#and how he was so hot in his layers/jacket sweat patches would appear and they had to keep swapping his clothes out and drying them manuall

[fracturediron]

Being in Thailand and Vietnam reminded me of just how hot SE Asia is when you have both high temps and high humidity. Now when I watch Thai BLs with the characters all wearing jackets and LAYERS, I'm thinking to myself, "How tf can you stand to be wearing that, you must be sweating buckets."

[americxn]

Heist

a/n: sooo this is just a little introduction to a Warren x Reader series that I’m planning on writing; I promise that it will get more exciting than this.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: swearing, violence, hostage scenario

You scanned the tall shelf stacked with books before you, your neck tired from being craned for so long. Sighing, you took a step to the side, squinting in order to read the titles of the wall of tomes in search for the one that the librarian, Miss Gooch, had asked you to find for her about twenty minutes ago. And you still hadn’t found it. Frustrated, you took another step alongside the towering shelf, scanning frantically. No, no, no... no. A jolt of triumph ran through you as your eyes settled on a thick book sat on one of the bottom shelves. Stooping, you pulled it out, re-reading the title to be sure that you had found the right one. You smiled softly at your little accomplishment. Yes, this was the one. The weight of the heavy book made your wrist ache as you stood, quickly finding your way out of the maze of bookshelves and aiming for the staircase in the middle of the large, empty study area. As a student, you spent a lot of time in the library, and Miss Gooch, who quickly noticed your dedication to your studies, began bringing you coffee from the little cafe on the first floor whenever you came in particularly early to study or stayed particularly late Taking the stairs up to Miss Gooch’s office, a grin proudly displayed on your face at the book you had managed to find for her, after her own efforts of searching, you were excited to return the favour and make her job just that little bit easier. Your attention was fixed on the heavy tome clutched in your hand as you cleared the stairs and reached the large wall of glass that housed both Miss Gooch’s office and the library’s most treasured books. You had free access, however, and it was just second nature to you as you pushed open the glass door, taking a step inside.

You froze. You hadn’t even seen them as you approached, too lost in the thoughts of pleasing your older companion that you hadn’t noticed the two neatly dressed men inside, the open glass case that held the most sacred book in the whole building, and your friend on the ground, her wrists bound behind her back tightly with zip-ties, a small dark patch staining the seat of her pants notifying you that she had wet herself. Mouth falling agape, your triumphant cry of announcing that you had found the book fading from your lips, your eyes rose, meeting the dark gaze of the man stood beside his friend kneeling on the floor, desperately trying to bundle a stack of books into his rucksack. Recognition flashed in the eyes of the tall man whose hair was tied back in a tiny ponytail. You frowned. “Warren?” “Shit.” Warren muttered. His friend’s head snapped up from the books he was hastily shoving into his bag, his eyes wide as he muttered: “You know her?” Warren, an old friend that you had met once or twice with a group of your other friends but never really spent much time with, now stood pale-faced in Miss Gooch’s office, his forehead shining with sweat as he nodded his confirmation at his friend’s question. “What are you doing?” You demanded, blinking as you reassessed the state of the room, confusion and irritation sharpening your senses. Miss Gooch’s body began to writhe and squawk on the floor. You took a hurried step forwards to help her but Warren lurched forward, a glint of warning in his eyes as he shook his head. “Don’t touch her.” He ordered, firmly, but you didn’t miss the tremor of fear in his voice. “What’s going on?” You demanded, just as firmly, your eyes moving from your librarian friend on the floor, to Warren, to his friend and the bag full of books that he had now managed to sling over his shoulder. A bag of stolen books. A bag of stolen books which were under the protection of Miss Gooch. Miss Gooch, who now lay squirming and sobbing quietly on the floor. A look of horror fell over your face and the heavy book fell from your hand, landing on the floor with a thump that reverberated through the silent library. The noise seemed to sever a tether in Warren, whose attention was fully fixed on you as he lurched forwards, breaking into a sprint. You turned without a second thought, barrelling back through the glass door and throwing it behind you with such a force that it was a miracle that it didn’t shatter. Warren’s shout of alarm sounded through the door as he threw it open just as you reached the top step of the stairs, your heart thundering in panic as you took them two at a time. “Y/n!” Warren barked your name from behind you and the close proximity of his voice startled you, sending you leaping down the last couple of steps and thundering through the vacant study room, your’s and Warren’s footsteps synchronised as he chased after you, calling out your name with furious fervour. You threw a glance over your shoulder, your eyes widening in terror as you noted that Warren was only a few steps behind you, his arm reaching out to grab the back of your jacket. With a shriek, you bolted to the left, quickly manoeuvring around a desk and heading straight for the towering, unending stacks of books that surrounded the room. The light fell dim as you entered the stacks, weaving through them this way and that, trying to throw Warren, who was hot on your heels, off your track.  As you turned into another row of shelves, you caught your hip on the corner of the hard wood shelf you passed. The force of this small collision almost sent you sprawling but you threw out a hand, deftly catching yourself on the shelf opposite and using it to push your body along faster.  It took a second for the pain to register, but when it did, a sickening hurt reverberated through you, the sheer panic burying itself deep into your chest only worsening your nausea.  Warren barked your name again and it was only then that you noticed that his voice came from further away. You slowed slightly, your sense of dread easing ever so slightly as you realised that Warren must’ve gotten lost in the shelves. Steeling your nerve, you scanned the shelves closest to you, your stomach leaping when you saw the shadow of his feet moving quickly beneath the other side of the shelf you stood next to. Your breath hitched as you forced yourself into motion, moving as quietly as possible as you picked your way around the shelf in the opposite direction that he moved, forcing your breaths to come out quieter as you soundlessly weaved through a few more shelves before coming face-to-face with the back wall of the library. Crouching down against the wall, a shelf situated directly in front of you, you scanned from side to side frantically, praying to any god that was listening that Warren wouldn’t appear on either side. Your chest ached.  Your hand fell to your hip, a throbbing, nauseating pain radiating from your side. Pulling your hand away, you were surprised to see a thin layer of blood coating your fingertips. You swore under your breath as you glanced down, seeing a ragged tear slicing through your high-rise jeans atop your hip, the material dark around the rip as your blood soaked into the denim. Quick footsteps sounded ahead of you, coming from behind the shelf before you and you shot to your feet, not daring to move yet but forcing your hearing into over-drive.  “Y/n?” A hand rose to your mouth in an attempt to quieten the breaths that sawed in and out of you as Warren called out your name again, sounding close. “Come on.” He tried to coax in a gentle tone. A sense of helplessness washed over you as you realised that you couldn’t place where exactly his voice was coming from. “It’s alright, y/n. Just come out and I can explain what’s going on.”  You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you, steeling your nerve and creeping along the wall, praying that you had chosen the right direction. Peering around the edge of the shelf, your knuckles white as they gripped the wood, you let out a breath upon seeing the row of books empty. You hurried along the next row, your back tingling in the chance that he would come up behind you.  But he didn’t. Warren’s voice seemed to get slightly quieter as you navigated the shelves blindly, your eyes beginning to ache with how frantically they scanned your surroundings incessantly.  Rounding another shelf, you had to reign in the sigh of utter relief that attempted to push itself out of you as you beheld a final row of book shelves, the desks and chairs of the study area visible through the opening in the shelves at the end of the row. You quietly hurried down the corridor of books, using a hand to push yourself into the row. You fingers brushed against the soft leather of the spine of a book as you did so, the realisation of what you had just done hitting you a second too late for you to take action. The book teetered and fell, plummeting to the floor in a flurry of pages that flapped audibly before it hit the floor with a thump. You paused, staring at the book in horror as it fell open on the floor, your eyes squeezing shut as you mentally screamed at your own stupidity. Shuffling footsteps sounded from before you, causing your head to snap up. Warren stood at the other end of the row of shelves, your back to the study area.  Your stomach flipped as his gaze hardened at the sight of you. The two of you moved in synchronisation, your body turning as you barrelled down the last stretch of shelves. But Warren was too fast, and, just as you had cleared the towering labyrinth of books, his weight slammed into you, sending you both sprawling to the floor. You screamed a profanity as the force of the fall shuddered through you, Warren’s weight already lifting off you as he grabbed your wrists in his hands, positioning them in the small of your back and pulling you up. He uttered reassurances in your ear as you were pulled to your feet, Warren’s body pressing into your back, your hands trapped between your bodies. You fell silent, your body rigid as Warren urged you forwards with a push at your hands that dug into your back, easing you into motion. Your breaths came out hard and fast and you searched your brain frantically for what your next move should be. “Please don’t scream.” He begged, his own fear evident in his tone. “Just walk with me upstairs and I can explain it all, okay?” Pausing, your eyes scanned the large room, finding it completely empty. You cursed yourself. Why did you keep coming to this library at such stupid hours? All the other students and staff would have already left, their long days of study and work having came to end at least an hour ago. Seeing no other option, you reluctantly agreed, realising that you weren’t yet actually aware of Warren’s intentions. “Okay.” You whispered, walking with him to the centre of the room. You halted before the steps, Warren’s grip on your wrists tightening.  “Y/n. I swear to god that I don’t want to hurt you but you could get me into so much trouble so for your own sake, climb the stairs.” He spoke through gritted teeth at your ear. Restraining a whimper, you reluctantly lifted a foot, beginning to climb the stairs as he had asked.  “You’re going to hurt me?” You asked weakly as Warren lead you up the stairs, your fists pressing into your back as he pushed you slightly to ensure that you did as he asked. “No. Not unless you give me a reason to.” You winced, your foot lifting to climb the very last step of the stairs. Beyond the glass of Miss Gooch’s office, you could see Warren’s friend leaning against the large wooden desk, his leg bouncing in anticipation and anxiety. The librarian lay at his feet and you heart ached at the sight of her own piss staining the pale material of her pants. Fuck, this isn’t good.  The thought raced around and around in your head as you once again assessed the situation, Warren pushing the glass door open with a foot and forcing you through it, the door swinging shut behind the both of you. The relief on Warren’s companion’s face was stark as he beheld you, his eyes dipping to the cut on your hip and then back up to survey Warren’s sweat-coated forehead. Warren was here, stealing the library’s books. Miss Gooch was in his way, and now she lay sated on the floor. And... the final thought settled over you with enough clarity to bring tears to your eyes. You had revealed to Warren that you knew who he was. Which meant that you were now the only thing in his way between successfully pulling off his heist and leaving unharmed with the books. In other words: you were in deep, unending shit. 

[hollowcrovvn]

The Ostensive Fumblings of Being Human (part 7)

Pairing: Connor x female!reader

Rating: T

Summary: January 2039. The aftermath of the revolution continues to shake the city of Detroit. Androids are living in government provided communities while efforts are being made to integrate them into society. You are a grad-student volunteering with the Detroit Crisis Response Unit (DCRU), working to help with relief efforts. Set within the backdrop of the slowing growing Android Rights Movement, Connor, newly deviant, is trying to understand what it means to be alive while many others like him seek equality and justice.

Chapter Summary: You deal with the fallout of your actions the previous evening and get brought up to speed on some past events.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (ao3)

Tagged: @shaydeevee33 @easy-and-steady @goldie516 @house-arya @untilwearestarsinthesky @rainbowsithlord 

Leaving the DPD had felt like a scene out of The Green Mile . Dead man walking. Either you got disapproving looks or looks of marked concern based on the deep circles that had finally caught up under your eyes and the fact you had blood still on your hair and smeared on your neck. You hadn't been allowed to wash it off because, you found out, what happens when your hostage taker gets shot is your entire bloodied self becomes a piece of evidence. Filed away now in the DPD systems were photos of you, face blurred out looking exhausted and splattered red with gore. A little factoid you had never known about and wished you still didn't.

You resisted the urge to itch the spots of dried blood, knowing that the feeling was just in your head and you didn't particularly want it under your nails. That led to another slew of invasive thoughts that you pressed down as quickly as possible.

From another hall, Gavin gingerly walked out, stiff and with a face patched up with butterfly strips and cotton shoved up his nose. People clapped, a well meaning jeer at his expense, as he waved to the crowds like the Queen of England, tossing his jacket over his shoulder.

"Fuck you all, collectively and individually!" he said and you wished you could bring yourself to shuffle passed him quietly but when you came up along side him you worked up the courage to speak.

"Detective Reed?"

He paused, turning to look at you and said with a nasally voice, "Hey, if it ain't the worst Valentine of my life." but a smile followed the words.

"I'm really--"

Did "sorry" even begin to cover it?

"Don't worry about it." Gavin said before you could make that decision, walking you out to the lobby, "If you hadn't of been there, tin-can probably woulda let me get clipped. My cover was blown way before you showed up. If they had your face, they probably already had mine and I was cruisin' for a beat down or worse."

There was no way they could possibly know that and it became apparent to you he was trying to make you feel better.

"And now I get a nice paid vacation." Gavin said, "And believe it or not, from what I hear, you being there mighta been a break. But you didn't hear it from me."

It was late, later than you were accustomed to but not by much. A clock in the lobby read 3am, but the absence of people was also a great sign of how clearly dark it was. Like you it seemed, the good girls and boys of the DPD did not sleep.

"Look. Even I gotta go get head shrinked now because I got beat on and tin-can killed those two shitheads." Gavin began, "And I've been doing this for years. Trust me. It helps."

Gavin pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, putting one between his lips in preparation for both your exit. He held the door open for you even, but with a level of distance that let you know it was out of character for him to be so polite.

"Again. You didn't hear that from me."

He lit it and took a long drag and exhaled, checking to make sure the cotton balls were still in place. He gave you a once over before offering the bud to you. The quickness in which you made a disgusted face drew a gruff laugh from him.

"Go home, valentine. Get some fuckin' sleep, cause you look like a crazy lady.  Have a meal that ain't caffeine why you're at it."

"Or smoke?" you asked, waving away a cloud.

"Ex-actly." Gavin said, punctuating by taking another long drag. Gavin walked you to the curb, hitting the flashing light by the waiting cabs. The door slid open.

"By all means." he said, gesturing that you should take it. You folded into the auto driving cab and Gavin leaned against the top of the car, "See ya around, ---."

He patted the top of the cab and the door shut, leaving you in warm lowlight darkness.

Your apartment was dark when you got home and cold, or maybe that was just you. You hadn't felt warm in hours and the only thing you wanted was to take a shower. You flicked on a table light, moving across the living room to the bathroom and discarding the DPD hoodie and sweats as you went. They had taken your bra because the blood soaked through, but your underwear you still had.

How considerate. you thought, laughing out a sound that was more like a sob.

You moved so slow, feeling like the hands that turned the faucet's on were far away. The water was hot enough to sting, but you stepped in anyway, gasping at the heat. You watched pink rivers slip from your head down your legs and flow into the white basin, disappearing down the drain. You grabbed a bottle of shampoo and scrubbed hard at your scalp, washing again and again until the foam on your hands was pure white and your hair felt stripped.

The crying came on suddenly when you lingered too long on the smell of smoke, the blast of heat and now the press of a gun on your hip, the smell of stale beer and the sounds of gunfire... the image of Connor, staring at you as if he didn't even know you. You pressed your forehead into the tile, letting water hit your back, skin flushing up hot and red.

"Stop." you mumbled to yourself, trying to force the images out, " Stop it, you idiot."

Quit torturing yourself. But it felt good to finally just relent and let yourself cry as much as you wanted. When you could no longer bare the hot water, you shut it off, wrapped up in a towel and walked dripping into your bedroom. You'd already taken the time in the cab to call off the next week, so you picked a pair of shorts and a tank that looked suitable for absolutely living in for the next few days and, still wet, sulked into your living room to sit down.

Distraction. You needed a distraction.

"TV on." you said, and the screen came to life with the display menu of your library. The menu played quiet music, ethereal and electronic and you found yourself just sitting and listening, letting your mind retreat far away into numbed oblivion. The sound of the door opening then scared you so badly you yelped as you sprung to your feet.

"Whose there?!" you shouted, heart hammering.

Quietly, Connor appeared in the door, shutting it behind him. He stood there at the front, not responding to you and keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. He'd changed, still in a suit and dress pants, but no longer splattered with blood. You could hear the creek of the metal as his hand was frozen, gripping the door before finally letting go with a rattle. You could see from where you were standing that his LED was still bright red.

"Connor." you said, feeling a sudden wave of relief, but it was quickly replaced by exasperated, "Jesus, you could have called or something."

Your breath slowed a bit, your expression morphing into one of confusion. Connor seemed to be taking a moment to compose himself before he spoke, tone controlled and methodical.

"You could have been killed today. Do you understand?"

"I was--"

" No. " Connor interrupted, "You could have been killed today, verify you understand."

"Yeah, I understand." you said, feeling a faint bubbling of your own anger brewing beneath the layers as you crossed your arms.

"Lieutenant Anderson should have charged you with obstruction." he said and you felt a sharp stab of hurt at how easily he did so, "Then you wouldn't ever do something this reckless again."

"I thought we were friends ." you said, curling your fists as if that would hold back your anger at this sudden attack.

"We are." Connor said, meeting your eyes at last, "But we almost weren't anymore. Because of what you did. Because of what they could have done."

Connor moved away from the door, pacing in a small trail. He indulged a nervous tick you noted of worrying his hands, wringing them in circles around each other.

“And the thought of you being gone… of there being no more books, no more visiting, no more talking… no more watching you smile or laugh… the sound of your breath when you fall asleep. All of it just gone? ”

His LED was red, solid and holding like the breath in your lungs as you listened to Connor and heard the pain and saw the conflict flashing across his face.

“I feel— wrong. Like my bio-components are seizing. Like I can’t breathe.” Connor stopped pacing, hands dropping to his sides as he looked at you.

“You were so afraid.” he said, voice evening again, "I could feel it."

You remembered the bar vividly, how Connor maneuvered through all of those men and how he just cut them down so easily. He was methodical, calculated and ruthless in his pursuit of his objective. You had never seen him working before outside the confides of the DPD building. You knew now why RK800’s were top of the line crime fighting units, because he was designed to do just that-- fight. Connor was designed to kill and he had and he most likely would again. It was… hard to feel the same about that as you did a human police officer or a soldier. They were trained yes, their skills honed, but this is what Connor was made for. He had once served no other purpose.

Once . You reminded yourself quietly.

"You seemed like a whole other person. I was shocked, and yes, I was scared, but only because I didn't know what you were going to do! I was just looking to not get kidnapped or shot."

Connor was trying very hard to keep his voice calm and machine like, pausing for a moment to collect himself before he spoke, "It is a reasonable reaction when one shoots a man within inches from you."

"Connor," you said, feeling like your own chest was now seizing, "Could we not relive that right now? You saved me, I know that. I was scared, but because of what was happening! Because of what has happened! And I'm not scared right now, I'm pissed off . Big difference."

It was obvious he wanted to say something, but was struggling to do put the words together. Despite that, his LED had gone from red to yellow, which was a welcome sign. The hardened and resolved look on his face had begun to already soften, nearly faded into nothing but a frown as he finally spoke.

"I apologize...I didn't know where to go. I was outside the DPD and before I would have turned in my weapon and written my report." Connor said at last, words shaking just slightly, “But this anger... I thought it would go when it was over, but it's still here and I can't make it stop. That man was going to hurt you and I had to make him stop."

Connor closed his eyes, "I had to follow my objectives. What else should I have done?"

There was something so deeply painful in the way he spoke, something old and lingering like an open wound. It wasn't all because of you and that was somewhat of a comfort, but at the same time it just made your heart ache for him worse. He seemed to come back from his mind, eyes opened slightly and his shoulders went slack.

"If you'd like me to go, I will do so." he said, "Just tell me what to do."

What he was asking for wasn’t comfort, though he might have mistaken it for such. It was just another form of servitude. He cried out for order, for structure and the thoughtless collar of command. It was easier than confronting the reality of his new life, of the fact that he had thought you were going to die and had weighed your life against another and found it wanting. He had made an entirely emotional choice. A human choice.

“I can't.” You said, "You're not a machine anymore, Connor. You don't have any objectives, just the things you've done and what you're doing."

His LED softened to blue.

"As for what I've done," you started, "I don't really have any explanation. I messed up, I know and I'm sorry because I got that detective hurt and-- most likely no one would have gotten shot tonight if I hadn't done what I did."

You took in a heavy breath, "And that's on me. Trust me, Connor. I understand completely. Okay? And what you're feeling? Everything you just said? You weren't feeling what I was feeling, I think you were just as scared as I was... and you recognized that."

There was a slight change in his expression, the thought occurring to him probably for the first time.

"How often have you been put in a situation where someone you like, where a friend is in danger?" you asked, knowing based on his reaction that it could not have been very many.

"When I revert back to my old programming, my old mindset, I am more efficient." he said after a moment, "If I hadn't I wouldn't have been able to fire a single shot. Not when he had you." Connor said, "I had to block it out. And then when it was over I was still afraid. The hostile was gone, but even now I feel the threat lingering."

"Connor." you said, feeling your eyes sting at the expression of a feeling you were all too familiar with at late, "That's a very human thing."

He looked at you, the polarizing opposite of what you'd seen at the bar. Lost . Face open and eyes alive and searching your own with something akin to confusion. As if he didn't know what to even do with these things anymore. It hurt to witness, and while you didn't know how he'd take it, you closed the distance between you both and the moment he was within reach you fell into him, wrapping your arms around his chest and snaking them up his back. You held, tight as your arms could stand and pressed your cheek over the warm hum of his thirium pump.

"You just care. And it makes me a bit less angry at you for ya know-- barging into my apartment. Which arguably, was pretty human too, if you watch too many movies." you said, a slight teasing edge in your voice, but also it came from just the immense relief that Connor was still Connor.

"I... should have knocked." he said.

"Remember that next time, alright?" you said, "Hopefully, though, there is no next time."

Connor was experiencing now, what you as a human had lots of experience with. Embarrassment. It was kinda funny on an android, the way he fidgeted and seemed to be uncertain exactly how to return the embrace. He settled his arms around you and gave a test squeeze. The moment he did, he seemed to lose his reservations, pulling you closer.

"Connor?" you said quietly, but he was busy burying his face into your neck. Clearly embarrassment was a little short lived in androids too. The ghosting touch sent a shiver up your spine and you had an inexplicable desire to shut your eyes and tilt your head back; a silent invitation. The moment centered back down as quickly as it started and you almost yelped his name in surprise at yourself alone.

" Connor." you said, more insistently and he met your eyes, half lidded.

"As much as I'd like to continue this little vent session," you mumbled, "It's time for bed."

You gently untangled yourself enough to look up at him.

"You gotta be exhausted too." you said, keeping your voice quiet.

"My power systems are nominal, but... yes. Yes, I think I am. I should return to Hank's."

Despite yourself, you quickly said, "Do you want to stay? At least until I fall asleep? "

"I have been placed on restricted duty," Connor said, "I can stay all night if... if you're okay with that. I would understand if you were not."

You sighed with something like relief and contentment mixed into one, resting your cheek into his chest and happy to let him tuck your head beneath his chin. He had gone still again, but after a moment began to soothe circles into your upper back, slow repetitive motions that somehow focused your breathing and chased your thoughts away. This was much better.

"Next time, lead with this." you said, muffled, "And then scold."

"---," he said quietly, "I am sorry. I should have knocked. I should have given you the chance to not have to..." he paused, "..."deal" with my malfunctions on top of your own."

"You're not malfunctioning. You're just upset. And honestly? I'd rather be upset together than have been stuck here by myself."

"Come on." you said, and reluctantly parted, taking his hand and leading him back through the hall. Before you could get settled into bed, Connor moved passed you and began to untuck your already unmade covers further. The bed had already been a mess, your pillows half smooshed down between the wall and the mattress or on the floor. You scooped them up and set them at the head of the bed.

"Lay down." Connor said, gentle yet still commanding. You slipped up onto the bed, watching him with curiosity as he shook out the covers. You laid back against the pillows but kept sat up on your elbows to watch him. He lifted up the sheet with a flick, letting it fall over you in a soft puff. He smoothed the blanket down, making sure it was snug around you. You laughed, a soft giddy sound. The duvet came next, warm and soft. Connor moved to the bedside as he got you situated, turning and setting his eyes on your desk chair. He moved to draw it over, but you stopped him with the soft calling of his name.

You freed your arms from the warmth of the covers to open them to him. He paused, eyes taking in every inch of you, soft and unyielding and beckoning him-- come here. Come to bed. He'd never had one of his own before...but adapting to unpredictability was one of his features. He could have questioned it, asked if this was something "friends" did, but he just didn't quite feel like risking the chance of actually changing your mind. He slipped off his tie, unbuttoning the white shirt to show a equally white under-armor t-shirt. He unbuckled his belt and snaked it out of the loops, but let his trousers on. Sitting down on the corner of the bed he took his shoes off and then let you help him under the cover. You tucked into Connor's side and laid your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his middle.

Once, you would have been too shy to do so, but after everything you felt quite entitled. Connor was preoccupied, tracing your shoulder and your arm with the tips of his fingers and the back of his knuckles. He seemed deep in thought, his LED swirling as slowly and deliberately as his fingertips on your skin.

"Are you okay?" you said, voice thick with exhaustion, but still not quite able to shut your thoughts off.

"Processing." Connor said, chest rising up steeply than falling with a sigh. It was a good sound, "And I should be asking you."

"Today was a lot ..." you said, feeling your thoughts inevitably drift back to all the events of the past few weeks and closing your eyes tight, as if it would block them back, "I'm not actually sure if I am."

"Hey--" Connor said, “I am going to schedule you an appointment with victim services. They offer both one on one and group sessions this week.”

“Make it a group. I— am not really good at having all attention just on me.”

Connor seemed just relieved you agreed, having clearly expected more of an argument than that. No, at this point you knew if you didn’t talk about it you’d just keep pressing it down until it exploded. You made a face. Bad metaphor.

“I just get caught in a loop. I think about that day and it’s like I can feel everything and hear and even smell so clearly. It’s just so… much. I just cry. I can’t even stop it, it just has to get out.”

You rubbed your cheek into the soft, smooth material of Connor’s shirt, “I have to distract myself all the time or else it’s just there. Waiting.”

“ Have you heard of the term “grounding”?” Connor asked, “You focus on your surroundings, on what you feel and hear right now in this moment. It helps your senses redirect from the memory.”

“Do you do that?”

“It is a very effective process in certain cases. I also make use of my coin to help “re-calibrate”. But since becoming deviant sometimes that isn’t enough."

Connor's arm left your shoulder for a moment to reach down and pull the blankets back up around you. You splayed your fingers out over his chest, closing them and feeling the faint ridge where the circle of his thirium pump was. Slowly, you slid your hand down further, finding the hem of his shirt. You turned your eyes up to him,

"Is this okay?"

You watched his Adam apple move as he swallowed, eyes half closed.

"Yes."

This was not what Connor had probably had in mind when he recommended using your senses in the present to distract yourself. It was primarily curiosity though that guided your hand under his shirt, feeling the detailed ridges of muscle and tiny imperfections crafted into his epidermis to make him appear more human. They had even carved the pattern of ribs into his chest, not quite the same, but enough of a recreation to trick the mind.

You traced back down, finding that faint circle again at the center of Connor's chest and instinctively he caught your hand beneath his shirt, firm but gentle.

"Sorry." he mumbled, "Reflex. On a case last year a deviant got a bit too close."

You ran the tip of your middle finger over the ridge and felt him push back into the mattress.

"That is distracting." Connor said, not entirely disapproving.

"Isn't that the idea?" you said.

"Your vitals are up , which is not indicative of rest."

You humphed a sigh, but let your hand just rest over the spot, noting now the faint pulse against your palm. If you held your breath, you could hear it, slightly mechanical, but still a steady beating. His breathing was just as even and methodical. Connor did not need to breathe, the pulmonary reflex just there again to contribute to his appearing human, but you tried to match it, breathing in when he did and then out.

"That's better." Connor said, relaxing his grip on your hand to rest it over where yours cupped his heart. Because that was what it was at the end of the day, wasn't it? A biological component that pumped thirium, blood , through him. The thing that kept him alive as certainly as the muscle within your own chest kept you alive.

"This is... different . You and me." you concluded, the word holding an infinite number of meanings and emotions that had accumulated in the time you had known Connor. What was "this"? The connection you had felt back that day at the coffee shop? Or the thing that built up after? Or was it just everything? You were finding it hard to keep your eyes open the more you matched your breath to Connor's and the more your mind pondered instead on more pleasant subjects.

You barely heard Connor whisper back, " I know ."

Morning hit you without mercy as it came to collect it's due from all the sleepless nights before. There wasn't anywhere to go, or anything to do and the idea of not worrying or running yourself ragged was going to take some getting used to. You'd been out running everything, standing still felt like the equivalent of being told to stand still while a tidal wave threatened to rush the beach.

Speaking of beaches , you thought, curling up into a more snug burrito of blankets. Summer never came soon enough in Michigan and never stayed long. And now speaking of staying, you were aware of a distinct absence of Connor in your bed, which was a clear ploy to tempt you into the kitchen where you could smell food cooking.

You rolled up, excavating yourself from the sheets and nearly tripping when it caught around your ankle. You headed, gracelessly into the living room and adjoining kitchen to find not only Connor, utilizing your range to fry what looked to be eggs and bacon, but Josh. Sitting on one of the bar stools you used at the kitchen counter in place of owning a table.

His eyes were wide with surprise, "Damn, you really are good. 2.45 minutes on the dot."

"I told you she would be awake shortly." Connor said.

But you didn't pay attention to most of there back and forth as Josh stood and met you half way with a hug.

"Some new rep came by the Cyberlife plant and said you'd been in some kinda accident. That you were going to be gone indefinitely." Josh said, reclaiming his perch as you joined him at the stool next to him.

"Hold that thought-- Connor."

The android looked up at you, smiling faintly.

"Where did you get that?" you said, pointing to the paper bag marked "bio degradable" that seemed to once contain groceries.

"I used the app on your phone to order you something besides ground coffee for breakfast."

"And now you're-- cooking it."

"I inferred that based on last night, that cooking you breakfast would no longer constitute "too much"."

Josh made a sound, something between a laugh and a cough that you knew was surely meant to conceal the laugh.

"Looks like my concerns were unfounded." he said, "You're in good hands."

You moaned, pressing your hand over your face and dragging it down, "It's not what it sounds like."

Connor just smirked, turning his attention back to his task and flipping the two eggs over, yolk down with a spatula that you didn't even remember owning.

"Are deviants often purposefully obtuse?" you asked, more just to have Connor hear it than to have Josh answer.

"Markus definitely has his moments too." Josh said wryly, "Which reminds me. Markus wanted to know when you think you'll next grace Jericho with your presence. His words. You haven't been to the house since December."

It took you a moment to realize that Josh wasn't asking you, but Connor this. His expression gave nothing away, flipping the eggs and bacon onto a plate and handing it over to you. You took it, but continued to look between the two men with interest.

"You four do fine without me." Connor said, avoiding your very questioning looks, "We can discuss it later though."

Josh noted now your expression, giving Connor a pointed look.

" They have asked for you."

"I don't know why they would." Connor countered, "Again. We can discuss it later ."

"Or right now." you interjected, "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

Josh sighed, looking at Connor with disappointment and-- sympathy? He turned his attention to you, smiling fondly as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and gave you another sideways hug. You leaned into it, not forgetting you were waiting for an answer. You thought you saw Connor's LED flicker in the corner of your eye.

"I'll head out. Let you two talk. ---, get some rest. You deserve it and know that Simon sends his thanks. I can't wait for you to come by and see everything your work did."

"I didn't do that much." you said with a scoff.

" Yes , you did. Just let North know if you decide to come by. She's taken over security while Simon is recuperating. I hope to see Connor there too."

Connor did not confirm or deny the invite, paying Josh little attention now. And with that Josh left. You poked at the yolks of your eggs with the prongs of your fork, watching the yellow liquid pop free and ooze slowly over the cooked whites.

"Well... I guess when they said "acquainted" they were lying." you said, "Connor, you are part of Jericho's leadership?!"

"No-- yes. It's complicated."

He was indulging that tick of his, immediately moving to clean up the dishes.

"Were you part of the revolution?" you said, barely able to hide the admiration in your voice. It did nothing to encourage Connor though, in fact the tone seemed to make him frown more if anything.

"Only that night." he said, "Before I was assigned to investigate and hunt down deviants. That was my mission."

"And you deviated." you finished for him.

"Yes."

The silence that followed made it clear Connor did not intend to elaborate.

"How? Why? Connor that's a huge deal, how has it never come up before?!"

"You should eat." Connor said, not quite successfully dissuading you. Something in him was conflicted, like always when topics got too heavy. He wanted to talk, but also you got the impression, like you, he didn't know how to start.

"Okay, I'll eat and you just start at the beginning."

"---," he said your name, an edge to his voice, "I am concerned because of the high probability it will change your opinion of me."

"Does that probability score show if my new opinion will be good or bad?" you asked, cutting into the egg.

Connor sighed, "No. It does not."

"Sounds very useful!" you said with a grin, taking a bite of egg and chasing it with a slice of bacon, "This is great by the way, thank you. Now spill it."

Connor smiled despite himself, coming around to take the seat Josh had occupied. He clasped his hands in front of him, keeping himself still.Grounded , your mind offered.

"I should start at the very beginning then. It may be long." Connor said, eyes fixed on some point beyond you as if he was recalling the way a human would. The spin of his LED said otherwise.

"August 15th, 2038. I was called to the residence of Caroline and John Phillips. Their android had deviated and taken their daughter hostage..." he paused, thoughtfully, "There was a salt water tank in the foyer and a fish had fallen out."

[alitheamateur]

The Grind-Chapter 2

See what you’ve missed here …

We had been meeting at The Grind on Tuesday’s, Wednesday’s, & Saturday’s for the last two weeks. We discussed last names, home towns, the obvious sports, and the strange hatred we shared for cherry licorice. I took notes on the path that led him to becoming a fighter, & he filled me in on his basic training habits for a fight of this magnitude. He had been on the wrestling team throughout high school, & could’ve hand picked from the patch any college he wanted to attend, and a scholarship would’ve been offered on a silver platter. For a moment, I let myself envision Colton sporting a varsity letterman jacket marking the halls as captain of the wrestling team. The mental illustration may have produced an overdose of lust, which caused me to shift lustfully in my seat. He chose a rowdier way instead, consisting of drugs & some extra-curricular gambling debt, leaving him in need of some quick pocket cash before he quote, ‘got ran down by some greasy-haired bookie’. Enter, the dabbling inside the octagon. 

The first two matches he had managed to pin down had been easy defeats to his pleasant surprise, & a blue fired flame had been lit in his core. The adrenaline. The passion. The sheer ruthlessness was something he said he became dangerously addicted to. The rush of feeling alive, yet toying with combative death, replaced his desires of betting. As he climbed the latter of men’s’ competitive cage-fighting, his mom had fallen ill in the meantime. Leading him eagerly back home to her side, and promising to lay down his habitual drug use, and shady gambling. But the fighting, no. He explained how it had become his only way a life, and an outlet amid all the worrisome stress of his mother’s illness. And his speculations of my Pilot family beaming with excitement once I dropped the story onto their desks, had been correct. Ryan, my boss, had guaranteed me a full front-page for my “excellent snag.”

 This particular Saturday morning strayed away from the typical routine the two of us had settled into. Colton suggested I join him for his morning run through the city, and he’d show me around to some of the crevices of Pittsburgh I hadn’t seen. If I’m truthful, nothing about trouncing through the freezing streets of downtown Pittsburgh, in the dead of winter, at 4 a.m. appealed to my senses. However, the added minutes of Colton to my day, were ones I would gladly grasp on to. He offered to meet at my place, because it was “a real bad idea for a girl like me to be wondering alone in the streets at the break of daylight.”

Finishing my second layer of apparel, I took one last survey in the mirror dragging on the thermal elastic headpiece. My dirty blonde waves were tied in a tight ponytail, and I nixed the makeup, concluding this morning would involve ample sweating. I checked my watch spitting out the last remnants of toothpaste, assuring I wouldn’t have my running partner waiting. At that very second, I heard a heavy knock on my door. Spewing a nervous exhale, I made my way to the front of the apartment, loosening my tensed shoulders, and rolling my neck along the way. This was a simple run, not a date. He would probably have headphones stuffed in his ears the entire time, forgetting I was even tagging along at his side. So, why was my stomach twisting dopy somersaults?

I swung the dark green barrier open, and his freshly awoken, soft eyes trailed up my form. “Good-morning sunshine.” He checked his watch, “And I see you’re right on schedule.”

I slung the thick mane off my shoulder as a “take that” to his cheeky tone of surprise at my ability to flop out of bed this time of day. I squeezed the handle closing the door behind me assuring I had locked it, and we made our way down the silent stairs from my upper level abode.

“How far are we going again?” I kicked myself for only now deciding to request that particular information.  

“I tracked a course that’ll bring us right back to your place. It’s just 4 miles. You think ya’ can handle it, hot shot?” He smiled teasingly & began jogging backwards out of sight without any warning. What had I gotten myself into?

 Just as he’d promised, we completed his perfectly mapped out 4-mile route, ending at the very steps of my apartment complex. There wasn’t much talking along the way, but he’d shoot me a wink shaking his head, impressed that I was able to keep up. We decided to skip out on The Grind, & instead I extended an invite for coffee at my place.

“Make yourself at home, I’ll get the pot started.”

As I was pulling mugs & filling the Mr. Coffee, I watched him intently from afar. He began wandering around my living room looking at every picture I had framed on display. Senior prom with all the girls from the team, my best friend Sara & I on our unplanned trip to Mexico before I left home. He seemed genuinely interested in seeing more of me and his eyes smiled, meticulously observing a deeper look at my life in the snapshots. Who I really was, and where I came from. I could feel a warm snicker sneak onto my lips at the realization.

While the liquid brewed in the kitchen, I found my way back to the living room to join my guest. I dead-weighted myself onto the leather couch with a dramatic, exhausted sigh.

“And here I thought you were in shape after stayin’ on my ass this morning.” He laughed, making his way to the open seat next to me. I extended a light kick in his direction for the insult.

“Next time, my rules. Let’s see how the big bad cage fighter takes on 100 suicide sprints, huh?” Suicides were Coach Gibson’s chosen form of torture, and boy, did he torture us. I considered myself a master of the trade by sophomore year.

“Do you ever miss it? Basketball, I mean?” He propped his sculpted arm on the back of the couch and turned to face me, and his eyes held such sincere interest.

“Every day. It was my way of life. I think, maybe my injury was life’s way of telling me it was time to expand. Grow up, ya’ know? Time to make another name for myself.”

“You have no idea much I get that, Liv. Honestly. But, it looks like you done pretty well for yourself on ya’ own two feet out here.”

That was enough about me, and the basketball topic for today. Ball would lead to my parents, my parents would unveil the family drama, and it wasn’t the right time for such. I needed to shift his attention to something lighter, and quick. But the shift it took, was not one I expected.

“I still can’t seem to get warm! My whole face is numb,” I shuddered.

He reached his masculine hands over playfully to smoosh my cheeks in an attempt to warm my frozen skin, my lips forming into that of a duck face. I reached for his wrists, giving a weak effort to pry his scorching hands from my face with a chuckle. My doe eyes locked with his, and I watched them turn from lighthearted and tender, to darkly mischievous. Our bodies tensed in unison, and he lightened the grip he had on my now very flushed skin, but didn’t release. His dark shadow slowly carried itself into my personal space, and I knew what was coming next. I didn’t dare rush the intensity of this moment, nor do anything to stop the inevitable. The misty bluish orbs on his face danced from my eyes, to my lips. Eyes, to lips. Eyes, to lips. His left hand eased back a fly away strand of hair that was sticking to the apple balm on my mouth, then he coated his own lips before they finally reached their desired destination.

They were every bit as perfect, and downy as I knew they’d be. Instantly, my first reaction was to melt to doughy-like putty when his large arms slowly began to cloak my small form. I was nearly high from the sheer bliss, and my entire body appeared to lose feeling. Yet, it seemed feel everything in the air at the very same time. Limbs immobilized, along with my mouth, which was doing little to sustain its role in what was transpiring between us. I pinched my thigh between two fingers to awaken myself, & suddenly my body caught up with my mind. I reached my arm up to caress the back of his thick neck as he began to deepen the kiss, grazing my fingers through the baby hairs that laid sweat slicked there.

We just jogged 4 miles, how does he smell so good?

I could vaguely taste drops of salty sweat leftover from our morning adventure. His hands wandered over my hips to the small of my back, squeezing almost as if he didn’t realize his own strength. A glossy tongue tickled my lips gently requesting entrance. All too eagerly I obliged & opened my mouth to welcome him in with lazy a mewl of need. Our tongues danced to an unfamiliar rhythm in efforts to learn how the other moved. I could feel the build between my thighs becoming irrefutable, causing the stickler in me to pull away abruptly. I accepted this night would likely end with a forbidden visit from my battery-operated friend stored in my bedside table.

“Woah, Ritter. Let’s take a breather, yeah? Didn’t see that coming.”

His face still dangerous, minimal inches from mine he spoke. “Honest? I been plannin’ that one since the second I laid eyes on ya’, kid.” He winked & bit his pillowy bottom lip, nearly sending me choked over the edge of heated exile.

I dipped my head feeling the flush rise up my neck. Colton Ritter was pushing all the right buttons & he knew it. “How about that coffee now? Although, I’d say it’s plenty warm in here at this point...” I grinned.

I escorted him to the kitchen, seemingly walking with the legs of a clumsy fawn, and served him a dark cup of caffeine. He asked about some of the pictures he’d noticed throughout the house, & I told a few old basketball tales from my “glory days.”

“What would you say to gettin’ together again sometime, Liv? Someplace other than The Grind, & no damn sweats allowed. For either of us.”

I patiently held off on answering, giving my best effort to play it off calmly. “I think I could manage that just fine. I might even enjoy it, too.”

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

[chimaerakitten]

Blackberries

About a week ago, @komadoriwonder requested the batkids+blackberries. I finally wrote it.

AO3

“Why is it so hooooooooooot?” Dick complained from his place on the kitchen floor.

“It’s summer.” Tim replied from somewhere Dick couldn’t see. “And didn’t the circus winter in Florida?”

Dick rolled over so he could look Tim in the eye. “Tell me you aren’t more effected by this than me.”

Tim did look way worse than Dick did. For someone who practically lived in layered sweatshirts with the sleeves cut off, he really couldn’t take heat. His T-Shirt was soaked through with sweat and he’d pulled his hair into the saddest bun possible to keep it off his neck.

“No,” Tim said. “But I—“He pulled open one of the kitchen drawers to punctuate. “—Am going to do something about it.”

Dick sat up fast when he saw that Tim was taking a spoon out of the drawer. “Tim, don’t. That ice cream is Damian’s.”

Tim hummed as he pulled the gallon of ice cream out of the freezer. “I’ll just blame it on Jason.”

“Jason’s not even here today.”

“Wait for it.”

That same second there was the sound of the door slamming open and boots stomping through the foyer.

“TIM!” Jason yelled.

“KITCHEN!” Tim yelled back, making Dick wince.

Jason stomped into the kitchen. “Where’d you put it?”

Jason was, of course, still wearing his trademark leather jacket, despite the 100-degree heat.

Dick wrinkled his nose “How are you still wearing that?”

Jason shot him a look of pure distain, though he did begin removing the coat. “Because I came here on a motorcycle?”

“…Fair.”

“ANYWAY.” Jason whirled back to Tim. “Where’d you put it?”

Tim rolled his eyes, pulling open the ice cream container. “Where do you think?”

Jason growled.

“In the cave! Jeeze.”

Dick looked from Tim to Jason. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume always assume I did something?”

Tim cleared his throat. “Actually Dick, It was me his time. I accidentally took his grapple home with me after the stakeout last night.”

“Oh,” Dick said, lowering himself back to the floor, “Okay.”

Jason looked down at him. “Why are you on the floor.”

“Becaush itsch howt.” Tim said, around a mouthful of ice cream.

“What?”

“It’s hot.” Dick explained.

“You do realize,” Jason said slowly, “That you have an entire cave underneath this house that never gets above sixty degrees even in the summer.”

“Brusch banned usch.”

“Since when have you listened to what he says?” Jason asked, indignant.

“To hot to fight him.” Dick explained.

Jason shook his head. “You guys are pathetic. I’m leaving before you infect me.”

“Rude.”

Jason was almost out the kitchen door when it slammed open again. “Grayson!” Damian shouted, stepping smoothly around Jason.

“Damian.” Dick replied smoothly. Or as smoothly as he could, lying on the floor in a pool of his own sweat.

Damian stomped over (what was with everyone and their stomping today?) until he was standing next to Dick’s head. “Cain is missing.”

Dick smiled. “I think she’s in the wine cellar. It’s a little cooler in there.”

Damian huffed. “Why are you all so pathetic.”

“See!” Jason exclaimed, pointing at Damian. “He gets it!”

Damian side-eyed Jason. “And now Todd is here being ridiculous as well.”

“Don’t lump me in with them!”

“Oh, hey!” Dick sat up. “That reminds me!”

“Oh no.” Tim said, having surreptitiously snuck Damian’s ice cream back in the freezer when no one was looking. “Nothing good begins with Dick saying ‘that reminds me’.”

Dick glared. “That reminds me that the blackberries in the back of the property are ripe and Alfred wants to make a cobbler.”

“And why does Todd being here remind you of that?”

“Because,” Dick said, standing up. “Someone needs to pick the blackberries first.”

“Oh hell no, I’m not getting any more lacerations.” Jason said. “I’m out.”

“You are wearing a leather jacket.” Tim observed. “You really have no excuse.”

“He’s right, Jay.”

Jason whirled on Tim. “You’re a horrible little sadist, you know that?”

“I try.”

“And I can tell Damian that you were just eating his ice cream.”

“Drake!”

One fight, a collection of Cass out of the wine cellar, and a trip to the cave for protective gear later, and everyone was tromping through the underbrush at the back of the property to get to the blackberry patch.

While the others walked ahead, Dick lagged behind to guide Tim, who had been laden with Tupperware of various sizes and couldn’t see his feet.

“Watch out for those roots.”

“You could just take half of these off me, you know. I could see then.” Tim said, picking his way around the roots.

Dick grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Tim just rolled his eyes.

“GRAYSON!”

Dick sighed, scooping half the containers off of Tim’s stack. “We better go see what that’s about.”

They met up with the others at the end of the row of blackberries.

“TT, I thought you would never catch up.”

Dick smiled. “I was just helping Timmy with the containers.”

Damian huffed. He painted a comical picture, standing in the underbrush wearing his Robin boots and gloves over civies.

Dick ruffled his hair, turning to the rest of the group. “Alright, we need a plan of attack.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Dick, it’s blackberry picking, not fighting Darkseid.”

Jason looked contemplative. “No, he’s right, we need to be able to do this quickly.”

“And without pain.” Cass chimed in.

“That too.”

Dick clapped his hands together. “Alright, so. Jason and Damian are wearing the most protective gear, so it’s their job to get the ones farther back in the bush. Cass, you can get on my shoulders to reach the high-up ones. Tim can get all the easy to reach ones.”

“How come I’m on the cushy job?”

“Because Cass has better balance.”

“I can lend you my jacket and you can work with the demon brat.” Jason offered.

“I’m not working with Drake!”

At the exact same moment, Tim said, “Hell no, Jason. That jacket reeks.”

“Rude.”

“Anyway.” Dick said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Everyone grab a container. Let’s get picking.”

Twenty minutes later, the plan seemed to be working. The only one with lacerations seemed to be Tim (his cry of “Ouch!” rang out every minute or two when he overestimated his reach) and Damian’s picking method of stomping his way into the bush and grabbing every blackberry in sight had already filled an entire container. Jason and Cass both seemed to be following the “Two in mouth, one in bucket” rule, but at least it kept Jason from laughing at Tim whenever the younger boy hurt himself again.

“Hey Cass, you mind if I put you down for a second? This is starting to hurt.”

Rather than reply, Cass stood up on his shoulders and then back flipped off, landing without so much as a sound.

“Showoff!” Tim called.

Cass stuck her tongue out at him, and then turned to Dick. “Now your turn.”

“What?”

“Your turn to be on my soulders.”

Dick scratched the back of his head. “I dunno Cass, I’m a lot heavier than you.”

Cass shook her head. “I can handle it.”

“If you’re sure.”

She spun around so he could climb up on her shoulders. Despite his fears, she seemed unbothered by the weight.

Dick had filled the tub halfway before Cass spoke again.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Dick looked down. “You haven’t?”

Cass shook her head. “Never had the time.”

And of course David Cain wouldn’t have allowed it when she was a child.

Dick grinned. “Well you’ve been missing out. I used to do this all the time with the circus. We stopped in big open fields usually, and there were always blackberries around. We never made cobbler because that required an oven and the one in our trailer rarely worked, but we made blackberry syrup all the time. My dad would serve it over pancakes on the mornings of big performances.”

Cass hummed. “Sounds… sweet.”

Dick wasn’t sure if she meant the family tradition or the syrup itself. “It was.”

“I wonder—“

Whatever Cass was going to say was interrupted by a high-pitched, childish shriek down the row from them.

Climbing down from Cass’s shoulders, Dick’s immediate thought was that Damian must have been hurt, but Damian wasn’t much of a shrieker, which meant it was probably Tim.

So Dick was surprised when he got down to the other end of the row to find both boys unharmed and standing calmly a few feet away from the brambles.

“What happened!? Are you both okay?” Then something occurred to him. “And where’s Jason?”

That was when the bush started cussing Dick out.

He turned around, confused, to find Jason, a full five feet into the bush, sunken down so that hos eyes were at Dick’s chest level.

“What happened?” Dick asked.

Tim laughed. “He stepped into the bush and then he screamed.”

Jason glared. “There’s a drop off here!”

“So why are you still in there?” Dick asked.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m completely surrounded with thorns! And unlike the rest of me, my face doesn’t have armor on it!”

“TT. I advised you to wear the helmet.”

Cass appeared next to Tim. “Like one of Ivy’s traps.”

Jason glared at each of them in turn. “Someone help me get out of here.”

“You’re pretty far in there.” Dick observed. “We might have to get the machete and cut back the vines back a bit.”

“Dick I swear to god, if you swing a machete at me I will shoot you.”

Dick snorted. “You don’t have a gun on you.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“There’s no way you have a gun on you.”

“Do you really want to risk it?”

Nobody replied to that.

“Someone had better get me out of here now or I’ll shoot all of you.”

Dick looked around. “Well Damian’s the most heavily armored, so if he goes in and grabs Jason’s arms the rest of us can pull both of them out.”

“Dick, This seems like a terrible plan.” Tim said.

“For once, I agree with Tim.” Jason added. “This seems like a great way to get shredded by thorns.”

“Well I don’t see anyone coming up with a better plan.”

“Actually, I’ve got one.” Tim said.

Everyone looked at him.

“WE send Damian in first, like you said. He pulls the vines away from Jason’s face, and we get like, a big stick or something, and we pull Jason out with that.”

“Okay,” Dick admitted, “That is a better plan, but we need a branch or something.”

“Got it.” Cass said, and Dick spun around to see that she had somehow already retrieved a branch of the appropriate size.

“That was fast.” Dick said, impressed.

Tim snorted. “It was like three feet behind her.”

Cass stuck her tongue out at him.

“Alright then. Damian, you’re up.”

Damian slunk into the bush, carefully pulling vines away from Jason’s face.

“Brat, if you get me scratched on purpose I’ll—“

“TT. You’ll what Todd, shoot me? How original.”

Jason fumed silently.

“You good there, Damian?” Dick asked.

Once Damian had most of the vines gathered up in his hands, he slid sideways into the bush, being mindful of the drop off. “I believe so.”

“Alright then,” Dick said, “Cass?”

“Wait!” Jason yelled. “I still have a tub of berries in here.”

Dick reached into the bush, carefully taking the tub Jason handed up. It was heavier than he expected, and he almost dropped it. “How many did you pick?” he asked, incredulous.

“What can I say? I want cobbler.”

Dick stepped back, placing Jason’s tub with everyone else’s.

“Ok Cass, we’re good to go.”

Cass passed on end of the branch into the bush, and Jason grabbed hold of it. Tim stepped close to the bush and grabbed the middle of the branch.

“I know Cass is strong and all, but I doubt the two of you are going to be able to do this on your own.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Quit stalling and go.”

“Fine.” Jason switched his grip on the branch.

Dick started to count down. “Three. Two. One— Everyone pull!”

Tim and Cass dug in their heels while Jason heaved himself up along the branch and Damian pressed himself even farther into the side of the bush. Unfortunately they’d overestimated the amount of strength necessary to manage the task, because Jason got out of the hole easily, but stumbled forward and knocked Tim and Cass backward into Dick. All four off then tumbled over on a tangle of limbs.

For a moment, they all just laid on the ground, out of breath.

“Well that was something.” Dick said.

Jason groaned. “I think Damian missed one near my neck. Something stings.”

“Actually Jason,” Tim laughed nervously, “I think that was me. I haven’t clipped my fingernails in a while.”

Jason sat up. “What the fuck, Tim.”

“Language!” Cass and Dick said at the same time.

“Okay, first of all, the two of you swear more than I do—“ Jason started.

Damian stepped out of the bush. “ That is false, Todd, and you know it.”

Jason got to his feet. “You know Dick censors himself around you, right?”

Damian looked at Dick. “Grayson?”

Dick smiled in apology. “Sorry, Lil D.”

“TT. You are aware that I’ve heard worse than you could ever say.”

Tim sat up too. “I dunno Damian, Dick can be a pretty creative swearer.”

“Blackberries.” Cassandra reminded them all.

Tim hefted Jason’s container. “Actually Cass, I think we might have enough for like, four cobblers.”

Dick sat up, doing a mental tally of all the containers. “Yeah I think we do.”

“Finally.” Jason said. “Alfred’s cobbler will make hanging out with all of you idiots worth it.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “C’mon guys. Let’s eat.”

Of course, there were two attempted stabbings in the hour and a half before the cobbler was done, but that was one attempted stabbing down from last week, so Dick counted the afternoon as a win.

[blissfulcastiel]

Get Closer to Me

Fandom Writing Challenge | blissfulcastiel Prompt: Sweat Pairings: Destiel Tags: College au, friends to lovers, confessions, angst/fluff, bed sleeping bag-sharing AO3 ; thank you to my beta-bae @adoringjensen ♥

Cold air brushes across Castiel’s cheeks as the door swings open, hinges creaking their usual protests. He breathes out, a small puff of white briefly appearing before him until it disappears within seconds. Stepping out of the Impala, he glances around the small campsite, finding a small fire pit with the stones in disarray. Other than that, there’s nothing. So Sam wasn’t kidding when he mentioned they’d be ‘roughing it’. Their saving grace is that there are bathrooms down the road.

“Brr, it’s gonna be a cold one,” Jess comments as she gets out of the car next and hugs herself with a small shiver.

“No kidding. Sam, we’re going to freeze our asses off,” Dean grumbles beside him as he steps out next, the door slamming closed behind him.

“You’re the one who changed his mind about coming, Dean. And wasn’t I the one who told you that leather jacket wouldn’t be warm enough?” Sam counters, throwing him a look over the hood of the car. Castiel catches something along the lines of ‘whatever’ under Dean’s breath as he moves towards the trunk to unload their bags.

Sam does pose a good question, though. When he asked Castiel if he wanted to join him and Jess to go hiking, he’d asked if Dean was coming too – not that it would’ve swayed his decision one way or another. Even though he’s been friends with Dean since freshmen year of college and didn’t meet Sam until later, a good friendship formed between them. But when Sam told him Dean ‘had no interest in sleeping on the frozen ground next to a pair of gross lovebirds’, disappointment laid thick over Castiel. He couldn’t tell if Dean truly had no interest in hiking or he just didn’t want to spend more time with Castiel. He’s fearful it’s the latter.

Ever since that party last week, things have been off between them. He was hoping this outing would’ve brought them back together and they can officially get past this… awkwardness. That’s why when Castiel went over to their house so they could leave together for their last minute camping trip, he was surprised to see Dean getting behind the wheel to drive. By the look on Sam’s face, he wasn’t the only one taken aback by Dean’s presence. It begs the question: why did Dean change his mind?

Castiel’s happy Dean did – he’s always happy when Dean’s involved – but so far, they’ve barely spoken two sentences to each other. Just an awkward greeting and an offer from Dean to help Castiel put his bag in the trunk. If that’s any indication to how the rest of the trip’s going to go, this is going to be a long two days.

“You know how to pitch a tent, Cas?” Sam asks, bringing him out of his reverie.

“It’s been awhile,” he admits, following them around to the back of the Impala to help unload their supplies.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you the ropes,” Dean tells him with a grin and a wink as he hauls out one of the tent bags. Castiel snorts at the awful pun. Okay, maybe he was over thinking everything, as per usual. Maybe things with Dean are fine. At least, that’s what he’s desperately trying to convince himself of as he follows Dean to pick out a smooth patch of ground to set up their tent, Sam and Jess settling nearby to do the same.

They work together fine, but there’s really no conversation except for Dean giving Castiel instructions and him asking questions in return when something isn’t going together correctly. Once they have the tent up, Dean leaves him to set up the guy lines as he demonstrated while he goes about making everyone some sandwiches before they hit the trail. Castiel glances over at him occasionally, still feeling unnerved by how he’s supposed to be acting. Working close to Dean wasn’t uncomfortable per se, but… something’s not right. Dean is Castiel’s best friend, and he always knows when there’s a problem. The only difference this time is that he can’t tell if Dean feels this too or if Castiel’s the only one still trying to get past what happened. They still haven’t had that conversation.

Dean glances up, meeting Castiel’s eyes and his mouth twitches as he holds up a hand – along with a slice of cheese – in a half wave. Shit, caught staring. Castiel never used to be embarrassed if Dean caught him staring.  

“You okay, Cas?”

He nods quickly, tearing his gaze away while his chilled cheeks fill with warmth. “Uh – yes. Maybe, um, if you have a second, check my work?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean slap together a completed sandwich, dusting his hands of crumbs, and walks over. Just the presence of Dean standing behind him feels like a heavy weight slowly crushing Castiel. Even worse – Dean leans down, reaching past Castiel to pluck at one of the thin ropes.

“Nice work, Cas. They’ll hold well if we get any crazy ass winds tonight.”

“Thank you,” Castiel murmurs, still very much aware of how close Dean is to him. Dean seems to finally notice the same and he jerks back to his feet, putting space between them. “Lunch is, um, ready.” Castiel listens as Dean walks over to Sam and Jess’ tent, the couple having decided to disappear inside to ‘set up their sleeping bag’.

Over lunch, Sam outlines which trails they’re going on and which natural wonders they want to see, the biggest one being a frozen waterfall. With the route he and Jess make up, it’s set to keep them out the rest of the day and hopefully not too much longer into dusk. With that as a source of motivation, they’re quick to gather their things and set out on their first trail.

Castiel enjoys the outdoors. He finds nature fascinating and relaxing. It’s his time to clear his mind – or let it wander – and feel the peace surround him. This hike, however, is anything but peaceful.

First, there’s the overwhelming presence of Dean walking next to him. Most of the paths are wide enough that they can walk two by two with Sam and Jess leading the way. It’d be pretty damn obvious if Castiel was avoiding Dean by either walking ahead or lagging way behind. Then there’s the known fact that they walk together wherever they go. He hates it because they’re so close. At times, their arms brush together and it leaves Castiel momentarily stunned, instantly thrown back into a time when the room was hot and packed with too many sweaty bodies while the floor vibrated with the music’s heavy bass beneath their feet. A time that might seem hazy from the several shots he’d taken, but he can still very much recall the way Dean’s hand felt brushing against his arm, bodies pressed together from lack of anywhere else to go. He always snaps himself out of the memory before it can progress too far, and keeps walking as if nothing happened.

Second, Dean’s grumbling the whole way. About the cold. About almost slipping on a random frozen puddle. About how ‘this waterfall better be some epic shit for all this effort’. Sam and Jess are too wrapped up in their conversation to hear him, but the little comments are starting to get under Castiel’s skin. Because it still doesn’t make sense. Why did Dean fucking change his mind?

Then there’s the final straw. The moment that convinces Castiel he’s actually in Hell.

They’ve arrived at their final destination, the frozen waterfall, after hiking for hours. Castiel can see why Sam and Jess were so excited to see it. The sight is truly breathtaking. Winter may have just begun, but the cold has already hit them hard and therefore creating the wonder Castiel’s currently staring up at in awe.

It isn’t a huge waterfall by any means. It’s spread wide as it tips over the cliff’s edge above, making it look bigger than it is, but the stream isn’t too intense. Standing under it in the summer would probably be akin to standing in a shower with excellent water pressure. Now, the water’s frozen mid-air, some sections of the waterfall touching all the way to the ground. Behind the distorted icy wall is an alcove that could possibly be considered a small cave, where Sam and Jess are currently exploring. Castiel’s not really sure where Dean went. Maybe he followed after them.

It’s been a fairly gray day, but there have been occasional breaks in the thin layer of clouds that tease the blue sky behind them. Now, with the sun setting behind the cliff, the colors of sunset reflect off the gray while creating a picturesque backdrop beyond the waterfall. Jess, having a love for photography, has been taking pictures along the way and Castiel could easily ask her to take the photo for him, but he decides to see what he can capture on his own.

Stepping back, he pulls off a single glove to fish his phone from his pocket and open the camera app. He holds it up, but he’s too close to get the full view he wants. Step by step, he backs up as more of the cliff fills the screen. It’s too late that he realizes he should probably be paying attention to where he’s walking, because one moment he’s upright, the next his feet are tripping over a rock. He scrambles to regain his footing, but lurches the wrong way and ends up on the small stream created by the waterfall, the frozen water doing no favors in his attempts to right himself. His feet finally slip out from under him, and with his heart in his throat, he braces for impact, praying his head doesn’t land on anything sharp. His fall is stopped by something, though. A tight grip wraps around his arms, and he’s leaning against something soft. He opens his eyes, having squeezed them shut at some point, and looks up to find green eyes staring down at him.

“You should probably watch where you’re going,” Dean tells him.

Castiel breathes out, body slumping against Dean’s while his mind plays catch up. “Sorry.”

“Are you okay? Can you stand?”

With the help of Dean holding him, he’s able to regain his footing on the ice, but Dean holds on securely while Castiel takes stock of himself. “I think I’m good. Nothing seems to hurt.”

Dean grins at him. “You’re lucky I was here, then.”

Castiel swallows, heart still thudding in his chest, only for different reasons this time. “Um, thank you. I, um, didn’t realize – I thought you were with Sam and Jess.”

Dean shrugs. “Figured they’d want some time alone to be in their nerd heaven. I’m more interested in finding a way to climb this thing and get a vantage point.”

“Any luck?”

“Not without doing some serious climbing or walking around to find a better slope. I don’t know about you, but my fingers and toes are too frozen for all that.”

Castiel chuckles. “I’d have to agree.”

For a moment, they both look at each other and seem to realize that Dean is still holding onto Castiel’s arm. He drops it awkwardly before nodding towards the waterfall. “I, uh, believe you were trying to get your picture?”

Castiel pushes away the emptiness that comes with the loss of Dean’s touch. Those feelings are bad. They’re the reason why the incident happened. They’re the reason a cloud of tension has been hanging over them ever since. He nods before lifting his phone to snap his picture. When he opens it up to check the quality, he’s acutely aware of Dean looking over his shoulder at it.

“Damn, Jess is gonna be jealous someone can take as good a picture as her.”

Castiel snorts, looking up at him. “You’re just saying that.”

“Come on, Cas, I would never…” He trails off suddenly. Something flashes through Dean’s eyes then. Was it doubt? Hurt? Castiel can’t place it before it’s gone, replaced quickly with mischief. “Hey, get a picture of me licking the waterfall.”

Castiel chuckles. “Don’t you need a few shots first to think reckless ideas are good ones?” The words are out of his mouth before he realizes it and the regret is instant. The playfulness of Dean’s face dissipates into guilt and… something else. “Dean, I didn’t mean –“

“It’s fine, Cas. You’re not exactly wrong.”

Before Castiel can try to do some damage control, Sam’s calling to them. “Hey, you guys done looking around? Sun’s going down fast and we should be heading back.”

“Sure thing, Sammy,” Dean replies gruffly as he walks away from Castiel. He waits a few moments before sighing and following suit. He hadn’t meant to say what he said, but is it not true? Alcohol has a long history of clouding people’s judgments, which happen to include kissing your best friend. Castiel swallows thickly, quickly shoving the memory away before it can fill his mind with images and feelings he shouldn’t be thinking about.

The walk back to camp drones on too long. Dean’s walking ahead of the group while Castiel brings up the rear. He can feel Sam and Jess’ curious gazes glance back at him, but he ignores them. By the time they make it back to camp, it’s pitch black with the exception of their flashlights lighting up the darkness. Sam gets to work building the fire while Dean loads their cooler from the trunk of the Impala. Jess and Castiel set up their chairs around the fire pit and give order to the stones meant to contain the fire. Once Sam gives life to the flames, they all take a moment to thaw their frozen bodies and visit the bathroom before roasting some hot dogs, a classic camping meal according to Dean.

They talk as a group, Sam and Jess taking up most of the conversation as they pass around her camera to view her pictures. Dean and Castiel never speak directly to each other. In fact, Dean won’t even look at him. Not that Castiel is looking much at Dean either. He sneaks quick peeks here and there, but he’s too terrified of what he might see if their eyes meet. His stomach churns and he’s worried he may just be sick. This was never supposed to happen.

So many times, Castiel’s thought about what it would be like to kiss Dean. All sorts of scenarios, all sorts of events. Just about every one of them was more favorable than the drunken make-out session they had. Of course it felt incredible. Castiel still recalls the way Dean’s lips felt against his, how wonderfully soft and smooth they were. The way Dean’s hands gradually slipped around his waist, pulling them even more impossibly close than they already were. His tongue – oh god, his tongue. Like silk, sweetened from the fruity tequila cocktail he’d stolen from Charlie. Castiel swore he could stand there all night, relishing in the way Dean felt and tasted. The kiss – quickly turned plural – was sloppy, but oh, did it make Castiel’s head spin. For a moment, he was convinced he was getting drunker off Dean than the actual alcohol.

At the time, Castiel didn’t care that he’d regret not tearing himself away sooner. In that moment, it was perfect to him. Hindsight is 20/20, though. Now he can see how he lost his chance. His one and only kiss with Dean, and it was wasted at some random party with alcohol being the only reason it happened. Castiel can’t remember how it got initiated, but he’s fairly certain it was all on him. Years of pining mixed with tequila means very little restraint on Castiel’s end.

But aside from the kiss, their friendship. What if they won’t ever be able to get past this? Castiel’s been trying to put it out of his mind, but how can he ever act like he isn’t painfully in love with his best friend after getting a taste of what it’d be like if things were different? Keeping Dean as a friend is more important than some stupid kiss, but how long will he be able to keep up this façade that he’s fine?

“Cas?” He looks up to see Jess looking down at him, eyebrows furrowed. “You okay?”

He blinks a couple times before giving her a smile. “Sorry, I just - Are you and Sam turning in?”

She grins at him. “It’s okay. I know we did a lot of walking today and it’s cold as hell. But yeah, we are. Maybe you should be getting some sleep too?”

Castiel nods, getting to his feet. “Good idea.” He says his goodnights to Sam and Jess before they disappear inside their tent. When they’re gone, he glances to Dean, who’s staring into the fire. “Are you, um…”

Dean doesn’t meet his gaze. “In a few.”

“Okay,” Castiel sighs softly. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.” The soft way Dean says the words only serve to make Castiel melt and ache all at once. Without sparing another moment, he slips into their tent and zips it up behind him. He quickly sheds all his layers to change into something more comfortable to sleep in – a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt with a hoodie thrown over. Within minutes, he’s tucked into his sleeping bag, watching the shadows created by the flames slowly fade as the fire dies out. It’s then he hears Dean stomp out the remaining embers and starts unzipping the tent. Castiel closes his eyes and is eternally grateful for the dark to hide his horrible attempts at acting. Once Dean is done changing into his own version of pajamas – it’s too hard to see through the dark what he’s wearing – Castiel hears him slip into his sleeping bag.

Then it’s just quiet.

Castiel honestly tries to go to sleep. He really does. But his mind won’t shut off. It won’t stop thinking about Dean and the kiss and everything that’s happened since. It won’t stop thinking about what the future holds for them, whether Castiel should come clean about his feelings or hope the eggshells will eventually clear and he and Dean can be the friends they were before that damn party.

Out in the middle of nowhere, essentially, with the darkness too thick to see much of anything, time is not a concept to Castiel. He has no idea how much of it has passed. An hour? Two hours? Thirty minutes? He could probably sneak a look at his phone, but he doesn’t want to give away that he’s been up this whole time.

He keeps trying to make his eyes shut. Eventually the exhaustion from the hiking and shivering from the cold will wear him out and he’ll have no choice but to pass out. But why won’t it just happen? Probably another twenty minutes passes, if Castiel’s being realistic, and the wind starts to pick up. The tent is doing pretty well at taking the brunt of it, but he can still feel the icy breeze sneak in through the zipper of the entrance and ‘windows’, despite them all being zipped closed. If he wasn’t shivering before, he definitely is now.

There are times when Castiel wishes for endless nights. This is not one of those nights.

Barely withholding a frustrated sigh, he crawls out from his sleeping bag and reaches for his duffle. He packed an extra pair of fuzzy socks to use at night should it get unbearably cold. He feels around for the soft bundle, but comes up with nothing.

“Please, please, please,” he prays softly, this time dragging out all his stuff in hopes the socks will appear. They don’t. And then he remembers. The socks are sitting in his laundry basket, waiting patiently to be packed. “Fuck,” he sighs, sitting back dejectedly. He must’ve forgotten them while he was too busy wallowing over Dean not coming on the trip. Which, as it turned out, was completely pointless.

“Cas?”

He freezes at the sound of Dean’s voice. It takes him a couple seconds to remember to answer. Obviously Dean knows he’s awake now.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Some shifting. “Nah, you didn’t – it’s alright. Is, uh, everything okay?”

Castiel sighs. “Yes. It’s just that I didn’t exactly come as prepared as I intended.”

Dean chuckles, a quiet sound. “Leave it to Sam to want to go camping while it feels like Elsa iced us all over.”

“At least it’s not snowing.”

“Thank god for that. Please promise me you’ll never take me camping in the winter again.”

A smile pulls at Castiel’s lips. He wants to ask why Dean even came in the first place, but the comment gives him some hope. Any talk about the future together is a good sign.

“You have my word. Although, I doubt Sam and Jess will want to have a repeat of this night. I bet they’re just as cold as us.”

Dean snorts. “No way. Those two are definitely sharing a sleeping bag. They’re probably alright.”

“Ah yes, I forgot about the benefits of sharing body heat.”

“If we’re smart, we should do that too.” At first, Castiel doesn’t think he hears him correctly, but then Dean clears his throat. “I mean, um, if you’re really that cold. Survival 101, ya know? I, um, have a double, so there’s room over here.”

“You’d be… okay with that?” Castiel asks slowly.

“Come on, Cas. We’ve kissed before, haven’t we?” He can tell Dean means to say it as a joke, but it comes out almost timid, as if worried Castiel might storm out of the tent at the reminder. If he knows what’s good for him, Castiel would politely decline the offer. There’s no way he’d be able to sleep next to Dean and not slowly die the rest of the night. But right now, Castiel’s freezing and he misses being close to Dean. He hates this space created between them. If this is Dean’s attempt at getting past the tension, then there’s no way Castiel’s going to leave him vulnerable.

“Alright.”

He feels his way over Dean, and it takes some shuffling before they get settled in the sleeping bag. There’s enough room for them to turn over, but close enough that Castiel can feel Dean’s breath tickle his face. They lay in silence, but it’s oddly not awkward. There’s just a sense of ease being this close to Dean. They’re able to do this. Coexist in silence and not feel the need to fill it. Until a question blurts out of Castiel’s mouth before he can stop it.

“Why did you change your mind?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Not right away, at least.

“I still think about that kiss.” It’s barely a whisper. “I… Fuck, I know I shouldn’t be saying this right now but - I think about that kiss too fucking much.”

Wait… What?

“And I know we were drunk. I know it meant nothing, but dammit Cas, I – I can’t forget it.”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts, his head spinning. He can’t be really saying what Castiel thinks he’s saying. But there’s one thing that Castiel wants to make perfectly clearly. “It wasn’t meaningless to me.”

“It… It wasn’t?”

Castiel huffs a soft, humorless laugh. Well, if they’re going down this road, might as well see what’s at the end. “Not in the slightest. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to…”

A pause. “Do you really mean that, Cas?”

Castiel nips at his lip. He’s thankful for the darkness because a blush is burning hot on his face, but damn if he isn’t dying to see exactly what’s showing in Dean’s eyes right now. “Of course. I – I’m sorry it had to come out this way but… how could I not develop feelings for you, Dean? You… you mean too much.”

As if set off on a trigger, the warmth on Castiel’s side disappears and suddenly there’s a weight settled on top of his body while lips dip down to meet his. Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat and it takes a moment for his brain to figure out what the hell is happening. When it finally does a heartbeat later, Castiel’s frozen fingers tangle themselves in the fabric of what feels like one of Dean’s Henley’s and he returns the kiss. It doesn’t last more than a couple seconds before Dean pulls back enough to whisper clearly against his lips.

“So long, Cas.” Another soft kiss. “So long I’ve wanted to tell you. I should’ve, but – dammit, I had no idea how. You’re my best friend and I didn’t…“

Castiel grins in the dark, kissing the corner of Dean’s mouth. “I think we both shared the same thoughts.”

Dean chuckles quietly. “You know, I never thought it’d come out like that. Drunk at one of those stupid frat parties. I… I always kinda pictured us going on a date or something…”

“Dean Winchester, old fashioned? I would’ve never guessed,” Castiel teases, earning him a gentle shove against his shoulder.

“Shut up. I wanted to be classy for you, okay?”

In reality, Castiel knows perfectly well how thoughtful Dean is to his love interests. He may put on a tough front, but he’s never been anything less than a gentleman in his past relationships. That was always hard to watch for Castiel, wishing it could be him. He reaches up to feel along Dean’s jaw, which causes him to shudder. They can’t see each other, but he’s hoping the touch will make for a good substitute of seeing each other’s eyes. “I like you as you are, Dean. You don’t need to be anything but that for me to be happy.”

Dean ducks his head, forehead resting against Castiel’s shoulder. “Jesus, you – you can’t say stuff like that, Cas.”

Castiel smiles. “Say for the sake of curiosity, we haven’t had our first kiss…”

Dean lifts his head. “Well, since you asked.” There’s no doubt a smirk is painted on Dean’s lips and a glint is in those eyes right now. Butterflies take flight in Castiel’s stomach as Dean’s lips brush against his, a soft peck that’s quickly followed by a firmer press. It’s innocent and tender, completely different from their first drunken kiss. This must be what it feels like for angels to soar through the clouds. So breathtaking and light, the feeling of invincibility and awe spreading throughout his body. Castiel’s hands trail down Dean’s side before spreading out over his back, feeling along the strong muscles underneath the Henley. Dean, still holding himself up with one arm, uses the other to cup Castiel’s face, his chill fingers searing against the warmth that seems permanent under his skin now.

After a few moments of gentle kisses, there’s the lightest brush of Dean’s tongue against Castiel’s bottom lip, and he parts his mouth experimentally. A soft sigh escapes him after the first caress, and he eagerly seeks out more. Honestly, it’s silly for Castiel to feel like he’s never kissed anyone before, but kissing Dean completely sober like this, without the taste of alcohol, it’s making his head spin more than the first time, which also was ten times more explicit.

It doesn’t take much for the kisses to lose their shyness, transforming into complete and utter want. Dean works his tongue deeper into Castiel’s mouth, and Castiel pushes back in an attempt to get more. Their breathing ratchets up with the heat, hands moving more eagerly over skin and clothes, touching all they can. A low fire starts to burn in Castiel’s stomach, and it’s materializing in the way his cock gradually hardens. Feeling Dean’s cock do the same, pressed against his thigh, isn’t doing him any favors either. Imagine how powerless he is when Dean adjusts himself so that when he thrusts ever so gently, it brushes right over Castiel’s erection.

“Dean,” he moans against his lips. Dean chuckles in response. Castiel isn’t too far gone to get his revenge, though. Gripping Dean’s hips, Castiel moves his hips and gives an answering thrust.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, fingers tangling into Castiel’s hair. They continue to go back and forth, their kisses becoming sloppier and more desperate as they rut against each other. Jesus, they’re like the horny teenagers in those eighties movies Dean had them watch during their movie nights. He should probably be embarrassed at how fast he’s approaching the edge, his boxers absorbing the pre-come as he aches for more while having no control over the desperate sounds that are escaping him. He can’t find it in himself to care. Dean seems to be the same above him anyway.

“Shit, Cas, I’m gonna –“ And just like that, Dean rips himself from Castiel’s arms, rolling onto his back beside him. Castiel whines pathetically at the loss, but his mind won’t give words to his protests. “Christ, Cas, we can’t – we shouldn’t do this here.”

Castiel’s trying hard to catch his breath, feeling dizzy from being so close to coming and then suddenly lacking any stimulation. But Dean’s right. If they come now, they’d either have to sit with the mess in their boxers all night or be assaulted by the cold to change into new ones. Neither option sounds particularly pleasant. “You’re right,” he admits reluctantly.

For several moments, they lay in silence with the exception of their labored breathing, not feeling chilled at all. Far from it. In fact, he wants to shed his hoodie because his blood feels like it’s boiling under his skin, causing it to become damp with sweat. That’s one way to warm up, he supposes. When it feels he’s come down from being so high, he rolls over to nuzzle himself to Dean, almost worried he might wake up any second now and realize this is all a dream. He’s reassured by Dean’s arms wrapping around him, and a soft kiss is placed just above his eyebrow. If only he was able to look at Dean right now. Read whatever could be in those green eyes.

“I’m glad you changed your mind. About coming with, I mean,” Castiel finds himself saying.

“Me too, Cas.” A soft kiss. “Me too.”

Sleep takes Castiel then, and when he wakes up the next morning to find himself still tangled with Dean, whose hair is a mess from last night, he smiles. His heart skips a beat when Dean blearily blinks open his eyes, slowly adjusting to the bright sunlight streaming through the walls of the tent. All sorts of shades of green and hints of gold dance in them as they come to life and seem to remember the events that led them in the same sleeping bag.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel murmurs.

Dean smiles lazily at him, adoration prominent as he gazes back at him. “Morning, sunshine.”

It’s then that Castiel swears he’s fallen in love.

[daily-dose-of-naruto]

This is more of a personal request since I'm struggling really hard at the moment. Can I have a scenario of Sasuke finding out his S/O is recovering from an eating disorder? ( preferably anorexia, with some purging ) if not its okay. If you dont want it on your blog but are comfortable writing this could you send it to me? Thank you ;w;

Now, everybody, you are going to witness one of the long, long, long reflexions Admin Night writes.

This request was sent when the ask box is closed. However, I contacted Admin Shadow and asked her if I could do it. Usually, we tend to forget laws are made to protect us, and that means that, sometimes, the right thing to do is to bend the rules. I know this feels like a weak excuse. But I the truth is I care about you: even if we aren’t very active, all the admins discuss what can we do to make the experience of this blog more enjoyable. We care about you and we care about your problems. If using a bit of my time to write a scenario will make you feel a tiny bit feel better, I will.

Now, the topic of this scenario is difficult. As a first disclaimer, I don’t have an ED. But, I do have had problems with my mental health, and one of the things that helped me the most was fanfiction. I loved reading headcanons, scenarios, fics and all that kind of writings about my disorder, it made feel I belonged to something. Just for that, I wrote this. I tried to make a good research, and to write about the topic in the better way possible. But, as always, if someone feels uncomfortable, they can contact me.

Also,  always remember: you are worthy, you are beautiful, you deserve being here, right now. You are not your bad thoughts, you are not your illness: you can win the war, and the best strategy is loving everything you are. Never beat yourself if recovery doesn’t go smooth, it happens. But you will make it. You are strong and you will make it.

As a final note: this is an AU.

Trigger warnings: Food mention, eating disorders, anorexia, purging.

~Admin Night

[Ten Steps] Sasuke finding out his S/O is recovering from an eating disorder

I

You realized it was an illness that afternoon.  The sky was already turning red, myriads of colors traveled across it: orange and yellow and even a bit of purple splashed it like paint, the clouds soaking in the colors with their cotton-like texture. Red strawberry licorice. Orange cheddar. Yellow fries.  Purple cake icing. You were sitting on the bus-stop, recounting both the conversations of the day and how many numbers you had eaten. It was cold; your skin seemed to shrink with every molecule of air, even with the heavy coat you wore. Your fingers drummed against the metallic seat, how much more you had to wait? Your stomach hurt — your mind always fought between the pain and the sensation of control it produced—, but you ignored it and drank a large gulp of water. Chocolate cake and buttery popcorn.

Today Sasuke had kissed you. His lips were warm and slightly chapped. His hands were feathery. You had closed your eyes and smiled and shivered. But instead of enjoying the way his hair tingled against your forehead, you were thinking about it. Greasy pizza and ramen. You were proud he had kissed you because that meant you were actually beautiful —beautifully thin— and that meant you finally had gotten control over your body.

The sky got darker. Now, there was more than a smidge of purple. Grape Soda. The sun was setting. You heard the bus finally approaching, his motor diluted in the many cars that transited that street. Sugary lemonade, anko, vanilla ice-cream. Today, you weren’t going to eat more, the salad you had eaten with Sasuke was enough.

You stood up slowly. But this time, that didn’t stop the trembling of your knees, or the sudden layer of white that blinded your eyes, or the feeling of death that crossed your head seconds before your hands grasped the floor. Ears buzzed, a high whistle breaking your eardrum. You couldn’t breathe. Air wasn’t in your lungs and an acrid taste was creeping up your throat. In a sudden act of determination you stood up and got on the bus; hands burning and eyes avoiding the driver.

This wasn’t the first time you got dizzy. Nevertheless, in the seat of the bus, observing both your new bruises and the old reddish skin of your knuckles, you felt alone, helpless, vulnerable. There wasn’t any control. You were dying. You were drowning.  

Then, you realized you wanted to breathe, you wanted to fight it.

II    

The meal was laughing at you, pointing its caloric fingers at your chest. Stomach closed, you weren’t hungry. And still, still, all that your mind could think of was creamy chocolate bathing dozen of cookies. If you ate, then grease would clog your veins, fat slowly accumulating under your skin.  But you had to eat; your body was disappearing, you were shrinking into nothingness, and you wanted to live. Or at least, a small part of you, trapped somewhere between your withered organs, did. You wanted to fight for that tiny part. But food meant calories, calories meant fat, fat meant ugly. Those horrible thoughts weren’t your thoughts.

Chest felt heavy. You moved every grain, categorizing them in size, as you had done so many times. You didn’t remember how you felt before this: how life felt before your hands ached, before the pains, before the black hole in the brain.  How did it feel when you were you? You turned your cell phone on. Three numbers greeted you, fifteen minutes had passed since you sat on the table. If you could eat… It was just rice, why were you afraid? If you just could eat. Automatically, your fingers did what you always did to stop with the panic: the app opened under your index command, a list of weights, days and calories appeared on the screen. As you read, those numbers you had already learned crossed your mind. Bowl of rice, 204 calories.  It was too much. You couldn’t eat. Too much. It meant fat. Fat was bad. They would hate you. Sasuke would. But you were going to die and you didn’t know if that was good or bad. You couldn’t eat. Your stomach was glued. But darkness was horrifying. Almost as horrifying as the sky made of strawberry licorice, cheddar, fries and cake icing. The sky that took the control out of you and that was sucking life out of your marrow.

With hands trembling, you let your finger pressing the icon of your inquisitor. Then, it was out of your life. Tears blurred your vision as you gripped to anything that could keep you sane, the light of the screen stabbed your pupils. You put the cell phone on the table and redirected your attention to the rice.

Just a bit. Even after you swallowed, you felt the food trapped in the throat. Maybe you were hurt, you thought while drinking small gulps of water. It was tiresome. You were going to sleep.

Suddenly, your phone rang. Sasuke had sent you a message.

I have a break but Naruto is a dumbass. Call you at night.

Even in the haziness, you smiled.

III

The first thing Sasuke noticed was how your eyes sparkled. How they acquired a sharp quality every time you were remembering or talking with him. He loved it. The day was bright, rays of sun painted patches of the world in a warmer color, clouds floated in a sky made of a surreal blue. Today, the air didn’t seem transparent; it was creamy, softening the acute edges of every object in the world.

“Today’s very hot.” You said. The statement was true, however, it was strange hearing you say that. You always wore wool sweaters and big, heavy jackets. Even in summer.

He feigned returning his attention to you —it was always on you, his eyes were perpetually piercing your soul, even when he hid his face behind a book—. Your long shirt was rolled up, hair tied in a bun, some drops of sweat sliding down your neck. The bottle of water you always carried was empty, resting against the trunk of the tree, as you two were.

“You are right,” He responded. Wind tossed his hair, some leafs flew in the current. “Do you want to eat something cold?”

Sasuke had seen you eat counted times. You maintained a rigid schedule that he didn’t want to disturb.  However, this was the only solution he could think of. You were already in the shadow; a big cherry tree was protecting you from the sun. There wasn’t a better place to stay in Konoha’s Park.

“We could buy something for the two.” You pronounced the words before your mind could process it. That something meant ice-cream, and as you realized what you had said, a small hole began to grow in your belly. You dreaded the colorful stall placed in the middle of the park. What if you couldn’t eat? And the sweet? It was bad.

“Okay.”

Sasuke didn’t like ice-cream, he preferred salty foods. Nevertheless, he wanted to make you happy, and taking into account your difficult relation with food, it was good you wanted something cold to eat.

And your mind screamed as both of you walked to the vendor. This was okay, it was recovery. You didn’t process what flavor was chosen, merely assenting to the man’s suggestion. Sasuke received the cone and paid. This was okay. After days of anxiety, you had managed to eat one full meal at the correct hour. This was recovery. Still, the pain in your stomach and the electricity in your hand, and your heart’s drumming resonating in your bones…

Suddenly, you became cold, all the sweaty, hot skin was replaced for shivering. But you allowed the creamy ice to touch your tongue, and it tasted nice, it felt nice on your palate. Sasuke did the same. And you did. And your stomach wasn’t totally closed.

At the end, you managed to eat half of the cone. It was an achievement, you mused.

IV

Nightmares continued seizing your skin.  Food. Food. Food. In them, everything was food. Rivers of chocolate that cascaded in marshmallow clouds; a sun made of corn; a boat drenched in the oily texture of pizza. And in those dreams, you ate it all. Now, they were scarce. As your body reabsorbed all the nutrients you had denied it, the reasons your brain had to reproduce such terrible fantasies were dimming; or at least, you imagined that.

Nevertheless, even if you only had them once or twice a week, they were enough to destroy your nerves. Always, you woke up feeling grease was seeping through your pores. It was all anxiety and pain. Now more than before, as you tried to stop the urge to poke your fingers in your mouth and puke all that imaginary calories that you had eaten.

You had always resisted. You were proud.

Every little advance made the heavy burden became lighter. Nothing made you happier than looking at your knuckles: now, they weren’t red and bruised. Hunger had returned to you, letting you feel a small tug at least once a day.  Sasuke looked so much less worried. You loved accompanying him in his walks, usually, he let you take his hand, and last time you saw a smirk on his face when he noticed you never stopped to rest.

After mentally recalling all those little victories, you aimed for another one. A dinner-date. The phone illuminated the blankets and the pillows. You wrote the message, hands still shaking from the nightmare. But you could control this.

Want to go out for dinner tomorrow?

He was probably awake, he stayed up after midnight writing reports. Still, your lungs turned heavy when you read his answer.

Yes. I’ll make time.

V

You feared the bloating. You hated it. Before you date with Sasuke, you rummaged all your closet, searching for something, anything, that didn’t show your grown belly. Maybe going back to it was better? With time, all your clothes would be too small, and then everybody would hate you. You chose that ample dress he liked so much, but now, it wasn’t that ample. You felt tired, air heavy and blood rushing through your veins.

Maybe it was too early for this? Still, you continued. Waiting, sighing. The taste of your saliva, his knocking.

Sasuke leaned in the frame of the front door, waiting for you to arrive. Your steps were a little shorter and slower than you would have wanted, you felt like walking to the gibbet. But you got to the door. You opened. He looked at you. Sasuke’s eyes always left the sensation of coal burning in the flames, always pierced to the deepest part of your flesh.  He wore one of his more formal shirts, which amazed you, taking into account how improvised your date was.

“You are beautiful.”

Those words were like a caress every time Sasuke said them, even if he had muttered them. You wished you had found them true, even just once.

The drive to the restaurant was slow. Sasuke’s expression rapidly became grim, somber; you fidgeted with your seat belt and looked through the window with an expression of profound fear in your features. You had never eaten a full dinner. Now, you were scared. And nervous, and anxious, and bloated.

“You were awake rather late yesterday.” His voice penetrated your panic.

This was the first time you had contacted him after a nightmare. He didn’t know anything. Although you knew he wasn’t stupid, you never tried to confess him the true.

“I had a nightmare. But everything is okay now.”

He hummed. That ended the conversation. Sasuke was annoyed at his inability to talk. Just a stare to your trembling hands and white face was enough to realize everything wasn’t okay.

The rest of the ride was a blur. How you entered the restaurant and whatever Sasuke had asked you in those lapses was also blurry. The only thing that appeared horrifyingly real was the menu in front of you. The menu that extended to the clash of glasses, the smell of meat, the dancing light of the candles, and the torturous music that spread from the speakers.

You had promised yourself you were going to choose whatever sounded more delicious, but every word in that booklet appeared to be a synonym of death.

“What are you going to ask?” You questioned Sasuke, ready to emulate his order.

You heard what he had chosen and repeated it in your mind like a chant. Then, you repeated it to the waiter, with your lips contorted in a fake smile.

“(Y/N), in there anything you want to tell me?”

Had he discovered it?

“What make you think that?” You answered, letting the façade you had used for so much resurface.

“You don’t like to eat outside.”

The giggle that left your mouth was thunderous. He sent you a questioning look that you overlooked while diverting the conversation.

The food came. You looked at it again and again and again. At some point, you heard Sasuke’s voice, is there something wrong? But you ignored it and smiled and took the first piece to your mouth and chewed and swallowed it — even when your throat was completely closed— and took another and chewed and swallowed and took a sip of wine. The drink was Sasuke’s idea, he was glad you were eating dinner together. And you ate and tried to answer his questions and smelled fish from the other side of the restaurant and chewed and swallowed and drank and smiled and let the music daze you and chewed and swallowed and tried to stop the acrid taste in your throat and ate and chewed and drank and-

You couldn’t breathe. The plate was empty. You looked at Sasuke, sitting at the other side of the table. You had a bloated stomach, why had you done this? Heart throbbing in your neck.

“Give me five minutes, I have to go to the restroom.”

You prayed the lack of composure didn’t show as you walked away from the table. Heart ached, head ached. Everything was hazy. You had eaten everything, too much. Your stomach was giant. You closed the door and sat on the floor, chin resting on the seat of the toilet.

After a final sigh, you entered your fingers into your mouth. Deeper and deeper, nausea, acid slowly rising from your stomach. Vomit. Vomit. Vomit. Vomit.

When your stomach finally emptied, you fell into despair. What had you done? Everything was going so well and now… now you were trapped in the beginning. You didn’t even think about cleaning your face or your mouth, instead, you just cried. Tears from the anxiety, tears from the shame, tears from the pain. Maybe you weren’t strong enough to do it…

Sasuke waited for you. Five minutes passed, and ten, and fifteen. He glanced at the restroom door every time the minute hand of his watch moved. At sixteen minutes he went to look for you. He knocked at the door, no answer, just this inaudible wailing he knew was yours. He didn’t have to force the door, you had forgotten to lock it.

And there, in that small room, surrounded by an acrid smell, staring at your eyes, Sasuke understood everything.

VI

Sasuke lifted you from the floor with shaking hands. With shaking hands he flushed the toilet. With shaking hands he cleaned your face and paid the bill and drove back to your home. He didn’t utter a word. How could he? He was so stupid, ignorant, negligent. Everything matched. It was so obvious and he had failed to protect you. And damn it, his hands had to stop shaking.

All that time, while you let him lead you, your mind intonated the same chant: he hates me. Hates me. Hates me. Hates me. Hates me. And why wouldn’t he, you also hated yourself. You had failed. It was too hard, you were going to shrink to death. Tears never stopped staining your cheeks. His hands held the wheel extremely hard, the knuckles were white. Your lungs were too busy choking for managing to utter any word.

He also led you to your house, taking the keys from your trembling hands and opening the door. The two entered. And, finally, you found yourself in your bed, Sasuke holding you in his arms, tight enough to relieve the tingling that pierced all your body. His body was still, extremely stiff, and he didn’t move until your breathing had become somewhat normal.

He didn’t ask for details. He only made one question.

“How can I help you?” The words were pronounced slowly, dragging the syllables, as if it was hard to speak. Almost at the end of the sentence, his voice broke slightly.

It was enough to make you cry again.

“I don’t know.”

His embrace tightened. Right hand combing through your hair, left hand drawing circles in your back. Trapped in his chest, you couldn’t see his eyes.

You told him everything, every word that left your mouth carried the acid taste of puke. But as the last confession left your mouth, you felt a heavy weight disappearing from your heart.

VII

“Is it time to eat?” You asked, answering your boyfriend’s phone call.

Sasuke had done it the last months. He called you for the three big meals of the day, asking about your day and your overall mood. Sometimes, he didn’t tell you to eat, instead, he stayed on the line listening to your ramblings.

You knew it wasn’t time to eat. The clock marked six, there were still two hours before dinner.

“It isn’t. You already know,” He stated, letting silence follow the sentence before continuing, “I finished early today. Do you want to do something?” As he concluded his question, you heard a knock on your door.

“Well, you are here.” You hung up without a farewell. Either way, Sasuke was at your side now.

He entered to your house without much parsimony. He was already used to it.

“Let’s go for a walk.” He said. You knew that was Sasuke’s way of making questions. He would change the plan if you did as much as sigh.

“I’d love to.”

You promenaded under a boulevard adorned with cherry trees. Their leaves were green and there were already red dots growing from their branches. Sasuke’s hand was a bit sweaty, but that was okay, as, with the heat of the summer, yours was too. He walked slowly, trying to inhale all the landscape that rose around him, still, one of his strides, meant two steps for you. You stayed silent most of the time, enjoying the other’s company. At your right side, a stall of food spread its smell. But this time, it didn’t faze you. Instead, you continued admiring Sasuke’s hand. He, on the other hand, walked a little faster, trying to take you away from the odor.

Sasuke stopped when you were away from most of the people. A nervousness you hadn’t perceived apparent now in his eyes. He never left your hand.

“Is there something wrong, Sasuke?”

He kissed you. Firm arms, chapped lips, warm breath. You smiled and giggled. There wasn’t much of a reason, you just felt happy. He smiled too.  

“Come live with me.” That was also a question. Even if he had disguised it as an order.

You kissed him again. A layer of sweat, warm tongue, feathery fingers, tense jaw.

“I will.”

That day, you dined together. You didn’t notice the nervousness, too busy making plans for your future.

VIII

Sasuke felt a harder hold on his hand as you approached the cinema. You dreaded going to the movies, it meant the sweet smell of popcorn and the pressure of consuming more food than you could resist. The movie wasn’t worth it, especially when your concentration decreased in the first quarter of the movie.  

Nevertheless, things were different now.

You bought the tickets and entered to the confectionery. Sasuke stared at you with his dark, preoccupied eyes. You were anxious, afraid you weren’t capable of this yet.

“I’m going to buy the food.”

You had planned everything before coming. It calmed you, giving you a sense of control. Nevertheless, he waited for you to change your wishes, maybe you weren’t ready to eat.

“Okay.”

You sat and waited for him to return. Funny enough, the odors weren’t bothering you. Still, for safety, you let your mind wander. There wasn’t food in your brain. There were books and gifts and kisses. For the first time in your life, you imagined your older self: married to Sasuke, with a pet and a successful career. You weren’t tiny and invisible anymore; life run through your veins, and you felt complete.

Sasuke startled you when he came back. Popcorn and two iced teas in his arms.

“Let’s enter now.”

IX

“How are you?” Sasuke asked, watching you with attention.

Something paralyzed your vocal chords. But you were happy, so very happy. The plate in front of you was empty. This was the tenth consecutive day you had managed to eat a whole dinner, without feeling any kind of distress afterward. And today, finally, a feeling of contempt had filled you when you were full. This was what you had forgotten.  Your fingers grazed his, your smile enough to tranquilize him.

“I still have space for the dessert.”

His kisses were wet, his caresses plumed. Sasuke’s fingers traveled across all your body, making silent compliments in all your skin.

“I love you.” He mumbled against your neck, his lips moving in your skin.

“I love you too.” Happiness was tangling in your chest. Salty tears rimmed your eyes. “I love you so much.”

X

You stirred in bed. Over your skin, the blanket felt soft and warm. Fluffy caresses engulfed your legs as you moved them across the mattress. Sunrays seeped through the curtains. With a little concentration, you could even see small particles of dust dancing in the light. Before you moved to sit up, a grunt reverberated against your neck. Sasuke made his embrace tighter, his breaths lifting some strands of your hair. Yes, he wasn’t a morning person. You turned around and faced him. Eyelids fluttering and a pout. His chest slowly rising and sinking with every breath. You kissed his nose and his eyes and his cheeks.

“Good morning, Sasuke.”

This morning you felt happy, energized. Mind already making a million of plans for the day. It was Sunday, but the day to come was still exciting.

“Stay in bed,” he mumbled as a response, nuzzling your shoulder. That was the way he showed love. His fingers were making little arabesques in your back.

“Just for a while,” you said, as his sleepy state infected you. You curled up on his chest, letting his heartbeat lull you.  “I have to make breakfast.”

Everything was so soft, so warm, so creamy…

Both of you woke up when the sun crashed directly against your eyes. Sasuke tried to hide in your chest, his eyelashes tickling your skin. However, he admitted defeat with a single huff; then he stretched his arms, letting sleep slip off his body. You, on the contrary, accepted the light with a smile, a last yawn escaped your mouth before you jumped away from the pillow. He looked at you while still lying down on the bed. His eyes, even now, sent electricity to your nerves.

“Morning.”

He was answering to your words from earlier that day. That was all you would get.

“I’m hungry. I’m making breakfast.”

You threw him another smile and gave him a small kiss on the lips. Knowing him, he would stay another five minutes in the bed, mourning the lost sleep. The floor was smooth against your feet. A song left your lips as you walked to the kitchen, content bubbling in your chest.

“Do you need any help?”

Today, Sasuke was quick.  He had followed your steps shortly after you left. It was nice. His raspy morning voice was nice.

And, in the counter, while wondering what to cook you realized: there wasn’t any anxiety, or fear, or pain. There was only peace. A warm peace that grew in all your limbs.

[gillian-ybabez]

Cousin Came to Visit

My handheld began softly beeping. I tapped it twice to silence and cancel the alarm. I slid off my bed and began rooting around in the “not too dirty” pile of clothes on the floor. I picked up and sniffed a sports bra. Oh god, that stinks! I tossed it into the actually dirty pile of clothes. I gave up looking on the floor and just pulled out a clean sports bra and underwear from my dresser. The sports bra fit extra snug, flatting out my chest nicely. Not as flat as a binder but I didn’t have one of those. Yet. A loose t-shirt and a pair of track shorts covered enough skin to make me decent. I unlocked my bedroom door, slid it open, and walked into the kitchen. Mom was already in there drinking coffee at the table. I grabbed the small sauce pan off the wall, half filled it with water, cranked the handle into the red, and set it on the stove top. From inside the refrigerator, I plucked two eggs from their carton. I dropped the eggs into the just boiling water and glanced at the wall clock.

“Your cousin Hannah is arriving today,” Mom said.

“I know. You’ve only been reminding me for the last week,” I said.

“Lucy–”

“Luke,” I said to remind her.

“Right, Luke. It would be nice if you came with us when we picked her up.”

“Ok, do I have time to eat?” I glanced at the clock again. Wait, was the minute hand right on the four or a little before it the last time I looked.

“She doesn’t arrive for a couple of hours.” For a few minutes, neither of say anything. “Maybe you could take her flying later,” she said.

“I can’t just take the tug out for joy rides.” I grabbed two slices of bread and set them in the toaster.

“Why not?”

I counted off the reasons on my fingers, “One: it’s technically company property until I finish paying it off. Two: fuel costs money. Three: it has heavy weapons that I don’t want her accidentally firing.”

“I can give you money for fuel.”

“You have a few thousand laying around for a half hour joy ride?” The toast dinged and I set them on a plate to be sliced.

“No. It costs that much to fly?” she asked surprised.

“Yeah. Most contracts have fuel allowances so I only have to cover part of the fueling costs but it’s still expensive.”

“I didn’t know. Your eggs are done.”

I quickly turned back to my eggs and cranked the pot handle back to the blue. The rolling boil stopped. After a few seconds, I reached into the warm water to pull out my eggs and set them in egg cups. I carried the eggs and toast to the table, grabbed a spoon, and cracked the top off my first egg. It was fully hard boiled. I sighed.

***

The land here is dry, arid, dusty, sandy, barren, did I mention dry. Nothing but scrub brush can grow out here but that means land is cheap. One of the reasons my parents and I moved here. The other being the job opportunities in the City. The City is everything the surrounding land is not. Tall, clean, cool buildings, green parks, water fountains. It’s a man-made oasis in the desert. My parents have jobs in the city but we live outside it. I said land out here is cheap. In the city, everything costs more. Even with their fancy city jobs, we can’t afford to live there.

The bus station was just a small ticket booth next to a series of canopies. Several buses waited for passengers to get on or off. A crowd of people waited nearby for their bus to arrive. It’s hot but not any hotter than usual. Dad was wearing a casual tunic over light pants and sun hat. Mom had slipped on a cream colored maxi dress and wrapped a blue scarf around her head. I stood apart from them with my flight jacket over t-shirt and track shorts, aviator sunglasses, and work boots. I wiped the sweat from my forehead back into my short hair.

To most people, the jacket looked like a bad idea on a day like today but it kept me cooler than not. It’s designed for the variable temperatures a pilot might encounter. Flat gel packs with nanotube filaments regulate the temperature of the inner layer of smart foam. Basically, if I’m too hot it pulls heat away from me and if I’m too cold it warms up. That the chest and back parts end up looking like body armor is just a bonus. The arms even have transparent pockets on the inner arms for handhelds. I have pants with the same tech for when I accept contracts that take me to the upper atmosphere or higher but they don’t look as cool.

Hannah’s bus arrived a few minutes ago and we were waiting for her to make it out of the crowd to us. She pushed through carrying a bag and pulling a second smaller suitcase on wheels. Mom waved and she waved back

“Oh, look at you. You’re so tall,” Mom said while hugging her. It’s been a few years since we’ve seen the rest of the family outside of pictures or videos.

“Hey cuz,” I said and slapped her on the shoulder.

“Hey,” she said looking me over. I haven’t put a picture up online since before I shaved my head. It’s grown out a little but it’s a radical change from how I looked before.

We piled into Dad’s ten-year-old sedan and head home. Mom spent the trip home grilling my cousin. How is her mom doing? Did her sister get into college? Has her other aunt found a job yet? A hundred questions that could be answered by email but asking a person just feels more right. Even I asked a few questions about our other cousin.

***

After we got Hannah settled into my room, Mom suggested I show her the tug. The tug is my ship. It’s just a cargo hauler that I’m leasing-to-own from the shipping company. For a cargo hauler, it’s nothing special, just a two person cockpit attached to a cargo frame with thrusters stuck on the sides and rear. The underside of the cockpit is a patch of unpainted armor because I had to have a rotted out section replaced and I haven’t bothered to repaint it. I kind of like the junkyard look it gives my ship.

The cockpit seats two, pilot in front and gunner behind and above, but I can and usually do fly solo. The turret on top of the cockpit has full range of motion and is controlled from the gunner seat but I have a cheap auto-targeting computer wired into it. It’s pretty good at lining up shots on things in the sky but it can’t really tell friend from foe so it just shoots everything. In the front, under the cockpit are a couple of cannons I can control and fire from the pilot seat. They have limited range of motion but at least I can see what I’m shooting at.

The tug stays in an empty field a few hundred yards from the housing rows. Another guy keeps his ship out here too but we rarely talk. He’s twenty years older than me and a company lifer. The company has been great for getting my license and training but I hope to do more after I’ve paid off the ship.

On my handheld, I entered the access code for the cockpit and it popped open. I reached up and grabbed the lowest rung of the ladder built into the side of the cockpit. The landing gear is supposed to retract to a mid-level when the cargo frame is empty but the controller circuit with multiple settings cost more than the one with just two. I pulled myself jerkily up the rungs until I could stand on the lowest rung and take a short breather.

Hannah started a slow clap. “That was … That was almost not pathetic. I’ve seen three-year-olds climb faster than that.”

“Shut up,” I yelled down but I was laughing between deep breaths.

“Why don’t you have a ladder or stairs or something?”

“I had a pool ladder but someone stole it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but no one around here has a pool so I don’t know why they wanted it.” I climbed the rest of the way to cockpit edge. “Ok, your turn.”

“What?” she asked.

“You want to see my ship you have to climb up on your own.”

“Come on. You don’t have a rope you can throw me?”

“Nope.”

She looked up at the ladder and stretched out her arms. The lowest rung was just out of her reach. “I can’t reach.”

“Jump. It’s right there.” She reached back up, jumped, and grabbed it. “There you go now just climb up.” I watched her struggle up rung by rung until she could stand on the lowest rung for a breather. “Not so easy is it?” I asked.

“Shut up,” she said between breaths. After a couple of minutes, she climbed the rest of the way up. I showed her where to step to reach the gunner seat without stepping on the console. I showed her the basic controls and let her swing the turret around but kept the guns offline.

My handheld buzzed. I flipped my arm over and tapped on the screen to discover what set off the notification. I have to take a certain number of contracts in a month in order to maintain my lease agreement but this week I had planned on staying mostly grounded while Hannah was staying with us. Only a high pay and short distance contract should have made it through the filter. Huh, moderate pay and short distance. I should send my cousin home but it’s a short ride and no threat level.

“Hey, you want to take a short trip?” I called back to her.

“To where?”

“There’s a contract I’m to take. You want to come with.”

“Can I?” she asked

“Sure, it’s an easy run. Might be boring though.”

She thought about it and said, “Sure.”

“Ok, strap in and don’t touch anything.” I tapped on my handheld to accept the contract and sent the location data to my ship’s computer. A flight plan appeared on the main monitor. I tweaked the path to keep us clear of the western border and transmitted it to Flight Control. I flicked a few switches to ready the engines. They rumbled to life behind me.

A minute later, a voice spoke through my headset, “Tug-1407 you are cleared for take off.”

“Tug-1407 cleared for take off. Thank you, Control,” I replied. I grabbed the controls and took the ship straight up to cruising altitude before turning and heading for the pick-up site.

I heard a muffled “Fuck!” from behind me. I didn’t need to slam us down in our chairs but the rest of the trip is going to be pretty bland. It only took a few minutes to reach the warehouse outside of the city where the cargo was waiting. I connected with the ground crew and got a landing pad assignment.

“Now what?” Hannah asked as I set down and shut off the engines.

“Now, we wait for the ground crew to load the cargo. Could be five minutes could be two hours.”

“So, this is what it’s like to be a pilot?”

“No, this is what it’s like to be a cargo pilot. Once I get my full certifications and pay off the company I can start applying for real pilot jobs.”

“Like what?”

“Like with the space agency. They always need pilots on the moon.”

“Have you been to space yet?”

“A couple of times, the tug can make low earth orbit but it burns a lot of fuel. The view is … the pictures they show us aren’t enough. It’s so much bigger than the pictures make it look.”

My comms beeped. “Tug-1407 we are ready to load your cargo container.”

“I copy. Go right ahead.” In the rear cameras, I watched as the rectangular container is slid underneath the cargo frame. I felt a slight jolt as it reached the back of the cockpit. The cargo hooks lowered and grabbed the container and green lights came on letting me know they had a solid lock. “Cargo hooks engaged,” I told the ground crew. The truck unhooked from the container and drove away. I restarted the engines and took off, slower this time so the ground crew wouldn’t complain about me. Once I got to altitude, I headed for the first nav marker of my flight plan. I could have engaged the autopilot but I like flying the tug myself and I needed the hours of unassisted flight.

“So, how are you doing in school,” I asked once I was level and flying more or less in a straight line.

“Fine. B’s and C’s,” she said.

“Just B’s and C’s?”

“I’m passing, ok?” Hannah snapped at me.

“Sorry, I was just teasing.” For a couple of minutes, I flew in silence. “Parents giving you a hard time about your grades?” I asked gently.

She didn’t answer right away. “They don’t know how hard it is. School, work, everything.”

“You got a job?”

“Yeah. In the mall, at the ice cream shop.”

“No kidding,” I tried to sound encouraging, “That’s great and you’re passing all your classes. Sounds like you’re doing ok.”

“Not as good as you. How much money do you make doing this?”

“Enough to make my lease payments, pay for fuel and repairs, and a little left over to help around the house. Cargo pilots don’t make a lot of money unless they own their own ship which I don’t. Yet.”

“You dating anyone?” she asked.

“What?”

“Are. You. Dating. Anyone?” she asked again enunciating each word slowly.

“No.” I paused thinking about how that question had become more complex over the last few months. “Not since high school. I’ve been busy learning how to fly. What about you?”

“No.” We lapsed into silence for several minutes. We reached the first nav marker and I adjusted course toward the second. She broke the silence, “How long is this trip?”

“About four hours round trip.”

“Oh.”

“How about some music?” I flipped my arm over, patched my handheld into the ship’s headsets and queued up something with a good beat to help us pass the time.

***

Author note: So that’s it. The whole story. Nothing much happened but I really liked writing this story. It’s longer than most single part stories I write and I thought about cutting it in two but felt it was better as just one story.

This I think my first time explicitly writing a trans guy. I hope I did ok on that front.

This started as a dream that I slowly reshaped into what you just read. I can’t remember what my dream was anymore, this story ended up taking it’s place in my memory.

"Cousin Came to Visit" was also posted on my website, Gillian's Notebook, home of my writing. Help support my writing by becoming a patron. Reblogs help to spread my writing to new readers.

[avaswritings-blog]

Free Write: Butter Lover

Even inside the small store Keith can feel the hot desert sun against his skin. His white shirt clings to his back like a second-skin, now translucent with the layer of sweat coating his body. He plucks at the string tied around his middle, almost tight enough to uncomfortable but loose enough to not fall off. His fingers tap against the ceramic counter as he listens to Beau’s voice croon through the small radio to his left, it's been a few weeks since that new scientist showed up in their town claiming that it was by far the most scientifically interesting community in the country and Beau still hadn't stopped talking about him.

Something gurgles and grumbles below the desk and for a moment Keith thinks it's the small pack of mice that sometimes sleep there and they've finally had enough of the gatorade and crackers Keith keeps hidden behind the packages of vegetables and decided it would be better to just eat Keith himself. Wouldnt that be a way to go. But after some deliberation and checking under the counters for the mice, Keith realizes that it was his stomach growling.

He sighs and flicks the volume knob on the radio, making it louder. Beau stops for a moment to introduce the weather and Keith smiles, from the smooth notes and instrumentals he can decipher that it's going to be a good day.

He makes his way through the aisles, checking to see if everything's in order when his stomach growls again. He frowns. Keith’s eyes scan the store, he knows it's empty, but then again, nothing's ever really empty. He plucks a bag of chips from the top shelf and pinches the top, waiting. The lights flicker in the store. His eyebrows furrow and he opens the bag with a pop. Blood starts to ooze out of the walls behind the cash register and Keith groans. He hates cleaning that up.

“I'm hungry,” He says, his voice almost a whine.

The oozing of the blood starts to slow but continues to fall nonetheless. Keith huffs and stalks over to the counter. He grabs the stapler sitting there and with as much anger as he can have while stapling something, he staples the bag closed and sets it back on the shelf.

“Okay, there. Happy?” The oozing stops but the blood that fell starts to stain the grey walls.

It's not a habit, or at least, he doesn't try to make it one, but most of the time Keith forgets to bring a lunch, and the stuff he has stocked behind the counter don't do much to fuel him for grueling work of manning the counter of the convenience store at the edge of town, just past the car lot.

The first time the wall had started bleeding Keith was a little freaked out and he had only been working there a day or so. He called his friend Jason in a panic, “What the fuck do I do with a bleeding wall? I've only dealt with green stuff before—this is actual blood.” Jason had laughed because Jason always laughs and because he thought everyone had at least one bleeding wall in their house.

“Well, what did you do to make it bleed in the first place?” He had asked, there was another voice in the background. It might have been Mitchell.

“I don’t know!” The blood was pooling on the floor now and Keith scrambled off of the floor and climbed on top of the closest counter. In his hurry the radio that was always sitting beside the register crashed to the floor. Small pieces flew everywhere but Beau’s voice continued to be heard through the busted speaker.

“My wall only bled when I lied to my mum so there has to be something! Walls don't just bleed for nothing Keith!”

Keith had hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket before he could continue. He moved over on the counter to get a better look at the blood, there wasn't even a hole or anything—when something crackled and popped under his shoe. He looked down and said “ooh” as he saw the bag of chips under his foot. Out of options, he grabbed the stapler and shoved it back on the shelf he found it on. He looked hopefully over at the bleeding wall and let out a sigh of relief.

After the bleeding stopped he was left with a stained wall and a pool of blood on the floor. What the fuck was he suppose to do with that. He walked over to the corkboard beside the fridges and plucked a card out from behind a flyer looking for interns for Beau’s radio show.

Blood Cleaning.

xxx-xxx-xxx

He had pulled his phone out from his pocket and dialed the number. He wasn't entirely sure what address to tell them when they picked up because the road that the store was on didn't even have a name. The number rang for almost a full minute and just as Keith was about to hang out an ear-splitting scream shot through his phone speaker. He doubled over as it rang through his ears. Keith landed with a thump on the cool tile and he threw the phone as far away from himself as he could but he phone still shrikes and screamed and Keith still felt it vibrating his bones.

After what felt like hours the screaming finally stopped and Keith’s body sagged in relief. He wiped the tears from his eyes and the small amount of blood that had started to fall from his nose and ears and pinned the card back onto the wall. The store clear of blood.

Now, months after that incident, he can't help but hate himself. He should have just starved and died like that. He doesn't want to have to go through that again. His fingers tremble as he pulls out his phone but the door opens behind him, the small bell jingling.

He shoves the phone into his sweater pocket and goes back behind the counter ignoring the squelch of blood beneath his feet. The mans hands land on the counter with a thump and his head is thrown down between them.

“What can I get you?” Keith asks warily, the man exhales deeply and Keith assumes that he just ran from something. Maybe he just left his car in the car lot.

“C—phew, okay, can I get a stick of butter?” The man asks, his voice shaking. He takes a few more breaths and then stands up straight, his cheeks puffed out.

Keith’s eyes widen a bit before he schools his expression back to his normal blank-faced one. The man’s hair is a light silver and his bangs are down, sticking to his forehead with sweat, just like Keith’s own. He holds out a few bills and Keith has to pry them out of his hands, he notices the tips man's large ears burn a dark pink as Keith’s fingers wrap around his own.

“Can you let go?” Keith asks after a few seconds. The man blinks like he’s being pulled out of a trance and his hands falls open.

“Ah, sorry.” His cheeks are pink now too.

Keith hands him the stick of butter and the silver-haired man grabs it, salutes Keith with his free hand, and runs out of the store. He shakes his head at the now empty door and punches the cash-register open. There's blood stuck between the buttons and some had slipped into cash drawer, staining the bills red. Keith sighs and just shoves the money into a random slot.

The store goes quiet after the cash register shuts with a ding, Beau’s voice barely above a whisper. He mentions something about Arby's and the lights that sometimes appear there and Keith almost goes to shut it off. Fuck Arby’s. Keith’s store has lights above it sometimes too.

The door slams open again and the bell rings violently, Keith’s head snaps up. The silver-haired man runs up to counter and slams a fistfull of money against the counter. His hand is shaking, and upon further inspection the rest of his body is too. The man is smiling at him and it's so infectious that Keith finds himself almost smiling back. From here Keith notices that there's patches sewn into the jean jacket he’s wearing, the one that catches his eye though is the one that reads: OLLIE. it's sewn into the fabric above his heart like a nametag so Keith reads it as such.

Ollie runs a hand through his hair and a bead of sweat falls from the soaked strands. Keith follows its trail from his temple, down the curve of his cheekbone until is disappears behind the collar of his shirt.

“What can I help you with again?” Keith asks him and almost dies of embarrassment when his voice barely comes out above a whisper.

Ollie’s grin widens and he points the small refrigerated area where the butter sticks are kept.

“Like, 3 more sticks of butter!”

Keith raises an eyebrow at him and places the stick down on counter. “Doing some baking?” He asks as he types the payment into the cash register. Ollie shakes his head, hair bouncing.

“No, no, something way cooler.” He winks at Keith before running back out of the store.

From the counter, he could see Ollie outside. He was running out into the desert across from the store. He could barely see him at the edge of the store’s parking lot’s radius of light but his arms were swinging widely and his legs were flailing. Great puffs of sand kicked up behind him and sweat was visibly running down the back of his neck. Keith heard a squeak from behind him and looked back to see the mice that usually hide under the counter sitting in the pool of wall-blood. When he looked back up, Ollie was gone.

The community radio show was over from what Keith could tell. Loud, irritating static played from the speakers instead of the usual calming static. Keith wished time worked here. He never knew when he should close the store, sometimes it's a gut feeling, other times a loud siren wails out in the parking lot. It’s a guessing game. There’s no siren right now but Keith feels like it's probably going to be night soon and most stores close before then. No one wants to be out and about when it's dark out.

Keith stares down at the blood and sighs. If he doesn’t clean it up soon it’ll just be sitting there for days. That can be a problem for future-him though.

On a blank sheet of paper Keith starts to tally how many minutes have gone by. He gets to three tallies before he feels a sudden pang above his kidney, his vision blurs for a moment and all he sees is blobs of light against dark. He blinks and it’s gone. What was he doing again? He stares down at the blank piece of paper on the counter and draws a giraffe. Or at least, what he thinks a giraffe would look like. He’s never seen one before.

After drawing the animal’s fifth eye and second tail he hears Ollie again. The door is thrown open and yet again, Ollie stands a mere 5 feet from him, his grin wild and hair untamed. He’s still shaking.

“Keith!” Chanyeol exclaims, he’s not sure how he knows his name. Maybe the nametag gave it away. “You need to, I need — fuck, like.. a whole wheelbarrow full of butter!” He’s still shaking and Keith’s not sure if it's from excitement or extrusion.

“You’re really freaking me out right now man.” Keith says.

“Come on, come on, come on!” His hands make the grabby motion towards the butter and Keith has to literally climb on top of the counter to keep Ollie from grabbing them himself.

“What are you doing with all this butter?!” Keith almost screams and Ollie smiles even wider.

“Do you want to see?” He asks in return, his hands are resting on Keith’s shoulders and even through the fabric of his shirt Keith can feel the warmth of his palms. He’s already sweating from the heat outside but Keith doesn’t push him away, he just lays there, half-sprawled over the counter top staring at Ollie, thinking.

Going with him could be a bad idea, he doesn’t even know him, but Jason always says he’s too boring. always doing the same things: eat, work, sleep. Keith never found it in himself to be adventurous, their town was dangerous and curiosity would always lead to someone's death. But Keith’s died before, several times in fact, so maybe this time wouldn’t be so bad. Not if it was by Ollie’s hand. He’s rather cute. In a weird sort of way. “Sure, why not?”

Ollie beams and Keith gives him a small smile in return. He pulls Keith over the counter and wraps his hand around Keith’s wrist. Keith feels his cheeks heat up at the contact but he doesn’t say anything, just allows Ollie to lead him out of the store.

As soon as Keith steps out of the small store he immediately wants to return. The sun is hot against his skin, burning it. The walk through the desert sand is hard, his feet keep sticking and his calves begin to ache almost right away but Ollie keeps walking. His hand slips out of Ollie’s grasp a few times, the sweat from both their skin causing him to loose grip but Ollie just wipes his hand down the front of his shorts and grabs it again. Keith feels the familiar sting when he tries to count the seconds but he stops before he blacks out.

“Aha!” Ollie exclaims, the butter is still in his other hand and Keith tries not to wonder how it didn’t melt. “Here we are!”

Keith looks around and finds nothing. Nothing but desert sand a few rocks. He looks over at Ollie and curls his hand into a fist, ready to punch him in the gut. Ollie’s eyes flicker towards the motion and he backs up a few feet. “Look Keith!” He points to the ground.

There’s a hole.

“There’s a hole.” Keith deadpans and Ollie nods his head. He motions for Keith to come closer and points to the hole. “Watch.” He tells him.

Ollie unwraps the sticks of butter and drops them one by one into the small hole in the ground. Keith watches them disappear into the darkness. Nothing happens. Keith goes to tell Ollie his observation when there’s a large chomping noise and what sounds like something licking their lips.

“What the— Holy fuck— Ollie what—-” Keith stares at the hole, his eyes wide. “What the fresh titty is in that fucking hole?”

Ollie laughs, loud and deep, and Keith wishes he would have saved it for another time because he can’t fully appreciate how beautiful he looks when there’s a hole in the ground making slobbering noises two feet in front of them. Ollie wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulder and pulls him closer.

“I don’t know man, but it fucking loves butter.”

Where they live, a hole in the middle of the desert that enjoys the taste of butter shouldn’t really be that exciting but Ollie is still shaking slightly from the excitement of finding it and Keith would rather go to the library then tell him that. He’s crouched down next to the hole now, throwing small rocks down into the abyss, laughing whenever the creature down there spits them back at them. Keith looks at him with a smile on his face, laughing when Ollie falls over from a rather large rock gets thrown back and lands on his chest. He walks over to Ollie and holds out his hand to help him up, Ollie grins up at him and instead of getting up, he uses the leverage he has on Keith’s hand and pulls him down onto the sand dune with him.

Keith groans and frowns at the sand sticking to his skin. He tries his best to wipe it off but it ends up just sticking to his hands instead.

“Do you wanna go get pizza with me Keith?” Ollie asks, his eyes are on the setting sun in the distant instead of on Keith himself. Keith doesn’t say anything, just nods and hopes Ollie can feel the movement against his arm.