knows Cas will talk when he’s ready.

I can watch him, though, he thinks, and smiles inwardly. Cas had done as he’d been told, somewhat. He was wearing heavy boots, fleece-lined pants made of heavy canvas on the outside (Sam had bought him those, and Cas had protested rather loudly), a wool sweater over a long-sleeved t-shirt, wool mittens, a wool hat with a big blue pom-pom on the top…and his trench coat. Nothing and no one could make him wear a different coat.

Cas ducks to pass a low branch, and suddenly Dean is overcome with a fit of laughter.

Startled, Cas turns, asks, “Is something amusing?”

Dean gasps, in between barks of laughter, “I’m walking through the woods next to an ancient celestial being…with a pom-pom on his head.”

Scowling, Cas tears the hat off his head.

Dean sobers. “No, don’t do that. I’m sorry Cas. It was just bobbing around when you ducked under that branch, and…” He takes the hat from Cas and tugs it back onto his head. “There. We can be ridiculous together. See, I’ve got one too.” He shakes his head with a smile.

Sighing, Cas says, “Alright. Come on then, we’re nearly there.”

A few minutes later the trees, which had been tight all around and had made a broad canopy overhead, suddenly open up. They stand in an almost perfectly round clearing, about thirty yards across, bathed in moonlight. Cas switches off his flashlight and puts it in his pocket.

“Cas, this is…” Dean lets his voice trail off.

“I know,” Cas says.

Their eyes meet, and neither has to say anything else about it.

“I like to come here to stretch my wings,” Cas says in an offhanded tone, and Dean has to work to keep from gaping. Cas never really talks about his wings, especially not since they’ve become so damaged that he can no longer fly. “I can unfurl them in the bunker, but I worry about knocking things over. Here I can spread them wide and really stretch out my muscles.”

“I never even thought about that,” says Dean quietly. “I’m sorry, Cas. The bunker, there must be so much that’s–”

“No, Dean. I like living in the bunker, with you. And Sam.” After a heavy pause he turns and walks toward the opposite side of the clearing. “I made something.”

Curious, Dean follows. When he sees, he draws a breath. He’s been coming here all winter, and we had no idea, he thinks.

“Come. Sit,” Cas says, and Dean follows, sitting at the table Cas had carefully built out of ice and snow. A mound of snow, hollowed out underneath for their legs to fit, flat and nearly smooth on the top. Behind the hollowed out portion he’d built what was clearly meant to be long, low bench, just the right height for the table.

Dean can’t help but ask, with wonder in his voice, “When did you do this, Cas?”

“I come here at night. You know I do not need to sleep every night, and sometimes when I do…” He looks up at the moon, filling the clearing with silver brilliance. “I thought it might be difficult, living in the bunker. I’ve spent millennia with the cosmos as my backyard, how could I possibly live in a speck here on earth? But that adjustment was surprisingly easy. It’s the nightmares, Dean. The nightmares, and the guilt. Oftentimes when I wake up crying…or screaming…I come here.”

He wants to speak, to apologize for not knowing, for not helping, but he just listens.

Because finally–finally–Cas is talking.

He talks about pulling Dean out of hell: the demons he battled, the brothers and sisters he lost, the brightness of Dean’s soul pulling him ever onward. His eyes shine as he tries to put into words the elation he felt when he finally held Dean’s soul in his hands.

He tells of his rebellion, of the joy of free will coupled with the pain of disappointing, hurting, or sometimes even killing his brothers and sisters.

When he talks about his alliance with Crowley his eyes fill with pleading and pain.

When he tells Dean what it felt like to be full of souls from purgatory, to cast judgments upon heaven and earth, his eyes overflow. Soon the top of the snow table is pitted with holes from Cas’s tears.

He remembers letting the souls go, and being destroyed by leviathan.

The words keep coming and coming, sometimes in order, sometimes not. Purgatory. Naomi’s reprogramming. Killing Samandriel. Killing Dean, and killing Dean again and again. And then not killing Dean, the real Dean, and being free from Naomi. Metatron. The nephilim. The angels falling, falling, falling…

It’s as if something broke inside of Cas, letting all the words come out, and Dean knows all he can do is listen and hold on until the flood of words has passed. With a jolt he realizes he really is holding on: their mittened hands are clasped together. When did that happen? he wonders. He squeezes Cas’s hand. Cas stumbles over a word, startled, then squeezes back.

About the time Cas runs out of words, Dean begins to shiver.

Cas looks up, his eyes clear and bright. “Dean! You should have told me you were cold!”

Dean tries to laugh at being scolded, but it comes out as an odd braying noise through his chattering teeth. “Not important,” he says.

“But I can easily take care of this,” Cas says. “Ancient celestial being, remember?”

They’d been sitting close, but Cas scoots even closer to Dean, pulling all four of their hands onto their laps. “Lean forward, just a bit,” he says, and then there is the unmistakable sound of feathers rustling.

Dean whips his head around to see the blue-black flash as Cas’s wings unfurl, filling the space behind them. He’s never seen Cas’s wings this close before. The feathers are exquisite, each one inky black at the base slowly lightening to midnight blue at the ends, with just a hint of electric blue on the very edges. There are broken feathers, and gaps where feathers are just gone, but somehow the imperfection makes Cas even more beautiful. He’s caught up, staring, when Cas says, “Just hold still for a moment,” and suddenly those brilliant, majestic wings are suddenly wrapped around them, a cocoon of warm feathers.

“Cas, this is awesome!” He turns his head toward Cas and he is there, right there, their noses only separated by a breath, and he knew he’d been meaning to say something else but his mind had lost everything but blue eyes and feathers.

There is only the sound of their mingled breath for a long, long moment, then Cas says, “Are you warm now, Dean?”

Dean tries to answer, but his words get caught in his throat. Because suddenly he’s not warm, he’s hot, his skin prickling, his breath coming in gasps. Half of his mind says, But this is Cas, while the other half is screaming CasCasCas! He’s not sure which half he’s listening to when he closes his eyes and says, “I’m fine, Cas. Thank you.” His voice is raw and strained, and even with his eyes closed he can feel Cas’s confusion. He looks up, softening. “This is amazing. Absolutely the best blanket I’ve ever had. Beats goose down any day.”

Cas tries to keep his face serious but fails as he says, “Angel feathers are far superior to goose feathers.”

Dean grins back at him. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m shopping for a blanket for my bed.” The instant he says it he wants to take it back; his face burns with embarrassment. Quickly he says, “Cas. Next time you have a nightmare, you don’t have to go through it alone, okay? Wake me up. I’ll sit with you in your room, or in mine, or wherever you want. Even out here in the cold.”

“Thank you, Dean.” There is so much relief, not just in Cas’s voice but in his whole body. Even his wings tremble. “Thank you,” he says again. When the tension leaves his shoulders his head falls forward a fraction of an inch, and suddenly their foreheads are pressed together, and their noses, and it seems like the most natural thing, good and pure and right, when their lips crush together, too.

Oh, my dear, I’ll wait for you

And grace tonight will pull us through

Until the tears have left your eyes

Until the fears can sleep at night

Until the demons that you’re scared of disappear inside

Until this guilt begins to crack

And the weight falls from your back

Oh, my dear, I’ll keep you in my arms tonight.

–from Oh My Dear

Tenth Avenue North

Inktober with the Bunker || Day 17: Wings

Ok, just let me whine for like 2 seconds.

I HATE how they’ve set up the course I’m currently taking. For some reason they apparently thought that combining two different classes were a great idea, and now we’re a pretty big class. Which normally wouldn’t be that big a problem but all the rooms and lecture halls they’ve booked for lectures and seminars are made for classes of half the size and now at least someone ends up sitting on the floor or standing because there aren’t enough desk space or chairs.

BUT THE WORST THING (that only really affects half the class but I’m affected so I’m pissed) is that the classes they’ve combined study at two different “speeds”. Like I’m taking the course at 100%, it means I’m putting in 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, and am going to finish the whole course in half a year. So half of us study at 100%, half at 50%. The ones who study at 50% usually already have a job and study half the time I do or less, also they take a whole year to finish the course. To make it work for us to study together it means we 100% people need to take two different parts of the course at the same time. We take part 1 together with the 50%s and part 3 simultaneously. When we move on to part 2 we also move on to part 4. This means exam panic!!

Today I just finished a group project/essay (for part 1 of the course) we’ve been working on for a month. An hour ago I got assigned the next essay (for part 2) and on thursday I’ll be assigned another (for part 3). I’ll have two weeks to write these essays (while the 50%s only need to write one in two weeks) but at the same time we’ve already started on the thesis we have to write for part 4 of the course.


This has been me whining about school. Imma go draw and wind down now

Does anyone have problem with letting your sims to use computer?

If I direct click the computer and click one of the action, my sims will have the “object blocking” bubble pops out.So I have to let my sims sit on the desk chair first then only can use computer.  :(

anonymous asked:

request - angry kiss no5 for alice/matthew

i wish i knew how to end fics more eloquently than this BUTTTT i like this one a lot. mirrors my scars fic for jean/lucien. hope you like it!

Alice stormed into the station, heels clicking loudly on the floor and adding to growing sense of power she held within herself. She was furious. Matthew had promised her–promised her–that he was going to make an effort.

It was late and the desk sergeants had knocked off for the evening. The station was lit only be the dim light of emergency lights and the few officers hanging about were huddled about the front desk. Turning the corner, she saw him sitting there, still in his desk chair and his cane resting against the wooden drawers. 

“Matthew Lawson!”

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Hey guys! 

Just a quick update to post a fix for this desk chair from this post. I seem to have completely forgotten to do the LODs. I’ve fixed it and if you are interested in re-downloading the chair just put it into your mods folder and replace the old one. Sorry ‘bout that! 

Enjoy and Happy Simming!


BTS how they initiate sex

as requested, here is how BTS put the moves on you :’)
I wasn’t too sure if this was a preferences or a reaction… so i’m just gonna classify it as both hehe

the following content is for mature minds only ;)

requested by @notmoose23: Can you do a bts reaction on how they would put the moves on you? Like how they would initiate sex for the first time?

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When You Are Ambushed While “Busy” (Mafia AU/Requested)

~Kim Namjoon~

With Joon’s harsh panting in your ear, you didn’t hear the creak of the door, or the herding footsteps heading towards you. Luckily you had Namjoon, who expected these situations on the daily. He reached under your pillow and grabbed the pistol hidden there. While still balls deep, Namjoon turned his upper body and unloaded a clip into a man not even two feet away. You lurched and quickly covered your ears.

Taehyung and Jin came running, own weapons in hand. Namjoon tossed a sheet over your body but that didn’t stop the boys from getting an eyeful of Namjoon’s ass.

“Jesus Oppa!”

~Kim Seokjin~

Never say that Jin didn’t give you what you wanted, when you wanted it. The drivers seat was leaned back just so, your knees resting on either side of Jin. He gave a particular hard thrust up into you. You bounced on him at a harsher pace.

Until Jin leaned forward and placed both hands on the wheel. You had just seconds to spare before the engine roared to life and rushed forward. You screamed when a body rolled over the top of the van and your blood ran cold.

“Now where were we?” Jin smirked.

~Min Yoongi~

Yoongi groaned and grunted. You thanked whatever God would listen, that you rented a VIP room at the club. Yoongi smirked at your frantic movements in his lap. His hands guided you in smooth motions. You expected the sharp slap on your ass, but not the sound of bullets rushing past your head.

Yoongi pulled you underneath of him and grabbed the gun strapped to his thigh. Two bullets flew and instantly killed the men trying to murder you two. They fell forward and the door was left wide open with nosy customers.

“Can you excuse us? We were in the middle of something.”

~Jung Hoseok~

Hoseok slammed into you, your legs tossed haphazardly over his shoulder. All you could muster was quiet whines and loud moans. He grinned down at you with joy in his dark orbs. You reached up and dragged your nails down his arms.

The door was shoved open and three armed assailants entered. Hobi didn’t even stop his frantic thrusts. He pulled a small trigger with a red button. With an eye roll he pressed the button, and a rally of small explosions blew the team to pieces.

“I’m not letting them ruin a perfectly good orgasm.”

~Park Jimin~

Jimin wasn’t known for being a sharpshooter for no reason. The way he was drilling your G-spot, he definitely deserved that title. You gripped the bed sheets and but into your bottom lip. Jimin buried his face into your hair and released a loud groan.

You tensed at the sound of gunfire, reaching for blankets to shield yourself. Jimin slipped out of you with a disappointed groan and pulled out the secret compartment on the headboard. His sniper rifle dropped from the hidden spot and he quickly loaded a shell into it.

“I’ll be right back.” Jimin slaps the outside of your thigh. “No touching yourself either.”

~Kim Taehyung~

Tae sat in his desk chair, guiding you up and down on his cock. His large hands traced every indention on your body. The vials behind his desk rattled with each thrust upwards. You moaned into the open air, hair spilling out over your shoulders.

“Fuck…” Taehyung muttered, sweat running down the side of his forehead. One of the containers near the door smashed to the ground and gave away the location of a spy. Taehyung pulled you close to him, leaning forward and grabbing one of the poison darts. With a single precise throw, the dart punctured the mans eyes and the drug spread quickly.

You shivered when he fell forward, blood spilling out of his mouth. Taehyung ran his fingers along your arm in a comforting motion.

“It’s alright love.”

~Jeon Jungkook~

Jungkook punched the metal lockers behind your head, thrusting like a deranged animal. The locker rooms after a fight were your favorite. No matter how gross or unsanitary it was. You barely had time to mutter a congratulations before he pulled down his shorts, and tore a hole through your jeans.

The loud noises you two were creating blocked out the fact that someone else had entered the locker room. You finally forced your eyes to stop looking at the back of your skull and saw the cloaked figure rushing at Jungkook. A scream alerted him however. Within second he pulled out of you, slipped up his pants and was wailing on the poor soul.

“Kookie-” punch “this isn’t-” kick “much of a turn on.”

Hoodie Thief

Requested by: @lokiandbuckyaremine

Pairing: Reader x Bucky
Word Count: 937
Warnings: Fluff, swearing

A/N: I’m sorry this (and all my requests) are taking so long to get done! It’s a busy time of year for uni and work :(

~~Bucky’s POV~~

Bucky rummages through this drawers, angry grunts coming from his lips with every passing second. After realising that it wasn’t here, he slams one of the drawers shut and storms through the compound. He was beyond pissed off by now, and he was going to find out who was stealing all his hoodies.

“Steve!” he yells as he enters the communal living area. Sam, Wanda, you and Steve all glance up at him,

“What?” Steve says with a frown, standing with a concerned expression as Bucky storms in, “What’s wrong, pa-”

“Stop stealing my fucking hoodies!” Bucky booms. He knows that this is a bit of an over-reaction, but it’s been happening for weeks and now he didn’t have any comfy clothes left,

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Hellborn - Chapter 2

Genre: Smut; Angst; Demon!AU, Dom!Jimin, Sex Slave!AU

Word count:  5433

Summary: After you are kidnapped by a demon and declared as his sex slave your life has been filled with pain, fear, and anger as every day has been taken up by useless plans of escape as you try to figure a way out and learn more about your intimidating master.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 

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the life and times of chloe bourgeois


The rules of the Bee Miraculous are simple:

        1. Your job is to protect the hive and ensure its survival. You’re the queen, the worker, and the drone.

        2. Bees give chase; they never run away.

        3. Remember that your stinger is lethal—to both you and your enemies.

Chloe promises to keep them in mind when she gets the Miraculous, but like most promises in her life, they tend to get broken.


Chloe often wonders who decided that she was deserving enough to receive the Bee Miraculous. Pollen tells her time and time again that it doesn’t matter—once you’re Chosen, nothing can change that save for dire circumstances. Having created a good percentage of Paris’s akumas, Chloe is sure she’s come close to “dire circumstances” before, but her kwami simply shakes her head and insists that Chloe is worrying for nothing.

“You were chosen for a reason,” Pollen tells her one late evening as she stands on the room of her father’s hotel, staring out over the lit Paris skyline. “You need to stop concerning yourself over what it is and work on living up to it.”

Chloe still wonders.


Meeting Ladybug and Chat Noir for the first time is a whirlwind of luck and destruction.

Chat Noir narrows his eyes the moment she whizzes into battle, knocking the akuma off the Eiffel Tower, like he’s trying to see right through her. The spark that lights up in his eyes tells her that he might have found something she doesn’t even know she was hiding. In the months following that first battle, she’ll wonder what he saw that night that told him she could be trusted, that let him believe they were meant to be friends.

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pls let whiskey and bitty be gay friends in year 4 thanks

TW: vomiting, hangover, canon typical alcohol abuse, coming out, being closeted in professional sports, implied (but not real) dubious consent of inebriated person

When Whiskey awoke, he immediately turned over and hurled into the waiting trashcan next to the bed. It wasn’t until he’d relieved himself of the meager contents of his stomach that he realized this was not, in fact, his bed at all. 

The room was clean and tidy, decorated to the nines with pop star tour posters and twinkle lights. If that hadn’t been an immediate giveaway, there was also a University of Georgia pennant mounted high on the wall above the desk. Whiskey rubbed at the building pain in his head and desperately tried to remember the previous night. Surely he hadn’t…no, Bittle had a boyfriend, that much was obvious, so even if Conner had tried, in his blacked out state…

The bedroom door creaked open slowly and Bitty stuck his head inside, glancing around. He was already showered and dressed for the day, clearly not at all hungover. When he noticed Whiskey struggling to sit up, he smiled and walked fully into the room, carrying a glass of water and a plate of toast and eggs. 

“Here, thought you could use something after how sick you were last night,” Bitty said softly, placing the food and drink down on the bedside table. “How’re you feeling?” 

Whiskey took the water gratefully and sipped at it, careful not to drink too fast. “Like crap.” He paused, looking towards the open door, then asked, “We didn’t-? Last night…?” 

It took Bitty a minute to grasp his meaning, but when he did he shook his head vehemently. “Oh, Conner, no, you were in a terrible state last night and I don’t care what people might say about me, I would never-”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Whiskey murmured, cutting Bitty off. “I just thought…if you’d been drunk, too, maybe I would’ve…made a move or something…”

Recognition and a little bit of shock flitted across Bitty’s face. “No, I think you were too busy falling down the stairs to seduce anyone last night.” Well, that explained the soreness of every muscle in Whiskey’s body. “But, um. You were a lot nicer to me last night…”

Whiskey looked down at his lap; he was too sick to have this conversation. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he finally said, stomach churning unpleasantly. “The coaches have been talking about scouts coming to watch me, and I can’t have, like, any rumors about me going around, even here-”

“Conner, Conner-” Bitty interrupted him, eyes wide with concern. “I would never, you have to know that. I’m your captain,” he said, smile a little wry. “And I know the risks. Trust me, I’ve spent enough time around professional athletes to know the risks.” 

Whiskey nodded mutely, taking another sip of water. Later he would blame the hangover for this, but he asked, “Are you dating one of Jack’s teammates?” 

Bitty laughed, loud enough to aggravate Whiskey’s headache. “Oh, Lord, no. If I was, you know I couldn’t tell you all willy-nilly,” he added, a bit more serious. “But no. What an idea…” 

“You sure?” Whiskey prodded, laughing a little himself. “I’ve seen that video of Mashkov carrying you around the Haus. He really likes your jam, huh?” 

“You shut your mouth,” Bitty laughed, shoving at Whiskey’s shoulder. “Tater’s a friend.”

“A very rich, very handsy friend,” Whiskey mused innocently. 

Bitty shook his head and grabbed his book bag off the desk chair. “I’m going to the library. Sleep off your hangover, make sure to hydrate, and tell the Frogs that if they eat all the cookies in the kitchen then they have to buy me dinner. For the next week.” 

“Don’t you have a thesis to write?” Whiskey asked, watching with amusement as Bitty’s face darkened. 

“I hope your hangover lasts all day,” he said petulantly, then waved goodbye and headed out the door. Whiskey sighed and leaned back against the pillow, then started when he felt something press up against his side. 

When he pulled back the covers, Whiskey was surprised to see a plush bunny, clearly old and well-loved, half-hidden by the mess of sheets and blankets that covered Bittle’s bed. He smiled tiredly and pulled the bunny close, feeling warm and content in the knowledge that maybe, against all odds, he and Bittle were becoming friends.