#I GOT LOST ON THE TRAIL TWICE HAD A STOMACH ACHE THE WHOLE TIME

[crownquill]

Joining a new xc team is one of the biggest trials of life EVER holy shit

[drakenology]

“what that mouth do?” - w/ random haikyuu boys. because I dont know all the team names yet.

ft. bokuto, aakashi, kageyama & asahi

🎵 inspo song 🎵

warnings: oral sex (fem!receiving), cussin’, d+ddy kink, exhibitionism?, slight overstim, spit (yall know me), use of kitten in asahi’s sowwy, dash of somnophilia, a pinch of “cunt”

bokuto (mine)

i feel like bokuto would be the type to just get straight to it.

and believe you me he is a messy eater.

the whole room would be filled with sounds of him slurping and sucking all over your pussy

loves eating it from the back to prep you for the brutally beautiful backshots he’s about to bestow upon you.

also just loves your ass in his face.

fingers you and eats you out at the same time. (demon)

will tongue kiss you when he’s done to make you taste yourself.

talks about eating pussy to his teammates alll day. (much to their dismay)

he just loves eating pussy.

pussy eating experience: 10/10.

bokuto laid on the bed like a sniper with his sights on his target between your legs, hands resting on both thighs to keep you nice and spread for him. his tongue glides over your plush folds, poking and prodding at your entrance as his pretty eyes lock onto your face.

fuck, you were so beautiful like this; face scrunching up with every swipe of his tongue. you whimper as his fingers dive deep into your dripping sex, slurping noises ringing in your ears as he took your clit between his soft lips. you were blinded by pleasure, incoherent sentences flowing out of your lips of how good he was eating you right now.

bokuto nods, a cheeky “mhm.” sending you into a daze. your legs quiver and vibrate around poor bokuto’s head as you cum violently on his tongue. Even as your thighs are squeezing him to death he’s still licking you, riding you through your high and straight to yet another. Your back arched, your fingers entrapping into bokuto’s hair as you try and escape his killer grip on your hips.  “fuuuck, baby!” you cry, sobbing at the assault on your oh-so-sensitive pussy. bokuto can’t get enough of seeing you this way; begging and crying for him to stop. part of him loves your desperate pleas, relishing in every little jumbled swear you let out. 

aakashi (also mine)

another one who devours the pussy.

absolutely insatiable

will eat you anywhere... like anywhere

and will go all out on purpose so others could potentially hear you moan for him eek!

likes to 69 so your pretty mouth pleases him while he pleases you

high-key likes it when you get so tongue dumb that you can’t even focus on sucking his dick. 

loves to praise you; could literally write an essay about how good your pussy tastes

he’s just a damn demon ok?

you’re out trying on cute little dresses for aakashi; short ones to tease him when you go out. you smirk as you watch his face flush, loving the way he looked at you with such hunger. your panties soak at the thought of what he was going to do to you when you got home; what he might do when he sees you all dressed up pretty and ready to go out with your friends.

as you go to change out of the dress you tried on to put your clothes back on, aakashi rushes into the dressing room and pushed you inside. he doesn’t say a word, his feral eyes speaking every filthy desire for him. he kissed you, so hard you both stumble into the wall. clothes molted off your bodies quickly, aakashi lightly pushing you down onto the bench following you down. in an instant you spread your legs for him, panties wearing a wet spot as aakashi moans at the sight.

his lips are on you before you can even speak, a long, sloww drag of his tongue over your panties turning your thoughts to mush. aakashi rests your legs onto his shoulders as he kneeled in front of you as if eating you was a privilege. slowly he peeled your panties off to the side, looking up at you with those fucking eyes of his. he leaves these sloppy kisses all over your sopping wet pussy that were so intoxicating that you completely forget you’re in public with all the noise you start to make.

your slick mixed with his spit dripped down your ass and all over the bench as aakashi traced circles on your clit, leaving only to dip his tongue inside to really taste you. your breathing seemed to stop as you hold back your whimpers, catching your lip between your teeth as he pushed you down to your end. “yess. you taste so good, love. give me more.”

Kageyama (psh.. buckle up)

closet freak

mr. tobio likes to tease a lot

loves when you beg for him

in fact it’s mandatory that you beg for him

will not stop until you cum at least twice and even then you’re pulling him off you

leaves little hickies on your thighs as a reminder of how good he makes you feel everytime he revists your pussy.

Kageyama comes home late at night; a celebration of another successful game still lingering on his breath (probably from drinking all night). He stumbles inside, eager to claim his prize. Tobio shuffled into the bedroom you share to see you sleeping soundly, stomach flat on the bed and your perfect ass sitting right up as if to greet him.

He practically drools seeing you like that all but fully clothed, the only thing covering your body was one of his jerseys. You looked good enough to eat. Kageyama crawls on top of your sleeping body, trying to nudge you awake all to no avail as you snore away completely unaware of the savage beast leaning over you. He starts kissing your body, whispering your name to stir you awake as he trailed down to your ass giving it the biggest kiss so far.

“wakey wakey...” he whispers, snapping the waistband of your panties with his thumb, taking two loving fingers to prod at your clothed cunt. you stir, moaning as he moved you to lay completely flat on the bed. “there she is..” he smiles, looking at your half sleeping face. “T-Tobii. What time is it?” You whine, reaching for your phone only for him to pull you to the edge of the bed. “Doesn’t matter. Bend over.” Tobio groaned, drinking in your body as he prompts you to lay down with your ass up. You bite your lip, doing as your told.

“You’re in a good mood. You guys won?” You ask, eyes closed as he kissed your thighs, licking just below your now aching pussy. He was so needy for you, words only slowing the process of him getting what he wants. He doesn’t even answer your question, only thing he used his mouth for was to devour the woman who lay bent over for him.

Kageyama pulled your panties down about half way, just to get to your cunt as quickly as humanly possible. He prods at your folds, taking in the taste of your sweet juices as he moaned into you. You shudder, leaning into the bed to muffle your noise.

His hands explored your lower half, focusing on grabbing your ass and caressing your thighs then refocusing his attention on sticking his tongue deep inside you; just drunk on your body. You’re quickly reduced to a moaning mess, the massaging of his big hands along with the intense make out session on your pussy was just doing it for you. Tobio lost all composure.

Your pussy was quite possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him or maybe that’s just how it felt. Not a single spot of you wasn’t touched, filthy sounds of him tonguing you down caused you to utter filither things back.

“Tobiii!” You sob into the pillow, almost completely sure you’re crying. You start shaking, arching your back to get him to go deeper somehow, telling him you’re soo fucking close. Keep going, don’t stop, you urge him. He obliged happily, suckling on your clit and sinking his slender fingers inside you in such a way that caused you to boil over as fast as you could dig your nails into the sheets. You feel your slick drip down your leg, Kageyama pulling away from your leaking pussy to lick up your thighs not wanting a drop to go to waste.

fuck.. i’m hot.. i’m hot.

Asahi

huge slut for foreplay, he just wants to make you feel good

eating you out is now second nature to him

it’s kinda scary how quickly he’s learned your body; what to do and what not to do

ways to get the faucet running smoothly, ya know?

loves when you pull his hair, it’s like a sign he’s got you going crazy for him.

probably the one to stop eating you to get his dick in there, soooo needy.

Something about seeing you in a skirt just makes Asahi want to tear you apart. So when he comes home to you getting dressed to go out with your girlfriends he froze. Not only did you wear a skirt but you also had the nerve to put on some thigh high socks with it. Wherever you were going didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was getting his face in between those thigh highs.

Asahi takes you by the hand and pulled you away from the bathroom sink, kissing you with sheer lust and passion. Even though your friends were blowing up, call after call falling on deaf ears you didn’t fucking care. You kissing your boyfriend became the only thing that seemed right. Fuck going out to be honest. Asahi whisked you away to the bedroom, laying you carefully over the bed. He crawled on top of you with this starved look on his face, as if he’d never taste you again.

“A-Asahi, I’m gonna be late.” You say, being completely ignored by Asahi. Whatever it was you said though didn’t matter, his hands running up your thighs and lifting up your skirt. You’re flushed, looking down at him as he pulled your panties off in one fell swoop.

“This will be quick, promise. I just have to have you, kitten.” Asahi chokes out, eyeing your pussy. He was usually the calm one; the one who brought you to beg for him but now he’s practically aching to taste you. And so he does, diving deep into your pussy with his tongue. Any rationality left your thinking, the sensation the only thing making sense to you right now.

Asahi now has your thighs pressed into your chest, spread just enough to lick your sweet cunt. Your knees cover half your face as you practically drool on them, his mouth working it’s magic all over your most sensitive spots. He takes his thick fingers and slides them inside with easy feat (its the wap for him.), causing your thighs to quiver. Your eyes roll back as you try holding your legs open for him, thighs quivering as Asahi makes it harder to do so.

“fuuuck, asahii!” you mewl, eyes crossing at every stroke of his tongue; every pump of his fingers. Asahi swore and pulled away, sloppily kissing you with his wet lips.

“I lied. I won’t be quick.”

[wandas-sunshine]

Slow And Steady (Kinktober Day 14)

Kinktober Schedule

Prompt: Sensory Deprivation

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,206

Warnings: SMUT 18+, Oral (female receiving), fingering, blindfolds, light bondage, minor overstimulation

A/N: Really give a whole new meaning to ‘you didn’t see that coming’ huh? Shoutout to @dragonofthenorth0726 for giving me the confidence to post this piece

Pietro didn’t like seeing you overworked, overstressed, and unhappy. That’s where his idea stemmed from, he was insistent on caring for you and helping you calm down. When you’d called after work, he had said he was planning an experiment. Your boyfriend was the adventurous type, and while you trusted him with your life, his surprises were a little worrisome at times.

“What are we doing?” You asked. As soon as you’d walked through the door, he’d pulled you along straight to your room. He sat you gently at the edge of the bed, and you looked up at him with a confused expression clouding your face.

“You said you’ve been stressed. I want to help.” He shrugged, and the entirely sincere look in his eye made you smile. This was the man you’d fallen so unbelievably, helplessly in love with.

“Thank you.” You murmured, still smiling to yourself. “What do you have in mind?”

For a moment, Pietro seemed to grow nervous, but your hand moved up to catch his.

“I thought maybe we could try something new.” He answered vaguely. You motioned for him to go on.

“Well I just figured…I could give you a massage. You like when I do that, don’t you?” You nodded eagerly. “Then after that we can talk more. I can keep making you feel good.”

“Sounds like heaven,” You agreed. Pietro always pampered you so willingly. You were eternally grateful.

“Here, take off your clothes.” He suggested, rather than ordering it. You obliged either way, tugging your shirt off and wiggling your pants down your legs, leaving them in a pile with your shoes and socks. “Go ahead and lay down on your stomach.”

 You flashed him another appreciative smile as you settled on your tummy. Once you’d stopped wiggling into a comfortable position, Pietro settled himself at your side.

“Now just relax and let me take care of you.” He hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. You happily followed his instructions, closing your eyes and just focusing on his touch.

His hands worked almost expertly over your shoulders, massaging the knots and tension out of the muscles and moving down to do the same on your back. You weren’t sure how long the massage went on, but you were pretty sure you knew what it felt like to be butter in a hot pan.

You released a contented sigh, eyes still shut. Pietro brushed a lock of hair from your face and traced his fingertips over your jaw.

“There’s something else I want to try.” He spoke for the first time in a while. You hummed for him to go on. “Wanda told me about a place she went. There was a sensory deprivation tank.”

You quirked an eyebrow and propped yourself up to look at him. You were curious where exactly he was going with this. You knew about the tanks, floating was supposed to be wonderful, but it was expensive and you’d never been able to squeeze the time out of your schedule.

“It’s supposed to be really relaxing. It got me thinking. There’s another way to use sensory deprivation,” His fingers trailed up your leg. “Maybe that would have a similar effect. Do you trust me?”

You couldn’t deny the wary look, but you trusted him more than anyone else in the world. You nodded.

“Get comfy. And take your bra off.” Once again, it wasn’t an order, but you followed it like one. He stood up, and you unclasped your bra, slipping it off and rolling onto your back. You stared at the ceiling while your boyfriend rifled through the closet. When he finally came back, he brought with him a host of items you didn’t even know you had.

“Here, lemme…” He gently guided your arms over your head. He was careful with the cloth tie as he fastened your wrists to the headboard. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, a nervous sort of excitement pulsing through you. You hadn’t tried much like this, never going so far as to actually get tied up. It had only come up once or twice, but you’d always been enthusiastic about trying new things.

Pietro was careful in his movements, paranoid about hurting you or upsetting you. You obediently held your head up while he slipped a blindfold over your eyes. You had to reassure him over and over again that you were okay, not that his worries were anything new.

“Pietro, I trust you. You won’t hurt me. If I say stop you will.” You insisted. He was still for a long moment, then his lips met yours.

The kiss was a bit clumsy at first with you mildly disoriented from the blindfold and restraints, but it was sweet, and you knew better than anything how to follow his lead. You tested the ties on your wrists, making sure you couldn’t break free.

“I’m gonna put headphones on you, okay?” Pietro stroked your cheek and waited for you to nod. Then he nestled a pair of noise cancelling headphones over your ears, muting out the world around you.

It was nice, almost like flying, like floating. You were buzzing with the anticipation of it all. It took every ounce of your self control not to squirm. You felt the bed dip and shift as Pietro moved around you. You tried to keep your focus steady, but it was hard to focus on where he was when you were so busy taking in the scent of him. Your heart picked up in your chest, and your stomach flipped excitedly.

His hands found their way to your breasts, fingers just ghosting over your skin. You inhaled sharply. Just the slightest touch was like a wildfire, a type of feeling you’d never experienced before.

His hands cupped you more firmly, kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples between his fingertips. You whined, curling into his touch. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

His touch was slow and fleeting. He pulled his hands away and watched the way you struggled to press back into them. After what felt like an eon, he pinched and tweaked your nipples again. He swirled circles around them with his fingertips and teased them. You whined, arching into his touch. He worked you up only to pull his touch away again. You whined, but you didn’t hear his chuckle.

His mouth latched onto your nipple next, sucking and nibbling while his hands traced down your sides slow and steady. He switched to your other pebbled peak, sucking and nipping there until he was satisfied. Then his mouth traveled elsewhere.

He left slow, sloppy kisses over your chest, pausing to leave a hickey at your collarbone. Then he was on the move again. His lips danced over the slope of your breasts, then down your stomach.

He paused when he reached your naval, kissing around it when his fingers traced patterns against your hips that made you giggle.. He reveled in the sounds you made, soft and sweet as you wiggled underneath his weight. He teased his mouth just a touch lower before sitting up again.

When his touch came back, it started lower. His hands smoothed up your legs, starting at your ankles and pausing at your knees. Then back down. The second time he ran the course, his lips followed, leaving kisses against your skin.

Ever so gently he nudged your legs open wider to continue on even higher. His kisses trailed up your thigh, nipping and sucking another mark there before continuing. With every touch of his lips, he left a reminder of just how adored and worshipped you were by him.His lips ventured dangerously close to where you needed him most, but just when you were sure you’d get the sweet satisfaction of his tongue against your pussy, he switched to the other leg and once more started his teasing.

When you were squirming and whiney, Pietro finally gave in. He tugged your panties down, exposing your aching wetness to the air. His lips latched onto your clit, sucking lighty and swirling his tongue around it. His hands pressed your thighs open even further. He pulled away from your clit, tongue guiding lower and dipping into your core. He hummed at the heavenly taste of your longing for him and him alone.

Your hips bucked against his mouth as your hands fought to free themselves from their ties. He pinned them back down with his forearm and returned to feasting on your pussy. He licked a long stripe through your folds before pressing two of his fingers steadily into you. The moan that passed your lips egged him on. His mouth found the bundle of nerves again while his digits curled and twisted inside of you.

Every inch of you felt like it was tingling, your sensitivity dialed up to eleven. Every drag of his fingers inside of you, every steadily unpredictable swipe of his tongue against your clit had you careening towards the edge. One last firm flick of his tongue, and you tipped right into your orgasm.

You came hard, freefalling into the pleasure. You moaned loud and unashamed, your hips rolling and your walls clutching at his fingers for dear life. He gently coaxed you back down, slowing his fingers’ pace before pulling them out of you completely. The aftershocks of the orgasm were accompanied by his hands running up your thighs, over your sides, and back down again until you stilled beneath him.

Once you’d properly returned to earth, he slipped off the bed and stripped his own clothes off. He plucked a condom from the drawer by the bed, and rolled it onto his considerable length. Once that was said and done, he rejoined you on the bed.

You were growing impatient, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside you. Your walls were clenching around nothing, and your wetness had coated the insides of your thighs. Each second felt like a decade until the head of his cock swiped through your folds. You whimpered, squirming as he did it again. Once, twice, three times, and you lost your control.

A guttural groan left you, and you rolled your hips up into him helplessly. Your wrists twisted so you could clutch at the cloth holding them in place.

“Pietro, please. Want your cock so bad,” You cried out, pressing into him once more. He moaned, always weak for your begging, and the sound of your name on his lips.

He slipped slowly into you, filling you inch by inch and watching your needy hole swallow him  so perfectly. Once he’d bottomed out, he stayed put deep inside of you. His thumb strummed your clit, and you arched towards him.

Just as you began to think you’d combust, he rocked his hips, pulling out and pushing back into you. It was a brutally slow pace, and no matter how good it felt you needed more. And Pietro never failed you. The rhythm built slowly, but ever spreading up. It was an incredible warmth spreading through you. Every bit of your energy was focused on feeling.

Feeling his skin rubbing and sticking against yours in a way that should have been unpleasant. Feeling his cock splitting you open and brushing right against that perfect spot inside of you. Feeling his thumb rubbing perfect figure eights on your clit. Feeling yourself cum again.

Your back arched from the bed so hard that Pietro was worried you’d hurt yourself. You nearly sobbed at the overwhelming pleasure. Pietro dipped his head to kiss your jaw, still fucking you through it.

As you caught your breath from it, Pietro started to pull out, but you shook your head and hooked a leg over his hips.

“Use me to finish,” You pleaded desperately. That wasn’t something he would ever say no to.

He pulled your leg higher and began his thrusts again, his hips slapping into yours and his head still resting against your shoulder. You were oversensitive, but it only drove you towards another orgasm.

All it took was your walls spasming around his aching member for him to spill into the condom, his teeth digging lightly into your shoulder as he gave a few more thrusts, working through his own orgasm. He pressed his lips to yours, kissing you nice and slow.

Finally, after the both of you had caught your breath and shared a handful more kisses, he pulled out of you. He disposed of the condom before setting your hands free. He worked the blindfold off and tossed it aside along with the headphones. Then he curled up.

He settled against you, arms tucked tight around your waist and holding you close to his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Did it work?” He asked, his playful smirk curling onto his lips. “Are you relaxed?”

You hummed your affirmation, still not opening your eyes to look at him. You were exhausted in the best way possible.

“Very. I’ve gotta try that on you sometime.” You giggled a little. “But for now, I want a bath. Then naptime?”

“Then naptime.”

He grinned. Anything you could do to help his baby relax.

Tag List: @dragonofthenorth0726​ // @vozit​ // @realgaytrash​ // @nikkiofasgard​ // @i-love-books-so-fricking-much​ // @creamofweep​ // @underratedmisfit​ // @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve​ // @littlegasps​ // @hi-my-name-is-riley​ // @call-me-baby-gir1​ // @mikariell95​

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Ever Been In The Backseat?

Summary - Your fantasy involving a certain green-eyed actor, yourself and a certain classic, black car comes true.

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader

Warning - Smut 18+, Unprotected sex (y'all are better than that), Oral sex (fem receiving), bearded!jensen, fluff, a little mention of Dom!Jensen (this fic really got out of my hand), just pure filth, PWP.

Word Count - 1890

Square Filled - Shirtless!Jensen ( @spndeanbingo )

Written for @anaelsbrunette's Yas 20th Birthday Bash. HAPPY BIRTHDAY IN ADVANCE YAS! Hope you like this <3<3 Prompt is in bold.

I blame this fic idea entirely on @jawritter but I don't think she is sorry, neither am I.

Beta'd by the lovely @deanwanddamons. Before writing this, I went through her fic "The One With Baby" to get an idea of the smut so she deserves a double shoutout!

I love the Ackles fam but for the sake of this fic, Jensen is not married to Danneel. This is only a work of fiction.

All the adult stuff is mentioned under the cut. So if you're under 18, DO NOT read any further!

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Looking up from your book, you realized the house was incredibly quiet. This was very unusual considering your husband was home. Normally you could hear his deep voice from his office on the other side of the hall or hear him strumming his guitar, humming along to an unknown song, but today the house was quiet and Jensen was nowhere to be found.

As if on cue, your four legged, fur baby walked into the room. Putting aside the book in your hand, you extended your arms to beckon the dog.

“Where's Dad?” You asked him as the German Shepherd walked up to you, wagging his tail. The dog tilted his head, looking up at you. “Even you don't know, huh?” You got up from your seat, kneeling down in front of the dog and gently patted his head. “Come on. Let's go find him.”

Noticing the door to the garage was open, you went in. Since the arrival of Dean’s beloved Impala, Jensen had been spending an ungodly amount of time in there, repairing and oiling the parts of the classic car and right now, the said actor was standing there in front of Baby with hands on his hips, admiring his handiwork.

Smacking your lips, you let your eyes roam over his body, taking in how his jeans clung low on his hips, the black shirt fitting his toned body perfectly, his piece of flannel lay abandoned on the garage floor. Your lips parted, a small sigh leaving them as Jensen's hand went up to his face, scratching his scruffy beard. You shivered ever so lightly at the memory of last night - the sweet burn of that beard you had felt as his sinful mouth was devouring you. The thought itself made a light blush creep up your neck, but you gathered yourself and asked, “How long have you been down here, Mr. Ackles?”

“Hey.” Jensen looked up at your words, smiling when he saw you. “Kinda lost track of time. Miss me already?”

“Mhm.” You slowly approached the man. Pecking his lips, you asked, “Is she all set for a ride?”

“Oh you bet she is.” Jensen smirked, quickly catching on to your innuendo. You let your eyes travel south of his body as he bent over to pick up a rag cloth and his black shirt rode up a little, giving you a glimpse of his stomach. Your mind instantly ran wild with thoughts involving a certain green eyed man and you in the backseat of a certain black car.

“Eyes up here, missus.” Jensen's voice pulled you out of your explicit thoughts and your eyes snapped up to meet with his green ones. Cleaning his hands, he threw the rag on the floor. “So what brought you down here, sweetheart?” He husked.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you heard his pet name for you. Very often, you had noticed that the thin line between the actor and character had started getting blurred even when Jensen was home - this was one of those times.

“You look very….Dean, you know.” You said, ignoring his question, “Except this.” You touched his bearded face to emphasise your words. Jensen made quick work of shutting the hood before looking at you again.

“You didn't seem to mind it last night when you were begging me for more.” His lips tugged up in a smirk. “I bet you are thinking about it right now, aren't ya?”

‘Fuck, how did he know?’ You wondered, but all your rational thoughts flew out of the window when he took your hand in his, entangling his fingers with yours. Jensen's other hand moved to your waist, holding you tightly, pulling you dangerously close to his body. You placed your free hand on your husband's shoulder to steady yourself when he leaned in, claiming your lips with his pink, plump ones, his beard tickling your face a little. Jensen's fingers untangled themselves from yours and his other hand left your waist and both moved up to cup your face.

Moaning, you hooked your hands behind his neck as his teeth grazed your lip. Your knees buckled under his hypnotic touch as he slipped his tongue into your mouth . Your whole body tingled , your eyes slipped closed, and your toes curling as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. You felt your lungs screaming for air until Jensen finally let go of your lips. You opened your eyes and saw him staring at you, his eyes blown with lust. He slammed you against the door of the car.

You gasped when his hands sneaked under your shirt. With one swift movement of his hand, Jensen lifted your shirt over your head, throwing it on the ground, leaving you in just your bra. His hands pinned yours down to the side as he moved closer to you, his growing excitement pressed against your thigh. He hungrily attacked your lips once more. You had barely caught your breath when his mouth started to move downwards.

“Jay-” you whined when he nipped on the pulse point in your neck, Jensen let go of your hands, cupping your face as he whispered against your neck, “Jay what, baby?” The feel of his lips sent shivers down your spine. He ran his hand down your body, stopping at the waistband of your slacks.

“I-” you sucked in a deep breath when his fingers dipped below the waistband of your slacks, brushing against your already dampened cotton panties, pulling a soft whimper out of your lips.

“Baby, you're soaked.” He husked. “Tell me sweetheart, how long have you thinkin’ about getting fucked in the backseat?”

“L-long-” the words got stuck in your throat when he pinched your inner thigh.

“Didn't hear you. Say it louder.” He growled into your ear, his beard grazing past the skin on your neck. “Say it, baby.”

“Long e-enough.” Jensen hummed as his hand teasingly circled around your clothed core, pinching and squeezing the skin of your inner thighs.

“Fucking tease.” You whined at the sudden loss of touch when he pulled out his hand.

“What do you want? Tell me.” He smirked, looking into your eyes.

“Fuck me.”

And that's all it took for Jensen to open the door to the backseat of the Impala before nudging you to go in. You did so in with shaky legs and slid across the seat. Jensen lifted his shirt over his head with one swift motion of his wrist before undoing his belt. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your slacks and pulled them off, along with your ruined panties. Smirking again, he climbed into the car beside you, closing the door behind him. Unhooking your bra, Jensen's hands moved up to your breasts, kneading and massaging them. His fingers caressed your stiff nipples before his mouth latched onto one sensitive bud. He flicked your nipple gently while his fingers worked on the other one.

“Fuck-” you moaned aloud, your voice bouncing off the closed doors of the Chevrolet. Stopping the assault on your nipple, his mouth started to move down after placing a kiss on the valley between your breasts. He caressed your entire torso, his mouth trailing kisses down your body before he gently pushed your legs apart, dipping his head down to your heated core. He left a trail of wet kisses up your thigh, his beard leaving a sweet burn on your skin in its wake.

His hot breath fanned against your throbbing pussy. He looked up at you before pushing one of his fingers inside you, eliciting a moan out of you. He pumped hard twice before adding a second finger.

“Fuck-” you moaned.

“That's exactly what I'm planning on to do.” Jensen rasped, as he increased the pace, curling his fingers inside you, brushing past your g-spot repeatedly. You sucked in a sharp breath when he pulled out his fingers and his mouth latched onto your aching pussy. You arched your back at his action. Your hands moved down, fingers getting tangled up in his long hair, pulling a low growl out of him, the vibrations of it edging you over.

“Jen-oh shit!” You exclaimed as he hungrily devoured you, his tongue repeatedly assaulting your sensitive pussy, sucking needily on your bundle of nerves. You felt the coil in your stomach tighten before a wave of pleasure washed over you.

“Shit!” You gasped as Jensen’s tongue lapped your juices hungrily. Panting, you tried to come down from your high as you saw him lift himself up slightly to get rid of his jeans. Your eyes were drawn towardson his noticeable bulge. Moving your hands near him, you reached out to palm his hardened cock through his boxers.

“Fuck baby-” Jensen groaned before grasping you by your wrist.

“If you keep doing that, I won't last long.” He purred, pulling his boxers down and discarding them somewhere on the front seat. His erection sprung free from his confines. Taking his hardened cock in his hand, he gave it a few strokes, running his hand up and down his shaft, the tip beaded with precum. He lined himself with your dripping entrance. His swollen tip teasingly nudged at your opening before he pushed himself into you.

“Oh-” you hissed, the sensation painful at first, but your mouth fell open in an inaudible moan as that pain turned into pleasure. “You need to m-move.” You said. He lifted himself up, pulling out of you leaving only the tip of his engorged cock inside you, before pushing back in again, deeper than before. You bucked your hips to match with his rhythm. Locking his fingers with yours, Jensen kept thrusting deep into you as you finally settled in a sync with him.

With every thrust, you inched closer to your release as both your breathing became ragged. The car’s confined space was filled with needy moans and deep breaths. Jensen buried his face in the crook of your neck as you felt the coil in your stomach tightening once more. He nibbled on your skin. You freed your hands from his grip and placed them on the small of his back as your nails dug into his skin.

“Fuck-Y/N!” He exclaimed and your nails dug deeper, his breath tickling your neck along with his beard.

“‘M close,” you breathed out.

“Mhm. That's it, baby, just like that, let it go.” Jensen rasped, as his thrusts became sloppy. Your coil finally snapped as a wave of sheer ecstasy washed over you.

“Fuck! Fuck! Jensen!” You cried out as you felt yourself coming undone. A few more thrusts and Jensen spilled himself into you, a grunt falling out of his lips, as his seed coated your walls. He collapsed on top of you, trying to catch his breath. Pecking your lips, he pulled out of you. You stared up at the foggy glass windows as Jensen reached for his boxers. Opening the door, he stepped out in all his naked glory. You sat up in the seat, also naked, as you watched him pull his boxers and jeans back up, leaving his belt unbuckled.

As Jensen turned his back to grab his shirt, you whispered loud enough for him to hear, “The backseat of Baby surely now has some stains and stories.”

Feedback is highly appreciated!

[torikengel]

Thomas Hewitt x Reader (Part 8)

Thomas quickly took out his mask and put it back in its place. He couldn’t face Hoyt without it as he would probably mock and tease him. You held your breath, as you didn’t want to panic. It would be okay, right? Thomas was right next to you, there’s no way you would die now.

“Thomas Brown Hewitt.” Hoyt hissed. “What do you think you are doing with it?” he pointed the gun at you.

It. IT? Seriously, you were just a thing for this guy. You trembled, fearing for your life. You didn’t dare to make a sound, but you instinctively hid behind Thomas. Hoyt smirked at your reaction, he was having fun making you feel uncomfortable and threatened.

“So, now that she got her last wish, it’s time to butcher ‘er. We’re short on meat anyway.” He cocked his head back and laughed. He sent shivers down your spine; you could feel the cold sweat trailing down your skin. Thomas growled at Hoyt and protectively covered your body with his.

“Now, now, Tommy boy, don’t even try to act up again. I am the head of this family, and you will listen to everythin’, I say!” he sneered.

“Either take her to the basement, or I am taking her to my room to get some use of her.” Hoyt stepped towards you and Thomas to take you away.

Your heart was racing like never before. Now you were extremely mad at yourself for not trying to escape. Your attempts to stay alive were all futile, you thought. Thomas, however, had different plans. He didn’t back off but stepped up to Hoyt, letting him put the gun at him. He knew that Hoyt was bluffing; he would never shoot Thomas as he wouldn’t have anyone to do the dirty work for him.

“Step aside, Tommy boy.” Hoyt snickered and put the gun down. “Come one, it’s just a piece of meat, it’s like all the other girls before. Ya can’t believe that she would like ya. Look at ‘er pretty face and then look in the mirror.” He mocked Thomas. Thomas’s confidence crumbled. He was big and strong, yes, but he was still very self-conscious about his appearance, and it didn’t help that his family except Luda made fun of him like this. This put Hoyt on a pedestal.

“See, now that’s a good boy. Uncuff that bitch and lemme have her for a while before butcherin’ her.” Hoyt scoffed.

“Thomas isn’t ugly… don’t talk to him like this…” you said with a trembling voice. It pained you to hear how Hoyt talked to Thomas. Like he was worse than a dog. Hoyt’s eyes widened. He was shocked by your exclamation but quickly responded. “My my did no one ever taught you manners, missy? Don’t meddle in other family’s business.”

“I’ve heard enough.” A female voice interrupted your conversation with Hoyt. “I told you that you wouldn’t speak like this about Thomas.” Luda Mae ranted. “Plus, it’s not appropriate in front of our guest.” She scolded Hoyt. Hoyt was furious. “Guest?” he hissed as he looked at your face.

“Yes, y/n is our guest right now. I won’t let you hurt her unless she does something Tommy doesn’t like.” She exclaimed calmly. She could let Hoyt treat everyone like garbage, even herself, but definitely not her son.

“Now, dinner is ready, please come in,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen again. Hoyt followed her back inside without a word. Thomas led you to the table and uncuffed you, so you both could sit down. You could hear the voices from the kitchen.

“What do you think you are doin’ woman?” Hoyt angrily asked Luda. “I am doin’ what’s best for ma son.” She replied. You looked at Thomas, who had that pained expression again. You grabbed his hand under the table. Despite fearing for your life, your heart ached when you saw him in this state. You remembered his sweet smile when he looked at you, and he seemed happy… now he had sorrow in his eyes. “Thank you, Tommy.” You tried to console him. You tightened the grip on his hand… your hand was so much smaller than his that his palm completely enveloped yours.

*

*

The dinner was quiet and awkward. You finished your plate as you didn’t want to stir the pot more by refusing the meat, even if it made you a cannibal too. After eating, Thomas led you into your room, lost in his thoughts. He didn’t make a sound, and after you sat on the bed, he bolted out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Hoyt’s words marked him… such a cruel man, you thought. You deeply exhaled and lied down on the bed. It was a long day, and you were tired from all the walking and the ever-present danger. You were so startled and confused by everything that you didn’t even realize that you were uncuffed and fell asleep in no time.

*

You woke up in the middle of the night… “What a terrible nightmare.” You murmured and rubbed your tired eyes. You looked around to find yourself in the room, that was your personal prison. After contemplating it for a while, you decided to stand up, only to find out that you are basically free. You carefully inspected your wrists and ankles, not being able to grasp the reality of being unshackled. “I bet it’s just a dream.” You said as you decided to pinch yourself, but then you realized that this indeed is happening. You tiptoed to the door and placed your ear onto the door to check if someone is awake. After being unable to hear a thing, you gained the confidence to open the door. The hallway was so dark; you could barely see anything. You crept down the stairs, trying not to make any sound. After you finally managed to go down the stairs, you darted to the main door. Your freedom was right before you. Just turn the doorknob and run was all you had to do. One door separating you from getting your life back. You hesitantly placed your hand on the doorknob… your heart was beating so fast, adrenaline rushing through your veins. It was here again, exactly what happened when you could’ve escaped earlier the previous day. But now Thomas wasn’t here to stop you… Thomas. His name echoed in the back of your mind as you remembered his expression when he glanced at you during the dinner. “Thomas…” you whispered for yourself. You couldn’t understand your fixation on this man, your captor—dangerous murderer. You touched your lips as you remembered the kiss and then the familiar tingling in your stomach. “I am foolish.” You facepalmed and giggled at your incompetence.

“Unbelievable…” you gasped. The hand that was on the doorknob fell down, and you walked away from the door, defeated by your own feelings. You wondered around the house only to find the door to the basement. You didn’t think twice before sneaking inside as quietly as possible.

*

You found Thomas leaning on one of the tables. He was so busy rethinking everything that he didn’t pay attention to any noises you might’ve made. Plus, he was tired as well. He just couldn’t sleep. “Tommy.” You whispered, trying not to make him panic. Well, he did anyway. He immediately snapped back into reality and ran straight at you. “Shhhh.” You placed a finger on your lips. “Your footsteps might wake someone up.” You exclaimed calmly, despite Thomas looking scary. He was used to chasing people who suddenly appeared in the house. He was confused… did he forget to cuff you? If so, what were you doing in the basement? Why didn’t you escape?

“I couldn’t sleep…” you said sheepishly and looked at him.

Thomas nodded in agreement.

You looked around before your gaze shifted back to Thomas again. This basement… here you met Thomas for the first time, here you were on the brink of death. The horrible smell of death wasn’t as noticeable, and the blood was nowhere to be found. You could see Thomas’s confusion in his radiant blue eyes. It was dark in the basement, except for one ray of moonlight shining through a small window that you didn’t notice was here before.

“You look great in the moonlight.” You blushed as you saw Thomas’s features without the mask highlighted.

Thomas was mesmerized by your gorgeous face in this atmosphere too. You had sparkles in your big e/c eyes too, so beautiful. You gently smiled at him and stepped towards him. He didn’t wear the bloody apron now, and you really thought he looked… attractive? He wasn’t handsome in any conventional way, but something about him just dragged you towards this man. As you were close enough that you could hear your nervous breaths, you cupped his cheeks and pressed your lips on his. Thomas, still a bit inexperienced, just leaned towards you and held you around your waist. You gained a bit of confidence and made way into his mouth with your tongue to kiss him more passionately. Thomas was surprised, but he let you as he loved everything you did to him. He just melted into the kiss and tried to copy your moves. After your lips parted, you were both panting. You looked at him with lust in your eyes. He made you so crazy about him. You wanted him so much that you were willing to sacrifice your freedom and your whole life with him. You could’ve escaped, but here you were kissing a killer… but you really thought that he had pure heart, he was misunderstood, society turned him into a monster. But with you, he was protective and caring… he spared your life. Your needs and emotions clouded your judgment. You wrapped your arms around his neck and desperately kissed him again while running your fingers through his hair. It was hard for Thomas to keep up as he never experienced anything like this, but he let you lead it. For him, it was the most beautiful moment of his life. It was so perfect that he thought he fell asleep after all, and this was just a dream.

“Tommy… I-“ you whimpered after you pulled back, gasping for air. You wanted him but couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It was embarrassing… You were ashamed of your behavior and ruining your chance to run away, but you couldn’t deny your feelings. You grabbed him by the tie and then untied it. Then your fingers slipped to the buttons of his shirt as you started unbuttoning it. Thomas never felt more anxious. He knew what the outcome of this could be, but he was still new to all this. His heart was pounding so fast he thought that it might explode, and heat rushed to his cheeks, making him blush.

“It’s okay, Tommy… tell me if you want me to stop.” You whispered and looked at him. Thomas shook his head. He wanted you too. Even if he was scared, he was also completely infatuated by you.

After you were done with his shirt, you could see his bare upper body for the first time. He really was so big and ripped… your heart skipped as you gazed at him. You passionately kissed him again and then made a trail of kisses down his neck to collar bone. Thomas quietly moaned when he felt your warm lips against his skin. Then you stepped back and looked at him. “Are you sure you want this?” you weren’t sure if this question was really directed at Thomas or yourself.

Thomas nodded and smiled at you.

an: I am sorry for not posting a new chapter earlier, but I will redeem myself and post some NSWF tomorrow in the next one <3 

[themoonlitsojourner]

Chapter 2: Need you here ‘cause I’m a mess

Emotions are messy, unruly, and a complete mystery to Raven. But she can't leave her friend to endure this alone. Not once she sees the state Gar's in.

Emptiness. One word, but a whole world of hurt behind it. How can Gar feel nothing and the throb of his bleeding heart at the same time?

‘How.’ It’s the only question on his mind.

How could she? Did the months of teamwork and friendship, of welcoming Tara into their home with every reassurance and smile mean nothing to her?

Gar bites down on his lip and tastes blood.

Didn’t their nights spent stargazing, their shared glances and whispered secrets mean anything to her, when they meant the world to him? Was every shy brush of her hand against his fake? Was every kiss a trick?

He’ll never know. The worst part isn’t the betrayal. It’s the fact that she’s never coming back. She’s never coming home.

A scene flashes through Gar’s mind, the memory that plays over and over every time he closes his eyes.

A katana piercing the bandages wrapped around Tara’s stomach, the vicious twist as Slade yanks the blade from the last wound he will ever give his apprentice. Tara’s shocked expression as she collapses, Garfield’s terrified cry as he cradles his first love in his arms. As he watches her bleed out with every throbbing heartbeat and gasping breath. As Tara dies in his arms.

In just a few hours, she betrayed him and died. He lost her twice that day.

The anger Garfield worked so hard to stoke and feed fizzles out, replaced by the sharp ache of pure loss tearing through his chest like a wild beast, ripping into his heart and lungs until he can’t breathe. Why couldn’t he save her? Why wasn’t he enough?

Tears roll down his cheeks, soaking his fur as his shoulders tremble. He wants to stop, to take control of himself and shut down. Anything to stop the pain.

Anything to stop missing her.

~~~

“He’s been in there all morning.” Richard sets the TV remote down and sends a worried glance at the hallway leading to the team’s living quarters. “Do you think we should…?”

“He doesn’t wanna talk about it.” Victor passes an empty soda bottle from hand to hand, never once looking up. He tried to reach out to Garfield again yesterday. When he returned, his expression told the others exactly how it went.

Raven’s gaze flicks to Koriand’r as the redhead sighs loudly and props her chin on her hands. “There is truly nothing we can do to help?” She sends Richard a pleading look, undoubtedly wanting to make Garfield another present. It’s a sweet thought, but ultimately futile. Just like everything else they’ve tried.

“Not if he won’t let us,” Victor replies. He finally lifts his head, turning to catch Raven’s eyes. “You tried yet?”

“I’ve been giving him his space.” He wouldn’t want to see me. Not if he turned away Richard and Kori. Not if he won’t even talk to Victor.

“It has been two days since he has emerged from his room,” Kori points out, voice and thoughts drenched in sorrow. She’s right to be worried.

“I’ll try.” Raven stands. “But I don’t think it will help.”

“Will it hurt?” Victor says quietly, gaze returning to his soda bottle.

The question is rhetorical, of course. Nothing could hurt Garfield any worse than what’s already happened.

With each step toward his room, the pain in Raven’s head grows. She closes her eyes and stops to lean on the wall, bracing herself against the waves of guilt, regret, anger, sorrow. And grief. So much grief, in every shade and variation she’s ever sensed, present all at once in a single boy.

Taking a deep breath, Raven centers herself. She closes the distance to Gar’s room and knocks on the door. No answer. Not even a rustle of movement. If it weren’t for the hurricane of emotion flooding from him, she might think the room was empty.

“Garfield,” she says to the closed door. “It’s Raven.”

Nothing changes. Not with the door and not in his mind.

She didn’t come before because he needed time to process and mourn. But now that she’s here… Garfield’s in too much anguish for her to just turn around and leave. He shouldn’t be alone with this.

“I’m coming in.” Raven’s hand rests on the doorknob for a few seconds, giving him a chance to protest. Silence. She opens the door and steps inside, shutting it quietly behind her.

The room is dim. The only trace of light seeps through the half-shuttered window, filtering between storm clouds and raindrops to drench the room in an even gray. Garfield lies on his side in bed, the covers tangled beneath him. He stares out at the downpour, expression distant and blank. Tired. Empty.

Raven closes her eyes again, just for a moment. Her head pounds, her chest tight and aching with the agony pouring from him like the rain from the sky. She forces herself to open her eyes.

“I don’t wanna get out of bed.” Garfield’s voice breaks the silence, raspy and flat. “I don’t wanna do anything.” His dull eyes trace a raindrop trickling down the glass. “That’s never happened to me before,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry.” Raven’s throat feels thick, like a knot has tied the middle shut, and breathing past it is difficult. Her thoughts slow and blur, a numbness settling upon her. This… this is how Garfield feels. The sensations that plague her mimic the heaviness of grief upon his chest, the darkness of apathy draining the color from his being. This is the extent of his pain.

If Raven had the words to comfort him, she’d give them freely. If she knew how to help, she would stop at nothing. But that is an ability her mentor Azar never taught her. A skill she’s never learned, despite the years spent surrounded by caring, whole people who do know how to soothe and comfort. It’s yet another area where she has failed them.

Dark streaks trail the fur on Gar’s face, marking the path of tears. Another falls as Raven watches.

“Why can’t I just hate her?” he chokes. “Why do I have to miss her?”

“Because you care, despite what she did. Because that’s who you are.” It’s the truth. She knows how to give him that, at least.

Garfield inhales shakily. “Yeah. And it’s how I got hurt.”

Without that openness and trust, you wouldn’t be Garfield. But even if Raven argues, she won’t be able to make him believe. Not when he’s still so deeply wounded.

She searches for something to say as Gar falls silent again. He crosses his arms and pulls his knees to his chest, curling into a fetal position. “There’s so much I never got to tell her,” he whispers to himself.

Watching him feels like an intrusion and there’s nothing she can do to help. Raven turns to leave and give him his privacy, but his voice stops her.

“Please.”

When she glances back, Garfield is looking at her for the first time since she stepped into the room. His emerald green eyes, normally so full of joy and mirth, are dark and pained. They reflect the ache throbbing inside him, the one pulsing in Raven’s head.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers. “I don’t want to be alone.”

His words hit Raven like a shot to the chest.

After Tara left, in more ways than one, after what she did to him… He’s afraid to be left alone again. And he’s asking for Raven, of all people, to stay.

The pressure in her head builds until she wants to scream. “Let me get you something to eat.” She needs an escape.

Garfield’s shoulders drop. His head falls back to the pillow, eyes returning to the gray sky. “Sure.”

Just like that, any emotion in his voice disappears as he slips back under the numbness. Another dagger pushed into Raven’s heart. She shuts the door behind her with shaking hands, working to calm her breathing. His pain, his grief… It’s too much.

She walks to the kitchen without thought. Kori looks up hopefully as soon as she enters, Richard and Victor following suit.

“How is he?” Richard asks.

“Not good.” Raven wrenches the fridge open, searching for something Garfield would never turn down, not even in his current state. “He’s depressed.”

The word lies sour and dark on her tongue, the reality of it sending dread rolling over her. Sunny, ridiculously optimistic Garfield, depressed. Beast Boy, the light of the team, caught in the dark of his own mind.

Her fist slams down on the kitchen counter with a crack. “Curse you, Tara,” Raven hisses.

Sharp pain travels up her nerves, the sensation delayed by her anger. Feeling her friend’s wide eyes on her, Raven snatches a container of last night’s garlic tofu and rice out of the fridge and marches from the room.

No one will ever put Garfield through this again. Not on her watch. If she’s the one he’s reaching out to, then Raven will do whatever it takes to make him whole. To bring back the smile to her friend’s face and the light to his eyes. If it means hours of extra meditation afterwards to maintain her control, then so be it. It’s more than a fair price.

“I brought garlic stir-fry.” Raven sets the container on his bookshelf, next to a picture frame turned face down. Her gaze lingers there. It isn’t hard to guess who’s in the photo.

“You came back.” Gar glances at her, then away when she faces him. “I thought that was just your excuse to get away from the mess in my head.” He makes a finger gun and taps it against his temple. “Not that I blame you.”

A shudder runs down Raven’s spine. Her mouth goes dry. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just joking.” His voice is small and quiet.

The dark part of Raven is angry that Tara will never see what she did to him, the shell she reduced him to. Gar cares more than anyone else can ever hope to, and Tara used that. Troubled or not, a victim of manipulation or not, nothing can ever change that truth.

Raven pushes the darkness back and locks it away in a far corner of her mind. Tara is not her concern now. Garfield is.

“How can I help?”

Gar blinks. “You can’t. Not unless you can take away the pain, like when I get beat up on a mission.” He laughs once, a bitter huff.

Raven steps forward. “I can’t.” She sits next to him on the bed. “But I can share it.”

Garfield’s eyes widen and he jerks to sitting, showing the first bit of life she’s seen in two days. “Raven, no.” His ears droop, his brow furrowing. “That’ll hurt you.”

“If you can handle it, then so can I.” The situation calls for comfort she doesn’t know how to give. But her friends do. So she mimics the way she’s seen Victor reassure Kori and cups Gar’s cheek, fingertips finding still damp fur. She lets her concern show, her lips falling into a frown. “And I’m more worried about you, Gar.”

His eyes glimmer. Just a spark, for just a second. “You called me Gar.” Slowly, he shakes his head, gaze still fixed on Raven. “You never use nicknames.”

Despite her teammates’ best efforts to the contrary, Raven always uses their proper first names. It makes it easier to pretend she isn’t as emotionally involved, as attached to them as she knows she is. It’s silly, honestly. She uses the nicknames in her head anyway.

“Yes,” Raven confesses. “I did.”

“I knew you thought it was cool,” Gar mumbles, curling up on his side again. But this time, he lays his head in Raven’s lap.

She freezes for a moment, scrambling to comprehend this new turn of events. Her hand ends up in his hair, so she tentatively smooths it, careful to avoid the knots. She’s never been comfortable with touch. It’s a strange and unfamiliar sensation to her, having experienced it only rarely on Azarath. But she tries to set that aside now.

“Promise you won’t leave.” Garfield’s vulnerable like she’s never seen him. So small and afraid compared to who he usually is. Or maybe he’s always hidden it well, even from her. “I just… I need…”

“I need you here.” His thoughts say what he can’t. “I need you.”

No one has ever needed Raven before. All her life, she has brought this world only darkness and the promise of death and destruction at the hand of her father. But somehow, Gar sees something different. That ability to find the best in people, regardless of who they are… it’s his greatest quality.

“I promise,” Raven answers. “I won’t leave.”

Closing her eyes, she bows her head and lowers the walls around her mind.

Emotions seep in, flowing from the broken boy with his head in her lap. Forceful, potent feelings, far stronger than any she’s ever experienced through her empathy before. They whip through her mind in blinding colors, mingling with and amplifying each other, complex and interconnected. When she lets herself appreciate them, they’re almost beautiful, despite the monumental effort it takes to keep them from overwhelming her.

Raven breathes carefully and slowly, the tightness in her chest returning threefold. Inhale… Exhale… The sound is her point of focus as she works to channel the pain from Gar and release it into the void her powers come from, allowing herself to be a conduit.

A hand reaches up to touch her cheek, the contact pulling her mind back to this world. Gentle fingers wipe away a single tear that managed to escape her control. “Rae…”

Raven opens her eyes to see Garfield watching her with concern. Just two days ago, he endured tragedy that no one should ever have to experience, trauma that would break most anyone. Yet he’s concerned for her.

“Get some sleep.” Raven brushes Gar’s hair from his face and he obediently closes his eyes, too exhausted to fight. She feels his tight muscles ease as she pulls the brunt of his emotions into herself, taking the edge off his pain.

The technique is beyond dangerous and it hurts. But if she can offer Gar any comfort, she won’t withhold it. No matter the ferocity of the storm within her.

As Garfield’s breathing deepens and he drifts into slumber for what she suspects is the first time since Tara died, Raven repeats her promise.

“I won’t leave you.”

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 3)

(Previous fic in series: Slow dancing in the Darkness)

(Next fic in series: The Sound of the Sword)

[krystal-sylph]

Marble Hornets - Hoody x Reader

So yes, I saw another author do something similar to this in their book on Quotev, and I liked the idea so I thought I'd try it out. This isn't canon whatsoever, it barely has anything to do with the actual story considering it takes place after Entry #87, and everyone is either already dead or gone. It's basically a 'what if' scenario that makes almost zero sense if you look at it from the eye of a critic. Don't judge too harshly! I made it when I was bored and in need of inspiration considering it's been weeks since I last updated this book. I'll give you more details about what I was thinking during this one-shot down at the bottom of the page.

Warnings: Mentions of death

You were walking steadily through the dead trees of what you assumed to be Rosswood Park, completely lost but also not really trying to find your way out. Why would you? You had nothing to go back to. All of your friends were either dead or missing, and your family... well, let's just say your family didn't exactly want you with them, which is why you stuck so closely to Jay, and Tim, and the others. But now you had nobody to stick close to. They were all gone.

The last thing you remembered was helping Tim fight off Alex in the old high school, then when Alex had been killed, you passed out and somehow woke up in Rosswood. More whacky teleportation, probably. Either that or you were sleep-walking, which wouldn't really surprise you considering everything you've done the past few years. 

You also managed to unmask that hooded figure and were more than astonished when you saw Brian, your boyfriend that had gone missing all the way back in 2009 and was the whole reason you got involved with Jay and this mystery in the first place. You weren't sure how to react, you felt a rush of relief, shock, and anger all at the same time. He wouldn't wake up, of course he wouldn't. He had just fallen from a fifteen-foot window and landed on concrete. He was dead, and you knew that, but a part of you didn't want to accept it.

You hadn't got a lot of time to try and get him medical attention, for the Operator once again showed up and ran you and Tim off, then Alex got in the way, and well, here you were. Thankfully, you had woken up with your phone, but it was quickly losing battery so you tried calling Tim one, two, three, four times. He never answered, which lead you to believe that he, too, was gone. That left you all alone, stranded in the woods, with no one to turn to. Nobody to live for.

It felt bad enough not knowing where Brian had been all of this time, and you started believing that he was actually dead, no matter how much you denied it. But then finding out that he had been alive through the whole thing, and was watching you, well aware of how frantic you were over his disappearance, and had plenty of chances to reveal himself to you but never did? It hurt. And it made you mad. How could he do such a thing? It felt like the ultimate betrayal, and it really was in a way. If he was trying to protect you he was doing a poor job of it. 

But now he was gone, and for good. You saw proof. You saw his motionless body more than once, and it made you want to rip your heart out of your chest and throw it to the floor. And you would have, had he not already done it for you. Losing him not once, but twice? You were already experiencing the pain from Jay's death, but discovering that your boyfriend had also died? Indescribable grief is what you felt. Your heart ached, your mind throbbed, the tears wouldn't even come to your eyes anymore. You had cried them all out. 

You truly had nobody. Your feet scraped across the dirt and pebbles beneath as you continued wandering aimlessly through the forest. Where were you going? You couldn't even bring yourself to care. Your stomach rumbled, your throat was dry from dehydration. How long had you even been out here? At least two days. It was cool out, but not dreadfully so, being only June. The oversized hoodie Brian had let you have prior to all of this chaos was keeping you plenty warm, however, it only made you even more depressed. This was the last thing that was left of him. You would die in it for all you cared because you sure wouldn't be taking it off.

If you got close enough, you could still smell his scent, if only faintly. It brought you a sense of dread, but hopeless joy as well. You couldn't quite explain it. The Operator, or whatever that thing was, hadn't messed with you at all. Why? Who knew. Maybe it moved on to someone weaker to pursue, seeing as how its original victims were long gone. Or maybe it just slunk back into its weird underworld, its Own Zone, or whatever. Just as long as it left you the heck alone. You were not in the mood to be played with. After all, it was the cause of all of this. It's the reason your boyfriend was dead, the reason Alex went crazy, the reason everyone was so unstable. The reason that everyone you ever loved, who ever loved you, was gone. 

It was extremely difficult to process. How could any of this have happened? You were just a normal girl with a normal life, with normal friends, with a normal boyfriend. At least, most of your friends were normal. Turns out Tim was the one that it attached itself to first. He was patient zero, in a way, but you stopped blaming him long ago. It wasn't his fault. Yes, he should have told you and Jay sooner, but what would be the point in being angry at him now? He was inevitably deceased, too. 

You missed Jay, Tim, even Alex, as much of a jerk as he had been. You missed your other friends, but most of all you missed Brian. He was the one that had been with you when personal problems wouldn't stop messing up your life, he was the one that stuck by your side the whole time. He had been the epitome of a loyal and perfect boyfriend, and to find out he had kept the fact that he was stalking you and Jay for who-knows how long a total secret? It was disappointing. But what were you going to do, now? He was gone, it didn't even matter, anymore.

You kept your gaze trailed on the ground as you took weak steps through the trees, stuffing your hands into the pocket of the hoodie and not thinking about anything in particular. There was no doubt in your mind that Brian had been trying to do what he thought was best for you, as he likely thought that revealing himself after so long would put you in danger. But you were already in danger. Maybe he was afraid of what your reaction would be. Good, he should've been, because you would have been furious. You still were furious. You trusted him. You spent five years looking for him, worried sick about him, and he was watching you the whole time? Watching you suffer? Not doing anything about it?

Sure, Totheark was one thing, as he made it abundantly clear that he was trying to point you and Jay in the right direction several times, along with the masked figure, who was Tim, and another unknown person who had never been revealed, but it had also seemed like he was taunting you sometimes. Had he really changed that much? Did he just not care? You know that you had changed in major ways since the investigation started, but you had never stopped caring about your friends. About Brian. In fact, your love for them is what spurred you on. It was the only reason you got involved, to start with. Because you wanted them to be safe. You wanted him to be safe. 

And he practically just spat all of your hard work back in your face. Understandably, you were vexed, but the sorrow topped the anger. It didn't matter if you kicked a tree. It didn't matter if you screamed. It didn't matter if you cursed your screwed-up life, cried about your losses, or just downright died because of it all. Everyone you loved had been taken from you. Why were you the one survivor? Why couldn't it have been someone stronger, someone who deserved it? Someone like Jay? You had been briefly acquainted with him thanks to him knowing Alex, but when all of this chaos took place, the two of you got exceedingly closer.

You had been there for each other, through all of it. He was probably the one person you trusted most in this world because even though he was stressed, likely more than you were, he never lost that aspect that made him, well, him. He never let the Operator get into his head to the point of it changing who he was. Sure, the past few months he had been easily irritable, but you were, too. And the both of you had become pretty paranoid, but who wouldn't in that situation? The point is, you two stuck together. That's what got you through everything, your friendship. He was the only one you could truly count on.

And what happened to him? He was brutally ripped from your life, all thanks to Alex. All thanks to the Operator. And you didn't even get to say goodbye. He was just gone, and right behind him was Brian, then Alex, and now Tim. Every single person whom you ever cared for, now dead. Never to be seen, again. You had nobody else to try and protect, nothing else to do. You didn't have another reason to continue fighting. You didn't even want to find the way out of this park. You had nowhere to go that wouldn't bring back loads of painful memories. 

So you figured, you would wander around until you eventually just dropped dead. Is it possible to die from mental agony alone? If so, that would surely be what took you out, if lack of water and food didn't do it first. A gust of cool breeze swept through your tangled hair and, for a moment, you felt more human. It merely lasted a moment, but it still felt nice. What drew your attention was a sudden snap of a twig, and you jerked your head to the side, a bit startled by the noise. You saw nothing hiding behind the trees, then again it wouldn't be the first time you failed to see when somebody was watching you. But all of those people are gone, at least the ones you knew about. 

So what if you were being recorded right now? It wouldn't surprise you. You didn't even care. You just wanted the pain to stop. Besides, it was probably only a squirrel or some other harmless woodland creature minding its own business. No need to worry about it. A disconsolate sigh escaped from between your lips and your gaze once again averted down, eyelids beginning to feel heavy. When was the last time you actually had a solid night's sleep? How long had it been since you weren't plagued with terrible nightmares, or an ever-present fear of being killed, or endless worrying about your missing friends?

It had to have been in 2010, right? That was when everything began getting more complicated than you could have ever imagined. If you had a second chance, would you have just brushed Brian's disappearance aside and gone on with your life as if nothing had ever happened? Would you have been able to ignore it all and avoid the inevitable trouble you'd get into? The answer you came to is no, probably not. Brian meant too much to you. There would be no way to simply move on without digging at least a little in an effort to get to the bottom of what happened. 

Your head snapped up again when you heard yet another sound, this time it seemed as if a small rock had been crushed farther into the dirt, and right in front of you. What you saw made you gasp and stumble back from surprise alone, your foot catching on a root and making you fall on your back. You gaped up at the figure standing only three feet away from you, trying to comprehend how exactly this could have been possible. It isn't possible. Right? No. No, it isn't. So how was it happening?

He tilted his head to the side slightly, as if confused why you were reacting the way you were. Oh, gee, I wonder. It isn't exactly normal to see somebody who died standing directly in front of a person. You didn't speak, not for a few minutes, anyway, and neither did he. The nerve. You'd think he'd at least have the decency to say, "hi, I've risen from the grave, wanna go get a coffee?". 

But nope. Not a word. Your eyebrows furrowed as you finally came to a reasonable and most likely conclusion. It was a hallucination. He was a hallucination. A mere image your mind created to deal with your grief. What else would it be? Real? Absolutely not. There was no way, it was only your imagination playing cruel tricks on you. "Go away," you muttered, voice scratchy due to not speaking nor having anything to drink. He didn't listen, he only continued to stare down at you, though you couldn't sense any type of malice, irritation, or even sympathy emanate from off of him. In fact, he seemed almost... curious. 

You sent him a glare, trying to keep your composure and act as if seeing him didn't make you want to break down into tears for the hundredth time and wish that he was still here with you. But he wasn't, this was only your mind playing games with you. And you were sick of it already. 

"I said, go away." Slowly, you pushed yourself to your feet, not taking your eyes off of the hooded man in front of you, and when he still wouldn't listen, you hardened your voice. "I don't need you here." He waited a moment before taking a step forward, indicating he still refused to get out of your head. What could you have done in this situation? It isn't easy escaping your memories, even though the only thing you wanted to do was escape them. This one, in particular. 

His hands were dangling by his sides casually and his ski mask did everything to conceal his face and any emotion that may have been in it, which was the point of it, you supposed. And you were inwardly thanking your mind for coming up with an image of what Jay's followers on Twitter dubbed 'Hoody', instead of what you absolutely did not want to see, which was Brian. Not the hooded figure, just Brian. Your boyfriend. Or late boyfriend, now. 

You let out a resentful growl, scooped up a small rock from the ground, and lobbed it at the hallucination, hoping that once it went through him that he would disappear and leave you alone. This was too much to take for your vulnerable, broken state right now, and you just wanted it to stop. However, something happened that you most certainly did not expect. The rock, instead of flying right through him as it should have, hit him below the shoulder with a soft thud before bouncing off and landing on the dirt, once again. 

Not only did it hit him as if he were an actual, physical being, but he flinched back at the sharp impact and craned his neck down to look at the rock that had just been thrown at him, then focused his vision back on you, the girl standing with wide eyes and a confused expression clear on her features as her body went rigid. What was that? Plainly, you were losing your marbles in more ways than one. Hallucinations aren't real things, they're in the mind and in the mind only. So how did he, a hallucination, block the path of a rock, a very real, very concrete item, to the point it couldn't only be heard when it hit him, but it bounced off of him?

Still, he didn't say anything, and the silence around you, save for the tweets of birds and rustling of leaves, nearly made you crazy. Why were you doing this to yourself? Surely you had suffered enough, already. Why couldn't he just go away? You clenched your fists, in anger or as a way to gather your bearings, you weren't sure, and bit the inside of your cheek. What were you supposed to say? This couldn't be real; Brian was dead. It would be impossible for him to be here with you. Unless there was somebody pranking you to get some kind of reaction out of you. That would be the only logical explanation. 

"This isn't funny," you snapped, shooting daggers at the person still ahead of you. "Get out of here before I make you." With that, you stomped around him, making sure to keep your distance as you continued on your way, trying to forget about him. You shook your head in disbelief. How dare somebody play with your emotions like that. But how would anybody know where you were? How would somebody get an outfit exactly like Br... like him? Unless they stole it off of his dead corpse, which is a thought you really didn't want to consider too much. 

Who would ever prank you in such a way? Who would find you all the way out here? You couldn't be tracked—your phone had died after the first couple of hours you had been out here, and even so, you had ended up throwing it into the brush of the woods miles back. You figured that you'd never need to use it, again, since you planned on just dying deep in the forest soon. And they couldn't have followed you, not for so long without you noticing. The more you thought about it, the more it just didn't make sense. Everyone that had been keeping tabs on your and Jay's story likely thought you were already dead, so it couldn't have been one of them.

Your train of thoughts was derailed when you heard, what sounded like a leaf crunching behind you, and hesitantly looked back, seeing just what you expected to find; the same hooded figure, tailing you, though not to the point of it invading personal space. You didn't care though. It was disconcerting, especially since you had just disproved your theory about it being a prankster. This wasn't a prank, everyone who knew about you was dead. That should have included Brian, and you thought it did. Could you have been wrong...?

No. No, he was dead. So maybe it was just an extremely vivid hallucination after all? Then how did a rock bounce off of him? Could you have imagined the rock? No, the rock was real. He was not. It was beginning to get darker, you could tell by the way the sun fell past the trees and the sky faded into a deeper shade of blue. The cicadas began to chirp persistently, and in only a few minutes your eyes would once again have to get adjusted to the change in lighting.

Exasperation grew within your chest, as well as a flaming desire to get rid of him, and you spun fully around until you were looking directly below the red eyes that were painted onto his mask, where you assumed his actual eyes to be. An indignant huff left your mouth and you took a step forward, fixating on him with a threatening scowl and talking between your teeth. 

"Go away." Your tone left no room for argument as the sentence slowly came out, but still, he stood there. Not a word came from behind the mask, he just stayed still. Staring at you. A move that finally made all of your anger rise to the surface, and you didn't even try to contain it. You just wanted him gone. "Leave. Me. Alone!" 

In one quick movement, you took another step forward, stretched your arms out, and with all the force you could muster up, pushed him backward. It must have taken him off-guard because he did nothing to stop you, nor could he catch his balance before he tumbled to the ground with a thump. You sucked in a sharp breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You didn't expect to touch him. You didn't think there was anything to touch. But you could feel him, and clearly, he felt you, too. You blinked down at him with puzzlement, unable to fight the tears any longer.

You couldn't handle this. It was too much, it was just too much. You only managed to take two steps back before your legs became jelly and collapsed beneath you, sending you falling to the ground on your knees. You didn't mind it, not right now. You just had to compose yourself enough to get away. But something in your mind told you that wouldn't be very easy. 

You allowed your hair to fall in front of your face as you tilted your head toward the ground below your trembling frame, screwing your eyes shut in an effort to stop the constant flow of tears from cascading down your cheeks. That's odd, you were sure that there were no more tears left to cry. Perhaps your body was saving them for this moment because it knew that it was going to torment you even moreso than it had, already. When would it all end? Until you died, probably. Quiet whimpers exited your mouth, you didn't bother trying to stop them. There wouldn't be a point. You were alone, anyway, no matter how much your mind wanted to convince you otherwise.

"Please go away..." The sentence came out as no more than a pained whisper as you hugged yourself, trying to come to terms with everything. It was bad enough that he died right in front of your very eyes, but now your mind was taunting you by making you think he was actually here? You could hear the faint sound of pebbles being displaced as if someone was drawing closer, and sniffed. "I love you too much. I miss you too much. Please, just... just leave me alone." Your voice cracked, though it wasn't extremely noticeable thanks to how low it became. 

After a minute, you thought that your ears picked up muffled, gentle breathing, and you knew for a fact it wasn't you. Finally opening your eyes, you slowly leaned your head up, a bit surprised to see him not only in front of you but on his knees looking at you through his black and red mask. He was mere inches away from you now, and you weren't sure what to do. He obviously wasn't going to leave. Your mind wouldn't give you a break. Or was this really just your mind? Of course, there was no other reason. Brian wasn't here. Brian was dead. Even if it was him, he would have said something to you. Well, at least your Brian would have. 

You weren't really sure what the new Brian would have done. After all, he went years without letting you know that he was so much as alive rather than dead like you presumed but didn't want to believe, and instead stalked you and your best friend, threatened you, taunted you, and lead you on wild goose chase after wild goose chase. It was unknown if the 'new' Brian would have even alerted you of his presence like this one. Probably not. He would have just recorded you from behind a tree, stay far out of your sight, and then used the footage to send some type of cryptic message in binary through Youtube that would take you and Jay hours on end to solve. 

But this one, he wasn't acting nice enough to be your Brian, nor was he being mysterious enough to be Totheark Brian. He seemed almost... vague. Confused, curious. And it greatly addled you. If it somehow was Brian... why would he be acting so strangely? Who knew. Being pushed from a window would have its effects on a person, you supposed. But how would he have been here with you? He died. He wasn't breathing, his heart wasn't beating. You saw it. So what were you seeing now?

Reaching up slightly, you put your hand on the top of his knee, your breaths turning shaky. You could still feel him. You could touch him. You can't touch hallucinations, right? Leisurely, your fingers moved up to his hands that were placed on his thighs in a relaxed manner and grabbed one cautiously. You squeezed it, and it took a moment, but he squeezed back. As if following your lead. It was warm, and you could feel skin and bone beneath the glove he wore over it. Hallucinations aren't warm. 

You scooted just a little closer and put both hands on his chest, giving it a light, effortless push to see if he reacted. He tipped back briefly before stiffening, posture becoming more solid. Your touch traveled up to his shoulders as you scooted even closer, tears glistening in your eyes as your intent gaze went up to his masked face. Would he let you remove his mask? It was the only way to tell for sure if he was actually Brian, or if he was just an imposter. You were afraid of either possibility. 

There was hardly any doubt that this was an actual, physical person in front of you. The question was, is it the person you thought it may have been? Did you even want it to be him? You didn't even know what you wanted. You paused your movements before feeling faintly around his throat for the hem of the mask, thankful when you found it without much trouble and began sliding it upward. 

Only then did his hand come up and wrap around your wrist, firmly but softly, and you flinched a little from the sudden action. You knew what he was saying. 'Don't'. "Please," you started in a tone so quiet that nobody could hear it unless they were right beside you. "I...I need to know." It took around thirty seconds until he finally let go, albeit slowly, and brought his hand to rest in his lap, once more, giving you complete access.

You gulped and pulled the mask off, eyes widening when you saw the sight that awaited you. It was him. It was Brian. His hair was quite a bit longer than it was the last time you had seen it, and now messy, too, his eyes were still that deep shade of brown that you fell in love with, and his lips were set in a mellow frown. He looked almost exactly like you remembered him. But something was... different. Maybe it was the paleness of his skin or the confused, unfamiliar look in his eyes, but something wasn't right.

He stared back at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed in what you recognized as perplexity. You ran your finger along his cheek, his lips, through his hair, as if to make sure he was real. This shouldn't have been possible. He died. How would he have been reincarnated? Without you knowing about it, especially? All of these questions and more flew by in your mind, but each one was only there for a couple of seconds before the next one appeared. You couldn't process any of them right now. You were too focused on the man sitting here, right in front of you, in arms' reach. 

You dropped his mask to the side, eyes collecting even more tears as you parted your lips in utter disbelief. "Brian..." Saying his name seemed to spark some sort of recognition within him because he tilted his head and brought his own hand up, wiping away a droplet that was slipping down your cheek and almost studying you with curiosity present in his brown orbs. This made your heart clench. What on earth was happening? All of your friends were dead. What was this one doing coming back?

You couldn't stop the weak, pathetic whimper that left your mouth as your heart rate increased, unable to fully comprehend the unspoken information that had delivered itself to you. The only thing you could think about doing was bringing him close and refusing to let go, which you did. Your arms wrapped so tightly around his neck that it's a wonder you didn't break bones, and your head leaned against the side of his own, letting out heartbroken sobs that you didn't even know existed, anymore. 

It didn't take long before you felt his arms snake around your torso, pulling you closer to him as well and enveloping you in a hug that was an odd mix of comfort and confusion. You didn't care, though. All you wanted was to stay in your boyfriend's, who was presumed dead, embrace, and never let go. You didn't need to know the answers, not right then. You had gone five whole years without his touch, his voice, his presence, and you weren't going to waste this chance on searching for an explanation. You just wanted him. You needed him. You got the faint feeling that he needed you, too, whether he realized it, or not.

__________

So... yes. I liked the idea and wanted to write it, mainly because I think the whole 'Hoody tilting his head in confusion' thing is really cute xD Don’t say anything, you know you do, too. 

Anyway, what I was thinking is that basically... Brian did die but he somehow came back to life after the events in Entry #87 but nobody knew it. It's Brian that came back to life, but he's kinda different? He had his memory almost completely wiped and can't really talk because he's dead. He's a physical being, but he's like a ghost? It doesn't make a whole lotta sense, lol. He remembers very significant people that were in his life, in a way that he feels connected to them and has an instinct to protect them, but he doesn't remember them as we would think. 

Is that like, way too confusing? I'm sorry, it's not a thoroughly-planned idea, in fact it's very vague. I just love Brian so much and it absolutely killed me when he died in Entry #83, so I wanted to bring him back! Even if it's for unexplained reasons. Heck, I don't even know how he came back. Vengeful spirit? Pure magic? Extreme love for his girlfriend that refused to let him rest in peace without knowing she's safe? I think I like that the best.

Also, I was sneaky and put a little reference from Joseph DeLage's live stream on Marble Hornets in the one-shot so let me know if you found it! 

I’m well aware that my first real post on this account is about Hoody, and I could give less of a shit if I’m being honest. Brian is baby and I have an obsession with him that may or may not make me dream strange things about him. But don’t we all? I mean, who couldn’t absolutely fall in love with his smile? Or his laugh? Or his voice, or his eyes, or his face, or just every-freaking-thing about him? 

Also this one-shot is crap but I am currently running off of about four hours of sleep and have been for the past two days so my writing isn’t exactly polished and reward-worthy content.

But yes! Hoody x Reader, there it is. Hope it wasn’t too cringy.

[brittywritesstuff]

offer me that deathless death, good god let me give you my life

Read on AO3

Warnings:  A bit of sexiness

“Cas!” The details are hazy as to how they got here; Dean can hardly remember any of it. It’s all a blur of blood, sweat, tears and celestial power… The important thing is that he’s back. He’s here and he’s real and he’s back. The thing resonating the loudest in his head now: We’ve got time. He throws his arms around the angel; one hand splayed out between his shoulder blades, the other grasping the back of his head, Dean’s fingers curling in that mess of dark hair. Sam’s behind him, shuffling his weight, ready to give his greetings, but Dean couldn’t fucking care less.

He pulls back just enough to grasp Cas’s face, his eyes dragging over him, like he’s making sure everything’s there. Every freckle, every line, the breathtaking blue of his eyes, the perpetual stubble, scratchy beneath his fingers. “You-- you’re here. You’re you?”

Cas holds his gaze, tears flooding that stunning blue. “Yes.”

“Man, it’s so good to have you back.” Sam crowds in, clapping Cas on the shoulder. Dean relents and steps back, his hands falling away from Cas’s face. He doesn’t want to let go, though. He’s afraid if he lets go, Cas will just disappear. Or the Empty will take him back. And he can’t. He can’t handle that. Sam seems to take the hint and steps back, glancing at Dean with a smirk. “Sorry. I’ll let you two catch up.”

Sam remains and clears his throat, watching his brother, who can’t take his eyes off of Cas. Eileen is at his elbow, and tugs at his sleeve. He looks down at her, and they exchange a look. Leave them alone. “Alright.” Sam shakes his hair away from his face and nods, like he’s made a decision. Dean tries not to hear the smirk in his voice. They’ll have a conversation about this later, he knows, and he’s not entirely interested in it. But, for the moment, he’s glad that Sam is leaving it be. “We’re heading to bed. I’m beat.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, his eyes still fixed on Cas. “Night, Sammy. Eileen.” Sam waits a beat, then takes Eileen’s hand and finally leaves, and Dean drags in a breath. His heart is racing, and he wonders if Cas can hear it. Suddenly, the panic room makes him feel too vulnerable, remembering what happened here. “Can we--” He stops and clears his throat. “Can we talk in my room?”

Cas’s eyes search Deans, and he nods slowly. “Of course, Dean.”

They walk together to Dean’s room, their footsteps too loud and echoing in the silent, still bunker. Cas steps through the door first, and Dean follows, closing it behind them. With Cas’s back to him still, Dean scrubs his hands over his face, trying hard to calm his nerves. He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it to the desk chair. It misses and flops to the floor, but he doesn’t bother to pick it up. “D’you-- you wanna make yourself comfortable?” He asks.

Cas turns to him, his brow drawn together in confusion.

“The, uh,” Dean gestures to Cas’s coat. “The coat. You wanna-- you can-- if you want.”

Cas looks down at himself, his fingers trailing the lapel of the coat. He hesitates a moment before shrugging out of it, and the suit jacket. He drapes them carefully over the back of Dean’s chair, then bends to pick up Dean’s, giving it the same treatment. Watching it makes Dean’s heart ache.

“Listen, Cas,” he starts. Cas stands upright again, his eyes fixed on Dean’s, and there goes his heart again -- ready to pound out of his chest.

Cas tilts his head, and Dean tries to read the look on his face. Is that pity? “You don’t need to say anything, Dean.” He huffs, a wry smile turning up one corner of his lips. “I told you my truths, and I made it clear I know that it — you — it’s something I can never have. I made peace with telling you. I understand it’s… it’s unrequited. You don’t owe me an explanation--”

“But I do!”

Cas stops, closing his mouth. His brows draw together, and he tips his head.

Clearing his throat, Dean swallows against the sudden dryness. He glances away, focusing on a spot on the wall like it’ll give him the strength he needs to say what he’s gotta say. “Look, Cas,” his gaze drops to his shoes briefly before he finally forces his eyes up again. Cas, of course, is watching him patiently and intently. Dean moves closer and clenches his fists. Spit it out, Winchester. “Fuck,” he breathes, shaking his head, “there’s a lot. I… All that stuff you said, about me, I…” The lines between his brows deepen. “You really think that?”

“With my entire being,” Cas says, with no hesitation.

Dean nods, like he’s trying to rattle the thoughts into their proper places. “I never got the chance to say anything. You say it, and the Empty’s there, and you’re gone. That wasn’t fair.”

Cas sighs. “I’m sorry, Dean. I--”

“That wasn’t fuckin’ fair because you died not knowin’ my side of things.” Clenching his jaw, Dean takes another step forward. He reaches out, settling his hands on Cas’s shoulder. He pauses a beat, then decides, fuck it, and slides his hands up, his fingers brushing Cas’s neck before cradling his jaw. “No one’s ever seen me like that. Not even me, Cas.” He searches the angel’s eyes, feeling tears well in his own. “You’ve seen everything, and you still-- you--”

“Love you,” Cas finishes for him. “Yes.”

Dean punches out a breath, and when he blinks, those tears spill over. Instead of wiping them away, his thumbs brush Cas’s cheeks, once again delighting in the scratch of stubble. “I ain’t ever felt like this about anybody. And it scares the shit outta me. And I guess I never thought... I never thought you could or whatever, but damn it, Cas. I do love you. You can have me. All of me.”

Cas’s lips part in surprise at Dean’s words, but Dean takes the opportunity he’s wanted for years. He leans in and kisses Cas. It’s slow and tentative at first, but Cas relaxes into him, his hands gripping at the back of Dean’s shirt. Dean’s tongue glides along Cas’s bottom lip, begging entrance, and he groans when Cas allows it. One hand shifts to the back of his head, gripping at Cas’s hair as he deepens the kiss, holding Cas as close and tight as possible. His fears from earlier had yet to dissipate; the last thing he could possibly handle is Cas disappearing again.

When Dean needs to breathe, he tilts his mouth away, his forehead pressed against Cas’s. His eyes remain closed, and an actual fucking smile turns up his lips. “I shoulda told you a long fuckin’ time ago, Cas. I shoulda done this long fuckin’ time ago. I’m sorry. I just--I--I didn't--”

Cas’s hands smooth up Dean’s back, and pull him closer. “Please don’t apologize, Dean,” he whispers, his breath warm on Dean’s face. “Just... don’t stop.”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s spent years denying it. He’s spent years beating himself up over it. But he’s done. He’s lost Cas too many times, but he finally has him, and he’s not gonna fucking let go.

He captures Cas’s lips in a heated kiss, groaning at the taste of his tongue. His movements are sloppy; it’s definitely not his best work, but he doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t give a damn about anything except this, here, that Cas is in his hands, moaning under the feeling of Dean’s kiss. That’s all he wants to think about.

Relinquishing his grip on Cas’s face, he works his hands between them to loosen that ever-present blue tie, yanking it away to let it flutter to the floor. He pulls back enough to look at Cas’s face as his fingers work at the buttons of his shirt. Cas is breathless, his lips red from Dean’s kiss, and his pupils blown. Fuck, Dean’s never seen anything so stunning.

When he gets the shirt open, he takes a breath and runs his hands up Cas’s stomach, over his chest, pushing the shirt from his shoulders. There’s only been a few occasions over the years in which Dean has seen Cas shirtless, but to have him so close, and be allowed to touch him… it’s a whole different playing field. One he never wants to leave. “You sure about this, Cas?” His voice is strained, rough, and quiet -- full of emotion and desperation he’s never felt before.

Cas lifts his hands, pushing Dean’s open flannel from his shoulders. He smirks as it falls to the floor and slips his hands under Dean’s t-shirt. “I have never been more sure of anything, Dean, as I am of this. Of you.”

It’s all the confirmation Dean needs. He dives in for a hard, heated kiss, pulling away only long enough to yank his t-shirt over his head. The feeling of Cas’s skin against his own sets him on fire, and for the first time, he feels alive. Putting an end to Chuck and his story had been a relief, but this… This is something else. This is what he’s been searching for his whole life. Kill after kill, conquest after conquest… it’s never made him feel like this.

He hastily and clumsily toes out of his boots; Cas follows with his shoes, and Dean pushes him back to the bed. The frame groans beneath the weight of two grown men atop it, but Dean pays it no mind. There’s not a single part of this that can deny he hasn’t thought of this before; hasn’t fantasized about it in the shower a time or two or ten. He’s not as graceful or suave as he’d like to be, but again… it doesn’t matter, because it’s Cas. Finally, it’s Cas.

The rest of their clothes are shed hastily, falling forgotten to the cold cement floor. They move together until they break, and Dean huffs a laugh when the lamp on his desk flickers. Closing his eyes, he drops his head, pressing a warm kiss to the hollow of Cas’s throat. Cas tips his head and Dean looks up to see him smiling.

“What?” Dean shifts to settle beside Cas, laying on his side. He props his head against his hand, his free hand smoothing over Cas’s chest before it stills.

“I’m just--”

“Happy?”

Cas covers Dean’s hand with his own and shifts to turn his head toward Dean. “Yes. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Yeah,” Dean huffs, his eyes dragging over Cas’s face. “Me, neither.”

Dean falls asleep that night with his chest pressed flush to Cas’s back, his arm wrapped firmly around the angel. He knows Cas doesn’t need to sleep, but he’s grateful for the pretense. Because he craves the intimacy, the normalcy, the pure elation he feels in getting to hold Cas in his arms after… well, everything.

+

Dean wakes in a panic. “No, no, no, no!” His breathing is heavy and labored, the sheets clinging to his sweat-damp skin. He’s sprawled on his back, and his hand is pressed to his chest as he sits up; his heart racing. “Cas!”

Cas’s hand settles on his shoulder, and when Dean turns, the other grasps his jaw. “I’m here, Dean. What’s the matter?”

Swallowing as he heaves a breath to calm himself, Dean closes his eyes and leans in to press his forehead to Cas’s. He lifts his hands, pushing his fingers into Cas’s hair. “Had a dream you were still gone. Fuckin’ nightmare. Sam ‘n’ I just… didn’t care. Didn’t try to bring you back.” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas wipes away his tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Dean. It was a dream. I’m here. It’s alright.”

“It felt so fuckin’ real.”

“I’m real. You and me, this. Us. This is real,” Cas whispers.

Dean kisses him, desperate to anchor himself in Cas. In his words, his kiss, his touch, in this. The dream had terrified him; the idea that there could be a world without Cas in which Dean wouldn't care. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Every time… every single time he’d lost Cas over the years, he was broken. Every time, he’d wanted to welcome death, himself. Because the pain was nearly unbearable. Life without Cas was Hell on earth for Dean, and he’s been to Hell a few too many times. He never wants to go back. The next time Dean dies; the next time Cas dies, it better be together, only to find each other in the afterlife.

Because life without Cas is Hell, but he knows the only Heaven he’ll be sent to; the only one he wants is one in which he’s with his angel. Until then, he’ll hold on for dear life yo the time he has with him now… to the life they’ve finally been afforded together.

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Lost Soul  |  Tom Holland x Male!Reader

Summary: Be warned, this is dark...

Words: 2280

-----

"Well… Well… Well… Look who has returned." The voice came from afar, somewhere from within the shrouded darkness that enveloped the room. Tom's eyes grew twice the size as he looked around him, frantically searching for the direction where it came from. A shuddering breath leaving his lips.

"It worked..." He mumbled to himself. Putting the knife aside. Taking a moment to gather his sanity. Feeling a chill shooting up his spine, and the hairs rising on his arm. Tom sat on the floor, kneeled in front of a candle, one hand clutching the other. The crimson red tainting his fingers and the floor underneath. Trying to talk himself up.

"Of course." The voice laughed mockingly. "Someone like you... willing to spill blood like this." Tom's heart began to race again, his blood boiling in anger, hearing that voice again. Sparing him not a moment. "How can the Devil ignore that?" 

Tom gathered all his courage, cradling his bloodied hand in his lap. The pain doubling as the darkness crept closer around him—the flickering light of the candle struggling against the dark. Tom knew what he'd done. He'd done it before. And he knew what was set in motion. And what the consequences were.

"To what do I owe this pleasure." The voice sounded again, now materializing before him. His emotions began to take over. He knew. Tom looked up; from the darkness, he saw a figure. A body, a person, shrouded in nothing but a slim wrapped patch of cloth around the waist. He couldn't believe his eyes. Tears slowly welling in the corner of his eyes. His stomach churned from the nerves. His heart hammered against his chest—the uncontrollable shudders coming back once more.

"It's you..." He breathed heavily. Blinking away the tears.

"Oh, don't fool yourself-..." The figure closed the distance as the flame of the candle began dancing harder and harder. Slowly dwindling as the last bit of life was snuffed out between the fingers of the figure. "...-Tommy."

Tom averted his eyes as he hunched together. Moaning as he felt the temptations coursing through his body. "I know what you're thinking… " Tom felt a hand, slowly caressing his cheek. Lifting his head up from his hunched position. The figure now staring into the slightly watering eyes. Red with guilt. Blame and shame. Tom struggled. As the figure slowly let its tongue circle their lips. Tom completely captivated by the sight. "But the Devil appears only in ways your soul craves the deepest desire for." Yet the voice coming from the figure was still the same as before. It set him off. Despite everything he felt. Raking its fingers through his luscious curls. He wailed softly as they combed it through and through.

"I… know…" He groaned from the pain, gritting his teeth and locking his jaw. Trying to avert his gaze and fingers from his hair. But only shortly. Trying to gather his thoughts again. "C-Can you…" Holding up his bleeding hand. Dripping continuously on the floor. Keeping Tom from focussing. The cut wasn't deep, but the way his heart pumped, the blood dripped out faster than it should.

With a sly smile, the figure took his hand in his. Tom tried not to watch, keeping his gaze to the floor. Desperate not to succumb to it too fast. Nor let his emotions get the better of him. Bringing Tom's hand to its lips and taking in a finger. Caressing it softly between its lips and tongue. Tom had fought against it, tried so hard. But his heart couldn't bear it. His inner struggle became too great. Tom's eyes darted up, watching attentively as it sucked the blood from his fingers. The moans numbed his body, as he watched the tongue slide through the crimson in the palm of his hand, onto the wound, keeping eye contact the whole time. Teasing the torn skin. "What happens if I don't?"

"I… I..." Fear struck his gaze, but before he managed to utter a sentence. It let its finger run across the wound. Tom hissed at the sensation, slowly burning the wound to a close.

"Next time…" It leaned close to his ear. Tom shook more and more, the closer it came. Letting a small pause sink in-between. Licking the inner shell of his ear with its tongue. "...-don't cut that deep." Followed by a kiss to his neck with a small taunting chuckle.

"Just… Just g-give me what I want." He sobbed, bowing to the floor. "I'm not your plaything."

"Oh, Tom... You will… But why the Devil sends me again… I don't know..." It said, licking the remaining blood from his hand. "We don't talk much these days."

"You're the Devil himself!" He spat, glancing up with red-blood eyes. "It's…" Tom couldn't get angry at that face. Only at the Devil himself.

"Ooooh… Let me guess!" The Devil said, playing along in the whole theatrical play. "Is it because I can shapeshift into-"

"Don't mention his name!" Tom shot, balling his fists. A mix of anger and rage welling up. "You… You know the answer." His lips quivered at the sight of… you. His body shook at the sight of you. His heart raced even faster... at the sight of you...

But it wasn't you. The voice and actions were very much the Devils doing. He couldn't bear looking at you like this for too long. Not like this.

"What do you want of me?" The Devil's voice asked. Tom's entire frame heaved up and down by his heavy breathing. Glancing at your body and face for short moments. It wasn't you yet. "Will you tell me, Tommy?"

"N-No... horns this t-time?" Tom asked, pulling his hand free from the grasp. Rubbing the wound with the other. "I… t-t-thought…."

"Did you ask for me?" The Devil asked, lifting his head up by his chin. Forcing him to stare deep into its eyes. Tom was completely naked. His body glistened in the little light the room had left. The curves of his abs and muscles accentuated.

"Y-Y… You c-c-can r...ead." His voice trembled and distort. Hoarse almost. Pointing to the letters painted crudely in blood in front of the candle.

"I can't…" It smiled, hovering its lips close to his. "I want to hear it from you."

Tom struggled. Freezing on the spot, seeing a glimmer of you return to your body. The voice was almost the same. He heaved and puffed for air, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. His hair was all wet and messy. Hands clammy and shaking. And so did the rest of his body.

"I need... to hear it from you." Taking his lower lip between its teeth. Dragging the skin out, almost to the point of bleeding. "Tell me… Tommy."

"E-Even the voice…" He groaned. "It's… It's so… real."

"It's as real as you can get." The figure snapped its fingers. Summoning a circle of candles around the couple. But no ordinary flames, bright red and burning with an unorthodox ferocity. The strange light illuminating the both of you. Tom's eyes open up as the light hits your body. Everything now clear and obvious. "But for a price." The voice distant again.

"It's you…" He smiled painfully. But with a moment of happiness to it. "It's really you." Quickly pushing the tears from his eyes. "Yes… I… Yes, I wanted you." He blurted out. "Finally."

"That's what I wanted to hear." It said in the distance. "-Tommy." He shuddered at the way you finished the sentence, mentioning his name, in your voice again. If it was either fear or distraught. But he didn't care. It brought back memories.

"You have... your time." The voice laughed evil, and once again, all-around. Tom stared up at the body in front of him. A certain life, a glimmer returned to its eyes. The tears again welled. Blurring his vision. You again. It's more like you again.

"F-Fuck me…" He whimpered, looking at you. "...l-l-like… l-like… the last t-time we did." Tom was ready. Tom knew he had little time. And he knew no matter what was on his mind, and wanted to say to you. The words would never reach. Ending up only feeding the Devil with more than necessary.

"I know what you like." Tom shuddered as your tongue trailed along his cheeks. The voice alone made him whole. The softness. His hands cupping your cheeks. Finding great pleasure in finally holding you. Taking your lips on his. It's a passionate and extreme moment. Feeling you again. Caressing every inch of your body all over. His member pressed up against you, long, aching, and ready.

"You're that kind that did enjoy the Devil's Tail, didn't you?" The distant voice echoed all over. Silencing Tom's lips with your finger. Feeling his hands searching. "Don't say it." The ever seducing smirk stretching across your face. "I can see it in your eyes." Caressing your hands across his cheek. Forcing him up from his knees.

"Just g-give me what I want!" He pleaded, trembling on his feet. "Leave me be!" He snarled. "I… I already paid for it."

"Some things in life can't be bought with your… money." The Devil's voice echoed far and distant. Soulless and taunting. The typical laughter following after. But Tom once again got what he wanted. If only for minutes. That feeling of seeing you, being with you. "By… my... rules…only..." The voice warned, fading in the distance.

"(Y/N)...!" He cried out in joy. The pleasures he hadn't felt in years. Once again, there. Feeling you inside of him again. Everything was the same. The bed, the walls. The smell. Your lips. It was the place you had seen each other for the last time. Made love for the last time. It was intimate. Pure. Tom wanted to replay that night again. Feel it again. Hear your voice. Smell you. Touch you. Hold you. The words you said to him. Praised him. And the way you made him come. The rigidness that plowed into him. It was just like then. Numbed by pleasures and pure bliss.

But he knew the signs. Slowly coming into view. He could see the Devil's horns growing on your head. They were small, but so ever reminding. And of course, the Devil's tail. Whipped around his member. Making sure he came more than his memory could fathom. Teasing his sensitive body. Twisting and turning against his touch starved frame. It helped him reach previously unexplored highs. A constant reminder that this was temporary. An illusion that would end.

And as the stars danced before his eyes. Darkness surrounded him. His vision slowly came back. Life creeping back in again. He had come so many times. All matter of sense was shattered.

As if it was launched into a different dimension and slowly ascending back from the astral planes. Tom had seen a version of heaven. At least that's what he thought. The reality was far worse.

The fading touch.

"N-No.. No No No…. NOOOO!" He screamed from the top of his lungs. "NOT NOW! NOT AGAIN!" The clear image of you, with touch and smell, pleasure and joys, standing in front of him, slowly began fading away. The eerie fires of candles started to die down. "PLEASE!" Disappearing one by one. Time ticking away. One by one. Your appearance fading into the darkness once again.

"I BEG YOU! GIVE ME MORE TIME!" He reached out, desperate to hold you here. But to no avail. The touch of your skin under his fingers was still there. But it began to feel cold. Absent. The life slipping from your eyes. As the candles were snuffed one by one. The outlines of your face vanished into the darkness. His grip lost—nothing to hold onto.

Only that remained was the memory. But distorted by the Devil. Made greater than it already was. And Tom knew. He fell for it. Trapped in a loop he couldn't get out. Tom once again sat on the floor. Cold and hard. Brought back to reality once more. The bed wasn't there. The room wasn't there. You weren't there. Nothing was there anymore—only the tears streaming down his face.

"Until next time." The voice taunted. "And be careful with your soul. It will take its toll." Laughing hysterically as it ebbed away. Bringing back Tom to his room.

"TAKE IT!" He shouted, clinging to one bit of darkness left. "TAKE MY SOUL! ALL of it!" Begging for it. "Take me with you!" Screaming into the void that slowly dissipated. His voice went hoarse as the air in his lungs was pushed out. Coughing long and hard, struggling to find his composure. Knocking the candle over in front of him. The blood had dried up on the floor. Candle wax splattered across the floor. The photo of you slowly curling in its frame. The photo was still there. But you weren't. Fading from existence. Withering away. Consumed by evil. Only vague outlines remained visible.

"P-Please… I… I…" He cried, falling to the floor. Squinting through the tears to catch the last features of you. Desperate for a response. "I don't care w-what the future brings…" Feeling the memories fade in his mind. The laughs and cheers. Every moment he ever had with you. Slowly pushed away by evil. Bit by bit, his soul consumed. And so was his memory. "I… just…" He stammered with tears streaming down his face. The light slowly returning to his eyes. "I… w-wish I could hold you. Be... with you." He wept uncontrollably. The tears staining the glass frame, holding your picture. "I… miss you… so much…"

"The Devil takes no willing soul." The voice said, it's laugh fading away. Like the darkness that had set it. Now gone. But not without its toll.

[jaskiersvalley]

So I just read through your whole blog in basically a day and uhm, you're an incredible writer first off. Secondly, maybe like a thing where because he's so sensitive to everything, Geralt knows when Jasker is about to have a migraine/panic attack/something like that. And it's the first time anyone's actually helped Jaskier because everyone else doesn't know what to do and hasn't thought to just ask??

I am super flattered you went through the whole blog in a day! It always brings a smile to my face when people enjoy my writing. As for your prompt...a quick content warning before we launch in.

Content warning for (not named) epilepsy.

It was just a fact of life for Jaskier. Sometimes, for no rhyme or reason, he lost snippets of time. If he was lucky, it wasn’t anything more than a span of time that he simply couldn’t remember. One minute he’d be doing something then there would be this funny feeling of something rising in his stomach.Then he’d be blinking as if shaking off some fatigue. Other times as that feeling rose, he knew he needed to sit down. Sadly, he didn’t always manage to stumble to a quiet corner. Those times, he either came back to people fanning and fussing over him, or stepping around him. He didn’t always know which was worse.

However, as he got older, those little episodes seemed to become less frequent. And he’d worked out that sometimes stress, fatigue or hunger could bring it on Not always and he still had blips where he wasn’t any of those but still lost time. It wasn’t something Jaskier allowed to rule his life. Oxenfurt still called to him, he wanted to be a bard and he was going to be the best the Continent had ever seen. With such stubborn determination, he get there. His songs were reaching new renown and Jaskier was successful. Even if people still gave him funny looks if he had a bit of a blip. Only twice in his career had he had a spell where he felt the all too familiar rise of his stomach while on stage and found himself on the floor with people screaming.

Then along came Geralt. He was someone Jaskier saw as a new challenge, a project. His own fame was enough to get by on and he wanted something fresh. To change the Continent’s view of witchers, now that sounded like something worthy of his time. Especially when his path crossed with the infamous Butcher of Blaviken. To say that Jaskier rose to the challenge was an understatement. Unfortunately, his heart also rose in hope. Because it was so much easier to sing the praise of someone you were head over heels in love with than someone who you viewed as a project.

There was also the unfortunate complication that trailing after a witcher came with three things: stress, exhaustion and hunger. Because they didn’t always have the coin for food, contracts were stressful and scurrying after a witcher was not exactly a relaxing, energy conserving hobby. So really, Jaskier shouldn’t have been surprised when he started feeling that rise in his stomach again.

“Keep up, bard!” Geralt’s words helped draw Jaskier back into the world and he blinked tiredly before hurrying to catch back up. At least Geralt didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss.

Things kept going as before. Jaskier sang and pranced around taverns, earning coin and turning the tide so witchers were regarded with at least acceptance if not admiration for all they did and sacrificed. It was fun, even if it was after a long day of travelling and jumping out of the way of a couple of very insistent drowners. Jaskier was coming to the end of a song when he felt the familiar almost flip that signalled another episode.

“I’ll be right back, even a bard needs a break!” He even managed to settle on a bench before things fell away for a few long moments.

The room was still warm and chatter filled it when Jaskier was hauled back into awareness. At least it meant there wasn’t a lot of time he had lost. Tired but confident the worst was over, Jaskier pulled himself to his feet with a smile and strummed his lute again.

“Refreshed and rested, I am back to my finest. Now, did I hear a request for Toss A Coin earlier?”

Nothing changed. Even if Geralt gave him a long, hard look, Jaskier had no idea what it meant. They travelled together, their relationship was still at that peculiar level of undetermined. Not quite together but reluctant to be with anyone else. The hesitant, almost shy kisses shared were tantalising yet not enough.

Even though it felt like nothing had changed, Jaskier slowly realised something. Whenever he had an episode, Geralt was no longer up ahead and impatient. Rather, he and Roach were next to Jaskier, sometimes still talking as if he hadn’t noticed Jaskier had fallen slack and unresponsive. Rather than address it though, Jaskier tried to pretend it was the norm. Even when he woke up exhausted after a full night’s sleep. It was okay, Geralt was just being Geralt.

That lie couldn’t be kept up when Jaskier was walking alongside Roach and felt a wave of something pass over him, rising in his stomach. He knew it was going to be an episode he was going to have to sit down for.

“It’s prime time for a sit down and a nap,” he announced, veering off the road and towards a clearing. It was too far though, he knew he was never going to make it no matter how determined he was. “Oh dear.”

Coming to, there weren’t the usual aches of freshly obtained bruises from falling down. Instead, there was a cloak stuffed under his head and he was laid in the clearing he had been eyeing up. His confusion was only worsened as he sat up and a warm hand supported his back with a murmur of “take it easy”.

“What?” He asked and twisted to look at Geralt.

“You had another blip. Bit of a bigger one than usual.”

Shame flooded through Jaskier at that. Because it meant Geralt had known all along. But he hadn’t said anything, never once mentioned it.

“How?” There were so many things Jaskier wanted to ask.

“Your smell changes. Turns to that of slimy, decaying metal.” Which was all kinds of embarrassing and Jaskier looked away, speechless for the first time in a long while. “You had it handled usually, there wasn’t a point in saying anything.”

Which was true, Jaskier was an old hat at dealing with his own moments of malfunctioning. It was so very different though, knowing that Geralt had been aware. And he’d been doing his quiet best to offer support too, now that Jaskier thought about it. On the road when he didn’t pull ahead. In taverns, he started sitting closer to the performance area which meant Jaskier always had somewhere to sit down if he needed. There were nights where Jaskier woke disoriented and as though he’d just come to from a spell of his even though he had been asleep. And Geralt was sat next to him, wiping a cloth over his sword as though he hadn’t been able to sleep.

“I don’t know what actually helps,” Geralt offered, seemingly a little bashful at admitting he didn’t know something.

“Actually, you’ve been perfect.” Jaskier leaned into the solid warmth of the body next to him. “It’s not something that can be helped. Just worked around.”

Only, the more he thought, the more he realised that Geralt had been trying to help in his own way in other aspects. They didn’t push on as hard, taking it easier so fatigue didn’t catch up with them. Stopping in taverns as often as possible where Jaskier could choose to play or rest on a proper bed. And when taking contracts, Geralt was especially protective of Jaskier, trying to minimise the stress. But not once was Jaskier told he couldn’t or shouldn’t do something. Which was a blessing because there were so many who found out about his affliction and immediately started trying to control what he could and couldn’t do.

It wasn’t perfect, even with all the compromise, Jaskier still had episodes as before. But now he could reach out, blindly grab for Geralt in warning. And in turn, Geralt could slip from Roach or turn to offer a hand to Jaskier when the tang of changing scent caught his nose. It didn’t stop the occasional time Jaskier went down while performing, Geralt too far away or not paying enough attention while Jaskier was too stubborn to stop in the middle of a song. Even though he knew he was going to stop whether he wanted to or not. However, if that happened, Jaskier no longer came to, to find people screaming or stepping over him. Instead, he had a cloak or thigh under his head and Geralt asking firmly for some water. He’d even glare at the helful idiot trying to fan Jaskier, making him shiver with cold.

It was also the last hurdle of their relationship, Geralt gained more confidence as he kissed Jaskier, now comfortable that there were no more secrets between them. Even if it hadn’t been a true secret to start with.

[jjyusmile]

- #14&15: BANGCHAN from prompt list

requested by: @moonbaescribbles

the world spins on its axis every day. and there were only a few moments where your world was turned upside down. it turned anti clockwise, it span so quickly you wanted to get off... but you didn’t.

the first time was a moment you can never forget. it the first time you saw him. an ordinary day, to say the least, rushing passed your coworkers to get to the lockers after the bus broke down on your route to work. light droplets of sweat formed at the nape of your neck.

“late again,” minho quirked. a scowl sent his way and a slight shove as you fixed your uniform before entering the shop floor.

distracted, you were messing with your apron as you approached the order station. yet to enter customer service mode, you muttered a small ‘how can I help?’ that was barely audible. it was a cough that sounded like the clearing of someone’s throat that brought you to reality.

this moment.

clad in sweats, a grey beanie covering his wavy locks, peaks of blonde peaking out in light flicks. a guitar strapped to his back. you were drawn in within seconds. his eyes were mesmerising, following your every move as you fiddled with the knot that you had wrapped behind your back.

your eyes met his and you knew you couldn’t turn back from this moment. a sheepish smile was met with a small chuckle that fell from his lips. you were cute.

“hi.. sorry! what can i get you today?” stumbling over your words? not your usual behaviour.

“i’ll take an iced americano please, just black.”

“like your soul?-” the joke wasn’t as funny as you’d hoped it would be. a shake of his head. but, you weren’t mistaken. his eyes glistened when your face morphed in embarrassment, crinkling along with his nose... was that a nervous chuckle?

“can I get a name for your order?” your sharpie wavered in the air, waiting with expectant eyes as his own attempted to memorise your features. the way your lips dipped into a curve at the peak of your cupid’s bow. the light freckles that grazed your nose.

another smile. “it’s chris.”

a snigger sounded beside you followed by a full groan. min had deserved that smack.

you didn’t do well with people. you never opened your heart for anyone. the only person you ever let get close enough to see the flicker of light in your eyes was minho. until now.

over a year had gone by. he came back every evening since the moment he laid eyes on you. it wasn’t long until he noticed a pattern.

monday’s were the quietest - those were the nights he came by earlier so he could spend hours talking to you about anything. anything and everything.

tuesdays were the evenings you had to dip out for an hour, your tutor fixed an hour a week where you could ask them questions about your assignments. your boss let you take an extra 30 minute break on tuesdays as long as you came in earlier on saturdays.

you didn’t work on wednesday or thursday evenings. he hated that. not for you - he loved that you had time to focus on yourself instead of deciphering the difference between a dry latte and a wet cappuccino (he always claimed it was one of life’s unanswerable questions). but it meant he had to wait two whole days to see you again.

friday nights you were open late but rarely busy. those were the nights you both slipped an extra shot into your drinks so you could stay up until the sun rose together. after about a year those americanos changed to a bottle of wine - he called it fine dining.

saturdays were the nights he couldn’t come by. he always had a gig with his friends. it got to the point where you changed your saturday shift to a thursday so you could attend. he always made sure you were front row, sporting his favourite sweatshirt, the sleeves pushed up to your elbows as you screamed your little head off.

and sunday evenings were your favourites because you could people watch. the bell of the door chimed often as families wandered in looking for a late night pick me up before the monday morning rush. sundays were the days you allowed him behind the bar. you both stood, bent over the counter top with your chin rested on your palm. his friend, felix, spent every sunday morning baking and chris always brought some for you to try. those were the evenings you gave in to light touches of his fingers against your own.

eventually, you would leave work together and return to your apartment. the sentiment never wore off though. being able to bring you home filled his chest with warmth. meeting you at that coffee shop was the greatest thing that ever happened to him.

until the day he found out his group were offered a contract by a hot-shot company in korea. twelve hours from you.

nearing two years, you felt ashamed to hate the idea of him leaving. pride ran through your veins every time he got up on stage; he was born to be up there. but the thought of losing him to it... that was unbearable.

your smile didn’t meet your eyes as the words “that’s amazing” fell from your lips and your arms tightened around his waist. he knew this. he knew it would be a shock to you. but he never expected the light that once burned in your irises at his every move would be snuffed by his news.

your fingers fell from his as you muttered that you had to go to work. this moment made you realise exactly why you didn’t open up to people so easily. as happy as you were that he was achieving his dream, it felt like wasted years... happy memories clouded by the stench of loneliness and the forgotten. you knew you were being selfish... but he made you feel whole. and the thought of that being taken away scared you, almost as much as the thought of losing him.

you pushed away the thought and, inevitably, pushed him away too. you immersed yourself in your work and eventually locked your phone in your bedside table to stop the ringing. so that he would stop ringing. if you ignored the problem, it would go away.

he was giving you space. he knew where you were, he always did. but he knew that even seeing his face would halt you into reality once more. both of you. he was leaving tomorrow - he had to see you once more even if it meant the end.

he peered through the glass to catch a glimpse of your smile, attempting to make out the silhouettes through the steamed windows of the shop, with flickers of customers clouding his vision. what he didn’t expect to see was his replacement.

your tear stained face buried into your friends chest. leaning against the same counter that his memories drew with smiles and laughter. now morphed into pain. you were going to be fine after all. he knew minho would look after you; his longing gazes and desire to please you told him he would make a good replacement. you didn’t need him anymore - you both had to find your happiness. and he was gone.

the glitch in the story is where your world finally begins to spin once more. it once stood motionless, uneventful mixes of waking up, going to work, finishing homework and sleeping. repeat five times a week. the two days that you had to yourself were buried into your pillow with no desire to bring yourself out of the wallowing state.

but two years has passed. you were almost back on track. you had graduated and decided it was time for you to move on with your life. you were going to travel the world, but right now you had chosen to settle down, in your own little coffee shop. Blessings.

truthfully, glimpses of him were met in most guys you encountered. those with messy blonde hair. those that looked like they could pour their soul into their lyrics. those whos smile lit up the room... but it was never blinding like his.

some nights you completely lost all sense of being. you heard his voice on the radio in the cafe. it sent you into a pit of sorrow each time, a numbness drowning you. how could you move on completely if he’s still here?

some nights... your finger hovered over his name hesitantly until you fell into despair as the tone rang in your ear twice... twice because he no longer had that number. it still went to voicemail.

“hi, you’ve reached chris! i must be busy, i guess... beep, yeah? don’t forget the beep!”

a dull ache formed in the pit of your stomach. his cheery voice evoked a sob that physically racked your body forward. a minute had passed before you gained the courage to speak into the void...

“you left me. you left and you didn’t say a word.”

you said the same words every time. each time a different meaning.

how could you leave me? you’re a dick for leaving me. you said you would never leave me. was I not good enough for you to stay?

but the truth was.. you forgave him a long time ago. he followed his dream. you were still hurt but you knew he wasn’t completely to blame. pushing someone away when the going gets tough was your forté. the numbness remained but it didn’t stop you from reaching out to the slither of light that breached the end of your tunnel.

the final turn was the most unexpected of all. it was a saturday. since you had opened up your new shop, serving coffee on the saturday evening had become your favourite pastime. teenagers waltzed in for an hour or so before they headed out for a party just to get their caffeine fix.

even in your own place, you had become accustomed to the sound of his voice that flooded the radio to the love song that threatened to break you into pieces.. but it didn’t. your body went numb but your heart flew as the low buzz of the customers meshed seamlessly with his velvet lyrics.

you’ve persevered until now.

what’s your worry? trust me,

blessings waiting for you.

despite the hurt, his words a source of comfort. as they always were. he poured his heart into his work and you admired that the most. his words and his voice made you believe him, were there blessings waiting to you?

distracted, you almost missed the chiming of the door. hurriedly, you shot back to the counter.

autopilot.

“hi, what can i get you today?” your eyes trailed from the till until they landed on the customer.

a very familiar face, followed by jisung and changbin. the face that you saw on all the billboards, the one that had teenagers screaming over when he popped up on the tv.

what is he doing here? here of all places? you couldn’t tell if your thought was laced with hurt or disbelief. or both.

the sharp pain in your chest began to sooth as your eyes trailed down to his hand. a scribble of black ink that had smudged across his palm. you could faintly make out the address of your cafe along with the minho’s number scattered in block characters. he had contacted minho, he had found you the only way he knew how.

in his hands were suitcases clad with luggage tags that told you they hadn’t been out of the air long. a flash of a memory flooded your mind.

you giggled as his fingers trailed up the curve of your waist. you were lying in bed on a sunday morning after a gig, noses brushing, hair tousled and your legs intertwined.

“hey,” he grabbed your attention. you hummed in response, your eyes still following the path of his fingertips.

“if we ever have to leave each other-” he started. “for any reason. promise that if I ever have to go, from the moment I come back, you will be the first one I see no matter what.”

you raised your eyebrow questioningly. his previous movements had sent you into a sleepy haze. but his eyes were sincere which made you nod your head without a thought. looking closer, they were clouded with a fear that only the two of you could understand. one that feared losing the other.

he leaned forward to rest his lips against your forehead as your eyes fluttered closed, “i’d go to the end of the earth just to see you again.”

heart thumping in your chest, a sharp intake of breath, and your eyes shot to his piercing ones.

“my usual?”

it was like an ignition had been lit for the first time in two years. it was like all numbness washed away the moment his eyes crinkled in a shy smile. it was like you had found the blessing he promised as he sung through your speakers every day since he left.

[airplanned]

Wait, I Got This

Ned does Whumptober wrong.

***

There was the time Zelda woke up feeling absolutely miserable.  Her head pounded and her body ached, and it took a long moment to realize that she was hanging upside down from her ankles.  From the looks of things, she was in the Yiga hideout.  She groaned and lifted her heavy hands to rub her face.  She might have been able to reach up and untie her ankles.  Maybe.  Honestly, probably not.  She was very sluggish.

"Oh good.  You're awake."

Her vision was spotty, and she rotated slowly until Link came into view.  He was also hanging upside-down, but unlike her, he was wrapped shoulder to ankle in rope.  He beamed at her, his face red.

"Swing over here and grab me, so I can get us out of here."

She blinked at him.  "Why are you tied up so much more than I am?"

"Because I've already gotten down twice."

She supposed that would do it.

"Swing over here."

"How would that help us..." Words were difficult.  "...In this situation?"

"Just--Come--more towards me."

She was still rotating slowly.  She let her arms fall and sagged into the gravity.  Her head felt so heavy.

"No, this way," he said.

When she came back around, he was giving her such an expectant look that she gave it a try, arching her body and tensing her core until she was swinging, then swinging more.  She managed to grab him, but nearly dropped him because her hands were numb.

She was tired now.

"Okay," she gasped.  "What now?"

He grinned at her.  From behind his back, somewhere under the layers of rope, his fingers snapped.  And lightning crashed through the room.  From below, a Yiga shrieked, and their ropes split, and Link bent in the air so she landed hard on her arm and her knee, but mostly on him and not on her head.

"Great," he said, sounding as though he honestly meant it.  "Now cut me loose."

"With what?"

"There's a knife in my boot."

She looked down at his boots, which were bound in rope just as tightly as the rest of him.  This was going to prove difficult.

There was shouting from deeper in the complex.  Link arched his neck at an awkward angle to look in that direction, then back to her.

"Gonna have to move a little faster," he said.

"Goddess save me," she muttered, and dug her nails into the knot by his ankles.

#

There was the time she was sitting in front of the house, dismantling a recovered skywatcher when Link stumbled across the bridge.  His movements were jerking, and his trail was serpentine.  Zelda rushed up to check on him. 

"I don't feel great," he said.  His words were a bit slurred.

She took his face in her hands to inspected him.  One of his pupils was a pinpoint while the other was blown wide, and she watched in horror as the one grew and the other shrunk until they traded sizes. She nearly screamed--furiously at him and his recklessness, or a high-pitched wild scream--which one was more likely to claw its way up her throat was a mystery.

But then he closed his eyes and rubbed the butt of his hand against his temple.  His face scrunched like a little boy as he grumbled.  "My mouth tastes like flowers."

"What happened?" she demanded.

"I don't know.  I fought the Yiga, but--"

He rubbed harder at his head, and his arm moved in such a way that she caught sight of his arm.  Grabbing his wrist, he twisted to reveal an arrow lodged in his bicep.  The shaft had been broken off.  He looked down at it and said simply "Huh."  Then grabbed it.  Before she could shout at him to stop, he yanked it free of his arm with a wince.  He held it up and grimaced at it.

The arrowhead was barbed and jagged, and from it rose a red, swirling mist that seemed to disintegrate into fine, red powder.  

"Oh," he said.  "That looks like poison."  Then he crumpled. 

She managed to catch him enough to slow his fall, and lay him out on the grass.

She rushed for the house and the fairy tonic on a high shelf, knocking down bottles of elixirs as she grabbed it.  She slid onto her knees beside him, pulled the stopper out with her teeth, propped up his head, and drained the tonic down his throat.  He spluttered and winced and opened his eyes so she got to see his pupils even out into the same size.

"That was a close one," he said.

In aggravation, she stood, letting his head flop to the ground with a crack.

#

There was the time, they were investigating the Sealed Temple.  She was taking notes straight onto the wall in chalk, diagramming the inner working of a guardian's eye, and Link was prowling around the perimeter, looking for something to keep him entertained.

She froze at the sound of a high-pitched laugh, and she jerked her head up the ceiling to find the source.  A boom sounded from a different direction.  From below her.  The bridge beneath her feet trembled, then shook, the roar of crumbling stone building ever louder.  The stone right under her jerked, pitching to an angle, and she lost her feet, and Link was running towards her.

The floor gave out.  She fell a split second before the floor under Link gave out too.  He was upside-down, but grabbing for her waist, and once he got an awkward hold on her, he pulled open his paraglider one handed, and they whipped around so he was upright and she was upside-down and nearly thrown away from him.  He grabbed her shirt just as part of the bridge hits him and the paraglider was knocked aside.  They tumbled, both scrambling for the paraglider, both pummeled by falling rocks.  The roar of the crumbling bridge drowned out her scream.

They hit the floor of the Sealed Temple hard, jagged chunks of rock biting into her side and arm.  She groaned and looked up to Link, who was half on top of her, when a shadow fell over his face.  He looked up, and the rest of the bridge fell on top of them.

...

It was too dark to see anything, but she could breathe, so she was still alive.  Her breath was loud and close, so she hadn't been flattened, but she didn't have much room.  She tried to take stock of her body: everything hurt.  She gave up trying to move.  She could lie here for a moment.

And Link--

"Link!"

She tried to sit up, but cracked her head against a rock that was only a foot above her face.  It was hard to move her arm to draw out her slate, but she managed it, and the glow from the stasis rune shed light on her situation.  A large, flat slab--possibly one of the pillars that once held up the bridge--was now a low ceiling with rocky debris sealing her into a low, narrow cave.  She heaved her leg from beneath a pile of fallen rock, and scooted down lower into her cave so she had more space to sit up.  Loose rubble fell around her as she moved.

Once she had some room, she was able to get a better look around.  Once she was closer, Link stood out in bright yellow.  He lay on his stomach, half buried in the debris, his head and shoulders visible, his arms limp.

"Link!"  She scurried toward him on her hands and knees, bending to pat his face.  "Speak to me."

He groaned and didn't open his eyes.  There was a dark, sticky mess in his hair that must have been blood but was the wrong color under stasis.

She couldn't tend to him while using the stasis rune, so she pulled up the brightest image she could find and used it as a dim light in the small space.  The picture was the two of them in the bright summer sun, her holding the slate out at arm's length, and him reaching to press the button to capture the image.

She propped up the slate and shoved debris off him.  At first it was easy, but when she actually started to dig him out, there was an ominous rumble. Link must have been load bearing.

"This would certainly be much easier if you were conscious," she huffed, grunting as she moved a rather large stone on his back.  Dust rained down on them.  The whole slab above them groaned as if shifting, settling, trapping them more completely or about to crush them, she couldn't say.

A sudden, green light exploded from Link's body, and she shrieked and stumbled back.  It swept above his head and swirled around him.  There was something liquid about it.  The flash of a fin.  The flash of a scale.  A gentle voice cooing words she couldn't quiet hear.

Link groaned and shifted, and Zelda scrambled back to him.  "Link!"

"'M k."

"You're most certainly not," she shouted.

"Can we get out now?" he muttered.

"Yes.  Yes.  I'm working on it."  She looked around.  It occurred to her that they may very well run out of air before she managed to get them out.  "I just need to...Here. I'll--"

"Use the slate."

"What?"

He groaned.

She grabbed the slate, her mind flying through all the runes she could use to move the rocks, to lift the ceiling, to--

Oh.  She was so foolish.

She grabbed Link's weak hand and warped them straight to Kakariko.

#

There were all those times, and so many more.  Zelda has seen how Link rolls with whatever life throws at him.  He views these obstacles as challenges that he's thrilled to prove he can overcome.

She can roll with it too.  She can see this as a challenge.  Yes.  A challenge.  She will get through.  That is assured.

The first thing is that she needs a plan.  Right.  Yes.  A plan.

Step 1. Stop the bleeding, which she can so if she tear a strip from her shirt, and wraps it around her head until she looks absolutely ridiculous.  If the Yiga see her, she'll have bigger problems than feeling embarrassed.

Good.  Yes.  That's a plan.

She blinks blood from her eye.

Step 2. Escape, which she will do...by climbing the wall hanging with which the Yiga have decorated her cell.  Foolish of them actually to leave that there.  The bars of her cell are only twelve feet high, and there's even a helpful ledge on the wall once she's reached that height.  Then she'll simply drop down, and the entrance is right there. 

Perfect.  Right.  That is completely...completely manageable for someone who loves challenges and climbing things and is not amazingly dizzy.

She clenches and unclenches her fists, trying to get more blood flow to her fingers.  She bounces on her toes, and feels immediately lightheaded.  She rolls her shoulders, gathers the whole width of the banner in a fist, and climbs.

[doctorreids]

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER EIGHT - august 

previous chapter | next chapter 

word count - 1.7k 

a/n - see @ the end ! 

warnings: slight sexual content, nothing explicit though. 

“i never needed anything more, whispers of ‘are you sure?’ ‘never have i ever before.’”

The glare of headlights filtered through his car as he drove down the main street, few cars passed. Red and green lights mixed together as he reached each stoplight.

The reality of what he was about to do hit him, just 20 minutes from her apartment he thought about turning back.

The ‘what if’s’ swirled around in his head. What if he wasn’t good enough? What if he truly hadn’t changed and he was just kidding himself? What if she was better off without him?

He would be lying if that last thought didn’t make tears pool in his eyes.

The late-night drive, however, did remind him of August's past. When he pulled up outside her apartment when they had the rare week off and told her to get in. Alex Blake had kindly given them the use of her beach-side Hampton’s summer home. The five-hour drive stretched well into the night.

He could remember her laughter in the passenger seat and her soft snores as they travelled down the highway. Talking nonsense and playing ‘I spy’ to pass the time before the sun began to set, the sky turning from blue into a purple-pink sky with red hues.

Before she drifted to sleep she turned towards him and whispered, “Red sky at night shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning shepherd’s warning.”

The memory made him smile.

It also made him wonder if this was worth it. If he was too late.

…

“So you’re telling me you’ve never played ‘Never Have I Ever’?” She giggled.

“Nope.” Popping the ‘p’, he shrugged.

Pulling herself onto his lap, she peered up at him.

“Well then,” she sighed comically, “guess I’m just going to have to take your Never Have I Ever virginity! Pass me the wine.”

Tipsy and thinking nothing of it, he passed her the wine.

Hours passed and the questions got dirtier and dirtier. No longer did he blush or feel awkward at her suggestive comments, he made them himself.

They were both slurring, roaring with laughter at times. He had never felt more whole.

“Awk, Spencer, pick your jaw up from the floor.” She straddled him, her finger traced along his jawline.

He smiled up at her before pressing his lips to hers. His hands rested on her hips, she was fully pressed into his chest. She toyed with the buttons on his shirts as he kissed her neck.

He could not describe the utter state of bliss he was in; all he could feel, see, and hear was her. Her soft whimpers at his touch, her soft butterfly kisses on his chest, her bright eyes staring back at him, so full of love and adoration. He never wanted that feeling to end. He had never felt braver as he slipped off her top, placing kisses down her stomach and her thighs, watching her body react to his touch and the soft gasps that escaped her lips. He was on a high that he believed would never end, her touch was like ecstasy, he was filled with complete euphoria.

Whispered ‘I love you’s’ passed between them, he finally knew how it felt to be a teenager falling in love for the first time. She was his true first love. She was the kiss under the bleachers that he never got. She was the prom date he had waited for. He felt 13 years younger with her - shy, bashful and unsure.

The universe and all its questions had all its answers when he was with her.

“august slipped away into a moment in time, cause it was never mine, and I can see us twisted in bedsheets, august sipped away like a bottle of wine.”

The memory of the past August made him smile. They spent the day on the beach, reading and Y/N pulling him into the water despite his protests of it being too cold. They cooked together, showered together, and spent every other moment with each other. If he thought hard enough he could still remember the smells of the local Italian restaurant, the smell of each bottle of red, white and rose wine they drank. He could recall every word that was said.

“I love you.”

“The earth has rotated roughly 212.9 times in the seven months we’ve been together.”

“Not a more accurate figure, no?”

“I’m not a calculator, my love.”

He laughs audibly at the memory. He took so much for granted; how she would listen to his ramblings about everything and anything, especially things she didn’t understand. She would listen so intently, her eyes following his every word and gesture, and she would try her best to talk about astrophysics or whatever his chosen topic was in her own vocabulary, in a way she could understand.

She thought his mind was amazing, he thought her mind was too.

She was patient. She was kind. She was kind.

The memories don’t feel like they are his. They are only a slippery slope into madness. Tempting him back to the days of curling up on his sofa clutching some novel that reminds him of her.

His copy of Pride and Prejudice is now completely worn as he finds himself reading it over and over, remembering the sound of her voice of one summer afternoon in which she read it to him.

He had it memorised cover to cover but he couldn’t bring himself to read it aloud, only her voice could gently relay one of the greatest love stories of all time. A story he had hoped they would rival.

Maybe it was too big of fantasy to maintain hope but without hope, he was lost.

He didn’t feel as though he owned the memory of the past August. Almost as though he was out of his own body, watching it happen. Watching things be so perfect and then watching them fall apart. It was a vicious cycle.

“your back beneath the sun, wishin’ I could write my name on it.”

The morning sun flooded the room as he rolled over to face her. The thin white curtains did little to keep the light out. He couldn’t figure out what time it was and he couldn’t be bothered to look at the small alarm clock beside him.

Her back faced away from him, soft snores came from her mouth. He traced his finger all so gently along the lace of her nightdress to the base of her neck, along the straps and soft cotton material. The sun illuminated her skin, an angelic halo encircling her.

Not even Michelangelo could paint something so heavenly.

Each time he looked at her he felt winded. He was not one to dwell on luck, he focused rather on what was guaranteed and soundproof, but he knew he was so lucky to call her ‘his’. To be able to hold her, to watch each sunrise and sunset with her, was everything to him.  

It was at this moment he decided on their future - the girl before him was the woman he knew he was going to marry. Someday, he promised himself.

“I can practically feel you burning holes into my back, Spence.’ Her laugh cracked with sleep as she turned to face him.

They lay there for a few moments holding each other’s gaze, irises swimming with love. He grabbed her waist, a soft muffled hum as she rested her hand on his chest.

“I can also hear you thinking. Penny for your thoughts?” Her voice was gentle.

He hummed.

“I think you can hear my aching head rather than my thoughts, sweetheart.”

“Aw, does poor Doctor Reid have a sore head?” She teased.

Lifting her head with his index finger, he said, “Now, what did I say about calling me Doctor Reid.”

“Ah, yes. How could I possibly forget! At least one of us can remember last night with some degree of clarity.”

He laughed, “I just have a hangover, I remember everything. Not like you on some of your girl’s nights with Garcia.”

Pulling her pillow from underneath her, she hit him with it.

“You promised you wouldn’t speak of that!” She groaned.

“And you promised you wouldn’t call me unless…” He trailed off.

He wished he could stay there forever as their laughter mixed together.

…

There are moments after laughing, those deep belly laughs, where silence fell upon them both and she would look at him with that mischievous look in her eye and he would fall over and over again.  It was pure, unadulterated joy as they caught their breath.

These are the moments he wishes more than anything that he could live once more.

The empty passenger seat reminds him of the silence of their apartments as they grew further apart. It reminds him when she would sit there and stare out the window without as much of a glance towards him. It also reminds him of the drive home from their august trip. She was glowing, happily chewing on a piece of candy or eating the Cheetos they’d specifically bought for JJ and claiming she would buy more packs when they got back. (She never did.)

Time seemed to slow as each stop light turned red. The drive extended by a few extra minutes. More time to psych himself out. To tell himself to turn around. To remind himself that she wasn’t his to lose.

She was her own person, it was the reason he loved her so. She couldn’t be owned by anyone. In another way, neither could he. Maybe it’s why they clicked together like missing pieces of a puzzle. It’s a possibility why they fell apart so quickly, those pieces must have gotten lost somewhere along the way.

He no longer felt the anxiousness of before, determination surged through his veins. Each red light he stopped at reminded him of each mistake, each time he missed the cracks and signs. This time, he promises himself, he would be better.

He took the next right, knowing that she was 10 minutes away.

He was 10 minutes away from either making the best or worst decision of his life.

600 seconds away from his heart’s home.

799.

798…

--

a/n: hi guys!! sorry for the long wait - results week was very weird for me, and i had to get my grades reassessed and that was another week before i found them out too (which i went up to 2A*s and an A which was way more than what i originally got) which was amazing! i’ve just been going through a rough patch mentally and i’ve been busy sorting out university etc. i feel as though i owe you all an apology for not updating as often - this chapter just took it out of me but i’m looking to update at least weekly or maybe twice a week!! thank u for all the support it means so much <3

taglist: @itsfangirlmendes @toosassy2handle @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 @rexorangecouny @myheartbelongsintz @toizerdecker @baddestbau​ @haylaansmi​ @hess016 @blameitonthenight21​

[is-it-art-tho]

This is Chapter 5!

Chapter 1.  Chapter 2   Chapter 3.   Chapter 4

Summary: Jason gets a visitor. It doesn't go well.

Jason tumbled through his apartment window just as the sun was starting to rise. What he’d meant to be a quick recon mission had turned into an all-out battle royale and now his whole body ached for sleep and painkillers as he shed his clothes on his way to his bedroom, leaving a trail of muddy gear in his wake.

As soon as his legs hit his bed, he let himself fall forward across it. And even though the rest of his place was slowly flooding with light, his room was still mercifully dim and cool. He nudged the door closed with the tip of his toe, grateful once again for his blackout curtains as he blocked out the light from the hall, plunging the room further into the dark.

Jason didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he finally woke up it was with a jolt, a sudden snapping open of his eyes while the rest of him remained perfectly still.

Something was wrong.

He could sense it in the air, could feel it like a prickling along the back of his neck. Without making a sound, his hand located the gun in the top drawer of his nightstand, and he moved across the room to press himself into the wall by the door.

He listened.

If he hadn’t been who he was, he might not have heard it at all – the traffic outside was noisier than whoever had broken into his apartment. But he was who he was and he did hear it, gentle footsteps moving around his living room and kitchen.

He waited for the telltale sounds of theft – appliances being shuffled, drawers opening and shutting – but there was none of that. Only quiet movements, low murmuring. Finally the footsteps grew more pronounced as they headed down the hall and paused just outside his door.

The knob twisted carefully, slowly, and Jason cocked his gun. From where he was pressed into the corner, the opening door shielded him from view as the intruder stepped in and looked around, and before they could fully turn his way, Jason had a gun pressed into their back through the fabric of a black cape.

“Replacement,” Jason said by way of greeting, his adrenaline ebbing significantly but not altogether.

“So you are alive. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Red demanded, turning around to face him as Jason set the gun aside.

Before Jason could even answer, Red was talking to someone else, a finger to his ear. “No. He isn’t here. But I got Jason.”

Pause.

“I really don’t think–” Red Robin paused again, looking pained. “All right. No, I know. I know.” He returned his focus to Jason.

“Dick’s missing,” he explained. “It’s been three days.”

“He’s a big boy. Just because he missed family brunch once or twice doesn’t mean–”

Red Robin reached into his belt and tossed him a plastic bag. “Found it at the bottom of a storm drain. His car was abandoned, too.”

Inside the bag was Dick’s cell phone, caked in grime and smashed.

“Shit,” Jason breathed. Tossing the phone back, he slipped past Red and into the hall where his gear was still strewn haphazardly across the floor. “You trace his suit?”

“He’s not wearing it. And the comm system’s been on and off so we haven’t been able to make contact. By now he could be out of range or–” Red broke off whatever he was about to say. “Or something else.”

“Shit,” Jason said again, hopping into his pants. It was only when he was securing his belt that he noticed Red Robin fidgeting in the doorway. “You gotta piss or something?”

The younger boy stopped shifting. “Have you… heard from him?”

“Golden Boy? Yeah, we got cocktails on Tuesday.”

Red blinked at him.

“I’m kidding.” Jason tugged his gloves on and flexed his fingers a bit before finally sliding on his helmet. He was already straddling the windowsill, halfway out when he noticed Red Robin wasn’t following. “You coming or what?”

The younger boy looked physically ill now. Jason could practically hear his heart racing from across the room.

He waited.

“Where were you Halloween night?” Red asked.

Jason sighed. “Is this about that stupid party? Listen I’m sorry if I ruined your ‘theme’ or whatever but there was no way in hell I was ever gonna–”

“It’s not. It’s not about that.”

“Then why do you care where I was?”

The kid’s narrow shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath. “We’ve got you on surveillance a few blocks from where the party was that night. Around the same time Dick left. What were you doing out there?”

Jason stared, his face paling behind the helmet as the realization hit him, churned in his stomach like something rotten.

He was a suspect.

Of course, he was a suspect.

“Look,” Red began as if sensing the change in the air. “I’m just– ever since that thing happened between you two–”

“What ‘thing?’” Jason asked, pulling his leg back inside and standing. He could see now that Red Robin hadn’t come here for backup. This was an interrogation. He tugged off his helmet and tossed it onto the couch.

“I have no idea because Dick wouldn’t say anything. But it’s obvious something happened. And I just… have a few questions.”

“Is this you asking or the bat?”

“Does it make a difference?”

Yes.

“Nope.” Jason shrugged off his jacket, grateful for the distraction as a thousand different emotions clashed and swirled through him. His face felt hot, and there was a piercing ache in the center of his chest; if he hadn’t known any better, he could’ve sworn he was bleeding under his armor.

If Dick’s comments had been the blade, surely this was the twisting of the knife.

“I was trick or treating with a kid from The Yards,” he explained at last.

Red looked supremely unimpressed. “I’m being serious, Jason.”

“So am I.”

Jason looked him dead in the eyes, and whatever Red saw in the older boy’s face must have been confirmation enough, because finally he sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“I’m sorry,” Red offered miserably. “I told them it was stupid to even ask, but they thought–”

“I know what they–” Jason cut himself off before he started shouting. He sighed. “I know. Just go.”

Red looked like he was about to say something, then paused, his eyes flicking away. “Copy that,” he said, presumably to someone over the comm.

Jason stepped aside as the kid made his way to the window.

With a boot perched on the sill, Red Robin turned and said, “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t – I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

When Jason offered him nothing in return, Red Robin nodded as if understanding, and leapt into the night.

Jason shut the window.

____________

Red Robin cursed, peering into a grimy warehouse. Another dead end. How many freaking abandoned buildings could one city possibly have?

“He’s not here,” he said, flipping up from the window and onto the roof to scan the tops of the surrounding buildings. “Next location.”

“Okay,” Oracle said. “Just give me–”

“West Side Heights are a no-go,” Spoiler announced.

A moment later, Robin added, “The tenements on Ninth are empty, as well.”

“Huntington to Jefferson is clear.” Batman.

“Okay, okay just give me second!” Oracle shouted. Red flinched, his ear twinging as she added more calmly, “Let me think."

He could practically hear the gears in her mind working, could feel the tension crackling over the moments of silence that followed.

When Dick hadn’t come back to pick them up from the party, they hadn’t thought much of it. It wouldn’t have been wildly out of character for him to get caught up with something and lose track of time. And they’d been happy for the excuse to borrow a car to get home anyways.

Even in the days that followed, they’d all had different assumptions about what might have been going on with him. Maybe he was undercover somewhere. Maybe he’d gone radio silent for an especially challenging case. All of these things had happened before. Even so, Red Robin could see now that they – that he – should have been more alert.

Three days. It had taken him three days to notice that something was wrong.

He glanced eastward. A faint gold had begun to bleed into the clouds and dust the rooftops. Soon they’d have to stop, or at least switch to more inconspicuous means of searching. He tried not to think about all the statistics involving missing persons and the importance of the first few hours. How much time they had already lost.

Not lost. Wasted.

But now that they were actively looking, somehow it felt like things were still getting worse.

He groaned, bracing his hands on his knees as his anxiety and frustration mingled bitterly with fresh guilt. He’d expected the conversation with Jason to be awkward; he hadn’t expected it to be so… sad.

The look on Jason’s face…

“Oracle,” Batman said at last, a ripple of warning in his baritone that snapped Red Robin upright. Wallowing would have to wait.

Right now, he needed to focus.

“I know,” Oracle answered. “Red, you take the old abbey on Acreage. Spoiler, there’s an office building under construction on–”

“H-hello…?” a quavering voice interjected.

Red froze, his arm outstretched with his grapple. No one responded, and the silence that followed was so complete he almost thought his comm had shut off.

“Ora..cle?”

“Dick?” she nearly shouted. “Oh my– where are you? Are you okay?”

“I… don’t know.” Dick’s voice was hollow, almost distracted.

“Wait,” Dick said a little firmer. “Historical district. I don’t know wh–” Then he hacked and coughed, and there was the distinct sound of something splattering onto a floor.

Red Robin was already swinging through the air towards the historical district when Oracle asked, “Are you hurt?”

“I­–”

A nearby explosion sent a shockwave through the air, throwing off the arc of Red Robin’s swing and sending him careening into the side of a building. “Agh!”

He retracted the grapple, letting it pull him up the rest of the way until he was able to crawl over the lip of the roof and look around.

The bottom floor of an apartment building down the street was engulfed in flames. A moment later, another explosion went off several blocks away. And another after that, distant booms and plumes of fiery smoke billowing into the early morning sky.

“What’s going on?” Red Robin asked, sprinting towards the building closest to him. “Are you guys seeing this?”

[bijvoorbeeldja]

Sobbe enemies to lovers

Robbe IJzermans could not stand Sander Driesen.

He hated his stupid leather jacket and his black boots, both of which announced his presence with annoyingly-omnipresent sound.

He hated the several-inch height he had over Robbe, always towering over him in self-assumed superiority. He hated how cool he thought he looked, in his Bowie t-shirts and box-bleached hair, girls trailing after him like groupies.

It made him sick.

Despite his disregard for Sander, the two had practically grown up together, sharing the same hallways at school, occupying the same classes, mixing in similar social circles. But really, they couldn’t have been more different. While Sander was loud, overly-confident, and snarky, Robbe was small, quiet, and didn’t thrive on being the center of attention. In fact, when he’d come out a few months before, he kept to himself even more, trying to distance himself from unwanted scrutiny. And for that and many other reasons, he avoided Sander Driesen any chance he got.

That is, until one biology class in October when he’d gotten in trouble for talking too loudly with Zoe. The two always sat together in their shared classes, having grown close when Robbe moved into the flatshare with Zoe, Senne, and Milan. They were in the midst of excitedly debriefing Milan’s date the night before, sharing details they’d gathered from their conversations with him. The teacher had been handing out assignments for a big, upcoming project to the seated pairs when she called out the two for their disruptive discussion.

“Loockx, IJermans, split up, please,” she’d finally announced, exasperated. “Zoe, please go work with Britt, and Sander, come up and pair up with Robbe. Maybe then you’ll actually get some work done.”

Annoyed, Zoe slumped her shoulders and started gathering up her books. “Yeah, I sincerely doubt it,” she said under her breath to Robbe, who smiled briefly before wishing her luck. “I bet Sander will have fun,” she offered quickly, resigning herself to the back row.

Robbe scoffed at her lame tease, but Robbe couldn’t escape the dread that was filling his stomach as he glanced back at Sander. With a cigarette tucked behind his ear, partially hidden in white locks, he gathered his bag while winking at Britt, who blushed.

Robbe groaned. Seriously? How could this be happening?

He turned back toward the desk, bracing himself for what was surely going to be a tortuous affair. Glancing over the pages of the assignment the teacher had distributed, his stomach dropped even more. It was a long project, surely demanding lots of time and effort, even more now that he’d probably have to do the whole assignment himself.

“Hey, Robin,” Sander said, finally appearing at his side. Slamming down his books on the desk and sitting backwards in the chair next to Robbe, he straddled it with the obnoxious confidence of someone who lived a middle-finger-to-the-world lifestyle.

Robbe rolled his eyes and kept flipping through his own textbook, determined to get a jump on the assignment, with or without Sander’s help.

“So, yeah. This is going to be a lot of work, so we better get started,” Robbe began, not looking at Sander. “We can just divide it up and do our own halves separately so that–”

“We could do that,” Sander said, interrupting him with a pointed smirk. “Or, we could work on it together. That is, if you trust me not to mess it up.” He was smiling, making Robbe roll his eyes again.

“Well, since you mention it, you’re right,” Robbe said, looking at him full-on now. “I don’t trust you.”

Sander’s smile faded, and he swallowed. He looked into Robbe’s eyes silently for a moment before speaking. “Maybe you don’t know me well enough to trust me, Robbe.”

Robbe furrowed his brow, not dissuaded by Sander’s genuine and suddenly out-of-character tone.

“I know you, Sander,” Robbe stated. “I’ve known you pretty much my whole life and I feel like I’ve got a pretty good read on who you are. So forgive me for not having the capability to trust you.”

With heat rising to his cheeks, Robbe slammed his book shut and started shoving books and papers into his bag. Then, the bell rang. Robbe didn’t waste any time leaving Sander behind.

This was going to be the longest four weeks of Robbe’s life.

........

All Robbe wanted to do was go home, climb under his covers, and sleep for days. Just a few weeks into the school year, and he was already drowning in work, stress, and insomnia. Plus, now the situation with his mother was creating additional worry that kept him up late into the night, rubbing dark circles into his eyes and straining aches into his shoulders.

But he couldn’t go home, not yet. He knew that once he walked through the door, Zoe would force him to eat a sensible dinner, Senne would assault him with questions about the dark circles under his eyes, and Milan would sit on the counter, talking endlessly about why he was so happy to be done with high school. He loved his flatmates, but for now, he had a mountain of work to do, and needed a quiet space to make a dent in it. 

So after classes ended, he collected all of his books and headed to the library, settling into a carrel near the back. It wasn’t like the library was crowded or anything. It was Thursday, and most of his friends and fellow students felt the weekend close enough that they gladly relaxed their grip on schoolwork stress and started going out. But still, Robbe felt more comfortable tucked away in the back of the library, so he could focus fully on his work.

Pulling out his books and pen, he took a deep inhale and started working.

…….

After two and a half hours, Robbe’s eyes were starting to glaze over, and he felt himself re-reading the same sentence in his textbook over and over again.

He needed to stretch his legs, get his blood moving again. Plus, there was a reference book he needed, so he allowed himself a quick break to get up and search the stacks. Wandering through the various genres of books, he stopped at a chemistry section, searching the call numbers for the title he needed. He was brushing his hands over the spines, getting closer when he heard muffled voices from a few stacks away. He was surprised anyone was still there. Some librarians, maybe, re-stacking leftover books or wiping down tables. But as he listened, he could’ve sworn he recognized one of the voices. Rounding the corner, he knew why. 

It was Sander. Robbe jumped back behind the shelf, making sure he couldn’t be seen. He could not deal with another “Hey, Robin!” encounter right now. Of all people, Robbe thought, it had to Sander. Sander was sitting with a boy a few grades younger. The boy had a textbook open in front of him, and Sander was leaning over gently, pointing out something on the pages to the boy, who was nodding. Robbe could only make out a few words of what Sander was saying, but he heard enough to gather something that made his mouth drop open slightly. It was biology. Sander was tutoring the boy in biology. 

For a few moments, Robbe could only stand motionless, trying to understand what he was seeing — and hearing. Absent was Sander’s usual bravado. Instead, he was smiling sincerely, talking quietly, and clearly, obviously teaching something well. Seemingly right in front of Robbe’s eyes, Sander’s usual cooler-than-you edges were worn down to reveal something much more real. Handsome, even.

That thought jolted Robbe back to his senses. Handsome? What was he talking about? Clearly, he had been studying too long. He was tired. He needed food. But as he headed back to his table and started to pack up his things, his thoughts were swirling. It didn’t make sense to Robbe, what he’d just witnessed. All this time, he had come to know Sander to be obnoxious, loud, and self-centered. The kind to skip school to smoke cigarettes….not help tutor other students. Sander was the one who would have meaningless hookups at parties, blast Bowie from his car driving out of the school parking lot, tease Robbe endlessly. But what he just saw….that was a different Sander. 

Maybe Robbe didn’t really know him at all. 

……

When Robbe got to biology the next day, Sander was already there, sitting in his seat next to Robbe’s, doodling something on the corner of his paper, lost in focus. He briefly looked up with Robbe sat down, shifting his books slightly to cover the drawing. 

“Robin,” he threw Robbe’s way, his mouth lifting in a small smirk. 

Their teacher entered the classroom, shuffling to her desk and immediately calling out to them to spend the period working on their projects. 

“Use your time wisely!” she admonished. 

Robbe swallowed and turned toward Sander.

“Sander, look I—”

“Don’t worry, Robin,” Sander interrupted. “I already started working on my half.” Sander took a handful of papers out of his bag, waving them in front of Robbe. Robbe was momentarily silent as he glanced at the papers, covered top to bottom with Sander’s handwriting, a neat scrawl that again surprised Robbe.

“Oh, wow,” Robbe finally said. “I didn’t think that you—”

“That I’d actually do anything?” Sander smirked again. “Like I said before, maybe you don’t know me quite as well as you think you do, Robbe.” Robbe met Sander’s gaze, his green eyes vibrant, piercing. Robbe just stared into them, trying to find his breath again. 

But before he could, Sander spoke again. “I’ll make sure to get all of my half done before the due date. Don’t worry about it.” At that, Sander turned back to his paper, resuming his drawing. 

Robbe just sat there, trying to hide his shock and growing humiliation. He glanced back at Zoe, desperately wishing for her help. But she didn’t meet his gaze. She sat, elbow on the desk, chin in her palm, looking bored as Britt told a story, her hands gesturing widely. 

Sander and Robbe spent the rest of the period in silence. 

……

Robbe felt like crap.

Sander had openly called him out on being judgmental, and okay. He had been. But before these last few interactions, Robbe wouldn’t have thought twice about what he’d said. He’d known Sander all his life, hadn’t he? He’d seen what he was like. The two had essentially been rivals for the majority of their lives. But now, Robbe felt like everything was off. Sander wasn’t pestering him with comments about his small size, or the long hair he’d had several years before. It seemed like...Sander was trying to be civil. 

Sure, Sander probably just wanted to stay on good terms for the duration of the assignment, not making things more difficult for either of them with endlessly unproductive back-and-forth banter about how much they disliked each other. Clearly, from what he’d seen yesterday at the library, Sander was smart. He must care about the assignment, and in general, his grades. But some small part of Robbe felt like...maybe...maybe Sander did want some sort of friendship with him. Okay, maybe not friendship. That was going too far. A mutual respect, maybe? How could Robbe cling to his stupidly stubborn pride when Sander was (albeit unconsciously) offering his own version of a tiny olive branch? Yeah, he knew what he’d seen of Sander. But deep inside, he knew it wasn’t all of him.

….. 

Robbe hadn’t gotten to talk to Zoe the whole period, so he waited after class for Britt to leave so he could detail his weird interactions with Sander. But to his surprise, it was Sander who approached Zoe first, giving Britt a small kiss on the cheek before telling her he’d see her around. She left the room looking a little deflated. 

The room was empty, and Robbe didn’t want to wait around, so obviously eavesdropping, so he went outside, pausing to wait at Zoe’s locker. Robbe waited, those few minutes annoyingly long. What could they even be talking about? 

Then suddenly, Sander exited the classroom with Zoe, the two laughing about something. Great, they have inside jokes now, Robbe thought. That’s just super.

“I’ll text you later, then.” Sander said, and Zoe nodded. Then he turned and started walking down the hall, those damn boots echoing through the hallway.

As Zoe approached Robbe, she started to speak quickly, seeing Robbe’s frustrated expression, and arms folded tight across his chest.

“Robbe, it’s not—”  

“What the hell, Zoe?! Did Sander seriously just try to ask you out?” Robbe spit out, his voice rising. “Everyone knows you’re with Senne! The nerve of that guy—”

Zoe took another step toward Robbe, reaching out to put her hands gently on his shoulders, smiling slightly.

“No, Robbe,” she said calmly. “He wasn’t asking me out. Relax. He asked for my help with something.”

“Are you serious?” Robbe asked. “What?”

She smiled again before answering. “He asked if I could help him bleach his hair.”

……

It was Saturday, and Zoe had been in the bathroom with Sander for over an hour. Sander had come over early, while everyone was eating breakfast, greeting the roommates with croissants before waving a paper bag full of boxed hair dyes at Zoe. 

“You ready for this?” He’d asked, smiling.

Robbe rolled his eyes, hiding his frown behind his coffee cup, pulling down his boxers to cover more of his exposed body. He could not believe Zoe had let Sander come to their flat, knowing how much he tortured Robbe. 

“I promise you it will be way easier than mine!” laughed Zoe, turning one of the boxes over in her hands, looking over the instructions briefly. “You have way less hair than I do.” 

She took another sip of her coffee, gave Senne a quick kiss on the cheek, and motioned for Sander to follow her to the bathroom. Sander glanced over at Robbe before he followed, smiling at Robbe’s tousled bed head and giving him a quick wink, eyes glowing fiercely green. Robbe just blinked, feeling so out of place with Sander in their apartment. When the two blondes were gone, Milan gasped. 

“Who was that?” he asked excitedly. “He’s hot!” Senne laughed.

Robbe rolled his eyes again, groaning. “Don’t even start with that, please. He’s this obnoxious kid from school and he should not be here.”

“I didn’t mean hot for me, Robbe.” Milan stated. “I obviously meant hot for you.”

Robbe nearly choked on his coffee. “What are you talking about, Milan?” 

“Uhm, that obviously you two are going to be making out in ten minutes,” Milan said, as if it were the most decidedly obvious matter.

“Milan!” Robbe hissed, his face started to burn with humiliation. “Could you talk any louder?!” 

“Sorry,” Milan said casually, shrugging his shoulders. “But it’s true. The tension between you two is insane.”

“You are ridiculous, Milan,” Robbe said with a huff. “I hate Sander and he hates me, so. That’s that.” Robbe put his cup to his lips again, trying to calm his hands. 

Milan turned to him, looking confused. “Hates you? No. No, not a chance,” he said decidedly, picking up a croissant. 

“Why do you say that?” Robbe asked, bewilderment — and slight curiosity — now pricking at him. 

“Uhm, because we all saw the way he just looked at you,” he said, motioning around the room, as if a crowd had gathered. He took a bite of croissant. “That was clearly the look of someone who is into you...and just doesn’t know how to show it. Which makes sense. You are a bit...prickly, sometimes.”

Robbe could not believe what he was hearing. Milan was delusional. He needed to go back to bed. Grabbing his mug and what was left of his toast, he shook his head and got up to go back to his room. As he exited the doorway of the kitchen, Milan called out after him, “I will require a plus one on my wedding invite, Robbe!” 

Robbe gasped, sprinting back to hurl his toast at Milan, who ducked, laughing loudly.

Robbe groaned again, shaking his head as he finally made it to his room. Opening the door, he immediately jumped back, coffee sloshing out onto his t-shirt. Sander was in his room, and he was half naked. 

“Uhm, what the hell?” Robbe called out, and Sander spun around, quickly pulling a towel towards his chest. 

“Sorry, Robbe,” he said sheepishly. “I should’ve asked you. Zoe just told me to get undressed in here so I wouldn’t get bleach on my clothes. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Robbe stammered. “I—I just...you surprised me, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” Sander smiled, motioning to the coffee stains spreading across his shirt. He grabbed his own Bowie shirt he’d left on the bed, handing it over to Robbe. “Here. Use mine.” He hesitated briefly. “But, then again, it isn’t a size small. You might drown in my clothes.” He was actually grinning now.

Robbe felt warm all of the sudden. He didn’t know if it was hot coffee seeping onto his body through his shirt, the sight of Sander’s tan skin, or the thought of wearing his clothes that was making him flushed. He was so infuriating.

“I don’t need your clothes, obviously,” Robbe shot back. “This is my room, remember? I have clothes here. Which I wouldn’t even need if you hadn’t gotten naked in my bedroom and shocked me into dousing myself with coffee.” Robbe was flustered, and Sander just smiled at him, his grin widening. He was taking a step towards Robbe, when Zoe called out from the hallway. 

“Sander? You coming? I have everything ready.”

“Be right there,” Sander answered back, eyes still locked with Robbe’s. For a second, Robbe thought he was going to say something, but while Robbe stood there, waiting, Sander exhaled and walked past Robbe into the hallway, brushing his arm with Robbe’s as he went by. 

……

Robbe could not fall asleep that night. 

Maybe it was the fumes from the bleach that were keeping him up. Zoe had cracked the windows in the bathroom while dying Sander’s hair, but still. The smell permeated. 

He just laid there, tossing and turning, trying to quiet his head and get the images from the day to clear from his mind. Well...just the one image. The image of Sander, shirtless, in his bedroom. He flopped on his back in frustration, internally writhing with shame that his mind was somehow hitching back repeatedly on these overpowering visions. Sander was always wearing that stupid jacket, the stupid boots, the stupid band t-shirts. It was his persona, his identity. But seeing Sander like that, unmasked, uncovered, and just...bare...it was too much for Robbe. He couldn’t stop thinking about the taut muscles of his biceps, his abs, the golden skin that contrasted with his white hair. Hair that now, when Robbe thought about it….didn’t look that bad at all. 

When Sander had left his room, he’d shut the door tight, avoiding Sander the rest of the morning. He couldn’t bear to face him again, likely saying or doing something stupid he’d regret. He just put on his headphones and tried to block out the sounds of conversation from the bathroom. He’d fallen asleep before Sander left. And now, sleep fled from him. He wanted so badly to close his eyes and get lost in meaningless dreams, letting the ridiculous thoughts about Sander slip into nothingness. He wanted to forget about it all. 

He and Sander were enemies. They were supposed to avoid each other at all costs, and when they did cross paths, they were to simply call out their usual insults to each other and move on, carrying on with their own separate lives.

But here they were, getting thrown together again and again in the space of a week, and Robbe wasn’t sure he could bear it. He wanted things to go back to normal. Robbe IJzermans and Sander Driesen, rivals. 

Just as this thought crossed his mind, Robbe’s phone buzzed from his bedside table, briefly lighting up his room in a blue neon glow. He reached out, opening the new message that pinged on the screen. It was a number he didn’t know.

Hey, Robin. It’s Sander. Zoe gave me your number. I just wanted to say sorry, again, for today. I shouldn’t have gotten into your personal space. 

Robbe’s stomach lept. Him. Again.

His fingers hovered over the keys. Should he answer? His mind swirled with competing thoughts. Finally, a thought settled on him. Maybe in order to get through the next few weeks with Sander unscathed, he just had to play nice. Avoiding him didn’t seem to be working, obviously. Maybe, he thought….maybe he should just lean in. Be civil, do the work, move on. That’s it. 

He typed back a reply before he could stop himself, then quickly turned off his phone and rolled back over in the bed. He tried to squash down the anxious feeling budding inside him. 

It’s okay, Sander. 

Also, I was thinking. I think we should work on the biology project together. Let’s talk tomorrow at school?

……..

Robbe’s palms were embarrassingly clammy as he knocked on the door to Sander’s flat. He wiped them on his jeans, berating himself for acting so ridiculous. He’d told Sander he wanted to meet up, after all. 

When he’d turned on his phone the next morning, he saw that Sander had replied immediately to his last message, shooting back Good idea. See you Monday. 

Sander had greeted him with a sheepish smile in class the next week, immediately jumping in to explain what research he’d done for the assignment so far. They’d settled quickly into easy conversation, exchanging ideas and letting the class hour pass rapidly. As the bell rang and they started to gather up their things, Sander had turned again to Robbe. 

“So, do you want to work on this more after school one day this week?” He paused briefly before continuing, looking at Robbe for confirmation. “We could...work on it at my house? Friday? My parents are going out and won’t be there to bug us.” He laughed.

Robbe smiled, but felt anxiety creeping up on him. 

“Uhm, yeah. We could do that.”

“Okay, great.” Sander said, pulling his bag up on his shoulder. “I’ll text you my address.” He smiled once more at Robbe before turning to leave. 

While Robbe finished packing up, Zoe appeared at his side.

“So, what exactly happened in your bedroom yesterday?” she asked, 

Robbe dropped his book on the desk, a loud smack echoing in the room. 

“What?” he said, startled.

Zoe laughed. “Sander told me that you walked in on him naked, and today...you guys seem chummy. What’s that all about? Was Milan right? Did you two make out?!” Her voice was getting louder, squealing at even the briefest thought of scandal. 

“Oh my gosh, Zoe. No!” Robbe shot back, trying to keep his voice level, while heat flooded his cheeks. “I kicked him out of my room and took a nap. That’s all.” 

Zoe’s shoulder slumped. “Dang,” she said with a huff. “I was hoping you two would finally do it and get it over with so you could stop torturing us.”

Robbe turned toward Zoe straight on. 

“What are you talking about?!” Robbe said, nearly yelling now. “Did Milan talk to you? I’m not sure why you two are so hell-bent all of the sudden on insisting there’s some sort of love connection between the two of us, but I can assure you, there is not.”

Zoe looked at Robbe skeptically, nodding with a Right. Sure. look as he spoke.

“Plus,” Robbe continued, arguing his stance. “He’s hooking up with Britt anyway. He’s not even into guys!”

“You’re not serious, right?” Zoe asked. “Everyone, literally everyone knows that those two aren’t hooking up. Even if Britt wanted that.” Zoe confirmed. “Believe me, all she talks about is boys. I’ve gotten the complete story on all the guys in her life the past few days. Sure, she and Sander have flirted, but it’s never been anything serious. I think she’s into some college guy….” Zoe trailed off, trying to remember specifics. “Plus,” she said, returning to the conversation again. “Sander is pansexual. Everyone knows that.”

Was he? And why was Robbe stomach suddenly leaping at this?

“I don’t believe you,” Robbe countered, brushing his dangerously wandering thoughts aside. “In fact, I don’t believe any of this. You and Milan are crazy.”

“Aw, you’re cute when you’re in denial,” Zoe cooed before turning on her heel and leading Robbe out into the hallway.

Now, days later, Robbe was standing in front of Sander’s door, his classroom conversation with Zoe tangling in his thoughts as he tried to level his shallow breathing. Then, the door opened, and Sander was standing there, in a Queen t-shirt and jeans that hugged his legs and made Robbe’s breath hitch in his throat. Stop staring, he commanded himself. Sander smiled and opened the door wider, motioning for Robbe to come in. He took off his shoes, placing them next to Sander’s boots that were parked by the door. Those damn boots.

“So I figured we could just start by comparing notes and then flesh out an outline for our paper?” Sander offered, leading Robbe into the flat. Robbe nodded in agreement, but didn’t speak, taking in the layout of Sander’s house. 

For all the things that Sander knew — or thought he knew — about Sander Driesen, he couldn’t have expected this. The flat was warm, cozy, and well-designed. There were soft couches and artsy interiors to his right, and an open kitchen to his left. Pictures torn out of sketchbooks — images surely done by Sander — lined the walls in frames.  

Catching Robbe staring at them, Sander laughed. 

“My parents are annoyingly proud,” he said. “I promise, I didn’t ask them to put these up.” He smiled, watching Robbe slowly walk down the hallway, looking at each one. Sander put his hands in his pockets, seeming sheepish now.

“They’re good,” Robbe finally admitted, turning towards Sander. “You’re really talented.”

The slightest of blushes crept to Sander’s cheeks, but he looked down quickly and cleared his throat. “Do you want anything to drink? Water? Soda?”

“Water’s fine,” Robbe answered. “Thanks.”

While Sander filled a glass in the kitchen, Robbe sat down on the living room couch, shrugging out of his jacket and taking out his books. Sander came into the room, leaning down to hand Robbe the glass. When Robbe grabbed it, Sander gasped.

“Whoa,” he said, startling Robbe. 

“What?” Robbe asked, worried. “What’s wrong?”

Sander smiled. “It’s nothing. It’s just...your hand.”

“My hand?” Robbe asked, confused. He put the glass down on the coffee table next to the couch, lifting his hand to his face, confused.

Sander laughed. “Sorry, I just meant...here—” Suddenly, Sander grabbed his hand, his skin warm and soft against Robbe’s. Pulling it gently towards him, Sander turned his hand over and began tracing the lines on his palm. Lightly brushing a finger over a line near his wrist, Sander spoke. 

“Your fate line, this one here,” he said quietly. “It’s a little curved, just like mine. I’ve never...I’ve never seen anyone else’s look like that.”

Robbe didn’t know if he was breathing. He swallowed, trying to push out the words hanging on his tongue. Sander was still holding his hand with his.

“My fate line?” he finally asked, a little weakly.

Sander smiled. “Yeah, have you ever read about that? Palm reading?”

“No, I haven’t.” Robbe replied, trying to ignore the warmth spreading from Sander’s skin to the rest of his body.

“Yeah, I guess it’s kind of silly,” Sander said, brushing his finger again along the other lines on Robbe’s palm. “My mom was into it for a while. The lines and folds on your hands are supposed to form narratives about who you are and predict your future.” He smiled again, continuing with the lightest of touches. 

“There’s your fate line, head line, life line, sun line….and heart line,” at this last one, he traced the top line, closest to Robbe’s fingers. He looked up and Robbe felt his gaze on him. Meeting his own eyes with Sander’s, his stomach flipped.

 Their brief silence settled there, almost crackling between them with electricity. Robbe watched Sander’s eye slowly roam his face, flicking down almost imperceptibly to his lips. Before Robbe knew what was happening, he yanked his hand from Sander’s grasp, turning back towards his books. 

“So, anyway, we should probably get to work,” Robbe said in a firm tone. 

Sander was still for a moment before clearing his throat. 

“Robbe, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You know what, Sander?” Robbe said, rising to stand. “This was probably a bad idea. I should...I should go.”

“What?” Sander stood, stepping towards Robbe. “Robbe, I—”

But Robbe stepped away again, hastily stuffing his books into his bag and zipping it forcefully. 

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow, Sander.” 

Before he reached the door, Sander called out behind him. 

“Robbe, wait.” 

Robbe was turning the handle. 

“Robbe, stop.” Sander’s voice was firm, deep. Robbe didn’t turn, but paused with his hand on the knob. He waited for Sander to speak again.

But it wasn’t his voice that reached Robbe. It was his hands, grabbing Robbe’s waist and flipping him around. Suddenly, all at once, his lips were on Robbe’s, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, gripping a handful of locks tightly. 

Robbe’s surprise only lasted for a second, as he, without a second thought, opened his lips to Sander’s and wrapped his hands around his back. Feeling his touch, Sander pushed him hard against the door, bringing them even closer. Limbs tangled feverishly, fueled by a heavy need that surprised them both. Sander’s lips enveloped Robbe’s, explored them, held them, like he never wanted to let go. 

Robbe’s insides were like fireworks. Electricity coursed through him, bringing to life his every nerve, every muscle, every feeling. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. Sander slid down the side of Robbe’s face, kissing deeply into his cheek, his jaw, then his neck. Robbe let a small hum of pleasure escape his mouth, making Sander pause. His face still tucked into Robbe’s neck, he let himself catch his breath.

“Robbe,” he whined, whispering gently against his ear, his cheek pressed to Robbe’s. “Are you always going to hate me?”

Robbe pulled back slowly, letting Sander’s question hang in the air between them as he looked back at him. He tried to take deep breaths, form coherent words in his mind. When he faced Sander head-on, Sander’s face bore an ache, the ache of vulnerable, pleading, longing.

“Look, I am sorry for always teasing you, Robbe,” Sander said gently, stroking Robbe’s jaw with his thumb. “For joking about your size, for calling you Robin,” Sander smiled at this. “I don’t know why I did that for so long. I just…” 

Robbe waited, breathless. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He looked again into Sander’s face again. How had he never noticed that freckle on Sander’s cheek? Or how his eyes were more forest green than he’d thought? Like moss, soft, yet vibrant. He couldn’t believe he’d never really seen Sander before. Not like this.

“The desire just made me crazy,” he said, exhaling, trying to get the words right. “The tension between us just made me want you even more. But I’m not someone who’s good at just saying when they want something,” Sander continued. “And I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

With one last glance into his eyes, and with a new need that he couldn’t even understand, Robbe grabbed a fistful of Sander’s shirt and pulled him back against him. 

…..

After a while, the messages were getting hard to ignore. 

When his phone sounded a near endless buzz, Robbe had to finally get up off the bed and make sure there wasn’t an emergency. But not being in the tangle of blankets didn’t last long, as Sander quickly tugged on his shirt, pulled him back down into the bed against him. Wrapping his arms around him again, Sander sighed contentedly. 

Robbe smiled, turning to meet Sander’s lips for one quick, deep kiss before turning back to scan his messages. There were a handful from Milan, Zoe, and Senne, all checking in on his whereabouts. 

Zoe: r u coming home soon? I made dinner

Zoe: hello? 

Zoe: hey! r u ok? 

Senne: hey man, u ok?

Milan: stop studying and come home to rescue me. Zoe’s trying to feed us all salad SOS

Zoe: Robbe! Let me know ur ok please!

Senne: can you text Zoe please? She’s freaking out

Milan: uhm, hello?

Sander glanced over, laughing. 

“They care about you, a lot.” 

Robbe smiled back. “Yeah, they’re pretty much my family now.”

He pulled away only briefly to fire off a rapid group text to Zoe, Milan, and Senne: I’m ok. I’m at Sander’s...Be home tomorrow.

Silencing his phone and tossing it across the room and out of sight, he let Sander tackle him back down into the mattress, hovering lightly on top of him.

“Well, I hope they don’t mind sharing,” he purred, leaning into Robbe’s ear. “I don’t think I’m going to let you go anytime soon.”

Robbe melted underneath Sander, allowing him to match the rapid flutters in his stomach with a trail of kisses to his collarbone, his neck, his jawline, and finally, his lips. 

……

It was late the next day when Robbe finally got back to his apartment, with flushed cheeks and donning one of Sander’s t-shirts. He hadn’t wanted to leave Sander’s. In fact, Sander had begged him to stay, attempting to persuade him with soft, fleeting caresses along his thighs, lustful nips at his neck, and gentle tugs on the waistband of his underwear. It was driving Robbe crazy, and he almost couldn’t resist. 

After talking for hours on end, Sander laughing about their decade-long stand-off and the sexual tension he swore was there between them from the beginning, he admitted easily that he thought Robbe’s long hair was sexy, and he loved that he was small enough to be picked up and carried to the bed. 

This made Robbe laugh, a bright blush creeping up into his cheeks. He told Sander how much he loved his drawings, and that he knew how smart he was. He sheepishly admitted that he hadn’t stopped thinking about Sander’s abs since that moment in his bedroom. He wasn’t, however, relinquishing his hate for his boots, though. That was non negotiable. Joking about throwing them out the window, Sander shoved Robbe playfully, pushing him down to the mattress, pinning his wrists above his head in submission. 

Eventually, their talking had turned into kissing, then slowly into touching, and they spent that whole night, and nearly the whole next day exploring each other, learning and re-learning their real selves in relation to the other. It felt like magic.

But as the sun set on Saturday night, Robbe finally pulled himself out of Sander’s grasp, promising with a nearly never-ending series of kisses that he’d be back. 

As soon as he entered his apartment and shut the door, his three roommates bolted from the kitchen, crashing into each other as they collided in the hallway. When they saw Robbe, they started screeching, yelling and talking over each other.

“Oh. My. God. Robbe!” Zoe squealed, running up to him.

Milan leaned against the wall, clearly pleased with himself. “I told you. I so told you. Okay, so it was more than ten minutes. But still. I am always right about these things.” Senne stood next to Milan, smiling widely. 

“Okay, okay, calm down!” Robbe shouted, shushing them with a wave of his hands. “Calm down. It’s not a big deal. It’s—”

Zoe squealed again, bringing her hands to her face. “Oh my god. You are so in love with him, aren’t you?”

Everyone quieted, listening for his answer. Robbe could only blush.   

With more loud talking and excited chatter, Robbe let his roommates pull him into the kitchen, eagerly awaiting a full minute-by-minute detail of the last two days. 

“What happened?! You have to tell us everything,” Milan pleaded. “Seriously. Everything.” 

Before he dove in, he checked his phone. A message from Sander was waiting for him:

Our next study session is in my room, tomorrow. Don’t be late, Robin.

Robbe fired back. 

I think we’re going to get an A on this assignment. 

.................

OMG you guys I am so nervous to post this, I desperately hope it doesn’t disappoint. But plz let me know what you think — I need the feedback! And send me more of your prompts!! <3

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) kyr'yc STAR WARS

Kix had been frozen for fifty years.

Everything he had loved, everything he had fought for - it was all gone. Everything had been destroyed because Kix had failed. He had failed Fives, failed Jesse and Rec - he had failed the Republic and the Jedi, and now it had all been ruined. His brothers had been brainwashed and killed all the while Kix slept on in stasis, unaware of it all happening, not even knowing that he wasn’t still sleeping in his office, desperately following the trail Fives had left behind and being driven mad by it.

He must not have been careful enough, because he had been taken before he could bring his information to the High Generals. Taken and frozen and lost for fifty years.

He’s the last clone alive. He had missed Rex by almost thirty years - Rex who, according to records, had lived beyond the fall of the Republic and the slaughter of the Jedi. Rex had survived to be an old man and had helped the Rebellion overthrow the Empire. He had died in his sleep almost thirty years ago, believing himself to be the last, and unaware that Kix had been stolen and frozen the whole time. Rex had died as an old man, and Kix was alone before he had even been aware of it.

Kix moves through life in a haze after he wakes up, untethered and alone and without a reason to continue on, but still he moves, unable to stop. He’s living in a galaxy not his own, lost and trying to find anything that could make him feel whole again. He’s a clone alone in a galaxy that never wanted him, without the brothers that had surrounded him from the moment he had been decanted. Even when he was lonely, he had never been alone, but now - now he has nothing and no one.

Clones were never never made to be alone; they were made to operate in teams, they were designed to work in cohesive units. They never coped well by themselves, it was something even the Kaminoans had known, and had stopped forcing them into solitary after the massive rise in suicides that they had had to deal with. Clones preferred death to being alone, they fell into depressive, self-destructive spirals if removed from their networks, and the massive number of deaths that had followed the introduction of one-man survival missions had convinced even the Kaminoans to stop separating clones from each other when it had gotten too costly.

It’s hard, not eating his own blaster now, especially on bad days when he wants nothing more than to go see his brothers once more. He sees Rex and Jesse when he closes his eyes, he hears Hardcase’s laugh, Fives’ voice, and Echo’s bad jokes. He imagines sitting in their bunkroom on the Resolute, eating snacks that Jesse had smuggled onto the ship, watching Dogma braid Tup’s long hair while Jesse and Hardcase wrestle at his feet and Fives and Echo bicker about the most ridiculous of subjects. Rex would have watched from a distance, needing to keep up the image of their strict Captain, but eventually they’d manage to wheedle him into joining them. They would sleep in a clone pile, surrounded by warmth and brothers and the feeling of safety and home. Kix would always wake up alone though, reality sinking in once more, and - Force, he wants that again.

He wants to be surrounded by his brothers again, to be with people who understand him on levels no one else does. But he can never do it, not matter how much he wants to. He can’t bring himself to pull the trigger because he sees Coric’s sad eyes every time they’d have to lie on another form after another body had been found with a hole through their heads, he sees Rex’s desperation as he talks brothers away from the edge. He remembers Fives’ shaking hands after Lola Sayu when they’d had to wrestle a syringe out of his grasp, and the broken, wailing noises he’d made afterwards.

They’d want Kix to keep moving, so that’s what he does. He stays with Ithano and his crew for a time, enjoying wild jaunts across the Galaxy hunting for treasure and adventure, but he doesn’t stay with the pirates and they don’t force him to. He drifts for a time, and gets lost once or twice. He finds the remains of the 332nd’s crashed ship and cries in front of Jesse’s grave, holding the cracked, weathered helmet in his hands as if it were his brother, apologizing to the thousands of beings he had failed and the brothers who had died because of him. He doesn’t want to imagine Jesse’s last moments, but it’s hard not to when he sees the jagged cracks in the helmet Jesse had oh-so lovingly painted after making it to ARC, promising to do Fives’ memory proud. He would have been forcibly turned against their Captain and Commander because Kix had failed to honour Fives’ last request. He would have died when the ship went down, and Kix hopes it was on impact. He hopes Jesse hadn’t been in too much pain.

Kix keeps moving, he owes that much to his brothers. He continues living for them, and when he hears of a wanna-be Empire trying to gain a foothold in the Galaxy, Kix goes to the Resistance. No one recognizes him as a clone, not as a relic of an age long past, instead he’s just Kix, a combat medic who wants to help. He knows how to fight and is a good teacher for anyone Command throws at him, and the Resistance needs whoever they can take.

He flourishes in war - he would have never thought he’d miss having to stitch people back together, but somehow he had. Kix is a clone, he had been made to fight. It gives him a purpose again, to protect the New Republic.

It also gives him the chance to build a new network.

Kix finds a young man in the medical bay one night as he finishes some paperwork for General Organa, and the kid who had been supposed to be heavily drugged stirs. He’s young with dark skin and doe eyes that remind Kix of his youngest brothers after their first battles, wearing a pair of loose sleep pants and a back-full of bacta wraps. He’s trying to sit up in the bed, struggling against the wires and machines around him as he gasps through his panic.

Kix is at his side within seconds, carefully taking the boy by his shoulder, avoiding the thick bandages around his torso, “Hey, no. Stay down kid.” He advises, and large dark eyes turn to him in surprise and groggy confusion. “My name is Kix, I’m a Resistance medic. You’re safe.” He soothes.

“I - the - Starkiller base?” He croaks, and Kix tilts his head, offering the boy a comforting smile that doesn’t feel as fake as it normally does.

“Destroyed, kid.”

The young man lets out a breath of relief, and lets Kix push him back into the bed to lay on his stomach once more, “That’s good.” He murmurs, before alarm sparks in his eyes again. “Rey?”

“Well,” Kix starts, moving to fuss with the kid’s bandages so that he could inspect the injury. “We don’t have any casualty reports on a Rey, so I can say that they’re not in the medbay.” The boy relaxes, “You, on the other hand, have been in bacta for the last week and a half.” He finally manages to wrestle the wrappings off of the kid, and he lets out a shocked hiss at the sight of the massive injury twisting across his spine. “How did you get a lightsaber burn?” He demands - there hadn’t been any notes about lightsaber burns in any files he had read. But then again, who the hell would know what they were looking at with the Jedi reduced to nothing but a legend and a scary story to tell misbehaving children.

The young man blinks lethargically, the cocktail of drugs in his system probably taking effect again with the drop of his adrenaline levels. “Tried to fight Kylo Ren.” He grunts, “Lost.”

“Got some balls on you then. But that was a stupid thing to do” He had seen what lightsabers could do - he had stared at brothers hacked apart too often not to. “You’re lucky to be alive, kid.”

“Not a kid.” The kid mumbles, watching sleepily as Kix starts reapplying bacta to the wound. His cheek is smushed into the pillow, much like how Tup had once slept, his short curls a mess that reminded Kix way too much of Dogma’s before the younger trooper managed to slick it back in the morning.

It makes his heart hurt to look at him, but it’s nice to see his brothers somewhere in this messed up Galaxy.

Kix shakes himself, letting out a sardonic snort, “Well, you haven’t exactly told me your name, kid.”

He pouts sleepily, enough Fives in his expression that it aches, “FN-2187.”

Kix freezes, horror washing over him and a sick feeling in his stomach; he thought there wouldn’t be anymore children with numbers instead of names with the destruction of Kamino, but apparently that was too much to hope for. The kid - because Kix can’t even bring himself to call another person by a number, not again - flinches under his hands, like he was bracing for a blow.

If there was even more of a reason to hate Imperials, Kix was looking at it.

Dark eyes dart away from him nervously, and the kid licks his lips. “Finn.” He says quietly, a little desperate, “My name is Finn. And I’m not a number.”

Kix swallows. He stills the shaking in his hands and keeps working, “It’s nice to meet you, Finn.” He tells him honestly, and watches, a little heartbroken, as shock blooms in Finn’s wide eyes. “I’m CT-6116, but my name is Kix.” Finn’s breath catches, “I’m not a number either.”

“You’re like me.” Finn whispers in awe, voice cracking. “I’m not alone.”

“Not anymore, vod’ika.” Kix promises, throat thick and eyes burning, and he means it.

Finn wouldn’t be alone, not if he had anything to say about it.