#this is the longest I've ever written

[elusivedew]

💌 | Cubitum eamus ?

✧ synopsis ⤐ it takes you 2 years from the minute you meet spencer to confess how much you like him, and it all happens on a random wednesday night.

✧ contains ⤐ friends to lovers but they both know what's up, s3 spencer who's been through a handful of shit, brief mention of alcohol consumption on two occasions!!suggestive themes but no straight up smut, spencer reid experiences happiness for once, reader is his only hope in life, reader wants him real bad and he knows. My spencer reid debut yay! Title translates to "will you go to bed with me?" w.c ~ 9.2k

Working at the BAU is not an easy job. In fact, Spencer thinks, working at any unit in the FBI is the closest thing you'll ever get to hell on earth. This feeling of agitation and exhaustion seems to aggravate every time he's working on a particularly draining case. Not only does the content of the cases get into his head often, and sometimes into his dreams, but he's also been directly harmed by the criminals they’re chasing. How can you remain completely objective about something when you become a victim too?

Over the few years he's worked in the BAU, he's received more harm than he ever expected. Drug addiction was not something he had in his five-year plan when he first joined the FBI. It's not something anyone who works in law enforcement expects, really. 

Needless to say, he's tired. The kind of fatigue that makes you bedridden for days. 

He also happens to be alone on a Tuesday night in the middle of June. 

The latest case he worked on took a little over two weeks to wrap up, an unsub that likes to take his time and has such a disorganized MO that it was almost impossible to see the patterns. All the physical and mental work completely knocked everyone off their feet, except for him. His colleagues all went home and passed out of exhaustion, and he’s still up. 

Spencer can't sleep. He's too busy thinking. 

It's something he does a lot, for his job, for himself, for the duration of his whole life. The gears have been turning in his head since his very first word, the minute ‘mama’ was out of his baby mouth, he’d been tasked with the weight of the whole fucking universe. The price of knowing so much from a young age has cost him a lot. And tonight, it specifically costs him his peace, his right to pass out after a long day of work. 

And he'd love, more than anything, to have an off button somewhere inside. But because that hasn't been invented yet, and his nervous system feels like it's on fire, he's still up by the time it's 10 pm. It’s not late, objectively, but he’s been home for more than three hours now. He tried a lot of sleep remedies— herbal tea, audiobooks, aroma therapy, hell, even exercising to tire himself out, but all of them failed. And now he's just left with sore muscles and an even more tired brain. 

By the time it's 11 pm, he's lying on his couch, feeling like death. His head is pounding with the feeling of an oncoming migraine, and he knows that he’s in for a particularly long night.

That's when his phone rings, and because he’s so alert and so sensitive to stimuli at the moment, he almost kicks it off the coffee table. But he doesn’t do that, because he’s still a little sane despite everything.

Instead, he reaches over and checks the contact name, and his whole face lights up. He feels absolutely ridiculous for not making this call first, because his nervous system is now very much alive— and not in a way that makes him feel like an overheating microwave, no, this is a good thing. And good things don’t happen to him often. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and picks up the call. 

Suddenly being awake doesn't feel so bad. 

“Agent Reid.”

Your voice comes through the phone like a cool breeze of air during the grueling heat of June. He finds himself relaxing a little, releasing tension he didn't know he had in his muscles when he was so distracted just a few minutes before.

“I'm begging you to stop calling me that.” 

“Aww, why not? I like feeling like your boss,” you're smiling on the other end, he can hear it, “what's his name again? Aaron?” 

He rubs his temple with a smile he can't fight off, “That's agent Hotchner to you.” 

You laugh and he feels proud of himself for eliciting such a pleasant sound out of you. He's immediately thinking of other ways to get that sound out again. If Morgan could see him now, he'd never let him hear the end of it. 

The good thing about you and Spencer is that no one knows. Not his colleagues, not your friends, not your families. That's the good thing, you get to keep this precious thing between the two of you. The bad thing is that you're not really together. You're not even romantically involved, you've never uttered the four-letter L-word around each other (like or love, both), and you don't even really flirt with each other. 

To put it into simple words, you and Spencer are just friends. 

But friends who relieve each other's stress nonetheless, and god knows Spencer needs that right now. 

“You're back from your recent trip, right?” You ask, audibly crunching on something. It sounds like you're also lying on your couch, he wonders if you were going through something similar when you decided to pick up the phone and call.

“Yeah, thank god.” 

“I take it that it wasn't a very good one then? I mean, none of them are good but, I'm guessing some are worse than others.” 

Spencer sighs, “You guess correctly.” 

“How are you feeling?” Your voice is softer when you ask, concerned, and even though he doesn't like to make you worry, your well-intended question is a very welcome sentiment. He’s almost relieved knowing that there's someone who'll always ask, someone who'll always notice. 

“Not very good. Tired.” It's a short answer, but he knows you understand. You've understood him for a very long time now, nearly two years of knowing each other. 

“It sounds like you had a very long day.” A very long month. “Why didn't you try to catch some Zs?” 

The way you phrase it makes him snort, and he knows you're proud of yourself for that one. “I can't, me and the Zs never had a very good relationship. Trust me, if I could turn my brain off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” 

You hum, “Do you wanna talk about it? I could give you some very valuable, life-changing insight, maybe you'll be able to go to sleep after.” 

He smiles, “I've actually had enough of this case, I'd like to talk about something else.” 

“Oh, I can definitely do that. Tell me, what did you have for breakfast?” 

Breakfast is a terrible topic, meals in general, because you know that he misses a lot of his meals when he's on the job. You always lecture him for it, berating him for being so skinny at his big age, but it's always underlined by concern. He knows you worry about him, he wouldn't blame you. 

“Not much…” He trails off, knowing you'll catch on. 

“Oh honey, I know your eating and sleeping habits are fucked, but can't you at least lie to me?” 

The way you call him honey should not be making his stomach turn like that. 

“I could never lie to you.” 

“You literally just did.” 

You both laugh and he's so, so glad you called. If he didn't think you were asleep he'd have called you first. 

“Okay well, I didn't ask that question to find out something I already know. I asked because remember that café we were constantly visiting before you went on this trip? They finally brought the chocolate chip cookies back.” 

The chocolate chip cookies case (the quadruple c) is a very vital issue in your relationship with Spencer. Because for weeks, the both of you have been visiting that place close to your apartment, hoping to get some chocolate chip cookies, only to be met by raisins. It was a very devastating experience for both of you, having to settle for something else on the menu every time. But now it’s okay! The chocolate chip cookies are back. 

Spencer is so glad he's done with his silly criminal case so he can focus on the real problems at hand.

“And I was thinking, if you're not too tired tomorrow, should we have breakfast together?” 

It's sweet, it's earnest, it's you.

It's such a characteristic gesture, asking him to have breakfast with you after particularly draining cases, checking on him as soon as you can tell he's home, and sounding so sweet and concerned over the phone when you know he's feeling down. It’s the small, thoughtful actions coming from you that have helped him keep it together so far. 

And the feelings that thought brings out in him lead him to realize, in those few seconds, that he liked you much more than he planned on. Not that he ever planned to like you in the first place, but he thought it was a small crush that would eventually go away, it’s happened before with the pretty women he befriends, and he didn’t think this time would be different. 

But it was, and now he’s totally screwed because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to you. 

“Absolutely, I can't wait to have those chocolate cookies again.” 

You're ecstatic over his response, your tone picking up about 3 octaves when you jump to discussing the other plans you have this week. Your favorite artist is releasing an album soon, your favorite game is finally available at the video game store, the finale of that show you've been talking to him about is airing in two days, and it seems like your life is full of positive sequences.

The juxtaposition between what he sees at work and the enthusiasm you bring into his life almost gives him a headache, but it could very well be sleep deprivation. He wonders if all the misfortunes that have happened to him are the evil equivalents of the things you brought into his life. 

But if all the bad things that have happened to him and around him got compensated by you, he doesn't find it such a bad tradeoff. Because meeting you on a random Monday night and somehow catching your attention enough for you to leave him your number— even when he was so frazzled by the need for coffee so he could grind out some paperwork before his deadline— it feels like he used up all his luck on that fateful encounter.

And having someone he could always meet up with, outside of work, has been very grounding. 

You talk his ears off for the rest of the night, rambling about one thing or the other until his eyelids get heavy again, and he feels tired enough to sleep. You tell him that's been your plan all along and wish him a good night. 

Later, when he’s under the covers of his bed, drifting off to sleep, for a few minutes his brain isn't aggravating him with the thoughts that have been haunting him all day. For a few minutes, all he can think about is you.

He is so fucked.

Emily Prentiss is a very smart agent. 

She’s been told that ever since she was a little girl, and though it was often complimentary, people sucking up to her mom and whatnot, it was never a complete lie. She grew up thirsty for knowledge, mastering everything she could get her hands on, and even as an adult with a grown up job, she continues to excel at what she does

But then, if she's so smart, why the hell can she not figure out why Spencer Reid is so giddy while doing his paperwork? 

It may have to do with the fact that it's Spencer, and that kid has always been a little perplexing to her. He's bright and brilliant, but she could never truly understand how his mind works. But, at the same time, there's such a thing as habits, and Spencer is not typically so smiley while doing paperwork. No one is smiley while doing paperwork in this line of work, because it makes you relive the nightmares. For goodness’s sake, this is the behavioral analysis unit, and Spencer is behaving weirdly. 

It seems like she isn’t the only agent at the office who noticed the peculiarity. Agent Morgan stands behind her, his third cup of coffee in his hand, squinting at the young doctor. They observe him like a wild animal in his natural habitat; had they not been so tired from all the work, they would’ve been picking on him by now.

When Emily feels her presence behind him, she turns around, and they exchange a mutual look of understanding. They've never seen Reid act like that in the time that they’ve worked together, and they know one thing that they've never seen him experience during that time either. 

They realize it at the same time, and Morgan nearly drops his coffee. 

Spencer Reid is in love.

There have been many misfortunes in the 25 years that you've been on this earth, and you're convinced that a lot of them have been aimed at you. You're the only person who has ever suffered that much during your whole life, it's a known fact. It's a fact that you like to remind Spencer of, to make him feel better about his work, and when he laughs at it, you remind him that people called Jesus a liar too.

You've been through a lot of suffering, but the task of getting dressed before Spencer knocks on your door in approximately ten minutes may just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

He thinks that just because he has a day off, he could pressure you into a sudden— very much unplanned— date? He thinks that shooting you a text to get dressed so you can go to the record store and then have dinner only twenty minutes before you're supposed to do the aforementioned activities is allowed? He's absolutely right, and you hate him for it. 

Not that it's really a date, you know you and Spencer have never crossed that line, but it feels like it. Especially if he's making you feel like a teenage girl high on hormones having her very first crush. Her very first date. The particular action you're thinking about has to be kept to yourself, just so you don't jinx it. 

You really shouldn't be thinking about that when you still haven't figured out which outfit to wear. More thinking about clothes, less thinking about boys. Specifically one boy. 

It takes all your willpower and energy to finish getting ready in those ten minutes. You settle for your most comfortable pair of jeans and a white button-down with a vest over it, and for good measure, you throw your coat on— the long beige-brown trench coat that makes you feel like you're Sherlock Holmes about to solve a crime. You realize that it's very fitting for an outing with a profiler, he's kind of like Sherlock Holmes if you think about it. 

It's fall now, and it's much more chilly. You hope your precious profiler brought his own coat because, as much as you care for him, you won't be lending him yours.

When he rings your doorbell, you're finishing up and tossing the rest of the necessities into your bag. You make him wait for a minute, to avoid seeming eager, and then make your way to the door.

The minute you lay your eyes on him, you feel sick to your stomach.

Spencer Reid is beautiful, this is a fact that you've known ever since you met. He pulls off the dorky yet hot look so well, with that stupid smile of his when he talks like a smartass. And you're reminded of this every time you see him, the fact that he's so adorable that it physically hurts to keep your hands off him all the time. Tonight is no different, he's dressed in a dark button-down with a brown vest over it, covered by a beige coat that contrasts the dark colors beautifully. It takes you a couple seconds to realize you're wearing similar outfits, almost like a matching couple.

“Copycat.” You accuse, fighting off a smile with warm cheeks. He grins in retaliation, “Hello to you too.”

God, he’s beautiful. In the dim light of your apartment's entrance, you catch the gleam of his eyes. They're warm, earthy, and familiar, you don't think you'd ever stop staring at his eyes if you had the chance to do it without looking crazy. His eyelashes are unfairly long, and his light brown hair forms waves around his face like a frame around an artwork. He always tucks a few stray strands behind his ear, and you always mess it up for him– which is something you do for two reasons, you like annoying him, and you desperately want to touch his hair. It’s just simply unfair for him to be born that beautiful. 

He seems to notice you staring because his cheeks are a little pink, and he has a little bashful smile on his face. “Ready to go?” He scans your form like the little detective he is, “Looks like you could get ready in 20 minutes after all.” 

Now you remember why you were so annoyed at him, good looks be damned. 

“Oh shut up, never do that again.” 

“Or what? You'll cuss me over text messages again? How will I ever live with that.” 

His shy smile is replaced with a smug grin, and you hate to admit it, but it's one of your favorite looks on him. Because Spencer isn't always able to genuinely smile like that, he's usually stressed about one thing or the other; and knowing him, he's always reliving some terrible event that happened in the past two years, and sometimes even further back in time. So while his amusement comes at your expense, you'd rather see him smiling like this all the time. 

“God, you're so mean to me.” 

Even though you mean to sound stern, you can't hide your smile. 

You pick up your keys from the hanger by the door and toss them into your handbag, he follows your movements with his eyes, “that's not true. I'm always so nice to you, sometimes a little too nice.” 

You lock your door behind you and give him a fake offended look, “You could never be too nice to me. Let's go, agent Reid. We've got a long night ahead of us.” 

Then you're strutting ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you like a helpless little intern. Even though he rolls his eyes and laughs in disbelief, he ends up following you anyway.

‘Albert’s records’ has been your favorite record store since you moved into your apartment in Quantico— and not only because you’ve met Albert, the sweetest little old man to ever exist, but also because Spencer always looks mystified inside the store. It’s like something about vintage things just makes him tick. 

You're checking out vinyls that are selling for discounted prices, old pieces of famous artists and commonly known albums, while he's looking at the posters on the walls, admiring the artistic work of the rustic-looking store. He’s always trailing behind you, and you don't mind because it makes you feel safe and cared for. You didn't know being trailed by an FBI agent could feel so comforting. 

Your eyes catch on a certain record, and you turn around, “Hey, Spencer.” 

He stops eyeing the posters on the wall and turns to you, hair falling over his shoulders adorably. 

“What do you think of this?” 

You're holding a classic black Billy Joel vinyl in your hand, careful not to hold it too tightly. It's his 1977 release of The Stranger, an album you're not too familiar with. You've only listened to Vienna and a few other songs. Spencer eyes the cover carefully like it triggers a memory deep inside his brain. You're expecting him to go on a tangent about Billy Joel and 70s music, but you're instead met by a very sentimental response. 

“My mom loved that one.” 

He's quiet, using that careful but lost tone of voice, and you worry that you accidentally triggered something unpleasant. You knew Spencer had a complicated relationship with his parents, namely his mother. On the rare occasion where he had a few too many drinks, he spilled a lot more than he intended to. Drunk Spencer was always so painfully honest and you admired how easily his filter would come off a few drinks in, but you never wanted him to feel embarrassed by it. On those particularly emotional nights— after he calls you to pick him up because he's too drunk to drive— you would listen to him ramble the whole drive to your apartment, force him to stay over so you can take care of his pounding headache in the morning, and hold him until he passes out on your couch like a partying college student. 

Something he’s never been before.

Those incidents have led you to know more about Spencer than he ever thought he could share, and one of those sensitive topics just happens to be his mom. It's not an uncomfortable topic, you've talked about it before when he's not too drunk to realize what's going on. Even though it was hard for him at first, talking about it became easier the more he shared, you understood more and more things without him telling you. 

And because you’ve talked about it, you're not scared of his response when you ask with a lighthearted smile, “is that a bad thing?” 

That seems to bring him back to earth, and he gives you a reassuring smile, “No, not at all, just brought me back to some memories I'd honestly forgotten about.” 

You hold the record to your chest, almost certain that you're going to buy it now, “Well would you like to make some new memories in relation to this record?” 

Would you like to come to my apartment and listen to it with me?

“Yeah, I'd love to.” He smiles in a way that makes you feel a little lightheaded, knowing he's comfortable sharing this much of himself with you. It's so intimate, knowing that in this public store, you're still sharing private moments that no one else knows about.

You’re about to go back to checking out vinyls, trying to conceal the giddy feeling bubbling in your chest, when a high-pitched voice intrudes on the moment you were having with Spencer. 

“Oh my god.” 

You both turn to look at the source of the voice and when you look to Spencer to see what this is about, he looks like he recognizes the source. He looks terrified. Your gaze falls on two blonde girls, one gaping at the sight of you, and the other being the source of the dramatic reaction that broke through the silence a few minutes ago.

Her blonde hair is styled in waves and she's wearing such a colorful, creative ensemble that you're mesmerized by the intricate details of her outfit. The hair clips, the makeup, the platforms that she's wearing, you wanted to talk to this girl so bad. 

And it seems like you're in luck today, because she's immediately rushing to your side with wide mesmerized eyes.

“Wonderboy, you've been hiding her from us for how long exactly?” 

You're guessing “wonderboy” is Spencer since she seems to be his friend and your chest feels warm knowing his friends nickname him such cute things. Spencer deserves to be known for all his good traits after all, and he sure as hell is your boy of wonder. 

“Garcia, please, I'm begging you to act normal about this right now.” He mutters, trying his best to keep this conversation quiet.

She shakes her head, “This is the most normal I can act about you hiding a girl from us.” Then she turns to you again, extending her arm for you to shake. You eagerly extend yours back. “Penelope Garcia, tech analyst at the FBI, and genius boy's co-worker. Oh and, your source for any dirt you want on genius Reid over here.” 

That explains how someone like her is in Spencer's social circle, but it doesn't explain how someone so bubbly could work at such a gloomy unit. Working for the government when she should be at the club? It's a crime to you. 

“They're keeping a gem like you in a dark, creepy room to dig up information for them?” 

You honestly didn't know you could commit such flattery and Spencer is looking at you in disbelief, but she giggles at your poorly concealed flirting and you feel proud of yourself. 

“Oh, wonder boy, how did you ever snag a wonderful girl like her.” 

Spencer is blushing so hard at this point you could probably fry an egg on his face. You're introducing yourself to Penelope, filling her in on your occupation, when the other blonde introduces herself as Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short, and she's even more excited to meet you. 

She's also heavily pregnant, and you hope that she's currently on maternity leave. 

“We were looking for more records that this little guy here could listen to, it's incredibly engaging to include him in our vinyl pick-out process.” JJ rubs her stomach as she explains and you're so fascinated by the idea of childbearing and birth for a few seconds that you almost forget that it's terrifying. 

“What about you guys?” Penelope jumps in, eager to put Spencer on the spot again. 

“Oh we, uh,” Spencer's eyes shift between you and the two girls, like he's surrounded and begging you for help, “we're just checking out the vinyls on sale.” 

“Yeah, I was honestly waiting for these discounts because I'm not selling a kidney for some records, you know?” You step in, hoping to take some heat off Spencer, because the poor boy looks like he’s about to combust.

You're also well aware that the two girls in front of you think you and Spencer are dating, but they haven't said it out loud and Spencer hasn't attempted to correct their assumptions, so why would you be the one to ruin their fun? You'll let them think you're on a date. 

“Oh that's so true,” Penelope nods in understanding, “it's like I just want to listen to music, you know?” 

You nod in understanding, you do know. 

And you also know that you're absolutely going to adore Penelope Garcia and JJ and everyone that you meet who’s involved in Spencer's life. Even though this meetup is so completely unplanned and coincidental, it makes you excited knowing you can prod Spencer about more details now, talking about work in a way that doesn't concern the cases. You’d kill for some office gossip that doesn’t involve yourself.

“Oh, Morgan is going to lose it when he hears about this,” JJ says, almost talking to herself. 

Penelope jumps to add more wood to the forest fire, “Oh my God, remember what he said to Emily? He was right.” That catches Spencer's attention, “what did he say to Emily?” 

“He said that you're all giggly at work because you're in love.” Penelope answers without missing a beat, and she says it so casually, as if she didn't basically strip Spencer naked right in front of you. 

You’re subtly stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, suppressing a smile at the way he blushes deeply and looks at the ground as if he wants it to swallow him whole right now. Something tells you you're absolutely going to love Penelope and he's going to pay the price for that relationship. 

“Spencer is giggling at work?” You ask, like she just told you he joined a cult.

Penelope nods eagerly, “Oh yeah, I've never seen someone look so cheerful while doing paperwork, every time I'm out of my office for a coffee refill he's just there giggling to himself like he's hearing voices. Except the voices turned out to just be a pretty girl, which I have to say,” she puts her hand over her heart dramatically, “I’m so glad it did.” 

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, the shame overwhelming him, “I'm begging you to stop talking.” 

Penelope and JJ are giggling, enjoying torturing him like this for your pleasure, and you’re close to joining them, but you choose to stay loyal to Spencer— if only to make sure he doesn’t get a migraine from all this embarrassment. But you're also just giddy, knowing Spencer cannot conceal his infatuation with you to save his life. Despite all the hints here and there that he definitely likes you, and all the discreet touching and staring at your lips when you talk —something you know he can't tell you noticed— the way he doesn't deny any of what's being said tells you that you're, at the very least, a person of interest. 

A person of Spencer's interest. Your smile is getting harder and harder to hide.

“Okay, okay, lovebirds, we'll leave you alone now. But trust me, you haven't heard the end of this, once Derek finds out, oh Spencer Reid, you might never want to step foot in that building ever again.” You nod eagerly, excited to hear more about how they’ll taunt him later on. They give you their rushed goodbyes as Penelope guides JJ outside the store, you can hear her quietly complain about leaving empty-handed when she came all the way, but your mind is someplace else, neurons buzzing with ideas of how to torment Spencer now that you’re alone again.

You turn to look at him, no longer holding back your smile, “so…” 

He immediately puts a finger to your lips, “Don't start.” 

You reach for his hand to move it away, giggling like a schoolgirl, “you're fawning over me at work? Oh my God, Spence, I didn't know you were that far gone, baby.” You hold onto his hand, as a way to restrain him, but also because you just want to hold his hand. 

“I was not fawning, they made it all sound so much worse than it actually was.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he continues, looking more flustered. “I was smiling, can I not smile to myself anymore?” 

You absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, bringing your joint hands to your chest like something precious, “You're smiling like a lovesick fool about me at work, Spencer, you're so fucked.” 

Your amusement is so palpable, and your cheeks hurt from smiling, but there’s also something else there.

Something you haven’t fully experienced before, not its rawness and neediness. Something that you can tell will grow in your chest until it fully conquers your whole body and claims your mind. You don't know what you'll call it yet, but it's something a lot like love. 

“Alright alright, I get it. It's National Embarrassing Spencer day, let's buy this record and get out of here. We have a dinner to get to.” 

The weight of his hand in yours almost made you forget you were still holding the record, handling it so carelessly just to bring him closer. You realize you're drunk on affection, and eager to have more of his attention for the rest of the night. When he doesn't make a move to remove his hand from your hold, only dragging you behind him to check out, you feel like there will be a lot of new developments tonight.

The rest of the night goes as well as you would imagine.

Despite your incessant teasing, you have plenty of conversations that aren't centered around embarrassing Spencer and enjoying it. You sip wine together while he tells you about the letters he's been sending his mom; apparently, he's started telling her about you. While you're surprised he's only just doing it now, he confesses that he wanted to wait until he was sure you'd stay before he made such a decision. Unfortunately, with his line of work, he's right to be worried about things like that, but you stayed anyway, and now his mom knows about you. 

And you have her favorite record in a plastic bag that you carry on the way home. 

When his car pulls up to your building, you're hesitant to get out. You don't feel like the night is over yet. It was lovely and unforgettable, meeting his friends, learning about his mom, and having a very nice dinner together, but you feel like there's still one more topic that needs to be discussed. 

When you don't make a move to get out of the car yet, he calls out your name in concern. You turn to look at him and your gaze is so intense he's almost intimidated.

“Is everything okay?” 

You nod absentmindedly, too lost in trying to figure out what's missing from such a wonderful night. 

“Well, we're here. This is your apartment, you know?” You can tell that's not the sentence he aimed for, but you're aware that Spencer stumbles over his words when he's nervous. You don't fault him for it. 

You give him a genuine smile, “Yeah, I know.” 

Then you're moving to unlock the car door, the newly bought record in your hand, and you get one leg out of the car before you realize exactly what this night is missing. 

“Spencer?” You turn to him, he's already looking at you. 

“Yes?” 

Slowly, carefully, you ask, “would you like to come upstairs?” 

Your apartment is somewhere that he's only seen while extremely drunk, hammered out of his mind. You realize that this is the first time you invite him up when he's actually well enough to walk on his own, and you also realize that it means something to you. You hope it also means something to him. 

“Uh, yeah, sure? If you want me to walk you to your door, I'll definitely do that.” He's picking at the leather covering the wheel, cheeks slightly flushed like they’d been earlier. Multiple times during the night, you note how he’s always glowing red around you like a pulsating organ. Is it the slight chill of the weather or the heat behind your eyes? You hope it’s the latter. 

“I think you know what you want.” 

You weren't sure if he knew, but knowing Spencer, a line like that will trigger him into thinking about it so hard that he'll actually figure it out. You watch the gears turn in his head but he still looks confused, you hope that by the time you get to your door, he'll realize what you're talking about. 

“I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out.” You give him one last smile before you exit the car. 

True to his word, Spencer walks you up to your door after parking his car somewhere close. When you reach the apartment, as you dig for your keys in your purse, he stands next to you, looking a little lost because he clearly didn’t expect this. He fiddles with the ends of his vest while observing you. 

You unlock your door and get inside, leaving it open so he can follow you. You drop your purse on your dining table and lay the record down next to it, watching from the corner of your eye as he steps into your apartment cautiously, like he's stepping over booby traps. 

The door locks and you can't escape the conversation any longer. You also can't bear seeing him so lost, because god blessed him with eyes that make him look like a sad baby deer all the time. And every time he uses them on you, you immediately cave, because letting him suffer feels like letting a baby animal die.

“Spence.” You call, sultry and slow.

If you catch the way he slightly jumps at your voice, you don’t react.

“Yes?” He’s quiet, worried.

You lean back against your table, a relaxed smile on your face, “you know why I brought you here, right?”  

He swallows, tucking his hair behind his ear. “A woman inviting her date up to her apartment could lead to a variety of things, but most commonly it leads to either sexual intercourse or murder.” His cheeks heat up at the words ‘sexual intercourse’ and you want to eat him alive. “And I'm kind of hoping you didn't invite me up here to kill me.” 

You raise an eyebrow, the desire to tease him so strong and unforgiving, “So you hope I'll have sex with you then?” 

That really gets him. His whole face goes red— blood rushing down his neck and up to his ears. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't. Instead, he just opens and closes it a couple of times, unable to articulate anything. If you were in a different situation, you'd have called him a fish, but you also realize something very critical: he doesn’t deny your previous statement.

“Spencer,” you call his whole name this time, voice low and heavy with something that alarms him further. “Can you come here, please?” 

He hesitantly leaves his spot, taking slow, careful steps to your side. He stands at a considerable distance, making sure he gives you your personal space. If he’d done this at any other time, you’d have been fawning over how considerate he is, but right now you want him as close as possible, personal space be damned. 

Feeling particularly brash, you reach out and pull him closer by a fistful of his shirt. He’s startled, but he lets you move him closer as if he were a rag doll, now you're barely a few inches away from him. Your hand moves to his neck, feeling the warmth that spread there a few minutes ago, the warmth that you caused. If it feels like it's getting warmer under your touch, you don't comment on it. 

It's the first time you've touched him this much, this intimately, and it feels like you've been missing out for the past two years. 

He watches you carefully, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what you're aiming for. This is probably how he acts at work, you think, staring at something until he’s able to break it open and decipher its message, will he decipher your message too?

You look up at him through long lashes, peering into his eyes, hoping to communicate something with your eyes before you can put it into words. You feel a certain need in your stomach, tying knots and constricting your airways— it's what you guess people would call butterflies. Right now, you'd call it absolutely torture. 

“Spencer.”

It's the third time you've called his name so far, and this time your noses are touching and you practically breathe his name onto his lips. This encourages him to put an arm around your waist and raise the other to cup your face affectionately. You lean into his touch, welcoming the reciprocation.

“I'm here,” his voice is low, more certain now, almost like he figured you out, “you can tell me.” 

You nearly melt in his hands now that he's using that self-assured voice. You love it when he's shy, but god do you adore it when he talks like he knows exactly what to do with you. The things you'd let him do to you would probably get you placed on a watch list, but you don't mind as long as he's the one watching. 

“You know what I want to say, don't you?” 

He blinks, the gold flakes in his eyes so striking when you're this close, “maybe I do, but I'd like to hear you say it.” 

He's in no place to be making such demands. He should be melting in your hands, not the other way around. You shouldn't be getting this weak at the knees just because he's using that stupid husky tone, sounding like he knows all your secrets. But, fuck, he absolutely knows all your secrets. He could probably read you like an open book— which you actually wouldn't mind at all because you've seen the way his hands stroke the pages when he's reading, and you'd love for those fingers to be all over you like they're all over those stupid books.

Your eyes glaze over with desire and you're getting impatient, while he watches you like he's studying your next move. Goddamn profilers and their dirty work. He should be getting dirty with you.

You mutter a quiet fuck and step back to separate your bodies; even though there's no place to go because the table is right there, you're at least not directly face to face anymore. His warm breath on your lips was driving you insane, and you brought him up here to talk, you needed to have this conversation. For your sanity. 

He gives you space, because he's always been so caring and so perceptive about what you need, and the gesture makes you want to bounce on him. You have to remind yourself that if you keep thinking with your lower regions, this will be a counterproductive night.

You realize you can't do this while standing up, so you hoist yourself up on the table, and wiggle around till you get comfortable. Your trench coat isn't bending to your will and it takes you some more shuffling to beat it down. You really should've taken it off when you stepped in through the door. 

The sound of Spencer's chuckle makes you realize that he's still here and he's very much observing your embarrassing fight with a trench coat. Your cheeks feel warm, but this is not the most shameful thing you've done tonight, and you're probably aiming to beat that record anyway. 

“Don't laugh at me,” you mutter, embarrassed but smiling. 

“Okay,” he laughs, “I won't.” 

“God, you're such a liar. Is everybody at the FBI full of lies?” 

He shrugs, “Depends on who you ask.” 

You laugh and you're so in awe at how all the stress leaves your body so easily when he's talking to you, it makes you wonder why the hell you can't just say it. One sentence, something he already knows, something anyone would probably know by observing you for five minutes, it should be easy. But as obvious as it is, you're also well aware that once you say it, it becomes real. And you can't escape It. You can't pretend like it's something casual between you if you get your heart broken, or if he feels like you're moving too fast. The minute those words are out of your mouth, you'll have to confront the reality of your situation. 

And you're scared. 

You're scared that once you say those words and it becomes a real living thing, you could actually lose Spencer. You could get into an argument later and it ruins everything between you, or he could fall out of love, or you could fall out of love. There are so many bad endings to a relationship and the possibilities make you hesitate. 

Spencer must've noticed that you're taking a while to speak, that you're too busy stressing out about it, because he comes close again (leaving enough space for the holy spirit this time) to gently hold your hand. It works like he intends it to. The skin-to-skin contact is grounding and you relax a little, wishing you could just melt into him and never have to go through any uncomfortable conversations.

But when you look up at him, and you're met with the familiar trustworthy eyes of the guy who has been your god-given solace for months now, you wonder how the hell you could ever rethink taking a chance on him. 

Even if the risk is terrifying and you're scared of ruining things, you know Spencer would be worth the try. Plus, fantasizing about a reality where it works out and you get married in a few years is actually much more fun than thinking about impending doom. 

You don't want the world to end before you tell Spencer the raw truth of your feelings, and not through subtle gestures or sneaky glances, you want him to hear the whole thing. 

You squeeze his hand for one final reassurance. He smiles and squeezes your hand back. 

“Spencer, I've got something very important to tell you.” 

Slow and stead. 

“I'm listening.” 

You lick your lips. 

“Okay well, remember how I told you a few months ago that there were currently no guys who were interested in me?” 

He nods.

“Well, I lied.” 

He raises his eyebrows, amused at the route you're taking, “oh yeah?” 

You nod, swallowing heavily, “Yeah, yes. There was this… guy at my job, he doesn't work there anymore because he got transferred because of ‘new chances’ or whatever, but he was working with me this time last year, you know? Anyways, he'd get really close to me whenever we were handling the same task, not in a sexual harassment way but in an ‘I have a crush on you’ way. And I realized that he was interested in me because he kept dropping hints and I'm, surprisingly, not that oblivious. I can tell when a guy likes me. He actually asked me out once to this new donut place near the office, but I declined because he has really bad table manners to be honest and, god I'm glad he's not working with us anymore because he'd hog all the coffee and we could barely find anything to drink by the end of the day— but that's not the only reason I rejected him, I actually rejected him because… because I couldn't imagine going out with anyone else who wasn't you, and I guess what I'm trying to say is- that's when I realized that I like you, Spencer. And I've liked you for almost a year now.” 

You're out of breath by the time it's all out, but incredibly relieved. You look up at Spencer and he has this amused twinkle in his eyes and a very dumb smug smirk on his face. Once you're fully and completely done with your little speech, the first thing he does is laugh.

You're so offended you immediately take your hand away from his and slap his chest, “Don't fucking laugh, I just confessed my feelings for you.” You hit him some more, but he won't stop laughing, “Spencer, this is so fucking rude, oh my god, just reject me like a lady if you're going to mock me like this.” 

He catches your hand before you land another weak punch on his arm, and you have very little time to react before he reaches forward, cupping your face with his other hand and joining your lips for a long-awaited kiss. 

You've fantasized about the way he kisses for a very long time. After you’d heard about his little make-out session with that actress in the pool, it took everything in your body to resist asking him to take you next. You've thought about kissing him nearly every night when you were falling asleep, he was even haunting some of your dreams like a fiend, kissing you like his life depended on it, only for you to wake up to the cruel, harsh reality of never having kissed Spencer Reid.

But that reality is different now. 

He uses both his hands to cup your face and angles your head just right to get as much contact as possible. He tastes like the wine you've been drinking all night and smells like cedar wood and sage. God, even when kissing you he has to smell like a perfect little herbal garden? You'd get mad at him if his lips moving against yours weren't melting away every ounce of sophistication you have in your body. 

You use the chance to be greedy and reach your hand into his hair, making sure to mess it up so that there’s proof that you were here, in his arms, kissing him. 

He's sweet with his kiss, despite knowing you both waited for it for so long, he doesn't push you to go further even though you'd love for him to. You'd let him take you on this table right now.

But the absolute worst thing about Spencer is that he's so respectful that he pulls away after a few seconds to watch for your reaction. He's flushed with desire and his eyes have gone dark in a way that you've only seen when he was really angry. You can tell that he's restraining himself to not make you uncomfortable. His eyes scan your face eagerly, his hands resting on either side of your face.

“God, you're so… ridiculous.” 

The comment is so unexpected that you laugh, and the sexual tension seems to ease into just… sexual existence. “Hey, what's that for? You're going to kiss a girl and then immediately insult her?” 

His smile mirrors yours, “my apologies, your highness. I have just never heard such a ridiculous confession in my life before.” 

You frown, lips curling into a pout, “not true, that actress in the pool had a ridiculous confession too.” She didn't, but you never fully got over her kissing Spencer before you could. 

“Oh yes, I'm sorry, I forget about any other woman when I'm with you.” Then he plants a quick kiss on your lips with a poorly concealed smile, and you can just tell that he's going to be doing that a lot to get away with whatever bullshit he's spewing. 

“You’re unbelievable, Spencer Reid.” 

Then you’re kissing him again, craving more of what he gave you during the first kiss. The desperation for contact has you pulling him closer by his collar, leaning into the kiss like you were starving before him. When he finally slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan so pathetically it makes his grip around you tighten, body drawing impossibly closer to yours.

You're kissing for such an extended period of time that you're dizzy from the lack of air when he pulls away, and you're greeted by that lovely shade of crimson on his face. You desperately want to find out just how red he can get and in what other places.

You're admiring his face, lost in the haze of the kiss, and chewing absentmindedly on your lips when you suddenly remember something very important. You draw back a little to shoot him a very serious look. 

“Hey, you never said you liked me back.” 

He laughs in disbelief, “do I have to?” 

You nod like a petulant child, seriously alarmed.

He playfully rolls his eyes, “alright, I like you too,” he kisses you, “I like you a lot actually.” 

You're satisfied with that answer, melting into his touch again, like a helpless pet. You admire the post-makeout look that adorns his face and makes him more beautiful than you could ever imagine, and he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. For a while, it feels like the universe belongs to the two of you and no one else. 

Until you remember how late it is and the fact that Spencer actually works tomorrow, then you're not that happy anymore. 

“What's wrong?” He asks, nose rubbing against yours as if you could ever focus on anything when he's that close. 

“You have work tomorrow, and it's very late…” 

He draws back from you, as if broken out of the trance by your words, “Oh no, you're right.” He's starting to move away when something inside you kicks in and suddenly your legs are flying to lock around his waist to secure him in place. He raises his eyebrows at you, amused and surprised.

“You can't do this.” 

You nod your head menacingly, “oh yes I can.” You know he could easily break out of your hold if he really wanted to, but the fact that he's entertaining your antics tells you that he's not very eager to leave either. 

“Angel, I have to go to work in the morning. Like an adult with responsibilities, you know?” 

If you were in your right mind, you'd be offended at that comment, but he's just kissed you senselessly and then called you ‘angel’ for the very first time. No one could blame you for not being very wise. 

“You can still go to work in the morning, you just... don't have to leave right now.” 

“You want me to stay? Here?” You nod. “My love, you don't even have a change of clothing that can fit me.” 

“Then sleep naked. I won't complain.” 

He laughs, “What about a toothbrush? You don't have an extra one for me.” 

“I change my toothbrush once every three months and I always buy extra, so I do actually have a completely sealed, never used before brush that you can use. It will be yours from now on.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief but you can tell he's starting to budge, your technique is working. 

Plus there's the unsaid promise that, if he stays, there will be a lot more kissing going on. 

“And you want me to go to work tomorrow in this same outfit?” 

“Mhm, we'll hang it and it will be just fine.” 

“I don't have my badge with me, I can't go to work without my badge.” 

You scoff. “Then wake up early and drive by your place, stop creating irrelevant problems, Spencer.” 

He’s in disbelief at your brazenness but seems to cave in anyway. “Fine, yeah, I'll stay.” 

You smile, very proud of yourself, “yes you will.” 

At this point, you're aware that your leg is still around his waist, and you're holding him in place like you took him hostage, but you honestly don't feel like letting him go just yet. Months of pining for him like a lovesick fool, you think you deserve to relish in the power you exert over him. He seems to notice the hunger for power in your eyes because he's coming closer again, placing his hands on either side of your thighs. 

“You have other plans for me tonight, don't you?” He's using that husky tone again and looking at you with glazed-over hazel eyes. Like a predator hunting its prey. 

You place your arms around his neck, back where they belong, “and if I do? Will you punish me, officer?” 

His warm breath fans over your lips and you're shaking to your core with anticipation, “I don't know, maybe I will.” 

Then he puts an end to all your antagonizing conversations that are distracting you from more important matters by bringing you in for another eager kiss. You take all of him in, the stubborn grip he has on your face, the teeth clashing when he shifts your positions, the low moan he releases when you pull on his hair — you take everything he gives you with eagerness and hunger. You could swallow him up whole right now if you could. 

When he pulls away to take a breath and you're confronted by his disheveled face once more, you realize that there are a lot of things you're going to do to him tonight. You realize that it’s going to be a good while before either of you goes to sleep.

[trypoed]

I'm just thinking.

Hoffman’s path as Jigsaw's apprentice began with revenge, with the desire to inflict suffering on the one who had caused him pain. And his path ended with revenge as well. His final act of vengeance was not only against Jill personally, but also against John. It was as if he was trying to make John suffer by taking the life of someone John cared about.

It doesn’t matter that John was already dead. It doesn’t matter that killing Seth Baxter wouldn’t have brought Angie back.

Revenge is blind.

"Fix me, motherfucker," Amanda cried to John. Nothing changed for her.

"Fix me, motherfucker" - this is precisely what Hoffman could have snarled in fury and despair, feeling betrayed, if John were still alive. Hoffman was hurt all over again, and the only way he knew how to cope with his pain was by inflicting it on others in revenge. For him, too, nothing had changed.

Both Amanda and Hoffman were ultimately defeated because John didn’t fix people. He broke them further. And they were both undone not by John’s hand, but by the consequences of his designs.

And I am curious about how John would have reacted to what happened to Jill. Would he have been as lenient with Hoffman as he was with Seth Baxter? “Everyone deserves a chance,” he shouted directly into Hoffman’s face, speaking about the man who had so unfairly and cruelly taken the only person he held dear from him. “You didn’t see the blood! You didn’t see what he fucking did to her!” and John showed no trace of understanding or sympathy in response. But what would he have said if he had seen Jill’s blood? If he had witnessed what Hoffman had done to her? Would he have given Hoffman the proverbial chance? I’m not sure.

[onomatopoetic101999]

Strangers Like Me

Adam Warlock x reader

WC: 3,225

Warnings: lotttssss of kissing. Tons.

Inspired by "Strangers Like Me" by Phil Collins

________________

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Adam Warlock loved to learn.

 It was something he counted as a great blessing, finding out so many things he would never have known if he had stayed with the Sovereign. He had felt, even when only a few days old, that there was something better out there, and the Guardians had helped him find it. In the six months since his premature birth, Adam had learned so much, both about himself and the galaxies he now called home. 

He found out a new dislike or preference he had everyday, but one thing that he had learned early on was that he liked having you around. You were incredibly kind. You went out of your way to ensure he understood what happened around him, you never answered his questions with anything other than patience, and more than once you had fiercely defended him against those who attempted to take advantage of his ignorance. 

The things he experienced were just… better when you were the one helping him with them. Every time he learned something new, his first thought would be what your opinion on it was. He wanted you to show him everything you knew, wanted to do everything you did and learn why you did it. He rejoiced in every chance he got to find out something new about you and felt a need to always be somewhere in your vicinity.

You had stood out to him from the first moment he saw you. You had felt different than every other friend he had made so far, and he hadn't met anyone like you since. You had this serenity about you that drew him in, and your effortless beauty reminded him of the stars. He had quickly decided after meeting you that your name, while pretty, didn't encompass how amazing you were. 

He had called you "Starlight" once in passing, and had stuck with it ever since.

This desire, this longing, was so new to him. He didn't understand; why did he have this need to be around you constantly? You made him feel things he had never felt before. His need to be close to you reached new heights every day, and the day the Guardians visited Terra for the first time was no different.

 While it was nice to see Peter Quill again, learning about where you came from was the only thing Adam could focus on. To see what you first called home was magnificent. Adam wanted to know anything and everything you were willing to tell him about where you grew up, and as you gave him a tour of your childhood home, he was struck by two things. 

The first was how beautiful everything on Terra seemed to be. It only made sense, he supposed, that someone as beautiful as you would come from somewhere as beautiful as this. The second, and slightly more puzzling thing was how at home he felt, despite being on a planet he had never visited before. This he solved by simply remembering who he was with. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling he would feel at home anywhere as long as you were there.

After you showed him everything you could think of, Adam decided it was his turn to show you his "world" - what he considered his first home.

It wasn't hard to convince you to allow him to take you somewhere you had never been, and Adam's heart swelled at your trust in him. When you had fully prepared yourself to go somewhere without oxygen, you turned to look at him expectantly. He had originally planned to drive one of their smaller ships to where he wanted to take you, but that urge to be close to you rose up again. 

He scooped you up into his arms instead, and shot up towards the atmosphere, holding you close with one arm under your legs and the other around your back. At first he was worried you would be mad at him, but you responded exactly the way he wanted you to: by wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and hiding your face against his shoulder.

Adam hadn't even known it was possible for him to shiver, but when he felt your body shake against his as you let out a surprised and exhilarated laugh, he relished in the tremors it causes.

He didn't know what you were expecting as he flew you both towards the first place he had felt peace. It wasn't Sovereign, but he had a feeling that wouldn't surprise you. He waited with baited breath to see your reaction after whispering to you that you had reached your destination.

If you were surprised, you didn't show it. All Adam saw as he watched you take in the mesmerizing stars, planets, and moons he had brought you to see was pure, unadulterated awe. It seemed as if it was all you could do just to whisper, "it's beautiful." Adam murmured his agreement, though his eyes never once left your face.

He wondered if you felt the things he was feeling, what he always felt when he was around you. He wasn't sure how to ask; he didn't even know if he should. For a reason he couldn't explain, the thought of confessing his feelings to you made him nervous.

Still, being honest with you had never hurt him before. He had to at least try. When he landed back onto Knowhere soil, he turned to you, having built his courage on the journey back. 

While he had sucked in a breath to start, to attempt to find some way to express himself to you, the air left his lungs the second you turned to look at him. He had chosen to carry you before because it brought you closer to him, but the sheer lack of distance between your faces hadn't hit him until your still awe-filled eyes had come to rest on his golden ones.

 Suddenly, talking was a complete impossibility. Adam was positive you had never looked so radiant, hair tousled from your recently removed helmet and breathing still heavy from the adrenaline of flight. Adam was also positive that if he opened his mouth to speak, something horribly embarrassing would come out.

Luckily, knowingly or not, you saved him from the mortification of speech. You leaned forward to rest your forehead against his, and when Adam noticed the small smirk your mouth made when he gasped at the contact, he found himself unable to look away. 

As quickly as you had stolen his ability to breathe, the sight of your lips completely consumed Adam's thoughts. He tilted his head ever so slightly, and when you leaned back to look up at him, he started to lean forward. He couldn't explain why, but as his gaze roamed your face, briefly meeting your eyes before returning to your mouth, all he could suddenly think about was wanting to…. Wanting to….

You caught on immediately, and raised a gentle hand to rest against his lips, stopping him. At his frustrated huff and furrowed eyebrows, your enticing mouth lifted again at the corners as you ducked down to meet his eyes.

"Adam, are you sure? Do you even know what you're trying to-"

"Starlight, please," his words are muffled against your fingertips, and he watched as the feel of his mouth moving against them visibly flustered you. "I can't explain why but I want… I need to know." He didn't know how to articulate what exactly he needed, but he didn't have to.

When you hesitantly lowered your hand and nodded, Adam wasted no more time, surging forward to press his lips against yours. It was a clumsy kiss at first, but as you slid your hands into his hair to guide him, a single thought, word, feeling seeped deep into his bones. Right. This felt right. More right than anything he had felt in his life.

The longing he had experienced since he met you seemed to finally release him with a sigh of relief, giving way to complete contentment. He smiled against your lips and pulled you closer, delighted by the gasp you gave him in response.

He didn't know how long you let him hold you, pressing kiss after kiss against your lips, trying to figure out exactly what he had to do to hear that little gasp again. It didn't matter. It hadn't been long enough to satisfy him. 

He had wanted to pout when you finally pulled away, but the sight of your dazed eyes and parted, panting lips made up for the loss of what had immediately become the best thing he had ever experienced in his life. He mirrored your earlier action, resting his head against yours and closing his eyes.

"Thank you," his breaths were coming out in short puffs, but he found he didn't mind being out of breath if it was because of this. Because of you. He felt your forehead move against his as you shook your head, letting out a breathless chuckle in response to his gratitude.

"You are… unfairly good at that. You've never done that before?"

Adam shook his head no and smiled cheekily at how airy your voice was.

"Does that mean you'll let me do it some more?" He beamed when you nodded again and pulled you in for more kisses just as fast as the first time. 

When you broke away for a second time, Adam decided he still needed more, wondering what other sounds you would give him if he kept going. He tilted his head to kiss down your jaw and along your throat, and he rejoiced when he was rewarded with more gasps and sighs. You tugged involuntarily at his golden hair when he mouthed at one of your collar bones, and he hummed against your skin in response.

He had memorized the way to his apartment in Knowhere long ago and thanked his previous self for bringing you back so close to it. He carried you through his front door, shutting it behind him with a light kick before settling on his couch. When he realized he couldn't kiss everywhere he wanted to, he decided you needed to be closer and, lifting you up easily, shifted you to straddle his thighs. 

Your breathing had been getting steadily shallower, and at the feeling of his hands grasping at your hips to pull you closer, you couldn't handle any more. You grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him up to look at you, fighting hard to catch your breath. 

"You can't…. You gotta give a girl a break sometimes. I'm gonna pass out at the rate you're going." Adam just shook his head and leaned in again, unable to resist pressing another kiss to your lips before speaking. His hands slid up from their place on your hips to wrap around to the small of your back as he muttered an apology against your mouth.

"I'm sorry, Starlight, I can't help it," he nudged your chin up with his nose so he could kiss along the soft skin underneath your jaw. "Why haven't we done this before? Why aren't people kissing all the time?"

You breathed out a quiet laugh before explaining.

"Well, it's kind of intimate, you know?" You paused to gasp as he ran his nose down your pulse to mouth at the place where your neck met your shoulder. He smiled when you shivered in response to his encouraging hum to continue.

"It's usually only for between folks with romantic feelings or-" 

Adam stopped abruptly to raise his head and look at you, and he could tell it was taking a lot of your effort to not pull him back to you. If he hadn't been so curious, he would have been left dumbstruck again by your swollen lips and lidded, kiss drunk eyes, but he pressed forward, too interested in the words you had used. 

"'romantic'... I don't recognize that word…"

You shook your head to get out of your daze, trying to get your brain to function enough to explain the concept to Adam.

He didn't know why, but he felt strangely proud that he was the one that had so thoroughly distracted you. Your beautiful mind was muddled because of him. His kisses on your neck as you sat on his lap and his hands touched you- what was happening to him?

He ignored his increasingly possessive thoughts, trying to pay attention as you attempted to find the right words to use.

"It means you want to spend all your time with someone, I guess, but more than just in the way a friend would. You think about them all the time, you find them nice to look at, you want to protect them from things," you paused to check with him, "is this making sense?" 

Adam was nodding before you had finished the question. That was the feeling that had been plaguing him! He tilted his head to the side and watched you for a moment. He knew you were probably expecting more kisses, and while he already felt as iff he was going through withdrawal, he had a question he needed answering first. 

"How do you tell someone about those feelings?" At that you shrugged, fighting to keep your focus while Adam gently ran his hands up and down your back. 

"It depends. If the feelings are small then you should say something like,'I like you'," Adam immediately knew that didn't fit, "if it's all encompassing and groundbreaking, then you would say, 'I love you.'" Ah. That sounded right.

Adam mulled over his next move as he leaned in to plant light kisses on your cheeks and nose in thanks. His heart swelled at your giggle, and he made a decision. Love. Yes.

He leaned back again and did exactly as instructed.

"I love you."

His confession causes you to blink before giving him a sad smile, one Adam immediately wants to replace with something real. 

"No, Adam, just because you like kissing me doesn't mean you-"

"I love you!" He interrupted you to say it again, this time more insistent. At your unconvinced face, his continues, listing every way his feelings for you fit your criteria.

"I have felt a… a pull towards you since I first saw you, and it gets stronger every day," you opened your mouth to argue, but Adam wouldn't have it.

"I want to be close to you all of the time, I can never stop thinking about you, you're the most beautiful thing I have ever had the gift of looking at and I would rather die than see you hurt," he cupped your face in his hands and met your eyes steadily. His tone made no room for argument.

"I love you."

"Adam…" While you still looked skeptical, he could tell his words getting through to you. He tried to go for another tactic. 

"Do you know why I didn't fly us to Sovereign when I told you I was going to show you my world?" When you shake your head no, he continues, "it's because being in space, surrounded by the beauty and tranquility, was the only place I felt at home… until I met you. Now, when I think of home," his golden eyes glow with admiration, begging you to believe what he's telling you, "when I think of home, Starlight, all I see is you. I love you." 

He could tell you were almost convinced, and you tilted your head to the side, eyes roaming his face. Adam figured you were probably trying to gauge if he fully understood the gravity of what he was confessing; you were always careful to only let him commit to something important if he was able to articulate its significance.

His little Starlight wouldn't let him rush into something he didn't understand. The last thing you wanted was to take advantage of him. He loved that about you. He watched you watch him for a while, trying to figure out what to do to prove his understanding, more than willing to indulge your protectiveness.

When he finally landed on a solution, he stood quickly with you still in his arms. Now that he had gotten a taste of you this close to him, he didn't know if he'd ever let you walk again. 

Your surprised squeak was adorable, but it was the heady feeling of your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands gripping your thighs that he made a mental note to revisit later. What kind of sounds would you make if he pressed you up again his door? What about the wall...?

Adam shook his head to refocus himself. You would let him do all of that, he was sure of it, if he was only able to convince you that he loved you.

He walked with purpose through his apartment, past his small kitchen, straight into his bedroom. When he sat on the edge of the bed, he made sure you were comfortably seated on him before reaching past you to grab something he had been keeping on his bedside table for months.

He handed it over to you and watched you as you analyzed it, turning it around in your hands. It was a picture frame, and in it was a photo of you, smiling at whoever was behind the camera. You looked as if you were mid laugh, and the kaleidoscope of stars behind you gave you an almost ethereal glow.

Adam tapped a single golden finger against the frame, keeping his eyes on your face. "I have been keeping this by my bed ever since Drax told us about Ovette," you eyes snapped up to his at that, and he continued, "he had said he wished he had kept some kind of photo of her so he could see her face before he fell asleep and after he woke up. He said he wished he had looked at her, really looked at her, for longer, so that her face wouldn't be forgotten as easily." 

He took the photo back gently and returned it to its rightful place on his nightstand before he turned to look back at you.

"When he was talking about how much he missed her, all I could think about was how devastated I would be if I never saw you again. If I forgot what you looked like. I didn't know what to call it, but even back then, I knew if there was someone who I would spend the rest of my life with, it was you." 

Adam reached out and grabbed your hands, placing a kiss against each palm before resting with them in your lap. At first he was alarmed when he saw tears in your eyes, but then he noticed you were smiling, and continued, feeling his own eyes starting to well up too.

"I didn't say it just because I like kissing you, although I can already tell I could do that forever and love every second," you laughed and a tear escaped. Adam brushed it away with a brush of his thumb. "I'm saying it because from the moment I met you, I have longed to know you, where you came from, everything I could, just so I could talk to you better.

I'm saying it because you have become the one place I feel I truly belong." He ran his hands up your arms and shoulders to sink into your hair, bringing you close enough to nuzzle his nose against yours.

"I'm saying it because I have felt it, for months, and now I finally, finally have the words I need to express it. Starlight, with my entire body and soul, I. Love. You."

Adam loved to learn, and today he learned that his favorite sound in the whole universe was hearing his darling Starlight say, "I love you too."

[ajcrawly]

NOW COMPLETE!

Because I am of unsound mind, I've skimmed through HtN through the satirical and wildly unreliable eyes of our friend Augustine. Please find within:

Fifth House snobbery re the Third House and its efforts

Intense, codependent and psychologically unhealthy relationships with not one! not two! but (at least) three denizens of the Mithraeum

Just astonishing amounts of ennui

A simply unnecessary number of footnotes that add to neither plot nor characterisation but do vastly add to my enjoyment

In summation: pls <3

[skellagirl]

Hello everyone from the Potion Permit twitter!!!! Here's some more silly doodles of my beloved pathetic loser man 🥰

Also read my super self-indulgent Matheo/Chemist enemies-to-lovers fic??? 🥺

(descriptions in alt text)

[starstruckodysseys]

bustin’ makes me feel good! —

complete, 20.8k words

dave’s video world isn’t truly going out of business — not because people are miraculously getting back into physical media, or because they mysteriously uncovered tons of funding, or anything like that.

it’s just that it’s really a front for a ghost hunting business. that’s all.

read here on ao3

[satans-helper]

Back From the Dead

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x (F) Reader

Word Count: ~6700

Warnings: lots of angst & tears (Sam really is my token boy for that lmao sorry to my Sam girls <3); some sexual content (PIV--18+)

Another post-concert Sam fic. Hope you enjoy <3

---

Countless photos and videos of the boy who broke your heart, the boy who you loved so much it made you sick, continued to assault you day after day, month after month. You couldn’t help but become transfixed despite how it made your chest ache so deeply–Sam in shimmering cream, backlit by pillars of orange flame. Sam in glittering crimson, dripping jewels. Each photo and video captured that natural charm, that honed magnetism, all of that slick seduction that had won you over so long ago, and you were left feeling whiplashed with each scroll.

When the end came, your friends all told you that you were better off without him. They tried to raise you back up, tried to paint you as the victor despite you feeling like you’d lost the most precious thing in your life. You’d tried to rally along with their support but you never really felt it, not for one second. And as the months dragged on, your quiet heartache and gray despondency became old. Your friends didn’t want to hear about it anymore, not for one more second. You couldn’t blame them. You were sick of your own thoughts that tormented you–no matter what you did with your days, Sam was at the forefront of your mind, always. 

Not even sleep was much of an escape. You dreamed about him frequently, in situations that were nonsensical sometimes, but sometimes in situations where he’d come back to you. Sometimes the dreams erased the breakup entirely and there you two were, together like nothing had ever happened. Then you’d wake up covered in sweat and chilled with grief, your heart once again like a dead-weight in your rib cage.

Summer was here, but instead of feeling excited for beach days, boat rides, barbeques and all the weekend trips that had been tacked onto your calendar, you just felt the same old familiar grief and desperation. You were so exhausted from the pain that came from that horrible breakup that had come out of nowhere, a pain that should have left you long ago. 

Of course, despite the clear blue skies and beaming sunshine as you drove to meet your friends–yet another gathering that wouldn’t distract you–your thoughts found Sam and that final day with him. You never thought you’d beg any man for anything but when he’d dropped the bomb, you’d begged him not to, to take it all back, to just stay, to work it out. Because you loved him too much and truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. And you’d said all of that–you’d laid your heart out on the line, vomited your love, adoration and commitment up, but it hadn’t mattered. Sam said it was over, so it was. 

What made it so much worse was that you couldn’t even talk to him. You’d given up quickly–he’d made it clear that friendship was not part of the breakup package. For a little while, you’d held onto hope that he would reach out and at least mend that. But he never did, and it was another hard thing to accept. But what was harder was how everyone else in the world got to see him and experience him every night and it didn’t take long before you found yourself scrolling through apps just to see his digital beauty in the palm of your hands since you couldn’t have the real thing anymore.

The evening at the beach with your friends moved slowly. You tried, as always, to smile, to laugh, to match everyone else’s energy. But the cold drink in your hand only reminded you of how much you missed Sam’s warm hand holding yours; the blazing sunset, brilliant and beautiful reflected in the lake, only made you think of the flames that reflected in Sam’s dark eyes each night. The sand beneath your bare legs and feet only made you want the sensation of his silky skin against your own, and when you brought a cigarette to your lips, you knew you could still feel the long-lost ghost of one of his kisses. You’d never feel that again, you reminded yourself for the millionth time, and it almost made you cry right there.

But you managed to save your tears for the drive back home. They swelled into big droplets that rolled down your cheeks in the dark and you wiped them away continually, rubbing at your eyes too so the road would stop being a blur. Dejected and lonely, you dragged yourself back inside your home that always felt so empty without Sam’s scattered messes, even without his smell. 

The only one that you still managed to keep in touch with, though infrequently, was Josh. Bless his heart, and bless it even more because when you kicked off your shoes, dropped your back and checked your phone again while standing idle in the hallway, you had a text from him waiting for you.

Hey baby doll, what’s shaking? Sorry it’s been so long since we’ve talked. I was thinking about you tonight!

For the first time all night, a real smile curved along your lips. You started to type as you meandered over to the couch, sinking down just as you hit send.

Josh! I miss you <3 Did you guys have a show tonight?

Ironically, it was only when you got to talk to Josh that you ever felt relief. He was not only your one remaining link to Sam, but he was also just so pure of heart and kind–such a gem that you couldn’t not feel comforted whenever you two reconnected. Josh was your last thread to a whole world that you missed dearly and he was a true friend even if you wished you could talk to him more. 

Not even a full minute passed before your phone began to ring with Josh’s name and contact photo illuminating the screen. You took the call quickly and eagerly, settling back into the couch, your whole body feeling so much more alive than it had in ages.

“You know I’m not big on texting,” was the first thing he said when you picked up, a smile evident in his tone. 

“I’d much rather hear your voice,” you told him, smiling too. “I was thinking about you tonight too. Well–all of you.” You sighed, though Josh being on the other line kept the smile on your face. “As always.”

Josh said he missed you too. He launched into a whole recap of how much he and the boys had been writing and jamming, working on new songs, in addition to the touring that you were well aware of thanks to your incessant internet upkeep. You could visualize so much of it–you had garnered a fairly intimate knowledge of the boys’ creative process through dating Sam, plus you had seen them play numerous shows in the flesh. One thing you’d always loved about Sam was how he always found what you did and what you loved just as fascinating as you found his life.

Your life felt even less fascinating since Sam left it, but as you told Josh all of your most recent updates, he followed along with so much intrigue that you began to feel as though maybe things weren’t as boring as you once thought. Despite the constant heartbreak, you’d been pushing forward, carrying on doing things you love in addition to the regular grind. Even though you’d felt so broken, Josh affirming everything you’d done and were going to do made you feel whole again, if only temporarily. 

But then, just when you thought you were in the clear of even bringing him up, you blurted, “I still miss him so much, Josh.”

Josh let out a soft sigh on the other end. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve never been able to understand why he didn’t think it’d work. To me–to the rest of us–it always looked like it was working.”

“I thought so too,” you said, lying back flat along the length of your couch. You were vividly remembering some of Sam’s final words to you: “I’m not unhappy. I know you’re not unhappy. But eventually, we will be.” It had made you more angry than hurt the moment he’d said it–what a cop out. It had been way, way too late in the relationship for him to suddenly become noncommittal or to pull out a random excuse of fear. A preemptive breakup with no reasonable cause in sight, as far as you could tell. Fame wasn’t enough of a reason for you. It never was, it never would be. Eventually, you began to realize that Sam maybe–probably, if you were being honest with yourself–just never loved you all that much.

But as you conversed with Josh, his next statement gave you a light of hope that you wanted to dash away before you ran with it in futility: “Honestly, Y/N…I think Sam misses you too.”

You shot up into a sitting position, feet flat on the floor. “Why do you say that?”

There was such a long pause that you thought Josh had hung up. Then, slowly and softly, he said, “Well, for one, he hasn’t really been with anyone else since. Not that I know of anyway, and it’s not like there’s an abundance of privacy while we’re touring, anyway.”

“Okay…” you said, also slowly, the wheels of your brain already turning.

“He’s been bringing you up lately. Just like, in normal conversation…it’s like he openly reminisces about you. He didn’t do that before.”

You frowned. “Oh.”

“I also saw him looking at pictures of you, and of you and him together, recently. I don’t think he deleted any of them.” 

Your frown twisted into a confused purse of your lips, your brow tightening along with it–the statement, though encouraging, was so stark that it made you flinch. 

“I don’t–” You began, then shook your head. “Why won’t he just talk to me?”

“I wish I had an answer for you, love. But I do know, as you do too, that Sam is incredibly, ridiculously stubborn.” Josh clicked his tongue. “I think that his feelings for you are not totally gone. Personally, I never thought they were.”

-

Instagram alerted you to yet another end of the band’s tour. Well, a break–they’d all be off again soon and you were once again left to eventually play catch up with Josh, whenever that would be. You sighed as you paused on a photo of Sam. You gave yourself permission to look for another second, then just one more, before you locked your phone. It was time to move on, not only with your day but with everything. Sam wasn’t coming back to you. 

But then, when Sunday came around and when you were simply trying to focus on some back-to-basics self-care, Josh called.

“Hey, listen, mama,” he began, sounding a little on edge, which instantly put you on edge in turn. “I was sworn to secrecy but I just can’t keep it in. You deserve a heads up so you can figure out what exactly you want to do.”

“Josh,” you said, pausing your words as you began to peel away the Korean face mask from your cheeks. “What the heck are you talking about?”

“Sam’s coming to see you. Today. He flew in last night.”

A terrible, overwhelming wave of emotions swept over you. You didn’t know what to do with your hands–the used up face mask was stuck to one of them, your fingers clinging to it, with the bathroom trash can feeling so far away. The entire room surrounding you suddenly felt too small though, like the walls were closing in on you, and your heart began to beat frantically as the blood rushed into your ears.

When actual words entered your personal stratosphere again, you were tempted to ask if it was a joke. But Josh wouldn’t joke about this. Never. So you asked, “He was serious? How do you know?”

“Because he told me. He told all of us. He got on a plane, Y/N. He wants it to be a surprise and I just–” Josh let out an exhausted-sounding sigh. “I just don’t know what’s going through his head. I mean, do you want this?”

For the first time, you weren’t sure. 

But it didn’t matter–Sam showed up, just like Josh said he was planning to, just a few hours later. 

Nauseating panic made it hard to move right after the doorbell rang. You remained standing, totally frozen, right outside the door until it rang again and then, without having a coherent thought to drive your actions, you opened it.

No picture or video could ever compare to the real thing–you already knew that, but finally seeing Sam again in the flesh after so long was so uncanny and surreal that you wobbled back on your heels, so physically and mentally unstable. Josh may have warned you about Sam’s incoming presence, but there was nothing that could have warned you of the feelings his presence evoked–anxiety and confusion were at the forefront, so much anxiety that your vision blurred for a moment as you met Sam’s gaze, but also softer things. Adoration was there–that same adoration you’d felt throughout all of your time with Sam. Once upon a time, you’d looked at him like he was the sun, stars and moon combined. You just adored him that much.

“Hey,” Sam said, the first one to speak after what seemed like an eon of silence to you. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, long legs flexing slightly but visibly in just a pair of shorts. He inhaled deeply and his chest and shoulders rose and fell beneath the cream button-down shirt that you didn’t recognize. It looked like it could have been a thrift find, but you bet it wasn’t. 

“Hi,” you finally said, your own voice sounding strange to your ears. You left it at that, though there were so many other things another person might say–what are you doing here? Being the most reasonable one, and a question you were wholly justified in asking. But you didn’t.

“It’s been a long time,” Sam replied, and instead of the impossibly self-assured rock god you saw online every day, he looked sheepish. Trepidation wafted from his energy like a perfume, like he himself wasn’t even sure what he was doing on your doorstep.

You took a deep breath through your nose, trying to center yourself, and got a whiff of what Sam actually smelled like–amber and patchouli. A little bit of smoke. “Yeah,” you agreed. “It really has.”

Despite all the emotions that were gearing up, it took absolutely no convincing for you to let Sam inside. It was like muscle memory to open the door for him and to step aside, to follow behind and watch the subtle movements of his traps, shoulders and thighs as he made his way into your home. But now, he moved more slowly and his head turned from side to side, looking around as if to see what had changed. Not much had, you realized, apart from his own missing pieces. 

You needed a drink; Sam probably did too. So you both sat there on the couch, the ceiling fan above circling, sending drift after drift of his scent to you, and slowly sipped from beers you only ever started buying because of him. Awkward, tormenting silence ensued for far too long before you finally asked the necessary question of, “Why are you here?”

Sam looked at you, then looked down at the can in his hand. He brought it to his lips, tilted his head back and chugged the rest. After he wiped his mouth with the hem of his sleeve, he answered with, “I miss you, Y/N. I made a mistake.”

Your jaw dropped–then, quickly you realized you didn’t want to be so vulnerable again. Sam didn’t deserve to see you surprised. He didn’t deserve to see any emotion at all. You looked away, to the blank space of the wall above your TV–once upon a time, there were pictures of the two of you, and of you and all the boys, hung up there. 

“Oh,” you said, taking another drink. The beer tasted extra bitter on your tongue, and you felt your own bitterness, all the hard feelings that had been locked away inside your heart for so long, begin to seep out. “You seemed so sure of your decision before. I don’t see why anything would have changed.”

“At the time, I didn’t think we’d make it. We barely made it through that first tour together. Don’t you remember?” Sam asked, stuck in your peripheral vision.

You thought back to that time a couple years ago. Sure, it’d been hard–you couldn’t be with Sam as much as you’d wanted, but you were never the clingy girlfriend. You never made him feel guilty about any of it. Yet you’d come to learn that he felt guilty anyway, which led to resentment, all of which could have been avoided if Sam just learned to communicate better. But you never made him feel guilty for that either.

“You barely made it through,” you corrected, turning to face him again. His beauty struck you again like a slap in the face, making you falter silently–just a few weeks ago, you would have done anything to kiss those soft, plush lips. Has anything really changed for you?

“I know,” Sam said, one of the few times he’d ever admitted any kind of fault. “It was stupid. I should have trusted what we had.”

You looked away again, blinking as you felt a surge of rage and deep pain in your chest that was threatening to make you cry. How many times could you cry over one person? You were so drained. Then you felt Sam’s hand on your knee but refused to look down at the touch, though the sensation sent a shiver up your spine and a whirlpool of desire in your belly. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said, his voice soft, but too sad. You didn’t think he deserved to feel sad. 

You shoved his hand away and shrank back against the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest. “What did you think would happen here?” you demanded, the threat of tears in your eyes traded for blazing anger that you hoped was cutting through Sam’s soul. “You don’t talk to me for all this time–you didn’t even want to be friends, Sam!” Your voice was rising like the tidal wave all your heartache felt like. “You toss me aside like trash then just decide to come back when, what? When you’re desperate? Because you finally feel real guilt, not just your bullshit self-pity?”

Sam’s mouth gaped in shock, just staring at you. You stared back until he stood up, shaking his head. “You’re right,” he said. “This was wrong. Another mistake.” 

But as he began to head out, steps trailing a line right for the front door, you knew you couldn’t bear to see him walk out again. 

You shot up to your feet and grabbed his arm–you pulled him back with more force than intended, making him stumble back against you with a surprised grunt. He actually looked scared when you physically turned him around but the anger you felt was drifting away–now you just felt charmed. Despite the changes there, you saw the same boy you fell in love with years ago.

“You ruined everything, you stupid idiot,” you said quietly, no heat in your words. Surprisingly, Sam smiled. He brought his hands to your shoulders and gently rubbed them as if he could massage all the turmoil of the past straight out of you.

It was also like muscle memory to have Sam beneath you as your legs splayed over his hips, knees pressed into your mattress. His hair was fanned out against your pillow as you swept your fingers through the long strands while your other hand kept a determined hold on his face, your thumb aligned with his jaw to keep him in place. 

His hands roamed down your sides, his touch fluid and familiar, his kisses the same, and all the daydreams and real dreams of doing this again flooded your mind, making you question if what was happening was even real. You pulled back to look at him, to assure yourself that he was here, that it was real, and those dark doe eyes looked back into your own, his lashes fluttering as a little smile graced his rosy lips. 

“Did you really miss me?” you asked as you released his jaw and touched your fingers to his mouth, tracing down his chin, his neck.

He nodded, hands squeezing your hips. “Every day.” Then he answered the next question you had: “I felt too embarrassed to go back…to try to undo it.”

You shook your head with a sigh, stroking his hair. “For being so smart, you really are so stupid, Sam.”

“I know.”

You sat back, removing your hands from him entirely. “So…what does this mean? Are you just gonna ditch me when the tour starts up again?”

“That wasn’t my plan. But I don’t expect you to forgive me or get back with me either.” He sat up as much as he could, propping his upper body up on his elbows. “We can stop right now if you want.”

Maybe you’d jumped back into things too soon. Especially without a real declaration and a real commitment to, well, commitment, it seemed way too likely you’d just end up heartbroken again. 

“What do you want?” you asked, still keeping your hands to yourself. 

Sam sat up more and wrapped his arms around your middle. He rested his head against your chest and sighed, but didn’t answer–not with words, anyway. You knew what that hug, what that hold on you, meant. You could remember like it was yesterday the first time Sam hugged you like that.

“I was such a fucking idiot,” Sam said, breaking the silence. He pressed his face into your sternum and groaned. “I am such a fucking idiot. I wanted you to come back to me so bad. Why would I have ever expected you to do that?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, finally wrapping your arms around his shoulders in return. “Why would you expect that?”

One of the many troubles you were now experiencing was how you knew sleeping with Sam right away wouldn’t be fair to yourself. It’d be like rewarding bad behavior, you thought. But you wanted to–that was never an issue. There had never been a moment with him where you hadn’t wanted to do but, more than that, there had also never been a moment where you’d felt even mildly uncomfortable with him. From the beginning, despite his chaotic, fiery and slightly unpredictable nature, you flowed into him easily, like a steady river.

With a sigh, you moved off him and sat up against the headboard. Sam followed, sitting next to you without touching. “You still haven’t told me what you want,” you reminded him as you glanced at your dresser across the room. Inside the top drawer, the photos of you and him and you and the boys that once hung above the TV and all over your fridge were trapped, hidden beneath socks and underwear. 

It was against his nature to not be touching you–you knew it was probably taking a considerable amount of willpower to curb that–so when Sam leaned against your shoulder, you stayed put. 

“I wanna be together again,” he told you, and the words sounded sincere. “I should have never ended things. I never should have stopped talking to you. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

You were inclined to agree, but you kept that thought to yourself. 

“You came back…and came back to me,” you began while Sam leaned more of his weight on you. “But it doesn’t really feel like it.” At that, you felt him shift away, almost not touching again. But not quite–his knee was still just barely pressed into your thigh. 

“Why not?”

You hadn’t completely realized it until you said it, but it felt so painfully true as the words came out of you: “I feel like I don’t really know you anymore, Sam. The last time we spoke, you were telling me it was over. You were dumping me for–for what? I still don’t get it. Maybe I never will. All it seemed like to me was that you just didn’t love me. Like you never did.” You turned your head, not even wanting to see a glimpse of him. “I’ve had to try and swallow that epiphany all this time. And all this time, not only did I feel like you never loved me, but you never spoke a single word to me to try and correct that.”

Silence returned, heavy and confounding, for a long minute, maybe even two. Then Sam said, “Fuck.” You physically felt more than you actually watched him get off the bed, but you looked right at him when he was standing on the other side of it. “You think you don’t know me anymore, Y/N. You don’t love me anymore.”

That wasn’t true, but you weren’t opposed to him thinking that for a little while. Who the hell was Sam to just waltz up to your door out of the blue, to step right back into your home and your life as if he’d never left after all the shit he’d said to you? After he tore your heart right out of your chest, threw it to the ground and stepped on it? He could sit with some heartache himself, you thought, for a little while. You’d had enough for a lifetime.

Still sitting on your bed, you watched him in silence–instead of actually leaving, he stepped over to your desk chair and ran his hands down the cardigan that was lying over the back of it. Like he was waiting for something, because he also knew what he said wasn’t true. 

Your hand found the warmth his body had left behind on the sheets and you definitively, without a shadow of a doubt, knew that you really couldn’t ever let him go again. 

“Don’t go,” you said, standing up and moving to meet him at the chair, standing behind him. You laid one hand over his. “I do love you, Sammy. I never stopped.” Before he could reply, you went on, resting your cheek on his shoulder: “Even though you’re selfish and stupid and infuriating. Even though you don’t deserve it. I can’t help it.” You closed your eyes and rubbed your nose into the fabric of his shirt before you added, “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, turning his hand over so he could lace your fingers together. “I know that.”

Despite craving any words from him for so long, you wanted something else now. You wanted Sam’s skin under your hands, his kisses back on your neck–as you both fumbled to get your clothes off, writhing on the bed, you got those wishes. And now that Sam knew he had you, his kisses were a little softer, a little slower as he straddled you; now that you knew you had him, you felt like you could breathe again. Your fingers danced easily over his skin, from the subtle slope of his shoulders down to his warm chest; he let out a soft little huff when your hands squeezed his sides, then used one to press against his belly, your thumb lingering right at the waistband of his briefs.

“We really can wait, Y/N,” Sam reminded you when you slipped your hand beneath the cotton. “If you think that’d be better.”

“I don’t wanna wait. I’m sick of waiting.” You arched your back, trying to get more of Sam’s weight on top of you. A confession, one that you’d been shamefully keeping all to yourself, rolled out next: “I haven’t been with anyone since you left.”

“No way,” Sam said, sounding both smug and in disbelief. He smiled a little while his own fingers roamed, making their way down between your legs. “Does everything still work correctly?”

His ticklish touch along your inner thigh made you giggle and tremble a bit. “As far as I know.” You looked down, watching his fingers slide down the center of your panties. When Sam didn’t confess on his own, you felt inclined to pry–against your better judgment: “What about you?”

Sam wrapped his free hand around yours, encouraging you to keep touching him–he was as hot and as hard as ever. “Feel for yourself,” he said, making your hand wrap more firmly around his length.

Your cheeks were blazing hot. “Seriously,” you insisted, keeping your hand still. “What about you?”

He planted his hands on your hips. “Just a few. Probably less than you’d expect, honestly.” He leaned down, bringing his face close to yours, his hair hanging down like a curtain. “I realized fairly quickly that no one made me feel like you did and I didn’t want to keep trying.”

“Oh really?” you replied, sounding more haughty and jealous than you’d intended. But Sam always unraveled you so easily, without even trying–it was no different now. You were honestly surprised you hadn’t burst into tears at some point since he’d shown up. 

“Yes, really, Y/N. What do you want me to do to prove how much I missed you? Want me to sing all your accolades and beg for forgiveness?”

You scoffed. “Yes, actually.”

Sam didn’t even look surprised. He smiled and leaned back, his hair falling back over his tanned shoulders, and shimmied down to sit between your thighs instead of on top of you. “Fine. I can do that.” He cocked his head to the side while his fingers tapped your thighs, looking you over. You were already almost naked but his gaze was lingering and penetrating over every part of your body, making you uncomfortable–what did all those other girls look like? Did he try to find ones that looked like you, or the opposite? Did he miss your personal brand of warmth and softness as much as you’d missed his? 

His hands reached out and quickly you were freed from your bra, it being cast aside to fall to the floor, and your underwear too. Your body tensed up instinctively, feeling far too exposed in front of the boy who’d destroyed your heart so easily, but then Sam stood up just long enough to match your nakedness.

He settled back down between your legs, draping his body over yours so he could meet your lips again. The kiss was deep and slow–no tongue, just his impossibly soft, sweet lips on yours while one of his hands cradled the side of your face and the other swept through your hair.

“Don’t get me wrong–I missed this,” Sam told you, pulling back. He looked down as his hands smoothed down your shoulders to gently squeeze your breasts. “But I really just missed being with you. I missed talking with you–you’re always so good at calling me out on my bullshit.” He laughed a little and your heart began to race harder–Sam was always more natural and skilled with physical action to express his feelings than words. The fact that he was letting his thoughts flow freely from his lips, speaking of love instead of destruction, made you wonder yet again if you were just in a dream. 

“I missed your voice. I missed you singing in the car,” he went on, lowering himself–he began to press kisses to your neck and chest as the rest of the words emptied out of him: “I missed the smell of your perfume on my clothes and your lipstick on my mouth.” You brought your hands to his head, finally feeling like you could move again, and let your fingers glide through his hair. “I missed hearing you laugh, especially when I was the one who made you laugh. All the noise from the crowds every night–” He shook his head with his face pressed against your sternum. “I always wanted to somehow hear your voice in all of that. I kept wondering if you’d surprise me by showing up at one night. But that was very selfish, wishful thinking.” 

He looked up into your eyes. “This is just the first step. But if you keep going with me, I swear that I’ll never let you go again.”

You let that declaration hang in the air for a moment before you asked, “Really, Sam?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “Yes, Y/N. I won’t go anywhere unless you want me to.”

Traitorously, the tears returned. They swelled big and hot in your eyes and you turned your head away, bringing one hand up to try and wipe them away as if Sam might not notice, which was impossible. You felt his whole body stiffen, like he didn’t know what to do–you didn’t either. But then, a second later, his arms were around your shoulders, holding you up against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, just letting you cry.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Sam said softly. 

“I just wish you’d never left in the first place,” you said, the words strangled with the attempt to suffocate your sobs. 

“Me too, baby. Me fucking too.”

All the times you’d cried since he left, you’d just wished Sam was still the one to hold you. Now you had just that–shocking and destabilizing, he was really there, and when the tears wouldn’t stop, you became desperate just for some relief from the ocean of emotion that you needed to break free from.

“Please say something funny,” you pleaded, sniffing, embarrassed that your tears were soaking his hair and his skin now.

Sam laughed. “Okay. Hmm…the last time we played Houston, I got so drunk after the show that I went to the wrong hotel room. I kept trying my key card in the door, wondering why the fuck it wasn’t opening, and eventually after me making such a racket out there, the person staying in the room opened the door.” He pet your hair and your shoulder blades and you found your tears slowing, your chest feeling more open. “And instead of just like, recognizing it wasn’t my room, I started arguing with them because I was so wasted I still really thought it was my room.”

That little story did make you laugh–the crying was traded for giggles, then louder, open-mouthed laughs. “God, Sam. What’s wrong with you?” you asked, hugging him tighter.

“So much. But you already knew that.”

Your laughter was contagious for Sam; all the laughter turned into silly, giggly kisses and then, when your skin was warm from love and not fear and your heart felt whole for the first time in a long time, Sam was all over you once more.

“Jesus, you feel so fucking good,” he panted with his mouth pressed just below your ear. His breath and saliva had made your skin and hair there wet–you didn’t care. You were both sweaty already, with Sam thrusting even and deep inside of you, his hips pounding against yours, and your hands all over him to keep him as close as possible. 

He felt amazing too. Not just the way he was fucking you–or really, as cheesy as it sounded in your head, making love to you–but his entire body. His whole essence. From his hair to his chiseled cheeks, the slightly scratchy beard, his warm chest with the fast-beating heart beneath and all of the silken, golden skin on yours, his beautiful body back in your arms, Sam was amazing. 

One particularly dense thrust against your tight walls made you gasp and dig your nails into his back. Sam groaned and sank his teeth into your neck, growling, “Fuck yeah, baby. Mark me up. I’m all yours.”

The sharpness of his teeth was brief–he resumed soft kisses to your neck then your mouth, capturing your moans and signs with his lips and tongue. You’d been on your back with your eyes closed moaning and sighing about him countless times since he’d left, but could never capture even a fraction of the real thing in those fantasies. When you would come, his name would crescendo from your throat like another sob, and when you’d open your eyes, you found yourself more alone than ever.

This time, when you came, his name didn’t sound like a desperate, aching plea–it sounded light and free even to your own ears, and when Sam kissed you right after the sound echoed through your bedroom, you could feel his smile on your lips. 

You hooked your fingers in his hair and held him against you while the movement of his hips actually slowed instead of sped up. Confused, you opened your eyes and turned your head to break away from his lips, to look at him instead. 

Flush-faced with his eyes bright, Sam smiled again and brought his hand to the crown of your head, his thumb stroking your forehead, his fingers curling into your hair. “That’s good,” he said, voice as soft as the summer breeze whisking through your open windows. “I wanted to look at you too.”

“I can’t believe I really am,” you said a little breathlessly, the last few aftershocks of your orgasm rippling through you. “After all this time.”

Sam smiled and worked up to his previous pace, never taking his eyes off yours; when he let out a huff and bit his lip, you pulled him down to do that yourself–your lips captured his in fierce kisses that you hoped wordlessly translated into “you’re mine forever,” your hands gripped his body like you’d never let go, and you squeezed yourself around his cock to make him whimper, then whimper your name in return as the muscles in his thighs fluttered and he let his whole weight drop on top of you.

Thankfully, he really didn’t weigh all that much. You hugged him, the two of you just breathing together, recovering from the confusion and madness and anguish to, as you now knew, steadily blossom together like the backyard garden you’d tended to in his absence. There was so much to catch up on, you thought while you stroked his hair and he stroked your skin, and so much to look forward to. 

Later, when the sun had almost completely dipped behind the trees and the stars were beginning to sparkle overhead, the two of you sat in the backyard, hands clasped together.

“How long are you going to be back home for?” you asked. That question had never bothered you before the breakup but now, you felt a little edginess as you asked it. You were now sure Sam meant everything that he said, that you two were as solid as ever, but simply knowing he’d be on the road again for however long after he’d finally come back to you made your heart feel heavy. 

“Tour starts up again in a month,” he told you, catching your gaze in the last little lingering bit of the warm sunset. “I was hoping I’d be here until then.” He brought his hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “If you still want that.”

A month. It wasn’t enough, because nothing with Sam was ever enough, but you silently vowed to yourself to make every second of it count more than it ever had before.

“I want infinity with you, Sam,” you told him, unable to help the smile that broke out on your face as he smiled with a lot of glee and just a little of that familiar smugness. “Always have, always will.” 

---

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[oftenlyshitposting]

a wolf, a warrior, and a hotspring | wolfwren fic

"meet me here again tomorrow. at noon."

sabine finds that slumber has been kinder to her. she awoke to the hazy peridean early sun, to the smell of cookings just outside of the fulcrum. the noti people must have been up for sometime now. with the scent of food entering the ship, that means ahsoka is, too.

oh, right. she hasn't told ahsoka.

sabine rises from her bunk with a soft grunt, already fabricating a plan to sneak out of camp. she glances at the clock she and huyang constructed; the time is indicating closer towards midday. sabine leans out of her bunk to search for ahsoka and huyang, not finding either at the common table or the practice floor. the door to the cockpit was also open, showing vacant seats. they're outside then, sabine concluded.

without wasting anymore time, sabine tiptoes to the refresher for a quick wash and to get dressed. her fingers were crossed that ahsoka stays occupied until she could sneak out, but luck betrayed her. by the time sabine got out of the refresher, ahsoka was at the common table, plating some bowls that looked like breakfast and a jug of what sabine assumes as the tea she usually drinks.

"morning," ahsoka calls, her tone sounding suspiciously humoured, "had a good sleep?"

sabine scratches her hair, avoiding eyes with ahsoka. "uh, yeah. slept alright."

"that's good."

sabine nods, quickly making her way to her bunk to pack up her blasters and to put on her beskar. her periphery catches ahsoka's eyes on her, but she tries her best to ignore her master. plan A of quietly sneaking out failed, so sabine decides to just play it coolly and find the right time to sneak out again. she casually walks to grab a cup from the storage, pouring herself the tea.

"what's all this?" sabine nods at the bowls and plates at the table, sipping her tea to calm her nerves.

ahsoka pushes a bowl at sabine's direction, "late breakfast. the noti found native fruits and berries, you should try some," and made a gesture sabine interprets as an instruction for her to sit and eat.

sabine shrugs. "alright." she began scooping the bowl; it consists of some kind of mushy grain-like porridge with various haphazardly chopped fruits. the texture initially puts her off, but the taste wasn't so bad. it reminded her of some kind of pudding. "hey, where's huyang?"

"he's outside. last i saw, he was helping a noti folk fix up their little pod," ahsoka replies easily, munching on a crunchier chopped fruit. sabine hums in response, mouth a little full. ahsoka then looks at sabine inquisitively as she asks, "where'd you run off yesterday? you were gone for a really long time."

"uh, i went out to hunt?" sabine cringes internally, not intending her answer to sound unconvincing, which she follows up with, "no luck, though. no game, or stuff. but, i did find a hotspring."

"did you?"

"yep."

ahsoka's brow quirked, and sabine can't really tell what her master is thinking. "you found someone, though. didn't you?"

well, shoot. sabine doesn't really know how to deny that question, so she decides to dance around the whole truth, "yeah. baylan's blonde padawan. i ran into her at the spring. surprisingly, she didn't try to kill me."

"i can see that," ahsoka chuckled. "did something happen?" when sabine tilts her head questioningly, ahsoka adds, "i felt something shifted, in the force."

double shoot. guess plan B of sneaking out and postponing the conversation failed too. sabine sighs. "i guess so...? i... i don't know. i can feel her, and she can feel me. through the force."

"that's not uncommon. you've finally tapped into the force, making your presence known within it and to anyone who can access the force." ahsoka gestures between them, explaining further, "like how i can sense you, and you can sense me."

ahsoka's explanation makes sense. though, sabine can't help but think that there's more to the connection between her and shin. she knows that ahsoka and her have a bond, as master to padawan. it doesn't quite make sense to her as to why she would share a connection with shin; the kind of bond that they have.

thinking about their bond might have subconsciously triggers it in sabine's mind, as she finds herself reaching for shin within the force. she sees shin, on the other end of their connection, hunting with a group of the red-armoured bandits. sabine can feel shin sensing her presence in their connection.

shin pauses atop her howler, turning her head to the side where sabine is sitting inside the fulcrum. sabine's breath choked in her throat when she hears shin's voice... inside her mind?

'you missed me already?'

sabine wants to scream out loud; shin sounded unbearably cocky, like she was teasing her. and the fact that shin's voice filled her whole mind like an echo in a chamber doesn't help her clear her mind. even in an odd psychic link, shin can be infuriating.

'you wish,' sabine replied in her mind, trying to put up a convincing annoyed act. 'this happened out of my control, okay?'

shin lets out a noise that sounded like a chuckle. 'you are a lousy liar, if you did not know already.' when sabine was about to protest her, shin interrupts, 'as much as i enjoy to watch you try to lie your way out, i am in the middle of hunting. you, are a distraction.'

sabine rolled her eyes, disconnecting herself from the freaky little mind connection thing. she almost choked on her tea when she finds ahsoka looking at her with such a knowing look. sabine finds it oddly infuriating and similar to shin. she hid her face behind her cup, shooting an unamused glare back.

"what?"

ahsoka smiles, and sabine has a bad feeling about it. "you were with her just know, weren't you?"

sabine chokes, "i- what are you–?" she sputters with flushing cheeks. she then manages, "how did you...?"

"well, you went quiet for a while," ahsoka points out the obvious with a smile, sipping her tea, "and i felt the presence of someone else briefly. someone you ran into rather frequently, on top of that."

"that's great," sabine grumbles. "so, the cost of using the force is no privacy for my mind, got it." perhaps she should learn the whole force mind-shield trick, if it's possible to learn it this early.

ahsoka laughs. "relax. i wasn't in your mind, ever." she then makes a move to stand, placing a hand on sabine's shoulder as she says, "i only felt something in the force, and i put two and two together."

sabine pouts, but didn't say anything to that. she opts to finish her bowl of food quickly, knowing ahsoka is going to prepare her for more training. when she finished eating, she quickly cleans the table and brought the dishes to get it cleaned.

ahsoka was preparing the practice floor by the time sabine finishes cleaning up, presumably for meditation training. not exactly sabine's most favourite part of training, but she really doesn't have much to say as a padawan. perhaps ahsoka might teach her how to not let other people look into her brain, that would be neat.

it was a few hours later when ahsoka concurred sabine's training for the day. her master had thrown in a little zatochi session post meditation, testing if her senses are more honed in than the first time sabine did it. to ahsoka's pleasure, sabine did improve when it comes to sensing ahsoka's intents. didn't entirely surprise ahsoka that sabine still falls victim to getting frustrated easily, resulting in ahsoka tripping her again.

"going to meet her again?" ahsoka called out as sabine was packing up a bag, smiling teasingly as she leans against the backrest of the common table.

sabine rolled her eyes. "oh, ha-ha."

"sabine, relax, it doesn't bother me what you do in your spare time." her togrutan master laughs, amused at sabine's defensiveness. ahsoka reaches over to a storage compartment, taking out the large fur coat that she doesn't wear, handing it to sabine. "take this. give it to her."

"what? why?" sabine frowns, looking down at the coat. she recalls that shin has her own cape thing that she wore to the hotspring yesterday.

ahsoka steps closer, her expression a little serious. "it's better used with her than it stays here, gathering dust. and sabine?" when sabine raised her brows expectantly, ahsoka continues, "ask her if she'd like to stay with us."

sabine eyes widened, unexpecting ahsoka's request. "wh– what do you mean 'stay with us'? why?"

"her master's abandoned her. she's alone."

"not as alone as you might think," sabine scoffs, petulant. "she's running with the bandits."

ahsoka shoots her a look, unimpressed. "you know that is not what i meant." she sighs patiently. "you can feel her, more than i do. you know what she feels, her emotions and her thoughts."

"yeah, i guess so..."

"and you of all people, knows best what it's like when your master walks away from you."

and there it is, the final strike home. sabine groans, "y'know, i hate it when you're right about things."

ahsoka laughs, deep and low in her torso. she pats sabine's shoulder and gave it an assuring squeeze. "i'm not always, and you know this. just try, sabine. she just needs someone at the moment."

"you think that someone is me?" sabine raises her brow, uncertain and expectant. ahsoka doesn't answer immediately, and sabine nods somewhat understandingly.

"you saw how she reacted when i offered my help the first time," ahsoka recounts to their last battle, where shin had looked so defeated and fled her and sabine. "i didn't believe she was ready then. but, like most things in life, we sometimes just needs to give it a little bit of time. i think she is more ready now, and with the right person," she nods at sabine, who pursed her lips in a tight-lipped smile, "she may accept our help."

sabine sighed, long and drawn. "alright, fine." the mandalorian grabs the fur coat, stuffing it in her bag. she huffs as she saddles the bag, walking towards the landing ramp. "i'll try to talk to her, but i can't promise anything. and if she kills me, you're responsible for murley!"

ahsoka merely laughs amusedly. "go!"

sabine waves at her master, before disappearing towards her howler and hops onto it's saddled back. her companion animal instantly takes off on it's strong legs, racing towards where it took her yesterday. sabine was tempted to search for shin again in their bond, but restrains herself and hopes that the blonde padawan will be there anyway.

her howler's speed began to decrease as the path to the hotspring becomes familiar to sabine's eyes. she scouts the surrounding, naturally out of instinct, for any bandits or nuisance that she'd have to fight off. the mandalorian sighs in relief when she saw nothing, and more importantly, sensed nothing dangerous in the force.

sabine hops off from her howler, keeping a gentle guiding hand on it's neck as they walk closer towards the spring. she finds a patch of thicker grass and softly commands 'tota' at her howler, unloading her bag and the sack of food for her howler. she scratches it's snout with a smile as it munches on the food sabine brought, whinying joyfully.

"you actually made it here again."

shin's voice filled sabine's surrounding and mind, and sabine wasn't even remotely surprised. she had sensed her arrival a few moments ago. and before she can say anything smart, shin had stolen the moment from her. sabine huffs amusedly.

"aw, were you expecting me to bail?" sabine teases with a smirk, turning from her howler to find shin. the blonde padawan is atop her white howler, head held high as always, and a ghost of a smirk on her lips. something felt a little off, though.

shin barely huffs out a laugh, sounding more like a restricted exhale. sabine watches closely; shin's arm is circled around her waist. like she's holding something in. sabine frowns, strutting closer towards shin, her skin breaking in sweat and her lips looking a little paler.

sabine then feels it; a pounding pain across her abdomen, the same area shin is clutching onto.

shin's tunic is leaking in red, sabine only now realises.

"shin!" sabine frantically approaches shin, wincing as she feels shin's pain on her body. the blonde padawan tries to get down from her howler, but could barely hold herself together. sabine commands the white howler 'tota' so she can help shin come down easier. "y-you're bleeding. what happened?"

shin grunts, pushing herself off of her howler. "i... we ran into a different group of bandits." her face contorts in pain as sabine lays her down on the ground, arm still clutching her bleeding abdomen. "they were not friendly." shin attempted at a joke, sabine assumes, but it came out as a whisper.

"i need you to remove your clothes." sabine hadn't realised what she blurted out, only registering what she said half a moment later, when shin looked at her with an incredulous and amused look. she tries composing herself as she says, "i brought a medkit, i'll wrap you up."

shin doesn't say anything, only nodding. sabine takes the sign to scramble back to her howler, grabbing her bag and searches for the medkit. she hopes it's sufficient enough to dress shin's wound, because if it's more serious, she'd need to take her to the fulcrum's medbay. that's about two dozens klicks from here, and sabine isn't sure shin can hold off that long of a journey back.

sabine returns to shin, laid on her back with the top part of tunic undressed. with it, reveals shin's wounded stomach. the injury is caked with a layer of crusted blood, mostly browned from oxidation, but still slightly leaking. sabine winces as she gauges the depth of shin's injury, but it's hard to conclude with the amount of blood covering the wound.

"i'm gonna start cleaning it up, okay?" sabine warns shin as she prepared a disinfecting kit, in which shin merely nodded weakly in response to. "it's gonna be a bit painful, so tell me if it's too much."

"do it," shin grunts, preparing herself. when the disinfectant grazes her injured skin, shin barked out a long and painful groan. sabine winces when shin grabs her arm, seemingly out of painful instinct. shin's body writhes as sabine continues wiping the bloodied wound, head thrown back whilst her eyes shut tightly in an agonizing manner. her eyes bolted open in a frenzy as she growled out, "fuck!"

sabine whispers calming phrases that she can remember in mando'a, working quickly and precisely on shin's injury. once cleaned, sabine can finally measure the depth of the gash on shin's stomach, and deduces it isn't as deep as she thought. it definitely requires stitching, and with limited kit, sabine had to resort to the quick-stitcher.

shin had gone quieter, huffing barely audible grunts. watching shin this awfully pale and unusually languid terrified sabine; she's always used to viewing shin as this indestructible force, that she's forgotten shin too, can bleed. her chest rises and falls in an arrhythmic pattern, lips pale and eyes sunken in.

"hey. shin?" sabine gently touches her shoulder, and shin sluggishly moves her head to face her. she smiles, tight-lipped and half apologetic. "i'm gonna stitch you up quickly, yeah?"

"alright." shin nods weakly, dropping her head back to the side again, facing away from sabine.

sabine sanitizes the quick-stitcher, a stapler-like device, and applies a topical numbing gel around the gash. shin hisses at the contact, but exhales softly afterwards. sabine works her way quickly, stitching shin's wound closed. the numbing gel works, sabine can tell from the way shin merely jumps at the first few stitches but didn't groan in pain.

when the last stitch was applied, sabine applies healing ointments before she props shin up to a raised position as she quickly wraps shin's wound with a sterile gauze neatly. sabine reaches to a boulder nearby through the force, placing it behind shin so the blonde padawan can lean her back against it to support her body.

"okay," sabine said in a relieved half-whisper, haphazardly storing her equipments back to the medkit box, "there. you're all good."

shin was quiet for a bit, huffing a long drawn-out breath. her eyes slowly opens, and sabine can guess she's slightly disoriented and hazy. shin's hand raised to hold her neatly bandaged torso, still partially naked as her tunic hangs open on her shoulder.

"this was not how i expected the day to go." shin winces as she tries sitting more upright, making a move to redo her tunic. the tone of her voice is indecipherable, but if sabine dared to guess, she sounds somewhat embarrassed of herself.

sabine's lips quirk to a half smile, sitting properly. "yeah, well. i don't think anyone ever really plans to get ambushed by a group of rogue bandits, huh?"

shin rolls her eyes weakly. "you are really not as funny as you think, did you know that?"

"you have a really funny way of saying thanks, did y'know that?" sabine returns with a cock of her brow. that earned her a faint disgusted look from shin, making her snort. she nudges shin, teasing but careful not to hurt the wound. "i did, just save you from bleeding out."

"you are infuriatingly confusing," shin sighs, leaning her head back against the rock behind her, but smiling at sabine nonetheless, "but i appreciate your help. you worked quick enough that it was not torturous for me."

this time, sabine rolled her eyes at shin's dry joke. "ha-ha. maybe i should have, if you wanted me to hurt you that much."

shin doesn't say anything, her faint smile shifts a little more somberly as her lidded eyes stays fixated on sabine's. the mandalorian sinks into shin's darkened greenish-blue eyes, couldn't tear her eyes away even if she wants to. not like she wants to, anyway. shin's pupils are slightly blown, but her gaze is strong. it reminded sabine when she stared at her at the shuttle ship, descending from morgan's golden hyperspace donut.

"what is in your head?" shin mutters with her usual tilt of her head, voice slightly scratched and accent heavy on her tongue. her evergrowing pale fringes are sticking to her forehead, edges poking her lids. sabine couldn't stop herself from brushing them away gently with the pads of her fingers.

sabine smiles. "aren't you usually in it? 'soka told me everyone can hop into my brain now, because i can access the force."

shin had this ghost of an unimpressed look on her face that sabine finds mildly hilarious. "just because we are intertwined in the force, doesn't mean i know what you are always thinking. your mind is always... a forest. a colourful and loud forest."

sabine typically doesn't blush this easily, but the things shin says or do makes it really hard for her to contain her flustered reactions. she had to actively fight her blush down so she wouldn't turn half as red as her hair when she was twenty six.

"uh, thanks?" sabine manages lamely, losing any remaining ounces of eloquency. when shin had this barely readable expression on her face, something that sabine tries to decipher as amusement, she tries to shift topic, "anyways. i was about to hop in for a relaxing dip before i had to stop you from spilling your whole guts out, literally."

shin rolled her eyes at sabine's joke, earning a satisfied smirk from the mandalorian. she then tries to get up, which immediately sprung sabine to help. "a soak in the hotspring does sound nice."

sabine tries to sit shin back down. "whoa, hey. what do you think you're doing?"

"going for a dip."

"uh, not with a big ass gash on your stomach, you won't?"

"you dressed it already." shin stubbornly retorted.

sabine groans, exasperated. "yeah, and it'll undress if you go for a soak, di'kut."

shin's brows dipped, contorting in a mild confusion and surprise. "what?"

"your bandage. it's gonna get ruined–"

"no, i know that," shin quickly interrupted sabine, inching closer in an unlikely speed towards the mandalorian's space, ultimately sending sabine backward out of reflex. shin's eyes narrowed. "you said something earlier. in an alien language."

"ali– huh?" sabine face contorts in confusion, before things began to click in her mind. "what, di'kut?" she repeated the word at shin, who nods in confirmation. sabine snorts. "that's a mando'a word. it means 'idiot'. because you were."

shin's brow furrowed, and sabine swears her bottom lip quirked up to a pouty frown. "i am not an idiot."

sabine shoots shin an unimpressed look, which the blonde padawan returns with an empty glare. "you literally wanted to soak in a hotspring after someone tore your whole stomach open."

"didn't you dress my wound with a waterproof gauze? it should keep dry for a few hours."

"i-" sabine tries to argue, but shin did have a point. the mandalorian sighed. even if she had better argument points, shin most likely would have ignored sabine and do as she wishes anyway. "alright, fine. but, if your bandage undressed and your wound reopens, you best believe i'll make it hurt when i have to restitch it."

shin quirked her brows in a manner sabine interprets as impressed. the blonde padawan smirks wolfishly. "is that a threat?"

sabine wants to wipe that infuriatingly attractive smirk on shin's face so badly. the mandalorian leans closer towards shin, closing the already small space between them, her eyes darting towards shin's now vanishing smirk. sabine's eyes finds shin's stellar blue eyes as she tilts the blonde padawan by her chin.

"it can be a promise."

sabine swears, for a miniscule split of seconds, shin's pupils dilated and she can hear the soft hitch of her breath; like it was caught in her throat.

shin huffs, amused. "i'll be waiting for it then."

sabine scoffs, but shin had ignored her. shin unclasps her armour and stacking them neatly beside her rock, struggling to lean forward to strip away the lower part of her clothes and armour. shin had kicked off her boots, and is now left with her tight fitting black tank and her matching underwear.

"are you gonna keep staring at me?"

shin's voice snaps sabine out of her blatant staring, turning away with the speed of light to hide her blush. to stop herself from thinking about shin undressing in front of her, sabine immediately began taking off her beskar, one plate at a time.

sabine heard shin rustling behind her, attempting to stand and walk on her own. she had to turn, and saw shin wobbling unsteadily on her feet, but after a few steps, she regained a somewhat more stable stride. when shin finally got into the water, sabine had just finished stripping out of her jumpsuit. she left her beskar pieces neatly next to shin's own armour.

the hotspring feels a lot warmer than yesterday, but it isn't like the heat is intolerable. shin had sat herself down closer towards the deeper parts, the clear water stopping just at her collarbones. her eyes are closed as she dips her head back into the water, and comes back up swiftly. she wipes away water and stray hair clinging to her face, and sighed.

"the water just fine for you?" sabine asks as she dives headfirst, feeling the warmth prickling her cold cheeks. she resurface with a gasp, brushing purple locks away from her face and swims towards shin.

shin hums, eyes still closed. sabine couldn't help but watch shin's throat bobs up and down, and nearly drowned herself after catching herself doing it. shin's voice is soft when she spoke: "the springwater feels nice. i find this place to be a sanctuary in the midst of this wasteland of a planet."

sabine swims closer, stopping herself only a few inches away from shin. "yeah?"

shin nodded, finally peeling her eyes open. her gaze finds sabine's, and sabine began to wonder why are shin's eyes so captivating that she couldn't look away even if she tries. her aquamarine eyes began to roam sabine's face, dancing all over to find whatever it is shin is trying to find, before settling on her lower lip for a few seconds.

sabine feels shin reaching out to her, spread out in thr force. she reached towards shin, trying to meet her in the middle. her eyes almost rolled shut when she finds shin within the force, feeling an intense wave of warmth washing over her whole body.

shin is pulling her closer.

sabine hadn't even realised that she was physically padding towards shin's body until she opens her eyes and finds herself in between shin's legs. her face was much too close to shin's face, but shin isn't showing signs of protest. the blonde padawan's skin has regained some colour from sitting in the hotspring that she lost from the injury, and sabine finds herself staring unashamedly at shin's lips.

it's safe to say that shin barely noticed anything from sabine, because she's also much too occupied eyeing sabine's own lips hungrily. their bond in began to pulse and pull each other in as they feel each other and the ever growing tension that seems amplified. shin had already engulfed sabine in the force with her own tendril-like connection, wrapping her in an intense wave of pleasure and warmth.

"shin…" sabine couldn't stop a breathy whine laced underneath as she says the other padawan's name, the sound escaped her lips straight into shin's mind.

shin winces when sabine wraps herself around shin through their bond, and for a fraction of seconds, the mandalorian was worried she might have hurt shin. alas, with the way shin is grabbing onto sabine's hips, sabine can easily concur that it isn't out of pain. shin's skin burns under her touch, and not because of the warmth of the water surrounding them.

sabine hadn't even realised her body was being yanked forward and found herself seated atop of shin, suddenly looking down into a pair of darkened blue-greenish eyes and drowning into her.

shin's eyes flickered from sabine's down to her lips again before coming back up to meet her again. there's raw and hungry need behind those eyes; sabine doesn't even need to look at shin's eyes to know. sabine ran the pad of her thumb against shin's lower lip, almost sighing when her lips nibbled against her thumb.

she can feel shin; everything that shin is feeling.

shin's lips tremble against sabine's thumb, leaving her lips parted expectantly, and sabine is actively fighting the urge to slip her thumb inside. instead, she drags her thumb down to shin's chin, tilting her up even further. a surprised whine escaped shin.

"sabine…"

sabine shuts her eyes again. she reels in the way shin had said her name in the exact same way as she did yesterday; the way it sends chills up her spine and warmth down her abdomen. shin's grip on her hips tightened, threatening to dip lower. sabine couldn't help but smirk when she opens her eyes again, finding a new and much more satisfying look on shin's eyes.

shin is desperate; oozing with so much want.

"tell me," sabine whispered just above shin's lips, pulling back when the blonde padawan chases after her lips; smiling so teasingly as she hovers above, "what do you want, shin? use your words, cyar'ika."

a soft grunt escaped shin's lips, going straight into sabine's mouth, incoherent, but sabine heard it fine. "i need to kiss you."

sabine smiles, satisfied. her hand finds the side of shin's head, fingers gripping her mane of blonde as she dives her lips into shin's hungry ones. she can feel shin instantaneously grabbing her by her ass and pulls her closer into the open mouthed kiss, moaning from her touch straight into shin's throat.

shin is impatient; jagged and hurried, as she devours sabine whole. her teeth found flesh so easily and efortlessly as sabine allows her to nip and bite on her bottom lip. sabine tasted shin's pure, unadulterated raw need and want bleeding into her tongue, gripping into shin's neck and hair like a lifeline.

everything felt explosive; within her, within shin, and the area around them. their bond heightened every single senses in their body and tuning them to each other and everything surrounding them. it's sending sabine to a huge overdrive.

sabine began to wince in a mix of pleasure and pain; everything pricks at her skin but it feels so good at the same time. her fingers slipped further into the back of shin's head, yanking her hard enough to pull shin out of their hungry kiss. shin, much like a hungry animal, instantly chased for skin when they separated from the kiss, her lips and teeth latching onto sabine's pulse.

"shin... it's–" sabine chokes a moan when shin sucks just right on her pulse point, "fuck… shin... we need–" a louder moan escaped her, unsure why, "shin, it's t-too much now… we need to stop… shin!"

sabine's words fell on deaf ears as shin ignores her and kept her mouth busy on her collarbones, hands roaming on her ass like it's the only thing keeping shin alive. sabine wishes she could give in to the pleasure, but the pain is getting unbearable. the hand on shin's neck pushed her down hard enough, eliciting a surprised choked moan from shin.

sabine had to pretend that the noise didn't arouse her so much more than shin already did.

"shin, we need to p-pull away..." sabine hisses sternly through pain and pleasure. when she felt the bond between them pulsing again, she had to fight back another moan. "shin, pull away. right now."

shin regained a little more coherency and restraint at the urgency in sabine's tone, nodding as she began to slowly detach herself from sabine, physically and through the force.

somehow, pulling away from each other has become more painful than when they were engulfed in each other. shin growled carnally while sabine is on the other end, clutching her whole body in her arms because of the pain.

sabine immediately shuts off the bridge between them the same time as shin did, and much like yesterday, they both laid on opposite ends with bated and uneven breaths. shin laid flat on her back against the edges of the spring, whereas sabine was on her stomach and propped on her arms weakly.

"shin," sabine breathlessly called, trying to crawl closer towards shin. she gargled on the water, choking out, "are you okay?"

shin grunts as she rises from the water. "i'm alright." she turns to find sabine beside her. "you do not look or sound as alright."

sabine shush her as she tries dragging her body upwards, flipping over wetly so she's on her back. "shut up. not everyone who just had what felt like force-sex on spice gets to walk away as easily as you do, okay? i think i fried a bunch of my nerves."

"i see you've found your eloquency back."

"fuck you."

shin kinked a brow, amused. "didn't you already?"

sabine shot her a glare, but with the flushed cheeks, it's really not putting much effect. "shin hati, i swear i'll shoot you with my blaster if you keep talking."

sabine swears she saw shin's cheeks and neck flush a faint red, but doesn't think much about it, blaming it on the heat of the hotspring. speaking of necks, sabine starts to feel the dull throb of where shin had latched on her skin, groaning loudly.

"please tell me you didn't leave any marks," sabine moans as she touches the tender spots.

shin eyes sabine's neck, a ghost of her infuriating smirk began to haunt over her lips. guiltlessly, shin says, "there are some red marks all over."

"oh, come on! i bruise easily, shin!"

"you are a lot more adorable than i thought, then."

sabine grumbled loudly, but can't really bring herself to be actually mad at shin. "i really am going to shoot you with my blaster one day."

shin tilts her head back. "i will be waiting on that." she then slowly starts to rise from the water, walking slightly bent forward while clutching her bandaged wound. sabine watches with narrowed eyes as shin struts towards their pile of clothes and armour.

sabine had suspected something, immediately rising from the water to chase shin. shin quirked her brows, expression confused, but her body is shifted away from sabine's eyes as shin fumbles over with her tunic and pants.

sabine crossed arms. "your wound opened, didn't it." when shin ignored her, sabine grabbed her by her hips to look for the injury. and sure enough, the now soaking bandage is seeping with red right where shin's wound is at. "i told you it'll reopen."

shin merely shrugs, putting on her pants and tunic over her wet clothes. she began clasping up her armour pieces, while sabine huffs and puts on her own jumpsuit, skipping her beskar pieces. she takes out the large fur coat in her bag to make room for her beskar, tossing the coat at shin.

"what is this for?" shin asks, puzzled.

sabine zips up her jumpsuit. "put it on. it's almost nightfall and it'll get cold. you're coming back with me to my camp."

shin frowns. "no. i will go back to my own."

"shin, for fuck's sake," sabine groaned, unamused, "your wound is open. you come back to your camp with a gaping wound like that, and i'll have to look for your cold body tomorrow. i doubt the bandit's camp is crawling around with medkits or droids." when shin is unmoving, sabine sighs, speaking softer, "come with me. just for the night. deal?"

shin was quiet for a few beats, before sighing curtly. "fine. just for tonight."

sabine nodded, helping shin get up on her howler. "stay slumped over so your stitches won't get any more loose."

shin nodded quietly, and sabine hops onto her howler, guiding the white howler behind her as they make their way back to the fulcrum and the noti camp. sabine made a couple turns to look back at shin, making sure she didn't fall off her howler, and was relieved each time shin stays slumped over. her white howler is swift, but is gentle with shin.

they made it back to the fulcrum in only a couple of minutes, and sabine quickly got down from her howler to help shin come down from hers. sabine saddles her bag on one shoulder, and props shin on her other shoulder as they walk into the fulcrum's landing ramp.

"huyang!!" sabine yells into the fulcrum and drops her bag haphazardly. "is the med droid online?"

huyang appeared from the lightsaber parts storage room, halted in his track as he finds an awkwardly standing sabine with shin on her shoulder, looking at him expectantly and impatiently.

"i believe it's rebooting. i'll go and check it."

sabine mutters a small 'thanks' as she drags shin towards the medbay, the sliding door hissing open and the whiff of sanitary disinfectant hits both of their nostrils. shin wrinkles her nose, disagreeing with the scent, but made no comments.

"c'mon, let's get you up on the bed."

sabine hurriedly unclasped the fur coat and diligently undoes shin's damp tunic. she turns to the shelf to grab a pair of scissors to rip open shin's bandage, tossing the damp and bloodied gauze away. she snips away at the quick-stitches and threw them. she was preparing a disinfecting wipe when the door slides open and revealed an inquisitive ahsoka.

"sabine?"

"oh, hey, 'soka." sabine nods at her master. she then began to dab the disinfectant wipe on shin's without warning or preparation.

shin instantly growled, "fuck, sabine!!" while yanking on the sleeves of sabine's jumpsuit. the blonde padawan threw her head back in pain, before shooting a rabid glare at sabine as she spits, "a warning would be nice."

sabine rolled her eyes, ignoring shin. "i told you. if your wound reopens, i'll make the restitching hurt. you wanted my promise, didn't you?"

"fuck you." shin barely hissed it out because she had to throw her head back in pain when sabine pressed the wipe on her wound harder, groaning loudly.

"lady wren, the medic droid is online." huyang calls from the doorway, just behind ahsoka. "do you still need it's assistance?"

"no."

shin glares at sabine, borderline murderous. sabine thinks it's familiar to when they first met.

ahsoka steps in, lucky for shin. "let the droid work. sabine? a word."

sabine nods, tossing her wipes away. she sneers at shin. "you're lucky tonight, shin." she skids over to let the medic droid in to the medbay, grabbing huyang by his metallic arm, softly whispering, "keep an eye on her, will you?"

huyang nods, and sabine left shin with the droids in the medbay as she struts towards the common table with ahsoka sat on it. sabine pours two cups of tea, and slides the other cup at ahsoka while she sips on her own cup.

sabine was the first to ask. "what's up?"

"did you fight her?" ahsoka nods at the medbay.

"no, i found her like that. said she ran into a different kind of bandits and someone nearly gutted her." sabine sets down her cup, crossing her arm forward. "i patched her up, but the stitches were loose. had to bring her here, else she'd spill her whole intenstines out."

ahsoka nods, slow and processing. she sighs, and sabine isn't quite sure what that meant. "do you trust her, sabine?"

"shin?" sabine's brow quirked, chuckling. "she's harmless as a loth kitten. a bit feral, but a kitten, nonetheless."

"did she come with willingly?" ahsoka shifts to face sabine, curious.

sabine shrugs. "only for the night. i don't know about next, but that's a problem for tomorrow." the mandalorian stretches her arms up high, feeling her muscles tightening in coils. "she can have my bunk, i'll sleep at the cockpit."

ahsoka chuckles. "no, you won't. stay with her."

"what do you mean stay with her?" sabine had whipped her head at ahsoka in a speed of light.

"no need to pretend like you don't like staying by her side when you're with me, padawan," ahsoka teases sabine, nudging her shoulder as she heads towards the medbay. her togrutan master had an amused look in her eyes that sabine does not like, and it doesn't help stopping herself from getting flustered. "i'm gonna have a sit down talk with her for a bit."

the medbay door closes, and sabine groans. there's really no arguing with ahsoka at this point, so sabine heads to the bunks to clear out her bunk. she shuts the door to the bunks to change from her jumpsuit to a more casual, loose fitting sleepwear clothes. subconsciously, she draws another pair of light shaded sleepwear clothes for their guest.

sabine gets out of the bunks to grab her bag and unpack her beskar pieces and stores them properly. she scatters her armguards and blasters on the common table, inspecting and polishing her weapons.

she reloaded her blasters with new rounds, and was in the middle of inspecting her armguards when the medbay door hissed open, producing ahsoka and a topless shin, with neatly stitched stomach.

sabine had to forcibly peel her eyes off of shin, and catches ahsoka telling shin, "rest for the night. we can discuss more in the morning."

shin doesn't say much, only nodding at ahsoka. sabine watches as her master gently pats shin's shoulder in a similar gesture as ahsoka always does to sabine. ahsoka heads towards the cockpit and shutting the door, leaving the two padawans in an awkward silence in the common table. huyang had left elsewhere, probably going to low power mode after rebooting the medic droid.

sabine looks at shin, who was already staring at her. the mandalorian leaves her weapons on the common table, grabbing shin by her hands to drag them towards the bunks and shutting the door behind. shin stood like a lost puppy, half naked, so sabine hands her the pair of sleep clothes.

"put these on," sabine instructed, kinking her brows, "what happened to your tunic?"

shin puts on the loose sleeveless shirt, struggling slightly due to the fresh stitches. sabine tries not to think of how adorable shin is with dishevelled hair. "your droid took it to get it cleaned. he insisted."

sabine laughs. "ah, yeah. that's huyang for you."

shin looks around curiously, holding her pauldrons. "where should i put my armour?"

"just put it on the storage compartment over there." sabine yawned, stretching her back. "you go ahead and sleep on my bunk. i'm gonna take the spare."

"and your master?"

"ahsoka? she seems content with sleeping in the cockpit. i don't blame her. she purrs in her sleep."

shin had an incredulous look on her face, but didn't comment on it. she sighs as she strips off her pants to switch into the matching sleep pants sabine gave her, before tucking into sabine's bunk. sabine watches curiously as shin squeezes far into the wall, leaving space beside her, turning to look at sabine expectantly.

"there's more than enough space here."

"what, you want me to sleep with you?"

shin shot her a look. "do not pretend like you weren't considering it. i can still feel your thoughts."

sabine tries to argue, but purses her lips anyway. she huffs, taming down the blush rising on her chest. "fine, alright. stop peeping into my brain."

shin shuffles as sabine lays down beside her, a faint smirk curling up her lips. "i am not. besides, there isn't much to look into anyway."

sabine wanted to say something snarky back at shin, but watching shin with her dishevelled hair and face much too close than sabine expected, she couldn't stop herself from letting her gaze drop to shin's lips. without thinking, sabine caught shin's lips in hers, smirking in satisfaction when shin made a noise akin to a soft mewl. it was swiftly replaced with shin kissing her back hungrily in rushed little pecks.

"eager, aren't we?" sabine mutters in half-whispers against shin's lips, pulling back teasingly when she frustratedly tries to chase sabine's lips. she supressed a moan when one of shin's hands grips at her hip, rewarding the blonde padawan with another kiss and tugs at her now reddening lower lip.

shin doesn't reply verbally, opting to slot one of her thighs between sabine's, humming in satisfaction when the mandalorian instinctively bucked her hips against her. when she spoke again, her voice is husked and low, "you were saying?"

sabine sighed, finding shin's hungry gaze again.

oh, this is definitely going to be a long night.

[strawberriesinmoominvalley]

After Max saves Arthur from their abusive pack and never returns, Charles and Lando escape with the goal of finding them. But when they are only reunited with Arthur, it becomes clear that Max has been caught within the abusive pack once more. There is an obvious solution to this: destroy the pack once and for all.

Charles can’t afford to lose anyone else he loves. Lando doesn’t know how to trust alphas. Alex wants his and George’s second chance to work. George wants everyone to be safe. Oscar doesn’t know how to cope with the responsibility he’s been forced into. No one knows how to deal with the loss of Max; everyone wants Max back.

Long story short, this is easier said than done.

[endwersed]

striking out, chapter one of six - a sterek college au

Theo is Derek's new teammate on the college baseball team. Theo is also Stiles' piece of shit boyfriend.

“What did Theo do to win you over?” Derek presses. “Grand gesture at the big football game?” “He stopped shoving me in lockers for a year and asked me out for curly fries.” Stiles shrugs a casual shoulder at the distressed look Derek shoots him. “I really like curly fries.” “Right,” Derek says slowly. “I’m – starting to think bully might have been the right word, actually.” “It’s not as after school special as it sounds,” Stiles assures him. “I was a huge nerd. A lot of the sports guys liked shoving me into lockers in middle school. He’s just the only one that got the hots for me once I started to grow my hair out.” “Very romantic,” Derek says drily. “I’m sure Hallmark will be reaching out for the story rights in no time.”

[giurochedadomani]

“Mmm— That’s nice”, Shanks whispers in Mihawk’s ear, encouraging as the swordsman finds a rhythm grinding against him. Hands slowly tracing his legs settle loosely around the other’s waist. He thinks about the duel, and about their knives, and wonders why not knowing how to do a thing is such an unmatched horror for the other. “How did it go down?”, he asks, adding a quiet “your little dream” when Mihawk frowns. 

The swordsman opens his mouth, and for a moment Shanks thinks that he’s going to actually share details— that he’s going to get him to dirty talk, the serious bastard— but then he huffs, hands freezing on Shanks’ shoulders. Well, then. 

It’s the thing with Mihawk, this whole— putting himself in a position that invites Shanks to step in, but never actually telling him when and how to do so, and then getting mad, as if Shanks is supposed to magically know. Not for the first time he wonders if it’s some sort of test, if the other wants to make sure that he’s a worthy companion, and although he usually likes the challenge, it’s the root cause more often than not of his headaches. 

Shanks kisses his cheek to avoid Mihawk noticing the bit of frustration growing on him, and then continues down the other’s neck, leisurely, focusing on a point over his collarbone that makes him hiss, and then whimper when Shanks starts sucking on it. Trying to picture Mihawk’s reaction if he does leave a hickey, automatically he makes a mental note to pay attention to which places would be best (more visible) to leave one, taking in account Mihawk’s open coat. 

Their encounter on the beach comes to his thoughts, and he licks his hand and sneaks it between them, giggling when Mihawk’s indignant squeak (that judgy look that says nasty) breaks into a moan when he wraps it around their cocks. 

“Shanks”, Mihawk warns, curving against him as he loses the remnants of his composure in the face of Shanks’ relentless attack. Little whines pull out of him against his will. With his face flush, eyes closed, as he grinds against Shanks’ grip on them, he’s the hottest sight the captain has ever laid his eyes upon. 

“Come on, sweetheart, tell me. You can tell me”, he insists, attacking as well the other side of Mihawk’s neck, his hands a vice grip around the other’s back. 

“Shanks”, the swordsman warns again, a bit more desperate. He wonders whether he’s about to make him come then and there, heart beating excitedly at the prospect. “I— Nnnn— You were— You used— your tongue on me”. 

Oh?

[maximura]

[sluttyhenley]

Phoenix isn’t even sure when she made the decision, but she knows it deep in her bones. She’s going to do this. It’s terrifying and it’s going to throw a terrible wrench in her career plans. It doesn’t make sense, but she wants this.

put a hold on my heart a rooster/phoenix story by @sluttyhenley

[osamusriceballs]

The Accident - Part XVIII

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW!!

Words: ~ 4,9 k

About: Finally! Pure smut, barely plot. Can be skipped if you're uncomfortable with that. The longest part so far xD

Part I II -> Final Part

Your relationship with Atsumu has been thriving.

You came to appreciate that he is actually a very reliable and vivid texter and how you both regularly went on dates- something that he insisted on, and you definitely couldn't complain about that. You know that he has a tight schedule, but that apparently doesn't stop him from inviting you over every single weekend, without exceptions, always making sure that Saturday night belongs to the two of you. Often, you would go to Onigiri Miya's to eat, much to Osamu's delight. He always insists that you don't have to pay, yet you still often place a crumpled 10 bucks note in the tip jar to keep the guilt at bay.

You both have developed a routine of eating out together and then watching a movie at Atsumu's place. He's told you a lot about his work, sometimes complaining about other players, but he seems really confident in his skills, with the start of the Olympics getting closer and closer every single day, which he is anticipating quite a lot.

You'd tell him about your work too, tell him about the things that you like, that you enjoy to read, confessing with reddened cheeks that you sometimes read rather unconventional stories, to which his smug grin had intensified, and he seemed very interested in getting details of that, which you denied at first, but then promised him to send him recommendations. You had also told him how Yachi and you met and how you got to know Hinata and Kageyama. You came to enjoy this caring side of Atsumu, and it feels rather domestic to spend time with him like this, just the two of you talking and having fun.

And more often you'd find yourself in Atsumu's lap after talking for hours, heavily making out with him until you both gasp for air- just like today.

You barely pay any attention to the movie, the sounds only faintly in the background, some action movie that Atsumu found with a good rating and insisted you both watch—and instead, it didn't even take him ten minutes to scoot a bit closer and to gently turn your face towards him to kiss you, deepening the kiss quickly and then pressing your back against the couch. He's now hovering over you, your legs wrapped around his middle and your hands deeply entangled in his hair. You came to notice that he loves when you play with his hair, sometimes even resting his head in your lap just to have you give him a head massage, so you don't hesitate to feel the soft strands in your fingers and scratch his scalp softly.

He groans against your lips when you slightly pull on the strands, and a breathy moan escapes your lips when he grinds his hips against yours. He's hard already. Very much so. You feel his cock pressing against you, just the fabric of his sweats and your panties separating your bodies from each other. Your skirt rode up when Atsumu had forced your legs open to settle in between them, but you don't mind laying under him like this. The tension between you is thick, and you're glad that you're wearing a nice matching set of underwear tonight, even though you're convinced that he couldn't care less about your choice of clothes.

"Gosh, yer driving me crazy." He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, and you swear you could combust at the sight of pure unrestricted lust in his eyes. This is usually what you'd do: make out until you both couldn't take anymore and then fall asleep together while cuddling, without going further. He made it pretty clear that he wants to take this slow and earn your forgiveness for the situation, and while you appreciate his efforts, you'd also appreciate him doing just a bit more with you. "Tsumu—can we... you know... go a bit further?" You ask with bright cheeks, hoping that he's also willing to take that step with you, and he raises a brow in a teasing way, and you almost push him back when you see his sexy smug grin. "Oh? Wifey wants more, huh?" He dips his head, and his lips find your neck, kissing down to your pulse, causing you to release a soft breath while you arch against him, his cock now hardly pressing between your legs. "I would be a bad husband if I deny your wishes."

His kisses get just a bit rougher, his teeth grazing against your skin, and you arch into him when he bites down slightly. "Atsumu—" you try to even out your breath, but you can't seem to calm down when he nibbles on your skin, the feeling almost painfully intimate when he cages you underneath him like this. "We can go a bit further, if ya want to. I could go right here." He shifts his weight and angles his face a bit deeper to press a kiss against your collarbones, leaving a tingling sensation on your skin when he pulls back. "Or right here." His fingers pull down the side of your shirt until you expose even more cleavage to press a sensual kiss at the swell of your breasts. You feel heat rushing through your body, and you softly moan at the action- he's driving you insane.

"How far do you want me to go?" He looks up at you, his eyebrow raised in a silent question while he looks at you. His face is close, so close, you can see his flushed cheeks and widened pupils, and you're certain that you could explode any second when he looks at you like this. "All the way. If you're okay with that?"

You barely manage to finish the sentence before he already starts moving to press your back harder into the couch until you lay flat. A soft gasp leaves your lips, and your eyes widen when he thrusts his hips against yours in the process, the friction so good and welcoming against your sensitive spots. His fingers find the hem of your shirt, and he gently pulls it up until your bra is exposed to his eyes. An almost dangerous glint is in his eyes when his thumbs hook in the cups of your bra and simply pull them down until they rest under your tits and force them to stand up. Your chest heaves heavily, your nipples perky, not only because of the chilly air but definitely because of his undivided attention.

He suddenly brings his thumbs to his lips, one after the other, quickly licking the digits, before his hands cup your tits, his wet thumbs rubbing over your perked nipples, a sensation that has you release a small whimper. His hands start to softly massage your breasts, and you thank all deities for his setter hands, so big and warm and skilled, feeling so good against your bare skin. Your own fingers grab into the cushion below you while you try not to squirm too much—not that you could escape from him now when he's basically straddling you and keeps on playing with your tits.

It feels good—really good, the tingling sensation between your legs growing stronger with each passing second, and you start to wiggle underneath him, your body aching for more of his touch. Atsumu notices the shift in your demeanor and softly pinches your nipples one last time before he moves a bit down, his hands caressing your bare sides while he does so. The way he's treating you makes you almost whine out loud, so soft and tenderly, it's making your head spin. "I love how your skin feels. So soft and warm." He mumbles, his eyes scanning your whole body before he suddenly gets up, just enough to not sit on you anymore. Instead, he kneels between your legs, grabbing your thighs and pushing them apart a bit further to have a good look at your panties. "A matching set?" he asks when his eyes wander back to the bra that still pushes your tits up. "Yes," you nod a bit breathless and flustered, and the way he's taking things so slow makes you feel even more needy for him, while he seems so calm and cool. Probably his year-long experience of keeping his cool every single day when he's playing.

"I like it. But I think these need to go." He nods towards your panties, the sheer material not hiding much actually, but the clear wet stain on them makes the situation even more scandalous. You nod with reddened cheeks, and he places two fingers against the wet stain, caressing and softly rubbing against the spot, while keeping his eyes on your face. "Though, I'm really glad to see that yer enjoyin' this as much as I do." His finger softly presses inside of you, just a little bit with your panties still between you, a shock of electricity rushing though your body when the fabric stretches against your clit, and his finger enters just the tiniest bit inside of you. He stills for a second, watching your reaction for a second, before he brings his other hand to the fabric, hesitating, before he clears his throat before he meets your gaze. "Can I rip 'em?"

You stare at him with wide eyes, unable to form words, understanding that this is something that he wants to do even though he seems slightly embarrassed by it. You're so turned on by the question though that you simply nod, and he brings both of his hands to the fabric and pulls. It takes him two more attempts before the fabric softly rips, his attempt to be gentle and careful to you very clear, and the simple display of his suppressed strength has your pussy clenching around nothing. He scoots slightly back, his eyes focused on your cunt, drinking in the sight of you, while you tremble in anticipation. This is even better than all the fantasies you've had about him so far, all the dirty thoughts about his arms and thighs that made you stick your hands into your panties when you're in need of release. All of that can't compare to what you're feeling right now.

"I'll eat ya out first 'kay? Get ya nice and ready for me." You open your mouth, ready to protest that you're already wet for him and you don't need further prep, and that you just want him to fuck you, but your protest gets stuck in your throat when he settles on his stomach, his arms grabbing your legs and hoisting the above his shoulders. He is on eye-level with your pussy and you suddenly feel so exposed, yet still so safe with him.

"So pretty," he mumbles, and you're not sure if that was even meant for you to hear, and you let out a gasp and a soft choke of his name when he softly licks against your folds. Softly, just testing the waters- and judging by your reaction, his is convinced that he can do more to you. His tongue licks against your folds again, harder this time, putting more pressure on you and you mewl contently. "Just like that, pretty girl. Let me do my thing and enjoy yourself. Part of my husband duties, to keep my wife satisfied."

He kisses against your entrance, resting his lips on yours and letting his tongue peak out just the tiniest to get you a feeling of it, and you clench involuntarily at the feeling of his warm tongue. He licks against your folds again, this time pausing when he reaches your clit, softly closing his lips around it and sucking. "Atsumu-" you gasp with wide eyes, your legs almost caging his head when he sucks a bit rougher. "Shhhhhsh," he hushes you and sucks just a tad bit softer, one of his hands letting go of your leg and moving between your legs too. Your breathing pattern is irregular and you moan when you feel a wave of need rush through your body.

One of his fingers prods against your entrance while he keeps his lips enclosed on your clit and you feel like you're going to explode. It's hot- so, so hot when he softly pushes a digit inside you, his tongue messily licking your clit until your eyes roll back and your back arches off the bed- you can imagine how lewd you look right now. Flushed cheeks, crossed eyes, your tits exposed while you arch your back like you're in heat with Atsumu's head between your legs, licking your cunt while he fingers you open.

It's hot, oh, so hot. The way he's pumping his finger inside of you, slowly adding another one when he feels you easing up for him. The way he's licking up all of your arousal, groaning against you and humping the bed for a bit of friction for himself while he gives you pleasure. The way he's watching you heavy lidded, probably unable to see much of your face, but the occasional glances of your expression are enough for him. He's addicted to your taste, addicted to the way you moan his name, softly at the beginning, but now with more urgency and need, getting louder for him when he increases the pace of his fingers. You didn't know what to do with your hands at first, but now you're gripping his hair and pushing him ever so softly against your pussy, unable to resist the need to get more friction, and he so willingly gives you more. The wet sounds of his fingers pushing into you and the way he's messily eating you out makes you feel like you're in heaven. He could do this for hours, worship your taste and listen to your sweet sounds, but he can feel you clenching repeatedly around his fingers, indicating just how close you are.

"Tsumu- I can't- gonna-" you barely manage to form words, moans and deep breaths hindering you from saying what you want to say, but he simply keeps going at the same pace and you suddenly feel your high overwhelming you.

It's too much. The heat, his face between your legs, the way he's fingering you, the way his tongue is teasing your clit and giving you just the right amount of attention- it takes you like a wave and you feel your muscles tensing and arching against his face while you come. Your mouth is wide open a lewd sounds leave your lips while you feel the delicious sensation rushing through your body. Atsumu doesn't change his position, nor his pace, he simple keeps his ministrations up and licks up your juices until you only whimper softly and your hand falls weakly onto the couch. He kisses your cunt, gentle and caring while he pulls his fingers out, his lips ever so soft while he whispers a praise against your folds, and you feel how you blush at the sudden unexpected sweetness.

Your body finally relaxes and you fall back into the cushions. He slows down his ministrations and looks at his hand with a grin, your slick on them evident. You focus your eyes on him and follow all of his movements when he shortly licks his fingers with a groan before he grabs his shirt, his fingers leaving a mess on the dark fabric before he pulls it over his head and throws it away. You silently ogle him, taking in the sight of him, broad chest heaving heavily, strongly defined shoulders and arms, and the slightest bit of dark hair trailing down to the band of sweatpants. "Ya alright? Wanna go further?" His voice is a bit raspy and his cheeks slightly reddened and it makes your heart beat faster. His hands find your sides and softly caress the skin while he waits for your answer. He's still hard, you can see it through the fabric of his pants, but you're convinced that he would not push you to go further, no matter how painful it is for him. You look at him softly and nod, a small smile on your face when you reach out to him. "Kiss me, please?"

He nods with an approving hum and leans down to kiss you, his weight now settling on your body in a comforting way. Your hands reach for his hair when he kisses you, your body arching up against his when his lips meet yours in a gentle but firm kiss. You allow your hands to wander and to explore his naked body while you return the kiss, your tongue moving against his while you rake your nails softly against his bare back. You can feel a shudder running down his spine and you repeat the motion, only to be rewarded with a little groan against your lips. You let one of your hands roam to his stomach, feeling the muscles clench under your fingers, and hesitantly move further down to the trail of soft hair, waiting for him to either stop you or to encourage you.

Atsumu is quick to raise his hips to allow you to have your way, his hips raising just enough to allow your to move your hand between your bodies. The soft hair on his abdomen tickles the palm of your hand and you let your fingers roam to the hem of his pants, until you feel the bulge. He inhales sharply when you palm him through his pants, his muscles clenching hardly when he finally gets some friction. You softly move your hand, feeling his length, the hardness of him, his balls, heavy and full. He takes a shaky breath, his eyes closing for a second, before he opens them abruptly and leans down to kiss you. His lips are glued to yours, deepening the kiss while he angles his face to push his tongue just a bit rougher against yours. You finally move your hand inside his pants, fingers hesitating for a second at the hem, but then you slide them under the fabric and reach for his cock.

He is big. Big and warm, wet with precum already, and you trace the shape with one of your fingers while your other hand holds his shoulders for support.

You explore his cock, getting a feel of him, how long he is, how he feels against your skin- and you love every single second of it. You softly close your hand around his shaft and start stroking, being rewarded with an airy gasp against your lips. You start jerking him of, moving your hand in a steady rhythm, while making sure that you don't push him too far. "So good," he rasps against your lips and you moan in response, feeling a wave of adrenaline rushing through your body. Your free hand moves to his ass, boldly pulling the fabric down, and clumsily you release his cock after you managed to pull his pants down just enough to have his cock spring free and to poke between your legs.

You only now realize that he is indeed bigger than you thought- just having him pressing himself against your body makes your eyes open widely. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, observing al of your reactions while he waits for you to make a move, effectively showing you that you're in charge. He just hovers above you and looks at you expectantly.

As if you could stop now. Your body is screaming for him, aching for him and you simply spread your legs further and gently grab his cock, lining him up at your entrance without any more words.

His eyes widen, clearly surprised by you taking the initiative this fast, but he nods and seems to brace himself for what you're about to do. You collect some of your slick with the mushroom head of his cock, making sure he is well-lubricated before you line him up once again. Atsumu suddenly takes in a sharp breath and pushes his hips back, just out of reach for you now- much to your confusion. Did you read the signs wrong? What if he doesn't want to-

"Do ya want me to use a condom? I don't mind, ya just hafta tell me and-" he starts and vaguely gestures towards the bedroom, and you look at him wide eyed.

"Tsumu-" you whisper, your heart swelling with affection, tears almost dwelling in your eyes at his honest expression. "I uhm... I'm assuming that you're clean? i don't mind if you... if you don't use a condom. I use contraceptives." You know that your cheeks are bright red while you keep talking, but the moment just feels so painfully intimate, when you're basically asking him to fuck you raw- it almost feels like love. It makes you vulnerable and you have a hard time looking into his eyes, but he is quick to turn your face towards him, his hand gently cupping your chin, while more of his weight suddenly lasts on you.

He looks at you for a moment, not saying anything, simply studying your face before he presses his lips against yours in a longing and gentle kiss. You return the kiss your hands quickly wrapping around his broad shoulders while you move your lips against his. He pulls back, his eyes so soft while he watches you. "Your trust means a lot to me. I'll make sure to keep it forever."

You're too flustered to say anything, your heart heavily pounding in your chest, so you take that as a cue and line his cock up at your entrance, this time angling your hips a bit, until the head of his cock disappears between your folds and stretches you out. "Please-" you gasp for air when you feel him pushing inside. You see how his gaze turns hazy, your own eyes also unable to focus on the sight of him while he pushes deeper and deeper inside of you, until he's finally bottoming out. His breath is shaky, his facial expression looks like a mixture of shock and pure bliss. "Yer- squeezin' me- so good, fuck," his eyes roll back, his muscles clenching hard while he tries to keep his weight as steady as he can.

You're not any better under him. His cock feels so big inside of you, a stretch that you haven't felt for so long, feeling better like anything you've ever had before. You feel tears dwelling in your eyes- from pleasure and from feeling so close to him, so connected like you're meant to be with each other, and he is quick to notice the change in your expression. "What's wrong?" He seems more focused when he leans down to press kisses to your cheeks, your nose, your lips, gentle while he holds you. "N-nothing. It's just- I'm feeling a lot of things right now- please, Tsumu, I- I just like you so much-" your voice is low and soft, and he lifts his face to look at you, his expression so gentle and kind, you're sure that you'll never forget this moment. "I like ya too. Don't wanna live without ya, y/n. Yer precious to me- in a way I don't think anyone has been precious to me." His confesses, and you feel like your heart is skipping a beat.

He's not confessing his love to you- you've only known each other for a few months, with a rather long pause during the incident, it's too early to talk about love. Yet, you're convinced that he feels the same. That you're both made for each other and will love each other. Unconditionally.

You both don't need more words, and he presses his forehead against yours and looks deeply into your eyes while he starts to move his hips. Your jaw drops and your lips part slightly when he pulls away, his cock almost leaving you completely before he thrusts back in, slowly and controlled, so much that it drives you crazy. You can't even talk and beg him to do it again, yet he still understands what you need, and repeats the motion, thrusting into you nice and slow just how he is convinced that you like it. You moan softly, your breath meeting his lips while he starts setting a pace, sensual and slow, angling his hips slightly different until your hands grab into his shoulders just a bit harder when he hits the spot that makes you see stars. He curses when you clench around him, but he doesn't stop but keeps thrusting just a bit harder.

You don't know how long he keeps on fucking you like this, the pace nice and slow, just like lovers would, both of you enjoying the pleasure of being so, so close to each other, until you can't help but to feel your high approaching. Your legs wrap tighter around his waist, your heels digging into his back while you clench around him, knowing that you're almost there. His facial expression shifts at that sensation and his eyes shoot wide open.

"Fuck- y/n-" he groans and suddenly grabs your hips tighter when he pulls out- completely this time. Your jaw drops at the loss of friction, your hips trying to fight against his grip to bring him to push back into you- fruitlessly.

"Why are you-" you whine, feeling robbed and empty, your body needing him to be closer, needing him to give you something. "Shhh, I got ya." He moves your hips and you understand what he's trying to do, helping him to move your body until you're kneeling in front of him. The new position makes you tremble uncontrollably, and you know that his gaze is focused on your pussy while you nervously shift in his grip. "So, so pretty," he groans and leans down to press a kiss against your ass cheek, and you whimper at the praise.

"My pretty princess, I'll make ya feel so good, 'kay? Just a bit more, can ya wait for me, huh? I'll fill ya up nice and good if ya do." You could come from his dirty talk and his voice alone, your pussy helplessly clenching at the thought of what there is to come, and you loudly moan when he finally pushes inside, the angle so much deeper than before, it makes you see starts and until you tighten around him like a vice. He curses, his hands gripping your ass cheeks hard and spreading them to watch his cock disappear into your wet folds. You meet his thrust, desperate for more friction, and he slams back into you harder, making you slowly lose your mind. Your arms give up and your face lands on the pillow, but you barely notice that, all of your nerves only consisting of the pleasure that Atsumu is giving you.

"Fuck, y/n- can ya cum for me? Can ya do that, pretty princess?" He groans, one of his hands releasing your ass to rub circles on your clit- a little sloppy and uncoordinated at first, but when he finally hits the spot you drool on the bed sheets. "Tsumu- gonna cum- gonna cum for you-" you whine out loudly, and it only spurs him on to move faster until you cry out his name, only able to form this one word while you clench around him and reach your high. You realize that he's cumming to, but he doesn't slow down, his groans turning into an overstimulated whimper while he keeps on fucking you while cumming. He's coming so much inside of you, it's already dripping down your leg before he's even finished, but you enjoy the feeling of the hot sticky liquid on your skin.

You don't know how much time has passed until you finally calm down and simply lose all tension. He softly pulls out and places your hips on the couch before he collapses and flatly lays down on his back next to you. His arms reach out for you, and you allow him to pull you against his sweaty chest. You're sweaty too- something that you only notice now, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's probably used to sweat anyway. His hand starts caressing your hair, and your fingers roam along his chest, feeling the soft flushed skin under your fingers.

"How was it?" His hand still caresses your hair while you lay on his chest, listening contently to the sound of his heartbeat with a smile forming on your lips. "That was... really good," you airily laugh and cuddle closer against his chest, and he wraps his free arm tightly around you, instantly making you feel warmer when your barely clad chest presses against his naked one.

"Just really good? I'll need to work on my stamina, can't have ya sayin' really good only. Wasn't that mind blowing or something like that? Felt mind-blowing to me at least."

You softly snort at his words and look up to him, only to find him looking at you fondly. "Wanna stay over? I'll order some take out and we can finish that movie?" His eyes flicker to the screen, only to see that the movie is basically over. "Or we can start another movie. I think there is a sequel to that."

"Shouldn't we finish the first one before we start the sequel?" You look at him with raised brows, and he laughs softly at your reaction. "You're perfect. Just stay right here." His arm wraps around you, and you feel warmth in your heart,

while you lie in the arms of your husband.

[hpowellsmith]

how does this final chapter keep growing

[sorinethemastermind]

Blackest Night (3/4)

In which Soren's family search for him in the hopes it's not too late, and Soren has to choose his destiny. @honeii-puff here's like 9K words of emotional devastation.

 Soren opened his eyes, but he might as well not have. His surroundings were pitch black. Until they weren’t.

 A beam of light pierced the endless darkness overhead, shining directly down onto him. He squinted, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes. It was then, with his hand over his face, that he realized the purple veins were gone. He turned his hand over and over, inspecting it. The cut on his palm was gone as well. And… he felt fine?

 He looked around, eyes slowly adjusting to the dichotomy of complete light and darkness. There were no trees, no sky, no grass beneath his feet. And most importantly, no Aaravos.

 “Hello?” he called, turning to take in the endless dark surrounding him. No shapes loomed out of it, no figures appearing to tell him where he was or what this was. Did he cast a spell on me? Soren wondered, beginning to panic. Does that mean Aaravos survived? 

 “Hello? Is anybody there?” he called again, stepping out of the beam of light. Or, trying to. It moved with him and he glanced up, searching for a source. That was a mistake, it was blinding, and he looked away quickly, blinking rapidly. 

 “Alright, fine.” he said to the darkness. “If you won’t tell me what you are, then I’ll just figure it out myself.”

 He started to walk. The light followed him, the darkness on every side remaining otherwise absolute. It gave him the impression of walking in place, which as good a work out as that could be, was not his intention. But he had to be going somewhere. This place couldn’t go on forever. Could it?

 It took him a little while to realize that there was something different under his feet. Soren looked down, confused to see footprints that weren’t his own. He looked behind himself, the vague outlines of them just visible in the dimness where the light met the darkness, fading out of view behind him like they went on forever, too. He turned back ahead and saw them stretching before him as well; definitely not his own footprints, then.

 He followed them, his own feet fitting them perfectly, as though the path had been made for him. As though some other version of him had walked it long before he had ever come to this place. Or, Soren thought more logically, maybe I’m just going in circles and I didn’t realize it. 

 But that made less and less sense the more he thought about it. He’d been walking straight this entire time, never even weaving to one side or the other. Which could only mean one thing; he wasn’t alone.

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 Thankfully, Corvus was a tracker and Soren wasn’t the most subtle man in the world. They were able to pick up his trail fairly easily, once they realized he’d left straight out the main gate. His footsteps in the ash led them to the edge of the road, and from there into the woods. His destination was clear to all of them, and they picked up the pace, moving as quickly as they could over the uneven ground. 

 Aaravos had thought of that, too. Callum thought bitterly. The trees were too thick for horses, the ground uneven enough to make sure a larger force would have a hard time picking their way through. 

 “Why would Soren do this?” Ezran was asking, panting as he trudged alongside them. His shorter legs were having to work twice as hard for him to keep pace with them. 

 “I don’t know.” Callum said, the animosity between them forgotten under the current circumstances.

 “You two don’t pay very good attention, then.” Corvus said from up ahead, turning back to them. “He would do anything for you.”

 “But we didn’t ask-”

 “You didn’t have to.” Corvus said, turning back to the trail. 

 Callum felt chastised, and maybe rightly so. Soren had always been there for them, even after things got complicated. Sure, there had been some bumps in the road. But he was practically their brother. Callum shook his head.

 “I just don’t understand why he’d be so stupid as to go and do it alone.”

 “He’s Soren.” The other three said at once.

 Callum grimaced. The spell had certainly seemed like a better idea when it had been his own life on the line. Now though… he just hoped they wouldn’t arrive too late.

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 Soren followed the path of footsteps for a long time. He wasn’t honestly sure just how long, but it was enough for him to start to wonder if he really had just been going in circles this entire time. He was on the verge of giving up; breaking off and walking into the darkness in some other direction just to see what would happen, when he saw a glimmer of movement in the distance. He picked up the pace, at first shifting into a light jog, but it turned into an all out run not long after.

 The glimmer slowly gained a form, and then features, and then Soren came to an abrupt halt. He was close enough now that the light shone on the both of them, and he reached out towards the familiar figure.

 “Clauds?” he asked, hesitating for a moment before grabbing her arm. “Claudia, is that you?”

 She didn’t wrench away from him like he’d expected her to, instead turning slowly to face him. Her skin was a pale gray, marred with the dull purple scars of dark magic. Her hair, once black, was almost entirely white. 

 “Sorbear?” she asked, eyes going wide, her smile wider. “Oh, it is you!” 

 She threw her arms around him in a tight embrace, catching Soren off guard and nearly throwing him off balance. 

 “I’ve missed you.” she said before releasing him, stepping back to smile up at him. “But now you’re here!”

 Claudia grabbed his hand and started pulling him on along the path, their footfalls landing perfectly in the indents already laid out before them. Even though he’d found Claudia, the prints were still stretching ahead of them both; like a preordained road to… somewhere. He didn’t know where, and didn’t know if he wanted to.

 “Claudia, wait.” Soren pulled his hand from her grasp, forcing her to stop and turn back to him. “Where are we?”

 “We’re not there yet, silly.” she said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, we will be soon.”

 “No.” Soren said, glancing around them in steadily growing alarm. “Where are we right now? Did Aaravos trap you in here, too?”

 “Trap me? We’re not trapped. We’re almost there.” She reiterated, trying to take his hand again. He pulled away from her. 

 “Clauds, I don’t think this is right.”

 She frowned, eyes flickering solid black for a split second, and Soren took a step back. But then it was gone, like he’d made it up. Maybe he had, along with the rest of this place. Or maybe…

 “Claudia, it’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here.” Soren placed his hands on her shoulders, only seeing the smiling face of his little sister despite the gray complexion and violet markings.

 “It’s going to be okay.” he repeated.

 “What do you mean it’s going to be?” she asked, tilting her head to give him a confused half smile. “It’s already okay. We’re almost there.”

 “I don’t know where there is.” Soren told her. “But if Aaravos wants us to go that way, we definitely shouldn’t.”

 “Aaravos is dead, Sorbear.” she told him, patting him on the shoulder. “You killed him, remember? Now come on, Dad is waiting." 

 “Dad-” the word shot through Soren like lightning, his grip on Claudia’s shoulders tightening. 

 “Ow!” she pulled away from him and he released her instantly. “Soren, you’re scaring me.”

 “I- I’m sorry.” he stammered, reaching out for her momentarily before pulling his hands back. “It’s just… Dad is dead, Claudia.”

 “No.” She shook her head. “No. No, no-”

 “But it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of here. We still have each other. We’ll figure it out. ” 

 Claudia’s shoulders were shaking, and Soren glanced around desperately for a way out, another pathway, anything.

 “No-no-no-no.” Claudia was saying, the words bleeding together as her voice climbed higher. “No-no-no-no-no!”

 Soren turned back to her, searching for something to say, some way to explain what had happened. But before he could say anything she threw back her head, a hysterical burst of laughter escaping her throat.

 “No, no, no!” she screamed, and when she looked back at him, purple tears were leaking down her face. “Dad isn’t dead, because if he was, then it would be your fault. And you wouldn't do something like that, would you? Not again. Because I don’t think I could forgive you a second time.”

 “Oh, no, no, no.” Claudia shook her head. “I don’t think I could forgive you a second time.”

 “Clauds, please, you have to understand.” Soren reached for her, his voice breaking.

 “How could you?” She screamed. “How could you? How could you?”

 Soren covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, the shrill sound echoing through the darkness around him. 

 “How could you? How could you? How could you?”

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 Rayla was pretty sure this was all her fault, somehow. Then again, she was pretty sure that most things were. She was exhausted; both mentally and physically. But she couldn’t let that stop her. Not now, not when Soren could be dying around any corner. 

 If only I hadn’t asked Callum to come sleep in my room, she berated herself. How dumb am I? How could I have not seen this coming.

 “Rayla, are you okay?” Callum’s voice broke through her internal litany and she turned to where he was walking beside her. It was nearly midday, and she could see the sweat on his brow, the tired bags under his eyes from another sleepless night. Even when they did reach the glen, they were in no position to face Aaravos. Their only hope was that Soren had succeeded in casting the spell and killing him. And that meant hoping that Soren had, in fact, poisoned himself with Dark Magic. It was a grim hope. One Rayla would rather not have. 

 “I’m okay.” she sighed. What else was there to say? It wasn’t like they could turn back. Not when this was their fault in the first place.

 “Do you need to rest?”

 “We can’t rest, Callum.” Corvus told them from up ahead. His lead had only grown over the last couple hours; nearly doubling so that now she only caught sight of him when he doubled back to check on them. Now must have been one of those times.

 “Soren could be anywhere, don’t you realize that?” he continued, voice hard and pointed. “Because of your spell.”

 “I didn’t ask him to do this!” Callum snapped back, instantly defensive. “And anyway, when did you start to care so much about Soren?”

 Rayla could see instantly in Corvus’ face that Callum’s words had actually hurt him, and she stepped between them. If Soren wasn’t here to do it, then she would have to fill his shoes. 

 “Stop it, both of you.” she told them. “Callum, I’m fine. And Corvus is right. We don’t have time to rest, anyway.”

 She turned to where the tracker had stopped in the woods up ahead of them. “And Corvus, you know he didn’t mean that. We all care about Soren. That’s why we’re on edge.”

 Corvus just sighed, the hurt in his eyes lingering despite her words. But it wasn’t hurt from what Callum had said, Rayla slowly realized. It was something deeper, older.

 “I just… couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to him, and I’d never told him.” Corvus said, slowly. 

 “Told him what?” Rayla asked softly, taking a few steps closer to him.

 Corvus didn’t meet her gaze, instead leaving it firmly fixed on his shoes. “That I love him.”

 She heard Callum’s stifled gasp behind her, but didn’t pay it any mind. Instead she crossed the remaining distance separating her from Corvus and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be able to tell him. I know it.”

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 When Soren opened his eyes, Claudia was gone, the shrill echoes of her laughter fading into the luxurious, if somewhat threadbare, upholstery of his father’s office. He let his hands fall back to his sides. What kind of prison is this, he thought desperately.

 “Ah, Soren, you’re here.”

 He whirled at the sound of his father’s voice, hand going for the blade at his side, except, of course, it wasn't there. Viren was facing a bookshelf a few steps away from him, one hand absently tracing the spines of the books even as his eyes roved over them. 

 “Good. Here it is." He took one of them down, walking past Soren as though this was a normal occurrence - as though he wasn’t a ghost - and cleared a space for it on the table. The tome made a loud thump as he dropped it onto the scarred wood, the cover falling open to reveal a page near the end, the paper creased and stained.

 “Come. I want to show you something.” his father said, beckoning him forward with a finger. Soren found his feet moving nearly of their own volition, carrying him towards the table. He considered resisting, but there was something oddly comforting about his father being there, just like he used to; dressed in his old robes of office and hunched over a book.

 “What is it?” Soren asked as he came to a halt beside Viren, only to find that he was too short to see over the top of the table. “I can’t see.” 

 His voice had climbed in pitch, and when he looked down at his hands, he found a familiar dragon plush clutched in them.

 “Daddy?” he asked, looking up. “Daddy, I can’t see.”

 His father reached down and picked him up, setting him on the edge of the table. Soren sat there, legs dangling over the side of the table, and peered at where Viren was pointing. The book depicted a smiling family; a mother, father, and two children. A son and a daughter. 

 “It’s us.” Soren declared, pointing at each in turn. “That’s you, and that’s Clauds, and that’s me, and that’s-”

 Except when he went to point at the mother, she was suddenly gone, and in place of the little family portrait were the instructions to a spell.

 “Where did Mommy go?” Soren asked, looking up at his father. His eyes, once smiling, had gone cold. Viren turned away. 

 “She left.” he told Soren, and the lights in the office began to snuff out until only one remained, directly above Soren’s head. He squinted against the harshness of it as his father’s form retreated into the dark.

 “Daddy?” he asked, the dragon plus falling from his grasp as he reached for him. But the darkness continued to swallow the room, and him with it. 

 “She left, just like you did.”

 “I- I had no choice.” Soren stumbled to his feet, legs suddenly long enough to reach the floor again. He grabbed for his father, but he was trapped inside the light, unable to reach him. “You didn’t give me any choice!”

 “You always had a choice.” Viren spat, turning back to him, eyes shining black, dull purple scars creeping out from beneath his collar and stretching up across his face. “I made sure of that. You would be dead without me, Soren. I gave you everything. And you still left. What did you want from me? What more could I have given you? I gave you my heart.”

 And the darkness ate up his father, and it ate up the room, and Soren was falling. 

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 Neither Ezran nor Callum really knew what to say to Corvus’ proclamation, so they just continued on. Rayla walked beside him for a little ways, offering comfort. She understood more than most, Ezran guessed, what waiting too long felt like. If in a different sort of way.

 Ez looked up at his big brother, plodding along beside him. He could see the tired lines in his face, reminding him of the way their father had looked after an especially long council session. 

 “Are you okay?” Ezran asked him, quiet enough that neither Rayla or Corvus could hear. He knew his brother well enough to know that if Rayla was present, he would be too worried about her to really talk about whatever was bothering him. They were both so silly, sometimes. 

 “I’m fine.”

 “You sure?” Ezran pried. “You certainly seem like you’ve got some big feelings in there.”

 “I said I’m fine.” Callum snapped, but after a moment his expression softened to one of remorse. “Sorry.”

 “It’s okay. You just needed to get it out of your system.”

 “I- I’m sorry, about a lot of things.” Callum admitted.

 "Well?" Ezran waited, raising an eyebrow at his older brother. Callum sighed, half laugh and half exasperation.

"I'm sorry about the way I've been treating you." he continued. "And I'm sorry about not warning you about Runaan, and I’m sorry about-"

"Wait, Callum." Ezran interrupted him. "I'm sorry, too. I… I understand why you brought Runaan back. I don't necessarily agree, but I understand. You did it for her."

 Their gazes both trailed up the path to Rayla and Callum smiled a little weakly.

 "I'd do anything for her." He looked back down to Ezran. "Just like I would do anything for you."

 "I know, Callum. But did you ever think that maybe I don’t want you to?”

 Callum paused, looked away. “That’s not how it works.”

 “Are you glad that Soren did this?”

 “What? No, of course not-” he broke off, shaking his head. “You’re good, you know that?”

 “I know it.” Ezran said, flashing his brother a quick grin before continuing; “So… you wish that Soren had come to you for help, and let you help him? Do you, maybe, I don’t know; wish he hadn’t of run off to sacrifice himself for the greater good even though you didn’t ask him to? Do you maybe wish that you could do something to help him other than just hope he’s alive?”

 “I think you’ve made your point.” Callum told him. Ezran stopped abruptly in the middle of the forest, turning to throw his arms around his brother.

 “Good.” he said, voice muffled by Callum’s shirt. After a moment his brother’s arms closed around him, and he rested his chin on Ezran’s head the same way he used to when Ez was small. He still was small. Sometimes even Ezran himself forgot that. 

 “No more stupid hero stuff.” Callum told him.

 “No more stupid hero stuff.” Ezran agreed. “We’re family. We’re supposed to be stupid together.”

 “Are you going to tell Soren that if we find him?”

 “When.” Ezran said, pulling away and looking up at Callum, expression set. “When we find him.”

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 Soren landed on something hard, and cold, and distinctly familiar. He gasped as the wind was knocked from his lungs by the force of the impact, taking a moment to regain it before trying to push himself back up to his feet. But his arms and legs didn’t obey. He tried again, but only achieved the same result. 

 A familiar panic filled him, and Soren fought to keep his breathing steady. Rain began to fall from the sky as he lay there, alone in the dark, unable to move. It was just him and the boulder. Until it wasn’t. Somewhere nearby a dragon roared and Soren flinched, or he tried to, but he couldn’t. 

 It’s okay, he told himself, desperation rising in his chest even as he tried to remain calm. His heart thudded against his ribs, the sound climbing in his ears. It’s okay, this isn’t real. It’s all just a trick. 

 But the roar of the dragon came again, closer this time, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing it away. It’s just Pyrrah. You and Pyrrah are friends. You’re friends with dragons. You’re one of the good guys now. 

 The roar sounded so close he imagined she had to be right in front of him, and his eyes flew open. But there was nothing there; only more darkness. 

 “Hello?” he tried, voice wavering. The rain filled his mouth when he opened it, and he spat it out. It tasted acrid, not like rain at all. “Hello!? Anybody?”

 Nobody appeared out of the darkness, not even Pyrrah. Was it Pyrrah? What if it was someone else, like the dragon that had destroyed Katolis? 

 As if summoned by the notion, buildings began to loom out of the darkness around Soren; crumbled battlements and the charred remains of the stables. His breathing quickened, what once had been rain turning to ash. It landed on him; coating his skin and filling his nose and mouth with every breath. Soren coughed, choking on the thick, cloying flakes. 

 “Help!” he called, watching as the ash began to build up on him. He tried again to move, but it was pointless. “Help! Help, anybody, please! I can’t move!”

 The ash was endless, covering everything in sight. It wasn’t long before it had built up enough of a layer on him that he blended into the already covered ground. 

 “Help!” he called again, but it just filled his mouth more. 

 Then, movement. Soren’s eyes tracked it along the edges of his peripheral vision, wondering if it was the dragon, come to finish him off. 

 “Hello?” he called anyway. If it was, then it was. And if it wasn’t, then maybe they could help him.

 “What is it that you said?” A voice answered from the dark, almost playful. “The castle is just a building, we need to save lives.” 

 “And how did you save those lives?" the voice asked, becoming painfully familiar. It was behind him now, but Soren couldn’t turn his head. It answered it’s own question. “By taking one. You really are your father’s son.”

 “I’m nothing like him.” Soren snarled.

 “Oh, but you are.” Aaravos crooned, stepping into view from around the other side of the boulder. “Asking others to sacrifice themselves for your greater good. Isn’t that why you left him, after all? And here you are, turning to Dark Magic the moment it’s convenient.”

 “There was no other way.” Soren said. “I- I didn’t ask him to do it. I offered to-”

 “Oh, you knew he would never agree to that.” Aaravos waved the notion away, but paused at the look on Soren’s face.

 “You really thought he would do that to you? Your father was never that much of a monster.” he laughed. “No matter how much you want to think him one, he always cared for you and your sister. It was his greatest weakness. It was what stopped him from being great.” 

 Aaravos clucked his tongue and gave a shake of his head. “A pity, really. He couldn’t be good, but if he hadn’t of had you holding him back, at least he could have been great. Your sister, on the other hand.” he smiled. “Now she will be great.”

 “You stay away from her!” Soren shouted, desperately trying to move. His body didn’t listen any more than it had before.

 Another voice came from the shadows then, and Claudia stepped into the light beside Aaravos. Her hair was solid white, her features scarred and distorted. Soren’s eyes widened. 

 “I thought you wanted me to make a choice?” she said, lingering at the elf’s side. Aaravos reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

 “No.” Soren choked out. “Please, Clauds, he’s dangerous.”

 “You said that about Dad, once. And look where he is now.” She waved a hand and gestured to the debris surrounding them. “Buried under the rubble of your failings. Maybe he wasn’t the dangerous one. Maybe it’s you.”

 “Claudia, please.”

 “You wanted me to choose, Soren. I made my choice.”

 “No, Claudia, you can’t do this.” But they were already fading into the darkness and he couldn’t even try and reach for her. “Claudia! He’s using you!”

 “Then what were you doing?”

 “What-”

 “I’m like this because of you.” she turned back to him, stepping out of the dark just enough for him to see her face again. Her hair had reverted to it’s original black, all but for a single white streak. “Everything I did, I did for my family. But you, you abandoned us. Just like Mom did. Just like everybody does.”

 “It wasn’t-”

 “You left me.” she sobbed. “You left me. You said that no matter what happened, we would always have each other. And then you left me.”

 She turned away again, her form retreating into the darkness. “See how it feels.”

 “Claudia! Wait, come back! I won’t leave you! I’m sorry! I won’t ever leave you again!” he called after her until his throat was raw and every breath was choked with ash. Until the rubble around him was buried in it, and he was too. Until all he could see, and taste, and breath was gray.

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 When they found him, they almost couldn’t believe it. They arrived well after sundown, the moon and flitting forms of lighting bugs offering the only light. Corvus almost didn’t see it through the darkness, but at the last moment the moonlight reflected off a half broken statue of an elf, standing in a clearing, and he stumbled forward, feet crunching on something jagged.

 He looked down, lifting his foot carefully off the smashed glass jar on the ground. A book lay on the stone next to it, small droplets of blood smearing the page with the incantation.

 “Soren!” Corvus cried, not caring who might hear. “Soren, hold on!”

 He stumbled forward, hearing the others picking up the pace behind him. They burst into the clearing at about the same time that he spotted him, lying on the grass near the statue’s feet. But he wasn’t alone. There was a cloaked figure leaning over him, small and frail. Corvus’ hand drifted towards his weapon even before he realized who it was.

 Claudia looked up at him, the hood falling back from her face to reveal hair almost entirely stark white. The only thing that stalled his hand was the sight of the tears in her eyes, her cheeks already wet with them.

 “What did you have him do?” she asked, voice harsh and quavering. 

 Corvus came to halt above them both, and Claudia looked past him and towards the others. Her mouth twisted into a snarl. “What did you have him do!?”

 Ezran was the one who answered. “We didn’t ask him to do this, Claudia.”

 “And why should I believe that?” she hissed, standing up to face them, hands going to the staff slung across her back. “All you’ve ever done is use him.”

 “What are you talking about?” 

 “You- you manipulated him, lied to him. It’s the only way he could have… have turned on us. Turned on me. You did something to him.”

 “We didn’t do anything, Claudia.” Ezran’s voice was gentle, like he was trying to calm a wild animal.

 “Then why-” her voice broke, hand falling from the staff as she dropped back to the ground beside her brother, both hands clasping one of Soren’s. “Why would he leave me? Why would he do this?”

 “Aaravos is the one using people.” Callum said from behind Corvus. “Or, he was.”

 “Don’t talk about him that way.” Claudia snapped. “Aaravos believed in humans. He gave us magic.”

 “He destroyed Katolis! He killed your father!” 

 Claudia turned to them then, horror painting her features, but it was just as quickly replaced by disbelief. “He would never. You killed my father. You and your elf.”

 Corvus let them argue, he couldn’t care less. He dropped to Soren’s side even as Claudia rose from it, her and Callum’s voices rising as they began a shouting match. It wasn’t long before Ezran and Rayla joined them.

 Corvus brushed Soren’s hair from his face, clutching one of his friend’s hands to his chest. It was crisscrossed with purple veins, standing out against his pale skin.

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 “Come back to me, Soren. Please.”

 Soren was floating, drifting lazily through the dark as he sank further and further below the surface. The ash had given way to the endless churning of a gray sea, the crashing waves just vague flashes of movement far above him. But the familiar voice pierced the depths like a ray of light, illuminating the water around Soren. 

 “Corvus?” his question emerged as a stream of bubbles from his lips, and Soren was suddenly aware of the fact that his lungs were full of water. He choked, gasping desperately for air even as the feeling returned to his limbs and he began to kick towards the surface.

 He swam upward, but the churning waves above him never seemed to get any closer. Pushing frantically at the water, he tried to propel himself further, but what oxygen had been in his body was swiftly running out, the water in his lungs like a weight dragging him down further. He fumbled awkwardly with his armor, detaching it and letting it fall away. Lightened, he tried again, kicking at the water until-

 “Soren, please. Please come back to me. I need you.”

 His head broke the surface, coughing up water, and then his father was there, leaning over his bedside, and the waves had transformed into the rumbled sheets of his bed.

 “It’s okay, Soren.” His father said. “Breathe. Just breathe. In through-”

 Soren threw the remaining covers aside, stumbling from the bed and towards the door. He wasn’t going to do this again. He wasn’t going to fall for whatever trick this was.

 “Soren?” Another voice brought him to an instant standstill, and he stood there, eyes squeezed shut, as though that would stop him from hearing it. Stop it from being real.

 “Soren, are you alright?” his mother stood from her place at the foot of his bed, crossing the room to place a gentle hand on his arm. And suddenly he wasn’t trying to escape, he was trying to stay. To stay there in her arms, because she was enveloping him in a warm hug, and somehow she smelled the same way he remembered from when he was small. He hadn’t even realized he remembered until now. 

 He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, as though she could slip away at any moment. 

 “Soren, it’s okay. It’s okay, now. Just breathe.”

 And he did, shakily at first, but growing stronger and steadier, until his lungs weren’t burning anymore. She let him go, stepping back to look at him with a smile in her eyes and on her face.

 “There we go. Isn’t that better?”

 “You’re not real.” he choked out. “None of this is real.”

 “Of course I’m real, Soren.” she reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair out of his face. “I’m right here.”

 “No, you’re not.” he managed, almost as though convincing her would make it better. Would make this all end. “None of this is. You’re… you left. And Dad-”

 “What about me, son?” his father stood up, looking at him the way he used to. The way he looked at him before he got sick.

 “You’re dead.” Soren told him, voice breaking. “I killed you.”

 Something crashed above them and the beams of the house shook, but neither of them so much as glanced up. Soren could hear screaming outside, and he looked around wildly for the door. 

 “What’s happening?” he asked, but when he turned back to them, it was only his father, dressed in rags, standing in his cell. 

 The cuffs clattered from his wrists as Soren watched, and the screams outside rose in pitch. When Soren looked down at his hands, he found the Staff of Xiard clutched in them. He dropped it in horror, staggering back against the cold iron bars of the cell.

 “It’s okay, Soren.” his father stepped closer, leaning down to pick up the staff. “I have to do this.”

 “No.” Soren shook his head, blocking his way to the door. “I- I’m not going to kill you again.”

 “Oh, my son.” Viren took a step forward, reaching out for Soren hesitantly before letting his hand fall back down to his side. “You didn’t kill me. I made the sacrifice, the same way you did. Anything for family. However dangerous, however vile.”

 “But I-”

 “Don’t. Let me do this for you.”

 Soren hesitated. Anything for family. His expression hardened. “You’re right.”

 He reached out, snatching the staff from his father’s hands and running from the room. He let the cell door clang shut behind him, turning swiftly to lock it before his father could follow.

 “Soren!” Viren called, reaching for him through the bars. “Soren, don’t! Dark Magic is dangerous!”

 However dangerous. Soren ran for the stairs that led from the dungeons, turning back one last time as he neared them, just long enough to see his father’s sad smile. 

 “I’m so proud of you, son.”

 Soren turned and he ran away. He didn’t even notice that he was crying.

 The great tree in the courtyard was burning, raining flaming leaves onto the stones below. They singed Soren’s arms and face as he ran beneath it, yelling at everyone to get out; to leave everything and run. He thundered up the stairs and down the halls, barely stopping to catch his breath, and crashed through the already damaged doors and into the king’s quarters. There, he thought. That's where he did it. 

 Soren glanced around wildly, searching for a weapon. Ezran wasn’t the type to keep a blade in his chambers, but King Harrow had been. Soren pulled the halberd from the iron grip of the suit of armor that clutched it, trying desperately to remember what the rune was that he had seen on his father’s chest when he pulled him from the rubble. Despite his attempts not to look at it, the image had burned itself into Soren’s mind. He’d never thought he’d be grateful for that one day.

 He went to the edge of the bed, bracing the thinnest point of the metal against the footboard and applying as much pressure as he could. The cold steel cut into his hand as he pressed on it, but he didn’t stop until a small part of it snapped away. Discarding the rest of the weapon, he lifted the shard from where it had landed on the ground and - realizing he’d already abandoned his chestplate in the gray sea - set to work. 

 He hissed with pain as the metal bit into his skin, but the rune didn’t need to be deep. He hoped. Once he had finished, he let the shard of bloodied metal fall back to the floor and staggered towards the open doors of the balcony. He could still hear people screaming, their voices rising as he stepped out into the open air, thick with smoke and ash. Flames crackled nearby, and he could feel their searing heat on his face and exposed skin.

 The dragon swooped by overhead, and he could swear that he heard laughing. The cold, ruthless laugh of his enemy. Soren staggered forward, supporting himself on the carved railings of the balcony. Reaching the end, he hefted the staff before him, fingers slotting into place as though he’d done it a thousand times before. As though it were destiny.

 Maybe it was, some bitter part of him though. A destiny he’d spent his entire life running from. Well, he wasn’t running now. 

 “Hearts of cinder… do not burn.” he muttered it to himself the first time. “Hearts of cinder.. do not… burn.” he said it again, more forcefully this time. And when the dragon swooped by again overhead, he raised the staff, and he proclaimed it to the sky.

 “𝔑𝔯𝔲𝔟 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞𝔠 𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔣𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔢𝔥!” the dragon’s head swiveled to face him at the sound of his voice, and it roared. But Soren wasn’t afraid. 

 “𝔑𝔯𝔲𝔟 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞𝔠 𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔣𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔢𝔥!” he told it, watching as the purple light shone from the staff and washed over the people below him. It moved like a wave across the courtyard and the castle, enveloping everyone. It was kind of pretty, Soren thought dimly. 

 The dragon roared again, mouth opening wide, and he could see the flames building in its throat. But he just roared back. “𝔑𝔯𝔲𝔟 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞𝔠 𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔣𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔢𝔥!”

 And the spell settled into place, protecting everyone below him. “My heart for Katolis!” he screamed at the dragon as it spewed it’s fiery breath down upon them. 

 And nobody burned, but Soren did. 

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 Claudia shouted at them until her voice was hoarse and none of them had anything left to say. She probably would have kept shouting, even then, except as she was opening her mouth to do just that, Soren gave a horrible, blood curdling scream behind them and everything else was forgotten.

 Claudia fell to her knees beside her brother. Clasping his hand in hers and clutching it to her. His chest was rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, and she could feel her own quickening to match. 

 “What’s happening to him?” Corvus asked her in a panic. Even as the rest of them argued with each other, he had never left Soren’s side. Claudia looked up to meet his gaze, finding tears in his eyes. She felt her own fill as well.

 “He’s dying.” she managed. Nobody, not even Callum, had the heart to yell at her then.

 “What do you mean he’s dying?” The elf - Rayla - dropped to the ground beside Corvus, looking anxiously down at Soren before glancing back up at Claudia. “He- he can’t be…”

 She trailed off, eyes roving over the spiderweb of deep purple veins stretching under his skin like tiny fissures. Some of them had burst, forming deep violet and magenta bruises across his body.

 “What’s happening to him?” The elf asked, a quaver in her voice. 

 Claudia remembered what her brother had said in the Drakewood about being friends with elves and dragons. Maybe he hadn't been full of it after all. But if he was right about that, then… she looked up at the statue looming over all of this, Aaravos’ face frozen forever in a snarl, a single line of moisture having leaked from his eye and down his cheek.

 She had tried not to think about what the others said. Not really. Aaravos had tried so hard to save her father, why would he turn around and kill him? And destroying the castle, that didn't make any sense at all... except that it did. And that reality had kept nagging at her even once they’d all stopped shouting and fallen into angry silence.

 Because the pearl had been there, waiting for him. Waiting for her. And the dragon that had done it - and died in the process - was an ancient enemy of his. Like from the story. She remembered Terry telling her how things got twisted along the way; warning her that she couldn't trust Aaravos.

 She didn’t know if she could bear it all being a lie. If she had just been a pawn. Claudia squeezed her eyes shut, lying her head on Soren’s chest and listening to the rapid thumping of his heart.

 “He won’t die.” Rayla said, as though willing it to be true. “Soren is strong. He’ll get through this.”

 “You don’t get it, do you?” Claudia murmured, not bothering to raise her head. “This isn’t like when Callum or I used Dark Magic. Soren is different.”

 She waited for them to put the pieces together, but they didn’t. Instead, after a moment, Callum asked; “What are you talking about?”

 Claudia did raise her head then, just enough to glare at him. “Can you really not put two and two together? The spell is reacting with the Dark Magic already in his system.”

 Callum looked like he was about to snap back at her, but Ezran interrupted his brother, raising a hand to shush him as he turned to Claudia. “Already in his system?”

 “Do you ever even talk to him, or do you just send him off on errands for you?”

 “Claudia, please.” And it was Corvus this time, voice filled with pain and fear, and she couldn't snap at him; not when it was so clear how much he cared about her brother. Claudia remembered, bittersweetly, how Soren had tried to shave a scar into his eyebrow like the one Corvus had. How cool he’d thought the older guard was, even then. So she sighed, and there wasn’t venom in her voice as she answered; only sadness.

 “You act all high and mighty, like it’s beneath you, but Soren wouldn’t be here without Dark Magic. Without me and my Dad’s magic. You were there." she said, looking up at Callum and his elf friend. "You saw the dragon. Did you really think he just got up and walked away after it slammed him with it's tail? Threw him into a rock?"

 She shook her head and laughed bitterly. "Of course you did, because if that's what happened, then him getting hurt wouldn't be your fault. This-" she thrust his hand out to them again, making them really look at the purple lines stretching across his skin. "This is how he's still standing. So you're welcome."

 Nobody interrupted her as she continued, the story pouring out of her now that she’d started. “He was paralyzed. None of my other spells were working, but I knew I couldn’t leave him like that. So I did what I had to do. However dangerous, however vile. Anything for family.” 

 She looked up at them, and she could imagine the way they saw her then. The monster they thought she was. “Anything.”

 But nobody called her names, or told her she was wrong, or that she was evil. Instead they just watched as she gently brushed her thumb across the back of Soren’s hand, willing him to wake up. When he didn’t, she went on.

 “You probably don’t remember, it was before you moved into the castle, Callum. Before Ezran was even born. But you do remember your Dad. You talked about it sometimes, after. Not much. Nobody likes to talk about those things. But I realized, later, that it must have been the same thing. When Soren was little, sometimes he couldn’t breathe. I didn’t really understand what was happening at the time, I was too little. But it was scary. And then it got really bad. He would just lie in bed all day, trying to breathe, and I could hear him through the walls. Fighting for every breath, every second of life.”

 She looked up at all of them, daring them to judge her. To judge her father. “So my Dad fixed it. He did what he had to do for our family. However dangerous, however vile. Soren is only alive because we’ve been willing to do whatever it takes. And I would do it all again. And maybe you think you wouldn’t, but you would. If it was Ez, or Rayla, or your Dad. You would do it too.”

 She was just speaking to Callum, then. Because he had always been the one who hated her for it the most, she knew. Who had been the most afraid. The weakest. But he didn’t look weak now. Or afraid. Instead she saw the harsh recognition in his eyes that yes, he would have done the same. However dangerous, however vile. 

 “And now he’s going to die.” Claudia said. “Because of all of you.”

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 Soren was ashamed to admit that he had screamed when the fire washed over him. It had only burned for a moment, but it had been one moment too many. He hated to think how long that single second had dragged on for his father. If it had been more than one; how long he might have lain there, alone, as the castle crumbled around him.

 But Soren had gotten lucky. From the fire he fell into a deep, cool blue ocean, and the water washed the heat and the burns away. Soren let it hold him, let it fill him up with peace and quiet and float him away wherever it liked. He was tired. He was done. He didn’t want to see what the next vision had in store for him.

 But eventually the waves washed him ashore and he found himself on a sunny beach, looking up at a blue, cloudless sky. Soren closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed himself to his feet. He couldn’t give up yet. 

 Surveying his surroundings, Soren tried to imagine what sort of monster would appear this time. Maybe a dragon, swooping down from overhead? Or an endless army of foes, rushing at him from the woods? Maybe it would be nice and simple; a Banther or something, come to gobble him up. He trudged over to the forest’s edge and snapped a large branch off one of the trees. At least this time he would have a weapon. But nothing came. 

 After a while of standing around, brandishing a stick at every rustling leaf or twittering bird, Soren began to feel silly and returned to the beach, settling down with his legs crossed before him to watch the gentle lapping of the waves. It was peaceful, and he was exhausted. First he let himself sprawl out on the beach, feeling the waves wash over his feet and enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face. Then he let go of the stick, using his arms as a pillow instead. Finally, he let the drowsiness of sleep take him .

 Soren dreamt of worried voices, calling his name and asking him to wake up. They started as a low murmur; the voices undistinguishable from each other as they wove in and out. But slowly, steadily, they grew in strength until he could hear Claudia and Corvus, Callum and Ezran and Rayla. Soren tried not to listen to them, to the worry in their voices and the fear, knowing that it was all just some cruel trick by whatever purgatory he was trapped in. 

 But then Claudia’s voice started to sob, begging him to wake up, telling him that he was the only family she had left; pleading for him not to leave her again. Saying that she needs him. And Corvus told him that he wasn’t allowed to die, that he had something important to tell him, if he would just wake up. And Rayla was saying that he was stronger than this, and Ez told him that he needed him, and Callum said that he was a part of their family, and Soren couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t ignore them and pretend that they weren’t there; because he needed them too.

 So he forced his eyes open, hand reaching for the stick, expecting to find himself back on the beach. But of course not, that would have been too easy. Instead his hand closed around his sword, lying at his bedside, and his eyes opened to find himself in his bedroom at the castle. Alright. He thought, standing and rolling his shoulders. Prepare to be dominated, evil dream world. My family needs me.

 Or maybe that was just a part of the hallucination, too. He pushed the thought from his mind. No. They need me. I just need to wake up. 

 Soren tried pinching himself to be sure he was still asleep and hadn’t just somehow been brought back to the castle, but while it hurt like all heck (he might have done it a bit too hard) he still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t a part of whatever hallucination he’d been having.

 Especially not when it was suddenly the dead of night. 

 The change had occurred as soon as he stepped out of his room and into the wider halls of the castle; the torches along the walls all bursting into flame, shadows growing in the dark recesses of the corridors until it was night inside and out. Soren’s grip tightened on his sword as he began to creep down the hall, feet carrying him towards the distant sound of fighting. It grew steadily louder as he approached, until he was stepping over what must have been the beginnings of it; fallen guards, pierced through by arrows with terrifying accuracy. 

 Soren almost came to a halt as he recognized the fletching on them; the all too familiar blue and green of the Moonshadow assassins that had taken King Harrow’s life. Alarmed, Soren glanced down at his armor, horrified to find that it was the old model; familiar silver, black, and gold. As if called into existence by his realization that it was there, his old cape billowed around his legs. Soren gritted his teeth and continued onward.

 The sounds of fighting only continued to grow in pitch and intensity until the clang of blades and muffled grunts of combat filled the entire hall, echoing around Soren like the chorus of some especially brutal song. His pace quickened, knowing now where he was going, until he was running through the halls of the castle. He skidded to a halt before the great doors, already pierced through and peppered with arrows, just like the bodies of the guard strewn before them. 

 He pushed them open and stepped inside just as one of the assassins withdrew their blade from King Harrow’s chest. Except it wasn't King Harrow. Soren let out an anguished cry as Ezran’s body slumped to the ground. The moonlight glistened off the polished silver of the assassin’s weapon as it dripped blood onto the floor, and they turned to Soren, pushing the hood back from their face to reveal a horrifyingly familiar face.

 “Rayla?” he gasped, taking a step back. She unsheathed her other blade, falling into an attack stance. “Rayla, please, I don’t want to fight you.”

 “I thought that was all you wanted?” she hissed, springing towards him with superhuman agility. He just barely managed to bring his blade up to block her strike in time, the pair of them stumbling back out into the hall. Soren fought desperately to keep his footing as she pressed him with everything she had, but he was exhausted, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. 

 “Rayla, stop! This isn’t you!”

 Her next blow sent the sword flying from his hands and she kicked him hard in the chest, knocking him to the ground at her feet. She leveled her blade at him, the tip of it hovering just above his face.

 “I thought this is all we were to you? Monsters to hunt for sport.”

 “I never-”

 “A dead dragon and a dead elf all in one day.” she mocked. “Everything’s coming up Soren.”

 “I’m sorry.” he told her, desperation entering his voice. “I was wrong.”

 “You bet you were.” Rayla snarled, eyes flashing with cold anger. “And now you’ll pay the price. Justice will not be denied.”

 She raised her blade, and Soren looked away, squeezing his eyes shut. But not before he saw that every fallen guard around him had Corvus’ face.

 “I’m sorry.” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 Soren had stopped breathing. Why had he stopped breathing? 

 Corvus’ own breath quickened, as though to point out just how much Soren’s wasn’t. His voice climbed in pitch as he turned to the others, all of them already exchanging worried glances even before he told them.

 “Soren isn’t breathing.” he said, panicked. “What do we do? Does anybody know what to do?”

 Claudia was sobbing quietly, her hair falling in curtains around her face as she clung to her brother’s body. Corvus heard Rayla’s sharp intake of breath, another stab in the gut of what precisely Soren wasn’t doing. And Ezran buried his face in Callum’s shirt, shoulders shaking. His older brother’s stunned expression slowly gave way to horror.

 “Why isn’t anyone doing anything?” Corvus nearly shouted, clutching Soren’s hand so tightly that he worried he might hurt him. “We need to do something.”

 “There’s nothing we can do.” Claudia sniffled, rubbing the tears from her eyes. They just as quickly refilled. “There’s nothing we can do. No spell to fix this.”

 “Then we don’t use a spell.” Corvus said, placing a hand on Soren’s neck, feeling for a pulse. It was still there. Faint, but present. “I’m not giving up on him.”

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 “Come on, Sorbear. Wake up.”

 Soren’s eyes snapped open, and the light above him flickering into life, illuminating a small swatch of the empty blackness that stretched all around him. He was back where it had all begun; the path of footprints stretching behind and before him. Claudia was leaning over him, her face still scarred with Dark Magic, but she didn’t seem angry anymore. She offered him a hand and he took it, letting her help him to his feet.

 “Why am I back here?” he asked her, surveying his surroundings. Rayla was nowhere to be seen. None of them were. It was just as blank and empty as the first time he’d set foot here.

 “Don’t worry about it.” 

 “Of course I’m worried about it.” Soren said, snapping a bit more than he’d meant to. He checked his tone back immediately. “Sorry.”

 “Hm, well. It’s okay I guess. I’ve decided to forgive you. Everybody makes mistakes. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. I fixed it. Come on, Dad is waiting for us.”

 Soren could have laughed, or he could have cried, he didn’t know which would have happened first. Maybe both. But he was too tired for either. 

 “Clauds-” he began, but she shook her head,  stamping her foot like she used to when she was little.

 “Stop it! I fixed everything. You’re okay now, and he’s okay too. That’s all that matters.” She took his hand in hers, gentler this time. “Now come on. He’s waiting for us.”

 Soren let her start leading him down the path, following in their father’s footsteps. At first it was kind of nice, listening to her talk about what they were going to do when they finally reached Dad. She said that they would all be together again; one big happy family the way they used to be. She said that she would make pancakes, and Dad had a surprise for them. She said he wanted to make up for lost time; that he was different now. That he’d changed. And Soren wanted to believe her, he really did. And when he’d seen his father in the dungeon, he had seemed different, even if believing that had felt dangerous.

 So he followed her, and he ignored the fact that she was leading him deeper and deeper into the darkness, and he didn’t think about the fact that the light around them was growing smaller, fainter. But after a while, he couldn’t ignore the fact that they weren’t alone anymore. 

 He didn’t know when the other person had started following them, and hadn't looked back to see who it was. Soren didn’t really want to know; it could have been anyone or anything. But whatever next torment this place had dreamed up, Soren figured the longer he could go without having to face it, the better.

 But now it was beside them, keeping pace with them just out of view in the darkness. He felt like he recognized the silhouette, the stride, the way the figure carried itself. But he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before. Not until it strayed a little too close to the light.

 Soren dropped Claudia’s hand, coming to a standstill. The figure kept on walking, going past them and continuing into the dark, and Soren watched himself march past. His blonde hair was streaked with white, his skin a chalky whitish gray, marred by violet scars. Whereas Soren usually wore a sword, the other him held a staff, one that was far too familiar.

 Soren closed his eyes and waited for the apparition to pass. 

 “Sorbear, what’s wrong?” Claudia asked him after a long moment of silence. 

 “You- you saw that, right?” he asked her, sure that if he opened his eyes it would still be there. Maybe it would be looking right at him with its pitch black eyes and twisted sneer, just like the one his father used to wear.

 “Soren, you’re not really scared of your own shadow, are you?”

 He opened his eyes at that. “That thing isn’t a shadow, Claudia.” 

 “Sure it is. Well, maybe more like you’re his shadow. And don’t call yourself a thing.”

 “That wasn’t me.” Soren said, putting extra emphasis on each word, as though that would make it true. “It wasn’t.”

 “I mean, not yet he’s not.” Claudia held out a hand to him, smile gentle. “Come on, Sorbear. Dad is waiting.”

 “No.” Soren flinched away from her, fists clenching at his sides. “I’m not going if that’s who I’ll be when I get there.”

 “Sor-en.” she complained, rolling her eyes. “Come on. It was always going to be this way. This is your destiny.”

 “No.” Soren said again, taking a step back from her. The light moved with him, leaving her half in shadow. “No. That’s not who I want to be.”

 “But it’s who you are.” Claudia insisted. When he still hesitated, her face scrunched up, tears filling her eyes. “Come on, Sorbear. Please. It’ll be okay, I’ll be there with you. We both will. Don’t leave me again.”

 “Come with me.” he begged, reaching out to her. But this time it was Claudia who took a step back, disappearing into the darkness.

 “I- I can’t.” she whispered, her voice seeming to come from all around him. “This is our destiny…"

 “It’s not my destiny.” he told the darkness, searching it desperately for his sister. “And it doesn’t have to be yours. Please, let me help you.”

 “I made my choice.” the darkness told him, and he knew without having to see it that she was gone.  Soren squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears away, and he turned to walk back the way he’d come; forging his own path through the endless black. We all have choices to make, he thought. This is mine.