#second ghost pipes sighting :) not the same ones as last year

[vampyroteuthid]

it sure is july

[sukirichi]

acquainted

You had no intentions of becoming acquainted with the clan your family had cut ties with, but when Naoya Zenin himself is willing to teach you a lesson and you’re determined to show him what you’re capable of, it becomes a silly game of power and dominance.

REQUEST. naoya putting reader back to her place

WARNINGS: Naoya Zenin, rough sex, orgasm denial, face fucking, slight voyeurism, degradation, slight bondage, cowgirl riding, manhandling, spanking, hate sex

WC. 5.4k+

NOTES. Because Naoya is my favorite, his fic is the only one I’ve ever edited, LOL. Even though this is requested, this is written out of self-indulgence, purely because I love Naoya and even though he’s nasty, he’s my comfort character. And freaking FINALLY I have written more for this man. I worship this King 👑

There were so many ways this day had gone wrong. First, your shower broke. Second, the maintenance men couldn’t come until late in the afternoon, so you had to drive all the way to school looking like a half-mess. You weren’t a slob, of course, but you were beyond irritable at the thought your hair felt greasier than most.

So when an unfamiliar mop of blonde hair sat at your place, the sight of pierced ears meeting your gaze as you smiled at the young man, you had to clutch your bag tighter. No need to be harsh to anyone; you reminded yourself.

“Hi,” you greeted as politely as you could.

The young man in your seat was handsome — terribly so — feline eyes emphasized with an eyeliner, and stunning green eyes that peered up at you with utmost boredom. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint where you’d seen him before.

“I believe you’re in my seat.”

You expected he’d kindly take another seat since the hall was empty, but he only leaned back in your seat, brow raised with a slight smirk. “So?”

Your mouth fell agape, hands falling at your sides. Who was this guy? “What do you mean, so? Get the fuck out of my seat.”

“Women,” he rolled his eyes, “Always so tempered and dirty mouthed,” the words felt like stinging slap in your face, and he easily read through you when he snickered to himself, waving a hand in the air as if he was swatting a fly away. “I’m already sitting here, so go find someplace else. I came here first.”

“You little — who do you think you are?”

“Who do you think you are for speaking to me? Did I give you permission?”

His condescending voice made you lunge at him if not for your friend’s hand wrapping at your arm, shooting worried glances over the guy. His smirk deepened when your friend pulled away, the words mutter under her breath. “Come on, let’s go,” she tugged you away despite your protests, pushing your shoulders down to make you sit. Once out of earshot, she rolled her eyes. “I seriously hate that guy. Don’t you ever involve yourself with him.”

“Who’s that prick anyway? He acts so high and mighty like he’s some rich daddy’s son. Look, he’s totally claiming my seat as his!”

“That’s Naoya Zenin, and yeah, he is some rich daddy’s son,” she confirmed, shivering at the mere mention of his name. “He’s an absolutely big misogynist. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face — he’s the worst fuckboy to ever exist. That dick of his isn’t worth getting fucked over. He’s already made half the women in school cry and run after him like a horde of lovesick zombies,” your friend gagged with a shake of her head, “It’s terrifying, actually.”

“Fucking asshole,” you hissed under your breath, sending side glances at the corner of your eye.

That stupid guy was still in your seat, a bored expression on his handsome face, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks at every blink. He just had to be a sexist pig with that gorgeous face — no good men existed anymore. “Whatever. He’ll get a taste of his own medicine soon.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“I’m doing this for all of us,” you announced with your spine straightened. “I’m not letting a man walk like that acting like he’s got the whole world at his feet. I’ll teach him a lesson or two.”

“You do know he can sue you if you punch him right?”

“Who said I was going to punch him?” a smirk painted your lips at the same time he felt your eyes burning holes at the side of his face, your expression even more triumphant when he tilted his head to the side, eyebrow cocked at your gaze. He must’ve assumed you’d fallen for his looks judging by the satisfied smile on his face, making you laugh because it would be fun to teach him a lesson.  “No, I have a much more interesting plan in mind.”

It turned out that Naoya wasn’t that much of a stranger.

You had his reputation to thank for — people spoke his name left and right that it was nearly impossible not to know of him. It had you wondering how you managed to live through university so long without knowing him when the name drowned you; he was a Zenin.

No wonder that name was so familiar.

The Zenin’s were a close business partner of your family, but they cut off ties with their company years ago due to them having an intolerable attitude. Clearly, it ran in the blood, and their heir manifested it so well.

Thoughts of Naoya and his stupid face were soon drowned out by expensive champagne, the golden liquid sparkling in your hands. You had to attend this dinner gala where businessmen and powerful families alike conjoined for a formal opportunity of forming connections and solidifying deals, pressuring you to be at your best behaviour lest you wanted your black card to be cut off.

You made your way through the crowd to get another one of those hors d oeuvres, opting to just sit in the corner while you watched your family plaster on big, fake smiles with even louder, faker laughter.

It was quite sad, really, that people had to do stuff like this, but who were you to complain when it was what fed you on a silver plate all the time?

For now, you just wanted to enjoy the new dress your mother had gotten you, the silk black material hugged around your curves delectably. Pearl drop earrings hung to frame the sides of your face, legs lengthened and accentuated with stiletto heels.

You felt sexy — especially when you got lingering gazes from men who were slightly older and definitely richer, though you made no move.

The last thing you wanted was to become someone’s trophy wife when you could become so much more.  Plus, only your parents had the task of befriending people and building trust with others. You were only here to help represent the name somewhat with your pretty face, not really having much of an intention to be acquainted with anyone.

You swiped another glass of fizzy alcohol from the waiter that passed by, glossy red lips pinched around the glass when a sultry voice mused at your ear, “Still can’t find a seat?”

Swirling around so fast that the contents nearly poured out the glass, you weren’t surprised to see Naoya fucking Zenin stood before you, his tall stature draped in only the finest and hand-stitched three piece suit.

He looked absolutely delectable this way, earrings glimmering under the golden chandeliers and eyes lined with kohl, the aura of elegance that perfectly concealed his less than pleasing personality excessively charming.

You were beyond appalled.

“Still can’t find a brain?” you retorted with a roll of your eyes, eyes still narrowed at Naoya’s displeased ones as you dunk your drink in one go. “What are you doing here, pig?”

“I’ll let that comment slide once — only because you look hot tonight,” his predatory gaze ran over your form, the careful pattern of him pausing at the swell of your breasts sliding to the curve of your hips heating up each inch of your skin. “And it’s Naoya for you. Naoya Zenin, the rightful heir of the Zenin Corp—”

“What’s that scent you’re wearing? Baby powder? Fitting for your cute face, actually.”

Naoya’s jaw clenched, clearly unaccustomed to people cutting off his holiness, and you had to bite down on your lip to prevent the chuckles from slipping through. “It’s Tom Ford.”

“Hmm, why am I not surprised? My horrible ex also wore the same scent. Maybe it’s a trademark for all limp losers, huh?” Naoya opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it, stepping forward to grab at the space between his tie to pull him down. His face was mere centimetres away from you, close enough that his breath ghosted over your lips, the intense anger flaring through those eyes hot enough to burn you. “You act so smug and defensive, Naoya. Trying to have a big man personality to conceal a small dick?”

“I have nothing to prove to you.”

“You don’t need to prove me anything,” you glanced down at his pants with a smirk, ignoring the heat pulsing in your veins because the sight contradicted your words. There was a noticeable bulge inside those shiny black slacks, though the last thing you wanted him to see was the way your mouth watered in anticipation. “I already know what I need to know.”

“Yeah? You and your shitty girlfriends can’t stop talking about my dick?”

You shrugged sarcastically, “You know women. We’re tireless complainers.”

Naoya’s jaw ticked upon you using his words against him, his hands coming up to caress at your neck, his nails scratching behind the thick silver chain you wore.

From afar and in the eyes of others, people would’ve thought you and Naoya were simply getting a little too heated, his lips dipped to graze your ear while his slender fingers pressed a little tighter into your air pipe. Your positions could easily be mistaken for Naoya seducing you, and you supposed he was, since your body responded differently from your verbal protests.

“You should watch what you’re saying,” he warned, voice low with warning. “I could easily dump your body into a river and no one would even notice. In fact, maybe the world might even thank me for doing them a service and ridding them of a spiteful woman like you.”

“Oh, pretty boy,” you chuckled back and stood to your tippy toes. One of your hands wrapped around his neck to forcefully tilt his neck to yours, nose pressed above his collar to inhale the intoxicating masculine scent he wore. “You’re all bark and no bite. Why don’t you show me what you’re capable of? If you’re as awful as they make you out to be, maybe I’ll shiver enough to drop my panties for you.”

You didn’t miss the way Naoya’s hands gripped at your waist to pull you close, enticing you to continue with your insults because maybe Naoya liked this a lot more than he let on. Could it be his superiority complex didn’t always like submissive women, after all?

Well, it would make sense; everyone always liked a little challenge, didn’t they?

If that was what he wanted, then you’d be generous enough to grant it to him.

“Wouldn’t you like to get a chance to put me in my place, to teach me a lesson for defiling the oh-so-mighty Naoya Zenin?” you purposefully toned your voice down to a more breathy tone, your chest swelling with pride when Naoya sucked in a sharp inhale beside your ear.

God, he sounded beautiful — and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. Now, you were eager to hear what else those disgusting lips could be capable of other than degrading you.  

Pulling away from him just to bat your lashes at him, heat pooled straight into your core when Naoya’s gaze had completely darkened, dark orbs pooled with lust and anger. Only he could make such an expression look so good.

“You don’t scare me, Zenin. You’re nothing but a small boy wearing big man pants.”

For a moment, your smile widened, believing that you’d won this time around. Naoya was still breathing hard at each brush of your stomach to his now hardening erection, but then he smirked and gently pushed you away from him. “I’m not fucking you here,” he stated calmly, not even bothering to keep his voice low. “You’re a lot dumber than I thought you’d be if you really think I’m whipping my cock out during this dreadful dinner.”

“This dreadful dinner you speak of is an opportunity for people like us to establish connections. I would’ve assumed you wanted nothing more to impress others but it seems I was wrong. If you hate this event so much, why bother coming here in the first place?”

“Just had a feeling I was going to meet a little minx,” he watched you seductively, his smirk adorned with his tongue peeking out to lick his lips — in turn wetting you in places he promised to make his by the end of the night. Curse him, you chanted in your head, curse him for being so attractive. It would’ve been easier if he was ugly. “And as always, I’m right.”

You tilted a brow, slightly impressed. “So you’ve done your background check on me. That doesn’t explain why you’re still here though. Surely a woman couldn’t be enough for a reason to make a man like you go all this way?”

“You’re right, a woman would never be a good enough reason, but I wanted to put you in your place,” his eyes flickered back up to you, now twinkling with danger and something else entirely. “Bad little girls need to be a taught to a lesson.”

“So what’re you waiting for? Go ahead and show me your ways, Zenin.”

“I will,” he nodded to himself, “I’m about to,” Naoya was nothing but confident as he strode your way until his arms was locked with yours, his breath tickling your collarbones that had unknowingly exposed itself at each heated touch. “You’re not that bad for a slut. You look like one, smell like one — I bet you also feel like one.”

A dry laugh left your lips as you fisted his shirt, mirroring his smirk to show that if a match was what he looked for, then a match he’d find indeed. Only this time, you would be worse.

“Why don’t you go ahead and find out?”

Naoya, despite being an absolutely poor excuse of a human being, was somewhat redeemable for being a man of his words. Find out he did, and he wasted no time into shoving you inside his McLaren, barely able to keep his hands off you the whole way up to his penthouse.

It was a blurry mess from there.

Moans spilled from your lips while he ripped your clothes off, not bothering to apologize that he’d just ruined one of your most prized possessions, his lust-clouded haze mumbling that he’d just buy you another one.

It was the last thing you expected to hear from him, but you couldn’t protest, not when he’d angrily snapped the buttons of his shirt away, a low growl mixing with your breathy whines as he loosened his tie.

Your eyes widened at the sight, legs rubbing together as you imagined what else he could do with that pretty tie of his.

Would he tie you to his bed, fuck you stupid and call you useless? Or perhaps, you could do it?

Naoya cut off your train of thought by pushing you back to his mattress, his hands tugging at his belt before he pulled his boxers down, his thick length slapping at his abdomen. Your mouth immediately watered at the sight. You were beyond wet from nothing but your sloppy make-out sessions, but would he fit?

Just the thought of him giving you that burning stretch made your legs spread beside his sides, the sardonic laughter ripping from Naoya’s lips absolutely disgusting.

“Fucking pathetic. You’re just like everyone else; submitting to me at the sight of my cock, but that’s not true, is it? Moment you saw me, I knew you were clenching around nothing,” he gripped at your jaw to force you to look at him. You glared up at him from his bruising hold, your cheeks squished under his rough hands. “But that’s okay; wanting me is not something you should be ashamed about. Although you should be thanking me I’m even letting you near me like this.”

“I’m so honoured. Come on, Naoya, let me feel you — let me make you feel good.”

Naoya, too lost in his ego, missed the sarcasm dripping in your voice. “So eager to be my cock sleeve, huh?” he grinned, tugging at your hair to push you deeper into his mattress.  “Get on your knees. Now suck.”

He was too harsh in his pace, determined to exert his dominance over you. You could feel every ridge of his vein as he continued fucking into your mouth, his abs rippling above you. It felt like witnessing a Greek god come apart, and you took pleasure in being his ruin, prompting you to hollow your cheeks and bob your mouth up and down on his cock harder.

Naoya’s chuckles were broken and often mixed with curses of fuck, you feel so fucking good, his nails now scratching at your scalp.

Soon, Naoya stilled inside you, his hold around your head deadly to keep you in place. Tears flowed down your face as he kept thrusting inside, making sure to hit the back of your throat before his muscles tightened. Spurts of warm cum followed after that, but instead of swallowing it like you expected he’d command you to do, Naoya whipped out his cock and came all over your face, his seed shooting all over your cheeks and lips.

You took it all obediently, just enough to give him the false pretense of submissiveness that he was so willing to force from you.

While he was occupied pumping his still rock hard cock, eyes closed and massaging your scalp almost soothingly, Naoya failed to notice your hurried movements of standing from the bed, fingers looped around his tie.

A small wail resonated from him when you shoved him down onto the bed, knees locked at either sides of his waist before you tugged at the cloth wrapped around his neck. Naoya kicked his legs behind you as you tied his wrists to the bed hard enough that Naoya winced, the tie only forming tighter at each lame grapple of his.

You looked back at how he got more beautiful laid out in front of you like that, chest heaving up and down while he struggled against the restraints, face flushed with anger — no, this wasn’t anger anymore — he was furious.

“What are you doing?! Get this off me — how dare you!”

“How dare you,” you spat back, discarding your lace bra off to wipe his cum away from your face, gagging when the bitter cum left a tang on your lips. “I just got my skin appointment last week and you came on my face like that?”

Naoya kept fighting back before he realised it was a futile attempt, leaning back down onto the pillows, though that didn’t soften his heated eyes on yours. You cooed at how adorable he submitted to you, running a finger down the sides of his jaw. “Aw, don’t look so angry, baby. I’m just starting my fun,” you purred, “You should’ve known better than to mess with me, Naoya. I’m not as nice as the others. And I’ll show you just how awful I can be.”

Naoya’s breath hitched when you shimmied out of your underwear, a dark glint in your eyes as you stretched the elastic into a fake arrow until it snapped into his face.

“You fucking bitch,” he growled, turning his face away from your panties soaked with arousal. “Once I get out of here, I will ruin you.”

“Huh, yeah, sure,” you mumbled incoherently, too lost in the pleasure as you sunk down on his cock. You were right, he was fucking thick, stretching you out better than any of your toys could. Plus, he was warm and leaking with pre-cum that he slid in easily, erotic groans leaving both your mouths once he was finally seated inside you.

Naoya was growling at you to let go of him when you laughed, lifting your hips up slowly before sliding back down on him just as slow, almost as if you made love to his cock the same passionate way you did with a lover. “You do have a wonderful cock, though. I’ve never felt this good in my life,” you leaned down to lick a stripe down to his neck, allowing him to hear the needy pants you graced with him. “You feel so good, Naoya, oh. If you weren’t such an asshole, I might even fall in love with you.”

“Go faster. This is unfair!”

Naoya tried thrusting deep into you, evidently unsatisfied at this torturous pace you set, but you only gripped at his thigh in warning, your eyes no longer sweet as you glared at him.

“Nothing’s ever fair in this world, sweetheart,” you reminded him, shivering every now and then as you bounced on his cock, his length slipping past through your walls magically. “Like how such a gorgeous face and amazing dick is paired with the most disgusting personality ever. No, it’s not fair, indeed...”

You closed your eyes with your head thrown back, placing your hips flat on his pelvic bone instead, fingers rubbing at your clit while Naoya throbbed inside you, desperate for release.

The little whines you gave were nothing but mocking. You knew that Naoya suffered through this position, but did you care? Absolutely not. With Naoya’s cock stretching you full and his tip kissing your most sensitive spots, in addition to your fingers rubbing and tweaking at your clit, this was the most pleasure you’d ever gotten from sex.

You were stimulated everywhere, your other hand reached up to tug at your hardened nipples.

Your walls clenched around him, signalling him that you were close and you let out a broken moan, falling forward to gyrate your hips around his cock to push you over the edge. It wasn’t enough to get him off since you were mostly still fondling with your clit, the sounds of your moans like torture to his ears.

“No, don’t you dare cum, I swear if you—” Your orgasm washed over you comfortingly like a warm blanket. Instead of seeing white, it was like your vision cleared, the sight of the sweat that made Naoya’s hair stick to his forehead in clumps crystal clear. You prolonged your orgasm by thrusting your hips in a sickening rhythm of thrust, pause, thrust, stop ­— and by then Naoya was losing his mind.

Naoya lost control as he snapped his hips upwards inside you hard enough that you winced in pain, pushing off his dick until he’s left humping the empty air, his body drenched with perspiration. “No, no, no, fuck you! Get back here you useless slut!”

You lay beside him, giggling in post-orgasm bliss. Just to tease him, you rolled to his side to press a kiss to his cheek, laughing harder when your lips came in contact with his flushed skin.

“You’re so adorable like this,” you cupped his face tenderly, perfectly aware that Naoya had begun to growl, his wrists almost bruised from how hard he brawled against his tie. “If I didn’t hate you so much, I would’ve let you cum inside me,” you offered with a pat to his chest, moving off the bed with wobbly legs.

“Well, whatever, that was fun. I would say we both had the most sensual sex of our lives, but that would be a joke for you, don’t you think?” you snorted as you inserted your arms to his discarded suit jacket.

Naoya stayed still on the bed, his cock still painfully hard and slick with your cum. “Don’t look so angry, Naoya. You had it coming for you. Don’t worry, though, as a thanks for letting me cum that hard — though I mostly did all the work — I’ll keep this between us so you at least get to keep whatever’s left of your dignity,” you blew a kiss his way, “Bye, sweetie. At least now I know people weren’t exaggerating when they called you a good fuck.”

Not bothering to slip your heels back on, you looped your shoes into the curls of your fingers, about to button Naoya’s jacket as you made your way to his door.

You never got halfway across the room when strong arms suddenly lifted you off the ground, your vision transitioning from his door to the pads of his feet, your body slung across his shoulder. Naoya gripped at your ass in warning when you kicked your legs, leaving him with no choice but to hug your thighs with one arm.

The next thing you knew, he slammed the balcony doors open with one hand and slammed you on the pool table. His rough hands yanked his jacket away from your body, the chilly night of the air bringing a shiver down your spine as it hit your drenched core.

Naoya had pinned your arms flat on your back in a painful angle, making you cry out just as he kneed your legs open, his free hand that wasn’t pinning you down aligning his cock against your hole. You were a moaning mess underneath him, the pain only an intoxicating addition to the pleasure he was pounding into you. Naoya then leaned to whisper your ear, the sudden movement making his cock slide deeper into you, the pleasure overwhelming.

“Oh, Naoya, fuck—”

“I am not just a good fuck,” he corrected you, “I am Naoya Zenin — and you will do well being silent and submissive while I fuck you, do you understand?” You were too lost in the feeling of him rutting deep into you that he had you seeing white this time around. When you didn’t answer, Naoya slapped your ass, your yelps echoing from the dead night. “I asked you a question.”

“No,” you bit back, “I refuse to—” you were silenced when Naoya hit your sweet spot, laughing at your state that you were too fucked out to give him a proper answer.

Naoya’s pace was merciless as he fucked deeper into you, the hand on your ass moving up to grab at your waist to keep slamming you back to his cock. He watched as your lips sucked him in so tight that he didn’t know whether you were pushing him out or refusing to let go. Turning your head to the side to gasp for air, you opened your eyes, only to be met by the sight of men crowding on the building across yours to witness your undoing by Naoya’s hands.

“I’ve barely started and you’re already so wet for me,” he mocked in your ear. As if on cue, squelching sounds accompanied your desperate moans, hands grabbing at nothing in particular. “Shall I try upping my speed?”

“N-Naoya- there are people looking.”

“Let them see,” he seethed, using one arm to lift your other leg up to the table to gain him more access into your warm, wet cavern. The sudden stretch made your muscles ache until you lay there limp; jaw clenched at the pleasure Naoya drowned you with. “Let them know how much I’m making this pussy mine. Gosh, can you hear yourself? You sound like a dirty fucking slut,” another slap landed on your ass, hard enough to leave a mark there for tomorrow. “You claim to hate me, so then why are you dripping all over me, huh? Pathetic whore. You women are nothing but cum dumps to me.”

Naoya spread your butt cheeks open, laughing at the silly way you clenched around him every time he pulled out, your puffy lips sucking him back again until Naoya buried himself to the hilt. His dick did wonders in letting out the most erotic whines and whimpers you never thought you’d be capable of, leaving you a drooling and panting mess under him.

“You little fucker, don’t even think about cumming inside me, I will literally castrate you and feed your balls to yourself.”

“Such a dirty mouth. Though that’s expected of a nasty woman like you,” he sassed, his thrusts faltering while his hand clenched your flesh tighter. That was enough to send you over the edge when Naoya slammed his hips harder and more desperately this time around, his cock twitching against your walls. “You wish I would cum inside you. But I have a better plan in mind.”

All it took was one rough hand for him to pull you before him, pushing you down into your knees again as he came inside your mouth. You could feel your cum and his dripping onto his dark marble tiles, the white pool of liquid shining.

Naoya thrusted lazily into your mouth, a sickening grin on his face while he kept you down there. His glare deepened when you tried to pull away from him. “Swallow, you slut. Or I’m fucking your face until I break your jaw.”

Furiously, you swallowed around his cock, Naoya groaning at the feeling of your walls convulsing around him. The moment you gagged from when his tip poked the back of your throat, Naoya pushed you off him until you were left choking on the ground. You gasped for air, hands clasped around your neck, sure that you were going to have a sore jaw and a fucked throat tomorrow.

You kept glaring at Naoya, but this didn’t deter him from gripping your chin down, humming to himself upon seeing that his cum was now gone in your mouth. “Hmm, so you did swallow it like a good girl. I’m glad I’ve disciplined you well.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m King there already, baby,” Before you could retort, his arms encircled your waist until you were heaved in his arms again. You pounded against his back because you were too done, you couldn’t do another round. Naoya sighed as he threw you in the bed as if you were a ragdoll, disappearing in the bathroom for a while before coming back with a wet towel, which he rudely flicked your way. “Clean yourself up and then leave. Take the back elevators. I don’t want the staff to see a whore leaving my place.”

“You’re the one who brought me here.”

“Only because I had a duty to put you in your place,” He stared at you with his smirk now permanent in his face, admiring the bruises he left on your body.

“We’re not over yet, Zenin. I’m going to break you one way or another.”

You rolled your eyes at him, walking to his closet to wear one of his shirts. Naoya was silent the whole time as he watched you button his shirt with trembling hands, his presence hot on your heels as he followed you out the large room.

As you were about to leave, you picked up the towel you used to clean your cum with and threw it right at his face.

Naoya dodged it easily, eyeing the towel with a scoff. “Still resilient, I see,” settling down on one of his lounge chairs like it was a throne, Naoya rested his cheek on his fist as he stared you down. “But fine — I accept your challenge. A true man never backs down from a challenge, after all.”

“Oh, honey, I’m more than just a challenge,” you sneered.

Naoya’s gaze left your eyes to stare at your perky nipples that poked through his shirt, feeling his cock swell all over again. But he was a man of control and dignity — he wouldn’t do anything more with you, not when it was clear you’ve had enough for tonight.

It didn’t bother him though, he knew he’d have more opportunities to put you in your place.

“We’ll see about that. I’ll be the one to decide your worth,” he declared oh so smugly, the mere sound of his voice pushing you to slam a fist to ruin that pretty face of his, though you held your ground, far too tired to move a muscle. Naoya saw this too, and he smiled to himself, head tilted to the side as he studied the mess he’d made of you. “Tomorrow, same time same place?”

There was no telling what pushed you to agree, but the words left your lips far too confidently for you to even wonder why.

“Be ready for me, Zenin.”

“I always am.”

All the way back to the back elevators that Naoya had directed you at, you pondered on how you’d be able to tell your parents you suddenly needed a ride home when they had no idea you left the dinner gala in the first place. But most of all, how were you supposed to tell them you’d acquainted yourself with the Zenin clan all over again?

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Round Two: Keizo Arashi x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Falling in love isn't the name of the game, but it is in the playbook.

wc: 1.2k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

🏀All-Stars Masterlist🏀

Keizo never believed in "love at first sight".

For a man like him, "love" was a luxury that he couldn't afford, although he made enough money to buy the ghost of it every day of the year.

The fans didn't "love" him; they were entertained by him.

His teammates don't "love" him; they're grateful that he does his job well.

His family doesn't "love" him; they're glad his career brings money and fame to the Arashi name.

Love doesn't exist, not for him.

So Keizo supposes it's an intense lust that overcomes him when he sees you practicing with the other cheerleaders on the court before the game. He supposes it's his desire to feel less lonely that drives his eyes to roll up and down your frame as you swing your hips in your tracksuit. He knows that when you flip your hair, it isn't for him - and he ignores the part of himself that wishes it was.

"Hey, man," his teammate - Takeomi Akashi - mutters while slapping him on the back. "Drool over Ms. New Booty another time. We've got a game to practice for. She's probably taken by the other team's players anyways - you know how they are."

By they, Keizo wants to ask, does he mean "the cheerleaders"? Or does he mean the other team? But the thought is quickly cast aside as he goes into the separate practice gym, his mind on the game ahead.

When he jogs out to the sound of booing - this is usually the case for away games - he sees you ruffling your poms and smiling with pink lipstick spread perfectly across your plush lips. And for a second, that feeling returns. That feeling of his chest aching and heart cracking open, almost as if he's having a heart attack. But when he looks away from you, the feeling disappears.

It's nothing, right?

Halftime fares him no better - they're down by two points - and he can't help but stare at the TV in the locker room while you perform the routine you'd worked hard on. Every time the camera focuses on you, he feels it again. And again. And again.

"Think I need to be benched," he grumbles to Shinichiro Sano, whose eyes widen.

"Are you alright?"

"My chest hurts. It's like... tight."

"Tighter than your pants?" Wakasa wonders, laughing as Keizo looks down at the obvious indention of his arousal. Shinichiro joins in the fun as if they were middle schoolers, then sighs softly.

"Keizo," Takeomi pipes in, his eyes narrowing. "Don't miss a shot because of that girl."

"What girl?" Shinichiro and Waka ask at the same time, but Keizo just runs his hand over his cornrows, sighing.

"Did you see the cheerleader in the middle row with the pink lipstick?" Takeomi asks.

''The one with the curves?" Waka chimes in, waving his hands around in the air to demonstrate. Shinichiro cackles.

"Okay, okay," Keizo mutters, trying not to get upset. "Just drop it."

"I'll drop it when you stop trying to sneak a peek at her while we're running a play."

"You should send her some flowers," Shinichiro offers, nudging Keizo with his elbow. "Couldn't hurt, right?"

"Yeah..."

_____________________________________________________________

The orchid arrangement on your changing room table is the only one in the room.

"Who's it from?" The captain wonders, watching you peel the note off the vase.

"It just says 'loved your performance' from #21."

"We don't have a 21 on the team," the vice-captain grumbles, and you look over at her curiously. "But there was one last night." You remember the face and the number very well. His grey eyes were on you all night, and he narrowly missed the ball a few times because of it.

"On the opposing team..." You touch the petals thoughtfully, then look up at the other girls gathered around. "I'll think about it."

You didn't have to think about it for long.

After your post-practice shower and nightly routine, you climb into bed and open your phone. Your fingers type 'number 21 dragons'. A name and a face pop up that match the man you saw last night, and for a second, your heart skips a beat.

"Keizo Arashi," you say aloud, liking how his name sounds in your mouth. A moanable name. The various social media profiles detail his career with the Dragons, but you settle for looking at his Flickstagram. Among the various promotional pictures, you see him in his car - a Mercedez-Benz G 63, of course - doing philanthropic work, and thirst trapping, just a little. And you'd be lying if you said it didn't make you grin a bit.

Got the flowers you sent me. Thanks.

You type the message, send it, and set your phone down on your dresser, expecting him (or his PR team) to reply a day or so later. But your phone pings almost instantly, and you turn to look at it, expecting to see something other than a reply to your message.

You liked them; that's good.

You're not sure what you should reply, but three dots pop up again, indicating that he was still typing.

We should FaceTime. Here's my number.

You hesitate, but then click on the number and select the FaceTime option. The phone says "calling", then "connecting", and then you see Keizo's face on your phone screen.

"Hey," he breathes, and you smile back at him.

"Hey..." There's a moment of awkward silence, but then Keizo squints at the screen.

"Are you in bed?" You laugh, then nod, still giggling when he laughs.

"Where are you?" you wonder.

"In my bed!"

_____________________________________________________________

You stumble into the hotel room, laughing and giggling as your fingers search for the light switch. Keizo is out of breath behind you, also laughing when he staggers into the room.

"You couldn't run fast enough," you gasp, clutching at your sides. "Told you you'd lose." You've barely taken a step toward the bed when you feel Keizo wrap you up in a hug from behind, his lips pressing against your neck.

"Love you," he murmurs into your skin, and you hum thoughtfully, holding the arm that's slung around your waist.

"Show me, don't tell me."

Show me.

Keizo's hips rut into yours as you're standing across from the mirror, his breath warm on your skin and hands holding your breasts.

Show me.

His groans of passion make your stomach quake, and your body responds to him and his touch with little hesitation. "Want you all to myself," Keizo moans into your ear, his cock stroking your g-spot just right.

"Then show me." Your hands slide up to his head, cradling both cheeks between your palms.

"I'll show you," he breathes. "Every day, I'll show you."

You're brought to the peak of your orgasm before he even begins to feel his own. But the feeling isn't delayed long, and his toes curl with pleasure as he cums inside of you. Round one is only the beginning, you note mentally, waiting for his cue so you can turn onto your stomach, ass-up, and get the round two you deserve.

"Tell me you love me," Keizo murmurs, turning you onto your stomach with his massive hands.

"I love you. And I mean it." Keizo chuckles deeply, spreading your ass cheeks apart and sliding inside of you, fully hard again.

"I believe you, baby. I believe you."

[cuttoothed]

Getting this in just under the wire for day 1 of @jonmartinweek prompt “Comfy Jumpers”. I get so much joy from writing these two in s1 and thinking “lol you idiots are going to be in love some day.”

*

Martin knows that Jon doesn’t approve of the way he dresses.

It’s not exactly a surprise. Jon doesn’t approve of much about Martin: his report-writing, his Latin translations, even his very existence seems to irk Jon at times. Frankly, the feeling is mutual. Martin was perfectly happy working in the library, where his boss wasn’t an overbearing perfectionist arsehole, and if he’d been given a choice in the matter he’d still be shelving books and updating the filing systems, not getting glared at for his clothing choices. He’s well aware that Jon never wanted him in the Archives either, but they’re here now, so Mister Head Archivist is just going to have to live with it. They’re both going to have to.

Jon isn’t subtle about his displeasure; it’s difficult to miss his pointed scowls at Martin’s scuffed trainers and graphic-print t-shirts. And considering that Sasha wears jeans and t-shirts some days as well—though admittedly she tends to plain colors or muted prints, rather than retro video game characters—it’s pretty clear that it’s less about the clothes than it is the person wearing them.

Well, Jon can scowl all he wants, because everything Martin wears technically falls within the Institute’s dress code and there’s not a word Jon can say to him.

Martin has always run hot, so as winter closes in and other people are bundling up in heavy coats and jumpers, he throws hoodies over his t-shirts and zips them up only far enough that the bright graphic prints are still clearly visible to Jon’s critical eye.

Yeah, he thinks sometimes when he walks into Jon’s office, get an eyeful of Yoshi and see how you like it.

Jon, for his part, seems determined to outlast the winter in his usual dress shirt and tweed jacket combo. Martin knows that Jon isn’t particularly warm blooded—he’s seen the way the man huddles into his jacket like a tortoise in its shell until the central heating warms the basement up in the mornings—but he still refuses to add so much as an argyle sweater vest to his outfit in deference to the season.

The only concession Jon makes to the weather is a voluminous gray overcoat and a dark purple scarf, which he takes off the moment he gets into the office, regardless of how cold it is before the ancient heating system creaks to life.

And, well, it’s none of Martin’s business if his boss is too much of a pompous arse to dress appropriately for the weather. If he wants to freeze his backside off to maintain his academic dignity, far be it from Martin to intervene. Martin doesn’t feel sorry for him, when he sees Jon blowing on his fingers to warm them up, or briskly rubbing his arms while he waits for the kettle to boil and he thinks nobody else is around. Not in the slightest.

It’s below zero on the day in December when the central heating finally gives up the ghost. Even Martin can feel the chill in the Archives this morning, keeps his hoodie zipped up all the way even when he runs into Jon in the kitchenette. Jon looks miserably cold, his shoulders hunched and his movements stiff as he makes his tea.

“Morning, Jon,” Martin says cheerfully. “Bit nippy, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit,” says Jon sardonically. Somewhere overhead, there’s a metallic clanking as the heating system starts up.

“Finally,” Jon mutters, casting his eyes upward. The pipes creak and clank some more, and there’s an odd whirring sound that Martin’s fairly sure isn’t normal, and then a long, descending groan into silence.

“Oh,” says Martin. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Bloody hell,” says Jon, and storms off to his office. A while later, he sends an email to inform them all that he’s spoken to Elias and the heating is out for the whole building, and that they should all feel free to work from home for the rest of the day if they choose. Sasha and Tim waste no time packing up, but Martin lingers, agonizing over which notes and references he should take with him. He’s never before had a job where working from home was an option, and he isn’t Tim or Sasha, isn’t someone Jon trusts and actually wanted to work with. Martin needs to make sure he gets it right.

At last he thinks he has everything he needs, but still Martin is hesitating, fiddling with the strap of his satchel. Maybe he should just check in with Jon before he leaves, make sure there isn’t anything else he needs to do. Make sure Jon knows I’m going to be working today, not just skiving off.

The door to Jon’s office is standing ajar; Martin taps on it, and pokes his head in without waiting for a response.

Jon looks up as he walks in, his expression startled. He is wearing a jumper. A chunky knit jumper in a warm maroon color, with a Christmas tree and several reindeer on the front. One of the reindeer has a red bobble for a nose. The jumper is oversized, the ends of the sleeves falling past Jon’s wrists.

It’s...incredibly cute, which is not a term that Martin ever expected to associate with his arsehole boss. Attractive, in a severe, unattainable way, sure, but not cute. Yet somehow, here they are.

“Ah, Martin,” Jon says, looking flustered. “I, uh, I thought you’d left with the others?”

“I was—I just wanted to check in with you first, make sure you didn’t need anything. You should head home too, it’s freezing in here.”

“I—I’m perfectly fine.” Jon plucks at the front of the jumper, looking embarrassed. “This is, ah, I bought this for the Institute Christmas party, but it’s surprisingly warm—and quite comfortable.”

“Oh, that’s, uh, that’s not part of your usual wardrobe then?” Martin hazards a chuckle, and to his relief, Jon huffs an amused breath. He raises a hand to adjust his glasses, but his sleeve gets in the way; he pushes both sleeves up to the elbows, and oh no, that’s even cuter.

“No, not—not usually,” he says. Martin frowns, suddenly remembering.

“You didn’t wear it at the party last week, though?”

“No, it’s—it was from the previous year, when I was in Research. It-it didn’t seem appropriate this year, being in a management role. Fortunately I still had it in a box, though I, uh, I didn’t really expect anyone to see me in it.”

Martin feels a sudden pang of something that might be sympathy. He understands how it feels, the desperate pressure to be professional, to be taken seriously, the constant second guessing of what you’re doing, whether you’re giving away something you shouldn’t. It’s hardly the same, of course: Jon’s not likely to be fired for wearing a silly jumper. But...Martin gets it.

“Actually,” he lies, “I, uh, I have to meet with Sophie up in the library later, so I’m around for the day. I was just going to go out and pick up some early lunch. Thought I’d see if you want anything?”

“Oh, ah, where are you going?” Jon asks tentatively, looking surprised at the offer.

“I was thinking of that cafe just around the corner—maybe get some soup and a sandwich?”

“That would be...very nice, actually. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did,” says Martin, and takes the ten pound note Jon offers him.

“Thank you, Martin,” says Jon, and it’s the probably the most sincere thing Martin’s ever heard him say. He finds himself smiling without meaning to.

“Not a problem.”

It’s too early for lunch, really, but Martin knows Jon never eats breakfast and he missed it himself this morning. He gets two portions of steaming tomato and basil soup and toasted cheese sandwiches from the cafe, and when he gets back, Jon’s found a small space heater to plug in, so his office is marginally warmer than the rest of the Archives. They sit on opposite sides of Jon’s desk to eat, talking about the case that Martin’s working on. It’s the first time Martin’s actually had the chance to properly discuss a case, rather than stumbling through his report while Jon watches expectantly; Jon listens, and asks questions, and even offers some helpful suggestions for Martin’s follow up. It’s...oddly nice.

(Jon also continues to look unreasonably cute in his oversized Christmas jumper, but Martin carefully ignores that.)

The heating gets fixed by early afternoon, and the Archives warm up to the point where Martin can unzip his hoodie. When he drops off his finished case report to Jon’s office, Jon is back in his shirt and jacket, the maroon jumper packed away out of sight. He looks perfectly staid and professional once again. I saw you looking cute, though, Martin thinks, and then tries to pretend he didn’t; he is not going down that route.

Jon glances up when Martin comes in, taking in the “Marvin the Martian” t-shirt that’s now visible beneath his hoodie. Instead of a disapproving scowl, however, he gives a small, hesitant smile.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says as he takes the report, and something flutters warm in Martin’s chest.

Oh no, he thinks.

[one-boring-person]

Ghost From The Past. (Part 2/2)

Lee Christmas (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: violence, gun use, swearing

Context: the job goes awry

Masterlist

The mercenaries move with calculated silence as they step into the abandoned office building, guns at the ready, expressions grim with concentration. Fingers shift over triggers, boots lowering carefully on old carpet, eyes flicking here and there, scanning the area around them for threats. Already, they move so fluidly with each other it's like they've been doing it for years, which is true for most of them. Barney leads, a step ahead of Lee, who stealthily shadows him, Caesar and Toll just behind them, with Gunnar and (Y/n) bringing up the rear. 

Nothing else moves, the messy office ahead of them suspiciously quiet and still, the smashed windows allowing harsh sunlight to stream in from outside, highlighting the odd scene. Nothing can be heard above them, either, though it is a large building, so it's likely that if there is something moving around on a higher floor, it will go unheard for now. 

Regarding the area one more time, Barney lifts a hand, gesturing for the mercenaries to branch out, whispering as he does so.

"Gunnar, stay down here. Make sure it's clear. Toll, Caesar, take the next three floors. I'll take the three after that, and Lee, I want you and (Y/n) to take the last four." The man orders, leaving no room for discussion, "Got it?"

The others all confirm they've understood, Gunnar grumbling something about being on lookout duty as (Y/n) and Lee shoot each other uneasy looks. Biting back their discomfort, they ready their rifles and move off after Caesar, Toll and Barney, falling into position as they climb the stairs, both facing down the way they came as the others cover their path. Smoothly, the group of fighters ascends the stairs, Caesar and Toll branching off at their first level, Barney eventually doing the same as he reaches his first floor. Before he goes, he sends the other two a somewhat worried look, swiftly disappearing through the door.

Almost instantly, (Y/n) and Lee start to lapse back into old habits, the latter leading the way with the former covering their rear, nearly back-to-back as they go, both on a hairpin wire, ready to fire bullets at whoever tries to surprise them. The building is still eerily quiet, too quiet for the two ex-soldiers, their spines prickling as they ascend higher and higher, having both decided to stop at their uppermost level and clear it from the top down. 

Continuing up, they remain in silence, listening carefully to their surroundings, halting briefly at the very top to make sure it's safe. Hearing nothing, Lee goes to the door to the floor, (Y/n) falling into position by his legs as he swings it open, both entering a stance that is deadly and familiar to them. With both rifles raised, the two stand perfectly still, Lee stood over (Y/n), who rests on one knee, aim unwavering. Finding the corridor before them clear, they relax their stance slightly, moving off into the hallway with slow, calculated steps. 

This time, they move further apart, each taking a different side of the corridor, Lee on the right, his companion on his left, the two glancing into rooms as they pass them, making sure they're clear of threats. At first glance, all of them are, but something feels wrong, both veterans showing this in their expressions as they finally look at each other again. Frowning, they quickly glance away, (Y/n) suddenly tensing, before she darts into a nearby room, heading straight to the far end, where a huge pipe runs from the ceiling to the floor. Once there, she gets down on her knees, peering at something stuck to the metal cylinder.

"Oh, shit." She curses, just loud enough for Lee to catch it.

"What?" He hisses back at her, covering the door in case someone drops in.

"We have to go, now. The place is wired." (Y/n) sounds panicked now, standing and moving to the corridor, pulling Lee with her as she heads straight to the stairs.

"Wired?"

"Wired to explode!" She shouts back at him, fear giving her voice an edge now as she races down the first flight, "We have thirty seconds to get out of here!"

Realising the severity of the situation, Lee swears and takes off after her, listening to her report the same thing to the others through their earpieces, the sounds of people clattering down the stairs soon filling the air as the others all emerge from their respective floors, charging downwards. From where he is, however, Lee can tell that it's unlikely he and his comrade will make it out that way. Gritting his teeth, he thinks fast, swiftly figuring something out.

"(Y/n)! This way!" He calls out to her, gesturing for her to follow him into the nearest floor. She complies with no hesitation, falling into step behind him, rifle slung over her shoulder.

Tearing down the corridor, the two mercenaries pick up speed, (Y/n) swiftly figuring out what Lee's plan is and pushing herself harder, knowing now that speed will be the difference between life and death. 

Above them, the first bomb explodes, the crack of the blast resounding deafeningly around the building, debris falling from the ceiling as it gives out in places, making it difficult for the two mercenaries to navigate their way across. Avoiding what they can, they continue on, jaws setting as they near their destination, both hoping to hell this will work out how it should, though they're both painfully aware of the considerable possibility it won't. 

The corridor starts to run out, drawing them ever closer to the window at the far end, the building behind them now taking in on itself, the other explosives becoming triggered. Cacophonous blasts pursue the two mercenaries, shockwaves from close ones helping them move on towards their goal. 

Taking up the lead, Lee suddenly picks up speed, (Y/n) mimicking him as he throws himself full-force at the window. 

Glass shatters and their bodies are suddenly weightless, the ground falling away from beneath them. Their hearts are in their throats, everything going in slow-motion as they flail through the air, arms and legs wheeling to help propel them. Wind rushes up around them, the building behind them slumping in on itself as they fall away from it. Adrenaline pumps through their veins, eyes wide as they try to judge their landings.

Time speeds up again as they smash into the roof of the building across from the office block. Pain erupts in their shoulders and torsos as they connect with the faded concrete, ribs and arms breaking from the sheer impact of their landing, drawing strangled groans of agony from the two veterans. They remain still for a long moment allowing their bodies to recover somewhat, trying to ignore the blazing pain of their new injuries, before rolling onto their backs, breathing heavily as they stare up at the dusty sky. 

With strained grunts, (Y/n) and Lee force themselves upright again, cradling their injuries gingerly as they shoot each other weary looks. (Y/n) finds the sight of the mercenary almost comforting, flashes of their old time together flooding through her mind, her heart twisting as she looks over his bruised face, wishing now that they'd never been separated in the first place. Lee regards her in a similar light, the familiar need to protect her and watch over her filling his being as he tries to send her a cautious smile. 

Just as he does so, a much louder explosion rocks the building behind them, huge shockwaves of energy roiling out from the collapsing remains, flames engulfing massive areas of it. Without a second thought, Lee throws himself forwards, slamming (Y/n) back to the ground as he covers her with his body, protecting her from the blast. Pinned beneath him, (Y/n) instinctively wraps her hands over the back of Lee's skull, shielding it as best she can, pressing his face into her shoulder as she buries hers in his chest. 

The blast washes over them, shingle and debris falling out around them, shards of glass and metal lacerating any bare skin as it is thrown past them. Heat engulfs them, the flames not quite reaching them, but close enough that the warmth is incredibly worrying. 

As Lee leans back up again after five minutes, though, all he can think about is one thing. And as he stares down into (Y/n)'s face, he knows she wants the exact same thing. 

Without further ado, he crashes his lips into her's roughly moulding them together as he forces himself as close as possible to her, ignoring his pain in favour of holding her body against his. She moans into the kiss, surprised but not unpleasantly so, reaching up to pull his head down onto her's, her legs wrapping around his waist to hold him in place. Looping his arms around her, Lee tightens his grip on the veteran, crushing her into him, lips becoming more and more insistent. He licks at her lips, sliding right past as she opens up to him, their tongues pressing against each other as they explore and caress each other, swallowing each other's noises. 

As he kisses her, Lee can only think about how good it feels to have her in his arms, to feel her body writhing beneath his, to be near her again after so long. He'd dreamed about this back in the Special Forces, but now that it's becoming a reality? He can't think of anything better, so he works to make it good, both mercenaries pouring all their pent up emotion into the kiss.

"Considering we thought you two were dead, I'm not sure that this is how I expected to find you again." Barney's voice interrupts them, his smirk evident him his tone, startling the two from their deep kiss. 

Separating, they turn their heads to look at him, glad to see it's just him for now, their boss grinning cunningly at them. Rolling apart, Lee and (Y/n) groan as they force themselves upright, cradling injuries as blood pours down their faces, the former's and wrapped tightly around the latter's waist, keeping her close. 

"Shit happens." Lee shrugs, grinning almost happily.

"Apparently so." Barney winks at them both, "Come on, let's get you both back to camp."

[thegreatobsesso]

A scene for anybody who wants to dive a little deeper into my WIP. :)

Hi friends. I have gathered a tiny taglist and I’ve barely used it, so here is a scene that is probably my favorite scene from my whole WIP. I gonna resist the urge to bog you down with context and just let you get shot off onto the ride.

Trigger warning for general creepiness and Callie using Callie-like language.

✨ taglist ✨

@avrablake @adie-dee @dontjudgemeimawriter @ryorine @thelaughingstagComment to be added or removed :)

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

Simon POV 3:15 am.

His magic wouldn’t last forever and it’d fade with distance. He had to get them all out, now, before it was too late.

He opened Callie’s door unceremoniously and called to her, uncaring what she was up to or why she ignored him earlier. She wasn’t in her bed but the bathroom door was open.

He found her in the empty bathtub, naked and wet, hugging her knees and staring straight ahead.

“Callie?” he asked, so startled by the sight he nearly forgot the danger they were all in. “Are you okay?”

She blinked. “Yeah,” she said absently. She uncoiled herself and looked at her hands, shriveled by water that was already gone. “I guess I fell asleep.”

Nothing about her position when he walked in resembled someone who’d been sleeping. “Are you okay?” she asked him as he came closer, knelt by the edge of the bathtub on cold, checkered tile. It smelled like extinguished candles in here but they were all still burning.

“You’re shaking.”

She looked down as if to verify, and pushed down the unsettling impression of an invisible scar, a gash in time.

“I’m cold,” she said.

Callie POV 2:45 am.

She couldn’t fucking sleep.

Which was whatever. It’s not like she was on a schedule here. If she was bored probably get the Trudy the Ice Queen to drag her around again while Bennett was off arguing for equality. And if she wanted to sleep the day away, she could do that too.

The water was getting cold again; she sat up and turned the brass handle of the faucet, bringing fresh hot water into the bath. The pipes that ran along the walls clanged and groaned in distress.

Shitty old castle.

All the same, a bath was a bath and no one who hasn’t been in prison - hasn’t spent years of their life cleaning themselves in long, stark halls with lukewarm water spewing from rusty shower heads in concrete ceilings - can know just how exquisite a bath could be.

Callie knew now, and could testify, that it was better than sex. Yes. The hot waterfall splashing into the huge porcelain tub; swirling, caressing her skin, wearing away at every ache until her limbs felt like jelly. Bubbles, rising up high and soft like clouds, separating the world of the cold, cruel air from that of the forgiving, nurturing water. Candles and incense; smoke and musky scents filling the air of the darkened room.

Yes, yes, yes. This claw-footed basin of bliss was her favorite thing in the castle - Lyonall School of the Arcane wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Or, it was exactly what it was cracked up to be: ruthless, sharp, unrestrained. It was her that changed.

Bennett was fighting a losing battle here. These people weren’t like him. Where did the other five of them stand, those other headmasters, besides one Bennett was banging?

Another draft - barely there, but in close quarters like this, odd. It ghosted over her wet arms hanging over the lip of the tub, and she pulled them down under water and shivered.

There was no one here, of course. It was just an old weird castle, maybe mildly haunted. She closed her eyes again and sent out a little magic to warm the water.

It worked, for a minute or two, and then the water cooled again. Except this time, too quickly. She sat up to turn on the faucet again but within seconds, the temperature plummeted and the water was freezing, freezing, fuck!

She yelped, cursed, and jumped from the tub, splashing water and bubbles all over the tile floor in her haste to grab her robe.

What the hell? She pulled the long, heavy robe around her body, staring at the tub. It looked normal. What happened?

She’d never be able to explain how she knew it was behind her again. She didn’t need to turn around; the same thing she felt watching her in the halls, that got close enough in the old gardens to make her arm-hairs stand up, to tingle the back of her neck. Familiar and foreign; human and not-human; wrong, wrong, wrong.

She clenched her jaw and faced it.

This time, it was there, and it didn’t just take on a human appearance, the thing standing stock-still in the door frame: it looked like a human she knew.

But it wasn’t her, couldn’t be. It was something seething and false, a memory from a dream that hid just out her mind’s grasp.

Half-convinced her hand would go straight through it, she moved forward and touched its cheek.

It didn’t disappear - it was solid, warm, and alive. Too alive. Pulsing with power she could feel inside her own chest - too much, too many kinds.

“Riley?” she asked. It felt like a foolish thing to say to the thing so obviously wearing Riley’s face.

Riley wouldn’t wear a dress like this, a black linen thing, simple but elegant, loose but flattering, with bulbous, fluttering sleeves cinching at the wrists. Riley wouldn’t be here, in this bathroom inside Lyonall School of the Arcane, barefoot on the floor like she’d been born here. And Riley’s eyes were grey, not amber. Not this bright amber, simmering with a fire behind them.

Its hand came up to trail its fingertips over the back of hers, the color of the eyes alight in its veins too, and it smiled without moving its face. Numbness followed where it touched, spreading from the back of Callie’s hand down her wrist.

She pulled sharply to look, expecting to see something, anything, but it was just her hand; the numbness crept up towards her elbow.

“It’s me,” it said softly, its eyelashes fluttering. “Changed, yes. But still me.”

“No,” Callie stammered. “No, this is, this-”

“Sorry about the water,” it said, its cool gaze flicking to the bathtub. “I seem to cause disturbances. Water gets hot or cold, candles go out. A wind blows.”

She backed away, her mouth going dry, her feet oddly heavy. A spreading paralysis, but she wasn’t falling down, just becoming rigid.

“Stop,” she choked, wishing she sounded much stronger. “I’ll scream.”

She said it, and the ice crawling through her body shot up her throat. Her useless hands fumbled at her neck, but there was nothing to latch onto, no attacker to fight off except-

“This isn’t personal,” Riley said coolly (because through her panic she could see it was Riley, against all odds, against logic, against sense). “It honestly never was, you know. I thought I needed you.” She raised a single eyebrow. “I was short-sighted.”

Callie found herself frozen like a statue, her hands at her throat. This magic that slipped beneath her skin was beyond anything she’d ever felt; it bound her tightly and pulled in even harder when she strained against it, choking her life away.

“Don’t be scared,” Riley said, stepping aside - leaving the doorway to the bedroom clear.

Her feet stepped quite mechanically out of the cold puddle on their own accord. She passed right by Riley, close enough to smell her - tea leaves and latex and hotel soap, just like before, just like always - and her body folded itself awkwardly like a badly-stringed puppet and settled on the edge of the bed.

Not mind control, she noted frantically, observing herself - Matter magic, her limbs being controlled like a puppet, her vocal cords frozen.

How could Riley possibly do this? She flipped between her own types of magic, but none were a match for this hold.

Riley sat next to her, her slight body barely even moving the mattress, and sighed. “You and I,” she mused. “The only two hybrids alive. It’s a shame we’re not on the same side.” A pause. “Maybe the world’s lucky we’re not.”

Riley, but not Riley. Riley wasn’t this talkative, especially about nonsense - she wasn’t a hybrid. Or, at least, she didn’t used to be. God, but was that why she felt so wrong? Was that the reason for this unnatural, jittery cloud that clung to her, radiating from her like static electricity?

Riley brushed some wet hair away from her face. She couldn’t turn her head but found she could still move her eyes. Riley was watching her curiously, a small smile softening her angular cheekbones.

“I took Nauxial’s magic from Nauxial himself,” she stated matter-of-factly, gently tucking Callie’s hair behind her ear. “And every power he ever took along with it. That’s what you feel. I bet you’re even more in tune with it than anyone else, because you’ve known him too. Briefly, at least. You felt his wrongness, that swirl of a hundred different kinds of incompatible magic, and now you sense the same in me, don’t you?”

Her throat was rigid, her jaw clenched shut. Riley seemed to have forgotten, and on Callie’s silence, she saw Riley’s golden-orange magic pulse and it loosened, just a fraction - an invitation to speak.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, forcing her voice up through the small space Riley gave her. If it was true, Riley would never spill her plans unless-

“Because you won’t remember any of it,” Riley said softly, pulling her voice away again before she could question any further. “And I thought it’d be a nice way to pass the time.”

She stood up then, her black linen dress hanging softly from the edges of her shoulders, leaving Callie to dumbly contemplate her meaning. “I meant it when I said I’m still me,” she said, wandering to the vanity and picking up a vial of Callie’s perfume. “But I’m different, too. It feels good to tell you what I’ve done. To tell someone, at any rate.”

She sniffed the perfume, considered at it for a second, and then placed the cap on.

“This is a bit much, isn’t it?” she asked, spreading the folds of the dress open over her non-existent hips. “But you have to look the part. I don’t think I’d have had the stomach for it before, but now, it’s…”

She picked up a tube of Callie’s lipstick, twisted the bottom, exposed the color curiously. “Well, fun is a stretch, but it comes easier.”

Callie watched pathetically, locked in Riley’s magic and her own terror, as she leaned toward the full-length mirror. Riley applied the stuff carefully, puckering her lips and examining the results.

It looked absolutely obscene on her, blood-red screaming against her natural face, her sharp features.

The three quick knocks at the door would’ve made her jump out of her skin, if she could move.

Riley snapped to attention and looked, for a split second, something like herself - her softness disintegrated. She clenched her fist in Callie’s direction, flaring her magic, painfully tightening her hold on her throat.

This was why she was here, Callie realized - controlling her, telling her stories, rifling through her things. Killing time, until she stopped her from answering the door.

Three more knocks, louder this time, quicker, more insistent.

Help, she cried inside her mind, not even close to giving a shit who it was. And then, stupidly, for the first time, she remembered Bennett.

Bennett, she said, grappling for their connection across the bridge, but she couldn’t find him, maybe he was asleep, or, or worse- bennett bennett wake up I need help it’s riley she’s here she’s-

The door cracked open; Adrian Prentice poked his head in and she nearly wept with relief. So he was an asshole, so what, someone stumbled in and saw this, he’d do something, he’d stop it-

His eyes glazed over both of them, looking around the room, and it was only then she caught the practically imperceptible glimmer of obscuring magic. Riley hid the both of them in magic so subtle she didn’t even see it from the inside at first.

Her hope shriveled as Adrian walked through her room and her bathroom, searching for her. He lingered right in front of her for a moment, looking right through her and chewing his bottom lip, and then left the way he came. Riley only breathed again at the sound of three more knocks, farther away.

Bennett’s room.

She screamed across the bridge but it was more than just her body that was paralyzed. She heard his door creak open, hushed conversation - two sets of footsteps walking out of their suite and shutting the main door behind them.

Riley, at last, relaxed.

“You can’t begin to imagine my surprise, hearing you’d be here,” she said, and if there was some connection between Adrian’s intrusion and her statement it was lost on Callie. “I almost panicked.”

She placed the lipstick back on the vanity, her movements easy, languid again. “Adrian’s going through you one by one, plumbing your memories for anything he can use. I couldn’t have him doing that to you - I’ve got him believing I’m a descendant of Nauxial. That there was a secret bloodline and all that, the sort of thing these people love. Now,” she said, raising her index finger like a teacher coming to the point, “if he came across you and me, the orblex, the things we did in the basement…”

She dropped off, raising her eyebrows and searching Callie’s face and fuck, she was enjoying it - watching her panicked mind racing to catch up with the information flying at her while she was frozen and afraid. Adrian believes Riley’s a descendent of Nauxial, she told herself. Remember this, no matter what she does to you, she’s lying to Adrian, she needs him for some reason, she’s… she’s…

Riley cracked the door open a bit to look outside - Callie lost her focus, wracked herself for a way to draw attention, a loud sound, a signal, a-

“They’re gone,” she said, shutting it again. “I don’t think it’ll last long. I told Adrian that Simon was strong, but he’s a hard-headed, arrogant son of a bitch. Although, to his credit, I’ve gone out of my way to make him underestimate me.”

God, if she could just reach Bennett, to warn him, to get his help, anything. She reached for the bridge again or at least where it should be but nothing was there except black, black.

“Now, this is different,” Riley commented as she regarded Callie, motionless and helpless and growing in desperation. “Before, I’d have finished up with you as quickly as I could but now, now, I just…”

She knelt in front of Callie and she could see quite clearly now the earnestness in Riley’s eager eyes, the clean, sharp lines of her face, her blazing red lips. The sight left Callie stunned and stupid, a blow to the back that knocked the air from her lungs.

“I’ve never fully flexed this power,” Riley said, drawing her hands over her own magic that hovered around Callie, seeping through her skin, freezing her bones. Curiosity lit her eyes, not the old, clinical sort - this was closer to temptation. “I should go,” she admitted. “But I wanna test it.”

She laid her hands down over Callie’s, through the spellwork, and Callie watched numbly as Riley unclenched her fists and took her hands into her own. “You’re strong,” she said. “Not as strong as me, but stronger than almost everybody else. I wonder how much I could make you do against your will.”

The magic shifted almost imperceptibly, its taste changed; physical magic like hers, like Peter’s, but frightening in its precision, the way it clung to her muscles and bones and left her brain free to cry in protest as Riley pulled her gently from the bed.

No, she tried to say. No, no, no. She felt feverish; the robe clung to her clammy skin but whether it was from the bath or her fear, she couldn’t say. Riley took one of Callie’s hands in her own and held it out, away from their bodies; she took Callie’s other hand and placed it on her shoulder, smiling when it stuck there.

“My mother made me take ballroom dancing lessons when I was a kid. Amazing,” she hummed thoughtfully, low in her throat, “how all that muscle memory sticks with you. Have you ever done it? Nod yes or no.”

The magical bonds around her head and neck loosened a fraction but she didn’t use the temporary freedom, refused to give Riley the satisfaction until-

“I asked you a question,” Riley said softly, her voice laced with a different kind of magic. “Answer me.”

The answer was no and to her chagrin, her head moved side-to-side to indicate it. Riley smiled - just a hint, a subtle pleasure at a tiny victory.

Acid rose in her throat and she closed her eyes. Even if she had to feel it, she didn’t have to look. Riley’s hand, soft on her waist; her own feet moving over the tile. Riley led, and she followed.

To think she ever enjoyed being near this person - that she felt safe, that, that just because Riley was going along with her and because her own magic was stronger back then, that she had any power over the other woman whatsoever. She was never more than a game piece; a minor one, at that.

She never stood a chance. She could have all the strength in the world but she was so, so stupid and Riley was anything but and now, now she was… she was…

“Open your eyes,” Riley said.

She didn’t force her - just a simple request, no magic behind it.

Callie did. God help her, she was afraid of what would happen if she didn’t.

It was terrible this way. She could see too much, their bodies inches apart, their faces level. Riley’s eyes, mercilessly sharp; her wiry frame, even thinner now but twice as strong; her wavy hair tied loosely, elegantly back, a few stray tendrils hanging free over her shoulders. Her lips stained like she’d just eaten someone alive.

She was beautiful and it made Callie want to scream and scream.

“I’ll be free someday,” Riley said. “All these powers will be gone, and so will my natural one, and I’ll be a normal human being. I can’t do that to myself, though. I need somebody else to take my powers from me. That’s the thing I never understood before. Magic doesn’t disappear. It has to go somewhere.”

Her throat clenched: not because Riley made it, just because her body was trying to cry and Riley wouldn’t let it. She watched Callie carefully, checking for any signs of resistance as Callie’s body responded to the tiniest change in Riley’s touch. Her feet followed Riley’s in reverse; she didn’t even have to think. Her palm sweat in Riley’s cool hand.

“I have to perfect it,” she continued, her voice taking on a faraway quality. “I have to learn to take it away safely, and then I have to give that knowledge away.”

So it was true - the same thing she always wanted, different ways of trying to get it. More desperate ways. How many people would she pass this grotesque secret to before she found one who could do what she wanted? What would they use it for after that? The power to take away magic, if it fell into even worse hands than hers…

She forced her voice through, the words tearing their way up her constricted throat.

“People are afraid of me,” she rasped, knowing she only had so much strength left in her. “They should be afraid of you. You’re a monster.”

Riley looked into her eyes with a soft expression, somewhere between understanding and pity. “Yes,” she said.

Her feet stopped moving because Riley’s did. “I really should go,” she murmured with a quirk of her eyebrow, as if Callie were the one tempting her to stay. “I’ll put you back the way I found you,” she said thoughtfully. “It’ll be less jarring when you come out of it, I think, to find yourself where you remember being last.”

Riley had mastered moving her body now and she walked back to the bathroom far more naturally than she walked out of it. It might have looked, to a bystander, like she moved on her own accord. Might have looked like she didn’t mind Riley slipping her bathrobe off her shoulders, dropping it on the floor.

She cringed as she lowered herself back into the cold water, swallowing her mute humiliation at being stripped and positioned like an inanimate plaything. “There,” Riley said as she settled Callie’s body down into the tub. “Not so bad, it it?”

Then her eyes flicked to the water and she touched her fingertips to the surface. “Oh, maybe it is,” she said apologetically, flicking her hand dry. “Here you go.”

The water warmed as Riley laid her hands flat against its surface and shut her eyes - not enough to stop her shaking, not enough to calm the scream stuck in her throat.

“It is different now,” Riley mused, as if conceding it to someone who’d told her so, leaning comfortably against the edge of the bath. “I didn’t think it would be, but power changes things in ways I couldn’t have guessed. I’ve had people at my mercy before, but I’ve never taken any pleasure in watching someone squirm, or seeing fear in their eyes. Helplessness. It’s all very strange.”

She dipped the tips of her fingers into the bathwater again, near Callie’s arm, and swirled them around as she spoke.

“You poor thing,” she said, and reached up to caress the side of her frozen face. She would jerk away if she could, or bite her fingers off, or maybe just vomit. She couldn’t do any of those things. Couldn’t move. Riley’s fingers trailed up to the top of her wet head, and the room spun.

The damn water was getting cold again. It wouldn’t stay warm, not even for five minutes.

Shitty old castle.

She briefly considered leaning forward to turn the tap on again, but the water level was slowly dropping, the drain making a sad sucking noise, and it didn’t feel worth it. Something was off but she couldn’t say quite what. It gnawed at her. She felt strangely defeated. Or maybe she was just afraid to move.

So she just sat there instead, staring at the tap, letting the water drain.

-

Simon POV 3:15 am.

“I’m cold,” Callie said.

He felt like he should look away, but he was too worried about her to be concerned with her lack of clothing, especially if she wasn’t. The shadow of whatever happened in here darkened her eyes, leaving them unfocused.

A bathrobe lay crumpled on the floor and he picked it up and put it over her back, pulling it around her shoulders like a blanket.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Get dressed, pack your things.”

She blinked, nodded. “Good.”

Nothing could have unnerved him more than that: simple compliance. No questions, no arguments. Just good.

What had happened to her?

There'd be no time to find out until he got them out here, whole.

[veorlian]

sacred rituals

for @kanejweek day 5: love (atypical affection & domesticity)

pairing: Kaz Brekker x Inej Ghafa

rating: T (they're talking about murder)

set a few weeks pre-canon so only minimal spoilers!

read it on ao3 here

Kaz rarely spent time on the main floor of the Slat unless he had to. He didn’t want the Dregs getting the wrong idea; he wasn’t their friend. Kaz Brekker wasn’t anyone’s friend.

Instead, he spent most of the time in his office, when he wasn’t walking the uneven streets of the Barrel. It was quiet, far removed from the raucous laughter and fighting and close quarters that generally filled the Slat. It was mostly warm, and mostly dry. Generally, everyone left him alone, and that was the way he preferred it.

Almost everyone.

The fact of the matter was this: Kaz preferred solitude, but he always kept his window open. Even on cold nights, when the wind chilled to the bone. Nights like this one. It was a kind of standing invitation, although he would never admit that. It was an invitation that was nearly always accepted.

He glanced down at the papers on his desk, and he felt the air shift almost imperceptibly.

“Hello Inej,” Kaz said, not looking up from his ledgers. The Wraith moved silently into the room, tugging down her hood.

“How do you do that?” she asked, not for the first time. His eyes flicked to hers before looking away.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” he said. “Now, what did you find?”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she shrugged off her cloak and moved closer to the fire, stoking it from where it had burned down. Kaz pointedly did not pay attention to the way the firelight danced along her hair, the graceful movements of her hands as she warmed them.

“I checked every inch of the washroom, and I don’t have the faintest idea how they pulled it off,” Inej said. “It’s more secure than most mercher safes, from what I’ve seen. No trick tiles, no removable mirror, no vents. The only way in or out is the drain pipes, and I doubt anyone’s managed to train rat assassins.”

“If it was possible, I’d have done it by now,” Kaz replied. Inej snorted, and Kaz’s heart stuttered briefly.

“So that rules out rodent killers, then,” she said wryly. “Floor plan?”

“No trap doors, no secret entrances. No way in or out other than the front door.”

“The locked front door,” Inej finished. “You’d have to walk through walls to get in there. Maybe we’re looking for something otherworldly. Ketterdam’s got no shortage of ghosts.”

“None of whom can hold a knife,” he pointed out. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“Got any theories?” she asked.

He shrugged. “A thousand. None likely.”

“Tell me,” she said. She settled down next to the fire and took out her knives, one by one. There were three new ones, he noted. Soon enough he wouldn’t have to worry about her being injured at all — she was effectively wearing chainmail. Not that he spent time worrying that she’d be injured.

Kaz unfurled the floor plan on his desk and motioned for her to come look. Inej only raised a dark eyebrow.

“I’m half-frozen, Kaz. I’m not getting up until I thaw out,” she said.

“I don’t pay you to relax,” he replied, but he moved over to the fire and set the blueprints down between them. Inej leaned forward, tugging the paper towards her. Her eyebrows knitted together as she looked more closely.

“Where were the guards positioned?” she asked.

“Here, and here.” Kaz used a pencil to mark down the locations. “The main event was taking place here, and there were people with a view of the door here, here, and over there.” He sketched out the lines of sight, and made a note of the guard rotation.

“Whoever it was, they certainly didn’t make it easy for us,” she murmured.

"I doubt they had us in mind when they made the plan," he said dryly.

"Do you share your rapier wit with everyone, or am I the only one that has to suffer it?" she asked, not looking up from the blueprints.

“I notice you haven't offered any suggestions," he said. "Giving up already, Wraith?”

Her eyes met his, holding his gaze for a moment. “If I figure it out first, I expect waffles.”

He couldn’t help the wry smile that flickered across his face. “Dream on, Inej.”

She had perfected the art of silence, and she didn’t make a sound as she looked over the blueprints. The only sounds Kaz could hear were the gentle crackle of the fire and muffled fighting in the distance, filtering in through the open window. He looked everywhere in the room except at her.

“Alright,” she said at last. “Venomous snakes.”

He must have heard her wrong. “Venomous snakes?”

“Trained venomous snakes. Send them up through the drain pipes, they bite the victim, and then they’re well on their way before anyone’s the wiser.”

“There were no bites reported by my source,” Kaz said.

“That doesn’t mean there weren’t any. You know the coroners of Ketterdam aren’t renowned for their attention to detail. And if someone paid them to look the other way…” she let the sentence hang in the air a moment.

“Corruption and bribery? Awfully cynical of you,” he drawled. “What ever would your Saints say?”

She scoffed. “Moral posturing? From you?”

“Me? I’m a pillar of the community. Never set a foot wrong in my life,” he said, entirely deadpan. The look on her face was something that he might well treasure for years.

“Do you think I’m right or not?” she asked exasperatedly. Kaz shook his head, running a hand through his uneven hair to hide the small smile on his face. He realized with a jolt that he was having fun. It wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with.

“All the pressure coming down from the top brass on this one, I doubt that kind of detail would be left out,” he said.

“And what’s your brilliant suggestion, Kaz?” she shot back. Good question, he thought.

“Easy. They bribed the guards and re-locked the door on the way out.” As he said it, he knew that it was weak. A rookie tactic, not something you’d pull to assassinate a high-ranking politician.

“Too risky,” Inej said, confirming his own thoughts. “Too many people there, and there’s no guarantee the guards wouldn’t sell them out. Like you said, too much pressure from the top brass.”

“I’m open to other ideas,” he replied, crossing his arms. Inej shrugged.

“Maybe he killed himself?”

“No weapons found. It’s like you’re not taking this seriously.”

“Still better than ‘they bribed all the guards and re-locked the door at a crowded political event,’” she said, in a passable impersonation of his voice.

They tossed ideas back and forth, each more unlikely than the last. Inej cleaned her knives, quietly setting each down next to her. The fire slowly burned down, casting long shadows across his office. At some point, Inej went to grab some food from the kitchen downstairs. She brought a mug of hot, bitter coffee and set it down next to him.

“Why, thank you, Inej,” she said, in that same rough impersonation of his voice. “How considerate of you to enable my caffeine addiction. So thoughtful and kind of you, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Why would I bother thanking you when you do it for me?” Kaz asked dryly. Inej flashed a rude gesture in his direction before tucking into her dinner.

“It has to have been a Grisha,” Kaz said thoughtfully.

“I’m eating, Kaz, wait a minute,” Inej said around a mouthful of food. She looked pointedly at the second plate she’d brought up. “And it wouldn’t do you any harm to eat something other than coffee.”

Kaz narrowed his eyes at her, but he picked up the food all the same. They were quiet for a few minutes. When she’d finished, Inej shut her eyes and leaned back against the wall. There was a pause, long enough that Kaz began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep.

“That’s not how Grisha work,” she said at last.

“We’ve ruled out every other option,” Kaz argued.

“If Nina or Jesper could pull off something like this, we’d know about it,” she replied.

“And they’re the experts?”

“Certainly more than you are.”

“...I suppose.”

Inej raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Is Kaz Brekker admitting that I’m right?”

“Don’t push your luck, Wraith,” he warned. Her smile widened, and Kaz felt dizzy looking at her. He focused on his too-bitter coffee instead. He heard her let out a sigh.

“I don’t like this, Kaz,” she murmured. “If there’s someone this dangerous out there, I want to know who they are and what they're after.”

He risked a glance at her. The candlelight haloed her face in a way that bordered on angelic. He wondered — not for the first time — if her hair was as soft as it looked.

“I'm sure we'll find out. Someone with this kind of power won’t stop at one hit. I know I wouldn’t.” His voice was calm, but she was right. Anyone that could walk through walls was a very real threat, if only because they were competition.

“Should I go back to have a second look?” she asked. Kaz shook his head.

“If there was a way to crack this, we would’ve figured it out. The truth will come out sooner or later. This city leaks information like a sieve.”

They wouldn’t learn how it had been done for a few weeks. But by then, of course, they had other things to worry about.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

is this considered sexual content? the mild kind maybe? this is the content warning just in case haha

Tuesday, 21:21

Song: Christian French - head first

Sander follows Robbe into the hallway without a thought, heart thumping as Robbe smiles secretly over his shoulder. He’d tugged Sander away in a quiet, sneaky manner, and neither of them talk now as they creep along. Robbe stops at a door, however, and turns around to face Sander first, drawing him down into a hard kiss. Sander hums in pleasure, opening up to the younger boy and letting his hands find their spot on his hips. He steps closer, backing Robbe up against the door. It makes Robbe laugh, and then he fumbles blindly until he finds the door handle, letting it swing open behind him.

He pulls Sander in after him, their lips never once detaching. Then Robbe’s closing the door and backing Sander up and their previous position is suddenly reversed. Sander shivers as his back hits the wood and Robbe boxes him in, laying an arm by Sander’s head and keeping the other hand on the back of his neck, slipping a leg between Sander’s.

Sander’s hum comes out as more of a moan, this time, but it would be more embarrassing if Robbe didn’t simply respond in kind, licking his way past Sander’s lips. Sander lets his hands slip down, just a little to start with, pinkies brushing over the top of Robbe’s back pockets. Robbe nips at his lip in retaliation, but he’s grinning as he steps back and pulls Sander with him once more.

The shock of the sudden distance surprises Sander into looking around and finally recognising their surroundings. His eyes go wide, but by then Robbe’s already pushing him onto the bed and following him down.

“Wait,” he protests, even though that’s the last thing he wants to do with Robbe now straddling him. But he recognises the glasses on the nightstand and the skateboard in the corner and alarms are blasting in his brain. Robbe stops instantly, stilling his hands and his weight as he stares down at Sander. “Jens‘s room? Are you kidding?”

Robbe raises his brows, tilting his head in a manner that is much too adorably innocent for the current situation. “Do you want to go back out? Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume…”

Sander stares at him incredulously for a moment, then squishes his cheeks. “Dummy,” he murmurs, then tries again. “Jens’s room. His bed. Where he...does things.”

Robbe widens his eyes exaggeratedly. “You mean sleep?” he whispers, mock aghast.

Sander shoves him.

“No, wait,” Robbe protests, laughing and clinging to Sander’s shoulders to stop himself from toppling. “Relax. You’re not gonna catch any Jens germs.”

“How do you know?” Sander demands. Then he narrows his eyes. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

Robbe’s nose wrinkles, and he lets out a tiny incredulous laugh. “What?”

“Ah, ah, come on, don’t tell me Jens’s bed hasn’t come up in your fantasies before.”

“Oh, gross, Sander, it’s been years,” he whines. “Are you never gonna let that go?” When Sander merely stares up at him, maybe a little petulantly, Robbe pokes his cheek and lowers his voice as he kisses Sander’s nose. “I’m in here with you,” he points out. “That’s the only constant in my fantasies. Honestly, I feel like the surroundings are even more reason for you to feel smug about it.”

Well.

He’s not wrong.

Sander still narrows his eyes a little more. “Okay, fine, that’s not even the point. What about our germs?”

That startles a laugh out of Robbe, even as a flush creeps up his neck and he pinches Sander’s shoulder. “Sexy,” he teases. Then he takes a moment to actually consider before leaning down close to Sander, letting their lips ghost together teasingly in a very familiar move. “Guess we’ll just make sure we don’t leave any.”

His voice is still low, but his eyes are light as he raises a coy brow, and Sander can’t protest any more. He tugs Robbe down and instantly goes about getting a groan out of him. It doesn’t take long, and then Robbe is giving him a heated look and taking over. His lips move across Sander’s jaw and throat, his angel necklace falling against Sander’s chest as his hands slip under Sander’s shirt, and then everything’s a flurry of clothes and kisses.

Sander has managed to divulge Robbe of his shirt, as well, by the time Robbe’s hand finds its way into his hair and tugs. It’s punctuated with a sharp suck over his pulse, and he bites down hard on his lip to muffle the sound that’s punched out of him. His hair has grown out enough by now for Robbe to easily thread his fingers in, to clench them around a fistful at any given moment—usually when Sander is least prepared for it.

It’s clear, by now, that Robbe knows exactly what he’s doing.

But despite Robbe’s ability to take him apart with everything the boy knows he likes and well-practiced skill, Sander can’t help releasing a breathless laugh as Robbe settles eagerly at his nipples. The sound also falls apart quickly when Robbe actually sets his mouth to work, however, going so far as to look smugly up at Sander through his lashes.

“Tease,” he mutters. Robbe’s hum reverberates through his whole chest as his hands now tangle themselves in Robbe’s curls. He can’t help letting one curl around Robbe’s ear, brushing his thumb over the lobe before gently tugging Robbe’s earring. Robbe’s startled breath morphs into a sigh that gusts over Sander’s skin, and Sander squirms in his impatience. It isn’t, however, in any way unpleasant, and he’s the farthest thing from annoyed. It’s so enjoyably infuriating that he does feel like crying in relief when Robbe finally tugs his jeans down around his thighs, though.

Sander sinks back into the pillow with a sigh, thighs clenching on either side of Robbe as the boy’s fingertips graze his hip bones to curl around the waistband of his underwear. He breathes slowly, one hand grasping at the sheets now with the other still lightly cupping Robbe’s head. He lowers it to mouth at Sander, and Sander makes a noise that is definitely not needy or anything like a whimper.

Then sound floods into the room and shatters the atmosphere like a broken glass, with a wide-eyed, swearing Jens as the culprit.

Robbe squeaks and attempts to cover Sander with his own body. “Jens,” he yelps. “Get out!”

But Jens is already backing away with his hand over his eyes, curses growing more colourful as he slams the door and calls, “Sorry,” in the same hopelessly embarrassed tone. “No, wait, Robbe, what the fuck?”

Robbe groans where his face is now buried in Sander’s thigh, and Sander squirms at the unrelenting sensations. He doesn’t embarrass easily, but, well.

This is really quite a lot.

“Jens, fuck off!” he shouts.

“No, you assholes, that is my room. You’re not having fucking sex on my bed. You’re not fucking on my bed! Get out, seriously, Robbe…”

Sander is going to kill him. It doesn’t matter if they bonded, or if Robbe would be upset, or whatever. He is a fucking disaster and he is going to die, at Sander’s hands. “It’s my birthday,” he calls back, which should really be an unnecessary reminder, but hopefully work to guilt Jens in his favour.

It does not work. “It’s my fucking bed! I have to sleep there later!”

“Well,” Robbe pipes up, surprising them both enough that neither snaps back. He’s looking up at Sander with a hint of his cheeky grin, even though he’s flushed right down to his collarbones. “Feel free to come in here and put a stop to it.”

Sander’s eyes widen, and then he beams and tugs Robbe up to him so he can kiss his cheek, and they wait.

“You can’t be serious,” Jens says finally.

“Try me,” Robbe sings back.

Jens even throws in some French swears, this time. Sander barely notices, because Robbe has gone back to kissing him and the slick slide of their lips is the only sound filling his ears. He sighs as Robbe strokes over his cheek and deepens the kiss, the cool metal of his pendant settling at the base of Sander’s throat. He can’t help but grin when he realises the silence is only making Jens more antsy, voice nervous as he bangs on the door.

“If you want this as your birthday gift, fine then, asshole, but I’m taking mine and Lucas’s back.”

“Cool,” Sander agrees, purposefully adding a tight, throaty tone to his voice that has Robbe smacking his shoulder and Jens smacking the door. “Bye now.”

“Clean up your own damn mess or I swear,” Jens warns, with another smack to the door. “I hate both of you, oh my god.”

This time they stay still and silent for a moment, and when they finally hear Jens’s grumbling retreat, Robbe rushes over to lock the door. He looks simultaneously terribly embarrassed and shamelessly debauched, cheeks red and hair a mess, chest bare and jeans tight. It’s a sight to behold.

Sander doesn’t want to know what he looks like, spread out on the bed with only his damn jeans up to his knees.

Robbe licks his lips while looking at him, though, even as he slowly pads his way back over and tilts his head. “How much did that ruin the mood?”

Sander raises a brow. Robbe already has enough visual evidence of the truth, which is somehow ‘not at all’. Robbe flushes further in understanding, clearing his throat as he kneels on the edge of the mattress. “You?” Sander asks him.

Robbe kisses him again in response, deep and dirty, and Sander’s pulse kicks back into hyperspeed.

For about ten seconds, after which Robbe is pulling away once more and saying, “Wait.”

Sander groans, but tears his hands away from his boyfriend obediently. His voice comes out sounding a little impatient, though. “What?”

“I want to give you your present.”

“Right now?” Sander demands, blinking. “Isn’t that what’s already happening?”

Robbe has the audacity to laugh at him, though it is more of a shy giggle. “No, just…” he trails off, blushing again as he sits away from Sander. “Do you wanna…?” He gestures at Sander’s waist, and Sander buries his face in his hands.

“You’re killing me, Robbe,” he mumbles through his fingers, before obediently pulling up his pants with a quiet huff.

“Okay, okay,” Robbe laughs. “Just, here.”

He holds something out above Sander’s face, and Sander lets his hands drop. He finds himself looking at a key.

Robbe’s key.

To his house.

“What?” Sander says, lost.

Robbe looks nervous. It’s incredibly endearing, how he tilts his head and bites his lip but makes himself hold Sander’s gaze. “I obviously got you stuff too, but, that’s at home. So. I’ve just been meaning to give you this, as well, and now seemed like a good time?” He pauses. “Well, maybe not right now. Sorry.”

“Robbe. What?”

“So you can come and go whenever you need to,” Robbe says, quiet and hesitant. “If I’m not there and you want to wait for me, or if you ever need me during the night, I figured this is better than waiting for me to come let you in, just in case it’s…raining, or something.”

Sander stares at him.

Robbe’s expression drops slightly and he bites his lip. “It doesn’t mean you have to use it, obviously, just that...you can. If you want to. Mama is completely fine with it, too.”

Sander is speechless. He doesn’t think words actually exist to describe it. The...the amount of trust Robbe puts in him through this small item is ridiculous. How he had described the offer is completely insane. He’s happy to let Sander allow himself into his house in the middle of the night, simply if the desire takes him. He’s happy to give Sander, who has been labeled everything from annoying to downright crazy, the freedom of his home. His own sanctuary. He’s opening all of it to Sander with the only doubt being that Sander wouldn’t want it.

As if it isn’t the best thing anyone has ever given him.

He can’t speak, so he reaches, pulling Robbe in to offer his gratitude and reassurance and disbelief in a kiss. It’s still a hard press of lips, still hungry, but it’s slower and softer than any of the others they’ve shared tonight. It means something else, something beyond the basic desires they’d been indulging in minutes ago. It means something more.

“Robbe,” he breathes, heart fluttering at his boyfriend’s responding happy hum. “Thank you.”

Robbe strokes his cheeks so softly, and smiles so lovingly down at him, and Sander feels cracked open and laid bare beyond his near nudity. “I may have an ulterior motive,” Robbe admits. “I didn’t bring another key, so if this is to be yours, I guess I can’t get home without you.”

Sander huffs a laugh, lips spreading in a too-wide smile as he stretches up to kiss Robbe again. “Clever,” he praises.

Robbe hums again, equally pleased, and holds the key out to Sander. Sander takes it, closing his fingers around it carefully, watching the light flicker over and dip into the ridges as they press into his skin and imprint on him. He rubs his thumb over the rough metal, just admiring it for a moment, before looking at Robbe again.

He is the easiest thing to admire. He’s still flushed all down his neck, though it’s happy nerves more than embarrassment now. It’s enticing enough that Sander has to lean in and kiss the bare skin, has to feel Robbe’s heartbeat reverberating through him. He draws Robbe closer, back into his lap, into the circle of his arms, and pulls him close enough that they are entirely pressed together, chest to chest with heads tucked over each other’s shoulders. Robbe’s angel pendant presses into the skin near Sander’s own heart, which feels incredibly fitting.

“I love you,” Sander murmurs, because it’s the only thing he feels in this minute—the only thing he feels every minute, regardless of everything else.

Robbe presses a sweet kiss to his cheek. “I love you too. Happy birthday, Sander.” He allows Sander to hug him tighter for a moment before adding, “You should be able to find one of your other gifts now, too.”

“Find?” Sander pulls back just enough to look at Robbe quizzically. His eyes widen a fraction and he pats the pockets of Robbe’s jeans, feeling a smirk play at his lips. “Did you come prepared?”

“No,” Robbe yelps, batting him away. “You’ll have to search for it online.”

“What? What do you mean online? Do you know how vast ‘online’ is, Robbe?”

Robbe rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “YouTube, then. You have to look on YouTube.”

Sander tilts his head, baffled. “Did you rejoin a Broerrrs video?”

Robbe shrugs, all wide-eyed innocence, as if he’s not the one who put it wherever it is.

“Okay,” Sander announces. “We’re not doing anything here.”

He admits to feeling a little smug when Robbe’s face falls. “I thought you wanted to?”

“Oh, trust me,” Sander reassures, “I definitely do. But neither of us actually came prepared, and I’m realising this isn’t all I want to do to you tonight. No, we’re going to go back to yours and I’m going to find this mysterious online gift and then, then this will be made worth it.”

Now Robbe’s wide-eyed gaze holds a very different vibe, and his flush has darkened alongside his eyes, and he nods just a little too quickly. “Okay,” he agrees.

Sander grins, and does, however, spend a little more time kissing him, still clutching the key in an incredulous grip.

And, well, the thought of making out on the bed of Robbe’s old crush with Robbe is oddly satisfying. He might feel a little smug. And if it makes said crush squirm a little because he thinks they carried through on their threat with a little more commitment, well, that’s even better.

~^~

previous/next

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [89]

v. welcome to bardo

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: language, death, blood, violence, anxiety, angst, sadness.

Summary: finally, after five years of training, you arrive in bardo. unfortunately, nothing goes according to plan.

a/n: thank you guys so much for the comments on the last chapter! I’m glad you all liked it! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

As the four of you move through the Anomaly, you switch into ghost mode so that you’re invisible when you arrive.

The move has the desired effect as the 4 people in the room, 1 conductor and 3 disciples, stare at the closed space of the Anomaly, confused as to why no one came through. You all creep across the room, taking the person in front of you, and you motion to attack all at the same time. Three bodies silently hit the ground at the same time, stunned and knocked out, but the fourth body lets out a groan, thudding as it hits the floor. All of you turn towards the body, eyes falling on the conductor, who is now bleeding out, and Gabriel calls out in shock, “Echo, what the hell are you doing?”

You all start to pull your helmets off, glaring at Echo until her voice comes from behind you, “It wasn't me.”

You turn and lock eyes with Echo, who is standing over the disciple that she knocked out, a man that is still very much alive, so you turn back to the figure standing over the dead conductor, staring at Hope in surprise. She takes in your expressions, before turning to stare at the dead body at her feet. “Without Orlando, we don't need to take unnecessary risks.”

“Leaving Orlando was the unnecessary risk.” Gabriel turns when he hears a stabbing sound to find Echo now killing the disciples. He glares at her, growing exasperated. “Echo, enough!”

She ignores him and glances over at you and Hope. “Take the conductor.”

You sigh, aware that there is not enough time to argue about this, and you walk over and grab the man’s legs as Hope hooks her arms beneath his. The two of you carry him over to a small storage closet located in the Stone Room. You hit the button and place the man inside as Echo and Gabriel bicker in the background. “Focus, we're on the clock.”

“Clock? We drilled for five years. We have thirty minutes to get to the cell block, get our people, and get back here before shift change. With Orlando opening the doors, the best we ever did was 28 minutes.”

Echo pauses and gives Gabriel a hard look. “Then I guess we'd better hurry.”

She drags one of the other disciples towards the closet, and you step out of the space to grab one of the others. On your way over to him, you see a scorch mark on the ground near the stone, one that you didn't notice before. “What the hell happened there?”

Gabriel comes up to your side, staring at the mark, before ignoring it and turning to look at you, appealing to the part of you that felt bad for Orlando. “Look, we all know this can't be done without an inside man.”

You shake your head at him. “Maybe so. But we have no way to get back to Orlando now.”

Echo pipes up from behind you, as she and Hope tuck the last body into the storage closet. “We have an inside man.”

You think immediately of the stories that Hope told you from her first rescue mission to save Octavia and Diyoza, and of the man that took a liking to Octavia: Levitt. You look between Echo and Hope, both of them clearly on the same page as well, and you ask, “What if he's not in M-Cap?”

“What if who's not in M-Cap?”

“The man who helped before, Levitt.” Gabriel nods at Hope in understanding, though you can tell that he doesn't like it. But he’s right, you all need an inside man, and without Orlando, you won't survive this mission to Bardo. And with no way to get back to Skyring to grab him, Levitt is your only option. 

The two of you exchange a look, agreeing before you look to Hope and Echo. “Let’s go. M-Cap's close, we won't lose much time.”

You all grab your helmets and pull them on, and then everyone follows you from the Stone Room, aware that you know the map of Bardo’s layout better than anyone. You could recite it in your sleep if you needed to. The four of you move through the halls quickly, making your way to M-Cap as fast as you can, your anxiety on high alert as you turn every corner, prepared to run into danger. On the speakers overhead, some sort of speech or prayer is being read out, though you tune it out, focusing on your current mission. You make it to the door of M-Cap with 28 minutes left, according to the timer counting down on the screen in your helmet. There are identical clocks in all of your helmets, just in case you get separated. 

But as you lift your hand to hit the button and open the door, an unfamiliar voice calls out from behind you, “You four, fall in. We're late.”

You turn and see a woman you don't know, a disciple, her helmet off and her expression stern. She is standing with a large group of disciples, their helmets still on, clearly headed somewhere. You, Hope, Gabriel, and Echo all exchange a look, and though you can't see it through the helmets, you know that all of you are looking at each other in surprise. The energy shifts, a collective decision being made that there are too many of them to fight off, so for now, you have to fall in line. They start heading towards the group, and you turn and look back at M-Cap one last time, itching to get the door open and see who’s inside. Levitt with Octavia? Or Diyoza? Or Bellamy? Your fiance, strapped to a chair, tortured for his memories as you stand just on the other side of the door, unable to reach him. 

The woman at the end of the hall calls out, “You too, disciple. Fall in!”

You turn and jog towards them, afraid to push your luck, falling in with the others as you march down the hall to an elevator, which carries you to the level containing the oxygen farm. You all file out of the elevator, the prayers and chanting growing louder as you follow the woman to a door, which she opens before turning and commanding, “Helmets off.”

You hesitate, worried that they’ll immediately pick all of you out as imposters, but you see the others removing their helmets, so you ultimately do the same. Nobody says a word, and you’re suddenly thankful for the sea of faces around you. Every single one of them is your enemy, but right now, they are helping to give you some much needed anonymity. You exchange a quick look with your friends before you follow the group into the arboretum, the chanting now reaching its peak volume. Situated inside a clearing of trees is a small stage, a man in all white standing upon it. Surrounding him is a large group of people, some in guard suits, some in white uniforms, all of them watching the man on the stage with awe. Something about it reminds you of Wonkru’s dedication to Blodreina, which immediately puts you on edge. 

You and your friends move through the crowd, stopping near the middle as you watch the scene in front of you. As Hope stares at the man on the stage, she mutters angrily to the rest of you, “That's Anders.”

You feel a chill run down your spine, aware of the role he plays in Hope’s stories from her time on Bardo, and you know that this is the last man you want to pick up on your presence here. You make a mental note to stay out of his line of sight as you listen to his speech. “Let's first take a moment to acknowledge our newest class of level 9s. You've each demonstrated impressive devotion to the Shepherd. Our predecessors on this planet did not share that faith. Like our ancestors on Earth, they destroyed their world. Even before they were wiped out by Gem 9 and turned into crystal giants, their atmosphere was so polluted, they were forced to build forests underground in order to breathe. Even the rain that should fall from the sky falls instead by their technology.”

You look up, towards the ceiling, towards the artificial rain that now hits your cheeks. It makes you long for Earth, wishing for nothing more than to be home, with everyone you love, all of this behind you. You shake the thought free, not wanting to get distracted from your current task, redirecting your focus back to Anders. “For that, we thank them, but where are they now? We know that by the time the Shepherd delivered us with the stone that the Bardoans were gone, extinct. Why is that?”

“They didn't have the Shepherd!”

Anders, and the crowd around you, laughs. Your expression remains stony, and you can hear Anders continue his lecture, though you don't notice, because Gabriel turns to you with a look of revelation. “He said the stone delivered them.”

“So?”

“So they weren't Eligius like I thought. There was a stone on Earth.”

You feel a look of surprise pass over your face, realizing that the whole time you lived on Earth, there was an Anomaly Stone somewhere with you, and you had no idea. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined any of this. But the realization comes with a darker truth, as you realize that maybe you weren't as close to Orlando as you originally thought. You turn to Gabriel and mutter, “That means Orlando didn't tell us everything.”

Echo, who is standing on Gabriel’s other side, looks between you both and mutters, “We should go.”

You nod in agreement, and you turn to your left to pass the message onto Hope, only to find that she is no longer standing in the same spot beside you. You turn back to Echo and Gabriel with a look of alarm. “Where's Hope?”

All of you look around, finding her signature short hair closer to the front, creeping towards Anders slowly. Echo jumps into action first, discreetly slipping through the crowd and reaching out for her, stopping her from whatever she’s planning to do. You and Gabriel watch on anxiously as they have a quiet conversation, and seconds later, Hope nods. Even from here, you can see tears in her eyes, and you can only imagine what is going through her head in the moment. As they start to slip back towards you, Anders' speech on stage starts to crescendo, steadily growing louder and more charged. “We're close now. We've located the Key. After hundreds of years, it has returned to us. Ours is the generation that will win the last war! As we fight this fight for all mankind!”

The Key? Your brows pull together, wondering what they’re talking about, but you don’t have time to consider it, because Echo and Hope finally reach you and Gabriel. At the same time, the crowd around you explodes with chaos. Everyone is yelling and jumping and cheering, one steady chant heard above the rest. “For all mankind! For all mankind! For all mankind!”

You start to get the same creeped out cult vibes that you got when you first landed on Sanctum, your early judgement of the people of Sanctum ultimately turning out to be correct after they tried to kill your twin and steal her body. You start to feel uneasy, the hairs on your arm and neck lifting in alarm, and you give the others a look before you motion towards the exit. They all nod, and you use the chaos of the celebration to sneak from the arboretum and back into the hall.

Luckily, everyone seems to be pretty preoccupied with the meeting in the woods, leaving the halls empty and easy to maneuver. You all move quickly through the levels, making your way back to M-Cap, reaching the room with only two minutes left. “We’re almost out of time.”

None of you want to spell out what that means for you or those you’ve come to rescue, so Hope mutters, “We’ll figure it out.”

You nod and place your hand on the scanner for the door, watching as it slides open, revealing a large white room. In the middle of the room is a chair, with a large scary needle hanging above it, and in that chair is a woman, her arm tattooed, her dark hair spilling over the sides. You pull off your helmet and run towards her, ignoring the man in the room as you stop at Octavia’s side, smiling down at her. “Octavia, it’s me.”

“I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I am not afraid.” She stares into the distance, repeating the mantra that she used when she would hide under the floor on the Ark. She doesn't seem to hear you, because she doesn't react to you at all. You put your hand on her arm as Hope comes to her aunt’s side, looking at her with worry. You turn your focus to the man in the room, calling out, “Levitt?”

He turns to face the four of you, and Hope shakes her head. “It’s not him.”

You step away from Octavia, letting Hope and Gabriel take over as you and Echo approach the man in the room. “Her brother, where is he?”

The man stares at you, saying nothing, fear evident in his eyes. Echo’s anger explodes, and she closes the space between them, pulling out her knife and pressing it to his cheek. “Show me, or I take an eye.”

He nods, his voice shaking with fear, “It’s on the security cameras, I have to pull it up.”

Echo gives him a look but releases him, standing close in case he does something he shouldn’t. He pulls up a folder, scrolling through until he clicks on a file titled ‘explosion’. You feel your stomach drop, your brain already moving back to the scorch mark in the Stone Room, and panic squeezes your chest tight as he enlarges the screen, moving the holographic picture until it’s in front of you. Just as you feared, the camera is in the Stone Room. On the picture in front of you, Bellamy stands beside the Anomaly Stone, a knife held to the conductor’s throat, and three injured disciples lay at his feet. The camera picks up on movement near the door, and Anders strolls in, followed by Octavia, a disciple holding a knife to her throat. Behind her is a dark haired man in all white, and you get the feeling that he is Levitt. As Octavia steps into view, you can see Bellamy’s expression change into one of shock, and she holds up her hand in a wave. “Hey, big brother.”

“Let her go right now.”

“We can't do that. These good men, who you killed, brought you here from Sanctum for a reason. Let the conductor go, and then we can talk.” 

Bellamy tightens his grip on the conductor, “Her first.”

“There's no other way out of this for you, Mr. Blake.”

Octavia, seemingly calm despite the tension in the room, adds, “Bell, he's right. Open the bridge and send him back to Sanctum. I'll tell you everything you want to know, even about Clarke.”

Clarke? What the hell do they want to know about Clarke? You turn and glance at Echo, who has now stopped at your side, looking equally as worried. On the screen, Bellamy seems just as confused at the mention of your twin. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Anders seems to consider the events in front of him, and he moves towards the stone, tapping symbols and activating the Anomaly, a green portal opening at your fiance’s back. Octavia glances at it, and then turns her pleading expression to her brother. “Bell, it's okay. I can't let you die to save me. Jump through, I'll be okay.”

“No way, not without you!”

And everything after that feels like it’s in slow motion for you. 

You see movement at the bottom of the screen, as one of the dead disciples turns out to be not quite dead, and he reaches for one of the grenades pinned to his side. He yells something about the Shepherd, but your brain doesn't process it, because your eyes are solely focused on Bellamy. The pin is pulled, there’s a flash of white, and as the light fades and the camera comes into focus, Bellamy, the pile of dead bodies, and the conductor are gone. Everyone else in the room is on the floor, Octavia included, recovering from the explosion, but Bellamy is gone. Killed before you could get here. Dead, because you couldn't save him in time. 

You feel emotion well up within you, too fast for Wanlida to stop as you turn your teary expression to Echo, who stands at your side, tears falling down her face. And seeing her crying confirms that she saw Bellamy die in the explosion too. Meaning it’s not some terrible dream that only you experienced. It's real and he’s gone.  

You turn to glance back at the others, not wanting to believe it. “That can't be real.”

They look over at you with pity, clearly sorry for you and the loss you're experiencing, but they say nothing. Octavia is sitting up, and now seems to be out of her daze, though she still seems groggy as she struggles to come to. But you don't focus on that, pain and anguish and anger bubbling up inside of you as you turn to look at the man in the room, not wanting to accept that your fiance is dead. “Is that real?”

He nods, confirming that it is, and the emotions inside of you explode. It’s like a volcano, spewing up and over the surface, too much for your mind or body to comprehend. You see a flash of red before the world clears again, and you realize your body is crossing the room, on autopilot, clearly honing in on one of the emotions. As you reach the man, you realize that your body has chosen anger, and your skin is electric with it. All of your pain and anguish is being transformed into sizzling, white hot anger, crackling around you and making you burn so bright you can't take it. You need to get it out, because you don't want to feel it anymore, all of it too much. The loss too much, the pressure too much, too much, too much, too much.

Wanlida takes over and channels your anger for you, and it's like you're watching your body move while you’re in the passenger seat. You see your arm grab the front of the man’s clothes before your other arms swings a punch towards him, hitting him in the face, knocking him off balance and into the chair that Octavia vacated a few moments ago. You can hear an alarm blaring in the background, and Gabriel yelling your name, telling you to stop, mentioning something about time, but you process none of it. You only process the emotions you feel, the anger inside of you, as you kick and punch the man repeatedly, watching as blood rises to the surface of his face and spreads with each new hit. You sense movement across the room, but you ignore it, only paying attention to it when strong arms wrap around you. Gabriel pulls you off of the man, the way he did when you were beating up Orlando five years ago, and just like then, you kick and flail and fight against him. “Let me go, Gabriel! God damn it, let me go right now!”

“We need him! They know we’re here and we need him as a hostage!”

“I don't care!” The scream that breaks free from you is guttural and heartbreaking, the sound of your loss laced throughout it. “They killed Bellamy, and I’m going to burn Bardo to the ground, starting with him!”

You fight against Gabriel harder, but years of sparring has made him aware of your moves. He keeps his head away from you, out of reach from your headbutts, and he keeps your arms pinned securely at your sides. Your kicks have little impact because of the way he’s holding you, so fighting him is useless, though you do it anyways. And as Hope holds up Octavia and Gabriel holds you back, there is no one to keep an eye on Echo. She takes one look at you, and your desperation to destroy Bardo and avenge Bellamy, and she makes a silent vow to help you achieve that goal, no matter what.

She crosses the room towards the man, hitting him a few more times as Gabriel calls her name. Something in the tone of his voice stills you, and you watch as Echo reaches up and grabs the large needle of the machine. Gabriel drops you unceremoniously onto your butt in a frantic attempt to reach Echo and stop her, but he’s too late. By the time he reaches her, she has already let out a bloodthirsty scream and stabbed the needle through the man, quickly killing him and damaging the M-Cap machine in the process. 

Everyone looks on in shock and horror, except for you, your expression grateful as Echo finishes what you tried to start. She turns to look at you, tears in her eyes, and you nod your thanks before the reality sets in again. Bellamy is dead, your fiancee is gone, the love of your life has disappeared. Obliterated by Bardo tech, taken from you. Because you were too slow, too stupid, and you didn’t make it in time. You didn't save him, couldn't save him, and now he’s gone. 

A sob tears its way from your throat as your mind struggles to process your loss. You fall forward, onto your hands and knees, your vision blurring due to the tears in your eyes. You sit there sobbing, surrounded by the others, who all watch on in their own stages of shock and grief, but you are unaware of their presence. You cry hard as you think of Bellamy, your stormy love, the man of your dreams, now dead. Everything you went through, all the battles and war and forgiveness, all the times you managed to save him in the past, every single bit of it for nothing. 

It’s almost too much for you to handle, and you swear you feel your heart shatter into pieces as you cry, the little la lune now left without her world bearing Atlas.

-

next chapter

[bowl-of-shortness]

Disappearing Act.

“Beep. Beep” Oscar sounded.

This was normal for the illuminated ghost child, he was always making some sort of noise. Many people found it, annoying, to say the least, but a certain silver haired necromancer didn’t mind. Anything was better than the silence that filled that small, dimly lit, house before. The young ghost had always liked to repeat noises he’d heard, he had a small knack for being able to mimic noises. Today’s noise was the beep of a microwave.

Ozpin didn’t at all mind the noise, anymore of that silence that filled the house the day his son left and he would’ve gone mad, he swore. The necromancer had considered it white noise, strangely soothing when he was doing less soothing work. He had to have been sitting at that wooden desk for more than 3 hours doing paperwork, gods did he hate paperwork. Nothing but doing the same general thing for hours on end, knowing his wrist would be killing him at the end of the day. But what was worse was what the paperwork was about, countless papers about signing in former Atlesian students into Beacon or reports about a newly dead necromancer. It was the. Same. Damn. Thing. Over and Over and Over—

Suddenly he was snapped out of his thoughts. The noise he had once heard from his son was completely gone without a trace. Ozpin wouldn’t have been worried about it normally, thinking the ghost had run off somewhere else, but this was different. Even when Oscar ran off to go somewhere else, Ozpin could still always hear him in the distance. But this time, there wasn’t even a peep from the orange specter. Ozpin grew nervous at the sudden silence, “...Oscar?”. No response. Ozpin chuckled a little bit “Oscar are playing with me again? Trying to scare me?” Still no answer.

Growing even more nervous, he stood up from the wooden desk and searched the room. Oz kept calling out for Oscar, getting more nervous with each denial of response. The silver haired man started to search the house, from the biggest room to the smallest corner, calling for Oscar to come out. Soon Oz’s nervous calls for Oscar evolved into fearful yelling after Oscar hadn’t even been found in his room.

“Oscar this isn’t funny, where are you?!” Oz yelled out into the cursed silence, panicked. Without anymore options, the silver haired man returned to his office, putting his head in his hands.

Thoughts. Those damned thoughts. Nothing but those thoughts filled the necromancers head. Thoughts of fear and old memories. “You lost him again. How could you have possibly lost him again?!” “He already nearly left once before and you know how that ended up last time.” “What if he doesn’t come back this time?”. His mind was running with fear and panic.

Ozpin was never the kind of man to cry, but he’d the biggest damn liar if he said he never had cried for his son. Without anything left to do, he broke down. How long had he been searching? He looked up at the ticking clock in his office, 8:30 pm. “2 hours” he thought, “I had been searching for him for 2 hours.”.

“PAPA?!” A familiar voice screamed, It was music to his ears. Oz rushed into the living room to be met with a horrifying sight. Oscar turned around, crying “P_pa?!”, without a second thought Oz collapsed next to the orange specter and hugged him. The best he could.

In all of his years of being alive, he had only seen this 2 times before, and for those poor souls it did not end well. “Unstable physical form, of fucking course.” Oz mentally cursed himself. His son was seemingly flickering in and out, teetering on the line of limbo and the world of the living. Ozpin, taking a deep breath to calm himself, spoke “Oscar, you have to calm down, if you don’t it’ll get worse.”. Oscar did his best to do what he was told, helped by being comforted by his father. The necromancer continued to mentally curse him “What was I expecting?! The circumstances in which he was revived were anything BUT calm!”. Oz continued to comfort his son until he was calm enough to retain his physical form.

Eventually, after what seemed like ages, Oscar stopped flickering, but he was still shaken. The poor ghost was only about 10 years old and couldn’t understand what was happening to him. “I’m so so so sorry Oscar.” Oz whispered, Oscar continued to cry as he hugged his dad, “papa...” the specter choked out “sh sh sh, it’s okay, it’s alright I’m here.” Ozpin soothed. They stayed like that for a while, crying and hugging each other.

Ozpin soon felt some tugging on his shirt, “hm?”. Oscar shyly pointed to a pile of blankets, still crying a little bit. “Yes sweetie we can make a pillow fort, Would you like to help me make some hot chocolate?” He smiled gently, the young ghost piped up and nodded excitedly. “Alright, let’s go then.” Oz took his son’s hand as they walked to the kitchen.

As they were preparing the hot chocolate, Ozpin looked down sadly at Oscar, “I promise I won’t ever leave you intentionally, I just want you to know that, okay?” Oscar nodded gently. “I’m just sorry that this is going happen to you.”, “hm?” Oscar questioned curiously.

Ozpin sighed, “That’s a story for a different time. For now, all you need to know is one thing;”

“This is my fault, not yours.”

[siennahrobek]

Qui-Gon Jinn had not expected to wake up at all, much less in a fire fight.

He was lying flat on the ground, his back aching a little like he had fallen from the trees. Blaster fire soared over him, and it took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t, in fact, at this position, going to get hit. He could hear some explosions far off, that rumbled the ground and voices that screamed indecipherable orders. Hopefully, the explosions wouldn’t get closer. He had enough to deal with the blasters.

Qui-Gon didn’t really want to move but he knew he probably should. He just had to figure out a way to stand without immediately getting shot in the crossfire of whatever battle was happening. This was all rather strange. With a long and slow blink, he turned to his side, still too low to be in the range of the shots overhead and looked around.

His surroundings were woodsy but in a bit of a clearing. There would be plenty of cover. However, getting to that cover would be the challenge. He crawled over to a fallen log, trying to keep himself unnoticed. He didn’t know who was around or how close they were. Predictably, he failed.

Qui-Gon could practically hear Obi-Wan’s snarky comment. “Well, of course.”

“There is a civilian, sir!” someone called and Qui-Gon knew it wasn’t Obi-Wan. Not that it could have been anyways. Within the moment, Qui-Gon was surrounded, protected by a small group of armored soldiers. They have Qui-Gon enough time to get to his feet and ignite his saber.

There was not a second to waste. He leapt over their heads in a classic and well-done Aratu jump and deflected blaster bolts that were incoming. He didn’t know the sides or who was who, but these boys had defended him. So, for now, it was an easy side to choose. Aratu wasn’t perfect for this type of thing, but Qui-Gon easily shifted into something simple, a blocking form. Reminiscent of Soresu, he has been told.

“Oh! He’s a jedi!” a soldier said, a bit surprised but not completely shocked by his appearance.

Qui-Gon winced, fearing the next reaction. Not everyone was so pleasant and accommodating when people figured out who and what he was.

“I didn’t know another was stationed here,” another said.

They sounded quite familiar to one another. Perhaps it was the vocoder in their helmets.

He blinked, surprised. There was another jedi out here? This far out? It didn’t seem very likely, but the soldiers sounded pretty sure. And apparently, not too displeased either. That was a point in his favor, he supposed. Perhaps he had gotten lucky and chose the right side.

“Commander Tano!” yet another called out, loudly.

“I’m coming, Fives!” a female voice shouted back.

Qui-Gon just barely turned to see a Togruta padawan rumble and tumble through the forest and to their aid, a green lightsaber flashing with jerky movements.

“Canon fire!” someone yelled.

Sure enough, a giant blast soared over them, creating an opening. “That’s our signal!” the Togruta said. “Let’s get back! Come on, master.”

The two jedi and the squad of troopers raced through the foliage, away from the worst of the battle. It was strange, how this was all happening, and he had no idea what was going on. After several minutes, they started to slow down. “I think we are okay, sir,” a soldier said, trying to catch breath.

“Well then, I suppose this could be a moment to ask,” the padawan replied, turning towards Qui-Gon. She looked him over, scanning as if that would glean something from him. In turn, he looked at her. She seemed rather familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He hadn’t been to the Temple in quite some time. “Who are you? And what are you doing out here?”

“Honestly, I could not tell you,” He admitted. “I don’t even know how I got here, much less where here is. However, my name is Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”

They kept walking, barely even stopped for the pause. The girl blinked at him. “Sounds familiar but I’m not sure,” she murmured. “My name is Ahsoka Tano. I think you maybe should talk to my master. He might know more or ya know, who you are.”

The walk turned into something of an initial silence, but it ended up being rather unbearable. Luckily, the Togruta found it just as terrible as him.

“I haven’t seen you around the Temple, Master Jinn. Like at all,” she pointed out, suspicion seeping into her voice. He wondered if he should be surprised by it or not. “Where have you been?”

He was truthful, there was no reason not to be. “I haven’t been to the Temple in…quite some time. Last, I remember, I was falling on an ocean planet in wild space. I was sure I was going to die,” he confessed.

“The Force works in quite mysterious ways,” Ahsoka shrugged.

“That it does. I will admit, I do have some questions. Do you mind?”

“Go ahead, Master Jinn,” she said. “I will answer them to the best of my ability, as long as it isn’t, like, confidential or something.”

As they trudged through the partially decimated forests, Qui-Gon learned a great many things. There was a war. It had engulfed nearly the entire known galaxy and then some. And the jedi were fighting in it. His heart became stuck in his throat. How long had he been gone? The enemy, the Separatists, were cruel and did horrible crimes, their army made up of droids. They invaded, enslaved and even massacred entire peoples and planets. The soldiers piped in when warranted, sometimes lending out quips and barbs when the subject called for it. They rather liked making fun of the droids, he found.

The soldiers themselves were light and warm and just a little different than most beings Qui-Gon knew and come across in his life. They felt right, like they were meant to be friends with the jedi. It was both a warm and disturbing thought.

All the talk however, rather led him to the conclusion that he wasn’t in the same galaxy he was before.

He wondered what changed.

The camp they came to looked sparse and it appeared to be packed up to move. He wondered if that was a good or bad thing. Solders ran everywhere. A few didn’t have their helmets. They looked identical…all of them. Before he could ask, Padawan Tano called out. “Master?”

A young man turned around. It had been several years since Qui-Gon had seen this boy in person, but his presence was unmistakable… although a bit lighter than anticipated.

“Anakin?” he muttered, confused.

Whatever the man was holding, he dropped it, turning to stare at Qui-Gon in what could only be construed as absolute shock. Qui-Gon didn’t think his presence was that surprising. They had seen each other around over the years although, granted, not lately.

“That’s not…” the man muttered then strode over, fierce and bright. Qui-Gon suppressed a wince as he approached. Ahsoka noticed. Anakin did not. He enveloped the master in a tight and all-encompassing hug. “You aren’t a ghost,” he murmured, shocked and airy. “You are real.”

“Uh. Yes,” he affirmed, brows furrowing in confusion. “I will admit… I did not expect you to be so happy to see me.”

Just because Anakin didn’t appear to resent Qui-Gon for not training him, didn’t mean that the boy was ever particularly happy to see or be around him. The young man finally pulled back, looking at him so intently Qui-Gon wasn’t sure what he was looking for but Anakin looked nearly as confused as the older master himself. “Why not? You are the one that saved me from slavery.”

Ahsoka looked surprised as she glanced between them. “Wait… he’s…”

“I can’t believe you are here,” Anakin interrupted, returning to a near giddy state. The girl just continued to look flabbergasted, like she was seeing a ghost but she stopped speaking on the matter.

“I am beginning to suspect I am not in my galaxy,” Qui-Gon mused, uncertainly. None of this made much sense, at least in the terms of his own. What little research he had done in phenomena of the cosmic and unifying force had usually been in the realm of prophecy, at least when he was younger. Qui-Gon had very little thought on the matter in the past ten years.

“Or you time traveled,” Anakin teased, bright and happy. Qui-Gon didn’t think so but something was niggling in the back of his mind not to argue. “This is just going to blow my master’s mind,” he grinned and spun his head around, looking. He glanced over at one of the nearby troopers, dressed in blue and white, with a large pauldron that jutted out from his shoulder. “Hey Rex, do you know where Commander Cody and my master are?”

Rex stopped and dipped his head in acknowledgement before gesturing in a direction. “Incoming, sir. From the north.”

Anakin grinned even wider, his eyes sparkling in something amazed and mischievous. “Come on, master,” he urged, looking back at Qui-Gon and pulling him towards the direction the trooper had given him. “This is going to be great. I have so much to tell you.”

*

Qui-Gon’s legs gave out at the sight of him because, well, it was impossible.

Anakin hadn’t gotten much in, just a bit more about the war when…. when he came in. And Qui-Gon had spotted him right away, he had seen him and heard his voice and felt him – oh! It could only be a wonderful dream. His brain was practically empty with only joy filling it. The disbelief and logic could not quite settle in at the moment, not with the initial reaction of this.

Qui-Gon had dreamed about this.

He was running into the camp, flanked by a myriad of soldiers, shouting out orders with a child perched in his arms like it was absolutely normal. The child was clinging to him, terrified, of course, but rather trusting with their perch. His hair was lighter than Qui-Gon remembered, and longer, a rather neat cut with bangs swept off to the side. He had grown in a beard, which helped hide his natural baby face. It aged him, Qui-Gon mused, but not particularly in a bad way. Qui-Gon wondered if it made others listen and respect him more. With his under tunics, he had pieces of armor scattered around his form. A pauldron had the Order’s symbol on it while his vambrace sported a red and yellow open circle; two halves that formed a whole.

Interesting, he thought. He wondered the reasoning and symbolism behind it.

Despite all the changes, the impossible age, Qui-Gon would know him anywhere. Even if he could not feel that familiar presence and even through the aging. He would know that voice, he would know him.

He would know his apprentice.

Anakin was trying to support his weight, but Qui-Gon was already on his knees, on the ground, staring in absolute shock and awe, leaning against one of the crates they were standing near. “Obi-Wan,” he whispered in disbelief, tears swelling in his eyes. “It’s…impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

He barely registered the young… padawan? Knight? He wasn’t sure what Anakin was at this point, although the Togruta had called him master. He was rather young for it. Qui-Gon couldn’t answer, his brain was running in circles and his tongue was completely tied up.

“General Kenobi!” one of the soldiers called from across the clearing and camp, him and two others making their way to the jedi knight – no, master. It was clear, Qui-Gon could see, could feel, his padawan was a master. With a dazzling grin, Obi-Wan handed one of them the child. The soldier ripped off his helmet and laughed, receiving the gift with such approval and glee. The child seemed to find this transfer acceptable and held on tight, wrapping thin arms around the trooper. Another just huffed but Qui-Gon feel some sense of vague amusement rolling off of him.

“Waxer! Boil! Perfect,” Obi-Wan snickered but he sounded perfectly pleased. His accent was the same as always, although perhaps a bit polished with some sort of undertone Qui-Gon couldn’t identify. Perhaps it was all the time spent with the soldiers that shifted it. “Mind watching this youngling until we can find his parents?”

One soldier scowled, away from the child. He was trying to project his disapproval, Qui-Gon realized, but no one was buying it. “Sir, that was one time.”

“You’re good at it!”

There was some more laughs and the child that was in one soldier’s arms seemed so sense something and jumped into the other one. He caught the child quickly but awkwardly and everyone just kept chuckling.

“We will find the parents sir!” the first soldier grinned.

Obi-Wan continued to smile and Qui-Gon was amazed. He had seen so much destruction and horrible feats in the little time he had spent here, in the battlefield, on the camp with the wounded and dying. He could feel the pain and darkness in the Force, in the galaxy, but somehow, someway, Obi-Wan could find some joy in the little things he had learned with and about the soldiers. They were his friends, Qui-Gon realized. All of this was hitting him like a brick.

Qui-Gon missed a lot of the conversation after that with his thoughts and he could vaguely hear and sense Anakin talking beside him, barely taking into account Obi-Wan’s presence across the clearing, so worried about Qui-Gon. But the older master…he just couldn’t stop staring.

Ten years and all he could do was stare.

Qui-Gon finally got himself to stand, and he felt hands on him, but he just shrugged them off. He had to move. He had to move, move quickly. Stumbling towards his former padawan, he vaguely heard Anakin call after him, but Qui-Gon did not really hear. He didn’t hear anything anymore; it was rather like he was under the harsh waves of the planet he had fallen into, nothing but crashing and nothing to see as water slammed into his eyes. And the only bit of light was that in front of him, the only thing he could see, the only thing he could focus on.

There was nothing but Obi-Wan.

His eyes never left him.

He was so close.

“Obi-Wan,” he whispered and reached.

Qui-Gon somehow stopped himself before he could crash into the now jedi master and leaned against the table before them. Obi-Wan had not turned, had not even reached for his presence, still going over maps and paperwork laid out.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said with a sigh. He sounded so fond with undertones of sarcasm and wit. “You sound as if you thought I would not survive. That is a bit insulting, don’t you think?” he snorted and shook his head. A small smile was creeping underneath his beard. One of the soldiers, a commander, Qui-Gon suspected, along with a few hours were just staring at him, unsure. Obi-Wan just continued to speak, so focused on his task at hand. “I noticed pack up is coming along. I hope the natives have been warned and moved. And delegating that to Ahsoka and your poor Captain is such bad form-.”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon croaked out again.

“You sound absolutely terrible, dear one, are you…” And then Obi-Wan finally, finally, turned around to face him, the words, dying on his lips as he stared at Qui-Gon, near uncomprehending. Qui-Gon could not see what he was thinking.

“Obi-Wan.”

The young man swallowed, staring intently before he took a shaky breath and shook his head slowly. “Someone please get Helix,” Obi-Wan said, cordially, and Qui-Gon was momentarily confused until he realized Obi-Wan wasn’t actually talking to him, personally. “I appear to be hallucinating,” he explained further. He didn’t take his eyes off of Qui-Gon, just stared and appeared to be studying him.

A soldier ran off. Others just watched. Because even though Obi-Wan had said he was hallucinating, they could all see him. Qui-Gon wondered what had happened that made Obi-Wan think this way, that seeing him was more likely to be a hallucination than real. He was dead, Qui-Gon guessed.

“You aren’t,” Qui-Gon’s voice cracked from emotion because in all honesty, it did not feel real. There were so many emotions wrapped up in all of this. He could feel Obi-Wan’s warmth, see his light and it felt impossible. “But I feel as though I must be.”

He then couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and hugged his padawan, wrapping his arms securely around him and oh – he was still shorter than the older master. Qui-Gon could still tuck him under his chin and that he did. He tucked what used to be his little child under his chin and wrapped him so tight like if he even gave an inch back, he would lose him all together.

“What is this,” Obi-Wan mumbled but he accepted the hug, even leaning into Qui-Gon, a bit limp. When was the last time Qui-Gon hugged his padawan? When was the last time anyone had hugged his padawan? He wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted the answer.

“Such a blessing,” Qui-Gon muttered to himself, and he was crying now, tears slipping out silently. He couldn’t believe it. Because this was more than he could dream. He had seen Obi-Wan over the years, in dreams, nightmares, even drug-induced hallucinations (not on purpose) but he had never been able to really speak, never been able to tough and hug and reach with the Force. Qui-Gon, at this point, was scared to. Scared to see what he would find.

“I do not understand what is happening.”

Qui-Gon barely pulled back – barely – just to look at Obi-Wan’s face. He was so tired in a resigned type of way; like the weight of the galaxy had been put on his shoulders. Qui-Gon had a sneaking position something like that was, in fact, happening. “Goodness, look at you,” he said instead, trying to smile because oh, this was the most pleasant dream.

Obi-Wan’s expression turned wary, suspicious. “Me.”

“You’ve grown up so well, my dear,” Qui-Gon replied instead because he had. Obi-Wan looked so good and the older master could only imagine how well he was doing in his studies, in his learning, in what he had done and accomplished and grown. “I like the haircut and the beard, it suits you. I think it makes you look older but not in a bad way, distinguished or something,” he chuckled but then frowned suddenly. Obi-Wan frowned back. “But…you…you look so sad.”

“You can see that?”

How could he not? How could anyone not?

Who hadn’t seen this?

“It has only been ten years, Obi-Wan, not ten lifetimes,” he replied, trying to keep with another smile. “I never knew you as well as I should have…but I know that…weight. I’ve underestimated it, but I’ve seen it.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan mumbled, glancing down and Qui-Gon couldn’t quite read what he was thinking about that. “You kind of look the same.”

Qui-Gon let out a wet, half-hearted laugh and he almost couldn’t stop because that…that was something he would say, although not quite as snarky as the witty teenager Qui-Gon used to think. “One does not often change too much so into life and habits,” he admitted and he projected some type of joy.

“You smell better,” he mumbled and glanced up at him at him, watching Qui-Gon’s face for something. Qui-Gon wondered what he was looking for. “Look nice. It’s trimmed,” he noted, curiously, touching the ends, in some sort of wonder. Qui-Gon just smiled again, his shoulders relaxing.

Qui-Gon hummed. “I kept thinking of you,” he muttered, truthfully.

“This is incredibly strange.”

His note about the hair? Or the scenario? Both? It hardly mattered.

“You seem to be taking the possibility fairly well, however,” Qui-Gon replied.

Obi-Wan let out a light chuckle but there continued to be a hollowness underneath it, like he wasn’t sure if he should be amused or not. Oh, Qui-Gon wanted to know everything that had happened without him, everything he didn’t know. He wanted to know everything because he seemed to have missed so much and he had this strange second chance. He needed make the most of it. Obi-Wan shook his head in some form of disbelief. “Ah, if only you knew all the things we have gone through in your absence.”

“Then I’m sure I’d understand,” he guessed.

Obi-Wan’s eyes were sparkling, partially with tears. “Perhaps…we…we must go,” he added, stepping back and out of Qui-Gon’s embrace. The older man frowned just a bit, he did not want to let go of his child, the one he had lost so long ago. But Obi-Wan kept talking and then Qui-Gon understood the urgency. “The Separatist forces are approaching.”

“The droids.”

Obi-Wan glanced at him, questioning and curious.

Qui-Gon shrugged. “The padawan, Ahsoka, told me.”

His former padawan straightened so much, Qui-Gon thought if he touched him, the man would snap in half. A medic had run up, with a few others, but Obi-Wan waved him off. “False alarm Helix,” he said with some amusement that no one else probably found amusing. “It appears I am not hallucinating after all. It just appears that my former master who was actually quite dead has either been resurrected, time travelled or jumped dimensions.”

“Force shenanigans?” one of the troopers near them grinned. He had scars all over his face and some scruff on the lower half but there was a life to him that Qui-Gon nearly melted in the presence of.

“Yes, Immortal. That is probably the most reasonable explanation,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Clankers are inbound, but Oddball and his squad are ready for bombardment when you give the signal,” another soldier – the commander, Qui-Gon believed – added, stepping in and standing next to Obi-Wan.

“Let’s move out and give Oddball and his boys space to do their work,” Obi-Wan nodded and turned towards Qui-Gon. “We really should get going. Do you mind following us?”

This was currently Obi-Wan’s domain, his galaxy. His padawan may have been at war again but Qui-Gon had to believe there was a reason. There was a reason last time and Obi-Wan did not jump into these things’ willy nilly. It wasn’t something that he enjoyed. He was a creature of duty and compassion and Qui-Gon had spent the last ten years thinking about him and wistfully dreaming of more time. He had it now, he would not give it up so easily. Obi-Wan knew this world, what was happening, what they were doing. And from what little Qui-Gon could gather, he had become quite the leader.

“I will follow your lead,” Qui-Gon vowed, resolute and truthful.

Something softened in his padawan’s eyes, and he nodded, gratefully.

My, what a strange world he had ended up in, indeed.

[crimsonwolfie]

Fortuitous Love — Theo Raeken x Werewolf!Reader

Prompt: You (the reader) are a werewolf in London who live with Jackson and Ethan. You all travel to Beacon Hills to help Scott’s pack fight against the hunters, only things happen unexpectedly...

Warnings: occasionally swearing, trigger of dying/pain, fluff and general happy ending

Word count: 4,799

Masterlist

“You know, you’re asking for your death certificate by doing this.”

“I’m part werewolf, part kanima, darling. They’ve got nothing on me.”

“What about us, my love? We’re only werewolves. Sorry for not having the intolerance to wolfsbane unlike you!”

Carrying your head in your hands, you sigh dramatically at the two loverbirds in the front seats. Jackson and Ethan have been your friends (more like parents) for the past 2 years, after they found you alone and scared on the night you turned. Ever since then, they’ve taken you under their wing like their own and helped you control yourself - they were there for you when no one else was. During those 2 years, they’ve confided in you completely, telling you about Beacon Hills and their friends back there like Lydia, Stiles, Scott and Derek Hale. Being in London, you don’t really make any run in appearances with other supernaturals so your knowledge of them is remotely vague...but ever since your date took you out on a walk through the woods and bit you, you’ve wanted to know everything you can about all of it. If it wasn’t for Jackson and Ethan walking home from a dinner date and heard you scream, then you wouldn’t even be here to tell your story.

A cold, refreshing breeze hits your heated pink cheeks as your hair is swept back from the car window being down. Peering up through the sunroof, you see the moon full and as bright as the heavens above, bringing a small smile to your lips. As the reflection of the moonlight appears upon your glossy eyes, your mind wanders into reminiscing what your life was like before you changed...how you couldn’t hear everything in a 3 mile radius, how you had to ask how people were feeling instead of smelling their emotions...how you didn’t have to be weary of people hunting you down just to kill you for personal gain...

“How’re you feeling, Y/N?” you’re snapped back to reality by Jackson turning around in his seat, his eyes soft and his dimples merry.

“I’m okay, a little nervous i guess” you reply, shifting in your seat slightly whilst tugging the sleeves of your hoodie onto your hands “but hey, what about you? I mean...you haven’t seen these people for 3 years”

“It’s okay, not like they’re strangers. It’s just a shame it’s not under better circumstances” Jackson drops his head slightly in guilt. You know he thinks he should have visited them at least once a year, but with so many supernatural occurrences that have happened in Beacon Hills over the years, he knew it wasn’t the right time. And you knew that too.

“Look, you couldn’t see them before this. It was too dangerous, okay? You’re not in the wrong.” You place your dainty hand over his large one, gripping it tightly in a way to say “it’s going to be okay.” He returns this with a gentle squeeze of your hand and a small smile, before letting go and turning back to the front.

You, Jackson and Ethan were on your way to Beacon Hills to help the pack fight against pretty much the whole town, who have been turned by their own fear to fighting and killing all supernatural creatures. Hunters had been sent to London to hunt down you three, obviously they didn’t succeed but you guys were absolutely pissed. In a way, this is all a blessing in disguise to you, as you’re now on your way to meet people who are meant to be like a second family to you. You’ve heard so much about them all, that you feel like you have already met them...it’s...weird.

“Don’t be scared, darlings” Ethan disturbs the comforting silence with a soft tone “i can sense the fear from both of you, it’s thicker than a bowl of oatme-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” you lean forward poking your head between the two seats in front, glaring at Ethan with beady eyes. Both men wheeze as you breathe out a slight laugh.

“-and anyway...i’m not scared.” You retort, placing your hands on your hips and tilting your head slightly whilst staring into Ethan’s eyes in the mirror. He stares back at you, crinkles on his eyelines and cheek bones high as he cackles softly at your words

“Yeah right princess”

“It’s true! I’m not!”

“It’s okay if you are, sweetie” Jackson pouts sarcastically, earning a middle finger from you. “Hey, don’t be mean little lady!” Jackson wiggles his finger at you whilst tutting your choice of actions.

“Love i will not hesitate to bite your finger off and throw it out this window” you hiss as your eyes glow a bright golden colour. Since you’re London born and raised, you have a british accent coating your words, making it all that more humorous for the two americans in front of you. Your accent has always been something they find both fascinating about you, but also a way to tease you about how you say certain words. You look up to the window reflection to see your eyes are glowing and quickly look down and shake it off.

“You know, i think you’ll get on very well with Theo Raeken” Jackson pipes up, you look up to see him smirking, knowing it’ll wind you up even more.

“Who is this Theo Raeken guy, anyway. I thought you said you both left town before he appeared?”

“Oh we did, only it’s a pretty small world and that guy gets around..” Ethan side eyes Jackson, wearing a confused “just tell her” expression

“...okay maybe because Lydia calls me every week to tell me what i’ve missed.” He sighs as he rolls his eyes. You smirk sweetly, quite enjoying the view in front of you.

“So what’s he like?” You ask, intrigued to know more about this ‘Theo’ guy

“He’s a dick”

“And a liar”

“And a snake”

“Wait how’s that even possible?! I didn’t even think you could have a snake hybr-“

“-no not literally silly, you can’t trust him. He’s a snake that way”

“-oh.”

...

“Is he fit though?”

“Y/N STOP”

—

The car comes to a sudden halt outside an old, abandoned building. The night sky darkens your surroundings, taking away any sort of comfort you had before. Had you reached your destination? Or was something stopping you from reaching it? Remote darkness surrounds you all with not a glimpse of light in sight - no street lamps lit, no lights in the buildings and no cat eyes in the road. It’s almost as if you’re standing in the middle of a ghost town, or even a graveyard.

“This...this can’t be right?” Ethan begins to fiddle with the satnav displayed in front of him “it’s saying ‘route malfunction. No route calculated?”

“It was fine when we got here?” Jackson retorts whilst rubbing his eyes of tiredness. You can feel it too...the fatigue. After an 11 hour plane ride, you’re surprised you’d lasted this long without any sleep. But there’s something else your senses are picking up on...fear? Or even anger?

“Let me try my phone” you hesitate as you open the car door, stepping one foot out ever so cautiously. Picking up your phone from the seat, you hold it up in the air in hopes of getting a signal - nothing. No bars at all...weird.

A cold shiver runs down your spine, causing your entire body to cover in goosebumps. Pulling your hoodie over your body more and bringing your arms up to hug yourself, you get back in the car, rolling the window back up. As if by magic, the air turned from a cool summer breeze to a winter snowstorm with an unsettling feeling running around in the air, and you nor your wolf side liked it.

“Do...do you feel that?” You ask

“I don’t know what it is but...yeah i feel something”

“It’s called love dumbass”

“Jackson this is not a time for your sarc...” Ethan trails off suddenly, sticking his nose up in the air and sniffing. “It’s blood...i smell blood”

“What are you...wait, yeah i smell it too” you retort, opening your car door up once again and stepping out “i’m gonna go and follow it, stay here” you say

“Y/N you’re basically our child, it’s YOU who should be staying put, safe” Ethan replies, his hand on your shoulder

“Eth, it’s okay...i can handle myself” you flash your eyes “if i’m not back in 10 then get the hell out of here. Don’t look back.” and with that, you stalk off, following the scent of fresh blood. Using your wolf vision allows you to see more in your path than you would normally, and with your senses heightened due to a completely unfamiliar setting, you know you’ll be okay.

There’s tall brooding trees everywhere around you, but no sight of life of any kind. Running faster and faster you start to gain a stronger track of the scent, seeing a type of clearing ahead of you. Just as you’re about to leap forward, you hear something flying through the air, only you have no idea where it’s coming from. As you stop and stand behind the tree bark, your vision starts to blur and your muscles begin to weaken. You feel this sharp sting in your side, looking down to reveal an arrow sticking out of it. Panic overwhelms you as the thought of dying here in the darkness, in the cold all alone, scares the hell out of you. A hot, single tear drops on your rosy cheek and into the corner of your mouth. You want to scream, to rip someone’s throat out, to run and hide, but you can’t move. The sound of more arrows flying through the darkness surround you, until all you can hear is the same swooshing sound of this death trap.

“Hunters” you moan under your breath, squinting your face in both pain and anger. The blood is oozing out fast, and you’re not healing. You lift your hoodie up to see the damage whilst wincing...and it’s bad. I mean...really bad. If you’re not healing, then it can only mean one thing...

“Oh for fuck sake, wolfsbane?” You growl as blood seeps into your leggings, painting your once grey hoodie now a tie dye of a piercing crimson shade. The pain begins getting worse as beads of sweat drip from your forehead, mixing with your salty tears. Red laser beams strike through the darkness ahead of you, searching for your body. Scrunching up into a ball on the floor, you try to rock yourself to ease the pain, but it’s useless. You’re looking around for any sort of plan, and start to think of Jackson and Ethan, hoping they’ve gone and are out of harms way. ‘If anything ever happens to them i swear to god i will kill anyone and everyone who inflicted harm their way’ you think to yourself, as you tug the arrow out of your body with a heartbreaking cry. So many emotions are crossing your mind right now to the point you don’t know what is right to feel and what is wrong. Killing someone? It feels fucking right at the moment. Especially the son of a bitch who hunted you.

You know you couldn’t howl to alert the others as they would just race towards you, not away. You have no choice but to face the hunters to get to the clearing, to find someone to help, and with that...you get up. It takes all your strength, but you do it, determined to escape alive.

“Cmon Y/N, you got this” you whisper to yourself in a brittle voice, chin trembling from the pain you’re enduring. Your golden circles glow brightly with determination, as you step forward...but as soon as you do, you look down to see a red laser beam pointed directly at your stomach. Luckily your adrenaline instincts kick in as you grab the flying arrow mid-flight before it hits your body. Breaking it into two pieces, you look up, anger and rage boiling inside you. Your fangs rip through your gums as a ground-rumbling growl leaves your throat, cutting through the space around you like a thousand knives. Running towards the clearing, a dozen more arrows fly around your body...some missing...but also some hitting. Taking a few arrows to your chest, back, legs... your vision gets blurrier, fading by the second until you can’t take it anymore, the wolfsbane kicking in a lot quicker than before. Collapsing on the ground of dried leaves and fertile soil, you reach your hand out to the clearing, trying to grasp at it one final time. Gripping a handful of soil in your blood soaked palms, your eyes brim with tears. ‘This is it’ you think, your fear of a painful, cold and lonely death becomes too realistic. The sound of arrows flying from all directions starts fading away as your body slowly starts giving up on you. As you’re about to give up completely, you see a small blurry blob in the distance getting bigger and bigger the closer it comes. The last thing you see is a hand reach towards your body, then pitch black.

You awake with a gasping breath, back shot up straight and eyes wide. The last thing you remembered was being on the brink of death in the woods, yet now you’re in somewhere that looks like a clinic...an animal clinic maybe?

Looking down at your hands, you see dirt and blood still dug in-between your nails...but there’s white bandages wrapped around your arms. Your bare back shrieks in pain as your skin burns underneath, screaming to be ripped apart. The steel table is cold to your touch as you sweep your legs off onto the side, examining your body for injuries - you’re patched up with bandages everywhere instead. As you’re about to get off the table completely, you hear footsteps approaching the room. Quickly, you decide to grab the needle to your right side for defence, only freezing once seeing the figure walk into the room.

It’s a boy, roughly the same age as you, only he seems a lot more muscular, taller and maturer than you. His hair is a dirty blonde, with longer bits at the front that fall in front of his face Leonardo Dicaprio style. His complexion is dashing, with eyes as blue as the sea and chiseled jawline, his nose pretty much perfect and his lips...oh they look succulent. Upon seeing you, he smirks with perfect lips, as his brows raise.

“And what do you think you’re going to do with that?” He asks, his voice deep but attractive. He places the clipboard in his arms down on the counter next to him, bringing a hand to his hip.

“I...you could have been the hunter” you reply, captivated by his features still

“So i try to kill you, patch you up here and then try to kill you again?” His lips part as a chuckle leaves his throat

“You never know.” You snap, pouting your lips as your brows furrow in defeat.

“So...you must be Y/N?’” The boy asks, tilting his head slightly whilst scanning you up and down. You step back suddenly, surprised he knows who you are, as if he’s been expecting you.

“Wait how’d you know that?” You ask, slowly placing the needle in your hand on the table. He steps forward, closing the space between you two slightly

“Well for one, the accent” he points towards your mouth with a single finger, “and second, Lydia never stops talking about the ‘girl who Jackson saved’. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Well you’re acting like i’m not what you expected..”

“Because you’re not.” He smirks whilst getting closer, closing the gap between you two more. You can’t help but stare into his eyes, then look down at his luscious lips and think of what they’d feel like pushing against yours, moving in synchronisation-

“Hey, stop thinking about me” you snap out of your trance, looking up to see him winking at you with that famous grin of his that everyone talks about, granted he is who you’re thinking he is...

“I-i’m not thinking about you” you push him away

“I can smell the attraction on you” he scoffs.

“I take it you’re Theo Raeken, then.” Sighing, you look up at him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“The one and only” he says as he comes closer to you, bringing his face inches away from your own.

You understand what everyone means when they say Theo Raeken is no good - The guy reeks of selfishness and cockiness. He went against Scott and his pack, even killed him at one point and spent a year in hell...if you could see red flags then he’d be drowning in them. But that’s your problem - you go for the bad guys...you always have. Jackson and Ethan knew this already, which is why they knew you’d get along with him when no one else does.

“So what brings you to Beacon Hills, gorgeous?” Theo takes a few small steps forward, which is making you take small steps back until your back hits the wall of the clinic, your frame pressed against the hard surface. Theo raises his hand and presses his palm against the wall, leaving you nowhere to escape...that is...if you wanted to (but hey, being sandwiched between a wall and a really hot - actually insanely hot guy, was not that bad).

“It’s the hunters, we came back to help.” Your eyes glimpse across his face once again, as you bite your bottom lip. You lean on the wall with your feet planted into the floor, keeping you completely still.

“You’re willing to risk your life for complete strangers?” Theo’s face falls in concern, his deep blue eyes squinting slightly in disbelief. ‘What kind of girl would do that?’ He questioned himself, starting to get more intrigued by you each second.

“They’re not strangers, kinda?” You reply, looking away as you try to explain “they’re Jackson and Ethan’s friends, so i trust them.” Scratching your neck, you look back to him. Theo stares at you as if he doesn’t believe what you’re saying. “You don’t need to stare at me like that”

“Like what?” Theo questions

“Like you can’t trust me. Because you can...and anyway who’s to say you’re the one to be trusted? You don’t exactly have the best representation” you retort, earning a scoff from the boy in front of you

“I saved your life; you should be grateful?” He hissed

“Gee, thanks for not killing me like you did with Scott Mccall, you’re my hero.” You say sarcastically, rolling your eyes and shaking your head.

“I do not like your attitude, pretty” theo scoulds, his eyes glowing.

You flash your eyes back at him, growling “i don’t like your loyalties.”

“Yeah well maybe if you went through what i’ve gone through you’d understand”

“You don’t need to pity yourself, Raeken. Some people are just born monsters. Accept it.”

“You don’t even know me!” He’s practically screaming now, with his teeth gritted and fangs shining in the moonlight from the windows above

“I know enough to know you’re a no good, rotten waste of space!” You hiss back, as you go to swipe at him...but he blocks you, gripping your wrist in his hand.

You both stand there facing each other with your fangs dripping and eyes golden, faces inches apart and heavily breathing. You can practically feel his chest on yours, his breath tingling on your cheeks. Staring into each other’s eyes, neither of you move. His hand is still wrapped tightly around your wrist...only after around 10 seconds of staring into each other’s golden orbs, he loosens his grip. He doesn’t let go, just hovers his hand gently over yours. You yank your wrist from his touch and bend under his other arm, which is still palmed to the wall. Walking around the the other side of the table, you focus on controlling yourself...which Theo notices from the corner of his eye.

“You still have trouble controlling yourself, don’t you?..” he begins, only you shut him up by running towards him, shoving your hand over his mouth. Theo’s eyes widen, fearful for your state...but there’s something else in his eyes - sympathy? Suddenly a heart-wrenching pain tears through your side, causing you to kneel over screaming with pain. Still with your hand over Theo’s mouth, he gently places his own over yours as long, black lines start trailing through his skin.

“Wha-what are you-“ you yelp loudly “-you doing?” gritting your teeth and clawing your claws into your palms, he places his other hand over the small of your back. Theo gently moves your hand with his, off of his mouth, so he can talk.

“I’m taking your pain away” he softly speaks, his eyes soft and his touch delicate over your fragile skin. You look up to him with a layer of tears glazed in your eyes, fear hidden deep within your orbs. Theo never looks away when taking your pain. As you start to feel it going away, your eyes soften slightly, guilt clouding your conscience after remembering what you said to Theo. ‘Clearly he’s not what they paint him to be’ you think to yourself.

“You have to care, to take pain away...” your voice is shaky, wobbly. As you bring your legs together, Theo gives you a small smile, as he still holds your hands after taking your pain.

“Of course i care...i can tell you do to” he simply replies, looking down at the ground. His soft, silky hair flops with his gaze, covering part of his forehead. All you want to do is run your fingers through his perfect head of hair, feel it through your fingertips and put your hands on his cheeks...

“But you don’t know me?” You whisper, as you reach forward and place your fingers on the side of his head. He leans into your touch, replying “i just feel like i know you, already”

He brings his hand to yours on his cheek, lacing your fingers in his

“I’m really sorry for...for everything i said earlier” you hiccup quietly “it’s just i thought you were this big bad guy that everyone says you are...” your words trail off as you glance away to the side, thinking of why Theo was being so nice to you “...Hell changed you...didn’t it?” You mention, your voice barely above a whisper. Theo grunts at your words, flinching at the thought of what he went through down there.

“It would change anyone” his eyes welled with tears as he chewed on his lower lip. A sob leaves your lips as you realise what torture he must have gone through, seeing the genuine look of hurt and pain in his expressions. It makes you want to just hug him and never let go...

“...no one’s seen this side to you, have they?” you lift his head up by placing your fingers on his chin. His head is heavy, tears now streaming down his face as memories are recapped in his wracked brain. You bring both hands to wipe away his tears, sobs quietly leaving his mouth.

“No...” he begins, choking up. You pull him into your body, hugging him tightly, rocking sideways in a way of comforting him. He returns the hug, wrapping his arms around you tighter and burying his head in the crook of your neck. You both stay like this for a while, as your hand rubs his back softly and the other hand runs through his hair.

Everyone had no problem telling the bad side of Theo Raeken’s story, but they seemed to have missed out the path of redemption. The path Theo wanted to take, and with your help, he would stick to. For this, you felt anger unlike anything before, for he was a boy who made mistakes. Hell, you’ve made mistakes before...but everyone deserves the right to prove their redemption - to make things right...and Theo Raeken...was never given that opportunity.

Slowly sitting up, he wipes the rest of his face of tears, resting his back against the wall of the clinic. He never expected to meet you, and like you. He’d heard things about you, much like how you heard things about him, but he never saw sympathy as one of your qualities...especially sympathy towards him. You release him from your touch, about to get up, until he grabs your hand back in his.

“Please, don’t leave me Y/N” he begs, his state so fragile and broken. As his soft fingers lace around your own, you obey his wishes and sit back next to him, intertwining your fingers together. He turns towards you, a sweet smile on his face, his red bloodshot eyes tired. You lean your head on his broad shoulder, and just sit with him. He leans his head on your head, his breathing calming. It’s almost like you two are each other’s anchors...but it’s impossible - you don’t know each other...not really?

“Do you believe in people being anchors?” You whisper. Theo adjusts himself closer to your body, instantly creating more heat between you two

“I guess...Liam’s is Hayden. When she left, he really struggled. He still does” he hums. It gets you thinking...you never really had an anchor. You only had Jackson and Ethan telling you this motto “the sun, the moon, the truth” to help control yourself, but most of the time it never worked...

“Wait” you gasp, starting to get fidgety and panic setting in your heart “where are Jackson and Ethan? They were in the car and i left them. I left them, Theo” you turn to him with tears settling in your eyes, your face growing paler through panic. Theo quickly grabs your shoulders to steady yourself, pushing your hair behind your ears, out of your face

“Hey, hey Y/N it’s okay - they’re safe. I got to them, too. They’re with Scott and the others.” He reassures you, rubbing your arms. “It’s okay, breathe. Just breathe, you’re okay”.

“I can’t lose them, they’re all i have” you whimper, Theo strokes your cheek with thumb, pulling you into his chest.

“You have me” he whispers, making you look up at him in adoration. You two had met a couple of hours ago and it already feels like you’ve fallen for him...only he felt the same way. It’s like you two were each other’s soulmate, and that everything feels safe and okay when you’re with each other.

“I feel like...and please don’t think i’m crazy-“ you blurt out, hand on Theo’s chest “-but i feel like you’re my anchor...”

Theo smiles at your words and leans forward, crashing his lips into yours with pure desire and passion. You return the kiss by moving your lips sweetly along with his, hands roaming everywhere on each other’s bodies. Sparks run through your body and burst into fireworks as the kiss deepens. Theo places his hand on the back of your head, pushing you deeper into his lips. Your fingers trace through his hair, tugging at times. Your urge to rip each other’s clothes off increases, as Theo gets slightly aggressive in the kiss, his hands leaving imprints in your skin and biting your lip. Your breath is rigid, wanting more and more. Suddenly, the lights flicker and the sound of a door creaking open breaks the connection between you and Theo, as Jackson and Ethan walk through the door. You and Theo freeze in your position of tops half off, Theo on top of you, his hair an absolute mess and your hair tangled around your neck in sweat

“I knew it!” Jackson cackles, clapping his hands together as Ethan stares at him in annoyance. He reaches into his pocket and places a 10 dollar bill in Jackson’s hand, who smirks and kisses his teeth

“-woah woah you guys BET on this happening?” You gasp, pushing Theo off you enough so you could sit up

“No, we bet that you’d like him...we didn’t bet that you guys would actually click like that” Ethan replies, shrugging.

“Okay i love you guys but...get out.” You scowl, staring at the two men in front of the door

“Y/N we didn’t me-“ Jackson starts

“GET OUT” you flash your eyes, causing the two men to dash out of the room sniggering like two school girls. You flop back on the floor, smirking towards Theo, who climbs back on top of you, about to press his lips to yours once again

“What actually happened he-“ Ethan’s head pops behind the door frame

“GET OUT”

Hope you guys like this! Let me know if you want a part 2 or any other Teen Wolf requests! Xo

[ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog]

Ghost

Word Count: 1411

Content Warnings: blood mentions, allusions to death,

Ao3 masterpost

Excerpt:

Inej Ghafa hadn’t always been a ghost. Before she was taken away, before she was sold and bought, before she snuck through the streets like a shadow, Inej Ghafa had been a creature of the sky.

Inej Ghafa hadn’t always been a ghost. Before she was taken away, before she was sold and bought, before she snuck through the streets like a shadow, Inej Ghafa had been a creature of the sky.

Now, she was a creature of the sea. She had her friends, had had her parents even, for a time; she had her ship and the sea. She had the wild joy borne from wind in her hair and salt on her lips. She was not alone, and she knew it.

She knew it as she once again crept through the streets under the cover of darkness, as she evaded drunk men swinging their arms and butchering cherished songs. Knowing she was free did not help her feel less trapped. Yet, she knew what she was here for, and no fog of the mind would stop her from getting it.

She reached her destination and silently scaled the wall, her hands and feet finding places without her having to think about it. This place should never have been home to her, but somehow it remained home all the same.

She silently picked the lock on the window, crawled through, and dropped to the floor of an empty room. An old desk lay to her right, covered in papers yellowing with age and blotted with ink. She ignored the desk, and the tiny sink tucked into the corner, and the assorted books scattered across the floor as she walked to the door and pulled it open.

She had expected to hear the quiet calamity of the Slat floating up the stairs, but her ears were met with silence. For the first time since she had arrived, her stomach roiled with unease. She had been here regularly - at first twice a year, then four times, then eight, and so on - since she had begun sailing the seas on her hunt for slavers. Not once had the Slat been silent when she crept in.

She stepped through the door and slid down the railing until she reached the second-floor landing. Her old room was empty, and so were all the next rooms she checked. In fact, most of them had nothing in them at all, as if everyone who this building had been home to had packed up and moved away.

The unease in her gut writhed and she turned and slid down to the ground floor. If she didn’t see someone soon-

Gathered around the small folding tables was a small group of people - far smaller a group than she had ever seen in this room. They didn’t acknowledge her, but that wasn’t a surprise. No one saw or heard her unless she wanted them to. Despite her efforts, the unease grew again, a beast rearing its head, and she turned and walked straight into the office.

It was empty. The familiar presence of the dark-haired, cunning man to whom this place belonged was missing. As were all the ledgers, sheaves of paper, and books that had made their home here. The only familiar object was the desk, and that had never been his anyway. Not really.

She walked into the street, blinking away the strangeness of using the door instead of a window. She turned into a back alley and climbed onto the roof of the Slat. She would be faster traveling her way than anyone else’s. She may not live here anymore, but she still knew these buildings like the back of her hand.

She leaped across the rooftops, ducking away from pipes and blocky machines that had been built after she had gone to sea. The city streaked past her, and somehow she felt a lifetime pass in the short time it took to get from the Slat to Wylan and Jesper’s house.

From the outside, the building looked the same. Simple, decadent beauty that screamed wealth. A familiar, welcome, and comforting sight. But not for long.

The inside of Wylan and Jesper’s beautiful home was ripped to shreds. She stared at the sofa, stuffing scattered on the floor, in shock. Two months ago she had sat there, laughing at a joke Jesper had made and wishing Nina had been there. Wishing Mattias had been there too. Now, it was deformed beyond recognition.

The rest of the house was the same. The formerly bright wallpaper was torn and dripping blood, the pans in the kitchen were scattered across the floor, and the only thing left of the small display case that had held old toys was a shard of glass.

She continued walking through the house, slowly now, as worry began settling into her. Where could they have gone? Who could have done this? Why hadn’t she heard before now?

She saw nothing familiar until she got to the spare room. It was nearly unrecognizable, bent and rusted and covered in blood, but she knew it all the same. It was Kaz’s cane.

A bolt of pain shot through her chest, and she gasped, grasping to stop the bleeding of a wound that could not be fixed. Something on the inside had broken and left a swarming, hollow mass in its wake.

Still, she did not break. She picked up the cane, running her palms over its now sharp edges, tracing her fingers where the carved decorations should have been.

Her hand ran over something light and soft before she deftly grabbed it. It was a small piece of paper, folded twice over. She opened it with shaking fingers.

It said, To whom it may concern; I was owed a debt, but do not worry. It has now been paid in full.

The world must know I am not to be trifled with.

Rollins

The paper shook and dropped out of her hands, fresh teardrops hitting it softly and reviving old blood. There was no one here. There was no one at the Slat. She was alone in this city and her friends - her family - were gone.

But she would be thorough. Double-check everything. Acting on rumors without confirming them was a fool’s move, and she was no fool. She returned to the rooftops of Ketterdam until she arrived back at the Slat. She walked right in the front door and with her footsteps she demanded to be seen. The heads bent over the table in the corner turned, eyes widening in shock as they took her in.

“Where are they?” The small group was silent. “Where. Are. They.”

“Wher’ver the sixth one went. That’s wher’ they are. Wher’ver the sixth one went.” With that, they turned their heads back to the table and resumed whatever discussion they had been having before she barged in.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. The sixth. They meant Mattias, and Mattias was long dead.

No. No.

She was well and truly alone. She was certain - dead certain - that Nina would have heard the news by now. She must have missed it when she had been in port. The Wraith, the spy, the spider - no news had gotten by her. Not until now.

She took a deep breath, pulled up her hood, and left the Slat. She was leaving this city behind. She was leaving everyone and everything behind and no one could stop her. It would be her and her - admittedly minuscule - crew and that was all.

Of this world, there was only one left living who knew her. Only one who truly knew, only one who saw her fully. Her one last friend was far away, and busy, and she had not heard from her during her time in the ports of Fjerda or during her time in any other port. Her one last friend had broken as much as she was breaking, and now she was alone.

She was alone, and that would not stop her. She would keep sailing the seas, keep fighting the waves and the demons dressed as men, but she would no longer sail as Queen of the Seas. She was captain of a ghost ship, now. A ghost captain for a ghost ship.

Long ago, a little girl was taken from her bed and sold in a city far from her home. Long ago a little girl made a path where she found none and scraped a life from the abyss. Long ago a girl had become a ghost, and now… well. Everything comes full circle. Long ago there was a ghost, and now the ghost is back.

[cherry3point14]

One Helluva Car

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Minor car fetish, one paragraph of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut, a little jealous!Dean, this is crack babes’, I can’t stress this enough: car fetish Word Count: 3,500. Summary: Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world and then one day she sees Baby... A/N: @alexwinchester23​ hit me up a THOUSAND years ago with the prompt: dean x reader where she is more “in love” with deans car and it makes him a little jelly lol. And I was like, ha ha ha sure I’ll write it. It’s been half written ever since. So, I finished it. Someone please be proud of me for finishing. (Not like that you animals.)  This also fills Driving In The Impala for @spndeanbingo​

It’s Monday lunchtime when you see it. Her? It looks like a her. The best cars are ‘hers’ and even from a distance, she has curves that only a good woman could possess.

You’ve had a morning of shitty, old trucks that have been run hard for too long, and new cars that you plug into the computer to diagnose, which takes all the fun out of life. It’s easy to see a mile off that she isn’t shitty or bogged down with modern tech. She’s a well looked after classic. A thing of beauty. A freaking masterpiece. She’s polished enough that the sun bounces off of her black surface like she’s made of glass.

If only your arms weren’t laden with brown paper bags of food you’d take a detour to get a closer look. You could ghost your hand over her hood and take a look at the interior. You bet it’s the softest fucking leather your ass would ever hope to feel.

You’d generally drool over her without actually drooling because God knows spit is not good for the paintwork. Unfortunately, you do have bags filled with hot, meaty subs intended to feed your workforce. And you’re wise enough to know that making a garage of hungry mechanics wait for their lunch is not a good move. It’ll only result in some sort of unnecessary disaster this afternoon that you, their boss, will have to fix or pay for. Or both.

The only thing you can do is take one last look at her, memorize that beautiful shape while you heft the bags closer to your chest and carry on walking. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good old fashion American muscle car before, you have your own ‘70 Mustang at home.

It’s just… this is a Chevvy Impala, arguably the first car to flex its muscles. You don’t see one of those every day.

Your hobby is like a much cooler version of birdwatching. You have an appreciation for cars, classics in particular. The craftsmanship, the design, and the sounds they make as they tear through the world like moving time capsules. Nothing generated by a low emission engine compares.

That’s how you spot her for the second time, on Wednesday.

Well, you hear her first.

You’re closing up for the night. Everyone goes home early on Wednesdays, the shop closes at three, except for you. There’s always paperwork that needs to be done and you hate the idea of taking it home if you can help it. Taking a car home you’re always happy to do, but paperwork? You refuse to dirty your private space like that.

It’s just before six when you’re locking the doors and thunder screams in the distance. At least you think it’s thunder, you wonder where the clouds are until it moves too fast to be a weather condition.

The closer it gets the more the sound transforms into pure, uncut horsepower. It’s the deep rumble of an engine that demands to be heard. It tears your attention to it whether you like it or not. An announcement of the coming vehicle before it arrives.

Then she glides around the corner of Maple and Third before peeling down the street past you. It’s her again, she’s still in town. You know it’s the same car, she isn’t a vehicle made for stealth and your little ol’ town isn’t exactly heaving with beauties like her.

You know she’s not a local, it must be a flying visit, you’re lucky enough to have seen her again before she left. Not just seen her though, heard her. Heard her engine and the screech of her tires on the tarmac. Experiencing her in action is breathtaking enough that you gawp at her like an idiot as she zooms away.

It’s not a fetish or anything. You don’t exactly cuddle an exhaust pipe in bed. You appreciate cars more than your job requires you to, simple. It’s a respect that was drilled into you from a young age. Your dad owns a franchise of shops across the state and never had the boy he always wanted. He didn’t mope about it, he taught you to fix an engine instead. To appreciate every individual piece like an unsolved puzzle. And because your dad is a big ol’ softie he taught you that classic cars can’t be beaten, he favors Camaros in particular. He gave you a garage to work in until you’d labored enough to earn it for keeps and manage it as your own. Your dad raised you to bleed motor oil and sweat gasoline.

Cars are your life. Ok, maybe you’re a bit of a gearhead is all. You can’t help it if that Impala is a fine wine you want to uncork.

You watch the street lights make a hazy path for her to follow, another corner and she’s gone.

At home, you curl up on your sofa and scroll through your usual sites to see how much your own Impala would cost. In good condition, you’d have to sell one of the two cars you already have but there’s this smashed up ‘68 in New Jersey that might be worth the drive for the price. It would basically be a new car by the time you rebuild it but that doesn’t matter. All you needed were the bones of the thing and you never shy away from a project that involves weeks of hunting down original parts, that’s half the fun. For tonight at least it gets bookmarked. The decision left for another day, if it still seems like a good idea in the morning then you’ll make the call.

Hell, maybe tomorrow you’ll see something else and forget all about her. Maybe.

Good looking guys come through town from time to time but Dean is a rare treat. He’s the picture next to ‘handsome’ in the dictionary. He’s got these full lips that you’ve stared at, without an ounce of shame, while he sucks on a beer bottle. A jawline covered in scruff that you’ve already imagined between your thighs. And then there are those hands of his. It could be your line of work but you always loved a man with hands like his. Broad hands and thick fingers. Mechanic hands you’d call them, you half wish they were covered in oil and grease.

He was tapping away on the bar for a while, drumming aimlessly while you drank, but now he’s toppled in your direction. He’s standing between his barstool and yours, while you're still seated, which makes you the perfect height for him to slip an arm around you. His thumb has settled in on tracing the edge of your jeans while he talks to you, tickling your back where your tank had ridden up.

Honestly? He doesn’t even need to be a good lay to be worth the trip to bed.

“I know you said you’re in town with your brother…”

He winces at the start of your sentence, “with the things I’m thinking about doing to you honey, you can’t go mentioning Sammy at the same time.”

Underneath the stained overalls, you’re still a woman and you’re not sure if there’s anyone alive who could resist Dean’s charms. When you laugh at his ridiculous propositioning, you don’t even try to fight when it tails off into a giggle.

“I was going to ask if you had your own room? Or are we going back to my place?”

You’d almost think he’d been playing it cool up until this point. Everything had been measured and smooth. But you ask him that and he finally cracks, urgency slips through that charm offensive. He tilts his head forward as his face hardens into something intense, eyes hooded under the light of the bar. His hand slides up underneath your top enough that his whole palm skates against your skin. “How about a compromise? My car, your place?”

You lean in until you’re almost touching his lips, your tongue peeks out to wet them and flicks against his, taunting. “Deal."

He doesn’t need to know that you walked here and needed a ride home anyway. That's irrelevant.

Stumbling out of the bar is messy. Not because of the alcohol, neither of you have drunk that much, it’s his hands on your waist. They’re possessive and so there.

Maybe he’s not so bad in bed. Maybe he’s actually, pretty good in…

Oh fuck. It’s her.

You’re stopped in your tracks by the sight of your very own white whale. Well, black and shiny Impala but the metaphor stands.

You stop and Dean bumps into you, not expecting it so soon. For a brief moment, you’re frozen in awe, reverence. Even in the dark, she’s perfect. Street lights bouncing off of her smooth exterior. The night is chilly and there’s a hint of condensation creeping around the edges of the windshield which only serves to make her sparkle.

“Wow, she’s-”

“Mine?” Dean finishes, a wry grin on his face and keys dangling from those fingers you’d been drooling over moments ago. Fuck him and his fingers now.

“Shit, Dean. I’ve been seeing this car all week. She’s beautiful.” You walk towards her, carefully, in case you spook her. She’s an old soul, probably jumpy. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t touch her yet because you’re being respectful.

You’d have thought Dean might have appreciated your care. Instead, he laughs and it catches you off guard. You whip your head back around to glare at him and he encourages you, “she won't bite.”

When you finally make contact she’s cool and glossy under your touch, but even so, you don’t run your hand over her like you want to. You can feel the waxed surface that you don’t want to ruin. You know how much effort goes into a good wax job like this. Instead, you trade your whole hand for your fingertips and trace her edges as if trying to remember her shape for when you rebuild your own.

“Ahem.” In the distance, Dean clears his throat. Sucks for him. You’ve got a new love interest.

“Sweetheart?” He asks again, stepping up closer to you as if you didn’t hear him. He sounds needy like he wants you, but it’s edged with this vulnerable envy. You already noticed his bright green eyes in the bar, now you're wondering if there’s a different green-eyed monster at play.

He needs to understand, you saw the car first. She’s held your heart all week, Dean piqued the interest of your lady parts about half an hour ago. You might say age before beauty but this Impala has Dean beat on both fronts, older and more beautiful.

“Where’d you get these rims, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say they’re original,” you spare him a glance over your shoulder. “But I do know better.”

He looks like he’s struggling with not having your full attention, you’d almost say he’s pouting. Then he sticks out his bottom lip and he's definitely pouting. He shuffles from foot to foot and steels his jaw. It makes it even more difficult for him then when you ask questions that he wants to answer. You can see the cogs turning where he’s trying to work out if he should encourage your interest or not. As much as he wants sex, in the end, the gearhead wins out.

“Fixed her up a lot over the years, found those in a junkyard if you believe it.” He steps up next to you now with a proud smile.

“I can believe it. I’ve seen the stuff people throw away. They’re perfect. Can I?” You slide out your phone and wave it at him.

He nods, although a little dumbstruck.

You bend down and snap a picture, explaining. “I was looking at a sixty-eight to rebuild, maybe. Actually, yours gave me the idea, saw her and couldn’t get her out of my head. I have a friend who might be able to help me out with these.”

“You wanna build one?” He sounds interested but not enough to get him off track. The track being you.

“Yeah. I told you I’m a mechanic. Building these things is in my blood.”

The air is cool and you start to feel it, not having intended being outside this long. He sees you shiver and steps behind you running his hands up and down your arms. “Sixty-eight ain’t a sixty-seven though, is it?” He asks, voice dripping with cocky arrogance about his car.

Oh, fuck. He’s figured out the way to your heart. He’s got you all turned around and leaning against her. Back pressed against her metal and glass enough that you’ll be feeling her for weeks.

“No, it’s not…”

“Wanna ride my Baby?” Dean presses his lips to the corner of your mouth with the question, leaving enough space for you to let out an almost inaudible gasp.

You’d be inclined to say men name their cars the dumbest shit sometimes but ‘Baby’ fits somehow. It’s perfect. She’s Baby.

“Yeah,” you nod. Right now, it's all you’ve ever wanted.

He walks you to the passenger’s side door and opens it’s for you. It’s not even romantic, it’s a fucking turn on.

Maybe you do have a car fetish. You should probably figure that out, like, another day.

In the time it takes Dean to strut to the other side you have sunk into the leather and just as you imagined, it’s soft. Worn and loved, like everything else about this beauty. This is what’s makes her special and that’s why you would have to love your own extra hard. To make up the years of neglect.

“Ready to go?”

He’s looking at you, smirking in your peripheral, and you’re looking at his fingers on the keys. You know what’s going to happen when he turns them. You’re still not prepared.

“Let’s do it.” A grin slides onto your face.

She rumbles to life beneath you. The vibrations from her engine shudder through the seat straight to your core. From there you swear the horsepower zips to every nerve ending in your body like electricity powering a city. And the sound could strike you down. She somehow purrs and roars at the same time. Each rev is a scream but her engine sings between each turn.

“Two eighty-three?” You ask, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

“Get out of here with that two eighty-three crap. She’s a three twenty-seven.” He snaps, but not really, pressing his foot on the gas again just to see you quiver. Another rotation of the engine, her power, rolls through you.

He pulls out onto the road, leaving the dive behind, and drifts a little as he does, the back of her floating into the road. You slide over the seat an inch and he’s half focused on you, half focused on driving, so you're not even sure if he planned it. You scoot closer to him and he weighs his arm, the one not currently steering, around your shoulders. You’re becoming increasingly aware that the car smells like him, or he smells like her. Leather, sweet and spicy, musky. It’s a complicated mix where you’re not sure whether it's more her or him. You want to wrap yourself up in it all the same but Baby can’t wrap you up, Dean can.

“Dean I… Next left… I really, really love this car.”

He licks his lips as he looks down at you, his pupils wide, probably has a clear view of your chest, “yeah? How much, sweetheart?”

“A lot.” You pant in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe. “Second right, then it’s the third house on the left.”

A growl comes out of him. Determined. And you’re not so sure you care about fucking Dean anymore but each time you work him up a little higher, he revs that gorgeous engine and you get to feel that thunder. It’s the best circle jerk you could imagine, everyone is truly happy.

He pulls up in front of your house in record time because Baby is gunning 285 horsepower, so she’s not exactly going to be beat.

The problem, that you hadn’t really planned on, is arriving at your destination. As soon as he cuts the engine you puncture. Missing the everything about her straight away and wishing you’d kept driving for hours. Still, you have the scent of leather everywhere, burdening your senses with the smell of a bygone era. You hike a leg over Dean and sit in his lap. A knee either side of his thighs, denting her seats and Baby’s steering wheel holding the curve of your ass. Your hands skip Deans’ shoulders in favor of the seat behind him, the cushioned bench under the pads of your fingers, as you attach your mouth to his. Sandwiched between Baby and Dean, and you never want to leave the spot.

Your tongue curls into his mouth at the same time that he presses his fingers into your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises. You’ve never worried about a tight grip on you before but he starts pulling you towards him and away from where you’re wedged on Baby. The more you lean your body into Dean, the less you feel his car.

“Baby.” You murmur into him. Dean must mistake it to be a pet name you’re borrowing, calling him, because he pulls you again. Actually you’re telling him where you want to be, to stay.

Here. With Baby.

“This is a nice neighborhood.” He hums in this tone that’s deep but it doesn’t go through you like the sound of a turbo V-8. “We should take this inside.”

He’s right. Carl from the damn neighborhood watch is probably already doing just that, watching. The pervert.

“Right, sure.” You agree despite the way your stomach drops at the thought of leaving her.

You’re all untangling limbs getting out and he kisses you once more against Baby before you allow him to drag you away. It already feels different, normal, boring.

Dean’s fine, he’s good, he’s handy. Like you’d thought he would be.

You wrap your mouth around his dick because you’ve always liked looking up through your lashes and seeing the way a guy goes breathless on your tongue. He works you open on his thick fucking fingers until the pressure in your stomach snaps with his thumb circling your clit. He pushes into you and the stretch, the burn, is perfect. Dean is better in bed than you’d expected him to be.

And yet, it’s empty. Dulled. It doesn’t scratch the itch like good sex used to. The whole experience dampened compared to what you’d felt sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

You slip on some oversized shirt from your floordrobe to walk him out when he leaves. Neither of you under any impression that he’s staying the night. He’s got this satisfied grin on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off since the first time he came. He stops at your doorstep, “thanks, sweetheart. This was fun.”

“Sure was,” you agree, not giving him the full story. Standing at your doorway you’re looking at Baby instead of Dean, again. “Let me know if you’re still in town tomorrow, I’d love to go for another ride.”

He nods and backs away a few steps until he’s in your line of sight along with his car, “will do, baby.”

He must think you mean sex. You wouldn't be opposed to it but you mean a drive. A real drive with wide roads, and opening the taps. You can break that to him tomorrow if he does give you that call. If he doesn't then there's only one thing you need to say before he leaves. One thing you can't let her leave without saying.

“One helluva car you got there, Dean.”

Second A/N: Look, this didn’t start out as a full on car fetish but I was writing it and SOMETIMES I HAVE NO CONTROL. Sometimes these characters they say, “fuck you!” and do what they want. I was going to write a nice little jealousy thing. Dean wants some attention. That’s all. You only have yourselves to blame readers!

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer @iamabeautifulperson18 @erins-culinary-service

[skinsharpenedteeth]

Prompt 1 or 8 of the Angst list for Malex, please.

This is probably not what you wanted, Nonny Mus... but maybe it is? I went with Prompt 1 “I love you! Is that what you want to hear?”  Either way, it is suitably ANGSTY and I hope you enjoy it!

TW: self-harm, talk about self-harm (after the cut)

Also available on AO3.

---

 “I love you ! Is that what you wanted to hear ?” ANGST

              Michael got the call a little after midnight. He’d been down in bunker under the junk yard making diagrams for a project he wanted to start when his phone started buzzing across the worktable. He furrowed his brow and stared at it for a moment, not recognizing the number on the screen and feeling a little leery of any signal that could get to him underground. Normally when he was in the bunker, his phone was for keeping time and no one could get a call through to him. He let the phone go to voicemail before turning back to his drawings. Seconds later it started buzzing again, the same number lighting up the phone’s screen and taunting him. He it go to voicemail. He let it go to voicemail three more times before he finally couldn’t stand it any longer and picked up the phone.

              “Whoever you are, it should be pretty obvious I’m not taking any calls ri—” he started, sarcasm being his best and most beloved defense mechanism.

              “Michael?! It’s Forrest,” a frantic sounding voice cut him off. Michael paused, looking at his phone in confusion before answering.

              “Forrest? Nazi Forrest?” Michael asked, curiosity beating out annoyance. Why was Forrest calling him? He and Alex had been dating for about a month and from what Michael could tell from his brief run-ins with them, things were going well. Was something wrong with Alex?

              “Yeah, hey…. I hate to ask this, but uh… can you come over to Alex’s?” Forrest asked, sounding nervous and ready to be told to go to hell. He apparently had no idea how many awkward situations Michael would go through in order to make Alex happy.

              “I mean, I guess I can head that way? What’s up? Everything alright over there? Need me to fix a busted pipe or something?” Michael asked, already shutting off the lights in the bunker and cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he moves around the room.

              “Uh… Look, lemme level with you. I got hear about an hour ago and Alex seemed about three drinks ahead of me. Not like… hammered, but obviously drunk. We were… uhm… anyway, we were messing around and he just like… freaked out on me and locked himself in the bathroom? Now he’s crying and I can hear him saying your name occasionally and honestly, I don’t know what to do?” Forrest sounded almost apologetic that he had to call Michael and admit that they’d been “messing around”.

              “What did you do to him? If you hurt him, motherfucker, I will fucking kill you, Michael replied with a steady voice despite being almost blinded by the sudden flush of rage through his system.

              “Dude, I would never! No, we weren’t even doing anything interesting yet. We were just making out and he like… broke away and bolted for the bathroom. I thought he was going to vomit or something, but then he was in there for like… a long time and I didn’t hear anything so I went to check on him and that’s when I realized he’d locked the door and he was like… crying or something,” Forrest explained. Michael climbed the ladder as quickly as he could and ran to his truck, throwing himself the cab and throwing the ignition in almost one movement. “Look, are you coming over or what?”

              “I’m on my way. Just try to keep him calm if you can. Talk to him through the door,” Michael advised.

              “Obviously,” Forrest replied sarcastically. Michael wanted to gut him for the attitude, but instead settled for just hanging up on him. He tossed the phone onto the dash and peeled out of the junkyard and towards Alex’s house. He really hoped it was his house and not the cabin but figured Forrest would have clarified if it had been out of town.

              As he drove, Michael tried to think of things he knew would trigger Alex to binge drinking and break down, but he had to admit to himself that he didn’t know of anything off hand. Alex was the controlled one, the one who dealt with his emotions by repressing the hell out of them until they blew up in a volcanic fit all over anyone unlucky enough to be around. This sounded more like Michael’s way of handling the Too Much of his brain and heart, escaping into a false euphoria that numbed the outer world for a while. Maybe this was one of those volcanic fits, maybe he’d be fine with a little sleep and some Pedialyte.

              Michael turned into Alex’s driveway ten minutes after hanging up with Forrest (shaving five minutes off his normal drive time by speeding unapologetically in his worry to get to Alex). When he arrived, Forrest met him outside in the driveway looking frazzled. Michael started to blow past him when he felt Forrest catch his arm.

              “What!” Michael yelled, yanking his arm out of Forrest’s grasp.

              “Michael, wait! Wait! Let’s talk for a moment, I think I figured out what this is,” Forrest called after him, catching Michael’s shirt and slowing him on his way to the front door. Michael rounded on him with a snarl.

              “What do you think this is about then, Forrest? What did you do?!” he asked through gritted teeth, summoning every last drop of patience in his body for anything other than Alex. Forrest looked at him with wide eyes, taking half a step back from Michael and dropping his hand.

              “I told you, man, I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t hurt Alex on purpose or force him to do anything he didn’t want to do!” Forrest added quickly, voice rising when Michael opened his mouth to speak. “I think this is about you.”

              Michael reared back like he’d been slapped.

              “How could I have done anything to Alex? I haven’t even talked to him in like… three weeks? Not since you two… ya know. Started dating or whatever,” Michael said, confusion and shame warring with him. He knew he’d been borderline ghosting Alex since he’d officially begun dating Forrest, but he’d felt like it was the best way to handle the situation. Alex wasn’t going to move on with him around anymore than he did when Alex was present in his life. He hadn’t thought he was being cruel though? And when did Alex not just storm in and demand his attention when he really wanted it?

              Forrest was quiet, just watching Michael as he battled internally with his own guilt real or imagined. Finally, he broke through Michael’s spiral.

              “So… So Alex and I talked about what his dad did to you back in high school. We also talked about how Alex dealt with his dad’s behavior before you came along and how he still deals with things when the pressure gets to just be… too much. Did… did you know that Alex self-harms?” Forrest asked quietly, eyes mapping over Michael’s features to see if he had known what he’d revealed. Michael hadn’t known. His chest suddenly felt hollow at the idea of Alex hurting himself, of creating physical pain to control emotional pain. He ached because he hadn’t known and Alex had never told him, had hidden that part of himself from Michael.

              “I can see that you didn’t. Okay, well, shit. Okay, so that’s out of the bag. Now let me compound that knowledge by telling you that Alex still carries a lot of guilt around what happened with his dad and you. He logically knows it’s not his fault, but you know how it is… when your brain turns on you, you just sometimes can’t turn it off. And apparently today is the um… anniversary?... of that particular day. I kinda feel like this is something he does habitually on this day. I wasn’t even supposed to come over, I surprised him so I wouldn’t have even seen this is I hadn’t… but yeah,” Forrest trailed off. Michael knew he was staring at him, at the ghost-white skin and horror-stricken eyes. He must’ve looked so stupid, but he just couldn’t… couldn’t wrap his mind around what Forrest was telling him. He heard Forrest sigh loudly. “Look man, go in there and talk him down. I’m going to get out of here. Do whatever you have to do, okay? I can’t help him through this, he doesn’t need me.”

              Michael watched him walk to the curb and get into his little black sedan. He heard the engine turn over and watched the car drive off down Alex’s road, turning right at the stop sign, and then out of Michael’s sight. He turned and looked at the door to Alex’s house, a few inches ajar, inviting Michael in. He was suddenly cold with fear, terrified he’d make this whole situation worse if he went in there and tried to talk to Alex. He hated Forrest for abandoning Alex, for abandoning them both, to let the Fate’s sort out as they would. He hated himself for thinking he knew every last piece of Alex’s soul and then finding out that he was woefully ignorant of such an important secret. He also hated that Alex hadn’t been the one to share that secret with him, that he’d had to hear it second-hand, and all that that meant. Ten years going on eleven. Ten anniversaries with one possibly being ‘celebrated’ while Michael stood outside pissing himself.

              He pushed through the open front door and closed it quietly behind himself. He toed his shoes off in the foyer like he knew Alex liked people to do when visit. He threw his keys, wallet, and phone onto the front door sideboard. He didn’t think he’d be leaving tonight and sleeping with his pockets full was a pet peeve of his. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Michael turned and started towards the back of the house where the bedrooms were. The house boasted one bathroom, but it was well sized for the era of house it was in. Some previous owner must’ve sacrificed a closet to open it up. Michael pushed down on the newly installed lever door handle which stuck halfway down, proving it to still be locked. Cautiously, Michael pressed his ear to the door to see if he could hear anything on the other side. He didn’t know which he wished for, sound or silence. When silence greeted him, he felt like this might be worse.

              He concentrated his TK on the door lock mechanism and slipped the lock. Slowly he pushed down the lever handle again and opened the door. He held his breath as the door swung inwards on silent hinges and his eyes tracked over every new inch of the room revealed by the opening barrier. Alex was laying in the bathtub. He still had his clothes on and he looked pale…deathly so. Michael had to clench his jaw against the tightening in his throat and the surge in his stomach. He stepped in and closed the door behind him quietly. Alex didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to breathe. Michael walked over and looked down at him in the tub. He looked almost serene, his hands folded over his stomach, his knees bent and bare. He was laying there in a tank top and boxers. His prosthetic, liner, and jeans were piled against the wall between the toilet and the bathtub. Michael wondered if he could find all the places Alex had hurt himself; if he’d be able to tell the difference between the self-inflicted scars and the ones an unfair life had given to him. With a shaking hand, Michael pressed his fingers to Alex’s neck, intent on finding a pulse, when Alex’s dark eyes flew open and before Michael could blink, he was looking at the closed bathroom door with Alex’s arm around his neck as he held him in a choke hold. It only lasted for a second before he was being let go, his body falling forward as he gasped for air.

              “Fuck! Michael what were you thinking sneaking up on me like that?” Alex yelled from behind him, voice echoing oddly on the bathroom walls. He sounded like he was angry like a parent would be angry and a child who’d scared them, covering fear with aggression. Michael coughed and turned his body to see Alex slumped back in the tub, one hand covering his eyes and other gripped tight in agitation. “I could have hurt you!”

              “Oh, so you only get to hurt you today, is that it?” Michael replied, surprised by how much anger his voice felt. He’d been so scared a moment ago that the transition to anger startled even him.

              “What are you talking about? Why the fuck are you here, Guerin? Where’s Forrest?” Alex asked rapid-fire. His voice was slightly slurred and his pupils seemed impossibly huge.

              “Forrest left, but not before calling me to tell me you were locked in here hurting yourself. Apparently, you’ve been hurting yourself for a long time…,” Michael paused, hoping Alex would deny it, but when he stayed quiet, Michael continued. “Why didn’t you tell me, Alex?”

              “Why do you care? You walked away. You looked away. It doesn’t matter what I do to myself, it’s none of your business!” Alex growled at him looking angry enough to throw hands.

              “Because I love you! Is that what you want to hear? I fucking love you and I don’t like that you’re punishing yourself for something that isn’t even your fault!” Michael snarled back, hitting the cabinet next to him. Alex glared at him silently.

              “You’re not the boss of me. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t feel guilty about. It was my fault we were found in the shed. It was my fault for not stopping my dad from hurting you. It was my fault you had to use a half-functional hand for ten years. I caused that and I feel guilty for it, Guerin and you can’t change my mind about it!” Alex was yelling by the end, tears making his eyes shine in the warm fluorescent glow of the vanity lighting and Michael found him beautiful, even as his the corners of his mouth pulled down and he bared his teeth at him in agony. “This is my penance, Michael. Let me have it.”

              Michael watched him, watched his face shatter, and watched his body pull in tight to itself against the side of the bathtub. He could see the barest hint of red smeared between Alex’s knee and calf as he listened to Alex begin to sob. It was such an ugly, raw sound that seemed to be clawing its way from his gut and inflicting as much damage as possible on its way out. It made Michael’s own face hurt, feel hot and flushed, vision blurring as he leaked tears in sympathy.

              Awkwardly, Michael stood up and climbed into the bathtub next to Alex. He reached out and grabbed Alex’s shoulders, tipping his body towards Michael’s. Alex pushed him away at first, shaking his head and wiping roughly at his eyes, but when Michael tried again, he allowed it. He allowed Michael to pull him in against his body and wrap his arms around him. Then he clung to Michael. He shoved his face into he soft, almost threadbare cotton of Michael’s shirt and muffled a scream against his stomach. His body shook as he let Michael see what ten, going on eleven, years of bleeding was doing to Alex on the inside and Michael understood for the barest flicker of an instant why cutting might be a preferably way in Alex’s mind to deal with an anniversary of their shared trauma. Michael wouldn’t let him talk about it, tried to ignore it himself, but he’d used his ugly, malformed, half useless hand as his own penance for the same amount of time. He’d mourned losing the thing that hurt him every day because he’d been using it to assuage his own guilt. So he didn’t say anything, he let Alex sob. He let him scream, and clench his fists in Michael’s shirt, and do anything he wanted as long as he let Michael keep holding onto him.

              When it quieted down, Alex laying limply on top of Michael’s torso breathing through his mouth because his nose had congested in the outpouring, Michael dared to speak.

              “I don’t like that you hurt yourself. I don’t like it at all. But,” he said, giving Alex a look to keep him quiet while he finished, “but I understand it. I get the necessity in your mind for it. I just wish it hadn’t been necessary for you to find a way to let yourself feel things and control the output of those feelings. I wish the hurt you’ve lived through had never been so big you had to let it out a little at a time.”

              They stayed like that for some time, until Alex's nose cleared and his breathing slowed until Michael was sure he’d fallen asleep. When he thought Alex was asleep for real, his weight heavy and loose against him, Michael let himself break down. He looked at Alex and thought of all the broken pieces of themselves they’d displayed over the years and wondered how he’d missed this one. How did he never notice? He strained to keep his muscles from shaking too hard and his breathing from coming out too loudly. He didn’t want Alex to add this to his own mountain of guilt. He watched a few tears darken the hair at Alex's crown and imagined a life without Alex in it. It felt unbearable.

              A warm hand reached up and wrapped around the back of his neck, fingers squeezing the tense muscles almost like an apology.

              “Can we go to bed? We’ll both regret it if we spend the night in here,” Alex asked, turning his head to look up into Michael’s face. His eyes were puffy and red still, but his expression just looked tired. He no longer looked like he was being burned alive and Michael tried to take some comfort in that.

              “Yeah, sure,” Michael answered, sniffing loudly and wiping away his tears and snot with the sleeve of his shirt.

              Alex moved off of him and Michael thought for a second he wouldn’t be able to stand the lightness it left in his wake. But he could, so he stood and offered a hand to Alex to help him stand.

              “Crutches?” Michael asked succinctly as he steadied Alex with his hands.

              “Carry me?” Alex requested softly, sounding shy as he gauged Michael’s reaction. Michael gave him a reassuring smile before bending to place his arm behind his knee and the other behind his back. When he felt Alex’s arms look around his neck he swung Alex’s body up and held it firmly against his own. Alex wasn’t a waif by any means, but Michael hauled car parts around for a living, so he wasn’t a burden either. He stepped out of the tub and he made his way to the bedroom. The sheets were messed up, pushed to the side that no one slept on and a small warm feeling of relief came over Michael when he realized he’d been looking for signs of Forrest. He gently deposited Alex next to the bed and noticed half dried blood on his arm. Michael checked the back of Alex’s leg and saw the small red line above his knee.

              “Lay on the bed on your stomach and I’ll go get some antiseptic and a band aid for your leg,” Michael instructed Alex as he moved back towards the bedroom. He heard Alex moving onto the bed as he started rummaging under the cabinet for Alex’s first aid kit. He grabbed it and wet a washcloth in warm water before walking back to the bedroom. Alex had shed his shirt and was laying on his stomach staring into the empty air in front of him. Michael moved to the side of the bed and set the first aid kit on the bedside table. Then he started to clean the smeared, dried and half congealed blood from the back of Alex’s leg. As he did so he noticed thin, white scars next to the new open spot. Five hatch marks beside the new one. When he glanced at Alex’s other leg he saw five more on it, old and faded to practically invisible unless you were looking for them. Michael sucked in a breath, but instead of lashing out as he wanted to do, he clenched his jaw tightly shut and cleaned up the last of the mess on Alex’s skin. He tossed the rag towards the hamper and turned to the first aid kit.

              “You know those aren’t all about that night. They’re about my entire childhood. My adulthood so far. And they’re about that night. It’s not just one thing. I was doing this to myself for years before I ever met you,” Alex intoned flatly, eyes meeting Michael’s for only a moment before falling back into staring at nothing ahead of him.

              Michael didn’t respond, didn’t know how to respond, so he kept working. He grabbed an alcohol pad and swiped over the cut and then laid a piece of gauze over it, taping the edges securely. The gauze was probably overkill, it wasn’t a terribly deep cut, but he didn’t want it to bleed on Alex’s sheets in the night (and he secretly hoped it wouldn’t scar, wouldn’t turn into another tick to mark the years between them). When he finished he gathered his mess and took the first aid kid back into the bathroom, replacing it where he’d found it. Slowly, with growing trepidation, Michael approached the bed again.

              “Do you want me to stay?” he asked quietly, watching Alex’s face for his reaction. Alex closed his eyes as if the answer was far back in the recesses of his mind before he nodded and patted the inside of the bed next to him. Michael started to strip.

              “I’m still dating Forrest,” Alex said as Michael reached for the button on his jeans. Michael looked at him, saw the regret in his eyes as he looked over the skin Michael had revealed so far. As far as consolation prizes went, it would have to do.

              “I understand. But I’d like to not sleep in my jeans?” Michael said, hands still paused by the fly as he waited for Alex’s answer. Alex nodded and shut his eyes again, arms raising to snake under the pillow beneath his head and draw it closer to him. Michael finished stripping down to his boxers and crawled onto the bed next to Alex. He grabbed the covers and pulled it over them both before reaching past Alex’s shoulder to turn off the bedside lamp. He laid on his side facing Alex, trying to will his body to relax, but the adrenaline of the past few hours hadn’t turned into lethargy yet so instead he just tried to stay still and quiet.

              “Guerin? Cover me?” Alex asked, turning his head to look at Michael as he did. Michael grabbed the blanket that was already covering mid-way up Alex’s back and pulled it to his shoulders. He saw Alex smile and shake his head minutely. “I mean lay on me a little. I wanna feel anchored tonight.”

              “Uhhh… you’re still dating Forrest?” Michael repeated Alex’s earlier pronouncement with confusion obvious in his voice.

              “I didn’t ask you to fuck me, I asked you to lay on me. Platonically. Or romantically, but not sexually. Just get over here, jeez,” Alex joked as Michael continued to look slightly confused. But Michael wouldn’t say no to Alex so he scooted closed and threw a leg over the back of Alex’s, his chest covering one of Alex’s arms and shoulder, and their faces resting very close together.              

              “Just because I’m dating someone else doesn’t mean I don’t love you and it doesn’t mean I don’t need you sometimes,” Alex said softly into the air between them. An invisible hand squeezed Michael’s heart, but it didn’t hurt like the rest of the night. This felt like a good ache like a growing pain.

              “Me too, Alex. Good night?” Michael asked, snuggling his body closer as the air cleared between them.

              “Good night.”

[littlemessyjessi]

“Chasing Jessi”:  A Sirius Black Story: Plus Size OC: Chapter 7: Tinkerbell & The Lost Boy

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Sirius Black Imagine Turned Story

Re-Written and Edit of an old story of mine I had on Mibba that deserved some more love and attention, lol.

Sirius Black x Jess Scamander (OC, OFC, PLUS SIZE OC, PLUS SIZE OFC)

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Sirius Black was lounging comfortably in his bunk. He hadn't even bothered to change out of the KISS shirt and black flannel pajama bottoms at this point. He was reading through a book that he'd borrowed from Jess. Contrary to popular belief... Sirius actually loved to read. 

He’d rather die than admit that but he’d learned from an early age that it could easily provide an escape from his horrible daily life. 

Again though, he’d rather die than admit and let someone see him doing it. 

He was up rather early on a Sunday morning- something that used to be obscenely out of character before he played Quidditch. Now, it seemed that his biological clock was against him. However, it proved rather useful when wanting the shower to yourself or getting to breakfast while everyone was still in bed.  He'd been to breakfast already and was currently just relaxing for he had been informed by a tired looking Lily Evans that Jess was not coming down for breakfast this morning. He had been slightly disappointed but guessed that it was because the two girls had been up late talking. He figured that girls did that just as much as boys did. Although, for Jess's sake he hoped not because James had nearly driven him mad last night by both talking about every detail of his and Lily's date and all but demanding the same from Sirius. Honestly, boys were just as bad as girls when it came to gossip. 

If not worse.  However, he supposed he could just try and read this ridiculous book of hers until she awoke. He had really just settled in and was beginning to immerse himself into this fantasy world when.... "Sirius!!!" His brows furrowed and he glanced over at Remus who was studying on the floor in front of his bunk but he only shrugged.

"Sirius! Ooof! Sorry! Sirius!" "What in the name of Merlin?" he pondered as he sat the book down and went to the door to see none other than his hyperactive girlfriend balancing a package on her hip and apologizing to a fourth year boy who went white as a ghost at the sight of her. "You're ...you're not supposed to be up here." the boy said. "Oh, I'm sorry." she said to him. "I'm just looking for Sirius. See, I have something I have to-" The boy was too shaken to speak. To be fair, she was still wearing her pajamas and he was a fourteen year old boy, most likely with a crush on her. And she was only wearing a big floppy yellow smiley face shirt and some rather short multi colored shorts. "Over here, love." Sirius smirk. She turned to face him with a relieved smile looking so odd with her floral cat ear headband and her big blue monster house shoes. "Thanks, anyway." she told the boy and gave him a one armed hug. Sirius almost snorted when the boy looked as if he may pass out. The poor boy probably didn't know whether he found her attractive, terrifying or strange....or all three. "What are you doing up here?" he asked her as she came to a stop in front of him, "And in your pajamas no less?" "I have something for you." she said simply but he smirked and she smacked him in the stomach, "Not that!" "Aw, and it's almost my birthday too." he moaned playfully and he opened the door and let her him. "Hello, Remus." she greeted the studious green eyed boy. "Oh, uh, hi Jess." he said a little surprised to see her there, especially in her pjs.  "Remus, she beats me." Sirius wailed dramatically. "She wounds me." "If it's to your pride..." he said. "I suggest she do it some more. Your head is far too big as it is." Jess grinned in victory. Sirius gasped, "Moony, old boy, I can't believe it! Everyone's mistreating me and it's almost my birthday!" "Sirius, if you don't come sit down, then I'm going to open your present." she informed him smartly. "Present?" he asked. "What present?" "This one." she said tapping the lid of the green box. "You got me a present?" he asked curiously taking a seat on the bunk as the box lay between them.  "No." she said. "Well, yes. I did. But this isn't it. This is from my mum and dad." "What?" he asked in disbelief. "From mum and dad." she repeated. "She sent a blasted howler as well. Damn near threatened my life if I opened it. So I'm guessing it's rather good and most likely involving food. Best open it sooner than later." Sirius' hands shook just a little as he pulled the box open and cringed as a howler floated out. It was that same familiar shape that he recognized as the ones Jess usually got. From previous experiences, he was expecting yelling but relaxed when he saw the letter transform and the dark wax sealed lips give him a smile. It began to speak in a soothing tone, "Hello, Dear. Happy Birthday! I do hope you have a good one this year and that you get this package in time. Jess mentioned that you had a particular liking for toffee and fudge so I do hope you like what's inside. She also mentioned that you loved music and so there is something extra special inside from my husband. He said that he wanted it to go someone who could appreciate her as he much as he did. I wasn't allowed to see so I'm trusting that it's appropriate and if it's it not, you'd best tell me so I can tan his hide! Everything is under the shrinking charm so all you need to do is use the Engorgio charm. If you have trouble with it, I would advise you to ask Lily rather than Jess. She means well but she tends to get terribly excited and...blow things up. We are so excited to see Jess making such lovely friends! She speaks very highly of you and bless your soul, you must be patient to deal with her antics! I do hope she isn't being too rough. Some of those pictures... Merlin, I feared she'd nearly kill you with that one on the broom. I've told her about that! Nevertheless, any friend of hers is a friend to us. Welcome to the family, sweet boy. Have a wonderful birthday, dear! May you have many more! P.S. Do not let my child con you out of your presents with her innocent face. I know that she 'seems' sweet but if you give in...you'll regret it. Trust me. Her father has been wrapped around her finger since she was six seconds old. " When the letter was finished it ripped itself up and turned to ash. Sirius was a little disappointed. It had been so nice...he had kind of wanted to keep it. He glanced up to find Remus looking at him curiously and Jess looking mildly offended. "She makes me sound like some kind of animal." she scoffed. "Well..." Remus smirked. "I'd say more reptilian. You do have a certain, what was it you called it Padfoot? Dragon lady...quality about you." "Remus Lupin!" she scolded him. "You are a booger head and I am not talking to you anymore!" "I have chocolate." he said lifting his brows at her and holding up a piece. "All is forgiven." she said racing over to join him. "So what did she get you?" she piped up from her spot with Remus on the floor. Sirius reached into the box to pull out a container and he smiled. "Toffee." he smiled. "Oooh!" she gushed and jumped on his bed. "That's mum homemade toffee! It's really good! She won a blue ribbons for it at the local Muggle fair!" He pulled another out and observed the white chunks with rainbow sprinkles. "Birthday cake fudge." he smiled as he read the label aloud. "It's really good." Jess nodded. "It tastes like white chocolate and cake batter. Mum makes it for Dad every year on his birthday. I bet she had to make two batches!" He pulled out a jar of something and for just a moment it made him think of firewhiskey but he smiled when he read the label. 'Sirius, dear, this is a new recipe I'm trying out. It's called Toffee Syrup. We like to put it in porridge, tea, pumpkin juice, coffee...come to think of it, anything really. I've added just a bit something special to this one. I'd love to hear what you think.' "Mum'll kill me for telling you this but it's really good you mix it with firewhiskey and put it over ice cream." Jess piped up and he lifted his brows at her. "And here I thought you were sweet and innocent." he commented. She laughed, "Sirius, we both know I'm far from either of those." He pulled out a black knitted hat. "Oh, Mum, doesn't want you to catch cold!" she wailed dramatically. "Don't cry on it." he teased. "But she stitched it with love, Sirius!" she wailed again. He resisted the urge to shove her off the bed when something caught his eye. A small black case and upon further inspection he realized that it was a guitar case. 'Engorgio.' he murmured and enlarged it before pulling the zipper open to reveal a beautiful black acoustic guitar. "Ophelia!" Jess squeaked. "What?" Sirius asked her. "It's Ophelia." she said. "It's Dad's guitar. He let me name her when I was a little girl." Sirius frowned, "Oh, maybe you should have it then." "Nah." she shook her head. "I'm rubbish at guitar. I'm a drums kind of girl...much to mum's dismay." She grinned wickedly and pretended to play the drums. 

She never failed to make him laugh.  He pulled it out and ran his hand over it before glancing into the case and seeing the matching strap and an envelope. He opened the envelope to reveal a small note and a silver chain with a matching guitar pick on the end. "Hello, Sirius. I hope you have a very Happy Birthday. Jess tells me that you love music along with many other things. She seems quite fond of you and speaks of you quite a lot. Which is considerably out of character for her. You have to understand that for the longest time when she wrote home...it was usually to tell us that Lily's eyebrows had grown back or that she'd was very close to finding redcap colony. Naturally, as her father, I was a little defensive about you at first. However, you seem like an alright lad and she seems to take a liking to you. Any man that will willingly let her braid rainbow colored yarn into their hair....well you're alright with me, kid. I hope you have a great birthday and you enjoy old Ophelia. P.S. If you press the guitar pick, you can record yourself. Comes in handy when you're working on songs. ' Sirius carefully sealed the letter back up and placed everything delicately back in the box. "Sirius?" Jess whispered. "You have really, really good parents." he said quietly. Remus quietly left the room, deciding it was best to give the two of them some time. "I know." she said softly. Sirius just nodded, still just slightly shaking until she placed her hand on his. "Maybe you can meet them sometime. You know, to properly welcome you to the family and all." she said. There was more to that statement than either of them were willing to talk about at that moment. Grey eyes caught green and they just stared for a moment. She decided to break the tension with some comedy. "Mum may be swayed by your charms but I will not being giving you your present from me until it's your actual birthday." she said. "You got me a present?" he questioned. "Yes, and I'm not telling so don't even try!" she scolded as she stuck her finger in his face. He smirked at her challenge as he carefully placed the box underneath his bed and grabbed her ankle. "Not even if I do...." he trailed off as he hovered above her neck. "This." She bit her lip when his lips caressed her skin. "No!" she cried out. "Don't use your tricks!" "How about here?" he asked kissing her nose. "Never." she whispered. "Alright." he said. "But I think I'll try one more." "I'll never surrender, Captain Hook!" she called out, grinning wickedly as she saw her book on his bed side table. "Now, now Tinkerbell. Let's not be rash." he teased. "Now give me some of that pixie dust." She erupted into a fit of giggles, "Sirius Black, Lord of the Cheeseballs!" He tickled her relentlessly, "Surrender!" "Never!" she said rolling out from underneath him and racing into the halls, "Lost Boys, unite! We have to defend ourselves against the terrible Captain Hook!" The muggleborns got it, thought it was weird, but go it. Everyone...just kind of wrote it off as Jess being Jess. And James Potter stood at the foot of stairs looking at his friend with an odd expression on his face. "What?" Sirius asked. James shook his head. "Nothing. It's just...you two are clearly into some weird things." he said. Sirius laughed and shoved his friend along into his room. The thing was...he didn't mind her little games. He loved them almost as much as he did her.

Chapter Six

Chapter Eight

Hello, loves! How do we feel about Sirius’ early bday present from Jess’ parents?  How are we liking their relationship so far?  

I’d love to what you think! Please feel free to hit up the ask box, blast the comment section or reblog with your thoughts and feelings! Next chappie coming soon!

All my love darlings!

Kenny

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Love, Kenny