#makes a comment about how he could carry chosen with him everywhere and chosen is embarrassed by how much he likes that

[tommybowefuneralattendee]

so i just imagined augustus picking chosen up and now i'm unwell

[poundcakecrm]

Ichigo noticing it one random evening, when their sore bodies are still sewing themselves back together in the healing springs and the false sun of Urahara Shoten is still 'hanging' yellow and golden in the sky (just why the shopkeep decided it was necessary to install the dawn and death of each new day with the actual planetary orbit was beyond him, but hey, at least it was a mere oddity and not a threat this time).

His hands are exploring chiseled muscle that seems to never tire, and pale skin that never tans, taking advantage of the fact that he'd kicked Grimmjow's ass hard enough that the Arrancar doesn't throw him halfway across the room on the spot. Ichigo figures he has about five more minutes soaking in the springs before that happens, and so he makes dutiful use of his time. His fingers just barely graze as they move, down from the nape of the other's neck where blue hair lays plastered, and ghost over bruised shoulders before heading down his torso.

Grimmjow watches, silent, both arms propped lazily over the edge of the pools but his eyes are still as sharp as they'd been during their actual sparring match. They watch every movement with frightening focus, and Ichigo doesn't miss the way his fingers twitch every so often; but he doesn't stop him. They've seen too much and touched too much by now for that, this is skin carrying the memory of years of friendly sparring now, not just battles. But Ichigo still treads carefully, as always; just as watchful, as always.

That is how he notices it for the first time, the way blue eyes suddenly narrow to mere slits when his hands cross over the scarred tissue carving down Grimmjow's chest, so fast it was like a flash bomb had gone off. It's an entirely silent reaction, followed yet another subtle twitch of the Arrancar's hands, but even that is enough to make Ichigo pause almost instantly - because Grimmjow doesn't react, not to touch. Not to the featherlight human-level touch Ichigo uses even outside his body whenever they aren't crossing blades. He's mapped out an impressive amount of the former Espada's skin by now, with rough holds and lazy caresses, and Grimmjow bats an eye to none of it. It's the hierro, Ichigo had eventually figured out. Also spite no doubt, and battleworn experience, and stubbornness; but mostly the hierro. Ichigo was pretty sure he could smack a mace across the fucker's back and it wouldn't do anything but put the Arrancar in a sour mood.

Grimmjow never reacted because Grimmjow didn't feel touch half the time. Until now. Until blue eyes narrow so quick it can be nothing but a reaction. Ichigo doesn't comment, but he stares with fiery curiosity and Grimmjow doesn't comment, but he glares with cold warning that he'd better not.

So he doesn't. Ichigo remains silent even when his hands begin moving again, this time tracing the path from the other's neck all the way across his chest, his abdomen, down to dip of his hips. Grimmjow's hands twitch a few more times, droplets of healing water lazily dripping off onto the rocks; but the Arrancar does an impressive job of keeping absolutely still and silent until Ichigo's hands are satisfied with their discovery.

There's no hierro. Or at least, practically none, not anywhere where the skin has turned dark and rough from natural scarring. Anywhere his Getsuga Tensho or Nnoitra Gilga's zanpakuto had touched had devoured the layer of protection like acid, leaving nothing but mere flesh in its wake. It was a crack in the shield, a gaping seam in the system, and it was everywhere it was most vital. And he'd left it. "Left it" being the proper, consciously-chosen wording because it'd been long enough that Inoue actually baked Grimmjow his own set of cookies around the holidays even if the Arrancar never ate them, and had even offered to force Ishida into knitting him a stocking once. And even before, back when their interactions were far from pleasant, Grimmjow had made Inoue heal his Sexta Espada tattoo once. She could heal anything, reverse any damage. Grimmjow could have had the scar, his hierro, healed at any time over the span of years by now.

But he hadn't, and Ichigo's curious eyes just continue to ask "why" while Grimmjow's deadly glare just continues to warn "don't."

So he doesn't, not today anyway. His hands eventually draw back to him, and Yoruichi eventually speaks up from where her perverted-self is hiding amongst the rocks, and Grimmjow eventually launches himself from the springs shamelessly in the nude to gut her with his claws. Ichigo will stay sitting there in the water, shameful in the nude, and watch.

And he'll try not to wonder if his is the first real touch that's managed to slip past the Arrancar's defenses, ever since he'd slashed himself an opening all those years ago.

[medicdoodles]

A mashup of IDW and Seige canon of Ratchet and Deadlock, meet and run his underground asylum.

Based on Dialogue trees you get from Futomimi and Sakagahi, when you do the Aferlife Bell quest in SMT Nocturne.

For Ratchlock day.

(Next Chapter) || (Last Chapter)

There's a stain shaped like a human.

Work hard, do your best, and eventually you'll get somewhere.

When Ratchet transferred from the highest ranked schooling from Vaporex to the political charged state of Iacon, he expected pointed comments. He expected turned up faces. What he didn't know was how much he would be pushed into being an engineer.

Sure he has some skill in the field, many of his professors have left comments on it but never has he imagined being one. However, Ratchet found that his study to become a medic was going nowhere. Everywhere he went all of the classes would refuse his application, but he didn't give up.

If he wasn't going to be an official student he could still go to classes. When other mechs would sneak out or skip lectures he would slip in. Medic trainees would pay him to do their homework and he took it. All this hard work pays off, he gets the top scores, his engineering career is going well too. When his colleagues get hurt he can repair them better than the campus doctors. Then he graduated...

He gets hired to work on ground bridge operations. It doesn't excite him but it was honest work, and he could save enough money to carry equipment for a first aid kit. Once he was shipped off to the outskirts of the Dead End, that's where he finds his calling.

Since all fast travel in the area was decommissioned, Ratchet was forced to drive out to all locations. It wasn't too bad, but since he was the only one willing to do this job he was on his own. That's when he sees in person just how much Cybertron has abandon.

Streets filled with broken mechs and ruined buildings. There's no hope here, and his white paint lights up against the ash filled air, stains the vision of the city. It was silent until a siren went off in the distance. Despite him knowing the police's pensions for brutality, seeing it with his own eyes still frighten him.

"You're going to be okay." He hears a bot the panic in his voice. "Just hang in there, I'm going to get you help. Just hold on." Ratchet makes it to the voice. It was two bots in the middle of the road, both covered in blood. However, one person is down, closer to death.

"I don't think I can...", said bot also coughs up more blood. "Just wait for me to pass on. Then you can scavenge my parts."

"It's not fair." The mech brakes eye contact, looking to the sky. Then he looks towards the siren lights driving away. "They killed the wrong bot..."

"Let me try to help." Ratchet walks up to two mechs. The back mind is yelling at him, he's a ground bridge operator, an engineer, never even picked ot study medic. He can't do this, but he also can't stand here doing nothing. "I can't promise anything, but please I want to help."

They both look at him with a befuddled faces. He knows they shouldn't trust him but something must have broken because they allow him to help. They let him operate, and by the end of it all they thanked him, and for the first time since he left his home village, he felt proud of himself.

That's when Ratchet knew the direction of where is life is going. He would make money fixing and maintaining public works, taking other jobs, and making as much money as he could to build a clinc. He set it up in the center of Dead End, chosen it to give it resistance the fastest access to him. He worked himself tirelessly between these jobs and for the first time in his life. He managed to find success and happiness.

Do you think my life was a success?

Yes

>No

I see... yeah you might be right.

Just when I thought I achieved happiness, my fortune collapsed like a house of cards.

Then the outside world gotten word about it. The Senate at first only saw the healing of Dead End's bots. That they would start to walk around and they would fix the left over peices of the city. Had enough energy to walk around and wanted to start working.

However, Ratchet soon discovered that this was unwanted. That if Dead End successfully pulled itself together and made it possible to be something, then the fundamental ideology of Functionism would be thrown into question. If that where to happen, what other mechs would go against the class systems set forward by them.

It couldn't stand, so they made sure it didn't, and so they set off a bomb. Framed as an accident during transit from the military bases, they had approved of it being set off. Then they approved of some police officers to do a quick sweep of firing rounds to hit what remained. They're mission wasn't to kill anyone but if the managed too, it wasn't seen as a bad thing.

At the time Ratchet was sent off planet to see if he could assist in fixing a space bridge from Lunar-2 to Tyger Pax. Of course when it played on the news he tried to ground bridge there, but couldn't. His first transporters where destroyed, when he did get back, his clinc as well. Then when he made it home, his house was raided too.

Nothing made him feel so powerless than when he was stopped at the front door. A mech had pinned him against the wall of his assigned room and warned him away from returning to Dead End. That if they found out he went back he wouldn't be able to keep his face.

Worse was when the said mech had his hands wonder all over his body, and said next time he gets sent out he has permission to do as he pleases with him. Ratchet also finds all of his funds were frozen out, and when he does get access to them all of the money had disappeared.

You should be careful. You never know what tomorrow may bring...

After all of that, Ratchet still tries to help. He still returns to assist all the mechs of the city. They still look at him with hopefully eyes, but understanding that they could never crawl out by their own strength. Many where mad at him for even letting them entertain the idea. Others where mad for him, after all it was one thing to steal from bots with nothing on them. It was another to kick the bot who tries to give a hand to someone who needs it.

Most bots however, joined the Decepticons. They believed that if the government had been threatened by their peaceful solution then they would coware at their revolution. All of this would lead to their planet dying, not that the blame could be one sided. The Senate and later the Autobots would fight them to standstill.

Ratchet would find himself in the middle of it. At first he tried to stay neutral but the bots of Dead End where quick to bring up the attack. Then it was shaking down his person and finally braking into his home and ransacking his equipment.

Traitor was branded on his door, then on his frame. When Ratchet returned to work with a still orange smelter on his left hip, his friend Wheeljack, help him join the Autobots. For a time he was safe, the squad he joined even allowed him to repair any bot whom he wanted, even Decepticons were allowed to be fixed.

Do you think my life was a success?

>Yes

No

That's what everybody else thought, too.

...until that one day.

That was until a superior officer had came down for a vist. When they saw Ratchet repair two mechs with purple badges, they made it clear to him this would stop. If he gets caught again they would charge him with treason and he would be place on the enemy list. That's when he knew he had to go.

Being a deserter was a lighter charge than being a traitor. With his life on the line again, Ratchet has to go, because he could never leave a bot to die. In his spark he could never leave a mech to die without trying. He gives Wheeljack his coordinates, he trust that mech to only uses it when absolutely necessary.

Or at least he did.

The next time he sees his former colleague the bot had brought in toe a former bailiff turned Assassin. They force Ratchet to hand over everything on his person. The bots he was traveling with where tied down and put into custody of the Prime.

For the first time in my life, I had the urge to kill.

He was left on the ground, one push away from the cliffside. Wheeljack had saved his life but at the freedom of others. That's when he tells him to never find him again. That if he truly is sorry, he would only give that location to mechs who need it. They both promised something that day and that would be the last time he would speak to him, or it seemed.

So much anger,

As the war went on, Ratchet would travel. He would make a portable ground bridge went to the next battlefields and collect both parts and bots left behind to die. Like a Grim Reaper, he walks the path of death. However, he wouldn't take life he would do his best to keep it.

Rumor about his presence as a super natural entity made it easier to avoid authority. Many bots who believed in apparitions would come with him quietly. When he repaired them all of them would stay by him. When two bots of different factions would meet, it was almost always up to him to keep them civil.

Then he ran into Deadlock. The bot he gained feelings for. At first he didn't recognize him, but in private the mech tells him about the time they first met. That he was standing in the middle of the road in his friend's arm about to die. Then he adimts about the time he almost turned him to Megatron.

But the only way he could place Deadlock to the incidents is when he spoke those words to him. "Come on Doc, don't think like that. Everyone has kindness in their hearts."

That's when Ratchet's spark drops. This was the mech who was sent to capture him. Who knew of his habit of helping injured bots and almost trapped him into the Decepticons. Whenever he looks at Deadlock now, all he sees is a bot who has changed course, and doesn't he deserve a chance at it.

Ratchet of course also has a bad habit of letting mechs who hurt him do it again. So they both come to an agreement, he repairs Deadlock and takes him to back. The mech agrees to help him out with his operations.

So that's what they did. Ratchet would travel around and Deadlock would follow in tow. Keeping him safe and holding down bots when their reflexes kicked in. Later when their party had gotten too big to travel around and the building became to full. Deadlock drove off without a word.

Weeks became months and when two years passed by the mech came back. He tells Ratchet that he managed to find a bombed down theater that still had functional power. It was large enough for housing and medical care. When he shows him Ratchet is so relieved that he kisses him on the spot.

Deadlock field goes haywire but he doesn't reject it. Instead he grabs Ratchet's frame and frags him hard and wild, places him on the stage. With his groveling voice yells into Ratchet's microphone pick ups that he can't wait when the crew comes in. That after a long shift of picking up bots and patching up frames they would do this again, and next time they will have an audience to perform for.

That was the only time they had. As most of it was being too exhausted with fixing the building. Making sure that it look destroyed from the outside, having to only fix the bottom floors without collapsing the building from the top proved to be difficult. Even with the mechs he saved helping out, many issuses of resources and planning was still too much to worry about.

So Deadlock planned to search again. He spends his last night just sitting next to Ratchet. Telling him not worry, and he will comm every day just to reassure him of his safety. Ratchet gives him his ground bridge. Tells him to come back immediately after he finds something he thinks will help and that he will pick up his calls even if he can't talk back.

That was the last time they speak together, because once Ratchet was properly situated he update Wheeljack of his location.

There's a stain shaped like a human.

That's when he finds Impactor and things spirals out of control. Between Wheeljack taking Optimus Prime here, their entourage raising tempers and talks about Megatron abuse of the Matrix. Ratchet has to leave.

Many of his mechs encourage him to stay. Prime has no power here and if they want his help he should force the Autobots to promise to leave them alone. He doesn't answer them, he knows Wheeljack has betrayed him before. That the army has force his hands, but something tells him complying is the best option.

He turns to Impactor, tells him to tell the bigger bots to take care of the sick. Ratchet knows that mech has turned himself around and regained his spark. So it comes to a surprise that the mech follows behind him. Defending him from Elita-One and even sacrificing his own frame by pulling his comm out.

They violated him and still Impactor smiles at him, stays with him and gives his life for him. He sees his spark give out, but never sees his new found love of life leave his body.

That mankin died. He died the instant he became human. You see humans cannot exist in the vortex world...

As he boards the Arc, Ratchet gets a call from Deadlock. When he reached to answer the distance is to far.

[shiro41]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A sigh escaped his lips, the awkward silence made him want to get out of this tight space that's escalating each floor while he stood there with strangers that had shamelessly stared at his towering figure, he could hear them gulp saliva and feel them grow timid in his presence.

His azure spheres looked up at the numbers that ascended floor to floor, from 2 to 4 until 5. How he wished you were here with him, your company alone makes the uncomfortable feeling of their gaze go away, he thought the possibility of the both of you snickering like madmen that had just escaped the asylum to the naked stares these strangers gave off until he'll completely forget it

The elevator dinged once again, signalling Satoru that he'll get off this tight space they call elevator and let out a big huff, his head bobbing whilst his shades slightly slipping off his nose.

He was impatient to find a home in your arms, snuggling like a child that's been separated from his mother whilst he complained about your missing presence beside him and how it made him want to find you everywhere.

His time wasn't occupied to dedicate his attention to you for now, although Satoru hated the idea, he was a growing teen that would soon become an adult in this curse invested world and he has to lend his time to others as well.

"I wanna go home."

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

His tufts of white is what made him stand out beside his towering height, Suguru was nowhere to be seen for him to bother right now and had called you for a small trip to ice cream and mochis that he loves. One thing you learned about Gojo is his love for sweets, you always see him munching on candies and other tooth decaying foods that'll leave your mouth in ecstasy with the taste. You'd wonder how he manages to have such pearly white teeth despite his addiction to sugar.

Satoru greeted you with a small fright of his palms on your shoulder as he exclaimed an 'ah' that made you flinch, his teasing chuckles that turned into laughs as he dodged your punches and frustrated words.

Soon enough you'd find yourself laughing with him, a laugh that could almost be compared to a goat and snorts to a pig, mouth completely agape as your breaths shortened with every push of air from your stomach. Your legs kicked the air as your hand lightly slapped his shoulder, the ice cream turning liquid on the cone.

The judging stares the pair received were brushed off as you continued to converse, sometimes almost tripping on the road as you laughed like drunk men from the bar in the middle of the night.

"Satoru, we should quiet down..!"

You commented after fits of laughter with Satoru who tsked three times and waved his index finger at you like a senior teaching his junior about a mischievous activity at school.

"Don't mind their worthless stares, Princess."

The grin that now seemed to turn to a smirk made your protest cease, maybe continuing to be ignorant about the world with Satoru's shining humor and affection was better than dwelling and be aware of your surroundings full of judgement and displeasure of your behavior.

The conversation ended with you agreeing to Satoru's words, the hype dying as your mood glooms with you becoming quiet while Satoru continues to talk about anything that he remembers and sees until your feet carry you to your comfy abode.

The dim light from the inside told you someone was home, the sun was almost dying to be replaced by the moon any minute now; sky turning orange and pink as the hot ball waved good night to the planet it served every day.

"Thanks, Satoru. Sorry you can't come inside.. y'know how dad is."

"Your dad's a fool for rejecting the strongest, Angel." His laugh made you chuckle, the narcissistic personality bubbling up and Ego inflating like a balloon. Your dad had been disliking the fact you've chosen Satoru, spitting insults about his rebellious attitude and nasty comments about the color of his hair.

"I wish they could just...accept you."

Your frown made his joyous mood dissipate, a sigh quietly escaped his nose whilst his hand grabbed yours, squeezing it in a manner full of adoration and affection from the boy. The Azure orbs softened behind those midnight shades, glinting with the intention of loving you despite the displeasure of your parents.

"Any snide remarks from your dad would be ignored because my love is yours, sweetheart."

Surprise was an understatement of what you felt, his words struck a nerve in you in a way that made your heart beat fast with tender and butterflies flutter like a garden full of colorful, healthy flowers.

"Don't you worry your small pretty brain, (Name). Someone will always be against anything and our love is no exception so, "

His warm hands engulfed yours, guiding it to his moisturized lips— his figure leaned in to press a soft kiss on your knuckles, his sunglasses slipping off slightly for you to gain access to those oceanic orbs that pleasantly stunned you.

"Life makes love look hard, but we don't give a fuck right? It's ours anyway, who gives a damn about their opinion?"

Smile formed on your features, the cold, gloomy aura now replaced with warm, bright yellow that seemed to shine as you swallowed his words.

Your teeth appear that made Satoru chuckle and press his lips on your forehead whilst his arms wrapped themselves around your shoulders as your own made home to his waist, enjoying the feeling of his warm pair coming to contact with your skin and be comforted by the words he spoke about your seemingly forbidden connection to your guardians' perspective.

"Right, they can't take what's ours."

[mr-leach]

I had a dream last night where the premise was "what is the funniest party of 4 combo of Baldur's Gate 3 companions to throw into Curse of Strahd" and my subconscious decided on Astarion, Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel

Astarion is the obvious choice but specifically in my dream this was post BG3 and apparently Cazador hadn't been dealt with?? Like wherever Tav may be they're apparently a fucking cunt who didn't help free the poor bastard. So he was understandably miserable and scared and very cranky on account of becoming violently ill any time he tried to feed on animal blood. I didn't get far enough into the dream to figure out how they dealt with this but I could see it getting ugly real fast.

Karlach was a mean choice I feel like. I mean I can see the first week or so being fun for her cause she gets to help people who need helping and kill a bunch of evil creatures and in that sense she'd be having the time of her life, and thus it would be very funny! But also like. Trapping her in another realm of death and misery and telling her she can never leave? Don't make me think about it I'll cry

Shadowheart is another obvious choice tbh. Provider of snarky commentary and snide remarks a plenty, naturally she would have a field day in a place like Barovia. She had black hair in my dream so I assume she was still big on Shar. The dread realms are supposedly located in a deep corner of the shadowfell so tbh she would probably be sitting pretty. EXCEPT FOR THE WOLVES GODDAMN IT. Seriously, what was my subconscious on. Evil.

Lae'zel is the only true pure comedic choice my brain came up with tbh. Barovia is just as alien as everywhere else to her, foul beasts and undead are no doubt regrettable to encounter but not nearly as troubling or foul than mindflayers and other illithid horrors, and then most of the horrible shit going on in Barovia would be so inconsequential to her that at most she would be just a passive commentator to some of the most gruesome shit ever and then add her two cents like "RIP to Mordenkainan but I'm built different" "idk if it were me I think I'd just kill Vargas and put his severed head on display in the town square to send a message" and aside from really wanting to leave she would have so little stake in anything going on. Dark powers won't even fuck with her cause she's highly trained to resist manipulation and on that note Strahd would seem like such a loser to her. Wait you were a formidable conqueror and renowned warrior and you did what? Extremely cringe dude, couldn't be me.

Anyway I don't remember a whole lot from the dream tbh aside from the premise deliberately trying to be as funny as possible and the party members that were chosen. I think Astarion got sick from eating spider blood and Karlach had to carry him into town. There was some silly stuff about the Barovian citizens having no idea what Gith were, Lae'zel having no social skills, and Shadowheart providing "cultural translation" so they wouldn't get chased out for every extremely off colour thing Lae'zel said. It got very dicey but Karlach was cute and charming enough to make up for how much the rest of the party unsettled everyone.

[americasmarauders]

What about ....

“i’m not worthy of anybody’s love.” “that’s not true, you’re worthy of mine.” followed by the lover breaking eye-contact… + a love confession

Followed with tentative kisses in the dark

With Jason Todd x reader ❤❤❤❤❤

Lots of love xoxo

did this get completly out of hand? yes, yes it did. It was supposed to be short and sweet, but suddenly I had 12 pages of angst ready to make their way into the world. 

I’m so sorry it took so long, elle, life got in my way, but now you have like, 6k+ words to make up for it. I really hope you like it.

warnings: completly unedited, sorry for the typos :))

words: 6,856

masterlist #

#

Aged 14, sometime in September.

Mason Anderson was the biggest dick she had ever met. He was petty and jealous and he picked on her just because. She just wanted peace, quietly resolving  the homework she had spent an entire week working on. The library was empty, safe for a couple of other students when he barged in and robbed her of her papers. 

He claimed he needed it more than her, he was the one almost flunking out of the class. She demanded her homework back, but he ran towards the boy’s bathroom with her work. It wasn’t the first time that sullen feeling of despair had been planted on her by Mason Anderson, it still didn’t make it any easier. 

She sat in front of the boys bathroom, hugging her knees in an attempt to find comfort. She kept thinking that she could do it again, she had done it once, theoretically it would be faster to do it a second time. Light footsteps echoed through the hall, her eyes found their way to the source of the noise. 

Jason Todd was a tiny kid with a big brain and an even bigger heart. He had helped her with English more times than she cared to admit. Sometimes she would see him walking towards the alley near the Academy, holding an extra package of chips to the little kid that stayed there sometimes. She liked Jason Todd, considering him the only alley she had inside the cold walls of the Gotham Academy. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, delicately, sitting beside her. “I thought you were gonna finish Statam’s paper today.”

“Mason Anderson stole it,” her eyes were cast downwards, looking at the seams of the floor with an almost inhuman interest. “He wanted to copy it, and I wouldn’t let him so he decided to flush down the toilet instead.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered to her, sitting next to her on the floor. 

“It’s okay,” she shook her head, stretching her legs in front of her. “I just,” she sighed, trying to find the words, “I spent one week working on that, and I really needed the grade, you know? But he just didn’t care, he just thought of himself.”

Jason looked at her, softly. His eyes held a certain fire behind them, something she could never really describe what it was. It was entrancing, it calmed the pace of her heart.  He didn’t say anything before getting up and marching towards the boys bathroom. 

She didn’t hear anything going on inside, her mind imagining all sorts of scenarios where Jason would emerge from the bathroom beaten and defeated, Mason walking out completely victorious, with a shiny top grade Literature paper in hand. Her blood boiled at the image, more so than it did before. She got up from the ground, determined to help Jason win the fight, even if her papers were already down the plumbing. 

But the door flung open, her friend walking out calmly, clutching her homework delicately. He offered her a smile, and as the door closed behind Jason she could see Mason on the ground gripping his nose in pain. 

“Here,” the papers were completely dry to the touch, her confusion deepening. “He was copyin’ it.”

“I can’t believe you got this back,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. “I thought… I thought I'd have to redo it.”

“Nah,” he smiled shyly, “I would’ve helped ya.”

“I can’t really depend on you for everything, Jason,” she replied politely. “It’s not fair.”

“I got your back,” he affirmed, “ya don’t need to worry.”

And it meant the world to her that he did. 

#

#

Aged 16, October 12th. 

Jason Todd and her became friends after the Mason Anderson incident. She didn’t know what Jason had said to him, what had he done, all she knew was that Mason never bothered her again after that. 

It was the night of her 16th birthday. It was late, probably past 3 in the morning when Jason carefully landed on the fire escape that led to her bedroom. He carefully carried a small box, wrapped neatly with a blue bow. He had chosen the gift lovingly, his heart warm with her. Jason hadn’t expected her to be such an integral part of his life, but just as quietly as she arrived, she placed herself in his heart permanently. She was his friend, true friend, she didn’t expect anything other than his company and support, something he was glad to provide. 

His knuckles lightly grazed her window, making the softest noise.  Her shades were partially open, he could see her body lying comfortably on her bed. She moved slightly, her body turning towards the window. Her hands rubbed her eyes delicately, seeing Jason smile awkwardly at her. She got up and dragged her feet towards him, opening her window to him. 

“What’re you doing here?” her voice was slurred, intoxicated with sleep. 

“You know, you should really lock your windows,” he commented, “Gotham’s a dangerous city.”

“Jay,” she warned, “what’re you doing here? It’s…”she searched for her clock, “fuck, 3 in the morning.”

“It’s your birthday,” he responded clearly, as if it was the most obvious reason why he was on her fire escape, on a cold October night only wearing a light jacket.

She blinked at his blunt response, confused on what to say to him. “You’ll see me tomorrow, Jay, I don’t understand why’d you come all this way just to see me.”

“Because it’s you,” he shrugged, stepping into her bedroom silently. “You really thought I wouldn’t see you on your birthday?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, looking down at her feet. A soft breeze came in through the window sending shivers down her spine. Jason closed the window for her and she sent a silent thank you towards his way. “I thought you wouldn’t bother.”

“Well,” he extended the little box to her. Her fingers brushed on his softly, a shock sent on his skin at the touch, “I couldn’t not see you.”

Her hands hugged the box carefully, hesitant on what to do with what was given to her. “Open it,” he urged her. 

She eyed him suspiciously, undoing carefully the blue bow that decorated the gift. Opening the box, a tiny robin pendant next to two tiny stones pendants, an opal and an onyx: her birthstone and his. “Wow,” she breathed out, her heart racing inside her chest. Suddenly, she didn’t feel sleepy anymore. “Jason, this is… You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I had,” he stated, his eyes soft and loving, lingering on her more than they should. “You mean a lot to me, darling.”

Her eyes glinted underneath the pale moonlight streaming through the half closed curtains of her room. Jason’s breath hitched quietly at the sight of her, disheveled and sleepy and yet the most perfect person to grace his life. She was at a loss for words for a few moments, opening and closing her mouth, not knowing how to react. Her eyes trailed frenetically over the pendants, trying to find meaning in those.

“Why a robin?” the inquiry startled Jason. He wasn’t expecting to explain himself, much less explain why he had given her a robin pendant. She had no clue what he did when the night fell, who Bruce actually was and he intended to keep her in the dark about that aspect of his life. She didn’t need to know anyway, and telling her would only put her in danger. That was what Bruce made her believe. 

“It reminded me of you,” he answered, simply, his eyes fixated on her angelic face. 

It wasn’t untrue. Robins were friendly and protected over, birds that should never be harmed. Jason made sure of that, he had her back, always, and he knew she had his. But mostly, he wanted her to have a piece of him everywhere she went. If something were to happen, he wanted to guarantee he wouldn’t be a footnote in her life. What a magnificent life that would be, he knew.

Her eyes ran on his face, looking for a hint that he wasn’t sincere, that he was just messing with her. The thought was more heartbreaking than she anticipated. She found nothing malicious in his face, in his eyes, and smiled back at him. “Thank you, Jay,” she kissed his cheek delicately, her lips barely brushing his skin. It was enough to send both of them into a frenzy of feelings, a thousand thoughts running through their heads. 

“Here,” he extended his hands, his eyes clear and full of emotion for her, “I’ll put it on for you.”

She handed him the box, turning around so he could clasp the hook of the necklace. Jason was considerably smaller than her - she guessed it was because of the years of malnutrition he endured when he lived on the streets - so she sat on her bed to meet his height. His fingers brushed slightly at the back of her neck, sending goosebumps on her body.

It was when she turned to look at him again that she realized that maybe Jason wasn’t just a friend to her. Maybe the interest she had in Jason, or how her heart raced when she saw him for the first time in the day weren’t because he was her friend. Maybe it was because she had decided to love him with all her soul. 

#

#

Aged 16, April 28th.

It was ironic how sunny it was in Gotham that day. It was like nothing had happened, the world hadn’t gotten the memo that it was supposed to be gloomy and sad outside, to match the pain she felt inside. 

On the deep green grass of Gotham cemetery, stood her and Jason’s family, listening to a priest preach something meaningless to her. Nothing mattered to her anymore, her friend, best friend, was buried deep into the earth, 6 feet under. She would never get to see him again, hear his laugh, take in his smile. She would never have another birthday with him, give him his favorite books, tell him she loved him. Her eyes were fixed on the fresh dirt lain over his shiny coffin, her hand fidgeting on the robin pendant Jason had gifted mer  months before. It wasn’t an open casket, she couldn’t even see him for the last time. 

The call was the most confusing moment she had ever gone through. He didn't even tell her he was going after his mom. He didn’t even get to explain that to her. Jason just burst through her window late at night, saying he was leaving Gotham for a few weeks, anger seeping through his pores and contaminating the room. His knuckles were badly bruised, as her fingertips lightly brushed he hissed. She didn’t question him, it didn’t even go through her head. He had said he wanted to find a part of him, and she nodded, wishing him luck. 

Looking back, she wished she had begged him to stay, to find that part of him in Gotham, with her away from the perils of foreign bombs. Tears sprouted in her eyes as the thought passed through her head. It wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t predict a tragedy would have happened. It had become a mantra to her, and sometimes repeating it to herself didn’t help at all.

Bruce Wayne stood next to her, stoic, his face stony. It almost didn’t look like he had lost a son. But she saw how his jaw tensed, how it was similar to when Jason was upset and didn’t want to tell her about it. She could see how broken he was inside, how angry and desperate. She felt that too. 

The priest stopped talking and the four people standing on that lawn let out a stuck breath of relief. Jason’s brother approached his Father, walking away from her. She stared at the stone, cold like Jason’s body, with the engrave ‘Jason Todd, beloved son and friend’. It didn’t make justice to what Jason actually was, he was much more than just a son and a friend, but it was what they used to describe him. If Jason had decided what his epitaph would be, surely would be a dramatic quote from Shakespeare. 

Her name was called out in a posh british accent and she turned toward the person. What she saw was an older gentleman, holding a black umbrella to protect his baldness from the sun. A thin mustache hung over his upper lip, molded into a sad frown. “I’m Alfred Pennyworth. Master Jason talked a lot about you,” he commented with his left hand behind his back.

“All good things, I hope?” she joked quietly, her eyes trailed to her black shoes, wet grass glued to the sides of it. 

“The best things, I assure,” his voice was firm and calm, his accent oozed her security, something she was eager to cling on. He reached for the inner pocket of his blazer, pulling a crisp white card. She furrowed her eyebrows, accepting the card. On it, it had Alfred’s name, his profession underneath and a phone number. “If you ever find yourself needing anything, I’ll be happy to help.”

She nodded, her thumb lightly brushing the expensive paper on her hand. “Thank you Mister Pennyworth,” her eyes found the old man, the wrinkles around it making his stern stance seem gentler. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to come over for some tea?” he offered. “I’m sure Master Bruce wouldn’t mind having his son’s friend over.”

She wanted to, a force inside her compelled her to accept his offer. But her heart was broken, and she didn’t know if she was ready to enter what used to be Jason’s home so fast after he was buried. At the same time, maybe she didn’t have the nerve to say no to such a kind person. “I--,” she hesitated, “okay, I’ll have some tea.”

#

#

Aged 18, mid-August.

“I don’t know what to do, Alfred,” her hands fiddling with the necklace Jason had given her long ago. “It feels like I’m at a crossroads and every sign points to the direction my heart doesn’t want to go.”

The old butler poured her mint tea - her favorite, as he had learned over the weekly visits she paid him - calmly and firmly as she ranted. “What is holding you back?”

She looked at Alfred, her eyes confused at the question. She hadn’t lingered on the fact of why she didn’t want to accept the scholarship on Metropolis. Her brain told her it was only logical, she would miss her parents, her weekly meeting with Alfred, her hometown. But Alfred was always one step ahead, he had a sixth sense as she had come to learn. “You know,” she replied softly, her eyes lingering on the beautiful teacup in front of her. 

He said her name, getting her attention. “Master Jason isn’t here anymore,” he stated simply, laying cookies on her plate, “you don’t have to stay behind for him.”

“I know,” she picked up the spoon and twirled it between her fingers. “But,” she hesitated, not knowing how to phrase her feelings, “Alfred, I can’t even think of it. I can’t wrap my brain around leaving him.”

“You are not leaving him,” his voice was calm and gentle, softening her panic. “You are moving on.”

She shook her head, her eyes shut close tightly. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she whispered, “I feel like I’m meant to be here, Alfred. I can’t really explain it.”

“Well, if you do decide to stay in Gotham, I hope we can continue our weekly teas,” Alfred said, a tone of hope in his voice. 

She smiled at him, her eyes filled with kindness. “If I do decide to stay, I’d love to keep our weekly teas,” her smile stayed as she uttered the words. “I appreciate our time together, Alfred.”

“I’m honored,” he said to her, bringing the teacup to his lips.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her and she turned around to see who it was. Turning around, her hand bringing the teacup to her lips, she saw a disheveled Bruce Wayne walking towards her. His eyes were barely opened, prominent bags under his eyes cast a shadow on his features. His tie hung untied on his neck, his shirt over his pants, the sleeves folded up to his elbows. It was a stark contrast from the Bruce Wayne she had seen at Jason's funeral, two years back, the one she saw frequently splattered on the news front pages.  

“Oh,” he stopped on his tracks, his hands falling limply to his sides. His jaw tensed and, suddenly, a mask fell on his face, the vulnerability he displayed a few seconds before gone. He wasn’t anymore Bruce, a guy who had just woken up and wanted something from the kitchen of his oversized home, he was the Bruce Wayne, now. The velocity of the transformation haunted her. “I didn’t realize we had visitors.”

She rested the teacup pack on the counter, and got up from the stool. “I’m so sorry Mr. Wayne,” she muttered, extending her hand, introducing herself. “I am, was, Jason’s friend.”

“Yes, yes,” he nodded, “I remember you.”

Alfred looked pointenly at Bruce as pulled a mug from a cabinet. He poured coffee for himself, and leaned against the counter next to Alfred. She stood there next to her stool, paralyzed in his presence. Everytime she was present in Wayne Manor, Bruce was either too busy to ever grace them with his presence, or away on some business trip she never bothered to ask what for. “We have weekly teas, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, his tone laced with something deeper than announcing their weekly traditions. 

Bruce’s jaw tightened somehow and his blue eyes rested on her. Her eyes drifted to her teacup, her tea getting cold. She was itching to grab it and drink it, but she felt uncomfortable even moving a inch from her place, much less feeling the liberty to resume her previous behavior. “Really?” his eyebrows shot up, his head tilting slightly. “Please, seat, pretend I’m not here.”

She hesitated before sitting back down. Her hands hugged her teacup, the warmth of it seeping through her skin. It was hard to pretend he was not there next to her, looking at her with judging eyes. She wondered if he remembered her from the funeral, if he had thought of her when he was thinking of Jason’s legacy, what his son had left behind. Her eyes looked up at Bruce before quickly darting back down to her tea, “Yeah, I don’t really wanna go to Metropolis,” she whispered, resuming her previous conversation with Alfred. The air in the kitchen was tense and awkward, she couldn’t look any of them men in the room in the eyes. 

“I’m certain Gotham U will admit you,” Alfred reassured her, “You’re a brilliant person, they’d be fools to let you go.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her eyes were focused on the tea, like it was the most important thing in that kitchen. “They usually don’t take this long to send the letters, it’s making me nervous.”

“Gotham U, huh?” Bruce chipped in. “What’s your major?”

She looked expantly at Alfred, trying to see if he knew any of Bruce’s intentions. But she often forgot how impassive Alfred was, how in control of his emotions he was, something she lacked. He didn’t show her anything, she assumed he knew of something, like usually. “Applied physics,” she responded, quietly. 

“Wow,” Bruce breathed out, “impressive.”

She offered him an awkward smile in return. It was hard to find a response to the reaction of others when they became aware of her major. It was highly uncommon, and usually those who followed that path were men. When people discovered what she wanted to do with her life, they almost always reacted like they had found an unicorn.

“Well, when you do graduate, look for me, I can help you get a job,” Bruce politely offered, his tone kind. She looked up at him for the first time, his expression almost fatherly. 

“Thank you Mr. Wayne, that’s very kind of you,” she bored her head, looking down at her tea once again. 

His phone rang, and he picked it up from his pocket. Her eyes trailed over to his expression, his jaw once again tense. “You’re welcome,” he replied, feigning happiness and comfort. “If you’ll excuse me,” he left the kitchen in broad steps, his shoulders tense and determined. 

That was the first time she came to the conclusion that Bruce Wayne was a strange man. 

#

#

Aged 22, end of May.

College was an excruciating experience, but finally she had left it all behind. With her diploma in hands, she finally felt a small semblance of freedom, something she had longed when isinde the four walls of her old dorm in Gotham U. 

She stepped into the ground floor of Wayne towers, her shoes clicking nervously on the floor. She had made sure to dress properly to meet Bruce Wayne, unsure of what he’d think if she showed up dressed like a broke college student, something that she very much was. It was the mentality of fake it till you make it, aim a bit higher and maybe you’ll get there. She desperately wished she’d get there.

One of the receptionists let her in, indicating the floor in which she should go to. Her hands sweat gripping the folder with her recommendations and her resume, she gulped looking at the elevator intently. Her free hand found its way to the tiny robin gently resting on her neck. She wished Jason was there to help her, give her tips on what to say to his Father to make him glad, and what to avoid doing so that he’d hire her. She could imagine him if she closed her eyes, next to her, barely taller than her, smiling at her wishing her good luck. The elevator dinged, bringing her back to reality. Jason wasn’t next to her, and she didn’t have anyone to give her tips on what to say to her potential boss. She was alone, just like she had been for six long years. 

In spite of the hundred floors of the building - quite literally - the elevator ride was fast. When the doors opened, it revealed a small greeting room, with a couple of couches and a tall window illuminating it. She eyed directly in front of her, the double doors with a tiny plaque with the name Bruce Wayne engraved on it. Her eyes lingered on it for a couple of moments, as she walked towards the lonesome couch next to the big window. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the beating heart. She wondered if Bruce was already inside the room, if he remembered what he had offered to her all those years ago, or if he had just been polite and did not plan on following with it at all. 

After that strange meeting with him four years back, she had barely seen him again. A couple of times she had seen a shadow passing through the corridors while she was heading out of the Manor, someone she assumed for the sake of her mental health it was Bruce Wayne and not a ghost. The notion that he was a strange man only intensified, adding the perception that he was hiding something. She knew he was a good actor, but she could see tiny cracks and slips, an ability gained from years of loneliness. It was hard to say what it was that he was keeping a secret from everyone, but there was something there. 

Her name was called and she saw Bruce Wayne standing underneath the frame of the double doors that lead to his office. She got up promptly and walked towards him, her grip on her folder tight. His hand was extended and she shook it professionally, pretending like she wasn’t panicking inside. 

“I have someone I’d like for you to meet,” he stated, guiding her inside his office. The office was probably four times bigger than the small room she had stayed previously, the large windows providing a beautiful view from Gotham. You could almost pretend it was a normal city looking out from that window. “This,”  he motioned to the man sitting on a cozy nook in the back of the room, “is Lucius Fox.”

The man was big and well built, his round glasses standing on the tip of his nose. He smiled at her, crinkles forming beside his eyes. His hand found his glasses, taking them off and putting them in his pocket. “Nice to meet you, Miss. mr. Wayne has talked a lot about you,” he stated, his hand extended for her to take it. 

She looked back at Bruce, confused. After all, he remembered her and he remembered his offer. She turned back to Lucius and shook his hand, a determined expression on her face. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fox.”

“Lucius Fox is the head of our R&D department, and has agreed to take you as his personal apprentice,” Bruce explained. 

Shock overcame her, her eyes wide. She looked between Lucius’ kind smile and Bruce’s stoic stance, unable to believe the opportunity was real. “Really?” she uttered incredulously. 

“I have some personal projects and I’d very much need the help,” Lucius explained, calmly. “Mr. Wayne has talked highly of you, I’m eager to see what you’re capable of doing.”

“I--,” she shook her head, trying to get rid of the hesitation, “thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce responded, a small smile gracing his lips. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

#

#

Aged 24, April 26th.

The humid air of the cave made sweat drip down her face as she tinkered away with a broken gadget she had designed for Bruce’s night time activities, as she had so dearly called it. 

It was a new development, the cave and the capes and the vigilantism. The two years she invested working with Lucius all served a greater purpose to Bruce. She was to be the next Lucius Fox, help provide Batman, or rather Bruce - in her head it was still confusing to assume that the guy who had given her a job was the ‘Dark Knight’ - with gadgets capable of doing everything that his physical capabilities couldn’t. Lucius was old and reaching retirement, and even if he loved his job, he was reaching his limit. She was beyond grateful for his guidance, she had learned so much. But he had left her a fucking weird job. There was no other way to describe it. 

The cave was quiet, Bruce had left sometime before, she could only hear Alfred quietly talking to Bruce through the comms and the drip-drip of water falling from the ceiling and hitting the small lake underneath her. She had settled in a little abandoned nook, her tools all scattered on top of her table. She rested the screw driver she was working with on the table, lifting the magnifying lens. She rubbed her face, tired of looking towards the tiny malfunctioning screen.

Her hands remained on her face, concealing her emotions. The robin pendant always felt especially heavy on the 26th of April. It had been 8 years since she had seen Jason, and as pathetic as it sounded, she never really got over the loss of him. They always felt particularly lost, she couldn’t focus on anything other than him, running circles around any problem presented to her. Looking at the gadget, it felt nearly impossible to find a solution to it, her mind foggy with sadness and grief that she could never really shake off, even with years between her and the day he had died. 

The knowledge that Bruce kept everything as Jason had left, and even made a little homage to his Robin days in a secret corner of the cave, hidden from view, was heavy in her heart. She struggled to keep her eyes trailed to her task and not at the memory of Jason. She took a sharp breath, trying desperately to sew herself together. It was truly pathetic how much it still affected her, how open the wound still was. 

A sharp motor sound echoed through the walls of the cave, disturbing the few bats that hung from the ceiling. A guy built like a fucking brick wall parked his bike on the platform, taking long strides towards where Alfred stood. He adorned a cracked red helmet that glistened in the white lights that illuminated the pathway. His heavy footsteps echoed through, her eyes unable to escape from him. She approached silently, praying that that loose panel near the little stairs that lead to the main computer wouldn’t scratch underneath her weight. 

“Where the fuck is Bruce?” he growled, his hands balled into fists next to him. His leather jacket was worn and old, its sleeves bunched up near his elbow, exposing his veiny forearms. The cracked part of the helmet revealed his blue eyes, sparkling in a familiar way. It tugged her heartstrings, her hand instinctively went to her robin. It couldn’t be, Jason was dead. 

“He’s on patrol, Master Jason,” Alfred said calmly, his eyes trailed to the screens in front of him. Alfred acted like this man’s fits of anger were completely normal. 

Her brain repeated that it wasn’t Jason, it was a mere coincidence that this man’s name was the same as her dead best friend’s. Jason was a tiny and scrawny kid, he wasn’t tall and thick like this man. Jason wasn’t bitter and prone to anger fits, even if he was angry most of the time. He was silent and kind and sweet, this man looked to be the opposite of it. 

“He promised, Alfred, where is he?” he growled, his fist slamming on the table. “He fucking promised.”

“I’m sure he’ll arrive soon, if you’d like to wait,” Alfred motioned to the medical bay, the gurney sitting there on its lonesome. The man huffed, marching to the gurney, otherwise ignoring her presence a few feet away. 

She approached Alfred quietly. “Who was that?” her voice laced with curiosity and fear. 

Alfred looked at her serenely, knowing something she didn’t. He smiled at her, teh crinkles around his eyes appearing generously. “Why don’t you find out?,” he responded to her camly. 

She took it as an order, and made her way towards the small infirmary area. Her footsteps were light and determined, her hand clutching the robbing resting on her chest tightly. Her brain ran over scenarios on how likely it was that this person had almost every physical attribute to her best friend Jason, if he had taken steroids for the past 8 years. It wasn’t likely, but in light of her new knowledge, of how close the supernatural was to her, it was very much possible. 

“Do you want me to take a look?” she asked quietly, shifting the weight from her heels to the tips of her toes. She felt so small in his presence, something she didn’t feel with Bruce, oddly. Maybe it was because Bruce didn’t give off such menacing vibes when he was near her, or maybe it was because her brain was unconsciously comparing this man to her Jason, who had always been smaller than her. “At the helmet, I mean.”

He eyed her surgically, analyzing everything about her. His eyes rested on her pendants, widening slightly in recognition. It took almost everything in her to control her beating heart, to control her brain trying to say that in fact that man before her was her Jason, and it wasn’t her brain playing tricks on her. 

He gently took his helmet off, revealing his crisp black hair cooly laying on his forehead. His eyes focused on the helmet, his arms extended to give it to her gently. Her eyes would leave his face, a face she had longed to see for eight excruciatingly long years. His eyes had remained the same, after all: kind and sweet. His face, however, told a story of hardships and pain, hardened by whatever he had been through all these years. She didn’t know how to feel, if she should feel betrayed he hadn't trusted her enough to say that he was alive, that he was six feet under anymore, or if she should feel elated that Jason was alive and she could finally tell him all the things she wanted to.

Her fingers brushed him slightly, as she picked up the broken helmet from his hands. His hands still felt the same, her heart noticed, picking up a beat. She looked at the crack that exposed half of his face, the electrical parts fizzling dangerously. Her eyes focused on Jason once again, her lips shut painfully. The tears that came to her eyes were inevitable, trembling fingers reaching at her robin pendant, clutching it tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t,” he shook his head gently, “it’s not your fault.”

She could see he wanted to touch her, but something held him back. She wouldn’t find out what until much later.  

#

#

Aged 24, August 16th. 

Jason had promised her he would show up, and he never broke his promises. That was what she repeated to herself, late at night. She had prepared everything for his birthday, bought a present for him and baked a cake. She had said that he was supposed to appear at seven. It was well past midnight, the cake had found its way back to the fridge, the present was back in her closet, and he hadn’t showed up yet. 

A part of her kept telling her to give up, her best friend had stood her up: Jason changed fundamentally, he wasn’t the same boy he was when she met him and it was foolish to hang on to that notion; it was perfectly plausible that he had the habit of breaking promises now.  But she was well aware of that, she saw it in the tiny things how much Jason was transformed, it still didn’t change the fact that she knew he valued loyalty above all else, and that included loyalty to his words. He wouldn’t break his promise to her. 

She changed out of the cute dress she was wearing, feeling foolish and sad that she was about to give up most of the hope that he would show up. Her pyjamas welcomed her comfortably, a safe space to let the heartbreak settle on her. He won’t break his promise, she repeated mentally, he won’t. The mantra did little to soothe the growing dread inside her, the notion that maybe she didn’t know him as well as she did. That he didn’t tell her everything that day, that he didn’t trust her anymore. It hurt more than she anticipated. 

Sleep was almost consuming her when she heard a loud clang outside her bedroom. She shook awake, throwing the covers off her instinctively. Her hand grabbed the baseball bat that rested beside her bed, bringing it up and close to her. With slow steps, she approached the window. Her fear settled when she saw the familiar red helmet staring back at her, begging to let him in. She dropped the bat on the floor, opening the window. 

He got in her room awkwardly, struggling to pass his huge frame through a tiny space. She reached to help him, offering her hands. He took them, butterflies running amok on her tummy. “You’re late,” she commented, trying to mask the hurt in her voice. 

“I know,” he said, taking off his helmet and dropping it on top of her bed. “I’m sorry.”

She hummed looking at him underneath the moonlight seeping through her window. She hadn’t gotten used to how big he became, and how smaller she felt in his presence. She was by no means a small woman, but his entire being could encapsulate her with a simple hug, and not the other way around like it used to be. “Why are you late?” she moved to sit on the bed, the helmet rolling off the bed delicately. 

He looked at her, sitting down next to her gently. “I don’t know,” he answered, rubbing his hands together, his elbows resting on his thighs. 

“Why do I feel like you’re not being honest with me?” her head tilted, looking at his beautiful profile. There was a scar connecting his right temple to the corner of his upper lip, and it made him even more beautiful than he already was. He fascinated her to no end, his brain, his looks, his entire being was what made her keep going, the light on the end of her tunnel. 

His eyes trailed over her face, looking for something she guessed he wouldn’t find. “Why are you always so nice to me?”

“What do you mean, Jason,” she breathed out, confused at the inquiry. “I’m your friend, I’m supposed to be nice to you.”

“No, you’re not,” he shook his head, his hands balled into fists and his eyes closed. “You’re not supposed to be kind to me,” he got up, his back towards her.

“Stop it, Jason, you’re scaring me,” she whispered, her voice shaking a bit. 

“You’re supposed to be angry at me. I abandoned you, left you alone, and when I came back I didn’t tell you, I didn’t look for you,” he continued, trying to manipulate her emotions.

“Why are you saying these things, Jason, they’re not true,” she got up, her voice no longer shaking, determined and focused. 

“Because I don’t deserve it,” he turned to her, his eyes tortured and sad. “I don’t deserve your kindness and friendship. I’m not worthy of it.”

“Jay, I--” she started, but Jason interrupted her. 

“Don’t, please. I’m not worthy of anyone’s love,” his voice was heavy with emotion. She discovered that Jason was often ruled by two main emotions: sadness and anger. In that moment, she could only see those in him and a part of her broke.

“That’s not true, you’re worthy of mine,” her voice was so honest and raw, it caught Jason by surprise. She didn’t know what he expected out of her at that moment, maybe to give in to his spiral of bad thoughts and self flagellation, but she refused to let him believe those awful things. “Jason, you really don't know?”

He remained in silence, his eyes wide and shocked, focused on the ground. His jaw was tense and his hands balled into fists tightly. She took a hesitant step towards him, reaching for his hands. They relaxed under her touch and she threaded her fingers through his. It wasn’t hard to notice how perfectly they fit with each other, like to halves of a whole. “I’ve loved you ever since I was 14 and you marched into the boys bathroom to get my lit homework back from Mason Anderson,” she whispered, her eyes focused on his face, while his were focused on their hands together. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it, Jay. But I can’t let you believe all those horrible things you said. Not when I love you more than anything in this world.”

He stayed silent for a couple of moments, her heart beating erratically inside her chest, fearing she had screwed up their friendship for good. In a way, it was worst to know he was out there and didn't want to speak to her because she dared to tell him about her love for him. “Please say something,” she begged him quietly. 

His eyes finally found hers, his hands breaking the link they formed. He rested his hands on her cheeks gently, and she dared say, lovingly. Her heart started beating excitedly, the fear slowly dissipating as his gaze got more intense. 

His lips brushed against hers, her eyes fluttering closed at the contact. He kissed her gently, a love delicate and fragile, just acknowledged between them both. His grip on her was firm, his thumb grazing delicately on her cheekbones. Her hands thread through his soft hair, still slightly humid from the sweat caused by the helmet. The air was charged with want, tentative kiss toeing the line between what it was and something more. 

She wished to stay like that forever. She prayed to  whatever was out there in the Universe, to allow her that happiness. To stay kissing her love tentatively in the dark for as long as she could, as long as he’d let her. 

Jason broke the kiss, his forehead resting on hers. His fingers found their way to the back of her head, cupping it softly. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing with hers. She reached for his lips once again, like a magnet finding its match. “I love you so much,” he reassured.

They kissed once again, not intending to break apart any time soon. 

[kindahoping4forever]

When The Sun Came Up, You Were Looking At Me (Part Two) // Ashton Irwin

Thank you to everyone who has been reading this series so far - @cal-puddies​​ and I are having such a blast reading all of your comments and tags! Keep ‘em coming! (I’m especially curious to see the reaction to this installment. That’s all I’ll say for now.)

If you missed any previous chapters, you can find them all on the series masterlist linked below. And don’t forget we’re alternating posting duties so the story concludes tomorrow over on Cass’s blog! 

Warnings: Tension, teasing, tenderness. Alcohol, angst, arguments as foreplay. Scenes including female masturbation, rough, unprotected sex, bondage, spanking, manual stimulation of a female, male oral sex, hints of cum play and some general dom!Ash vibes.

Word Count: 7705

Cass & Crystal’s Masterlist  // Series Masterlist

Let  us  know  what  you  think!

Ashton lets out a deep sigh as his alarm goes off. He tossed and turned all night and during the fleeting moments where he did sleep, the sounds he heard you making through his bedroom door last night invaded each and every one of his dreams.

He groans at the realization he’s so hard he can barely think straight. He doesn’t know how to process any of this without coffee so he meditates for a bit, attempting to will his body to calm down enough for him to head to the kitchen. He enters the room and rolls his eyes; the sight of you once again wearing that absurdly thin nightgown certainly doesn’t do his situation any favors.

You busy yourself at the counter as he approaches, not ready to deal with what happened last night. You were up all night thinking about it. Does he know you heard him? Did he hear you? As you move around each other, you avoid his eyes, afraid he’ll somehow detect the depraved things you dreamt about still lingering in your mind.

He reaches for the bag of coffee and doesn’t even realize he’s pressed himself against you until he hears the half gasp, half moan that falls from your lips. You drop the fork you’re holding and grip the counter, breathing heavy. Without thinking about it too much, he presses his lips to the spot below your ear, letting out a low groan as you jut your ass out to grind against him. You turn around to look him in the eye and there’s a silent agreement before he helps you hop up on the counter.

He reaches to pull your panties off and smirks when he realizes you aren’t wearing any. He tugs his shorts down and doesn’t even wait a beat before he pushes into you.

“Fuck, Irwin,” you moan, wrapping your arm around him, pulling him in so you can suck on his neck. His hands grip your thighs tight as he starts to pound into you, with little regard for whether or not you're ready. You love it, this was one of your favorite ways to be had by him: hard, fast and with no conversation.

Ashton's hands move around to your ass, pulling you closer, driving his hips harder against yours. He’s quiet, seemingly focused on getting off as quickly as possible, while your whines start pouring out quickly and loudly. He’s stretching you just the way you like, hitting the exact spot you need. It’s rough, it’s dirty, it’s Ash. You don’t ask for more because you don’t have to.

His soft grunts egg you on, quickly bringing you closer to climax. Your fingers dig into his skin as you whimper and squeeze around him. He lets you finish, waits for your grip to relax on his body before he pulls out.

He works his hand briskly over his cock and you rush to pull your nightgown over your head, not wanting to get cum on it; he aims for your stomach and chest as he finishes with a groan. He grips the counter on either side of you, boxing you in again, letting the hotness of his breath fan across your skin. He lets his cock soften up before he puts it away and when you reach for a paper towel to clean yourself up with, he leaves the kitchen without a word.

“Fuck… he didn’t make coffee,” you murmur to yourself. You decide you need to get out of the house before you do anything else you might regret; you take your breakfast upstairs and quickly eat while you get dressed.

You head into town, finding a coffee shop and some nearby stores to wander around. You try your best to clear your mind of his sounds from the night before, to not think about the way he just knew how to primally fuck you a few hours ago. But you can still practically feel him against you, his hands wrapped around your thighs.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you return to discover Ash finally left for his run; you make a drink to have while you relax by the pool, where you’ll likely spend the rest of your day.

When he gets back a while later, he passes the kitchen and watches you puttering around, getting ready to make another drink, noticing the way your bikini rides up to show off your ass. It takes everything in him to not walk over and smack it. Instead he changes clothes and heads outside, jumping into the pool.

By the time you’re settling back in your chair, he’s done swimming laps. He gets out in front of you, shaking out his curls, sending water flying everywhere, including on you.

“Ash!” You squeal, covering your glass with your hand.

He shrugs and drags his chair into the sun, collapsing in it to rest. “How many is that?” He asks, gesturing at your drink.

You scowl. “Sorry, I forgot where it was your business how much I drink.”

“Just wanna make sure you don’t drown… can’t have that on my conscience.”

You roll your eyes and carry on ignoring him until finally the sun gets too hot and you have to get in the water. You abandoned your latest drink to appease him but he's still watching you like a hawk.

You grumble as he jumps in the pool after you. “What’s your deal?”

“It’s hot, that’s all,” he replies before splashing you. “Relax, grump. How could you be upset? It’s a beautiful day, you got to cum this morning, you’re at this great house with a nice pool and an even nicer guy…”

“You know ‘nice’ isn’t my chosen descriptor of you,” you tease, splashing him back.

“Oh right… you prefer ‘asshole’,” he grins, swimming over to where you are.

“Well, your self awareness has certainly improved since we split.”

“So has your ability to handle your alcohol,” he bites back, playfully.

“Just trying not to hurt anyone’s feelings. Sierra said to be nice.”

“Literally the only time in your adult life you’ve ever done something that was asked of you.” He swims closer and you retreat back against the pool wall.

“That’s not true. I used to do what you asked in bed all the time,” you smirk, thinking you bested him.

Ashton licks his lips while looking at yours, arms settling on the wall above you. “In your own way, sometimes, you’d do as you were asked, but let’s not get carried away with ‘all the time’.”

“What can I say, I have a mind of my own,” you lilt, watching his tongue dart out to wet his pink lips.

Suddenly you can’t stop yourself. You pull him in and press your lips to his. He scoops one arm behind your back, pulling you flush against him, deepening the kiss. His tongue is exploring your mouth and he’s nibbling on your lip when you finally realize what’s happening and push him away, giving yourself space to breathe. Both of your chests are heaving as you stare at each other for a minute before you turn and lift yourself out of the pool.

You wrap the towel around your body and grab your things. You turn to look at him again, still stunned in the pool, and you quickly run to your room. You can’t believe you were stupid enough to kiss Ash, can’t believe it still drives you wild. Your head is spinning and you’re not sure if it’s from his tongue or from the alcohol; either way, you decide it’s best to sleep it off. You change out of your swimsuit and curl up on the bed.

You wake up a while later, your mind still clouded by Ashton. You decide to shower and wash the day off; the last 24 hours were filled with him and hopefully it'll rinse him away too. You undress in front of the mirror and notice bruises his fingers left on you this morning, reminding you just how untouched you’ve been since the breakup. You stand underneath the shower head and try to focus on cleaning yourself, or literally anything other than how you used to shower with Ashton, but it’s not working.

You think about his large hands rubbing soap over your body, paying extra attention to your tits, the way he’d press himself against you when first getting in with you. The way he’d make you laugh while kissing on your neck or massaging your head when he’d wash your hair.

Your mind betrays you further as you remember the times he’d push your chest against the wall and take you from behind, holding you there until he had pumped you full of cum. Afterwards, he’d help you clean up, watching in fascination as his cum ran down your legs and towards the drain.

Before you know it, your fingers are on your clit, your other hand working over your tits, tugging your nipples. But the orgasm doesn’t come. You get close but your mind keeps reminding you that Ashton is in the house and he can do it so much better if you let him.

“Fuck,” you groan, hitting the wall. You get out of the shower and toss a robe over your shoulders, loosely tying it as you practically fly across the house to Ashton’s room. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed with the door open and notices you immediately. You quickly close the distance, straddling him and pulling him into a kiss.

He pulls away and tries to ask a question but you hold your finger to his lips. “I was in the shower and I couldn’t stop thinking about you… your hands on my skin, the way you’d have me against the wall. Why take care of something myself when I could very easily have you do it?”

You go back in, kissing his neck. His fingers tighten on your hips and you feel him start to get hard. You slot your lips back with his, deepening the kiss until he’s grinding your hips down on him. Without hesitation, you ask with heavy breath, “Quick question: what were you thinking about last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were getting off last night?” You ask, pressing kisses to his jaw.

“Oh, you mean when you were listening and also getting off?” He lets out a filthy laugh. “Tying your ass to the bed and having my way with you like I used to.”

“Please, Ash,” you breathe in his ear.

“My cock in your throat, you choking on it,” he continues and feels you shudder, a slight moan rumbling in your throat. “I don’t have the patience for that right now and judging by the way you’re soaking through my shorts, you don’t either. So… guess I’ll just tie you up.”

He hungrily kisses you before grabbing your hips and lifting you off of him; he goes to the closet and pulls some bed ties out of his backpack. He struts back over to you and you lick your lips while staring at his hard on.

“Don’t get any bright ideas,” he warns. He pulls the tie on your robe to reveal your naked body and then gets you settled on the bed. He grabs your wrists and ties them together before securing them to the bed. He grins down at you and runs his fingers over your exposed skin.

When he starts to move on, you clear your throat, “You’re not going to finish this?” You ask, kicking your legs.

“Thought you’d behave since you want it so bad,” Ash mocks, sliding his fingers through your wetness. “But if you insist.”

You grin while he does it, enjoying the feeling of his hands all over you. He pulls his shorts off and kneels on the bed between your thighs. “To have you like this again… just a fuckin’ wet mess for me, huh?” He murmurs, rubbing soft circles over your clit with both thumbs.

“Yeah… yes.” You toss your head back at the feeling.

“Yes what?” He asks, smacking his hand over your pussy.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, you haven’t forgotten.”

He sinks his cock all the way into you and before you can fully enjoy it, he pulls his hips back and snaps them roughly into you again. Once he sets his brutal pace, his hands are everywhere: your thighs, your nipples, your throat, touching and teasing you the way you love, the way only he can. He grabs a handful of hair, pulling your head back; his teeth trace along your skin until his lips are at your ear. “Such a dirty fuckin’ Princess, aren’t you?” He asks, thrusting particularly hard. “So good for me though... pussy fits me so perfectly.”

Ashton pushes himself back up, taking full advantage of having you tied up for him: groping you, holding your hips as he pounds into you, smacking your thighs, leaving handprints on you. Every little thing he does works to push you towards the edge.

He feels you getting close and he smirks down at you darkly. “Already, Princess?” He teases, thrusting harder than you can ever remember him doing before, knocking your head into the headboard.

“Ash... Ash… sir… fuck fuck fuck.” You moan, pulsing around him, finally getting the release you wanted.

“Feel good, Princess?” He asks, slowing down. He feels your legs squeeze, trying to push him away a little but he continues even slower, giving you long strokes.

“Ash… fuckin’ hell…” you whine.

“You’re OK, Princess, you’ve taken more,” he soothes. “I’m almost there.”

“Cum for me… cum in me.” You pant, desperately. “I need it.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think so, Princess.” He pulls out and starts handling his cock, quickly sliding his hand over the shaft, letting out a loud groan as he sprays your torso with cum for a second time today.

He sits back on his heels a moment, catching his breath. He kisses you before untying your hands and gently rubbing your wrists. He does the same to your ankles and disappears into the bathroom.

He comes back with a washcloth and kneels over you to clean his cum off your body; you eye him, trying to get a read on the tone of the room. “I said cum in instead of on me because I just took a shower, asshole,” you comment with a twinkle in your eye, taking your chances that he’ll know you’re teasing.

Ashton has no problem catching your tone and matches it with a smirk. “Funny how I remember you saying you needed it,” he responds smugly, tossing the washcloth onto the nightstand and pulling on his shorts.

“Probably couldn’t hear me over the sound of the headboard obliterating that wall.” You sit up to tie your robe tight around your body, feeling unusually exposed now that the moment has passed.

He shrugs, laughing. “This is all on our friends’ dime, let them worry about the damages.”

Ash sits next to you on the bed and the two of you joke back and forth about the destructive sexcapades you could engage in just to rack up the cost of the rental as punishment for your friends’ meddling; your laughter mixes with his in a way it hasn’t in a long time and things feel calm for the first time today.

You absentmindedly rub your fingers over the slight indentation grooves on your wrist from the ties and he notices, grabbing your arm to inspect. “Oh, that’s nothing compared to the marks your hands left on me this morning,” you insist, pulling your arm back gently. You recognize genuine concern on his face instead of the arrogance you expected, so you backtrack a little. “I’m fine, Ash, relax… Why’d you have those things with you for a ‘writing session’ anyways? Planned on finally sealing the deal with Cal?” You joke, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject.

Ash snorts. “Last time the band stayed here, the night life wasn’t too bad,” he shrugs.

It takes a beat for it to click what he’s implying. “Oh… so… you’re upset about us enough that you need to come out here to write through our anniversary but not too upset to tie up some townies while you’re here?” You accuse, voice dripping with what you hope is enough judgement to mask your hurt.

He sighs loudly, running his hands through his hair. “Because it’s so much healthier for us to just emotionlessly fuck each other this week.”

“Good, glad we can both agree that this means nothing,” you snap, launching yourself off the bed and slamming the door behind you.

Ashton stares at the closed door, head spinning from how fast that went south. Part of him wishes he hadn’t been honest with you, said he’d forgotten those ties were in his backpack, spared your feelings, maybe even asked you to stay the night. But part of him wonders why he even cares about your feelings at all anymore.

He lays back on the bed, contemplating things. You’ve made it obvious day after day that you’re not interested in addressing what went wrong between you and up until he heard you moaning outside his door last night, he was convinced you didn’t want anything to do with him at all. If sex is all you want this week... well, he’s not going to deny he’s interested but he’s not sure if he can set aside how much he misses you. All of you.

The more he thinks about the situation, the more exasperated he gets; before he has the chance to talk himself out of it, he grabs his phone and dials Sierra. Her cautious “Hello?” is barely finished when he starts going in. “I know you think you’re doing us a favor here but you really crossed a goddamn line with this one,” he snarls.

She exhales loudly. “What are you talking about, Ashton?”

“This was none of your business! This was not your job to fix this and even if it was, this was a piss poor way of going about it,” he rants. She starts to interject but he cuts her off. “This isn’t a prank, this isn’t a social experiment, this isn’t even a cute story that gets told at weddings, this is real people who have real emotions being toyed with by a so-called friend.”

“I am your friend, Ash,” she says quietly.

“Friends don’t play god like this, Sierra.”

She sighs, used to Ash’s valid complaints being muddied by his self-righteousness. “Listen, I understand you’re upset and believe it or not, I didn’t love having to lie to get you two in the same place so I am sorry for that. But think about it from our perspective for a second? Notice I’m saying our because we were all in on it,” she points out. “We have the advantage - the heartbreaking, annoying advantage - of seeing this from both sides. We wouldn’t have done this if we thought you guys would get hurt, if we didn’t think good would come of it.”

In an unusually small voice, Ashton says pitifully, “She hates me, S.”

“You know how she is, she’s afraid if she lets you know how much she cares, she’ll get taken advantage of. You used to be the same way, dude.”

Quietly, he thinks out loud, “But if I’ve changed and she hasn’t… maybe we’re not compatible anymore.”

“I mean… that seems like a conversation you should have with her, Ash,” Sierra offers gently. “You just need to find a way to get through to our ice princess. But trust me, without giving up privileged information, I can tell you that what each of you are going through is really not that different.”

“Tell Luke he’s a rat for giving you intel,” he jokes, wanting to change the subject because he knows she’s right.

“Well at least that takes some of the heat off me,” she laughs. “And Ash? I love you guys but I’m blocking you both for the rest of the week - you have got to talk to each other and stop using me as a sounding board.”

He hangs his head in defeat. “That’s fair,” he admits.

“And everyone else knows to do the same,” she continues.

“Got it.”

The line beeps and Sierra cackles loudly. “Well. I guess I’m about to give an encore of this speech because guess who’s sent me 5 texts and is now calling me?”

Ashton laughs in bitter amusement. “Whatever she says I did, she did it first,” he says half-joking.

“See you when you get back, buddy. It’s gonna be alright,” she reassures him and then with a click, she’s gone.

You wake up once again feeling remorseful for how you acted the night before; you don’t regret going to Ash’s room specifically for sex - you could find dozens of reasons to justify that in your mind - but you know you shouldn’t have blown up at him afterwards like you did.

You hadn’t been with anyone since the breakup and Luke had let it slip weeks ago that Ash hadn’t either. So what if he had planned on blowing off steam with randoms when he thought he’d be here with the guys? Just because you’re taking it slow doesn’t mean he has to as well. You had no right to be hurt by this information because he’s not yours anymore; after months of reminding yourself that, you’d think you would’ve gotten used to the idea by now.

You figure he’s probably not ready to talk to you yet so you decide to show you’re sorry in smaller ways; you can tell he hasn’t been in the kitchen so you make coffee to the best of your ability and cut up some fruit for yourself, making up a small bowl for him, figuring he can either eat it or throw it into the juicer again.

You don’t want to drive yourself crazy waiting for him to come out of his room and you don’t want him to find you in the pool and misinterpret it as thirst trapping again so you go out for a light jog. It’s a good way to pass the time and although the quiet gives your mind a few too many opportunities to consider how Ash’s hands felt on you last night, you ultimately feel better when you return to the house.

You stop by the kitchen to refill your water bottle and while you can tell he’s definitely been in there, both the coffee and fruit you left for him are untouched. You shrug and peek outside where you see him reading by the pool, with a cup of coffee and breakfast sandwich he’d clearly had delivered. You roll your eyes a bit but resolve to be a good sport and poke your head out the door, tapping quietly on it to get his attention, and wave kindly. He looks you up and down in your sports bra and tiny running shorts and gives you the minimal greeting of a head nod before returning to his book. You feel like you can count that as a win under the circumstances.

Ashton watches you through the glass doors as you flutter around the living room before heading upstairs. He knows ordering in was bordering on petty but after his conversation with Sierra, he decided the best approach was to freeze you out until you decided if and when you wanted to come to him; things would be back on your terms and maybe you’d feel comfortable enough that progress could be made. He wishes these games weren’t necessary to get you to share your feelings but he respects the fundamental role they play in your relationship and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss them.

Your afternoon drags without any attention from Ash and you hate admitting how much you miss him. You busy yourself any way you can: showering, napping, you even answer a few work emails on your phone because you’re so bored. You hear him in the pool at one point and you sneak a few peeks out the window, just to see if he looks as good as you imagine.

Evening rolls around and you tell yourself you’re heading out to investigate your dinner options but really you’re hoping to see what Ash is up to. You find him shirtless on the couch, half paying attention to the TV, half paying attention to whatever is on his phone. You pass through to the kitchen as loudly as you can, hoping he’ll look up but he never does.

You slam every drawer and cabinet in the kitchen and he still seems unphased; you stand in the entryway of the living room and ask him if he’s hungry. You get a shrug in response and it both infuriates and excites you. If there’s anything you love more than being given his attention, it’s having to work for it.

You take a seat in the chair across from him and wait for him to acknowledge you; of course, he doesn’t. “Thinking about getting pizza, you interested?” You toss out, bracing for him to be irritated that you have a house full of groceries and still want to order in.

“Whatever you think,” he says flatly, eyes glued to his phone.

You read him the list of possible pizza toppings, trying to force even the smallest crack in his resolve; you only get a “Sure, whatever” and he turns up the TV.

You grit your teeth. “Do you want me to just let you starve since you’re mad at me?” You snipe. You see his jaw clench and for a second you’re almost sure he’s going to jab back at you. Your heart is beating so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if it was visible through the very tight, very thin shirt you intentionally put on before you came out here.

Instead of fighting back, he evenly says, “Not mad, just bored.”

The last 24 hours had been anything but boring so you’re not sure what to do with that statement. You try a different approach. “Well if you expect me to apologize for last night, you’re in for a long wait,” you say combatively.

Ashton’s eyes shift and for a second you think you may have finally won a glance from him but he’s now focused on the TV.  “I stopped expecting things from you even before we broke up,” he retorts.

That remark stings a little but at least you’re getting him to engage with you now, you can work with this. Once upon a time this banter was your foreplay and judging by the way he’s been absentmindedly licking his lips since you sat down, it still might be.

“So then you didn’t expect me to go to your room last night?”

He doesn’t even flinch at your question. “Did it surprise me that you were still needy even after I gave you my cock earlier in the day? No, you’ve always been like that.” His voice drips with disdain and you feel yourself involuntarily clench. “Didn’t expect you to be willing to admit it, though. Must’ve been pretty desperate.”

You get out of your chair and stand directly in front of him, blocking the TV, willing him to look at you. He remains nonplussed and goes back to his phone; a combination of desire to win this game and desire for him overwhelms your senses and you impulsively drop to your knees.

The way he’s manspread on the couch is annoying but convenient for the situation. You keep your eyes trained on his face as you slowly rub up and down his thighs a few times before running your hand over his crotch. His face continues to feign disinterest but his cock tells another story; he was clearly starting to get turned on from your bickering and you feel him hardening more as you stroke and squeeze him through his shorts.

You tug at his waistband and Ashton remains silent but lifts up to help you take his shorts down. Wasting no time, you push his half-hard cock up against his stomach with a plop and swirl your tongue around his balls before licking a stripe along the seam and continuing up the underside of his length. You run your tongue up and down, making sure you catch on every ridge, trace along every vein, enjoying the feeling of it growing firm underneath your tongue.

You kitten lick along the head for a bit, looking up at him to see his face wearing a blank expression, staring at the TV. “I don’t know, I’d say getting hard just from an argument seems pretty desperate to me,” you taunt.

Ash finally shifts his eyes to yours and victorious adrenaline shoots through your entire body; your celebration is short-lived, however, as he matter of factly states, “I’m not the one on my knees, Princess,” and immediately turns back to the TV.

You narrow your eyes, disappointed he’s refusing to play your game. Or is he actually playing it even better than you are? Either way, his attitude spurs you on and you wrap your lips around him, exaggeratedly sucking at his tip, taking your time before taking more of his length at a torturously slow pace. You make it about halfway down before you sloppily pull back up and start over, letting as much spit fall from your lips as you possibly can; you repeat this process a few times, hoping to make him impatient enough to say something to you.

Your plan works as you pull back up again and Ashton scoffs, “You plan on sucking that cock or just slobbering on it?”

You sit back, defiant. “Wasn’t sure you noticed I was down here,” you sneer. “Why put in effort if you’re not even going to appreciate it?”

He leans in close to you and the tone of his voice sends chills down your spine. “Please, you fuckin’ love that I couldn’t care less that you’ve got my cock in your mouth. You’ve been on your knees for less than 5 minutes and I’ll bet you’re already dripping,” he reads you in a smooth, low voice. “You’re so desperate for my attention? Try earning it, Princess.”

You breathe deep, willing yourself to ignore the urge to press a hand between your legs. His gaze is still fixed on you, challenging you with intensity. You reach for him and stick out your tongue, slapping his cock across the surface of it, trying to give him a show. He rolls his eyes and starts channel surfing.

Without missing a beat, you take him into your mouth and start bobbing again, only this time you brace yourself on his legs and try swallowing him into your throat; you’re out of practice so your first few attempts have you gagging around him. While it doesn’t feel great, when you pull off to catch your breath, you notice he’s muted the TV, presumably to better hear you choking on him.

You try again, taking him a little further before you have to pull off; you lick up and down his shaft and your eyes flutter up to see him actually watching you this time. When you take him again you reach for his hand and place it in your hair, hoping he’ll take the hint; he doesn’t have to be told twice and as you wiggle your head, trying to work him into your throat, you feel a soft but increasing pressure from above as he tries to help you down.

You pull up again, coughing, and Ashton dryly muses, “Feel like you used to be better at this.” You turn to glare at him but even through the tears in your eyes you can see the hint of a smirk on his face; he knows that comment is only going to make you work harder.

With no hesitation, you slide your mouth down his cock, bobbing rapidly, swallowing him further and further until you’ve reached your limit. You silently congratulate yourself when you hear a surprised groan above you; his hands come down to hold you on his cock and you stay there - sputtering, choking, and drooling but you stay. He lets go of your head and you take your time pulling off, hollowing out your cheeks, giving him some good suction before your next breath.

You raise back up, an obscene string of saliva leaving your lips connected to his cock. You move your hand briskly up and down his shaft as you look at him with self-satisfaction, “You were saying?”

He grins at your hoarse brag. “There’s my filthy Princess,” he praises, hoping you’re too caught up in the moment to catch his affectionately possessive slip-up. “So fuckin' needy, the second it's not all about you, you use it as an excuse to choke on my cock. Can never get enough of the feeling of me using your throat, can you?"

Ashton's harsh words serve as a delicious contrast to the tender way he's brushing his hand through your hair, smoothing out the knots his grip had caused; you close your eyes and bask in the intimate gesture. You try not to read into how much you're enjoying his care, as far as you're concerned this is just part of having won his attention.

The sound of his voice jars you out of your reverie. "Get up," he says sternly.

You do as he says and with his eyes now refusing to leave yours, he runs his hand up the leg of your shorts and over the front of your panties, which as he forecast, are soaked straight through.

He rubs your clit through the wet material. "Aww, Princess, what's got you so wet? Is it my cock? Me finally giving you even a fraction of my attention? Or is it because you have no way of knowing what's going to happen next? Maybe you'll get my fingers, maybe a thigh. You hope maybe I'll even let you sit on my face but you know there's a good chance the second you swallow my cum, I'm just gonna get up and lock myself in my room and you'll have to get yourself off, thinking about what I might've done to you. And that? That's somehow what turns you on the most, that's what has you feeling like you could cum for me right now but you wouldn't dare without my permission, isn't that right, Princess?"

You’re so turned on you don't think you're capable of giving him a coherent answer but it doesn't matter because suddenly his fingers dip inside your panties to give your clit a few rough, direct rubs before he pulls his hand from your shorts entirely; he wraps his hand around your wrist, yanking you onto the couch with him. You scramble to steady yourself, ending up on all fours next to his lap, head hovering above his dripping cock.

"Back to work," he growls, slowly but purposefully guiding your head back down. "Let's see how much of my attention you fuckin’ deserve after all this."

You feel one of his hands stroke down your back and settle just above your ass, his other hand on your head, gathering your hair between his fingers, getting ready to pull if need be. You take the hint and slip him between your lips, setting a slow pace to start with, curious how he’ll react.

You get your answer right away when you feel the sting of a sharp smack come down on your ass over your shorts; your jaw drops as you cry out in surprise, his cock falling out of your mouth.

“Teasing is a bold move at this point, even for a brat like you,” he remarks, spanking you once again, in the exact same spot so the sting never stops, just like you used to ask for.

You get your mouth back on him and feel him tug your shorts down as you work; his fingers trace over the skin of your inner thighs - just out of reach from where you want him but close enough it has you trembling.

Ash slowly moves between your legs as you try to deep throat him again; wanting some friction, you rock your hips but he puts an end to that almost instantly with a harsh spank that takes you by surprise, jolting you forward, shoving his cock into your throat, leaving you gasping for air.

You pull off, coughing forcefully. “Jesus, Ash,” you complain, glaring at him, breathless and annoyed.

He sweetly wipes away the tears running down your cheeks but his response couldn’t be more condescending. “Aww, Princess needed attention and now that she’s getting it, she’s mad it’s not exactly what she wanted,” he mocks. “Typical.”

“Do you want me to get you off or not, you ass?”

“I was minding my own business when you came over here and pulled my cock out,” he shrugs, smirking as he watches your face turn from annoyed to annoyingly pleased when he starts touching your clit. “Of course, if you stop, I stop.” Proving his point, he removes both his hands from your body and reaches for his phone again.

“God, you’re the fucking worst,” you grumble, mouthing over his tip nonetheless. You sink down, determined to disprove his claims of indifference; you bob with renewed vigor and start fluttering your tongue on the underside of his cock as you pull up. He must approve of the decision because he gruffly praises, “That’s a good girl,” and his thumb finds its way to your clit.

The two of you continue playing with each other, caught in a seemingly endless cycle of antagonism and lust: when you take his cock deep enough to make him moan, he can’t let you have that satisfaction so he teases your pussy relentlessly, causing you to dig your nails into his thighs until your legs stop shaking.

As your game nears its end, something resembling affection sneaks in on the both of you; praises and encouraging murmurs easily spill from both your and his lips and when he squeezes your shoulder and mumbles something that sounds a lot like “Baby, I’m gonna cum,” you think nothing of it.

You raise up, cheating your body out so Ashton gets a view of you licking over his slit, jerking him off into your open mouth; he slips his hand under your shirt so he can paw at your tit while he watches. Finally with a heavy groan, he starts cumming on your tongue; you let him see the first couple spurts before you wrap your lips around him, enveloping his cock with your warm mouth for the last moments of his release.

When he’s finished, you sit up in his lap and pull him in for a kiss, eliciting a surprised growl from him. You’d always talked about wanting to feed him his cum but never got around to it when you were together; his tongue darts out to swipe across your closed lips, trying multiple times to gain entry but never succeeding. He pulls back to look at you in confusion and you smugly open your mouth, showing him the substance you denied him and before he can say anything else, you swallow with an exaggerated “mmm.”

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous,” he mutters, pulling you into a real kiss, moaning into your mouth when he detects the faintest taste of cum left on your tongue.

The kiss continues as he shifts your body to lay in his lap, essentially cradling you in one arm while his other hand works its magic on your clit. You’re so worked up from this whole ordeal that your body starts shaking long before you reach your release and Ashton’s demeanor changes accordingly; he strokes your hair and speaks softly to you, telling you how good you’re being for him.

You lose yourself in the feeling, whimpering loudly when your orgasm takes you by surprise and you cum harder than you have all week, which is saying something. You softly cry his name and he answers with a soothing, “I’m here, Princess.”

He hugs you to his chest as you come down; you’re quiet, not wanting to break the spell you’ve both fallen under, not wanting to admit how much you’re enjoying being close to him. You trace over the tattoo on his rib cage; you’ve been admiring it by the pool all week and you wonder how long he’s had it but you don’t want to disrupt the silence to ask.

You move to straddle his lap and fit yourself against him, wrapping your arms tight around him and he does the same to you. You rest your head on his shoulder, tucking your face against his neck, trying to memorize this smell and this feeling, because it will end too soon.

He lightly kisses your cheek. “You still want dinner?”

You shake your head, not ready to return to reality.  

Ash grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps you in it; you groan when he reaches for his phone and you try to push away but he holds you tighter. “I’m just ordering us that pizza,” he reassures you. “I haven’t seen you eat anything today besides cum.”

You smirk against his skin. “I had breakfast.”

“Well… we’re getting pizza… Do you want breadsticks? Of course you do,” he chuckles to himself. “And ranch and garlic sauce and marinara… anything else?”

You smile that he remembers what you like. “No, that sounds good.”

After placing the order, he wraps his arms around you again, thinking about how much he misses your affection, you wanting to be on him like this. He knows fighting, silent treatments and pure aggravation is built into the foundation of your relationship - it's just who you both are - but he's always loved the quiet moments like this most.

This was what he was hoping to achieve by playing your game; he's not sure how long it'll last but he'll take as much of this as you're willing to give. He presses soft kisses to the top of your head and listens to you breathe.

After a while, Ash guides you upstairs and the two of you are cleaning up when the pizza arrives; he leaves you to answer the door and his heart flutters when he sees you come back to the living room wearing one of his t-shirts. He sets a water for himself and a mixed drink for you on the coffee table; you sip the alcohol sparingly, not wanting to dull anything you’re feeling in this moment.

After dinner, you decide to put on a movie and within the first 10 minutes, he’s pulling you to lay next to him, tucking you into his side. You fall asleep long before the film is over and he can’t get over how peaceful you look. He gently kisses your forehead and whispers, “Time for bed.” He starts gathering up the dishes and smiles to himself when he sees you get up and head for his room.

When he climbs into bed next to you, you immediately start pressing soft kisses across his skin; he hums, you can feel it in his chest under your hand and lips. “You know I’m not so tired anymore,” you whisper, looking up at him.

“Thought you might say that,” he smiles. Your lips meet and he gets you both naked, pulling you underneath him. It’s a simple makeout session to start and you can tell by his actions he plans to keep things a little tamer than they’ve been. He runs his hand up your side and your leg instinctively comes up to wrap around his waist.

You didn’t get this side of Ashton a lot when you were together but it still feels natural as ever. He slips in gently, pressing his mouth to yours. It’s slow and easy, the two of you just fit and he loves feeling that. You slide one hand down to his ass, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he works into you. He falters slightly before pulling your thigh up to get deeper.

Your quiet whimper of “Ash” is almost enough to send him over the edge and he has to work hard to not let it. He’s missed hearing it so much and he’s forgotten the way it goes straight to his cock, something only your sounds have ever done for him.  

You let your head rest back against the pillow, exposing all of your neck for him as your back arches with his thrusts. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over your neck. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He hooks his finger on your jaw to kiss you. You grab onto his wrist and he intertwines your fingers, bringing you closer together, the way he used to when feelings were raw between the two of you.

You whimper again, “Ash… I’m gonna…”

“Please, gorgeous,” he encourages, kissing you, moving his hips just the way you like. “I’ve got you.” You let your orgasm overtake you and with a muted groan of his own, he cums inside you shortly after.

He collapses next to you and you instantly push yourself onto his chest. You rest your head low enough to peck at that rib tattoo you can’t get enough of.

Ash watches you and has to bite his lip to stop the “I love you” that’s on the tip of his tongue. It never seemed like you wanted to hear it when you were together so you probably don’t want to hear it now. And he can’t risk pushing you away again. Not now. Not when it feels this good.

A beat passes and you quietly confess, “I don’t wanna go to my own bed.”

He gives an easy reply, as if it’s the simplest, most uncomplicated thing in the world. “Stay here then, Princess.” And that word just doesn’t have the bite it once did.

————-

Taglist is breaking the links in the post and I currently do not have the brainpower to figure out the problem lol. We’ll try again tomorrow but in the meantime, if you aren’t notified, you can always check the masterlist which will be updated everyday!

@mymindwide​​​ @suchalonelysunflower​​​​ @pxrxmoore​​​ @loveroflrh​​​ @ghostofmashton​​​ @sexgodashton​​​ @feliznavidaddycal​​​  

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@fedorable-killjoys​​​​  @iamcalumswhore​​​​   @i-like-5sos​​​​  

@aquarius-hood1996​​  @babylonashton​​  

@begluketostay​​   @mateisit-balsamic​​​

@crazyforcal​​​   @neso-k​​​   @deliciouslydisturbed365​​​  @blxndeprincess​

[comehomeducklings]

Past [Part 2] (Obsession)

A/N: Some chapters will be named with either “Past,” “Present,” or “Future,” then their numbered part coming right after it. This is to confuse you less when flashbacks or anything happens. As you have probably noticed, it says “Past” for Part 2. This is going back near when Tom and her just met. Thank you for reading! <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Tom Riddle's Moodboard

Main Character's Moodboard

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

1940 - 3rd year

“Potions is not that bad, I swear. You just have to be good at measuring.”

At the table, my friends and I are discussing our classes this year. Potions being one of my favorite topics. Devyn absolutely loathes that certain class. We have to drag her there to make sure she doesn’t skip. Poor girl tries her best to not mess up but the cauldron always ends up blowing up. I even watched her do every step once, never missing a beat. The potion still ended up failing, even though she did everything correctly. She gave up after a while, who wouldn’t. I help her do extra assignments for extra credit to keep her grade up. She also studies with me to make sure she can memorize everything and pass her tests. Amelia is pretty good at the class, she’s luckily paired with Devyn most of the time. Carrying the potion to success, with a little bit of my secret help. It’s not cheating, it’s using your resources.

I’m resources.

“Potions is not that bad,” Devyn mocks me. “If it weren’t for you two I would have gone insane in that stupid class.”

Amelia just laughs at her while eating her hash browns on the plate. She reaches her hand out to take some more eggs.

“You were able to do it before. Not the way you were supposed to, but it worked,” Amelia says.

“Exactly, just start doing it your way at this point. I don’t think Slughorn will care how it’s done, just how it comes out.”

Devyn nods her head and points at me with a fork. Her mouth full of food so she settles for that response. My plate doesn’t have much other than some bacon and fruit. I’m not usually a breakfast eater. I get my appetite at lunch and dinner time. It’s just too early for a bunch of food smells, the smells make me kind of nauseous. I’ll eat though, enough to hold me off till lunch.

The chatter in the lunchroom rises by the minute. Everyone refilling themselves before their busy day. All energy levels rising while everyone wakes up from their groggy morning mood. While my friends finish eating we continue to talk about our classes and share the schedules for this year. Most classes we had were the same except for our electives. I tried taking as many electives as possible. My family back home never really did magic. I actually came a year and a half late since my family wanted me to have a normal school experience. I learned to do everything without the use of magic, the only thing my mom taught me was the floo network, creatures, and plants. I would often accompany her to Diagon Alley when she shops. I got an Owl for my 10th birthday. A cat would have been amazing if I wasn’t allergic to it. My owl is a brown and white-furred barn owl. Don’t ask me why I named it Bartholomew. I was ten okay, give me a break. Speaking of the floo network, my mom had to chase me through it quite often because I kept teleporting everywhere. I once ran into the Ministry of Magic’s building and got lost. They had to take me home to my parents. Their faces told me everything I needed to know about the punishment waiting for me.

Halfway through the second year is when I came to Hogwarts, a second letter coming that year asking my parents to let me learn more there. So when they finally let me attend, everything was pretty new to me. My mother was the magic one in the family. Her grandmother, my great-grandmother, before her had the magic gene. Going to school was the same experience as going from a muggle-borns perspective. The difference is, I knew more about its existence. I would look at yearbooks my mom had from when she went here. She earned a lot of titles, all the achievements being recorded down. I always wondered why she never wanted me to come here. Did something happen to me, to her? I’m guessing she just wanted a normal life with dad. He has always supported her through everything. A love, a bond like that is hard to come by. He would also learn about magic right next to me. At least, the stuff my mom allowed to let us know.

That’s why I want to learn as much as I can, of what’s available. Why learn math in the muggle world when I could be learning divination. Spells of all types, potions for everything of inconvenience. My chores could be completed with just a flick of my wand. I’ve lately been learning wandless magic, on my own. Albus has helped by providing me with material to study that type of magic. The only thing I’ve managed so far is a spark coming from the tips of my fingertips. Sparking hope that I could actually, maybe, achieve that level. Now I won't get my hopes up, but that can lead me to a certain advantage in dueling. That being one of my weakest skills. Always panicking, saying any spells that pop up in my mind, and making random movements coming from my wand. Often confusing who I’m up against, although they recover from that confusion fairly quickly.

Riddle, met him once. One too many if you would ask me. I dissuade ever wanting to speak to him. Arrogance and pride flow through his tongue like second nature. I do take pride in succeeding above him in 3 classes. He is 2 classes above me but, that’s not the point. I do admit, he’s attractive. Only a little though, how else would he charm his way through the professors and students.

“Alright, I’m ready to go. You guys done?”

“Yeah,” I say. Devyn and I start leaving our seats and heading towards the huge doors.

Amelia hurried from her seat, a few steps behind since she took some fruit with her to eat on the way. More and more students also started making their way towards the first period. Not wanting to be blamed for the loss of house points. This system causes so many fights, everyone’s competitive side getting the best of their common sense. I would be lying if I said it didn’t get the best of me before. Amelia being her usual bubbly self skips backward while chatting with us. Before we could warn her to stop, she pushes someone ahead of her. Both falling down, hitting the floor. She spins her head extremely quickly, her hair sticking in her mouth from the force of the wind.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” she explains. Quickly trying to digest her situation. I make my way towards her and pull her up. I fix her robe and dust off any dirt on the cloth from the floor.

“Clearly idiot, can you not use those bug eyes of yours to see?”

Devyn and I make eye contact. We understand that there are witnesses here, and one of them is bound to snitch on us if we fight. A huge scene would probably make Amelia feel even more embarrassed as well. Instead, I guided Amelia by her back. We continue on to class while I comfort her. Devyn is staying back to “talk” to the guy. Lestrange is in for it now, any poor soul would be when in the fiery path of her anger.

Devyn’s loud yells could still be slightly heard when entering the potions classroom. First class of the year, and day. On Slughorn’s table, I can see a vial with the wideye potion contained inside. I set Devyn’s textbook on her station, turning to the page that contains information on the potion. Hoping to save her confusion and time.

“Welcome, welcome! Nice to see some old faces, and new ones,” he says with the biggest grin on his face. “Today we’ll be learning about the Wideye potion. Can anyone tell me what this potion does?”

I quickly raise my hand, rather eager. I did some reading about a lot of potions during the summer. Trying to get a headstart on my studies. This potion being one of them. Only 3 students raised their hand, one of them being me. The other, well, Riddle.

“Yes, go ahead and answer,” the professor looks my way.

I smile, “The wideye potion prevents the person consuming the liquid the ability to fall asleep. Which is often used in the medical field to wake someone from a sleep caused by a blunt force or drug.”

“Precisely! 10 points.”

I look back rather smugly at Riddle, rather happy I got chosen instead of him. I know, he could have easily answered that too. I’ll let myself bask in the small achievement for now. 30 minutes of class is just spent writing down notes, preparing us for the potion we will make. Note-taking is my favorite, especially the little doodles I get to make. We use a feather instead of the regular pen. I found it rather amusing and liked the certain feeling of writing with it. The dipping noise that the point of the feather makes when hitting the liquid ink is a very profound sound. No real writer’s bump forming on my fingers.

“That’s enough writing, I need you all to prepare your cauldron, gather the materials you need, and start your potion. If done correctly, tomorrow when we add the finishing touches and check on it the potion should be a blue/green color,” Slughorn comments. “You have 10 minutes to study your notes, then the rest of the class to make your potion. No looking back at your notes after those ten minutes.”

After scanning my notes, I stand up and walk towards the ingredients on the shelves. If I remember correctly my potion requires snake fangs, standard ingredient, and wolfsbane. I gather all that in my hand and set it down near my cauldron. Before I start, I take a moment. I’m missing something, I’m sure there was another ingredient.

Wolfsbane, check.

Snake fangs, six of them.

I have the measures of Standard ingredient.

There’s one more, I try to look around the room. Then I remember that we get an automatic failing grade if caught cheating. There’s no way I’ll let my grade drop like that. Over something so small and inconvenient too. Making my way to the shelves, I scan over the ingredients over and over again. Trying to see if any of the names pop out to me.

No.

Definitely not.

That’s an ingredient?

I don’t even want to know how that one was obtained.

This one, of course it’s this one. I even remember putting a star next to the name in my notebook. Dried Billwig stings, I believe six of them were needed. All that time wasted. Hurrying to my seat I get to work. The time goes by quickly, all that could be heard was the sizzling and whooshing of our potions. I almost knocked down my vials a couple of times. Someone actually did, their time spent on cleaning the glass off the floor. After heating the first three ingredients, I crush them together in the mortar. Then stir clockwise from what I recall, three times specifically. Finally, I wave my wand over then leave it to brew.

Just in time from the looks of it. I glance at Devyn to see how it went for her, and she looks pretty proud of herself. I take that as a blessing that it didn’t blow up this time of round. I’m guessing she took our advice and did it her own way.

A student raises his hand, “May we leave?”

“Oh yes yes, go ahead. No assignments for the first day, only the potion you made in class.”

Before I leave the classroom I examine Riddle’s station. He already left the room. His potion looks similar to how mine turned out, his workspace thoroughly cleaned. Everything used properly placed back to where it should be. Perfectly spotless, not a single speck of dust in sight. All done without magic too, surprising for someone born into the wizarding world. When I mentioned that I met him once, it wasn’t much of anything. The only way I know how he really acts is through other people. Much admire his intelligence and strong will. Others are jealous of the potential he holds for the future.

Girls are already trying to slip love potions into his drinks. I would feel bad if he wasn’t so rude to them. Only just before touching the disrespectful line. He almost drank one of their attempts before. Wouldn’t want to imagine how that turned out. Tom riddle, in love. That man probably doesn’t know the feeling of happiness, let alone love. I feel bad for his future girlfriend, she’s going to have to deal with a handful of baggage.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

“How much do you want to bet Nott will demolish him?” A Gryffindor girl to my left whispers.

Nott, part of Riddle’s group from what I’ve seen. They all eat lunch together and talk to one another so it’s a reasonable guess. Very talented duellist, one of the bests here.

“I hate to admit it, but he’ll definitely win this. I’ll still have hope for the other guy though,” I whisper back trying not to sound mean.

Nott and the other Slytherin boy are up right now. It’s a courtesy for the audience to stay quiet until someone casts the first attack or defense. From then on all you will hear is shouting of encouragement and the opposite. Nott’s eyes are focused, zoning in on the opponent before him. His wand is steady, mouth slightly parted to breathe through better. Whole-body alert and tense waiting for something. From what I'm getting, I believe he’s waiting for the Slytherin boy to go first. Nott casts spells quickly and thinks them through decently. Sometimes you're not able to create a counter-spell quick enough to defend yourself against him.

Riddle’s group and himself are near the corner of the platform. All seemingly analyzing every breath he inhales and exhales. I finally hear the whoosh of a wand and a whiz of light fly past the platform. The glow from the spell lighting our faces for a millisecond. Nott quickly counters that spell and moves to cast his own. Magic flies across the platform, all of our eyes going back and forth like a ping-pong match. The Slytherin boy starts breaking a sweat. He’s only been able to get a couple of offensive spells in there, most of his plays spent throwing off Nott’s. If he doesn’t turn the battle soon, the outcome will become very clear.

It is a little less exciting since we only know a handful of spells. So whatever you know from your own studies you use in these duels. When we move up the years the class will become more serious and dangerous. Right now it’s just to teach us how to counter and cast quickly. The proper etiquette and movement. You use spells that you know, they aren’t supposed to harm someone. Either stun them, make them fly back, or disarm. Most of those spells require a little of a higher level, most of us not even knowing of its existence yet. So what’s mostly cast between competitors is a basic spell to exert force. That force should be aimed for the legs, or the wand to disarm that way. The way someone can win here is to make their knees or hands touch the floor, or disarm their wand. As I mentioned, it will get more intense as time goes by. We're only just starting 3rd year right now, a lot more charms will be learned later on.

I shake my head to get rid of any lingering thoughts. My attention goes right back to the duel taking place in front of me. Nott quickly aims a spell at the knees and manages to bring the other boy to his knees.

“Mr. Nott wins this duel! Please step off the platform, we will evaluate your performance.”

During the practice duels today, you watch it, think of ways to help the person improve, and point out things they might have done wrong. At the end, the professor picks people raising their hands to allow them to give their feedback. Participating is part of the grade you get in here. I personally prefer giving feedback then dueling. I’m not the best at casting, I do give out good defense spells though. That should mean something, I hope.

“Let’s start with Nott, does anyone have feedback for him?”

A couple of people spread apart raised their hands. One by one they all ask questions and give feedback. They mention his feet and posture when he stands. Arms fully stretched out where it would have been more flexible to bend it slightly. When he casts he shouldn’t be walking backward. They shortly switch to the other boy’s questions and feedback. The way he never gave himself the opening to cast an offensive spell often. He would move around his area a lot. Almost slipping off the stage during one of those movements. Tom and his group privately discussed with one another. They’re probably giving Nott their own feedback and suggestions privately.

“Now, Riddle I want you to come up and…,” he scans the room for another student. After some time he points his finger at me. “You.”

I could have had a smooth sailing class. I was so close to not having to go up there. My hands start sweating a bit, my anxiety jumbling my thoughts together. Riddle’s already up there and soon to be on his side of the platform. Taking his wand out and wandering his fingers over the design. I gulp, a big toad stuck in my throat. I wipe my hands on my robe and start up the stairs. Riddle seems as unbothered as ever. We bow, turn, then walk ten paces back. During this time I try predicting who will cast first. I don’t know him very well, I’ve also never seen him duel.

I take my dueling stance and wait for the signal to start. Hoping, praying, that I don’t embarrass myself. Slipping up is not allowed, not when going against him.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

Taglist:

@empath-bunny

[maliby]

Diagnosis: Love (Finale) | Jaehyun’s route (M)

word count: 1.8k

warnings: smutty smut, explicit sex scene, explicit language

summary: Y/N is the new nurse at NCT Hospital - the best hospital in the country. She was expecting it to be a big step in her career, but 'Bad Boy' Doctor Johnny Suh and 'Valentine' Pediatrician Jeong Jaehyun take her by surprise.

“Sit down Jaehyun,” you pointed to the seat right next to you, the dimpled smile he had on his face making your heart pump twice as fast.

“What’s this about?” When you heard his honey-like voice for the first time in about a month you felt your whole body melt. You had missed him so much that you just wanted to get this over with and be with him.

“I think you know.”

His expression faltered a bit, him letting out a huge sigh to prepare himself. “Alright, I’m ready.”

“Jae-”

“No, wait!” He interrupted you to say something further. “I just want to tell you that no matter what you have chosen...I’ll always be there for you. It’s gonna hurt but...I can manage.”

“You’re so sweet,” you tried to encapsulate his big hands with yours, the warmth that was slipping through spreading all over your whole body. Your eyes found home in his, the connection between you two feeling like an electrical current that was trying to join you together.

“You’ve always been so sweet. Even when it looked like you were being a jerk you were actually being sweet.” You pointed out, remembering about the time he had broken up with you out of nowhere.

“Buut...” Jaehyun trailed off in a saddened tone, making you realize how you complimenting him actually sounded like you were ready to tell him that you weren’t choosing him.

“No, no, no, no buts!” Your hand left the warmth of his and reached for the smooth skin of his cheek. “What I’m trying to say is that you’ve always thought more about my well being than yours...you’re so selfless, so caring, so...beautiful.”

Your body slowly leaned towards his, with each breath getting closer and closer. Your faces were a few inches apart, the will to just reach over and kiss him was overwhelming you so much that you couldn’t help but look down at his lips.

“You are beautiful,” he smiled at the way he was making you blush.

You tried to pull yourself together, but you were so excited that you just couldn’t hold it in anymore - you had to confess.

“Jae, I want you, would you please be mine?”

Jaehyun smiled, his hand finding purchase on the back of your head, lightly grabbing a fist full of your hair, “I’m already yours.”

In a matter of seconds, you closed that small distance between the two of you and kissed him. The kiss was fervent, frenetic even, like two lovers who were starved of each other and wanted nothing more than to consume all the love and passion the other had to give.

Your hands grabbed the centre of his white dress shirt and ripped it wide open, the sound of buttons falling everywhere echoing in your living room.

“That’s Ralph Lauren,” he pointed out with a smug look on his face.

“You can pay for it, Doctor,” you teased, your lips slowly reconnecting with his.

Jaehyun readjusted himself on your couch and then grabbed you by your thighs and moved you to be on top of him in a straddling position. His hands grabbed the end of your shirt and pulled it up over your head, you raising your arms to help him. His hands then snaked around your body and pulled you in closer so your core was right on top of his hardening bulge. After that, he took advantage of the position of his hands and unhooked your bra, your sensitive nipples now rubbing straight on his skin.

“I missed you so much Jae,” you moaned into his neck as you worked on leaving a perfect hickey.

“Me too.” He lightly grabbed at your hair and redirected you so you were looking straight at him, his lips glueing back on yours.

His dick was getting harder and harder, making you grind more fiercely onto him and moan into his mouth. He grabbed you by your thighs and lifted himself up, carrying you straight to your bedroom. When he reached his destination, he delicately placed you on your bed, leaving a trail of kisses down from your naked torso to your abdomen. His hands then played with the button of your jeans until it came undone, both your jeans and underwear being pulled down by him.

“Can I taste you, baby?"

His lips were randomly kissing the skin on your thighs while his fingers ran up and down your legs, a touch so light and soft that it might as well have been feathers.

You opened up your legs and used your right one as a hook to wrap around his neck and pull him closer to your core. “Yes.”

Jaehyun was gentle at first, placing small kisses here and there and upgrading to small licks. Then, he started to run patterns on your folds with his pointed tongue, purposely avoiding your clit. With the help of his fingers, he spread your folds out, fully exposing you to him. His tongue went back in, teasing your entrance and swiping up to your clit, swirling his tongue around it a couple of times before he finally dived in and sucked on it.

“Fuuuck,” you moaned into your bicep as your other hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and pushed him further in. “Keep doing that.”

He obliged, repeating that same move a couple of times before his tongue gave its undivided attention to your bud, waves of pleasure travelling from your core to all of your body. And when you thought things couldn’t get any better Jaehyun surprised you with his long finger.

“Oh baby, that feels so good.”

“Mmmm,” he moaned, the vibration on his lips adding an extra kick. “I love it when you call me baby.”

He added another finger and you could swear you were about to reach the fucking moon. Both the speed of his penetrating fingers and of his hard-working tongue was driving you into pure madness, that sweet feeling of release getting closer and closer.

You were a fucking mess: your hair was probably all dishevelled, your teeth were sinking into your bottom lip, your juices were spilling right down to your comforter and your fingers were pinching as hard as they could on your nipples. You wanted to warn him you were about to cum but you were so high on the pleasure that you couldn’t even do that, you just closed your thighs around his head and squirmed as you moaned incoherent sentences.

“Mmmph, fffuck-”

You blacked out for a moment. You heard an echo of his voice and you felt a ghost of his lips on your hips but you didn’t really register it.

“Shit Jaehyun,” you said between ragged breaths as you came to, “your tongue is fucking heaven.”

“Is it?” He asked with a cocky grin.

“Yeah.”

“Well...” he got on all fours and moved like a cat as he dragged his tongue from your pussy right until your lips, “take it then.”

You sucked on his tongue, before switching it up to a deep and passionate kiss, the mix of his saliva with your juices turning you on beyond belief. Your hand moved towards his crotch and groped him, making him hiss into your lips.

“You’re so hard for me baby,” you whispered as you kept on massaging him over his pants.

“For you? Always.”

You didn’t say anything, you just unbuttoned his pants and rid him of the rest of his clothes, his leaky cock getting all your attention - you wrapped your hand around it and started pumping it up and down.

“Can I suck you, baby? I miss having you in my mouth,” you confessed as he sucked on your neck.

“Mmmm...no. I want to fuck you. Hard.”

This side of him was coming as a pleasant surprise to you. It’s not that he was all about vanilla and ‘making love’, he could be lewder if he wanted to, but saying it like this to you? With that dark aura around him? Made you so hot for him that when he reached for the bedside drawer he knew possessed your box of condoms you simply grabbed him and pulled him back on top of you.

“Fuck the condom, I’m on the pill,” you said, “do me raw.”

That was all it took. In no more than five seconds, Jaehyun was collecting your slick with his cock and entering you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned as he initiated the movement.

“Mmmh, I missed your cock so much.”

“Here it is baby,” his fingers were toying with your nipples as he picked up his pace. “Just for you.”

“Mmmh,” you mumbled, “such a big and hard cock, just for me...”

Jaehyun went animalistic with your comment. He removed himself from inside of you, turned you around and pulled up your hips so you were on your knees. He then pushed your head down, grabbed your hips and resumed his attack on your cunt, this time from behind.

This new position was making him hit entirely new places inside of you which, when added to the sweet stinging sensation of the slaps he was delivering to your ass and the way your fingers were playing with your clit was getting you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...”

In a welcoming change of character, Jaehyun forcefully grabbed you by your hair and pulled your upper body up, your head falling back on his shoulder. “Are you about to cum?”

“Yeah. It feels so fucking good,” you cried out loud as he snapped his hips against you, the amount of pleasure you were getting was so intense that you could feel your release approaching. “Cum with me baby.”

Breaking his new character’s persona for a few seconds, he placed his fingers on your chin and turned your face towards his, giving you a sweet and loving kiss. “Your wish is my command.” And just like that he pushed your torso back down and pounded into you until you were both cumming, the clenching of your walls milking him dry.

“Fuuuck,” he cursed as he spilt into you, his warm seed filling you up.

As soon as he was done, he slipped out of you and laid right beside you, pants being all that was heard.

You turned to your side so you could look at him and admire his fucked out expression: eyes closed, hair all messy, sweat dripping and swollen lips. It took him a while to open his eyes back up but when he did, the sweet and loving Jaehyun was back and your heart raced. This time though, the culprit for the accelerated pace of your heart wasn’t sex, it was something much deeper.

“Jaehyun?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

His eyes lit up, his dimples popping back up thanks to the loving smile he was giving you.

“I love you too.”

--------------------------------------

Thank you for everyone who read this story, your support means the world to me! ❤️ And thank you for picking Jaehyun (or not) 😂 I thought I’d be able to choose by the end of this but this just proves that you should never put your own biases against each other. I couldn’t even choose between them for a bias, what made me think I could do it for this? 😂

Also, I will be posting an epilogue, I just don’t know if it’s going to be tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, but keep an eye out!

Once again, thank you so much, I hope you liked it ❤️

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[fanficsandfluff]

That Damned Laugh

To the anon who informed me of Rainbow Rowell's RACISM, i am writing this for my love of the characters, not the author's writing skill or fame. fuck her. i am still very much aware of what she wrote about and how she portrayed a character, but i cannot stop this inspiration when it comes to me. (wait to be clear to everyone reading this who hadn't seen the anons and my discussion, carry on wasnt the accused racist book. that was something else.)

If you, anon, end up seeing this and maybe don't like what I'm doing or whatnot, I'd love to hear from you again.

For those of you who maybe do practice Death of the Author, I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Carry On

Characters: Simon Snow, Baz Pitch

Words: 1,905

~~~~~

BAZ

Simon Snow does not laugh, full stop.

(Well, to be fair I'm not a cackler much myself, but I do at least guffaw from time to time.)

Snow spent so much of his youth being weighed down by the 'Chosen One' moniker and being tormented by yours truly. Still, I know of that little list he kept of things he liked about Watford and all its experiences and people. It seemed he did take joy in most of it all. After all, I'm sure he had fun at Bunce's house on many an occasion.

But just being around him and in this way for a while now, you start to notice. He's seen me laugh. A few times, in fact. And hard. I'm not very proud of it; what that man can do to me and make me do. He doesn't like when I cover my hand over my smile. It's habit, though, I've reminded him countless times. The fangs and all. We're working on it.

But Simon may just smile or huff. I've giggled with him on our particularly soft nights or togethertimes.

All this to say... I've found a new hobby/goal/obsession recently.

Make Simon Snow laugh.

My cheekiness all these years has kept my humor to cruel, lowbrow tones. Maybe it makes me less funny, I don't know. But once or twice I'd nail a comeback or snarky one-liner (of course with a bit of flirt thrown in) and Snow will giggle and shake his head. But that's all I've achieved! A small, pandering, boring -- though still admirably adorable -- (Damn that Snow) giggle.

I've moved on to physical humor. I tried throwing myself dramatically over him when he's in bed, but he just seems to think it's all part of my Pitch flair.

Today I made a minor breakthrough.

I was in the kitchen trying to mix myself a smoothie. Bunce has been gushing about a smoothie craze for weeks now, so I finally figured why not. The damn lid wasn't on tight enough. Not-yet-smooth smoothie shot everywhere. There was a pause as it happened, my one hand on the Liquify button, my other resting nonchalantly atop the lid that didn't do any lidding, dammit.

Snow looked up at me from his seat by the kitchen counter, eyes drawn from his phone. A beat. He barked out a laugh. A much louder one than I think I'd ever heard him make.

"Put a sock in it, Snow," I growled, to keep with my facade, though inside I was jittery with glee. I wanted to hear more.

Snow convinced me to binge a new show. Crime Minds. Something like that. No, criminal. It's Criminal Minds.

You wouldn't expect this to be a series fit enough for a cuddle, but Snow and I are an unexpected couple. So it works.

A few dumb jokes are littered throughout the show, in between corpses and the same police station set being reorganized and shot from different angles every episode. One such joke was so inconspicuous and so nothing that I cannot even recall it now. But both Snow and I chuckled at it. Then Snow made an additional comment to it, making me laugh. And soon we were both giggling together like schoolboys, like we had early on when we were maybe still a bit bashful with each other.

He shoved his face into my ribs and snorted when I whispered the new inside joke much later on in the episode. I was also grinning like a madman, but the soft tickle his action gave me didn't exactly---

Oh.

In bed. Perfect. Lovers fool around all the time in bed. Not fool around as in sex--well, no, of course sex, but I mean they also play around-- never mind.

SIMON

Baz has been acting off lately. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. He seems distracted. More like how I act. I'm always thinking of something else, not able to stay focused on one thing for long. He's like that, but trying to act like he isn't.

We're doing something odd today. We're in bed at sunset. It's hardly sunset, as a matter of fact. The sun isn't seeping orange and red into the flat yet. Penelope took us out on a hike today. It tuckered the both of us out. Baz drained a buck when we got home.

I'm laying perpendicular to Baz (or is it parallel? composite? I could never remember mathematics), my legs resting over his stomach. He's reading and I'm playing a puzzle app on my phone.

BAZ

Now's the time, Baz. Just do it, don't think.

His socked feet are right in front of me. There's only been a handful of times we've sat in this position, half of them being my lower half resting on Simon's sturdier upper half. It's now or never.

I stare at his feet for too long, zoning out and forgetting that I was left staring at them, so it definitely looked like I have a fetish for feet. Which I don't. Focus, Basilton.

I take a finger-- no, two fingers. I scratch quickly at his heel. His leg jerks, foot being pulled back.

"What?" he asks me, as if I hadn't been plotting this for weeks. As if I just did it to get his attention.

"Something on the bottom of your sock, love."

Simon went right back to his head hanging upside down off the side of the bed, phone held out in front of his eyes.

Well, that proved one thing. He's ticklish.

He places his ankles right back where they originally were, crossed, atop my stomach. I try again, this time on his arch. I apply more pressure.

"Bahaz!" Simon shakes his foot out, "Is that how you start a foot massage?"

"Would you like a foot massage?"

"No. Not if it's going to tickle like that."

My cheeks heat up. Damn that buck. I'm rosier than I usually am.

"You're ticklish?" I ask, coolly. I barely stuttered.

"I wouldn't try it," he's back to looking at his phone again, "Penny did once and I nearly broke her elbow or something. She wouldn't stop talking about it for days."

"So you're very ticklish, then."

"Don't," this is the first time Snow seems to tense up.

There's a moment of quiet between us. A tense quiet. I lunge for his ankles and he shoots up into a sitting position. I scratch at his arch with four fingers now and he screams.

"Baz!" Simon whines a bit and he somehow yanks his legs free, not without losing one of his socks in my grip.

SIMON

He's grinning at me. No. Sneering.

I still hate when he does that. Reminds me of back when I wanted to throttle him. Sometimes I still do.

"Baz," I warn. His whole posture changes into a predator's, like he's the lion and I'm his fresh zebra. The new stance sends a shiver down my spine, with his shoulders hunched and all, ready to pounce.

"Baz... Baz, Baz, Baz..." I say over and over again because he's smiling at me, and then I start to smile, too, "Bahaz!" I try once more, but his name is all that's coming out, and now I'm giggling. I'm nervous. He did this to me.

BAZ

He's already giggling and I haven't even laid a hand on him.

"Yes, Snow?" I respond to his many calls of my name before I lurch forward, sending my whole body crashing on top of his and trying to pin him. I dig my fingers into his sides and don't stop for as long as I can maintain contact through his squirming.

"Gehehet off!" he's already crumbling, words being broken up with short laughs.

I slide my fingertips to his stomach and scratch there; Snow bucks. It gets even better when my cold fingers make contact with his warm skin beneath the shirt he's wearing. He yelps like I've never heard him yelp (like he's burnt his finger, but he's also 11-years-old again), and he dissolves into loud, beautiful laughter.

"St-Stohohop! Baz! I'm going to end you!"

"Isn't that how we always said it would end? Snuffing each other out? I'm perfectly happy that it's now going to end in my favor. You should've told me you were this easy to defeat earlier on, Snow."

"Shut up!" he cackles, legs kicking wildly behind me, as my body is thrown over his torso. Now I have both my hands buried into his sides, squeezing and squeezing. I get curious, my cheeks still burning with blood, and I lean down to his neck and... (no, I don't bite) I start nibbling. Snow loses it.

His whole face scrunches up, as I watch when I pull my head back. His smile is huge and bright. And the laughs bubble up from his stomach, releasing softer into the air like he sucked a little of the joy from it before releasing to keep for himself.

"Dohon't do that!"

"I thought you love my kisses."

"Not tha-HAAT!"

He shrieks again, hands too slow to stop my face from moving in. I nibble and even lick a few times, careful not to touch him with my fangs.

Did I mention that my hands are still tickling at his sides and ribs while I'm nibbling? Oh yes, I've waited so long for this sound. I wasn't going to make it come out lightly.

I blow a raspberry and that's when Snow's laughter catches and turns all hiccuppy. The noises are infecting me, starting to make me giggle. I shift, and my face now descends towards his stomach, which is bared after I rucked the shirt up.

SIMON

"TYRANNUS BASILTON G-GRIMM FUCKING PITCH-- OR WHATEVER YOUR LONG STUPID ARSEHOLE NAME IS--"

He's laughing at me. I keep laughing even without him tickling me.

"I swehehear I'm going to fucking kill you and your whole family if you do that dohown thehere--" I'm hiccuping. Crowley, how embarrassing.

BAZ

He's got me. I can hardly breathe from laughter. I keel over into him or he into me, but soon we're a laughing pile together on top of the mussed up sheets on the bed.

I make a loud snort and that reels us both back in again, laughing til we're red in the face and til my cheeks hurt.

Simon is giggling away, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, but he just keeps on giggling. I'm able to sit up a little more and Snow's head is in my lap. He's beaming and looking up at me through squinted, teary eyes.

"That was fun," I say, and I don't think it's the brightest or smartest thing to say. But I say it.

"I love you," Snow's smile is still wide, like he's drunk from it. There's a moment where I feel like I've died again, color drained from me.

It doesn't seem to bother him, that he's said that. For the first time. I run my fingers through his reddish curls once, letting them tangle in the locks towards the back of his head. I hunch myself down so I can kiss him.

"I've wanted to hear that for so long," I whisper.

"That I love you? You haven't figured it out by now?"

"No, you idiot," I say with nothing but fondness, brushing my nose along Simon's jaw, "Your laugh."

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Steamed Buns and Spicy Fried Chicken

Woooohooo guess who was inspired for tooth rotting sappy birdie romance? You guessed it, me! Here's a little piece for honey baby Hawks.

Pairing: Hawks/ Reader

Summary: Hawks takes you on an impromptu first date on the roof of the tallest skyscraper in Fukuoma and things take quite the romantic turn.

Tags: romance, fluff, the smoochies™

"I think you should let loose for once."

The small urban street you're walking in is flooded, deemed and outshone by the numerous dark silhouettes of bypassers that seep onto warm golden light that eagerly emits from each tiny shop. Their voices are loud and they merge into one another creating an unbearable buzzing that you can feel thudding in the hollows of your chest. Yet, despite that, despite your ears filtering most of the words that are spared from left and right, rising amongst others, you make out his voice perfectly.

The playful raspy voice licks on your eardrums and spreads a honey flavored pleasure and despite the fact that it makes you freeze on the spot, you can feel his words spill out of your ears, drip onto your earlobes and rush their way to the back of your neck.

Your hand irrationally sneaks up to your nape and taps on the harsh skin there in hopes of catching a guilty crimson feather on the spot, but you're surprised to find that you're merely shivering on your own. You let out a huff of air exit your mouth as you bring your empty fist and rest it on your uniform clad chest, the skin in your fist tingling from the raw force of your skin-digging fingernails.

"I'm loose all the time." You shrug.

"No you're not!"

Your eyes don't bother leaving the shop's window and tangerine lights bathe your face in the most iridian way while white quivering dots of adoration dance on your (e/c) orbs, as if they flicker like the dying fire of a candle light.

Before you, protected by a transparent tempered glass that looks like it has been licked to a shiny perfection lay the most beautiful sight you could ever set your eyes on. A plethora of round, puffy, ivory colored buns that gush ribbons of beautiful delicious steam. You almost taste the fluidity and jiggle in their teeny tiny movements as they coo next to eachother, your mouth watering by the extraordinary delight that causes serotonin to blast through your brain like a firework.

Your mouth is drenched in the bitter taste of craving, the all too familiar sheer saliva produces in gushes from the underside of your tongue and your wet muscle can't do anything other than bow down to it, bucking away every few seconds for the watery substance to wash inside your mouth.

"You're so stiff even when you're looking at something that you like." Hawks dares to speak again, and you bask away from his voice that is masked with what you perceive as arrogance.

But it's not.

It's not, but there's not way for you to know because you fail to notice how his hand shoots up to you to comfortly rest on your shoulders or how he pulls it away as if he's been electrocuted even before he manages to reach you. It's not, because you've only chosen to perceive him as your cocky millennial boss. It's not, but you won't let his kindness get through you. And that what's killing him ultimately and all the time.

At least, that's what he has come to understand from your interactions. Nevertheless, tonight's air feels a different type of fresh.

But for now, before letting his mind be filled with any other thought that bothers him, he can't help but stop and stare. He's standing only a few meters behind you, his feathery wings shivering from time to time as he refuses to jolt his body to your direction. His golden honey colored irises are fixated on you and a contintinuous thudding inside his chest is slowly growing louder by each passing second.

Could it be what he thought it could be? The mellow sweetness of a live that he's yet to even proclaim to himself taps in the back of his brain occasionally and tonight it's decided it's going to break down the norms. The little pitch of self control bows before the coiling in his stomach, the little monster that is cooking him up and torturing the words he doesn't ever dare speak out loud.

Looking back, Hawks would be lying if he said that he hadn't arranged your patrols in perfect synch. You were the perfect jewel to his agency, the most fierce adding to his team. With the heart of a true, selfless hero you had wiggled your way into the hearts of the citizens, and apparently, into his own as well. And rightfully at that because when he was a high profile celebrity bathed by the cold, yellow light of the limelight that followed him everywhere, you remained a vessel of self sacrifice for the masses a strong youth that strayed away from the public eye.

He was amazed by how you had stated that you didn't want publicity when you took his offer to be scouted by him. He was even more amazed by your borderline barbaric nature at times, but he attributed that to your brute quirk. Inhuman strength and stamina was what you had been blessed with and you had taken your abilities to a level that no one in your category could ever reach, rightfully earning your hero name, Amazona.

And somewhere between being you feisty, angsty and a little bit of a naive sweetheart Hawks had found himself unable to rip himself off your presence. He usually contemplated on whether he annoyed you or whether you were just secretly hating him, but despite the snarly remarks and the harsh glares you'd shoot him, the kindness and respect you showed to his person was unmistakably honest.

And thus the throbbing of his heart pumps scarlet blood in violent a gushes in his veins and a tiny spec on his thigh twitchs quietly, probably by the exhaustion of previous days and his eyes squint in borderline adoration while he is watching you as soft creases of skin accentuate the sides his puffy undereyes. Hawks feels his body shiver despite the warmth his camel jacket provides for him and his shoulders spasm slightly in quick bird like movements.

He has never seen you under such light both quite literally and metaphorically, but there's something about the way coral colored LEDs concentrate on illuminating your hair and the way your eyes shine in the wettest glimmers that allows them to remain wide in this heavenly state. Hawks feels unable to resist to this gut churning charm and for once, he decides to close the distance between the two of you.

He hopes he's right to do so because his anxiety is chewing on the inside of his intestines like a hungry wolf.

People occasionally comment on his public appearance, they throw small waves at him and mouth small greeting words but at the moment he misses all of them, his eyes fixated on your reflection in the window. Lingering his gaze between your reflection and your side profile Hawks' mouth falls agape, a few strings inside his chest close to ripping. He takes a notice of how your eyelashes graze over the top of the apples of your cheeks, or how your lips curl upwards in the tiniest bit, despite your lips being pushed in a thin line, resting between your teeth.

"I mean... take a picture it'll last longer." He comments awkwardly, as if it's something that will make you let him in and that previously reluctant hand of his is wiggling its way into your clothed shoulder.

You shake your head, your face falling into it's typical nonchalant expression. "Haha, very funny Hawks."

"What?" He smiles a sultry beam at you, his right eye squinting almost to a tiny blink, making you click your tongue.

You grunt a small yet harsh groan and snap your head to the opposite direction of his, trying to escape his golden gaze as you feel your insides boiling with anger as your hands cross under your bussom. He never fails to amaze you with his arrogance and his constant teasing, but tonight he's way too close to you and you need to be alone because shit, his cologne is making the inside of your nostrils cream in orgasmic jolts. Well, with a sniffling and and cringle of your nose you try to attribute the runny nose to the chaste kisses of tonight's wintery breeze.

"Do you want to buy them?"

"What?"

"You're basically ready to propose to these buns, might as well have them in your stomach."

Its only for a second that you turn your face to his direction, your foot stomping on the ground as your pouty face stares back at him. Your puckering lips are prominent, the little creases on them carrying all of the fun in your expression and in the fragment of a second Hawks' espression falls into a stable, serious one, mimicking you.

"Quit acting like a child, you want the buns right?"

Despite the fact that there's little distance between the two of you you feel like you are miles apart. And for some reason your heart screams at you that you want to get closer. He emits a burning hot light that pulls you in and it's hard to ignore. You've never wanted to admit that you were drawn to it but here you were, watching his chest falling and rising underneath his camel jacket, your brain freaking out as it tries to regulate the air supply to your lungs in any case your breathing can match his.

What is it about him that makes your heart pulse and your stomach coil? You were supposed to be mad at him for being sarcastic over your buns, weren't you?

Your legs rub together, the longer pieces of your skirt wiggle in the air as another cold breeze blows on you. You don't realise how you come to nod to him, but it happens before you even have time to hold back in your reactions.

Hawks is known for his unmatched speed and thus your gut oozes in panic as you see him turning his feet to the direction of the store's door. Your hand extends unconsciously to his direction, sort, swollen fingers grip onto the white feathery fur of his jacket, giving a tiny tag on the spot. Fortunately it's enough to make him stop.

"No."

"No?"

Honey eyes stare into yours from over his shoulder while a few of his red baby feathers dance in your vision. Long panting sighs emit from both of you, materializing in the air and falling perfectly onto each other's ears despite the surrounding commotion. Hawks takes back the few steps to you and you prompt him forward with your hand.

"Ever since I came to Japan," you confess, your voice barely under your breath, but he still catches it "I promised myself I'd first have them only in a special occasion."

"Oh really?" He questions, his bushy brow quirking. "Can this occasion be me helping you let yourself enjoy letting loose for once?"

This time you don't shrug, you simply knowingly nod.

Hawks doesn't need to be told more, if he is quite frank. The impromptu need to act like an irrational teenager hits him and a smirk is plastered on his adorning face. This time he doesn't hesitate to run inside the store, shagging your hand away from his jacket. His head shoots in your direction every few seconds, taking in the glints of surprise in your expression and the everlasting amusing nature of your pouting lips.

When he exits the store with an enormous, thick duffel bag your lips automatically loosen up, your spit forcing it's way down your throat. You fix your eyes on him harshly and huff through your nose in slight defeat. Under any other circumstance you wouldn't let him know he's broken down your usual defense but today is not a normal day.

Hawks reluctantly gives you a prompt by tapping his hand to the small of your back while the delicious smell of the freshly steamed buns reaches your nostrils and hits you like a tsunami. If it's even possible you swear that Hawks smells even better than the buns and the non existent distance between the two of you only proves to you how enchanting the smell of coconuts and axe wood is.

"Are you hungry?"

You cock a brow to his direction, your hands finally letting loose from the linking they had perfected over your chest and coming to sway loose on your sides as your mind goes to work. You feel your stomach protest and scream in excitement at the thought of food and before you ever have a chance to speak out a loud growl violently makes it way to Keigo's eardrums. For once, your brows don't furrow as you watch him fall into a dazzling moment of bubbling laughter, you simply smile back, a few chuckles escaping you as well as your stomach protests again.

"My speed is unmatched even by your stomach!"

"Yeah."

Despite the fact that you're not immensely talkative, your voice is rather soft and fluffy. Hawks is smiling at you with a wide luminous grin as his chin cringles and wiggles everytime his lips switch positions on his face. His chin hair puffs as he comes to scratch it; the slightest indicator that he's trying to put his mind to work.

"Well how about spicy fried chicken?"

"I also want fries."

You don't miss the way his face lights up when you speak the words.

"Come with me I know a place!"

....

The downside of living in an urban, overpopulated city in Japan lays on the fact that the sky is lacking its eternal beauty, the white ball spectrums, the numerous shining jewels that form shapes which are aknowledged by all generations and all cultures; stars. In a respectful attempt to make up for such atrocious deprivation Japan offers a vast scenery of over illuminated roads and buildings, decorating the ground instead of the sky.

As a pro hero you've come to understand the importance of being able to look down while trying to aim for the stars. And nonetheless the city that lays below you is alive, much like its winged protector who's sitting right beside you while you lay on the tallest rooftop in Fukuoka, munching on the delicious food you previously purchased while roaming around the town.

His shaggy bleached hair is flowing as the strong winter breeze blows on you creating a halo of blond hair around his laid back head, emphasizing his angelic appearance. His cheeks shine in a sheer peachy red and every time he sniffles the little watery substance that begs to run from his narrow nostrils his nose shines like a prohibited red button on a remote control.

You hate to admit but there's something biblical in the way you're looking at him. Mostly because you keep comparing him to an angel when he's not even close to being one. In fact none of you is. And you pretend to blind when it comes to that fact, momentarily hoping he'll see you as an angelbird too. Not as bird of prey.

You bite onto your chicken breast with a slurp, avoiding to make your eyes meet his despite how much you want to. Hawks is enthusiastically enjoying his food as well, gobbling on numerous tenders of the chicken in his large carton bucket.

You steal glances at him occasionally as you try to keep up with the conversation he has started -something about how he plans on financially supporting new costume designs for all of your team in the agency because he wants to enhance your capabilities with costumes that don't get in your way. And when he looks back at you with the slyest of glares you purge your lips together and snarl away, giving into that little cat and mouse game the two of you currently beg to always have established.

You decide it's the way that he looks under any light that makes your heart skip beats and then race at despicable paces. The blood producing and pumping organ is rooting for him, it's basically hanging from the tip of his tongue, ready to fall down along with the words that he speaks to you.

When you reach with your hand for your buns though you find your wrist cooed inside Hawks' fist before you even have a chance to realise that it has happened.

"Nah ah!" He says, wiping his hands with the napkin in the small paper bag next to him while managing to offer one to you as well "I gotta show you something first."

He blinks his honey orbs in yours with a lingering hint of a tease in his smile, his brows wiggling continuously in a playful manner. You gulp down some saliva, the strong desire for the buns you've had for so long urging you to muster up a snarly remark at him.

"Please I don't want to see your dick on the first date." You chuckle.

"Very funny, I actually wanted to help you let completely loose before you taste the buns, you know so you enjoy them to the max. Plus they don't get cold, it has something to do with the baker's quirk yada yada." He smiles and you nod at him sturdily. "Ah wait, so this is a date?"

Cheeky bastard, of course he wouldn't let that slip.

Naturally, you pretend to resent the way his hands come to cup the sides of your face by pushing your brows together but your heart is hammering beyond the point of regulation at this point. He blinks his eyes into yours for the upteenth time this evening and teasingly bites his fuller lower lip as he notices you're staring at it.

Instantly you take notice of a small freckle that rests on his lip and you almost feel your self heat up by the idea that even his flaws seem to be so fitting to his picture perfect and it's pulling you even deeper into him.

"Hawks, you're so pretty that it hurts to look at you." You breathe, panting cold puffs of air onto his face.

His eyes squint painfully as he pulls in impossibly closer. "Keigo. It's it's just us call me Keigo."

With his lips barely brushing against yours you take a deep breath, preparing your self for what's about to happen and how much you're only craving for it. His nose is pressed against yours, your tips freezing up eachother as your breaths mix under the crystal air. He is so warm that you feel your cheeks sweating, your lip is probing down to stay agape for him as he leans in closer.

And as your heart spreads to the point you think you're going to black out he pulls back a few of his feathers lifting you up in the air and right onto his back. Your eyebrows furrow in a whiny manner but you refuse to let it show further, your lips protesting in the absence of the kiss they had been expecting. The way he's keen on edging you whether it is for your sweets or a secretly long awaited kiss is driving you beyond wild.

A few feathers run away to his demand, picking up any mess you've left behind while lifting the duffel bag in the air before vanishing into thin air.

Hawks flies swiftly in between skyscrapers while taking leaps from now and then to avoid being spotten by the media. You pass by thousands of buildings, your eyes fixating on every possible angle of the town you've never similarly witnessed before. The few sounds of surprise you let out every now and then only sound like a robin's song to him, prompt long him to maneuver his way higher in the air.

He's not done leaping down the building in an almost too dangerous manner, his excessive speed making it hard for you to feel anything other that rushes of adrenaline in your whole body. Your hands instinctively spread wide open over his wings and you think you hear him grunt a little moan as you press your chest to the base of his wings to steady yourself.

"This is astonishing." You admit, cooing your head to the crook of his neck.

Suddenly an idea strikes you, the impulse that has been gifted to you by the ability to slice through the air on top of the winged hero catching up to your adrenaline rush. It's crazy to think about and it could go deeply wrong but your gut is telling you to trust the man who has just set an intimacy between you by merely giving you his coveted first name.

"Hey don't close your eyes, here's the best par-"

"Drop me!"

"What!?" Hawks practically screams

"Didn't you say I should let loose? Drop me off birdie, if you're fast enough you can catch me right?"

Reluctantly he turns his head to your direction, catching you with the corner of his eye. Slyly you bob your head to his direction, shooting him an amused, genuine smile and that's all he needs to comply to your wish. If he can manage to pull this off he might have a little plan up his sleeve.

"Shit, this is the craziest idea I've ever heard." He hisses. "Try not to scream because the media will notice."

He says, to which you nod with determination.

As you slide from his back gravity starts to pull you in maniacally, furiously putting tons of dead weight into your body. Your ears fall deaf to your surroundings, a mellow tingling silence conquers the depths of your brain as stories of strangely illuminated skyscrapers start to appear. Your stomach drops and twirls while a numbing sensation overtakes it, it feels tons heavier than a kick in the stomach by a Nomu.

Your eyes are focused on Hawks and the gleaming worry in his eyes that contrasts with the childish, sheepish smile that is plastered on his lips. Buildings rush in vertigos around you, the strong feeling of gravity still taking a toll you is now more prominent than ever.

Before you can start feeling a hint of worry two lean arms come to wrap around you and you skyrocket in the open sky; the warmth of Hawks' skin pulls you in and you find yourself being twirled in the air, feathers flying everywhere around you as scarlet wings swoon all over your form before they jet on his back like a bird of pray.

The only thing missing is a vast moon on the background.

Hawks' is looking at you again, his eyes traveling the distance between your eyes and lips feverishly a thousand times per second, as if he's hesitant to make a move, as in if he can't hold back now, he won't be able to do so ever. One gloved hand reaches for the tuff of hair that's stuck on your chin. A slight, boiling touch is placed on the spot she drags it opposite to the tress of hair, aiming to tuck it behind your ear.

Simultaneously his other hand prompts you on him, resting on the small of your back tenderly. Once the task of getting your hair out of the way is done he cups your cheek, feeling your hammering pulse even through the harsh leather material of his glove and you lay into his palm like a touch deprived puppy, ogling at him with such adoration that sets his gut on fire.

And it's only then that he doesn't hesitate to slam his face into you, because this is the easiest way to go with it. He knows that if he waits for a little longer he will hesitate, he will try to mask away his eagerness and the anxiety you're causing him with snarly remark and he doesn't want that. He wants to feel how your lips will feel against his.

Your lips respond to his immediately, shyly moving against his. When he is sucking with passion, hungrily opening up his mouth to savor every spec of your lips you act sophisticated, tenderly opening up your mouth and closing it over his lower lip, giving him tiny little sucklings and kitten licks, casually worrying the flesh of lip between your teeth.

You resist pulling back for air, your chest begging you to let it melt under his touch and you comply, feeling your insides turn into hot destructive lava, swiping every vital organ in its passing and only he and his cooking tongue can stop your body from turning into Pompeii.

Your own hands grip on his face, pulling him impossibly closer and now you decide on fighting back, angrily opening up your mouth with need to rub it against his. Soon it's teeth that are colliding and noses that are bumping and chins that crush into one another as your tongues lick around each other, your saliva mixing in the sweetest mixture you could ever taste.

It's him that pulls back with a hitched breath and an erotic look on his face. His cheeks are bright red, if possible more so than his wings, his lips swollen and his eyes half lid. If you know him, he's about to let out a comical remark.

"Do you kiss everyone like that on your first date or just me?"

See, you know him way too well.

"Ah, so this is a date!?" You mimick his previous remark, causing a bubble of laughter to escape him as he bumps his nose into yours. "This is what happens when you tell me to let loose."

"Well maybe you should let loose more often."

And he's right. You should. But for now you want to enjoy his sweet feathery pecks while you nom on your mountain of red bean paste buns. He's worked hard on making sure you will enjoy them so you own him that one.

Don't you?

AHHHH THANKS FOR READING ALL OF THIS SMOOCHES TO YOU :*

@sasageyowrites @nobody-knows-anymore here you go babes, I hope this is something.

[ttylfedora]

The Rookiest Rookie that ever Rookied- Part Two

Oh god I feel so bad for Cole!!

Characters belong to the completely wonderful @lumosinlove

Cw, food

Enjoy!! 💚

“Right, mon fils, you remember the plan?” Pascal had sat Louis and Marc down at the dining room table and had his serious dad face on. The boys knew this face meant business and sat up straighter, as though they were in a proper business meeting.

“Oui, papa.” Louis answered. Marc nodded in agreement, both of them determined not to let their father down. After all, this was the difference between whether or not they could go out for ice cream at the weekend. All of the shots were riding on this!

“Repeat it back to me.” Dumo instructed.

“Which part?” Marc questioned, still getting his little brain around all of the instructions his father had given him.

“All of it, this is serious business. The two of you are embarking on a journey that can only be ruled as the greatest journey known to man. You two have a legacy to fill, mon fils, a legacy!” Dumo exclaimed dramatically, his arms out as though he was introducing a show on the West End.

“Ce n'est pas si dramatique, papa.” Louis rolled his eyes, and his father gasped.

“Say that again and you are grounded.” Pascal locked his eyes on Louis’. The famous Dumais pranks were a serious business and should be treated as such.

“There is a lot riding on this,” Dumo reasoned, “do you want ice cream or not?”

“I guess.” Louis huffed. “Alright, so we only answer to each other’s names.”

“Make sure all the clocks show a different time.” Marc continued “Can you help us get the higher clocks?” he asked his dad. Dumo nodded.

“Make sure the robot spider is under the couch.” Louis chimed in.

“Ask him where babies come from.” Marc giggled. “Where do they come from papa?” he asked curiously.

“Non, non, ask Cole. He’ll tell you.” Dumo wiggled his finger in front of his younger son's face.

“Okay, okay.”

“Parfait, right, he’ll be back in,” he checked his watch,”half an hour from hanging out with Leo. Let’s get this started, shall we mes fils?” Dumo rubbed his hands together and giggled, leading his children into the kitchen to get started on the clocks.

--

“Right, we shouldn’t be gone for long but if anything goes wrong, just call us straight away. We’ll be back by dinner time.” Celeste fussed. Her husband was already out in the car with Adele and Katie, ready to take them both to basketball practice.

“I will, promise.” Cole smiled. It was the first time they trusted him to look after any of their kids so he can understand why they were airing on the side of caution. “We’ll have lots of fun.” He smiled over to the two boys who were currently sat watching something on the television. Celeste thanked him again and left, shutting the door softly behind her.

Babysitting was a piece of cake. He could do this.

“Right boys, what’s the plan for today.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together, sitting down on the couch that was adjacent to the two brothers. Marc’s eyes lit up.

“Can we make a cake?” he asked, practically jumping up from his spot on the couch.

“We certainly can, what flavour?”

Marc thought for a moment. “Chocolate.” he smiled.

“Sounds good to me, buddy, lead the way.” He reached over and grabbed the remote off of the coffee table in the centre of the room and switched the television off, following them into the kitchen.

“Right, let me see what we have here,” Cole started, going through all of the cupboards to round up the ingredients for the cake.

“Louis, can you grab me the eggs please.” He said over his shoulder as he went to retrieve the milk and butter from the fridge.

“No, no, no, Marc wait-“ Cole was cut off by the eggs Marc was attempting to hold in one hand dropping to the floor and smashing everywhere. He froze with his arms out mid step, and just sighed, laughing slightly. “Oh dear.” Marc looked up at him.

“Sorry Cole.”

“It’s okay buddy, how about you go and change your trousers and socks so that you’re not walking around all day with egg on them and we’ll throw them in the wash. It’s no big deal.” he smiled, grabbing a wet paper towel to start to clean the egg yolk off of the floor. Marc nodded and ran to his room. As he cleaned up, Louis gathered all of the ingredients onto the side, and grabbed more eggs from the basket.

By the time the floor was clean, Marc had come back down in a fresh pair of jeans and socks and popped his dirty ones into the washing machine for his mother to deal with later.

“Perfect, right, Marc, you’re in charge of weighing things, okay?” He looked at Marc but Louis nodded, sitting up on the bar stool in front of the weighing scales.

“Okay.” Louis smiled. Cole widened his eyes slightly but shook it off. Maybe he misspoke?

“Marc, you’re going to help me mix everything up, okay?”

“But I thought I was weighing the ingredients?” Louis asked, confused.

“Yeah, I was talking to your brother?” Cole said, though it came out more of a question. He placed his hand on his hip and scratched his head.

The boys just shrug and carry on anyway, allowing Cole to guide them through the recipe, one his mother swears by back at home. He was hoping it lived up to Celeste’s baking but he doubted his skills were that good. It was the least he could offer her for all the amazing meals she had cooked for him so far. She insisted that it was nothing but when one is so far away from home, having another mother cook a full homemade meal brought immense amounts of comfort to him.

They carried on working around each other, occasionally turning up the radio when a good song comes on, laughing and throwing flour and sugar over each other. Cole was an only child, but if he wasn’t, this is how he would want to spend his weekends with them. He supposed he wasn’t any more; his chosen family adding to the numbers ten-fold and he was beyond grateful for it.

Once all of the ingredients had been mixed, he asked Louis, well who he was sure was Louis, to help him pour the cake mix into the cake moulds. He started doubting himself as Marc, well who he was sure was Marc, came to help him. Once he had placed the moulds into the oven, which he noted had the wrong time displayed, he sent the kids through to the sitting room as he set the timer on his phone. His thumb hovered over the message app icon, wondering whether or not admitting defeat was wise. He quickly changed his mind as he thought up a better idea, opened the app and clocked on Leo’s name instead.

‘Hey man, I have a really embarrassing question but you CANNOT tell Dumo, okay?’

‘Oh god, this is gonna be good.’

‘Leo, PROMISE ME.’

‘Jeez man, okay, i promise!!’

‘Which of Dumo’s boys are older? Louis or Marc? Because i think ive been calling them by the wrong names.’

‘OH MY GOD HAHAHAHAHAHA COLE!!!!!!!!! PLEASE TELL ME YOURE JOKING’

‘Leo…’

‘Oh my god you arent joking.’

‘Please?’

‘Marc is the older one. Oh my god that is actually hilarious. Logan’s wetting himself.’

‘I’m never hearing the end of this.’

Cole put his phone away in his pocket, feeling incredibly embarrassed. Had he been calling these kids by the wrong name for the past month? It would seem so. He filled himself a glass of water and walked into the sitting room, sitting down on the couch next to Marc, no, Louis, the younger one.

“How long until the cake’s ready?” the older one asked.

“About twenty minutes now buddy. What are we watching?” he asked, gesturing to the television.

“Minecraft videos,” the youngest answered, smiling. Cole shook his head, clearly realising he had lost his touch with kids. Wasn’t Minecraft big, what, four years ago now? He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started aimlessly scrolling through Instagram, liking and commenting on a few of the posts until the youngest sibling piped up again.

“Cole?” he asked, an inquisitive look on his face.

“Mhm?” Cole replied, taking a sip of his water.

“Where do babies come from?”

Cole promptly spat his water back out looking at the youngest with wide eyes, stuttering slightly in shock. How was he meant to answer that?!

“I- well- have you not asked your dad this?” he stuttered, this was not what he expected to be answering today, to a nine year old nonetheless.

“Non, I just thought of it” the younger one shook his head.

“Oh, well, I mean, when two adults want to have a baby, they do a special hug, I guess?” Cole replied cautiously.

“So maman, and papa did a special hug for me, Louis, Katie and Adele?”

Cole just stared at him, mouth trying and failing to come up with a response to that. The last thing he even wanted to think about was Dumo’s sex life, no matter how many times the Lions’ sex lives were brought up in the locker room.

Thankfully, the timer for the cake went off, giving him the perfect excuse to exit the conversation. He set the cake on the side to cool, making a start on the icing. The boys decided to stay in the sitting room, engrossed in the video they were watching. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Surely it wasn’t still early afternoon? He checked the time on the oven and it matched, as did the one on the radio, and the fridge, and everything else in the kitchen apart from his phone.

“Boys, what time is it?” he shouted through to them.

“The tv says it’s 3pm!” Marc, Louis, the older one shouted back. He ran his hands over his face and checked his phone, noting that the time read ‘17:30’. He just rested his head in his hands with his elbows against the counter; he evidently did not get enough sleep last night. He quickly decorated the cake to return his thought process to something concrete and set it aside, joining the boys in front of the television quickly after.

He couldn’t have been sat down for more than five minutes when the biggest fuck off spider he had ever seen crawled out from under the couch, right next to his foot. Like any normal, self-respecting 19 year old man, he screamed and jumped up onto the couch.

Both boys were in hysterics.

“Cole, we got you so good!” The younger of the two was currently beside himself on the other couch, tears streaming from his eyes as he held up a little remote; evidently the remote for the spider.

“You two are taking after your father it seems.” Cole laughed nervously. He was well aware of the notorious Pascal Dumais prank streak and it seemed. They pressed play on the tv until Celeste, Dumo, Adele and Katie came home. He was grateful only in the sense that he was completely and utterly exhausted from today.

“Aaahhhh, you boys made a cake!” Celeste mused, walking into the kitchen to have a look at it, “it will be perfect for after dinner.”

“Did you have a good day, mes garçons?” he asked. Both boys nodded, understanding that their father was asking if they did everything he asked of them.

“It seems your boys take after you, Dumo. Got me pretty good with a spider under the couch there.” Cole laughed from his position on the couch.

Dumo let out one of the biggest dad laughs known to man. “Incroyable! I’m proud of you both!” Both of his sons looked at him and began laughing with him, but followed their mother and sisters into the kitchen.

“I hope they weren’t too much trouble?” Dumo asked, hanging his coat up and turning to Cole.

“No, not at all. It was a fun day, a long day but a fun one. Really set me through my paces there. For a hot second i thought it was one of your tasks.” he laughed as he stood up.

Dumo froze.

“My children are a task to you?” he looked Cole straight in the eyes and cocked an eyebrow. Cole stared at him wide eyed and started stuttering, attempting to form and answer. Pascal laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m only joking, kid. You should have seen your face!”

“Haha, yeah, I’m just going to run to the toilet real quick and I’ll join you for dinner. Won’t be long!” He left, looking quite flustered as PAscal made his way into the kitchen. His wife was leant against the counter with her arms crossed and a slightly amused expression on her face.

“You are a cruel man, mon roi. A cruel cruel man.” she shook her head and turned back around as she continued to prepare dinner.

He stalked over and placed a kiss on her head.

“It’s called character building, ma reine.” he smiled. “And I am nowhere near done just yet.”

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Obi-Wan is up late studying and his new Padawan sleeps next to him on their sofa. AN: @thenegoteator enables all my wishes for smol Padawan Anakin and Obi-Wan bonding so I hope you like this! Read on AO3!

Despite common misconceptions, the Jedi temple at night was still as busy as it was during the daytime. The many nocturnal members of the Order went about their daily life, training, teaching, learning, preparing for missions, and tracking down wayward Padawans deep in the temple building. Not as seldomly as they’d like to, they also sent one of their diurnal Jedi, awake despite their rhythm, to bed.

Sleep eluded them all often enough, visions and twisted dreams keeping them awake and as such, they all took care to ensure they did get a healthy dosage of sleep.

This was the precise reason Obi-Wan Kenobi was not in the archives but in his quarters.

He yawned for what felt like the twentieth time in the past ten minutes, staring at the light screen of his datapad.

It was the only source of light illuminating the dark room and consequently hurting his eyes. Obi-Wan could have turned on the main lights, but he hadn’t really expected to still be sitting here at this hour.

He should have gone to bed about four hours ago or so, he wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed and hesitated at checking the chronometer, but Obi-Wan also still was about two hours of work away from where he wanted to be with his thesis paper.

He didn’t have the time to sleep. Staying awake was an entirely reasonable course of action.

He reached for his cup of tea, black as the deepest voids of space. It wasn’t his favorite by any kind, but it did its job at keeping him awake better than any of his favorite teas or kaf did. When he raised his cup to his lips, he noticed that not only it was cold, but also almost empty. He could have sworn he had made it just ten minutes ago.

Displeased he set it on the living room table and sighed. Right, only about ten pages and a conclusion to go. Obi-Wan was able to work through those pages without any tea keeping him alert. He could, of course, get up and make himself another cup, but that also meant moving his small companion out of the way and possibly startling him awake.

Obi-Wan looked down at his lap where his Padawan was dead to the world, the rise and fall of the bundle being the only sign that Anakin was asleep. Obi-Wan could hardly see Anakin, wrapped up in three blankets as he was. Obi-Wan doubted that Anakin would learn to sleep with less than three layers any time soon.

His only visible feature was his crown of messy golden locks. Anakin had been up until just two hours ago, working on his own homework first, then had continued working on his sheer endless numbers of mouse droids and, when even that hadn’t kept him busy anymore, he had started drawing. Only after he had gotten too tired to hold onto his pencil had he started pestering Obi-Wan with questions about his paper until he had fallen asleep. At first, Anakin had been leaning against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, but the longer the night had gotten, the more did he slip off until he had ended up dropping into Obi-Wan’s lap where he was now snoring lightly.

Obi-Wan smiled at his Padawan, then gently so he wouldn’t wake him, ran his fingers through his hair. Anakin’s hair was surprisingly soft and, when the boy remembered to shower, smelled of spring flowers instead of motor oil.

He had a Padawan.

A small, cute, kind, and good-hearted Padawan who deserved a world that would treat him gently and the best of teachers who could guide him well.

And Obi-Wan had no idea how to handle him. He was doing his best and he was quite sure that he was at least on the right track, but he definitely could improve still.

But first, he had a paper to finish.

It was ridiculous.

He had been supposed to be done with it months ago. When his Master and he had been called to Naboo, Obi-Wan had just started writing it, a vague thesis in mind and some literature assembled. Most of the work had been in his head and constituted of the endless discussions Qui-Gon and he had had about the true nature of the Force. They had spent years discussing what it felt like what its purpose was – It was a heavy topic, and Obi-Wan could have gone with an easier one such as the traffic laws in Coruscant’s lower levels, but instead he had chosen to go with such a research-heavy field.

It was a chore and a half to work on this paper. Not so much writing the paper in and of itself, Obi-Wan happened to be one of those bastards who enjoyed writing up reports and forcing people to go through his elaborations on the banalest of topics. Handing his papers in had always been his utmost delight. There were very few sights that could compare to someone seeing that they’d have to proofread his paper.

No, the problem with his theses was the agonizing pain that came with every revisit to all the memories he had made with his Master. Getting even half a sentence transferred to the datapad was an ordeal Obi-Wan had never experienced before. Whenever he had to look up literature, he felt as if Qui-Gon was standing right beside him, commenting on the material, or quizzing him on it.

Qui-Gon would have a lot to say about his paper: Obi-Wan could just picture him making one remark after another, grilling him about every sentence and pointing out every flaw in his argumentation. Obi-Wan would hate every second of it, disagree with Qui-Gon on at least 215 accounts, but in the end, he’d hold his paper in his hands and could say that it had been a job well done indeed.

His Master would be proud.

His Master wasn’t here to see it.

Anakin whimpered.

Obi-Wan looked down at his Padawan again and soothingly ran his fingers through his hair again, sending him reassurance over their bond, hoping his emotions would reach his young charge even when he was asleep. Anakin, for all that he enjoyed talking a lot, was a very quiet child when he wanted to be. He didn’t make a lot of noise when he moved through their quarters, he hardly made any noise when he was sleeping. He didn’t let out a single cry despite the nightmares that must be haunting him now.

Obi-Wan began to hum a melody that had been sung to him in the creche. It was meant to calm children down during or after nightmares. Obi-Wan had always been prone to such, visions of darkness, death, and decay haunting him. Soon after he began singing, his Padawan calmed down and returned to an easy sleep.

Obi-Wan smiled down at Anakin’s form. It was nice that at least one of them could catch a couple of hours of sweet rest.

Sighing, Obi-Wan focused on the text on his datapad and began re-reading his last paragraphs.

He hadn’t typed anything that made any sense for the couple last hours. It was ridiculous.

“I should stop,” Obi-Wan muttered. “This is useless when I’m tired.”

Frustrated, he saved the document and then turned out the datapad, leaving himself in total darkness with only the weight of Anakin as a gentle reminder that he wasn’t truly lonely.

For a moment Obi-Wan contemplated just staying like this and sleeping here. He didn’t want to move, he was semi-comfortable, and Anakin by his side was more than enough comfort.

But he did have a bed with a good mattress, and so did Anakin. As his Master, Obi-Wan should set a good precedent for Anakin and follow healthy habits, avoid falling asleep on the sofa where his neck would make him pay for it in the morning.

Slowly, Obi-Wan pushed Anakin of his lap. The boy grumbled and Obi-Wan froze, not daring to move an inch. He breathed in and out, once twice, but Anakin kept on sleeping, still knocked out. Obi-Wan suppressed a laugh and then stood up in one swift move. Once standing, he cracked his bones and neck so that the stiffness would disappear from his body. If he didn’t take care of his body now, it would come back to haunt him when he attempted any of his usual Ataru sequences.

Not that Obi-Wan had been doing many of those lately. Form IV had become uncomfortable since Naboo, but he had yet to find something easier. A few of the Soresu practitioners had pointed out that he seemed to be well suited to it, but Obi-Wan wasn’t sure.

Sighing yet once more and putting the thought aside for another day, he then turned around to his Padawan and scooped him up in his arms. It was good that Anakin was so small still and didn’t weigh too much. With the boy settled in his arms, drooling on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, he walked past the many datapads spread across the ground and carried Anakin to his room. He opened up the room and danced past the various droid parts carelessly thrown everywhere until he reached Anakin’s bed. With careless use of the Force, he threw back Anakin’s other two blankets before setting the boy down. He considered moving Anakin out of the cocoon to spread out the blankets properly but figured it wasn’t worth the effort. He’d just roll himself up in them again. Instead, he grabbed the two remaining blankets and tugged him in, his covers secured so that no air would get in.

“Good night, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said and turned around to leave.

He had not stepped two feet away from the door when he heard a soft, “Obi?”

Anakin had woken up.

“Yes, Anakin?” Obi-Wan looked at his Padawan again who was now staring at him with his bright blue eyes and the kind of look that Obi-Wan knew he wouldn’t be able to deny him anything.

“Can you sleep here tonight?”

“I-“ Obi-Wan hesitated for a split-second. He had his own bed to return to, one that was made for an adult and not a child, with his own blanket and pillows.

“Sure,” Obi-Wan agreed and kicked off his slippers so he could crawl into bed with Anakin. His Padawan made space for him, but the moment Obi-Wan was also under the covers, Anakin pressed himself against him, somehow already having untangled his limbs from his blankets so he could stick his cold feet and hands beneath Obi-Wan’s war robes. Obi-Wan hissed at the cold contact and shot Anakin a look.

“You are a menace,” he told the boy seriously, but Anakin only giggled, seeing through his ruse.

“Nuhu, I’m cold,” he replied and promptly moved his hands just below Obi-Wan’s ribs where Anakin knew he was ticklish.

Obi-Wan jumped up, all signs of exhaustion were forgotten. Oh, it was on.

“You will regret this!” He declared dramatically and began tickling Anakin, who let out high-pitched shrieks in between his joyful laughs.

“Mercy! Obi-Wan I can’t-” Anakin begged as the rest of his sentence was swallowed by his giggles.

Obi-Wan stopped for a moment and thoughtfully crossed his arms, giving Anakin a minute to recuperate. “Oh? On what grounds!”

“Uuh,” Anakin pouted. “It’s late?” He suggested “And we should sleep. And I won’t make you cold again.”

“That’s a lie,” Obi-Wan pointed out, already knowing that Anakin would stick his freezing hands beneath his shirt.

Anakin shrugged easily and grinned at Obi-Wan. “Yeah.”

Well, at least his Padawan was honest enough to admit to it.

“Alright, let’s sleep then,” Obi-Wan said and laid down again next to Anakin. He pulled the many blankets over them both and wiggled underneath them until he was comfortable. The bed really was a little small for them both, but there was no helping it. Perhaps they should just sleep in Obi-Wan’s the next time.

“Night, Obi-Wan,” Anakin muttered and yawned.

“Good night, Anakin.”

He tugged Anakin’s head under his chin and sooner than he could count, they were asleep.

[siren1song]

Merman Dee AU, Anxceit, shell

Me, lover of mermaids: OH WORM??

Taglist: @acanvasofabillionsuns, @emo-disaster, @greenninjagal-blog, @jungle321jungle, @demidork84

Sea Life

Virgil didn’t like being on land too much. He preferred the open sea, the rocking of a ship under his feet and the salty air blasting his face as he moved around on deck. Preferred hearing his shipmates laughing and singing and working as they sailed, looking for a rich man’s ship to raid, or a village to plunder.

He supposed land had something to offer though, with its pretty greenery and… shops? Maybe?

Listen, Virgil hated going on supply runs when they couldn’t find another ship to raid and take their stock. Like sure, he was good at figuring out how much they’d need to last for a while but being on the sea was so much better than the unsettling stillness of the earth under his feet.

At least he was done with scouting where they needed to hit. He’d taken a week, only spending money on his Inn room, and he was packing up now to get back to the ship so the rest of the crew could pillage and have their fun while he recovered from being on land for too long.

Virgil was shoving clothes into a burlap sack he carried with him everywhere when he went on land, not really caring about being neat or careful with how he got them in there until he heard a thunk and his heart dropped.

Was that..?

He dropped the sack, getting on his knees to dig around in the clothes still on the floor. There was a frantic search for a moment, Virgil holding his breath until he moved a dark colored shirt and a flash of pale cream caught his eye.

Sagging in relief, he picked up the frog shell, fingers brushing over the brown spots decorating it.

Virgil remembered getting this, remembered the man who had given it to him. He wished he could see him again, wished he could give him the kiss he’d always wanted to.

“I want you to have this.”

Virgil looked up from the shell, more confused than he had been when Dee had handed it to him.

“What? It’s just a shell, Dee.”

Dee frowned at that, shifting on the rock he’d chosen to rest on while Virgil sat cross-legged in the sand of the small island next to it.

“No, it’s… important. In ways I doubt you can understand. I won’t try and explain, but if you really think we won’t be able to see each other again I want you to have it.”

Virgil looked back to the shell, turning it over in his hands and admiring the strength he could clearly feel.

“I do really think that. I wish it wasn’t true, I l-” he stopped, clearing his throat for a second as he closed his eyes, “care, about you. I enjoy your company quite a bit. But my captain grows suspicious of my constant leaving of the ship, especially with my usual hatred of being on land.”

Dee was quiet for a moment, then he slid off the rock, tail curling under him in the sand. He put his webbed hand on Virgil’s jaw, gently directing his head towards him so he could look the mer in the eyes, stark yellow and pupils slitted unnaturally.

“I care about you too.”

“Virgil!”

Virgil jumped, nearly dropping the shell in his hands as he whipped his head in the direction of the door, seeing Patton standing there with a bright grin and heaving chest.

“Are you ready? The captain is getting impatient, he wants to set fire to the town and you’re still here with the information for which shops have the best quality supplies!”

He huffed out a laugh, carefully setting the shell into his sack before shoving the rest of his clothes in on top of it.

“Yeah I’m ready, sick of being on land,” he said, pushing up from the floor so he could follow Patton out of the inn.

They ran through the empty dirt cobblestone streets, the bottoms of their shoes (or feet, in Patton’s case) slapping against the stone as they made their way to the docks.

Virgil’s excitement grew when he saw the sea, and then more as he clambered into the boat that would take them to the Mind Palace, a ship that wasn’t yet recognizable but would be, under Captain Sanders’ command.

When they were next to the ship, Patton got ready to call for being brought up, stopping only when he saw the look on Virgil’s face.

“Sometimes, Virgil, I think you love the sea more than anyone else who has ever chosen life on the water,” he said, smiling as Virgil laughed.

“Quite literally born on the water, Pat, I think my love of the ocean is warranted. Come on, let’s get us up on the ship, I’m ready to share my information and then sleep for a fortnight.”

Patton laughed himself, calling up for the two on the ship waiting for them to raise them up to lower the ropes.

“Two days for every one you were on land, as usual. Honestly, Virge, I’d think you were siren yourself if I wasn’t so thoroughly acquainted with your mother.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, helping Patton get the boat ready to go up. It was still weird for him to think that his friend knew his mother so well, especially since Virgil barely remembered her.

It wasn’t much longer until he was back on the ship, taking a moment to cherish the rocking under his feet, breathing in the sea air and the wind blowing through his hair.

“You belong on the water.”

Virgil jumped, turning towards the unfamiliar voice and yelping when he saw the man on the edge of the boat he was standing in.

It was clear the man wasn’t human, with his webbed fingers and finned ears. What was catching Virgil the most off guard was the glowing yellow eyes, pupils sporting a cats eye slit. 

“What?” he asked, confused by the jumble of feelings in chest. 

He couldn’t tell if he was afraid or in love, but his heart was pounding in his chest and this mer was beautiful.

The merman smirked, tilting his head to the side as his eyes went from the unnatural purple hues in Virgil’s hair, down to his torso where thin lines he was born with decorated his ribs under his shirt (how he knew to stop there, Virgil was unsure), then down to his legs.

“I suppose I should rephrase. You belong in the water.”

Virgil gave a disbelieving laugh, sitting back down as he stared at the mer.

“Are you a siren after my heart and life? Or simply a mer after my flesh?”

The man scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I am a siren, but I hold no interest in feeding myself with you.”

“I’m not sure whether to be relieved or offended. Am I not to your tastes, siren?”

The siren lifted an eyebrow, looking over his body again.

“Tell me, pirate, have you ever wondered why you naturally had a shade of color in your hair that other human’s never had?”

Virgil hummed, removing the shiv he had hidden in his boot so he could play with it between his hands. A simultaneous warning and fidget. 

“I have, but it’s never been something that’s bothered me. I know how to hide it, whatever it may mean, and it does nothing but look pretty.”

The siren nodded, resting his chin over his arms as he watched Virgil.

“I suppose, if it doesn’t bother you, I won’t push,” he commented, earning a look of befuddlement from Virgil.

“I wasn’t aware there was something to push.”

The siren shrugged, but didn’t give Virgil any more than that.

With a sigh, Virgil let it drop. He was sure he didn’t want to know anyway. Sirens were known for telling men what they wanted to hear to lure them to their deaths, so it was for the best anyway.

“Do you have a name?” he asked, cleaning the dirt from under his nails with the shiv, glancing up only when the silence after his question stretched just a bit too long.

“I do. Are you sure you want to know it, pirate?”

Virgil hummed in thought, pressing the tip of the shiv to the tip of his finger.

“I think I do. You’re a beautiful man, siren or no, it’d be a shame not to at least learn your name.”

The siren lifted his head, staring at Virgil with wide eyes the unnatural glow they were giving off in the dark seeming to get brighter as his face began to glow a soft yellow.

“…My name is… complicated to share, in its entirety in human languages. But you can call me Dee.”

He smiled, looking up at the stars.

“Dee, hm? My name is Virgil.”

“Virgil? Are you okay?” Patton asked, waving a hand in front of Virgil’s face and making him jerk back in surprise.

“Huh?”

Patton’s concerned expression deepened, looking at Thomas who Virgil only just realized was standing in front of him with an equally concerned look.

“You haven’t been responding to us for the last few minutes, and Thomas here has definitely been trying to talk to you.”

Virgil flushed, rubbing at the side of his neck and avoiding looking Thomas in the eye.

“Sorry Captain, just relieved to be back on the water.”

Thomas nodded, though he didn’t look like he believed the lie. Which was fair, Virgil wouldn’t have believed it either.

Dee would be disappointed.

“Alright. I just need the list of locations, Virgil, and you can rest, though you’ll have to stay on deck, Logan played with something that made him sick again and Roman is taking care of him so they can’t keep watch like usual.”

Virgil nodded, listing the places he found that the crew should focus on raiding, already eyeing the railing on the far side of the ship where there was rope coiled for him to sit in.

It took an hour before Virgil was alone again, sitting against railing of the ship and staring up at the stars.

He missed looking at the night sky with Dee. The siren often had something interesting to say about whatever new thing he found that fascinated him. Virgil had fun, misleading him about whatever he’d shown him, laughing when Dee would catch on that he was lying through his teeth about the use of a fork he’d found or a rusty candle holder, likely retrieved from a shipwreck.

“I see you still stare at the stars as if you want to join them,” a familiar voice said, making Virgil straighten from his slouched position, turning towards the voice with wide eyes and-

“Dee!” he shouted, a grin spreading on his face that quickly dropped in concern as he looked around the ship.

Logan and Roman may be below deck, but Virgil still worried about the siren getting caught.

Dee rolled his eyes, heaving himself up until he was sitting on the ship wall, tail leaving a puddle of water on the deck beneath him.

“Oh don’t worry so much Virgil, I can take care of myself.”

Virgil looked back at the siren, letting out a small laugh because yeah, that was true.

“Yes, I remember watching you take on a massive shark for fun. Still, what are you doing here? It’s been years since we’ve last seen each other, I’d figured you’d forgotten me by now.”

Dee went quiet, looking up at the stars- a habit he seemed to pick from Virgil, since he himself did that whenever he needed to think.

“I could never forget you, Virgil. You may be a pirate, but you’re still... I still love you, even if I never told you that to your face.”

Virgil’s breath hitched, unable to respond as he looked at Dee with wide eyes.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why now. Well...” Dee looked down at him, smile soft, “would you like to learn something new about yourself?”

Virgil hesitated, standing from the deck so he could be level with Dee’s eyes as he thought.

“If you’re the one showing me? I suppose that couldn’t be a bad thing.”

Dee snorted, rolling his eyes as Virgil grinned.

“You’re a sap, Virgil.”

“I’m a romantic, Dee. Though don’t tell anyone. My crew mates will get insufferable if they learn that.”

Dee smiled softly, holding out a hand, an offer for Virgil to take.

Why did Virgil feel like if he took it, his entire life would change?

“Kiss me, Virgil. Let me taste you.”

Dee’s voice was soft, and Virgil felt as if his heart would burst from his chest at the request.

He didn’t even think twice, taking Dee’s hand in his own and surging forward, pressing his lips to the siren’s in a passion he wasn’t known to give anything but the sea.

Dee wrapped his free arm around him, his hand shifting to his wrist as they kissed and he held Virgil close.

And then they were free falling to the water, Virgil not even able to hold his breath before he was submerged.

Honestly, he hoped Dee had a reason for this. He hoped he wasn’t being betrayed someone he loved, not again at least.

“Relax, Virgil, I promise if you open your eyes you’ll see that you’re fine.”

How was he able to hear Dee’s voice so clearly?

Why weren’t his lungs burning? Why wasn’t he drowning?

“Open your eyes, love.”

Virgil opened his eyes as Dee asked, first seeing the siren’s apologetic face.

“Sorry for the shock, it needed to happen for the change.”

“Change?”

Virgil had spoken without thinking, and it had taken a moment for him to recover from the shock of water filling his throat. But it hadn’t hurt and it was gone with a bizarre push coming from his ribs.

“Look down, Virgil, really,” Dee teased, laughter ringing in his tone.

He always did find Virgil’s confusion amusing.

Virgil looked down.

At first, he didn’t know what he  was supposed to be seeing. There was Dee’s pale yellow tail, swishing lazily in the water, skin shimmering in the moonlight reaching into the sea. It was something Virgil loved to look at.

And then he saw the dark purple sheen underneath him, fear spiking until he realized it was connected to his waist.

He had a tail.

[princessconsuelapark]

my ultimate Sam and Dean are soulmates playlist | 61 songs, 3 hr 59 min

I started putting this together over my summer SPN re-watch, and I thought I'd share it with you all, so we can all cry over our Wincest feels together. It has all the usual cliché songs, and some of my own favourites. (Very country-heavy, so if that's not your thing proceed with caution.) I'm a writer, so lyrics are very important to me - I linked them for every song. All songs are individually YouTube linked, alternatively you can find the Spotify version above. I included some comments and explanations for all my choices, as well as quotes from the show. Happy listening! | Last updated: 18 November 2020

Carry On My Wayward Son by Supernatural: The Musical Cast // lyrics // Cliché and all that, but a good place to start.

Somewhere Only We Know by Lily Allen // lyrics // Even as children - as tumultuous and layered their relationship has always been - it was just the two of them, alone, in their own little world. I Found by Amber Run // lyrics // I found love where it wasn't supposed to be.

Fade Into You by Mazzy Star // lyrics // Unhealthily codependent Weecest vibes.

I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys // lyrics // Secrets I have held in my heart / Are harder to hide than I thought. Something's Gotta Give by Christian Kane // lyrics // Wanting to get out of town as a metaphor for Dean wanting to act on his feelings for Sam? Yes, please. Christian Kane being a country god? Absolutely. The fact that this man was actually on SPN as Dean’s freaking love interest, and Jensen and him got to sing together still makes me the happiest person on this planet.

Don't You Wanna Fall by Frankie Ballard // lyrics // So, I love the lines Fall down here where an angel should know better than / To walk around this world with me, because god, Dean so often thinks he belongs in Hell, and is terrified of forcing his little brother into anything he doesn’t want. But still, he can’t stop himself: Don’t you wanna fall? (Shoutout to any Destiel shippers out there, because what a perfect song for you guys too, wow.) Thinking of You by Christian Kane // lyrics // Dean, just before Sam leaves for Stanford. (Link is for the Leverage version, because I love that show, and because Eliot Spencer is an angel. Funnily enough, Alona Tal was actually in that very episode, and did actually sing this song - you can find that here.) Hold On by Limp Bizkit // lyrics // I'm waiting for you, I know you're leaving / I'll still adore you, you never need me. LOST BOY by Troye Sivan // lyrics // Thinking about little Sammy’s stolen college admissions guide. Arms of a Stranger by Niall Horan // lyrics // Some jealous!Dean, while Sam is at Stanford angst.

Walking Away by Lifehouse // lyrics // Silence is all we have to give / And the memories of a life I wish we'd lived.

San Francisco by Niall Horan // lyrics // Listen, it’s a song about pining and not being able to let go and love in San Francisco. I mean, where do you expect my mind to go? Stanford Wincest all the way. How Did You Know? by Jedward // lyrics // I don’t wanna hear a bad word about Jedward, they are good lads. It’s a cheesy song, but hey, I love it. Sam comes back. Well, here I am / I couldn't stay gone. Drive by Halsey // lyrics // All we do is drive / All we do is think about the feelings that we hide. And the California never felt like home to me line! So perfect. "We made a hell of a team back there." (01x01 Pilot) Belong by X Ambassadors // lyrics // This is where Sam belongs, really. Riding shotgun, in his brother’s car, on the open road. Link is a fanvid that makes me feel things. Go and watch it, because it’s everything.

You Could Be Happy by Snow Patrol // lyrics // “Sam, you were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.” (01x11 Scarecrow) Do the things that you always wanted to / Without me there to hold you back, don't think, just do.

Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov // lyrics // "Who was that?" "My brother." "What did he say?" "Goodbye." That soft, disbelieving, confused look on Sam's face when Dean tells him he's proud of him. When it turns out Dean loves him enough to let him go. It should make him feel happy and free, it should make him loathe his childhood, defiance should fill him to the brim. Instead it makes him run straight back to Dean. (01x11 Scarecrow) Hey Brother by Avicii // lyrics // Faith. (01x12) Link is a fanvid, because reasons. Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you / There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do. Sober Me Up by Frankie Ballard // lyrics // Sam always seems to make the world all fall into place. (Sort of 02x03 Bloodlust vibes?) But baby when you kiss me all the demons seem to disappear.

Always Gold by Radical Face // lyrics // “Killing this demon comes first, before me, before everything.” “No, sir. Not before everything.” (02x07 The Usual Suspects) And they said you were the crooked kind / And that you'd never have no worth / But you were always gold to me. Sold My Soul by Zakk Wylde // lyrics // Bit on the nose, but my god, how fucking real. (02x22 All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2) Let Me Sign by Kirk Matthews // lyrics // "Well, then let it end!" & "I'm gonna take care of you." (02x22 All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2) Follow You by Bring Me The Horizon // lyrics // “I mean, you sacrifice everything for me.  Don’t you think I’d do the same for you? You’re my big brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” (02x22 All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2) Say Something by A Great Big World // lyrics // "I just wish you'd drop the show and be my brother again. Cause... just cause." (03x07 Fresh Blood) Take Me To Church by Hozier // lyrics // “This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? […] Dean’s your weakness. And the bad guys know it, too.” (03x11 Mystery Spot) Outlaws of Love by Adam Lambert // lyrics // "You're my weak spot. And I'm yours." (03x16 No Rest for the Wicked) Everywhere we go we're looking for the sun / Nowhere to grow old, we're always on the run / They say we'll rot in Hell, but I don't think we will / They've branded us enough, "Outlaws of Love". Wanted Dead Or Alive by Bon Jovi // lyrics // Well, I had to include this one, for obvious reasons. (03x16 No Rest for the Wicked) In Other Words by Ben Kweller // lyrics // Dean's going to Hell. Sam's not okay. In his eyes I see the fear. Real With Me by Cady Groves // lyrics // Dean is not dealing well with remembering Hell. Sam is upset that he's not opening up. And it was never about what you were not / But I don't know how much longer I can hold on. Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars // lyrics // None of it matters. Leaving for Stanford, choosing Ruby, the demon blood, that he’s Hell’s chosen. Dean will always come for his brother, no matter what.   Stay by Florida Georgia Line // lyrics // Sam leaves. It's fucked up. "Hey, you, uh... wanna take the Impala?" Dean doesn’t trust him, not like he used to, but he would say anything to make him stay. (05x02 Good God, Y’all) Hotel Room by Calum Scott // lyrics // They die in a motel room. They find out they share a Heaven. Sam can't find the words to explain. He wishes Dean would just give him time. (05x04 The End) So I kind of wrote a ficlet about this...? Read it if you fancy. Here Tonight by Brett Young // lyrics // The Wincestiest Wincest song to ever Wincest. The lyrics! Sometimes they can just take a minute to sit on the hood of the Impala and watch the stars, Apocalypse be damned.

I Hold On by Dierks Bentley // lyrics // “Sam, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.” (05x22 Swan Song) Dean believes in his brother, and I’m a sucker for pick-up truck metaphors Lifeboats by Snow Patrol // lyrics // The look on Dean's face when he hugs Sam, when he realises that Sam's back, that he's alive. (06x01 Exile on Main St.) Potentially also some Purgatory vibes. Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones // lyrics // The moment Sam turned up on his doorstep, there was no question he'd choose him. Choose him over Lisa and Ben. Choose him over everyone. “But the minute he walked through that door, I knew. It was over. You two have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy thing I've ever seen. And as long as he's in your life, you're never gonna be happy.” (06x06 You Can’t Handle The Truth) Heavydirtysoul by twenty one pilots // lyrics // “Pick one... Sam’s soul or Adam’s.” “Sam.” (06x11 Appointment in Samarra)

H.O.L.Y. by Florida Georgia Line // lyrics // Oh, this song. A bit of religious irony and whatnot, but my god. The lyrics are everything. You're the healing hands where it used to hurt immediately makes me think of how Dean helped Sam turn the pain from his scar on his palm into “stone number one, and build on it”. (07x02 Hello, Cruel World) I mean, Sam can't even tell what's real anymore, but he trusts his brother. Blindly and with everything he has, because that's who he is. But then there’s also Dean making his promise in the church, and Sam choosing him over dying in 09x01 (I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here). God. Just. I love this song for Sam and Dean.

Through The Dark by One Direction // lyrics // "We'll figure it out, okay? Just like we always do." (08x23 Sacrifice) Leave Out All The Rest by Linkin Park // lyrics // Sam is okay with sacrificing himself. He is ready to die. When my time comes / Forget the wrong that I've done. Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance // lyrics // “There is nothing, past or present, that I would put in front of you... I need you to see that." (08x23 Sacrifice) Okay, but look at the lyrics, and try and convince me this song is not about Sam and Dean. Love Will Tear Us Apart by Fall Out Boy // lyrics // "You wanna know what I confessed in there?" (08x23 Sacrifice) TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan // lyrics // The look in Sam’s eyes changes, his face falls. "How do I stop?" He chooses Dean like he always does. (08x23 Sacrifice) Brother by Kodaline // lyrics // “Come on. You and Dean? That’s something special, don’t you think?” (09x08 Rock and a Hard Place) Link is a gorgeous fanvid, go watch it and cry. Little Lion Man by Mumford & Sons // lyrics // Dean really messed up this time. Gadreel fall out stuff. Sam breaks up with him in a motel car park in Wisconsin. (09x12 Sharp Teeth)

better off by Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler // lyrics // "Something's broken here, Dean." (09x12 Sharp Teeth) & "No, Dean, I wouldn't." (09x13 The Purge)

I Can't Go On Without You by KALEO // lyrics // Sam taking Dean’s body home, laying him on his bed, drinking by himself in the dark. (09x23 Do You Believe in Miracles) I Won't Give Up by Noah Guthrie // lyrics // "I am going to save my brother." (10x01 Black) Sam never gives up on Dean. Brother by NEEDTOBREATHE ft. Gavin DeGraw // lyrics // “I never even said thank you, so…” “You don’t ever have to say that, not to me.” (10x04 Paper Moon) Link is another beautiful fanvid, because I can’t help myself. Sittin' Pretty by Florida Georgia Line // lyrics // Sam's sunshine and he’s endless planes of warm skin, soft long hair, and sometimes Dean looks at him. Really looks at him. (No, okay, but the Chevy line really made it for me.) Blood Brothers by Luke Bryan // lyrics // "I don’t need a symbol to remind me how I feel about my brother.” and "The two of us against the world!” "What she said.” (10x05 Fan Fiction) I don’t know, country songs just make me think of Sam and Dean, okay.

I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Daniela Andrade // lyrics // “This is my life. I love it. But I can’t do it without my brother. I don’t want to do it without my brother. And if he’s gone, then I don’t…” (10x18 Book of the Damned)

Golden by Fall Out Boy // lyrics // Dean is so so broken. “No, there is no other way, Sam. I’m sorry.” (10x23 Brother’s Keeper)

Church by Fall Out Boy // lyrics // This whole song screams Sam and Dean to me, and initially I thought of Sam’s Wall breaking down, but then I got stuck on the lines And if death is the last appointment / Then we're all just sitting in the waiting room / I am just a human trying to avoid my certain doom and that’s so clearly Dean killing Death, unable to murder his little brother in the end, because his devotion to Sam runs too deep. (10x23 Brother’s Keeper) In which the SPN writers and Pete Wentz really should get together and discuss over-the-top religious imagery. You are doomed but just enough. Right Back Home by Lifehouse // lyrics // “We are home.“ (11x04 Baby) Be There by Seafret // lyrics // "Bring him back. Bring him back and take me instead." (11x17 Red Meat)  You're my way out / You're my way through / And I can't, I can't / Be without you.

Only the Brave by Louis Tomlinson // lyrics // “I need him, he needs me.“ (11x23 Alpha and Omega) With or Without You by U2 // lyrics // The absolute poetic tragedy of 12x09 (First Blood). The way they don’t even have time to really look at each other after six weeks apart, that they are both ready to die for each other without a moment of hesitation.

I Won't Mind by ZAYN // lyrics // “I'm good with who I am. I'm good with who you are. Because our lives? They're ours and maybe I'm too damn old to want to change that.” (14x13 Lebanon)

Fine Line by Harry Styles // lyrics // "Just us.” (15x19 Inherit the Earth)

[darkhymns-fic]

Sword Games

Maybe it wasn't proper for her to play games so often, clothes scuffed by the dirt, her palms developing calluses from the toy weapons she and Lloyd used - but even an up-and-coming Chosen can only be a child once.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: This was written for Day 1: Childhood Friends of this year’s Colloyd Week! Starting off with my favorite trope :D This fic references a small comment made by Colette in Altamira about how her and Lloyd used to play sword games when they were little, and the image of it just wouldn't leave me.

--

During a routine prayer at the temple, Colette felt she owed her very life to Lloyd. 

"Chosen, please read from the top of the page," spoke one priest, the eldest of the group of four who stood with her in a certain atrium of the temple, which was shadowed due to the thick curtains from the slit windows made in the stone. Martel's symbol was woven onto the fabric, faded with time, yet still the pattern so embedded into Colette's memory. There were few accessories for comfort in the Iselia Chapel, with only the assembled cobblestone at her feet, and the aged daises that had been placed in front of a corridor that led deeper into the temple.

But Colette could barely pay attention to any of that. Her eyes were fixated on the priest who had the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen on a person! And she had recently met the funny dwarf that had come into town the other day, ruffling her hair with a warm hand.

She stared too long, resulting in a clearing of the throat from the elder. With a start, the eight-year old shook her head and stood up straight. "Yes, Father." 

Colette took a breath as she looked at the book of Angels, which was held on a stand in front of her, too big for her small arms to carry. "Our Goddess Martel blesses us with the mana of heaven… When her Chosen prays before the seal of light…"

A sound to the right, one that an acolyte priest to her right noticed, but was unsure. Colette tried to hold back the excitement from her voice.

"The Angels descend to the earth, to lead the Chosen to heaven…"

"What was..?" The same priest wondered aloud, while the man next to him shushed him. Colette could barely pay attention to what she was reading.

“The earth will swallow up the Desians whole with a great roar…”

And once her recitation was answered with a loud yell, perhaps one or two priests that the description of the Oracle had finally come true.

"Sneak attack!"

A boy in red, suspenders holding up his dark shorts, his hair a mess of brown spikes and cow licks, jumped from a stone pillar and swung down two wooden swords that already had nicks along the edges. His shout echoed inside the atrium, bouncing across the walls.

As the flurry of old men scattered at the shout, Colette stood her ground...and reached down to grab a small staff (one of her grandmother's spare walking sticks) that she had hidden underneath the book stand before her lesson.

"Nope!" she yelled back, blocking Lloyd's double sword attack. The feel of it made her arms shake, spiking sudden adrenaline in her as she shoved him away. "Gotta do better than that!" 

"No way!" Lloyd jumped back. One of the swords was cracked slightly, yet still he tried to brandish it with a flourish. Though his right hand was bandaged around the center of his palm, covering part of his knuckles, he held onto his weapon with barely a flinch as he rushed towards Colette. "I'm still going to win!"

She laughed as she blocked his attack. There was another satisfying thwack! sound, repeating each time their swords made contact. There was once a time when such play would slightly sting her hands, but she had long grown used to it now, holding her weapons with comfort.

"Chosen! This is preposterous!" The elder priest huffed, calling from the side of the room where he had run off earlier in fright. "And no one of the populace is to be allowed in the temple!"

Colette thought on such words, feeling guilty to have made her mentors so upset... and then rushed toward the direction of the exit. "Then we'll take this outside!"

"Hey, wait up!" Lloyd shouted, grinning with ecstatic glee. He kept waving around his swords, more than once nearly throwing them out of his hands. 

"Chosen!" But even as the other priests shouted for her, she kept running, knowing that it was only Lloyd who would follow her all the way.

--

Down the moss-covered stairs of the temple, out onto the shoreline that she was typically not allowed near, both her and Lloyd continued their sword fights until both of their arms felt like they had been turned to jelly.

"No fair!" Lloyd was shouting as he tried to perfect his new technique on her! One that he had explained to her once of how he would charge up a spin in the air for extra power, but he mostly just stumbled on the sand instead. "You can't use double swords too!"

Colette stuck out her tongue at him. She held out a stick she had found in her backyard that morning and kept hidden in her dress at the side. "I want to use two just like you! I think it looks really cool."

The compliment completely changed Lloyd's tune, a flush on his cheeks. "Well...it is cool! You're right!"

Yet even with her newfound double sword power, neither could outmaneuver the other. The sound of the slamming wood punctured the air, so sharp, mingling with the cries of the seagulls that hovered near the water. Lloyd held his own, spinning and slashing with his swords, and she mimicked him, nearly always tumbling down before she righted herself up.

Until one time she didn't – and slammed her body right into Lloyd until both fell onto the sand in defeat.

"Heeey!" Lloyd whined, his swords falling out of his hands, far from reach. "No tackling!"

But Colette had lost her swords (staff and stick) as well, both of them stuck in the dunes far off to her right. And so with nothing left to hold, she gave herself to fall flat onto the ground, just a few inches from Lloyd who laid down next to her, his hair dusted with so, so much sand. Both of their arms were outstretched, taking in deep breaths of the sea-salt air.

"Sorry…" she said with a pant. Her eyes were directed to the sky, where the sun shone so bright, the waves crashing nearby. "I tripped again."

"You gotta be careful.." Lloyd's voice was gentle, losing the luster from before when exhaustion finally caught up with him. "So, who won this round then?"

"Well, we both dropped our swords at the same time." Colette scrunched her forehead, thinking of the hazy set of rules she and Lloyd had set up for their fight. "Maybe it's a tie!"

"Again?" Lloyd whined, and from her corner of her eyes, she could just barely make out a pout from him. "We need Genis to referee our next battle."

Colette kept taking in big breaths, watching the arc of sea birds fluttering in the air, occasionally blocking out the sun. "I think that would be nice."

"Hm, we'd have to explain the rules to him though." Lloyd was kicking the back of his shoes into the ground, scuffing up sand with each motion. "And he only knows about those ken… k… the kendo-whatever things he always uses instead of swords."

"I didn't know much about swords either." Colette made sure to turn around on her side to face him. "Not until you told me about them."

There was something then in the way he laid there, not too far from her, his face soaking up the sunshine. His arms and legs were already tanned from the outside, in comparison to her pale skin. She just liked noticing that, the small little differences between them. Every morning, her grandmother would painstakingly brush her hair until it was straight and reached down to the middle of her back, while Lloyd’s hair looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. And his clothes would be stained with dirt marks and remnants of grass, while her own would barely get a wrinkle… except for now…

"Yeah… and you're really good with them!" Lloyd grinned at her, the sight of it making her chest tighten in a very strange and new way. Maybe it was the way the sun hit his hair, or how his grin looked different from last week after losing one of his baby teeth. 

"Only because you've been teaching me!" Colette gripped the sand between her fingers, letting them sift out again as she relaxed them. "Do you think I could have my own swords someday?"

"Yeah, why not? The only thing you're better at than swords are the frisbees you throw for Noishe".

To Colette, that was the highest compliment anyone had ever given her. She gazed at Lloyd, shuffling just a bit closer to him. There would be sand all over her clean dress, but she didn't care. "Really?"

"Yep!" At that, Lloyd moved until he was flat on his stomach instead, but kept his chin above the sand so that he could keep looking at Colette. "You're really cool, Colette."

Hearing that, Colette looked straight at him, seeing the wind pull at a lock of that messy hair.

"Why do you think that?" she asked, half-afraid of what he'd say. Because I'm the Chosen? It was all anyone ever called her first, her name second. She swallowed, unsure why there was sadness in her suddenly.

"Huh? Well… because you are!" Lloyd laughed, some of the sand getting onto his lips. "You're really funny, and you know about every dog there is… and you're the only one who'll play swords with me." At that last one, his voice had gone softer with half-shame. "Everyone else thinks I'm weird for bringing mine everywhere…"

"But it's not weird! It.. makes you look really cool, too." She shifted her legs in the sand, bare legs tickled by the feel of it. "And you always want to play with me and show me pictures of doggies, and.." 

She started to hear herself and clamped up. A priest would tell her when she should trim her words down for the Goddess. The less said, the better, for the Martel didn't want empty words...

"Yeah, why wouldn't I want to play with you?” His laugh tickled her ears. “See, you really are funny when you talk like that, Colette."

It was such moments like these that Colette would keep with her until the day of the Oracle. The feel of the salt on her tongue from the nearby ocean that she wasn't allowed to swim in, the wind tugging at her collar, and the russet brown of Lloyd's eyes, always so warm and wide.

"You know, when you're like this...you look kinda like a turtle." She smiled at the thought, kicking her legs from side to side. 

At that, Lloyd looked entirely confused. "Huh? But I'm not a turtle…"

"I meant like one, not that you are one! Because you're on your stomach, and have your head sticking out like they do."

"Why only turtles though?" Lloyd frowned, but she could still see the precious grin held in its shape. "I'm just laying down like Noishe does!"

"No, he lays like this!" Colette rolled onto her back again, holding up both arms and legs. Her dress fluttered in the wind, and in the back of her head, she could hear the word improper and childish echo, but the waves drowned it away, worries for another day. "See?"

"That's only when you're petting him!"

This conversation kept going in all its strange tangents until eventually they exhausted themselves, laughing themselves silly. And because of that, she suddenly wanted to ask him what had been on her mind since the priests handed her the scriptures to memorize.

"Hey, Lloyd?"

Lloyd was now making little sand piles with his hands, showing it off to Colette until her voice stopped him. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Do you think...you'll remember me?" she asked him, looking away. "And what we did today?"

All she did was keep confusing Lloyd, going by the blink of his eyes then. But even with that, Lloyd only did what he always did best - making her feel better without even realizing it.  

"I won't ever forget you," Lloyd spoke with the confidence that only a nine-year old could ever have. "We're best friends!"

She knew, even as Lloyd laughed and she soaked in the sounds like a hand clutching her own, that this was a day she was going to remember. Even when eight years later, she'd walk up the stairs to the final seal by herself, she'd remember the splinters of the ‘swords’ on her palms, the grains of sand stuck in her hair.

Her childhood would have been more plain, much lonelier without Lloyd. And she thanked Martel for putting him in her life, if not for anything else.

"Yeah…" she told him, matching her grin to his. "I won't forget you either."