#like he hides their initials in a little heart and carves it in secret

[gayofthefae]

Before volume 2 I thought that they were gonna save the painting for when they got together, if that be in season 5, then season 5, but then they brought it out so I was like "oh, this is the moment" but then it wasn't and I was confused

but in retrospect, I get it. They did save the painting for when they get together, they just also used it now. It wasn't as simple as setup-payoff - the setup being that he painted something secret and the payoff being what it is. The payoff was aNOTHER setup, what it means, which Mike still doesn't know.

I know I may be being captain obvious here, but it's more about me putting that together with my original expectations. I expected them to use the painting with the final reveal or not at all until then, but they did both. The payoff wasn't what the painting is, it's what the painting means and I suppose I hadn't thought of those being able to be separated.

[thesturniolos]

make you mine ~ m.sturniolo x reader (she/her)

જ⁀➴. summary: i mean you know what they say, keep your friends close but always keep your enemies closer- just how much closer?

જ⁀➴. warnings: filthy smut, fingering, dumbification, degradation, praise, rope bunny, spitting, spanking (i’m sorry), dom!matt and sub!matt, jealousy, brat!reader, a little angsty (cause yk i fw that too much)

જ⁀➴. this is for @annamcdonalds67 challenge!! i will be basing this fic off of madison beer’s ‘make you mine’ !

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

‘i wanna lay you down, i wanna string you up, i wanna make

you mine.’

do you know that feeling when you’re drunk, so drunk that your mind feels like a fog? like a layer of cloud and mist has settled into the crevices of your brain, seeping into your every thought. a fog so powerful that it alters your visions and brings hidden secrets to the tip of your tongue, the kind of secrets that would change something, anything once and for all.

and in that moment, the feeling of freedom outweighs all the consequences of letting that secret out. slowly, my fogged brain pieces together to allow my hands to fiddle with the padlocks of the secret. to untie the tangled chains, to swivel the tiny little key around on the pads of my fingers, to push the blade into the hole in the chest.

and just like that, a secret sworn to never be spread dribbles down the edges of the box and every thought telling me, yelling actually, that what i’m about to do is wrong is etched away by a metaphorical marker and nothing will stop me from what i want to do and what i’m going to do.

the dizzying noise of a thousand people, some my friends, most of them random people you’d find at classic LA parties, is silenced by the sound of my beating heart and the blood pumping viciously around my body.

it’s the kind of passion that comes from envy, that comes from jealousy, that comes from resent so blinding that every step you take feels like it could break the marble floor underneath your feet. or that steam pushing out of your ears could be visible.

it’s the kind of jealousy that comes from seeing a person you care so deeply about in a corner with some bitch who knows nothing about him.

like- she doesn’t know what he likes and doesn’t like, she doesn’t know that he has three books by his bed and that one of them has her initials carved into the fourteenth page. she would never know that his own couch has an imprint from where my fucking ass sits everyday. like she wouldn’t know that their shared ‘hatred’ wasn’t actually real. just like how she doesn’t know that he is not on the market and she has absolutely no fucking place in the world to have her wretched bones on his skin.

you’d assume that in a situation like this time slows like a movie but it doesn’t. it speeds and i can’t keep track of anyone around me or what song is playing or even what drink is sloshing onto my hand from my cup. i just know exactly where it’s going to go though.

before i step foot into the beaming light of the kitchen, two hands grab my hips and swivel me around. two hands that won’t be there in a minute if they don’t leave my body.

im met with a pair of very similar eyes and i suddenly feel very guilty for thinking what i thought a second ago.

‘hey! where have you been all night? me and nick have been looking for you literally everywhere.’ chris’ eyes look concerned but his smile is still in full tact.

‘i’ve been talking to people, catching up-‘

‘did something happen? cause you know, you look like you’re gonna kill somebody’ he laughs, his hands leaving my hips and i brush the area off where he touched, holding my head high to hopefully hide the seeving look on my face.

‘just people liking to get up in my business, you know how it is. ‘ i nod, sipping from cup, immediately regretting because actually wtf is in it.

‘okay, well- me and nick were about to leave, we’re just tryna round you and matt up.’ my teeth clench together at the sound of his name.

‘yeah, i don’t know chris. i might go home later, feels like we only just got here!’

‘it’s literally 2am, we’ve been here 4 and half hours already-‘

“come on, chris! when do you ever get to go to a party as big as this? go find a girl or something- give yourself a good time!’ his eyebrows furrow and he shrugs his shoulders.

“i guess so-“

“you gotta get over that bitch ex of yours anyways, perhaps this could be your perfect time.” and with that, he was fully listening. his shoulders now standing upright and his posture as straight as possible.

“you’re right, y/n. oh, look- there’s matt! guess he’s already a step ahead of me and you.”

my head spirals around is quickly, i think i saw stars. big, white, angry shooting stars. the sight of his hands clenching onto her ass, pushing her against a kitchen counter. her dress slowly riding up her thighs, thanks to his legs prying them open.

and with that, something ticks inside me.

i’ve been jealous before. hell i’ve been the most jealous in the room. but have you ever been so jealous that a rack of knives looked appealing and the bat that hangs above the wall in the living room looked handy dandy to do the exact job you needed to?

why was it always the bitchiest of girls who all the guys hate -but apparently not so because she’s tugging on one of their dicks by saturday.

well guess what? two can play at that game, bitch.

i turn around to find a good looking guy, not so attractive that i could become attached but not ugly enough for me to be gagging when i run my hands along his dick.

‘you. come with me.” i gesture, my fingers curving in to lure him into me.

his brows furrow and he scoffs, “why?”

“cause i fucking said so, come with me.” i drag his hand and he turns back to look at this friends with a sudden bright smile.

our hands are clenched together as i pull him through a small crowd towards the kitchen. the urge to instantly jump on him to rile matt up is incredibly overwhelming but desperation isn’t always the best look on me.

my hand reaches for a red cup, filled with what looks like classic punch and i pour it down the sink to fill it up with straight vodka and hand it to him. “drink up, buttercup.”

his eyes widen but he obeys and i watch as he drinks every last sip, my fists clenching from the idea of what’s going on directly behind me.

“ngh’ matt-“ i hear the girl moan and my head twists to see his eyes glaring into mine whilst sucking red marks onto her neck.

i scoff and drag my guy closer to me, all whilst maintaining eye contact to lick a stripe up his neck and shove my right hand up his shirt to feel his torso. the guy did have toned abs, i could feel from how rock hard he was against my fingers but unlucky for him, i was completely and utterly distracted by the guy i hated so fucking much opposite me.

hate so pure that the sound of his name made goosebumps run down my neck and my blood bubble under my skin. my eyes would sting from the gaze of his eyes, my eyelids burning from refusing to shut. it was hate so pure that seeing a girl on his arm made my throat run dry and my words choke. the rings on my fingers digging into my palms and my teeth scratching against one another as i clenched my jaw to see the hickies scattered on his chest.

my tongue caresses the skin of his neck, latching over what i think is his sweet spot, as he moves his hands down my body. i smirk as i see matt latch onto the bitch’s figure tighter, desperate to outweigh whatever i was doing.

i look up at the guy and say, “do whatever you want to me, right here, right now.” his eyes light up and his breath halts slightly.

“but we’re in here with so many people-“

“i don’t care.” my head turning back to look at matt who is still looking at me, a grimacing smile speaking across my face which makes his brows furrow deeper into his skin.

the guy grabs my leg to push it onto his, my front up against him and he latches our mouths together, his tongue immediately creating a space between my lips to enter.

after a solid minute of awkwardly making out in front of what felt like 30 people, a hand pushes my leg down from the guys hip and grabs my hand to pull me away from the crowd.

i’d be stupid if i said i didn’t know it was matt, of course i knew it was him. after all, he knew i had full control over him even if we were just enemies.

sweating bodies collided with mine and i squeeze my body close together to avoid elbows to the face. my heels making me stumble a little, alcohol still running through my system.

i look down to find a step up a winding staircase, a classic LA mansion.

20 steps felt like half a lifetime as matt still desperately drags me up them, whispering incoherent, angry remarks under his breath. until finally he makes it to the top and barges through the first bedroom he sees.

i enter quickly after him, my hand falling to my side as he slams the door behind us. i didn’t have time to react before he pushes my shoulder into the wall behind me, digging his nails into my skin.

his eyes are practically black with anger, his eyebrows fallen to his eyelids yet a disgusting grin on his face. his tongue slides along his teeth, before he spits, ” what the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”

“whatever you’re playing, i mean it’s only fair.” i squeak back, my breath a little taken away from the sudden collide with my back and the brick wall. and of course the incredibly small space between our lips and the fact that our noses are touching.

“that’s not how this works around here.”

“then how does it? you get to go around with every girl in our state and i sit in the background watching?” what was that even supposed to mean?

he removes a hand from my shoulder and shakes his head, “people around here know they can’t touch you. they just know that, sweetheart. i assumed you would too.”

“and you’re allowed to have that bitch all over you? tell me, matt. how is this really fucking fair?” his hand comes up to my throat to clench it, light enough so i’m not choking but hard enough so that i’m gagged, my head lifted up a little.

“because how else am i supposed to get you to fucking take notice that i want you.”

i furrow my eyebrows, i try to speak but he clenches harder and the words don’t form in my mouth.

“every girl i have i imagine it’s you, every time i’m fucking a girl i imagine it’s your pussy im in, i imagine it’s your lips that im sucking on.”

i look dead in his eyes, my lashes blurring my vision slightly, his hooded gaze mesmerising me as i take in his every word

“every mean comment i made and every remark you made back riled me up. i knew it, you knew it, everyone else fucking knew it. im fed up of this bullshit circle we’ve had going on- i need you to see that you’re mine. when i saw you and that bitch in the kitchen, i smiled because i knew i got you. i got you to the point where you fucking admitted to me that im in your brain, you want me just as much as i want you baby.”

his tongue pokes out to lick a strip along my lip, he stands back to look at me in such a vulnerable position. my legs squeezed together in my little black dress and his hand wrapped around my neck as i look up at him with teary eyes and a dumb little smile on my face. it was just all he had ever wanted.

his hand leaves my neck, reaching up to grab my jaw and push my lips against his. a messy, tongue-filled kiss. his tongue sucks onto mine and i moan into his mouth, my legs moving forward to push him backwards.

he hums into the kiss, moving his head to suck on my lips whilst treading towards the bed in which he eventually pulls us onto. my legs scramble to straddle his lap and loop my hands around his neck.

he pulls away to pull the straps of my dress down as i look into his eyes, if somebody had told me two years ago that i was straddling matt’s fucking lap i probably would’ve slapped you around the face.

“do you know how long i’ve wanted you baby?” he says, yanking down my black dress to reveal a lacy, practically see-through bra that pushes up my boobs to accentuate them especially for matt’s eyes.

i shake my head, my hands clasping onto the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“too fucking long.” he rips off my bra, my mouth wide from how easily he broke the fabric, a loud groan leaving his mouth as he launches forward to suck my hard, pointed nipples.

my head thrown back as i grind against his jean pants, desperate to relieve the feeling in between my thighs. the tent of his pants brushing roughly against my region making me pull his head closer into my tits.

he pulls away to stare up at me, already looking a little disheveled, as he chuckles slightly, “you’re so fucking needy, who knew a pretty baby with a mouth as big as yours could be so desperate for my cock?”

i whimper at the sound of his patronising voice, my hips moving faster as he speaks but the loss of the soft pad of his tongue of nipples making my eyes water a little.

he grabs my jaw to force me to look at him, his fore finger and his middle finger squeezing together closely as he pushes them towards my lips. “open up, slut.”

i open my mouth for him and he guides his fingers into my mouth and instinctively i suck on them, my eyes slowly fluttering shut and i hum onto them, wishing it was something else.

the tent underneath me twitching even under all this fabric and the hands looped around his neck untie to slowly run down his torso all the way to the zip on his jeans.

“you want it all don’t you baby? you act so tough but really you’re just a whore for me and my dick. it’s not even been five minutes and you’re already scrambling to undo my pants. that’s it baby, let me use all your pretty parts.” i pull them down to reveal his wet boxers and his huge dick.

this man wasn’t just packing a couple inches, it was enough to bruise the back of my throat and my cervix. my eyes light up as i hold it through the cotton of his underwear, drool begging to leave my mouth.

he leans back slowly, his elbows digging into the plush mattress underneath of us as he guides me closer towards his cock, pushing away stray hairs that curl around the frame of my face.

i pull down his boxers for his dick bounce straight up and hit his stomach, pre cum leaking from his bright red, swollen tip. and i hungrily scramble to grab hold of it, his words replaying in my head, i’m just a whore for him.

my hands smooth the veins along the bottom of his dick, slowly making my way up to kiss his oozing tip and i feel his body shudder underneath me. without a second thought, i shove his tip in my mouth and suck his cum off. my mouth hollows and i move my head up and down, determined to get some noise out of his pretty mouth.

“that’s it pretty girl, just like that- mmm” his head is thrown back and his hands come round to cradle my head, pushing me further onto his dick.

i moan which sends vibrations down his cock, his tip growing in my mouth as i swirl my tongue around it, the gagging sounds echoing in the room, riling matt up more and more.

“fucking take it all baby- oh fuck, i know you can” he winces out, the grip on my hair tightening and i smile against the girth of his dick doing exactly what he says, hollowing my mouth and sucking all the way to his bone. his hips shove up to hit the back of my throat and my eyes flutter shut, the full feeling in my throat overwhelming me.

he guides my head by bobbing my head up and down in time with his hip thrusts, the sounds of my gargling getting progressively louder as he becomes more determined to cum down my throat.

a sudden halt to his erotic sounds, i feel my head being pulled up, a ‘pop’ sound coming from my mouth from the sudden loss of his dick in my throat. he laughs, smoothing my cheek with his thumb before gently slapping it and grabbing my chin so i look at him.

“you gonna let me make you feel good?” i frantically nod my head, the heat between my legs practically burning a hole thru my panties now.

“that’s my girl, you’re mine. aren’t you?” i nod and he tuts, “ use your words.”

“i’m yours.” and that’s all he needed before he picks me up like i’m a fucking feather weighing nothing more than a couple pounds and throws me onto the bed whilst he twists around to stand up off the bed, looking down at me.

“you know it, my little slut.” he pulls down my dress finally, he didn’t get to finish underdressing me cause the idea of finally tasting him was too much. but now that i can feel the cold air hitting the most private of places and his glare blazing up and down my body, i feel shy.

my elbows hover over my boobs as i try and scrunch up a little but matt’s hands pry them away and he spreads my legs before discarding my little black dress on the floor, i’m only left with my matching lace panties.

he licks his lips, his glare fixating on the wet patch created on my underwear, just for him. as he holds my thighs apart, he blows gently onto the fabric making it instantly cold and i shift up the bed a little, whimpering.

“this all for me, baby?” he looks up at me, caressing my thighs gently. the cold metal of his rings making my goosebumps more and more apparent.

“mhm.” my eyes flutter shut and i push against the force of matt’s hands, becoming increasingly desperate for any kind of pressure on my pussy. “please.”

“please what?” he smirks, his touch on my thighs now so light you wouldn’t even believe it was there. it was another level of teasing that made the core of your very stomach fuzzy and the lack of any touch adds to the sick feeling you have.

“just do something, anything.” he snaps when i say that, flipping me around quickly so that my body slaps against the mattress, my ass on full show to him, my thing not doing much too cover my the cheeks of my ass.

“i wanna feel the rush, i wanna taste the crush, i wanna get you going.”

the sharp sting of fabric ripping against my delicate skin and sudden gasp mixed with the breaking of sweet lace makes matt chuckle in the background before placing a harsh slap to my ass, sending me into the air as it was so unexpected.

“you gonna be good for me?” he smooths over where he slapped, secretly wishing it will make a bruise.

“yes, yes i’ll be good.” i beg, wanting literally anything.

as his fingers move closer towards my wetness, he suddenly moves away quickly before getting up and searching the room.

i look up and frown, “what the fuck are you doing?” i whisper a little, upset that he looks like he’s about to leave.

he doesn’t say anything but pauses once he gets to the drawer in the closet and laughs before turning around to reveal a belt.

“what are you doing? this isn’t even your room.” i say, relaxing yet still confused.

he walks over to me and forces my chin up at him, “keep speaking in that bratty fucking tone and i will leave you high and dry”

“well you won’t even let me get high so what effect is that gonna have-“ before i could finish my sentence he covers my mouth with one hand and uses the other to turn me around so my head is shoved into the pillows of the bed. he scrambles to grab my hands, pushing them against my back and fiddling with the belt.

“just you fucking wait and see, little angel.” he twists them around my wrists and tightens them so i can’t get out without any help.

his hands letting going of mine before i feel them suddenly exactly where i need them. a singular finger pressing down onto my bundle of nerves and my whole body jumps with just a simple touch, a pornographic moan leaving my mouth.

“does that feel good baby” i whimper back a desperate ‘yes’ and wriggle against the pad of his finger wanting him to move oh, so badly.

“want me to move my hand, darling?” i nod my head frantically hoping he can see me which i gather he can considering the low laugh that leaves his mouth and the sudden movement of his finger dragging down slowly through my folds.

“you want me here?”

“yes, yes. i want you there. i want you to move.”

“you want me to move?”

“please.”

“there it is.” and with that, the gentle movements turned into quick, hard thrusts. his two fingers sliding through my hole at an insane pace, not letting me readjust for one second, making my whole body lift from the bed, my hands shaking in the belt he tied me up in.

the cold metal of his rings mixing with the warm wetness coating his fingers, the sensation was immense. all before he flips me over and presses his mouth onto my clip sending me into fucking sub space.

“oh my fucking god! matt-“

he licks and kisses at my clit at a gentle pace all while his fingers strum in and out of my hole at an alarming speed, it’s a wonder he doesn’t have arm cramp even after one minute.

my ass doesn’t stay on the bed and my whole body is jittering at the sudden overwhelming sensation. the flicks of his tongue and the curving of his fingers making sure he hits my sweet spots makes the bundle in my stomach tighten up.

“please matt, i’m gonna cum!”

he carries on, his feasting at my pussy getting progressively more intense, like a starved man. he enters another finger into my hole, stretching me perfectly so that i am shaped for him.

he breathes against my heat, “let go, baby.”

and with that, i did. sweat running from my back and forehead, my tied hands desperately grabbing onto the leather and my toes clenching over his shoulders.

he licks me clean, pressing one last kiss to my clit which makes me jolt as he laughs a little to himself seeing my messy figure on the bed.

“you did so well, baby.” i smile at him, his head coming close to mine to kiss my lips.

“now you gonna help me out sweetheart?”

i nod and he turns me around to take me out of the tied belts and he kisses the red marks from where i pulled against the restraint. “you liked these?” i shake my head and he laughs.

i pull myself up from the bed and onto matt’s lap to face him, i latch my lips onto his and hook my hands around his neck pulling him closer to me. my naked body fitting perfectly around his warm body.

he moves his hands down my body, caressing my curves and humming against our kiss as i pull away and look down to stroke his dick to which he kisses and pulls himself into my neck.

i move myself up his body to push myself down onto his hard shaft, as he winces and throws his head backwards, moaning my name.

i pull at his hairs and rock my hips against him and watch his demeanour change as his hips desperately rutt against mine and i forcefully push my hands onto his thighs so that he’s restricted.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he groans as my grinding against him slows.

“taking control.” his eyes widen and i push myself up further so that i can plunge further onto his dick. my nails digging into his thighs as i watch his breathing get faster and moans leave his mouth.

“that’s not - ngh- how it works.” he argues with me which doesn’t last for long when i start to kiss his neck and suck on the lobes of ears in which his thrusts up into me become more persistent.

“i’m gonna cum-“

“not until i cum.” i say, chasing my high with him as i hear him whine into my ear, panting a little too.

“please, just let me.” he hugs me closer, my boobs crushed against his chest as he begins to rocks back and forth with me, moaning and groaning with his head in the air. so much for tough guy, huh?

“cum with me.” i bounce up and down as he thrusts up into me for the last time before releasing his cum, painting my walls as it oozes out of me as i collapse onto the bed next to us.

our heavy breathing and hearts beating is the only thing that can be heard.

matt’s hand slowly moves to bring me closer to him, i smile as i look up at his tired state.

“you changed quickly, mr tough guy to oh please! please, let me cum! “ he shakes his head and covers my mouth.

“shut up, you wouldn’t fucking let me .”

i laugh at him and he picks me up to squeeze me, so much for being enemies, huh?

“so-“

“you’re mine now right? like for real?” he’s not looking at me, rather picking at his nails.

i giggle and press my head against his forehead and nod, “of course.”

hope you all liked !! too many fucking words :)

tags: @wisteral @evieolo @ev3rgreenxtrees @estelleswrld @recklessmatt @recklesssturniolo @realuvrrr @urfavstromboli @obscurechris @poopydroopt @plasticferal @lilasturns @lovingmattysposts @m4ttslvr @mattandmilds @muwapsturniolo @mattsgirlfriendlol @kirby0strombolli @kvtie2 @kikisturnioloo @kqyslyho3 @klarasmith @sturnioloshacker @strniohoeee @sturniolopepsi @sturniolosstar @sturniolossmut @mattslolita @zooweemamas @chrattenthusiast @chrissgirlsstuff @bernardsbendystraws @ducksturniolo @dsturniolo @deatthmatch @fruitglazed @hearts4sturniolo @hawaiihasmyheart @heartsforchrisandmatt @hoesformatt @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @inlovewchris @ihateeveryone357474 @ilovemattsturn @nicksmainbitch @noellesturniolo @yurtrrrr @mattsgirlfriendlol @mattsfaked

[heliads]

Heyy can I get Four x fem!reader, where four can see sher struggling and offers some private lessons, you can take it from there xo

as a fic writer, i love taking it from there (xo)

masterlist

Four is not particularly suited to kindness. He never has been. That’s part of why he never fit in with the other Abnegation, after all; his inability to carve away pieces of himself to give to others stuck out like a sore thumb. That, and the fact that he hated their two-faced duplicity with a passion so burning that it left him choking on the smoke. 

He’s always figured that even if he was Divergent, even if he contained multitudes of other factions within him, he never once showed a shred of Amity, either. Kindness, generosity, none of these have ever described Four. He certainly shouldn’t be wishing for it now. 

Yet, when he looks across the Dauntless training room, which is strewn with the fighting figures of initiation’s latest round of transfers, he doesn’t feel that usual call to apathy. Not now, at least. Four had supposed it would come later, when the initial interest of new faces had worn off and he was left with irritation prickling under his skin, that fidgety sort of feeling he gets when people refuse to do what’s good for them.

Four has never been the most patient, even if he is forced to play the long game of waiting and hiding due to his status as a Divergent. It makes him insufferable, or so he’s been told. Usually, Four just assumes he’s better off alone and not reaching out to anyone. Fewer secrets are shared when no one knows about them in the first place.

That doesn’t explain why he’s ignoring that favored precept of his in favor of staring at one of the initiates yet again. Four tells himself that he doesn’t do favorites, that he treats all of the trainees with the same blunt criticism and harsh words. It makes it easier that way. He once knew a few instructors who would place bets on their favorites, but they always ended up losing more than their money when their chosen trainees didn’t make the cut.

Dauntless may not be a place that encourages its pupils to choose safety over fun, but Four always betrayed that particular principle while leading initiation. He’s only been at it for a year or two, he can’t afford any screw ups now. That’s why he would do well to ignore that one initiate in the corner. It would be his best choice, but for some reason, it’s the one path he refuses to travel.

As if Four has ever been known for his rational thought. There’s a reason he’s not in Erudite, after all, why he scorned every faction one after another until he could only ever end up here in Dauntless. Dauntless, where at last he’s the one in power, where he’ll risk his life again and again because at least in this faction people wear their hatred firmly on their sleeves instead of hiding it behind some ambiguous political game.

Perhaps Four isn’t one for politicking, then, but that’s no surprise. He does what he pleases, he likes who he likes, and when Y/N L/N happens to glance up at him when she finishes a round in the fighting ring, she doesn’t look remotely shocked to see him looking at her again. No one is, but then again, no one notices Four’s attention except Y/N herself.

Y/N is a transfer. Y/N is an initiate. Y/N is the one person that Four really should be avoiding, but can’t seem to manage it. He doesn’t know what it is about her that keeps calling his interest back to her again and again like the snap of a hypnotist’s fingers, but his heart refuses to explain. His head has tried to make amends, but his heart keeps on traitorously beating, still seeking her out after every time Four promises himself he won’t trust that magnetic pull to her again.

She never follows up on his attention, which makes her better than him, at least. She knows the rules. She’s also a little bit afraid of him, Four thinks, which hurts him more than it should. Y/N seems to be frightened of nothing in this world but him, and that is why he can’t bear to look away. Should he glance over at her once and find her willing to stand near him, maybe he would be able to guide his breathing back to a normal state, his heartbeat to return to rest once more.

It has yet to happen, however, and Four thinks he knows why. See, he knows what he thinks when he encounters Y/N, the curious storm of emotions all centrally positive that linger around his heart, but she has absolutely no idea of that. She wouldn’t, because whenever Y/N looks at Four or any other Dauntless training instructor, she thinks not of them as people but as physical manifestations of her initiation rank. Her rank, which happens to be pretty damn close to failing.

In all his time in this world, all his experience with heroes and cowards, fighters and thinkers, Four has no idea why Y/N’s rank should be that low. He knows what his eyes see, of course; fights lost, punches not thrown, but it makes no sense to him. Four is accustomed to the dropouts of Dauntless initiation, the ones who would rather go live with the factionless than stick through training. They’re nothing like Y/N, not in the slightest.

Those kids, those unwanted former initiates, they’re afraid. All of them, they’re afraid. Terrified to throw a punch for fear of bruising their knuckles, hesitant to step in a ring lest they take more hits than they dole out. They lose before they even try, but that’s not Y/N.

Y/N is brave, like he said. Braver than Four, probably. He would love to see her fear landscape if she could manage to make it past the first round of initiation. It would probably be pretty close to empty, what from the way she stares down even the most dangerous threats without a blink of an eye. Four has a brief terror that he might open her fear landscape just for it to hold him and nothing else, but he forces that thought away just as quickly. He doesn’t know that. Nobody does.

Y/N is brave, and that’s what makes this so hard. If she had half the spirit that she does, if she flinched away from every blow like the others, Four could brush her off like the other trainees. She would blend into the crowds, and he would go throughout his life without this trial of conscience that he’s undergoing now.

That’s not the case, however. Instead, Four looks at her and he sees the strength of Dauntless, the bravery, the need to get ahead. Y/N should be at the top of the rankings, but she isn’t. Four has a theory for that, though. Despite the fact that Dauntless loves to pride itself as the equalizer, that its initiation lets anyone from any background succeed, that simply isn’t the case. At the end of the day, trainees with more experience will pick up skills far faster, and that means they’ll always win.

That’s why cruel Candor and Erudite manage to make the transition so well. Y/N lacks that experience, and so although she’s learning things at an excellent rate, she can’t beat the prior knowledge of the others. Four remembers one time in which she’s been struggling with knife throwing. He had given her one hint and just like that, she was hitting the bullseye every time.

If Four wants to keep Y/N around a while longer, that’s what it’s going to take. More of that advice, more of that help. Y/N has the ability to change this faction just like him. Four just has to make sure that she makes it through initiation long enough to make that work.

Four isn’t supposed to have favorites. He does, it’s her. That’s why, despite days of him telling himself that he won’t get involved, he finds himself making up his mind. Still facing torment in his own head, Four drops by the training room later that evening, hoping some time alone with a punching bag and his own bruised knuckles will clear up his mind.

When he opens the door and sees Y/N there still, practicing her hits, he knows then and there that he has no choice. Four walks briskly through the training hall until he’s by her side. He watches her form for a few moments more; she knows he’s there, he can tell by the stiffness of her shoulders, her guard is already up.

He speaks at last, words echoing around the spacious room. “Punch more from your own strength. You’re pushing the bag, you don’t want to do that. Snap your fist forward instead.”

Four demonstrates with one quick hit. Y/N nods, mirroring him. Four has to bite back a smile. The change is immediate. A voice in the back of his head tells him that if he just stayed a little longer, helped a little more, she’d become a better fighter overnight. It’s not hard to convince himself to linger by her side.

“Good,” he murmurs, “now, try hitting with more combinations. Four hits instead of two. You’ll disorient your opponent.”

Once again, Y/N does as he says, and once again, she does it perfectly. That’s another problem with initiation, Four thinks, it’s impossible to help every student as much as they need, what with the incoming class of transfers growing so rapidly every year.

Y/N practices a while longer, then relents, taking a step back and giving Four a quizzical look. “Why are you doing this? I mean, I appreciate the tips, but I don’t think you do this for every initiate.”

“I don’t,” Four confirms, “maybe I just want to see you win tomorrow. Is that such a surprise?”

Judging by the expression on her face, the answer would be yes. “Last time I checked, you were supposed to make sure everyone had an even playing field. I didn’t think private punching lessons were included in that.”

Four has to try his utmost to smother a laugh. “They’re not. Still, I wanted to.”

“You wanted to,” Y/N repeats contemplatively, “what, you got tired of seeing me get my ass kicked all the time? I know you watch my rounds more than the others, that must be it.”

Four swats her gently on the shoulder. He’s just as surprised about it as she is; nothing they’ve done has brought them close enough for soft friendship. Still, it feels right. Maybe that means something.

“Self-pity doesn’t treat you right,” he says, “I like it better when you’re walking around like you own the place. Sometimes I think you do.”

Y/N laughs. “And melodrama has never been your strong suit. I think I like it, though.”

Four likes it too. He raises a brow, inviting her sarcastic remarks once more. “Does that mean you’ll allow the lessons to continue? You won’t keep pushing me away with your own disbelief?”

“I’m still debating,” Y/N retorts, but she’s grinning and that makes it much better.

Four leaves the punching bag, not her; he walks to the ring instead. Climbing easily up, he extends an arm for Y/N to join him. She takes his hand without a second’s hesitation, and Four has to fight all parts of himself to hide the swarm of warmth that cloaks his insides when he realizes her fear of him is gone, if it was ever truly there at all. Perhaps he was just looking for excuses to stay away, knowing nothing would work for long.

Y/N puts up her fists, interrupting his musing. “So? Are we fighting or not?”

“Of course we are,” Four says, getting into his own opening stance.

After that, he loses himself in the even rhythm of punches and kicks, blows and strikes. Sometimes he calls out tips and tricks, other times he lets Y/N learn from what works well and what doesn’t. Even after the night ends, when their strength gives out and they both walk away with new bruises and old grins, Four knows one thing for certain:  this is not the end of Y/N’s time in Dauntless, nor her time with him. No, their story is just starting. It is one that he looks forward to with all his heart.

divergent tag list: @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @manyfandomsfanvergent, @ilovexavierthrope

[befuddled-calico-whump]

i dare you to write a drabble or something based off of that dream

Dare accepted. (the aforementioned dream)

cw: beating, broken bones, mean friends (lol)

"Why can't I go with you?" Even as the question passed his lips, Romulus knew how stupid it was to ask.

He wasn't the newest member of the Order of Ruin, and he sure as hell wasn't the weakest. He'd even wager he was the Order's best mage; at the very least their best evocationalist. But none of that changed the fact that he was the grandson of a lord. Even disinherited, his education had been the best money could buy, and his surname granted him a facade of respect in most cities, at least until people figured out who he was working with these days.

"Six people's already pushing it. Seven would be damn near impossible," the leader of their little group, Meryn, said in reply, not even glancing back at him. She was sat on a fallen log, shaping a wrist-thick oak branch with a dagger. "Besides, I have a job for you."

"Oh?" Rom cocked his head, feigning interest, though he was already wary. Only the gods could've counted the number of pointless details he'd been sent on, seemingly for no other reason but to temporarily get rid of him. "What kind of job?"

"Infiltrating Dusken Keep is only half the work," she said, a sliver of bark taking flight as she made a rapid slice down the branch. "We still need to get Sir Gilean and his merry band of nitwits to show up."

"I take it that's where I come in." It sounded useful at least, and even had the potential to be fun. If he played his cards right, maybe he could impress the rest of the team, and the Order would stop letting his talents go to waste. "What were you thinking? I could cut off the roads. Start a storm. Herd them towards the keep and force them to take shelter. Or--"

"No," Meryn cut him off. "They've overcome obstacles before, and I don't like our odds of facing them head-on. The only way to defeat Gilean is by springing a trap on him. " She cast a smile over her shoulder. "And you'll be the bait."

Naturally. Rom couldn't quite hide the scowl that darkened his features. "I see."

"Oh don't look so upset, Hart. Your role is essential."

"What am I to do?" Rom snapped. "Wave my arms, fire a few lightning bolts at the sky, and hope they'll chase me all the way to Dusken?"

"I had something smarter in mind." At last, she spun fully around. Good. If she was hell-bent on giving him stupid orders, she should at least have the decency to look him in the eye throughout.

"You'll guide them there personally," she said, "and ensure they don't veer off course."

"Guide them? You don't think they'll recognize me?"

Meryn rolled her eyes. "Not everyone knows or cares who you are, Hart."

"Gilean's seen my face. He knows I'm with the Order," Rom protested.

"So you'll tell him you've had a change of heart." She sheathed her blade, flicking a residual chunk of bark off the makeshift club in her lap. "That you've 'seen the error of your ways', and wish to redeem yourself by leading him to a secret meeting at Dusken Keep."

Not only did she want him as bait, she wanted him to play a traitor. The insult wasn't lost on him. "I'd never betray the Order," he said indignantly. "Even someone as thick as Gilean will see right through that lie."

The corner of Meryn's mouth quirked up. "You're right. He'll never fall for it, not unless you've dressed the part."

Before he could ask what she meant, the newly-carved club struck him in the stomach. Rom doubled over, more surprised than anything else, and dumbly remained there as Meryn cracked a second blow into his ribcage.

In his peripheral, he could see the rest of his teammates emerging from the treeline, surrounding him, but by then his initial shock had worn off. The incantation for a shielding ward was on his lips; the familiar buzz of lightning sprung to his fingertips---

"I thought you'd never betray the Order."

---and immediately fizzled out. Damn it all, this was how it was going to be? He could fight back. He knew he stood a chance, even six to one, but he also knew that was what Meryn wanted. One blow, one move in self-defense, and she'd have a reason to kick him out. The only way to avoid that, to prove all of them wrong, to show that he was serious, that he belonged here, was to shut up and take it.

So Rom did.

As the blows hit him in a flurry---the unskilled kicks and jabs of the mages, the sharper punches from the group's muscle, the bone-cracking swings from Meryn's club---all Rom did was try to protect his face and not bite off his own damn tongue.

Even when he dropped to his knees, then to his side, curling up to protect his abdomen, the attacks didn't cease. The world was a blur of boots. A haze of pain, spiking white-hot whenever someone scored a lucky hit and he felt something break or give in a way it shouldn't.

The beating went on beyond logic, zipping right past 'because it'll look more believable', right into 'because we hate you'. Rom tried to pretend the tears distorting his vision were only because of his probably-broken nose, and dully wondered if a real betrayal was part of their plan. If they wanted him to call it quits and actively turn against the Order. Hell if he would. He wouldn't give up so easily, he'd show them--

"Enough." Meryn's voice rang out above the soft thuds of boot on flesh, and for a moment the clearing was quiet, the only sound Rom's shuddering gasps.

He whimpered through clenched teeth, aware of every inch of himself, how the pain throbbed like an uneven heartbeat, how it drove spikes through his chest with every breath.

Meryn's fingers tangled themselves in his hair, forcing his head up. Not gentle, but not overly rough either. Rom tried to hold her stare, but the world spun around him.

"There. Think that's enough to fool him?" she said, still half out of breath.

Rom didn't try to answer. He knew anything he managed to say wouldn't be coherent anyway.

"Gilean's party will be traveling through these parts in a day or so," Meryn said, releasing him. He didn't have the strength to hold himself up, and went face-first into a cluster of dead leaves.

A day or so. Gods, was she just going to leave him here? Was he supposed to drag himself through the woods, calling for help until Gilean maybe stumbled upon him?

She must've wanted him to protest. To give up, to go home. To cry, and beg her not to make him do this.

But he wouldn't. He'd show her, show them. Romulus Hart was worthy of the Order of Ruin.

When he said nothing, Meryn shrugged. "Well. You know the plan. Bring them to Dusken Keep. We'll be waiting."

Her boots crunched over dead leaves as she walked away, leaving him alone.

[seancamerons]

i know the general public consensus of crossroads (2002)and i'm here to gush about underrated lucy and ben's romance in the film and gush about it. (under the cut!)

i generally love this trope, and this little tiny moment between lucy and ben while they're lying down facing each other, mimi and kit are fast asleep (or pretending to be) while sharing the 2 beds between the four of them. i think kit's beside lucy, mimi beside ben, and lucy and ben are facing each other in the separate beds, even more, separated strategically by the nightstand between them.

of course, this vibe was completed with the dim lights, the seedy motel, it was late at night as far as setting the stage. they're having a sweet, little honest, little cute, short, bedtime conversation, of dreams and regrets, not revealing much about themselves and it's semi-romantic and genuine, the subtext there and a little obvious and yet organic, honest, innocent, and true kind of like tender and romantic. very intentional, underrated, and sweet to me. it's planting the seeds. like a picture worth a thousand words, very real, and yet they hold back just enough but bare some honesty. they came initially from different places in their lives, and reached this crossroads (on the nose) and lucy wants to carve out a life of her own and to travel and when that opportunity initially presented itself she poo pooed and and downtalked it and thought mimi was crazy but the more she thought about it i suppose she decided this was the golden opportunity to find out what she really wants. it didn't seem like the virgin, nerd, smart valedictorian who was extremely shielded and overprotected (here it is again!) would hack into medical school because she hadn't had much of a choice. her dad worked hard, a good man, you know it's true he loved lucy and never truly got over her mom and her leaving and holds that grudge and it hurts lucy because she's still despite knowing what she knows and her mother shrouded in mystery. it wasn't until later discovery, she realized and appreciated her dad so much more. who was there to pick up those pieces? her friends of course, and ben despite the romantic subtext he listened, consoled her and even wanted to make her smile again and was inspired by her writing and decided to surprise her with a song arrangement to her poem (which is track four on a certain 2001 album lol! iykyk.) isolating that moment and incident though, and just being like 'wow, like he likes her and admires her so much and was completely genuine' and finally then, it was safe to approach things to the next level. everything is revealed by this time. they finally share a long-awaited kiss, and it's right. ben hadn't the intent to just get that kiss though, though pursuit but with pure intentions and such was just a lovely little addition to strengthen them. it was worthy, swoon-worthy.

for lucy, didn't have a traditional high school life experience. she usually does the 'right' thing by her dad. she had the hospital internship her heart wasn't in. music was her passion as she was solely and strictly a bedroom, and shower singer, she had never taken the stage publically, hiding behind books, and dreaming in secret with limited girlfriends and her best friend is her lab partner, but lucy had everything predetermined for her. she's a dad's girl, her mom we know was gone, alive but gone. lucy and ben were reppin' different worlds but somehow had some commonality.

the initial moment short, had this spark of the right place right time, fate, or divine intervention? definitely, a lovely conversation and even a consolation prize you know, if things on the road go to shit, at least they had what they had.

of course, it's before the 'he's a killer', the rumors about him from back home, or lucy and her reputation, he's still enamored by her but respectful of her, she doesn't want to pry and isn't aware of that until the morning after.

initial sneaking glances preceded them through the first day of the trip. the revelation of the jailtime/killer thing temporarily derailed them with that plot but the subtext was still lingering and hanging there unrequited, as he tried and sometimes failed with his piqued interest in her, and struggled with figuring out what made lucy close up on him after that moment of honesty in the seedy motel in the bed, or was even unaware for a time about the rumors in their small georgia town that seemed to catch up with him and cause animosity and silence on the drive to their destinations. getting back to the moment, it's not necessarily about WHAT they say or how they say it but it's evident it's significant.

Ben says, "Mimi said that she didn't think you'd come with us on the trip."

Lucy confesses in reply, "Neither did I."

"You sorry you did?"

Lastly, Lucy answers with, "Not so far."

And then they say their goodnights, after a pause and a short held gaze and a small smile.

It may seem like nothing, but that was pretty plain and romantic yet subtle, and that was their first real one-on-one conversation, aside from you know, when they packed the car up and left georgia. we knew he was piqued when he asked mimi about lucy at the dirty gas station with no soap in the bathroom, and mimi dismissed it and basically told him essentially, he was out of his mind, and lucy out of his league and not to say anything about it.

i have a lot to say, but this movie is so underrated and underappreciated and though antiquated i love it. i don't care if it friendly reminder has under a 20% of rotten tomatoes, won razzies, and is generally snubbed, downed, and pooped on. it's a cute, 'chick flick' with a side of romance, and friendship, coming of age at it's core and that's just one aspect of it. crossroads is a favorite of mine. be nice if you don't have nice things to say. that's all.

[abominationvault]

Session 34: Sat 4 May 2024

Being ill is rubbish, the DM and I do not recommend it. Hartvig has to paint a lizard on a moped. BWJ1 has missed his nap and is furious, BWJ2 is making lots of nappies and is very healthy and happy. :)

Magiloy is a lady Tengu, it turns out. (No wonder Jorg’ath had trouble talking to her.) If we need to improve her disposition towards us for the purposes of selling her our old shi- I mean, our hard-won treasures, Sprocket can do an adorable little dance at her. In a Danny Glover voice. (“I can dance, motherfucker!”) I am told that it’s canon that Sprocket has no inside voice, also.

Jorg’ath makes five Fortitude saves for the samples he is testing for Magiloy: 22, 27, 24, 24, 26 and an accidental 12 that doesn’t count because it was only five rolls. He is hammered, but otherwise okay. He gets 5 gold pieces for his troubles. Nadia sells some violet venom and a scroll and has a rearrange of her belongings, and helps Jorg’ath sort a backpack for Sprocket.

We trek back down, Nadia with her new crossbow in hand. Secret doors! Bird fancying! Secret doors first, we follow Jorg’ath to the one on the right. He kicks it open. “Bosh!” He finds carved sarcophagi, and some ledges that drop down into a cavern. There are blue lights, one of which is bright and constant and the other flickers softly. Jorg’ath backs up and boshes the other door open instead. 3 iron cages hang from chains, a wooden table and manacles and a red whip with a silver handle. In one corner, staring listlessly into space, is this:

She is regular person-sized. Skabb clears her throat. “Friend?” Jorg’ath closes the door.

We push Hartvig to the front. Jorg’ath has his back, he can do this. “Okay. I raise my shield,” Hartvig says, earning himself a Hero point. As he enters, it smells like iron. It might be rust. (“It’s blood. It’s definitely blood.”) Sounding disinterested, she says “Welcome to my torture chamber. Would you like to stay here forever?” Hartvig looks behind himself to make sure Jorg’ath hasn’t closed the door behind him.

She sighs. “You can either stay here and never return, or leave.”

Hartvig senses that her heart isn’t in this. He introduces himself. He makes a Perception check, in spite of Jorg’ath encouraging a Romance check. He rolls a red 7. “This game hates me.” Jorg’ath winces, sucking in air through his teeth.

She is waiting for Hartvig's response. He is going to not commit to a forever stay, also he is sort of generally opposed to torture although he admits there is a conversation to be had here. Vaulgrist sighs.

“Fine. Die.”

“These are some of those boundaries I was talking about,” Hartvig says as we roll Initiative and Perception checks.

Luna, Nadia and Sprocket can all join in with the initiative, but the others are distracted for a round.

Hartvig sees her - she is some sort of demon (I miss the description…). Jorg’ath: “She sounds like Hartvig’s kind of girl!” They have Pain Sight, once they’ve hurt you, you can’t hide from them. Cool.

Sprocket is first! (Radio silence for a bit. Hartvig: “He’s already asleep.”) “Our friends are in danger, follow me!” (Danny Glover Danny Glover Danny Glover.) He marches up the pathway to find Hartvig. “What’s this doodad on the wall?” Ah, it’s Grabbins. Sprocket uses all his actions on movement and still doesn’t really know what’s going on. Next!

Hartvig. “If you’d led with the whole pain thing, we could have had a different conversation…Would you vibe with this?” He casts Torturous Trauma, but 12 misses. “Shit.” He raises his shield.

Nadia runs in - we all have to do a Will save. (Because the DM forgot to make us do it before, not because Nadia arrived suddenly.) Jorg’ath and Nadia are fine, but Hartvig sees the demon’s face morph into the face of someone he’s loved and lost, and is Frightened 2. “Stop scaring my friend!” Nadia shouts and shoots her new crossbow, which misses. “… You. Knock it off. Or else.”

Luna does some measuring and runs up to join the group. “Is that a bad guy or a good guy? I can only see half of him.” It’s Hartvig. DM: “It’s a bad guy, but it’s your bad guy.” She hides, confident that she’s hidden.

Jorg’ath runs at the demon and strikes with his longsword, offended on Hartvig’s behalf that she seems to have turned him down. 27 just hits. Everyone at once: “Just hits?!”

Chains in the room sprout stuff and whip it at us:

38 hits Jorg’ath (groaning all around), 25 hits Hartvig, 29 hits Nadia. Owie.

Skabb rolls Initiative and joins in, and then we’re back to Sprocketses.

Sprocket will do Evolution Surge and make Augustus a lot quicker:

Augustus comes in and does a Fist Slam, but 21 misses. “… Th-that’s us.”

Hartvig. “Me again? Ohhhh…” He tries a Ray of Enfeeblement, but she says no. He casts Guidance on Jorg’ath.

Skabb is next, and spends her actions to move up the pathway.

Nadia, very much uncertain that we can win this, shoots twice because she might as well and then gets the fuck out of dodge.

Luna shoots Vaulgrist in the face. “Zing.” She hits, misses, and follows Nadia out of the room.

Jorg’ath takes a couple of swings and then will leg it also. 22 misses, 13 misses, and he’s outtie. “Run!”

“Stay there,” the DM tells him, as she gets an attack of opportunity with her bloody chains. “Have a little parting gift,” the DM says. “I appreciate it,” says Jorg’ath, bleeding gently.

Vaulgrist does Focus Gaze at Hartvig:

He rolls a 19 Will save and fails, so she is hidden from him. She hits him with her chain for 13 more damage. No wait - that’s 10 above his AC, so that’s a crit and he’s out… Also pinned to the floor:

Vaulgrist then does another chain attack on Augustus - 28 hits for 23 damage.

(Hartvig, idly: “I suppose the good thing is, I’m not afraid any more now that I’m dead.”)

Sprocket is up, and he has a question about attacks of opportunity in Pathfinder - in 5e you only get one Reaction per round. Can you use AOO’s just whenever in Pathfinder? The DM consults his book of nightmares and comes back with “… Oh, that is nasty.” It turns out that yes, she can just attack of opportunity as long as the trigger condition is met (a creature in melee range moves away from her. Or stands up from being prone while having the audacity to be on the floor at her feet).

Sprocket and Augustus have a hurried, telepathic, conversation. Augustus will make a grapple attempt on Vaulgrist, but the DM offers to tell him her Fortitude DC before he rolls. He decides to roll blind, and goes Athletics: an 8. “Ah.” He Hero Points for a 15, not good. He will keep her busy while the rest of us rescue Hartvig. Augustus Fist Slams and misses, twice. “Done. Sorry, that was very underwhelming.”

Hartvig does a Death Save: 3. “Ohh! Nope. It’s looking bleak.” He is now Dying Two.

Skabb has a question about the chains. Are they moving magically or mechanically? Grabbins thinks there might be magic involved. Dispel Magic likely won’t work here, however. Skabb will run in with Nadia and together they pull the chain from Hartvig’s body. Can we drag him out of the room with the rest of our turns? The DM will allow it! We drag him out! As a free action, Skabb wants to flick a bogey at the blue woman. Hartvig, impressed: “Badass.”

Luna’s turn. She leans in to the room, takes a shot, and ducks back out. 22 misses. “Poor Augustus,” she says, and shuts the door, leaving him in there with the torture demon. (The DM, highly amused, awards her a Hero Point.)

Does Jorg’ath want to go running back in? No, he wants to barricade the door.

Vaulgrist looks at Augustus, seeing that she’s damaged him but that there’s no blood. She pokes a finger in the bit where she hit him, and sits down, dejected. “Get out.”

Augustus pats her on the shoulder with his nail hands, shrugs, and walks away from her.

(Just so we know, if we hadn’t rescued Hartvig, she would have put him in a cage, revive him with potions, and proceed to torture him forever. Hartvig, sounding slightly shocked: “You put yourself out there, get yourself impaled-slash-disembowelled…”)

Jorg’ath shakes Hartvig back to consciousness and does some medicine at him. He is now no longer Dying 2, but Wounded 1. He comes to with a sigh. “Oh! Did she say yes…?” He turns a slightly rosier shade of grey, like liver.

Sprocket climbs onto Hartvig’s chest. “Better luck next time. Maybe the next lady will be more appreciative of your gifts.” Danny Glover Danny Glover.

Blue lights then? Yeah, let’s put our heads in. Jorg’ath boots the door back open again. “Oooh there’s a glowing rock!”

The ceiling rises to 25 ft, stone sarcophagi, carved with emaciated figures. The wall drops into a cavern. Lights to north and south, north lights flicker softly and south lights are stronger. Jorg’ath thinks the carved figures look like Hartvig.

“I’m going,” Jorg’ath announces, still wounded and before any of us can say anything or have a discussion about this. “Jesus Christ,” says Skabb, and sits down for a flask of tea.

The DM tells Jorg’ath, and Jorg’ath alone, to roll initiative. (Short pause, then giggling. Oh, that's bad.)

The sarcophagi burst open and something comes out. (Skabb to Jorg'ath, exasperated: “It’s like you’ve never played Skyrim!”)

(Hartvig, sarcastically: “Oh, Jorg’ath, have you asked her if she’s single?” Jorg’ath immediately uses an action to ask the Wight if she’s single.)

Jorg’ath attacks, and the Wight attacks back. 33 to hit. (Skabb: “You know we’re not going to come and get your corpse, right?”) He makes a Fortitude save, fails, and is Drained 1, giving his HP to the Wight. It hits him again. Jorg’ath: “Ohhhhh, no…” It hits him a third time, but it misses.

Another comes out and hits him as well. “Mmmm. I’ve… Mmmm. I’ve fallen down.”

Do the rest of us hear the sound of Jorg’ath bleeding to death? Nadia heard the sound of something dropping like a sack of shit. She sighs. “Come on then.” She enters the room to see the sarcophagus in front of her become see-through, and she sees a desiccating corpse. (Jorg’ath: “That’s me.”) She pulls out her Healing potion, pours it on her gun and fires it at Jorg’ath. 6HP back!

Another corpse animates. Nadia shoots, misses, shouts over her shoulder at the rest of the gang, and rolls initiative.

(Skabb, grumpy: “I’m only doing this for Nadia.”)

The rest join in, and Nadia is up first. She comes in, shoots a glue bullet and misses, and presses against a wall.

Jorg’ath Rages, as he’s furious, and hits the one behind him with his sword. “How does he feel about that.” 23 hits, then 19 misses.

El Goblino. She uses all three actions to move in and stands in the middle of the room, waiting for something to hit her.

We attack, they attack, Jorg’ath has another lie down. He makes a Fortitude save and is only Dying 2.

Hartvig does a 2-er for Jorg’ath (“My guy!”), giving him back 26 hp!

Nadia pulls out a Tanglefoot bag and slams it into the face of the wight in front of her, and runs the fuck away with all 9 of her hit points:

Jorg’ath misses an attack and does some Battle Medicine at himself. It fails. “Well, that’s me. Thanks guys.”

Skabb starts her turn with a Perception check: a 20. She hears a familiar voice coming from the east. “I smell you, goblin! I won’t warn you again!” Uh oh. It’s that werewolf. She warns the rest of us that he’s close by. She worries that he’s given her an ASBO.

Would it take an action to shout back at him? If she’s just mugging him off, then no. She yells something insulting, and turns her attention to the matter at hand. She has a scroll of Healing, so she pulls it out and can hopefully hit everyone including the wights with a 3-er. She Hero Points her 2hp back, transforming it to an 8. Yay!

Luna’s turn. “Eine minuten on the cat.” She takes out a vial of holy water and attaches it to an arrow. (Could we soak Sprocket in holy water and attach him to an arrow…? No? Okay.) 29 hits for 5 damage, plus the holy water (1d6) - and, one splash damage to the other one as well. She has an action left, so she hides. She is not, however, confident that she is hidden.

Augustus, with Sprocket in hand, moves into the room, rapidly evaluates the situation, and holds Sprocket up. Sprocket goes limp, and Augustus throws him over the heads of his chums toward the wights and Jorg’ath. Strength check: 10. Sprocket slides the rest of the way, fetching up at the feet of one of the wights. Augustus then casts Shield, and Sprocket remains prone like a fallen rag doll. “Step one of our multi-step plan.”

(Technical difficulties, Skabb, Jorg’ath and the DM all are kicked from Discord. We won the fight while the DM was out, we tell him when they come back. Sprocket cast Wish. DM: “I would tell him to wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which fills up first, but sadly neither would fill up at all. Poor Sprocket.” Sprocket tells us that he imagines that if he could shit, it would look like Skittles.)

The wights do some more attacks on Jorg’ath. “Well, I guess next week we’re getting our cat back,” Jorg’ath says, dejectedly. They also swoosh up and attack Luna… She’s still up, but 32 is a lot. Does 25 hit Augustus Clementine? Yes. Ow.

Hartvig casts Heal at level 3 - 9hp back for everyone. The wights take some damage - well, one does.

Wait - the one that moved was Tanglefooted! It can’t move, so Luna and Augustus didn’t take the damage. (Nadia wins a Hero point for pointing that out.)

Nadia uses her last Ghost charge on one (dealing splash damage to the other in the process), then crits with her new crossbow for 17 more damage! Then Jorg’ath crits and gets the howdydoodis! “Very… Woundedly.” He painfully lifts his sword in one injured arm, and drops it on the wight’s head.

Skabber next, and she flips through her spell cards to find one that is roll-to-hit and doesn’t force a saving throw. “I think I can do slashing gust…?” She can use the wand of missiles, as we’ve rested since last time she used it. (Character sheet weirdness causes her some problems. Jorg’ath: “I guess that’s why they call them can’t trips. Heh heh. Heh heh.” Skabb, cross: “It’s not me who’s always falling on my ass.”) The DM rolls for her, and lets her roll her damage - 7 total. Good enough!

Luna is AFK, selfishly taking care of her week-old baby, so Sprocket takes over and fires her shortbow for her. She Hero points the 16 for a 14. (This Goddess of Death thing only works when she rolls for herself, it seems.) (It’s Todd Howard’s fault.) She scooches into an alcove to hide.

Sprocket’s plan is not coming together as he has to be in their space, but instead he yells “Surprise motherfucker!” He crits, and gets a Hero Point for Phase Bolt. 14 damage! Second attack misses, but no-one will remember that. Can Augustus run and belly-bump the last wight? He makes a Strength check, taking the rusty nails into account. 17, enough to get him up there.

Grabbins appears! She drops a healing potion onto Jorg’ath and a holy water onto the wight. Wait, it’s not Grabbins, it’s Skabb’s buddy… Belches!

“Skabbo! And uglies! Come to town!”

It’s the wight’s turn. It attacks Jorg’ath, and crits. He goes down again, and is now Dying 4… “Don’t worry, I got one more.” It hits Augustus and crits again, then goes for Sprocket and crits a third time. Sprocket: “… I was calculating what my hit points are, but they’re none.” All of our books and 30 gold pieces fall out of Augustus as he vanishes. Let’s hope the cat doesn’t spot the gold.

Hartvig does another level 2 Heal - no, he will do Needle Darts and then raise his shield. “Bam. I raise my shield.”

Nadia shoots a bunch and misses everything. “That was rubbish, sorry guys.”

Jorg’ath is Dying 4, so he has to roll a 14 or higher: 17! Yeah! He is stable, but still down.

(Sprocket: “Someone needs to heal me, I have a brilliant plan.”)

Skabb shoots her magic missiles again, for a green 5 Force damage per missile. She goes for Hydraulic Push, 22 hits for 8 bludgeoning. She has one action left, so she sling shots it. 25! Howdydoodis! She doesn’t care about killing the wight as she’s just realised she can go and cuddle Belches! She stretches on her tippy toes, grabbing at the air for him. He descends to just beyond her reach and lets her brush his belly; it’s the softest fur she’s ever felt.

“Where’s Grabbo?” he demands, and she remembers that she left her in the corridor, “because I respect her!”

“Come quick, the hippy ritual is going down!” He drops healing potions on Jorg’ath and Sprocket, bringing them back up. “Lazy uglies! Come on!”

We will leave Jorg’ath on a warm rock while we see to this. Wait - Flashbang will heal him up. We will start next week back in town. Skabb rummages in the wight remains to see if they have anything good. Swords, and studded leather armour. Anyone want that? Sprocket doesn’t think it’ll fit him.

“I didn’t think you were going to win that, guys, well done,” the DM tells us.

[sweetnothingtm]

RUTHLESS// simon riley x reader

pairing simon riley x f!reader

word count 4.6k

content warning rough sex, knife play, degradation, oral sex, the mask stays on!

authors note i hope you enjoy you dirty little freaks. thank you for everything ♡

It’s an honest mistake - really. Had you known any better you would’ve kept it right where he left it.

But you can’t help yourself, lingering just a moment longer to stare at the blade that shines in the light. Its tip was stuck in the wall, the black hilt of the knife worn from use. Soap is calling your name, but you stay put, lip caught between your teeth.

It’s the lieutenants, his initials engraved into it - and you pocket it without a second thought.

You hide it from him like a dirty secret.

At first, you reason that it’s a good knife - a waste of potential to be left in the wall. It’s been polished and sharpened, the tip of the blade pricking into your finger. You had to keep it, you thought. Despite the fact that he would eventually come back for it, eyebrows drawn in confusion at the empty hole where it used to stick. You don’t necessarily use it, but you keep it on you at all times. It rests in your breast pocket, your heart beating against it even now.

A reminder of him. All the little unspoken truths and harbored emotions that you kept from him.

Then you think he could've asked for it back. You don’t admit that you have it, but if he wants it then he’ll try to find it. You have a bad habit to absentmindedly stare at him during briefings, and you notice the empty spot on his vest. It’s a similar shape to the knife.

You’ve been free falling for the lieutenant since the day you met him. Always a little too desperate and eager, you did your best to please. Arriving early for meetings, being the first one up, getting your report and handing it to him finished not a day later. He’d catch your gaze, cocking an eyebrow almost as if in challenge. You’d blush, breaking his stare and shoving down all those months of pining.

He taught you how to aim, how to disassemble your weapons and put them back together, hell- he’d just about taught you how to breathe. A ghost that’s hellbent on haunting the living, he kept you waiting patiently and obediently. You just needed a sign - something to tell you that he sees you.

The lieutenant doesn’t ask for it back. Yet. You’re starting to fall asleep looking at it, eyes half lidded and thumb rubbing over the hilt softly. It flips between your hands under the table at meetings, head in the clouds with your superior storming your thoughts.

The initials are ingrained in your memory like it was branded. SR. You start to carve it in bathrooms, trees, your bed frame. It’s shameful to admit, but having a piece of him is nice to carry. It’s because he’s your boss, the guy whose job it is to keep you alive. You’re just being sentimental for a friend.

Sometimes you wonder if he knows it’s gone. There’s a part of you that hopes you’ll never have to give it back.

Eventually you’re beginning to treat it like it’s your own. You carry it with you like a lost piece to a puzzle. It’s got a spot on the inside of your vest, hidden from his eyes. You let it dance on your skin in boredom, and use it to cut stray threads off you. But you can’t cut the lieutenant loose.

Your eyes are blinking away boredom and disinterest, head hung low as the drowning deep voice of Ghost continues on. It’s late, and you’re tapping your boot impatiently as Johnny and Kyle are making small talk about the stupidest shit.

The knife clicks open and closed, fingers unconsciously brushing against the blade. You really just need a shower and eight hours of sleep, but time is ticking away.

Think Lt will let us sleep in tomorrow?

Not a chance, Soap

Bastard doesn’t even sleep. It’s not fair

You feel like kicking yourself to stay awake. Yawns are bubbling up from your chest, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. It’s been a half hour since he started talking about procedures, protocols, what to do if blah blah blah. You fiddle with the knife in your hands, glancing down at the initials. Simon Riley. You wish you were in bed, the soft glow of your lamp illuminating your favorite kept secret.

He can tell too, and it’s infuriating him. You’re messing with your hands, lip caught between your teeth as your leg bounces in the chair. You rest your arms on the table, leaning forward and absentmindedly playing with something. Then he sees it, the black hilt that’s worn from the grip of his hand. It’s got the same engraving too, the one he got custom done his first day on the force.

You took it.

Simon didn’t think you’d have it - just a sneaking suspicion. He’s lost it before, usually to find it the next day in his jeans. Yet he saw you leaving, cheeks scarlet as you avoided his gaze. Your hands were shoved deep in your pockets, mumbling soft apologies as he brushed past you and back into the room. It wasn’t there, though.

He missed it. Simon carried it with him everywhere, like it was a part of him. It’s the only knife he owns, always wiping it clean at the end of the night. It twists between his fingers at night, the hilt worn from the palm of his hand. He would lazily flick it open, thumb rubbing along the edge of the knife. He thought he’d find it by now - but there you are, treating it with the same care that he has.

The lieutenant pauses, words trailing off as he stares at the familiar blade. You glance up, catching his gaze with eyes that are dark and heavy. You blink once, twice, straightening and looking down to your hands where the open knife lays. You freeze, the air around you running cold. Heart faltering and chest tightening, you wait with baited breath. Never has the truth been laid so bare before you. His eyes are kept on your face, pinning you in your seat. Does he know?

The lieutenant breaks your gaze, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms. You’re absolutely mortified, shoving the knife in your back pocket and biting your tongue. Johnny looks to Ghost, pausing his conversation with Kyle at the unexpected silence. You’re distracting yourself by looking at anywhere but him, breaths uneven and shoulders tight with anxiety.

Ghost takes a moment to regain his control, mind clouded with the image of you playing with his knife. He runs a hand down the haunting white mask that separates you from him. Still wearing the uniform and gear, his hand rests on the empty spot of his vest as his eyes drag straight back to you.

He has to know.

“Johnny, Gaz - take your gossip outside. We’ll reconvene tomorrow,” he states, leaving no room for questions. The lieutenant breaths a long sigh, head cocking to the side as you blush a deep red. You whip your head to him, standing up straight at the sound of your name. He doesn’t dismiss you. The boys nod begrudgingly, standing up and stretching while grunting goodbyes as they shuffle out of the room. The door swings shut, clicking back into place and leaving you stranded.

It’s just the two of you, a thick and nauseating tension arises as moments slip by in an uncomfortable quiet. Your hands are balled into fists out of anxious habit, nails digging into the palms for your hands. He’s shrugging off the vest, peeling off his gloves and tossing everything on a nearby chair. His bare hands brace against the side of the desk, eyes staring straight through you.

“That’s my favorite knife that you stole,” he says, voice patronizing as you stupidly blink at him with innocence in your eyes. Your mouth opens and shuts quickly, head spinning with all the ways you can lie yourself through this.

“I don’t have it, maybe you lost it?” You say, shifting uncomfortably as he cocks an eyebrow at you. He looks at you as though you’re on fire, burning up with every lie that you feed him. You fumble, shaking your head at him and letting poor bluffs take the lead, “I just bought this one. I got it from a store in-“

“You’re a bad fucking liar.”

You freeze, words stuck in your throat as his voice rings in your ears. You’ve been caught like a deer in the headlights, eyes widening and panic setting in. His fingers drum against the side of the desk, and he almost looks like he’s found his new pet not behaving.

Glancing to the door, you swallow a thick ball of fear. It’s a few feet away, right there and waiting for you to run. Excuses and dishonesty coat your senses, trying to cover up lost tracks as you look longingly to the exit. The knife sits heavy in your pocket, a ruthless and terrible reminder of the fact that it doesn’t belong to you. You should’ve given it to him when you had the chance.

He waits for you to answer, and he’s gritting his teeth every second you stare at him all pretty and dumb - like you don’t know a goddamn thing. Honestly, a part of him feels a little prideful that you kept it in the first place. You intoxicate and torture him, forcing him to keep distance from the forest fire he wants to call home. The lieutenants been waiting for you to spark since the day he met you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, voice struggling to stay even as his eyes narrow at your words. You try your best to remain calm as the lieutenant continues to stare, skin flushed with fear as he shakes his head at you. “You’re a rotten brat, you know that?” He spits, watching with hate as you look away with your chin held high. You won’t admit defeat, not until it’s ripped from you with prying hands.

“It’s got my fucking name on the blade, sweetheart-“ he grounds out, leaning forward as his eyes burn into your own. “And unless you’ve got it branded on you too, I’d suggest being a good girl and giving it back.”

The room is laced with a thick silence while you shiver where you stand. You nod meekly to him from across the table, letting loose an uneven breath. You hold his gaze, stomach churning with months of suppressed fear and unrequited adoration. You speak to him softly, as if your voice is made of truth.

“You left it, and I found it. It’s mine now,”

He laughs at you, the sound hateful and violent in your ears. He pushes himself off the desk where he leans, the mask building a wall of irritation around him. His footsteps land heavy as he’s crossing the room, sauntering towards you with a determined look in his eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he states, shaking his head condescendingly at you.

Three steps, and he’s right in front of you. His figure towers over you, face tilted down to look at you. He smells like tobacco and pine, and you notice the spread of ink that peeks out from his sleeve. A finger grazes under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his dark eyes. “Give it back.”

It’s a losing game, and you’re trying desperately to win. You shake your head, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself. No.

The lieutenant drags over a chair, exhaling heavily as he takes a seat. His legs are spread, a hand resting on his thigh as you shake under his touch. He looks away for a moment, as if he’s mulling over something. Tsking softly to himself, he reaches a hand out and hooks it into your vest before tugging you down, “patience is wearing thin, sweetheart. I want it back, now.”

Your breath fans hot against his mask, eyes widening in shock as his grip tightens on you. His eyes are swimming with a haunting rage. The careful distance you’ve kept from his is crumbling, heart skipping a beat to catch up with the lieutenant. He pulls you closer, and you’re tripping under yourself as the mask stares back at you in challenge.

“I’m sorry, sir-” you whisper under your breath, the tip of your shoes hitting his boots as your shoulders sag. “I’m keeping it,” you say honestly, letting the shame wash over you. There’s nowhere to hide, all the time spent trying to get him to see you when you should’ve been running.

“Wrong answer.”

His hand drags you down and over him, knees pressing into your stomach as the breath is stolen from you. His hand finds its place along the back of your head, keeping you down as his fingers run along your back. Head spinning with all the ways in which you’ve been waiting for this, you squirm on his lap and brace your hands under you and on his thigh.

The lieutenants face drops down to you, mask brushing against your cheek. Your mind is blank now, the feel of his hot breath against your skin causing you to freeze. His dog tags dangle over your back, brushing against your shirt. “You should really mind your manners,” he admits, plucking the knife from your back pocket. “You know better than this.”

Your ass hangs up and over his knee, his hand resting along your upper thigh to keep you in place. The blade clicks open, and he lets loose a chuckle as he appreciates it. He flips it between his fingers out of sight, pulling back your hair as it takes place against your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut at the touch, the cool metal pressed against your skin and causing you to shiver.

There’s a moment where it’s just the two of you in silence. You count your breaths, biting your cheek and waiting patiently for the lieutenant to make his next move. Apologies are at the tip of your tongue, but fall short as his blade runs along your skin.

A sickening smack lands against your ass, body jumping from the unexpected touch. Desire runs up and along your spine, head cloudy with longing for a ghost in your haunted home. You can feel his hand rub softly into your skin, breath coming loose as he pulls away. “Lieutenant - please, I’m so sorry-”

Another smack, this time harder as it leaves a sting. “Simon - don’t you remember, love? That’s the name I’m gonna carve into your fucking skin,” he spits, digging the tip of his knife into your throat as you nod to him. Heat is pooling between your thighs that rub together in anticipation, lip caught between your teeth as you peel open your eyes and glance over your shoulder to him.

You regret ever having bothered.

He stares at you with a hateful lust, a smirk playing on his lips that are just out of your sight. Simon dips his fingers between your thighs and rubs soft circles, savoring the way you melt under his touch. You wiggle your hips, shifting on his knees and spreading your legs open just an inch. He notices, sending another smack to your ass. “Filthy,” he laughs, two fingers dragging along the wet desire that continues to grow within you. “You’re not even sorry - are you?”

You shake your head, nails digging into his thigh as his fingertips dig into your clit. “I am - I didn’t mean to steal it - I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon,”

His name is unexpected as it falls from you, but you say it like it belongs to you. The bulge in his pants is growing, dick twitching at the way you squirm on his lap. All those months spent dreaming of you on your knees is starting to catch up with him, and he just can’t run away. He grits his teeth, the sound of his name on your lips sending him straight to hell. Good thing he’s friends with the devil.

Simon’s hands leave you suddenly, the knife clicking closed and set onto the table. He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you back until your neck is craned and your eyes begin to water at the pain. “If you really are sorry - then get on your knees and ask for forgiveness.”

He abruptly pushes you off his lap, and you tumble to the ground with your head smacking against the floor. You pull air into your lungs desperately, body recoiling from the shock of being thrown off of him. Hands pushing from under you to brace yourself, you look to him with innocent wide eyes and full lips that wobble in fear. He leans back in the chair, arms braced on the sides as he looks at your expectantly.

Shamefully, you crawl between his legs and sit on your knees. The knife sits alone on the table, watching you mockingly as you blink up to Simon. There’s a wide grin spread across his face, though you’re not able to see it. The mask keeps you from him, a careful distance that he isn’t willing to give up yet.

“I’m really sorry,” you mumble softly, blushing crimson as his hands fall to his belt. “I’m sorry.” He unbuckles the belt, dragging down the zipper as his eyes remain on your pretty little face with eyes glossy from tears. He’s nodding to you, pushing down the waist of his pants until you’re staring at the swollen tip of his dick that’s wet from pre cum.

“I know you are - but I want to see you beg.”

His hand comes to lazily stroke himself, hissing as he squeezes the tip of himself. Your hands gently rest against his knees, chest coiling tight with a familiar ache. You sit there patient, waiting for his approval as Simon jerks himself off. The heat between your legs is burning, heart struggling to keep a steady pace.

Then he gives a small nod, hands drifting to the side as your mouth waters. You lean forward, little lips parting wide. Simon sighs softly as your lips wrap around him, cheeks hollowing and eyes fluttering closed.

Your head bobs in his lap, hand coming to stroke what you can’t take. His hand tangles itself in your hair, guiding your movements slowly. Your tongue dances along his tip, his hips bucking at the touch and fingers tightening their grip. Simon lets his head fall back, waves of pleasure rocking through him at the way you hum against his dick. “Shit, you’re such a nasty slut,” he laughs out.

Lips dragging along his shaft, you take him inch by devastating inch without hesitation. Your nails are digging into his knees, clawing at him to take control as he begins to unravel. His shoulders drop, groans pulled from him when drool dribbles out from your lip and onto him.

Simon watches as you force him to the base of your throat, soft gargling sounds emitting from you. You can’t take all of him, but your hand massages the rest of his shaft, the touch soft and delicate. His head is cloudy with desire, forcing your head further down until you start to choke, tears blurring your vision. He’s abandoning all self control, letting it slip from his fingertips like a thread of gold. Doesn’t matter when you’re on your knees for him, sucking his dick like its the only thing you’ve dreamed of.

“There’s my good girl,” he says, hips bucking into your mouth. You’re humming, bobbing your head yes as you continue to let him fuck your mouth. He feels sick with pleasure, hand pushing you further along his dick until he’s seeing stars.

You’re eagerly on your knees, chest tightening with every moan that fires from Simons lips and aims straight to you. It’s got you feeling confident, sitting up on your knees and licking your tongue along the bottom of him. “Fuck - that’s it, sweetheart,” he grounds out, and you’re pressing your thighs together to stop yourself from dripping. You look up at him, dick caught in your throat and eyes sparkling with obedience.

Your teeth drag along his shaft, causing him to slam your head down. You choke, struggling to pull back and catch your breath. “Bloody hell,” he muses, the pad of his thumb rubbing into your cheek softly. You pull away, lips smacking as you try to control your uneven breaths. Simon watches as you rub the drool and spit from your lips, eyes turning a shade darker when you give him an innocent smile.

“Come here.”

When you stand, his fingers push themselves between your thighs. His hand comes to undo your pants, your lip caught between your teeth as you wait patiently for him. He’s pushed down the hem of your pants, hands coming to grip your waist. You stand there silently, holding your breath when he glances up to you. “Well? Show me how sorry you are,”

It takes you a moment to peel away your clothes, strewn on another chair where his things lie. Your cheeks are bright red with embarrassment as your arms snake around his neck, hesitantly coming to sit in his lap. He leans over to grab the knife, flicking it open again and pressing it against your chest. “Simon,” you breath softly, fingertips brushing along the base of his neck.

“Can you forgive me?”

He shakes his head at you, muttering filthy curses as his fingers dig into your waist. You’ve been waiting for this, soaked through and blind with guilt, you let the tip of him brush against your folds. Simon drags the knife to your throat, watching you with his breath held as you sink slowly onto his dick.

It’s a feeling you’ve only ever dreamed of. He pushes into you completely, heart beginning to falter and freeze at the pure pleasure that spreads between you. Your stomach is tightening, hips grinding into him softly. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, the hold on his knife tightening until his knuckles are white. “I’m considering it.”

It wouldn’t be so bad - to spend the rest of your life chasing after this high.

Hesitation has been tossed aside, breaths becoming in sync as he watches with baited breath as you grind into his lap and mewl out moans.

You pull yourself up with shaking thighs, falling back into him and letting a moan slip past your lips. You bounce on his dick, hips rolling and grinding with his knife pressed against your throat. Disgraceful slick wet sounds are ringing in your ears like a sickening melody. His hands are pressing and pulling you down, his hips bucking up with your movements.

Simon garbs a handful of your ass, keeping you in balance as you ride him ruthlessly. The knot of pleasure is tying itself tight, and you’re whining in his ear from the ecstasy “That’s it - look at you, such a good girl riding my dick.”

“Mm-mm,” you moan, head falling into the crook of his neck as he drags the knife to your chest, letting the tip press against your skin. “Please - please, I’m so sorry, Simon,” you gasp out, tightening your arms around his neck as he slams his hips into you.

His touch is rough and ruthless, impatient with pleasure as he smacks your ass that’s now red with his handprint. His. The thought sends him spiraling, groaning loudly. Simon lets you roll into him, bouncing in his lap with his breath fanning hot against your neck. “Careful,” he laughs against you, fingers traveling to your clit to rub harsh circles. “I just might think you like this.”

And you do. In fact, you’re overwhelmed by the sensational desire that’s boiling within you. Your moans are becoming desperate, nails scarping along his shoulder blades as he continues to fuck you. Your eyes are squeezed shut, practically hanging off of him as he rubs the wet pleasure between your thighs.

It’s just the two of you. His hand is greedily snapping your hips back to him, and you meet the touch eagerly. There’s a fire that’s building within you - and neither of you can smother it out. Your chest is tightening, lips mumbling out pathetic moans as Simon laughs, the sound dark and tantalizing. “You do - don’t you?” He asks, and you’re nodding into his neck with pleas rippling off of you. “I know you do, I bet your pretty little pussy is gonna cum on my dick-” he states, suddenly grabbing your throat and forcing you to look at him.

You hold his stare, mewling out and begging for him as he rubs quickly. You’re losing your sanity, hips eagerly grinding into his lap until a simmering heat takes a hold of you, crying out in pleasure. “Right about now.” He finishes, watching as you smile innocently at him.

He still fucks you though, riding out your orgasm as he chases after his own.

It only takes him another moment until he’s following you, sloppy and lazy thrusts into your hips. Simon is grounding out your name, gritting his teeth and savoring the way your slick cunt tightens around him. His head falls back against the chair, breath hot and uneven as he snaps and slams his hips into you one last time.

Then you’re sitting pretty and patient in his lap, letting him grow soft in you with your lip caught in between your teeth. Your eyes are glossed over with happiness, stomach flipping as he closes the blade and leaves a hand resting against your waist. Seconds slip by in silence, buy neither of you seem to mind. His breath is slowly untangling itself from yours, gaze dark and haunting.

When you peel yourself away from him, shaking hands pulling up your pants and blushing scarlet, he tugs you closer to him. You button your pants, still wet from the way Simon pulled all those dirty little secrets from you like they were his to begin with. He lets his hands slide to your ass, giving it a final squeeze.

“Such a good girl,” he says softly, a smile playing at his lips as you blush deeper. He stands, cupping your face in his hands and looking at you with the same adoration that you’ve given him for months. “I think you’ve learned your lesson - yeah, sweetheart?”

You nod up to him eagerly, the strings of your heart snapping and breaking as he pulls himself from you. “Uh-huh,” you breathe, and you mean it. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, letting his finger commit the feel of your skin to memory.

“Be good for me - get some rest, love.”

He left the knife in your back pocket, and it sits there now - waiting for him to come back.

[ghostiex0]

Spetsnaz with a secret admirer

Cut only due to length. I choose all different items for the boys to receive just to shake things up a little bit

Kapkan

- This lone wolf would definitely be taken off guard by the appearance of a gift left for him.

-After getting over his initial confusion, it wouldn’t take him long to slip away from people for some privacy as he tries to open the little wrapped gift without getting the wrapping everywhere.

- He’s the type to double check if anyone is around before actually looking at the gift. In his defense, this feels like it was meant just for him, so he should be the only one seeing it.

- Beneath all the wrapping was a cool steel knife. Made in a similar fashion to a buck knife with a wooden handle.

- Upon further inspection, he’d notice the initials carved onto the wood. His own boldly stood out to him, but the other one… he was unsure.

- He put together quickly that it was probably the one who gifted him the polished blade.

-The initials weren’t much to go off of, and he didn’t want to have to ask around too much. People would get curious as to what he’s up too. Especially his comrades.

- Luckily, Maxim’s a respectable hunter who likes a good chase.

Glaz

- A true artist like himself is pretty in touch with his emotions and has a deep appreciation for anything that can speak to them.

- So when he finds a nice leather notebook left on the bench in his locker (one that is definitely not his, as the one he keeps in his locker is typically much smaller), he’s immediately reaching for it out of curiosity.

- Feeling the firm leather, Timur could tell it was pretty high quality. Someone must have wanted it to be nice.

- He doesn’t go to hide away with it, but he keeps it on the down low.

- Gracefully, he opens the notebook to see handwriting on the cover’s inside, a detection to himself from a mystery lover.

- He couldn’t help but give a little smile at the thought of someone taking the time for him. And getting him something he would definitely be using at that.

- He was going to find out who they were, but he found himself liking the mystery lover’s unknown identity.

Fuze

- Left right in his locker was a bundle of white tulips.

- Shuhrat is overcome with confusion at them, slipping off some of his heavier gear as he sat down next to the flowers, before gently picking them up to look for any reason why they would be here.

- The thought of a secret admirer probably doesn’t even cross his mind.

- But when he finds a little note attached to it with words such as “With love” he suddenly becomes aware that he’s holding a gift. One sent with love at that.

- His brain stops functioning for a second, just holding the flowers and staring at them blankly. A meek attempt to process that someone was gifting him flowers.

- His spacing out is swiftly replaced by a sense of panic when he hears his comrades voices drawing near. He knows that Alexsandr would give him the teasing of his life if he found out Shuhrat was being fancied by someone.

- He didn’t know why but he felt a tug on his heartstrings as he went to throw them somewhere randomly hidden. Causing him to change his mind last minute, opting to have them gently placed back in his locker instead.

Tachanka

- Alexsandr is a charming show-off so having people admire him isn’t exactly a new thing, but a real admirer?

- Working out with his fellow Spetsnaz Ops is a regular suggestion from Alex. And it leaves his locker free reign for leaving him a little something.

- So when they started to settle down and head up for some drinks and a rest. He almost doesn’t notice the letter left for him. The part that catches his eye is the little red scribbled heart against the white paper.

- He doesn’t hesitate to pick it up, looking it over with a gleam in his eyes.

- Even with his comrades around, Alex opens the hearted paper, a very different texture than the work out equipment he was using before.

- Seeing it’s a lovely love letter, he’s instantly reading it through. He’s smirking and gives a few laughs at some of the letter.

- Not laughing at who this secret admirer is, more of he’s flattered and laughing is his natural reaction.

- Alexsandr thinks the letter is adorable and is dying to know who his admirer is. Unlike many of the others, he’s absolutely and shamelessly asking around to figure out who they are.

[wysteria-clad]

His heart.

paring: The Corinthian x fem! reader

genre: fluff

warning: mentions of a puppy's death in a movie, mentions of carving out eyes, mention of torture.

a/n:

reader is a sensitive sweetheart and can't even stand animals dying in movies.

-------

There was something about your eyes that stood out to him. The moment he saw you, his first thought was to carve them out and devour them. He couldn't quite put his finger on it yet, but it intrigued him nonetheless.

Kindness.

He figured it out after hanging out with you two times to be precise. He was glad something in him made him change his mind from his initial plan. Your kindness lit your eyes up. It gave your eyes a certain softness to it.

At times he had considered devouring your eyes, just so he could feel the kindness, to see what was it like feel that much love.

But he didn't have to, your hands showed him what it was like to experience kindness and tender love. You embraced him with nothing but gentleness, something he never had the chance to experience before. He knew he did not deserve it, but would he continue to keep you for himself? Absolutely yes.

It didn't take long for him to fall in love with you, he was taken aback at the extent of his heart for you. He told you what he was. You had seen and heard a few strange things in your life. When he took off his glasses, you didn't even flinch.

"I don't care," you reached out to touch his face slowly, afraid you'd freak him out. "I don't care what you are, I'm not scared of you. I love you." He laughed lightly. Even at that moment, all you could think was how to make him feel accepted and loved. He never thought he would care for someone other than himself. But God, he just had to see you that day, but he was more than glad he did. He leaned into your touch, his lips pressing a light kiss on your palm. I love you, my darling.

He was amazing at a few things: killing, hiding his tracks, keeping secrets, and loving you.

Of course he left out the details of what he did for fun and his favourite 'snack.' What you don't know can't hurt you, right? And he had intended to keep it that way with you, his sweet love.

When he found you crying your eyes out in your home, his first thought was to carve out the eyes of the one(s) who dared to hurt you, after painfully torturing them first, of course.

His demeanor changed when you pointed at your laptop. Confused, his eyes followed it to see a dog die..in a movie, and back to your eyes full of tears, and you desperately trying to wipe them.

Oh, his heart.

He didn't hesitate to take you in his arms, mumbling comforting sentences into your ears. He left after a while.

.

.

Later that day, he surprised you.

"Darling, I have something for you," he cooed, with his trademark charming smile on his face.

You eyed the big box on the table, with the tag, 'For my heart'. You chuckled softly.

"What is it, baby,?" smiling, you opened the box slowly to see a tiny black puppy, wagging his little tail and pawing at you. Your heart melted at that sight. "Thank you," you rushed to hug your boyfriend in a tight embrace. "What's his name?"

"Anything you want, sweetheart," he smiled, putting his arms around you, seeing you happy. He'd do anything to keep that smile on your face.

You were his heart indeed.

[readinginthereadyroom]

it’s sympathy for the devil (spn 5x01) and cas carves enochian sigils onto sam and dean’s ribs. and it’s also good god, y’all (spn 5x02) and dean gets x-rays of them. glamour shots.  to hide them from the angels.

and I think it’s only fair to assume that bobby gets them at some point as well.

but now that the winchesters are invisible to angel radar, cas has to start carrying a cell phone. and the angels have to resort to human informants to track and locate them.

but the thing that’s seems to escape everyone’s notice is baby. the impala is a very distinctive car—and would get them noticed just as easily.

so my headcanon is that when dean and cas are partnering together in free to be you and me (spn 5x03), dean pulls into a roadside park. or an abandoned gas station. or the side of a dirt road. and takes out his toolkit, the car jack, and the x-rays. pulls cas into the grass or gravel or asphalt and has him help angel-proof the car.

they spend the afternoon that way. shoulder to shoulder on the ground. dean shows cas some basic car maintenance, intersperses it with stories of his childhood—him and sam carving their initials in the impala’s floorboards. painting the devil trap on the lid of the trunk. and lining her frame with pvc-enclosed salt (so she doesn’t rust).

and of course how he got john to buy her back in 1976.

castiel listens. smiles at dean’s stories. carefully draws the angel sigils—monumentally aware of the privilege he is being granted.

because dean is showing him his home. his heart. his secrets.

and eventually, in the safe recess under baby’s chassis—cas a comforting presense beside him—dean talks about taking a crowbar to baby’s windows. his rage at being alive. his rage at john. at so-called destiny.

because hey, lookit that, sammy did go darkside after all. took a few decades in the pit and an apocalypse but he sees now that john was right.

cas staunchly disagrees. his gravelly voice is resonant in the small space between them. he emphasizes how dean chose the impala. how he convinced john to buy her instead of the vw bus. making the impala dean’s car. always his car. john was just borrowing it while he grew up.

and dean was the one who rebuilt her. he chose to do that. to invest the time and energy—his love and his hate, his grief and his happiness—to fix all the cracks in her chassis.

dean’s responding smile lights up something in cas. some feeling that is yet unnameable. it lodges in the center of his vessel’s chest, like grace. but it’s not cool blue harmony. it’s warmth. sunshine. bright and blinding like lightning.

so when the enochian sigils are complete. when baby is invisible to angel radar. cas adds a single symbol. paints it with a flourish and imbues it with his grace. it glows an ethereal blue.

it’s his capital N name. so he’ll always be able to find them. the winchesters. sam and dean. his family. dean grins and paints two little wings to each side of the sigil. guess this is your home now, too, cas.

[mindofasupernova]

The Inventor Part 3

Kaz Brekker x reader

Description: A killer is on the loose, eliminating Kaz's informants. In a desperate attempt, Kaz meets a certain inventor that has his mind racing, trying to figure out the complex puzzle she is.

When the news of a murder in Von Raske's autumn ball reached Kaz's ears, his breath froze, an icy hand tightening his grip on his heart. Lord Von Raske was a close acquaintance of the Grand Duke Y/LN, fear invaded his mind, a single statement playing on repeat like a broken melody: Y/N had been there.

Dirtyhands had immediately sent Inej to check up on Y/N while he tried to distract himself by finishing paperwork. Two weeks had passed since their secret rendezvous, two weeks since Y/N had given him the list of components that created the poison and in those two weeks, he hadn't contacted her.

The next morning, he and his crows had spent the whole day making inquiries about possible buyers and indentured Grisha acquiring an excessive amount of alloys. No luck. No one knew anything. The only thing he had gotten were another two corpses with the same symptoms.

He had refused to call Y/N despite the little voice in the back of his mind telling him to bring the brilliant inventor, who would surely enjoy an excuse to abandon her royal life for a few hours. Even when there were no new bodies, these whispers urged him to arrange another meeting so he could just hear her chatter about dissections methods as if she were talking about the weather. Kaz shook his head, tossed his treacherous thoughts into a vault in the back of his mind while scolding himself for wanting the company of someone he barely knew.

Kaz thoughts kept drifting back to the inventor, too worried for her safety that he failed to notice Inej's presence in his office until she quietly spoke.

"She's alright, Kaz, but she believes these murders aren't just an act of vengeance against the Dregs. She wants to meet again to share her theories." Kaz glanced up, evaluating Inej words.

If it weren't for the tragedy at the ball, he would have kept thinking some other gang wanted to initiate a war against the Dregs, but now he was sure this was deeper than a petty quarrel.

Kaz nodded, analyzing the spy's face. Eyes dropping down to Inej's hands, she wore what looked liked to be a set of thin brass knuckles, two rings adjusting at her pinkies and index fingers that joined a smooth metal band facing her palm. Before Kaz could open his mouth, Inej answered his unspoken question.

"Y/N made them for me. She told me she'd noticed my chipped nails and slightly blistered hands from climbing flat buildings. She fabricated these, they work as some type of magnet, using the force of momentum and creating friction on plain surfaces." Inej's gentle voice explained, an endearing look as she stared at her knuckles.

"She gave me some truffles to bring back to the club, she thought Nina might like them."

He hadn't failed to notice Inej's troubled expression when he had ordered her to go to the Y/LN Manor. Whether he wanted it or not, the brilliant royal was worming her way into his Crows' hearts.

Kaz hummed in response, "We are meeting tomorrow at 9 in the morning, I'll tell Jesper to deliver a note."

"I'll do it right now. I want to try these." Inej gestured at the brass knuckles and without a word slipped out the window.

____________

Y/N

"Need a ride, doll?" Mr. Fahey called out, opening the hansom's door, inviting Y/N to hop inside.

Yesterday, Inej had silently returned to her room, bearing Kaz's news about the meeting. Y/N's heart thrummed excitedly in her chest, the notion of seeing the Crows again lighted up her day.

Y/N had told Ms. Ghafa she'd investigated around her social circle and that they needed to pay a visit to Mercher Dupont's valet, Dupont's most trusted employee.

"Greetings and thank you, Mr. Fahey" Y/N said politely as she stepped inside, taking a seat next to the Wraith.

"Why are you so sure the valet will have the answers we are looking for? Is he related to those theories you wanted to speak of?" interrupted Kaz, always so straightforward.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Brekker. And they aren't just theories. You see, after the very unfortunate incident at the ball, I took it upon myself to investigate Mercher Dupont's whereabouts in the past two weeks."

"Whereabouts? What does that have to do with his murder?" the raven-haired boy pondered.

"Everything. Someone knew he'd be returning from his secret trip today and that he would go directly to the ball. It's quite obvious actually." Y/N said, watching the streets distractedly through the window as the carriage started moving.

"It's not obvious to me." voiced Jesper.

Y/N turned to look at her confused companions. Kaz frowned deepened when the girl turned to him, waiting for him to show he understood. When she was met with silence, the corners of her mouth tugged upwards, clearly proud she had noticed something the infamous criminal mastermind had not. Kaz didn't share her enthusiasm.

"When Mercher Dupont arrived at the ball he was jumpier than usual, eager to avoid conversation with anyone. It was clear he had traveled outside the country: his skin was tanned, constantly scratching and pulling at his sleeves covering what were likely mosquito bites. His shoe soles were stained with grass and an orange stain, probably jurda, laces had been recently cleaned but messily tied as if he had been in a rush to arrive on time. Jurda, mosquitos, and scorching sun at this time of year, we can only find those three in Novyi Zem." Y/N beamed, words tumbling out of her lips as if her life depended on them.

"Besides, my mother talked with his wife this morning. The poor woman said that weeks prior he'd raced into his hansom, disappearing for two whole weeks and when he had finally returned, he and his valet refused to tell her a thing." the inventor finished, just as the carriage stopped moving.

"Wait, I thought we were heading to Dupont's residence." Y/N interrupted, as the trio jumped down the carriage, a few blocks away from a jewelry shop.

"Tell me, Y/LN, would you like to see what we do for a living?" Kaz asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I did not come here to witness a robbery. Much less to help with your wicked schemes." Y/N retorted, a defiant raise of her head, body betraying her when she stepped out of the carriage as well.

"I thought you'd enjoy participating in illegal affairs since you seem so eager to associate with a bunch of criminals. Where's your sense of adventure?" Kaz taunted with a smug look on his face.

"I left it on the carriage and would very much like to go back to get it." returned the girl, crossing her arms and straightening her posture. "If you believe my willingness to help you indicates I relish taking things from others then, you are awfully mistaken."

"How do you know you don't like it if you've never done it?" Jesper joined in.

"There's nothing like a heist early in the morning." the sharpshooter said, twirling his guns before hiding them in his coat.

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh but followed nonetheless. Kaz Brekker will be my downfall.

__________

Jesper took the driver's place, dismissing the coach, being their "escape driver" as Kaz had dubbed him.

Y/N entered the shop first, a veil covering her face, and pretended to be deeply interested in some ruby rings. She was only there to watch, Kaz had assured.

A few minutes later, Kaz walked in wearing a security guard uniform, where he had managed to obtain one, Y/N had no idea. He slowly prowled to the counter, adopting his role with such grace that it stunned Y/N. When he reached the vendor, he started conversing with him as if they had known each other for years.

Every step, every gesture, every word was calculated. In another life, Mr. Brekker would have made a fine actor. A very charming and talented actor. The thought crossed Y/N's mind before she could stop it. Kaz Brekker was a dangerous man, he'd heard the horrified whispers that preceded his name, a heartless monster that terrified the streets of Ketterdam.

But now that she knew him, Y/N wasn't sure if he was as despicable as the rumors stated. He could have taken her hostage when her identity was revealed, betrayed what she had been doing in Mr. Zhang's shop in hopes of earning money, but he didn't.

Most importantly he had never doubted her abilities when he discovered she was a woman, never belittled her as many high-class men had done. In fact, she could have sworn Kaz was pleasantly surprised when she'd earnestly started the autopsy. His lips barely tugging upwards, when she handed him the list.

Y/N had also noticed how he was always covered head to toe, not a sliver of skin showing apart from his head. She had perceived the way he always avoided touches, careful of not brushing against anyone, staying away from big crowds. It made Y/N wonder why skin contact repulsed him, she wanted to figure out his enigmatic persona and discover the reason for which his heart raced.

"Fire! Fire!" with a startled jump she came back to reality, eyes landing on the blazing curtains near a thin metal drawer that was slowly melting in revealing golden necklaces.

Y/N desperately hoped this wasn't Kaz's plan, by now everyone inside was aware of the fire, quickly pushing to get to the exit. Y/N squinted her eyes at the smoke, looking for Kaz, scared he had been injured during this little stunt. But before she could call out his name, she was being pushed outside.

Y/N hurried back to hansom where Jesper and Inej were already waiting, rapidly swirling around, she almost bumped into Kaz's chest.

"That's your idea of fun?" Y/N questioned, sending a murderous glare Kaz's way, a mask to hide her relief at finding him safe and unscathed.

"Says the person who finds joy in carving corpses open." Kaz retorted, his infamous smirk widening and stepping inside the hansom, closing the door after the two girls. "But it worked, didn't it?"

Y/N turned to look at him in confusion, Kaz's smirk widening when he pulled a pendant from his coat, but it wasn't any ordinary piece, it was THE Pink Star Necklace. This necklace was the source of the hottest gossip, created by a durast master as a gift for the upcoming arrival of a Shu dignitary's daughter.

"Incentive and distraction. I knew this necklace was kept in that shop, I just didn't know where." Kaz explained proudly "The obvious instinct was rescuing the most valuable piece inside."

"That being the necklace, delivered into your waiting hands." Y/N laughed, an incredulous grin at Kaz's ingenuity.

The rumors were true, he indeed had a wonderful mind. The crime of the century without even lifting a finger. She couldn't help her smile, wondering what other tricks Kaz had under his sleeve.

"Very clever, Mr. Brekker. I'm impressed."

Kaz's smug look never faltered but his eyes softened "You've just seen the beginning."

_________

The valet had been lounging outside when they arrived at Dupont's residence. The three crows and the inventor approached, Kaz skipped straight to the point without waiting for pleasantries. After several unanswered questions and the valet affirming he couldn't tell where his master had disappeared to for the last couple of weeks, Kaz looked ready to bash his skull with his cane.

However, before his blood painted the white roses red and Y/N had a new body to examine, she quickly intervened.

"Does Mercher Openheilmer know of your affair with his sister?" and just like that, the valet was desperately sputtering the whole story of his life out.

Apparently, Mercher Dupont had woken him up in haste, ordered him to fetch the carriage, and to drive to Fourth Harbor as if the Devil himself chased after his soul. When they had gotten there, his master had hired a schooner and Captain Wagner's small crew to Novyi Zem apart from that, he knew nothing more.

In a quick bumpy ride, they arrived at Fourth Harbor looking for a certain Captain and his crew.

"Blackmail. Who would have thought Marchioness Y/N performed such ghastly deeds." Kaz mocked, while they walked to Wagner's petit schooner.

"Oh hush, you're just mad I didn't let you beat the valet up."

Kaz raised a hand, gesturing for all of them to be quiet. Heavy grunts and shattering glass could be heard from inside the ship. Inej drew her knives and Jesper pulled out his pistols, each one went their own way while Y/N trailed quietly behind Kaz as they entered the dark rickety schooner.

The captain's quarters were a mess, papers scattered and drawers open, someone was in a hurry. Y/N saw a shiny pistol laying on a coffee-stained desk, it was loaded, she hesitantly grasped it, adjusting her grip like he had seen Jesper do. She had never held a gun before, but any form of protection was welcome.

Swirling back around, Kaz was nowhere in sight, with uncertain steps she stepped into the adjoining room, shakily raising the gun. A burly blond-haired man, Captain Wagner, shoved clothes desperately into a suitcase, he froze and stared wide-eyed at Y/N. The man was sweating, pudgy hands shaking, ragged breaths escaping his mouth, he was terrified.

"I mean no harm, I simply wish to talk about one of your clients, Mercher Dupont." Y/N raised her hands in surrender, daintily placing the gun on the floor not wanting to scare the man further.

The captain nodded, taking a step forward, but before Y/N could utter a word, he lunged at her knife glinting in the moonlight. A surprised gasp left Y/N's lips when the man shoved her to the floor. Captain Wagner pinned her down, knife raised in a direct line to her throat. When his hand dived to meet its target, Y/N desperately raised her hands catching his grip, a poor attempt at preventing the sharp metal from sealing her fate. Wagner pushed harder, merely seconds before her blood decorated the cabin's walls, a crow's head sunk into the plane of her attacker's shoulder, eliciting a broken scream from the man, and with a swift kick to the ribs, Kaz yanked the man off of Y/N. Drawing quivering breaths, Y/N sat up and watched as Kaz pressed the hill of his boot into Wagner's injured shoulder.

"Why did you attack her and why in such a hurry? Why was Dupont so eager to leave for Novyi Zem?!" Kaz growled, rage blazing in his midnight eyes.

"P-Please, I got nothin' to do with Dupont's business," Wagner whined, a sharp cried pierced the air when Dirtyhands shattered his shoulder blade with a quick jab. Y/N tore her gaze away, when she turned to reprimand Kaz about his ways, the animalistic glare he sent her way snapped her mouth shut.

"He hired my crew to get him to Novyi Zem, paid good money if we never told anyone about his trip and the many oil barrels he'd insisted on carrying there." he whimpered, trying to free himself from Kaz's visceral grip.

"If I had known the four members of my crew would end up dead for his secrets, I would have never done it. He said his life depended on the secrecy and when I saw your little friend there I thought she was here to kill me just like Dupont. "

"What did he do with the oil barrels?"

"I don't know, Saints! He brought back a Zemeni man, though. P-P-Please, I have done nothin' wrong."

-----------

No one spoke during their walk back to the carriage, a thick silence hung in the air accompanied by the coopery scent wafting from Kaz's blood-splattered clothes.

Y/N was the first to break the silence, "Where are we headed to?"

"We are going to gather information and you are going back home." Kaz harshly replied, voice dripping anger.

"But-"

"No Y/N, what the hell were you thinking?! How more stupid can you be, lowering your guard down?!" Kaz snapped, black charcoal eyes burning a hole through her head.

"The man was trembling, I didn't want to scare him. I-"

"Kindness gets you killed! What was I thinking bringing down a pampered foolish rich girl who wants to play detective!"

"Kaz, there's no need t-" Jesper started.

"No, Jesper! She's a liability! We could have lost Wagner because she refused to use a damn gun!" Kaz snarled, chest heaving.

It would have hurt less if Kaz had slapped her, his words gnawed at Y/N's heartstrings. And yet, she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing the broken look on her face. Y/N schooled her features into that false look of indignance and serious arrogance she had practiced all her life.

"Very well, Mr. Brekker. It's getting late after all" she stated. Inej's comforting hand fell upon her shoulder, she smiled even when tears threatened to fall and glanced at the bleary world outside.

_____________

Fine, if Mr. Brekker isn't willing to speak anymore, I'll take matters into my own hands. Three days and no sign of Kaz. It's okay Y/N reassured herself, she could navigate the streets of the Barrel just fine.

After they had talked with Wagner and discovered Dupont's unseemly affairs that caused the death of four sailors who were also Kaz's informants, Y/N had traveled to The Exchange and after probing for answers (more like blackmailing dealers with Zia Francesca's never-ending gossip) she had gotten the address to a small house where most of the chemicals in the list had been delivered.

Pulling out a gun she had stolen from her father's collection, Y/N knocked on the door. She had failed to use a gun once and it had cost her honest companionship, she wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

The door swung wide open; a sickening smell floated in the air. A scent that made Y/N's eyes water, the scent of something rotten.

Taglist:

@getawayfrommewerewolf, @rika90, @princessleah129, @lady1505

[ronsonlywhore]

❛ 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄. ❜ neville longbottom x reader

summary: it used to be somewhere only you two knew. now it wasn't yours, just neville's and his new everlasting love.

pairing: neville longbottom x fem!reader

warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST

a/n: loosely inspired by somewhere only we know by keane. originally this was just something i wrote to vent and wasn't going to post, but i'm still working on my next fic and decided to post this just to not keep you waiting another week :-) enjoy baes <3

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

it used to be your spot. just you and neville under that tree, feet wading in the water, breeze gently flowing through your hair. spending away the hours there, hiding away from the cruel reality that was living.

“somewhere only we know, (y/n),” neville had said.

you remembered everything about that place. the aged trees that somehow spoke this secret language, leaves moving in time with the wind. the ripple of the water as neville skipped rocks under the setting sun. the warmth of the earth beneath you, grounding you when nothing else could.

you made a lot of happy memories there: laying your head on neville’s lap and watching the clouds drift by, climbing the tree as high as you could go and watching the rising sun, burying your most prized possessions in the inviting dirt, a time capsule for your future self.

you forgot what you buried. you don’t think you’ll ever remember what it was.

time felt unreal in your little corner of the world. it passed by so slowly, you didn’t even know if it passed by at all. you were grateful for that. neville was too.

anytime you needed to get away, away from your responsibilities and what was expected of you, away from the world that was weighing a bit more heavily on your shoulders, anytime you just wanted to breathe and not have to worry about tomorrow...you went there, neville usually in tow. because neville was always there for you, through thick and thin, rain or shine.

that was your favorite part of that spot. neville.

he kissed you there, under the falling leaves of the autumnal tree. you had never thought of neville that way, but you started to that day. thought of the way you liked when he laughed, or how his face lit up when he talked about his plants. thought of the way his side would press against yours, his head on your shoulder, his soft breathing echoing in the stillness of the air.

a lot more kisses were shared at that spot; sometimes they were short and sweet, innocently exchanged in between lessons. other times they were long and passionate, all lips and teeth and tongue, leaving you breathless and always, always wanting more.

one day, neville had given you a ring. it was plain, just a silver band. a bit rusted and worn, but beautifully glinting against the sunlight nevertheless. you asked him what it was; neville said it was a promise. you asked him where he got it; he said it used to be his mother’s wedding ring.

that same day, you carved your initials into one of the trees there. neville did, too, etching a heart around both of your names, making your existence infinite and eternal.

making your devotion to each other timeless.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

that was a long time ago.

it wasn’t your spot anymore. it was still neville’s, but not with you. with someone else.

her name was hannah abbott. she was in hufflepuff, and in neville’s herbology class. you always wonder if that’s where he first met her. if that’s where he decided he loved her more than he could ever love you.

sometimes you would walk by your...their spot and see them together, hannah laughing at something neville said, neville holding hannah tightly to him.

you didn’t mean to spy on them. you wouldn’t even call it spying, not really. it was more like walking by and just happening to see them there, happily talking about their days or kissing under the falling leaves of the autumnal trees. if you got close enough, you could hear neville’s breathing echoing in the still air, his voice saying, “somewhere only we know, hannah.”

you wondered if hannah believed him. if she didn’t know that it used to be your spot, too.

you had charms with hannah. one day, you heard her talking with her friends, gushing on and on about how much neville cared for her, how he made her feel treasured. he made me feel like that, too, you wanted to scream at her. you had to bite your tongue so hard that you could swear you tasted blood after.

in the common room, you heard neville talk about her too. how he was looking for his mother’s old ring to give to her. neville forgot you still had it, you suppose. truthfully, you weren’t even sure where it was. you had lost it.

one weekend, when you knew for sure both neville and hannah were at hogsmeade, you made your way back to their...your spot. it was completely unchanged, the trees still speaking their secret language, their leaves moving in time with the wind. the warmth of the earth beneath your feet, still grounding you after all this time.

you saw the tree where you had carved your initials with neville. it was surrounded by fallen branches, and it was bare, completely empty of leaves. your initials had faded, and when you reached out a hand to brush against the etched-in heart, the bark broke and fell.

realization dawned you: the tree was dying. you let out a harsh chuckle, devoid of any emotion. isn’t it ironic? you thought. real funny.

you turned away from the tree, walking a bit farther into the empty field. there was another tree, noticeably bigger and healthier than the rest. something urged you to walk towards it, and there, carved into the trunk, were his initials...and hers.

N.L. + H.A.: a sign of their eternal and infinite existence. a sign of their timeless devotion to each other.

you stared at their names together for a while longer, then remembered what you were there for: to retrieve your most prized possession from the inviting dirt. you were anxious to see what it was, having buried it so long ago that you didn’t quite remember what waited for you.

you looked around, trying to recall where exactly you had marked your little time capsule. you finally came across it under the same tree you and neville used to climb to watch the rising sun. you wonder if he climbs it with hannah now.

you used your bare hands to dig up the dirt, and froze when you saw what it was. what you had “lost” so long ago.

his mother’s wedding ring, there in the dirt. your most prized possession, according to your past-self. it looked more worn and aged than ever; you picked it up carefully, not knowing what made you slip it onto your ring finger.

you didn’t cry, although you expected to. you didn’t even feel numb, or empty. you just felt...satisfied, complete.

you didn’t keep the ring. when neville and hannah came back with the rest of the school from hogsmeade, you simply walked up to them and handed neville the band.

“for hannah, your new everlasting love,” you had said.

the day after, you saw hannah wearing the ring. it looked at place in her hand, like it had always been hers. it had became her new prized possession…

just as it had been yours.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

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[cupcakemolotov]

At Horizon’s Edge

I promised @lalainajanes​ a space fic sometime before Covid, so that could have been two years ago or three, who can remember anymore, but here it is. I hope you enjoy it!

You can read the story at A03 here if you prefer!

Synopsis: Sometimes when a girl goes on a shopping trip to pick up a new pair of boots at the local, and somewhat hostile, human space station, she accidentally aids and abets a prison break instead. What happens in the black really doesn't stay in the black.

Warnings: Alternate Universe; Alternate Universe - Space; Alternate Universe - Fantasy; Alternate Universe - Soulmates; Alien Cultural Differences; Alien Technology;  Werewolves; Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known; Werewolves in Space; Werewolf!Klaus; Alien!Caroline; Mostly Alien at Least; prison break; Accidental Rescue; Some Gore; Non-OTP Charachter Death; Found Family

                                                              -

Caroline slid into her pilot’s chair just as the comm on her dash beeped for an incoming transmission. Glancing over at the seat where her co-pilot sat, Enzo gave her a grim look. He didn’t agree to her plan, and she didn’t blame him. She wasn’t usually given to bouts of insanity but every day in space was a new one, and sometimes life tossed surprises at you with the impact of live grenades.  

“Five minutes until gate clearance.” He paused and then sighed, rolling his shoulders with a reluctant acceptance. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

So did she. 

Five minutes was an eternity when facing the guns of the space station they had just left. Named after a moon in the humanities home solar system, Titan was one of the few remaining stations that still traded directly with Earth. They were also very proud that they maintained the largest population of pure blooded humans outside of Earth Solar System, even by Earth’s exacting standards of what was considered human these days. 

If she’d cared to check, the history logs on her computer would tell her all about the wars that had nearly decimated Earth and its colonized planets, of the laws that banned anyone who carried alien DNA in their veins. The justifications of a world terrified by how humanity could change in the cold void of space and their desperate, grasping fingers trying to avoid change. 

Caroline had long since stopped caring about earth’s collective opinions, and the stars cared not all about the blood in your veins. Not all of humanity bent to fear, the far flung colonies that still lingered though they’d been abandoned by their home world. They’d learned to adapt, to change. There were wonders and nightmares in space that Earth could never imagine, but right then, none of that was particularly helpful. 

What she cared about was getting out of Titan’s airspace as quickly as possible without getting blown to bits. The conversation she needed to have to do that would require her to be very, very careful. Blowing out a breath, Caroline hit accept. 

Half a heart beat later, and the familiar eyes of Marshal Tyler Lockwood popped up on her screen. He looked worn, older than the last time she had seen him. The thick black of his hair had faded to more gray than the salt and pepper she remembered from their last conversation, and the creases in his forehead, and at the corner of his eyes, were a sign of his human heritage more than any of the military patches on his uniform. 

Old. He had started to look so old. 

“Marshall Lockwood,” Caroline said, tucking away any hint of sorrow. “This is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He grimaced, his face telling her exactly what he thought of either of them enjoying this call. Her ex-lover did not enjoy being reminded of their past, which was why she made a point to do it every time he initiated one of these little catch ups. A little pettiness always did wonders for her mood. 

“Forbes. You’re leaving early.” He looked down, the line between his brows deepening as he clearly checked something on his tablet. “We had expected your stay at the station to last for another 48 standard hours.”

Brows arched, Caroline tipped her head to the side and studied him. “I wasn’t aware that you were watching my flight plans so closely.”

A hint of derision entered his eyes. “You are dangerous, Forbes. I keep an eye on dangerous things.”

She was dangerous. But not in ways that Tyler could plan against, and they both knew to target her specifically because of her heritage went against a dozen interstellar laws. His team could enforce station laws while she was standing on it, but here, on her ship, minutes from making a FTL jump, what she did should have been of no concern to them. This wasn’t space owned strictly by humanity, where it could control its population down to its DNA. 

Tyler was walking a fine line. 

Smiling, she settled a bit more comfortably in her chair. “Awe, that’s so sweet of you. Being so concerned about your people. I think you’d be more relieved to see the back of my ship than making demands to justify why I would leave when we both know you're not entitled to that information.”

His mouth tightened at her jab. “Generally that would be the case but you’re predictable. This breaks your usual pattern, and that gives me cause for suspicion.”

She shook her head in false exasperation, deliberately misunderstanding him. “My personal life is none of your business, remember? You made that choice decades ago, no reason to get sentimental now in your final few years.” 

Her words were below the belt, but Caroline had never really been able to help herself where he was concerned. Walking away from her, walking away from the future they had been building together had hurt. Decades had softened the sting, but some scars still bled. 

“I wasn’t asking for personal reasons.” His words were clipped, the edges sharp and cutting. 

She laughed. “Such lies you tell. But there isn’t anything dramatic about my departure, Tyler. Your collection of goods suck right now. Did someone piss off High Command again? Would it honestly kill you to announce it when you have trade-shortfalls? Manifests exist for a reason, you know, and it’s such a waste that your ‘council’ won’t let anyone bring in additional goods. Seriously, I could have avoided this whole trip and it would have saved me some time and docking fees.”

Absently, she wondered if his jaw got stuck like that these days, clenched down on a brutal line that left the muscle jumping tautly. “You expect me to believe you couldn’t find the correct dress size so you decided to ignore two days of your itinerary? I know you better than that.”

Caroline scoffed. “Actually, you don’t know me, Tyler. It’s been fifty years since we last had a conversation that didn’t involve us insulting each other. Your personal opinions about my love of a well organized schedule are outdated.” The lie slipped easily from her tongue, and next to her Enzo rolled his eyes. She flipped him off, just outside of view of the camera. “My irritation at the lack of proper boot sizes available aside, you’re not usually this pushy. You want to tell me what’s really going on? And why you need a scapegoat?”

Tyler’s jaw turned to stone for a long moment, and she forced herself to appear bored. Every moment he delayed was another that they crept closer to their escape. He finally unlocked it enough to speak, words harsh. “We had a prison break.”

She didn’t have to fake her surprise, brows arching high at both his reluctant admittance and what it meant. Very, very few people knew that Titan had an advanced and secure prison system. Dear Old Earth had always enjoyed making its problems vanish, and Titan was one such place they used to keep their hands clean. Those shipments from Earth of goods and perishables that made Titan so popular as a trade station came with a dirty secret: in the belly of those ships were people. Political prisoners, murders, terrorists, inconvenient witnesses who needed to disappear. Titan housed them all. Some would be kept in the cold bowls of the station and others shipped off to one of the max-prisons deep in the black of space. 

None of them ever escaped. 

That Titan was a prison was a dirty little secret and not one that could be allowed to get out. But such secrets, buried in metal and technology, were very hard to hide from her. Tyler knew it, though he was bound to keep some of her secrets. As she was bound to keep the worst of his.

“You don’t lose people.” Caroline said slowly. “What happened?”

“He had help.”

Brows coming together at the word ‘he’, she frowned. “And now you want me to find him.”

Tyler’s face could have been carved from stone. “No, Caroline. I want to know if he is aboard your ship.”

Next to her, Enzo lifted three fingers in her peripheral vision. They’d only been talking for two minutes and it’d felt like twenty. 

“Tyler, that’s far fetched even for you. I don’t let random people on my ship. You know that.” She didn’t have to fake the bitterness in the curve of her lips. “If I remember correctly, it was a major point of contention in our relationship.”

He ignored her, only the flex of his jawline a sign that her words had hit home. “I want to board your ship.”

“Absolutely not,” Caroline said flatly. “You have no grounds.”

“I have more than enough circumstantial evidence.” He spread his hand in her view, eyes like flint, shoulders square. “We scanned your ship, and while there are only three bodies registering onboard, we both know you have the capability to hide someone.”

She arched a brow. “That’s a violation of at least three treaties, Tyler.”

Marshall Lockwood didn't seem bothered by that. “I also know that there are at least two smuggling compartments on your ship that are capable of housing a human for short periods of time without them suffering from asphyxiation.”

There were now four compartments, and all of them could hide people for up to four hours without risking asphyxiation but were rarely used for such purposes. Smuggling people was difficult, goods were safer. Goods didn’t talk about ships and captains and give people ideas. But there were some things she couldn’t stomach, and sometimes a girl needed to be prepared. 

But Tyler didn’t know that. 

It’d been fifty years since she’d let him step foot on her ship. And unfortunately for him, she was hardly the only crew member with secrets. Smuggling had brought such interesting bedfellows into her life, and she’d violate more than three treaties to keep them safe. But her ex didn’t need to know that, and none of it would save her, if he opened fire at her. The point blank range of those canons would destroy her and everyone who would be caught in the crossfire. 

Right then, Tyler was a problem and she could show no weakness. 

“Circumstantial evidence of what exactly? “ she tilted her head and let scorn drip along her words. “That your super secret prison had an escapee and I am conveniently close to blame? That is ridiculous and we both know it.”

“You’re a Tech Witch.” 

Next to her, Enzo tensed at the derogatory term and Caroline let her smile sharpen. Her mother’s blood wasn’t an unknown quality of hers, but saying so here, on this channel with who knows how many witnesses, put him perilously close to breaking the agreements that bound them both. 

“Marshall, my ship cleared your security systems ten minutes ago. We accepted the standard cargo check before we left the docking bay, and I am told they were very thorough. Other than requiring a scapegoat in the form of my non-human DNA for whatever inside job you're attempting to cover up, you have nothing.” She nodded when he remained silent. “You have nothing.”

Something beeped, and he glanced down. When he glanced up, nothing had shifted on his face. “I could request you return to the docking bay or face the canons, Forbes.”

Caroline shook her head. It was a threat, but here, for now, she had the upper hand. This kind of PR move for humanity would be costly, but Tyler didn’t worry about those decisions. But him, personally, and the blackmail she had?

“We both know why you won’t.”

The skin near his eyes visibly tightened and she let her smile dimple. They both knew her death would act as a trigger for a number of unpleasant consequences for Tyler. What bound them was contractual, but she had never trusted him to do more than keep the letter of the law, and today had proved she’d been correct in her assessment. If he could have violated the spirit of their contract, he would have. Lucky for her, he couldn’t. Tyler’s secrets could destroy everything he had worked to build in his life, and even now, less than a decade or two from his death, he wouldn’t risk her ruining him. 

Her previous lover had always been a coward when it counted. Earth had its enemies, and so did Titan, and she knew almost all of them. Today might cost her, but it could cost him far more. 

Letting her knowledge show on her face, she showed her teeth. “Do you even want to tell me who it is that you lost that has you so desperate?” 

There was a long, long silence as he stared at her and she just waited. Time was on her side now, the clock burning down. In the back of her head, she counted down. 

Sixty seconds. Fifty-five. So close. 

The gleam behind Tyler’s eyes turned calculating, and he dropped the name as if it was supposed to mean something, as if it was supposed to bring the weight of her guilt crashing down on her shoulders. “Klaus Mikaelson.”

Caroline just stared at him in surprise; she hadn’t expected him to tell her. The ghosts between her and Tyler faded a little more every year. Humanity might have extended their lifespans as far as they could be stretched, but they would never match those whose DNA held the remnants of long lived, non-human races. Soon Tyler would be one of the few living memories left from the single year of her life she had spent planetside. 

Klaus Mikaelson was another. 

Gathering her thoughts, Caroline shook her head, forcing herself to focus. “If he is alive, he should be nearing a century on a planet with less medical knowledge than your Station. He should be either senile or dead.” She pushed back a loose strand of hair that slid into her face, the pale gold as much as her mother’s blood as her fathers. “Out of all of us, I’m the only one cursed, remember?”

Next to her, Enzo made a grunting noise of disagreement, his disapproval clear. She waved a hand at him. Her hidden clenched fist relaxed as Enzo bared his teeth but started the sequence to activate the first of what was going to be several jumps. Right then, she didn’t care how much he hated Tyler. They’d be harder to trace once they arrived at the major traffic lanes, but first they had to make it. She didn’t dare take her eyes away from her screen. 

Tyler sighed, the sound deep and an echo that caught in her chest. His dark eyes creased, and for the first time the Tyler she’d once known peaked at her from behind the Marshall. “You’ve never been gifted at lying, Caroline.”

She laughed at him, the sound bitter. “No, Tyler. You’ve just never believed me when I spoke truly. I was never your enemy.”

His face told her that he didn't believe her. He never had. “I won’t forget this, Caroline. When we prove that you helped, and we will prove it, not even your precious interstellar laws will be able to protect you.”

The call ended just as their clearance to enter the gate came through. Caroline cut the open line, and immediately started backtracking through her systems to make sure that Tyler hadn’t tried to leave her a present. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Earth, and it’s subjects, tended to see laws as flexible when it suited them. 

The initial scrub didn’t take long, she’d never skimped on security and her ship did not endure itself to strangers programs, and the surface diagnosis came back clean. Jaw set, she triggered the deeper scrub that would erase the identifiers that they had used to dock at Titan. 

She’d known she’d have to burn the remaining dregs of that life soon, but hadn’t expected it today. Better to make a clean cut, erase her existence here in Pure Human Space now than end up in the darkness of its prison, driven mad by the hum of machines she could hear but not touch. 

“Ten seconds until FTL.”

Switching to her main screen, Caroline pulled up the screens to monitor their progress. Closing her eyes as the universe started to blur with the faster than light speed jump, she inhaled slowly and didn’t breathe again until the sound of space tearing around them drowned out the anxious rush of her heartbeat. 

-

It took twenty minutes after they passed through the gate to clear enough space to make the first jump. They didn’t quite dare engage their cloaking device until they left the jump points. It took another precious half hour before they finally winked out of existence as far as radars were concerned. But the muscles along her spine didn't relax until Enzo finally gave her a nod.

“We’re clear. No one followed us, which means they didn’t have enough time to scramble a ship. We’ve got a sixty minute window before this airspace becomes too hot for us.”

Caroline laughed. “Good thing we won’t be here that long. Go ahead and start planning our next jump.”

Enzo tipped his head. “Are we sticking to our plan then?”

“For now. I don’t want to risk picking up a tail, and they won’t be able to follow us from here. As long as we stay out of Federation space, we should be okay for the short term.”

For now. If they were going to stay that way was entirely dependent on what exactly she had gotten them into. Grimacing a little, she hit the comm button. “Bonnie? Everything alright down there?”

There was a pause and then the droll voice of her closest friend came back over the mic. “So far everything is holding up. I did a fast scan once we cleared the gate, and I didn’t find any extra tech that might have been dropped in the ship.”

“Thanks, but we’re clean.” She pressed her hand against the panel, listening to the hum of engines and the computers that were as familiar to her as the back of her hands. The curious hum of its voice. “I’ll be down shortly to deal with our pickup.”

“Better you than me.”

Enzo leaned back, watching her with dark eyes as he waited for her to finish her conversation. “You sure this is what you want?”

Caroline snorted and unbuckled herself. “I think it's a little late for second guessing, don’t you?”

A shrug. “We could space him.”

She laughed, this one far more genuine. “If he threatens you or Bonnie, I promise, he’ll find himself ejected. But until then…”

Enzo crossed his arms, gaze dark. “You think he might know something about your mom.”

Eyes sliding shut, Caroline sighed. She wished she could have given him that as the reason, but it hadn’t been. Not then. Now… “I don’t know if anyone knows what happened to my mom.”

“Be careful, Gorgeous.” Enzo’s mouth tightened at the corners. “The past can make you bleed.”

She knew that far better than anyone should, but arguing with Enzo about unnecessary reminders wouldn’t get her anywhere. “Yeah.”

Tipping back into his chair, Enzo studied her. “I’ve still got a friend or two on that station. I could arrange it so Lockwood stops being such a problem.”

She shot him a look and he shrugged unrepentant. “He has no teeth.”

“Gorgeous, we both know that’s hardly the truth. He’s going to do his damndest to make your life difficult. Even if he sticks to your bargain until he dies, you’ve got nothing to protect you after his death.”

Caroline shook her head. “Legacy means everything to Tyler. I don’t think he’ll so easily let me ruin it.”

Enzo snorted but turned back to his computer. “I’ll make the next jump.”

Understanding it for the grumpy acceptance but not an approval that it was, Caroline lifted hand to acknowledge she heard him, and left the bridge. The door closed behind her, leaving her in the quiet corridors, only the sounds of her boots loud over the hum of the ship as she walked. 

She wished she could explain her impulsive reaction to Enzo, wished she could find the words that gave her actions any kind of logic. Particularly since she couldn’t explain to herself. 

Walking around the corner, she found Bonnie waiting on her. There was grease smeared on one cheek and her mouth was pulled into a frown. Sighing, Caroline rubbed her forehead. “Are you going to yell too?”

Bonnie seemed to consider that, the data pad she held tapping against her thigh before she sighed. “I’d like to. But would it do any good?”

“Probably not.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She held out the data pad with a sigh. “I still have a bottle of that shit you call liquor in my room. When this is over, you’re going to owe me an explanation.”

Caroline’s fingers curled around the peace offering. “It’s a pretty long story.”

“You noticed I said an entire bottle?”

There wasn’t much she could say to that. “Deal.”

Bonnie nodded and tipped her head towards their small medbay. “Good luck.”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded and pressed her palm to the door, unlocking it so she could step inside. He was waiting for her, the familiarity of him the same punch to her system as it had been before. He’d lost the horrible prison uniform, Bonnie must have felt far more charitable than she’d wanted Caroline to know. But then, her friend had spent her own time in the prison uniforms herself and still avoided the color orange. 

But that meant he was now shirtless, his bandaged ribs on display, his expression guarded. 

Caroline gave herself a moment to absorb that change in perspective, to take him in. The tumble of curls still touched the tops of his ears, but he’d cleaned up his beard so that only a short stubble remained, leaving behind a man’s face, thin from his time beneath Titan but hardly weak. His eyes were gold touched blue, and awareness brushed down her spine. The decades since she had last seen him were stacked behind his eyes, visible in the way he had grown into his skin.

But the impact of him, the jolting rush of recognition from earlier still lingered beneath her skin. The sudden awareness of who he was and the bone deep hello she couldn’t explain. Which made no sense, had made no sense when she was hauling his ass through Titan. If the boy who had once been kind to her was buried beneath lean muscle and a hardness she recognized from her own mirror, she didn’t see him. This man, with his steady gaze and roughened features was a stranger.

She didn’t know what to think of the way he watched her. He brought so many complications with him. Tipping her head, she arched a brow with more casualness than she felt. 

“Werewolf, huh?” Caroline kept her voice even, and the edge of his mouth curled. “I’d have remembered that if you’d mentioned that little detail before.”

He took his time responding, gaze dragging down her body in a thorough perusal that left her skin tingling as if he’d touched her. “Caroline Forbes. I must say, you were not who I was expecting.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, me either. I wasn’t there to rescue you.”

His gaze narrowed. “Then why were you there?”

Caroline kept her voice bland, shifting her weight to tap one boot against the floor. “New boots.”

And Klaus Mikaelson blinked at her as if the words that were coming out of her mouth were in a dialect he had never heard before. She felt a perverse amount of satisfaction from that. The Klaus she had known had been a few years older and nearly unflappable, outside of the mercurial moodiness of his temperament.

“New boots.”

“Yup. And lucky for you that I decided I needed them. There are reasons that Titan has never lost a prisoner before.” She tossed the data pad in front of him. “I don’t know who or what you were expecting when you made it onto the surface level, but if I hadn’t found you and decided to help, you’d have been collared and sent right back into the depths of the station.”

Caroline wasn’t certain she’d ever shake the shock of it: turning the corner, and finding Klaus standing there. Klaus, who she had thought of only in the safety in the dark of space, when she allowed herself to remember that tumultuous year she’d spent with her feet on solid earth. She had hoped for him to have married, to have had a batch of sarcastic moody children, to have grown old having survived the machinations of his mother. 

Another quiet piece of her past disappearing before she’d gained even so much as a hint of a wrinkle. 

But he hadn’t, and now she didn’t know what to think. 

When she’d seen him, his beard had been too long, the shackles from his cell had still been curved around the bones of his wrists. He’d been slightly hunched, the blood on his uniform not just from whoever had gotten between him and his escape, and the way he stood said something had hurt but he was on his feet. 

Somehow, she hadn’t gotten any of that blood on her. Right then, she was regretting that a little. A single touch of his skin against her own, and she’d have managed to avoid some of this conversation as she’d been given the answers. For the first time, she cursed the prison uniform for more than its obnoxious color and terrible material.

And now here she was , struggling to understand the certainty she hadn't felt in decades when she’d seen him. Her mother’s blood never forgot an enemy, but it also never forgot a friend, and once, a very, very long time ago, she’d thought of him as such. The punch of that knowledge had been staggering as they’d stared at each other, too much between them, and she’d heard the alarms blaring from beneath the soles of her feet. 

She hadn’t been able to turn, to leave him like she should have. Swearing at him, at herself, she’d moved forward and slid her arm beneath his and gritted out an order to stay quiet and to follow her. 

And he had. Now here they were. On her ship, trying to outrun the long reach of Titan. His gaze finally left her face and lowered to the datapad before returning to hers in a silent question.

“Bonnie is med-trained,” Caroline lied easily. “She did a data scan before I came in when she was tapping up your ribs. I know earth uses the prisoners below Titan for experimentation, but did you ever hear them mention what they were putting into your blood?”

“Bonnie,” Klaus said softly. “Is a witch.”

She didn’t lower her eyes. Esther had been a witch. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

Not even a flicker of a lash. “No.”

“Because if it is,” Caroline said, “I will toss you into the airlock myself. Werewolves can last for a few minutes in the black, you know. Not long enough to live, but long enough to fight for it.”

The yellow in his gaze spread in a wash of power. “Threats already?”

“Duh,” she replied. “This is my ship, my crew. I might have saved you, but you try to harm them, and you’re going to see what it’s like trying to breathe in a vacuum.”

Klaus laughed, low and rich, and it ran across her senses like a touch. “Your threats have gotten better, love. I approve.”

Caroline snorted. “I’m touched. Really.”

He didn’t move towards her, but the sudden intensity to the way he watched her, the wolf clear in his gaze, left her very aware of the careful distance and one table between them. “I think you’ll find that even here, on this ship you’ve claimed and marked as your own, that I am not so easy to destroy.”

She didn’t doubt he believed that, that he was capable of horrible things, even injured, but she refused to give him an inch. Not here, not now. Not yet. Not when her ship would tear itself apart to protect its heart. “So says the werewolf that had to be rescued from humans.”

Klaus’ gaze narrowed, a flicker of deep seated rage there and gone again. “The result of an unfortunate betrayal, one I plan to deal with as soon as I am off this ship.”

There was something dangerous there, something terrible that kept her from asking the questions that lingered on her tongue. “Are you going to be a danger to my crew, Klaus?”

His head angled to the side, and there was nothing soft about his expression. “Will you believe my answer?”

“You’ve never lied to me before,” Caroline said slowly, feeling her way through the strange sense of knowing she hadn’t been able to shake. The buzzing of her mother’s blood. She wanted to believe him. “I don’t have a reason to think you’d start now, though you were apparently keeping some pretty big secrets.”

Klaus went motionless in front of her, the flex of his jaw unexpected as he stared at her. The wolf slowly faded from his eyes as he clearly weighed her words. “I intend no harm to your people, Caroline. Witches or no. But I cannot say the same for my enemies.”

She shoved her fingers through her bangs. “And just who are they?”

“Why did you rescue me, Caroline?”

She blinked. “Does that matter?”

A hint of a dimple curved along his cheek, and Klaus crossed his arms, leaning against the table. She tried very hard to ignore the shift and flex of muscle, the bare skin still on display. The fascinating movement of his tattoo. “Very much, I’m afraid.”

She mirrored his stance, arms crossing across her chest. “And why is that, exactly?”

“Caroline.”

“Klaus.”

“I’ve answered a number of your questions,” he pointed out in a reasonable tone that made her teeth clench. “It's only fair that you do the same, don’t you think?”

“I wasn’t the one rescued.”

His teeth gleamed in the lighting. “A man has reasons to be concerned when a near stranger offers him his freedom. Particularly in such… serendipitous circumstances, don’t you think? The black is full of terrible things. Slavers. Blood Witches. Those influential human scientists who wish to unlock the immortality of magic without the cost. We knew each other a long time ago, love.”

Her eye roll was automatic. “Oh yes, I’ve risked my reputation and my neck to drag you off to a backwater moon so you can become someone’s wolf bitch. How did you guess?”

The hint of amusement that had tugged at his lips disappeared, and something hard entered his eyes. “The truth, if you please.”

It was a velvet threat said in a voice lined in steel. She hadn’t liked that tone from him when she’d been seventeen, and she liked it even less now, knowing of the wolf that lived under his skin. She forcibly reminded herself that she’d have questions if he’s just up and rescued her too. Locking him in the med bag until he was reminded of his manners wasn’t a smart decision. Yet, at least. 

She lifted her chin and held that inhuman gaze, unblinking. “You were something of a friend, once. I hadn’t forgotten that and I have no love for cages. Though I suppose I should worry why humanity decided to bury you in their favorite graveyard. There are some things even I won’t look past. Are we going to be enemies, Klaus?”

Truth and lies, they tangled together and she wondered if he saw them. None of that had been in her mind when she’d seen him, none of that had mattered. Her reaction had been inexplicable and confusing, and it wasn’t something she was willing to discuss. Not now, preferably never. 

“You don’t want me as your enemy, love.”

Caroline scoffed. “I’m not sure I want you as my friend. The last werewolf I made an acquaintance of was a real dick, and this conversation isn’t shaping up to prove you’re much different.”

“And would that werewolf happen to be the esteemed Marshall Lockwood?” His words were casual, as if that information actually existed outside her head. As if he knew. But Klaus had known Tyler once, and that made her wonder. 

“Marshall Lockwood is not up for discussion .”

Klaus brow arched with intrigue. “So the rumors are true.”

“That would depend on the rumors.” It was a strain, to hold that slightly bored expression. To keep her pulse steady. 

“Lockwood should have been promoted past Marshall decades ago.” Klaus dragged his gaze down her face, and for a heartbeat she imagined those eyes lingered on her lips. “The why’s have always generated a great deal of speculation. He passes as human, you see. He is also loyal even when that loyalty is detrimental. The rumors of blackmail, of alien involvement have been rampant for years.”

She’d made a point not to follow those rumors, and it was a struggle not to wince. No wonder Tyler hated her. But she remembered the way he’d spat Tech Witch, the way he’d made it clear to anyone around him, and that wince turned to anger. He’d made his choices. 

“You’re pretty knowledgeable for a man who was locked away in the depths of Titan.” Caroline said slowly. “Why exactly did they toss you into their comfy retirement home? Werewolves take resources to hold.”

His smile was slow and sharp. “Humanity considers me a threat.”

“That hardly makes you special.” She waved a hand towards the walls of her ship. “Earth considers everyone not fully human a threat. It’s a long, extensive list.”

“True. Let’s say then, that I have made an effort to be noticed.” His eyes glittered. “They are well aware of who I am.”

“How wonderful for you. How?”

Klaus studied her for a long moment. “When you said you couldn’t return, you meant it, didn’t you?”

Her breath caught in her throat at those softly voiced words, the memories they dragged violently to the surface. The way she could almost smell the smoke, feel the splash of her mother’s blood against her face. 

“I never lied to you.” Caroline said. “Even then.”

Especially then. 

Not when she had a choice.

He gave a nod, the wolf back in his eyes, as if he had come to some internal decision. “Esther didn’t survive you leaving the planet.”

She blinked, frowned. “Esther was amassing a cult following, how did anyone get through that? And how does this answer my question?”

A sharp slash of a smile. “I killed her.”

Caroline stared at him. Esther had been his mother. “I don’t understand.”

He lowered his arms, shifting his weight carefully. “My mother… Esther was a monster. And so was Mikael.”

“They did try to sacrifice my mom, so no arguments there.” She let the bite of her nails into her palm ground her. “But they were also powerful, which is why we ran.”

And why she’d been willing to barter with Tyler’s mother to get him off that world, the one family with limited permission to leave the planet without the terrible protocols. Not that it’s done her any good, in the long run. Tyler had chosen to bury what he was and to become something he wasn’t. And she...

She’d woken to the cold berth of her ship alone, the only clue the blood that had stained the walls, the floors, of what had been her mother’s room. That ship had been destroyed in the heart of a sun, the blood too potent and the horror of it too binding. The ship sang too mournful song, a song of rage and sadness even as she watched it disappear in an explosion that erased it down to the last molecule.

“Yes,” Klaus agreed. “But by rescuing Liz, you allowed the rest of us to find our freedom.” A lowering of his lashes, charm in every word. “I suppose that means you’ve saved me twice.”

For a long moment their gaze held, and the room felt several degrees too warm. It had been Klaus’ hands who had caught her when she had staggered at the weight of her mother. Klaus who had told her to go, as the screams around them had grown in fever pitch as the fires Kol had set to burn began to consume houses. 

Clearing her throat, Caroline shook her head. “If you killed Ester that debt is even. But what does any of this have to do with you escaping that planet and pissing off enough people you got tossed into Titan? Stop avoiding my questions.”

Another flash of teeth, a deliberate god behind his eyes. “And where have you been all these years, Caroline?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Hand sliding to her hip, Caroline glared. “What do you mean? Space is a big place.”

“You’re not an easy woman to find,” Klaus said casually. “Even when one knows what to look for.”

Unexpectedly, her heart jolted into her throat. “You shouldn’t have been looking for me at all.”

The dip of the crease of his cheeks, the curve of his smile were all predatory. “No?”

“My mother paid her debts,” Caroline said bitterly, chin lifting. “I owe you nothing.”

“No,” he repeated, voice softening. “You do not. I believe if anything, if what you say is true, I owe you.”

Her gaze narrowed, but his eyes didn’t waver from hers. Motioning towards the pad on the table in front of him, she firmed her words. She was done discussing her mom. “I bet Titan’s food sucked. I’ll find you an energy bar while you read that report.”

She turned her back to him, and it itched along her spine. But even a werewolf couldn’t get a clean jump on her in her own ship and to flinch now would be to lose ground. Digging through the supplies they kept for emergencies, she found a shirt that would probably fit with something like regret. Another drawer for one of Bonnie’s stashed meal replacements, and she walked over and set them both in front of him. 

For a moment, she imagined she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, even with the table between them. She shook the thought off, ignoring the way she could almost pick out the scent of his skin beneath the sterility of the prison smell. Klaus, for his part, had done as she said and was looking at the data pad, the full line of his mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“You’re sure this is accurate?”

“Bonnie doesn’t make mistakes,” Caroline said. “Not about this. And neither do I.”

“Why show this to me?”

She tipped her head and studied him. Considered the words she wanted to say. “Titan is full of the echoes of old ghosts. The kind humans cannot see, even in the black. The kind that skitter along nerves, that flicker with the hum of an engine, that race across a tablet screen in the shape of quick anomalies and distortions. What that station swallows, it keeps.”

There was no judgement in Klaus’ eyes at her reminder of her alien blood, the gifts that left her far more integrated into technology that should be possible. Tech Witch. If only it was so simple. 

“So you’ve said.”

“So I did.”

Those brilliant eyes narrowed. “Tell me, love. Your people avoid human space. Yet, here you are. Why?”

Her lips twisted. What few of them were left. “We avoid humanity for good reason. We… the best way to put it is we leave behind our own echoes, and too many… well, this ship would swallow its enemies too. Titan would never allow that sort of integration, but they fear it. What it could become.”

“Titan has no consciousness, no knowing.” Klaus said, as if he’d been prepared for what she would admit. “It’s halls are lined with human nightmares, not the kind your people give shape to.”

“Humanity has never been so simple.” Caroline returned. “The remnants of my people… they litter empty colonies like broken alters. What humanity tries to do with those bits and pieces could never be allowed on earth, could never be allowed to be seen as anything but human invention.”

“Nanotechnology is not new.” He pointed out, referencing the report she’d given him to read, the details Bonnie had included for him. So he could understand. “Humanity has been experimenting with improving vaccinations and healing for more generations than have passed since your people’s first contact. Even in the black, the science of it has trickled out into space. Improved healing, improved health, longer life spans as organs stop failing quite so quickly.”

“What we suspect that they have injected you with is not so simple.” She gave him a brief smile, barely more than the bitter curve of her lips. “Over the last twenty years, we’ve discovered that the scientists on Titan have been less than satisfied with the dozens of prisoners that earth sends them each year as experiments. They’ve turned their eyes towards slavers, towards their own people when it suits them. I can’t imagine how delighted they’d have been, to have found themselves in the position of having a werewolf in their grip. Whatever they injected you with, it’s going to be dangerous.”

Klaus ran his finger thoughtfully down the screen of the pad. “Experiments with what technology survived the fall of your people seems like a bit of an extreme jump in logic. Earth would never sanction such things as the fallout should it be proven would be terrible.”

She’d once thought the same. That had changed. Caroline held out her palm, nudged her chin towards the pad. “There is an easy way to tell. If Bonnie was right. If we’re wrong.”

A simple touch, and she would know just what part her people’s cast off ruins were being used in the torture of those Titan claimed as its own. To see what they had shoved in his veins, this man-made monster who might now carry worse sins in his blood than he knew.

In front of her, the line of his throat went taut, the cords of his throat in sudden, sharp relief. What blue had returned to his eyes disappeared under a wash of gold so potent, she felt it sizzle across her nerves. 

“Ah,” he murmured, voice dipping low and deep. “That might be more complicated than you know.”

She frowned. “Why? If they managed to inject you with their bastardized nanonites, touching you will let me confirm. Removing them is the complicated part.”

And would require help. Not something she thought the wolf would enjoy. Not when he was injured. 

“Tell me, Caroline, do you know why Earth, why the Federation, put such a strict quarantine on my home world?”

The sudden switch of topics sent warning fingers dragging down her spine. “You mean other than it being infested with witches and apparently the occasional werewolf, the two things they like to pretend don’t exist?” She wrinkled her nose. “I always assumed it was one hell of a prison planet.”

There were a few of those, scattered around the galaxies. Klaus’ homeworld had been unique in that it was beautiful, and it inhabited more than just a prison carved into an otherwise uninhabitable chunk of rock. But it was also full of horrors, and not all of them had been man made. 

He laughed softly, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “You’re not entirely wrong. But what they wished to trap there is more complicated than blood and magic.”

“Very few things are more complicated than either of those,” Caroline said carefully. “And all of them are alien in nature.”

The flicker of approval on his face shouldn’t have mattered. “Earth has mostly forsaken its children spread among the stars, but not all survivors consider themselves lost. My mother certainly didn’t.”

“Your mother was a fanatic.”

A tip of his head in casual agreement. “My grandmother called it an artifact, my mother thought it was a map. My father knew it for the danger it was, and it cost him his life.” He gave a careful shrug of his shoulder. “The werewolf homeworlds have long since been thought to be lost, though most people believe their Armadas must disappear to somewhere. Esther sought to change that.”

“The werewolf homeworlds?” Caroline repeated incredulously. “No one even knows if they truly exist, or if they do, how they came to be.”

A thoughtful glance from beneath his lashes. “So you do know the stories.”

“Yes, because they are stories.” She crossed her arms with a scoff. “It’s everyone’s favorite boogeyman bedtime tale. Particularly once their ships started to have more frequent sightings.”

“Enlighten me.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Of what, rumor? Urban legend? Seriously, Klaus. What could you possibly have not heard? The stories that blame witches for your existence, the gift that the black pulled from your blood? The ones that blame earth's scientists who went deep into the heart of a solar system that no longer has a name. Or my personal favorite, the ones that blame my mother’s people, though how they came to those conclusions I don’t know. They left behind experimenting on flesh and blood eons before they were destroyed. There is no fact behind any hint of a rumor that currently exists.”

“The werewolf gene is an interesting one,” Klaus murmured. “It breeds true but not always in strength. Ansel thought it had to do with our longevity, that when born on planets where it was peaceful, we didn’t need that strength.”

“Ansel?”

“My father.”

“Your…” staring at him, she struggled to find a coherent thought. It hadn’t occurred to her that Mikael couldn’t have been Klaus’ father. But perhaps it should have. Esther had been a witch, as were her children. All except one. 

“What are you saying?”

“Esther’s ambition knew no bounds,” Klaus said. “She planned to use your mother’s blood to find the werewolf homeworld, to activate the map she suspected your people had left behind. And then she hoped to conquer it. But to conquer, she needed a weapon, one she could bind with the familial bond.” Another careful movement as he rolled his shoulder. “Ansel wanted to know if having a son under the horrors of our moon would grant strength back into his line. For a while, they’re politics aligned. It was short lived, as was with most things my mother touched.”

Caroline swallowed hard at the implications of his words. That he was that weapon. That her mom was a key to finishing worlds long lost. “That’s insane.”

“Perhaps. My mother was certainly many things, and sane was not one of them. But my father.” A slow tilt of his lips, the blunt edge of his teeth barely visible. “My father was not wrong. Though he was not entirely right, based on Tyler’s pathetic existence.”

“This,” Caroline said slowly, straightening her shoulders. “Is not your home world.”

The I am not your prey, hung between them. 

His smile widened. “Esther did not expect you or your strength to defend your mother.” His wolf glimmered in jagged shards behind his eyes. “That seems to be a weakness in my family, as twice now, you have surprised me, when I know better. I’m very aware of where I stand, love.”

Strength that had eventually failed her. That had left her with nothing but the smeared remains of her family. “Why tell me this? Why bring up any of this?”

“I looked for you,” Klaus said, voice dipping into a caress that was almost a touch. “All these long years that I’ve spent among the stars. Hunted for a mention of your ship, chased every glance of gold from the corner of my gaze. And yet, when I looked for you naught, when my only thought was survival, there you were.”

Caroline’s stomach flipped at his words and she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I didn’t want to be found.” 

“So I’ve gathered.” The dryness in his tone almost wrangled a smile from her. “But finding you has never been about just want, Caroline, but need.”

She bared her teeth. “So I am just an alien to you.”

Klaus moved, a slow deliberate shift of his body to remove the barrier of the table between them. Caroline had to sink her heels into the floor to hold her position, and while he didn’t touch her, he was close enough that when he dipped his head, his breath brushed along her chin. 

“If only it was that simple.” He tipped his head, the movement strangely wolffish. “If only. You know what I am.”

Her fingernails dug into her palm as she wondered when she’d started to lose control of this conversation. “Yup. Werewolf, asshole, planet born. Big deal.”

An exhaled noise of amusement. “Alpha.”

She blinked. Blinked again. “Alpha of what? A backwater planet that eats its people regularly as it’s own wonderful world of sacrifice? Sounds awesome. Big congrats.”

A dimple creased his cheek. “You wanted to know who my enemies are, love? They are many, and varied. Earth, certainly. A number of werewolf tribes. The families of those whose son’s I left broken in my path to ruling. My inheritance from my father came with a heavy price, but it did not come without its gifts. Thankfully, the Armada did eventually see my value.”

“Armada,” she rasped. Swallowing, she tried again. “The werewolf armada. You are seriously trying to tell me you escaped your homeworld, and… what. You challenged your way right to the top of leadership? In the werewolf armada. The ships that are nearly impossible to find, that are made up of mercenary bands and other wonderful, loving people and they just let you stroll in and start killing people?”

“Yes.”

He sounded so unbelievably satisfied. “Well, clearly that didn’t stick since you ended up in the bowels of Titan.”

“Careful,” he murmured.

“Or what?” She wiggled her fingers, careful to not touch him. “You’re still on my ship, presumed alpha or not, and I can still space you. I probably should.”

An arch of his brow, though nothing about his body said he was worried about her threat. “Oh?”

Caroline gave him an annoyed look. “Have you not listened to a single thing I’ve said? Nanobites, Klaus. My people’s technology that’s been fucked about by humans into who knows what, swimming around in your bloodstream. Do you know what else they put in those things? Trackers.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, ah.” She lifted her chin. “Which brings us full circle to the original problem. I need to see exactly what they injected into you, and then Enzo and I might have to remove them, which is going to be a bitch for everyone. Otherwise dumping you on a planet to apparently contact your armada to come pick you up will mean absolutely shit. You’ll be cooling your heels on Titan in a matter of hours.”

“Enzo.” His voice turned cool, the line of his shoulders stiffening. “Who is Enzo?”

“My co-pilot,” Caroline said. “And someone I trust.”

Klaus moved, a quick shift of his weight that put his nose and mouth excruciatingly close to the skin beneath her ear. His breath was hot and damp, and she froze as he breathed deeply. “You don’t smell of him. So not lovers. Good.”

Caroline spluttered and took two steps back, cheeks hot. “That is none of your damn business.”

“I think you’ll find that is not entirely the case the moment you put your hands on me, Caroline.” His eyes met hers, and there was nothing human in the expression behind them. “You marked me decades ago.”

She straightened her spine, denial on her tongue, even as beneath her feet, her ship hummed with attention. “I did no such thing.”

His laugh echoed harshly between them and he prowled towards her, the line of his jaw set. “No? I disagree. So does my wolf. You’ve been in my blood so long, what does a mere echo of your people compare? Even the other wolves, the ones who sought my favor, who wished for my benevolence never quite dared ask for more than what I offered. They too, saw the claim you’d etched into me.”

“That’s impossible.”

An amused, indulgent glance that spoke of too many things that left her so very aware of how close he was standing to her. “Is it? You know the stories of your people as well as I do. My kind have a similar belief, though it is rare away from our worlds. Of claiming, of mating.”

Her fingertips tingled with the need to feel that uncompromising edge of his jaw and she swallowed. Tried not to think of the way her blood reacted to him, the impulsive need to help him. Mate. Impossible. “Klaus…”

His head lowered, lips lingering so close to her own. “Why did you save me?”

Caroline gave a tiny shake of her head, terrified that she’d give into the need to lean just a little forward. “I told you.”

“New boots,” Klaus murmured. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.” He straightened, and smiled, dimples on full display, cutting deep. “There is an easy way to tell. If I am right. If I am wrong.”

Her throat ran dry. 

Klaus spread his arms slowly, moving to lean back against the table. “Do your worst. Go ahead, tell me what runs beneath my skin. All of it. But, Caroline.”

She took in a deep breath, lifting her chin to meet those moon glow eyes, that daunting smile. 

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you, love.”

[writerwithtoomanyships]

Summary: The sides do a Secret Santa... fluff and mild chaos ensue

Pairings: Platonic DRLAMP, Dukeceit/Demus, Logicality, Prinxiety

Warnings: A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts at the beginning, and some Remus being Remus

Genre: Fluff fluff fluff!

Credit:

@multi-fandoms-posts - Thanks for the suggestion! I took some creative liberties but this is based on a suggestion they gave me.

@voltsm - Thanks for the encouragement! This person is an INCREDIBLE artist, I highly recommend looking at their amazing amazing blog!

A/N: This is the first Sanders Sides one shot I've written in a while, but I think it turned out well! Please don't repost on different websites, but reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Remus paced his room, growling in frustration. His mind wandered back to the conversation all the sides had earlier.

"Let's do a Secret Santa!" Patton had said, looking like he was going to burst from excitement.

Roman nodded enthusiastically. "That's a great idea, padre!"

"I'm up for it if you guys are," Virgil replied with a shrug.

"I do believe that doing a Secret Santa could be beneficial to our mental and emotional health," said Logan, pushing up his glasses.

All of them looked at Janus and Remus, catching both of them off guard.

"You'd really be okay with us joining?" Remus asked.

"Of course! We are famILY, after all!" Patton responded happily. Remus looked at Janus, who simply shrugged.

"I think the Secret Santa is an awful idea and wouldn't like to participate," Janus said with a small smirk.

"Why not!" Remus happily agreed.

Yet here he was now, flopping on his bed, and ironically out of ideas. He summoned something to eat, and wasn't sure if it was deodorant, a sandwich, or some ungodly abomination of both. At this point he didn't care.

He stared at the faint strip of paper labeled "Janus." Each of them had grabbed a paper from Janus's hat, and Remus had been pretty excited when he got the name of his best friend. Until he couldn't figure out what to get him.

"I'm CREATIVITY, and I've been his friend the longest! I should know what to get him!" he angrily muttered to himself. "Who am I kidding... I'm just intrusive thoughts."

"Hey Rem-" Roman said, rising up in his brother's room. He instantly stopped when he saw the poorly disguised bags under Remus's eyes. "...you okay?"

"Not really," Remus mumbled into his blankets, "why'd you come?"

Roman paused for a second. "Wellll I was having some trouble coming up with a gift for the person I got, so I was wondering if you could help. However, it looks like your having some trouble too."

Remus looked up at Roman, noticing the bags he had under his eyes as well.

"Creative block," they both muttered at the same time.

Remus laughed for the first time in days. "Wow, even the creativity gets it," he said with a teasing smirk.

"I think you mean creativities. We are both creativity, after all!" Roman happily replied. He began ranting about something he was trying to make, but Remus didn't hear a word.

Both creativity, he thought as he began to smile again, he thinks we're both creativity?

"Rem? Remus?" Roman asked.

"Oh, sorry! What'd you say? Remus asked, snapping out of his thoughts.

"What should I get Virgil?" Roman asked again.

"Virgil?"

"Yeah, Gerard Gay isn't the best at dropping hints at what he wants."

"Hm... what do you know he likes? Put yourself in his shoes. Or his-"

"MUSIC HE LIKES MUSIC!" Roman quickly interrupted. "He likes listening to music!"

Remus laughed a loud, full, laugh, making Roman smile and laugh a little as well. "If you were Virgil, what would you want?"

Roman pondered the question for a couple minutes, then suddenly shot up with an idea. "OH! I KNOW WHAT TO GET HIM! Thanks Remus!"

"No problem Roman, just remember to-" Remus began, then looked at Roman who narrowed his eyes in suspicion, "toooooo... wish him a Merry Christmas!"

"Nice save," Roman chuckled, making Remus beam. "Do you want some help figuring out what to give who you have?"

Remus sighed, mumbling a tired "I don't know," into his pillows.

"Hm... well just remember what you told me," Roman said, "what would you want if you were them?" Remus opened his mouth with a mischevious smirk, to which Roman added, "rule of thumb, if you wouldn't want Patton to get mad or pass out, don't give it as a gift." Remus immediately shut his mouth.

Remus sighed and groaned into his pillow, exhausted from having no ideas.

"Let's see... you can make things, summon things-" Roman started.

"Wait, summon things, like animals?" Remus asked.

"Of course! If you wanted to, that is. Although I'd suggest not making it lethal," Roman replied with a smile.

Remus grinned. "Thanks Ro, I think I have an idea!"

"That's great! Let me know if you'd like any help!"

"Thanks!"

Remus smiled to himself as Roman left, carefully working on his idea for Janus. He was certain it would be amazing.

~CHRISTMAS DAY~

"CHRISTMAS, CHRISTMAS, CHRISTMAS!" Patton excitedly shouted, waking everyone up in the process.

Patton had insisted on a sleepover on Christmas Eve, and none of them had the heart to deny the request.

Virgil yawned, failing to hide the small smile on his face as he noticed Roman stretch, hair messily falling down on his face.

"Nice bedhead Princey," Virgil teased.

Roman playfully glared, clutching his heart as if in agony.

"Why, Emo Nightmare, must you wound me like this? How could you DARE insist that, I, PRINCE Roman, have a-" he tilted his head back dramatically, causing him to see his reflection in a mirror and let out a very un-prince like squawk.

"I'll make the hot cocoa and then we can do the Secret Santa!" Patton exclaimed, rushing to the kitchen.

"I can assist you Patton," Logan offered, putting on his glasses.

"Thanks Logie!" Patton replied, making Logan blush at the nickname.

Remus and Janus slowly woke up as well, both a little excited although hesitant admit it.

"Well, this is not how I wanted to be woken up," Janus mumbled to himself with a soft smile on his face, oblivious to a blushing Remus looking at him. When he looked back and saw Remus staring at him, a faint blush spread behind his scales.

"Hey Janus, there's chaos and I didn't cause it!" Remus said, turning away to hide his blush.

"I'm not surprised, and I don't think you'll add to the chaos as soon as you can-" Janus began, only to see Remus already gone and probably eating something inedible.

After the chaos had died down (Roman brushed his hair and they dragged back Remus from eating Christmas lights), it was finally time for the Secret Santa to begin.

"Me first!" Patton said, rushing to grab the gift he had gotten. As soon as he found it he ran back to put it in Logan's lap. "This is my Secret Santa gift to you!"

"Do... do they know what a SECRET Santa is supposed to be?" Janus whispered to Remus who was sitting next to him, raising an eyebrow.

After taking a moment to collect himself, Logan carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside were multiple sci-fi series that he had been looking for.

"I knew you had been looking for those books, so I got them for you!" Patton exclaimed, voice nearly shaking from excitement.

For a moment, Logan was stunned into silence. However, he quickly recovered and replied with "t-thank you Patton, I deeply appreciate the thought put into this. I look forward to reading them."

Patton quietly peeped a quick "you're welcome," butterflies in his chest from the touched look on Logan's face. Logan suddenly turned back around, handing a small wrapped gift to Patton. "It's not the best, but I hope it's satisfactory."

Patton quickly looked up, momentarily caught up in the euphoria of gifts. He tore into the present to find a small, blue, crotche cat with a tiny heart on it's ear.

"Aww, Logan!!! This is purrrr-fect!"

Logan tried to roll his eyes at the pun, but couldn't keep a small laugh from escaping.

"Me next!" Roman sang dramatically, heading over to Virgil with a carefully wrapped gift and taking a seat next to him.

Virgil carefully opened his gift, slowly taking off the tape and removing the wrapping paper. Roman bounced up and down next to him, both in nervousness and excitement.

After what felt like forever to Roman, Virgil pulled out a dark purple set of headphones, with a black thorn pattern carved into them.

"Woah Princey... did you MAKE these?" Virgil asked, completely in shock at the care put into the headphones he held.

"Yep!" Roman responded giddily. "It took a lot of time, but I figured it out! The thorns were a last minute touch though. Oh! And they also block out other sounds, you had mentioned that your current headphones didn't do that a while ago."

Virgil, one of the most reserved sides, looked like he was on the verge of tears. "Thanks... I didn't realize you cared that much Roman," he said quietly, hiding his blushing face in his sleeves and gently leaning against him.

Roman gave him a soft, genuine smile as Virgil leaned against his arm. "Of course Stormcloud!"

"This is your present... it's awful compared to the headphones though..." Virgil mumbled, shyly taking his head out of his hands and giving Roman a shiny red bag with lots of tissue paper.

Roman being Roman, he quickly (and messily) opened up the gift, squealing when he pulled out a thin but elegant red crown. "It's a CROWN, put it on me, put it on me, put it on me!"

Virgil hesitantly put it Roman, who squealed impossibly louder after turning around and seeing his reflection in the mirror. "I love it!!!"

Roman hugged Virgil tightly, and after the initial shock, Virgil relaxed into the hug. To Roman's surprise, he stayed leaning against him even when the hug had ended. He didn't mind.

"Since it isn't obvious who your gift is from now, here's yours Remus," Janus said, handing a rather large bag to Remus.

Remus immediately tore into the bag, clawing his way in through the side instead of taking out the tissue paper. He gasped in astonishment when he pulled out a long, intricate sword, identical to the one of his logo.

"Woahhhh..." he whispered under his breath, admiring the sword. He looked up at Janus, a huge grin on his face. "Thanks!!"

Janus smiled, secretly relieved that Remus did enjoy his gift.

"I have your gift... I just didn't really have a way to wrap it," Remus said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "So, uh, hold out your hands and close your eyes."

"Remus, is this something appropriate?"

"Yep!"

Janus raised an eyebrow but did as Remus had asked. A second later, he heard a collective gasp from around the room, followed by something placed in his hand.

"You can open your eyes now."

Janus slowly opened his eyes, shocked to find a small, yellow snake that fit in the palm of his hand. His eyes widened, and for a brief second his face shone like the universe had been placed in his eyes.

"You like it?" Remus asked.

Janus nodded vigorously, at a loss for words but as absolutely adoring the snake that slithered in his hand.

After opening the rest of the gifts, all the sides stayed together for a Christmas movie night. Patton was asleep on a dreaming Logan, and Virgil was asleep against a sleepy Roman who wrapped his arms around him.

"Hey, Janus?" Remus asked, yawning.

Janus looked over.

"Did... did you really like my gift?"

Janus smiled a true, genuine smile, reserved oy for Remus, and kissed Remus's forehead softly, making them both blush. "I loved it."

As Remus soon fell asleep against Janus, the slimey snake boi only had one thought.

Rigging the Secret Santa was definitely worth it.

[rebellconquerer]

oooh, could we get 9 (you're in love with her) for the prompt meme. bucky and sam talking about sarah?

Here you go Anon, angst and feels. Will be crossposted to AO3. Technically a missing scene from In The Woods Somewhere, it'll be a little confusing if you haven't read that. Also it's a bit long.

Sam is worried. He’s trying very hard to hide it as he saunters down the gleaming walkway that leads to the Wakandan apartment they have set Bucky up in for his recuperation, but the fact remains that he is just a bit…worried.

The after had been worse than he expected. After Sarah had left, after Shuri had figured out the deprogramming, after they had started the process. He'll be honest, he hadn't been around much the first time. A mix of him not really knowing or trusting Bucky when this happened before (and vice versa), combined with Steve's almost obsessive need to shelter and protect Bucky then.

Still, the deprogramming had gone about as well as could be expected and Sam had remained with Buck until midway through the first week when major cities across Europe had started to be attacked by some weird environmental monsters. Hill, and then Fury himself, had reached out to say that the kid, Spiderman or whatever, had the situation under control and that they would call in reinforcements if they needed it. So Sam had stayed with Bucky for the first couple of days after the deprogramming as they were testing it to make sure it took, then some tv nutjob had leaked the kid's name.

Very few of the Avengers bothered with secret identities, but the kid was like 15 or something, so Hill had requested Captain America come help out with PR, ensuring that no one believed a teenager could be one of the Avengers.

Sam had said no initially, obviously, but Bucky had insisted he was fine and didn't need a babysitter. Had even managed to say it without that crazed, trapped animal look behind his eyes he got sometimes, so Sam had jetted off to New York for a few days. He had gotten exactly two texts from Bucky during that time. One that said 'I'm fine, mom' on day one and a thumbs-up emoji on day three.

Then Sarah had called him, trying to be all relaxed and casual as she fished for what the hell was going on in Wakanda cause Bucky hadn't spoken to her or responded to her since she left. As ancient as the dinosaurs though Buck may be, he damn well knows how to use a phone, and him deliberately cutting himself off is… concerning.

He comes to the right apartment number and knocks, then waits, then knocks again. Still no response. Sam frowns. He knows he's in there. Shuri told him they've still been monitoring his vitals and that he had requested a bit of time to himself in the aftermath, but he wasn't in the clear yet so she knew where he was.

Sam pounds on the door again.

"Buck, it's me. You gonna open up?"

Silence.

"Ok, Bucky, here's the thing, you either let me in or I'm calling Ayo or Shuri to override this lock… come on, man. Please." Sam whispers at the door, knowing Bucky's advanced hearing will pick it up.

He doesn't want to call in reinforcements and doesn't want to invade Bucky's space if it's not necessary, but as he mentioned before, he's worried.

He waits for one, then another overly long minute before the door finally opens.

Bucky looks like shit. His hair is messy and greasy. His blue eyes stand out as bright spots in the pallor of his face, broken only by the intense, almost bruise-like dark circles under his eyes. His cheekbones don't stand out as much as they did when Sam left so at least he was gaining back the weight he had lost, but he's standing with a blanket around his shoulders, hunched in and holding himself like the feral creature he hasn't been in years.

"Buck?-"

"You wanted to see me, you've seen me. Can you go now?" Bucky says flatly, eyes glinting with the acerbic 'fuck off' his lips haven't yet formed.

Oh hell no.

Sam slips his foot in the door just as Bucky goes to close it, preventing it from shutting. When Bucky pulls the door back open, Sam slips inside, pushing past Buck as quickly as he can.

Bucky growls, closing the door behind him and turning a glare on Sam.

"No please, come in. I'm definitely in the mood for visitors." Bucky says sarcastically.

Sam glances around the room. It's a lot like the first apartment they all stayed in together. Floor to ceiling windows cover one whole wall, the kitchen is immaculate, clearly unused, like most of the rest of the space, save for the couch where the cushions have been left haphazardly on the floor.

"Buck. What the hell is going on here?" Sam asks, voice coming out much softer than he intended. Bucky'd been in rough shape when he left, but he had been clearly on the mend. That was the only reason Sam'd even agreed to go help out.

"Nothing. I'm fine. I don't need you here." Bucky grits out, that muscle in his jaw flexing.

Sam stares for a minute then sighs. He's starting to get it, the lines of pain that seemed to carve through Steve whenever Bucky had pushed him away. It's hard for Sam to see the desperate way Bucky is holding himself while still pulling away, and Sam hasn't been his lifelong best friend.

"Look Buck, you're entitled to a couple bad days, but I'm going to need you to convince me that this is a par for the course breakdown and not something worse 'cause we've had a monumentally rough couple of weeks," Sam says clearly.

Bucky holds his gaze for a long moment before the harsh lines of his face seem to soften and he ducks around Sam, heading back to the couch.

"Like I told you, I'm fine." He mutters as he moves. "It's just… the come down from the deprogramming is a bitch, ok?"

Sam frowns, following him to the couch and sitting next to him.

"Would you like to elaborate, Buck?"

Bucky sighs, scrubbing both hands through his messy hair.

"Best as I understand it, it's like coming down from a high or something. There are a lot of biochemicals involved in the process and the washout… well it sucks." He shrugs. "Plus the process itself is like opening Pandora's box up here," he mutters, tapping the side of his head. "It leaves me… what I mean is it makes me-"

"Your nightmares get worse." Sam finishes for him. Bucky doesn't look up, doesn't say or do anything really.

Sam huffs. "Why didn't Shuri tell me? I expect this bullshit from you, but from her?"

Bucky goes very still, continuing to avoid eye contact. It finally clicks.

"She doesn't know, does she? You never said and… neither did Steve. That's why the two of you were hold up on that little farm for so long after. For god sake, why the hell didn't you say anything Buck?"

Sam doesn't try to hold back the frustration bleeding into his voice.

"That child has more than enough of my pain on her hands. She doesn't need any more. And I'll remind you… I never expected to have to do this again." Bucky finishes softly. Sam's anger deflates as suddenly as it started.

They sit in silence for a minute, Sam watching Bucky, Bucky pretending that Sam isn't watching him until Sam finally breaks.

"Is this why you haven't spoken to Sarah? She called me, you know, said you'd been ducking her calls."

Bucky's expression changes minutely then and if Sam hadn't known him as well as he does, if they hadn't been basically living in each other's pockets for the last year, he wouldn't have recognized it: a quick flash of guilt.

"Buck, what's going on in that head of yours?" Sam asks seriously. "Didn't I tell you if you break her heart I'd break your legs?"

Bucky huffs out a bitter laugh. "Actually the last I heard on the matter you said you'd kill me if I hurt her but we'd be ok. Way to send mixed messages by the way buddy."

Sam can't sit still any longer. This whole experience is surreal. God, he needs a vacation. He strolls over to the kitchen, filling a glass with water for himself and another for Buck. He places the second glass in front of Bucky and backs up to lean on the counter, careful not to hover.

He takes a long drink, draining half the glass in one go as Bucky just stares at his.

“How was New York?” Bucky eventually asks.

Sam shrugs. “Went okay. No one is quite ready to call Captain America a liar to his face, even that piece of shit blowhard.”

That earns him a small smile from Bucky. “You think it’ll hold?”

“Well, they’ve got Pepper, Rhodey, Hill and Fury against them. I’m not sure much could stand up to that team long term so I wouldn’t worry about it.” Sam replies. Bucky isn't going to succeed in changing the topic, but maybe going the long way around will help.

They drop back into the silence. “I think Shuri is gonna let me go in a few days. The deprogramming seems to be holding.” Bucky finally says, still staring unblinkingly at his water.

Sam sighs. “You ready to come back to Delacroix?”

Bucky makes an uncomfortable-looking face, a strange cross between constipated and in pain. “I-I was actually going to go back to New York. Haven’t been home in a while, you know,” he says carefully.

Sam frowns.

“Alright Barnes, cut the crap. My nephews have been worried about you, Sarah is worried about you. What are you thinking-”

“I’m thinking that maybe this is the time to let it… let it die.” Bucky interrupts, eyes flicking up to Sam, a hard look on his face.

Sam just stands there, gaping at him for a minute.“The fuck do you mean, let it die?”

That unearthly stillness that Bucky usually carries in his frame starts to fray. He stands up, pacing to the window. “Sarah and I had a fight the night before I agreed to let Shuri do the deprogramming,” he says, then just leaves the sentence hanging.

“Yeah, the whole goddamn world could have guessed that." Sam prompts. "You’re stubborn as hell. If she got you to reconsider it wasn’t with sweet nothings whispered into your ear.”

Sam watches the tips of Bucky’s ears go a little bit red as he ducks his head at that. He really doesn’t want to know any details about whatever memory that triggered. Bucky still doesn't continue.

“So what, are you angry with her?” Sam asks.

“What? No! Of Course not!" Bucky responds, turning to face him. He still looks weary and a little… lost.

"She said… she said she didn't think I wanted this life. That I hadn't gotten to choose it and so I was too comfortable throwing it away." Bucky mutters staring at the floor.

Sam frowns in confusion. That was harsh. Probably entirely truthful, but harsh nonetheless. And Sarah said he was tough on Buck.

"Ok…" Sam prompts again.

"She said I needed to think about what I wanted to live for. What future was worth fighting for because without that I'd always be … stuck." Bucky goes quiet again and Sam's frown deepens.

He doesn't get it. Doesn't get what Bucky is trying to tell him. "Ok, so you did that and decided that she isn't in that future?" Sam tries, keeping his voice as flat and without judgment as possible.

Bucky doesn't look at him, just keeps staring at the floor between them, the expression on his face pained. Sam watches him clench and unclench his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping. But still, Bucky says nothing.

It's Sam's turn to pace. He pushes up off the counter, walking closer to Bucky as he rubs at his temple. He's tired and stressed and he's been through too much in the last 3 weeks to play decoder with Bucky and his-

He comes to an abrupt stop beside the couch. The gears in his mind grinding to a halt so suddenly he thinks you should be able to hear them shrieking.

He turns to face Bucky, eyes tracing over the tight lines of his body as astonishment slides in under his skin, under his breastbone, and behind his eyes. How had he not seen it before? How had he not noticed?

“You’re in love with her.” he breathes out, the acknowledgement hitting like a brick. Bucky goes absolutely still as Sam stumbles back a few steps, sitting heavily on the arm of the couch.

“That’s what this is about. You’re in love with her and you’re afraid.”

“Look at me Sam, look at me?!” Bucky's voice is raspy, hollowed out. Sam lifts his gaze and meets Bucky's eyes.

“I’m a mess. On a great day, I’m a fucking mess. Most days I feel like I'm barely holding on to who I am because of what I am. On a bad day?” Bucky looks back out the windows, eyes going unfocused. “I shouldn’t be in love,” he whispers flatly. “What right do I have to get this after all the carnage I have caused. What right do I have to bring someone else into the hell that is my life.” He sighs then and leans back on the window, sliding down the glass to sit on the ground. The movement is slow, achingly so, making him look every one of his 107 years.

Sam slips from the arm of the couch coming to sit on the ground facing Bucky.

“This isn’t you Buck." He whispers. "This is the deprogramming and the night terrors. This is the lack of sleep and bone tiredness talking. This isn't you."

Bucky laughs, the sound empty. "Isn't it? Are you sure about that? Because I'm not."

"The two of you have been going great. You haven't been afraid before now, is this all fallout because of what happened, because Buck, you can't let that asshole Novikov take her from you."

Bucky lets out a slow breath, tilting his head back against the glass and staring at the ceiling, face blank. "Too good. It's been too good." He mutters and the last piece of the puzzle falls into place for Sam.

"She told you, didn't she? She told you she loves you."

Bucky's eyes flick down to his, expression sharp. "She told you what she was going to do?" Bucky asks, suspicion clear in his tone.

Sam shakes his head. "She didn't have to. You forget I've known her a lot longer than you have. I know what my sister looks like when she's in love."

He has one of those moments where he wishes Steve were there because he feels he would know what to say to help. But that's not really true. He'd watched Steve stumble through enough of these conversations to know he would be just as lost. Not that it matters. Steve's gone now. Left them both.

"It was fine when it was just you, right? When you'd be the only one risking anything? But it’s different now you know that she’s as far in as you are.” Sam mutters.

Bucky’s staring at the ceiling again, face blank. “That’s not it. I’m not afraid. I’m just seeing things clearly for the first time in a long time.” he mumbles.

Sam’s lips twist into a rueful smile. Clearly? Bucky hasn’t been this muddled in a year. “You know I almost flunked out of Pararescue training?” Sam asks, trying a different tact.

Bucky looks over at him, frowning confusedly. Sam nods slowly, looking down at his hands.

“I got referred by my prior C.O. Spent 2 days in the air over the course of the first week and decided it was not for me. I mean, it was madness, right? Jumping out of a plane with nothing on but some wings someone else had made?”

Bucky smirks. “That’s real hard to believe, Sam. You’re a natural.”

Sam shakes his head. “Nah, Riley was a natural. Took to the skies like a duck to water.” Sam can still hear the excitement in Riley’s voice after his first jump. How he could barely catch his breath to talk because all he wanted to do was laugh and grin.

“Went back to my C.O. Told him thanks for the recommendation but… I couldn’t do it. He fed me this bullshit story about how some scientist somewhere had done some experiment, right? That they gave a group of people some glasses that flipped the world upside down.” Sam looks up at Bucky to find him staring back at him, blank look retreating, intense blue eyes focussed.

“The first two days everyone was walking around bumping into things, begging to be let out of the experiment, but by the end of the third day, they had all adapted. Their world was normal again. He told me to give it three days, and I did.”

Bucky purses his lips and looks away, letting the meaning of the words sink in.“You realise you’d already been there for more than three days, right? You said it was the end of the first week.”

Sam huffs out a tired laugh. “Man, do you ever get tired of being a pain in the ass?” he asks.

Bucky slips into that small, sad smile he wears so well. “All signs point to no,” he mutters back.

“It’s been a long fucking month, Buck. I’m not saying you’re wrong or you’re right, but… just give yourself a moment to adapt to your new normal before you go making any drastic decisions.”

Bucky doesn’t respond for a while, but then he nods slowly, still refusing to look at Sam.

“And honestly, Buck, no jokes this time. Whatever happens, I’ll still be here. You don’t have to be alone.” Sam says as clearly as he can.

Bucky finally looks back over to him. “Guess Steve was right leaving me to you.”

It’s Sam’s turn to look away, laughing. “Nah. He left us to each other,” he replies easily.

“We’re probably giving the punk too much credit. Like he ever thought ahead in his whole stupid life… but… the same goes for you, you know. I’ll be here as long as you need me, for whatever that counts as.” Bucky says.

Sam looks up at him, their eyes meeting and he can’t help but smile, relaxing the tension a little. “So you love her, huh? You realise she’s just a less pretty version of me. This is tantamount to you declaring your undying love of me.”

Bucky lets out an honest to God laugh. “You ever get tired of being so in love with yourself?” he fires back.

Sam shrugs, pushing himself up off the ground and reaching a hand out for Bucky. He looks at it a moment before he grabs on and Sam pulls him to his feet, wrapping one hand around his shoulder and leading him back to the couch.

“Well honestly, someone has to be.” Sam jokes.

Bucky laughs again

[juhakn]

Spring Had Just Ended

Words count: 7.5k

Theme: Slowburn, angst, fluff, established friendship

Pairing: Ten Lee and reader

summary: this summer is not what you expected when your childhood friend is back in town for a month break from college. the same person, the same feelings

You lost your cat.

Well, rather, she was the one who got lost but for some invalid reasons, your family blames you for the incident. May I remind you, an incident you clearly do not have anything to do with.

So here you are, with your friend Ten; whom you consider is very useless in your journey of finding the cat. I am a cat person, he states. You cock my eyebrow at him, completely disagreeing with his statement. He hops on the rocks, the wet rock that lives in the shallow river. It used to be your hiding spot-your cat, Thian loved to follow you here.

But college got you two caved in.

The both of you forgot to keep each other updated as he studies in Thailand, his home city while you're stuck here, in a town you're getting tired with. He would always nag every chance he gets about how you're wasting my intelligence over a small town that doesn't offer great majors.

"It holds a special place in my heart," is what you'd say.

Right now, you feel like dropping.

Holding your phone, you continue to follow wherever he goes-except Thailand. Maybe you shouldn't have brought him with you, maybe both of you shouldn't have decided to come back here in summer. He stops, "hey remember this?" he grins, his hand grasping a rock, carved with his initial and yours. Your lips couldn't help but lift themselves into a gentle smile, "yes I do, idiot."

"I remember you telling me a cat person should be able to attract cats within 50 miles away- which is complete bullshit by the way-and I somehow wore a fucking cat ears just to prove you I am one, in Halloween." He looks at you with an idiotic smile on his face. The same old smile that always makes your heart do laps.

"for the record, we were 13 and yes, a cat person should be able to attract cats within 50 miles away. You were just in denial like you are right now," you scoff.

You're the one who's in denial.

[23:17]

The quest in searching for your family (and yours) beloved Thian was a fail.

But somehow, Ten did end up in your house, eating dinner with your mother who keeps complaining about how he doesn't remember her anymore (because it's his first time visiting her in three years). You're fiddling with the spaghetti you're trying to find interesting.

Ten was a friend you met during high school, he moved from Thailand to your small town- something you're intrigued by. Why would someone ever fly all the way from a beautiful country that has little bits to everything to a small, secluded, town that absolutely doesn't have everything?

My parents wanted somewhere closed off, he would say, with a shrug followed by.

He wasn't your neighbour, or at least in your point of view (you think neighbours are the ones who lives beside, not in front of two houses by) he was a classmate.

You couldn't speak Thai, but Ten still would talk in his native language with you. Slowly, you would pick up some words but that was after he rushed to college. You never had a chance to show off your skill. Not that he's here...you feel off.

Ten was just like anyone else, he showed no interest in learning but is forced to. He once confessed about dropping school so he could become a performer.

In which he left you, for a dance major.

For his dream.

You once watched him dance. It was the month before he left for Thailand, chasing his dream. He let his warm hand slid into yours, gently grasping your fingers and stroking your hand with his thumb.

"I wanna show you something." And he did, he tugged you to your secret little space by the stream.

You watched him take off his shoes, switching them with his ballet ones. He had a big grin plastered on his face, "okay, I'm not that good so...please tell me how I did." As his toes pointed to the ground, he took a deep breath and twirl with passion.

He was a ballerino and you were falling.

[10:44]

"Do you think she'll come back?"

It was a question you loved to ask yourself. It was winter and you were lost. You still are, but you think you're getting back on track now that he's here.

Both of you decided to catch up with life, drove to the city and hang out in a newly opened cafe. There's no talking, but it's not awkward. Rather, it's comforting. You stop picking with your vanilla cake.

You look at your friend's eyes, oh-you could stare into those beautiful brown eyes of his for god who knows-you sigh, "I don't know Ten, I don't know." And it isn't a question, it's a dilemma.

Should you tell him how you feel or should you not?

You clench your teeth, the bitter taste on your tongue stayed. You just want to dance with him, you want to tell him, take your hand and wish he'd take it like his life depends on it. But that's okay, you think. But that's fine, you think. But that's nice, you think

But that hurts, you smile.

"Does Mrs Millers still sell her cherry ade? Man, I miss those days when we got them for free. I never understood why she didn't want to market it. She could be a millionaire for all we know." Ten huffs, his palm resting on his chin. He had always had pretty features, a button nose, big doe eyes, beautiful tanned skin and long eyelashes.

You couldn't bring yourself to think about his lips, you're scared you might jump onto his pink ones.

He looks at you and you reply with a shriek, "she doesn't sell them but she does still give us them," you pause, "free of charge."

Ten hums, eyes darting away from yours.

He looks at the pedestrians crossing the street, the woman walking her raging chihuahua and a man beside her with his golden retriever. The old grumpy man wearing a checkered patterned flat cap, thrusting his hands into his old, thorned brown leather jacket. Those girls chatting while eating ice cream in the hot summer wearing a matching strawberry dress.

You chuckle softly, the old man must love his grandchildren to death. You wonder if he even does have one.

In your small town, they don't have a cute modern cafe but an old vintage one. It's a cute, small building that has gone old, probably more than two decades. Its owner is an old lady named Michelle Suh whose husband is far below 6 feet in the ground. She's a sweet lady who'd give the two of you free sandwiches after school ended.

She has gotten old, the cafe would probably be closed by a few months.

Ten's eyes wander off to the old couple swinging their hands sweetly as they cross the street, adoring each other lovely.

"I wish that could be us..."

The cream tastes awful.

[11:15]

"Have you two lads date already?" Is the first greeting Mrs Millers asked. She doesn't hesitate to express her feelings (which you do admire), it just slips off her lips.

You choke on the carbonated cherry flavoured drink, your cheeks heating up with the same colour as the deep red cherries. Ten laughs freely, brushing off the old woman with his hands jokingly, stating, "I don't think we don't suit each other."

You look down at your shoes, they're sandals with a huge sunflower on each to add more aesthetical pleasing. Or maybe you're looking at the shattered pieces of your heart.

The old woman with a cherry apron sighs, "I was wishing you two could get married after my son." She smiles bitterly, disappointed that her favourite ship is sinking.

"Oh? Jungwoo's getting married?" Her son perks your interest, you haven't seen him for years after he went to boarding school. He's a couple of years younger but he's handsome.

You noticed how Ten's face dropped after you changed the subject to Kim Jungwoo; the high school student you had a crush on. It was a phase, you say. Mrs Millers is Jungwoo's foster mom, after his parents couldn't afford to raise him so Mrs Millers took him into her family's warm embrace.

Kim Jungwoo still keeps in contact with his biological parents. You knew because he accidentally overshares about his family issues when you found him crying by the river after school. You knew because the two of you would hang out by the river before Ten came. You knew because Jungwoo was your friend.

"Jungwoo's engagement was off last minute. He's here but he's a guy with a broken heart. The love of his life left him and he's a human." You pity both Mrs Millers who's forcing her lips to smile and Jungwoo...who's overwhelmed with sadness.

"Can I talk to him, Mrs Millers?" You raise your hand, asking for her consent. She nods weakly, "you can, but I'm not sure if he'd answer." And you understand, because he hates it when someone sees him at his weakest.

Once again, you knew because he told you when he cried on your shoulder when his dog died. Tuu, a white Samoyed, was his emotional support (besides you).

You sigh, thinking of all possibilities Jungwoo might make them happen. "It's okay if he doesn't, I just miss him...I want him to know that I'm here, always."

Ten flinches, but no one noticed.

Mrs Millers walk to her fridge and take the cold ham sandwich before giving it to you. She softly whispers, "can you please bring this to him, (Y/n)? He rarely goes out these days."

You nod.

You left Ten and Mrs Millers talking to each other, completely in their world. You take a deep breath, "I hope he's okay..." And walk upstairs, carefully, without making too many noises.

You knock on Jungwoo's door, softly asking his permission for you to enter. There's no response. Twice, nothing. Thrice, still quiet. You knock aga-

Jungwoo opens his door. He has eyebags under his red, dull eyes. His skin looks lifeless, he looks lifeless. Like a zombie who has nothing to do with life. No passion, no motivation...no Kim Jungwoo.

His lips quiver seeing you and you mind yourself to not squish the cold sandwich when hugging him as you slowly take him into your arms. He sobs into your chest and you coo, "there, there, my pretty boy...I'm here, jungwoo. I'm home." You pat his back with a steady rhythm.

You gentle sway your bodies into his room and closes the door by kicking it with your toe. You caress his soft brown locks, still cooing his sweet words.

For a solid 10 minutes, his sobs have stopped. You look down at him, your thumb lifts his chin for him to connect your eyes. He looks miserable, heartbroken.

You stroke his cheek gently with your thumb, "whoever did this to you, they don't know you deserve more. You deserve better, my love." You give him a sweet longing kiss on his forehead. One that screams "I miss you!".

"Now don't cry anymore, you look like a lost sad puppy." You playfully squish his cheeks with your hands, drawing circles on his soft cheeks. His lips inch for a smile as he looks at you.

Plopping down onto his bed, he follows by resting his head on your lap as you brush his hair. It used to be a hobby of yours when you two were still in high school. You think the habit might come back.

"They said they love me," Jungwoo starts. "And I believed them..." His voice shakes, his heart couldn't bear the past. "They left me, saying we were just never meant to be...it hurts knowing that I still love them. For 4 fucking years, (Y/n)," he halts.

"For 4 fucking years, we were in love and they ended it. I left after that. I left Paris and got lost. But I'm here." He cries.

His sobs get louder when hides himself in his palms. You sigh deeply, your shaking hands' pats his head. "I know that feeling," you whisper.

You do? Jungwoo asks. For 6 years of friendship, you never talk about your love life to him. He thought you were just aroromantic, so he never really cares.

"Yeah, I do." You answered his question.

"That feeling when you're just not meant to be and now you're regretting taking their hands into yours, regretting being there for them when they're sad, regretting loving them because-"

"-they left." Jungwoo continues bitterly. You nod out a yeah, you don't mind if he interrupts, it's Jungwoo and you're willing to drop the whole world for him. You stop playing with his hair and take a moment before continuing, "or maybe you don't regret loving them. You think they're the right person, but as soon as you do...they just left."

"You wanna think it's a mistake, a mistake that they leave. But it's just regret." You playfully Boop his cute nose and he scrunch it. It's cute, you think.

"I guess we're the mistresses who fell in love with married guys." Jungwoo pouts, and you nearly squish him to death. He's adorable and you're this close to snuggle him to death.

"Except that they're not." You emphasis. "And I was going to." He says as he rolls his eyes.

You interlock your hands with him, rubbing them against your cheek. "We make mistakes but I don't know if it was ever a mistake," Jungwoo confesses rather timidly. And you know he's lost, just like you.

Two friends lost in love.

Jungwoo laughs with a thin line of sadness lined in between his sweet voice. "I think they were the ones who made a mistake for leaving us, don't you think so?" He looks up at you, eyes wide open as he asks curiously.

You hum, "in your case, yes. How could a little pretty boy who deserves the whole world got left?" You say as you bring your hands to cradle his cheeks and squish them together. You earn a lively laugh from him and honestly, that's all you ever wanted. For a moment, the two of you stare at the sunset. Into different worlds, the two of you are still able to communicate with each other. He's on his own and vice versa. It's a quiet time where you both enjoy the silence in each other's warmth. The cold sandwich has already gotten into Jungwoo's stomach and he quote, "cold ham sandwiches are superior."

Jungwoo realises about what you said so he asked, "how about yours?"

"It was my choice."

[14:54]

Ten is intimidated by Jungwoo's height but he could never bring that up or you'll tease him till death. By the time you wave at the mother and her precious son, he drags you to his bike. Ten never liked cars, he fancies bikes more than them, you recall.

"What did you guys talk about?" He asks carefully with a straight face while helping you with the helmet. You shrug, "We just talk and cuddle. That's it."

Ten halts, but quickly hops onto his bike. You watch him throwing a small tantrum-by pressing the bike's gear, creating a very loud noise. As he drives you to your house, he whines quietly.

"Cuddles? Seriously? What is he? A toddler who needs cuddles to cheer up?"

As he drops you off, he runs off-without saying goodbyes. You throw your head back, stressed over your bottled up feelings for your hot friend. Ten is hot, you admit.

For anything, he's so hot you remember thinking about him in a suit during prom in the exam that you forgot to answer the exam paper. It was embarrassing and nice. He's unbearably hot that your coffee was overflowing all because you're too busy staring at his new haircut. He's too hot that you nearly missed a traffic light while driving because you were thinking about how good he could be with you.

And Ten still doesn't know about your feelings.

And you're getting pretty tired with all those butterflies that appear every time he texts you good mornings and goodnights. You're tired of those flips your stomach does whenever he smiles at you. You're tired of your heart running miles every damn time he laughs at your corny jokes.

You throw yourself onto your soft bed, head in the pillow, socks still on your feet, your sling bag somewhere on the carpeted floor and your necklace are still on.

Tomorrow's Monday.

And you have applied to work at the small cat book cafe with Sicheng. Sicheng is a friend of Jungwoo's you met during the middle school reunion. Sicheng never liked reading but he said that's the only job the town ever has. And you agree with the Chinese man.

Ten haven't met Sicheng yet, you think.

Why does every time you try to think about anything that doesn't remind you of his gorgeous self, you always find a way back to thinking about him? It feels like he connects your universe (which he does), and you will never get lost.

But you feel as if you're disappearing in the forest of love. It's hazy, you feel dizzy. The fuzziness inside you never left and biology can't even explain the feeling scientifically. You're mad, mad in love with Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul.

You shout into the poor pillow, letting your feelings go around messing your room instead of your brain. You are tired and you have work tomorrow.

So you sleep.

Wearing earphones, sad playlist shuffles to help you lull to a deep peaceful slumber without Ten.

[19:13]

"(Y/n), (Y/n)!"

Sicheng snaps you from your daydream. You blink, twice. You still can't get him out of your head. He's just there, running through your mind, living rent-free. He should at least pay one dollar for every time he crossed your mind and you'd still get only one dollar because he never leaves.

Sicheng doesn't know who Ten is, at least visually/physically, but he knows you like the man. Sicheng could tell from the way your eyes are reflecting love or whatever that shit is. He thinks love isn't real and you do agree...halfway.

"I'm sorry-what were you saying, Sicheng?" You ask with a sheepish smile, your hand awkward scratches the nape of your neck. Sicheng pinches in between his eyebrow, forehead creasing. "I'm suggesting, (Y/n). Stop thinking about Ten!" He glares, and you absentmindedly take note of Sicheng's cuteness when angry.

"I wasn't thinking about him!" Your voice is an octave high, so it's a lie. You can't lie anyways, Sicheng's sun in the Scorpio allows him to read your mind. You don't believe in astrology-it's all just a big coincidence. Sicheng however does study astrology along with astronomy. He hates physics for that, but he believes in magical stuff and rituals.

Sicheng is a spiritual man.

He rolls his eyes, "whatever. I'm saying if we can put up posters about your missing cat around the town." You bit your lips. Ten had already done that the second he found out Thian went missing. "Ten already spread the news around. If anything happens, they'd call him before me." You sigh, Ten is a smart guy.

"He's a nice guy."

That's the problem. He's a nice guy and you're pushing him away. You're the stupid one for not getting him, not confessing to him. He could be the one, he also could be a passerby.

You want him to be in your life, not just a passerby who watches your life from afar. Not just the star who appears only when you need him. You want him to be your love, always there even if you don't need him.

Maybe just maybe, he can be your Juliet-without the tragic death event(s).

Sicheng goes back to pet the fat orange cat on the counter whilst looking out for customers. He tends to keep away from rumours about him slacking off. He leans in against the marble counter, smirking, "you know, if you keep thinking about him, I'm afraid he might show up." Sicheng snarky comment make you feel less nervous.

"You attract what you fear," you warm him. You walk back to cleaning the windows, way too occupied with talking to your handsome co-worker. Sometimes you wonder what could you have done to be blessed with attractive people in your life. You're lucky to live in the same realm, era, area, with them. And the fact that you know them...personally, is, really wholesome.

"No wonder he's here." Sicheng comments and you nearly slip. A what feels like an electric shock makes your body slightly imbalanced from the slippery tiled floor.

"Oh, shit-" you brush off the stain on your shirt. You look around, there's no Ten.

Sicheng laughs as you feel your cheeks warming up. You grasp the dirty towel and throw it onto Sicheng. You don't aim for his face because he's so pretty it hurts...yet it ended up flying directly to his forehead.

You burst out bubbly laughs, holding your stomach while Sicheng picks up the dirty towel with disgust. Sicheng looks at you and looks back at the towel. "Now, would it harm someone if I throw this to someone?" His lips curl up into a vicious smile.

You notice and quickly run between the books. You know Sicheng wouldn't dare to throw it- he might ruin the vintage. And he loves them. Summer is when we read books with cats, he states.

As the two of you continue playing around and bickers about the towel, the bell door rings. A customer has entered. Your eyes dart to the door and your knees wobble. A very, attractive young man whom you assumed is probably a graduate is greeting a calico cat named Hana. "God...why do such men always surround themselves in our lives?" Sicheng bites his lips.

"I don't know, but he is damn hot." You whisper, eyes still glancing at the stranger. "Hey, you have Ten! Enough collecting!" Sicheng flicks your forehead and you swear you heard a loud smack. You heard a soft chuckle behind you. "You know Ten?"

You turn around, dizzy. The man has a sharp nose, a defined jaw and big eyes. His cheekbones are visible and that makes him more...hot. however, hot is not the right word to describe his attractiveness. Perhaps, gorgeous does. You stutter over your words, "Yes- yes I do know Ten!" You cringed at yourself.

The man's eyes gleam under the light of the cafe upon hearing your answer. "Do you want coffee?" Sicheng interrupts, finding excuses to get away from the eye-gouging scene. It's exaggerated, he knows. The mystery man simply nods and asks for a cup of iced Americano. Sicheng's breath hitch, "basic bitch."

He doesn't mean it in a bad way.

Sicheng sets his foot to the coffee maker. The mystery man looks back at you, his charming smile never fades. He slowly leans in and whispers, "please do something about Ten. We're getting a bit annoyed by his rants." Your eyes widen, taken aback by his sudden action. The man simply takes a step back and winks, "the name's Hendery. We'll have lots of meetings from now on."

"I'm...glad?"

"Here's your coffee!" Sicheng suddenly appears and Hendery pays for it. He points his index finger to your lips and puts it on his own before mumbling about what you think is, "secret."

Hendery walks out after he pets all the cats in the cafe (which takes him around 10 minutes because they're 10 cats). Sicheng nudges your elbow, "what was that all about?" You shake your head, "I don't know but I do know he's handsome."

Although, handsome is an understatement. Hendery is...heavenly charming. Yeah, you think he suits heavenly more. However, Ten is still on top of the list. Because ten is hot as hell.

[07:27]

Spending time with cats is never on the summer bucket list but you think it completed the summer itself. You can die happily now. Not to mention now that Ten is here, summer is a bit warm for you now. Warm because you're currently holding his hand tightly-as if you'd let him go any second, on your way to watch a play.

Few hours earlier, he had invited you to watch his friend's play, Hendery, together. At first, you didn't think plays are for you. Heck, that thought never once appear in your mind. But seeing Ten was so desperate for you to be there with him, you thought, why not? It could never harm anyone.

Your heart feels giddy and fuzzy. As soon as he shows the tickets to the security, he pulls your hand excitedly. Perhaps he's just giving his friend his support.

Joy overtook you as he continues holding your hand even during the play which makes your focus on him, not the play. Though the only thing you remember is the title of the play; "Charming Lady." It is not a traditional play, Ten whispers.

It's my original idea, he grins. You scrunch your nose in confusion, plays requires money, you remember. So how in the world-oh...

It's my original idea, he grins. You scrunch your nose in confusion, plays requires money, you remember. So how in the world—oh. Ten's a famous chef's son and yet, he still doesn't know how to cook rice...for some reason (he has his mother why would he cook?). He's rich as hell, for crying out loud. Everyone would sacrifice themselves just to be served by his family. Their speciality in cooking raised everyone's standard on one's tasting buds whether by the texture, presentation or the taste itself. You once tried their signature, pineapple crab curry, cried and you swore to never discriminate food ever again.

"This...is voluntary. You could say I just want to share my world of arts with people for free. The tickets are exclusively given for people with love for art. I did some research of them...and it's intriguing." Ten lay back on his seat, careful not to spill his coffee onto the floor.

Coffee and plays, a combination you never know you need. It goes well together. The bittersweet longing taste of espresso laces within the dramatic plots of acted out scenes. Truly, a masterpiece.

[00:58]

Charming lady is a rather cliche story, you must say.

Charming lady is based off a woman's dream of becoming a wife to a rich man and travelling the world. And sadly, the man she loves moves away without her as he finds more opportunities in other countries. She would cry herself to sleep every night, wishing-maybe God would help.

Poor soul, you think.

Just like you.

Hopelessly in love with a man you know you would never have chance with. And to every each day you wish for him to look at you, may if it's just seconds, may if it's just a short while. You hope those twinkling eyes of his would shine seeing you, but you could only hope.

You hate fate.

As the story progresses, hendery is the protagonist, the villian or whatever Ten said. Now, Hendery's role is the most crucial affect to the whole plot. He thicken the play by simply pursuing the woman-a whole cliche, likewise.

But you know how it feels.

To see someone who's in love, but not you. You're desperate, you're selfish for wanting him. But how could the little heart of yours endure such a burden in the name of love? Whether it'd be yours or his. As you grew up, you understood the villain more this developing a hatred passion towards the selfish hero(es).

You couldn't shed a tear but something break your heart there.

You know Ten will be leaving again.

His love for dancing wouldn't get him anywhere if he stays here.

After the two of you watched the theatre, Ten suggested a cafe that sells good sweets. The evening is quiet beautiful today with the clouds blushing on the horizon, the sun spreading its last shiny crown for today. You look at the menu, chose one portion of banana milk smooth and a red bean flavoured bun while Ten orders Chai Tea for himself.

"Hey! I've been calling your name for 3 minutes now!!" Ten's voice sorts your thoughts back to reality. You whisk your head to look at him and apologize. "I was way in my mind." You rub your arms softly, the cold night of summer is a hassle. You may never feel his warmth again after this.

He makes an annoyed expression, "here's your smoothie. Banana. And that's probably the only thing I hate bout you, hoe." You snicker, "it's just a smoothie, Ten! You're just getting on your own nerves!" You let out a big laugh, one that make your stomach flips.

"Ew, we're definitely not soulmates." Ten says with a disgust, his tongue poking out and his eyebrows furrowed. He takes your hand in his, grasping it lightly as if you're as fragile as a glass. Your lips reach for the cold blended beverage and slowly sips. Ten watches is disbelief, his eyes narrowed-he's not a fond of fruit, his mother said 6 years ago.

"You know, that play was a first. I really appreciate it when you said you could come. I know it's not that great to you...because you've always hated love and stuff...but seeing my best friend showing up to give support is nice." His ears are red as a cherry, you noticed. Your breath got heavier as your chest thumps vigorously against your ribcage, begging to burst out.

Honestly, you don't really mind if he views you as just a friend. You are far more happy to be on his 'my loved ones' list. If you're able to make him happy, that's all that matters.

You sigh deeply, "what can I say to my parasite? I have to give everything of mine or you'd die." You ruffle his hair, smiling from ear to ear. Ten grins, like a cat, and your heart did a back flip.

"Let's go home."

Ten shakes his head upon hearing your suggestion. "Come on, (Y/n). It's been two weeks and we ever did was going to a cafe, work and sleep. Aren't you getting bored?" The man wiggle his eyebrows playfully and you know where is this going. You laugh, "Ten, I have work tomorrow and I can't afford to sleep late today."

Tomorrow's Tuesday and by now, you've just realised how time flew so fast. It feels like it was just yesterday Ten moved to your neighbourhood. It feels like it was just yesterday the first time the two of you met. It wasn't even special or dramatic like anyone's first loves, but...it is special at least to you.

Little things pasts like the waves. So you want to cherish everything before the end of the world. You are afraid of not completing the role of yours before you die but your mother always warn; "never rush into life or death will move forward." You look up, the soft night breeze softly gust onto your cheeks. A little goodnight by them. The stars are laid across the black canvas of the so called night sky.

Ten looks up too, "who said that?" He closes his eyes for a second, enjoying his youth while he still can before adulthood reaches his time. He continues, "anyways, I was going to tell you to let's go rob your cafe."

This caught your attention—he always does nonetheless. Your eyes widen as saucers, breath hitched, cheeks flushed from the cold,"are you crazy?" You stressed. Ten shrugs his shoulders and meet you in the eye. "For the cats, (Y/n). Think of the cats!" He exclaims dramatically—and you like that about him. He always care for little things, he's attentive of others. Ten may deny all of your sweet statements of his but you know better.

"You're still not over by that?" You roll your eyes and if not, you want to show him your eyeballs fall out of the sockets then put it back in. Just to show him how "annoyed" you are.

On his fourth day of vacation—1 summer free of notifications of "new assignment posted"—you had told him about how Mrs. Suh loves the cats but not enough to let them into her house. She said it reminds her of her late husband. "No, how could they let the cats caged overnight? That's like...a devil's son."

You turn to Ten, "Oh Ten, they're fed. They also will go to walk every morning. It's not like they're dying!" Your feet starts walking to its own pace on the concrete path. The city is quiet, peace and calm. Ten follows. Just like he always does and now, to you, it's time you go on your own paths for the sake of yourselves.

"Fine, fine. I admit I'm exaggerating." He thrusts his cold hands into the pocket of his denim jacket. Ten has things for fashion. Occasionally, he designs for small companies for savings or charity. You flash a grin,"do you still want to do it?" And Ten nod enthusiastically, excited.

You think for a minute and, "race you to the cafe!" You grasp onto your banana smoothie cup firmly, it's only half full. He seems to be taken aback, nonetheless, he starts chasing, shouting, "hey, that's like 20 miles on foot!"

Breathless, still on the run, you turn,"then you better get your foot on the damn pedal!"

Does Nakata ever cares about others? The outcome is a big fat no in red. But even for cats, there are some exceptions and Ten is the exception. The Siamese cat doesn't like anyone unless it's Ten Lee. But fuck the world for having only one Lee Yongqin.

[00:13]

Ten decide to only let Nakata out to avoid getting you fired.

He gently stroke the purring cat.

Oh, to be a cat is a blessing. To be pat by a man named Ten Lee is a blessing. You look in awe, "See, Nakata? I told you you're a 'tsundere'."

The cat glares, then proceeds back to enjoy his little massage therapy. He's too tired to argue you (or he just simply loves ignoring people). You chuckle, turning to Ten. "Do you want some coffee?"

Ten shakes his head briefly. "I don't want an adrenaline rush." You shrug your shoulders, his lost. "Oh please, as if college students aren't caffeine addicts. I'm dialling the pizza." You say, phone on your hand, dialling the local pizza. When you were a kid (actually still till this day), you develop a fear of ordering. And you absolutely hate it when your mom left you alone at the cashier because apparently she forgot to grab the sugar.

You had no money and you were nervous seeing the line had shorten up.

You ring up, and order one box of pepperoni. Classic choice. Nothing goes wrong with classics. Ten sighs, sinking into the torn couch. "Seriously, I live off pizza and coffee. Kun probably hates me for that." He smirks, remembering a friend from college. "There are so many reasons to hate you, darling. Hey, isn't Kun a music major?" You smirk.

Ten once told you about Kun, his roommate. Ten is the epitome of party of life and he could never turn down alcohol for God's sake. Because God forbid him being sober. And one time, he knocked out himself and Kun had to dragged his ass back home. Kun was mostly mad that he had to be responsible for Ten (because the lecturer would ask him about Ten's whereabouts). The whole campus knows they're roommates.

Ten's famous, it's expected.

And you somehow still remember it because 1)if you were to be in love, you will make sure to remember everything. 2)he complains about how kun sounds like his mom a lot—and you could never be anymore happy knowing there is someone taking care of him. 3)kun told you too. He also figured out on how much you're in love with Ten and quoted, "it's as if he's your world—no, your entire universe." And you couldn't agree more. You and kun are secretly friends behind Ten's back.

Preferably because you two gossips about him in the chat...a lot. He said they're for blackmailing if Ten ever threatens him. But you just answer, drop a basket of fruits on the welcoming mat, monotonously.

"Yeah, he always nag how we don't take care of health. Calories and whatever. Sometimes I wonder why he just don't take nutritions."

""Yeah, he always nag how we don't take care of health. Calories and whatever." Ten huffs, watching the cat jumps off his lap and dissapear somewhere between the wooden shelves. "He sounds like Winwin. That guy always nag about people's taste in coffee. He hates it when they order iced Americano because apparently, that's basic." You say with despite, because he did judge you for just ordering iced Americano. It isn't your fault for getting overwhelmed by the sudden tick of anxiety.

That was a year ago, the night you met Sicheng. It was Christmas and he was desperate to close the cafe and barely even got the cats into the cage.

Ten rolls his eyes, "tell me about it." But in the end, he knows you have a soft spot for Sicheng (though he never really know who is this man). That man is cute and has a thing for astrology? Sign (Y/n) the fuck up. Ten is still busy catching up with other people and it's selfish of you to think he'd give up his time just for you. You wish you're his only friend but Ten's an extrovert. He greets everyone and anyone.

You decide to take a bold step forward, "how's dancing?" The topic still hurts you a bit but maybe it's time to move on. What happened already happened. He looks at you dead in the eye. "You know, why can't I just dance and drop the history in dancing? Why do we have to use our brains too? It's exhausting!" He throws his arms into the air, letting out a wail. His focus now on you, he asks, "how about you?"

The question is blurry. The answer is ambiguous. Is he asking about how are you doing? Should you answer with, "oh I'm in love with you and it hurts when you weren't here," or "oh, everything's okay, even if my heart aches like shit and I nearly died from the butterflies you gave me," and you choose neither.

Instead, you reply with, "journalism is still shitty. But Miss Dahlia is shittier. She thinks the whole world revolves around her." You say with despite lacing between your teeth. You hate her with a passion for asking you to write an essay about inspiration. To be decent, you entered journalism to write articles about true crime stories.

"Elaborate."

"Please allow me to jump out of the window and bury myself into the ground."

"Straight to hell." He offers his first bump. And gladly greet him back.

"From, hell."

The doorbell rings. The pizza has arrived. You walk towards the door and grab Ten's wallet from his coat that's hanging at the door. He scowls, loud enough for you to know. You brush it off. Ten has been loving off you so it's time he returns the favour. He signed up the friendship contract, nonverbal, and it clearly states, "always feed your best friend." You smile to the delivery man and wave goodbye.

You take steps to the carpet and put the box of pizza on the coffee table. You pull your knees near your chest, taking a warm slice of pizza to relieve your hunger. "How are things for you?" You start.

"Well, my life is cool." He replies, toneless. Your question make him pursue his lips, recalling everything he has done in life. The question is subjective yet he feels as if you're slipping through the cracks of his fingers—and he is beyond fucking scared to lose you. But he knows that's selfish of him.

"No potential lovers?" You yawn, sleepiness has been taunting you for the night. You can't afford to sleep here or you're getting fired. And Sicheng will kill you for leaving him alone dealing with impatient customers who doesn't know how to appreciate baristas that works hard to serve the best beverage. Being a barista is hard but falling in love with Ten is harder.

Ten stretch his arm, "not really, college is hectic for love. Too hectic." You could see his bruises on the legs as his jeans rolled up a bit. Dancers has them and he always said that it's fine and normal. Since dancers uses their bodies a lot, it's almost a routine for bruises to come along on the way.

"Have you ever been in love, Ten?" That caught him off guard. Not once you have asked him about love. It comes naturally to him. To him, love is something he wants to feel and share. That's the reason he chose dancing. To share people about his love for art performance by simply moving his body with the music. It's like fluid. You go wherever music takes you.

You take a deep breath. Love to you is completely selfish. You have no idea how to pursue love in any ways.

"My friends there...they're in love. They found someone to cherish romantically. They found someone to love and sometimes...I feel left out. They hang out with their partners on holidays and I can't really expect them to be free always." So you let it out. Those hidden feelings everytime you felt around your friends. You don't want to say you're desperate to be loved, rather you want someone to love.

After all, love is the reason of existence. To be a human is to feel emotions, to be hurt and to hurt, to make mistakes and be one sometimes.

Ten is silent. And you don't really mind, at all. So you continue, spilling your emotions and left no crumbs."My family keeps pestering me to find someone. You know how I am. I don't believe in love at first sight. I want a love that starts from a relationship. Trust is earned." He agrees by nodding silently. He doesn't need to say anything unless need to be.

"I wish I could live in a cottage with cats." You let out a breathless laugh, tears threatening to spill like pearl beads falling. He joins in,"oh, to live in a cottage core aesthetic," draping his arm over his forehead and clutch his chest.

"Sometimes, I wish I have someone too." You confess, looking away from him. Gazing at the stars, your cheeks flushed. You have no intention of hinting on him but hey, we live once. So fuck it.

Ten murmurs under his breath, "what if they're close?" He decides for himself. He's a grown man and Sicheng thinks—for some reason—fate holds everything and Ten thinks otherwise. As if the stars had written for him to be in love with you, then so be it. If he loves, he loves hard.

"Wha—" you don't have enough time. Ten says that a lot because he thinks you're going to drift away once again so he crashes his lips onto yours.

The kiss isn't the one you'd call a great one. However, it's the kind of kiss that would still leave butterflies in your stomach. The two of you are still new about this, he doesn't ask you to define and neither do you. The kiss sent sparks all over your body, he doesn't really know how to lead. But it's okay, kisses can wait to be perfected —with practice.

Everything is hazy and love is still unfair. Love is still a question no one could ever answer, playing with every human beings feelings. But that's okay because you can take slow steps with Ten, to define the journey. But you know he's going to be with you till the end of the world. Because he passed his awkward angsty teenage hears with you, he was there when you pulled your wisdom teeth out, he was there when you lost Thian and helped you to move on from it (hopefully the cat is fine wherever he is).

The spring ended and it's time for a new summer full of hope and sparks of potential love.