so. I just finished outlining shibuya!time loop wip cv/sm. 2/2 ch, split in to eleven parts each. I'm at plus 12.200 words after having (more or less) finished 6/22 parts, and (more or less) drafted 4 more
that means fleshing the latter four out to completion.....and writing all of the remaining twelve
all I ever wanted was to write s1 goyuu crack topped w a healthy dose of mindless, dumbass fluff, post-finishing the jjk light novels
lord help me wtf why am I like this, tumblr
lmao @voxofthevoid. the time travel bug. It Got Me. it got me very Bad
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: James Bond (Craig movies)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Characters: James Bond, Q, Greta The Goose
Additional Tags: Fluff and Crack, Animals, Pets, No Plot/Plotless, Look I don't even know why
Summary:
Now that they are officially dating, Bond has decided that it is time to introduce Q to one of his best friends, Greta.
Or: It's a wonderful morning in London, and Greta is (in Q's opinion) a horrible, horrible goose.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Kasius/Sinara (Marvel)
Characters: Sinara (Marvel), Kasius (Marvel)
Additional Tags: Fluff and Crack
Summary:
A text in the middle of the night can only have one purpose - or so Sinara thought until Kasius wants to discuss a disappointing buzzfeed quiz result at three thirty am.
This was originally gonna be a Treat for the Rarepairs exchange, but while it teeeechnically fits one of the requested pairings I was angling for something that wound up being a little off book. That’s what I get for not double checking before I run with an idea. I had a blast writing it, though, so I figured I’d post it as an early treat for @sl-walker. It’s a mashup of two AUs: her Jedi!Bail and my Mando!Obi-Wan.
Jedi Knight Bail Organa awoke with a throbbing head and a sense of being very cold. He couldn’t remember drinking the night before. In fact, he couldn’t remember much of anything after…
His eyes snapped open. He was in the cargo hold of an unfamiliar ship. Sitting up caused the pain in his head to worsen and stirred nausea in his stomach. He was in binders and the cold metal band around his neck explained at least some of his illness; Force suppression collars came with certain side effects. His lightsaber was, of course, missing, but the rest of him seemed to be intact.
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
Bail looked up to see a Mandalorian leaning in the doorway, armored but helmetless. Human. Male. Pale skin and gingery hair just long enough to look untidy. Even without the scar on his cheek Bail would have recognized him.
“Obi-Wan Fett.” He frowned. “Don’t tell me the Paklalat of Clan Fett has resorted to kidnapping.”
Obi-Wan threw back his head and laughed. It was a sound of such unabashed delight that Bail felt his stomach flutter in response.
“He thinks this is a kidnapping,” Obi-Wan said, addressing someone Bail couldn’t see.
“Typical Jedi,” a velvet-soft voice answered. “Always assuming the worst about others.”
“Don’t worry, Knight Organa.” Obi-Wan swaggered into the cargo hold. “This is most definitely not a kidnapping.”
His armor was a stormy blue that matched his eyes. It had a few sigils Bail didn’t recognize and some additional splashes of color that had him wishing he’d bothered studying the meanings behind Mandalorian armor.
“If it isn’t a kidnapping, then why am I sitting on the floor in binders and a Force suppression collar?” He reached up with his bound hands to tug at the offending piece of tech.
“I do apologize for the ah, rough treatment.” Obi-Wan crouched before him, grabbing his hands so he could press a key stud against the binders to unlock them. “But we were in a bit of a hurry.”
“Why were you in a hurry? And who’s we?” Bail ignored the thumbs rubbing feeling back into his wrists.
“I’m we.”
Another figure had appeared in the doorway. Zabrak, judging by the horns, though the bright red and black markings of their skin was unusual. They were wearing armor, too, but seemed to be in the process of removing it. Even across the room it was clear their eyes were gold and for a heart-stopping moment Bail thought he was confronting an actual Sith.
“Is… Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”
“No,” the zabrak said.
“All in good time.”
He managed to suppress a flinch as Obi-Wan’s knee settled between his legs and warm fingers brushed against his throat. The collar popped off and he breathed a sigh of relief as the Force rushed back into him. Obi-Wan leaned closer, examining his neck, and he tilted his head to make it easier. With his head so close Bail couldn’t help breathing in the scent of floral shampoo, metal, and warm leather.
“Now seems like a perfectly good time to me,” he said.
With the return of his connection to the Force came an increased awareness of the two people in the hold with him and the realization that both of them had the distinct feel of Force users. He expected it from Obi-Wan, whose existence was a bit of an embarrassment to the Council; a (hopefully) rare case where they’d failed a promising Initiate. Given how brightly he burned in the Force Bail thought the Council was right to be embarrassed; it was all he could do not to lean in to try and bask in that warmth.
The zabrak was more of a surprise. If his senses hadn’t been heightened from being cut off he might not have noticed him at all, that’s how good his shielding was. But where Obi-Wan’s presence was warm, his companion gave off a faint chill, which did little to dispel Bail’s nagging concern that he might be dealing with a Sith. Or at the very least a Dark Sider. Those golden eyes were watching Obi-Wan’s every move.
“Oh, if you insist.” Obi-Wan sat back on his haunches. “Though perhaps you’d like a drink first? Sleep-darts always leave me feeling parched.”
Bail’s throat was dry, now that he mentioned it.
The zabrak rolled his eyes. “Stop flirting with him.”
His cheeks heated, a condition not helped by the way Obi-Wan was grinning at him.
“What’s the matter, darling?” Obi-Wan tossed the question over his shoulder. “Jealous?”
“Of a Jetii?” The zabrak snorted. “I’ll be in the cockpit if you need me.”
“Don’t mind Maul,” Obi-Wan said as his companion left. “Underneath all that grump he’s still a good person.”
“Kriff you!” Maul shouted.
“Maybe later!” Obi-Wan yelled back.
“Look,” Bail said. “I’m not sure what your scheme is, but I demand to be returned to the station. I happen to be on an important mission.”
“Oh, I know all about your mission.” Obi-Wan stood, offering him a hand. After a considering moment, he took it.
“I also know that Cad Bane was following your pretty little backside and if we hadn’t intervened when we did, well.” He winked, still holding on to Bail’s hand. “You’d find the accommodations and the company far less pleasant.”
“Cad…?” Bail shook his head. “So you saved me?”
Obi-Wan tilted his head. His eyes seemed more blue now. “He was in the process of securing you when we intervened. It wouldn’t do to have a rising star of the Jedi imprisoned or killed.”
”Rising star?” For the first time since waking up Bail’s thoughts felt clear. He pulled free of Obi-Wan’s grip and moved away, smoothing down his robes. “Your information must be outdated. I’m not exactly on the Council’s good side right now.”
“Because you care about helping the people who need it,” Obi-Wan said. “Not just the ones who are politically advantageous to the Order.” There was a bitter snap to the words.
“The Order helps where it can,” Bail said, the response automatic. Force knew he’d heard it enough times himself. “We can’t be everywhere.”
“Hmm, that’s one way of putting it. But come, I believe I offered you a drink?”
An armored arm draped itself awkwardly over his much higher shoulders, leading him through the doorway and into a small lounge area with a couch, table, and kitchenette.
“A drink and then you’ll release me back to the station, right?” He sat on the couch, watching Obi-Wan retrieve a couple of dark bottles from a small fridge.
“Getting tired of Mandalorian hospitality already?” A ginger eyebrow cocked in his direction as the Mandalorian in question popped the tops off the bottles and handed one to Bail.
He couldn’t read the writing on the label, but it smelled strong and hoppy, so he took a swig, feeling the sweetness burn all the way down his throat.
“I’m thankful for the rescue, of course,” he said. “But as I already told you, I have business on Yavin Station.”
“We have business, too, you know.” Obi-Wan dropped to the couch beside him and tipped his bottle back, draining at least half of it in one go. “And we’re already in hyperspace.”
Bail froze. Now that he was paying attention to his surroundings, yes, he could feel that almost-imperceptible hum in his bones that signaled hyper travel.
“So you did abduct me.”
“Borrowed.” Obi-Wan waved his bottle. “Temporarily. We’ll return you once we’re done, I promise.”
It wasn’t as if he had any choice. He drank more of his ale. His assignment hadn’t been a critical one, in fact it fell into the category of “politically advantageous” and he’d been hating every moment, but it was the principle of the thing.
“What would you say to a friendly little game of sabacc?”
He turned, staring at him.
“I beg your pardon?” He tried to parse the non sequitur.
“Sabacc?” Obi-Wan smirked. “It’s a card game. If you haven’t heard of it I’d be happy-”
“I know what sabacc is.” Bail frowned, extending his senses toward the ex-Jedi. The Force rang with sincerity, but there were little whispers of mischief, too.
“What’s your game here, Fett? And I don’t mean sabacc,” he added as Obi-Wan opened his mouth to answer. “Why snatch me from the station? Why not simply warn me about Bane? Or capture him yourself if you’re feeling so altruistic?”
Obi-Wan spread his arms. “What can I say? I have a flair for the dramatic.” He stood and stretched. “Tell you what. If you can beat me at sabacc, I’ll answer all of your questions.”
“And if I lose?” He narrowed his eyes.
The laughter made his skin prickle and caused a hot flush to go through him.
“Not confident in your skills, Knight Organa?”
“I just like to know what I’m getting myself into.” He watched him slide open a drawer in the table and pull out a sabacc set. “Especially when it’s with the silver-tongued negotiator who prevented a massacre on Galidraan and negotiated a treaty between the Jedi and the Mandalorians.”
Fist to his chest, Obi-Wan took a short bow.
“If you lose,” he said, drawing out the word. “You have to do anything I say.”
Bail’s heart hammered, imagining the possibilities. “Anything?”
A casual twitch of the shoulders. “Within reason,” he amended.
He weighed his options, not that he was seeing many at the moment. He was… reasonably confident that Obi-Wan didn’t mean him any harm. The Council might not like him, but they trusted him to be fair. Hells, at this point the Council disliking him was a point in his favor.
“Deal,” he said, and felt a flash of glee through the Force.
“You didn’t mention it was strip sabacc!” He stared across the table at Obi-Wan, who looked as smug as a cat who’d caught a canary.
Wide, guileless blue eyes gazed back at him. “You didn’t ask.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have taken the armor off,” Maul muttered, pulling his shirt over his head.
Bail tried not to gape at the view. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to him the coloration might go all the way down.
“Don’t bother arguing semantics with him, either.” Maul flashed his teeth at him in what might have been a smile. “You’ll lose.”
Suddenly taking off his outer cloak seemed like a good idea. He stood to remove it, folding it carefully and setting it aside.
“Another drink?” Obi-Wan waggled a bottle of what he said was ne’tra gal at him.
“Might as well.” He smiled. He’d already left his better judgement back in the cargo hold and it seemed he was losing his dignity as well, so he might as well enjoy it.
The worst part- at least by Jedi Order standards- was that he was enjoying it. He learned Obi-Wan’s version of how he’d wound up on Mandalore, and the picture it painted of the Order, and of Master Jinn in particular, wasn’t flattering. After a particularly good hand he also got the story of how Obi-Wan had rescued Maul from Orsis Academy.
“So you were a Sith,” he said. “Or at least an Apprentice.”
“Past tense,” Maul said. “But that doesn’t mean my opinion of the Jedi has improved. Look what they threw away!” He jerked his head at Obi-Wan, who reached out to stroke his shoulder.
They were full of stories, even if Maul let his partner do most of the talking. For Mandalorians they seemed to be doing a lot of good for a lot of people and it began to dawn on Bail that he might have let his biases get in the way. Biases implanted not only by the Order, but by the Republic itself. Obi-Wan and Maul were good people. They were also full of vitality and a lot more unrestricted than he was used to seeing. Force users unconstrained by the tenets of the Jedi Order. A former Sith who was finding his way back to the Light. The pair of them were nothing short of amazing. They also weren’t above a little friendly cheating.
By the end of the evening Bail was down to his pants and a sock and felt an unabashed gratitude to whatever entity had decreed that Jedi must dress in multiple layers.
Maul was in hip-hugging black briefs and being very distracting with all his… stripeyness, though he faced hard competition from Obi-Wan, who was naked except for his boots. Bail was having trouble knowing where to look; his cards were refusing to stay in focus, but everywhere else risked causing an awful lot of awkwardness.
On the plus side he’d learned why Obi-Wan and Maul hadn’t simply left him on the station. He was a little hazy on what that reason was just now, but he remembered agreeing with the reasoning. Something about Jango and trying to trick the Jedi into helping with something.
Speaking of distractions, Obi-Wan stretched and for a moment all rational thought fled Bail’s mind. Maul made a sound deep in his chest and slapped his cards down.
“Forfeit! Kriffin’ di’kut.” He transferred his smouldering look from Obi-Wan to Bail. “Last round.”
It wasn’t a question. Bail licked his lips and nodded, not trusting his voice.
Laughing, Obi-Wan put his own cards down and slid across the seat to kiss Maul. It was slow and languorous and Bail had to snatch up his discarded shirt to cover his lap because it was also hot as hell. Red and black hands settled at Obi-Wan’s waist, moving him over to straddle…
Bail drained the rest of his drink and attempted to stand. He made it on the second try, which was when Obi-Wan twisted around and pinned him with a look.
“Going somewhere?”
“Uh…” He tried to remember to breathe.
“You’re welcome to join us.” Obi-Wan arched his back as Maul did something to his chest. “Isn’t he, cyare?”
Maul’s reply was a wordless sound of need and Obi-Wan bent his head to kiss him.
“I… should go,” Bail said, embarrassed at how husky his voice had gone. He stumbled from the common room and went looking for the ‘fresher. He was in dire need of a long, cold shower.
Just because he had special dispensation from the Council in regards to his marriage to the Queen of Alderaan didn’t mean he was free to sleep with anyone. Although when he tried to picture how Breha would react to this situation he decided to add another five minutes to the shower; she’d approve and be disappointed she hadn’t been here with him.
“Why is this my life?”
The shower didn’t help. Finding a bunk to crawl into didn’t help. Hearing a voice in his ear whispering promises of a better life really didn’t help. He eventually managed to fall asleep, a warm weight at his back and a sense of rightness flowing through the Force.
Based on this glorious idea, my humble present for Jay’s birthday (yes it was yesterday but it still counts, right?)
Santana can count the rare appearances of the Drunkus Hummelus on the fingers of one hand.
But she can recount them all with crystal clear clarity, for each one of them is a blessing.
Don’t get her wrong, she loves Kurt like a brother from another mother.
But drunk Kurt? He’s her favorite.
Once she gets some alcohol in his system, Kurt Hummel’s defensive walls crumble like nachos and he’s (almost) more outgoing than her.
Especially when a certain old-fashioned cutie is in the vicinity.
Oh, to observe Kurt being enamored with Blaine like they’re only just meeting all over again is almost enough to make her tear up--thank God Mercedes always make her stop drinking when Blaine joins the party. Otherwise Santana would be a snotty sobbing mess and nobody wants to see that.
(Well.
Mercedes doesn’t seem to mind any of the different states Santana gets herself into sometimes.
Then again Mercedes is a godsend and Santana doesn’t quite know what she did in her past lives to deserve her evil angel, but kudos to her Karma)
Anyway.
When Blaine arrives, Kurt always react in the same fashion : a gasp, a shot down, and a flirt.
The way he flirts is the most entertaining part, as far as Santana is concerned.
So far she has witnessed (and recorded. For the future children the couple will have. What’s a good aunt if not a provider of shameful memories of the parental unit) :
bad puns
So bad.
Even Sam was appalled and that’s saying something.
movie quotes
The Godfather.
Of all movies, Kurt had to quote the mother effin’ Godfather to “seduce” his husband.
And it worked.
(“Let me make you an offer you can’t refuse”, ha! Santana doesn’t want to know what exactly he whispered in Blaine’s ear, but she has a hunch it didn’t involve a dead horse’s head.
Maybe another horse body part, and a very much alive one?
… Oh Lord.
Brain bleach please).
straight up PDA
Santana was so shocked to see Kurt literally throwing himself at Blaine, pressing his body against Blaine’s back and pulling him closer, she forgot to record it.
The one time.
a striptease
What a night to remember.
One, because she didn’t expect McClumsy over there to get out of his pants without face planting, and two, because Blaine literally had a nosebleed.
Ah, good times.
But tonight seems to be a combo of Santana’s favorite, a best of Drunk Kurt On The Prowl, if you will, and she’s not missing one bit of it.
Blaine was late to the party, but he was already vibrating with energy and excitement when he crossed the threshold of the apartment.
Which, can you guess it, triggered all of Kurt’s .. hunting senses.
That is Santana’s only plausible explanation for the scene unfolding before her very eyes.
Kurt has a drink precariously dangling from his fingers, his other hand cupping the back of Blaine’s neck. His fingers are either caressing Blaine’s ear or playing with the loose curls at his nape, and it seems to hypnotize Blaine.
Kurt leans closer, whispering in the aforementioned ear, and though the light is barely present, Santana can see Blaine blushing from her chosen seat.
“Having fun?”
“Ha!”
How did Mercedes manage to sneak on her?!
She laughs, in any case, her hand cupping Santana’s knee in comfort. “Sorry,” she says, sounding anything but, “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to--”
“Turn me into a ghost?!”
“Surprise you.”
Santana’s heart is beating faster for a completely different reason now, and she covers Mercedes’ hand with her own. “You always surprise me.”
The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself, and she totally, completely, 100%-ly, blames the strength of the Cosmos Kurt has been making by the liter.
“Oh, you big softie,” Mercedes purrs, pulling Santana down to peck her lips and leave a trace of black lipstick in her wake.
“Shush,” Santana mutters, putting the cocktail glass away before she starts the waterworks. “You’re making me miss the show.”
“The show?”
“Drunk Kurt Mambo Number Five.”
Mercedes’ boisterous laugh rings in the apartment, and it even pulls Blaine out of his Kurt-induced trance.
Which brings an adorable pout on Kurt’s face, even as he tries to hide it in the bottom of his glass and hiccups in disarray.
Blaine turns back to him and pulls him close, hands on the lowest part of his back--ooh sneaky, Santana gives it a 8.2--as he whispers in Kurt’s ear.
Kurt straightens up immediately, eyes and smile wide, before lifting Blaine over his shoulder in a fireman carry.
“Kurt, put me down, we can walk to the room!”
“No time!”
The rest of the conversation is drowned out by the music and the closed door, but Santana doesn’t need to hear it.
The foreplay, yes, she’s interested.
The gay sex, not rea--okay, she can be interested in watching those two get at it, but only if the mood strikes right.
And right now, the mood leans closer to her kneeling between her angel’s legs and take her back to Heaven.
(Yes, Drunk Santana is weepy, but she’s also a cheesy romantic.
Thor is a natural when it comes to learning ‘I am Groot’. Loki is less talented.
Cracky silly fluff, inspired by the line in Infinity War about Thor taking ‘I am Groot’ as an elective in Asgard.
“Now class, we are going to practice some basic phrases. Thor, you can start. Say ‘please open the Bifrost’.”
“I am Groot”, Thor said slowly, and the teacher beamed.
“Well done! That was very good indeed. Now Loki, you give it a go.”
Loki rolled his eyes and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “I am Groot”, he mumbled.
The teacher frowned. “No, I’m afraid that’s not it at all.”
“But I just said the exact same words as Thor!”, Loki protested, and threw up his arms in frustration. “How was what I said any different?”
“It’s all about tone of voice and inflection, Loki. You’ve got to believe in what you’re saying, otherwise no one else will be able to understand you. Let’s try something else. Say ‘the Valkyries were once the most powerful warriors of Asgard.”
Loki slumped down further in his chair. “I am Groot”, he muttered.
“You’re still not getting it, Loki. Why don’t you listen to your brother, and see how he does it. Thor, could you demonstrate?”
Thor nodded eagerly, but before he could open his mouth to speak Loki stood up suddenly, flipped his desk over and glowered at the teacher.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” spat Loki through gritted teeth. “I am a Prince of Asgard, not some dim commoner who you can order about as you please. I only took this class because I thought it would be easy, but instead you just have us repeating the same three ridiculous words over and over!”
The teacher narrowed her eyes at him. “If you feel that way, Loki, then I suggest you leave and find a class that is more suited to your abilities.”
“Fine”, Loki replied with a sneer. “I will.” He stormed out of the classroom, cape twirling around him as he left.
Thor shot an apologetic look at the teacher before he hurried out after his brother.
“Loki!” he called out. “Come back. It is a hard language to grasp, but you’ll get there eventually.”
Loki stopped walking and turned back to his brother with a sigh. “I don’t want to get there eventually. Why should I spend hours learning some stupid language that I’m probably never even going to use?”
“Because it is interesting! And you may need to use it one day. After all, you never know who you’ll meet in the nine realms.”
“If you want to stay that’s up to you, brother. I’m off to do something more worthwhile with my time.” And before Thor could object, Loki had swooped off down the corridor.
“I am Groot”, Thor said sadly, and what he meant was: One day, that attitude will get him into serious trouble, and even I might not be able to save him.
(I wrote this for assbutt-i-might-be because she needed a pick me up and it’s been too long since I’ve played with this ‘verse and these little buggers)
word count: 3,087
It’s not that Castiel regrets saying ‘yes’. He loves his girls very much, and they’re good kids, so they deserve to have a little fun, right? What bothers Castiel above everything else is that he has gotten exactly zero sleep in the last few days and now has to drag his and their luggage down the hall at what has to be the Most (or, at least one of the most) Expensive Hotel on Earth.
While Dean parks the car, Castiel brings up the rear of the caravan trekking through the hall, and the girls both have a power struggle as to who will get to swipe the room key.
“Let me do it!”
“You don’t do it right!”
“I do to!”
“Girls, please,” Castiel finally sets down their bags by the door. “This isn’t going to work with the two of you fighting the whole time.”
“But papa--” Castiel cuts Emma off with a simple raise of his hand.
“We are on vacation, do you understand?” he replies very calmly. “That means that we don’t have to deal with all of the crap we normally have to deal with. We get to take a break from it. Dad’s been working hard, I’ve been working hard; you’ll be in high school in the fall, and you’ll be in middle school. This is a celebration. It’s a reward for the four of us, and it won’t work if the two of you are bickering the whole time.”
While Emma’s eyes roll off to the side, Claire looks down at her feet, dejected.
“Ho, somebody die?”
Rather than answer her dad, Claire goes right to hugging Dean tight around the middle.
“Jesus, Cas,” Dean’s hand lands atop Claire’s head. “You look like you just told ‘em they got two weeks to live.”
“They’re arguing,” is all Cas can say, because that’s all his brain is able to process. He needs sleep and he needs it now. Hell, he needed it the moment he started trying to tie up all the loose ends at work, the ones he had to tie up before he could take this vacation.
“Okay, let’s get pops in the room,” Dean takes the key from Emma and swipes it in the door. The girls waste no time in charging into the room, but Cas takes a second and breathes deeply.
Hands land on his shoulders and he opens his eyes.
Dean is every bit as offensively handsome as he’s ever been. Fatherhood is a wonderful look on him--it’s etched smile lines into his face and softened his edges both inside and out. It’s turned Castiel’s crass goofball of a best friend into his warm, affectionate, dorky partner, whose kisses still make Castiel’s insides go gooey.
Dean rests their foreheads together and they breathe together, just for a few seconds before Claire shouts, “Whoa, bunkbeds!”
Well, that moment was nice while it lasted.
“I get the bottom!” Emma declares, diving onto the mattress just as Dean and Cas come into the room. It’s every bit as decadent as the pictures were on the website. For what they’re paying, Dean has said that there’d better be bedsheets made out of 14k gold thread.
“Hot damn!” Dean claps his hands as he and Cas set down their bags. “This is gonna be good, kids.”
Castiel goes right for the king size bed and flops down face first.
Castiel falls asleep to Claire and Emma chanting, “Disneyland! Disneyland! Disneyland!”
oo
First to fall asleep means that he’s the first to wake.
It’s the first regular, non-holiday Monday morning that Castiel hasn’t had to worry about getting to work since… he can’t even remember. It’s the first time that his girls have ever gotten a non-extended-family vacation during their summer vacation, the first time that it’s been just the four of them goofing off and having fun together.
Claire wakes as Castiel slips out of bed. Up on the top bunk, she seems a little disoriented, like the doesn’t know where she is.
Then it hits her.
“Disneyland!”
“Shut up,” Emma mutters from the bottom bunk, at which Castiel gives her a swift swat on the behind.
“We’re taking a vacation from everything, including your attitude, missy,” he says, but then Dean pipes up with, “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
Castiel walks over to him and gives him a swat too.
Quietly, Castiel and Claire get dressed. The park doesn’t open for another hour, but Castiel and Claire don’t let that stop them from taking a stroll through Downtown Disney. It’s a veritable orgy of opulence, designed to make guests gaze in wonderment in such a way that they don’t realize how much money they’re spending. There are already innumerable guests flooding the security check and entrance to the park. Claire, in her green shorts and pink Cheshire Cat shirt, sticks as close to Castiel as she can. Luckily, the curly “Curious” written on her shirt does not dictate her behavior.
“Let’s get something to eat,” says Castiel. “This place looks good. Those loaves of bread are bigger than you.”
Claire sticks out her tongue, but still holds Castiel’s hand as they weave through the sunscreen-drenched tourists and big wheeled tandem baby strollers.
La Brea Bakery smells like bread. The actual cafe isn’t yet open, but the express window is. The woman behind the counter who takes their order is incredibly patient as Claire flip-flops between the croissant sandwich and the French toast, though the same cannot be said for the people in line behind them.
“I guess we don’t have to have consideration for others here,” says one mother as Castiel and Claire walk away with their food.
“Not for people like you, no,” Castiel replies, and they keep walking until they can find an unoccupied bench.
“What should we do first?” Cas asks as he texts their location to Dean. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been here.”
Claire purses her lips and eyes her French toast with a level of suspicion normally reserved for a murder mystery and decides, “Space Mountain.”
“Oh yeah?” Cas smiles, remembering the last time they’d tried to drag her on the roller coaster. Like Dean, Claire had little to no affinity for being anywhere off the ground back then. However, the older she gets, the more fearless she becomes, while with Dean’s age has only come more reluctance.
“What do you want to go on?” Claire asks.
“I think you, Emma, and dad might have to leave me at Soarin’ over California for a few hours,” Cas replies.
It’s the closest Castiel has ever come to flying, and it’s literally nothing but a giant screen and a system of moving seats.
After about fifteen minutes, Emma and Dean join them, each of them looking about as groggy and grumpy as they had been up in the room. Dean pecks Cas on the cheek and instructs that Emma stay there while he gets a coffee for himself and a croissant sandwich for her.
“What ride do you wanna go on first, Emma?” asks Claire. Thankfully, Dean must have had a talk with her about copping her thirteen-year-old attitude, because she calmly replies, “Haunted Mansion,” and points at her shirt. It’s light purple, with the words from the narration in Haunted Mansion written on silk screen ribbons, curling around the iconic Haunted Mansion mirror logo.
When he returns, Claire asks the same of Dean.
“Star Tours, no contest,” Dean replies, “Me and popsicle both, it looks like.”
And sure enough, today Dean and Cas have both chosen to wear Star Wars t-shirts. Dean’s reads “Best Dad in the Galaxy” in red on a black shirt, though why there’s a white silhouette of Darth Vader beside the sentiment puzzles Castiel beyond comprehension. Meanwhile, Cas’ own shirt looks like something out of the 70s, with Han, Chewbacca, and Luke in the center and the words “I’m a Rebel” in white below them.
“Papa, you have to pick a Disneyland ride,” Claire shoves Cas on the shoulder. “California Adventure is tomorrow.”
“Yeah, papa, a Disneyland ride,” Dean teases, for which Castiel pokes him in the side. “Hey! Hot beverage here.”
“Then I choose Indiana Jones,” Cas says. “Sort of appropriate, given that Harrison Ford is on my shirt.”
“What about you, baby girl?” Dean asks Claire, only to mumble “Traitor,” under his breath when her eyes light up about Space Mountain.
“All right, so it sounds like we got a plan of action for the first part of the day,” says Dean. “Start at Haunted Mansion and work across the park to Space Mountain?”
“You suckers gotta join the cool kids in Tomorrowland,” Claire taunts.
Emma flips her off.
“Hey, now,” Dean pats Claire’s head. “Embrace differences. Not everyone can be as cool as us.”
Emma groans and rests her head on Castiel’s shoulder.
They make it through the security check and through the entrance, making an immediate beeline for Haunted Mansion. It’s early enough that not many people have gotten in line for it yet, thankfully. They weave through the queue, stopping only a few parties short of the door. The gaunt, pale cast member that stands in front of the door holds up a hand and bids they all wait.
Emma folds her arms and leans on the rail behind her.
“What’s up?” Dean asks.
“I should’ve worn my Ghostbusters shirt,” she pouts at the opportunity lost, though smiles when she realizes that she’s sent Dean into the throes of laughter.
“I love you, baby girl,” Dean wraps his arms around her and kisses her on the temple. She’s tall, and probably more or less an inch away from being done growing, but Dean can still easily put his chin atop her head, and though she huffs a sigh, the smile on her face is priceless.
As soon as they’re let inside, Emma and Claire huddle together, while Dean uses the fact that they’re in a large, crowded, very dark room to press himself into Cas’ back.
“Hey, sexy rebel,” Dean grins against Cas’ neck.
“Sir, I don’t know who you’re looking for but please abstain from molesting me in front of this large group of children and strangers.”
“Whaddya say we turn the girls loose after lunch and go break in that fuckin’ cargo barge they call a mattress,” Dean mumbles. “Maybe head down to the spa after?”
“There’s a joke about facials in there that I’m too uncomfortable to make with our children standing two feet away from us,” Cas looks over his shoulder. For some reason, this makes Dean kiss him right on the lips. Castiel pretends not to notice the people around them averting their eyes and turning their children the other way, and doesn’t pay attention to the answer the mother gives to her son who just asked, “Boys can kiss other boys?”
Luckily, Emma and Claire are too buzzed from their excitement to notice.
Castiel insists that Dean sit with Claire and he sit with Emma, because he’s ninety percent sure that, if they sat together, Dean would try to give him a handjob as they rode their buggy through the Haunted Mansion.
Indiana Jones finds Dean and Claire tugging on the ropes that say “don’t pull” and stepping on the diamonds on the stone floor, though the signs specifically warn them not to. The four of them fit in the front seat of one of the explorer vehicles, with Claire of all people behind the non-working wheel.
Star Tours is the longest line they’ve had to wait in so far, but it’s more than worth it to see Dean’s face light up at the detailed interior of the ride, complete with droids, flight times to different star systems and planets, and amazing, albeit fake, machinery.
When they’re in the simulator, Dean hoots like he’s ten years old himself. When the randomizer generates a planet for them to visit, a gang of Wookies greets them.
“Kashyyyk,” Dean shoves Cas on the arm. “We’re on Kashyyyk!”
“Nerd,” Cas hears Emma mumble on the other side of him.
At the entrance to Space Mountain, Dean tries to claim motion sickness from Star Tours.
“It’s a long enough line,” Cas comes up behind him this time and smacks his ass. “You’ll get over it.”
Emma and Claire run through the queue, while Castiel walks Dean like an executioner might walk his prisoner to the gallows.
“I hate this,” says Dean, thankfully out of earshot of the girls.
“It’s not even a real rollercoaster, Dean,” Castiel frowns. “Not a really scary one, anyway. It’s not supposed to be.”
“Still,” Dean mutters, so Castiel loops an arm over his shoulder and leans in.
“Get through this without complaining and we’ll go back to the hotel after lunch,” he promises, “And you get whatever you want. So think about it now, because as soon as we get back, you and I are naked until dinnertime.”
Dean squeaks in the back of his throat, but says nothing. He just nods.
Though he doesn’t complain for the rest of the time, their picture at the end of the ride has Claire and Castiel with their hands in the air, Emma’s strawberry blonde hair billowing behind her, and Dean looking like he’s about to barf.
Needless to say, he does not eat much when they stop at Pizza Port for lunch. In fact, he’s so nauseated that they can’t even go back to the hotel right away, so they take the girls into the Innovations building next door and browse the hall of Iron Man costumes while the girls explore the house of the future downstairs.
As they exit the building, Cas puts up a hand to keep the girls in place, then reaches for his wallet. He pulls out a stack of bills and divides them.
“Forty for you, and forty for you,” he says. “Dad and I are going to go have some alone time.”
“Ew,” says Emma.
“I take ten dollars away next time you sass me, young lady,” Cas warns. “Now, what are the rules?”
“Don’t talk to strangers,” says Claire.
“Then how are we supposed to order food?”
Cas snatches one of the twenty dollar bills out of her hands and waits for Dean to pull out two ten dollar bills from his own wallet. He hands one to Emma and the other to Cas.
“Cell phone on,” Cas instructs her. “Ours are on too. If you need anything, call us.”
Dean checks his watch, “All right, four-thirty. That’s four hours from now. You two are gonna meet us at the Walt and Mickey statue and we’ll get some dinner and plan our night rides. Sound good?”
Claire and Emma nod.
“This is a big responsibility,” Cas tells Emma. “You have to be hyperaware.”
“Keep your head on a swivel,” Dean agrees. “The both of you. If we text you, you answer. If you text us, we answer.”
“Okay, dad!” Emma gives him a face that would have Castiel taking away another ten dollars if he weren’t being dragged toward the park exit by the back of his t-shirt.
“Love you,” Dean calls over his shoulder, but the girls have already disappeared into the crowd. A pang of panic zips through him, but Dean is going faster and faster, so much so that they’re starting to arouse suspicion in the people around them. By the time they get past the security outside the park, they’re running an unspoken race to their room.
Cas is a little winded by the time they get to the elevator.
A lot winded, actually.
Dean leans against the wall, a hand on his hip and a deep flush on his cheeks.
“We’re not that out of shape, are we?” he asks. Castiel tries to answer, but there’s a fire in his lungs.
“Well,” Cas breathes, “It can’t -- be easy -- for the body.”
“Why?” Dean rubs his fingers into his side. “Because the blood can’t decide where to go, my heart or my dick?”
Which of course he says right as a family of six walks by.
“You’re gonna get us kicked out, Cas, why’d you say that?” Dean chastises.
“You said that, genius,” Castiel smacks him on the arm.
“Mm, I don’t think so,” Dean shakes his head. “I woulda remembered that.”
The elevator door opens and Castiel pushes him inside, mashing the ‘close door’ button until they’re alone. He wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and pushes their lips together. Dean’s hands cover the back pockets of his jeans and squeeze.
“God, I’m so fucking horny,” Dean pants as they part. The elevator doors open and Castiel grabs him by the wrist. They fumble with one another against the door (their door, Castiel checked) until Castiel gets the room key out of Dean’s front pocket and swipes them in. Dean laughs as Castiel fumbles with the Do Not Disturb sign once, twice, four times before he gets to pushing Dean down onto their mess of blankets.
Twelve years and Castiel could count on one hand the number of times they’d had sex without worrying whether or not their kids could hear them. That’s why their pants fly off faster than should have been humanly possible. That’s why Castiel was well on his way to being rock hard with only their messy, half-assed groping fueling his fire.
“Fuck me, that feels good,” Dean practically purrs as Castiel slows, spreading his hands over his chest and trailing his lips softly across Dean’s skin. Dean’s voice quickly changes to a whimper, then a soft intake of breath. Four hours at their disposal… Castiel wanted--needed--this to last as long as it could.
His arms start to quake under nothing but his own weight, and when he finally gives in and lands, he knocks the wind out of Dean’s chest.
“Oh, goddammit,” Dean wheezes.
“Sorry,” Cas rolls over. “God, I’m tired. I got up too early.”
“We had kids too early,” Dean shoots back, the both of them catching their breath again. “Holy shit… I gotta rest.”
“Thank god,” Cas sits up and goes to find his pants. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks that he has no missed messages. He goes into his alarms and sets a timer for two hours. “Power nap?”
“You’re a fuckin’ genius,” Dean grins and pulls Cas back down beside him. “I love you.”
Cas grabs Dean’s face in both of his hands and says, “I know.”
Can I prompt something quick and a little silly? Dani and Santana are bored and they are playing chat-bite in the loft, needless to say that Kurt and Blaine are not amused
Fast and silly god this is stupid
For story’s sake : the name of the game sounds like shah-beet
"Chat-bite!"
Kurt huffs as Santana skips away, cackling like a witch that she is.
"I swear to God, one of these days you’re going to run away with my dick and we’ll both REGRET IT!" he yells, only intensifying the cackling.
Dani tries to approach, but this time he’s ready, turning to face her with a wooden spoon in his hand. “I’d like to see you try.”
"Chat-bite?" she goes shyly, reaching for Kurt’s crotch.
She looks like a squirrel reaching for a nut - well, okay, more innuendo that Kurt can take at the moment - and he opens his arms wide and looks away.
"Chat-bite!" Dani calls, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
"SANTANA I SWEAR TO GOD AND ALL THE SAINTS THAT I’M GOING TO CHAT YOUR BITE IF YOU DO IT AGAIN!"
"Chat-bite Anderson - well played Hummel by the way!"
