#I had to hide under a blanket while outside because I burn too fucking easily

[jackalreads]

spring welcomes us with stars in their eyes and dandelions in their hair.

[uvobreakmylegs]

Within the Forest

part two of the vampire!Hisoka story

Part 1

Warnings: threats of violence, graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, graphic imagery, death, noncon, slapping, reader does not have a good time

Some time had passed since Hisoka had taken you. Whether it was days or weeks you weren't sure, all you knew was that time was steadily passing as the bites on your wrist and neck healed and the bruise on your lower back slowly faded away.

You weren't sure where exactly he had taken you, either. When you awoke, you found yourself in a cold room with stone walls and a solid wood flooring. Parts of it were crumbling away and the draft in the room was horrible, and all he had left you with to fight it with was an old bed and a thin blanket.

At first you had thought that the window in the room was a small blessing, something to keep you connected to the outside world, but when the first night in that room came it was anything but. Noises from the forest traveled up, the sounds of otherworldly things assaulting your ears and keeping you from sleeping. More often than not, you would hear the sounds of creatures fighting, with one of them eventually being defeated, and then you needed to suffer through their cries as the victor tore them apart with no remorse. After the end of those ordeals you always found yourself grateful that the room was so high up and they couldn't get to you. You had once ventured over, peeking over the window sill to see what you could, and you found several pairs of glowing eyes staring up at you. You heard them begin to chatter and you had never moved faster in your life, dashing from the window and into the corner where the bed sat. It felt like you were a child again, hiding under the cover while holding the pillow firmly over your head to try and block out the sounds they were making.

And then there was Hisoka.

On your first day in that prison, you threw the food he had brought you while you demanded he let you go. He easily dodged the bowl you threw at his head and left without a word, locking the old wooden door behind him. He didn't come back until the next day and by that point you would be in trouble if you went without food for much longer.

“It would be dangerous if you went on any longer without sustenance, little fruit. Are you sure you want to throw a tantrum again?” he asked you, balancing a new tray of food in his hand.

As much as you wanted to tell him to fuck off, you needed food and water.

You shook your head.

“Good. But if you want to eat, I need you to clean that up first,” he said as he pointed to the meal you had ruined the day before.

Sitting down on that floor and gathering up the remains of the meal and the bits of broken tableware was humiliating, and it was made worse by the way he watched you, that wide grin back on his face as you obediently followed his orders.

When he placed his hand on your head and congratulated you on “being good”, you wondered if he'd still be able to catch you if this time you managed to gouge out both of his eyes.

Despite the things he had said to you when he attacked you that day, Hisoka didn't do much to you. He wasn't feeding off of you. In fact, he didn't even touch you all that much. The furthest he had gone was catch you when you tried to jump him one afternoon, twisting your arm around your back and asking if he should break it. You were thrown to the floor after and he withheld your meals again for a bit, but nothing more was done.

You were thankful that nothing had happened so far, and especially for the fact that he hadn't tried to force himself on you. The memory of him talking about “fucking you into the forest floor” wouldn't leave your head. The other thing that haunted you was his claim to make you like him, to turn you into a vampire as well. Although he had said that he would keep you as you were for a few years, but he seemed to be rather fickle and you had a hard time believing anything he told you.

But since he wasn't feeding off of you, you figured he must be going out somewhere else to hunt humans. Or he could have just been feeding off of the creatures located outside the house, though with the disdain he showed for them you wondered if he would consider it to be beneath him to do so. If he was going out to a town or something that would mean that you weren't too far away from civilization, right? But when you dared to poke your head out that window again (doing your best to ignore the noises that sounded when you did so) you couldn't spot any lights in the distance that would indicate as such. It could have been because your view was restricted to one side of the house, but it wasn't like you'd ever get the chance to check in any other direction.

Hisoka allowed you out of that room for trips to the bathroom, but always wrapped a thin piece of cloth over your eyes when he did so, leaving you to depend on him to lead you through the halls and down the steps. You didn't get any opportunity to lift the blindfold even slightly as he made it clear that he didn't want your hands going anywhere near your face. You tried to get a sense of how large the house was by counting how many steps it took you to get to the bathroom, but you kept losing count, and at times you swore Hisoka would lead you up and down the same hallway just to disorient you.

It felt like your mind was slowly deteriorating whenever you were left alone in that room, and you hated how you had begun to look forward to seeing him, because that was something to rely on while you were trapped there. It was a routine that gave you some sense of stability, something to keep yourself grounded, which made it worse whenever he punished you for any outbursts by letting you starve for a day or two. Punishments like that forced you to fall in line, and you slowly became used to this life you were now living.

You became accustomed to the way he spoke to you, teasing you at times and trying to goad you into retaliating just so he could punish you for it. You became accustomed to his various colorful outfits, suits that sported those card symbols that looked nicer in the afternoon than they did in the morning. His clothes tended to look messier when he came by in the mornings, his hair messier than normal and his makeup smudged. Occasionally you also saw spatters of blood on his shirt. It seemed to you that he was going out at night to hunt at night and came back just in time to feed you. He slept during the day, then? Or did he even need to sleep?

And although he had still yet to actually do anything to you, you had become painfully aware of the way he would look at you during those times together. With that same sick grin on his face as he looked you over, not even hiding it or showing any shame when you caught him looking. He still wanted you just as much as the day he took you, and you had no fucking clue what the hell he was waiting for.

At first it had been a relief that he hadn't touched you, but the longer you waited for something to happen, the more nervous you became. What the hell would happen when he did finally decide to act on his urges? You didn't want to be around when that happened, but with the tight leash he was keeping on you, how the hell could you get out?

You'd been trying to see if you could pry off a piece of the wooden bed frame in an attempt to fashion a stake to use against Hisoka. It wasn't even a good attempt as you didn't have any sort of tools to make a proper one, but desperation had you thinking that you could pull off a piece of the battered wood with your bare hands. The end result was you being left with sore and blistered hands, and an idea that came to mind when you spotted a rusty nail sticking out of the leg of the bed. It was old and blackened and it shifted slightly when you grabbed at it. You looked back to the keyhole then, taking in the age and style of the door and determined that if you could get the nail out, it would most likely fit.

Something else you had noticed soon after being brought here was that Hisoka kept the key to the room in the door, as when you attempted to look outside of the door through the keyhole you found that you couldn't see anything. You weren't sure if he was doing it out of laziness or what, but it gave you an opportunity for escape.

With the bottom of your shirt over your hand to try and keep from cutting yourself, you pulled at the nail as best you could. All too often the result of hours of working to yank it out was just that it was slightly more loosened. You needed to make sure you didn't spend too long on it and end up a sweaty mess because of it. If Hisoka saw you in a state like that, he'd likely figure something was up and find the nail you were trying to take out of the bed. The last thing you needed was for Hisoka to decide to start carrying the room key with him.

In those cool-down periods, you tried to strategize on what you'd do once you left that room. The blindfold that always went on whenever you left the room meant that you had no idea what the layout of the house was, nor did you have a good sense of how big it was and how long it would take you to get outside. And you would need to do all of that while making sure Hisoka didn't catch you.

Ideally you should leave while he was out, but he only ever seemed to leave at night. And with those things that chattered beneath your window, escaping at night wasn't an option. It would need to be during the day. Not ideal, as the brightness of daylight made it harder to hide and Hisoka would be able to catch you even in the daytime. If only Hisoka was more like vampires you had read about in stories: the kind that would burn up the instant sunlight hit them.

Then there was the issue of how you would manage to navigate the forest and get back home. Who knew how deep you were and how far you'd need to travel to get back to your little town. At least one advantage to going in the day was that you wouldn't need to stumble around in the dark woods to try and find civilization.

There was a bit of comfort in knowing that the thing you needed to get the key would hopefully be easy enough to procure.

“Could I have something to read?” you asked him one day as he was about to leave.

“Getting bored?” he asked.

You sighed.

“Extremely.”

“I don't have much lying around; does it matter what it is?”

You could give me a goddamn porno magazine I don't give a shit, you were tempted to say. But that was a tad too aggressive to just ask for a favor from him, so instead you just shook your head as you wrapped your arms around your knees. From where you had positioned yourself Hisoka couldn't see the nail that was now sticking out halfway.

He hummed to himself for a moment before leaving, the lock clicking shut but no sound of the key being removed.

When he came back, you weren't expecting a copy of Sun Tzu's The Art of War to be tossed at your face. You weren't sure what you thought Hisoka might read during his downtime, but you didn't take him for the type to care about military strategies.

“That belongs to a someone I know, so be careful with it. Chrollo would be upset if his book was damaged,” Hisoka told you.

Then why did you throw it in the first place?

Instead of voicing that thought you just nodded at him again.

He paused as made to leave, tilting his head at you curiously.

“You've been rather submissive these past few days. Have you finally learned your place? Or.....” he trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he continued “are you planning something?”

Fuck fuck fuck

“.... Is it that bad that I don't like it when you don't feed me?” you asked him, “I don't know what you want from me; I just don't want to starve up here.”

Hisoka didn't say anything to that. He merely shrugged and smiled at you, giving you one last look-over before leaving the room.

Did he suspect?

He probably knew you were planning something. But if he knew exactly what you were going to do he would have called you out on it, wouldn't he? Or maybe make a show out of ripping that nail out of your bed so you lost your key out. It made sense that he would suspect something because it made sense you would try to escape. But your explanation on why you were cooperating also made sense. Unless you were that bad of a liar.

You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts. Getting into your own head and over-analyzing everything wouldn't do you any good. Just lay low for a little bit, let some time pass so he lowered his guard and then get out.

A little over a week passed before you finally did it. After getting out the nail and hiding it in a small space between the bed and the wall, you spent the time before your escape reading the book while you tried to determine if Hisoka was still suspicious. Though the narrowed glances at you continued, he didn't say anything more about it. On the morning that he seemed a bit more relaxed and playful, you waited for the sun to be at its highest and well after Hisoka would have fed you in the morning.

You offered a mental apology to whoever Chrollo was when you ripped out a page of the book. It was a shame as you found yourself enjoying the read, though with how little there was to do you probably would have found as much joy in reading an instruction manual.

With the torn page in one hand and the nail in the other, you knelt down before the door and saw that the key had been left in the keyhole as you had hoped. You slid the page under the door, trying to determine the spot where the key would land. You would only have one shot at this, you told yourself.

When you were satisfied with the placement of the page, you slid the nail into the hole. As you had hoped, it hit the end of the key, and with a bit of pushing, you felt the key shift out of place and heard the way it clattered it fell out and onto the floor.

You wanted to cheer when you tugged at the paper and found that it had some weight to it now but you kept your mouth shut. The key could easily slide off, or worse, Hisoka may have heard the key falling out. You had no idea what he did when he wasn't harassing you or going out to feed, so you really had no clue if whatever he was doing, it would distract him enough from your escape. Luckily, the key stayed on the surface of the page even as it was dragged over the uneven flooring. You snatched it up the instant you pulled it out from under the door, and with shaking hands, you placed the key in the keyhole and twisted it.

The locking mechanism clicked, and the door creaked open when you slowly pushed on it.

Every part of you wanted to burst out of that door and start running, but remembering that you didn't know where Hisoka was kept you from acting rashly, so you slowly stood and opened the door the rest of the way as quietly as you were able. Slipping through the entryway and closing the door shut just as softly, you put the key back in, twisting it until you heard it lock again. If Hisoka glanced down the hallway he wouldn't find anything amiss.

Navigating the hallways for the first time without the blindfold, you kept to the walls and walked slowly, peering around any open door you came across and making sure the coast was clear before you went forward. You grabbed a fire poker from a room that you passed. It probably wouldn't kill Hisoka, but he had vulnerabilities. If you could manage to take out his eyesight again it would give you an advantage. But he likely would be more protective of his face because of that last scuffle you'd had.

You made it down two flights of stairs without running into him. This place was already much bigger than you had anticipated and somehow you had yet to find a way out. You were getting to the point that you would take jumping out of a window to escape, but you spotted a set of double door as you walked by another room.

You hurried over, finding that the lead to a balcony that overlooked a space below, what may have been some sort of garden at one point. The doors hinges had clearly not been oiled in some time as the squeaked loudly when you pushed one of them open. Because of the noise you didn't bother closing it after. If Hisoka heard that then you were already done for.

Stumbling down the stairs of the balcony and into the overgrown courtyard below, you looked about as you tried to find an exit. There were walls on either side of the courtyard and nothing around that you could use to climb over them. There was an open space before you, but when you got closer you found it to be the edge of a cliff. The drop was far too much for you to be able to survive; you'd need to go back inside to find an exit, then.

You turned back to the house, you noticed an opening beneath the balcony that lead back inside. You were on the ground floor now, right? That meant there was a good chance you could find an exit somewhere on the other side.

With that thought in mind you made your way across the courtyard.

But in your haste to find a way out, you didn't notice the movement that came from the woods to your right.

You only noticed when something hit you.

You were sent flying before you were knocked to the ground. And just as fast, whatever hit you was on top of you, holding your head down as it forced your face into the dirt.

Sharp nails nicked your face and your first thought was that it was Hisoka.

But when you managed to move your head so you could look up, a different sort of creature was on top of you. It was spindly with brown fur that covered its arms and legs while its stomach and pectorals were bare. It had a tail as well, resembling that of some sort of monkey, but the head looked like that of a human, as the pale face of a balding old man looked down at you.

It smiled at you, showing you its mouth full of sharp teeth and the long pink tongue that slithered out to lick it's lips as it held you down.

Then the face began to change. The features of the old man began to smooth out, the bones within its face loudly breaking apart before reforming beneath the skin that tightened and wiped away the wrinkles while the hair on the top of it's head began to grow out. The skin tone, hair color and eyes all changed, and within a matter of seconds, your own face was staring down at you, grinning with all of those teeth as it looked at you hungrily.

It bit down on your shoulder, shaking its head to try and tear the flesh away and you screamed. You thrashed beneath it but it stayed firmly attached to you, hands holding down your head and torso and pressing down harder the more you fought its grip.

The fire poker was still in your hand, and you brought it up to stab it in the neck. Or at least you tried to. You couldn't see exactly where you were aiming, but the creature screeched, pulling away but also ripped the poker out of your grip. It threw the poker in front of you where it clattered against a pile of broken stone before it bit down on your shoulder again, this time harder.

That pile of broken stone caught your eye and you reached for it, grabbing a moderately sized stone with one hand. You smashed it against the face of that thing on top of you and it shrieked, this time pulling away from you just enough so you could turn and kick it as hard as you could while you scrambled back.

You forced it back, but only a little. It glared at you once it recovered, clearly pissed off as it bared its teeth at you, sitting on its hind legs before it pounced at you, claws outstretched and ready to tear you apart.

But you were ready, too.

With both hands this time, you picked up a larger slab of stone and threw it at the face of the creature. With the way it had jumped at you, it couldn't dodge, and it fell back to the courtyard floor, holding it's face as it writhed around in pain.

It felt like your body went on autopilot. When you grabbed the next piece of stone, it was far heavier than the other two, but adrenaline helped you to carry it over to where the creature lay. You kicked it so it lay on its back and sat on top of it, raising the stone over your head.

It froze, taking you in as you sat over it, looking up at you with your own face. The sadistic expression from earlier was gone and it now looked up at you in fear.

For that brief moment it looked human.

And then you brought the stone down.

It screeched when you hit it, blood spurting out of its nose when you brought the stone back up. It made a move to scratch at you, but you quickly brought the stone down again.

And again.

And again.

You hit that thing in the head over and over. And you kept going, even when its arms fell to the sides and it stopped moving, you brought that stone down on it's face. Your face, covered in blood and becoming more and more misshapen the longer you went on.

You weren't in control. You had lost yourself, consumed by the anger you had felt because of your captivity, anger at Hisoka for keeping you here, and anger at yourself and your own stupid actions that had brought you here. You finally had something to take it out on and you weren't going to let it go.

The stone was brought down again and again until you heard a sickening crunch and you felt the creature's skull give way.

That was when you stopped. Breathing hard, you pulled the stone away for the final time and let it fall to the side.

The sight of the creature's face was grotesque, and when you stood on shaky legs, you felt for a moment like you were going to throw up.

It lay there, its face battered and smashed in, the hair it had modeled after you still visible beneath the blood and brain matter. One of the eyes had managed to stay intact and it hung on the side of it's face, the pupil blown wide open. Nothing else that had been copied from you remained. With the head in the state that it was, you doubted anyone would have been able to tell that its face resembled that of a human if they came across the body.

Once or twice you swore you saw the creature twitch again, but you couldn't be certain if it was actually still alive and moving or if it was your eyes playing tricks on you.

Moments passed and you couldn't take your eyes off of it, what you had done to that thing.

You didn't want to see it anymore.

Grabbing it with your uninjured arm, you dragged the thing to the edge of the cliff and unceremoniously threw it off. It hit the side of the cliff a few times as it fell into the canopy of trees below, and when it hit the ground, you heard movement from below as other creatures noticed the new source of meat and were eager to have their fill before it was gone.

You backed away from the cliff, letting out a shaky breath as you came down from your adrenaline high. You felt the ache in your shoulder from where you had been bitten and you instinctively brought your hand up to cover it, wincing at the tender spot.

The sound of something growling brought you back to attention, and you turned to see another one of those beasts standing in the courtyard. It was bigger than the other and its face resembled that of a younger man.

But when you turned to face it you found that it wasn't looking at you.

It was staring at something on the balcony.

You followed its gaze.

Hisoka was standing there, one hand on the railing as he looked down into the courtyard.

Looking right at you.

Those golden eyes were wide, alight with excitement. His lips had been drawn into an almost-grin, those teeth on display as he breathed through his mouth, his body shaking lightly. He looked deranged, almost feral, as he took you in. It reminded you of the day you had met him.

That grin widened when you made eye contact, and he let in a sharp intake of breath.

That slight movement angered the creature that still stood to the side of him. And with an unearthly screech, it jumped at Hisoka, claws protruding and teeth bared.

Hisoka didn't even look at the thing.

He stopped it with one hand, thrusting those sharpened nails into its chest with so much force that his hand burst out through the back, leaving the creature impaled on his arm. It gurgled as it began to cough up blood, hands grabbing at Hisoka's arm as it tried to pull itself off.

Hisoka flicked his wrist upwards, and his arm came tearing through the creature's collar bone, slicing through the bone and muscle to free up his hand.

You had stayed where you were by the cliff, unable to move under Hisoka's gaze. Some part of you was aware that the instant you moved, he would come for you, and you wanted to push that moment away for as long as you could. But when that thing fell and hit the floor of the balcony, the noise spurred you and you bolted. You made a mad dash for the doorway beneath the balcony, vaguely remembering your thought process for why that would lead to the way out.

Hisoka was on you within moments.

For the second time that day, you were crushed beneath a solid body and forced to the ground. This time, however, Hisoka grabbed both of your wrists as he positioned himself on top of you, his mouth easily finding yours and forcing you into a kiss. His tongue found its way in to your open mouth, and without thinking you bit it.

He groaned, the noise rumbling within him before he pulled away to slap you. Your cheek stung, but you had barely any time to think about that before you felt your clothes being torn away, Hisoka's nails cutting them to ribbons as he ripped them off of you, slicing up some of your skin in the process.

That playful personality of his that you had grown to know was nowhere to be found. When you looked back up at him, trying in vain to keep what little remained of your clothing on you, something more animalistic was staring back. Hisoka was being driven by pure want, and he held you down by your chest as he shoved his fingers into you.

You cried out, trying in vain to push him off of you. The way he brutally pulled his fingers in and out hurt so much, your tight entrance not nearly loose enough to take that comfortably. But your cries and protests went ignored as he leaned down to lick up the blood that was dripping from the cuts he had left on your skin. All the while you felt a prominent bulge in his pants that rubbed against your thigh.

When he pulled his fingers out of you, you weren't surprised by the blood that was coated on them. Hisoka went as far as to make a show out of licking them clean, sitting up over you with those fingers in his mouth while his other hand shoved his pants down and pulled out his cock. That wild look in his eyes hadn't dissipated in the slightest.

If you'd been able to remove yourself from the situation mentally you might have wondered why Hisoka even bothered trying to prepare you with his fingers, as when he roughly shoved his dick into you it felt even worse as he hadn't allowed you any time to adjust. But all your brain was able to focus on was on the pain of him harshly snapping his hips against yours while your body writhed beneath his in response.

It hurt so much.

The way Hisoka pounded into your tight cunt, the ache in your shoulder from where that creature had bitten you earlier, and even the cuts that Hisoka had left on you stung as you were pushed against the ground, the overgrown grass brushing against those tender spots and sending little electric bolts of pain that shot through your body and made you squirm.

Then there was a mouth on your neck and the feeling of teeth biting down into your throat. Hisoka bit you on the same spot as he had before, opening up the healed wound as he began to drink your blood again. You tried to pull on his hair to get him off, and he lifted off to slap you harshly once more before going right back to that spot.

He seemed to delight in the way he hit you.

Strength was leaving you as you began to feel lightheaded. Your hands ended up on his shoulders, not pushing against him, just resting there. You felt the way he chuckled as it vibrated against your throat where his mouth was still connected.

He was going to drain you completely. You were really going to die with all of your blood being sucked out while being split in half by a vampire's cock.

Hisoka pulled away to look at you. He seemed a bit more composed now, but the brutal pace he had said didn't slow. Blood was smeared all over his lips, dripping down his chin and falling back down onto you in fat drops.

That tongue came out to lick his lips, licking away the mess on his face and savoring the taste of it. He grinned and his lips found yours again. This time you did nothing when his tongue pushed into your mouth. All you could taste was the blood. It was all you could smell, too. And all of the aches in your body slowly began to fade as you felt your consciousness slipping. You still felt the way Hisoka thrust into you, the pace starting to increase to a point that it would have been unbearable if you weren't in this semi-conscious state. Hisoka pulled away to let out a loud groan as he snapped his hips a few more times before stopping and grinding against you.

The sudden burst warmth you felt inside of you was the last thing you were aware of before you blacked out.

There was a warmth hitting the left side of your body, and you instinctively turned on to your side to face it fully. In the hazy stages of your awakening, you were able to register a crackling noise.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, and you found yourself laying in front of a large fire while wrapped in a mess of blankets. Under normal circumstances you might have been worried about how close you had been placed next to the fire or how safe it was to have this many blankets piled up in front of it, but the sight of the fire was comforting and the blankets were warm, and you closed your eyes again as you felt some sense of contentment for the first time in weeks.

You were only allowed a few moments of that peace as you lay before the fire until the circumstances of your situation snaked back into your mind.

Hisoka-!

You sat up and instantly regretted it. Everything ached, especially your pelvic region, and you were forced to fall back down. Your movement shifted the blankets out of the way and you saw the extent of the damage that had been done to you. Your skin was covered in an assortment of bandages and bruises, some of the deeper cuts leaking through and turning the white wrapping red. There were two heavier bandages as well, one that was wrapped around your shoulder and the other on your neck. Oddly enough, your arms seemed to be in the worst shape, as you could barely move them when you tried again, the muscles screaming in protest.

“Woken up, have you?”

The voice came from behind, and you twisted your head as best you could to find Hisoka standing in a doorway. He was naked except for a small towel he had wrapped around his waist. His hair was down and dripping with water, and for the first time you saw him without any makeup.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, walking over and leaning down next to you.

“.... Hurts,” you answered hoarsely.

“Hm. I might be able to do something about that if you ask nicely,” he said.

As he said that you saw the way he was looking over your body, the blankets that had been over you pushed down to your waist after you had forced yourself to sit up, leaving your chest exposed.

“D-depends,” you began carefully, “on what that 'something' is.”

“Just some painkillers,” he answered cheerfully, “what else would it be?”

He smiled at you, as if you hadn't seen just how truly depraved and monstrous he could be.

But pointing out that fact wouldn't get you anywhere.

“.... Then yes,” you said, “please, I'd like some help.”

“Good girl,” Hisoka said, patting you on the head before he got up and made his way to a different part of the room you couldn't see.

You heard a cabinet door being opened and the sounds of him rummaging through before you heard him hum to himself. He returned quickly, holding two pills in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“Can you get up on your own or do you need help with that?”

You needed help, and he likely knew that. But you pushed yourself anyway, the muscles in your arms straining as you tried to pull yourself up again.

“Stop that.”

His voice was stern and an arm wrapped around your waist to hoist you up into a sitting position. Hisoka held you against him, pushing the pills into your mouth as he continued “your determination is admirable, but I don't want you to break, little fruit.”

He lifted the rim of the bottle to your lips and tilted it, and the cold water washed down the tasteless pills that had already begun to disintegrate in your mouth.

“Drink it all,” he said, “I went a little too far; you've lost a lot of blood.”

You complied as best you could, but some of the water spilled down the side of your mouth when he tipped the bottle too far over. The water was nice, though, as it was only now that you realized how dry your throat had been.

Hisoka threw the bottle behind him when you had drained it and wrapped both arms around you.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

You only managed to grunt out a response.

“Really, I should be punishing you. You did escape, after all. But after what you went through with that ape, I think you've earned this much,” said Hisoka, “since you've proven that I can't leave you alone for long periods, I'll have to keep you in here with me. But I'll need you to be good if you want to sleep on the bed with me; until then, it's the floor.”

You were only half-listening to his rambling, sleep beginning to overtake you once more. Hisoka noticed, and seemed amused by it.

“You're tired, aren't you? I shouldn't keep you up.”

He laid you back down, and then pulled the blankets away to settle down next to you, the towel around his waist falling off as he pulled the covers over the both of you. Pulling you in close, he kissed you on the cheek.

“Sleep well, pet.”

You kept your focus on the fire that crackled in front of you, willing yourself to not even think about the way Hisoka had pressed himself up against you while he held you close against his chest.

[rattlerinthewheel]

Fight Like Siblings: Scud/Reader

You fight like siblings. That’s where anything "familial" ends.

For the Season of Kink bingo square: wall sex, at @phoenixblack89’s request along with a gender neutral reader (well, female, but I couldn’t manage so we settled on gender neutral). Sorry for the delay! Got a migraine towards the end of the night and wanted to do one last proofread this morning.

Title is a wink to Eric and his "sister" Nora from True Blood, when he says they fight like siblings but fuck like champions. No incest here, though.

- - -

The van’s cluttered. Weapons, junk, junk food out in the open or stuffed away under ratty blankets. There’s hardly a place for you to be without something clanging off your hip or crinkling under your foot. It’s unavoidable, because not only is the van trashed, but it’s dark. A bank of TVs is your only light source, some of them switched off, the rest displaying grainy feed that just barely gives you the shapes of the other familiar against the opposite wall.

You slump against the back wall, eyeing the doors the familiar slammed shut after you leapt in. You don’t hear anything, and the feed’s utterly boring, so you relax by a fraction—and stiffen when you feel something with give to it sag under the hand you put down. Soft, sticky, and it flakes off onto your palm when you snatch your hand back.

It’s a goddamn donut.

"Could’ve left you out there, you know," Frohmeyer—Damaskinos is too formal to call him Josh, or Scud, which you don’t blame; it’s fucking stupid—says from where he’s a lump on the floor, seeing your look. Content with the rest of the trash.

"Couldn’t kill you to clean up," you scoff, tossing the donut at him. It’s childish, but so’s the cartoon he’s got playing on one of the TVs. "Damaskinos would be disgusted."

"Damaskinos ain’t here," Frohmeyer scoffs.

He fishes out a cigarette, and the orange spark of the lighter that materializes like some magic trick hurts your eyes. Nicotine burns your sinuses, but at least it isn’t the earthy weed you get a whiff of, seeped into the blankets.

"’Sides, keep your voice down," he snaps, clapping the Zippo shut and tossing it into the middle of the van. You guess that’s what he does with most of the junk scattered around when he’s done with it. "Damaskinos wouldn’t be too thrilled if you gave us away."

"Oh, so now you’re worried about it?"

You fall into bickering. Fighting like siblings, some of the familiars do. Part of it’s the need to get out of familiar status alive—well, turned. Prove to the one you’ve given yourself over to that you’re worth it, carrying their name, representing them.

Part of it’s that the only thing that bonds you is that you are familiars, otherwise you’d likely never interact with one another a day in your lives.

With Frohmeyer, you’d be sure of that.

"You should smile more," pulls you out of scowling at the donut where it landed against his leg.

You’d finally fallen quiet, too—but it’s just like Frohmeyer to ruin things. "You should get drained."

"Aw," he hums, and another cloud of smoke burns your nose, "the baby jealous Big Brother got the job instead? Had to hold Nyssa’s hand after I did all the work?"

You’re livid, and you make that clear by your lack of response. You’ve only been sent in after Frohmeyer’s done the hard task of getting in the daywalker’s good graces. You know why, that logically, Frohmeyer was the better choice to lure those two females at that campsite—and by default, the daywalker, once they started tearing into him.

But it still stings. And by the smokey grin that leers at you, Frohmeyer knows it still does, too.

"Fuck off," is what you settle on, pushing to your feet and not caring when you kick his ankle by accident.

"Fuck off yourself," gets scoffed up from below, with another thick cloud of smoke. You expect that.

But you don’t expect the foot he lashes out, that hooks your instep and sends you stumbling. "Asshole!" would probably draw a reaper or two, if there were any shown skulking around in the feeds; but there aren’t, so you let it bellow, and because he just grins at that you can’t do anything but lunge at him.

It isn’t fair. Tinkering and building—he calls it art; you call it clutter to stub your foot on—has given him strength, from having to clamber and lift his bigger projects. You don’t have any hobbies that give you an edge, so it’s you that ends up against the van’s wall, thumped into it, with his hands bracing yours in the curve where wall and ceiling bend.

It’s not fair, either, that he isn’t even bad-looking. That would make hating him easier.

At least it does so for the fucking.

His bangs are greasy, unwashed, but you like the way they both hide and make his eyes pop. A blue that’ll be downright deadly, once he’s turned. That’ll go bleach-blue, once he’s drank his fill, silver in the worst of blackness. Cheekbones that cut, soft-looking arms that bunch with hidden steel when you try to wrangle yourself free. It’ll cut harsher, harden to bedrock when he’s earned his place.

Maybe there’s something in that nicotine that isn’t, after all. The cigs did look home-rolled.

You’re too busy taking in his tongue to ask.

You feel his laugh buzz around your teeth as you cringe back, at first; he was halfway through puffing out another damn cloud, and it dries out your throat and chalks your tongue.

You get back at him by kissing deeper, biting into his bottom lip where the tattoo is. He has a penchant for rubbing the spot on the outside, you’ve noticed, the nerves scrambled from the overeager vampire that inked it. Yours doesn’t bother you—the meat of it’s raised, but that’s all—but he bites down on yours in retaliation. But the growl he follows it with is light and playful.

"Quit fucking around," you huff.

His grin’s wide and flashes teeth that aren’t sharp. They will be, one day, you can practically see the fangs he’ll get wink down with it. "Get right to it, then? Sure, baby."

"Don’t," you warn, even as he lets your hands go so you can paw at the front of his pants. Baby is too often used when he’s dangling the fact that he’s older (and was found and picked first) over your head. You can’t associate it with anything but the fact that you’re not-really-siblings.

You don’t need some incest angle forced into this. Jesus, no.

He lets it go, not because he’s being nice. You pulling him out is distracting—one of the guaranteed ways you’ve figured out, over the years, that will shut him up.

It doesn’t quiet him entirely. He pants against your cheek where he leans his head against yours, curling his fingers in your hair to keep them busy—they always need to be doing something—and his sharp inhales shake back out thready. He moans when you start stroking him, at a slow and even pace because this is the only peace you’ll get from him anytime soon. You want to take advantage of that. Even if his weight pressing on yours slowly drags you down, until you both kneel on the floor with the junk and trash.

You hiss at the burn in your legs as the hands that are plucking at a knot in your hair drop to your shoulders and bend you back, pinning you back. But the noise gets swallowed as he kisses you again, his hard-on pressing into your stomach.

You get a hand back on his cock, the other pushing his hip out so you can get to it.

"Just think how good this’ll be, when we don’t need air," he hums, panting.

You roll your eyes, but you help him get your jeans down, and he turns you to the van’s wall to get things going.

And it’s going well, his rhythm eager and greedy, your meeting thrusts keeping up, until the van shudders as something heavy drops on its roof.

Your swear gets muffled by the hand that clamps over it. You’re too frozen to bite it like you want to, and you don’t get the chance when you get your wits back because it’s off your mouth just as fast. He’s out of you, with it, and you can’t help but ache at the abrupt end even as he points to one of the TVs and you get your jeans up.

On top of the roof, a reaper’s crouched, scenting—and down the street, from another angle, you watch more lope towards the van.

"Shit," he hisses, fumbling with the panel under the TVs and you get ahold of his gun. You’re already pointing it towards the doors, waiting, as you hear a shriek too awful to even be vampire. Normal vampire.

"Get your pants up," you tell him distantly. If you have to make a run for it, you aren’t risking your own neck to help him up if he trips over himself.

He does, and you shove his gun at him while you grab yours, when a quick glance to the feeds show you aren’t going to be overrun in the second you’re defenseless. But it’ll happen, soon enough; the reaper overhead snarls and the blow it aims lags after the dent and crunch that bursts down, mangling the roof. It’s some kind of rallying or hunting cry, because the reapers in the street begin to sprint.

"Ready?" He’s got a thumb on one of the panel’s switches, ready to flick. "UV’ll smoke most of ‘em, ‘cept the dipshit on the roof."

It’ll try to get in any way it can. You get what his nod to the door means: control where it gets in, so you aren’t surprised.

"Do it."

He does, and when what’s left of the pack is still flaking and sizzling, you put more than enough rounds in the remaining repeal. Just to be safe, one of the UV lights are angled it’s way, where it’s already wilting and curling like a dead spider.

Then it’s gone, too.

It’s a mood killer, but once you’re back in the van and he’s done radioing the team to let them know what’s been dealt with, you get into light petting easily enough.

[bokutoslittlebird]

Your headcannons for a corrupting with the Kuroo one. I was wondering if you would ever do a one shot, Drabble, or another headcannon of what Kuroo does to force his sister into submission? 👉👈

Ah yes, more onee-san corruption. I will probably not be doing a pt. 3 like Bokuto’s (sorry Kuroo stans)

Warnings: incest, gagging (via tie), handcuffs, blackmail, dubcon/noncon, alcohol, smoking, manipulation, abuse

Kuroo Corrupting Onee-san

With the new living arrangements with your brother, Tetsurō, you had life much easier. With the kids having a good role model in their life, you’re free to relax. The best way to relax, in your opinion, is to drink a glass of wine while relaxing in a steaming hot bath. You’ll admit, at first it was rare. A bath to relax in once a week, a glass of wine accompanying you. The bottle hidden under the bed in the guest room, away from Tetsurō’s eyes. He didn’t like drinking, nor did he like it when you drank.

Then it changed. A glass of wine per week turned into three glasses per week, the it became a glass per day. You didn’t bother hiding it from Tetsurō. He wasn’t your boss, your father, or even your older brother. You controlled your life, not him. Even if he was kind enough to let you stay at his luxurious house, there was no reason for him to make you feel like you needed to hide stuff. You had some extra money, after all, since Tetsurō dealt with the bills and funeral costs.

Tetsurō, on the other hand, believed you to be acting out because you’re too free. With your life of being controlled for so long, it’s no wonder why you’re suddenly drinking freely and sneaking a smoke at night on the porch or balcony. After Tetsurō goes into his room, 30 minutes later you exit your given room and slink outside to light a cigarette. It disgusts him how much you’ve changed from the sister he remembers. The one he loves, the one he wishes never left. His decision to prevent you from going down the same path as everyone else in the family was to set in restrictions.

“No more alcohol? Smoking? Tetsurō, I’m not a child,” you argue. With the blanket of darkness upon the house, both of your daughters had already been tucked in and were sound asleep.

“You may not be a child, but you need to be responsible. I won’t be able to help you if you act like this,”

“Tetsu, this isn’t what I signed up for. I needed help getting back on my feet. If you’re gonna to act like my ex, I’ll leave,”

“Your- You think I’m like that piece of shit?” The anger in his voice freezes you to the spot, glare directed right at you. “I’m trying to help. You’re damaging your relationships and yourself,”

“Tetsu, you’re controlling me. If you’re gonna act like this, I’m gonna leave. You and Kouki are one and the same. I don’t need my children to deal with another pathetic excuse for a-”

Your sentence was cut by a sharp slap, the noise echoing loud in your ears as blood rushes to your face, hot where he touched. The stinging residue of his slap brought tears to your eyes, betrayal evident in glossy orbs.

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not the bad guy,” his voice is low, cracking as he tries not to let his face crack. You grit your teeth, anger boiling through your blood.

“How dare you fucking-!” You’re once more shut down, Tetsurō‘s hand on your mouth as you struggle. He’s much stronger than you, not to mention larger and more broad. He’s able to easily maneuver you down on your knees, vulnerable as he drags you over to his desk. Your struggling helps to loosen his grip a bit, but his hand stays on your mouth. Once he shuts a drawer, your mouth is free as he secures you to the drawer. “Tetsu, enough! Stop!”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” His voice gets louder as he loosens his tie and wraps it around your mouth. The fabric is quickly soaked with your saliva and your screams are muffled. “Fucking finally. This isn’t what I wanted, you must understand that. This is the best for you, making sure you’re not setting a bad example for your daughters!”

A muffled response is all he gets as an answer, your noises of struggling and squirming making his guilt worsen. As he starts to regret his decision, panic settling in as he realizes that he is, indeed, acting like your abusive ex. He knows he’s doing it for the best results, he’s doing it for your own good, but the gnawing feeling of knowing he’s no better is still there. The intention is different, the actions are the same. As you struggle, he comes to that realization.

But there’s another voice.

You’re helpless before him, the sister he’s been in love with since before she left him. As your skin shows more and more underneath the blouse, he notices the darkened marks. The only signs of an affair. The evidence makes his blood boil again, knowing you’re out whoring yourself instead of being a good mother. You’re just as bad as you were when you were 17, sleeping with random guys just because of the thrill. If he had known...

“This is poor behavior and you need to be properly reminded you have other responsibilities. If you wanna be a slut so badly, then so be it. You wanna do harmful things, then so be it,” his voice is shaking, but his hands are not. Popping open the buttons on your blouse, you struggle once more. With the handcuffs around your wrists, keeping you chained to the locked desk, you’re completely helpless as he undos the shirt. Once he gets it off and down your arms, he realizes the position you’re in. It’s a bit hard to have access to your body when you’re chained standing up to a drawer.

The handcuffs are released and forgotten, falling to the floor as he keeps your hands behind your back. “You make so much as a peep, I’ll make you regret it. Starting with your precious brats,” he sneers, halting your movements. You don’t struggle, letting him lead you from his office to his bedroom. It’s not far, but you pass the hallway where your children’s rooms are. It’s tempting, the urge to scream and beg for them to call the police or get help from a neighbor, but you don’t. Tetsurō may be family, but he isn’t a liar. He doesn’t bluff. He’ll do what he needs to do to get what he wants, even if that’s covering up a crime. The hallway fades from view and in place is Tetsurō’s bedroom, the door opening only to shut and lock.

“This isn’t how I expected my teenage fantasies to come true, but there’s no going back,” he pulls you towards the bed, letting you fall and bounce on the mattress. It’s a luxurious king sized bed, Western-styled, similar to the other beds in the house. Red silk sheets paint a romantic scene, your bra-clad chest for his viewing pleasure as he strips down. With each piece of clothing stripped from his body, you’re free to admire how much he’s changed since you last saw him. With the three year difference between you, he was just beginning high school when you left. Now he’s toned and tall, muscles flexing and rippling with each movement until he’s down to his boxers.

When his hands go to stripping you down, you don’t fight back. Your will to fight was stripped from your previous resistance. With the looming threat of your daughters getting hurt, you can’t find it in your body to put up even a bit of resistance. When you’re down to nothing, you shiver as his predatory gaze lingers on the evidence of your recent affair, a man you met over a dating app that happened to be a pathetic excuse of a man and a lousy lay. With a growl in his throat, your legs are pried open to Tetsurō’s heavy gaze, a sickening feeling in your stomach as he licks his lips. The boxers he wears are discarded, the fabric useless as he palms his hard cock. You’re staring, you know you are, but he’s much bigger and thicker than you expected. With beads of precum bubbling at his slit, he moves it to rub against your pussy lips.

“Tetsurō, please, don’t do this,” you shiver, covering your chest as you move your legs. He’s quick, pinning them to your chest as he applies weight. The feeling of being crushed is all you can think about, knowing he’s keeping you restrained in a brutish way. He doesn’t answer you, glare on the way his cock looks between your folds. Once he feels a bit of slick build up, he pumps his cock with your slick, sticky translucent strands covering his shaft and his hand.

It’s sudden, his cock slipping right into your heat. It has a moan slipping out, toes curling as he sinks into you. His own groan had you clenching around him, a sexual sound that you’d never expect from your brother. Hissing, he rocks his hips into yours until each inch disappears into your cunt.

“Tetsu, please,” you beg, hands gently pushing at his shoulders. “You can still back out,”

“If you’re so desperate for a fuck and some dick, then I’ll give it to you. Disciplining is the first step in obedience,” he grunts, keeping your knees to your chest as he thrusts into you. Your head is thrown back, the feeling of him rubbing every sensitive spot inside you has your orgasm building faster than you expected. “I’ve been dreaming of this for so long, taking back what was taken from me. Thinking you can go off with whoever, not anymore. Not while I’m here. You’re mine, all mine,”

With his confession ringing in your ears, his thumb goes to your clit and has your vision dotting. A muffled scream of his name, your hand covering the noise, comes as you cream on his cock, sticky white fluid on the base of his cock. He doesn’t stop nor hesitate in his thrusts, putting more force behind each pump as tears stream down your cheeks, lungs burning from the position.

“One more. Come on, nee-san, give me one more,” he encourages, fingers swirling around your clit and pinching the sensitive area. Legs tense as they shake, vision going black as your eyes roll with the force of your second orgasm. With a groan, Tetsurō finishes himself inside. His seed swishes inside you, coating your walls and spurting our when he pulls himself free of your hole. He’s not aiming to get you pregnant, oh no. He wants obedience.

Best way to do that is assert his dominance in your life, he thinks, as he positions himself to enter you once more.

[meltwonu]

| 🎃 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖍 🎃 |

↪ ✦ heavy ✦

this chapter pairing; snakehybrid!woozi&bunnyhybrid!dino x reader

genre&warnings; Snake Eyes!AU, threesome, dom!jihoon, oral(fem receiving), fingering, creampies, cum eating/cum sharing, breeding kink, dirty talk, but also a bit of crack lbr, jihoon and chan being little shits 😩😭.

notes; you don’t have to have read Snake Eyes to read this! It’s not part of the main plot! 💕🐍 also the--☠️ draft for this was literally from 2013 and I literally ran it through the hot setting on the washing machine and put it in the dryer 3 times to get it to what it is today ☠️ Also!!! the final chapter of Monster Mash!!! omg!!! I can’t believe it’s done AND to end it with a Snake Eyes au chapter!! 😭😩 Enjoy!! Have a great rest of the weekend!!! I love u!! Happy Halloween!! 🎃👻 💕

word count; ~4300

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13

it’s heavy;

heavy how i want you so bad

heavy when it hits me so fast;

heavy and it’s driving me mad

that i’m never gonna give you up!

“OH MY FUCK--GOD!” A shrill voice cuts through the nearly empty living room; three forms huddled together on the sofa as the horror movie continued on the tv screen.

“Are you serious right now, Jihoon? Nothing even happened yet and you screamed!!” You tease.

You’d come to learn that Jihoon quite actually hated horror films.

And apparently so did Chan.

Your eyes scan over Jihoon’s frame squished into your side as his own eyes leave the tv for the 60th time that night; his grip on your waist tightening as he digs his face into your shoulder. “I can’t do it, I’m trying to look at the corner of the screen but I just know something’s going to pop out, I just know it, I--”

“Hyung, she’s right you know, nothing’s even--FUCK WHAT WAS THAT!?” Chan jolts at the screen, his own arms tangling with Jihoon’s around your waist in fear as the demon in the movie re-emerges from a dark closet.

You sigh, wondering why Minghao and the others hadn’t replied to any of your calls and messages; leaving you alone with Jihoon and Chan on this dark and rainy Halloween night. And you loved Jihoon with your whole heart and taking care of cute Chan was always fun but everyone being missing and unreachable seemed a little peculiar. 

Even to you.

“You guys, it’s not even real. Look, c’mon, nobody is going to pop out of the closet later. I’m sure Mingyu would kill whatever came crawling out of the closet Jihoon and Chan, do you even have a closet for demons to come out of?” You tried to lighten the mood and reassure them as you pry their clammy fingers from your midsection.

They simultaneously shoot you a glare, crossing their arms as you separate yourself from their bodies.

“I really don’t get how you two are so easily scared by these horrible movies!”

Chan pouts, “Well hybrids exist so surely demons do too!” You shoot him a dumbfounded look, “That literally has zero correlation.” 

“Whatever, I’m gonna grab more popcorn and I’ll be back.” Jihoon grumbles; eyes avoiding the screen as he scurries off to the kitchen.

The horror movie continues to play, small whimpers and screams coming from both of the boys on either of your sides.

You still don’t understand why they thought watching a horror movie on a rainy night was a good idea but they were determined to finish it by this point. And you, on the other hand, were getting bored. Horror movies weren’t that bad for you and you slept perfectly fine afterwards so you weren’t worried.

Unfortunately for Jihoon and Chan, that was not the case.

Jihoon had cocooned himself into a blanket with only his eyes peeking out and Chan had stolen one of the sofa pillows and had used it to hide behind when a scary scene was taking place. Biting your lip, you turn to each of them, watching as their eyes stay glued to the TV.

“Hey, if you two are so scared, why don’t we just turn the movie off. You’ll regret it if you can’t sleep later… And Minghao might kick my ass if he knows I let this happen to Chan.” You offer. Jihoon clears his throat, agreeing that maybe it was a bad idea to continue while Chan already started to reach for the remote tucked under the mass of snacks nearby.

As soon as he hits the power button, a bolt of lightning flashes outside causing the power to suddenly blow.

“Fuck! The demon’s here, I knew it, it’s because we watched the movie! We’re done, oh god, I haven’t even lived that long and Minghao hasn’t even taken me to a theme park yet and I--”, Chan cries, throwing the remote control haphazardly across the room as he tugs his fluffy ears down in panic. He immediately turns to you, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he continues to ramble incoherently against your skin.

On your other side, Jihoon has gone completely silent as one of his hands searched the dark for one of yours; his eyes completely closed in fear of seeing something in the dark that he didn’t want to see. You attempted to wrap an arm around each of them as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, their forms drawing even closer and molding to your body.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m shocked that you two are so scared of the dark right now.”

The only real light coming in was from whatever little bit of moonlight was visible through the clouds as you stared at the blobs glued on your sides. “Let’s be fair here. We just watched a horror film where things lurked in the dark, can you cut us some slack!?” Jihoon scream-whispers as Chan nods against your shoulder, “Jihoon-hyung’s right, I’m not normally scared of the dark!”

You pat him on the head, running your fingers through his hair as he leans into your touch.

Jihoon unwraps from your hold a few moments later, his eyes adjusting to the dark against his will as he clears his throat.

“We--Maybe we just need a distraction, that’s all… I’m sure the power will come back on soon, or maybe one of the others will come see if we’re ok. We just… We need to find something to do or else our minds will wander.” He suggests. You nod in the dark, raising an eyebrow, “Like, a game or something?” Jihoon hums back an agreement. The three of you sit in silence trying to think of anything to play but nothing comes to mind.

“I can’t think of anything, Jihoon.”

Chan sighs, raising his head from your shoulder. “We could play that one game, y’know, ‘are you nervous?’ I heard Minghao-hyung talking about it! All we do is touch or do things to each other until someone chickens out! It could be anything!” You could hear a smile in his voice that almost made you smile until you heard Jihoon scoff.

“That sounds like fun until something grabs you and it’s not me or her, Chan.” Jihoon deadpanned.

You can only grimace knowing that comment went straight to Chan’s head. “Why on god’s green earth would you say that, hyung!?” An exasperated noise leaves Chan’s mouth as he lets go of you, arms flailing off of the sofa before he gasps and balls up again. “Oh my god, what if something grabbed me just now, would you have done anything to save me?” You had no idea who that question was directed to but you replied with a simple “yes”.

“Are we going to play or what? The more I sit here, the more I start seeing demons in the kitchen over there, to be honest.” Jihoon was getting restless, his fingers gripping your shirt. “We don’t have anything to do anyway, we need to get our minds off this power outage, and the potential demon. I think Chan especially needs it, he seems to be losing it more than I am.”

You can only nod in agreement; after all, what could go wrong. “Should I start then?”

It’s silent for a beat before Chan speaks up. “I’ll do it!”

Even in the dark, you can see Chan sitting up on his knees as you turn to face him slightly. He pushes your shoulder, causing you to crash into Jihoon; your back to Jihoon’s chest as his legs open wider to accommodate your figure. It’s a little uncomfortable on the sofa, but Jihoon doesn’t seem to mind. “Are you nervous?” You can almost hear the smirk in Chan’s voice and although you were confused with the shift in the atmosphere and maybe a tiny bit concerned at where this was leading, you didn’t voice it.

“Not at all, Channie. Should I go next?”

Jihoon and Chan both make noises of agreement as you considered your options. You really didn’t know what to do, so you simply placed your palm down onto Jihoon’s sweatpant clad thigh and squeezed. A garbled noise leaves his lips and you can hear the stutter in his breath. “Jihoonie, are you nervous?” He’s silent for a little too long before he replies with a slightly breathless ‘no' and asks if it was his turn.

You nod, feeling his arms come around your waist as he rests his head in the crook of your neck; lips lightly trailing up behind your left ear as he whispers a simple “nervous yet?” before kissing the shell of your ear.

You had to admit, this was getting a little too hot too fast and you weren’t sure if this was the nature of the game but you weren’t mad about it.

“Um, n-no…”

Chan takes the lead, lips easing into a wide smile. “I’ll go next!” His fingers rests on your bare thighs, slightly prying your legs open as he makes space for himself between them; careful to avoid grabbing onto Jihoon’s legs.

By nature, you clamp your legs shut, trapping Chan’s hands in between as you yelp. “Hold on, wait, wait, wait, what is going on here!?” Your face burns red in the dark, almost glad the power was out so that they couldn’t see even though you already know Jihoon can feel the way your body warms up.

Neither of them knew how to answer, so you sat in silence; only your steady breaths heard as you sat between Jihoon’s legs with Chan’s hands trapped between your still clamped legs. 

Chan clears his throat as he attempts to pull back his hands from between your legs. “I--um, uh, it--it was Jihoon-hyung’s idea! He told me to tell Minghao-hyung I was sleeping over and to not check in! And then he called Mingyu and told them to not check in either!”

“What!? Me!? Don’t you dare pin this on me, brat! We planned this together!”

Your mouth hangs open in shock, eyes threatening to fall out of your skull as they continue to argue. “I didn’t wanna do it! I told hyung it wouldn’t work! I told him we should’ve done it differently!” Chan cries; tossing his head back dramatically.

“Okay, both of you shut up! Jihoon, what is going on!?”

The snake hybrid groans from behind you, arms still locked tight around your waist. “Listen… I--It wasn’t supposed to go like this, okay? We were gonna finish the movie and then ask you if--if you wanted to, y’know, play with both of us. And don’t try to deny it, I know you think Chan is cute. I just wanted to treat you to something nice.”

Chan wiggles his fingers, still trapped in between your thighs. “But then it got all spooky instead and the power went out...” The bunny hybrid mumbles.

You could feel your body heating up at the thought of being between Jihoon and Chan. And in truth, you’d thought about it maybe once, but it was a fleeting thought that’d left your mind just as quickly as it’d entered.

“I--I mean, uh, I mean, I’m okay with this b-but Jihoon, are you really okay with this? You don’t have to--”

“I’m fine with this, too.” Jihoon cut in, his arms squeezing your waist tighter.

A thankful sigh escapes Chan’s lips as he chuckles, “Thank god. I’m not gonna lie, I’m already a little hard....” You can see his face clearly now that your eyes completely adjusted to the dark.

“We literally haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Shut up, hyung!”

“Ngh… C--Chan…”

Your fingers tangle into his hair, careful of his ears as he dips his tongue into your entrance. Jihoon continues to nuzzle at your neck, appreciating your warmth as the younger hybrid works your body up for the both of them.

“She likes it when you use your fingers, y’know. And if you curl them just right, it makes her feel really, really good.” Jihoon guides. His lips ease into a lazy smirk when Chan listens eagerly and brings his fingers to your folds; using your wetness to coat them before he positions his index and middle fingers at your entrance. “Can she take two at once?” Chan asks, voice almost eerily innocent to which Jihoon chuckles under his breath - the action making you shiver at how easily the two of them seemed to get along so well in this situation.

“Of course, she can. She’s always so good about taking my cock. I bet I could slide right into her tight ‘lil pussy right now. Couldn’t I, baby?”

You nod shakily as your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of Chan’s fingers sinking into you slowly. He curls them almost immediately and you mewl and squirm as Jihoon’s grip on you tightens. “Oh, she’s so tight around my fingers already, hyung~” Chan murmurs. He thrusts his fingers into your hot cunt, tongue on your clit when he finds that you seem to like that best.

“Hmm~ Look at your favorite bunny hybrid trying to please you. Fingers knuckle deep while he teases your clit with his tongue. Are you gonna cum for him?” You let out a choked noise at Jihoon’s words and your fingers lock tighter into Chan’s hair when he taps your g-spot, wiggling his fingers inside of you to stretch you out.

“Oh, g-god, yes!”

Chan sucks your clit between his lips and Jihoon has to hold you down tighter as you try to grind against Chan’s face.

Jihoon’s fingers start to roam and squeeze you through your shirt; delicate fingers pinching your nipples as you mewl at the sensations they were making you feel. It was one thing to have Jihoon’s hands all over you but now that Chan was added to the mix, you found yourself getting addicted to the excitement that flooded your senses.

“A-ah, Chan…” The sound of you softly calling his name has him immediately pulling off of you, lips glistening with your wetness when he peers up at you through the dark.

“Hyung, am I allowed to fuck her?” Chan questions quietly. The snake hybrid bites the inside of his cheek.

His possessive nature screamed no, but the other part of him already felt his cock throbbing at the thought of you getting fucked by someone else and getting filled with so much cum from the both of them that it’d be spilling out of you.

Jihoon’s throat feels dry at the thought alone.

“Yes. Fuck her tight ‘lil cunt and fill her up with cum. We’ll breed her so fuckin’ good she’ll be begging us both for more.” Chan giggles innocently; a complete contrast to the way his eyes burn with unadulterated lust when he leans in close to your face.

“Ah~ Minghao-hyung always complains about me rutting against the pillows. Says my libido is too high, but I just can’t help it~ Finally, I get to fuck your tight cunt and I get to cum inside you and fill you up with my cum instead of just using my hand and making a mess on the sheets!” He grins.

Christ, Chan was really oblivious to the way his words affected you.

“Ngh, please, one of you j-just fuck me already~” You whine.

Jihoon’s fingers tug on your shirt, helping you lift it off of you as you’re finally completely bare to them both. His fingers immediately go back to teasing your chest as Chan sits up proper between your legs, pushing his sweats and underwear down. “Hyung, are you sure this is a one time only thing?”

You mewl as Jihoon pinches your nipples hard; nails digging into his clothed thighs in return. “We’ll talk about it later, Chan.” He replies easily.

Chan wraps a firm hand around his cock, moaning as he spreads the precum all down his shaft. “Mmh, I really need to fuck you now.” He mutters.

“D-do it…” Whimpering, you try to spread your legs a little more given the small space. “Mmh, m-maybe taking it to the bedroom, ah, might’ve been a better i-idea.”You mutter.

 Chan pouts, trying to get comfortable as he rubs the head of his cock through your folds, tapping your clit as you cry out in pleasure. “No, what if something grabbed one of us on the way there?” He retorts.

Jihoon laughs under his breath, eyes focused on the way your chest rises and falls in anticipation.

Chan lets out a shaky moan as he sinks his cock into your tight warmth, brows furrowing when he can already tell that he won’t be able to hold himself back. “Ah, you’re so--so tight…” He whines. His cock was a little shorter than Jihoon’s but just as thick to stretch you out to your liking.

He gives you a second to adjust before he skillfully draws his hips back and slams his cock into you. “Fu---fuck, she feels so good, I--I don’t think I can h-hold back…” His hands are on your thighs keeping your spread; biting into his bottom lip. “Ngh, please--please tell me I can fuck y-you harder!”

Jihoon smiles, snaking a hand down to your clit as he starts to roll the nub between his fingers slowly. It makes your pussy clench down harder onto Chan who lets out a choked whine at the feeling of your walls clamping down onto him in a vice grip. “Well, baby? What do you want? Tell your cute ‘lil bunny.”

Chan’s cock curves into your g-spot perfectly and with Jihoon’s fingertips teasing your clit, your head already starts to feel fuzzy. “Mmh… ah, y-yeah, fuck me h-harder, Chan… I wanna feel y-you...”

He whispers quiet thank you’s into the dark; hips slamming into you as Jihoon keeps you locked in his hold. Soft whines and moans spill from Chan’s lips and for a moment, it makes you wonder if he always sounded like this when he was alone and rutting against his pillow.

And almost as if Jihoon can read your mind, his sultry, lust filled eyes watch Chan’s cock fucking into you as he whispers, “How’s she feel, Chan? Better than rubbing your cock against the sheets? Or how about your hand?” The younger hybrid whines, cock throbbing as he already feels himself close to an orgasm.

“She---She, hah, feels so w-warm and wet… S-Shit, I’m going to think a-about this whenever I, ah, need to g-get off…” He licks his dry lips, committing to memory how your pussy felt around him. “It’s n-not gonna be the s-same when I’m alone…”

“Enjoy it while you can, bunny~” Jihoon teases. He takes his fingers off of your clit, nipping at the shell of your ear. “As for you, don’t cum, baby.” You nod shakily, realizing that at least that much was still only reserved for Jihoon.

Instead, Jihoon continues to provokes Chan, soft giggles on his lips when he sees the bunny hybrid struggling to stave off his orgasm. “Ah, hurry and fill her up with your cum~ I bet it’s been so long since you’ve cum, huh? You probably have a lot ready just to breed her tight little cunt too.”

His own words prove to do damage to himself when he feels his cock throbbing in his sweats; he really needed Chan to hurry up. And Chan doesn’t fare any better himself; airy whines and groans filling the air as he feels his abdomen tightening the more Jihoon continues to speak.

“Fu--fuck, I’m--I’m cumming!” Chan cries, hips pistoning into you at a breakneck speed as he fucks his cum deeper and deeper into you. Your body jerks between them both, choked whines of your own mixing with his as you do your best to not cum either which proves hard when Jihoon starts to coax you too.

“Mm, bet it feels nice and warm, huh, baby? Hot cum filling up your ‘lil cunt, waiting for me to cum inside you too so you’re full of both of us.”

“Jihoon…” You whisper, hips moving against Chan’s as he rides out the remnants of his orgasm. You can already feel the cum sliding out of you from around Chan’s cock and your mind turns to putty at the thought of Jihoon still fucking you and making you cum.

“Alright, bunny, time for you to move.” Chan nods slowly in return, thrusting into you one more time as the two of you share a moan. “Okay, okay, move!” Jihoon grumbles.

He realized it’d take days if not weeks to get Chan’s smell off of you. 

Not that it was a problem. He always had ideas in store to make it easier.

Chan slides his cock from inside of you, watching as the cum drips down onto the sofa in large globs. He licks his lips, already itching to get his hands back onto you as he starts to move back.

Jihoon slowly unwraps his arms from around you and moves to switch places with Chan who tugs his own sweatpants back up. “Can I take a shower after this?” He asks quietly.

The snake hybrid exhales harshly through his nose as he replaces Chan between your legs, pushing his sweats and underwear down in one swift motion. “We’ll all go shower after this, now hold her still.” Chan nods, ears flopping atop his head; satisfied for now.

He wraps his arms around your midsection much like Jihoon had done, chin nuzzled into the crook of your neck as he watches Jihoon running his cock through the mix of your wetness and Chan’s cum. “Mmm, hyung’s gonna make sure our cum stays inside your hot cunt~ ‘Cause you need to be bred, y’know? Ah, Jihoon-hyung’s so lucky~ He gets to breed your pretty pussy whenever he wants~”

Jihoon’s jaw clenches tight, a hand placed firm on your thigh as he uses Chan’s cum as lubrication when he eases his cock into you. “Fuck, you’re so wet!” He growls; already starting a quick pace as he chases his high.

He’d waited long enough.

“Ah, you’re so warm too, you feel so good, baby…” Jihoon pauses, licking his lips as his eyes meet yours in the darkness. “And all mine, right?” He thrusts into you particularly hard for emphasis; almost daring you to say anything different.

“G-god, yes, yes! I’m y-yours, ah!” Chan slithers a hand down your torso, fingertips on your sticky and swollen clit as he starts to pinch and roll the nub between his fingertips. You clench around Jihoon; overwhelmed with the urge to cum as they both stimulate your body.

“Why don’t you cum for Jihoon-hyung, hmm? Cum around his cock and milk him for all he’s got~” You mewl at Chan’s words, toes curling as you and Jihoon both feel each other close to the edge. Jihoon’s cock curves into you perfectly and hits all of the right spots inside of you that have you bucking your hips to match his thrusts.

It only takes a few more thrusts before you feel the tension in your body threatening to snap at any second.

“Jihoon, I---”

“I know, baby. S’okay. Cum with me.” His voice is breathy and raw as he, too, feels his cock throbbing inside your tight heat.

Chan and Jihoon work in tandem as your rushed cries of Jihoon’s name start to roll off of your tongue and his thrusts become erratic; groans on his own lips as the two of you cum at the same time. Jihoon doesn’t stop his quick pace either, instead, doubling it as he fucks his and Chan’s cum further into your pussy.

“Shit, that’s right, hyung. Breed her fuckin’ cunt.” Growling, Chan pinches your clit as you let out a high pitched whine.

“J--Jihoon, please, please, pl--please b-breed me! Get m-me full of your c-cum!” You cry; delirium mildly settling in as his hot cum paints your walls and spills out of you from around his cock.

“Ngh, that’s---that’s right, baby. Beg me to fill you up, hah, just like you like it.” Jihoon starts to slow down his thrusts just as Chan starts to ease his fingers off of your clit and you sob quietly at the bliss that continues to wash over your body.

Your chest rises and falls in deep breaths as the remnants of your orgasm start to ebb off and you immediately slump against Chan’s warm chest as the tiredness starts to overtake you. “Fuh--fuck, ‘m so full o-of cum…” You whine.

The two hybrids can only groan in unison.

Jihoon starts to slide his cock out of you; licking his lips when he sees how much cum spills from your spent pussy. “Ah, such a waste.” He comments.

“Wait, wait!” Chan catches your attention and Jihoon’s when he starts to move from behind you. Jihoon shoots the bunny hybrid a confused look when he ushers for Jihoon to move again. “Just trust me, hyung.”

They switch places one last time as you rest against Jihoon’s clothed chest, eyes focusing on Chan who kneels in between your legs.

“Hey, can I kiss her?”

You blush as Jihoon narrows his eyes at the other male. “Only one time. Make it good.”

Chan smirks as he immediately dives headfirst in between your thighs; lapping up the cum that spills out of you and onto the sofa. You latch your fingers into his hair by reflex, sharp cries on your lips from the oversensitivity as Chan collects the mixed cum on his tongue.

Jihoon has to admit, he’s a little impressed.

Once Chan deems it enough, he holds the cum in his mouth as he pulls away from your cunt and your hands fall from his hair.

You watch through hazy eyes as he stops when he’s face to face with you; smiling at you angelically. He leans in, lips pressed firm against your own as you moan into the kiss. And once your lips part, Chan’s quick to push the cum into your mouth; a little dripping down your chin at the messy way his tongue pushes it in. 

He pulls away once all of the salty substance is out of his mouth; a trail of saliva and cum connecting your lips as Jihoon whistles in amazement.

“Wow, can’t say I saw that one coming.”

Your cheeks flush and Jihoon enjoys the warmth that radiates from you in between their bodies. 

Chan smiles at you innocently again; reverting back to his sweet bunny-like nature.

“Can we find some candles and go shower now, please?”

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Subtitles: Episode 8, Previously On

Subtitles Masterlist

Summary: As they seek out Vision a Westview that doesn’t seem to want them to find him, more memories from [Y/N]’s past begin to appear. They almost seem drawn out of the dark depths of their mind by some unseen force but it’s hard to tell whether it’s friend or foe. Who is forcing [Y/N]’s memories to the forefront of their mind--Wanda or someone else?--and is it tied to the suddenly hostile Westview blocking them from finding Vision? Who is trying to keep them distracted?

Word count: 6,584

Warnings: Cursing, descriptions of death and declining mental health. Mostly angst, tbh.

Tag list: @madamevirgo @ravennight41 @multifandomgirl16 @cyanide-mustard @badasspolygenderfriend @austynparksandpizza @sophster1881 @haileyybird​ @maceidelic​ @alexpress @angelvinella

Ko-Fi Shoppe

~~~

You were too busy trying to calm the anxious gnawing in your stomach to notice Westview subtly changing around you. It wasn’t until a vine wrapped tightly around your ankle and made you almost trip and fall face-first into a fire hydrant that you looked around with a frown.

    The vine itself—thick, spiky, and definitely not native to the suburbs of New Jersey—had sprouted from cracks in the sidewalk, which spread and opened further as other vines crept after it. After tearing the one holding you off and stepping out of its reach, you noticed the fences of houses reaching far past their yards to create maze-like paths that covered the sidewalks and street ahead of you. The houses that these fences belonged to were also warped in a way that made them look like you were viewing them through funhouse mirrors, stretching far into the sky and bending overhead in your direction like they meant to block you from leaving in that direction—or meant to block you from being seen by anyone flying overhead.

    Your eyebrows arched so far up on your forehead that you weren’t sure that they were still there. “What the fuck is going on?”

    You weren’t as concerned about the magic happening itself—if some random civilian walked by, they’d barely react at all and the maze and houses weren’t causing any actual damage, just being incredibly annoying—as you were by the fact that you couldn’t tell who was doing it. Your first thought was Wanda, naturally, but it made no sense that she’d be trying to keep you from finding Vision when she was the one who’d originally sent you to go get him; not to mention that she’s never created such a bizarre display of magic, at least intentionally. You considered yourself next, as you’ve known yourself to cause random transmutations when you get too antsy, but this wasn’t the type of power that you controlled and when you tried to reach out to interact with the energy, you received opposition instead of energy bending to your will. It was somewhat difficult to pick out because it seemed to hide away under the blanket of Wanda’s magic that reached across everything in Westview, but the aura of the twisted architecture surrounding you was dark and hostile.

    You first attempted to humor whatever magic was at play and made your way through the maze but as you did so, the fences shifted around you to extend their white picket prison. You stopped and sighed. “The end is nigh… and I am not going to spend it dealing with this shit.”

    A little voice in the back of your head told you that you could probably set fire to the whole magic mirror setup and be done with it but you ultimately decided against it; Wanda would probably find out and definitely wouldn’t be happy when she did. Instead, you placed your hands on the fence and as you did so, posts morphed into gates that you could easily pass through. You continued through the maze via this method and were surprised to feel the opposing magic back away from you after your pushback.

    “Oh, thank god,” you grumbled under your breath as you made it through the last of the maze. 

Unfortunately, you celebrated too early as the cement underneath your feet suddenly began to melt back into its liquid form. It would have been fairly easy to use your powers to reharden the cement but exhausting yourself fighting with the opposing force until the sidewalks of Westview shifted into grassy fields on its outskirts seemed like a bad idea in the long run, especially with the twins’ disappearance, Wanda dealing with Agnes’s strange behavior, Monica’s return, and the warning churn of your stomach telling you to stay alert. So, you settled for trudging along through wet cement until the magic decided to back off again.

Not so much trying to cause damage as it’s trying to mildly inconvenience me, is it? you thought.

Just as before, once the magic trying to keep you distracted was rivaled by your own, it receded and you were soon walking on the regular, hard sidewalk once more. You cleaned your pants and shoes up by turning the wet cement still clinging to them into something much more manageable—water—and continued on your way. Sorting through the mix of concern, nips of mild hunger, and the energy-seeking compass in the center of your now twisting in every which direction, you managed to eventually focus back into the feeling of Vision somewhere in the distance. It got stronger as you walked, so you began to pick up the pace.

Then your unseen opponent returned, stronger and now in the mental realm instead of the physical. At first, you thought the kickback was just Westview’s borders—the Hex, Monica had called it—trying to right the wrongs of someone within it having memories of the outside world, something you’d experienced before. However, you felt the menace rippling underneath the surface of the haze and when you tried to fight back this time, you were met with an angry strength. The fog making your head feel heavy seemed to spread through your bloodstream and take home in your bones, weighing your body down until you stood still and lame in the middle of a random neighborhood. You were a prisoner in your own body; you couldn’t move even if you wanted to, but you didn’t even know if you did because your brain was so full of dark storm clouds that you couldn’t think straight. You knew that you stared slack-jawed into space but it felt more like you were sitting in a dark room inside your skull and watching the outside world from a TV screen. As you watched on, the fog that took over your mind and body took your eyesight too.

===

===

===

The first few memories were fleeting. 

You were a few years old and holding your mother’s hand. It was much less boney and knotted than you remembered your mother’s hand being, as was the rest of her. She was younger and stronger, standing next to you in a worn nurse uniform and overcoat and staring ahead with a scowl, concealing whatever emotions she was feeling otherwise. You were in a bedroom that was only vaguely familiar to you and the two of you watched an old man that was barely more than a skeleton slept under a heap of fraying blankets. As you stared on through the wide eyes of your child self, your grandfather heaved a final breath before falling into a deep, eternal slumber.

A couple of years older, you were in the old but cozy, sunny yellow kitchen that your mom love to cook in. You sat at the dining room table, kicking your legs and picking at the splitting wood as your mother and a stranger argued in the other room. You had never heard your mother raise her voice to such an extent before but at the time, you were much more concerned about what kind of sandwich you were going to help her make for lunch. You never saw the stranger aside from a flash of [H/C] as he left and he was never seen or heard of again.

You were still in the kitchen but its appearance had changed ever so slightly. Yours did too, as you were a teenager now, and now your mother sat across from you at the table. Though she was still healthy now, her overall haggard appearance would be one that she carried on for years to come. She was telling you about her doctor’s appointment but you were only somewhat listening as you were stressed about high school drama and final assignments to be turned in before summer break. You heard words like “dementia” and “Alzheimer’s” but the meanings were lost on you in that moment.

Then you were in a nursing home. You could feel the harsh lighting, hear the TV from the lounge behind you. The smell of cleaning supplies burned your nostrils but the smell of your mother’s stale perfume soothed it. Unfortunately, nothing could soothe the ache that made your heart feel like it was going to shrivel up and die when you came to tell her that you changed your major in college so you would be better equipped to help her, only for her unable to recall having a child at all.

You were pinned against a wall in a Sokovian HYDRA base, although you didn’t know the organization that you were studying with was HYDRA at the time. Shivers of equal parts fear and exhilaration made your entire body quiver and the clipboard you’d been holding clattered to the ground. While a large group of Sokovian war protestors had to hunch together to fit in the cramped and cold holding room, Wanda seemed to take up the majority of the space just from her spot of holding you into place. Her hair was a mess and her face and clothes were dirty but her eyes were full of more life than you’d experienced during your entire time working in the base. She was angry and determined and powerful and gorgeous, and she told you that if you ever ran into her again that she’d kill you—and you were surprised with how okay you were about the idea, as long as you got to see her again. When she let you go and you apologized, she told you what she and the others were doing here; this was the catalyst that sent you investigating into HYDRA and finding out about their much more sinister nature, as well as the pain you’d helped cause.

Finally, the slide show of memories slowed and instead of being confined to your brain, you were back in your own body—or so you thought until you looked around and found yourself staring at a younger copy of yourself. Instead of Westview, you were in a HYDRA testing room, and instead of simply re-experiencing, you were quite literally watching a memory unfold around you as if you were an unwanted audience member standing around the active set of a TV show. Or a ghost, you decided, as the younger you walked through you as if you were nothing but air.

Your younger self was dressed in an all-black work uniform and lab attire, with an identification card clipped to your chest that granted you high-level clearance. You’d worked immensely hard playing HYDRA’s game to get to where you were now, which was standing in the control room with two other agents and preparing to analyze the test about to unfold on the other side of a large glass window. In the test chamber, a door slowly slid open and Wanda, unkempt and spacey, entered.

You wanted to break her out. Judging by the way your younger self tensed up—not enough to be noticed by your superiors; you’d mastered your mother’s emotional lockdown of a scowl at this point—your feelings weren’t far off from the initial experience. 

Wanda made her way farther into the room, closer to a scepter with a glowing blue stone that was being held on a pedestal. As she did so, the younger you readied their clipboard and pen to take notes and one of the two agents spoke, “For our notes, Miss Maximoff, can you please state your name and confirm your status?”

The younger copy of your current partner did as she was told. “Wanda Maximoff. Volunteer.”

“Begin experimentation,” the other agent—a doctor and one of your immediate superiors—stated.

“Doctor,” the first man said, “with respect, not one subject has survived direct contac—”

He was broken off as the doctor flicked on the intercom to speak to Wanda again. “Touch the sample.”

Wanda made her way forward but before she could do much, the stone suspended in the scepter—the mind stone, you knew now—detached itself and floated towards her. As it got closer, its glow grew brighter and bright blue magic wafted over Wanda as she stared before reaching out to touch it. While you remembered this situation thus far, what happened next was completely new to you. The mind stone shattered before Wanda’s eyes, revealing yellow golden yellow magic that poured from the remains. There was an explosion of light and within it was a flash of a shadow. From where you were standing, you couldn’t quite make out the shape.

Then the light died and Wanda collapsed, and the rest of the memory ran as you remembered. The scientist and doctor ran out to check that Wanda was still alive, while your younger self recollected themselves enough to take pictures of notes and research reports from the control desk with an old school digital camera that they’d managed to sneak in.

“Well,” a familiar, incredibly out-of-place voice sounded from behind you, “that’s a surprise. I had no idea you and [Y/N] went so far back.”

You spun around to see Agnes and a modern Wanda standing just behind you. Agnes watched your echo with mild curiosity as they carefully rifled through the control desk and gathered as much information as they could to examine at a later time. The dark energy that radiated off the woman was the same that you’d sensed earlier, hiding just underneath Wanda’s own. Being this close to the unhidden source now, the magic felt sharp and acidic and tasted like bile on the back of your tongue. The anxiety that had been gnawing at your stomach increased tenfold as your guts twisted around themselves. It had been Agnes all along.

Past you finished their investigation as they were called in to take Wanda to solitary by one of the other HYDRA agents. When they rushed out of the control room, they passed through Wanda and Agnes, confirming that the women were in a similar state of being to you.

Surprisingly, Agnes was completely unaware of current you’s presence. She walked casually over to the desk and attempted to make sense of younger you’s rummaging before making a face and shrugging.

Wanda, on the other hand, was staring directly at you. To anyone else, it could be said that she was simply looking through you who the commotion happening in the test chamber, but when you met her gaze, the slightest of jaw clenches told you otherwise. While it was Agnes—Not Agnes, a ghost of a whisper in sounded in your head—whose magic had been toying with you, it seemed that it was Wanda’s doing, at least to some extent, that brought you to watch this scene with them. 

“You know,” the ravenette said, “I really did like them for a while. They were fun to string along for entertainment, and they were a hoot at events and to run errands with. Such an awkward little thing. I could see their crush from a mile away whenever you three were around each other. I just thought they’d be the out-of-place, pining neighbor whose love was unrequited, a comedic plot device of sorts. I didn’t think you would actually return their feelings, let alone both you and your husband, you naughty dogs. I should have known sooner that something was up.”

You and me both, sister, you thought with a soundless snort.

“Oh well,” Agnes—question mark?—said with another shrug, “our friendship was fun while it lasted. Let me know if you ever get bored with them. We did often flirt a bit, [Y/N] and I.”

“What do they have to do with any of this?” Wanda asked, throwing a mild glower in the other woman’s direction.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Agnes responded with a sickly sweet smile, then walked past Wanda and out of the testing room. “Come along, dear! We’ve got much more digging to do.”

Wanda glanced at you one last time before following. After a moment, you trailed after them.

===

===

===

Past Wanda was sitting and watching sitcoms via the one amenity she had the dungeon-like room she was held in when your past self walked in.

“Wanda,” past you gasped and moved to rush to her side before freezing and throwing a glance towards a security camera in one corner of the room. The faintest blue-black light danced appeared to dance around your echo’s fingers as the lens of the camera warped and changed into a round silver disc, then the light disappeared and you watched yourself hurry to younger Wanda’s side. 

She didn’t acknowledge you until you placed a gentle hand on her back. She jumped a bit and turned her glassy-eyed, hollow-cheeked face towards you; in the same instant, the TV turned off. 

Past Wanda offered past you a wobbly smile that you returned. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a candy wrapped in colored foil that looked neon in comparison to the dull coloring of the rest of the environment.

“Hey, look, Wanda,” you tried, offering the candy to her, “I brought you something. Remember these? You told me once that they’re your favorite.”

Wanda stared blankly at your gift. After a moment, she took it and began picking at the foil.

Past you gave past Wanda another strained smile. Your furrowed brows caused deep lines to be etched into your forehead, showing no lack of concern, but you tried to stay positive. Gingerly running your hand up and down Wanda’s back, you carefully looked over as she freed the chocolate-covered candy from its wrapper. “You look good. You’re doing much better than you were when we brought you back.”

Wanda’s eyes lazily traced the pattern of the room’s stone walls as she brought her treat to her lips and carefully nibbled at it. When she found it free of tampering, she relaxed a bit and popped it into her mouth.

You watched as your past self rested their chin on her shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m going to get you out of here, Wanda. I promise that I’m going to save you. I just… wish you’d let me help you more.”

Well, young me, you thought, you certainly broke that promise, then went off and murdered a bunch of people. Nice job.

Wanda’s past self finally fully acknowledged yours; she rested her head on top of yours and her thin fingers brushed brushed over the knuckles of one of your hands. She shook her head and mumbled, “I have to do this. For my people.”

Your echo sighed. The two of you sat like that together for a few moments longer before you separated yourself from her and headed out of the room. As you walked out of the room, the silver that blocked the security camera transformed back into a lens. Wanda looked back to the TV and blinked, and the television turned back on.

“Huh,” Agnes piped up to Wanda again, “they were just as piney here as they are in Westview then. Weird. I thought they had a reputation as a crazy psycho killer outside? Hoo boy, did you see any of the work that they did after Sokovia? I looked into it when I figured out that they weren’t just another ordinary townee. The Alchemist? Wished I’d managed to keep them on my side; I’d love to sit down and talk about all the ways they tore up those agents.”

You grimaced. You never regretted going on a HYDRA manhunt but it wasn’t exactly one of your most redeeming qualities.

Wanda frowned. “Trying to cope with all they had done while working with HYDRA was too much and they had to do it alone. I told [Y/N] I would return but then I never did. They thought it was their only solution.”

You were surprised to hear her empathize with you, let alone know about your revenge spree at all. You hadn’t realized how much it felt like a secret that you had been keeping from her until a weight was lifted off your shoulders when she talked about it.

“Still,” Agnes said nonchalantly, “turning an alive former HYDRA agent into a very much not alive scarecrow and leaving posting him up in his own field? Genius and I love the creativity. And the way they turned the guy who shot them into a bloody bag of bones? Delicious.

“But anyway,” she went on, the glee in her voice shifting to something more pensive, “little orphan Wanda got up close and personal with an Infinity Stone that amplified what otherwise would’ve died on the vine. The broken pieces of you are adding up, buttercup. I have a theory, but I need more.”

With a wave of her hand, a dark wood door appeared in the room’s far wall. Wanda’s eyes widened slightly with recognition and she immediately walked forward and through it. Agnes trailed cheerfully after her.

You made a move to follow them but you didn’t make it before Agnes shut the door behind her. You jiggled the doorknob but the door wouldn’t budge, and then it melted back into the wall and vanished altogether. While you were relieved to be away from Agnes’s acrid magic, panic rose in the back of your throat at the idea of Wanda being alone with Agnes and you being trapped in a bizarre memory realm with no idea of how to get out. You ran your hands along the wall in hopes of finding the door’s outline once more, to no avail. You spun around to search for another route—

—and you were suddenly standing on a street in Westview. 

This wasn’t Westview as you currently knew it but Westview before Wanda had turned it into her special little safe haven. Instead of watching this memory like a movie, you were now involuntarily reliving it as a prisoner of your head again as your body and mouth move on its own accord.

You were paused mid-walk across the street and staring at a breathtakingly gleeful Vision for the very first time. He was standing out in the open without a human disguise of any kind, wearing a very attractive form-fitting turtleneck and looking over an empty plot of land. He must have felt you staring because he turned his warm, earth-shaking gaze towards you.

“Hello there!” he hollered with a friendly wave and a smile that made you wonder if one look from a stranger could make you weep over how attractive they were. He stepped from the dirt plot to the sidewalk, then made his way to the curb. He held a slightly crumpled piece of paper in one hand and you could see a red heart in its center out of the corner of your eye.

For whatever reason—maybe because of the fact that there was a very inhuman-looking man, who was causing your body to have all sorts of reactions, walking towards you—you felt compelled to walk over and meet him. 

“Excuse me,” Vision said as you got closer and pointed to the lot behind him, “I’m looking to buy this spot here. Do you live around here?”

Temporarily, while I try to look for a cure for my dumb-bitch memory disease, you thought. Instead of saying this aloud, though, you said something much more stupid. “Are you aware that you’re red?”

Vision blinked. He looked at his hands if he was in fact just now realizing this, then looked back at you with wide eyes. One hand moved to touch the golden gem embedded in his forehead, which you now connected to the mind stone on the previous memory that you had experienced—Wanda’s memory. 

“Oh, goodness,” Vision said, “yes I am. I’m sorry, I hope my appearance doesn’t make you uncomfortable. If it does, I could make a more appealing one—”

You felt yourself break into a grin and one of your hands waved itself dismissively at him. “Not sure there’s a way to make yourself any more appealing than you already are. It’s just unusual is all.”

Vision chewed on one side of his bottom lip before smiling sheepishly at you. If only you’d been able to tell when this interaction had actually happened that he was “blushing” in the only way his synzethoid body allowed over you complimenting him; you would have had a field day with making him flustered.

Then his eyes drifted slightly above your eyeline and the hand touching his forehead gem fluttered slightly to the right—his left. Without thinking of how it might come off, he said, “You’re unusual-looking yourself.”

Luckily, you weren’t too easily offended. You briefly touched the gunshot scar on your forehead with one hand, the exit wound scar on your neck with the other, before dropping them both and shrugging. “Got shot in the head once. Operation gone wrong.”

“A soldier?” 

Unfortunately, the version of you in this memory was already struggling to recall memories. Instead of telling the pretty stranger that, though, you said, “Something like that.”

Vision nodded and awkwardly fiddled with the paper in his hands. His gaze flitted around before settling on you again, “Well, I think you’re appealing too.”

You felt your cheeks grow warm but you hid your embarrassment with a snicker. “Thanks.”

The man cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that’s good then, isn’t it? That we both like each other’s looks just fine. Not… that I want you to find my visuals appealing. Not— not that that’s a bad thing to be doing so either! It’s just that—” he paused to collect himself. “I have a partner. A girlfriend of sorts.”

“Of sorts?”

“It hasn’t really been discussed,” he clarified, “but we are deep in the throughs of our relationship.”

“Congrats? Also yeah.”

Vision blinked. “I’m sorry?”

You pointed over your shoulder. “I live around here. In a hotel more often than a home but I’m considering getting a rental a couple houses over.”

Because if I don’t find who I’m looking for—a doctor? Scientist maybe?—I’ll be stuck here until I remember where I came from.

    You were brought out of your grumbling thoughts by the childish excitement that erupted from Vision’s shining smile and spread throughout his body until he was practically vibrating. He quickly scrambled the rest of the way over and flashed the paper he held at you, then almost immediately folded it up before you could actually see anything other than a flash of red on white. He told you how wonderful it was to be meeting someone from the neighborhood and before you open your mouth to say anything in response, a billion questions seemed to pour one after the other from his mouth. You caught a few—did you know why the plot he was looking at was open, if there was a nefarious reason behind it lacking any home already? Was the neighboorhood safe, did you like it there?—but you soon found yourself distracted by the way the gear-like patterns in his blue irises swirled faster as Vision became increasingly giddy.

    Then one word came flying out of his rambling mouth and you felt like you had been hit in the gut with a sack of bricks. You actually had to stop yourself from choking on a gasping breath and steel yourself in preparation in case he said her name again. Luckily, Vision seemed too deep in his his own thoughts that he didn’t notice you blanching from the kickback of yours.

    Wanda? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t like there weren’t any other Wandas in the world. Then again, you’d never met another Wanda since your Wanda and there was something about her name coming from his mouth that assured you that his Wanda was yours too.

    Is that why you had come to Westview? Was Wanda the one you were looking for?

    You placed a hand on Vision’s shoulder, both as a way of grounding yourself and grabbing the man’s attention. It worked and Vision’s bumbling died off as he looked at you with wide eyes.

    “I’m so sorry,” he said, and lifted his free hand to scratch at the side of his neck, “I got quite carried away there, didn’t I?”

    This past version of you wanted so desperately ask about the Wanda he spoke of, to confirm that she was the Wanda that you’d known in what seemed to be a past life at this point. You wanted to know if she was safe, happy, and if he was taking care of her in the way that she so needed after everything she had been through. When you looked at Vision, though, and the plot plans in his hand and the place of his and her future home, you bit your tongue. Something told you that it wasn’t your time to ask nor was it your right to do so. It had been so long since you’d tried to help the Sokovian woman escape a dingy HYDRA base and failed, and wherever she was now, she was probably better off without you intruding.

    You put on a mask of a friendly smile to hide the way your heart was being picked to pieces by a thousand imaginary needles and gave Vision’s shoulder an equally friendly pat. “No worries. I do have to stop you, though, have an appointment to get to. I’m really not the person to ask about future home life—like I said, usually a hotel—but if I have anything to tell you, it’s that this is a good place to settle.”

    Vision beamed. “Really?”

    You dropped your arm and stepped away from the robotic stranger to take your leave. “This place is easy to turn into a home. You’ll love it here.”

    Vision heaved a sigh a relief and he waved to you and you gave a parting nod and began walking. “Thank you! Oh, and it was nice meeting you, neighbor! Hope to see you again soon!”

    Something deep in your heart told you that you wouldn’t be seeing the British gentleman again, or maybe you were finally coming to terms with the fact that your brain would drop yoru memory of him before the day was over. You cast one last glance over your shoulder, trying to commit every detail of Vision to memory the best that you could, before heading back across the street.

    “Looking forward to it!”

===

===

===

    One minute you were walking and the next you couldn’t feel any part of your body that was below your waistline. The scene had shifted again and you now found yourself staring spacily off ahead. You were outside and you felt the familiar presence of a large facility behind you but you couldn’t place what the building was for or why you were there. In fact, try as you might, you couldn’t place much meaning to anything. Your brain was blank aside from several questions that you had no answers to.

    Why were you in a wheelchair? What had happened to your legs? Why were you outside? Why were there old people and people in scrub uniforms milling around you and talking to you in passing as if you had any idea who they were? Where was your mom? You had classes to attend and needed a ride.

    You took a sighing breath and felt a tanginess of citrus on your tongue that sent shockwaves throughout your body—or what left of it that you could feel. Your eyes shot open wide and you swung your head around, looking for the source of the taste of candied citrus, the feeling of thin fingers carefully brushing across your knuckles. There was a memory there, clawing just under the surface of thought-killing fungus that seemed to have taken over your head over… however long it had been now. You just had to remember—

    Before you could could remember, you saw her appear before your very eyes. She was walking down the street past you with only a green yard and strip of sidewalk separating the two of you. She wore a dark outfit and her hair cascaded behind her in the breeze, fluttering like flames. You couldn’t see her face well because of the distance you could feel the deep, powerful sadness radiating off her in waves; it was almost strong enough to force you into tears. Still, she walked with purpose and she held a piece of paper in her hand that she glanced at every other second. She happened to turn her head to toss a stray chunk of her back over her shoulder and for a brief moment you thought that her dark eyes met yours.

    You screamed her name and attempted to chase after her. However, in that moment, you forgot that you were paralyzed from the waist down and stuck in a wheelchair, so when you lurched forward to stand, you were quickly greeted by hard earth knocking the wind out of you. You hissed in pain but the impact didn’t stop you, nor did your lack of working legs. You shoved the wheelchair away in a fit of irritation, then began crawling your way across the public yard, following a trail of a very specific shade of red as you dragged your body along.

    You didn’t make it very far before you felt strong hands grasp your shoulders. You flailed around, prepared to fight whoever was trying to disrupt your mission, only for you stop struggling altogether when a flash of reddish hair appeared in the corner of your vision. You looked up at and stared at the only face that held solidity in your mind with eyes the size of dinner plates as she knelt next to you and helped you into a decent sitting position. Once you were settled, her hands moved from your arms to cradling your face and when you could see the heartbreak in her eyes this time, you actually did feel a few tears wet your cheeks.

    Your eyes fluttered shut as her gentle hands caressed your face, brushed away the tears that were now flowing like a waterfall. Your own hands found their way to her waist and you held on for dear life. With a wobbly voice that was barely above a whisper, you gasped her name again, “Wanda…”

    You felt the warm touch of her forehead pressing against yours, her nose ungracefully bumping against your cheek as she held you. “[Y/N]?”

    Hearing your name on her tongue sent you into a fit of sobbing laughter, though you weren’t sure why. Goosebumps erupted across your skin and you felt the stuttering of a billion bird’s wings in your stomach, pounding against your ribcage. You had so many things you wanted to say and yet you could remember a single word, so you merely fell into a bumbling chant of “My Wanda, my Wanda, my Wanda, my Wanda…” Your eyes stayed squeezed shut for fear that if you opened them, she would no longer be there. 

    Wanda’s lips brushed against your eyelids and then your cheeks, not quite leaving kisses but a warm, tingly feeling nonetheless. A smile was there, you could feel the curve of it as her mouth traveled from your temple to your hairline, but it was one of the same sadness that you’d seen in her eyes. She mumbled against your scarred forehead, “Oh, [Y/N], what happened to you…?”

    You finally opened your eyes—luckily, she didn’t vanish into thin air once you did—and finally met her gaze again. You moved your hands to cover hers that still held your face and pressed them harder against your cheeks, as if you could imprint her fingerprints into your skin.

    After a moment of just silently basking in her presence, you sighed softly and replied, “I don’t know.”

    Pain further etched itself into the lines of Wanda’s face; you quickly reached out to smooth them out with your fingertips.

    “You don’t remember anything?”

    “Not much,” you replied. Then you smiled. “I know you. All I know for sure is you.”

    Wanda looked like she was on the verge of bursting into tears herself but she swallowed her sobs instead. She adjusted her position and sat back slightly, scrubbed her hands over her eyes and looked around at your surroundings. She glanced at the paper she’d once been holding but now sat in the grass next to her before her gaze settled back on you. Sadness shifted into determination as she took your face her hands once more.

    “I’m going to get you out of here, [Y/N],” she said, “I promise I’m going to save you.”

    You went to nod but the sound of something flying overhead caught your attention, then a flash of yellow light over Wanda’s shoulder.

    A powerful jerk in your stomach seemed to control your entire body, forcing your head and body upward. Then you were standing on the sidewalk on the outskirts of a neighborhood with a maze of twisted houses and picket fences behind you. You were no longer trapped inside your own head, watching or reliving memories, but standing mid-step in the Westview that was bubbled by a Hex of modern Wanda’s own creation.

    Vision was flying through the air nearby and approaching fast.

    Your powers seemed to move one step ahead of your mind; before you finished the thought, one of the fun mirror houses was turned into a staircase that led to nowhere in the sky. As you turned and began racing up them, you waved your arms in Vision’s direction and hollered, “Hey! Toaster oven!”

    Vision was clearly on a mission home but you managed to catch his attention before he flew too far past you. He rounded back around and met you at the top of your stairs. He quickly surveyed your immediate surroundings, taking in the bizarre scenery before casting a concerned look your way. “What in the world is going on here?”

    “Uh, well,” you paused and took a glance around yourself, then rambled off, “I just spent a nondescript amount of time trapped in a mental live-action remake of my past and I’m pretty sure Agnes is not Agnes but some unpleasant, magic-y person who kidnapped our kids and now is trying to get… something, I’m not sure what, from Wanda. Also, I think she might have a crush on me and I’m pretty sure she caused the carnival set-up next to us.”

    Vision blinked. “Well, that’s… a lot.”

    You hummed your agreement and nodded. Then you held out your arms to him. “Shall we?”

    Vision eyed you from your place on a freshly mutated staircase then snorted softly as he gathered you into his arms, bridal style. “Surely there must be a way for you to travel with those powers of yours.”

    “There is,” you affirmed, “but this is probably faster and I should probably keep my strength to save our kids and your wife. Oh, by the way.”

    Vision gave you a questioning him as he prepared for flight. You wrapped your hands around his neck and brought your lips to his in an quick kiss. When you pulled away, you met his curious gaze and said, “I’m so happy to have met you.”

    Vision’s expression grew warmer and returned your kiss with a softer one of his own. He briefly nuzzled his forehead against yours before pulling away.

    “I’m glad to have met you too,” he said softly. Then he shifted his gaze to look past you, towards home, and he said, “Now, let’s go get our family.”

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  Yay it's finally letting me ask you! I'm wondering if you could do anything with sick Jason? that'd be awesome. thank you for taking the time to read this :). and also, you're easily my favorite author, and I love you so much. thank you for all you do <3 - anon

prompt:  Hey there. Could you do anything, like literally anything with sick!Jason? - @lettheseabirdscry

“Is everyone in position?”

Tim spares a glance down to see Damian crouched behind a large trash bin, the Robin’s starting position for the recon mission Bruce called all of the bats too, but when bringing his gaze back to the rooftop across from him, it’s empty.

“Hood’s not here,” Tim informs with a frown, unable to shake this nagging feeling that something’s wrong.

“Unsurprising,” Damian scoffs into the comms, his flat tone clashing with Bruce’s deep sigh.

“Robin,” Dick warns over the comms. “One sec; I’ll call him.”

Tim waits, staring hard at the empty spot across from him as if expecting Jason to just manifest before his very eyes, to just stretch through reality’s fabric with some quip about being fashionably late.

“Damn. No answer. Oracle, can we get a ping on his location?”

“He’s probably out becoming intoxicated with Harper.”

Tim doesn’t need to see Damian’s face to know the pull of muted disgust twisting at his lips.

“Arsenal’s out of town,” Barbara mutters flatly in the comm. “And Hood’s phone tracker is showing he’s in his apartment. I can’t get much of a read on anything else. Looks like he finally cashed in on his word that he was going to rig his security systems to block us out.”

“We should move forward with the mission without him.”

Tim considers nudging a loose brick over the ledge of the roof, right above Damian. “He said he’d be here.” Tim knows Jason is a lot of things; he knows that Jason thrives off of disappointing his family, but he’s not one to go back on his word, not with something like this.

“Maybe something came up in Crime Alley? He did say he’d meet us after patrol.”

Tim can hear the worry hidden behind Dick’s easy tone, and he assumes Dick’s carefully redistributing his concern, spreading it out evenly so he doesn’t lose his cool.

“Huh,” Barbara mutters absently into the comms. “His phone tracker says he’s been in his apartment all day.”

“Maybe he left his phone in his apartment?”

“I don’t know. I’ve pulled security camera feeds from Crime Alley, hitting all the locations he frequents, and... well, nothing. Not a single sight of him all day.”

Tim stands fully, narrowly scanning his surroundings for any sign of Jason. He can’t shake the uneasy pull at his chest, and though he’s not physically close to the others, he assumes the feeling’s mutual based on the silence that follows.

“B, I don’t like this. He promised me he’d be here.”

Dick’s no longer working to hide his concern, and that just heightens Tim’s anxiety that something isn’t right. He tries to puzzle together and explanation based on the four times he’s seen Jason this week: twice in Crime Alley on patrol, once two days ago at the Bat Cave, and yesterday walking out of a convenience store. He can’t recall anything out of the ordinary, but Jason’s closed off, more so thanks to the lingering pull of the Lazarus Pit, so normal, outward, physical appearances mean little to nothing.

“Can we delay the recon?” Tim asks. “I’m only ten minutes from his apartment. I can go check and see if he’s there.”

“I don’t want you to go alone.”

“B,” Tim fights back with a groan. “You and Nightwing are thirty minutes out from my location. I can be there and back before you even get here.”

“Take Robin,” Dick says, and Tim has to fight back the unconscious need to sigh loudly. “I know you’re capable, Red, but humor me. You two are stronger together.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

Damian’s voice is bleeding annoyance, and for once, Tim can agree with how he’s feeling.

“No,” Bruce mutters, sounding almost distracted. “Hood has made many enemies since coming back to Gotham, and you have no idea what you are walking into. You both go, and you both come back immediately if he’s not there.”

“Keep the line open, and stay in contact, Little Wings.”

Tim rolls his eyes and grapple hooks off the building, landing near Damian. “Okay,” he mutters into the comm, and Damian only scoffs at him and starts off toward Jason’s apartment, leaving Tim to catch up.

***

“You’re going to hack his security system?”

“Yes?” Tim frowns at Damian. “How else are we going to get in?” He starts tapping at a keypad outside of Jason’s apartment door.

“Knocking?”

“Tried that once,” Tim mutters, mind half-focused on the conversation and half-focused on working around Jason’s security. “Almost got shot.”

“You what?” Dick’s voice is alarmed in Tim’s ear, but he disregards it. 

“And you think breaking and entering won’t get us shot?”

Tim shrugs, working around the final code until he hears multiple locks click open. “Don’t get hit,” he mutters, slowly opening the door. He tenses to alert, and he can see Damian match his stance at his side.

They step inside, quietly and carefully, and though Tim’s been here before, he’ll never not be mutely surprised at how domestic the entire place is. There are books stacked on a small coffee table. A blanket’s draped across the couch, and the TV’s on with the sound muted. The lights are on in his living room, kitchen, and bathroom.

Tim glances at Damian, sharing a silent conversation before they begin their quick, quiet search. Tim starts to the kitchen while Damian pads silently down the hall.

The kitchen’s a mess. Dishes are piled high in the sink and are littering the small kitchen table. There’s a bag on a counter, the same bag Tim remembers seeing Jason walk out of the convenience store with. He moves to it, looking to see various medicines tipped over in the bag. Frowning, he makes to pick one up, but then he hears a very loud gun shot accompanied by a very uncharacteristic curse.

“Damian!” Tim drops the bag and whips out of the kitchen to the bedroom, ripping his domino off as he walks in to see Jason shakily propping himself up on one elbow in bed with an even shakier hand aiming a gun at Damian.

“Jason, stop! It’s just us!”

“Was that a gun shot?”

Tim ignores Dick’s frantic question in his ear, instead edging around the room, eyes searching over Damian in the dark. “Were you hit?”

“Of course not,” Damian spits out, stepping forward toward the barrel of the gun and ripping it from Jason’s hand. He clicks the safety and drops the gun to the floor, and then he’s tugging a glove off and slapping a hard hand to Jason’s forehead, interrupting Jason’s deep, wet coughing.

Damian clicks his tongue, a frowm sharp on his face. “You’re burning up.”

Jason weakly slaps Damian’s hand away, staring a look filled to the brim with sharp daggers between the two, stopping on Tim.

“Did you break into my fucking apartment? Again?”

“Tim, what the hell is going on?”

Ignoring Dick once more, Tim reaches around to hit the light switch on the wall, frowning when Jason winces hard.

“You didn’t show up for the recon,” Tim supplies, his stomach twisting at the sight of Jason, of the angry red splotches coloring his otherwise pale cheeks, the sweat shining on his forehead, the inconsistent shivers wracking his broad frame. He studies the way Jason’s face twists around his words.

“That’s because it’s Thursday.”

Tim’s heart clashes with worry, and he and Damian share a glance. He’s surprised to see Damian sporting a similar look of muted concern.

“Jay, it’s Friday.”

“No, it ain’t,” Jason grumbles, hand slapping around on his bed until he finds his phone.

Tim watches as Jason’s face falls.

“Oh.” Jason spares a glance through his messages, unable to read much because his headache is making it hard to concentrate. He looks up from his phone, turning to see a rubber bullet lodged into the wall beside Damian’s head. “Did I hit you?”

“No,” Damian mutters, frowning. He slips around the room, pausing by Tim on his way out. “I’m going to talk with Father and Grayson. You should get a read on his fever.”

Nodding, Tim waits until he can hear Damian’s quick talking with Dick and Bruce before he moves to Jason’s bathroom to find a thermometer, snagging a traditional, under the tongue, mercury one before making his way back to Jason’s room.

“How long have you been sick?”

“How did you hack into my security systems again?”

Tim sighs, cocks his head to the side. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Fuck,” is all Jason replies with, and he takes the thermometer Tim hands him and slips it under his tongue.

“Three minutes,” Tim says, ignoring the sharp look Jason shoots him. “You know they make thermometers now that will tell you your temperature in seconds, right? Why the hell do you have this old thing?”

“Alfred left it a few months ago.”

“No talking,” Tim points out, and Jason glares hard under glassy eyes.

“Then stop asking me fucking questions.”

Tim’s mouth snaps shut, and once he counts to the 180th second, he leans forward and snags the thermometer from Jason’s lips, studying the 102.4 degree reading, equating it with Jason’s other, apparent symptoms.

“Have you been around anyone who’s had the flu recently?”

“I don’t have the flu,” Jason mutters despite the chesty coughs that rip up his throat. “Just a cold.”

Tim takes a step back and crosses his arms. “High fever, coughing, chills, I imagine you have a headache based on the wince when I turned on the lights, and you probably have a sore throat since your voice is physically hurting my ears.”

“What? Are you a doctor now?”

“No, I’m just not an idiot,” Tim spits back, and Jason only grunts and flops back against his pillow, tugging his blanket up with a hiss.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll suit up.”

Tim... does not expect that, and he’s about to scold Jason in a way he’s sure would make Dick proud when Damian slips back into the room.

“Father called Clark. They are pulling in backup for the recon.”

“Well, why’d he go and do something stupid like that?”

Tim rips his eyes from Damian back to Jason to see Jason shuffling around his room for his suit.

“Jason, what the hell?” Tim spits out, moving to Jason’s side when Jason starts to sway. “Sit down.” He nudges Jason back toward the bed, but Jason, despite how sick he is, fights against him.

“We have a recon, don’t we?” He turns to Damian and barks out a cough. “Demon, call B and tell him we’re coming.”

“Todd, you’re too sick. You’d just hold us back.”

Tim takes the distraction to lightly shove Jason back onto the bed.

“I think I’d rather have Dick here,” Jason groans, coughing harshly into his pillow. “At least he has good bedside manner.”

“He and father are already on their way.”

“Fantastic,” Jason growls, curling in on himself and coughing harshly.

Tim moves to pull the blankets up over Jason’s shivering frame, stopping when Damian’s hand wraps around his wrist. “Let me go, Dami.”

“No. I have very specific instructions to relocate you away from Todd.”

“What the hell? Why?” Tim digs his heels into the floor when Damian pulls on his wrist, but he stumbles forward when Jason lazily kicks him in the back of the leg.

“No spleen, idiot. Get the fuck outta here.”

“I’m fine,” Tim tries, but Damian’s grip is hard enough to bruise, so he relents with a loud sigh. “Jesus, fine...” He rips his hand free and stalks to the door. “Get him medicine and make sure he doesn’t die.”

***

The deep inhale of nicotine burns Jason’s lungs and brings forth a chesty round of coughing that hurts. He absently rubs at his chest, shivering, and takes in another puff of his cigarette, and then another, desperately repeating this action to chase away the edge of angered anxiety that comes when he’s near Bruce. He leans over the balcony with another shiver, watching his shaking exhale cloud before him.

He hears the balcony door open, but the footsteps are too light to be Bruce’s. They are also too determined to be Tim’s, and too deliberate to be Damian’s. He doesn’t look back when a blanket is draped over his shoulders, and he only scoffs quietly when Dick plucks the cigarette from his fingers and drops it over the side of the balcony.

“You would still smoke when you have the flu.”

Jason doesn’t reply, not finding the energy for a snarky retort. “What have you all been doing out there?” he asks instead, tugging the blanket tighter around him to fend off the chills.

“Damian’s cleaned your kitchen, and now he’s reorganizing your movie collection. Tim started reading one of your books, but he fell asleep. And Bruce has been staring at your bedroom door as if willing you to run out and give him a big, bear hug.”

Jason huffs out a laugh that quickly morphs into deep coughs. He can feel Dick’s hand on his back as he coughs into his shoulder.

“And you?”

“Oh, I’m alternating between Candy Crush and Words with Friends with Barbara. She’s kicking my ass.”

Jason smiles, tired but genuine, feeling the anxiety flutter off with Dick’s presence. “How long til you all get the fuck out?”

“I don’t think Bruce is going to leave until he’s sure you are okay. Not sure that we can wake Tim right now, and Damian won’t leave until Bruce does.”

“And you?” Jason repeats, and Dick cocks his head to the side with an easy smile.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to stay.”

Humming, Jason shivers again, and he allows Dick to guide him back into his room and to his bed. Dick carefully tucks him in, and Jason’s too tired and too feverish to mind.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps out suddenly, and Dick’s hands freeze, and he frowns.

“For what?”

“I promised I would show up.”

“Hey, Jay, it’s okay. I’m just glad you’re safe.” Dick brushes the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead, a sympathetic hum slipping up his throat at the heat. “No more smoke breaks until you’re better. You’re still burning up.”

“You’re saying you’ll support my chain smoking when I’m all better?” Jason bats his eyelashes, and Dick sighs and stands, swatting at Jason’s covered leg.

“Don’t twist my words. I’m going to toss all your cigarette packs out.”

Jason growls lightly, a few coughs mixing with it, and he curls onto his side, wishing the stupid medicine Damian forced into him would kick in a lot faster. “You have until 99,” he mutters to Dick, who’s already filling a small trash bin with cigarette packs.

“What?”

“99,” Jason repeats with a harsh cough that hurts his chest. “When my temp hits 99, I want you all out.” There’s no heat to his tone, and he struggles against the fatigue pulling against him.

“99,” Dick clarifies with a soft smile. “You got it, Jaybird.”

[niksixx]

Close as Strangers

Requested: Nope! 

Pairing: The Dirt!Tommy Lee x Fem!Reader 

Description: Based on the song ‘Close as Strangers’ by 5 Seconds of Summer. Lyrics are bold and italicized. 

A/N: Reblog and leave your own tags!! Thanks for supporting me :) 

*GIF is NOT mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner.*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six weeks since I’ve been away

And now you’re saying everything has changed

And I’m afraid that I might be losing you

And every night that we spend alone

It kills me thinking of you on your own

And I wish I was back home next to you

Tommy had a job to do whether you liked it or not. Mötley Crüe was at the height of their success, landing tours in countries all across the globe. Being unfamiliar with the music scene, having a rockstar boyfriend was much harder than it looked. You supported him in every way, being there for him as his fame grew, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said it wasn’t difficult at times.

Shortly after Mötley Crüe’s debut in America, your relationship crossed over the line from casual to serious. You and Tommy adored each other, two halves of one whole, but lately you felt your relationship slipping right through your fingers. And the worst part was there was no motivation to save it.

“I’ve only been gone six weeks, honey.”

Six weeks too many. Now on his second tour, Tommy was busier than ever. Phone calls after every show were either late or nonexistent. In the event that he didn’t call, you tried not to take it personally, finding random things around the house to keep you busy, to keep your mind from wandering.

And then the plethora of rumors started and knocked the wind out of you. Tommy would never cheat on you, his heart was too loving, his soul too pure, but the paparazzi pictures did their job of convincing you that maybe Tommy had been unfaithful.

There was no denying that your relationship was dwindling, changing for the worst. In your bed, the side Tommy slept on grew colder and colder each night he was gone. The body pillow that rests in his place was too soft, lacking the firmness of Tommy’s body that you’d grown to love as you fell asleep beside him. The blankets didn’t compare to having his arms wrapped tightly around your frame.

Everything was just...different.

“Am I...am I losing you?”

No.

No.

No.

It was the word you wanted to scream out to him on the other end of the line, but it wasn’t the word that came out.

“I miss you so much, babe. I hate that I’m not there with you. I’d do anything to come back home to you.”

And you’d give anything to have him back, too.

Are we wasting time? Talking on a broken line?

Telling you I haven’t seen your face in ages

I feel like we’re as close as strangers

Won’t give up, even if it hurts so much

Every night I’m losing you in a thousand faces

Now it feels we’re as close as strangers

On the other end of the line, you can hear Tommy’s name being called either by his bandmates, groupies, or partygoers that found their way backstage after the show. He was easily distracted, shouting back and forth or laughing, forgetting that you were patiently, tiptoeing the line of impatiently, waiting for him on the other end.

“Tommy.”

“What? Oh, shit, I’m sorry babe.”

He was always sorry.

Sorry for leaving.

Sorry for forgetting to call.

Sorry about the photos.

Sorry for the excessive drinking.

Sorry for becoming distracted midway through your conversation.

Overtime, the word ‘sorry' lost its value.

And when it did, you became even more distant, intolerant of his inconsistencies.

“Baby?”

“Tommy, I haven’t seen you in three months. The least you can do is give me five fucking minutes on the phone.”

“Woah. Damn. Chill out. I was just talking to Vince.”

“Chill out?” You ask dramatically, now sitting upright in bed. “Chill out? You see Vince every day, Tommy. All I want is a sliver of your time, five minutes, and you’re giving me a hard time about that?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Tommy sighs sadly, scrubbing a hand over his face. Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, he hastily digs a cigarette from his pocket. He lights it and puffs out a cloud of smoke. “Are you okay, baby? You’re awfully snippy.”

You had every right to be snippy. Miles away in a foreign country, Tommy was living the life he always wanted for himself, all the while you were at home, going through the motions of an ordinary day seven days a week.

At times you were jealous of his success, as it had been the factor that took him away from you. It was hard being cooped up alone in a house that was meant for two people.

In theory, you’d be fine if the effort was there. But amid Tommy’s hectic lifestyle, you were floating in the background unseen.

The sigh from your lips was one of defeat. “No, Tommy, I’m not okay. I feel like my boyfriend is a stranger to me now. I miss you more and more every night, but lately I feel like giving up.”

Tommy pauses, heart racing. His grip on the cigarette tightens. He didn’t like where this was going. “On what?”

The lump in your throat grows, fingers gripping the phone tighter. You almost choke on the words, wondering if it’s a sign to hold them back. “On us.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Tommy repeats in a rush, hand firmly planted against the cool brick wall behind the payphone. “Don’t say that, baby. Don’t you dare say that. I love you. I love you so much, you know that, right? And I miss you. I miss you all the time. When I’m up on that stage and I look out into the crowd, the only face I don’t see that I really want to see is yours.”

Maybe you should’ve kept the words at bay. But what good would hiding your feelings do? Even thousands of miles away, Tommy could pick up on the cues. The slightest change in your voice could send him into a panic.

“Tommy, being away from you for so long is so exhausting and I just...I don’t want to spend my time sulking and crying and waiting for you to come home. You’re struggling to make time for me when all I want is a five minute phone call, the media keeps reporting that you’re drinking more than usual, and the photos...the photos are tearing my heart in pieces.” You try not to think of the photos or of the groupies that made it their priority to sleep with men like Tommy, but the images were burned into your brain. “I feel like you’ve been on tour forever and I just can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

Tommy’s world comes crashing down around him. Just thinking of you ending the relationship has him sucking in nervous breaths, mind whirling with possible solutions to save your relationship. There was no way he was letting you get away from him. He wouldn’t give you up so easily.

“What if you come on tour with us?” He questions suddenly. “You wouldn’t have to worry about seeing me because we’d always be together. Come on baby, let me show you the world.” He’s sure this idea will work. You’ve mentioned before how the rest of the world seems nonexistent, as you’ve never traveled anywhere outside your immediate country. He’s giving you the chance, and he hopes you’ll take it.

But his high hopes come crashing down as you don’t think twice about rejecting his proposal. “I have my own life to live, Tommy. I can’t drop everything and spend the next four months in twenty different cities. I have to work so I can pay rent and pay for groceries and bills. Be realistic.”

Tommy frowns, crushing the butt of his cigarette under his boot. “You were just complaining about not seeing me. I give you a way to do that and you shut it down.”

The tips of your nails suddenly become important as you cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder. You pick and pick, teeth biting the corner of your bottom lip as you do so.

“Baby, tell me where your head’s at,” His voice is small now, unsure. “Tell me you’ll always be here. Please tell me I’m not losing you.”

“I want to be able to say those things. But you’re halfway across the world right now and I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I need you here.”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end of the line as you find yourself sliding off the bed and trudging to the window, staring out into the dark sky. The crescent moon is the only thing illuminating the outside world along with a few street lights on the pavement. Around you, the world outside is quiet. The thoughts in your head? Not so much.

It was a conversation you never wanted to have, but it was necessary. You and Tommy were two different people who needed different things. Was there a chance you were acting selfish by pleading with him to come home? No doubt.

You knew Tommy would never give up his job despite his immense love for you. And while you wanted him to come home, you couldn’t force that decision out of him.

Which is why you had to make the decision yourself.

On the phone I can tell that you wanna move on

Through the tears I can hear that I shouldn't have gone

Everyday gets harder to stay away from you

“Don’t do this,” Words break through Tommy’s quiet sobs as his body is curled in a ball on the floor beside his hotel bed. After receiving what had been the worst news of his life, his legs had given out from underneath him, his body crumbling to the ground. “Please, baby. Don’t do this to us.”

After sleeping on it for a few days, you realized that the only thing you could do was break things off with Tommy. The road to your decision was a long and rough one, but hopefully it would be worth it if there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

But it was hard. Leaving your love behind wasn’t supposed to be easy. You had your doubts, and numerous what-ifs made you question your decision.

In the end, you knew it was the right choice even if your stubborn boyfriend wouldn’t agree with you. It wasn’t fair to make Tommy give up his dream in the middle of the band’s success. It was okay to be selfish at times, but this wasn’t one of them.

“You don’t know how hard this is for me,” There’s a crack in your voice, and soon a few tears leak from your eyes. Curled in a ball as well, your body sits heavily on the kitchen floor, back pressed against the stove. “I don’t want to do this. I really don’t want to do this, Tommy. But I can’t ask you to give up your dreams and come home. That’s selfish, and I love you too much to make you choose.”

“You’re not even giving me a choice,” Tommy says angrily, tears flowing freely. He runs a hand through his hair, dragging it down over his face, before slapping it lifelessly against his leg. Exhaling a shaky breath, Tommy leans his head back against the side of the bed. “I shouldn’t have gone. Fuck this, I’m coming home.”

“Tommy, no.” The tone of your voice is firm. You won’t let him sabotage his dreams on your account. “Listen to me. I love you. I do. But this isn’t working for us.”

“It’s not working for you,” Tommy corrects sarcastically, wiping his eyes with the back of his free hand. “Last I checked I wasn’t the one ending our relationship.”

You should have expected this, but his words stung as he spit them back to you. There’s no way you can blame him. He’s hurt. He’s angry. You deserve the lashing out for blindsiding him.

“You know I never cheated on you, right?” Tommy sniffles. The thought of being unfaithful to you had never even crossed his mind. “The photos, I mean.”

You nod. “I didn’t think you would.”

The long pause between the phone line is eerie. Tommy’s labored breathing is audible on the other end of the phone, and it’s not the type of breathing from the exhaustion after a wild show. It’s panic. It’s fear. It’s the feeling of loss.

“I told myself I’d fight for you, but if this is what you want, then I’ll let you go,” The words surprise you. Part of you had already imagined Tommy packing for the first available flight, but the defeat in his voice told you otherwise. He was staying put. “You deserve to be happy, and if I can’t do that then--.”

“Tommy, you’ve made me so happy. The happiest I’ve ever been,” There was no denying that. You had never laughed more, smiled more, loved more, than when Tommy became an integral piece of your life. “But it’s just--.”

“Right person, wrong time?”

The last piece of your beating heart shatters. The phone almost slips from your clammy palm as the reality of his words hit you. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Your life would be different if you’d met Tommy at the right time. There’d be no hesitation, no confusion, just blissful love.

Tommy clears his throat and it sinks into your bones that there was a large possibility this would be the last conversation you’d have with him. “Before you go, I want you to know something,” Tommy pauses to gather his thoughts. “I want you to know that we’re going to be together again one day. When all this is over, I’m going to find you, and I’m never going to let you go. You’re the one for me, Y/N. I’m letting you go now because I love you, but I’m going to win you back again. That’s a promise.”

One final tear slips down your cheek. “I hope you do.”

[trashforhockeyguys]

Don’t Hold Me -11- Carter Hart

A/N: Buckle up? That’s really all I can say. Get ready.

It was quiet inside the spare bedroom. Despite the lights of the city beneath you, it was quiet and lonely. Everytime you closed your eyes you saw another scene from your previous life. Another time where you’d been hurt, and yet you’d lied about all of it to spare him. You wouldn’t be able to get back those years that you lost because you were convinced he loved you. You were convinced that if you just covered up for him, that he’d stick to his promise and things would be different. They never were different though.

You sat up in a cold sweat. Your body seemed to burn. You almost thought that if you rolled up the sleeves of your sweatshirt, that you’d see the bruises again. You shook in the bed. You normally felt safe here, but now you just felt scared and alone. 

You carefully climbed out of the bed. You weren’t even sure if Carter was still awake. It was the middle of the night, and you knew they’d had a long practice this morning. He was most likely already asleep. But you couldn’t stand to be left alone to the dreams. He already knew you had nightmares, did it really matter why they were back with such a fury? 

There was no light coming from under his door, yet you opened it anyway. He was sprawled out on his stomach. You could see his hair splayed out over his face. He looked peaceful in a way you hadn’t seen before. There was nothing but peace about him. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you slowly made your way over to the bed. There was just enough space for you to slip in and go relatively unnoticed. You could explain why you were there in the morning. You probably wouldn’t sleep much anyway. Not now. 

You carefully peeled back the blanket and tried to slide into the bed without moving too much. He stirred, drawing in a sharp breath.Through the dim light you could see his eyes open and the sleep filled confusion. He still moved over to allow you a little more space. 

“Are you okay?” His voice was deep, laced with sleep, but still soft. 

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. You could hear him sigh slightly and lift the blankets more for you, “C’mon.”

Despite this being the first time you’d ever even thought about getting in the same bed as him, he acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Or maybe he just understood that you wouldn’t be here unless you really needed him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked as he wrapped the blanket around you and tucked you into his arms. 

You shook your head again and fought the tears that burned your eyes. You didn’t want to cry with him again, but you couldn’t help it. You were so tired and scared of even walking outside. You tried to act like you weren’t afraid, but every little thing scared you. Because he was still here in the city. He was watching you. He was waiting for the perfect time to get a hold of you. And you knew that. You knew it was only a matter of time. But what were you supposed to do? You had school, a life. You couldn’t just hide out for the rest of the semester and hope that he got tired of waiting around for you to show up. Because you knew he wouldn’t. He’d keep waiting, and if he couldn’t get you, he’d go through anyone he had to. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Carter whispered, kissing the top of your head, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You shook your head and clutched onto him. You wanted to feel safe for just a moment. You wondered if he could share his peace with you. But you could feel his strong arms around you, holding you close to him. 

Hot tears fell down your cheeks before you could stop them. Your whole body shook in his arms as he tried to calm you down. His bed was warm and inviting. Being close to him was almost enough to quell your fears. Almost..

“Nightmares?”

You nodded slowly, still not sure if you could even get a word out. He seemed to understand that they’d gotten bad. And although he still never told you about the first night you spent here, he couldn’t help but remember the way you’d wake up screaming. Or how you were begging for someone to stop. 

His heart broke because he knew he couldn’t really do anything to help you or make them stop. So he held you and hoped that one day your mind would heal like your body had. He hoped that your heart wouldn’t stay broken forever. Because even though he knew he couldn’t tell you, Carter was falling madly in love with you. He loved every bit of you, even the broken parts. So if a few sleepless nights were the price he had to pay, he’d do it. 

“I’ll chase the boogeyman away if he comes back,” He tried to joke. He just wanted to see you smile, just once. 

He wanted you to feel safe with him. But he also wanted to understand what was going on. All of the sudden you seemed so much worse than you’d been. Patty told him when he’d come over that you and TK had gotten in a fight. But Patty wouldn’t tell him what it was about. 

Carter would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about you, the beautiful and strong girl, that was crying in his arms. He wished he could help you somehow. He wasn’t used to feeling useless, but that’s all he felt. 

So he just held you as you cried, and eventually drifted off to sleep. You were so still in his arms. He watched you for what felt like hours, hoping you’d sleep soundly through the rest of the night. Every so often, you would shift a little and snuggle deeper into the bed. He’d smile and hold you a little tighter.  He could feel his chest ache. For a second, Carter wished this could be every night, and that nightmares weren’t the thing that drove you to his bed for the first time. He knew you’d apologize in the morning. You’d keep saying you didn’t mean to. You’d find a way to seemingly talk yourself out of this small moment.

But to him, it wasn’t a small moment at all. He was holding you while you slept, which had only happened once before. But he was holding you while in his bed. You’d come to him, you’d trusted him enough to be here. 

He wished you trusted him more, he wanted you to feel comfortable with him. Like how you did with Travis. But he knew he couldn’t push you, and he wouldn’t dream of it. He didn’t want to risk spooking you. So he’d be patient and he’d wait. Carter would wait for as long as you needed him to. So he held you, and he waited. 

You woke up early the next morning, instantly feeling warm and cozy. You nuzzled into the blankets, not wanting to move yet. It took you a few moments to realize that there was an extra weight on you, and the bed felt different. You shot up, looking around you in a panic. You couldn’t remember where you were. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Carter was sitting up with you within seconds. His hand was on your shoulder, trying to calm you, “It’s okay, Y/N.”

You shook your head and started to move the blankets off of you. Panic was setting in. This wasn’t meant to happen. You weren’t meant to wake up here. You felt mortified, you’d hoped coming to his bed was just a dream.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” You rushed to say, “I- I woke you up last night. I’m so sorry. We can just forget it happened.”

“Y/N, slow down,” Carter didn’t want you to panic like this, “It’s okay. Really, you needed sleep more than I did.”

You shook your head. Your heart was hammering in your chest. Why did you think this was a good idea? You shouldn’t have gotten out of your bed. Or maybe you shouldn’t have even stayed the night. You could’ve gone back to your dorm. You shouldn’t be in this situation. 

“Hey, come here,” he said softly, “It’s okay. I’d rather you wake me up when you’re having nightmares. I don’t want you to feel like you have to deal with all of this on your own. Okay? I’m here, no matter what.”

Your body slowly relaxed. Although you never wanted to lean on anyone like this. You didn’t like the feeling. But you knew he meant what he was saying. But that still didn’t mean you were ready to depend on him. Your heart wanted to, but your head kept reminding you of everything that could happen. 

You trusted Carter, you wouldn’t be in his apartment, much less his bed, if you didn’t. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t terrified of every moment. You knew that all of this could end in a split second. He could just as easily stop being the great guy. You tried so hard not to think about things like that, but you couldn’t help it. 

But before you could even let yourself overthink it anymore, your phone started ringing. You’d forgotten that you even brought it into the bedroom with you. You sighed when you saw your roommate’s name on the screen, which gave you an excuse to get out of the bed, just so you could have a few seconds to breathe. 

“Kora, hey. Sorry, I meant to text you and tell you I wasn’t coming back last night but-”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass, Carter texted me anyway,” She replied, “But, you did forget to mention your brother was coming.”

“What?”

“Your brother is in our dorm room.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“For fuck’s sake, Ethan is literaly five feet from me,” She groaned, “I don’t know how many other ways I can say that. Jesus, you’re supposed to be the smart one! He said he’s coming to get you for breakfast.”

“What’s going on?” Carter asked from behind you. 

You turned, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that your brother was here in Philly. He didn’t even tell you he was coming. You hadn’t talked to him all week. Last you heard, he was working on getting a coaching job for one of the local travel teams.

“My brother is here.”

“Ethan?”

“Yeah, um...Kora said he’s in our dorm. I uh...I have to go.”

“Okay, I’ll drive you.”

“No...Ethan is coming to get me.”

You felt a little dazed. There was too much going on for you to process. You didn’t even like going out now, but you couldn’t tell Ethan that. He didn’t need to know how you were feeling. How scared you were of everything. And Carter...you felt so many things about him. You didn’t even know how to sort through everything you felt about him and for him. 

Everything was confusing for you. But you didn’t really have the time to sort through it, not with Ethan apparently on his way to get you. You tried not to think about the fact that Travis might’ve called him and told him what was going on. You hoped that he didn’t know. You didn’t want him to worry more than he already did. 

“I’ll call you later,” You told Carter.

You only made it a few steps before he stopped you. His eyes were soft as he brushed some stray hair out of your face. You weren’t used to anyone looking at you like that. You couldn’t exactly tell what he was thinking either. He was a mystery to you. 

“Don’t push me away,” he practically begged. 

You felt your heart ache. You wished you knew how to tell him what you felt. You wished you could tell him what was going on. You wanted to reassure him, just as he reassured you everyday. But you didn’t know how. 

So, you did the only thing you knew how to do. You leaned up and gently kissed him before wrapping your arms around him. You laid your head on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. His arms held you tightly. He understood that this was all you could give him. But he didn’t dare take it for granted, he knew that this was a very large step for you. 

“I’ll call you, I promise.”

It wasn’t until he heard the front door shut that he sat back down on his bed and finally said the words that were bouncing around in his head for weeks now, “I love her.”

Downstairs, you waited on the sidewalk for Ethan to pull up. He’d texted to say he was just a few minutes out. You kept bouncing on your feet to try to stay warm. Your cheeks were red as you finally thought about the fact that you spent most of the night cuddled up next to Carter. You slept in his arms. You felt safe with him. You were so distracted with the idea that you were most certainly falling in love with Carter, that you didn’t even notice the man walking towards you. Until you heard the voice that stopped your heart and sent your whole body into survival mode. 

“Hello, Y/N.”

When you turned, his smile alone was enough to make your blood run cold. You were frozen where you stood. He found you.

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XII.ii

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Behold, a new - very emotional - chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕

come take a look at the incredible art for this chapter by the one and only @gen-syz-art right here ✨

and please, mind the tags on Archive

______________________

Geralt keeps himself busy with taking notes from a bestiary he’d found on one of the shelves in the library a few days ago, and he doesn’t even notice as a few hours go by.

It’s only when he hears the familiar tap-tap-tap of Asra’s and Lucio’s claws against the floor that he realises Jaskier must’ve woken up and let them out of the room.

The dogs make their way to Geralt, wagging their tails and licking his hand when he reaches out to pet them, and he needs to shift closer to one side of the chair to make space for Asra that has taken to curling up next to him and sleeping with her head in his lap.

He doesn’t mind it though he knows that it makes Lucio a little jealous.

“Would you look at you two, simply made for each other,” Jaskier teases, coming into the room.

He’d changed from the clothes he’d had on in the morning, and is now wearing a chemise of black silk, adorned with intricate emerald-green lace on the cinched wrists and the high neckline. It’s a pattern of leaves and flowers, all woven together close enough for there to be barely any skin showing.

“You look beautiful,” Geralt says, without even thinking about it, and Jaskier blushes under his gaze.

“What did you do here without me?” he asks, coming closer and giving Asra a jealous little look.

Geralt gestures to his notes on the table beside the chair and the open bestiary on top of them. He wants to get Asra back onto the floor, and have Jaskier in his lap instead of her, but she might take offence in that, and Geralt just isn’t willing to risk it.

He is, however, fully entitled to just stand up and move to the settee, which is exactly what he does, taking Jaskier with him by the hand.

Asra raises her head and snorts at him but doesn’t really protest, especially when Lucio jumps up onto the chair, and they curl up together.

“Can’t get your hands off me, can you?” Jaskier teases when Geralt pulls him down onto the settee, but he goes willingly, regardless.

He settles comfortably against Geralt’s chest, a pleased little rumble escaping his lips when the witcher pulls a blanket over both of them, keeping out the cold. It’s not winter just yet, but there are only a few more weeks left. And Redania has never really been warm.

“You don’t have to stay in the mansion all the time, you know,” Jaskier murmurs after a little while of comfortable silence. “If you want to go hunting or maybe just take Roach out for a ride, you can. I don’t want you to feel like you must stay on this side of the gates just because I do.”

Geralt hasn’t really thought about it. But knowing that Jaskier cares makes his chest feel warm.

“I like it here with you,” he says, running his fingers through the bard’s hair. “But I could bring you little things from the outside, like berries or herbs, make you feel more connected to the world.”

Jaskier hums, nuzzling against his chest and pressing a kiss to it through the fabric of Geralt’s shirt.

“Little rocks,” he says.

“What was that?”

“Little rocks. Pebbles from the river. Sometimes there are colourful ones, I used to collect them when I was in the Academy.”

“I’ll bring you little rocks, then,” Geralt agrees, and it might just be the most sentimental thing he’d ever said to anyone. “The colourful ones.”

Jaskier raises his head from his chest and leans in, leaving a warm, grateful kiss on Geralt’s lips. It makes the witcher shiver all over.

Before Jaskier can break away, he kisses him again, just as soft, and the bard returns it, shifting just enough to get a better angle. Even as he breaks the kiss to take in a breath, their lips still touch, and then Geralt can feel the wet brush of his tongue on his lips.

Jaskier doesn’t deepen the kiss, just teases, and though Geralt allows him to play his little games, he’s got a few tricks of his own.

Leaving one hand where it’s resting on Jaskier’s waist, he brings the other one higher, running his fingers up the line of the bard’s spine, and the way he gasps when Geralt brushes over the mark in-between his shoulder blades might just be the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Unfair,” he whispers into Geralt’s ear, but the next moment he’s already shifting to straddle his hips.

Geralt doesn’t let himself give in that easily.

“No,” he grins, rolling his hips just enough for Jaskier to feel it. “What was unfair is you teasing me when I was here last time, making it harder and harder to resist.”

Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers over the top three buttons on Geralt’s shirt, and they open, giving him better access to the witcher’s neck. Geralt nearly whines at the little pinpricks of magic against his skin.

“You didn’t have to resist, Geralt,” Jaskier murmurs, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the witcher’s neck, right under the sharp of his jaw. “You could have just taken what you wanted.”

Feeling braver, Geralt tugs on the hem of Jaskier’s chemise, untucking it from the waist of his trousers, and slips his hand under the thin fabric, nearly burning himself with the heat of Jaskier’s skin. He wants to be more patient, but it’s been months of all those feelings burning in his chest, and he just can’t bring himself to.

Jaskier arches his back and presses his hips closer to Geralt’s as the witcher rucks his chemise up to his chest and runs both his hands up his sides, catching Jaskier’s lips in a kiss just in time to drink in his trembling little moan when he runs his fingers directly over the mark on his back.

“Is it really that sensitive?” he murmurs when Jaskier breaks away, his breathing hot against Geralt’s skin.

Jaskier nips at his lower lip in revenge, almost hard enough to break the tender skin.

“Yes,” he growls, pressing a hard, possessive kiss to Geralt’s neck and rolling his hips against his. “And if you keep doing that, you’ll pay for it later.”

Oh, but that is just way too tempting to resist.

“You need to work on your threats,” Geralt grins, dragging his nails down Jaskier’s back, gentle enough not to cause any pain.

Jaskier sucks in a breath, back arching, and hides his face in the cure of Geralt’s shoulders, shuddering all over.

Geralt medallion hums against his chest with the magic radiating off Jaskier, and on the desk by the window, all the books fly open, the pages turning as if disturbed by a sudden gust of wind.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes, and it’s so close to a whine that Geralt nearly loses his mind. “I can’t fucking control my magic when I’m with you.”

And gods, that might be the most incredible thing anyone’s ever said to Geralt.

He’s very aware of just how hard he is from merely a couple of kisses, and there is nothing he wants more than to flip them both around, lay Jaskier down onto the soft cushions and take him apart bit by bit, until he’s whimpering and shaking, but even more than that, he’s aware of just how important it is not to rush.

“We can slow down, if you want to,” he murmurs, pressing a warm, comforting kiss to Jaskier’s cheek. “I want you to be comfortable.”

Jaskier hums something, leaning into Geralt’s touch when he wraps his arms around his waist, gently brushing over the soft skin with his thumb.

“I am comfortable,” he says, averting his eyes almost apologetically. “I just need to adjust a little. I can barely contain my power when you touch me like that.”

Geralt tips his chin up and pulls him into a long, calming kiss.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he grins once Jaskier breaks away.

Jaskier rolls his eyes affectionately, and settles in more comfortably again, resting his head on Geralt’s shoulder.

It takes a little while for Geralt’s veins to stop burning but Jaskier’s steady breathing calms him, and really, just having him in his arms is enough.

There’s going to be time for everything else.

***

They stay in the library for the entire day, never really letting go of each other, and when Arthur comes in to bring them hot wine, he gives them a little look and Geralt could swear that he hides a smile beneath his moustache.

At some point, Asra and Lucio try to join them, but the settee isn’t big enough for all of them at once, so Jaskier gives them an apologetic look and feeds them treats that appear in his hand out of thin air.

Geralt can’t help but kiss him every chance he gets, still not quite able to believe that he’s allowed to do that now, and Jaskier smiles into his lips and kisses him back every time.

Dinner seems like an insufficient reason to get up, so they both just skip it, earning themselves another look from Arthur, this one slightly more disapproving. Jaskier gives him a charming smile in return and pointedly kisses Geralt on the corner of his lips.

It’s comfortable and easy, like they’ve known each other forever. Like everything has finally fallen into place.

“You know, I’ve had a lot of people in this mansion over the years,” Jaskier murmurs, tilting his head to sneak a look at Geralt. “But I’ve never spent entire days in the arms of any of them. Only you.”

He reaches up to brush his thumb over Geralt’s cheek, the sleeve of his chemise riding up, and the witcher already parts his lips to answer when he finally notices.

A cold shiver runs down his back, breath getting stuck in his throat, and Jaskier must notice that, because within seconds, he’s on his feet, holding his arm to his chest like a broken wing. His eyes are widened with fear, and the scent of it comes off him in waves, so strong that it’s overwhelming.

Still feeling like he’s unable to breathe, Geralt sits up slowly, careful not to startle Jaskier with any sudden movement, and his heart is beating so hard in his chest that it hurts.

“Jask--” he says softly. “What is that?”

He stands up to take a step towards the bard, but he backs away from him, terrified, tears shining in his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he says, voice shaking.

Slowly, Geralt takes another step, holding both his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. Jaskier doesn’t move away from him, but he still holds his arm to his chest, shaking all over.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries again, carefully closing in the distance between them until he is standing right in front of him. “Please. Let me see?”

Jaskier shakes his head stubbornly, clenching his fingers tighter.

“It’s nothing, Geralt, really--”

“Please,” the witcher repeats, cutting him off and holding his hand out. “I won’t hurt you. Just let me see.”

The seconds that go by in silence feel like an eternity, disturbed only by Jaskier’s soft sobs, until finally, very slowly, he takes his arm away from his chest and places his wrist in Geralt’s hand.

Geralt undoes the three little buttons on the side of his sleeve with shaking fingers, and Jaskier turns away, closing his eyes shut, tears glistening in his cheeks, as Geralt rolls his sleeve up.

There, on the perfect pale skin, is a long vertical scar, running from the bend of Jaskier’s wrist and all the way up to the middle of his forearm. Geralt knows enough about the marks that blades can leave on skin to know that it’s deep without having to touch it.

Geralt can feels his ears ringing even as he says:

“And the other one?”

Jaskier gives him his other arm without any words or resistance, but the broken sob that escapes his chest shatters Geralt’s heart into pieces.

“Jask--” he calls softly, reaching with his other hand to brush the bard’s hair out of his face, but when he tries to turn him towards him, Jaskier resists, refusing to open his eyes and look at him.

He’s still holding his other arm out, and Geralt takes it gently, forcing himself to take in a breath.

He undoes the buttons, and though he knows that there is going to be another scar on that arm, it still feels like a stab to the chest to roll up Jaskier’s sleeve and see it.

It’s identical to the one on his right arm, just as long and deep, and Geralt feels like his heart rips open in his chest with pain.

He should be used to scars but these ones take all air away from his lungs.

“I didn’t want you to know,” Jaskier sniffles, voice still shaking, and when Geralt raises his head, he finds the bard looking at him, blue eyes clouded up with tears. “Thought I could hide them from you for just a little longer.”

He looks so scared, so broken, and he’s still shaking all over as Geralt pulls him into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest. His eyes burn with tears, and he shuts them, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s temple.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair to comfort him. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

Jaskier clings onto him, shaking with silent tears, and Geralt holds him, whispering comforting little things and leaving kisses on his temple even as his own heart bleeds in his chest.

The thought of losing him long before they even met hurts much more than he ever could’ve thought.

Time stretches and passes by without Geralt knowing if it’s been minutes or hours. After what seems like an eternity, Jaskier’s sobs quiet down, and his tears dry, but he doesn’t let go of Geralt, his body still trembling.

After seemingly just as long, Geralt finally takes in enough air to ask:

“Why did you do it?”

Jaskier doesn’t respond for a few long seconds, just breathing, before breaking away to look at Geralt.

“I was scared,” he says quietly, letting Geralt take his wrists into his hands again. “I’ve been here for a little over three years when I noticed that I’m changing, that I’m growing older. I was only twenty-one, and no-one else would’ve noticed the difference, but I did. And it was-- gods, it was hard enough already, with being unable to step outside, trying to get a proper control of my power and just being alone, but that… it just hit me so much harder than I was able to take.”

Twenty-one. He could’ve died at twenty-one.  

“I tried not to think about it, I really did,” Jaskier says, his gaze falling onto his forearms. “But it became something that I couldn’t get rid of. Every time I saw myself in the mirror, I felt like it was getting worse. And I was so scared, so fucking scared of just slowly growing old and dying in this mansion, without ever taking another step outside, that one evening it just-- it just became too much.”

There are tears in his eyes again, running down his cheeks in wet lines, but he doesn’t take his hands away to wipe them off.

“I wanted control over at least something in my life, Geralt. And if I couldn’t choose the way I lived, I wanted to choose the way I died. I couldn’t stand the thought of just slowly rotting away within these walls, torn away from the outside world and completely forgotten by it, so I just… I decided to end my life before it could happen.”

Geralt can feel himself shake, and the longer he looks at the scars on Jaskier’s arms, the worse it gets. Just the thought of how scared he must’ve been to try and take his own life feels like it re-opens all of Geralt’s own scars, making him burn and bleed all over.

He can’t think of anything that he would not have done for Jaskier not to have those marks on his arms.

“Arthur found me,” Jaskier chuckles humorlessly. “The dogs felt the scent of blood and started barking, waking him up. I was unconscious by then but from what he’d told me, he’d knocked on my bathroom door for about a minute before breaking it down. Found me in the tub, stopped the blood, carried me to bed. I slept through four days straight, according to him.”

Geralt forcibly makes himself calm down, recalling everything he’d even been taught in Kaer Morhen. His mind keeps racing, but his body reacts like it had been trained to, and finally, he manages to stop himself from trembling.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that--” he says, barely above a whisper. “Gods, Jask, I’m just--”

He hates that he can’t find the right words, and he shuts his eyes again, leaning down to touch his lips to Jaskier’s wrists, leaving hard, dry kisses on both scars.

Jaskier flinches but doesn’t take his hands away.

“It took me a long time to recover after that,” he says quietly. “Not only physically, but mentally. I’ve spent a month in bed, barely getting up and just fucking crying. Everything hurt, especially the scars, and every time I moved my arm wrong, the pain just paralysed me.”

He sways a little on his feet, and pulls Geralt down onto the hide in front of the fireplace with him. Asra and Lucio jump down from their chair and come closer, sniffing and licking at him, and Jaskier smiles through the tears, hugging them both.

“They were still fresh when one night Arthur woke me up and said that there is a woman at the gates, begging to be let in,” he says, leaning into Geralt’s arms when the witcher opens them. “She turned out to be a mage. She was badly hurt and on the run from the witch hunters, so I hid her here.”

He seems to be calming down now, resting his back against Geralt’s chest, and as his breathing evens out, Geralt can feel himself being able to breathe again, as well.

He holds Jaskier in his arms, rocking gently from side to side, and presses soft kisses to his neck and shoulders. His heart is still beating too hard and too fast for a witcher but he listens without interrupting, letting Jaskier say everything that he needs to.

“I will tell you about her some other day, if you want me to,” Jaskier says, and Geralt can hear just how tired he is, how much this conversation is taking out of him. “But she stayed with me for a little over a month, healing her wounds and planning her next steps, and when she was ready to leave, she told me that in return for my kindness towards her, she would like to grant me any wish I choose. Of course, I asked her to break the curse. But even as I was saying those words, I knew that it’s too intricate to be broken that way.”

Asra and Lucio poke at him with their noses, whining in concern, and Jaskier smiles at them, leaning down to kiss both dogs on the noses.

“It’s alright, my loves,” he reassures before tilting his head to brush his lips over Geralt’s jaw and address him again. “But when she told me that it’s a curse that can only be broken by the mage that had cast it or by meeting the requirements, she also offered me something else. Over her days here, she’d noticed the healing scars on my arms, and when she asked, I just told her. So she offered me a deal. You’re going to stay young as long as you have a reason to live, she said. It seemed a little too good to be true, but I still took it.”

Jaskier turns around in Geralt’s arms and gently brushes a stray lock of his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. Geralt leans into the touch, closing his eyes, and it’s almost unexpected when Jaskier touches a gentle kiss to his lips.

And just as the meaning of Jaskier’s words fully sinks in, he says:

“Now, I don’t look twenty-five, do I?”

Geralt’s eyes fly open and it feels like he sees Jaskier for the first time, like he properly sees him for the first time. Because he’s right, He doesn’t look twenty-five. He looks twenty-one.

“It worked,” Geralt whispers.

The smile that Jaskier gives him is tired and small, but it still reaches his eyes.

“It worked,” he echoes. “And it gave me a reason to go on. Made me feel like I have it in me to keep looking for a way to break the curse without the constant fear of running out of time. And, gods, I’ve always been grateful for it but after I met you-- I’m happy I didn’t die that night.”

The words echo through Geralt’s mind what feels like a hundred times, and his chest gets so tight that he’s more than sure that his ribs are about to break.

He pulls Jaskier to his lips, kissing him with such desperation that it hurts, and Jaskier returns it fully, clinging onto Geralt’s shoulders. There is barely any air to breathe, but that doesn’t matter with just how much everything that he’d just heard makes Geralt feel.

“We’ll find a way to break it,” he whispers into Jaskier’s lips in-between kisses. “We will.”

“I know,” Jaskier nods. “I know, darling.”

He sounds exhausted, and though he’s not trembling anymore, Geralt knows that he needs to get some proper rest, needs to recover.

“You should go to bed,” he says softly, pressing a warm, chaste kiss to the bard’s forehead. “You’re tired.”

Jaskier hums something, hiding his face in the curve of Geralt’s shoulder for a few long seconds before breaking away and getting up, unsteady on his feet. Geralt does the same, never letting go of the bard’s hand.

“Geralt?” Jaskier calls softly, raising his head to meet the witcher’s eyes. “Could you stay with me for the night? After everything I’ve told you, I don’t want to be alone.”

Stay with him for the night.

Geralt’s heart skips a beat.

“Of course,” he says, closing his eyes when Jaskier leans into his arms again. “Of course, my love.”

[drabbles-of-writing]

Okay now you have to tell us what the siblings did to the Blight manor.

SOMEONE ASKED!!

well, first of all, they tear that bitch to the GROUND. it was during the first four years when they raid the place to grab Amity’s stuff and Dip Out. whole family was there while the parents were out at some meeting. came back to rooms on fire and over half of their belongings missing. they fixed it all up, obviously, but it was a HUGE talk for a while.

but what I really meant was when the twins inherited the manor. Something happens to the Blight parents, haven’t decided on if the bitches just died or moved away, and they suddenly own their old home. They rip out anything that has anything to do with their parents, change color schemes, furniture, all that and either chuck it in the trash or the darkest depths of the basement and set it ablaze. Burning the past away motherfuckers. And then, when all that’s done, they change the name. They thought about it for a while and eventually decided on the name; the Raven House. It was a joke between them, and also to tick off Lilith, but the name stuck. They even gave her a tiny picture above the door to solidify it. Eda still insists the Owl House is better than any big manor.

Once everything is finished and the manor is re-made, the ex-Blight’s all come to an agreement on what to do with it, since they all already had their own places and didn’t feel like moving into the house they were abused in. They say a final ‘fuck you’ to their parents and make it one big safehouse. By which I mean it’s like a shelter. Kids or young witches and humans alike (though the humans are just kids wandering by after getting in a fight with a monster or the older graduated kids when they need a little assistance) can come and stay in the Raven House to be safe and secured for however long they need.

Barcus is in charge of the place, and he looks after any kids who come along no matter the background. Some kids only stay for 24 hours, others stay for months, sometimes a few years, on end.  These are typically kids who have nowhere else to go or are on the run. We’ve got kids from the Isles, stowaways from other islands and even The Mainland, kids escaping abusive homes, orphans, kids who just need a break after getting lost/hurt nearby, the works. It’s a well-known place that’s completely free, since the Blight’s and even Lilith on occasion pay the taxes for it. It’s sweet for Barcus because he’s supplied with everything for free, but also hell because he has to deal with a bunch of kids on a daily basis. Luckily for him, he likes kids.

Course some witches or humans don’t understand Barcus, so he always has a chalkboard and chalk around his neck that he can hover in the air with his magic to write to the kids and help them learn how to understand him. If they can’t read, he usually has to call in one of the other kids in the House to help him out. No matter how long a kid stays, they are asked to carve their names on a large stone outside the manor. It used to be a statue in the front lawn the ex-Blight kids knocked over and left there, but it was repurposed. It’s littered with names and it’s not uncommon to find Barcus staring at the names or teaching some kids to read by having them read the names off the stone.

Now, the manor is big. It can easily house multiple packs of kids. But the thing is, it only has 6 bedrooms, and Barcus uses one of the smaller ones. Of course multiple kids could live in the same room, but there are some that need it more than others and aren’t comfortable with other kids. So the bigger bedrooms are saved for those kids (unless there’s an open spare one in which case it gets SWARMED) or Barcus asks the new kid to set up their stuff anywhere in the house, so long it didn’t interfere with others. Which leads to kids sleeping and hanging out in....interesting places. There’s always someone living in one of the bathrooms, three kids minimum at all times squirreling away in the closets (small and large), there’s a pile of pillows and blankets in the second dining room where kids hang out under the table, the big hallways have sleeping bags in them, some kid hid in one of the larger kitchen cabinets just because she could, there are SO MANY in the basement and attic, the library has all the nerds vibing on the bolted-down wall shelves and balconies, and one madlad set up a hut on the roof. Barcus isn’t happy with any of these but he supposes so long they don’t hurt themselves or own up to it being a bad idea later, he’ll deal with it. 

They also offer to send plenty of these kids to school (usually Hexside but sometimes others), but there are a few who refuse it and Barcus homeschools them. The rule of thumb with anyone who stays in the Raven House is that you WILL be smothered in an intense amount of Found Family and you CANNOT stop them. It’s a mad house and it’s glorious. They have their own kinds of memes and vines in that house and it’s law that if someone says “pubby” then EVERYONE in the vicinity has to tackle Barcus in a cuddle pile.

Others of the Owl Family often drop by as well. The first few times were a mess cause Barcus had to explain this was his family and no you don’t have to come down and say hi if you’re uncomfortable but please stop losing it every time Edric comes by we know he’s a fashion extraordinaire please- Camilia is one of the most common visitors, and the kids call her Aunt Camilia (a name she would vividly remember from her time in the human realm) and she teaches them all how to cook and tell them stories from the human realm. Barcus is very thankful because he needs one stable adult to help him with these kids. All the ex-Blights visit as well, though Amity slightly less because she’s so busy. Edric arrives just to show off, and Emira is a lot more refined n checks in on the kids, since her job is a children’s health care worker. Granted, Barcus does a pretty good job of being their therapist, he got a degree for a reason. Amity is a treat visit, because there’s always someone who knows she’s the Empress’s advisor and they all gawk at her for a minute before realizing she’s a shy dork n have fun info dumping on her bc she listens to them with rapt interest. Gus is a fun show, often taking down notes of the theatre kids and showing off his illusion magic, acting as his own little inspiration to them by being one of the best in his grade despite being significantly younger. He also tells his theories of the human realm which are still off and need to be corrected by Camilia. Willow is a lot more sweeter n is like the grandma who gives you too much candy but is also not afraid to beat someones ass. She’s one of the few adults All the kids respect. Luz is fun because she gives adventures and shows off a lot. And kids are always in awe at her tattoos and scars. Of course, Luz still has dumbass ideas every once in a while and ends up getting kicked out early in her visit on occasion. She showed kids how to swallow a light spell. Lilith shows up at least once a month for a little bit, and the kids always LOSE IT. At first it was genuine shock but eventually they just did it for fun because they knew it made Lilith embarrassed. Eda...god Eda is a visit kids are either excited for or dreading, depends if you can put up with her energy. Eda usually shows up when she’s bored, hiding from the cops or needs to steal something from the Raven House. She’s the weird eccentric grandma of everyone and she adores the kids. Her showing up often either ends in something catching on fire or a couple of kids getting in trouble with the law, which Eda or Barcus can easily snatch them out of. Y’all know of the Life Changing Field Trip With Zuko? Eda has a very similar thing where she grabs a gaggle of kids and takes them on an adventure, but it usually ends up looking like chores. Either way it ends up in either giving the kid some Advice they needed or just changing a way they think based on the adventures they get up to. When she gets much older and crankier, she slows down a bit but never stops having bad ideas or advice, but it’s a lot easier for the calmer kids to talk to her.

Barcus keeps all the trinkets the kids give him and holds them in a special room only he can access, like the passageways in Hexside. He cares about all the kids who come to the Raven House, even if its only for a little while. He’s still a dog at heart. A lot of kids he hears from a few months or years after they leave. They’ll call or show up and tell him how they are. And whenever they do he makes time to sit down with them with tea and listen to all they have to say. Even if they only visit once, he’s glad to see them. But, of course, there are the kids he never hears from. The ones who don’t want to, the ones who are too busy, the ones who moved off the Isle and elsewhere, the ones who get lost out there in the world, and the ones who have died. But Barcus almost never learns what their fate was. He’ll have nights where he sits in his room filled with trinkets or by the rock with names and wonder what happened to them, and hoping that they’re okay and happy. But he doesn’t have time to think about that. He has new kids coming in all the time, he should focus on them, not the past. That’s what he tells himself.

[bangtan-madi]

Year of the Rabbit — Six: Flower

Pairing — Jungkook x Reader, Hoseok x Yoongi, Taehyung x Jimin

Tags — best friend!Jungkook, non-idol au, flower shop au, gym au, florist!MC, gym owner!Jungkook, brother!Namjoon, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 2k

Summary — Blame it on the storm or the secret feelings or the snow-in, but one thing is for sure: a lot can happen to two best friends when they're confined to their stores overnight.

Warnings — language

Part — 6 / 7

Previous — Next

After the fireworks trickle off in numbers, you and Jungkook still remain cuddled under the blanket. The darkness and chill tempt you to stay this way forever. His arms wrapped around your center, your back pressed against his chest, his chin on your shoulder: it's given you an immense sense of comfort. All this, despite the smoke and exhaustion rolling over you.

Eventually, Jungkook pulls himself away from you, putting a little bit of space between you. Knowing what he's going to suggest before he opens his mouth, you let your eyes close and enjoy the last seconds of his closeness.

"It's gotta be after midnight," he whispers. "The fireworks have stopped. I still don't think it's safe to go home yet. Even though the storm has stopped, the snow is over a foot at least."

You give a non-committal noise, just enough to let him know you heard him.

The man behind you rubs the tops of your arms over the blanket still wrapped around you. "You're falling asleep, Flower. Maybe we should get you to sleep."

"Where the hell am I going to sleep in that supermarket?" you chuckle, finally opening your eyes as you turn on your heel to face him. "Or maybe we can freeze in the shop."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "For once, can you just...not fight me? Too much to ask?"

You give a single, firm nod. "Yep!"

"Well...too bad."

"Not gonna ha—Hey! What are you doing?"

Instead of standing there and arguing, Jungkook sweeps an arm under your knees, placing the other behind you. Knocking you off your feet, you settle easily into his arms, and he slides you around so that you're slumped against his back. An arm under each of your thighs, yours instinctively circle his neck.

"I'm tired, and I'm even more tired of fighting you," he huffs, already trudging towards the attic door. "Even if I have to tie you up, we're going to sleep. Got it?"

You snicker at his hyperbole and rest your cheek against his mid-back. "Kinky."

"Really?"

"Yes. And did you seriously call me 'Flower' just a minute ago?"

Jungkook's shoulders shrug under your weight, and he's careful to take one step at a time as he descends down the ladder into the supermarket supply closet. "What if I did? Do you not like it?"

Your arms tighten around his neck. As you shake your head, your cheek rubs against the hem of his jacket. "I like it...a lot, actually."

Your best friend doesn't try to hide his amusement as he hikes you up further on his back, fingers gripping your jean-covered thighs. "Add that one to the pet-name collection, then."

Once you're back in the supermarket, Jungkook walks quietly towards the area where you were before. The sofa with propped pillows and throw blankets is a welcome sight, as is the view of the snowy streets through the storefront. He's quick to settle you both down on the cushions, keeping you close to him as he rests you both on your sides.

"We're cold and tired and here overnight," he murmurs, burying his face into the crook of your neck, arms winding around your midsection. "Just get some sleep."

Forcing the butterflies down, you circle your arms around his shoulders and back, cradling him to your chest. Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief, nuzzles further into you, and moments later, he's out like a light.

It takes you a little longer to fall asleep, but the warmth of the night and of the person lying next to you eventually lulls you into dreamland. 

You dream of the feelings you won't say.

When you awaken a few hours later, the first light of daybreak is slowly starting to stream across the horizon, through the buildings, and onto your face. Eyes narrowed at the minimal light, you stir and hide your face in the fluffy thing nearest your face. A blanket, a pillow, who knows. Groaning to yourself, you move your arms, anticipating Jungkook to be next to you. The space is empty, and it prompts you to peek one eye open.

Jungkook isn't anywhere to be seen. Not on the sofa next to you, nor on the sitting area where you ate dinner. Looking over your shoulder, you don't see him anywhere in the near vicinity.

As you pull yourself up into a seated position, your phone illuminates. Your gaze flickers to it, and you see your partners' names on his new messages. Out of curiosity, you pick up the device. A sense of relief floods through you; your connection must have been restored while you were sleeping.

But when you read the messages on the screen, it's clear that this phone is not yours. It's Jungkook's. However, you were not mistaken on the identities of the messengers; Yoongi and Hoseok's names are as clear as day.

The latter's reply is connected to a message Jungkook sent about an hour ago, that much you can tell even from the home screen. His original message reads, "If I tell [Y/n], if I'm honest, I'll lose my best friend. For sure. One-hundred percent. Every conversation I play over in my head, they always end the same damn way. I lose her."

Hoseok's reply is simple. "You can't let that stop you, Jungkook-ah. You deserve to be happy. It may take time, but she will come around."

Yoongi agrees, "It may surprise her, but I guarantee you won't lose your best friend. Things will change, but it's bound to happen eventually."

A thousand thoughts and emotions flicker across your mind as you reread those words. Despite having little context, your heart hurts at the sentiment in your best friend's concern. I'll lose my best friend. For sure. One-hundred percent. What could be so horrible about this person that he's in love with that it would cause him to lose you? What about them would make your long friendship come to an end? What could possibly come above the love and connection and history you have together?

As the minute ticks by, and the sunlight pours over the buildings with greater strength, your heartbeat quickens and your palms sweat. The ball of nerves in your stomach grows deeper and darker with each moment, and you feel as if you might be sick. Jungkook has been your longest companion; he's the one true thing that you've always relied on. Never in a million years did you think any event, any argument, or any lover could come between you and him.

But could you be wrong about that? Have you overestimated the love you have for each other? Surely he knows how much you do...even if you have kept the nature of that shifting love a secret.

Was that also a mistake?

Jungkook appears from the storage closet, in his grasp are several breakfast bars and bottled cold brew. He smiles brightly at you, but as he sees your expression, it falls away. "Hey, are you okay? I brought breakfast..."

Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes and push his phone off your lap. "I saw a couple of texts by accident, sorry."

"From who?"

"Yoongi and Hoseok."

Your best friend visibly swallows, then sets down the breakfast goodies on the end of the sofa. You gnaw on your lower lip with anxiety, and he takes a cross-armed position in front of you.

"I didn't mean to," you defend softly. "I had just woken up, saw the names, thought it was my phone. Didn't read any but the new ones." As he remains silent, you turn your gaze upwards, gathering the courage to ask once again. However, this time the question feels heavier. "Who is she?"

Jungkook is hesitant to show any form of emotion, give anything away, on his face. "She?"

"The girl you love. Or is it not a girl...is that why you're so standoff-ish? Is that why you're so certain you'll lose me?"

He lets out a soft, breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "No, that's not it."

"Then who is she? Who is she that she will come between us and end our friendship?" Jungkook begins to look visibly uncomfortable; he's running a hand through his wavy hair, clenching his jaw, shuffling where he stands as if he wants to run. "I—I'm not trying to give you an ultimatum, Bunny. I'd never do that, ask you to choose between me and someone else, but we've been friends for so fucking long. To throw all that away...what are you so scared of?"

He closes his eyes, heaving a sound of frustration. "It's not like that. It's not what you think. You only read a couple texts, out of context. That's not the entire conversation."

You perch up on your knees, giving yourself a bit more height on the sofa, and reach for his hand. "Then explain it to me, Kookie." Your fingers graze his, barely touching tip to tip. "Don't leave me in the dark."

After a moment of silence, Jungkook pulls his hand back. "Nothing's going to change, [Y/n]. You gotta trust me on this."

The pit of anxiety in your stomach begins to grow at his hollow words. "But you told Yoongi and Ho—"

"—That every conversation ends with me losing my best friend?" he finishes, and you nod once. Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek. "That's because once you know...you're going to feel differently about me. And I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"You know me better than that," you assure, voice strengthening with resolve. "I'm not going to cut you off because of who you love."

"You don't know that."

You attempt to keep your expression and tone calm and tender, but his concern is sharp and deep, going to the foundation of your care. "I do! What kind of friend do you take me for?"

Jungkook's brown eyes meet yours, and his gaze shifts back and forth between them, as if trying to find any fault with your truth. You don't waiver; you hold his line of sight until he breaks it, looking past you, towards the snow piled up outside.

"Okay," he breathes, voice barely a whisper, barely held together in its shakiness. He scoops up his cellphone. "Fine. You want me to call her? I will."

Taken back by his words, you blink in surprise as he quickly dials a number by memory. Your chest tightens with guilt, and you start to say, "Kookie, you don't have to—"

"—No, I want to. You...You deserve to know. It's been a long time coming, and I—I need to get this off my chest." His fingers hover over the dial button. “Might change things...Aish, who cares. Here goes nothing."

The moment he selects the number and raises the device to his ear, the device in your pocket begins to vibrate. Jungkook's signature ringtone gets louder as the seconds pass; a lofi version of "Yellow" begins to play. For the first few seconds, you stare blankly at the boy in front of you. His chocolate eyes flicker back and forth between yours, waiting with bated breath for your reaction. In those moments, an inhale turns into a shaky exhale.

And then it clicks into place.

You fish your phone from your pocket as quickly as you can, only having to glance at the screen for half a second to see Jungkook's name flashing against the white background.

Taglist — @kooala​

[lnterjection]

gods of red skies (of this world to comprise)

Based on @quaranmine‘s post “that meme where the FBI shows up at your house because you know too much except it’s DreamXD and Ranboo being the only person who knows what an end portal is,” but I make it angsty.  

-----

“And here’s our table,” Phil said, and Ranboo’s jaw dropped in such standard enderman fashion he would have been ashamed, if he weren’t so preoccupied with the sight in front of him.

Slowly, he took a step forward. Leaned over and traced a finger across the pale, bumpy endstone, its tiny craters and rivers of raised ridges. It had been so long since he felt endstone beneath his skin. 

The empty sockets stare back into him, deep cyans and swirls of black. You’re here, they seem to whisper. We’ve missed you.

“It’s a cool table, but I think this is a bit of an overreaction,” he heard Techno whisper behind him. “Phil, what do we - uh...”

“Do you - do you know what that is?” Ranboo asked. He struggled to keep the awe from his voice. 

Phil glanced over his shoulders with a bewildered expression. “No?” he said, wings slowly fanning out. “What do you mean?”

“It’s-” Ranboo hesitated, taking a step back. Should he tell them? Should - should anyone in this cursed world have that sort of power? Wouldn’t that lead to more sides, more pointless statuses of power to fight over?

He made a split second decision. 

“Um, nevermind,” he said. “I forgot.”

The lie came so easily. Ranboo internally winced at how familiar his muscles were with the phrase. 

Techno eyes him, pupils narrowing, but he doesn’t comment. Phil gives them both a cheery smile and claps his hands in a neat, smooth motion, effectively shutting down the line of conversation.

“So!” he said. “Anarchy!” 

Ranboo nodded along, tried not to be too weird (or well, weirder than he must already seem to them), and that was that.

-

Everything was freezing - his crystalized bed that felt more like ice than wool, his creaking, ramshackle roof with scatterings of icicles that dripped frost and cold, the way every muscle of his body felt like it was contracting into a ball of sharp diamond. 

Ranboo couldn’t complain, though. He had a place to live. He was welcome here, which was so much more than what he deserved after everything he’s done. 

He wasn’t going to freeze to death. Worse case scenario, he takes his blanket and hides under his bed. He’ll be fine. Fine.

His chattering teeth and rapidly shivering body certainly seemed to disagree with him. 

Ranboo tried to draw in a clattering breath. The winds picked up, slicing every exposed inch of skin with an unforgiving glacier.

At least it’s not snowing, he thought weakly. 

And then, through the screeching winds and enveloping blindness of night, he heard it. 

There’s something crunching, outside the fences that made up his home. Ranboo blinked slowly, wondering if he’s finally gone off the deep end. If that last tether to sanity which his mind so desperately clung to was finally slipping away, and this was the moment he succumbed to that relentless war of the mind, never to resurface again.

For a terrible, traitorous moment, Ranboo hoped that it was Phil or Techno, here to invite him into their house of warmth, a sign of friendship or at least care, after he’d been invited into their anarchist group (which wasn’t taking sides, they just didn’t want to be ruled, was that so bad?).

“Not much of a house, is it?”

And like an arrow to his heart, that hope was promptly smashed to pieces.

“Shut up” Ranboo gritted out to the figure that was no doubt leering over him with that stupid smily mask and stupid smug voice. “You’re just jealous you don’t even have one.”

His mind scrambled around desperately as he suppressed a terrified scream. Is this his mind again? But that voice doesn’t show up outside the panic room, or does it? What does he know, really? 

Was this actually Dream, here to kill him? To take revenge on for destroying the community house? Ranboo couldn’t bring himself to drag his face away from the swath of blankets that he was clinging to, but he could hear the whine of the fence gates swinging. Something snapping shut in place. 

Dream was definitely here, unless Ranboo had, indeed, well and truly lost it. Which was a likely possibility. 

Dream, what was Dream doing all the way out here? And why now, of all times, did Ranboo decide to finally grow a spine? 

Well, either he was hallucinating big time, or Dream was here to kill him. Either way, it’s not like anything he did will matter. 

“I have a house,” Dream said, sounding mildly affronted. “Now, this pathetic excuse of a cattle pen certainly can’t be called one.”

“Just shut up and kill me already, Dream,” Ranboo yelled. His voice was muffled and thrown about by the wind, but it echoed through his bones nonetheless, and this was gratifying in some horrifying way because either way it’s not like what he’ll say will make any difference. “What, are you here to finally gloat over me too? Found a different target than Tommy, huh? Just can’t find a better use of your time than torturing teenagers-”

“What? Woah, I am not Dream,” Dream said, and Ranboo took a moment to process this information. 

“What?”

He finally looks up, squinting through the darkness and the biting way the winds attacked his eyes. 

The person that had his arms cross in front of him looked like a carbon copy of Dream, only with a pale blue hoodie instead of the usual lime green one.

“Just because you’ve put on a different outfit doesn’t mean you’ve changed who you are,” Ranboo snapped through chatters. “Fuck off or kill me, Dream. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I told you, I’m not Dream,” was the reply. “Check your communicator.”

Ranboo, slowly, drew out the device and glanced at the pale, glowing screen. 

DreamXD whispers to you: I’m here.

“Really reassuring,” Ranboo said.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the nice ones?” ‘DreamXD’ asked. “I thought you had manners, or something like that.”

“Since when have manners ever helped me?” Ranboo bites, suddenly feeling something sullen draw his stomach down. Bittering clung to every word. “It’s like nothing around here gets done without violence.”

“That’s not my problem.” DreamXD made some shrugging motion, slowly turning his shoulders in an unsteady fashion like he was just getting used to moving his body. “I’m just here to...”

Ranboo flinched as a glimmering stick appeared in DreamXD’s hand. He recognized the telltale sheen of glowing enchantments, but that shouldn't be possible because you can’t enchant sticks. 

Dream, or DreamXD, or Not Dream, whatever the fuck he was - waved his glowing stick above him in what Ranboo assumed was supposed to be a menacing manner. He looked mostly like a deranged serial killer, which was, concerningly, also an apt description for the actual Dream. 

“I need to make an alteration to your book,” he said. “Hand it over.”

Ranboo stared at him for a long, drawn moment. His mind was blank, unresponsive, why would he want the memory book-

And then, his memory book was in the other entity’s hands, and Ranboo began yelling again.

“Give it back!” He lunged forward, but DreamXD teleported to the side and slammed his fist down on Ranboo’s back. He hit a faceful of snow and dirt, and a pained whine escaped his throat as the heel of a boot dug into his neck. 

Everything hurt. His back is now throbbing. Ranboo suppressed a sob as he heard the telltale sound of pages flapping wildly in the wind - and then the sound of ripping paper, grating against every bone of his body. 

Again - no, this couldn’t be happening again, why is this happening again, he was so careful and he hadn’t done anything and surely he had been good this time, hadn’t he?

His mind only just seemed to process what was happening. His memory book - his memory - was being stolen, torn, violated yet again and this time Ranboo could do nothing but listen and cry into the cold, gritty dirt while his neck is on the verge of snapping and what did he do?

He just wanted peace. He just wanted to be loved - not even loved, to just be left alone. To live without constant fear of pain or death or someone destroying everything he held dear. Was that so much to ask for?

Yes, a part of his mind whispered. You blew up the community house. You betrayed L’Manberg. You didn’t even have the spine to tell Techno and Phil, your new allies, what the end portal is. They welcome you onto their land and group and you repay them with more hidden secrets? How else will you betray everyone?

Everything part of him was burning. Ranboo wanted to slice and strip off all his skin, to submerge himself in freezing cold water and close his eyes and not have to worry about any of this anymore and why did he want all of that so much-

“There we go,” the voice above him suddenly said, and Ranboo made a choked noise as something hard kicked deep into his side. He tumbled across the floor with a few soft crunches before going limp, body splayed at unnatural angles that twisted knots around all his muscles. His throat felt more parched than desert sands, scraped raw and bloody. 

Something thudded in front of him, and Ranboo somehow had the strength to claw himself over through a filmy, blotched vision and drag his memory book back into his embrace. There were pages missing, ripped from the spine in jagged chunks like an unfinished puzzle shredded apart from frustration.

He choked again as a hand closed around his neck and dragged him up and something sharp and flaming jabbed into his chest. 

A coarse sleeve muffled his wailing scream. 

This pain was worse, so much worse, worse than the wither skulls and being dunked in water and all the stabs and slices he’s ever endured combined, his insides were burning and burning and on fire and covered in lava and Ranboo thought for a few fleeting moment that he would combust into sheer nothingness and he wanted to forget, forget why am I still here forget everything please I don’t want to be here-

“There we go,” the voice, that Dream voice, said, and it sounded so sickeningly like Dream but also not at all, because whereas Dream‘s voice always held a demeaning smugness about him this one had nothing but cold indifference, and Ranboo wasn’t sure which was worse but he couldn’t focus to think anyway because his entire world was red and white and burning and what the fuck was that stick enchanted with-

At some point, the pressure stopped. It faded away increments, and all Ranboo could comprehend was that eventually, as his mind flopped away from the shelter of nothingness, he was on the ground again and Dream was above him and everything was horribly, horribly silent. 

Why, he wanted to scream again to the howling winds, but his throat was spent and dead and he couldn’t move or do anything except lie there and spasm erratically like a dying animal with its guts already pooling across the stiff, blue grass. 

What did I do why is this happening please I’m so sorry I’m so sorry it’s all my fault please stop I don’t want to die-

“Let this be a warning,” the voice said in a smooth, terribly indifferent way. “If you write down what happened here, or about that end portal, I assure you that things will get much, much worse. And if you tell anyone, anyone else even a hint of what that portal is-”

Ranboo couldn’t even flinch as something cold pressed against his throat, as much as his mind leaped at the feeling. 

“I guarantee you will never see the light of day again.”

Was this what it had all been about? The portal? That he was being punished for his origins after all, for having the - the knowledge itself? For having the power to utilize it, even if he never would? 

“You really are Dream, aren’t you,” Ranboo rasped. He creaked his neck up to stare blankly into that pearly white mask. Every part of him, from his screaming body to his scattered, twisting thoughts felt weighted with magma, smoldering in its own ruins. 

Dream shrugged, a bit faster this time, and disappeared in a shower of flaking purple particles that drifted around like the snow that had, during some part of all this, began to fall. 

His eyes stung. His entire face was covered in tears, sharp daggers flicking the skin across with every movement. Ranboo couldn’t bring himself to care. He cradled his cold, crumpled memory book to his chest and knew that, as much as he hoped it was, this was not just a nightmare. Not in a world like this.

-----

Read on Ao3 here.

[scribbling-stiks]

Retrievers - XIX - Tears

They struggle toward the mouth of the cave. They eventually get to the riverbed that is now filled with clear water. Russia stumbles out of the water and kneels in the dirt. Finland helps him up and drags him to the car. The kids pile into the back seats, and they climb on top of each other. Too many kids for the number of seats, but Russia knew that America wouldn't say anything.

America sits in the front passenger seat and Finland takes the driver's seat. Finland starts slowly driving back down the overgrown path. Russia listens to the loud clangs from rocks hitting the undercarriage.

"Daddy?" Georgia calls.

"Yes?"

"Can I sit with you?"

"Maybe when we get to the hotel, okay baby?" America asks, his voice tight.

"Okay."

America goes quiet. Texas climbs up over the back of the seat and sits down next to Russia. Texas looks a little nervous before he takes a deep breath and leans over, clinging to Russia's arm.

"I'm sorry," Texas says, "I'm sorry. I wasn't fast enough."

"This wasn't your fault," Russia soothes.

"But I-"

"Texas," Russia cuts in, "look at me."

Texas looks up, snot and tears running down his face. His shoulders shake and he cries, biting back sobs.

"Peaches coulda died, and it would've been because of me."

"Is wasn't you," Russia replies calmly, "it was never your fault."

"But I wasn't fast enough."

"That's not what happened," Russia soothes, "it was an accident. That's all. And it's okay. I got her."

Texas whines.

"I shoulda been able to help..."

"That's not your responsibility."

Texas looks up at him with tears and Russia couldn't help himself. He pulls the teen into a bear hug, holding him tightly and cupping a hand over the back of his head.

"Shhhhh. It's okay. Everything is okay. Everything is okay," Russia mutters.

Texas sobs, shaking against him, clutching onto Russia with every ounce of his strength. Russia ignores the pressure around his chest.

"We are okay," Russia comforted, "everything is okay. We're back."

Texas weeps and clings on. Russia rubs his back and mutters soft little nothings to comfort him. Eventually, Texas lets go and leans against the window, staring quietly at the passing landscaping and sniffling. New Mexico hops over into the middle seat and looks between them. Then, she leans over and lays her head on Russia's shoulder.

Russia's heart melts.

'These kids are very sweet.'

Then his face drops.

'I will not let anything hurt them,' he vows to himself.

They finally get to the hotel, and they don't bother setting up the cots. They change into dry clothes and the kids pile onto one of the beds. They quietly sit together in a huge pile, and New York sits just outside the group. New York bounces his leg, looking nervous but unwilling to go far.

America sits in the edge of the second bed and offers New York a hand, which New York takes.

"Are you gonna be okay kiddo?" America asks.

"Yeah," New York says shakily, "I just.. need a minute."

"Do you want a hug?"

"No."

America smiles softly and nods. But even still, Russia could see right past the forces happiness in the smile. Then suddenly, Georgia pulls Russia into the pile of teens. She laughs. Russia falls back, giving in easily.

"I don't think I could ever thank you enough," Georgia says.

"What happened anyway?" Pennsylvania asks.

"Well, I almost drowned," Georgia says, "but Russia grabbed me and pulled me out of the water. I don't even know how he did it. The water was so strong and it was swirling around us. I was sure we was finna die."

"But the current sped up," New Jersey comments, "how did he manage to keep you guys out of it?"

"She was caught in an opening that worked like a drain," Russia says, "had she fallen any further, it would have been bad. I pulled us up into a ledge."

Georgia describes the swirling whirlpool and Russia looks up. Finland seemed to by trying to calm herself down with a string project. Russia also sees America shaking a little and biting his knuckle.

"America? Are you okay?" Russia asks.

"Yeah! I'm fine!" America squeaks.

Russia catches the states looking up sadly.

America stares back off at the ceiling, his eye unfocused. New York looks away sadly and lets go. America shakes his head and offers a comforting smile. New York takes a seat next to Pennsylvania and they begin playing a game on their hands. Georgia sits back with Texas and New Mexico clinging to her.

"I'm ordering pizza," New Jersey says, picking up the hotel phone, "does anyone have any preferences?"

"Cheese. Duh."

"None of that vegan crap Cali likes."

The rest of the night is slow-moving, but overall uneventful. Finland takes a few measurements of New Mexico, waving off the questions and knitting away. Russia eventually manages to get up, and he sits next to America. His legs and arms ache, and his head feels dizzy. America leans against him for a moment before getting up and pulling Georgia into a tight hug, picking her up off the bed. Georgia laughs but doesn't fight him on it.

And after they eat, the states move to sit around America. America had taken to combing New Mexico's hair and putting it into braids. But Russia notes that he still seems jumpy and nervous.

New York takes a seat next to Russia and leans against him, and Russia can feel his hat brushing against him. The room smells like pizza and relief.

"I'm tired," New York complains.

"Well, that's a first," New Jersey jokes.

"Shut up, asshole."

New Jersey shrugs with a smile.

"I think everyone should probably get some sleep," America asserts, "all the kids can get in the other bed."

"What?!"

"Awww...."

"Come on!"

"Nope, no arguments," America says, crossing his arms, "if we aren't using the cots, all of you are going to share."

Russia yawns. Finland locks the hotel door and sits back in her chair, opening the curtain.

"What are you doing?" Russia asks.

"I'm going to calm myself down," Finland replies, "but I need some light, so the moon will have to work."

Russia shrugs and lies down. America lies down in front of him and pulls him into a deep kiss. Russia reciprocates but doesn't let it go any farther. America hides his face in Russia's chest, and Russia kisses his hair. Russia drifts off soon after.

He wakes up a few hours later to a strange noise. At first, he panics. He looks around and finds that everyone had fallen asleep where they were, and Finland has closed the curtains she had worked under. Then, he looks down and finds a sight that causes his heart to stop. America is curled up, his eyes wide and hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his crying. Russia watches stunned as America shrinks away, his whole body shaking. He had kicked off the blankets and lay there, shivering.

"Meri?" Russia asks.

America's eyes swivel up, and he chokes. Russia feels his own eyes burn. Then, America gets up and Russia watches as he shakily walks into the bathroom. America closes the door, and Russia watches, waiting. But after a while, concern grows, and he gets up. He knocks on the door, only for it to swing open behind his hand.

It's dark save for the small light on the outlet, and Russia finds America curled up on the floor, hyperventilating and silently crying. Russia walks in carefully and closes the door. He steps forward and sits down on the cold tile.

"Meri?" Russia asks tentatively.

"Russ, did you know you almost died?" America asks, his voice cracking and his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"I-"

"I almost lost my kid," America stammers, and a sob escapes him, "and you both almost drowned in a place where we would never be able to find you."

"Meri?" Russia asks, feeling his chest get tight.

"And I couldn't do anything. I'm so fucking useless," America cries.

"You're still hurt."

"And you both almost died!"

America quiets and weeps. His hands hang out in front of him. Russia reaches forward and pulls him into a gentle hug. America stiffens for a moment before returning the gesture. America tucks his head into Russia's shoulder, bawling.

Everything starts hitting Russia, and the risk he'd taken is like a brick to the chest.

'We could have died,' his mind numbly repeats, 'we should've died.'

His heart squeezes in his chest and a lump appears in his throat. He begins crying quietly, and America just hugs him tighter.

'We have to get through this. We have kids to protect.'

They sit for what feels like hours, just crying together. Russia wipes the tears off his face and notices that America had gone limp in his arms.

'He cried himself to sleep.'

His heart squeezes. Russia hoists America up, ignoring his own exhaustion, and he stumbles back to the bed. He practically dumps America into it and crawls next to him. He wraps his arms around his partner and nuzzles his hair, finding that it smells nice. His whole body is sore, and his heart aches.

'I hope you feel better in the morning,' Russia thinks, looking down at America and the shining tear tracks on his face.

~

Next

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Table of Contents

[wolfflock]

Please, Keep Love Hole (Chapter 16)

Please, Keep Love Hole (Explicit, 31k)

What can one lonely nerdy teacher do when he just loves sucking cock? The lone bathroom stall in a gay bar seems like the perfect place for him.

What can one hyper college student with a sports scholarship do when his friends are jerks? The lone bathroom stall in a gay bar seems like the perfect place for him, too.

The semester goes on with barely any changes. Stiles keeps his head down – partially because he spends more time studying than before so can’t even make it to most of the parties. But that’s not the only reason and on dark and lonely night he’s not afraid to admit it to himself. He is also tired. So, so exhausted.

The medication takes him only that far and then comes the crash. He feels wiped, like doing just a bit more would shatter him. So he does what he has to (training and classes) and then collapses on his bed to sleep. That doesn’t last much more than an hour, though, just enough to see that the room is now empty, Scott probably enjoying his night like any other college student would.

Anyone but Stiles because Stiles feels like he can’t enjoy anything anymore. He is in a rut and he knows it, but it’s just really tough to get out of it. If he wanted to, that is. He’s not even sure anymore, he doesn’t believe that it would be much better anyway. Maybe this is what being an adult is like: grey days going by in a blur, ever day the fucking same.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise to him that his solution (it really isn’t one, he knows it) is the exact same thing as what he watched his dad go through for quite a long time after his mom died: alcohol.

It starts out slow and infrequent – just a beer while he’s studying for an exam or when he has to write a paper and he tries to muster the motivation to sit down and get to it. When he feels like he is at a low point, he buys a bottle of vodka. It’s a really nice bottle and a good brand. At first he uses a nice glass that he has lifted from one of the bars and occasionally shares it with Scott.

Then when washing the glass and putting it away so it’s not sitting on his desk all the time becomes a chore, he switches to a plastic cup. That he can just leave lying around on whatever surface. He feels like the good and expensive stuff doesn’t belong in a plastic cup so he buys a cheaper one. He feels a bit ashamed about it so he decides to hide it from Scott, telling him that he just ran out of vodka.

As the semester gets closer to its end and his responsibilities are piling up, so do the empty bottles that he carefully hides under his bed, socks wrapped around them so they won’t accidentally clink and give him away. Deep down he knows it’s not okay that he even considered making sure to cover his tracks, let alone went and did it, but a few sips later he doesn’t feel so bad about it.

He is careful enough about it that he usually has nothing more than a nice buzz, just to take the edge off things and make him see the world in a better light than he normally would. The only exception to this is when Scott and the guys manage to coax him out of his room to go to a bar or a club. It’s a lot harder to keep track of how many drinks he’s had (on top of what he had consumed throughout the day) when the music is loud, the lights are dimmed and they are all having a good time.

One of these times is the big bonfire celebration that officially ends their semester, classes, papers and exams all out of the way.

He’s been looking forward to this, to just let go and feel like himself again. He wants to enjoy tonight, laugh, dance and maybe meet someone. Even if it’s for nothing more than to get off, he needs to feel that he has control over things.

So with a bitter shake of his head, he puts on one of the nice shirts he bought with the help of Lydia what feels like decades ago. It’s a dark purple, and it makes his pale skin pop against his dark hair. At least that’s what Lydia said, and he trusts her judgement in this. She knows fashion a lot better than Stiles anyway.

Scott is in the room, too, putting on a black button down, leaving one button more than necessary open, showing off just a hint of toned chest. He’s pouring a drink for himself and Stiles – in a glass, not like Stiles usually does – and hands it over to him.

“You look good in that shirt, dude,” Scott says, “even though I can’t recall ever seeing you this pale. Are you okay?”

He seems worried, and comes up to Stiles to look at his face with his eyebrows knit in a straight line.

“I know you don’t like to talk about feelings, but if there is anything, you can talk to me, you know that, right?”

Stiles smiles a sad little smile and hugs him close. Scott is nice enough to not comment on how tight he’s holding him, or that he needed to catch Stiles because he just flung himself at Scott.

“Thanks, bro, I appreciate it. I will,” he tries, even though he knows he probably won’t. He’s never been one to open up easily when it comes to serious things like depression or his problem with drinking.

“Alright then,” Scott slaps him across the shoulder one more time. “Let’s down this and then we can go. Danny said they are waiting outside by the library.”

Stiles does as he’s told, welcoming the burn of the drink. He’s beginning to feel optimistic about tonight, forgetting to worry about things that he usually worries about, like the disappointment in his dad’s eyes the last time he saw him, or how he seemed to notice things that you would only from personal experience.

---

When they join Danny and Jackson, there are already a handful of people heading in the direction of the big bonfire, just off to the main entrance of the campus. There are stalls around it where delicious smells are wafting from; sweet and salty, smoked meat and freshly baked goods.

There’s a DJ off to the side, playing electronic music that’s not offensively loud but makes people have to raise their voices to be heard. Altogether it’s the familiar cacophony of laughter, chatter and music that Stiles has always loved.

He can see people from his classes, some of them sitting on blankets in the grass, enjoying the last rays of sunshine as the sun is about to disappear behind the horizon. Some people are sitting on benches further from the bonfire, couples making out and freshmen arguing loudly.

This is one of Stiles’ favorite parts of the year, a warm summer evening full of life and potential.

Scott touches his shoulder and indicates that they are heading to one of the vendors to get something to drink and Stiles follows. He skims the crowd slowly growing in number, just people watching and enjoying that he gets to see moments so personal to others but that he can share with them as an outsider. He has always been fascinated by what you can observe when you just take the time to study someone.

And that’s when he sees him.

Professor Hale, standing next to another prof, blonde hair and a really revealing cleavage. He looks awkward as he tries to politely keep a conversation going with a student, but it seems like he would prefer to be anywhere else but there.

Stiles turns away then, and has to take a steadying breath. He probably didn’t handle that… whatever it was… with the most finesse but things worked themselves out. He didn’t get kicked off the team, his grades improved and he didn’t get in trouble in quite a while. He tries not to think about the medicine he had to swallow this afternoon, or the bitter taste of alcohol he washed it down with.

He asks for a beer but when Scott turns around, it’s a beer and a shot of whiskey that he unceremoniously dumps in Stiles’ glass.

“Another fucking year is over, thank God,” Scott laughs, and raises his glass.

Danny and Jackson do the same and they all down it in one go. Stiles follows suit.

---

Later on he is dancing with a guy – Chuck or Chris or something, not important – when he spots Derek again. Looking at him from the corner of his eyes while talking to someone.

Whatever.

Stiles looks away and tries to focus on the guy in front of him. His dark hair, broad shoulders and strong hands on his hips, snaking down to his ass. Stiles should push his hands back on the small of his back but he feels warm and loose so he just throws his head back and sways to the rhythm of the music. The other guy’s hand pulls him closer so their hips are touching, and with his other hand, he holds Stiles’ head so he can whisper dirty things in his ear.

Stiles just laughs and takes a swig of his bottle of beer. He doesn’t remember when he finished his last glass and switched to a bottle, but he doesn’t care.

---

Things get a bit blurry after a while. He dances with people, Danny and Scott, a petite brunette, another jock… He can’t keep track of people. Or his drinks. It’s like he’s in a fast carousel and he can’t quite focus his eyes on the person standing outside, unmoving, while he is spinning in circle trying to catch a glimpse of them. He’s dizzy, his stomach is turning and after a few unstable steps, he is in free fall.

Darkness embraces him, and all the noises go low. He feels something soft, like a big rug, underneath his head and then it’s just… nothing, and he’s floating in darkness, like he’s in outer space with no sound, nothing against his skin, nothing.

[writinginthesecrettrees]

A Little Off

Things are a little off with Sammy. He’s been secretive, and at first Dean thinks it’s normal kid stuff. Puberty or something - Sam’s twelve, and they just had an awkward talk about wet dreams and “just wake me up so we can change the sheets, all right? I don’t wanna sleep in it.” 

(sam blushing furiously as he nodded, red on his cheeks like the girls dean sweet talks into the backseat and out of their panties, makes dean’s belly hot with anger at his baby brother for making him think these things)

Maybe Dean could believe that Sammy’s just exploring himself a bit, looking for privacy they can’t find in motels and shared beds. But there’s more to it than Sammy disappearing after school, coming back just before dinner in a rush to finish his homework. There’s clothing, vanishing from Dean’s duffle and showing up the next day freshly washed. There’s Sam, watching him with dark eyes when he flirts with pretty girls.

(“please, dean, can’t you stay in and watch a movie with me? please?” sam’s voice high, begging the way a girl does when dean’s got his tongue on her clit and two fingers in her pussy and she’s begging for his dick and dean can’t stay in even though he wants to, wants to paint his baby brother with bruises for making him feel these things)

Dean usually sleeps late after a night out with a girl, likes to stay in bed long after he wakes up, thinks about soft breasts and intoxicating kisses when he pushes his hand down his pants and jerks himself lazily until he’s about to come, then finishes himself off in the shower thinking about falling asleep with his arms around Sam. But Sammy’s been acting off lately, and getting up early on weekends to sneak out of the motel without Dean. 

(little brother sneaking out like the girls dean talks into breaking their curfews - “my dad doesn’t let me date yet,” whispered between kisses under the school bleachers when dean’s already got his hand up under her bra - and how is dean supposed to keep sammy safe from the monsters of the world when he doesn’t know where he is)

It’s past noon when he finds Sam in a cornfield, stalks tall overhead rustling in the breeze. Sam’s got a bucket of water and a pile of Dean’s clothes, so focused on scrubbing at his shirt from last night he doesn’t notice Dean getting closer. And Dean’s so intent on Sammy that he doesn’t notice the hole dug in the soft ground, almost falls in. Sam’s got more than just Dean’s clothes from last night - got his date dead in the dirt, too. 

(oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck)

Sam hears him stumble, looks up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, like he used to when he was five and Dean caught him stealing Twinkies meant for Dean’s school snacks. The water in the bucket is stained pink and his hands are stained red and his mouth is opening and shutting like he’s trying to talk but no sound is coming out.

(girls gone missing just before they leave town and dean’s never thought twice about it but here’s one of them and her family’s gonna be looking for her - thank fuck they won’t be looking for him thank fuck he was her dirty secret - good girl didn’t want people knowing she was getting fucked by the bad boy who just blew into town - how many sammy?)

“Whatcha doing, Sammy?”

Sam’s shaking harder than the corn stalks over their heads, still won’t - can’t? - speak.

“Know you don’t like me going out with them, but isn’t this a bit… extreme?”

Sam’s eyes get wider, whites all around. “I-I’m just cleaning - I didn’t do this...”

Dean shakes his head. “Sammy. I caught you, literally red-handed. Wanna try again?”

(sammy shaking shaking shaking like a leaf and breathing fast, fast as the dead girl did last night when he was behind her with his hand on her neck and his dick in her pussy and her cheek pressed hard into the soft dirt of the cornfield and her hair, soft and long and brown and falling across everything, and her slender back, and the little gasps and grunts he fucks out of her are just like the sounds he wrings out of sammy when they wrestle.)

“How long have you been doing it, huh, Sammy? Killing the chicks I get off with? Why do you do it, Sammy?”

And Dean could keep going but Sam’s scrambled to his feet and he throws a shoe at Dean’s head. Kid’s got good aim, would have hit him if Dean hadn’t dodged. “I don’t, Dean! You do it! I just… just clean up after you.”

(tears in his eyes, like the tears in hers last night when he had her on her back in the dirt after she pushed him off and slapped him for saying the wrong name. “isn’t sammy your brother? you’re sick–” and she couldn’t say anything else because dean’s got his hands around her throat, squeezing tight while she claws at his arms but he never bothered to take his shirt off so she only gets flannel. “you don’t say his name,” he says, gets one hand free and slaps her hard.)

Dean reels, takes a step backwards, and Sam steps towards him. “I’ve been covering up for you for months! Months, Dean! Covering with Dad when he calls while you’re out screwing any girl who’ll have you, covering up all the… the blood, and mess, and god you don’t even try to hide the bodies and now you’re saying I did this? Screw you, Dean.”

Sam glares at him through his tears, stands with clenched fists and panting from his outburst.

(she panted just like that, when dean took his other hand off her throat after she stops struggling and her eyes started to roll up because she doesn’t get to die that easily, not when she saw the secret dark corners of his soul and was stupid enough to notice, panted beneath him and he’d fuck her again if he thought she was willing but it’s a point of pride that he doesn’t take anyone who isn’t begging for it. when she catches her breath, starts to try to wriggle away, he pulls his knife and slashes out, a deep cut across the throat spraying him with brilliant red blood. she’s already forgotten by the time he gets back in the car, leaves her body in the cornstalks and drives back to his bed and sammy.)

Memories of this girl and others are rushing in, filling his head with blood and weapons (once laughing, when he let her think she got away before taking aim and dropping her with a headshot at fifty feet, just like the zombies in the arcade that Sam begged him to go to) and through it all Sam withdrawing and clinging close all at once and fuck.

“Fuck!” Dean falls to his knees, hands tugging at his hair, and Sam squats down next to him, puts a hand whisper-soft on his back, somehow takes the weight when Dean falls into him and comes apart.

-

Things are a little off with Sammy, and the off part is Dean. It started months ago, Dean going off on another “date” and ignoring Sam flipping him off as he left, then coming home with his clothing covered in dirt and falling into bed, unaware. They left town in the morning, Dad calling just after sunrise, and Sam didn’t think about it until he saw the news a few days later - a girl found dead, strangled, and no one knew who did it except Sam remembered Dean pointing her out to him three days ago.

The next time Dean has a date, Sam sneaks out after him, steals a bike and pedals furiously through town to find his brother with a girl spread out beneath him in the backseat. Sam’s too far away to hear them, but he sees her writhing under his brother and he hates her, and when Dean suddenly sits upright and slams his fist into her face all Sam can feel is satisfaction and that sends him running, racing back to the motel to hide trembling under the blankets. Dean joins him not much later, falls into the bed and slings an arm across Sam’s waist before falling into a heavy sleep, and Sam lays awake until light peeks in around the curtains.

He can’t stay, has to know for sure, so he wriggles out from under Dean’s arm. Grabs Dean’s clothes from last night off the floor, and the rest of the laundry too, and shoves it all into a duffle before heading out. He finds the body left unhidden at the side of the road, and “fuck” it’s a long, hot trip, dragging her back into field far enough that no one will see him digging.  When he’s done, the sun is setting and there’s a bruised and battered body in a shallow grave, just deep enough that he was able to bury a roadkill rabbit above it in case the cops bring out dogs to search.

Dean shakes him and shakes him when he gets back, full dark outside and duffle full of clean clothes and all he can say when Dean asks where he’s been is “out.”

It becomes routine before long. Try to keep Dean in with him - that’s unchanged, but there’s new meaning in it now - and when that fails go out and cover up the inevitable. Pick a fight when Dad comments that he’s gotten better at digging up graves the next time they have a ghost to salt and burn. Try not to cry when Dean doesn’t kill the girl and she shows up at school the next day, looking smug and satisfied and then Dean takes her out the next night too, even though Sam begs him to stay in, watch a movie with him, anything. Does cry later, in the shower, trying to wash away the satisfaction he felt with every shovelful of dirt he dumped on her body when Dean slit her throat on the second date.

He’s in the middle of yet another clean-up, burying Dean’s last date where she died in a cornfield and scrubbing as much blood out of Dean’s clothes as he can before hitting the laundromat, when Dean finds him.

-

Things are very off with Dean. He can feel his mind unravelling, feel the earth crumbling away and the only real thing left is Sammy and Dean clings to him. Baby brother arms around him and Dean should pull away, that’s only allowed at night with the plausible deniability of sleep but he can’t move, can barely breathe, needs Sam to hold him, needs to know Sammy’s with him and won’t leave.

Whispers of “don’t leave” and “sorry” and “stay” fall between giant gulping breaths and Dean’s only half aware of saying anything.

“Never” and “I don’t care” and “always” are the replies, until Sam pulls back slightly, forces Dean’s head up out of his shoulder and presses their foreheads together and Dean falls silent, pulled out of his own head and all he can see is Sammy eyes.

“I’m glad they’re dead,” Sammy says and Dean starts to shake his head, but Sam grips him hard, fingers digging into his shoulders and the pain is grounding. “I hate them. Every girl you ever look at, every girl you think about, I hate them all and I’m glad you killed them. I just…” 

Sam slumps and his hands fall away from Dean. Dean whimpers at the loss.

“I just wish you’d, like, try to hide the bodies? Or wash up, or something. Do you know how exhausting it is?”

“... no?” 

“Well, it is. ‘Cause you can’t just dig the hole, you have to fill it up again and I swear most of the girls weigh more than I do so getting them in isn’t exactly a picnic and then I have to make sure there’s no evidence and wash your clothes and clean your knives and once I had to dig a bullet out of a girl’s brain, Dean, I had to go digging in her head for it–”

“Why d’you do it, Sammy?” 

“Why do you?”

Dean searches for something, anything other than the truth because Sammy might be okay with the murder but he won’t, he can’t be okay with the reason, and he opens his mouth to lie but it comes out true. “They aren’t you.”

Sam’s arms around his neck, soft lips pressed to his in a kiss that is technically terrible but perfect because it’s Sammy, mean that the truth is maybe not as terrible as he thought. Dean’s arms close around Sam, a hand stroking up to cup the back of his head and hold him in place.

Then Dean leans forward, tips them over so Sam’s beneath him, head pillowed by the mound of dirt that still needs to be shovelled over a dead girl, and Dean grins as he sets about teaching Sam the proper way to kiss.

(sammy under him, arching up as dean strokes over the roof of his mouth with his tongue, tastes like sweat and spit and heaven and better than any girl dean’s ever had and dean chases the sammy taste down the side of his neck. sammy’s hands tugging at his hair and a high whine coming from the throat dean nips at, and dean’s never burying his want in anyone but sammy ever again.)

-

Things are a little off with his sons, and John doesn’t know what and he’s scared to find out.