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burnedbyshoto · 5 years ago

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through the looking glass

“Please don’t kill me!” you begged from the floor, your hands raised, trying to get this psycho to leave you alone. “I-I-I don’t think I taste that good? I’ve tried my blood before, and it’s disgusting, true fact! Mosquitos don’t even like me that much!” “I don’t eat humans, I—” the psycho samurai man tried to speak, but you were far from done pleading for your life.

— Or in which you cross paths with Shinazugawa Sanemi and nothing is ever the same again.

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pairing: shinazugawa sanemi x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw, fluff, cursing, an instance of demon slaying, mirror sex, vaginal fingering, blowjob, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, cursing, praise kink, this is my first time writing for this fandom oh no

word count: 8,420

a/n: I fell asleep while editing this, good reminder to maybe not lay in a comfy blanket when trying to get shit out on time????? i love sanemi sm tho, please enjoy!

kinktober day 15 main kink: mirror sex | kinktober masterlist

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The sky was always prettier at night.

It wasn’t anything against the sky during the day! As a matter of fact, you also loved the light blue sky just at noon. You loved it wholly! You loved the way the sweet smell of crops of the earthy dewy scent traveled in the morning, and you loved how every creature in existence seemed to hum with life. The morning sky and earth were always busy.

But, you always found the deep dark blue-purple, nearly black night sky to be ethereal.

If you closed your eyes and listened closely, the nighttime, silent with white noise hanging through every quiet move of wind, felt like another world. Out near the countryside, not quite the city and not quite the farmlands, you were able to live a life where you felt safe, felt normal. You and your friends were always screaming and chasing each other through the streets following the setting sun. Your curfew hours pushed back for the night, letting you relax.

You loved to sit just at the edge of the farmed roads, right where the light from the town just disappeared into blackness. You would sit there, eyes bright, fingers pointed at the sky as you took in the irreplicable night sky. At sixteen years, you had decided to venture out on your own; your friends said that they wouldn’t be able to join you because of their own busy schedule and insisted that you don’t go on account of the few vanishing people the past few nights.

But, you were never one to pay mind to others’ opinions; your own mind set on seeing the supposed asteroid shower that night in tandem with the full blue moon was to be a sight you couldn’t miss. So, you laughed, scratching the back of your neck as you sigh.

“Fine, I won’t go,” you lied to them, and they smiled in gratefulness.

But, like the liar that you are, you found yourself rushing out of your home, your fingers clutching at your kimono as you run. The sun had already set, and if you were to make sure that you would make the sighting, you were going to need to get there now.

Eventually, you made it to that pathed dirt road, your eyes scanning the darkened sky with intense focus as you began to search for the asteroid shower you were promised. With the bright, beautiful moon in the sky, your feet stamping onto the road with your impatience and excitement, you listened to the whistling wind and chirping bugs as you waited.

Nothing abnormal or out of the ordinary.

It was tranquil, quiet, calm.

And finally, when the backdrop of the night sky served as the background to the beautiful shower of asteroids, a single sound that you’ve never heard before echoed from before you and immediately made your stomach sicken.

Someone was eating in the fields right before you, the sound of a person, maybe an animal, eating something as if it was starving. Slowly, the air filled with fickle laughter, a noise that had your heart racing as you stood up. Your attention no longer focused on the beautiful night sky, but instead, two pairs of yellow and red eyes staring at you.

“Oh? Would you look at that! Two humans already, and it's only three hours into the night!” a voice cackled, and even with the shroud of darkness brought by the hours of the night, you recognized what the not humans were eating.

It was a person.

Unable to scream due to fear, the horror burned through your veins as you tried to scramble to your feet and run away, only to find that you couldn’t even move. You began to cry instead. Fat tears welling down your cheeks as they stalked toward you at a speed you couldn’t start to believe was human or animal, and you curled into yourself, eyes unable to gaze up at the sky one last time.

“So this is where you shithead demons have been fucking hiding?!” a voice practically roared behind you, and it was then you shrieked when a burst of wind exploded over you and a man dressed in a weird black uniform with a white haori with the kanji for ‘kill’ printed on it.

What the fuck was fucking going on?!

You pinched your skin, wondering if, by chance, the gods had cursed you at the very moment and forced you to hallucinate some strange reality.

“T-That’s a Hashira,” one of the not-human humans gasped, arm tugging at his friend. “We don’t stand a chance!”

What the fuck was a Hashira?!

“Like hell, we don’t!” the other snarled in defensive anger. You managed to push yourself onto your forearms, your knees still too weak to carry your standing weight. “Look at all his scars, gotta be hanging by a damn thread. He’s not even looking at us!”

You were taken back by that statement. Why wasn’t the third lunatic looking at them?! You snapped your attention from the non-human humans to look at the white-haired man who was staring at you. Your jaw dropped in your shock and slight embarrassment at the way his scarred face took you off-guard for a moment. Why was he looking at you and not the non-human humans?!

And in horror, you watched the psycho scarred man in front of you unsheathed a katana.

A katana.

The ringing of metal loud in your ear as you scrambled to your feet, this man was genuinely insane. Who still carried such weapons in this time period?! The samurai were no longer around, and he was dressed in something that looked weaker than your own kimono!

“Ni no kata: Sousou-Shina to Kaze,” the psycho samurai man spat, and if you hadn’t already believed you weren’t hallucinating already, you definitely did now. Jagged, solid apparitions of claw marks appeared from the air as the psycho man shot forward, the glinting menace of his katana tearing through the necks of both the non-human humans with such horrifying ease. You screamed.

The terrified scream didn’t stop afterward, only seems to increase in horror when you watched the bodies crumble into smoke and ash, their voices still muttering last words, bitter and abhorrently angry at being murdered. The psycho samurai had beheaded these non-human humans at such power and strength he had destroyed their living bodies!

Was this because you hadn’t thanked your aunties for adding that one extra meat bun when you noticed after going home?! No, it had to have been for breaking that perverted boy's nose the other day, and this was the curse he placed on you. Physical violence was never the answer; you vehemently prayed to your gods as you begged for forgiveness. Please spare your pathetic life.

Your jaw dropped as you watched the psycho samurai man, with what seemed like proficient knowledge and experience, flick his blade. Blood splattered off the blade, onto the floor, disintegrating too. And well, fuck the gods.

Spinning on your heel, you ran as fast as you possibly could, your chest heaving and nerves entirely shot because if you were hallucinating this badly, you needed to get home. Maybe that candy you ate earlier today from the snot-nosed brat was some weird drug. City kids could never be trusted.

“Are you okay?” a voice gruffed by your ear, and you shrieked, seeing the psycho man seemingly appear beside you. His footsteps were silent as he so obviously ran to catch up to you, and through your frightening horror, you found yourself tripping and falling onto your ass. Staring up at the wholly scarred man in front of you.

You had initially thought it was just his face that was scarred, but no, it was obviously more. There were jagged, ugly cuts lining his pectorals, abdomen, and if you weren’t making it up, you noticed some on his arms. Every piece of exposed flesh was lined with intense scars.

“I don’t eat humans, I—” the psycho samurai man tried to speak, but you were far from done pleading for your life.

“My mom says I have a thick neck! Called me an ox or something! I’m sure you don’t want to cleave off my head like you did the others?! Oh my god, am I gonna die?!” you squeaked, your fingers digging crescent shaped wounds into your arms as you began to cry. “I don’t wanna die!” you wailed, and then just the slightest bit pathetically: “I just wanted to see the asteroid shower.”

The psycho man seemed to grow irritated, his lips pulling back into a small snarl before he rolled his eyes. With tears in your eyes, you watched as the man threw his katana to the side, much too far away from him to use on you, and in the dim lights of the town behind you, you watched the shadows grow on his face as he sat down before you.

Not close enough to make you panic, but not far enough you were squinting to see him.

“My name is Shinazugawa Sanemi,” the psycho samurai man explained, and your eyes narrowed.

“That’s not a god or demon I’m aware of,” you muttered under your breath, but it seemed he heard it by the sour glare he gave you. You stilled under his weighted ton glare, your face warming as you averted your gaze.

“I’m not a god,” he spoke firmly, his arms folding underneath his chest. There was the chance he was a demon, you couldn’t help but think. “Nor am I demon.” You wilted.

“Rabid mountain boy?” you guessed, your nerves and adrenaline are still pounding way too heavy for you to filter your words.

He huffed, “No.”

“Well then—”

“Just let me explain,” he stressed, an eyebrow raised at you, and you stilled. It took a bit, but eventually, you nodded. “My name is Shinazugawa Sanemi, and I am a part of an organization called the Kisatsutai.”

Kisatsutai, the Demon Slayer Corps.

It rang an old bell in your memories, something distant, aged. Maybe a tall tale your grandparents had told you.

“It’s exactly as you think it to be,” he spoke, and you found your gaze rising to meet his. You realized even with the dull, yellowing light of the faraway lanterns, his eyes were a clouded purple. “Those two shitheads that tried to attack you are — were — demons. Yes, demons still exist,” he followed immediately as if knowing what stupid question you were going to ask next. Your mouth closed, and a chill ran down your spine knowing that non-human demon creatures that ate humans actually existed in this world. How had you been so unaware? “I’m a Hashira though, the wind Hashira to be exact. You’re living in my section of the territory I’m assigned to keep safe, so don’t worry. Demons don’t come out during the day; the sun kills them, so keep indoors at night, and you won’t have any issues.”

You remained silent, your mind twisting and turning as you tried to digest his words that seemed to rip apart your life. Sure, there was always a chance of being murdered in life; you weren’t that naive of an idiot to think so. But you never would have guessed that the potential murder you would have was a demon. It just seemed childish.

“T-That’s why they disintegrated?” you eventually babbled, your mind and consciousness entirely overloaded. “Are you some sun blooded person? How did you kill them?”

Sanemi stared at you but grunted. He rose to his feet and offered you a hand, “Top secret, can’t tell you.”

That wasn’t a good enough answer, and your mouth opened, ready to retaliate.

“I’m not trying to be a jerk,” Sanemi spoke, his hand tensing yet again in apparent effort to get you to grab it. “I’ll explain to you the bullshits of the reality of life later, but fortunately, this wasn’t the only area with demons nearby. So, unless you want me leaving you out here alone.”

A frown curled on your face, but with an unspoken level of trust, you grabbed his hand. You tried not to show how shocked and just awed you were at the calloused, entirely strong palms he had. You had no doubt in mind that he was a master swordsman, that title of Hashira seemed to be a big thing too, and the strength and power and callousness of his palm proved it.

“I’ll walk you home, pipsqueak; let’s get a move on it.”

Nodding your head quickly, you tore your hand from his and walked.

The walk was silent, and you could feel his presence lingering behind you like a hot coal in your pocket. You looked behind to see if he was still there several times, and each time he was staring straight ahead, eyes focused on something far away.

“You’ll be back tomorrow, Shinazugawa-san?” you ask as you made your way to the entrance of your home. You weren’t moving to go in, trying to figure out what he meant by explaining it all later.

“Tomorrow evening before I work,” Sanemi confirms, arms folding again.

You nod, “How old are you, Shinazugawa-san?”

He narrows his eyes but eventually rolls them, “Eighteen.”

Only two years older than you were, yet his hands felt like those of a war-veteran elder. It almost seemed like you and he grew up in entirely different worlds. You nod some more, absorbing his words and skills with better clarity as you finally begin to retreat past the gates. “Well, thank you for saving my life, Shinazugawa-san. I’ll leave—”

“You can watch it tomorrow night,” he said, face void of emotions.

You blink, “What?”

Sanemi rolls his eyes, looking entirely unimpressed. “The asteroid shower? The one you were watching or wanted to watch? Tomorrow night, another one will be happening.”

“O-Oh,” you felt warm, a smile spreading across your face as you nodded. “Thank you for letting me know!”

He nods too, a sharp inhale whistling through the air before his shoulders relax, the tension leaving his body altogether. “Well, until tomorrow evening.”

“Goodnight, Shinazugawa-san,” you politely bow. “Stay safe tonight.”

“...you too.”

And when you pull up from the bow, he’s gone.

The next evening, Sanemi shows up again. The sun is still in the sky, barely on its decline, and the summer day's warmth is slowly cooling down. As promised, Sanemi answers all of your questions, or well, tries to answer it. Some questions you have, he roughly snarks that those are stupid questions that shouldn’t ever be asked again (i.e., you asking if he was a child of the sun and that's why the demons had died, you asking if he had grown up in the woods and that’s why he was so scarred, you asking if it was only him in this supposed corps). He makes it pretty clear and unmistakable right away that all demons are evil. That he has the power to kill most demons as he is now and is continuing to train himself daily to ensure that he will one day help eradicate the strongest demon. That had turned into a slight argument on how you seriously doubted an eighteen-year-old possessed the power to murder a thousand-year-old demon who has yet to be killed despite the numbers who have tried.

But Sanemi, for all that was worth speaking of, was strangely enticing. Whenever your family or friends peeked their nosy heads in to try and hear your conversations with the psychotic looking stranger, his rather brash and abrasive tone of talking melded away into one of perfect formality and intelligence you quickly forgot he had. It was almost devious of him to have charmed your mother as soon as he did despite his rather inappropriate getup — he refused to cover up.

Faster than you would have liked, the setting sun began to turn scarlet red and royal purple against the sky, and you watched one of the nine apparent Hashira walking away, his body disappearing in the crowds of people that were moving about in the town. But, he was taller than most of them, and with that head of white hair, you watched him leave until you could no longer.

“Come back again, please, Shinazugawa-san?” you had asked right before he left, your heart hammering in your chest.

He looked at you, unsure, a million emotions flashing through his clouded eyes. Ignoring the way your family and friends were watching you through the obvious crack in the door, you looked at Sanemi, who rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see.”

That was good enough for you.

Better yet, the asteroid shower returned that night, and as you took it in with a star dazed smile, you thanked Sanemi, wherever he was.

It seemed to become some sort of ritual for both of you.

Sanemi showing up, both of you talking in the courtyard of your home for a few minutes. Some days he showed up with enough time to eat dinner with your family, who were intrigued to know who he was. Some days your friends refused to leave your side, so Sanemi would as calmly as he could interact with them. Turns out a few of them reminded him of his own friends, and a sense of kinship formed between them all.

But as the sunset and you wished him well and luck, you always asked for him to return.

Sanemi would always respond with uncertainty. But the next day, he was there.

Some days he had more bandages on his body; some days, he looked straight up sick. There were scary days where he wouldn’t appear at all, and he’d be back in two days apologizing. He had come across a few Lower Moons and was hospitalized then had a meeting, he would explain. There were some days he’d let you grab his hand as he explained that he wouldn’t be back for a few days; there was a meeting in Headquarters, and it took a day to get to and a day to return from. Three days have gone from his usual postings, so he would have to spend an additional four days heavily working to make up for his disappearance.

“Fuckers aren’t as strong as they should be anymore,” Sanemi gruffed as you rested your head against his shoulder, his softly resting against yours. “Idiot trainers letting them take the test without their breathing techniques being strong.”

You laughed your finger, raising and pressing against his proud scar on his chest. It had been a year since you had first met him at that point, and now at seventeen, you knew he was proud of his scars, showing them off like the farmers showed off their prized crops, how senseis and masters showed off their awards.

“They can’t even fucking use the Water Breathing techniques correctly,” he spoke angrily, almost bitterly. “That’s the easiest breathing to learn! They had no fucking skill; they don’t use the breathes they should be using!”

“Mm,” you agreed, not really invested in their strengths or if the trainers were blind fucking bats, and your hand rested on his chest. His heartbeat under your fingertips, and you looked at his dark purple eyes. Despite the weird angle, his eyes were beating with the slightest bit of anger. “They sound like the worst.”

You had never known Sanemi to freeze up or startle, but you saw the way his eyes dropped to your lips, the way they drank them in, but he pulled away. His heartbeat suddenly frantic as he stood.

“It’s getting late; I gotta go if I’m going to make the town thirteen kilometers from here,” he grumbled, strapping his katana to his waist and standing up. You quietly followed after Sanemi, listening to him talk about how there was a case this morning but that the supposed demon was an actual cannibal.

As the two of you passed to the front gate, the warm smell of cracked dirt and sweet weeds filled the air. The sun was still high in the sky, just enough for your practically superpowered friend, not a friend, to make it to his suspected town just as the sunset.

He turned to you, falling quiet, obviously waiting for your typical farewell. But, you were trying something new tonight, and maybe from here on out. Sanemi watched with wide eyes as you stepped before him, your lips pressing sweetly against his battle-hardened skin, just kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Stay safe,” you grinned, pulling away, finding the pink in his cheeks and ears as a sign of victory. And as you made your way back into the doors of your home, Sanemi’s hands grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you near once again.

“I didn’t know you were a fucking Water User,” he snaps, and before you could smoothly input, you were not a Breathe user on account of your very serious childhood asthma, his lips pressed against yours, and it suddenly made sense.

The sky during the day was, for the most part, repetitive and boring. But when Sanemi pulled away from you, your lips humming with electricity and pumping blood from your excitement, the backdrop of the sky on the man who held your heart could outmatch even the asteroid shower you had seen.

“Come back again, please, Sanemi?” you slowly spoke, the smile on your face ear-splitting and pure.

“Fuck off!” Sanemi flushed bright red, and he turned on his heel and stormed away.

He listened to your bell-like laughter as he rounded the corner. Well, until he seemingly reappeared before you again, his hands pressing to your cheeks and kissing the laughter from your throat before he pulled away. His voice was gruff, and his body language screamed he was doing everything not to look away from you right now, “I’ll see.”

And it was good, so very, very good.

By the time you were eighteen, you had moved in with Sanemi.

Despite the lack of a formal proposal, how both of you agreed not to marry yet, your parents allowed you to move in with Sanemi. They knew the reason why both of you had decided not to wed and accepted it as long as Sanemi took all responsibility for what would happen to him should anything happen to you.

You still remember Sanemi showing up in the only kimono he owned. It was a bit — okay, try way — too tight against his arms and chest. His katana or usual uniform nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been expecting this to happen; the two of you had discussed this future together plentifully. But seeing him on his knees, a bow that was so low, respectful, and formal, had sent your skin simmering with blazing heat as Sanemi asked to officially court you and if he could also bring you home with him.

Tears welled in your eyes at his beautifully spoken request, and your parents, who may or may not have interrupted a handful of too many gentle, sweet, full kisses between you and Sanemi in the gardens of your home, had expected it.

That sunset, you had watched Sanemi pull his katana and uniform from underneath a tatami mat in your room, and you screeched about how he had hidden it there. He didn’t bother responding as he changed into his needed uniform, and you had politely looked away while he changed. You may or may not have caught sight of his muscled, toned, and scarred legs, though, and you may or may not have thought about it for every second after he had left.

He kissed you wholly before he left that night, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone just softly enough to make you putty in his hands.

“I’ll be back in the morning to help you move in,” he promised, and you nodded your head impatiently, your lips seeking his again.

As promised, Sanemi showed up the following morning, and with the help of the wagon your parents owned, all of your items were carefully exported to Sanemi’s home. A home that was way more than you had imagined. Your fiancé, not quite a fiancé, was always clean, he never showed up covered in dirt or blood, so while you weren’t necessarily expecting him to live in a crate at the side of the road, you were also expecting that from him.

It was a large home with a large courtyard, garden, and training spaces. Sanemi had easily carried your trunks into your (Sanemi and your’s) room, and you had hugged your parents tightly before they left. Their smiles drowned out into the bright sunlight as they went.

The adjustment to living with Sanemi wasn’t as hard as you thought it was going to be. For sure, the most challenging thing was getting your body accustomed to being awake during the night so that you could sleep with him and then spend his waking hours with him. It was perfect, blissful, and wonderful. You’d spend sundown to sunrise doing chores and doing drills with a wooden sword and dummy — Sanemi was teaching you how to handle a katana in case he wasn’t around. You’d write down lists of what you would need when he came home. Thirty minutes after sunrise, nearly without fail, Sanemi would stumble into the house, calling out his greeting.

You helped him bathe the night's blood and grime away, and with gentle hands and coaxing words, dragged him to sleep. At three in the afternoon, both of you would wake, and the day would begin with a sweet kiss good morning. Both of you would go and finish the day's errands, the vendors soon becoming familiar with your face and person. It was a great community, and everyone seemed to hold Sanemi in high regard.

But your relationship changed yet again when Sanemi slammed through the doors one day after sunrise. His eyes were wide, faint pink, already healed over scars risen on his skin as you came to the front door to see your husband, not a husband, discarding his shoes on the floor.

“What’s going on?!” you asked, partially because you were scared and partly because you were slightly exhausted and ready to drag him into bed with you. But it seemed that Sanemi had that same exact mindset, but with a whole other meaning.

The kiss he pressed on your lips was blistering hot; you arched against the intensity of his kiss, your fingers touching the dirt of his face and feeling the heat of his skin.

“I need you,” he simply stated, over and over, his words coiling and festering under your skin until you could do nothing but let out a shaking moan. Exhaustion had burned out of your bloodstream, and a gentle, building warmth sank through your loins as slowly you agreed.

I need you,” you repeat as the sliding doors close behind your shifting bodies, the both of you losing yourselves to the heat and the passions of the early morning lust.

It had been approximately a year since you and Sanemi began to indulge in your shared sexual desires. Your relationship was deep, it was full, and as everything human, had its flaws. There were mornings where he would come home and needed to sleep in a separate room, evenings when he would leave, and his words would be cold and haunting. His life up until now had been a hard one, and you were no fool to believe that your presence would make him forget that.

But in spite of it all, you were always happy when Sanemi would pull off of you, the streams of golden morning light whisping into the room, your body aching with the intensive pleasurable waves as the both of you would ease into sleep. It was perfect, you thought so, at least.

Sanemi, however, always claimed that you were a sight to be seen when he was bottomed out in you. His words were sweet in your ears as his lips brushed your skin, his praises were endless, but even when the drunken hue of the passions of the early morning faded, he swore you were a sight to be taken in at its full glory. Through every praise, every small moment where he would kiss you afterward as the smell of sex and dewy grass wafted into the room, Sanemi wanted you to see how beautiful you were when he fucked you.

You had no idea how that was to work; there was nothing that gave off a good enough reflection. But one late spring day, your eyes at the table you were using, carefully shuffling the funds Sanemi had acquired and placed them out accordingly, the front door was thrown open.

“I’m home,” Sanemi grunted from the first room in the home, and you strained your ears, not hearing the door shut behind him.

“Welcome home!” eventually came your response, your body pressing up from the floor, fingers smoothing down your purple kimono before walking to where Sanemi stood.

By the time you entered the room, Sanemi had already closed the door. But you were less focused on the time interval it took him to enter the home and more interested in the large, covered, and almost ominous rectangular object resting on the wall.

“Whatcha got there?” you asked, head tilting in your curiosity, eyes focused on the large rectangle.

“The obaa-san gave me free smoked salmon because she heard that apparently, we’re trying for a kid. She said eating salmon before having sex will guarantee a strong male heir. So I figured we could make some nigiri,” Sanemi stated, purposefully ignoring your question if the way his lips pulled into a sardonic smile had anything to say about it.

“You’re an asshole,” you laugh, your hand smacking his shoulder only for him to thread his fingers in yours and pull you in for a sweet kiss. You hummed against his soft lips, your fingers running through his hair until the entire sentence he just told you sparked back into your memory. You tugged the ends of his hair just sharp enough for him to grunt in the back of his throat. “Idiot, don’t let them think we’re trying for a kid just yet.”

Sanemi snorts, pulling away from the kiss, “Maybe you should stop talking about your cravings in public — especially with that gossiping vendor.”

“Period cravings are a thing!”

“Yah yah,” Sanemi grunted, his hand waving you off as he gathered his rectangle thing and started making his way off with it. It was enormous though, you noticed as he carried it. It was longer than both of your heights, and if you were to stand at his shoulder, it seemed like it could still be wider than the both of you. “Stop breathing down my neck, weirdo.”

“You’re the one not telling me what that is!” you complain, following Sanemi with enough distance that you weren’t stepping on his heels. “Come on, ‘nemi, tell me what it is?”

“What do you think it is?”

“I hope it isn’t Mitsuri-chan’s present from Iguro-san,” you grumbled, knowing that last Christmas, you had to keep Mitsuri’s present hidden from the lovely Love Breathe wielder. “I can’t handle him showing up in the middle of the day, demanding to see it again. Why didn’t his own home work?”

“Kanroji shows up occasionally, and he only brings her into the best rooms depending on the day,” Sanemi grunted, resting the rectangle onto the wall by your tatami mats. “He won’t confess; she’s dumber than a rock, it’s all annoying. But he’s still… a friend.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re finally admitting to being friends with your fellow Hashira!” you chirped, your arms circling his neck, your grin complete and authentic as Sanemi looked at you unimpressed, his lips in a pout, not a pout, but a pout. You had the privilege of meeting all the Hashira Christmas morning, and they were all lovely people you got along with quite well. “Now, are you and Tomi—”

“That water bastard can choke on my foot and die!” Sanemi snapped, his face fuming, eyebrows narrowing, but his warm arms remaining relaxed and warm around your waist. “I’ll kill him and his stupid ‘I’m-better-than-you’ personality.”

“And you don’t get along with someone like that?” you feign surprise, utterly delighted with the way his eyes sparkled dangerously at you. And well, you didn’t ever hesitate to take a bite out of Sanemi. “Guess there’s only enough room for an ‘I’m-better-than-you’ personality even in the Hashira, and if it isn’t you… oops.”

Sanemi choked, and you laughed loudly, face nuzzling into his stiff neck as he attempted to escape from your stubborn hold.

“You’re a real jerk,” Sanemi said as monotonously, allowing his much stronger body to be bent down as your lips peppered against his skin and eventually on his relaxed lips that didn’t bother returning your kisses.

“Kiss me back,” you whined, your lips pressing with a more significant, more profound fervor against his mouth.

“No.”

“I’m sorry!” you giggled with no actual apologies in your tone, enjoying the way that Sanemi’s lips slowly began to press back against yours. “Tomioka-san is obviously not the holder of the ‘I’m-better-than-you’ personality title!”

“You damn brat,” Sanemi growled, his fingers pinching and pulling at your cheeks, paying no mind to your cries of mercy. “To think that I bought this for you too!”

“You haven’t even shown it to me yet!” you complain, unable to pout on account to his fingers, still pulling your cheeks apart. “You left me in the dark!”

Sanemi grunted, letting go of your cheeks, his purple eyes darkening and narrowing as he slammed a hand over your eyes and twisted you around in a swift movement. You resisted the small gasp hanging at the tip of your tongue when you felt his broad chest pressing into your back, and he moved forward, commanding you to move without a word.

“Is this when you confess you’ve been a demon this entire time and trap my soul into Hell with all your other sexy wives?”

“Would you shut up?!”

Sanemi’s hand tore away from your eyes, and even though you were ready to argue with him just to hear the flaring annoyance on his tongue, you stilled when you saw your reflection perfectly. This had to be a mirror, an invention made in the west a few years ago, and finally, it was here. You weren’t oblivious to the fact that you were smaller than Sanemi, but the mirror made that difference alarmingly apparent.

“I told you I wanted you to be able to look at yourself as I fucked you,” Sanemi whispered against your neck, breaking your attention away from its transfixion on the precise observation you finally had on yourself. “Turns out Tokyo got some imported, and I had to go get one myself.”

“Sanemi,” you whimpered, the canines of his teeth dragging against the tender flesh of your neck that was exposed from your kimono. Your eyes took in the sight of how his eyes stared at your face through the mirror's reflection, they were dark, murkier like this, and when his teeth slowly sank into your flesh, a ripple of pleasure and pain bubbling against your skin, you moaned.

“Look at yourself,” Sanemi purred, his arms circling around your waist, and you felt him slowly beginning to undo the fastenings and fabrics of your kimono. “I need you to understand just how crazy you make me feel when I touch you, when I fuck you.”

The words were hot cinders in your lower stomach, festering and twisting in its warmth as his words buzzed in your ears. Your eyes dragged over to your reflection, and you could feel the beginning steam come out of your ears at the sight of yourself. Your eyes were lidded, perfectly hooded to give off the obvious desire that was growing in your body, your lips swelling with how your teeth tore into them, stopping the small moans that went unheard, and the flush that radiated off your features and glowed in your eyes.

It was a sight that you had never expected to see, and the pure unadulterated lust radiating off your features embarrassed you. The embarrassment only seemed to grow more as the kimono slipped from your shoulder, exposing more of your tender flesh for Sanemi’s mouth and teeth to mark, and your head dipped backward at the lewd scene.

“Look at you, angel,” Sanemi smirked against your skin, his eyes glinting dangerously even though the reflection as you weakly, just barely managed to return your gaze onto your review. You looked even more wrecked as the kimono dropped to the floor, the white undergarments you wore making you look saintly in the reflection and warm light of the streaming sun. “So beautiful, so perfect, and all mine.”

Your fingers fisted into the pants of his uniform. Your knees feeling weak with the possessiveness that came with his words. Unsure as to what to do, all the embarrassment and shamelessness in the world dancing like falling leaves as you pondered what you could do. Usually, you would move with him against him. You didn’t exactly fall into a pillow princess category, but feeling the intensity of his gaze through a mirror, and the way that your body behaved exactly as he had always claimed it had, made your head spin.

You gasped loudly when his hips rutted slowly against your ass, his scarred hands continuing to undress you more, each fabric of clothing that separated your naked body from the mirror disappearing until you were completely nude. And you mewled.

“Look at yourself, angel,” Sanemi laughed against the shell of your ear, his head now against yours, keeping you from even attempting to look away. His large, rough hands glided across your much softer skinned body, watching as his fingers rolled your nipples between his fingers, massaging your tender flesh in his hands.

You saw the way your head dipped backward as you moaned, your eyes fluttering as you did so. Undoubtedly, both of you painted an erotic scene, but it was something you hadn’t ever expected to be confirmed. “You look so beautiful moaning against my touch; I wonder if you’ll like the way your face scrunches up when I fuck your pretty little pussy, or even when I touch it.”

Slight fear shot through your nerves as suddenly, Sanemi dropped to the floor, taking you with him. No pain went through your body as he made impact with the floor. You figured out why immediately, your ass was against his hard crotch, his clothed outer thighs pressing against your naked inner thighs, and you made sight with the mirror and keened at the picture of your spread slick pussy.

Sanemi shifted behind you, and although you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from how your cunt glistened in the light, you shook when you saw his bare arms, felt his bare chest against your back.

“You drive me utterly fucking insane,” Sanemi growled hotly against your ear, crotch grinding up into your ass, and you pathetically looked at your flushed face as you ground back downwards onto him in return. A slow groaned out moan resonated from his mouth, and you shivered and gasped at the noise, your cunt clenching at nothing as Sanemi positioned your arms as he wanted them to be. Clutched into his hair, absolutely revealing your naked body to the mirror, denying you no salacious angle of your body. “I want you to watch me make you feel good, angel. Don’t look away, promise?”

“I p-promise,” you stammer, the slight glint of his eye that you can still see, making your toes curl.

And he began.

Sanemi’s finger slowly traced down your knees, the heat from his flesh nearly burning as you tremble in his hold. Your instincts fight whether to look at him from the mirror or normally.

You keep your eyes onto the mirror. “Good job, you’re doing such a good job,” Sanemi voices, his fingers becoming feather-soft strokes against the inside of your legs that make you arch against his chest. a sharp inhale was what he was rewarded with as his fingers make small circles centimeters from where you crave him most. “I haven’t seen you react this intensely in so long. Is it because you’re watching your pretty face enjoy the praise?”

Unsure what to say, your head nods rapidly, your tongue falling dead in your mouth when his left-hand drags up your abdomen, scratching the underneath of your breasts until you can shake no more. “SANEMI!” you shriek, unable to take the teasing touches and watching your embarrassingly turned on face anymore. “SOMETHING! DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING, PLEASE!”

“Aw, you cracked so fast,” he chuckles against your ear, and you melt into a euphoric victory when his thick, rough fingers plunge into your cunt.

Immediately, your hips snap up to greet him, your body shifting in quick, fast snaps as you watch your soaked cunt fuck against his fingers, desperately, greedily taking him in more and more. The sight of his fingers disappearing into your cunt through the mirror, the way your teeth tore into your lips to keep your singing praises at a minimum, and how you could feel and swear you could see the heat pounding from your body take shape through the mirror.

You had never felt this tight yet undone. Your lust hazed eyes shifting from your almost too lewd facial expressions to the way Sanemi jaw flexed with his growled endless praises, to how your cunt greedily sucked him in, further and further until the pounding of your heart couldn’t even drown out the wet, squelching of your cunt.

“Fuck!” Sanemi cursed, his hips grinding further, harder into your ass, and you keened at the massive hard length that poked into your back. “Look at you, you’re so fucking hot, angel. So needy, so fucking greedy for everything that I’m giving you.”

“I want m-more!” you sob, your body hyper-aware of how fast his curled fingers were pounding into you. You craved the way his battle-scarred fingers dragged against your puffy inner walls, hips bucking so his fingers would drag against the spongy divots, sending your mind spiraling and your jaw falling in your wordless beg for more. You understood why Sanemi craved you like this, why he insisted you needed to see the way you looked when he fucked you because as the hand that was kneading and pulling on your breasts and nipples shot down to make sure your trembling thighs didn’t smash together in your building climax. How he continued to press sloppy, wet, hot, and bitten kisses against your neck, you were a perverts fantasy. “M-More ‘nemi, please give me more!” you practically wailed.

“You gonna cum around my fingers, angel?”

“I needa cum, I wanna cum!”

“I want you to cum around my fingers, look at yourself for me when you do,” Sanemi commanded, and you, in your lust-driven mindset, agreed. Your eyes were looking on your lewd face, and everything crumbled when the growing clenches of your cunt became a tight vice grip.

But the heated pressure between your legs had been festering for too long, the included visuals that sent your brain into putty had you cumming around his fingers, your hips bucking wildly, barbarically against his still conquesting fingers. “Yes, yes yesyesyeysyes, that was so good… your fingers are so good,” you babbled, your eyes crossing, unable to look at yourself anymore. The elation of the orgasm flooding your mind and muscles. But you hadn’t been fucking the man who could pound you for multiple rounds without tiring without picking up a thing or two.

Twisting around your lips that were swollen from your biting and smooth with your saliva crashed against his. Sanemi didn’t resist your kiss, his lips crashing and moving without any hesitation against yours. You moaned when his fingers left your heat, and you slipped your tongue into his mouth as you ground your ass against his still throbbing hard-on. “I want your cock still, ‘nemi. I want you to fuck me with your cock, please fuck me.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay!” Sanemi snarled, and his thighs slammed shut.

You crawled off his lap, watching as the slick stained spot on his uniform glistened in the light. Frowning, not wanting to disturb him, you couldn't help but lick against the wet area, voice moaning deeply at the musky, sweet scent of your slick against the fabric.

“Y/n!” Sanemi weakly got out, his hips instinctively bucking towards your lapping tongue.

You worked with him to get his uniform off his hips, your body not waiting for him to undress entirely before your mouth enveloped his thick veiny cock. The salty pre-cum invaded your senses, your tongue lapping up the underside of his cock before your mouth took in his swollen red head. You hollowed out your cheeks as you sucked his cockhead, your tongue swiping and moving at his leaking slit as Sanemi cursed the heavens for you, his hands grabbing onto your head and pulling you off him right when that shivering twitch of his cock pressed to your tongue.

Gasping, you looked at Sanemi’s nearly black eyes, disappointment heavy on your features.

“‘Nemi—” you pout, but Sanemi doesn’t let you finish.

You’re back almost straddling his waist, your back flush against his chest. He holds a strong, sturdy hand against your waist, keeping your waiting, wet cunt from lowering onto his hard cock. Your feet on the mats feel weak as you try to hold your weight above him, but when his teeth sink into the back of your neck, a spot that makes your body collapse without reason, you garble a scream when his cock sheathes completely within you.

Heavy, hot pants escape both of your mouths as you’re completely seated on his cock, the nearly inhumane girth of his cock making you dizzy at the surprise entrance. But you were much, much more fascinated with the way your pretty little pussy was stretched out so wide for his cock. He was buried in you, and even though it didn’t hurt to have him in you. The reflection showed how your lips pulled and stretched to fit him in, the small bulge of his cock in you was seen, and you cried in ecstasy.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” you begged, hips long gone from obeying any command Sanemi could try to give you as you fucked yourself against his length. “God, your cock is so good, ‘nemi! You look so good filling out my pretty fucking pussy!”

That is what makes Sanemi lose it, his hands that rest on your hips tightening with a bruising grip as he begins slamming into you. The wet noises of his cock entering and exiting of your sloppy, wet cunt at an even faster speed in which you were fucking him make your nails dig into his thighs, your eyes crossing, breathes hot and heavy.

Twisting, curling pleasure thrums deep within your womb, tightening and warming with each successive thrust that sends Sanemi’s cock rubbing against your inner velvet walls. You cry his name, eyes dazed and dripping with want and need as you watch the slicked shine of his cock pounding into your without mercy.

“You’re so fucking tight like this, angel, so fucking hot. You like the way you look like when I fuck you, huh, look at how godly you appear,” he snaps, his arms hugging your hips, his thrusting becoming short, deep, fierce snaps.

You can’t look at yourself anymore, the heat of the sex and the electric pleasure that rides with every lick of his cock against your cervix, sending your hot, wet lips in search of his. Sanemi meets you halfway, open mouth moans and groans being exchanged between your open mouths as your tongues intermixed and pressed sinfully against each other. The noises that leave your wet sexes only fuel the raging fire in your cunt that has reignited to a hire flame than before.

“Cum in me,” you find yourself begging against his lips. “Please cum in me, don’t pull out, ‘nemi, please don’t pull out.”

“Fuck, fuck, you sure?” Sanemi grunted, his body heaving you both forward so that you were on your knees, and he was absolutely wrecking you from behind.

“Yes!” you affirm over and over again. your mind high off of him and how you looked in the mirror. “I want you in me, all of you in me!”

He let out a guttural whine, a sound that had you shaking beneath him and screaming when the coil in your cunt finally snapped.

Another orgasm crashed through you, and your spinning high echoed in your ears and curled your toes as you whimpered Sanemi’s name. With the sound of his hips slapping against your ass, and with his teeth burying into the nape of your neck, you felt the hot, liquid ropes burst from his cock, filling you up. The both of you remained there, panting as your sweat and slick covered bodies collapsed to the floor.

“So…” he gasped, collapsing onto the mat beside you, pulling you into his chest so that you could rest against his scarred chest. “Did you like the mirror?”

“...I guess,” you antagonize, grinning when he frowns. “It was hot; you make me look hot.”

Sanemi snorted, his lips pressing to your sweat-covered forehead.

“I don’t do shit; that’s how you are.”

You chuckled, warm grogginess settling under your skin as you merely hum in agreement.

“The Hashira meeting is tomorrow, so I’ll be gone for two days,” Sanemi murmurs, reminding you of the dreaded two days alone. It wasn’t as if you had forgotten; you never do.

“Think anything interesting will happen?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, hopefully.”

You giggle, snuggling in closer to his chest. Yeah, hopefully.

#sanemi x reader #sanemi smut #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #kny #kny x reader #bbs kinktober 2020

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your-turn-to-role · 5 years ago

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If you were to put the M9 in order of how feral they are, what would that look like?

i can absolutely do that!

it's also worth mentioning here that ages back one of my friends asked me to rank the cr characters (both m9 and vm) by how likely they were to eat a pickle out of a pond? (i may post that later if people are interested bc it was fun to write) (edit: posted!)

and i feel like this list is gonna end up being similar, but not entirely, because while fjord would absolutely do that under the right circumstances, he is, as established by freckledmccree, Not Feral. but here we go:

1 - nott

we have a clear winner, and it's love of my life feral child mrs veth brenatto. becoming a goblin didn't make her more feral, it just gave her an excuse to stop being beholden to social rules, and dear god did she take it. i'm honestly struggling to cite specific moments here because just, everything she does, has such strong feral energies?? (though i mean, fluffernutter. that's all that needs saying really). but like??? is an accomplished alchemist and uses it to make exploding crossbow bolts? will threaten to kill anyone as a joke just because she feels like it? very few people get its a joke because when nott the brave runs screaming at you you get out of the fucking way?? stole a gun?? used it to shoot her friend to win a race up a tree?? i can keep going. she's so weird and so wonderful and absolutely feral and i adore her

2 - caleb

now, you'd think given that caleb is perfectly capable of acting with dignity and professionalism would make him rank lower on this list. but no. caleb is perfectly capable of acting with dignity and professionalism and chooses to be feral. and the mere act of making that decision immediately boosts his feral points by like a mile. no amount of loyalty or adherence to literally any system, political structure, or set of social rules? turns into a giant ape in combat? has, multiple times, chosen to cover himself in dirt? liam in this outfit???

this is a Feral Wizard.

3 - yasha

now, definite points for a childhood/adolescence spent wandering the wastelands the gods abandoned (literally), fighting other kids and eating giant spiders. yasha is like the textbook definition of feral. but also like... she's soft. you want to give her a hug. she's still intimidating as fuck, but unlike caleb and nott she's not trying to be feral. she's just out here doing her own gay thing. i love her.

4 - jester

now, jester does not have a feral appearance, so i was on the fence for a bit as to where on the list to put her. feral constitutes a certain amount of not caring what you look like or what people think of you, and jester definitely wants to be pretty and wants to be seen as pretty and has quite a few walls in place when it comes to letting people realise she can have negative emotions. her background as a rich lonely kid is also far from feral.

however. have you met her. jester lavorre is on the surface as far from feral as it is possible to be, and then you hear her talk. honestly, growing up alone with only an archfey for company pushes anyone up the feral scale. see also: going round tattooing members of an enemy ship without their permission just 'cause. the pranks. the destruction. the sending spells. jester lavorre is what happens when feral decides to be fucking aesthetic. also she literally made a god so like, no power on this earth can stop her.

5 - beau

beau, like caleb, grew up extremely Not Feral and then actively chose to cultivate the feral within. her introduction literally describes her as "looks like she put on makeup maybe two days ago, and was like 'yeah, it's still fine'". disaster lesbian. Will Fight Anyone And Anything. however, she's more rebellious than she is specifically feral. never stopped giving a fuck about her image or her principles, she's got the underlying feralness of any punk but she's a bit too put together to rank any higher on this list.

6 - caduceus

caduceus is incredibly calm and patient and at least a little bit prim and proper but also like... the dude grew up in a cursed forest talking to plants and bugs and probably eating weird mushrooms. he has no respect for the laws of any society mostly because he doesn't realise they exist and he's SO valid. i also think the fact that we mostly see him with the m9 doesn't do justice to his actual feralness bc like... caduceus gets ten times more feral with his siblings. cad amongst the clays is way higher on this list. but cad in the mighty nein is mostly just here to be chill. god knows they need someone to be.

7 - fjord

the reason for this post. fjord is the opposite of feral. since freckledmccree brought up the subject, i'll also link this thread, if you want a lot of elaboration on this. but for real, fjord is incapable of being feral if you held a sword to his throat, which incidentally is probably the closest to feral he's ever gotten, back in episode 13. but like... the boy has so many internal rules. so many. he had a panic attack over a hat. someone give him a hug and tell him it's okay to just like, do things. he doesn't need 15 separate completely watertight reasons why.

(also we don’t know molly quite as well as the others since he was only in 26 episodes, but he’s pretty damn feral too. somewhere between yasha and jester i think)

(vox machina)

#cr2 #mighty nein #veth brenatto #nott the brave #caleb widogast #yasha nydoorin #jester lavorre #beauregard lionett #caduceus clay #fjord #mollymauk tealeaf #cr thoughts #text #meta #ask #elizabethemerald #feral rankings

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nurseofren · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 27 (NSFW)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read Chapter twenty-six

Title: There is No Redemption

Words: 7.4K

Summary: Happy trail worship? Happy trail worship.

ST Rambles: Hello readers, I hope you enjoy this part. I am in my final semester for my ADN and cannot promise even monthly updates at this time. Please, please, please comment your thoughts because I don't want to produce content that is not enjoyable. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER / @elmidol

Stress enveloped your skull in throbbing pain, Karmen’s six-hour rundown stinging your senses and drawing you inward. Halfway through, you had already begun to feel the excess of information take its toll; Zag’s voice – unpleasant in small doses – grated into you, each word coming too fast and leaving too soon. Thankfully, no doubt to cover herself, she had left you with a thumb drive; it summarized everything she’d mentioned.

After the ordeal, when she left by the sharp click of her heels, you understood why it was recommended to arrive two days prior to the initial hearing: you were utterly and dreadfully exhausted. After unpacking – ensuring easy access to your favorite socks and keeping Snoke’s letter tucked into the back drawer of a desk – you had sat in bed for an hour trying to refresh with the thumb drive’s contents; you’d were determined to be prepared for tomorrow’s shift at Canto Bight’s recovery wing. If nothing else, you would not make a fool of yourself during your practice here. This you swore to yourself.

At some point you had drifted to sleep, waking to find your cheek stuck to the datapad that’d been propped up before you. The sunset woke you with a searing ray of light, screaming fuchsias and hazy purples warming your outstretched arm as they cast through open curtains. The breeze rolled off of the bay and tickled loose hair over your nape, a deep breath stretching your lungs awake before you unfurled from yourself.

The radar at your wrist indicated Kylo Ren was near but not in his quarters, probably not inside the building. It was a confusing feeling – the unsteadiness you felt when revisiting your earlier interaction, the vagueness of his words contradicted by the certainty in which they’d been delivered, but simultaneously this calm in your chest since you had left him. Although you had no idea what he’d gone on about, or what in time meant, his mere presence – the fact that he was near and would continue to be – allowed you these glimmers of peace.

Not since Starkiller. Not since Snoke. Not Mason and his baseless confidence, no matter how much you wished to latch onto it; not Talia, who had helped you back from your darkest moment. The only things that stilled you were the known proximity of your master, and the nature of the words he’d earlier spoken. You’d felt it that recent night on the Finalizer, how it lingered in your muscles just before you’d dozed off, how it seemed his presence had scared your nightmares away.

However ridiculous and backwards, Kylo Ren – the one whose pain is printed on your skin, who led a slaughter just strides away from you – had become a constant. It was never what you had expected, but when you thought of the trial now, what eased your nerves was nothing less than the raven-haired warrior whose face was slashed with midnight hues of pain.

Much like you, you’d come to realize, he had survived Starkiller, and the event changed him. Though you could not know for sure, you began to wonder if what had gone on had not only left him with the wounds that’d wet your skin, but perhaps ones that were deeper – ones that were not so visible. Something happened before that explosion, something more than whatever fight had earned him that scar.

You shook your head; this was too much to think on right now. With a throw draped over your back, you trudged through the room and out into the chill of your side-balcony. This sky held more beauty than any you’d ever seen; you watched the sun descend, spying a domed, octagonal pavilion at the far left of the side gardens. It dripped with violet-petaled ropes and emerald ivies, was supported by scalloped columns entwined with twinkling blooms welded from gold, the whole stage centered around a sunken fire pit.

Considering for a moment, you saw it would have a better view of the sunset, and you’d been cooped up since arriving. It was a quick decision, catching view of a spiral of stairs that led to the grounds, but only after noting the pair of doors a few paces left of your room’s. They were closed, and the inner curtains seemed to be shut, the room behind them dark. Empty.

No, Kylo Ren was not here, but – a thumb over your radar – he was not far. Somewhere off on his own business. Training, maybe. At least, that’s what you supposed kept you from traveling with him, the thought frustrating. Maybe – no, undoubtedly – he would never admit to it, never show it, but he was still recovering.

Ten days ago he was in a medically induced coma talking about someone named Ben and how he’s dead. Bacta works wonders, but it means nothing if a patient is noncompliant with post-operative restrictions, like swinging around a plasma sword for hours on end, or doing trial runs with the Force – which, although you knew little about, one could easily assume it put strain on the body.

Maybe you were wrong and your master was completely fine, maybe the Force aided in healing. No matter, you worried; for him, mostly, never forgetting how he appeared in that medbay, but also for yourself. It was clear that you cared for him – for fuck’s sake, when you thought you’d never see him again you wanted to tell him you loved him – and you knew his pursuits could very likely be the death of him. Stubborn as you might be to acknowledge it, so long as he was okay and not recklessly shredding through healed wounds, so long as he returned to you, you could rest somewhat soundly.

Hugging your blanket, tighter when the wind blew, you wandered down to the courtyard’s trim lawn, along the overflowing flowerbeds that brimmed with brilliant colors, until you met the few steps that led to the pavilion’s stage. Flames shocked you when you stepped onto the eight-sided base, your presence triggering a hidden system. The rectangular pit exploded into a rainbow of fire, thin veils of flames ascending elegantly into an ordered myriad. The pit was massive, consuming the base but for a few paces from each support.

Much like everything else, the pavilion was grand in size and decoration; the hearth’s hues danced along the draped flora, at least ten paces separating each gold-threaded pillar. Everything here was explicitly luxurious, so big and gorgeous. You wanted to settle into it, but it was temporary, and you would not know how fatal that fact was until it was too late.

Farther out, flames rippled over the bay; the sinking heat of the sun endeared your skin, the warmth at your back growing in distance as you gave in to the silent call of the scorching sky. First tracing the tip of one of the gold leaves woven to a pillar, admiring the detailed stems and ridges, you curled up against the column’s wide base. Head caressed by the smooth, cool stone, knees curled close to your chest, you were glamored by the water’s rhythmic sway, wondering if you would ever have the chance to feel it on your skin.

It took little effort to keep Karmen’s lecture from your thoughts, too lost to the burgundy of dusk that bloomed as the sun wilted toward the bay. A stillness surrounded you, and then you tuned into the chirping whispers of bugs that remained hidden with the fall of night. It did not bother you in the slightest, their distant songs a reminder of your life before the academy. A passing thought, fond amusement lazily humming in your chest – there are no crickets in space.

You remained folded against the pillar for some time, watching night creep over the city, more grateful for the heat on your back as warmth waned, the moon climbing higher with each lulling minute. The stone iced into your cheek. You went to leave, but your commlink buzzed at your waist, and you knew it would be wiser to keep this particular conversation outside.

Elbows to your knees, you ruffled a hand through your hair, closed your eyes, and answered Mason’s call. “How’s your day, McCarty?” There was no use in starting an argument if he had moved on from earlier.

“Probably better than yours, if I had to guess.” He sounded chipper. It was a relief.

“Well, what went on? Where’d you go? Who’d you see? What’d you eat?”

“I’ve really just been hanging out at the house since getting here. Caught a nap, which was nice. Soto sent me a transmission detailing updates on a few patients.”

He wasn’t hostile at all. Hopefully it meant he was done being weird. “I also got a nap. Which, agreed, is definitely nice. Especially after being kept in a room with Zag for six hours and trying to keep my head from exploding.”

“Six hours? With Zag? Are they trying to get you convicted of murder?”

You shared a laugh, scooting along the stone floor and peering up to the ceiling. It was tiled with mosaics, the fire’s vibrant colors reflecting off of it and shifting along the intricate designs. The view of the city was wider from this position, distant lights shimmering in windows that peered into whatever parties were undoubtedly happening.

“She isn’t that bad. It’s just her voice. And I barely have a handle on anything other than the fact that I have my first shift tomorrow, and then two days after that is the initial hearing. And I don’t even want to think about that to begin with, so…”

“Well,” he sighed your name, “I’ll be there. Bright and early, just like you. Wearing my second-best attire, saving the very best for the official trial, of course.”

“Jeez, that’s another thing, right? They fly us out here, put me up in some military-grade villa, but they give me nothing to wear, are aware that my residence just exploded on Starkiller, and then still say I can’t wear my uniform. I just find that a bit unfair. But that’s what I think, which we both know has not mattered since the very beginning of all this. I don’t even know why I expected anything different. I’ll just have to request transport to the shops or something. And then make credits appear out of thin air to pay for it.”

With notably increased enthusiasm Mason said, “Actually, I, uh, I was going through the house earlier and there’s actually a lot left over from my family’s recent trip. You’re free to come over and take some stuff back to your embassy if you want.”

“Alright, first – not my embassy, and if we’re calling it anything, I vote palace. Seriously—” you stared at a trellis that overflowed with wild blooms of every shade of red, the dead, fallen petals mocking you in the familiar way they pooled beneath. “—this place is too beautiful for any of the old businessmen who stay here. It’s actually ridiculous.”

“So it’s not homey, after all?”

A bellowing laugh came from the center of your chest, echoing up to the domed roof and into the growing dark. “No. No. Not homey. Not quaint. None of that. Just giant and spectacular.”

“Well, whatever it is, do you want to come over and grab some clothes?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. That’s a lot better than spending credits I don’t have. Although maybe I’m worrying for nothing? Don’t they forgive your debt when you die, anyway?”

Mason did not laugh, did not even speak, and your amusement fell into alarm. An edge menaced along each pointed word when he spoke; “Maybe they’ll forgive your debt, but I won’t forgive you for dying.” He grunted in rejection. “You’re not dying, so I don’t know why we’re discussing this.”

Silence swallowed you both, and for a moment you could hear him trembling, hear the shakiness of his breath. A sharp exhale startled your hand from your ear. And then it was quiet again. He cleared his throat, and you noticed how thick it had become. Was he crying?

“Mason, you need to tell me what’s going on. And don’t say-,”

“Nothing is going on. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

“Funny, because when you say that, when you tell me we’re fine when I didn’t ask, it makes me think the exact opposite.”

He sighed, but at this point there was a good chance it was more exasperation or fuming than anything else. “I’m not having this conversation when I can’t see you.”

“Well, I’ll just turn my transmission on and we can-,”

“No.” Clipped, barked. Final.

It concaved your chest. Mason had never spoken to you like this. Your teeth scraped at your bottom lip. “Should I be worried?”

He paused. “No,” as it gritted through his teeth, your name was contoured with wisps of ire. An ounce less of restraint and whatever he was holding back would crack this hardened, taut façade.

The worst came to mind. All you could manage was a terrified whisper, “Are you revoking your seat to testify? Is that what this is about? Am I about – fuck – am I about to- I can’t lose you. I can’t-,”

“I told you. I told you I will be there.” Frosted fury swept through his following pause. His flat tone was laced with quiet hurt when he next said, “Do you really think I could do that to you? Leave you in the dust like that?”

“No. I guess not.”

“You guess not,” he thought aloud, a long drag of breath crackling into your ear. “I’m glad that you’re settled in, and… good luck during your shift tomorrow. You don’t need it, I know, but nonetheless.”

He was dismissing you. You hated it. “I’m not hanging up until I know we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he said simply, too fast. Mason cleared his throat. “Request transport for the morning after your shift. You can shop around the closets and after, we can order lunch and… and we can talk. About things. Everything.”

It was apparent he would not give anything more away, but you knew from his flat tone that whatever it was, was detrimental to him. Or you. Or both.

“Yeah. I’ll put in the request after shift tomorrow.”

Another long, aching silence. You listened to his breath, trying and failing at ignoring the knives in it. The line remained silent, the hanging static a backdrop to the hidden, harmless creatures humming in the night.

“I love you, Mason,” you prompted, teeth catching your trembling lips, time choking you with every halved second that trudged along.

It killed you, every inhale adding to the weight in your chest, every empty, wordless moment he spent cutting into you with a silent blade.

Another second and you turned back to the heightening tide of the bay, the clear night sky dying it a deep navy. Even as you tried to focus on the waves that foamed along the distant shore, there was no sound louder than Mason’s nonresponse.

“Goodnight,” Mason said, small, far enough away that it splintered through your heart like ice wedged through rock.

“Good-,” the line went dead, the static dying, a night-kissed wave crashing in your periphery, “-night.”

The iridescent veils of hearth rippled before you now, turning away from the seemingly infinite expanse of water. Even so, you shivered, and you were sure it had nothing to do with the weather. Tucking your commlink into your waist pocket, loosing a long-kept breath, you stood from the stone and clasped your blanket over your shoulders. With a final glance, chin to your shoulder, you appreciated the beauty of your first night here.

Whatever awaited you tomorrow, the next day, and in the weeks to come? It would remain. For now, just this one moment alone, you could pretend that everything was okay. Just for a moment.

A soft touch brushed your shoulder, but when you turned to meet whoever it belonged to, you found there was no one around. But a light caught your eye, one that had not been there before. Maybe that interruption to the dark captured your attention, but not at all was it what kept your gaze above the gardens.

Through the clear night, a breeze danced through the flora, glittering scarlet petals into the shadows. Above those dwindling rubies, leaning over the balcony’s curve, was Kylo Ren. Behind him, the golden light of his quarters caressed his back, small fragments draping over the sharp, toned muscles of his shoulders. He was staring down to you, his gaze laving along your figure, eyes those of a predator aware their prey was no match for them. The ever-heightening moon was all that lit his front, but it was enough. No, so much more than enough. Entrancing. Captivating. Beguiling.

Light cascaded along the taut strength of Kylo’s abdomen, his broad, thick chest emanating with the smooth white of the dusk’s sun. Once more, like it always did, the scar skating through his features kept your attention. From a distance it was less intrusive, but its presence sank your heart like the sun had wandered into the sea.

A whip of night air pushed his hair back to tease his ears, his head slightly cocking to the side when you found his eyes again. There was no color to them, none that you could see so far away, but you felt their heat slink along your lips, then your neck, over your chest, and lower still. When they claimed yours once more, they were sculpted with steadfast steel, strong and slithering, ordering your compliance to the smoking promises beyond.

Without noticing, that chill from earlier had left you, and you gathered the blanket so it hung from your forearm. Kylo held you with his eyes, the fire’s warmth falling away when you stepped off the platform and wandered, in leisure, down the steps and into the plush lawn. A dew was readying to form on the grass beneath your bare feet, the coolness welcome under his blazing attention. One step, two, another, and a final; small, shuffling, like you were hypnotized – truthfully, you could have been, but there was none but your own intent in the steps that carried you closer to him.

Only when he straightened to his full height, standing away from the balcony’s edge, did you halt your advance. He paused there, watching you, so gracefully still you were unsure of his breathing. From his new position you could no longer see his hands, but – you could feel them. A pressure along your cheek, your heart stammering at how its span so completely matched his own, and then around your throat, dizzying when it teased your carotids. Breath shivered from your slack mouth, catching when that – his – ghosted touch skimmed down your sternum and pushed into your rib cage.

Kylo made no sound, but when the night’s quiet scattered around your faint, gasped moan – feeling the whispered hands smooth over your hips, around the front of your thighs – you saw his jaw flutter, darkness and moonlight tangling when he gave you one final glance. The phantom touch left, a feline smirk flickered along his lips, and when his brows descended and veiled those deep, deep eyes, Kylo turned and sauntered out of sight.

But you understood his message, the silent one that only his body spoke, and you knew that his leaving was not goodnight, but an invitation. One you fully intended on accepting.

The trees swayed above you, the beds of perfectly spaced flowers blowing with the gentle breeze and combining with the sea behind to fill your head with the salty, fresh aroma of a Canto Bight night. Each step you took along the patterned grass shimmered anticipation through your veins, heady, wanton thoughts brimming in your mind.

The cold stone that marked the ground level’s patio shocked through you, wet crimson petals that had pooled below the trellis now clinging to the soles of your feet. You did not have time, or at least were desperate to not waste any, to pluck them off, allowing them to travel with you as you led them up the curved staircase. As you climbed the steps, you stole a fleeting glimpse of the bay; from this height the city’s nightlife sheened along the shore, a few private ships zooming above the skyline and carrying their passengers to events unknown to you.

Events that you could not have cared less about, not when you arrived to the second-level balcony, not when you saw the swaying curtain beyond Kylo Ren’s open, waiting door. No, those events meant nil, exceedingly so when you found the beginnings of a trail leading into his room, the first crumb that of pooled, discarded athletic pants.

Instant, overwhelming chills clamored about your skull, the blanket draped over your arm joining the black bottoms when your limbs went wobbly. Through the wind-swept gossamer you spied the second addition – one long, impossibly large, black sock – and when you came closer, the cool of night waning as you met the threshold, your heart thrummed louder at the nearing shaft of light that fled the refresher’s entrance.

Heated tiles warmed your first steps into Kylo’s room, the coquettish curtain kissing the tip of your nose before the door at your back locked shut in near silence. You brushed past the veil of fabric and took in your surroundings, quite different from what they were earlier. The golden rays of morning had since been overridden by soft panes of night, only the moon reflecting onto the light tile, not a single star to join it. The bed’s canopy remained shut, its thin sheets cascading around the bed so there was ample space to walk within its soft confines. And from that canopy, from the circular track above, bloomed delicate, mild light; it melted midway down the canopy, fading to nothing before it breeched the polished ivory below.

Another step and you noticed the trail of scarlet, dew-drop-covered petals you were leaving in your wake. On the step up from the bed’s level lay a second sock, so you padded to it, and tuned into the sound of heavy, rushing water that became louder as you delved further into the dimly lit room. This level was dark save for the glow of the open refresher; you followed that light like a lost vessel in space, hands trembling as you passed through the sitting area with soundless strides. Finally, as you’d calculated at the earlier bareness of his chest, you found the piece of clothing that signaled your final destination lying at your feet.

Atop the refresher’s threshold lay a pair of black boxer-briefs – unfolded, just as they’d appear fresh off the heated, muscled body from which they’d come. A smile played at your lips, remembering how the pair he’d so generously provided you the morning after you’d first slept next to him had hugged your hips with subtle compression. Those, unfortunately, were undoubtedly obliterated with everything else that had exploded with Starkiller.

Kylo Ren was nowhere within view, but running water tucked behind a corner to your left, and when steam swirled around an inlet that bordered a sleek, unbroken wall of ash-grey tile, your lungs lit with need, with want, your thoughts only focused on the body and man that waited for you just beyond view, just out of reach. Suddenly you became aware of how overdressed you were, so you turned to your right and found a mirror that ruled its own wall and plucked open the top button of your uniform.

The fogged silver expanse provided a blurred, softened outline of your near-bare body, scalding goosebumps scraping up your neck at the thought of Kylo’s slicked, dripping body. Hands hooked behind your back, you loosed your bra and smoothed the straps down the sides of your arms. And then all that covered you were the lack-luster panties the Finalizer had provided all those months ago, but they soon joined the small pile at your feet, leaving you naked and anticipatory and adamant.

Plopping your watch onto your clothes, you squared your shoulders, fixed your posture, and approached the heat of the hidden shower. Its warm embrace evoked such a calm through you, first loosening your shoulders, then steadying your breath.

Beyond the smoke hued barrier was a chamber of luxury, the water cascading from above like it came from an invisible storm cloud; its volume suggested a harsh pressure, but, stepping beneath the jets that seemed to span the entire stall, your skin was graced with the pleasant fall of a spring shower. Looking up, blinking through the misted warmth, you found the navy night sky peering down at you through the clear glass ceiling.

All light but that of the moon left the stall, and when your attention shifted down, you saw him through the sheets of water that kept you apart. The air was thick with fog and mist and night, but he remained the most devastatingly gorgeous person you’d ever seen, ever known. You needed him to be closer, you needed to be closer to him. No matter if you’d been with him those few nights ago, and though you’d spoken just hours ago, there was a tautness that tightened as your steps brought you to him.

Arms at his sides, stance strong and confident, Kylo Ren was a stride away from you, and you stopped. Inky black hair dripped down his neck, and his mouth was set in a flat, unreadable line, but all you could think of was how it felt you were seeing him for the first time all over again. He was different now, body scarred and worn from the passing of time. You did not stare at the red and black that had only been there for such a short time now. You appreciated it.

Kylo observed you, and a measure after your gaze followed the ebony ribbon rested in his countenance, you lifted a hand to it. He tensed and you caught his eyes, giving him a small nod before the very tip of your fourth finger kissed the start of his scar. You watched him, vaguely aware of your hand slipping along the marked path through his brow and down his cheek. Breath pushed from him in eased waves, his eyes danced between yours, and when you reached the line of his jaw and tapped your finger to the raised, pinking skin there, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes so you could press an aching kiss to it.

That tenseness that’d clanged into him at your touch was instantly gone, the heated streams above not a match to the stifling relief that fogged from his nares. So near to him, a second hand pushing through wetted, onyx locks, you remembered how he’d stared up at you on the Command Shuttle, how unreadable his expression was when his new scars had still been fresh wounds.

Your touch found the tail end of his healing flesh, and you swallowed down a thick, betraying sob. “Why did you believe me?” you whispered, not looking up to him. “When I told you I hated you and I wanted to quit. When I said,” you winced, “when I called you a bastard and said I wished I could forget you. Why didn’t you fight it longer?”

Kylo was quiet for a moment, body still but not reluctant to the steady meandering of your fingers. Something haunted him when he said, “Irredeemable bastard, if you’ve forgotten.”

“No,” your throat bobbed, “I haven’t. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day. Any, any part of it.” Looking up at him, you smoothed your hand over the scar settled into his shoulder. “After that morning, after everything, why did you believe me?”

“You were saying goodbye,” he murmured, like he’d mulled over that day time and time again and never considered the possibility. “Before Takodana. You knew. He’d gotten to you by then.” A note of betrayal sharpened his tongue, a snarl lighting when he referred to Snoke.

The hand that wasn’t tracing circles along his scarred muscles now toyed with his ear, the tip of your index finger molding to the curved pinnae. “Kylo,” just a breath, nearly drowned by the water ricocheting at your feet, “answer me. Please.”

Smooth, low, he began, “Because who could-,” he swallowed, considering you before starting over, “Because I’ve never known anyone who didn’t hate me. And I’ve always been a bastard. So when you said those things, after that morning, after you’d ran through Starkiller to tell me and kept saying them…”

Memories fluttered behind his eyes, and as their burning brown centered glittered against the navy night, you lifted your hand so you could hold his face, hold it like a parent would caress their child’s tear-sodden cheek. Kylo blinked back to you and you comforted the purpled skin beneath his eye.

He did not want to voice the answers you sought, but you watched as, piece by piece, you dented one of those walls he’d erected in that time-stained interrogation room. Perhaps it was a hopeful thought, but you swore you felt him ease into your hand.

“I stopped fighting because only a fool counters the truth of his life.” Kylo’s throat bobbed, his deep, shadowed gaze swallowing you whole. He caught your hand and led it flat along his broad chest, and then to the panes of his abdomen, placing it over the bruised, raised flesh of the scar you’d yet to explore. “I believed you because there was no reason to doubt you.”

The showering heat from above shielded that which was blurring your vision. He believed you because he believed those things of himself. After seeing him wear so many masks, physical or phantom, you saw it in his eyes that he still thought those things and had for his entire life.

And then it made sense, and the realization dragged jagged, thorn-wrapped talons through your heart. You whispered through the water, wondering if you were speaking only for yourself when you said, “That’s why you didn’t look inside my head. You didn’t think it would show you anything different. You didn’t think I could ever feel differently.”

You ran your thumb along the uneven ridge of the scar forming over his side and tucked your other arm around his waist. With the force that kept moons anchored to their planets, you pulled him in and nestled into the notch of his breastbone.

Through your teeth, “You are not a bastard. Or irredeemable,” your fingers dipped to the center of the healing tissue, “I’ve learned that we make the choices we think are best, and if that’s true, if I believe it? What do either of us have to be redeemed for?”

Kylo said your name, clear as the night that loomed overhead, and a patient finger tipped your chin up. “Nothing. Because there is no redemption for those who do not want it.”

Intensity hardened his face, and once more you felt that sense of equality between him and you. Long fingers smoothed into your drenched hair, and you found a prompt in his brow. Sighing, lungs stuttering, you asked, “What, then, if not redemption?”

The hand that he’d set over yours shifted to your hip, thick fingers prodding at your flesh. Kylo’s touch left your chin and the pad of his thumb rolled over the faint scar that cut into your hairline, a twinge of pain lighting at the memory of its origin; it had healed days ago, but you would never forget the sound of it cracking open when Robbie knocked your skull against the durasteel door.

Kylo stopped musing when he heard you wince, his eyes meeting yours in a stark, unwavering gaze. He smoothed over the blight a final time and proceeded to skate his fingers along your jaw, his thumb coming to rest over your bottom lip. Similar to this morning, yet colder and with a quiet fury breathing beyond his eyes, he looked at you with solidarity.

Calm, sure, adamant, Kylo said, “Retribution.”

A moment to process was spent in his gaze, studying how unbreakable it was, swimming in the shadowed hazel that poured into you. Kylo’s eyes flicked to your lips, and before he could look away, you leaned up so you could reach his own. The swirled hair at his nape slithered through your fingers when you swept you hand from his abdomen and up his torso. Massive, enveloping hands trailed praise along your body until they were mirrored under your breasts.

Exploring his skin, your fingers took residence over the small of his back, digging red trails along the slick surface. You moaned into Kylo’s mouth when a capable hand claimed your supple chest and kneaded into you. He growled in response, a predatory sound that rippled through your nerves and tightened deep, deep in your belly. The pliant pads of his thumbs circled your nipples, the very tips of his nails flicking upward before he added his forefingers and pinched the sensitive peaks to his will.

Kylo mouthed the hinge of your jaw, the bridge of his nose slipping along the bone until you surrendered your neck to him. He hummed against your artery, sucking away the beaded moisture that’d collected for the past few minutes – or had it been hours? Time evaded you further when the schemes of his tongue at your throat delved deeper, revealed themselves further when he laved at your clavicle, shifting between kissing and biting and marking as he made his way to your breastbone.

His muscled back flexed as your fingers routed to his front, dipping low until you found the haze of soft, wet hair that grew from his pelvis. Kylo continued his endeavors and pulled you in by the curve of your back so he could bare your chest to him and run his nose under the base of your breast. His need for your body was evident in the way he bent you to his will, cradling your back so he could have you, but also permitting a sense of safety in the relentless strength that flowed from his forearms through to your marrow.

Near limp in his hold, you tread your fingers down his pelvis and savored the feel of that patch of hair, feeling his pulse beat beneath it, reveling how water collected and fled in such a slow, teasing manner. His chest was to yours, so you felt, rather than heard, the pleasure vibrate from him, deepening when you grazed the very foundations of his hardening shaft. He breathed into your skin, mouthing at your breast and sucking painful paths as he went. The heat of his mouth melded around your nipple, and he bit, and even when you winced and writhed with satisfied hurt, Kylo kept on; not until you were sure he’d drawn blood did his teeth – their unique ridges now throbbing into your breast – leave you, replaced by the salve of his plush, scorching lips. The body of his tongue was structured with adamant, laving over your pebbled peak until poems of pleasure groaned from the depths of your chest.

He leaned you back up and shifted his attention to the remaining half of your body, but you needed him just as much, and you wanted to litter his body with the same pleasure he’d given yours. So, snaking your hands to his jaw, you kissed the hinge opposite to his scar and pecked harder and longer, sucking at his skin like the blood that bruised would grant you eternal life. Falling to your knees in a steady, unrushed descent, you kissed every inch of his abdomen, every bump and ripple of skin that was present around the mending injury. With eyes peering up, hands cherishing the fronts of his thighs, you tongued the scarred tissue and watched him shutter with ecstasy, eyes half-lolling, mouth slackening for a second before he swallowed down whatever satisfaction would have left him.

You teethed at the soft, raised skin, watching him, content when a guiding hand pet down your slick hair. Shifting to his middle, you hummed from one hip bone to the next, feeling the tickle of hair that fled from his naval and dispersed in an even, thick layer of black atop his pubis. Hunger ravaged your throat and you nuzzled into the soft bed of obsidian hair. A kiss to it, then a nip, and then the tip of your nose swirled around the dark patch, his cock twitching at the side of your face.

Anchoring your eyes to his yet again, you dragged the flat of your tongue through the maintained, drenched hair and pushed both your hands along his inner thighs. The muscles beneath your touch sang, streamed just as fluidly as the droplets that were trickling down your spine. Pulling away from him, you faced his cock and observed how it bobbed with your eyes on it, watched it strain for friction when your hands teased both sides of his base, sifting through the dark curls beneath.

The moonlight painted his shaft with subtle, breathtaking contours – a shadow cast under the spongey ridge of his head, light glinting off the misted moisture that’d caught on his flushed shaft. Each prominent vein cast a winding whisper of darkness just a measure from the next. It hypnotized you, the way they overlapped and crossed at points, bulging out from his cock and shifting with each throbbing pulse of blood that clamored through him.

Curious fingers flitted along the heavy, hot column of flesh, tapping it and listening to the thickening breath from the man watching you through ravenous eyes. A smirk curved your mouth, and you peppered a light, whispered kiss to his slit, pushing his cockhead just so it met your teeth, and leading your lips away so the teasing burned through him. You pulled a hand away from his leg and sat back on your calves, taking a breast into it and kneading as he had before, plucking your nipple through each space between your fingers.

“A teasing little whore tonight,” he purred, voice thick.

You hummed, pleased you were getting to him. “I’m your little nurse, remember?” The tip of your tongue teased circles into his frenulum. “And you are my master. Isn’t that right? Master Ren?” Fuck, the title even got to you, cunt fluttering with the hope to be overflowing with him.

“Good girl, teasing whore, nasty slut? Little nurse? You have so many names now.”

“And all of them belong to you.”

You teased his tip and finally laved a flat tongue on the underside of his shaft, flicking it side to side and gripping into his structured, rippling thighs. Something animal, completely primal, roared in his throat, and sooner than you knew, Kylo Ren had joined you on your knees, the weight of his cock slicking down your middle and slapping up to your slit when inertia bounced through it.

A masterful tongue slipped into your mouth and licked your hard pallet, next dropping down and pushing against the side of your own tongue. A muffled moan – one that you were unsure was his or yours or both – clouded through the shower’s downfall. But then a throat-thick huff, aggressive and impatient, gnarled through the air and you were spun on your knees so your back was flush with his chest.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “they do all belong to me.” A possessive hand pushed you into him with might, taking residence in the valley of your breasts. “Your names, your body. Everything.” His hips canted, and the tip of his cock knocked against your clit, fire billowing in your belly, quicker and deeper now.

“Everything,” you echoed, finding his free hand and guiding it so it lay over the permanence etched into your thigh. “I’m- everything. It’s yours. I am yours.”

Unrelenting digits bruised more marks around the one he’d made prior, and when you felt his cock fall in line with your entrance, you thrust into him as he did the same, and you took all of him, at once, in one, fluid, aching motion. An unabashed cry echoed euphoria throughout the moonlit stall. Before you could fully recover from the first thrust, his hand – the free hand that didn’t remain under your own, clutched to your thigh – dipped into your folds and that blooming fire from earlier mushroomed at the graze of his thick digits against the buzzing nerves.

Thrust after thrust after thrust, fucking into you and filling you to the brim and then some each time, knocking the air from your lungs and burgeoning those sweet spots within with each paced, violent pass. All of that pressure combined with the winding circles and strokes he racked your clit with, you felt the breath of climax rise first in your chest, and then upward into your throat.

Kylo was panting by your ear, sucking the skin behind, clutching you to him so it became uncertain where his body ended and yours began. You hooked your arm above your head and clutched at his drenched tresses, flailing for a better grip and settling on clasping your hand onto the back of his neck.

“I feel you,” he groaned.

“Feel me,” you huffed.

“I know you.”

“know me.”

“You’re mine,” your name was laden with yearning claim, lilting from his tongue so it caressed your mind, body, and soul all in one fell swoop.

“Yours,” you heaved, “all, yours.”

You came. Simple. Body swimming in the schemes his fingers and cock and tongue and voice forced into you until it became too much. A few thrusts more and his pace faltered, cum spurting against your walls and dripping out of you as more and more left him. Full lips pressed fleeting, lulling praise into your nape, your shoulder, until he angled your head to his and branded his lips to yours.

Spent, emotionally and physically, you fell into him and enjoyed the image of his legs framing your own. But then your eyes lolled shut and you simply breathed, settling into this moment as best you could, and tried to memorize the tide of his chest slicking against your back.

Barely aware in the vague, misty stall, you only realized that Kylo had begun cleaning you when he guided you back to your feet to rinse you free of soap. Even then you just leaned into his chest and let the jets spray silken streams down your skin. And then you were wrapped in a heated towel and cradled in his arms, leaving the steamy refresher and coming into the gentle atmosphere within the golden gossamer canopy.

With less than a word, maybe a breath, the light from above waned to nothingness, and the room was black save for the glinting eyes that studied your own. The towel discarded to the floor, you now lay beneath the thick comforter and linen sheets of Kylo Ren’s bed. Both naked, you huddled together in the center of the expansive mattress, legs wrapped together in an impossible knot, each breathing in the other’s warmth.

Ease trickled into your muscles, and you shifted so your forehead could rest in the heat of his chest.

“What changed? From the other night?” you yawned. “What convinced you? About Snoke.”

He was tired, too, you knew, the hand tucking you into him tracing lazy, distracting circles into your back to keep him from sleep. “Perspective, really. Seeing things clearly for the first time in… Seeing things clearly.”

For now, fatigue caressing you, that was an answer you could accept. He’d given you more of his mind tonight than ever before, and you did not care to mar that fact with a half-wit interrogation. Perhaps you would listen to him this time, given how little you potentially had left, and do as he’d said this morning.

Trust me first.

It was sound advice, and not worth questioning on the eve of your first shift on Canto Bight. So you nuzzled into him and giggled when the tip of your nose nudged that black healing ribbon over his collar bone.

“I like your scars,” you hummed.

You could not be certain, sleep plunging you into its riptide, but just before it pulled you under, you swore you heard the fatigued rumble of Kylo Ren’s voice whisper, “I like yours too.”

#keeping your promise #st kyp #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren smut #angst #fluff #ao3 #wattpad

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wafflefries13 · 5 years ago

Text

A Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing

Hey there, it’s your girl, back at it with another story that probably took way too long to finish.

Warnings: Fighting, cursing, threat of violence.

~~~

It was fine. This was fine. Staying in a small cabin in the middle of the woods, getting back to nature, away from the city, away from those yakuza who were tracking you down because your dad had skipped out on the massive amounts of gambiling debt he had, and seriously, Dad, you knew he had a problem, not that he would ever listen to you, but did he really have to go and play mahjong, freaking mahjong, with some super sketchy people and really think everything was just going to be fine that he was going to be okay when he already had a massive pile of debt from that pyramid scheme that you told him was a pyramid scheme or the loss from that horse race last month, and seriously, Dad, this is why mom left-!

But it was fine. You were fine.

The cabin was small, a one room structure that gave you flashbacks to ‘Little House on the Prairie.’ Thankfully, the owners had attached the outhouse to the actual house a few years back, installing a slim standing shower. Electricity came from either solar power or a gas generator hook-up out back, but there was no way you would ever get an internet connection all the way out here. But it had a fireplace! That was pretty cool, right?

You weren’t exactly sure how long you’d be out here. The detective from vice told you to stay off the grid as much as possible, that they’d get in touch with you, not the other way around. The police officer had dropped you off about an hour ago after bumping over an unpaved road tangled by tree roots and overgrown underbrush. You would never have been able to find this place by yourself. But you supposed that that was the whole point.

You’d spent your first few hours there getting the cabin to an actual livable condition. Vice had told you that this place wasn’t used a lot, and you could immediately see it. Every surface was coated in a thick layer of dust. The windows were covered in who knows how many years of grime. Cobwebs littered with tiny insect carcases huddled in every corner and crevice. You were lucky you hadn’t found a racoon nest in the chimney flue.

Finally, as the sun set, your muscles aching from the work, you decided that your temporary home was livable enough. You summoned all your knowledge from watching ‘Man vs Wild’ and lit a fire. You heated up a can of chicken noodle soup on the gas stove. The cabin didn’t have a bed, so you stacked several thick quilts stored in a cupboard, rolling out your sleeping bag on top.

You sat on your makeshift bed, back pressed against the wall, slurping your soup. Outside the window, you watched as the light slowly faded away. Wow, you didn’t realize how dark it could really get out here. You put way too much stock in the light you could get from the moon and stars, apparently. There was no accounting for the noise, though. It sounded like a million different insects were screaming from the woods outside. You thought cricket noises were supposed to be comforting, like listening to the ocean to try and fall asleep. But this just made you itch and wish for another can of bug spray. Man, vice really sent you out here with nothing, didn’t they?

Sitting back and contemplating your possible execution via yakuza boss in the near future, it took you a while before you recognized the change. Every noise outside your four walls had fallen silent. The popping of logs in the fireplace was tantamount to gun fire.

Slowly, you set down your half-finished can of soup, dragging a wooden bat out that you had snagged before the vice police shoved you in the car to bring you here. Staying as low to the floor as possible, you crawled to the front window. You pressed your back against the wall, like you had seen spies do in movies, and slowly lifted one corner of the thick curtains. You tried to crane your head to look out, but it hurt more than you thought it would and your visibility was cut by way more than half.

Why hadn’t vice at least given you a gun or something?

Taking a deep breath, you stood, holding the bat in front of you like a sword. Before you could convince yourself that this was a bad idea (too late) you burst open the front door, ready to swing at whatever you saw first.

Noise exploded back into existence as soon as you stepped into the small clearing around the cabin. Panting heavily and breaking out in a cold sweat from the adrenaline, you whipped your head back and forth to look for intruders. Left? Clear. Right? Clear. Front? Clear. Behind-?! Wait, that was the cabin, you were just there.

You felt all the energy leave you at once. The bat suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. You slumped forward, bracing your head on the backs of your hands settled on the pommel of the bat.

You heard something from the other side of the cabin. A low groan, the result of footsteps. Gulping hard, you raised the bat again, silently making your way to the corner of the house. You whipped around the corner.

A giant furry shape was slumped in a pile in front of you. It let out a low whine. You could see the powerful muscles under its thick fur coat ripple and stretch as the thing tried to get comfortable. Sensing your presents, it reared its large head, pinning you down with ruby red eyes.

A wolf. There was a wolf in front of you. You had always assumed wolves would sort of look like giant dogs, but this close you could see how different they really were. This thing was huge, first of all. Its head would come up to your shoulder when it stood. It also had long thin legs, built for fast running and careening over obstacles. The wolf snared at you, its lips pulling back as a deep growl emanate from its throat. You could almost swear it was glaring at you.

Its threat was cut short, however, by a pained yip. As it tried to stand, it faltered and fell over, back into a furry heap. You could see a patch of mismatched fur coating its back leg up along its haunch. The fur was matted, dark with something wet.

You dropped the bat, holding your hands in front of you in what you hoped was a non-threatening pose. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” You said softly. “I’m just gonna… I’ll be right back.” You ducked back around the corner, heading into the cabin. You threw open the cabinet doors, rummaging for a first aid kit you could have sworn you saw somewhere while cleaning. You found the small white box, hoping that whatever was inside was as suitable for giant wolves as it was for people.

You headed back out. Going around the cabin, you saw the wolf trying to stand and limp away again. He didn’t make it two steps before collapsing. Instead of a pained noise, this time he just left out a frustrated humph. You giggled despite yourself. The wolf’s head reared back around, locking eyes with you again. It growled at you.

“I don’t think you look as menacing as you think you do right now,” You said. You tried to talk calmly in a low voice. That’s what you were supposed to do with frightened and injured animals, right? Well, you also were supposed to leave them alone and call animal control or something, but you didn’t really have the option of doing that right now. And you didn’t think you could sleep, much less live with yourself, if you knowingly just let this wolf suffer right outside your door.

You took another step closer. The wolf snapped his jaws at you but didn’t move from his heap. “Hey, easy, big guy. I just want to help.” You held up the first aid kit, as if that was supposed to mean anything to a wild animal. The wolf glared at you, but didn’t make any movement as you took another cautious step forward. As you knelt down beside his injured back leg, he huffed again, turning his head away and resting it on his massive paws, resigned to accept you unasked for help. This close up, you could see his fur was an unusual blond. It reminded you of wheat fields just before harvest (not that you had ever seen that, being such a city kid, but pictures and imagination counted for something, right?).

You opened the kit and pulled on a pair of gloves. Parting his fur, you hissed in sympathy at his wound. There was a gash slicing through his entire haunch, more wide than it was deep, but still bleeding profusely. You could see smaller cuts and bite marks, punchers in his flesh, littering the rest of his leg and up his back. Some of these wounds had already half-healed, but had reopened again, oozing and clotted.

You threaded a hand comfortingly through his fur, speaking softly as you dabbed an antiseptic wipe along the largest gash. The wolf winced and barked at you in annoyance at the sting, but after a glare (you didn’t even know wolves could glare with such intensity before this), he resigned himself and plopped his head back down. There were some butterfly sutures that you hoped would stick on with his fur. You pushed them down, pulling the edges so the flesh closed. You tried your best to clean the other injuries, but you didn’t have a lot of butterfly sutures, and bandaids certainly weren’t going to stay down.

As you were contemplating this, a chorus of howls erupted from the woods around you. The blond wolf sprung into action immediately, jumping up and circling himself around you. You probably would have thought that was amazing or cute or something if a sense of panic hadn’t seized you. The wolf was still limping, trying to keep his back leg off the ground. His head jerked from side to side, ears constantly twitching. Whatever was out there, you could only imagine that it was closing in, and it was out for blood.

“Oh, this is going to be a bad idea,” You said to yourself. The wolf cocked his head at you. “But, hey, I’m not making any good choices tonight, I guess. Come on.” You picked up your abandoned bat, standing to guard the wolf from the tree line. You started backing up, genteling nudging the wolf with your hip in the direction of the cabin door. He seemed to get your meaning, limping along, but trying to maintain his sense of canine bravado by making threatening growls and fangs bared.

Backing your way into the cabin, you quickly locked and barred the door. You had no idea if conventional locks would keep out blood-thirsty wolves, but you figured it wouldn’t do much against determined yakuza members either, so maybe you should just cut your losses.

You heard a loud slurping and turned around. The blond wolf had his muzzle buried in your reheated soup, lapping it up and spilling everything that didn’t immediately make it into his mouth.

“Hey!” You chastised. You could have sworn he rolled his eyes at you. Could wolves do that? Like, physically? His long tongue licked his chops when he was done. He took a few stumbling steps then collapsed by the fire.

“Alright,” You said to yourself. “I guess this is happening, huh?” You could have sworn the wolf made a sound of agreement.

~~~

You woke up to the sound of bird song and a mouth full of fur.

Sputtering, you pieced together the events of last night in your head. The wolf had you pinned against the wall of your makeshift bed, his back pressed against your stomach and chest. You had a fleeting thought that he was putting himself between you and any danger that might break in. You had heard stories of mother wolves protecting human babies, maybe this was something like that? Or were you thinking of The Jungle Book? The founding of Rome? Whatever.

Either way, it made you smile a bit, petting his fur. Wow, you had no idea wolf fur was so thick! Your hand just seemed to drop forever through his soft coat. Your action was enough to rouse the wolf from his sleep just a bit. He cast a tired glance over his shoulder at you. You could have sworn you could read his expression. “Really? You’re waking me up for this?”

“Hey there, sunshine,” You said. “I should probably take another look at that leg, huh?”

The wolf huffed, rolling over. You thought for a second he was giving you room to get up, but when you started to move he rolled back over, landing heavily across you and pinning you down. “That’s, uh, that’s a no then, huh?” The wolf just shuffled to a more comfortable position (on top of you) and closed his eyes.

You sighed, reaching up and rubbing the fur between his ears. “This is my life now, huh?”

He blinked open his eyes, staring right into yours. They were a deep red, almost like uncut garnets. You had no idea animals could have eyes like that. Not just that, but something about them looked almost too… human to you. The proportion of iris to whites just sort of off from what you would expect from your average dog. Before you could put your finger on it, the wolf closed his eyes and rested his head again.

His heat radiated through you like a miniature sun. You pet through his fur, deciding to narrate your thoughts out loud. You told him about how you came to be in these woods, in this cabin, your struggles with dealing with your father's gambeling addiction for so many years, the fall festival you had gone to last year, how you wanted to start hiking now that you were trapped out here, this song you couldn’t remember the words to, summarizing the plot from some book you had to read for English class.

After the sun had already started to rise high in the sky, the wolf (you really needed a name for him, huh?) slinked off of you. You let out an exaggerated breath, thumbing your chest a few times. He flicked his tail at you.

You opened up the cooler you brought with you. Take two slices for yourself, you handed the wolf the rest of the sliced turkey you had bought for sandwiches. He ate the entire pack in one massive bite, looking at you expectantly for more. Huffing in mock annoyance, you tossed him the other two slices. He caught them in the air, flicking his tongue to get the juice from his canine maw.

He tested his weight on his back leg. You could tell it still hurt him, but he still tried to walk with his other three legs. He stretched out, arching his back. “Oooh, big stretch!” You said. There was that glare again.

He limped over to the door, scratching it. You opened it for him, assuming he had to do his doggy business or something (wait, was he trained to go outside? That would explain some things). But when you tried to close the door again, he barked at you. He scratched the door frame until you followed him outside. He would walk several feet ahead then sit, looking over at you and barking. You went back inside and tugged on your hiking shoes, spraying yourself down with a healthy dose of bug spray.

The wolf was still pretty unsteady on his feet. He would stumble occasionally, but when you would put out a hand to help him, he would snap back at you. Whatever the case, he at least seemed to know where he was going. Even in his injured state, he could keep a good distance ahead of you.

You heard water rushing as the wolf dropped out of sight. Thinking he might have fallen, you rushed to where you last saw him. The trees broke away, revealing a rippling river with cool pools stretching through the forest. You took in the beautiful scenery, the ice blue water cascading down tiny waterfalls, when sudden movement caught your eye. You focused where you saw it and gasped. A salmon jumped from the water, swimming upstream. That one was joined by another, then two more, until the whole river seemed to burst with fish.

You laughed in shock and amusement at the sight, but were cut off short by something cold and slimy hitting your face. You sputtered against it, swiping it away from you. Looking down, you saw your assailant was flopping on the sandy river bank. A giant salmon, mouth gapping and scales shimmering in the sunlight.

You heard a huff that you could have sworn sounded amused. Looking up, you saw the wolf at the edge of the bank, dipping his paw in the water. He looked deeply into the river, still as a rock, before striking all at once and bringing his paw up. He batted another fish out of the water. You put your hands up, catching it in a slimy, uncertain grip. The fish thrashed around and you ended up dropping him on his friend.

“You know all the best places, huh?” You said. The wolf shook water off of his fur and went back to focusing on the river. “I’m going to run back and get the cooler! We’ll be able to carry a lot more that way!” You weren’t sure why you were telling a wolf this, as if he could understand you, but it felt right somehow.

You carefully followed your footsteps back to the cabin, breaking a twig or making a mark on a tree as you went to make a path. Back at the cabin, you quickly pulled the food you had brought with you out of the cooler, shoving it in the mini-fridge. You didn’t have an ice maker in the cabin, so you hoped the already half-thawed cold packs would work. Almost as an afterthought, you grabbed the first aid kit, tossing it in the cooler. Luging the cooler over your shoulder, you followed your improvised markers back to the river.

You set the bulky cooler down heavily on the bank, looking up with a wide grin for your new companion. Scanning the banks and treeline, your face gradually fell as your search turned fruitless. Your new wolf buddy was nowhere to be seen.

At first, you felt sad that he had just up and left, then scared for his injury. He was still having trouble walking. What if whatever was prowling around your cabin last night came back and tried to take a bite of him?

“Wolf?” You called out, almost immediately feeling like an idiot for doing so. You knew you should have named him. Although, it wasn’t like he was trained to respond to your call. You had to remind yourself that this was a wild animal and not a trained dog from the pound, despite his reluctant friendliness. “Wolf? Where’d you go, big guy? Hello?”

“If you keep yelling like that, a whole pack is going to come and tear you apart.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the very human response. Bracing your hands on your knees, you looked down the drop away from the bank to the river. There was a tiny beach there. Leaving against the sandy drop was a boy, head tilted back and face bathed in the sunlight. Despite his relaxed body posture, one leg spread out in front of him, the other bent to his chest, arms loosely crossed, he had an annoyed if not pained expression across his face. His hair was the color of fresh cut wheat, but as spiky as a porcupine. Lolling his head in your direction, he opened his eyes under furrowed brows. You thought it was a trick of the light, but you could swear they were a deep red. ‘Like garnets…’ You thought, memory jumping back to your missing wolf friend.

“Uh, sorry,” You said. “I was just looking for-”

And then your heart stopped as you suddenly remembered why you were out in the middle of the woods. The whole reason you had come here, why the police had dragged you away from your everyday life for your own protection.

You tripped over your own feet flinging yourself backwards. You landed heavy on your butt. Scrambling back, your head whipped from side to side looking for something to defend yourself with. Damn it! You should have grabbed your bat when you got the cooler!

“Hey!” He yelled up at you. “You going to keep spazzing out or give me a hand here?”

“Depends,” You said. “What are you doing out here? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“The hell do you think I’m doing? I work out here.” You saw his hand come up and grip the edge of the bank. He pulled himself up, but winced in pain. Bracing his arms against the bank, he said, “I’m a forest ranger, kind of. Tag some of the animals, make sure no one’s starting forest fires, keep poachers away, that sort of thing. I kind of got banged up here, though, can’t put a lot of weight on my ankle.” He rolled his eyes, leaving the statement hanging in the air for your response.

“Oh!” Of course, you thought to yourself, you had no real reason to trust what he was saying. He didn’t look like a ranger, dressed in a black muscle shirt and dark green cargo pants. But you could tell he was having trouble standing. But then, that could be an act too…

“Sure,” You finally decided. “Hang on.” You looked through the brush until you found a fallen tree branch. You lugged it over, dropping half down the bank and keeping it ancored under your foot. You held out your hand to him. He grasped just beyond your wrist, pulling up and using the branch and a foothold to push himself up. Once he was up on the upper bank, he tried to take a step. You could immediately see his ankle give out, crumbling like wet paper. He fell to his knees with an annoyed sound, catching himself on his palms.

“You okay?” You said, retrieving the branch and not so subtly holding it in front of you.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” He tried to brush you off. You could see his entire calf was wrapped in bandages. It looked like some wound had reopened and was bleeding through.

“What happened?” You ask, nodding to his leg.

He looked down, growling at the red soaking through the bandages. “I have to get pretty close to some animals for my job. Checking tags or making sure they’re not hurting themselves. I thought I’d tranquilized a bear, but I guess he wasn’t all the way under.”

“A bear?! You fought a bear?”

He waved a hand at you. “I didn’t ‘fight a bear.’ I was just trying to get a blood sample and must have spooked him. He took a swipe at me. I’ll be fine.”

“That sure doesn’t look fine.” You pointed to his bandage.

He clicked his tongue. “Damn it.”

You rung your hands around the branch. “I have a first aid kit. I’m pretty good at it. I could take a look if you want.”

He practically snarled at you, trying to stand up again. “I don’t need some-” As he tried to put weight on his ankle, he let out a choked yelp, cutting into that tough guy persona he obviously was trying very hard to portray. He lost his balance, wheeling his arms. You dropped your branch, lunging forward just as he fell. You caught him under his arms, throwing your balance off. You both fell, you landing on your back. You groaned, rubbing the back of your head. Opening your eyes, you squeaked seeing his face so close to yours, bright red eyes locked on to yours. Your mouth suddenly went dry and your face went hot. He was practically pinning you down.

His face burst into a blush as he threw himself off of you. He crossed his arms stubbornly. Looking away, he said, “Yeah, fine. Maybe I need a new bandage.”

“C-cool! Yeah! Great!” Well, at least you were pretty sure he wasn’t here to kill you. That would have been a pretty good opportunity. Unless he wanted to slay you with embarrassment, which seemed like a possibility.

You silently checked out his ankle, spraying it out with antibacterial and put a fresh bandage on it. At this rate, you were going to run out of medical supplies before the week was over.

“Hey,” You said in an effort to break the tension. You noticed the tips of his ears were still a blushed red. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the wolves around here?”

His eyes snapped back to you, suddenly suspicious. “There haven’t been wild wolves in this area for over a hundred years.”

You blinked. “Wait, no, that can’t be. There was a wolf at my cabin last night. It sounded like he was being attacked by another pack or something.”

He looked at you hard. “There haven’t been wolves here in a long time. If you think you saw one, you didn’t.”

You huffed. “I’m pretty sure I know what I saw, not to mention felt. He spent the night in my cabin.”

“What kind of idiot lets a wolf spend the night in their cabin with them?”

“Ha! So you admit it could have been a wolf!”

“I didn’t say that!”

You smiled, leaning back on your hands and looking out over the river. “It was fine though. He seemed trained or something. A little prickly, but he was hurt so I didn’t mind.” You heard him mutter something that sounded like “not prickly.” You continued, “He disappeared this morning, though. Around here. I’m kinda disappointed. It’s kind of lonely out here. But hey! I guess I have a new friend now!” You good naturally punched his shoulder. He winced and you just now noticed the fading bruise. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Sure you are. And who said we were friends, anyway? You don’t even know my name.”

Putting on your most welcoming smile (and trying not to grimace at his tone), you held out your hand. “(Y/N) (L/N), trapped out in the middle of nowhere for the foreseeable future for reasons I cannot currently disclose. Very nice to meet you.”

He looked from your hand to your face a few times. He looked like he was turning something over in his head. Flexing his hand, he lifted it up and gripped yours strongly. You could feel the heat radiating from it, like he was a living space heater. “Bakugo. And that’s all you’re getting.”

You fake pouted. “We will be friends, mark my words.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

“I told you, I cannot currently discloses that information.”

He huffed a laugh. “What, are you a spy or something? Lost princess?”

If only, you thought. “Something like that.”

“Hmm. You don’t have a fishing rod.”

“Uh, yeah. I was kind of counting on my wolf friend to help me out. He did this thing where he just sort of whacked them out of the water.” You mimicked the motion in the air.

“For the last time, there aren’t any wolves around here. Just drop it.”

“Fine, fine. There wasn’t a wolf even though there definitely was. And I don’t know what I’ll do, exactly. I suppose I can survive on canned soup, saltines, and beans for however long I’m stuck out here.”

“That’s disgusting.” He leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up at the clouds. “Alright, here’s what you do. You at least have a knife, right? Good. I’m going to teach you how to make a fish weir.”

For the next hour, Bakugo talked you through cutting reeds and shaping them into a W-shaped trap in the river. According to Bakugo, the V-like entrance made it easy for fish to get in, while the indented center made it hard or impossible to get out. After some (a lot) of trial and error, you successfully trapped a huge salmon.

“I got one!” You yelled in excitement. “I got it!”

“Good for you,” Bakugo said. “Now take your knife and stab it.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Right behind the gills.”

“Uh, right, okay.” For a few blissful seconds there, you forgot you had to kill a fish to be able to eat it. Using another reed you cut for an unsuccessful weir, you pinned the fish to the side. Wincing, you stabbed the fish’s gills, trying to ignore how it flopped around the trap. Spearing it on your knife, you hoisted it out of the water, flicking it onto the bank.

“Oh, gross, gross, gross, gross, gross!” You flapped your hands. Bakugo laughed at your distress. You tried to ignore how much you liked the sound. “Oh, shut up. It’s my first time.”

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Your first time, huh? Glad I could walk you through it.”

You felt yourself flush. “Oh my god!” Without thinking too much about it, you speared another fish in the trap, using your knife to fling it. The half alive fish landed smack on his chest, flopping around in a mess of falling scales and fish slime.

He sputtered, slapping it away. He snarled, “Hey!”

You laughed, hands resting on your thighs. “What? Now we both have dinner.”

Catching a few more and storing them in your cooler, Bakugo taught you how to make a box-like campfire. Creating a grill with your reeds, you roasted some of the fish over the fire, picking it off with your fingers. You both sat by the river and watched the sun set.

Not wanting your time together to end, but becoming too aware of the late hour, you said, “I should probably get back to the cabin. Not sure I could find it in the dark.”

Bakugo shrugged. He struggled to stand up, waving you off when you tried to help him. Taking a few separate steps, he gripped a low hanging branch from a tree. With a thunderous crack, he ripped the branch off. Pulling off a few twigs, he held it under his arm as a makeshift crutch.

“Hey,” He said, not looking at you. It sounded like he was deliberating something. “If you ever need help, I’m usually at the fire watchtower. See? You can see the roof from here. It’s about two miles that way.” He pointed over the tree line. You could just make out the top of a brown corrugated roof.

“Sure you don’t want to take any of these back?” You asked, motioning to the cooler of fish.

“Naw. You need all the help you can get.”

“Hey!” As he wandered off, you yelled to him, “Watch out for the wolves!”

“There aren’t any wolves!”

“You’ll believe me eventually!”

~~~

You methodically tapped your fingers against the mug you held, letting the heat of your hot chocolate seep into your fingers. You were sitting in a folding chair just outside the cabin, bat leaning against the chair’s arm. You were snuggled up in a heavy blanket, watching the fireflies dance through the heavy trees, trying to remember consolations.

But really, if you were being honest with yourself, you were waiting for the wolf.

It didn’t matter if Bakugo said he wasn’t real. You knew what you saw. Maybe he had escaped from some conservation area or zoo? And he seemed used to people, so maybe he was trained? But that didn’t explain the howls you heard as you tended to the wolf’s wounds. It definitely sounded like some rival pack was hunting him down.

It broke your heart to think of him all alone and injured out there.

As if called by your thoughts, a round of howling rose from the depths of the forest. You jumped to your feet. The hot chocolate sloshed from your mug, burning your hand. Frantically waving your hand to ease the burn, you didn’t notice the heavy foot falls until it was too late. You turned as the thumping was right behind you.

It felt like you were hit by a train. Your breath left you with a ‘woomp.’ Falling hard, your arms came up to wrap around what had just barrelled into you, catching it like a football. You would like to say that you were more surprised than you actually were when your fingers dug into thick fur and bursts of dog breath panted in your face.

“Hey there, Golden Boy,” You said, rubbing between his ears. You had decided on his name, Golden Boy, while trying to convince Bakugo of his existence. It seemed apt given his brilliant coat. Your wolf friend yipped at you. Scrambling off, he crouched down in an attack position, growling at the trees. “Come on, bud.” You juggled your folding chair, blanket, bat, and (now empty) mug, pushing open the cabin door with your hip. The wolf backed into the cabin, eyes never leaving the tree line, lips curled into a snarl, until you closed and locked the door again.

You took out a bowl from the cabinets. Opening a bottle of water, you filled up the bowl, placing it near the tired wolf. Crawling over on his stomach, he didn’t even lift his head as he started to lap at the water.

“Yikes,” You said. “Rough night, huh?” You ran a hand along his back. He managed a half-hearted glare at you before deciding it wasn’t worth it and going back to his water.

“So, you’re a wolf, right?” He ignored you, which is what you expected. But you always had a habit of talking to animals like they could talk back. “Because I met a guy today, yeah, I’m not the only person stranded out here, can you imagine, and he said there aren’t any wolves in this area. I mean, I guess you could just be a really big dog. You ever seen an Irish wolfhound? Probably taller than me. Or a Caucasian shepherd dog? I hear they used to breed those in Russia to hunt bears.

“I guess it’s kind of nice to have someone else around. Not that you’re not great company.” Could wolves roll their eyes? “Just… It can get kind of scary out here, you know? Well, probably not, you live in the woods and all. No offence and all, but this isn’t really my idea of a vacation.”

You leaned against the wall, sitting cross-legged on your bed pallet. Golden Boy shuffled to you, resting his massive head in your lap while you checked his wound and changed the dressing. It seemed to be healing rapidly, way faster than you would have expected.

“The truth is,” You continued. “I’m actually in hiding. There are some people who, uh, I’m pretty sure they want me dead. Maybe not me specifically. My dad made some bad choices, hey, that can be the title of my autobiography, and now I’m paying for it.”

You felt your throat tighten up as a wave of emotion snuck up and crashed over you. You hiccuped, pressing your lips together as you tried not to cry in front of your canine audience. He looked up at you, wide, deep red eyes. Your eyes burned as tears threatened to spill out.

Without warning, Golden Boy jerked his head up, wiping his long, wet tongue across your cheek, ineffectively wiping away your tears. You sputtered at the dog drool, breaking out into a giggle fit as he kept licking your face.

“Okay, okay, I get it, stop already! I have a big, strong protector here to take care of me, huh?” He buried his head in your lap again. You rubbed his ear between your fingers. “And I’ll take care of you, too. You know that, right? We’re in this together.”

~~~

“Bakugo! I’ve come to pester you!”

The next day, you awoke to find your wolf friend missing. You weren’t exactly sure how he managed to get out of the cabin since all the doors and windows were still securely closed, but you’d seen videos of pets doing weirder things. Maybe you should have named him Houdini. After cleaning up the cabin a little and finding a more stable storage space for the salmon you caught yesterday, a deep loneliness started gnawing at you. Stowing a tin of shortbread cookies under your arm, you set out in the direction of the river to find the watchtower Bakugo had pointed out to you yesterday.

You finally found it about midday, only being scared to death at the possibility of getting hopelessly lost twice. You climbed up the high stairs to the box structure on top. The sides were made up of mesh screens, covered from the inside by thick curtains, you guessed so that he could keep an eye out for possible forest fires.

“Hello? I brought an offering!”

You heard some grumbling and banging around from inside the box. You heard a heavy lock slide open as the door cracked open. Bakugo’s ruby eyes met yours and you felt a pang of worry for your Golden Boy.

“An offering, huh?” Smiling, you held up the tin. “Fine. I guess that’s a good enough reason to bug me.”

You practically skipped inside. Bakugo pulled at the curtains causing them to zip up and spin on their rollers. The room was cluttered, which you mostly expected from going over to your bachelor friend’s houses. What you didn’t expect was exactly how it was cluttered. It wasn’t like clothes had been dropped on the floor and forgotten, a pile of dirty dishes and overflowing trash. The reality was more chaotic, like someone had turned over the place robbing it. Papers about the geography, flora, and fauna of the forest were strewn on every flat surface. The cot bed was stripped bare, looking like it hadn’t been slept in in days. There was a tall stack of books stacked on a table next to a wooden folding chair half pushed under a desk. A cork board was above the desk, red string connecting bits of cut-out newspaper articles, Polaroid photos, sticky notes with chicken-scratch handwriting, and marked-up calandras.

Bakugo half-heartedly picked up a shirt from the ground. “Wasn’t really expecting company.”

You shrugged. “You a big reader?”

You set the cookie tin down, picking up one of the books. Its pages were marked with various colored tabs. Flipping through the pages, you saw blocks of text that had been highlighted. The book fell open to reveal a copy of a wood-cut illustration of a large man with a wolf head. His snout was pointed to the sky, jaw open in mid-howl. In his meaty hands, tipped with razor sharp claws, he cradled a woman in some medieval German peasant dress. Her head was fallen back, eyes rolled back in her head, a blood stain spreading across her neck and chest. In the background, a mass of angry villagers marched forward, armed with the standard torches and pitchforks. A bone white full moon hung overhead.

Bakugo snapped the book closed in your hands. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to snoop through people's stuff?”

“I wasn’t snooping,” You said defensively. “And just so you know, no, they didn’t. My folks weren’t exactly the etiquette type.”

“Clearly.”

“Hey!”

He smirked at you, prying open the cookie tin and munching on a piece of shortbread. You sat down in the folding chair, looking down dubiously when it creaked under you.

“So, how does a guy get a gig hanging out in the middle of the woods, anyway?”

“How do you?”

You pressed your lips, trying not to let Bakugo feel the sudden drop in your mood. You blinded him with a smile. “Maybe I just really like bird-watching.”

“Sure. Bird-watching.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. Standing, you turned away and looked out the messy windows, taking in the acres upon acres of unspoiled wilderness. “Wow, you can see for forever up here.” Squinting, you saw the dip in trees around your cabin, the red roof just barely visible. “Hey, that’s my place!” You looked over your shoulder at him and winked. “You’re not spying on me, are you?”

He popped in another cookie, wolfing it down in one bite. “You wish.”

You hummed, looking back out over the trees. “Can you..” You trailed off. “Can you see if people come into the woods?”

He came over to stand next to you, hiding the tin in the crook of his arm. “I don’t get records of who comes in or out, if that’s what you mean. That’s for the rangers at the front gates. I see campfires, sometimes. Need to make sure they don’t get out of control.”

“And if someone, or, like, a group, maybe, was trying to sneak in? Like, not going through the front gates so there was no record of them being here?”

He paused mid-bite and looked at you sideways. “You’re hiding.”

You mock-laughed. “What? No, no. Of course I’m not hiding. Why would I be hiding?”

“(Y/N),” He cut you off. He moved his head so you were forced to look directly into his ruby-red eyes.

You crossed your arms and looked away. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

He leaned back. “That’s okay. But, hey, we can look out for each other, yeah?” He curled his biceps, flexing his muscles. “Besides, you got a big, strong protector here, don’t ya? You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Big, strong protector, huh?” You echoed.

He leaned closer, eyes half lidded. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Yeah.”

You suddenly became away of how close you two were standing, how you could smell the remnants of the sweet cookies on his breath, about how soft his hair looked and thinking about what it might be like to run your hand through it, about how his muscles looked when he flexed them.

You blinked hard, jerking yourself out of this impromptu daydream. You felt the tips of your ears burn as your face flushed.

“The wolf came back last night,” You blurted.

His eyebrows furrowed, mouth falling from a sultry smirk to a frustrated frown. “He did, huh?”

“Yup! I named him, even. Golden Boy. Cause his fur is this really pretty yellow, you know? Kind of like your hair, but less shaggy.” Before you could stop yourself, you reached up and messed his bed-head. Good god, it was just as soft as you thought.

He pulled away, scrunching his nose and fixing his hair. “Th-that’s stupid. Why would I look like some dog?”

“So you admit he’s real?”

“I said dog, not wolf. His owner probably just dropped him off in the woods somewhere. It’s sad, but it happens. Sounds like he’s doing alright for himself.”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly.” You leaned on your elbows. “Every night he’s come to my cabin he’s been pretty beat up. Could another animal be targeting him? A bear or another wolf - sorry, abandoned dog?”

Bakugo looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, maybe. There’s a lot of dangerous creatures out in those woods.” His voice dropped low. “A lot of dangerous creatures.”

You looked over at the stack of books, the one with the werewolf illustration placed haphazardly on the top. “Like werewolves?” You joked.

He didn’t answer you.

~~~

“Buckle up, Golden Boy, we are going on a field trip.”

It was night again a few days later. You’d spent almost two weeks in the woods by this point. Your days were mostly spent hanging out with Bakugo in the fire watch tower or hiking through the forest with him. He’d given you a blank mole-skin notebook. You’d started sketching and labeling plants and animals you saw on your hikes with him. He’d ramble off information he’d learned from preparing for this job. While your drawing skills needed some improvement, you liked the calm, methodical motions and scratch of pen on paper, taking note of the tiny details that made one plant safe to eat and different from the poisonous one.

Your nights were spent with Golden Boy. His wound had long since cleared up, surprisingly fast, but don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all. You weren’t exactly sure why he kept coming to you at night. He obviously didn’t need any help finding food. Maybe he felt safer with you behind protective walls? A few times, you thought you saw reflective eyes in the depths of the trees, watching as you let Golden Boy inside the cabin as the moon rose. Or maybe he really did used to be someone’s pet and just felt lonely abandoned out here. He’d always be gone by the time you woke up, no matter how many times you’d fallen asleep leaning against him or curled under your arm.

You’d also kept arguing his existence to your hot-headed friend. Tonight, you finally decided to prove yourself right. You were going to bring your proof right to his front door.

“Come on,” You said, clapping your hands at the wolf lounging by the fire. “You’re going to help me rub some sweet ‘I told you so’ in a cute guy’s face.” He raised his head at you, giving you a look you had come to read from his doggy face. “What? He is. Or maybe I’ve just been stranded in the woods for too long.” You shrugged. Golden Boy let out his ‘you’re ridiculous’ puff of air noise and flopped over so the fire could warm his belly. You took two quick steps forward and rubbed your hand over his belly, it sinking into the thick fur. He let out a surprised yip and curled up, nipping at your hand before licking it and resigning himself to your attention.

You laughed, heading back to the door. “Come on! I haven’t gone hiking at night before. Think of all the cool nocturnal animals I can record in my journal. And I need my bodyguard, right? It’ll be fun-“

You cut yourself off. You opened the door, freezing as you came face-to-face with a fist, poised to knock. Looking past the fist, your throat went dry, heart dropping into your stomach, head going fuzzy. A man stood there in an expensive looking suit. He looked a little surprised, then flashed a wide used-car-salesman smile. One of his teeth was golden. You could see scars criss-crossing his knuckles and up one of his cheeks. His hair was practically a helmet with all the pomade in it.

“Well, hello there!” He said, chipper. That somehow made it worse. “I don’t suppose you’re (Y/N) (L/N), are you?”

The door blurred as you slammed it shut. Just before it closed, the man stopped it with his hands, which now seemed way too large and strong. You tried pushing it closed, but your muscles, even flooded with the adrenaline shooting through your veins, were no match for his.

You stumbled backward as he threw the door open. You saw several more equally if not more menacing men behind him. One was rolling up his sleeves, one checking the knuckle-dusters shining on his hands, one methodically fiddling with the safety on a gun.

You backed away, stopping when the back of your calves nudged into Golden Boy, who was now standing, a low growl emanating from his throat.

“Hey there, pup,” The smiling man said. He leaned down, rubbing his fingers together to encourage Golden Boy to come forward. Your wolf just snapped his fangs. “Aw, well. You hate hurting animals, but sometimes it’s just a hazard of the job.” He drew out a long hunting knife from a sheath shoved in his belt loop. It glistened in the fire light.

You were going to throw up.

“I don’t know anything,” You said, hating the waver in your voice. How could you have become so comfortable, so careless? Where the hell was your bat? “I don’t know where my dad is, I don’t know where your money is. I don’t know anything, I promise.” Tears were blurring your vision, stinging the back of your eyes.

“I’m sure you don’t, sweetheart,” He said. The other men crowded in through the door. The cabin suddenly felt ten times smaller. “But, you know, loose ends.”

Yellow blurred in your vision. Golden Boy flashed in front of you, powerful jaws clamping down on the man’s knife hand. He yowled in pain and shock, the knife clattering to the floor. The other men were stunned for a moment before lunging forward. One hit Golden Boy hard on the back of his head, another grabbing his back legs and yanking hard. Golden Boy kept his death-grip, red oozing from his mouth.

You scrambled backward, head whipping around to look for your bat. It now felt woefully useless. There, cast off in a corner. You’d been using it to dry dish towels.

It felt like 100 pounds in your hands.

You heard an unsettling thump followed by a yelp. Whipping around, you saw the man had managed to dislodge Golden Boy, throwing him against the wall. You cried a broken noise. You felt a hand grab the scruff of your neck. You jammed the bat behind you, connecting with the soft bulge of the man’s stomach. He “oof”ed and his grip loosened. You flung yourself forward, landing hard on your knees, and scrambled up. The door was wide open, the men temporarily distracted. You didn’t think twice.

You shot up, sliding like a baseball player going to home plate in front of Golden Boy. You held your bat in front of you like Excalibur itself.

“Don’t you fucking touch my dog!” You’d never said anything with such venom in your voice, but you still didn’t feel like it was enough to appropriately express your rage. Golden Boy shook his head, getting back to his feet. He stood by your side, head lowered between his shoulders, baring his teeth stained with blood.

The smiling man, who was now scowling in disgust, wrapped his bleeding hand with a way too expensive handkerchief. “God, typical. I hate dogs. Let’s hurry up and finish this.”

The one with the gun raised it, pointing it right between your eyes. You stood fast, gripping the bat so hard your hands were turning white.

You wanted to see Bakugo. It hit you like lightening that that was who was coming to your mind. You wanted to say something to him, an explanation of why you wouldn’t wake him up tomorrow morning. You wanted to make him promise he would take care of Golden Boy, after making him admit that you were right about the wolves. You wanted to hug him, to go on a walk someplace other than the woods, you wanted to cook a real meal in a real kitchen with him, you wanted to wake up in the morning with him at your side, Golden Boy at your feet.

You wanted so many things you knew you wouldn’t be getting. So you had to focus on what you could get. You wanted Golden Boy to get out of here, to be safe. And by hell or high water, you were going to do that.

You swung the bat back, aiming for the gunman’s wrist. You would knock the gun out of his hand, grab Golden Boy, kick him if you had to, get him out the door to get a head start. You’d probably get shot in the back doing it, but maybe the loud noise would startle him into running away. As long as he was safe, what else mattered?

One second you were staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, making peace with yourself. The next, the gun was gone, and so was the man. Blinking, you looked around to see where he had disappeared to. The other men, equally baffled, didn’t have time to react as they were tackled to the ground along with their firearm friend.

Golden Boy was in front of you, pushing you back by leaning his weight against your legs. You watched as your tiny cabin filled with giant wolves, gray, red, black, brown, all with flashing fangs and claws. One man with a knife reared up, pulling his arm back to throw the knife at you. Materializing out of thin air, a new man, one you hadn’t seen before, appeared behind him, catching the first in a headlock and pulling him down until he went limp in a choked-out sleep.

The new man snarled, whipping his head around to stare right into your soul. And he was naked. How did you not notice that? The man looked like he threw full grown trees around for fun, and cut them down for work. Every inch of skin, and there was a lot of skin, had some scar tissue or mark indicating a life of hard-scraps.

His eyes snapped down to Golden Boy, still setting himself firmly between you and the raucous crowd. The man jerked his head to the open door. “Wait outside,” He said, voice unbelievably gruff and low. “We’ll take care of this.”

“Okay?” You said, voice loose. You felt like you were going to faint. You grounded yourself with a tug on your sleeve. Looking down, you saw Golden Boy, his teeth gently closed around your sleeve. He somehow managed to avoid looking at you, pulling you on unsteady feet out in the cool night air. He kicked the door shut with his hide leg as soon as you were out.

All of your energy left you at once. You slumped against a tree, forehead leaning on your knees and blood rushing back into your hands as you dropped your bat. You sat there, still save for the involuntary tremors that racked your body, for who knows how long.

You heard a quiet whimper. Peeking your eyes through your fingers, you saw Golden Boy. He was pacing, eyes downcast and tail tucked between his legs. He was limping a little, his old wound bothered in no small part due to being bodily thrown against the wall.

“Hey,” You said softly. He jerked to a stop and looked up at you, bringing his eyes back down in a guilty expression. “It’s okay. Come here.” You held your hands out, palms up and fingers splayed. He trotted over to you, resting his enormous head in your hands and laying down, his chest pressing on your legs. You buried your face in the thick fur on the back of his neck. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

When the cabin door creaked open, panic seized your adrenaline abandoned muscles. Your hand shot to the bat, its strange weight now frighteningly familiar. Golden Boy barely stirred in your lap, only lazily opening his eyes and shifting closer to you as if hiding from some sort of punishment.

The burly man stepped out first, still naked, you (unfortunately) noticed. He had two yakuza members with him, one slung over each shoulder, limp and unmoving. Next came three huge wolves, one of them walking backward while pulling along another gang member by the cuff of his pants. A woman came out with him, also naked, with the longest hair you had ever seen, similarly scuffed and scraped as the first man. She was followed by two more wolves. The strange group dumped the bodies of your attackers in a haphazard pile near the tree line. Were they dead? You couldn’t tell. God, which option was better?

The man stretched, thick cords of muscle rippling under his skin. He sighed, like a tired parent, and turned to you. You cut your gaze away quickly, making sure to keep your eyes above a certain level.

“Are you badly hurt?” His voice was the same low rumble of an earthquake.

“Um, no. I-I think we’re okay. Thank you.”

He hummed, rolling his shoulders. “No thanks necessary. We stand for our own, no matter the pack.”

“I’m sorry, pack?” You asked, voice squeaking. Your brain was working overtime to process everything.

“Hmph.” The man looked disappointed but not surprised. He nudged Golden Boy with his foot. The wolf whined again, turning his head away. “You still can’t shift on command? How are you meant to lead your pack when you can’t do the most basic things?” Golden Boy whined and grumbled.

“I-what? What does any of this have to do with my dog?” You wrapped your arms protectively around him.

The man quirked an eyebrow. “A wolf without a pack is a dangerous thing. A lone creature who can’t even control his own body needs to be culled. Now that he has found a pack, he has a greater responsibility. He’s part of a whole, not only himself.”

“Hang on-” You tried to stand up only for Golden Boy to shove his weight down on you harder. “Were you the ones hurting Golden Boy? What’s the matter with you? Why would you hurt an animal? And, sorry, but why are you naked? I tried not to say anything but it’s kind of bothering me a lot.”

The man stared you down, looking back to your wolf. “You didn’t tell her anything?” Golden Boy whined. The man sighed. “This will be more difficult than I thought. Our pack must move. We’ve completed our duty.We’ll deal with this… refuse.” He looked at the unconscious yakuza. He nudged Golden Boy again. “Take care of this one. He has a lot to learn.”

The man turned, a yell building in your throat. In front of your eyes, he shifted, skin sprouting silver gray hair. You heard the pop of bones as the man seemed to fall over, but you quickly realized his entire body structure had changed. Where a person had once stood, a wolf walked. The woman from before was also gone, now just the group of wolves. The gray wolf looked back at you, nodding once, before raising up a howl with the rest of his pack.

When you finally managed to feel your heartbeat slow to a non-life-threatening level, you looked down. “Alright, we have a lot to talk about, because apparently you can do that?” Golden Boy turned away from you. “Yeah, alright, nap first. Nap sounds good.”

You passed out.

~~~

You woke up with a headache knocking at your temples. Your mouth felt thick with cotton. You felt warm, gradually taking note of the blanket that had been carefully draped over you. Blearily opening your eyes, you watched dust motes float through shafts of light that filtered through the curtains on your cabin windows. You must have forgotten to dose the fire before you went to bed. It was still crackling in the fireplace.

“Golden Boy?” You said, voice craggy. Why were you still wearing your day clothes? “Yout there, bud?”

A knuckle rapped gently on your forehead. “Exactly how hard did you hit your head?”

You shot up, immediately regretting it as pain flared up your spine to bloom in your skull. “Whoa, hey, take it easy.” A pair of hands steadied your shoulders, helping you sit up.

You blinked hard, looking up into now familiar red eyes. “Bakugo?”

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can call me Katsuki now, you know. I think we’re close enough, after everything.”

“Everything-? Oh. Oh! Oh my god!” You tried to jump up, knees giving out underneath you. Your limbs felt like they were encased in lead.

“I told you to take it easy, dumbass,” Bakugo, Katsuki, said. He caught you before you fell, helping you sit back down. He stood up, going to the stove and sliding a pancake on top of a stack, still steaming. Pulling half onto a separate plate, he came back, handing one to you.

Numbly, you took it, tearing a piece off and shoving it in your mouth. “You have pecans in here.”

“We didn’t have any syrup, so I thought this would be a good substitute. Having pancakes on their own is kind of boring.”

“Sure. Yeah. So.” You let it hang there, watching him avoid your eyes and much on pancakes.

He swallowed. “So.” He ate half of another one before continuing. “I’m a werewolf.”

You blinked. “Okay.”

He scowled. ‘There it is,’ You thought. “‘Okay’? That’s all you have to say?”

You shrugged. “I mean, what else am I supposed to say? I’m pretty sure a group of werewolves saved my life last night. I literally saw a guy turn into a wolf, so that checks out. I might still be in shock a little bit, to be honest. So, uh, werewolf, huh?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes and shoving another pancake in his mouth. You cracked a smile and joked, “Well, you sure eat like a dog.” He punched your shoulder. You both laughed anyway.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” He said eventually. “I don’t think anyone does. I got bit by a rogue wolf. Turned pretty soon after. I’m not going to lie, I did some pretty bad stuff. I was freaked out, half out of my mind, those wolf instincts kicking in. It’s not an excuse, but… I got a job out here, thought I could isolate myself, research to see if I could find a cure or something. The pack found me almost immediately. I mean, I practically waltzed right in to their territory, so I can’t blame them. That rule they have, it’s true. A lone werewolf, someone without a pack, they’re dangerous. Unpredictable. They tried to… put me down. I usually managed to get away, but one night I made a stupid mistake. I should have died.” He looked up at you. “And then I ran in to you.”

“And then you ran in to me.” You reached out, petting your hand through his hair. It was still soft, whether as a golden wolf or a human. “So, I’m your pack now? That’s what that guy said, the other werewolf. What does that mean, exactly?”

He blushed, pulling apart his remaining pancakes. “A pack is like a family. They look out for each other, stand with each other. I didn’t tell them we were a pack or anything. I guess they just sort of inferred. Since, like, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, no matter what form.”

You grinned. “They think you’re my boyfriend?” He punched you again, with less malice this time. “Hey, I didn’t say I minded.”

“It’s a lot,” Katsuki continued quickly, the words all rushing out as if he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to say it all. “I still don’t know a lot about all this. I always shift at night. I’m trying to get better at controlling it, but it’s hard. And it’s hard to go through all the history and stuff and pull out fact from fiction. I feel like I can’t control anything and I’m so fucking useless and I-“

You pressed your lips against his. Finally. His lips were chapped, and your teeth clacked together at first, but the warmth that spread through your chest made it all worth it. A plate clattered against the floor as he shifted closer to you. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, bringing you closer. Your fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt, pulling.

He pulled back, your breath mixing together.

“I think I like the woods, now,” You said, softly. “It’s nice out here. Good company.” He chuckled, lowley. “And I like you. A lot. And I love dogs.”

He laughed loudly, once, before pulling you back in for another kiss.

#fanfic #katsuki bakugou #bakugo katsuki x reader #bnha #my hero academia #werewolf!bakugo #reader insert #just some self indulgent fluff

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vanillann · 5 years ago

Text

raid and velvet: a love story (peter parker x reader)

ahh my first peter parker!! i hope this is what you are looking for!! i’m sorry it’s messy and not that good.

word count: 1.7k

day 1

Bucky stepped out of the medical room, the sound of screaming was heard until he closed the door behind him. Steve looked up at him, a glitter of hope flashing through his eyes.

“Hydra has most likely had them for a while, but I think I can break through to ‘em,” Bucky nodded his head, his metal hand running through his long hair.

“How old are they?”

“15, 16 at most,” Peter looked up at that, the idea of someone that was his age excited him.

“Think big boy could help?” Sam asked for his spot beside Steve.

“Might not hurt,” Bucky shrugged as he looked back at the body struggling in restraints.

“I felt bad for shooting at her, but she was coming at me man,” Tony stood on the farthest wall, watching the screaming kid in his medical room. His heart was breaking, imagining if this was his kid.

“Just give it time Stark, they got a chance to get better now.”

day 28

The screaming had died down incredibly, the medical room looked much calmer now then it did a few days ago.

“All you have to do is talk to them, keep the questions basic.”

Peter nodded at Nat’s word, watching the body that laid on the bed, hands and felt tied down.

Peter pushed to the door, looking over the room quickly before looking at the ex-Hydra soldier.

“Oh so they sent in the flower child to take care of me now,” the sarcastic comment was followed by an eye roll.

“I’m Peter.” Peter took the seat in the corner of the room, still scared they could somehow kill him.

“Cute.”

Peter watched as they pulled at the chains at their wrist, a loud groan filled the room.

“What’s your name?”

“(Y/N).”

Peter looked down at his lap, thinking over every question he’d heard other kids ask in the hallways at MidTown.

“Do you like cake?”

Peter cringed as soon as the words fell past his lips, embarrassed he even thought for a second that was a good question.

“Oh of course, I also love glitter and unicorns,” (Y/N) looked over at Peter with a fake bright smile.

Peter knew it was fake, but it made her look younger for some reason.

“I think you’d like a red velvet cake, you seem like a red velvet type person,” Peter played with his finger, listening to Steve and Nat talk right outside the door of the medical room.

“Never had it.”

Peter looked up, an offended look on his face as he looked them over again.

“You’ve never had red velvet cake?”

A loud sigh full form (Y/N) lips, a wicked chuckle followed closely after.

“Well Hydra didn’t exactly do birthday parties,” (Y/N) pulled at the chains again before letting their head fall back against the bed.

“Can you leave, I wanna get some sleep.”

Peter quickly stood up, he felt bad for even trying to make the room lighter.

“Talk to you later (Y/N),” Peter didn’t want for her response before he ran out the door to join Steve and Nat.

“Mr. America, I don’t think she likes me very much,” Peter said, looking wide-eyed between the two.

“You’re the only person she’s brought up Hydra too,” Nat said gently, looking behind Peter into the medical.

A small feeling of pride filled Peter up, maybe this would be fun.

day 52

Peter smiled as he knocked on the door of the medical room, watching as (Y/N) looked up and nodded their head.

Peter walked in, a small box held tightly in his left hand.

“Morning (Y/N),” Peter skipped over to the seat in the middle of the room, slightly closer than the one he sat in on the first meeting.

“Morning Raid.”

Peter rolled his nickname, cursing the day Sam and Bucky decided to come in together.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Peter chuckled as they crossed their arms over their chest.

“Bucky told me too, I trust Bucky.”

Peter wouldn’t ever say it, I mean he understood the situation, but he wished (Y/N) trust him like they trust Bucky.

“I have something for you,” Peter smiled as he opened the box and titled it to (Y/N).

The red velvet cupcake sat in the center of the box, a bunch of white frosting and a Spiderman ring sat on top.

“How do I know it’s safe to eat?”

(Y/N) pulled their leg closer to their chest, a black look across their face.

Peter flashed the top of the box, Bucky chicken scratch of a signature writing on the top of the box.

“Bucky signed it so you would know.”

Peter moved the chair slightly closer, moving the box closer so (Y/N) could look at it better.

“You said something about not having red velvet before and I was going to just wait for your birthday but we don’t know when your birthday is,” Peter rambled as he watched (Y/N) gently pull the cupcake from the box.

(Y/N) smelt the frost before taking a small lick, a little white frosting collecting on the tip of their nose.

Without taking their eyes off the cupcake, they began speaking.

“October 17th,” they took a large lick of the frosting and looked up at Peter.

“What?”

“My birthday is October 17th, I think. I don’t know, it’s the one Hydra gave me.”

Peter watched as they finally took a bite of the cupcake, a hint of a smile forming behind the frosting.

“How about we make today your birthday?”

Peter walked as (Y/N) looked up at him, a small nod as they turned back to look at the cupcake.

“Okay, on February 1st every year we will celebrate your birthday.”

(Y/N) only pulled the Spider-Man ring off the cupcake, turning it to face Peter.

“Really?”

“What, I couldn't help.”

Peter smiled as (Y/N) placed the ring on the bedside table, going back to eating their cupcake.

“Can I get so much alone time?”

Peter smiled gently at them as he stood up from his seat.

“Yeah, when can I see you again?”

(Y/N) only shrugged their shoulders and continued eating their red velvet cupcake.

day 164

“Hi Raid,” (Y/N) waved at him as he walked into the room, Bucky and Sam sitting in their seats.

“Bug boy, what are you doing here?” Sam smiled as Peter took the seat closest to (Y/N), only she would let Peter, Bucky, and Nat sit there.

“Velvet told me to stop back at lunch,” Peter held up a bag, two sandwiches could be seen in the bag.

“Velvet?”

Bucky smiled as (Y/N) pulled at the threads on the sheets, pleased they were getting somewhere. must be faster than they expected.

“It’s a nickname.”

Peter watched Bucky and Sam smile at each other, a smirk playing at both their lips.

“Well (Y/N), Stark and Nat will be here later to help you move,” Same stood as patted the end of the bed.

They both left the room, looking back behind them until they turned the corner.

“Move? Are you leaving?”

Peter felt his heartbreak slightly, not wanting the only person he wanted to see at the compound most days to leave.

“I’m leaving the medical wing,” (Y/N) reached for the bag, pulling out a sandwich and unwrapping it.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m getting a real room.”

Peter watched the small smile play at (Y/N), but quickly covered it with the sandwich.

“Oh that amazing (Y/N), you are doing better than we all thought,” Peter pulled his own sandwich out of the bag, happy that (Y/N and him could actually walk around the compound together.

“Eh.”

Peter brow drew together, confused why the first thing (Y/N) thought to say was “eh”.

“Eh?”

A quick shrug and another bite of the sandwich, looking everywhere but Peter.

“I still don’t feel right.”

Peter looked up, waiting for them to continue with the statement.

“I don't know, I just feel like what everyone tells me I am,” (Y/N) pulled out a bit of lettuce, throwing in at Peter.

Peter dodged the lettuce, not even giving it much thought.

“Who do you want to be?”

(Y/N) looked up at Peter, a confused look in their eyes.

“I don't know, I guess that's the problem.”

day 284

“Peter, get out of my room!”

(Y/N) at the top of their lungs, a slight panic filled Peter that they’d break like yesterday.

“I’m not leaving.”

(Y/N) picked up a pillow and threw it as full force to Peter, which Peter early caught and placed on the ground.

“I could snap again, you saw me yesterday in the kitchen.”

Peter rolled his eyes, trying to slowly walk closer while (Y/N) screamed at him.

“It’s not a big deal.”

Peter gently held out both hands, (Y/N) grabbed a sleeve and rolled it up. The sight of Peter banging his forearm looked nasty to anyone who wasn’t in the compound.

“I attacked you with one of Pepper’s cooking knives!”

The way (Y/N) voice crack had Peter look away, upset that they were upset.

“I shouldn't have been trying to help Flash with his Russian in front of you,” Peter pulled the sleeve of his shirt down, trying to forget the thing even happened.

“Peter, you were helping a friend over the phone. I’m the crazy one here.”

(Y/N) pushed Peter's chest, pushing him till his back hit the wall.

“(Y/N), friends won't leave you so I’m not leaving.”

“I don't wanna be your friend!”

Peter felt the rain that was falling outside had suddenly gotten loud and the air around him suddenly had gotten harder to breathe.

“What do you want then?”

Peter now could feel his own voice crack, the idea of you loving him back seemed crazy but apparently you didn’t even want to be around him.

“I-i wanna kiss your neck.”

Peter watched at (Y/N) pushed farther away, a single tear slipping down her face.

Peter jumped off the door, gripping (Y/N) wrist. He dragged himself closer until his lips crashed into theirs. (Y/N) hand slowly crept up Peter’s arm, soon was playing with the hair at the nap of his neck.

He felt her teeth run over his bottom lip and his brain felt like it was going to explode.

(Y/N) started pulling away, having to push Peter back slightly just so they could get some air.

“I’m sorry, Raid.”

“Don’t be, Velvet.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #marvel x reader #peter parker x y/n #bucky barnes #sam wilson #tony stark #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #marvel #loki #thor ragnarok

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aiweirdness · 6 years ago

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First there was SkyKnit. Now there's HAT3000

[Chunky Hat”, crocheted by Joannastar]

A while ago, I tried to train a neural network to generate knitting patterns by showing it a few thousand existing patterns so it could use trial and error to generate new patterns. I called the project SkyKnit, and its new patterns were… well, they were patterns. But they were nothing like the patterns it had been trained on. The test knitters of Ravelry’s adults-only, often-indecorous LSG forum had to do a lot of debugging to turn them into reality and, even debugged, SkyKnit’s patterns were strangely organic, prone to weird branching ribbing and organic-looking holes, turning into irregular shapes or even tentacles.

[Make Caows and Shapcho, knitted by MeganAnn, and Lacy 2047, knitted by michaela112358]

Ever since the SkyKnit project, I’ve wanted to do a version for crochet. Like knitting, crochet has strong ties to mathematics and programming, and in many ways it’s more flexible. A crochet algorithm could potentially create even more exotic shapes than SkyKnit did.

For this project, to be dubbed HAT3000, I decided to make some improvements. I would train it on just crochet hats, which ought to be simple enough and similar enough that a neural net might be able to figure out the general pattern and produce functional designs. The LSG forum crocheters helped me assemble training data of 500 vintage out-of-copyright patterns, plus these kind designers contributed their own patterns to the effort: krisitis-patterns, irishlacenet, SierraPelona, fairyhedgehogg, watrpriestess, RachyNewin, agnosticnun, UnplannedCauli, membril, Moogly, and SuviCrochets.

I used Max Woolf’s gpt-2-simple collab notebook to finetune OpenAI’s GPT-2-355M neural net model. It’s pretrained with a bunch of non-crochet knowledge from the internet (fanfiction, recipes, conspiracy theories), but it does have a much longer memory than SkyKnit does, so will have a better chance of being able to figure out how the rows relate to one another. HAT3000 was set up for success.

My first indication that something was going wrong was when the hats kept exploding into hyperbolic super-surfaces.

A pattern would start modestly enough with what could plausibly be the crown of a hat, but somewhere there would be an instruction that made the next row MUCH bigger than the previous row, and then the next row MUCH bigger than that. The later rows would turn floppy to fit all that length in while still attached to a much smaller row, and then the next rows would have to curl even more. Ruffles would turn to tight ruffles, and then to corals, and then to brains.

Here’s one rather innocently titled “Brim Hat Pattern #1708” which Ravelry user Persipan heroically crocheted all the way through the final row (or at least, halfway through that final row; we haven’t heard from them since, they’re probably okay). By Row 9, there are over 1700 stitches. Row 10 has 3500 stitches, took 9.75 hours to complete, and even that is nothing compared to the edging.

Almost all of HAT3000’s patterns did this, eating yarn, eating sanity, becoming more and more hyperbolic, threatening to collapse into black holes… why, since none of the example hats did this?

A few people explained it to me thus: It looks like it’s really hard for HAT3000 to NOT fill the planet with ruffly brains. Basically, since most hats are built from the center out, HAT3000 only knows how to make each circle bigger than the previous one, adding 1 new stitch for every 2 in the previous row, or, for the faster increases usually used at the center of a hat, as many as 5 or 8 stitches for every 1 in the previous row. That would still be okay if HAT3000 knew how to control its increases. Unfortunately, if it accidentally increases too much in 1 row, that excess increase gets multiplied by the next layer, which in turn gets multiplied again. The tiniest instability turns exponentially into yarn-eating disaster. Meanwhile, HAT3000 thinks it’s doing great because the pattern text itself is still very close match to what a human would do. It has no idea that its hat has exploded.

The worst offender is a pattern called simply “The End…” which by my calculations requires enough yarn to wrap the known universe in a ball of yarn about a billion light years thick.

Some of HAT3000’s patterns did actually produce hats, though they tended to all be tiny (probably because they had fewer rows and therefore fewer opportunities to begin suddenly expanding).

Other patterns produced not hats but strange artifacts, purpose unknown. Here’s the full pattern for one, called “Hang in Wind”:

Hang in Wind: Toss the pieces together. This is the windmill: Windmill in Wind: With a 1 cc ball of yarn, ch 14, join. Do not join, twist yarn to form a knot, or cut yarn.

Other patterns were equally inscrutable.

“New theory: HAT3000 didn’t want us to make hats for ourselves. We’re making hats for neural networks. Which are weird and amorphous and have dimensions and connections that humans cannot comprehend and also don’t really have heads.” - ScarlettTanager

One of the most entertaining aspects of the finetuned HAT3000 was how much of its original broad training it retained. Prompt it with the beginning of a story, and it could still add to the story in more or less the same style as the prompt. Hilariously, its strategy was now to gradually work the topic back toward crochet hats. In the paragraphs below, the prompt I gave HAT3000 is in bold. The AI did the rest.

Harry whirled to face Snape, heart beating hard. “Wh--What will you do?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly and he lowered his wand, then stepped aside. As he approached behind Harry, he knelt down to kiss the front rim of Harry’s green-gloved hat as he pulled her closer. Snape slipped on the silk and reached in carefully, then unbuttoned Harry’s green-gloved hat. He looked Harry in the eyes and stroked her crown lightly before pushing on the seam of the hat to attach it. He finished on the front of Harry’s hat with a snap. With a light flourish he tied an extra strand of fabric, then another twist of silk, then another twist of silk.

HAT3000’s terrible crochet-themed erotica was even sometimes crochetable.

HAT3000 would sometimes turn its story prompts into things that were not crochet patterns exactly, but something strangely akin. Confrontations would turn into tightly choreographed fight scenes, the combatants weaving around and around each other. Villagers would build earthworks, walls, and moats in concentric circles. Recipes would turn into round cakes with dozens of stacked layers. Spaceships and adventuring heroes would follow complex and highly detailed routes. The trained model must have been able to draw some sort of connection between these various domains.

What have I learned from HAT3000? Like SkyKnit, it shows what unexpectedness happens when a neural net trainer, armed with approximately zero knowledge of a particular problem, nevertheless plows ahead and throws a neural net at it anyways. And like its knitting counterpart, HAT3000 owes its entire success to the creativity of human artists who took its often nonsensical patterns, fixed the bugs, and turned them into physical artifacts. I’d like to extend a huge thanks to the knitters and crocheters who sacrificed time, sanity, and yarn to satisfy the whims of these very weird AIs.

You can join the conversation, and crochet along, at the HAT3000 LSG thread (if you register first and don’t mind the swearing). There’s also a twitter thread that collects most of the patterns and many of the crocheted examples. There’s a big generated set of patterns here.

Subscribers get bonus content: I generated far more HAT3000 responses to story prompts than would fit in this post, but I picked some of my favorites to highlight as bonus material. I think they’re fascinating. If you have ever dreamt of a crossover between Star Wars/Harry Potter fan fiction and crochet, well YOU ARE IN LUCK.

You can order my book You Look Like a Thing and I Love You! It’s out November 5 2019.

Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s

#neural networks #crochet #skyknit #hat3000 #fiber arts #crochet patterns #fanfic #harry potter

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lucidpantone · 4 years ago

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Druck is objectively better than all remakes at making a pointed effort to do better with their pic reps. They actually take in the feedback of their audience and try to execute a better product. There are problems with druck and 80% of it is the fandom. Ofc all remakes have issues tho, so ppl should chill. Druck fans unapologetically shit on other remakes while, wtfock fans and skam fr fans have the courtesy of slyly getting their digs in there. It's quite amusing to watch from the sidelines

this is super long but for you anon.

So I think we need to look at these three remakes as what I call the og period and the original period because they do change alot once they get more freedom some for the absolute worse. Ok so lets talk first about the OG periods. To be perfectly honest s1 in all these remakes are just ok. Jana & Jens are a bit unbearable but Jana as a whole is fine and am happy she doesnt end up with Jens. Same with Hanna and Jonas they aren’t unbearable per-say but I am also not gushing over them but I do like Jonas being a heart throb music man sometimes but once again they dont burn into my core but am happy they reunite. Love Emma and love Yann just not together its that simple. S2 is where we really start to see the difference. Charles is the devil so I hate skamfr s2 and like really Manon stays with him??? ughh why?? Daphne is right at almost bursting into laughter when he talks about doing philanthropy. Ok bruh....sure. Winterberg is fine I dont hate them and I dont love them they are just okay to me. S2 happens to be wtfock best season so its kinda hard to stack them up because this is the best they ever looked. All of the s3 for all these remakes are good. To say they aren’t would just be nonsense some are better then others but all are above average. Now S4....... well well well. What can we say the elusive goldstar Sana season is yet to be made (I will say the script for Italia s4 is fantastic, THE SCRIPT).

Skamfr s4 was a mess and ridiculous and Druck’s s4 was lazy and harbored accents of prejudice all over it.Both seasons undercut their woc and both miss the opportunity to write deep meaningful stories that explored the societal struggles of muslim women. Skamfr s4 just happened to really just shows us their colors but honestly am not shocked this is skam the micro racist decisions are all over the verse. TBD on yasmina season.

NOW......this all changes when we talk about the original seasons because this is when we see the shows on their own and also we get to see if they have been listening and absorbing the fan commentary or not. So let’s get the obvious out of the way wtFOCK was an absolute mess and maybe the worse season ever created in the skamverse the only thing that made that season even slightly bearable was the Moyo arc which I hear it actually continues in s5 so in a weird way s4 is actually about Moyo since his story continues but we already know thats only because if the fans saw Kato on the screen for a matters of seconds the volcano of hate would explode. I despise how Noa has become the pseudo main of s4 but didnt get the credit. It kills me they did this to him. Maining Romi is the worse mistake ever made by any remake and thats just fact. Now do I want to see a newgen out of wtfock? hmmmm ask me after s5 but am leaning towards probably not but am on the fence. Now skamfr .....let me say this one thing skam fr is nothing without their cast. Talk about fucking talent. Those kids can act their ass off but their writing is atrocious. s5 could have been good they had all the ingredients but the writers bomb it. S6 once again flavie amazing the writing a shit show. S7 lucie was amazing the writing was better but still needs work I think it pretty obvious skam fr is going to step into the thunderdome and finally do what no skam has done before and main bilal but should I really applaud it taking 8 seasons and 35 plus skamverse seasons to get here??? Probably not, but since no one else is gonna pull the trigger I wish them well and at least skamfr listen and lamifex is super rich in diversity and they are honestly a fabulous newgen. They are such a ridiculous squad but god I love them and Jo is an angel. Please please skamfr please write a good story for a brown boy I beg of you!!! Now druck s5 all I can say is Bravo!! If skamfr is their cast then Druck is their writers. That s5 season is a fucking beast. Thats how you write an original skam season. They also listen the cast is super diverse. The girl squad feels natural and their age I actually like that the insta squad are problematic as fuck and happen to be queer. Like just cause your a gay baby doesnt mean you arent an ass. s6 for me personally was ok maybe its unfair of me but I expect amazing writing out of druck and s6 to me was not their best. It could have been amazing they touched so many topics but never deeply explored them and I wanted more for fatou. Also def got the vibes at the end they were panicking on who to main next season so everyone got a little plot thread but that also distracted me from fatou but I love the Mailin plot it was really smart and done well. I didnt hate her but boy did she bug the shit out me.That how you write modern day racism and white privilege. I just wish Ava’s plot was spread more onto fatou they were moments but i wanted more. So I guess I do think out of the original seasons druck s5 is the best. Nora being white didnt matter because she was written well but i do think Tiff being the main out of skamfr wasnt the best choice but then seeing Lucie act am like ok i get it but honestly I expect that from that cast they can all kill it so why not let someone else be the main and not tiff. BTW druck’s cast is good too I just dont think they are as good as the skamfr cast on the acting front but they are some members that are very very good. Like you said because Druck does listen I hope they listen to the honest criticism of s6. I know some people are like its the best ever but like its not....am sorry s5 was way better then s6 and that makes me sad because i want my black girl magic.... I do expect s7 to be good because when the writers for druck have the room to take their time they always kill it but I also feel like they are about to pull a Tiff on us and main Ismail(plus constantine as the side plot) but if I trust anyone with not fucking it up its them. Concerning the fandoms I live off tag and I do that for a reason. The fandom tags are alot but the druck one is almost hostile and honestly you would love the show more if you didnt interact with it. The skamfr tag is hilarious because they are no anti’s its just a bunch of arm chair critics making memes at how ridiculous the frenchies are but in away it makes the remake super fun because no one cares anymore. The wtfock tag has really high highs and really insane lows. When its low its really low so I have decided to live off tag. For those who haven’t..... god speed. Your brave souls!!

#lucidpantone anons #super long read but enjoy #excuse the million typos

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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 5 years ago

Text

Bite (Part Two)

Summary: Peter’s team is invited onto a big case in which their involvement will have serious consequences. (Part 2/3)

Word Count: 6,323

Warning: Brief mention of hard drugs and their abuse.

“Stupid me,” you grumbled, grabbing your bottles of sparkling cider and shoving them back into your bottom left desk drawer. “I should never get cocky.” The glimmering, golden, spiralized ribbons wrapped around their necks felt like they were particularly insulting. It took a lot of self-control not to grab your scissors and snip them off for the trash.

You’d been so excited for the case to end. So, so excited for the case to finally be over and things in the office to go back to normal, and for you to finally have that talk you and Neal decided to put off for “later”. Now you had share-size bottles of cider and a big case of plastic cups in your desk and no reason to share it and get it out.

“Y/N,” Diana said, watching you move with terse movements. “It could’ve gone so much worse.”

You knew that. Damn it, you knew that, you did, but you still didn’t feel much better. Neal was still alive, but your victory was taken away. Instead of being held accountable for his actions, Brady got to just take a permanent escape. There was no retribution, there was no restitution. No justice for the man he murdered or for any of the poor victims who made the mistake of trusting him. You put all your energy, all your time into this freaking case and now it was all for nothing because the coward preferred to die than go to prison, and had threatened to kill in order to force Peter to honor his wish.

Diana spoke again, trying to get your attention. “Neal could be hurt a lot worse.”

“Yeah, Di, I know he could’ve been,” you said through gritted teeth. “I still wish that ass were still here so I could kick him in the goddamn face for putting a knife to my friend’s throat.”

~~~ Bite ~~~

Brady tried to arrange a meeting as soon as possible, but Neal, playing his enthusiasm down to be sure not to jump too high, managed to delay the second rendezvous to Wednesday afternoon. According to the artist, the embezzler wasn’t happy with waiting but had more decorum than to insist that a man not even in his employ drop everything when called, and this gave you time to implement the operation you had spent the last week preparing for.

Peter had a thorough game plan. Neal as going to be wearing a wire fully concealed by his clothes, and the techs knew to thread the microphone so that it was covered by his tie in case he was patted down. Stealth aside, Peter, Madeline, and Ruiz were all confederates in Brady’s company suite, Damien had the back exits and fire escape covered, Matt and Diana were in the lobby looking busy, and you and Jones were in the van, coordinating all teams.

You had executed plenty of highly successful operations before with less manpower, but this one somehow went so wrong that you weren’t even sure how. Neal went in without even acknowledging your confederates, and he arrived separately from your unmarked vehicles. There was nothing linking him to the bureau. Brady received him with the smarmiest facsimile of hospitality you’d ever heard and invited him into his office.

The first five minutes were tense for all of you. You, especially, were feeling particularly wound up. Fidgeting your knee made Jones give you a look, but not being able to do anything was one of the worst assignments you could have possibly gotten. Neal made friendly with Brady, and Brady brought up how there was a fed questioning his practices. Peter made a petty comment which somehow helped to relax your nerves, and Brady hypothetically asked Neal what experience he might have with nosy feds.

After that, it went quiet. To occupy yourself, you imagined what expressions Neal might be making, what gestures, what body language he was using to say-without-saying that the feds weren’t as smart as he was.

The quietness lasted too long. Twenty seconds. Thirty.

“Is anyone else hearing anything?” Matt asked with his voice low, calm but concerned.

You turned on the switch allowing for you and Jones to talk over the communicators. “Our bugs aren’t the problem,” you answered to everyone, glad that someone else was the one to ask. Even after you responded, there was still no noise from Neal, or anyone in the office with him. “Damien?”

“Here,” Ruiz’s agent reported.

You frowned nervously. Something was off. “Neal, if you can hear, cough.”

There was still nothing – not just the absence of a cough, but the absence of any audio at all. It sounded louder than anything before it had, like white noise. With the rest of the earpieces fully functional, that made it clear something was very wrong.

“Peter, how far are you from the office?” Jones asked, standing up as you did the same and getting his sidearm from the collapsible table.

No answer came, even when Jones tried again, this time asking for Ruiz, and then for Madeline. Diana answered when prompted, but none of the wires in Brady’s suite were responding.

~~~ Bite ~~~

CSI found a signal jammer in one of Brady’s desk drawers after the body had been taken away, which explained why you had lost contact with your team. As soon as your team leaders realized that they couldn’t contact Neal or any of their backup, they stormed the office.

�� You got the chance to read Peter’s statement. He had moved impulsively, rashly, before Ruiz had made the same call. He was the first to enter, and he had kicked the door in to do so. Neal had been put down on his knees with a bloody lip, and the embezzler had held a sharp hunting knife to Neal’s throat. Neal was begging him not to do it. Your heart clenched when you read and it almost made you put the paper down, but it had gone so far sideways that you needed to know in case you were facing a review. Once Brady saw Peter’s gun and knew that he wasn’t leaving, he raised the knife and charged the agent. Peter had to shoot him twice before he fell, and he was dead before Ruiz got into the room.

Neal was able to report later that he had been made since before he even entered the building. It wasn’t a problem with the specific operation – it was that Seamus Brady had known exactly what Neal and Peter were up to, and he had turned the tables, using the con to lure Neal into an ambush. Ruiz went on what you would call a rampage and if Peter hadn’t been busy making sure that Neal was okay, and stunned by the blood on his own hands, you were sure he would’ve been laying into everyone, too. There had to be a leak somewhere in the bureau, either in the WCCD or in Organized Crime. Hughes heard the case, heard Neal was sent to the hospital and Peter had been forced to fire, and ordered everyone off. Ruiz’s division chief did the same, and the two together disbanded the Brady task force.

Neal went to the hospital to be checked out and was released within a few hours. Peter drove him home and then went back to Brooklyn, where he called in on Thursday and claimed to be sick. No one bought it, but no one bought him on it, either. Peter hadn’t done anything wrong, but the cost of protecting himself was staggering, and in your division you rarely, if ever, had such an event occur. No one could blame the man for wanting to stay home with Elizabeth for a day or two. Similarly, Hughes called Neal and said that he didn’t need to come in on Thursday, and on Friday morning, Neal called in sick, as well.

A brass from over Hughes’ head came and questioned Peter’s team that Friday. You, Diana, and Jones put your heads together so you could give as clear a picture as you could, but you had missed so much that all you could really offer was a photocopy of the statement Peter wrote and a promise to forward one of Neal’s once the conman issued his own. You went to Organized Crime for just a couple of minutes, saw Madeline at her desk, and compared notes. The same steps were being taken in their division as in yours, but they had even less to offer because Ruiz had been behind.

Peter and Neal both returned to the office on Monday. Peter had rebounded, for the most part, but Neal looked like he had hardly slept. It didn’t help that OPR also came to the WCCD on Monday, opening an investigation into who tipped off Brady. Your brain knew that the vast majority of OPR agents were well-intentioned and following orders, but after everything that happened with Fowler, having them around made you feel like your office had a roach problem.

The entire week passed in slow motion, and as it did, you watched Peter grow both stable and weary – stable as he accepted what he had been forced to do, and weary as he accepted that, yet again, he had to look over his shoulder for a traitor within the bureau. It was a heavy weight on all of you, but none of you felt it more than the Burke-Caffrey duo, and you wished you knew how you could help. While Peter at least recovered from the ambush itself, you saw Neal moving in the opposite direction. He pulled away from everyone, preferring quiet and solitude. He was willing to spend time with Peter during lunch breaks, and make small talk when prompted, but he didn’t act like the social butterfly he usually was and he didn’t return your friendly attempts at flirting.

It hurt to watch him withdraw. You hadn’t seen him doing such a thing since Kate had died, but even this was on a completely different dimension. When the jet exploded, Neal emotionally withdrew but he wanted to seem like he was fine. He slapped on a veneer of happiness to hide the anger and devastation, and he used friendships to distract himself from how badly it hurt to be alone with his thoughts. This was different – he was physically present, but he wasn’t making any attempts at acting as he normally did.

While waiting for the Brady case to make another move, you had started to complain to yourself that your “later” wasn’t going to ever come. Now, as he turned down offers to leave the building for lunch, failed to reciprocate any signs of interest, and rebuffed any attempts to have a conversation that didn’t strictly revolve around work, you were thinking that it really might not ever happen. Worse than thinking that the romantic potential might go unfilled was the hurt you felt at the threat of losing a good friend.

The second week after Neal was ambushed, OPR left the WCCD in peace without any answers as to who betrayed the team, Peter was able to lower his figurative hackles, and Neal started to reengage – but, like with Kate, it was just a veneer. He started to banter with Peter and talk to you, but nothing went deeper than the surface and even though he acted like normal, happy, healthy Neal Caffrey, that was all it was. Acting.

It wasn’t up to you to decide how quickly he needed to get over a near-death experience, and you knew that. You never thought you had the right to try. But, you did have the right to worry, as long as you didn’t shove it onto him, and so you worried to yourself while keeping your eyes on him. Unfortunate as it was, Neal was no stranger to near-death experiences. When you compared what happened during that case to what had almost happened in the past, you couldn’t understand why it would have shaken him up so much. Getting a bullet blocked by a Bible in front of his chest, having the air sucked out of a sealed room, almost boarding a doomed plane, being in an apartment with an assassin, confronting and being placed in a variety of nearly-fatal situations by Adler, and a number of other close calls hadn’t shaken him up for more than a couple days, so it mystified you how one sole creep with a knife had a more profound impact on Neal than losing Kate.

~~~ Bite ~~~

After two weeks, you were done thinking about “later”. You would’ve happily taken what you had before it went down and been grateful to have the old Neal back. You laid in bed on Saturday night wondering who you would find when you went to work the next Monday. Would your friend be back at his desk, or was it going to be the shellshocked victim? If it were the latter, was he going to be ready to accept the support that you had already tried to offer?

While thinking about him, you did come to an important epiphany. You figured out what made this near-death experience so much worse than the others: someone Neal trusted had been the one to cause it. Brady had held the knife and he was guilty of all of his actions, for sure, but he wouldn’t have lured out and tried to hurt Neal if it hadn’t been for someone in the FBI tipping him off to the operation. Neal had come to respect the individuals who worked in the division, and although he wasn’t going to try to move into the office, he felt comfortable and safe within its walls. That sense of safety had been ripped away, and he didn’t have the option of avoiding the space that now felt dangerous.

You should’ve thought of it sooner. OPR had made your skin crawl, but you had been focusing your energy on the wrong thing. A leak in the office unsettled you, but you had a clean record, no gripes with anyone, and your neck wasn’t sticking out off a perilous ledge. You had no reason to fear the leak except for on the basis of principle. Neal, however, had a felony conviction, a long list of people who may want him hurt or dead on principle or for revenge, and was frequently enlisted as the WCCD’s personal piece of criminal bait.

What would it feel like to not feel safe at work? To know there was a knife in your back and not know who put it there? If you were in his position, you thought that paranoia might be crippling. You also thought you’d have no choice but to rely emotionally on your friends, the ones you knew for certain would never harm you, not withdraw from them. Surely Neal knew some people that it wasn’t – Peter, whom he’d known in one capacity or another for going on a decade; Diana and Jones, for almost two years. Certainly, he knew you’d never try to get him killed. Maybe you didn’t have as long of a history as he had with Peter, but you had a history, nonetheless, and it was a good one. If anyone were going to rat him out, it would have to be someone from Ruiz’s side of the task force, or maybe someone who accessed the plans and files without actually being assigned to the team.

Fear wasn’t rational, you knew that, and you knew Neal did, too. He was too clever about people not to know how powerful emotions could be. That didn’t mean it was a good thing for him to be socially isolating himself to any degree. Cases like this were when he should be keeping closer to his friends than ever. If he wasn’t sure about who those friends were, then you were just going to have to show him.

You woke up early on Sunday morning and Googled a few minutes to find a breakfast restaurant in Neal’s radius that looked particularly delicious, and then you made the trip to the west side of Manhattan as the sun was still rising. You couldn’t keep waiting for him to get better and pretending to be fooled by the way he acted like he was fine at work. He was your friend, damn it, and friends took friends out for breakfast and made them talk when they were distressed. Neal had had more than two weeks to come around on his own. Time to give him a gentle push. If he were reticent, then you’d just have to push a little harder and prove you’d catch him. Like an emotional trust fall.

It was a little after seven when you got to June’s. You weren’t trying to blitz attack Neal, but you did want to get to him before he left the house on his own plans. One of June’s cars was gone, so you pulled into the driveway, knowing you wouldn’t be here long. You parked and turned off your car, then double-checked that nothing valuable was left visible from the windows before unbuckling your seatbelt.

Before you got out of the car, you looked up to June’s house to admire the old building and saw motion on the porch. For just a heartbeat you thought Neal might have seen you pulling in and came out to meet you, but then you realized the person coming out had long hair and was wearing a shimmering black dress. To each his own, but they were five foot six, tops.

You stayed put to assess. It felt uncomfortably like spying and the agent in you was uncomfortably okay with that. The person turned around and you didn’t recognize her face. Her hair was a little snarled and her dress had some oddly-placed wrinkles. You spent a lot of time at the office, but not so much that you didn’t know what a walk of shame looked like.

“Maybe I should have texted ahead,” you said to your empty passenger seat, somewhat amused. It looked like Neal had a way of coping, after all.

She walked off the porch and went to the street, looking down at her hands. You were trying to avoid the awkwardness of being seen, so you pressed yourself back against your seat and watched her through the side mirror when she came into view. The lady didn’t even look at your car, instead moving her fingers on her phone.

“Wait,” you said softly, narrowing your eyes to look closer. She wasn’t holding a phone, the motions of her fingers weren’t right.

Since she wasn’t even looking, you shifted around up onto one knee to look directly out the rear window. She got to the sidewalk from the driveway and started going east, towards Broadway, and as she turned to follow the street you got a better look at what she was holding. It was a wad of cash, and she was counting the bills.

You turned back around and dropped into your seat, narrowly avoiding giving your thigh a hard knock on the steering wheel.

A woman leaving Neal’s address, as June isn’t home, while in last night’s clothes and counting bills.

You felt breathless. What were you supposed to say, to yourself or to Neal, about what you had seen? Breakfast was off the table. You pulled your seatbelt back over yourself and started the car, leaving him none the wiser to your visit, so you could have time to think.

~~~ Bite ~~~

You stalled on talking to Neal for days. There were four very long days, almost an entire business week, where you wracked your brain trying to come up with another explanation for what he was doing. Neal freaking Caffrey hooking up with an… escort? There was no way, absolutely no way. Okay, so you supposed it made sense that if he needed something to lift his spirits, sex worked for most everyone. But even if you assumed that his looks and intellect and charm had suddenly become completely useless in the world of romance and sex (and you were one hundred percent sure that wasn’t the case), there was no way he was stupid enough to risk everything he had just to get laid. Victimless or not, solicitation of a prostitute was breaking the law and if anyone found out, Neal would go straight back to prison.

So you just kept telling yourself that it wasn’t what it had looked like. You kept telling yourself that you misread the situation, that there was some important piece of context you just weren’t aware of, and you kept trying to think of what it might be. Because you were trying so hard to convince yourself of that other piece’s existence, you resisted the urge to conclude he was seeing a prostitute – because if you came to that conclusion, you were legally obligated to report it. And if you reported it, and Neal couldn’t factually disprove it, then your friend was going back to prison for a crime that you didn’t personally believe should be a crime in the first place.

The problem was that it had been four days, and you couldn’t think of anything to explain why Neal had seen a woman out early in the morning with a going-away gift of cash. If it wasn’t solicitation, then it had to be something worse – conspiracy for a white-collar crime, maybe, or worse, drugs. Drugs would explain why she looked unkept.

The conspiracy option seemed like the most likely bet, but Neal of all people knew how thin his ice was, and he wasn’t going to start tap dancing on it by relying on strangers not to narc. He had a small circle of people whom he trusted. You were reasonably confident that you’d met everyone on the list, and the woman whom you’d seen leaving wasn’t one of them. Plus, since Alex, you were pretty sure Neal learned to stop mixing business with pleasure, so it wouldn’t account for why she had stayed the night.

Drugs only occurred to you on Wednesday, and you’d nixed it by lunchtime. You wouldn’t put it past Neal to have experimented once or twice with some less intense stuff, but you’d known him too long not to know if he had a particular vice, and he didn’t. Sometimes he smoked when he was stressed, but that was it. You carefully tried to see if there were any signs of a new habit, but Neal looked healthy, his mind was sharp, his hands were steady, and there was no discoloration anywhere on him. Addicts were good at hiding addictions, but it hadn’t been long enough for Neal to get that far down the rabbit hole, so you took comfort in knowing that he wasn’t slowly poisoning himself.

Without those options on the table, though, there was no alternative to a prostitute. One part of you wanted to just let it go and pretend you hadn’t seen anything. It wasn’t like you’d seen them screwing so it wasn’t shirking responsibility to fail to report – you didn’t know for sure anything illegal had happened. When the worse alternatives included heroin, you were tempted to just be relieved that the most likely reality was consenting adult activity. The other part of you was just so… disappointed. You knew how clever he was. Of all the things to risk his parole over, this was what he chose?

Being a pushover wasn’t a quality for any good agent to have. Avoiding conflicts wasn’t exactly what you were known for – you liked to handle things as they came up, rather than letting them fester. Now, though, you felt like such a wimp, cowering from a conversation you needed to have just because you were afraid of how it might go. Even that unpleasant feeling of knowing you were letting yourself down didn’t motivate you into gathering your wits and putting your foot down – it was what happened at lunch.

You went in to get your salad from the fridge and happened to cross paths with Peter and Neal, who were already in the kitchen brewing themselves more coffee. You said a pleasant greeting to them both, putting aside the lurching feeling in your stomach when you saw Neal smile at you. He still didn’t know you’d seen anything. He didn’t know you’d spent the week trying to decide how to respond.

“What’s good?” You asked, opening up the fridge and taking out your meal.

“Not the coffee,” Neal quipped, earning himself a side-eye from Peter. “What about with you? You’ve seemed a little intense this week. Good case?”

Heh, I wish. So he had noticed there was something wrong. Well, so had you – he was convincing but you weren’t fooled by his back-to-normal demeanor. “Not good as in interesting,” you said, going along with what he thought. The middle of the bureau wasn’t the place to ask Neal what the hell he was thinking, and any time when another agent was around was the wrong time. “But particularly challenging, and I think I’m close.”

“That’s a good feeling,” Peter commented, smiling slightly. He’d always had a good work ethic. It made you happy to work under him and you felt a little bit guilty for lying. “Just don’t forget to take time for yourself.”

“I may not be married, but I still have my own life,” you teased him. It was well-known that your boss was a workaholic. Were it not for his wife, he’d spend even more time in the office. “I might even make weekend plans.”

You stuck your thermos in the microwave as Peter chuckled and Neal gasped in overdramatic surprise. It made you smile at the appliances. Being so tense for the last week, and worrying about Neal for the last several, had almost made you forget how much you liked your work environment and your friends.

“Weekend plans doing what?” Neal asked, his grin just big enough to show a little flash of his front teeth.

Your weekends were never very exciting, but at least you were able to quickly think of something that rhymed with your streaming service. “Hulu and Cthulhu,” you said smartly as the microwave dinged.

Neal laughed. “Very cultured, Agent Y/L/N.”

“You know it.” You clicked your tongue at him with a wink. “What about yours?”

“Ah, I might have a friend over,” he answered smoothly, and you raised your eyebrows, wary that he was referring to a paid friend and not a real one.

“Mozzie?” Peter guessed.

“Sh,” Neal rebuked, glancing meaningfully between Peter and the doorway. “The walls have ears.”

“He’s literally been here,” the investigator grumbled, forever exasperated by Haversham’s paranoid distrust of every government official in the world.

The microwave dinged and you took your thermos out and picked up a plastic spork. “Yes, and now I bet he has PTSD,” you joked.

“And I’m the one who has to hear all about it,” Neal complained. His tone wasn’t giving much away – he could have been either joking with you or completely serious, and somehow not knowing made it a little funnier. You were never sure what to make of Mozzie, so the ambiguity was suited to him. “Good luck on your case.”

“And on yours, guys,” you replied as you took your lunch and went back out into the bullpen, heading for your desk to work through your break.

It was only a couple of minutes after you sat down again that you realized Neal had deflected the question of who his friend actually was. Maybe he was just taking it for granted that you and Peter knew it was Mozzie after he hadn’t said no, but part of you just said it wasn’t that simple. The principle of Occam’s razor rarely applied to Neal – which was just unfortunate, because your life would be so much easier if it did. You needed to talk to him before he had the chance to repeat whatever he had done last weekend, because if you didn’t, then he might make a huge mistake.

~~~ Bite ~~~

Your time to talk to him came towards the end of the day, and you didn’t even have to make up a good excuse to get him out of the building alone. Peter came by your desk an hour before the workday usually ended, almost blushing and quickly hurrying to explain how it was his turn to pick up the dog from the groomer’s and he had to hurry or the groomer would call El and then his wife would find out that he forgot a shared domestic responsibility again. Okay, so he didn’t say anything past his wife being called, but you weren’t exactly new to the office. You knew how it worked.

Anyway, you said you’d let Hughes know where he was if you were asked, and that you could give Neal a ride back to Riverside. If he didn’t have the tracking anklet, he could take public transportation, but public transit never ended up going straight to his apartment, and it was almost an eight mile walk, and since federal plaza was already out of his radius, letting him go home alone made the U.S. Marshals all skittish. It was easier to just carpool with everyone’s favorite ex-con in the passenger seat.

Neal was usually a very animated passenger, but like his demeanor at work, he was more subdued in the car than he used to be, and another pang hit you in the chest as you wondered if he behaved like this in Peter’s car, too. You wanted so badly to believe he wasn’t just choosing to shut you out, specifically.

“I have satellite,” you said casually while waiting at a traffic light. You felt like your heart was pounding, and between that and the emotional chest ache, you almost felt like a trip to the ER should be in order. “I decided to start paying. Better music, less commercials.”

Neal shrugged. “It’s just a few more minutes.” Except in rush hour traffic, it was actually closer to fifteen. In spite of his lacking enthusiasm, he took the hint after a few seconds and reached for the stereo controls, turning the satellite stations on and flipping between a few until he could something that wasn’t pop, rock, or rap.

The music made the ride less awkward and you kicked yourself for it in hindsight. At least when the silence had seemed loud, it would’ve been easier to break it with words instead of radio. June’s address drew closer and as it did, you had the sinking feeling that you weren’t going to have the courage to say anything, no matter how serious you knew the situation was.

Too many feelings.

“Can I come inside?” You asked, apparently out of the blue, glancing across the car at him. Neal’s eyebrows were up and his lips slightly parted when he looked back from the window, surprised as you’d ever seen him. “We don’t talk much anymore,” you lied with a little shrug. “Haven’t had much time for it, I guess. But we could do coffee.”

Neal took a second to respond, and you were sure that he was going to politely reject you. Instead, his expression became a little more open as he considered and dropped a hand onto his knee. “Yeah, that sounds nice,” he agreed, and then looked back out the window.

After that, it became less painfully uncomfortable, at least on your end. Invitation secured, you stopped worrying. You were going into his home – backing out wasn’t an option. What was an option was doing what you could to try taking care of your friend, and hopefully that would include setting him on a better direction and figuring out what the hell had happened in Brady’s loft. You even felt hopeful that in a couple of weeks’ time, things would be back to normal and your friendship would rebound like none of this had ever happened.

You made it to Riverside and fortunately found curbside parking. June had a driveway, which was a luxury for a Manhattan residence, but she also had two cars already in it and you hated feeling like you were blocking anyone in. Neal reiterated the welcome for you to come inside and you went in with him, looking around June’s first floor with curiosity before following the artist up to his rented space. It looked cleaner than it usually did… not that Neal was a slob – far from it, in fact – but the penthouse looked a little less homey than usual and it was extra concerning.

You took your shoes and coat off by the door after Neal hung his jacket on the coat rack. “Italian or Ethiopian?” He asked, striding into the small kitchen and opening up the cupboards to the left of the fridge.

“Ethiopian,” you replied and watched him take a name-brand bag of coffee grounds off of the shelf. You’d never had it before but Neal had good taste.

While he brewed coffee, you took a quick look through the parlor section of the open-floor plan, seeing the records and books that he had opted to keep accessible. Neal’s tastes in music were in line with what you would have expected. He liked instruments, and when it came to singing, he liked classics. His reading interests were more eclectic, but that, you supposed, was part of how he kept his skills up. Neal was very proud of his excellence in art, but he also went out of his way to be a sort of jack of all trades so that he could connect with a mark on some level, no matter what it was they were into.

Once you couldn’t hear the coffeemaker running anymore, you treaded to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair to sit. Neal brought two mugs over a moment later. “It’s how you like it,” he remarked, setting one in front of you and sitting only a couple of feet away with his.

A real smile came to your face. “You remember.”

“Of course I remember,” he said, giving you an almost playful look like you should know better. “I never forget a coffee order.”

“I thought it was names you never forget.”

“I never forget either,” he replied without missing a beat, smiling slightly over the edge of his mug.

“Silly me,” you commented. The roast tasted almost like a heavy tea, but it was good. You put it down on the table, then reached for your belt and took your badge off. You put it facedown next to your coffee and Neal’s attention was rapt.

“Is there unofficial business I should know about?” He asked. His tone and words were light, but you could see a very subtle change in his face that you would have completely missed if you hadn’t been watching for it.

“I don’t want you in trouble and I’m not gonna start any,” you responded, tilting your head. Neal had taught you that a lot of crime was actually in shades of grey, and after Peter had begun to loosen up, you started thinking that maybe there was really something to the lessons Neal occasionally espoused. One of them was that sometimes the ends justified the means, as long as the means fit within a moral framework that prioritized human wellbeing. “I saw something on Sunday. I came to pick you up for breakfast and there was a woman leaving. She had cash.”

Neal put his mug down and reached for his face. Slowly, he rubbed his hands over his eyes, and then his cheeks, his head down tiredly. You were curious how he would play it, and simultaneously hoped he wouldn’t try to play you at all.

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to read it,” you continued quietly. “But you have to know that the most obvious reading isn’t worth going back to prison over.”

Neal drew in a long, tight breath, through which his shoulders barely moved. “No,” he agreed, sounding absolutely exhausted. “It’s not.” He moved his hands, and then you saw in his eyes the same look that he’d had after the op went south weeks ago. He looked like his spirit had been beaten down, and he was so weary he couldn’t summon the energy to hold his shoulders up. “It’s not what it looked like.”

“Tell me what it was, then,” you prompted gently. It wasn’t your intention to violate his privacy or push very far. Despite the symbolic gesture you had made, your badge was still right there and you were still an agent of the FBI. You weren’t interested in that being a factor in how much or how little Neal chose to reveal to you – you wanted to be his friend first and foremost. But you also weren’t sure how much you truly wanted to know, or how much Neal would tell you regardless of whether or not you were a fed.

The artist rested his elbow on the table, still turned towards you in his chair. After he lowered his eyes from your face, he didn’t look up for a couple of very long moments. Because you knew him well, you waited patiently. If he had decided he wasn’t going to tell you anything, then he wouldn’t be looking away from you. Neal was very good at issuing a challenge without being overtly confrontational, and right now, he wasn’t challenging your right to know, just… figuring something out in his head. Thinking.

“I want you to know that I didn’t intend for this to happen,” he said finally, lifting his head. His usually kissable lips were frowning. “And I tried resisting.”

That made you frown. What was there to resist? Coercion? “Resisting what?” You asked him worriedly.

That worry only increased tenfold when he answered, “Blood.”

~~~~~

A/N: This is part two of three. There will be one more chapter after this.

If you like my writing and would be interested in skipping the request queue, please consider commissioning me on Ko-Fi. Imagines are $1 each and a 2,500-word oneshot is $4.

#white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen #lawmen-and-conmen #White Collar #white collar x reader #neal caffrey #neal caffrey x reader #peter burke #reader insert #request #series #bite #casefic #x reader

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virgil-patton-roman-and-logan · 5 years ago

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Father’s day, part three

The sides are in for it.

TW for unsympathetic Patton, bugs, forced feeding, drugs, knives, guns, and threatened death

Logan looked for spiders around the perimeter of the room. He had already killed a ton, but there must be more. There had been so many. Logan checked his watch. They’d been killing spiders for at least a couple hours, and there was still no sign of Patton.

His back throbbed with soreness, and he stood up to stretch. Virgil was searching around the furniture, and Roman was looking on the walls. Had one of them really put the box down? Everyone seemed just as confused as he was, but if Roman or Virgil didn’t do it, then who did?

A door slammed. Patton walked silently into the room, holding a tote bag bulging with unknown objects and dragging a chair behind him. Logan pressed himself up against the wall, heart pounding. Patton was walking straight towards him.

Patton shoved the chair in his direction. “Sit.” Logan couldn’t force any of his limbs to move. Patton started yelling. “Sit! Sit right now!” Logan’s stomach jolted as he hurried to sit down. Patton took rope out of the bag, tying Logan’s arms and legs to the chair until Logan found himself worrying about his circulation getting cut off. Logan felt the fibers of the rope scratch his wrists and ankles whenever he tried to shift his body.

Patton placed a handgun on Logan’s lap. The cold metal weighed on his lap. Fear flooded Logan’s body. Where did Patton get a gun? He couldn’t remember him having one before. More importantly, why did Patton have a gun here, now, on his lap? He tried to ignore the terrifying possibilities running through his mind, but it was all he could think about.

“I’ll deal with you later.” Patton smiled tightly at him before reaching back into his bag. He pulled out a pocket knife, needle, spool of thread, and a small plastic container, filled with small bugs. Mealworms, Logan thought through a haze of adrenaline. “You! Come here.” Patton pointed to Virgil.

Virgil inched over hesitantly. Patton rolled his eyes and grabbed Virgil by the sleeve, tugging him over. Virgil made a noise muffled by the stitches as he fell on his side. Patton cut the stitches open roughly, making no effort to avoid cutting Virgil’s lips as well. Virgil started to cry, makeup running down his face.

Patton opened the container, shoving mealworms by the handful into Virgil’s mouth. Virgil tried to squirm away, coughing, but Patton held him down. Logan wanted to look away, but he couldn’t stop watching.

Logan watched as Patton carelessly stitched Virgil’s mouth shut again. Virgil coughed more, hunched over, struggling not to choke. Patton looked through the bag, pulling out a bottle of liquid drugs and a syringe. Roman’s eyes widened as he started to back away.

It’s the hallucinogens again.

Patton filled the syringe further than Logan thought he usually did and grabbed Roman’s arm, injecting it into a vein as Roman begged. “No, no, no, please, no…” Patton dragged him, still pleading, into a closet and shut the door, locking it with a padlock from the outside.

Patton paced over to Logan and picked up the gun. He cupped Logan’s chin, forcing him to look into Patton’s eyes. “Oh Lolo. You’re still so beautiful. I wish you weren’t making me do this.” Logan’s heart felt like it was about to explode out of his chest. Patton wouldn’t kill him. Would he?

Yet there he was, fiddling with the gun like it was nothing. And Logan couldn’t get the ropes to loosen no matter how hard he struggled. “It’s too bad. I really did love you. But you just couldn’t love me back. And why should I let you keep hurting my feelings like this?” Patton looked up from the gun and glanced at Logan, who was still struggling, tears starting to burn in his eyes.

“I’ve only ever wanted the best for you. You know? Everything I’ve done has been for you. I couldn’t bear to see you acting all cold and robotic like that! So I helped you. But nothing I did could be enough, could it?” Logan finally stopped struggling, too tired to keep trying. He just let himself hunch into himself and cry. Oh god, he was going to die like this.

“I was hoping you’d learned after cheating on me with that snake. I was hoping you finally would know better. But no.” Patton laughed softly to himself. “You’ve gone too far this time.”

He aimed the gun at Logan’s head. “Goodbye, Lolo.”

Click.

When the expected burst of agony didn’t follow, Logan blinked a couple of times and looked around. Virgil sat several meters away, watching in horror, eyeliner running down his cheeks. Patton stood much closer, no longer pointing the gun. A sinister smile was stretched across Patton’s face.

“See, that’s what will happen to you if you do anything really bad again. This was your last warning. I’m not being nice and taking out the bullets next time. Understand?”

Logan nodded slowly. His hands were shaking, further irritating the scratches on his wrists. Those must have happened when I was trying to get out.

Patton picked up the knife and cut the ropes away. Logan pitched forward, sobbing and gasping. Patton rubbed his arms reassuringly, smiling slightly. “Shhh… it’s okay, Lolo. You still have one last chance to make it right. I love you.”

Logan was too drained to do anything but nod.

#unsympathetic patton #tw spiders #tw bugs #tw force feeding #tw torture #tw drugs #tw knife #tw gun #tw threats #tw mock execution #sshorrorau #sshorrorfamily #sshorrorfamilyau #sshorrorfamily au #sshorror

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dorkery · 5 years ago

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Okay i want to take some time here to moan like a bitch because I am going to EXPLODE

1. Parents have been asking me to volunteer sew PPE clothing for Covid-19 front liners. I have no objections.

2. Dad puts me in touch with a specific lady. I contact her. Lady explains the initiative badly and just adds me to the WhatsApp group. I have no idea what the fuck. I'm just told there is a briefing at a mall (BUT I DON'T WANT TO GO???? JUST SEND ME THE FUCKING MATERIALS AND LET ME SEW AT HOME????)

3. Dad checks in to see if I have contacted her. I said I have. At this juncture, I also message the lady again and ask her if she can accommodate my request to sew at home and for a video demonstration. She says maybe.

4. Dad wanders by later, tells me the Malaysian director of health (our surgeon-general) has indicated a PPE shortage. I tell him I've already contacted her, note that I've started to become annoyed.

5. Nobody explains a fucking thing to me. In the WhatsApp group, I straight up just say look will someone tell me what is happening? I'm a first time volunteer I don't know a goddamn thing.

6. WOW COULDN'T YOU HAVE JUST SHARED THIS INTRODUCTORY MESSAGE FROM THE FUCKING START???????

7. WOW SHE'S JUST IGNORING MY REQUEST FOR A VIDEO AND NOW I HAVE TO GO ACROSS THE FUCKING STATE TO SHAH ALAM TO GO TO THIS STUPID MALL TO SEW.

8. Dad tells me to stop complaining and to be 'sincere' in volunteering.

9. It's Tuesday. I tell him I'll go to the fucking mall on Saturday.

10. He proceeds to ask me, EVERY DAY, why I don't just go NOW. I tell him because I chose Saturday. He's unhappy.

11. He complains to my mother. Now I'm openly rude to my dad in front of her (If YOU are so eager to go tomorrow, then YOU can volunteer sew. I want to go on SATURDAY). No one is happy. Especially me.

12. I go to the mall on Saturday. She's asked everyone to gather at 11. I fucking know Malay people and Malaysian time. I tell my hovering father there's no need to be punctual. We get there around 11.05 or 11.10 anyway.

13. The organiser arrives at fucking 12. Can you imagine how fucking furious I am already.

14. The sewing machine they have me use is an old industrial model WHICH I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WORK. Like, how do I thread the needle??? How do I fix the bobbin???? How do I backstitch?????? Not to mention every time I sew, the thread escapes the needle and the bobbin thread straight up tangles.

15. I am straight up not having a good time.

16. Lady is obnoxious and condescending when i say I'm not used to the machine. "ohhh just be gentle with it, it's so easy to use!!!!" bitch this is a fucking Toyota from 2001 and I use a 2019 brothers machine, you're asking a digital native to identify VHS player

17. I take 3 (T H R E E) FUCKING HOURS TO SEW ONE PPE OUTFIT BECAUSE I AM FRUSTRATED AND ANGRY AND FIGHTING THIS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT MACHINE

18. Dad realises I'm holding myself back from screaming at people and being a rude POS. He goes on to chat with them (why the fuck are you even here dad) and I viciously refuse lunch to work through this fucking PPE. (Refusing food in Malay culture is a slap in the face)

19. It took me 3 hours of silently screaming to finally understand the fucking sewing machine because this Lady has no sense of organisation. I sew my second PPE outfit in less than 25 mins. My dad's like??????? And I'm fuming like, I want to use my own fucking machine.

20. We quickly leave with materials for me to sew at home (15 PPE). I am DONE sewing for the day.

21. Next day I sew all the shoulders only. I think the materials have mites on them bc I'm fucking itching like crazy and had to take a shower halfway and then bug spray my workspace. Dad had the gall to suggest my cats (who started playing around the materials - jesus christ if you're not going to be sewing then you can at least move the cats away right???? I'm BUSY) maybe the ones who caused it but Im like HELLO?????? YOU SNUGGLE OUR CATS EVERY DAY??????? WHEN HAVE YOU SCRATCHED?????? MY CATS SLEEP ON MY FUCKING BED AND YET MY JAMMIES AND BEDSHEETS ARE MITE-FREE WHAT DO YOU THINK???????? and he's like oh

22. Next day, I sew all the sleeves. This gave me the most problems on Saturday but at home this is a breeze. It takes me most of the day. I am starting to get sick of sewing these things. During a break when I'm just going through a message, my dad wanders in and asks me if the seamstress is done for the day. I flatten the urge to tell him to fuck off.

23. I have to make lunch on top of sew and I'm tired. Now I have to sew the neckline and i am discovering quickly this is the worst part of sewing the fucking PPE and I eventually resort to pinning everything in place for the first time. Lady contacts me and asks me on progress. I tell her I just have the string left. She asks me if I want to finish up at the mall. I say NO. I WANT TO SEW AT HOME WITH MY OWN MACHINE. she senses I am not a friendly person.

24. This morning I came down after the usual bout of restless sleep. Dad asks me when I can finish bc Lady had contacted him already. My mood plummets immediately. I started sewing the waist ties as noisily and angrily as possible. Bundle done, I pass everything to him. He meekly asks me if I want a second batch to sew. I say FINE.

YO, AS A VOLUNTEER????? STOP BREATHING DOWN MY FUCKING NECK??????????? THIS THING IS NOT A PLEASANT THING TO SEW???????? AND I AM LITERALLY THE ONE SEWING IT

I AM NOT A FUCKING SEWING MACHINE AND THIS IS NOT MY JOB???? I HAVE OTHER THINGS I WANT TO DO AND I LITERALLY CANNOT DO IT BECAUSE I AM VOLUNTEERING MY TIME, ENERGY AND MENTAL *STRENGTH* TO COMMIT TO THIS

GIVE ME FUCKING ROOM TO BREATHE BECAUSE I AM HATING EVERY MOMENT OF THIS AND YET I AM DOING IT ANYWAY

AND ANOTHER THING!!!!

25. I have been telling my parents NOT to share pics or tell people I am sewing PPE. DON'T FUCKING DO IT????? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST RESPECT THIS ONE FUCKING REQUEST????? STOP USING ME TO WIN RESPECTABILITY, I DON'T WANT ATTENTION AND I ESPECIALLY DON'T WANT THE FUCKING EMPTY PRAISE OKAY???????? JESUS CHRIST

#Complaints

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greyias · 5 years ago

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FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 6

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

“You zigged when you should have zagged.”

“Excuse me?”

“Unless you’re wanting to take a stroll through the Tomb of Naga Sadow, you may want to backtrack a little.”

There was a snort of frustration picked up over the mic, but the dot on the fuzzy projection of Korriban halted its progress, and after a few moments, started to retrace its steps.

“I’m glad you have a map,” Highwind said, but he couldn’t tell if the slight trace of irritation in her tone was directed at him or herself. It didn’t really matter in the long run, just as long as she stayed on track.

“At least someone does.” Kira’s dark mutterings were probably meant to be under her breath, but the overtuned mic still picked them up. “With all the rubble it’s easy to get turned around here.”

“The first wave may have been a bit… overzealous,” her partner agreed.

Theron thought about pointing out that the first wave of the operation had been completely for her benefit, but bit down on his tongue before the comment formed completely. He needed to keep her focused on the task at hand, and that was easier if she didn’t get irritated with him chiding her over the comm. Half a galaxy away, it wasn’t as if he could march up to her and physically set her back in the right direction, and the incident with the slave pens had already strained Darok’s patience dangerously thin. The taller man was still stalking back and forth, and in between coordinating the rest of the teams on the ground and in the air, was flashing both Theron and his holographic map a thoroughly displeased glare.

“So, does Mapboy have any other helpful tips? Maybe a nice food stall to pick up a quick bite before we go face down the most dangerous Sith in the Galaxy?”

“Kira.” Highwind’s recrimination sounded almost like an exasperated older sibling who was tired of lecturing her younger sister, but still did it anyway out of habit.

“Mapboy?” Theron echoed. “Is that all I am?”

“You are more than a map, Theron,” Highland was quick to reassure him, almost as if she didn’t pick up his undercurrent of sarcasm.

“Yeah, you’re a voice in her ear too.”

“Kira.”

“What? I’m only getting half of this conversation, I have to amuse myself somehow.”

“Perhaps you should remain focused on the mission.”

There was a quiet series of beeps and trills barely picked up by the microphone.

“See. Teeseven agrees with me.”

“I am fairly certain he was confirming we were heading in the right direction.”

“You are,” Theron piped in, “just take a right and it should be straight ahead.”

“A… right? Are you certain?”

“Yes. Why?”

The hum of a lightsaber being activated nearly drowned out Kira’s exclamation of: “Exactly when did the K’lor’slug population explode into an infestation?”

“Thank you for the directions, Theron.” Another hiss of lightsabers sizzled over the comm. “But I’m afraid I need to cut our conversation short.”

“You’re so polite. Go take care of your bug problem.”

“There’s always time for diplomacy. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

His eyebrow arched of its own accord, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he had just been on the receiving end of a very, very subtle dig. He shook his head, trying to ignore his rising curiosity about his asset and focus back on the job at hand. Once the package was secured and safely in SIS’s hands and the mission complete, his role as her handler would be done. Unless Jace decided to inelegantly smash through Dromund Kass (and Theron wasn’t sure he could put it past the Supreme Commander completely), there wasn’t going to be much need for him to make smalltalk with the heaviest hitter in the galaxy for the foreseeable future. She was a bit too… flashy for the shadows that Theron preferred to lurk in.

The apparent “horde” of K’lor’slugs seemed to not be that much of a match for the two Jedi and their little astromech, but the sounds of lightsabers crashing and blaster fire continued over his audio feed. The closer they got to the Academy, the heavier the opposition it seemed. The deep furrow in Darok’s brow seemed to ease the closer Theron’s team got to their objective, but there was a larger issue at hand. His map got even sketchier once they reached the interior of the Academy, and unless he was able to get eyes in there, the strike team would be wandering around blind.

His fingers flew across the keys, mind already processing a workaround. If that little T7 unit was as good at slicing as his file seemed to indicate, there might be an opportunity for Theron to get some eyes inside — as well as extract a little something extra for his old pals in the Analytics division to sink their teeth into. Those data nerds would just love the chance to pick apart every piece of the Academy that they could. He just needed to make a few programming adjustments to prep the communication relays for the data stream. He listened with half an ear, keeping one eye on his programming and the other on the dot representing the strike team’s progress towards the Academy.

The cacophony of the seemingly endless series of encounters faded, and the sudden silence was a bit eerie. The mic picked up the sound of footfalls echoing through what was a large cavernous room. From the position of the dot on his holomap, apparently they had finally arrived at the entrance to the Academy. Jace and the Highwind Fanclub Division of the SIS had been right about one thing — this woman seemed to be able to fight as if she was an entire army.

“Going to be a lot more close quarters combat in here.” The mic picked up Kira’s soft mutterings. “Even before those bombings this place was always a death trap.”

“It will be okay, we just have to stick together,” the older Jedi assured her. “Do you know which way we should head?”

Theron was about to pipe in about his need for an access point, when the voice on the other end of the line cut him off. “Not really. Things look different at this height.”

Theron frowned, wondering what the hell that meant, but the conversation on the other end continued, oblivious to the third party listening in.

“I’m going to guess we follow the highest concentration of Sith standing between us and something else, and just go that way.”

“Do you think they were able to evacuate the students when the bombings began?”

“I don’t know,” there was some reluctance coloring the younger Jedi’s tone, “do you really think that’s a priority?”

“If this were Tython being attacked, the Masters’ first instinct would be to try and protect the initiates and padawans. The highest concentration of Jedi would be defending the students.”

“The Sith aren’t Jedi, and Korriban isn’t Tython.” There was an undercurrent of steely fury to Kira’s tone that was a bit of a surprise to hear her taking with her partner. “It has a way of corrupting people. Nothing good ever came from this place.”

“That’s not true.” Highwind’s reply was just as firm, but instead of fury it was laced with affection.

“Name one thing.”

“You.”

“I… Master…”

The rest of their conversation was drowned out by the sudden rushing in Theron’s ears, as he suddenly put the pieces of the conversation together, and had to physically bite down on his tongue to keep from cursing aloud. Of course the Jedi Order had recruited from within Korriban’s walls, they preached about forgiveness and redemption all the damn time. If they had been a bit more open about their personnel records, perhaps the SIS could have gleaned valuable intel from the converts, instead of having to scrap pieces together from everything else.

Had Theron known that a member of the strike team had first-hand knowledge, even outdated knowledge, it would have been something he could have leveraged. He snorted an angry breath, wondering what other key pieces of intel the close mouthed Jedi were keeping under wraps.

He keyed his mic, probably a little more forcefully than necessary, and let out a long breath before speaking in the most even voice possible. “Looks like you’ve made it to the Academy.”

“We have.” There was a brief hesitation. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” he said, a little more terse than he cared for, “I don’t have eyes in there. You’ll be walking around blind.”

“That might be a problem. It’s rather large in here, how are we looking on time?”

Theron glanced at the chronometer and grimaced. “We’ll be cutting it close. Do you see anything that looks like a data or security terminal?”

There was the sound of shuffling, before her voice filled the line again. “Yes, I think we can make something work. Why?”

“If you lend me your astromech’s slicing skills for a few minutes, between the two of us we can probably slice into the mainframe. Piggyback the data off your comm signal and I should be able to get a layout of the whole place. Maybe a little more, depending.”

“You can do that?” She actually sounded impressed.

“You’d be be surprised what I can do with a few loose security protocols and enough free time.”

“See, I knew you were more than just a man with a map.”

He didn’t know what to make of the light teasing tone, and instead focused on his fingers flying across the keyboard, finishing the final line of programming. “To be fair, I’m just getting a new map.”

“Is that all you’ll be doing with this uplink?”

Sharp one, that Jedi. “My primary concern is getting you to the Dark Council chambers. Any extra data I find on my way there, well, that’s just a side benefit.”

“I admire your dedication to your profession.”

Now that he couldn’t tell if it was meant as a jest or not. There was only so much subtext one could determine without facial cues, especially if the other party tended to be a little deadpan in their responses.

He was making some final adjustments to the relay when a message pinged from the far end. The HUD in his left eye implant superimposed a text read out of the message, and his lip curled ever so slightly into a smirk.

Modifications to Jedi comm unit = unauthorized use of Republic equipment // Violation of Regulation C1726 + Galactic Communication Act SR.7628

Theron’s fingers flew across the board as the tapped out a quick response. T7-01 I presume. You going to tattle on me?

The response was immediate and succinct. T7 = here to help // You = help?

That’s the plan. I’ve got a fun little surprise for the Academy’s security system if you can get me a connection.

T7 = slicing access point now // Imperial security algorithm = predictable; layers deep // Sith Academy = closed network

Theron nodded absently, even though the little astromech couldn’t see. He’d expected that, but luckily his unauthorized modifications would be a temporary patch for that. With a few more keystrokes, his last minute programming was being sent half a galaxy away.

Got a code packet incoming, might make that whole place a little more accommodating for digital visitors.

Code packet = virus // T7 = unfamiliar with program // Safe for Republic network?

Code is brand new — but targets the closed system, two-way data transfer will be safe. Don’t worry, I’m not going to scramble the comm systems and leave you guys running around there blind.

Theron waited, but he didn’t see an affirmation via text whether the astromech had uploaded the spike into the access point. Not for the first time that day he wished that he was physically there. It was easier to just do things himself rather than trying to convince various personalities to follow his lead. Asking for forgiveness was generally easier than asking for permission — although he probably needed work on that whole apologizing part of that tactic. But usually his results negated much of the need for an apology.

His fingers remained poised over the keyboard, ready to send a ping on the status when a rush of data started flowing across every available port. A smirk threatened to form as the entire Sith Academy’s network was laid out before him. It was possible he was one of the first Republic agents to actually see all of this (and live long enough to tell the tale).

Good job. Thanks, T7.

Theron = talented slicer // unorthodox; talented

Thanks. I think. I should have what I need now to get you guys the rest of the way. Just need to sort through it.

Theron = need T7 here?

No, you guys should stay together. As long as I’ve got a connection to the comm we should be good.

It was easy to see why Highwind was so fond of the little astromech, willing to stay behind even in a place crawling with Sith that wouldn’t hesitate to hack him in two. Then again, this was the same droid that supposedly had helped take out the Sith Emperor with the Jedi in question. Teeseven might very well have been capable of taking them on.

Theron focused back on the task at hand. There was too much intel to completely sort through at the moment so he diverted the majority of it to a data silo that could be safely mined once completely disconnected from the Republic grid. For now he only needed the facility’s blueprints and way to access the security feeds, even if there was a part of him wanting to rub his hands together greedily at the possibilities of what he now had in hand. Whatever was locked behind the Dark Council’s doors was a far more valuable prize — but just because it wasn’t the motherlode didn’t mean valuable intel still couldn’t be gleaned from what he had just acquired.

There was only so much that the hijacked comm channel could handle though, so once he found what he was looking for, he stopped the upload so he didn’t overload his connection. No need to be greedy, they were already lightyears ahead of where they had been in terms of intel now as opposed to when the day started.

He flung the wireframe projection of the Academy’s layout on the holotable on top of the little dot representing Highwind’s strike team. It filled him with no small amount of glee as Darok’s eyes nearly doubled in size as he got his first look at the layout of the Sith stronghold. It was an unseen deviation in his plan, but as his initial shock faded to grim satisfaction it was apparent that it wasn’t an unwelcome one.

The glitchy visual feed from some of the still functioning security cameras Theron kept limited to the HUD for now. The last thing he needed was Darok breathing down his neck as the strike team tried to navigate what was clearly a crumbled mess. The state of destruction inside of the Academy was quite extensive, as bombings and their aftershocks had done a number on the place. He pivoted around the camera he had hijacked in the foyer, ignoring the way the twisted faces carved into the giant obelisk taking up the center of the room sent a shiver down his spine. Perhaps it wasn’t all bad being stuck on Carrick Station.

Deciding to cut out eavesdroppers, he activated the subvocal portion of his comlink implant. “So, is the Sith’s new decorating scheme courtesy of Darok’s overzealous bombings, or did you get in on the renovations as well?”

On his HUD he saw Highwind’s head head swivel around, taking in the room. Even with the distance of the camera he could see her frown. “You can see us?”

“Part of that ‘little more’ I mentioned earlier.”

“The voice in your ear is being creepy, Boss.”

He saw Highwind shoot the younger knight a look, but didn’t respond to Kira verbally. “I hope this means you have a map.”

“Of sorts. From what I can see here, the Dark Council chambers are on the upper levels. There’s an elevator on the second floor that you’ll have to take to get there.”

“I am hearing some hesitation in that statement.”

Theron let out a sigh, minding to keep it quieter than he truly felt. Mostly so he didn’t have to involve Darok in this conversation.

“Apparently the access codes for the elevator aren’t stored on the Academy’s main network.”

“Main network?”

“Paranoid Sith. Apparently they’d rather have several closed networks rather than have everything all together. It’s almost like they expected to be invaded.”

“Fancy that,” Highwind remarked dryly.

“Teeseven and I might be able to slice the elevator manually if we work together, but that’s going to take a while.”

“That sounds like a big ‘might’,” she returned. “Is there time for you two to try that?”

Theron glanced at the countdown, pressing his lips together. “We can try, but there’s no guarantee we’ll crack it before your return window closes. Pretty sure that encryption is going to be pretty complicated. Have I mentioned the Sith are paranoid?”

“Is there any other way to get access to that elevator?”

“Are you talking about the elevator to the Dark Council chambers?” Kira piped in. “If it’s anything like it used to be, the high level instructors always had access codes. The Sith don’t change their game plan much if everything is working.”

“It’s worth a try. Theron, can you find them?”

“Hold on,” he muttered, cycling through the various security feeds of the destroyed rooms.

Almost all of them were empty. Having never stepped foot in the building before, it was hard to say how occupied everything usually was, but it appeared that the younger students and acolytes might have been evacuated. That would probably make his very perplexing knight on the other end of the line somewhat happier. There were still Sith crawling through the hallways, clearly defending something at the far end. That something turned out to be another Sith, whose importance was marked by the fine robes and markings indicating their high status. A quick check on other hallways confirmed a few more individuals.

“Found them.” He frowned at the map, trying to calculate the best path to take the team through. “First one’s down that hall on your right — if you can get past all of their faithful guards first.”

“We will manage.”

That was starting to sound less and less like overconfidence and more a statement of fact. He sat back, monitoring their progress through the map and available security feeds. Her fighting style changed to accommodate the closed quarters, and the acrobatic flips and twirls incorporated the walls and rubble. The finer details of the lightsaber work was lost to the fuzzy, unstable connection, but even with that it still looked more like some frenetic dance.

By the time they had the codes in hand and stood in front of the elevator, it was clear that even the Jedi super endurance was getting a test today if the sheen of sweat he could make out on the security cameras were any indication.

“I don’t really have much on the upper-level defenses,” he said quietly, this time out loud as Darok’s impatience was starting to show again. “You can try to find an access point once you’re up there—but I’ve got a feeling you’re going to face some heavy opposition.”

“Will your modifications to the comm allow you to talk to me up there?”

He glanced at the weak signal stretched to the limits, and the heavy shielding indicated by the blueprint. When the Sith wanted to protect their communications, not even his best slicing tricks could get him in remotely. His experience infiltrating the Orbital Defense Command Center on Ziost proved that.

“It’s unlikely.”

This was the worst part of the op, the one thing that he couldn’t account for. Despite Darok’s planning, Theron’s intel, and his entire bag of slicer tricks, once she stepped through that door it was all out of his hands. He shifted his weight and crossed his arms, trying not to glare at the giant hole in the map that represented the Dark Council chambers.

“It will be all right,” she said quietly, and it took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. “You have gotten us this far — the Force will take us the rest of the way.”

He almost snorted aloud, but caught himself at the last moment. Whatever beliefs or mental exercises she needed to lean on were fine, especially if that’s what helped her accomplish the mission. It wasn’t his place to comment on that, especially when he needed her to stay focused on the end goal.

“Good luck,” he said instead.

He watched on the security feed as they stepped inside of the elevator until the doors closed and they disappeared from his view completely. He glanced back up at the map on the holotable, where the dot representing the strike team started to move up before suddenly winking out completely as they hit the shielded area.

“They’re in,” he said to Darok, and for once, the colonel was silent.

All that was left now was the waiting — and hoping that the little Jedi lived up to her larger-than-life reputation.

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Female Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #Kira Carsen #oc: greyias highwind #otp: adorkable #swtor #fanfic #smoke and mirrors #SoR Fic O Doom #greyfic #theron got a codename #(although probably not as cool as he was hoping for)

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