Geek Power 👻

Fanfics with all of my favorite characters and I only write Fem reader and Male characters BUT if anyone has a suggestion just ask 🥰 And don’t forget your Awesome 😎

[bookloover35]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 25000 likes!

[bookloover35]

Version 2.0: Husband Edition- part 2

Later that night, you found him in the workshop again.

Of course you did.

“Tony,” you called softly, stepping inside.

He didn’t turn around this time. “Go to bed, honey.”

You crossed your arms. “You built me a robot that ties my shoes. You don’t get to ‘go to bed’ me.”

That earned you a chuckle. “Fair point.”

You walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as best you could manage. He immediately relaxed into your touch, one hand coming down to rest over yours.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said quietly.

“I know.”

“You like helping me yourself.”

“I do.”

You rested your cheek against his back. “Then why?”

Tony was quiet for a moment, the workshop unusually still around you.

“Because,” he said finally, “I can’t stand the idea of you struggling with anything and me not being there to fix it.”

You squeezed him gently. “I’m not fragile, you know.”

“I know that too,” he said. “You’re the strongest person I know. That’s exactly why I worry.”

You smiled faintly. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does in my head.”

You shifted, moving to stand beside him instead. “You don’t have to solve everything.”

“Don’t tell me that,” he said, half-teasing, half-serious. “That’s my whole brand.”

You nudged him. “Your brand is overcomplicating simple things.”

“Excuse me, this is not simple. This is love.”

You blinked at him.

Tony froze. “Did I just say that out loud?”

“Yes.”

“…We’re not going to make a big deal out of it, right?”

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him gently. “Too late.”

He exhaled, then smiled back, softer than before. “Good. Because I meant it.”

Your hand drifted down to your stomach, and his followed instantly, covering it like it belonged there.

“We’re going to be okay,” you said.

Tony nodded, eyes unusually steady. “Yeah. We are.”

Then, after a beat:

“But I’m still adding voice activation.”

You laughed. “Of course you are.”

“And maybe a heated footrest.”

“Tony—”

“And a lullaby mode for the baby—”

“Tony!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, hands up in surrender. “But if the kid grows up and asks what I did while you were pregnant, I’m showing them the schematics.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me.”

You smiled. “I really do.”

[bookloover35]

Version 2.0: Husband Edition - Tony Stark.

The workshop hummed softly beneath your feet, alive in that way only Tony’s creations ever were—half genius, half chaos, and entirely him.

“Stay right there,” Tony called, not looking up from the holographic display dancing in front of him.

You leaned against the doorway, one hand resting instinctively on your growing belly. “You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“And yet,” he replied, finally glancing over with a grin, “you’re still here. Almost like you enjoy watching me work.”

“I enjoy watching you pretend you’re not doing this for me.”

Tony scoffed. “Please. I am a man of science. This is a highly advanced biomechanical—”

“—shoe thingy,” you cut in.

He pointed at you. “Shoe system. And you’ll thank me later.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tony, I can still put my own shoes on.”

“Not comfortably,” he countered, softer now. His gaze flicked down to your stomach, then back up to your eyes. “And definitely not without doing that thing where you pretend it’s fine but you’re actually struggling.”

“I do not—”

“You make a little face.”

“I do not make a face!”

Tony turned a holographic panel toward you and tapped it. A paused security clip appeared—of you, earlier that morning, wobbling slightly as you tried to reach your laces, very much making a face.

You stared at it. “You spy on me?”

“I monitor for safety purposes,” he corrected smoothly. “Also, it’s adorable.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you married me anyway,” he said, smug.

Before you could respond, he clapped his hands once. “Okay, moment of truth. Come here.”

Sitting in the center of the workshop floor was what looked like a sleek, low platform with articulated arms folded neatly at the sides.

You hesitated. “Is it going to explode?”

“Rude. It’s going to revolutionize prenatal footwear accessibility.”

“…That sounds made up.”

“It’s absolutely made up,” he admitted. “Sit.”

You carefully lowered yourself onto the cushioned seat. Instantly, the machine came to life with a soft whir. Gentle supports adjusted around your legs, lifting your foot just enough to take the pressure off your back.

“Oh,” you breathed, surprised.

“Yeah,” Tony said, watching you closely now. Not the machine—you. “Thought you’d like that part.”

One of the articulated arms extended, picking up your shoe with precise, almost delicate movements. It guided your foot in, adjusting the angle so you didn’t have to bend at all.

Another arm followed, looping the laces and tying them into a perfect bow.

You blinked. “Tony…”

“Wait for it.”

The machine released your foot gently back to the ground, then repeated the process for the other shoe—smooth, efficient, almost… caring.

When it finished, it powered down with a soft chime.

You sat there for a second, staring at your neatly tied shoes.

“You made this,” you said quietly.

Tony shrugged, suddenly a little less cocky. “It’s… you know. For when I’m not around.”

You looked up at him. “You’re always around.”

“Not always,” he said, and there it was—that flicker of something more serious beneath the charm. “But I want you taken care of. Even when I can’t be the one doing it.”

Your chest tightened.

“You know I love helping you,” he added quickly. “This doesn’t replace that. Nothing replaces that. This is just… backup Stark-level husbanding.”

You laughed softly, eyes a little misty. “That’s not a term.”

“It is now.”

You held out your hand. “Come here.”

Tony stepped closer, taking your hand without hesitation. You tugged him down just enough to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“For the machine?” he asked.

“For thinking about the moments you won’t even be here to see.”

He stilled for a second, then softened completely, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“Hey,” he said quietly, glancing down at your stomach. “Kid’s got the best mom in the world. I’m just trying to keep up.”

You smiled. “Pretty sure you’re doing more than that.”

“Good,” he said, kissing you this time. “Because I’ve already started version 2.0.”

You groaned. “Tony—”

“It has voice activation.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

[bookloover35]

The Irish Girl He Wouldn’t Leave - Daryl Dixon.

The woods were too quiet.

That was the first thing you noticed—no birds, no wind, just the dull crunch of your own uneven steps as you tried to keep moving. Your leg ached, a deep, throbbing pain that made every step feel like it might be your last. You hadn’t eaten properly in days. Maybe longer. Time blurred when survival was all that mattered.

You tightened your grip on the small knife in your hand, even though your fingers trembled from weakness. Your stomach growled loudly, twisting with hunger, and you pressed a hand against it, as if that might quiet it.

“Just keep going,” you whispered to yourself in your soft Irish lilt. “One more step… just one more…”

Your vision swam.

And then—

Voices.

You froze.

Low, cautious, unfamiliar voices cut through the stillness. Panic surged through you. You stumbled backward, breath hitching, heart racing so fast it made you dizzy. You didn’t know if they were good people. You didn’t know if good people even existed anymore.

“Over there.”

The voice was rough, southern, and closer than you expected.

You tried to run.

Your injured leg gave out almost immediately, sending you crashing to the forest floor with a sharp cry. The knife slipped from your grasp as pain shot up your side.

Footsteps approached.

“Easy—hey, easy…”

You curled in on yourself, shaking. “Please—please don’t—” Your voice broke, fear spilling out of you. “I’ve nothing—nothing worth takin’, I swear…”

A pair of boots stopped just in front of you.

When you forced yourself to look up, your breath caught.

He wasn’t what you expected.

Crossbow slung over his shoulder. Sleeveless vest. Messy dark hair falling into his face. His blue eyes scanned you quickly—not cold, not cruel. Careful.

Assessing.

Concerned.

“Hey…” he said again, quieter this time. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Behind him, a couple of others stepped closer, less gentle in their stares.

“She’s in bad shape,” one of them muttered.

Another scoffed. “Yeah, and look at her. She’ll drain supplies in a week. We can’t just bring in every—”

“Shut up.”

The sharpness in his voice cut through the air like a blade.

Everyone went still.

He didn’t even look back at the man when he said it. His gaze stayed on you, steady and grounding.

“Don’t say that again,” he added, low and dangerous.

Something in your chest loosened—just a little.

He crouched down in front of you, movements slow, deliberate, like he didn’t want to spook you.

“You hurt?” he asked.

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Leg… I—I think it’s bad.”

“And when’d you last eat?”

You hesitated, embarrassed despite everything. “…Don’t remember.”

His jaw tightened.

For a moment, he just looked at you—really looked. Your tangled red hair, your dirt-smudged face, the way your body curled inward protectively, the fear in your green eyes.

You braced yourself for judgment.

For rejection.

Instead, he shrugged off his pack.

“Got some jerky,” he muttered, pulling it out and offering it to you. “Slow, alright? Don’t make yourself sick.”

Your hands trembled as you took it. “Why…?” you asked quietly, confused. “Why help me?”

He huffed softly, almost like the question didn’t make sense.

“’Cause you need it.”

Simple as that.

You swallowed hard, blinking back tears as you took a small bite. It tasted like the best thing you’d ever had.

Behind him, one of the others shifted. “Daryl, we don’t have time—”

“I said I got it,” he snapped, standing now. “Y’all go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

“You’re seriously bringing her back?”

He finally turned then, eyes hard.

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

Silence followed.

No one argued again.

When they left, the forest felt quieter—but not as suffocating as before.

You looked up at him, still unsure. “You… don’t even know me.”

He glanced down at you, scratching the back of his neck like he wasn’t used to this kind of conversation.

“Name’s Daryl,” he said gruffly. “Figure we can fix the rest later.”

You gave a small, shaky smile. “…I’m Y/N.”

He nodded once.

“Alright, Y/N. Let’s get you on your feet.”

When you tried, you nearly collapsed again—but he was there instantly, catching you before you hit the ground. His grip was firm, steady, one arm supporting your back, the other carefully guiding you upright.

“You’re alright,” he murmured, softer now. “I got ya.”

The words settled deep in your chest.

No one had said that to you in a long time.

As you leaned into him, exhausted and aching, you realized something you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

You weren’t alone anymore.

[bookloover35]

No Matter What Size - part 2

The moment lingered even after everything went quiet again.

Daryl still had you in his arms, like putting you down just wasn’t part of his plan. Your fingers idly traced along the collar of his shirt, your thoughts calmer now—but not completely gone.

You hesitated, then glanced at him, a little unsure.

“…I’m not too heavy for you?” you asked softly.

For a second, he just stared at you.

Then—slowly—a grin spread across his face. Not soft this time. Not gentle.

Wolfish.

“Oh, yeah?” he muttered.

Before you could even process the tone, he shifted his grip—and suddenly you were flipped over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

“Daryl!” you yelped, immediately breaking into laughter as the world tilted upside down.

“Too heavy?” he scoffed, one hand steady on your thigh while the other gave your butt a light, teasing tap. “Please.”

You laughed harder, kicking your legs a little. “Okay, okay—I get it!”

“Do ya?” he shot back, clearly amused now. “’Cause seems like I might need to prove it.”

“Daryl Dixon—!”

But you were grinning, your voice full of warmth instead of protest.

He adjusted you slightly on his shoulder, completely unbothered, like you weighed nothing at all. Like carrying you was the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

And honestly?

The way he held you—secure, playful, completely confident—said more than any words could.

You shook your head, laughing softly to yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Still carryin’ ya, though.”

You couldn’t even argue with that.

So you just let yourself relax there, draped over his shoulder, smiling like maybe—just maybe—you were finally starting to believe him.

[bookloover35]

No Matter What Size - Daryl Dixon

The sun was warm over Alexandria, the kind of afternoon that made everything feel almost… normal. You leaned against the wooden railing outside one of the houses, arms folded loosely, trying to enjoy the quiet.

But quiet never stayed that way for long.

A few voices drifted over from the road—low at first, then sharper. You didn’t even need to look to know they were talking about you.

“…she could at least try—”

“Daryl’s got weird taste, man.”

Your stomach tightened. You stared down at your boots, fingers curling slightly against your arms. You’d heard things like this before, but it didn’t make it easier. Not here. Not when you thought you were finally safe enough to breathe.

You shifted your weight, long black wolfcut brushing your shoulders as you tilted your head down. Your green eyes stung, but you blinked it back. You weren’t going to cry over them. Not again.

Still… the thoughts crept in anyway.

Maybe they’re right.

Maybe he deserves—

“Hey.”

The voice cut through everything.

You barely had time to turn before strong hands were on your waist, and suddenly you were lifted clean off the ground with an ease that made your breath catch. A small gasp slipped out as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

“Daryl—!”

But he didn’t answer right away.

His lips were already on yours—firm, grounding, unapologetic. It wasn’t rushed or hidden; it was deliberate. Like he needed you to feel it, needed everyone to see it.

Your hands found his shoulders, gripping lightly as the world melted into that one moment. The noise, the whispers, the doubt—it all faded under the warmth of him.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours. His blue eyes softened as they searched your face, like he was making sure you were still there.

“Don’t listen to ‘em,” he murmured, voice low, rough with something protective. “Not a damn word.”

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. “I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, ya were,” he said gently, thumb brushing your cheek. “I saw.”

Then his expression shifted.

Daryl turned his head, still holding you effortlessly, gaze locking onto the group of guys down the path. The softness vanished, replaced with something sharp enough to cut.

“A real man,” he said, voice carrying without needing to be loud, “loves his woman no matter what size she is.”

Silence hit like a wall.

No one laughed. No one had anything to say.

Because it wasn’t just the words—it was the way he held you, like you were something precious. Like there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind.

He looked back at you then, expression easing again.

“Ya hear me?” he added, quieter now. “Ain’t a thing about you I’d change.”

Your chest tightened, but this time it wasn’t from hurt.

It was something warmer.

Safer.

You let out a small breath, your hand moving to the back of his neck, fingers brushing the hair there. “You’re kind of intense, you know that?”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah. S’what ya like about me.”

You rolled your eyes softly, but you couldn’t hide the smile that followed.

“Maybe,” you admitted.

He huffed, adjusting his hold on you like he had no intention of putting you down anytime soon.

And for once, with your legs wrapped around him and his arms steady at your back, the voices didn’t matter at all.

[bookloover35]

Baby Shower- Part 2

The celebration didn’t die down after the reveal—it only grew warmer, softer—like the entire community was wrapping itself around you and Daryl.

Blue confetti still dotted the grass as everyone gathered under the shade for gifts. You sat comfortably while Daryl hovered close beside you, one arm slung protectively along the back of the bench, like he needed to be within reach at all times.

“Alright,” Carol called, smiling. “Let’s spoil this kid before he’s even here.”

Daryl muttered under his breath, “Kid’s already got more stuff than me…”

You nudged him. “And whose fault is that?”

He gave you a look—but it didn’t last. Not when you smiled at him like that.

One by one, your family stepped forward.

Maggie handed you soft baby clothes she’d stitched herself, smiling warmly. “Figured he’d need something comfortable.”

Rosita followed with a small bundle of knitted socks. “Trust me—these come in handy.”

Even Rick gave a quiet nod as he passed you a carefully wrapped blanket. “For the colder nights.”

Daryl didn’t say much—but you felt it. The way he stayed close, the way his fingers occasionally brushed your arm or rested on your belly like he was grounding himself in the reality of it all.

Then Carol stepped forward.

She held a small, neatly wrapped box, and the look on her face immediately made Daryl suspicious.

“…What?” he asked.

Carol just smiled. “Open it.”

You took the box, carefully peeling back the wrapping while Daryl leaned in despite himself. When you lifted the lid, your breath caught instantly.

Inside was a tiny leather vest.

Perfectly made… soft, worn-in… and on the back—

Little wings.

Just like Daryl’s.

“Oh my god…” you whispered, eyes shining.

Daryl froze beside you.

Completely.

Carol’s voice softened. “Figured he should match his dad.”

Silence settled for a moment—not awkward, just… full.

You turned the vest slightly so Daryl could see it better. His eyes locked onto it, something shifting behind them—something deep, something he probably didn’t even have words for.

“Ain’t gotta…” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly.

You nudged him gently. “Hey… it’s okay.”

He swallowed, then reached out—slow, careful—running his fingers over the tiny wings.

They looked so small under his rough hands.

“…It’s good,” he said quietly.

But this time, his voice gave him away.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “He’s gonna look just like you.”

Daryl huffed softly, but his arm wrapped around you instantly, pulling you closer.

“Hope not,” he muttered. “Kid deserves better.”

You smiled. “Too late.”

Carol watched the two of you, satisfied, before stepping back.

Daryl didn’t move.

His hand stayed there—over yours, over the vest, over your belly.

Like he was already protecting both of you.

And this time… he didn’t look unsure.

He looked like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

[bookloover35]

Baby Shower- Daryl Dixon.

The summer sun over Alexandria felt softer than usual, like even the world itself knew something special was about to happen.

You stood in the middle of the yard, one hand resting on your growing belly, the other gripping a cup of lemonade someone had insisted you sit down and drink five times already. Laughter filled the air—Carol fussing over the cake table, Maggie arranging flowers for the third time, and Rosita arguing with Gabriel about the rules of some baby shower game no one was really paying attention to.

And then there was Daryl.

Leaning off to the side, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather face a herd than a party full of people cooing about baby names and tiny socks.

You smirked, slowly making your way over to him.

“Y’know,” you teased, nudging his boot with yours, “for someone who didn’t wanna do this, you’re still here.”

He glanced down at you, blue eyes softening instantly like they always did when they landed on you. “Ain’t like I got much choice,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. “You and Carol been plannin’ this for weeks.”

You hummed, satisfied. “And you love me for it.”

He snorted. “Reckon I do.”

His hand came up, rough fingers brushing gently over your belly—so carefully, like you were made of glass. It still amazed you sometimes, how the same man who could take down walkers without blinking handled you like you were the most fragile, important thing in the world.

A whistle cut through the air.

“Alright, lovebirds!” Carol called. “Time for the main event!”

Everyone gathered toward the far end of the yard where a single balloon floated, tied between two posts. It swayed gently in the warm breeze—mysterious, holding the secret everyone had been waiting for.

Your heart started to race.

Daryl sighed under his breath. “Still think this is ridiculous.”

“Too late now,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. “C’mon, archer.”

Someone handed him his crossbow, and just like that, his entire posture shifted—focused, steady, familiar. The teasing faded from his face, replaced by that quiet intensity you knew so well.

But then he looked at you again.

And softened.

“You sure you wanna do it like this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, smiling. “With you? Always.”

A beat passed.

Then he gave a small, almost shy nod.

Everyone stepped back. The chatter died down into an excited hush.

Daryl lifted the crossbow.

You held your breath.

For a moment, it was like the world stilled—the laughter, the breeze, even your thoughts—all of it fading until there was only him, the target… and the future waiting on the other side.

He fired.

The bolt sliced clean through the balloon.

POP.

A burst of color exploded into the air—

Blue confetti rained down around you.

For a second, no one spoke.

Then—

“It’s a boy!” Maggie shouted.

Cheers erupted, laughter and clapping and whooping filling the yard. Someone grabbed your shoulders, someone else hugged you, but you barely noticed.

You were staring at Daryl.

He hadn’t moved.

Bits of blue paper clung to his vest, his hair, drifting slowly around him as realization sank in.

“A boy…” he murmured, almost to himself.

Your eyes burned as you stepped closer. “Yeah,” you whispered. “A little you.”

He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you—really looking at you.

And then he closed the distance, pulling you into him carefully, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other resting protectively over your belly.

“Gonna teach ‘im everything,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Keep ‘im safe… swear it.”

You smiled against his chest. “I know you will.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead—soft, lingering.

Around you, your family celebrated.

But in that moment, it was just the three of you.

And the life you were about to begin.

[bookloover35]

The Mentalist and the Phantom - Part 2.

The bullpen was quieter the next morning, but the tension hadn’t gone anywhere—it had just shifted.

Now it centered around you.

You sat at Lisbon’s desk like you owned it, boots propped up on the edge, one of the CBI laptops already taken apart and reassembled in a way that made it run twice as fast. Lines of code reflected faintly in your eyes as your fingers moved lazily across the keyboard.

“You know,” Jane’s voice drifted in as he approached, coffee in hand, “most guests bring flowers. You rewired government property.”

You didn’t look up. “You’re welcome.”

He leaned against the desk, watching you with that same unreadable amusement. “You’re very comfortable here for someone who isn’t supposed to exist.”

That made you glance at him. “I exist. I’m just better at it than most people.”

Jane smiled. “I’ve noticed.”

There was a pause—one of those quiet, charged ones that seemed to follow the two of you around.

Lisbon, from across the room, didn’t miss it. “Focus, both of you.”

You ignored her.

Jane didn’t.

…but he didn’t move either.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly. “Can I ask you something?”

You leaned back in the chair, crossing your arms. “You’re going to anyway.”

“Why this?” he asked, softer now. “Why become Phantom?”

You smirked faintly. “Ah. Here we go. The profiling.”

“Indulge me.”

Your eyes studied him for a moment, sharper now. He wasn’t asking out of curiosity alone—you could tell. He wanted to understand you.

Most people did.

They just never got the chance.

“Why do you think?” you shot back.

Jane didn’t hesitate. “Control. Freedom. A way to stay unseen while still being powerful.” A small pause. “And maybe… to prove something.”

Your expression didn’t change—but something in your eyes flickered.

“Not bad,” you admitted quietly.

He stepped a little closer. “But not the whole truth.”

Lisbon shifted in the background, watching more closely now.

You exhaled slowly, gaze drifting away from him, toward nothing in particular.

For once, you didn’t deflect.

“…You ever grow up feeling like you were… extra?” you said, voice quieter than before. “Like the world already picked its favorite version of you—and it wasn’t you?”

Jane didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t joke.

Didn’t move.

“She was the good one,” you continued, a faint, humorless smile tugging at your lips. “The responsible one. The one people trusted. Teachers loved her. Adults listened to her.”

Your eyes flicked toward Lisbon briefly.

“…Everything I did was compared to her. And I always lost.”

Lisbon’s face tightened, but she stayed silent.

You looked back at Jane.

“So I stopped trying to win their game,” you said. “I made my own.”

Your voice wasn’t bitter.

That was what made it worse.

It was calm. Matter-of-fact.

Like you’d accepted it a long time ago.

“In my world,” you continued, “no one gets to choose a favorite. No one even knows who I am.” A small shrug. “Hard to come second when there’s no one to compare you to.”

The room had gone completely still.

Jane studied you—not with curiosity now, but something deeper. Something that almost looked like understanding.

“…That’s not why you came yesterday,” he said gently.

You blinked slightly. “What?”

“You could’ve ignored Lisbon’s message,” he continued. “Stayed invisible. Stayed untouchable.” His gaze softened just a fraction. “But you didn’t.”

A beat.

“You came anyway.”

Your jaw tightened just slightly.

“…She’s still my sister,” you said.

Lisbon swallowed quietly at that.

Jane smiled faintly. “Of course she is.”

Silence stretched again—but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time.

It was… honest.

Then, like a switch flipping, you smirked and leaned forward again. “Don’t get sentimental on me, Jane. It doesn’t suit you.”

His grin returned instantly. “Oh, I disagree. I think I wear it very well.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a hint of amusement there now—softer than before.

“Careful,” you said. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

Jane placed a hand over his heart in mock surprise. “I’m honored.”

Lisbon groaned under her breath. “I regret everything.”

Cho, standing nearby, deadpanned, “Too late now.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head before turning back to the laptop.

“Alright,” you said, slipping back into focus. “Let’s catch your guy.”

Jane didn’t move right away.

He just watched you for a moment longer—seeing more than you probably wanted him to.

And for once…

He didn’t say a word.

[bookloover35]

The Mentalist and the Phantom - Patrick Jane.

The bullpen hummed with quiet tension, the kind that settled in when a case refused to give up its secrets. Teresa Lisbon stood by her desk, phone in hand, staring at the screen longer than necessary.

“You’re hesitating,” Jane’s voice drifted in, smooth and knowing as ever.

Lisbon didn’t look up. “I’m thinking.”

Jane tilted his head, watching her like she was the most interesting puzzle in the room. “No, you’re not. You’ve already decided. You just don’t like the decision.”

She sighed, finally meeting his gaze. “We need her.”

Jane’s smile widened slightly. “Ah. The infamous Phantom.”

Even saying the name felt strange. Phantom. A ghost in every system, every firewall, every digital shadow. Governments had tried to find her. Corporations had put bounties on her head. No one had ever come close.

Except Lisbon.

Because Phantom wasn’t just a myth.

She was her twin sister.

Lisbon typed the message quickly before she could overthink it.

Need your help. Serious case. Call me.

She hit send.

Jane leaned against her desk, peering at her phone like he might will it to respond faster. “Do you think she’ll answer?”

Lisbon slipped the phone into her pocket. “She always does.”

⸻

You were halfway through dismantling a security system in Prague—remotely, of course—when your phone buzzed.

You frowned.

Almost no one had this number.

Pulling the phone closer, you glanced at the screen… and froze for a fraction of a second.

Lisbon.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“Well, well,” you murmured, leaning back in your chair. “Took you long enough, sis.”

Within seconds, your fingers were flying across your keyboard, rerouting signals, cloaking your location even further. Not that anyone could track you—but habits kept you alive.

You grabbed your jacket—a dark, oversized piece with subtle stitched patterns along the sleeves—and slipped it on. Your reflection caught briefly in the black screen of your monitor: short wolfcut hair slightly messy, nose ring glinting, eyes sharp and alive with mischief.

Phantom.

Time to make an appearance.

⸻

The CBI office wasn’t what you expected.

Too… normal.

You walked in like you belonged there, boots barely making a sound against the floor. A few agents glanced your way, but no one stopped you. They never did. You had a way of slipping through spaces unnoticed—until you didn’t want to be.

Lisbon spotted you first.

Her expression shifted instantly—professional mask cracking just enough to reveal something softer. “You actually came.”

You smirked. “You sounded desperate.”

Before she could respond, a voice cut in behind her.

“I was expecting someone… older.”

You turned.

Patrick Jane stood there, studying you with open curiosity, like you were a painting he couldn’t quite figure out. His eyes flicked over your face, your posture, the tiny details most people missed.

You crossed your arms. “And I was expecting someone less annoying.”

Lisbon groaned softly. “Don’t start.”

Jane smiled, unfazed. “Oh, I like her already.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That makes one of us.”

He stepped closer, circling you slightly—not invasive, but observant. “You hide it well. The way you carry yourself, the deflection, the attitude… but you care. Deeply. That’s why you came.”

You held his gaze, unblinking.

“Careful,” you said quietly. “You might start thinking you’re good at this.”

His grin widened. “I know I am.”

Lisbon stepped between you before things escalated further. “Alright, that’s enough. We have a case.”

You glanced at her, then back at Jane.

“…Fine,” you sighed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

⸻

An hour later, you had taken over half the bullpen’s tech.

Not officially.

But no one dared stop you.

Lines of code scrolled rapidly across the screen as you worked, fingers moving faster than most could follow. Jane hovered nearby, watching with fascination.

“You’re enjoying this,” you said without looking at him.

“Immensely.”

You smirked. “You’re weird.”

“And you’re brilliant,” he replied easily. “A dangerous combination.”

You paused briefly, glancing at him sideways. “Flattery won’t get you anything.”

“It already has,” he said. “You’re still here.”

That earned a quiet laugh from you.

Lisbon watched the two of you from across the room, shaking her head. “This is going to be a problem.”

Cho, standing beside her, nodded slightly. “Yeah.”

A beat.

“…But it might work.”

⸻

Later that night, as the office emptied out, you leaned back in your chair, stretching.

“Got your guy,” you said. “Well… almost. He’s good. Not me good—but good.”

Jane sat on the edge of the desk, closer now, more relaxed. “You’ll catch him.”

You glanced at him. “We will.”

Something in your tone made him smile—not his usual teasing one, but something quieter.

“Careful,” he said softly. “You’re starting to sound like part of the team.”

You scoffed lightly, standing up and grabbing your jacket. “Don’t get used to it.”

But as you walked past him, your shoulder brushed his—just slightly.

Not accidental.

Jane watched you go, thoughtful.

Lisbon sighed from across the room. “Don’t.”

Jane didn’t look at her. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

He smiled faintly.

“Oh, I’m definitely going to.”

[bookloover35]

Surprising Daryl- Daryl Dixon.

It was an unusually calm day at the Hilltop. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the community. You stood near the truck, fiddling with your gloves, waiting for Maggie to join you for a run. Daryl was off on a scouting mission, giving you some time to think about the surprise you were planning for him.

Daryl's birthday was coming up, and though you didn't know the exact date—he wasn't one to celebrate or keep track—you still wanted to do something special.

"Ready to go?" Maggie's voice broke your thoughts. She was walking over, a crossbow slung over her shoulder and a rifle in her hands.

"Yeah, let's do it," you said with a small smile.

The two of you climbed into the truck and headed out to check an old supply depot. As Maggie drove, you couldn't stop the nervous thoughts swirling in your head.

"Hey, Maggie," you finally said, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah?"

"I, uh... I was wondering what you think I should get Daryl for his birthday."

Maggie's lips quirked into a smile. "Daryl's birthday, huh? Didn't peg him as the birthday type."

"Neither did I," you admitted. "But I still want to do something for him. I just don't know what."

Maggie glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, her smirk widening. "Well, if you want my honest opinion, I've got an idea. But you have to promise not to back out."

You raised a brow. "What kind of idea?"

"You'll see."

The depot was a bust—just a few cans of expired food and some broken tools. But Maggie didn't seem deterred. On the way back, she took a sudden detour into a small strip mall you hadn't noticed before.

"Maggie, where are we going?" you asked as she parked in front of a faded storefront.

She hopped out of the truck and gestured for you to follow. "Trust me."

You hesitated, but curiosity got the better of you. As you stepped inside, your cheeks immediately flushed. It was an old lingerie store, surprisingly intact despite the apocalypse. Lace and silk hung from racks, and mannequins in provocative outfits lined the walls.

"Maggie!" you hissed, looking around nervously.

"What?" she said, grinning mischievously. "You asked what to get Daryl. I'm telling you—this'll knock his socks off."

"I-I don't know..." You fidgeted, your face burning.

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Come on. You're his girlfriend, right? You think he wouldn't go wild seeing you in something like this?" She pulled a sheer red set from a nearby rack and held it up.

You stared at it, speechless.

"Look," Maggie said, softening her tone. "Daryl loves you. He's probably not expecting much for his birthday, but trust me when I say this'll be the kind of surprise he won't forget."

Biting your lip, you finally sighed. "Fine. But if he laughs, I'm blaming you."

Maggie laughed and started rifling through the racks. "Deal. Now, let's find something that'll make his jaw hit the floor."

That evening, you stood in front of a small mirror in your room, nerves twisting in your stomach. The set Maggie had picked out—a deep burgundy lace number—fit perfectly, hugging your curves in a way that made you feel both exposed and empowered.

Daryl would be back soon, and you were equal parts excited and terrified.

When you heard the sound of his boots on the porch, your heart leapt. You quickly threw on a robe and took a deep breath before opening the door.

Daryl stepped in, his crossbow slung over his shoulder and a tired look in his eyes. But the moment he saw you, he froze.

"Hey," you said softly, fidgeting with the tie of your robe.

"Hey," he replied, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes narrowed slightly, sensing something was up. "What's goin' on?"

You stepped closer, slipping your arms around his neck. "Happy early birthday," you murmured, before stepping back and letting the robe fall to the floor.

Daryl's eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared, his mouth slightly open. Then, a slow, crooked smile spread across his face.

"Jesus, woman," he muttered, stepping forward and pulling you close. His hands slid around your waist, and you could feel his heart pounding as hard as yours. "You didn't have to do all this."

"I wanted to," you said, smiling shyly. "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" He let out a breathless chuckle. "I love it. Love you."

His lips found yours in a kiss that quickly grew heated, his rough hands trailing over the lace. As the night went on, you couldn't help but thank Maggie for her bold suggestion.

Daryl might not have been the birthday type, but you were certain this would be a birthday he'd never forget.

[bookloover35]

Cloak's Call: Dr Strange.

It had been a long nine months, filled with magical mishaps, protective spells, and an overbearing Stephen Strange who insisted on keeping you safe from even the slightest inconvenience.

You had married the Sorcerer Supreme nearly two years ago, and when you discovered you were pregnant, Strange had been—well, Strange about it. Excited? Definitely. But also overly cautious, wrapping you in protective enchantments and refusing to let you do anything remotely strenuous.

"Stephen, I'm pregnant, not cursed," you had told him one night as he double-checked a ward he had placed around the Sanctum's stairs.

"I'd rather be safe than dealing with interdimensional labor complications," he had retorted.

Now, at nearly forty weeks, you were waddling around the Sanctum, trying to enjoy what little peace you had left before your baby decided to make their grand entrance. Stephen had stepped into his study, likely reviewing some ancient texts, and you were in the library, flipping through a book on magical artifacts—because why not?

The Cloak of Levitation hovered nearby, as it always did, watching over you like an overprotective guardian. It had become oddly attached to you during your pregnancy, much to Stephen's amusement (and occasional jealousy). If he was ever too busy, the Cloak made sure you were comfortable, plucking books off high shelves or wrapping around you like a blanket.

But then—

A sudden sharp pain struck your abdomen, and before you could react, a rush of warmth spread down your legs.

"Oh," you breathed. "Oh no."

Your water had just broken.

Before you could even call out, the Cloak sprang into action. It flapped urgently, wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you forward.

"I know, I know," you said, wincing through another contraction. "Go get Stephen—"

The Cloak didn't need to be told twice. It zoomed out of the library like a red blur, nearly knocking over a lamp in its rush to find Strange.

In his study, Stephen was deep in concentration, hands weaving intricate sigils in the air as he studied an ancient spell. The Cloak burst in, whipping around his shoulders and tugging hard.

"What—? Cloak, what are you—"

The Cloak yanked him forward with such force that he stumbled.

"Okay! Okay, I'm coming—"

Then it hit him. The magic in the air shifted. A pulse of urgency, of life, of change. His eyes widened.

"Oh," he muttered. "Oh."

By the time he reached you, you were gripping the back of a chair, breathing through another contraction.

"Stephen," you exhaled. "It's happening."

He was instantly at your side, hands hovering as if unsure where to touch. "Are you okay? How bad is the pain? Do we need a portal to the hospital—"

You grabbed his wrist. "We. Need. To. Go."

The Cloak helpfully lifted your bag, hovering it near Strange. He caught it midair, nodding.

"Right. Let's do this."

With a flick of his hand, a golden portal shimmered into existence, leading straight to the hospital. He scooped you into his arms, carrying you through as the Cloak fluttered behind like an excited puppy.

And just like that, the adventure of parenthood began.

—

Bonus Scene:

Hours later, as you rested in bed with a tiny bundle in your arms, Stephen sat beside you, eyes locked onto the sleeping infant with a look of awe.

"She's perfect," he murmured.

"She is," you agreed sleepily.

The Cloak, draped over the back of the chair, wiggled its collar, as if demanding recognition.

Stephen huffed a small laugh. "Yeah, yeah. You helped too."

The Cloak gently wrapped part of itself around the baby's tiny fingers, as if vowing to protect her, just as it had protected you.

You smiled. With a husband like Stephen, a guardian like the Cloak, and a little magic in your lives, you knew your family was in good hands.

[bookloover35]

A Study in Love: BBC Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes was not a man who cared for sentiment. Love, romance, and all the fluttering nonsense that accompanied them had always been distractions—illogical and impractical. But then you happened.

You, with your stubborn kindness, your unwavering patience, and that infuriating ability to understand him without words. Somehow, despite his deductions, his cynicism, and his general inability to function like a normal human being in relationships, you had fallen for him. And, even more baffling, he had fallen for you.

Now, standing in the middle of 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes had encountered a problem he could not solve alone.

"What do people do on Valentine's Day?" he asked, his voice utterly serious.

Molly Hooper nearly dropped her cup of tea. John Watson, seated across from him, choked on his biscuit.

"Wait. Are you serious?" John asked, eyes wide.

Sherlock sighed, tapping his fingers against his knee. "Why would I waste time asking if I weren't?"

Molly's face lit up. "Oh! That's so sweet, Sherlock. You want to do something special for her."

"I want to do something appropriate," he corrected. "She seems to care about these things, and I don't want to... disappoint her."

John smirked. "So, you actually like her."

Sherlock shot him a glare. "I tolerate her more than anyone else. That's the highest compliment I can give."

Molly giggled. "Well, traditionally, people do romantic things—dinner, gifts, flowers, that sort of thing."

Sherlock scoffed. "Sentimentality at its most cliché."

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, your girlfriend's human, Sherlock. She probably expects a little romance."

Sherlock frowned, considering. You never demanded grand gestures, never complained when he got lost in his cases. But he knew you deserved something meaningful. Something that showed he saw you—really saw you.

Then, an idea sparked. He stood abruptly. "I need to borrow your expertise."

Molly blinked. "Mine?"

"Yes." He grabbed his coat. "And, John, bring your medical bag."

John frowned. "Why?"

Sherlock smirked. "You'll see."

Valentine's Surprise

You arrived at 221B that evening, feeling a little anxious. It was your first Valentine's Day with Sherlock, and while you never expected him to be overly romantic, you couldn't help but wonder if he had forgotten the day altogether.

Mrs. Hudson greeted you with a knowing smile before ushering you upstairs.

When you stepped into the flat, your breath caught.

The normally cluttered space was transformed. Fairy lights flickered dimly, casting a warm glow over the room. The coffee table was set with a simple but elegant dinner—your favorite meal, perfectly plated. But what truly stunned you was the centerpiece.

A collection of carefully preserved flowers sat in a glass case, arranged with meticulous precision. But they weren't just any flowers. They were the ones from your first case together—the one where you had met Sherlock.

"You kept these?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Sherlock, standing awkwardly near the fireplace, cleared his throat. "Molly helped preserve them. John ensured I didn't poison you while cooking."

You turned to him, overwhelmed. "Sherlock, this is... incredible."

He shifted uncomfortably, hands in his pockets. "It's an experiment."

You raised an eyebrow. "An experiment?"

"To test whether romantic gestures genuinely evoke emotional responses."

You laughed softly. "And your conclusion?"

Sherlock hesitated, then reached out, taking your hand. "That I rather enjoy making you happy."

Your heart melted. Pulling him closer, you kissed him gently.

Sherlock Holmes might not have understood sentimentality, but in his own unique way, he had just given you the most thoughtful Valentine's gift you'd ever received.

And you wouldn't trade it for the world.

[bookloover35]

Potion & Erasure- part 3.

The battlefield is supposed to be for the students. Oops.

It was another joint training day, and you were already three minutes late.

Aizawa stood at the center of the open field, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be unconscious. The students milled around, chatting and prepping equipment. Then—

"Sorry I'm late!" you called, sauntering up in a swirl of purple hair and perfume. "I got distracted stirring a love potion. Might've made too much... want some?"

Aizawa didn't even blink. "You being on time would be more useful."

You grinned, stepping up beside him, too close as usual. "You wound me. But then, maybe you like having me around to wound."

He exhaled slowly. "Focus."

"Oh, I am focused. Mostly on how good you look in black."

He turned his head slowly. "Do you ever stop?"

You tilted your head innocently. "Do you want me to?"

Behind you, Mina whispered to Jirou, "It's like a fanfic come to life."

⸻

The Training Match

Today's exercise involved stealth, strategy, and teams. You paired students up randomly.

"Team A will be supervised by Aizawa," you said, "and Team B... gets me. Lucky them."

"Define lucky," Aizawa muttered.

You spun your wand like a baton. "Don't be jealous just because I make training fun."

"You make training a hazard."

You pouted. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

You didn't miss the way his eyes dropped—briefly—to your lips. Nor the quick clench of his jaw. Oh, he was fraying.

Good.

⸻

The Snap

An hour later, chaos unfolded.

Midoriya was wrapped in a spell-generated fog. Bakugo was screaming about "Witch Nonsense." Tokoyami was stuck in a floating curse circle.

Aizawa turned to you, visibly done. "You can't just enchant half the students during a stealth test!"

"They're learning how to adapt," you said sweetly.

"To nonsense."

"To magic," you corrected. "Maybe if you stopped being so uptight—"

He stepped in. Closer than he ever had.

"You love getting under my skin, don't you?" he asked, voice low, almost dangerous.

You smiled, heat blooming in your chest. "Love is a strong word, Shouta."

His eyes burned into yours. "You think this is a game."

You licked your lips. "You don't?"

A pause.

Then—

He kissed you.

Right there in the middle of the training field.

His hand tangled in your long purple hair as his mouth crashed onto yours, all teeth and frustration and something deeper he'd clearly been holding back for weeks.

The students gasped. Somewhere, Kaminari yelled, "FINALLY!!"

You barely registered it. Your brain short-circuited. Because Aizawa—stoic, sharp-tongued, sleep-deprived Aizawa—was kissing you like it was the only way to shut you up.

And it worked.

When he pulled back, barely an inch, his voice was low and dark.

"Next time you tease me, be prepared for consequences."

You blinked, dazed. "Define... consequences?"

He smirked for real this time.

"Keep flirting and find out."

[bookloover35]

Potion & Erasure-part 2.

The announcement came during a faculty meeting:

"Due to curriculum restructuring," Principal Nezu said with cheerful malice, "Miss L/N's Advanced Quirk Theory class and Mr. Aizawa's Hero Tactics course will be working together for the next two weeks. Daily. For full credit."

Silence.

You sipped your enchanted tea slowly, eyes flicking over to Aizawa. He didn't look at you, but you could feel the dark cloud forming over his head.

"Oh no," you whispered dramatically. "We're co-parenting."

His jaw clenched. "Don't start."

You leaned closer. "Too late, Daddy."

He choked on his coffee.

⸻

Day One

You stood at the front of the training hall, flanked by your respective classes. You wore a sleek lab coat, heels, and that wicked red lipstick that always made Aizawa look half-murderous.

He looked like he just rolled out of bed. Typical.

"Alright," you called, clapping your hands. "Today's objective: combining strategy and science. I want potion bombs, illusion traps, and smart decision-making."

Aizawa sighed. "And nobody dies. That's important too."

You grinned. "That part's boring."

He leaned toward you, voice low. "You can't just throw magic at everything."

You leaned back, teasing. "And you can't just erase your feelings for me."

You heard Kaminari whisper to Mina: "Are they flirting or about to fight to the death?"

The answer was yes.

⸻

Day Three

Midoriya blew something up by accident. Again.

You knelt beside him, casting a gentle healing charm. "You okay, sweetheart?"

"Y-Yes, Miss L/N! Sorry—I think the explosion radius was too large—!"

"It's alright. Just remember to stabilize the potion before mixing quirk energy."

You felt eyes on you. Turning, you caught Aizawa watching you—something unreadable in his gaze.

Later, as you passed him in the hallway, he muttered:

"You're good with them."

You arched a brow. "Was that a compliment, Aizawa? I might faint."

He stepped closer. "Don't tempt me to catch you."

Your breath hitched. The hallway suddenly felt too warm.

⸻

Day Five

"You can't just let them teleport into the simulation zone," Aizawa growled, arms crossed.

You blew a strand of hair from your face. "They needed a dramatic entrance."

"It's not theater. It's a tactical exercise."

You tilted your head. "Are you sure you weren't a vampire in a past life? You drain the fun from everything."

He stepped closer, eyes intense. "And you add chaos to everything."

You stepped even closer, voice sultry. "Maybe you like a little chaos, Shouta."

His name on your lips cracked something in him. His eye twitched. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Saying my name like that."

You smirked. "Say please."

He turned away.

Coward.

⸻

Day Seven: The Slip

It was late. You stayed after class, cleaning up potion residue while Aizawa graded papers in silence.

Until you dropped a glass vial. It shattered.

"Ow—damn it."

He was beside you instantly, kneeling. "You okay?"

You held up your hand—cut, just a little.

Without a word, he pulled a handkerchief from his coat and wrapped it gently around your palm.

Your breath caught.

"This isn't the first time you've gotten hurt being reckless," he said.

"And yet, you keep showing up to patch me up." You tried to smirk, but it came out softer.

A beat passed. He looked up.

"You're not what I expected," he murmured.

"Is that a good thing?"

He didn't answer. Just lingered there a moment longer—hands warm, expression unreadable—before standing.

You hated how your heart thudded.

You hated him.

You really didn't.

[bookloover35]

Weight of Love- Daryl Dixon.

The sun spilled gently through the kitchen window, warm and golden. The sound of birdsong outside mixed with the quiet clink of dishes being washed, water running steady as (Y/N) stood at the sink, belly round and full of new life. The baby was due in just a few weeks, and every little thing now felt like a countdown.

Daryl had been uncharacteristically quiet that morning. Not tense, just... thoughtful. She'd caught him thumbing through What to Expect When You're Expecting like it was a survival manual, lips moving slightly as he read. He'd never been much for books, but this—this mattered to him. She mattered.

The moment came softly. No heavy boots or noisy entrance. Just the warmth of his chest behind her, the familiar scent of leather, pine, and something uniquely Daryl wrapping around her like home. She didn't need to turn around to know it was him.

"You ain't supposed to be on your feet this long," he murmured, voice low and rough against her ear, but tender.

"I'm fine," she smiled, not stopping her rinsing. "Just a few more."

Then he did something unexpected.

Strong, calloused hands slid around her, gentle and reverent. He cradled the underside of her baby bump, lifting it ever so slightly like the books had mentioned—it was supposed to help relieve some pressure off her back. But it was more than that.

Her whole body relaxed with a soft breath. The sudden lightness in her lower spine, the feeling of being held—not just her, but the baby too. Protected. Loved. She felt the difference immediately and let out a tiny sigh.

"Oh..." she whispered. "That feels... amazing."

He didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, holding her belly like it was the most sacred thing in the world. His fingers gently rubbed over the stretched fabric of her shirt, feeling the kick of their child beneath his palms.

"I read in that book... it helps," he said quietly, as if explaining why he'd dared to do something so soft.

She smiled and leaned back, resting her head on his shoulder, her hands now floating in the dishwater, forgotten. "You've been reading a lot lately."

He gave a small huff of a chuckle, nose brushing her temple. "Don't wanna screw this up."

"You won't," she promised, turning her head slightly to kiss his jaw. "You already haven't."

They stood there like that, swaying slightly, the house quiet and full of the kind of peace that only came after years of fighting to survive. In that moment, there were no walkers, no outside dangers. Just them. Just the weight of love—shared and lifted together.

And for the first time in a long time, Daryl Dixon smiled like a man who'd finally found home.

[bookloover35]

Pages of the Heart- part 3.

You were in the library, trying to act normal, when Sam and Dean walked in. Dean's grin was practically splitting his face.

Dean leaned against the table and smirked. "Well, well, well... look at you two."

You froze, looking between Cas and Dean. Cas tilted his head, utterly calm, as usual.

Sam groaned. "Dean, don't—"

Dean waved him off. "Don't what, Sammy? Don't enjoy the moment? Y/N and Cas... finally together. Ha! I win! Sam, you owe me twenty bucks!"

"What?" Sam asked, confused.

"You made a bet," Dean said, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Betting that Y/N and Cas would never actually get together. Guess what? You lose. Twenty bucks, little brother!"

Your cheeks flushed red as Cas glanced at you, expression unreadable. You wanted to crawl under the table.

"I... I can explain," Sam muttered, but Dean wasn't done.

"And now," Dean said, pointing at Cas like a proud announcer, "you two lovebirds can enjoy your first official win—over my baby sister's heart. That's right, Cas. You got her. Sam owes me twenty bucks. Ha!"

Cas tilted his head at you, voice calm and low. "Y/N... it seems there are many... celebrations happening around us."

You buried your face in your hands. "Dean! Stop! Seriously!"

Dean laughed, clapping Cas on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Cas. I'm happy for you guys. But seriously, Sammy... twenty bucks. I've been waiting for this moment since the bet was made!"

Sam groaned and muttered, "I should've never agreed to that..."

You peeked up at Cas, who gave you a small, almost amused smile. "Regardless of the bets," he said softly, "I am glad... we are together."

Your heart soared, even with Dean still smirking in the background. Finally, everything felt... real.