✨Boop✨

He must notice you’re awake too because he curls his arm, pulls you against him, bringing his lips close to your ear.

“Morning,” he mutters, his breath tickling you, and you grin.

“Good morning,” you reply, reaching for his hand and raising it to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He, in turn, kisses the shell of your ear, his free hand running up your waist before he slips it under the covers.

He runs it over your front, gently pets your stomach, before he travels lower to down between your legs.

Sam’s big hand cups your pussy, and you sigh. He moves his fingers only slightly, testing, teasing, and you press yourself down against his hold.

“Slow,” he half-slurs, half-whispers and you need to grin at the fact that he is still mostly asleep, but this is his first instinct. You’re not about to complain. Instead, you press yourself back, Sam’s nose bumping against yours when you turn your head.

You always want him, but the last few weeks have been ridiculous. It’s like it was when you first got together. You look at him, and it takes your breath away. Need to press up on your toes, run your fingers into his hair and kiss him to remember he’s yours. It makes your breathing catch every time, just like it does now with him touching you.

“Is that good?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know, still soft and going torturously slow. You nod, and your own pleasure confirmed, Sam presses his hips against you, and you feel his growing erection press between your ass cheeks. You bring your own hand between your legs, laying it over Sam’s to urge him on, and when he finally does, it drags a high moan from you.

Your sounds wake Dean with such a violent start that it makes you flinch. One second he’s lying on his front, face pressed into the pillow, the next he’s pushed up on his elbow, other hand in a fist as he looks around for the source of danger, a disoriented look on his face. He blinks, then looks over at you where you are giving him a wide-eyed stare.

You have to laugh when he drops his hand, turning from someone willing to commit violent murder one second to charming Casanova the next when he sees what you and Sam are up to.

“Mind if I join?” he asks, rolling towards you and grinning down at you. You nod, head against the pillow.

“Be our guest,” you say, voice sounding a little cracked. Sam stops touching you, pulls his hand out of your pajama pants, and you roll back against him, some more room now so that you’re lying on your back. Dean pulls away the thin blanket with a dramatic flurry, then gives you a quick kiss on the mouth before moving down your body.

Sam meanwhile pushes up on his elbow, head resting in his hand, the other one going to his crotch and squeezing himself before he pushes into his sweats, starts stroking himself. You tilt your head up to kiss him, then bring your hand to the outside of his pants, your hand assisting his, before you’re distracted by Dean when his kisses reach your stomach.

“Good morning, kid,” he whispers, pushing up your shirt as he leans in and kisses the bump growing there before moving lower. 

A passionate hour and a rushed, cramped shower later, the three of you are loading up the car. Dean insists on carrying your bag while Sam picks up coffee from the diner next door. You’re giddy as you get into the backseat. 

The drive to Sioux Falls isn’t long, not compared to the miles and miles you already have behind you, have collected over the last year. Plus you’re not just taking the drive to see Bobby again, although that is long overdue. There is another reason:

Bobby Singer is, after a long and intense career in the hunting business, retiring. He is moving to Florida, and of course you and Dean have made every imaginable joke at that, Sam rolling his eyes at the two of you. Dean suspects Bobby’s met a woman, but if he has, he’s not telling. Good for him, you think. He’ll let you know when he’s ready. But there’s another reason you’re driving down to meet him.

Bobby is leaving the boys his house. He doesn’t know you’re pregnant, but the timing feels serendipitous. Sam, Dean and you have been discussing whether you want to raise your child on the road or settle down. This feels like the question has been answered for you. It feels like a sign.

You will give this child what you and the boys never had - stability, and unconditional love. A home that feels like a home. The thought feels overwhelming.

As Dean starts the car, you remind yourself to enjoy this drive. If everything pans out the way you’ve planned it, this will be the last one like it for a long time. You imagine yourself, holding your baby in your arms, the Impala parked outside. Used for errands and trips down to the river, but never again to take a loved one away from you.

You sit in the back, the leather seats warmed from the early spring sun. Sam and Dean are up front. The windows are rolled down, the wind whipping in the way it did in the summers of your youth.. You still remember it all so well. The only difference is a handful of years.

Sam used to sit in the back with you then, when John was around, Dean in the passenger seat. And when Dean drove, you got shotgun privileges, his little brother banned to the backseat, usually so Dean could stroke your knee, throw you suggestive glances. 

Later, when Sam returned from Stanford after his time away, you let him have the front seat. Because he needed to feel like he belonged, and also because it allowed you to look at both of them at the same time. 

That’s what you do now. Watch them talk, their voices drowned out by the music Dean put on. Sam laughs at something Dean said. You drop your head back against the bench, lightness in your heart. The love for them making it feel like you’re flying.

The road stretches on behind you as well as before you. Symbolic, and you try not to read too much into it. You run your hands over your stomach, over the life building in there, press your back into the leather seat, and it feels like time and space are moving around you.

When you finally stand in front of Bobby and tell him you’re expecting, it’s Dean who’s got his arm around you, Dean who is slapped on the shoulder by Bobby whose lips are pressed together before he squeezes your arm, Dean who pulls you close when Bobby sniffs, looks away so you won’t see the tears in his eyes. Bobby doesn’t know you’re with Sam too, so to make things easy, you’ve decided this is the story. 

You looked at Sam earlier, standing just off to the side, looking between his brother and Bobby. The look on his face tugged at your heart, even though he agreed to this as well. It seemed to make sense, seeing as you were with Dean first, and people might not react well to what the three of you have. 

You look again now, just as Dean makes a joke about grandpa Bobby, and see that Sam is gone.

You find him once things have calmed down. He’s unpacking his backpack in the library downstairs, sitting on the couch he’ll be sleeping on, knees nearly up to his ears with how low and worn-out it is, while you and Dean take the guest room. You lean against the wide doorframe connecting the room to the hallway, knock gently. Sam looks up and smiles when he sees you. 

“Why are you down here and not upstairs?” you ask with a frown. Sam looks down, the smile disappearing as he pulls his toiletry kit from his bag. 

“We agreed we wouldn’t let Bobby know right now,” he says. You nod. 

“Okay, but you’re coming upstairs tonight, right?” you ask, and then you walk towards him. 

You stand between his legs where he’s sitting, put your hands on his shoulders. Sam shoots a quick look towards the open door, but you know Bobby’s outside with Dean, that you’d hear him long before he shows up.

“Because you know I don’t sleep right when you’re not there,” you say, and then run your hand over your stomach. “Neither of us does. We want daddy close.” 

Sam raises his hand, lays it over yours. He’s not looking at your face, but you can see the thoughts working away behind his eyes. 

“You don’t even know if it’s mine or Dean’s,” he says, looking up at your face. You’ve talked about this before, but you understand what Sam needs. What he has to hear. 

You move forward and straddle him, moving gingerly. Sam looks surprised, but then his hands land on your sides. You pull him close, then, with a grin, you look down at yourself. 

“Couple of months, I won’t be able to do this,” you say and Sam can’t help but grin too. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, and you press your nose against him, then pull back a little before turning a little more serious. 

“This is our baby, Sam. Ours,” you say, looking deep into his eyes. “It’s yours and Dean’s and mine, okay? The details don’t matter.” Sam returns your gaze, then nods slowly. 

“I know,” he says and swallows. You move your head to kiss his cheek, and his eyes fall shut as he takes a deep breath. 

“I want you to come upstairs tonight,” you whisper, giving him another gentle kiss, your lips barely leaving his cheek. “And I want you and Dean to make love to me in our new home.” Sam takes a shuddering breath as you run your lips along his skin. 

“It’s too risky,” he says, but he doesn’t sound half convinced by his own words. 

“Guess we’ll have to be quiet then,” you say with a bit of a grin. Sam opens his eyes, and studies your face. Then he’s smiling too, and slowly shaking his head. 

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he asks. You nod. 

“My whole entire purpose in life,” you respond and Sam chuckles. His hands go to your ass, and he pulls you closer, kisses you deeply. You run your hands into his hair. 

“I can’t wait to watch you be a father,” you say when the two of you separate, and Sam swallows again. You could drown him in compliments, the things it does to him to be revered their own reward. He squeezes you where he holds you. 

“I should finish unpacking,” he says, a gentle smile on his lips. “Because if you keep talking like that, Bobby’s definitely gonna hear us.” You chuckle, give Sam another quick kiss and then reluctantly get up. 

“It would save us the trouble of having to tell him,” you say to Sam’s grinning face before you leave the room and walk upstairs again to unpack your own things.

It’s later in the day. You make some coffee and bring Bobby a cup. He’s back in his office, getting together all the paperwork for the house. He sighs when you walk in and place the steaming cup in front of him. 

“Damn bureaucracy,” he mutters. “I’m too old for this shit.” You chuckle and move to the window, look out at the junkyard beyond. The Impala is parked close by and Dean is lying under it, working on something. You smile to yourself. 

“Are you excited about tomorrow?” you ask, not turning back to Bobby but instead picking up a book from a dangerously high-stacked pile next to you. You scan the cover, run your fingers along the leather binding. 

“Not sure if excited’s the right word for it,” Bobby answers. “Try terrified.” You chuckle again, look out the window at Dean again. He’s getting up now, walking to the opened hood of the car. His face is concentrated and his hands are dirty. 

“You can always come back if you don’t like it,” you say, only half hearing yourself. 

You are too mesmerized, imagine Dean doing what he is doing but a small child running up to him, wanting his attention, Dean cleaning his hands on a rag he’s thrown over his shoulder before picking them up. It’s not just a dream anymore – it’s the future. 

“I was surprised Sam and Dean even wanted the house,” you hear Bobby say. “They don’t seem like the settling down types, but I guess with a little one on the way…” Then he clears his throat and you are distracted from your daydream. 

“Hell, you know these boys are like sons to me,” Bobby mumbles. You put the book down on the wobbly pile again, turn to him. 

“I know, Bobby. And they know that, too,” you reply. Bobby makes one of those sounds he makes, tilts his head. 

“Look, sweetheart,” he says, and it seems like he has a hard time saying whatever he wants to say. You wonder why. 

“You know I’m leaving Sam and Dean the house,” he continues, fingers fidgeting with the coffee cup you brought him. You nod. 

“I guess I’m just getting to an age,” Bobby says, “where I think about… what I leave behind. It’s not much.” You shake your head. 

“Bobby, you were a father to them,” you interrupt him. “The material stuff is nice and all, but what you gave them is so much more important. You made them who they are.” Bobby looks down at his desk, the way he always does when you say something nice to him, something that moves him a little. He’d be telling Sam and Dean to shove it, lovingly, if they tried to say something similar, but you know you get a pass, on account of being a girl. 

“And that’s how I know,” Bobby starts up again, “that they’ll take care of you, even if it’s their house.” You huff a little. 

“Of course they will,” you say, because there has never been a single inkling of doubt in you that they would. 

“Of both of you, I mean,” Bobby adds, throwing a pointed look at your stomach, and you smile, but then Bobby looks back up at your face and suddenly you know he means something else. 

“They’ll both take care of you, I know that,” Bobby says. 

He knows, you realize then. He knows that you’re with Sam and Dean, both of them. A reply is on your lips. You want to tell him he’s got this wrong, that he misunderstood something. People don’t react well to… that. 

But the kindness in Bobby’s eyes stops you. He’s not confronting you with what he knows, or suspects. He’s just letting you know he knows. 

“There’s plenty of stuff in life I don’t understand,” he continues, and you see him blush a little as he looks away from you. “But I know those boys. And I know you. And I know that’ll be a damn lucky child having all three of you as its family.” 

Tears shoot to your eyes, because this is the last thing you were expecting when you walked in here. You’d never hoped for Bobby’s approval, because you simply assumed he would never know. So this is… 

You don’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than it is, don’t want to embarrass Bobby. But you can’t stop yourself when you walk around the desk, kneel next to him and wrap your arms around him. The tears are stinging your eyes so you squeeze them shut. Bobby wraps his arm around you, pats your shoulder and then you let go, because you really don’t want to make him uncomfortable. He’s not the hugging type after all. 

“I know Uncle Bobby is gonna take care of this kid, too,” you say, smiling up at him. Bobby mumbles a little, hides his eyes behind the visor of his cap. 

“Got a nice ring to it,” he replies and you chuckle.

“I better go check on dinner,” you say, pushing yourself up, but you plant a quick kiss on the top of Bobby’s head. Then you bounce off to the kitchen. 

That evening is the first time since you found out you’re pregnant that you wish you could drink. Not because you need it, but because the evening turns so jovial. 

The food is great, the meat thick and juicy, the potatoes soft and warm, and the three boys are drinking and getting louder, and you all tell stories you’ve told a million times before but laugh as uproariously as if you’re hearing them for the first time. It fills your heart with so much love that it threatens to spill over. 

Home, you think. This is all you want, all you’ve ever wanted. You look at the dining table and catch yourself wondering how many children you can fit around it. One thing after the other, you remind yourself, hiding your grin in the glass of water you pick up. 

Dean catches you when you’re on your way back from the bathroom, corners you in the small, dark hallway. His arms are around you and he’s leaning down, the taste of beer on his lips and tongue and he’s kissing you so deeply that it makes you feel drunk, even though you haven’t had a sip. He gently presses you against the wall behind you and you feel white hot arousal explode in you as he squeezes your ass. 

“We should go back in,” you breathe as his lips leave your mouth and go to your jaw, then your neck. 

“Just one minute,” he says and you grin, because it’s such an obvious lie, and yet you don’t mind. A small moan leaves you as Dean presses his lower body against you and you feel his outline against your crotch. One hand goes from your ass and drops between your legs, pulling up the simple summer dress you’re wearing. He quickly finds you where you’re warmest, sighing against you when he touches you there. 

“God, I wish it could be like this forever,” he mumbles with his lips just below your ear. He starts drawing circles on you and you need to wrap your arms around his shoulders because it makes you feel almost dizzy, almost high. 

“Wish we could stay here forever and I could just keep putting baby after baby in you,” he whispers and that idea, combined with a slight increase in pressure of his fingers makes you slap your hand over your mouth, arm still around his shoulders, because you know the sound you would have made otherwise could be heard in the entire house. Jesus, what a visual, what a thought. You don’t expect it to turn you on this much. 

“Keep going,” you breathe, just briefly lifting your fingers from your mouth. Dean’s either not surprised that this is working you up, or he’s too into it himself to care. 

“I’d need to come inside you again and again and again,” he’s saying, and the pleasure between your legs is getting so intense as to be almost painful. 

“I’ll watch it leak out of you,” he says, voice so low that you almost have to strain to hear it. “And then I’d put more into you just to make sure.” 

The back of your head hits the wall with a loud thud as you come, but at least you manage to not make any other noises. It’s a Herculean achievement though, because the orgasm makes you feel as if electricity is shooting through you. Because it might be talk, but what’s hiding behind it is the truth, the truth of what all three of you want, and are now suddenly shockingly close to getting. Normalcy. Safety. A place to build a family out of your love. 

Your lips land on Dean’s the second you have oriented yourself again. 

“I love you so goddamn much,” you say and it comes out shaky. Dean strokes the side of your face, shushes you. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, his full lips caressing your face, from your cheeks to your ears. “I love you too, baby, it’s okay.” 

You rub yourself against him like a cat marking its territory, then blink your eyes open. See Dean’s strikingly green eyes and you wonder if your child will have those eyes, or the tricolor of Sam, or yours, or a mix of all three. The last one’s not possible, but still, you can’t stop yourself from thinking how nice that would be. Dean kisses you again. 

“Let’s go back,” he says. You tilt your head. 

“What about you?” you ask, but Dean only smiles. 

“Later,” he says. 

The evening eventually winds down. You keep yawning and snacking on the food left on the table, while Bobby is actually pretty drunk, but Sam and Dean aren’t faring much better. You climb up the stairs, leaving the dishes for tomorrow, drag Dean behind you, but throw Sam a meaningful look, one you’re not sure he catches. 

Dean plops down on the bed face first, making the frame squeak. You pull off his shoes and just manage to wrestle his shirt from him, but he’s too heavy for anything else. You try to roll him over to get his jeans off him, try to make him more comfortable, but he groans at your pushing and prodding. 

“No shaking, I’m dizzy,” he slurs with his eyes closed, one of your legs caught under his torso and his arm slung around your hip, and you lean forward, forehead landing on his back, your shoulders shaking with laughter. 

Just then the bedroom door opens. You turn around, and Sam is doing his very best to be sneaky, but the first thing he does after closing the door behind him is bump his hip into the dresser. His face contorts as he silently cringes and then he’s next to you, his big frame pulling a loud noise from the bed and a squeal from you as he grabs you, pulls you down onto the mattress. 

The three of you shuffle around for a little longer, but soon you’re between the two, still half-dressed yourself, but you don’t care. Their two big, warm bodies are like anchors to a ship, lulling you in, making you so comfortable that you barely manage a small, joyous wiggle and then you’re pulled down into the quiet dark.

You’re the only one who isn’t complaining of a headache the next morning, so you’re generously distributing painkillers and glasses of water. Bobby seems to be doing mostly fine, but then you’re pretty sure at this point that he’s ninety percent whiskey anyway. You and the boys are cleaning while Bobby packs and then suddenly it’s later than you thought and he’s getting ready to leave. You give him a long hug, tell him to come right back if he doesn’t like it, tell him you’ll miss him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby says, and it’s as much of a love confession as you’re likely to get. His hugs with Sam and Dean are much shorter, and then the three of you are standing next to each other in the kitchen like baby ducks in a row, and Bobby shoulders his last bag and a second later he’s out the door. 

You all just stand there for a second longer, not moving. Sam grabs you first, because he has had to be careful since you arrived, and he drags you against him, his big hand wrapped around your wrist, your chest against his chest, and is just about to kiss you when the door opens again. Dean’s in the process of coming up behind you and the three of you shoot apart like scalded cats. 

Bobby peeks in and he very clearly notices that he just walked in on something. He grabs for the small sideboard next to the door, raises his hand. 

“Forgot my… car keys,” he mumbles and the three of you nod politely. 

Bobby clears his throat, mutters something about you kids taking care and then pulls back, lets the door fall shut behind him. 

It takes another second of perfect silence and then you, Sam and Dean all burst out laughing. Sam reaches for you again, but you shuffle past him, rush towards the stairs and up instead. It’s only a few moments later that you hear the brothers follow you, their boots clopping on the stairs. You make it to the bedroom and then turn around. 

Sam practically flies into your arms, and he grabs you so close that it almost lifts you off your feet. Dean’s next to him a second later and the moment your lips leave Sam’s, they touch Dean’s. All three of you are roaming hands and pulling on clothes and touching skin that you’ve touched a thousand times before, but it feels different. It feels new. 

Sam starts touching you between your legs when you’ve rid yourself of your clothes, but you shake your head, push him back towards the bed and when he lies down you climb on top of him. You grab Dean’s arm and pull him with you. He kneels next to you on the bed, and you kiss him deeply, hold on to him while you sink down on Sam. 

Your moan is high and needy, and you ride Sam fast and hard while your fingers work between your legs, and soon he needs to tell you to stop or he won’t last, won’t be able to hold back, but you don’t want to stop. You beg him to let you keep going and he does, pulling you down hard against him by the hips soon, his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, upper lip pulled into a snarl as he empties himself into you with a long, loud groan. 

Wasting no time, you grab Dean immediately, hold on to his shoulders as he pulls you off Sam, lays you on your back. He’s inside you quickly, his entry eased even more by his brother’s spendings in you, and he fucks you slow and deep, looks into your eyes when he’s not busy kissing you. 

He’s gentle in it all and when you come he doesn’t cover your mouth with his, instead he lets you cry out, because, right now, this is your house and no one can hear you. 

Sam, insatiable one that he is, waits until Dean finishes, and even though he’s not hard again yet, he uses his fingers instead, until you’re squirming, panting, roots of your hair wet with sweat, your entire body feeling like it’s more alive than it’s ever been. You feel like an animal that has only one goal, only one focus, one purpose. Soon, you’re crying out again. 

The three of you fuck most of the late morning away like this and you feel almost comatose by the end of it. You all doze off after the two clean you and themselves up, and you wake up a few hours later to your stomach rumbling. 

Dressing haphazardly, just enough to make yourself comfortable, not to actually hide your nakedness, you slouch down to the kitchen. Dean uses the meat from the day before to make sandwiches, and you’re pretty sure they’re the best thing you’ve ever eaten. 

All the while, you’re talking, gesticulating with greasy fingers, and you keep reminding yourself that you don’t need to stop yourself from kissing Sam or Dean, from staring at them, from saying things that make it clear what they are to you. 

This is heaven, you’re pretty sure. Dean’s right. 

You wish things could be like this forever.

She sinks to the floor, her spine coming to rest against the steel. She leans her head back, looking at the ceiling, closing her eyes and listening to the ragged sounds of his breath on the other side. She had wanted so many things form this moment, to accuse him, to save him, to fix him the way he had fixed her because she owes him that much, at least. She sighs at how her best laid plans always seem go astray, because now that she’s here she just can’t. Can’t see him like this, starving as she starved, suffering as she suffered. The lines between them are too real, and she knows that if she looks him in the eye she’ll let him go, because they are the same and she has to believe it’s what he’d have done.

She thinks in the quiet, with only his rasping to pace out time. He was once her salvation, and now he simply breathes and it illustrates her deepest fears: if he can’t be saved, what hope is there for her?

She loses track of how long she’s sat there, leaning up against the steel door, the metal as cool as her skin with neither warming the other. She doesn’t doze, doesn’t dream, doesn’t dare to move. And then he speaks.

“Caroline.”

It chills her and suddenly she feels like ice. She stills herself, stops her breath, tries to even stop her heartbeat. She doesn’t want to be here anymore, but she can’t just run away.

“Caroline.”

Her name is soft, melodic, sweet and low. It’s a loving note that hasn’t flowed through her in forever, but it still resonates to her core. She closes her eyes and draws in a shaky breath, shaking her head, telling herself no, no, no.

“Someone kept you in here. Just like this.”

She can feel herself start to tremble again, her eyes pricking in the way that heralds tears. She wishes, for once, to feel the pressure of the change. Her eyes stained with blood would be less painful than having them salted and drained.

“You can't deny it, you’re all over this place. You and charred flesh. You were hurt here. Burned. Weren’t you?”

It’s a question she can’t answer, but she doesn’t have to. The evidence in locked in there with him, and if the ghosts of her cries have left, her blood still stains the stone floor, her skin is still fused to those chains where the vervain they were treated with burned her. She covers her face with her hands.

“You’re ignoring me. You think I don’t remember, because I don’t care, but I do. I remember. I promised I’d never let anything happen to you.”

It hurts to hear him say it again, hurts to be reminded that his promise meant nothing, that he doesn’t care anymore, that he isn’t on her side. Her forehead drops to her knees and she squeezes her eyes shut because the tears are coming now, a gentle, insistent trickle.

“I would have stopped it. I would have come. Even monsters keep their promises.”

It’s not quite the apology she wants, the apology she’s wanted from everyone that didn’t save her, the apology she never gets. He isn’t sorry, he can’t feel sorry, but it feels like this admission is as close as she’ll ever get, so she accepts it, assimilates it. Believes it.

“I don’t deserve this, Caroline, no more than you did. I can’t change what I am. Nobody can fix me, there’s nothing here to fix.”

She’s crying quietly, holding herself tightly to keep form falling apart. He’s saying all the things she once said, and even if she knows he’s playing her, trying to manipulate his way to freedom, every word rings clear and true within her heart.

He doesn’t ask her to release him, he just speaks, his voice calm and even, only the slightest edge betraying his hunger and his pain. She listens and she weeps, for him, for her, for all the space that’s come between them. She weeps until her tears run dry, and then she quiets before fresh tears allow her to weep some more.

“Don’t cry, Caroline. I’m supposed to be the bad guy.”

She turns, damp eyes looking up at the covered window into the cell, remembering the thin light that filtered in through that small slit, the faint hope even such slight illumination brought her. She bites her lip, crawling up the door, pressing her forehead to the closed shutter, pressing her body up against the steel to feel something, anything besides the impact of his words and the resonance of his voice. She thinks if there are bad guys, they are not down here this morning and curls her fingers around the latch to slide the shutter free.

“Caroline?”

She wants to peer through the window into the cell, wants to see his face turned up into the dim light, perhaps straining in the dark to see her. She wants to, but she can’t, can’t hold his gaze with him still bound and her still on this side of his subjugation. She cinches her eyes shut, positions half of one within his sight, presses her palms flat against the door, and breathes. Her eyes snap open for one brief second, just long enough to catch a glimpse of her fallen saviour.

“I’m sorry, Stefan...”

And then she runs: into the sunlight, into the open air, into the freedom she can’t quite enjoy anymore.

a/n : this back catalogue entry was originally written and posted in 2011. We have preserved it's original format, and no additional editing or alterations have been done. many thanks to @aniresrene, @velvourne, @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth and @middleearthislife for the encouragement, the fics are being released.

I want to thank @kblognar for their amazing help with this fic, for getting my head straight when I went down the rabbit hole and for loving the bbys probably nearly as much as I do. I also want to thank @ambiguous-avery @aniresrene @bettystonewell @jollyreads @aseafullofstars, all of who I have yapped at about this and who have been there to support and help! This was two years in the making and I am ready for this baby to see the world.❤️

I want to thank @kblognar for their amazing help with this fic, for getting my head straight when I went down the rabbit hole and for loving the bbys probably nearly as much as I do. I also want to thank @ambiguous-avery @aniresrene @bettystonewell @jollyreads @aseafullofstars, all of who I have yapped at about this and who have been there to support and help! This was two years in the making and I am ready for this baby to see the world.❤️