#mj.writes

[foggysirens]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

This aspect of their relationship was still so new, the two of them going from Dean and Cas to, well, Dean and Cas, but now with the added bonus of morning kisses and ridiculously good sex. Everything about it still made Dean feel giddy, warm and mushy and, frankly, in awe that it was actually happening at all, that Cas was finally his. He felt like a teenager, struck down with a rabid case of incurable puppy love, so much so that it had only been all too easy to give in and say yes when Cas had proposed that they start sharing a room in the bunker.

A move that, apparently, required them to buy a new mattress.

A mattress that Dean was only twenty percent sure didn’t come from directly from Hell.

-

Or, the one where Dean sleeps in the Impala.

-

Happy 20TH Anniversary Supernatural!!! Have some fluffy idiots in love!!!

[foggysirens]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Dean loves Cas’s greys - he’s just never given any thought to his own.

Or, he supposes, his apparent lack thereof.

-

Wherein Dean is cursed until he's not.

[foggysirens]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“Hmm,” the low register of Cas’s voice sends sparks of fire shuddering through Dean’s veins, curling up somewhere deep in his gut. “It’s just as well, I was coming to find you tonight anyways.”

“You were?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow when the angel reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a creased, slightly crumpled, piece of paper. He holds it out and Dean takes it reflexively, eyes glossing over the large print and vibrant colours splashed across the page, keeping his attention fixed on Cas. “What is this?”

“A gift,” Cas says.

-

Or, in which Dean buys some coffee, gambles on a vending machine, and cannot stop thinking about Castiel to save his life.

[foggysirens]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

There’s a grit under Luke’s nails that won’t go away.

[foggysirens]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

It’s cold when Luke wakes up.

-

Or, Din and Luke spend a rainy morning together on Ahch-To.

[foggysirens]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Din Djarin has been playing Dungeons and Dragons professionally for nearly ten years.

He's never shared a table with someone quite like Luke Skywalker before.

-

Or, the one where sometimes the best way to discover real love is to find it in a fantasy world first.

[foggysirens]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

He ignores the tremble of the flame once he finally finds the beat-up Zippo he carries around, flicking it to life and cupping it up to his face. It throws just enough light to cut through some of the licking, blue wounds cast by the moonlight, but not enough to do anything more than make the grave before him look endlessly deep. A black chasm of bugs and dirt that he’s suddenly very sure must stretch down to the very core of Hell itself.

It looks like every dark and swirling and fetid thought that has lived in Din’s head since his heart got placed six feet underground.

-

Or, Din digs up a grave.

[foggysirens]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“Eager to get rid of me?”

“You’re not eager to go?” Luke raises an eyebrow. “Out here all alone on a stranger's farm? Someone else in your shoes might say they’re in trouble.”

Din hums, “You don’t seem like the trouble type, Mr. Skywalker.”

Luke winks, “Well, I’m glad one of us thinks so, Mr. Djarin.”

-

Or, Luke is a farmer and Din has car troubles.