#the urge to do something bad...i feel it....i want to do something unwise...

[skitskatdacat63]

I am very angry.

[hansols-yoda-boxers]

Oct 19th [Dino + Thigh Riding]

[10:35] You grinned to yourself in triumph as Chan eased his jeans off. You’d spent the day teasing each other but him moreso, leaving light touches on your skin and saying the most mundane things with the more sultry voice that it would have made you laugh if he hadn’t gotten you so horny by that point. And after making out with his hand down your sweats and yours palming him through his jeans you were finally getting what you’d been craving.

Before taking off his boxers Chan stopped and leaned back, spreading his legs a little before patting his thigh.

“Come on, baby,” he smirked.

You puffed out your lips with a pout. “No.” You whined.

Chan quirked an eyebrow. “No?” His tone seemed less than pleased but you didn’t have the good sense to just get on his thigh.

“I want your cock,” you said, frowning.

“I know what you want,” he laughed. “But this is what you get. If you do a good job maybe you can have my cock too.”

“I want it now!” You heard the brattiness in your own voice and so did Chan. His demeanor shifted as he gave you a stern gaze and just the simple change made you feel a little smaller. You weren’t a stranger to pushing your luck or testing him a little but you were rarely so bold.

“Only good girls get cock,” he said evenly. “Bad girls get nothing.”

You felt the fall of your own expression as he stood from the bed and started towards the door, no doubt to take care of himself in the shower. You grabbed at his wrist and when he looked at you you felt your knees go weak and you found yourself on the floor, gazing up at him in desperation.

“Don’t leave,” you whined. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Chan turned back to you, cupping your cheek and chuckling. “So quick to smarten up.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch before he pulled away and sat on the bed. He patted his thigh again.

“Let’s try this again.”

You swallowed hard, wishing just a little that you were a bit brattier but you broke too easily. He knew you couldn’t stand being teased all day and then left to your own devices to deal with all of the pent up feelings. 

You did just want he wanted, settling onto his thigh, whimpering as his hands pressed your bare pussy down against his thigh. You gave him a sweet look, even if the desire to be a bit bratty was bubbling up inside you knew that was as unwise a decision as being so demanding in the first place. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as he squeezed your hips, gaze raking over you.

“Now, be a good girl and put on a show.” He said, eyeing you hungrily.

You nodded and started to grind your hips down on his thigh. Already feeling sensitive from his teasing gasps and moans were quick to start falling from your lips as you moved on his thigh. He kept a hold on your hips but let you do the moving, keeping his gaze on your movements.

“So much better,” he hummed. “Isn’t it so much better being good?”

You nodded for him, even if you were pouting a bit. The sensation was good but not what you wanted and he knew that. As he noticed your pout his lips curled into a smirk.

“Not good enough?”

“It’s good enough,” you said quickly.

“Just enough?”

“It’s so good,” Your words came out breathy as you ground down a little harder. “Everything you give me feels so good.”

A hand left your thigh and gripped your jaw firmly, forcing you to look Chan in the eye.

“Good girls don’t lie,” he murmured.

“I-I still want your cock,” you whimpered. “Still want to cum on your cock, feels so good.”

He smirked. “Then you should have been good from the start.”

You pouted more but he kissed it away, his hand urging you to move your hips faster. You did it, feeling the sparks of pleasure much stronger. You felt the tension building in your body, heat in the pit of your stomach and wet sounds coming from each roll of your hips.

“I might give you something else if you show me how a good girl cums like she’s told to.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You braced yourself properly on his shoulders and started grinding your hips hard and fast. Moans of his name fell from your lips as pleasure built from each movement. The sounds mixed with your moans and the knowledge of his eyes on you only made you feel hotter. 

As you felt your edge approaching you forced your eyes open and took in his expression. His eyes were dark and expectant, drinking in the view in front of him. He tensed his thigh beneath you before bouncing it up, drawing a moan from you. With a grin he started bouncing it quickly under you.

You came with a cry, grinding your hips hard and trembling as pleasure washed over your senses. Moans followed off your lips as you rode through your high, soaking his thigh with your release. Even as your body became sensitive you kept moving until he stilled your hips with his hands and you managed to look at him. His gaze was decidedly hungry and it had your core clenching around nothing until he flipped you over on the bed, spreading your thighs and groaning at the sight.

“See, that’s how a good girl behaves,” he hummed before sinking down and pressing kisses to your inner thighs. “And good girls get to cum twice.”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.3

Part one // Part two  

Summary: Meeting with his Sun Summoner again, the Darkling has a choice to make. 

Warnings: angst, fluff

========================

It’s been a long time since Y/N saw her Darkling. Some would say time passes quickly, but it dragged on so painfully slow that every second marked her with more doubt. Aleksander was her safe haven, the one she’d run to whenever she wanted to lift the weight off her shoulders but that wasn’t an option anymore.

She had reunited with Mal, but he couldn’t understand. If anything, he seemed cross with her for being a Grisha, for staying in Little palace for so long. He wasn’t shy to state how disgusted he is with who she became, to insult the kefta she wore when they first saw each other.

“The way you talk, the way you walk, even the way you look! I can hardly look at you, he’s all over you.”

She doesn’t wear that kefta anymore, the black contrasting the golden embroidery representing the light she was meant to be. A part of her ached for Aleksander, while the other part of her resented him. He made her love him, but how can she love what was built on a lie?

Somber, she shivered in the cold. Her arms wrapped around her knees which were tucked close to her chest and under her chin. The majestic stag Mal had taken her to find, the one she had a chance to kill but refused to, was now gone. She made sure it would retreat deeper into the woods after laying her hand on him.

None of it was important now when her troubled mind returned to the beginning.

She looked at him with a bashful smile, a flush creeping across her cheeks. He didn’t notice her yet, buttoning his shirt slowly while she began to sweat, unsure about coming into his room uninvited now. Clearing her throat, she sat at the foot of his bed, noticing him tense up before turning to her.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you”, she bites her lower lip, her voice shaky but not nearly as much as her heart.

A breathless chuckle passes his lips, his eyes instantly light up as he comes closer, a few buttons remaining unbuttoned at the top. It gave her a perfect view of his chest and she couldn’t help but realize this is the most skin she had seen on him since they met. A kefta left everything up to ones imagination and it may have served as a neat way to hide from the others, but she was grateful he didn’t wear one now.

“I’m merely surprised to find you so boldly perched on my bed”, Aleksander raises his eyebrows, amused as he comes closer.

Shrugging, she looks up at him through her thick eyelashes, picture perfect innocence etched in her angelic smile. “You seemed tense today”, she pushes herself further back on his bed, far enough to rest her back against the headboard.

Pursing his lips, he knits his eyebrows together, “Did I now?”

Nodding, she taps her thighs, “I’ll help you unwind. Come on.”

“How?” Aleksander’s lips part as she rolls her eyes playfully.

"Here! Lay down in my lap." She taps her lap two times exactly, seemingly unaware of Aleksander's eyebrows furrowing.

"Excuse me?"

Tilting her head to the right, she gave him a pointed look. “Lay down in my lap so I can run my fingers through your hair.”

“Can I –“, Aleksander tries, but she’s quicker.

“Not negotiable.”

With a sigh, Aleksander clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why he was allowing her to speak to him in such a manner, much less why he was crawling over the bed to rest his head on her thighs. Yet he found himself on his back, his head securely in her lap and his gaze is on her and the self-satisfied smirk on her lips that had made his heart flutter.

Threading her fingers through his hair, she watched him intently. It was hard to accept just how handsome he is, how unique the black skies reflecting in his eyes are. She’d see an occasional star when he’d look at her, a twinkle in the darkness she peered into fearlessly day in and day out.

“Isn’t it funny how I can’t even remember the first time I heard your name?” She spoke softly, her thumb grazing his forehead. “You’d think we’d remember something that will make such a huge difference in your life.”

Aleksander licks his lips, “What matters is you’re here. Wherever you go in life, remember this moment, Sunshine”, he smiles in disbelief, “When you had a general putty in your hands for a night.”

She couldn’t help but grin, “I’m not leaving you. Not now”, leaning in, she whispers, “Not ever.”

Leaving a kiss upon his forehead, Y/N started to pull away.

“Wait”, he blurted out. “Don’t pull away. Not yet.”

“I won’t”, she beams at him, “We have all night.”

Scoffing, she shakes her head. In the end, she lied too. How can a man capable of doing such terrible things be so gentle with her? Were they cursed from the start?

That’s when she felt it once more – her airway closed, her eyes widened. She gasps for air in panic, clutching her throat when she feels the pressure in her chest become too much. She wanted to call for Mal who left to pee a little while ago, but she couldn’t.

And then it stopped.

Gasping, she falls to her hands and knees, drawing in quick, shallow breath of cold air that soothes the burning sensation in her lungs.

“Are you alright?”

The familiarity of his voice brought shivers down her spine, her eyes widening as she turns around so quickly she nearly topples to her side.

“I didn’t realize they’d be so harsh, I’ll have to reprimand them later.” Aleksander frowns at his heartrenders, nodding at them to leave them alone.

She shot him a cold look, "Did you kill him?"

Looking away, Aleksander lets out a heavy sigh.

Her voice thickens, choked with emotion, "Tell me the truth for once in your life."

"I love you", he snaps, "That’s a truth!"

Too often had Y/N spoke of love with Aleksander before, too often had she given pieces of herself away by telling him how she feels, but he never uttered the words before. She wondered if he was capable of loving her, if his admission of love was just a way to control her.

She stands, her heart beating so loudly she feared he could hear it too. Never before had the Darkling bared his soul as he did now, but taking him on his word would be unwise. And she wanted to believe him, saints, she wanted to believe every single word, but he’s supposed to be the bad guy and he wasn’t showing signs of remorse.

"Did it ever occur to you that you're hurting me too?" His voice cracks as she averts her gaze, the sight of him breaking her heart.

His eyes are brimming with tears, his hand reached out for her to take and for the first time since they’ve met, Y/N notices his fingers are shaking and not with the cold.

"With everything to win, the only thing I lose is you. How is that fair?" He uttered, drawing his lower lip between his teeth.

She turned her gaze away, jaw clenched, pity and anger gripping her in equal measure.

He comes before her, his lower lip trembling, "I would not be unkind to you", Aleksander persists. Cupping her face, thumb stroking her jaw, "I would never hurt you." He caressed her cheek, running his fingers down her vulnerable throat.

Pressing her lips together, she shakes her head slightly in order to resist the urge to look back at him or allow herself to quiver under his touch. Straightening her back, she looks him straight in the eye, refusing to break apart.

“But you did hurt me. I don’t even know who you are”, her voice is dark and low.

He leans down, his forehead resting on hers, “But you know me. All of me. You know the real Aleksander…Aleksander Morozova.”

Scoffing, she pulls away, “Wonderful!” Rubbing her forehead where she could still feel him, she turns to him with an incredulous look, “You lied about your name too!”

“Only my last name”, he states and she rolls her eyes at him.

“Because that makes it so much better.”

Sighing, Aleksander reaches for her hand and this time, Y/N doesn’t recoil from his touch and he can’t help but smile, encouraged to lightly tug, bringing her closer.

“Please come back with me. I know what it feels to be alone, to always feel empty on the inside. It's the only thing I know when I'm without you.” His free hand rests on her hip, bringing unexpected warmth along with it.

Y/N understood what he meant, being without him had ravished her. With him she was sunshine, the Sun summoner and a light in the darkness, but without him? She learned even the Sun can be eclipsed.

“Will you help me destroy the fold?” She asks, lifting her head up to meet his gaze. She loved the way he watched her with a longing smile and an oddly gentle look in his eye.

“It’s not that simple”, Aleksander replies, noticing her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, tortured as she nibbles on it. He wanted to do that so badly, to bruise her lips as they molded with his.

It felt like going through the motions as he spoke, her mind focusing on all he’s done. He killed people, he did it for her too. Is that his idea of commitment? Is killing in someone’s name a way to say I love you in his world?

“It is”, she swallows thickly. She trembles and shivers, then looks at him with pleading eyes. “You’ll either help be destroy the fold and the danger it holds or you’ll lose me. Is that what you want?”

Releasing her hand, his lips part. Aleksander takes a step back, his eyes narrowing. "They say I'm a traitor. They call me the black heretic. Maybe I am. All I know is that I did what I had to do to protect the Grisha from certain doom.” His voice is heavy, laced with anger and frustration Y/N had carried as well.

For a long time, she wondered if she was just the same as him, if he had dimmed her light, but she wasn’t. Never once had he looked into the mirror of his own soul and asked what different choices he could make, not for his own sake, but for the sake of others. In his story, he’s not the bad guy and if she could deny who she is, maybe he wouldn’t be a villain in hers either. But she can’t.  

“Aleksander, please”, her hand rests on his left cheek, cold to the touch unlike the warmth he was used from her. “We will protect them together. The fold had killed plenty of Grisha for us to react too.”

His jaw clenches, “But their death can mean something. I made a necessary sacrifice, so if that makes me evil, fine!” His nostrils flare as he pulls her hand off his face, “Make me your villain."

Swallowing thickly, she turns away from him. “You’ll have to kill me if that’s your plan. Because I will destroy that fold, with or without you there to hold my hand.”

Nodding, he comes closer. His breath on the back of her neck is enough to make her hold hers, awaiting for his next move. She waits, giving him a fair shot now because he’ll never be given another one. But nothing happens. There’s no darkness engulfing her, he had not cut her in half.

When she turns around, this time he’s the one that’s gone. Covering her mouth to stifle a heart-wrenching sob, Y/N’s tears flood her eyes, falling like waterfalls.

Aleksander had walked away, his loyal Grisha following after.

“You did the right thing. She was holding you back”, Ivan states, further fanning the flames of Aleksander’s wrath.

Too quickly did Ivan find himself pinned to a tree with a hand wrapped around his neck tightly enough for his vision to blur, hearing his general’s words.

“You will never know the depth of what I just lost.”

PART 4

[passingnotions]

Catharsis | Dahyun

smut, some hints of fluff

A/N: Thanks to @worldsover​ for helping out with editing. Overall, the sentences should read a little better and are more consistent. Make sure to check out their work!

The group’s speech is met with applause and cheer. After such a long night, the energy they give off passes on to the rest of the crowd. The party of executives, assistants, coordinators, and other staff goes on with nothing to note, the celebration only extending the night a few hours longer. After yet another award show, all you want is to go home and relax, to enjoy the next few days of vacation before it all picks up again. For the moment, though, you have to endure the night surrounded by powerful individuals and beautiful idols. It isn’t all bad, you could say.  

After some time, you walk over to the refreshments to keep your hands and mind occupied, exchanging pleasantries with coworkers along the way. Breaking off from the main crowd, you find yourself looking over the city below, the bright lights from the high-rise's meeting room contrasting with the dark and neon hues outside.  Minutes pass, your mind drifting on what the plan was for when you got home, but a reflection on the glass pane catches your eye. It approached, and as you turn, Dahyun greets you with a smile.

“Hey!” she says as she embraces you with a hug. “What’s with the mood? You know I can tell from a mile away.”

“Oh, I’m alright, it’s just been a long day.” Gesturing towards the crowd, you add, “I had to coordinate this one too, you know.”

“During award night? Do I have to pull some strings to get you some deserved time off again?” she teases, tilting her head as she worded the question.  

Out of all the members, you have connected with Dahyun the most during the handful of times working with the group directly. You both seem to have a similar sense of humor, understand each other’s workflow, and just get along well.

Last time was different, however. Some months back, you went from acquaintance to developing what seemed to be a friendship. From emailing her representatives you moved on to texting her personal number. After on-site practice, you would be the one she walked over to while winding down and to have a chat before being driven off. The subtleties of these interactions were not lost on either of you, and that feeling of “something more” lured with every moment that passed. Although apparent, none made a move that pushed the boundaries. A hurried glance, a good-bye hug, or a mid-conversation touch all kept the unspoken at bay and maintained the link professional.

“We are getting some time off before the next project, but I’ll remember the offer.” You tease back with a raised eyebrow.

A brief pause, and Dahyun’s demeanor changes. She takes a look at the crowd before stepping closer to you, turning her back to them. You match her stance, now with the city once again in front of you both.

“The next promo shoot is abroad...” She speaks in a guarded tone.

“Yeah, I was notified last week. All of you fly out tomorrow, right?” You reply, puzzled and with equal tone. “What’s the matter, Dahyun?”

“It’ll be weeks before we- tsk.” she cut herself off, the glass pane revealing her gaze aimed at the ground.  

Looking over, her gaze was more of a frown, and before you could restate your question:

“I missed you; I’m tired of missing this. You-”

The rest of the words barely register as your mind races through thought after thought.  This acknowledgement is the first time you address the subject face-to-face. She confessed.

Knowing who you are and where you stand are the first things on your mind. Your position within the company isn’t one of power nor authority, and this is enough reason to keep your feelings and desires in check. When you warmed up to each other, however, you toyed with ideas that would never see the light of day otherwise. Her status as an idol comes second. Her image and the control she has of it (or lack thereof) is too important. Dahyun is hardworking, and everyone knows how much all of it means to her.

Although there are no explicit prohibitions on staff and talent relationships — they were quite common, in fact — the difficulties encountered due to the nature of the work proved to be undoing of many. Finally, her own feelings stop you from speaking. What are her expectations? Acting without knowing the full picture flusters you. You want to respect her wishes, and making a move before she did seems unwise.

You snap back to the moment, realizing the initiative she just took. Dahyun waits for your response with anxious demeanor, and you speak with full confidence and excitement.

“How do you want to go about this?” A slight smile forming with the words.

A hint of determination sparks in her eye. “About us... we can talk once I fly back. For tonight, I just want you.”

“You’ll be going to the dorms after this, do we meet up by then?” you ask.

“There won’t be enough time, it has to be now.”

~~

The conference room at the end of the hall blesses you with an unlocked door and a secluded space to finally satisfy your pent-up desire. Dahyun barely steps into the room as she turns to let herself be taken when you walk into her, lips locking and her tongue swirling around yours. Her taste adds to the rush of euphoria as your hands run around her waist and back, clawing at the thin fabric. Now inside, you close the door behind you with your foot, both still enveloped in the kiss. Before you could push any further with the momentum from before, Dahyun pushed back towards the door, lightly slamming you into it as she ran her hands through your hair and grasped at the back of your neck.  

Both pairs of hands now move downwards. While Dahyun’s moves down your shirt, reaching your belt, yours moves past her hips and onto her ass. Your lips find themselves buried in her neck, her breaths melting into your ears as you grope and feel her skin through the dress.

Before long, she unbuttons your pants and slips inside, her hand running down the length of your shaft, making you throb. Freeing you from the constraining fabric, she strokes softly while holding her lips close to yours. Dahyun smiles as your breath quivered with each stroke, the eye contact established now fueling you with a desire to return the favor.  

“Come on” You manage to whisper between breaths, signaling with your head to move to the side.

Reaching some waist-high office cabinets, you help Dahyun lean back while kneeling down and raising one of her legs over your shoulder. Her heels certainly help with the endeavor, and the short dress makes it easy to access her now-soaked lace panties. You gulp at the sight of her milky thighs at each side, feeling the softness of the one resting over your shoulder. You caress her other leg bottom to top, reaching towards her underwear and pulling it to the side.  

Her glistening lips make your cock throb harder than before, almost painfully so. Dahyun places her hand on the back of your head, guiding and urging you towards her. Her nails rake through your hair as you finally delve into her wetness, soft moans being let out as you pleasure her and flick your tongue hungrily.  

You pull away for a second to position a finger near her entrance, teasing movements as you watch Dahyun bite her lower lip with anticipation. She throws her head back as you slip in effortlessly, her warmth now driving your mouth back towards her pussy. You curl your finger as you penetrate her and lap at her clit, picking up speed with each moan she let out. Her heavy breaths and moans intensify as she now pulls at your hair and presses your head deeper into her.  

“Y-yes. Keep going, just like that” she pleads, her words cutting off as she gasped for air irregularly.  

A long, breathy moan escapes her. She inhales deeply, only to follow it with quivering breaths and quick, sudden twitches. You feel her walls contract around your finger, sensing the same movement around her clitoris as you maintain your tongue pressing against it. Truthfully, you were unable to move if you wanted to; Dahyun presses your head against her so hard that her nails were now lightly driving into your skull.  

Your lustful determination reaches a new high as Dahyun melts and her grip gives out. You rise, and she crashes her lips against yours. The passionate kiss is unlike the one before — similar drive and desire, yes, but the feeling differs. A sense of gratitude? Some form of connection, an emotion? You could not tell, but a certain comfort arose from the sensual warmth.  

“That was so damn good” she lets out, the words weaving around the ongoing kiss.  

You only manage to smile, raising Dahyun by her ass and placing her on the countertop of the cabinets she rests on.  

She leans back once more, this time against the wall, holding her legs by the thighs as you line up your cock for entry. Your eyes could not meet hers; the pair too focused on your tip, softly brushing against her folds. Parting them as you glide in without issue, you moan in unison. Waves of pleasure threaten your legs to give out as you push in to the hilt, one of your hands now helping Dahyun with her leg. The other roams towards her chest, hooking the dress and pulling down. Playing with her soft white breasts intensify the feeling as your senses overload. Her moans encourage you to thrust, the speed of each rising as you feel climax approach.  

Dahyun huffs, your cock pumping deep into her with consistent tempo. Coy moans escape through her teeth as she uses her free hand to pull at your shirt, beckoning for a faster, deeper pace. Now past the point of no return, your breaths become shallow, inconsistent, and you search for eye contact once more to tell her of your impending orgasm.  

Before you manage to blurt out the words, she locks eyes with yours, and breathes out,

“Inside.”

The answer to your question, almost like a command, pushes you over the edge. Moans and grunts fill the room as you release inside of Dahyun. The intensity pulses through your entire body as you grip her leg and breast with stronger force, each pump more euphoric than the last. By this time, you are barely able to maintain your stance as you let go of her body and collapse forward, your arms to her sides as you lean on the countertop for support.  

You slip out of her, out of breath, wincing at the overstimulation when you glide out of her walls one last time. A string follows your tip, a combination of Dahyun’s juices and your cum, and you brush it off on her folds as she wraps her arms around your neck.  

Straightening back up with Dahyun, you kiss softly before bursting into short laughter, the disbelief of the moment still settling in.

~~

The party and subsequent drive home did little to distract your brain from the occurrence, not that you wanted them to. You struggle with exhaustion, your hands attempting to relive some of the sensation. To no avail, your mind turns to the emotions. No dice either.  

Well, not quite. Whatever next, certainty was at the forefront (ironically enough).

        You’ll be the first to know          we’re back.                      ✔

Chuckling to yourself,

         I’ll make sure I’m on          scheduling... again         ✔

[kylorengarbagedump]

Fuck the Police (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: It was unwise. But you couldn’t help yourself from spitting in the pretty cop’s fucking face.

Words: 2000

Warnings: dubious consent, inappropriate use of a weapon

Characters: Flip Zimmerman x Reader

A/N: I want to dedicate this fic to every single person who loves fucking fictional police officers who are played by Adam Driver.

(this is sloppier than usual, and more drabbley than usual, yes, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.)

Love y'all VERY much.

“Hey, come on. Let’s move it.”

You spun, face bumping the flannel chest of who you could only assume to be a plainclothes cop. Frowning, you put your hand on your hip, lowering your sign. He was hot--probably hotter than most or any of the cops you’d seen in this town, with his aqualine nose and pretty-moled face. But that didn’t make him any less repugnant to you.

“No way,” you replied. “What we’re doing is perfectly legal.”

“Sure, if you were on public property,” he said, “but you’re not. This is a privately-owned convenience store.”

You frowned. “The store’s owner donates to an organization that supports the Vietnam Wa--”

“Doesn’t matter. Private property. Get moving.” He tried to usher you forward.

“Hey!” You sneered, bucking off his gesture. “Watch it, officer.”

“It’s detective.”

Your friends laughed, and you rolled your eyes.

“Whatever you say, detective.” He made to move you again, and you growled. “Don’t touch me. What’s your name and badge number?”

“Flip Zimmerman.” He rattled off a bunch of numbers--you couldn’t hear over your friends’ laughter. “Get moving.”

Your lip furled. “No!”

A flash of anger in his eye. It was dangerous. Stirred something along the length your spine. But you were undeterred. 

“You want to make this a game?” he said. “Go ahead. Try me.”

“Fuck off!”

Zimmerman snarled. “You think--”

It was unwise. But you couldn’t help yourself from spitting in the pretty cop’s fucking face.

The next moments happened in a flash. Detective Flip Zimmerman wrested you by the arm, big hand crushing your joint as he whipped you around and slammed you chest first against the nearest wall. You hollered in protest, curses flying from your mouth, your fellow demonstrators crying for him to let you go. In desperation, you wriggled, throwing your shoulders back, but he flattened his body along yours, his weight suffocating you. You swallowed, jerked back again, your ass driving into his crotch--Zimmerman grunted, and you could’ve sworn he rutted in return. 

Heat stoked you. No, there was no way this fucking pig was turning you on right now. But as you struggled, his breath quickened, his grip tightened, his body heavy over yours. A stupid, disgusting, horrible instinct ordered you to squirm, a tiny, near-silent whimper escaping your throat. He huffed, clicking one of the cuffs around your wrist. His chest was heaving.

“You’ll be okay!” called out one of your friends. “You’re a fighter, give him hell!”

Hell was certainly how you’d describe feeling a stiffening arousal at your backside. Or maybe hell was the hot, errant streak of lust that ripped through your thighs. 

“Fuck this!” you hissed. “Fuck the police!”

Zimmerman cuffed your other wrist, yanked you against him by the chain. Under his breath, ragged and furious, he muttered, “Shut the fuck up.”

A whine hitched. “Fuck you,” you replied, barely audible under the shouting of your friends.

He didn’t reply, shoving you off and leading you by the restraints down the sidewalk. You cast a glance behind you, watching as your friends jeered your arrest, wondering why your heart was knocking in your chest and between your legs. Zimmerman was big, fucking strong, his breath smelled like tobacco and he had a disgustingly sexy gentle curl to his lush, dark hair. The firmness of his hold on you made you want to fight him. 

It also made you want to fuck him. But you would fight that urge, too. 

You smirked. He was leading you around the corner, far from the protest. “Your car can’t be that far away, can it?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You laughed. “Fuck. You.”

Zimmerman paused, stalling you in your tracks. “You know what.” One huge step to the right, and he dragged you at his pace, forcing you to jog to keep up. He led you toward an alley. “Fine.”

In three long strides, you both disappeared into the corridor, shadowed in silence and secrecy. He was panting, now, as he shoved you into the brick and rolled his hips against your ass. Against your better judgement, you moaned--whatever he was packing, it was fucking huge. Zimmerman bruised your flesh as he grappled with your hips, finding the button for your pants with his thick fingers. He was still without words, the only sounds escaping him the excited desperation of desire.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, working your pants down your legs. “You fucking wanted this, huh.”

You bit your lip to trap a gasp. You wanted to say no. But the pulsing ache at your pussy was saying yes. Zimmerman grumbled to himself, his hand fumbling under your belly, crawling between your thighs. Writhing, you closed your eyes, hating that he would discover just how wet you’d become. 

“Fuck,” he said. “Knew you were a little slut. You types always are.”

You shivered. “Knew you were a rapist,” you replied. “Cops always are.”

Zimmerman’s other hand clapped over your mouth, and he stuffed two of his fingers between your teeth. “Shut the fuck up.” He teased your clit through your underwear with a single digit. “You’re dripping for me. Fuck.”

Whining, you couldn’t help the need to suck at his fingers--so you did, grinding your ass onto his hard, clothed cock. He choked on his own lust, hips pitching in an attempt to relieve his arousal. His hand left your cunt, and you heard the jingling of something behind you. You thought, at first, it was his belt--until you felt something hard and smooth and cool wedging between your legs.

You tried to object, but his fingers muffled any noise. He stepped back to angle you forward, bending you at the waist, the object pushing your panties to the side and nudging between the swelling lips of your slit. Heart skipping, you wailed, shaking your head, but Zimmerman jerked you in reprimand. As you felt a blunt end find your entrance, you knew, in an instant, what it was.

His baton.

Zimmerman grunted, pushed it in, and you groaned, deep and low, clenching around the cold, unforgiving wood. He chuckled to himself--you could practically feel his eyes watching the tight walls of your cunt grip it--and pulled it out, humming in satisfaction.

“Christ, you’re wet,” he said. “Too bad you haven’t earned my dick. Would probably love sinking it into this pussy.”

You moaned, for some reason nodding, even though you weren’t even sure what you were really agreeing with. The both of you seemed too enthralled by lust to care--he slid the baton in  again, stretching you deep, and you throbbed around it. Drool dribbled down your chin, coating his hand, spilling onto the ground. The sensation was enough to roll your eyes back, to spin your head with greed. Another thrust in with a lewd squelch, and Zimmerman snickered.

“You hear that?” he said. “You love it.” He fucked you faster, the wood sliding hot and easy into your needy cunt. “Fuck. Be quiet for me.”

Without another warning, he released your mouth, pushing you forward so your cheek met the brick. You groaned, hearing another jingle. Now this was his belt. Zimmerman kept his pace with the baton steady, the friction at your walls numbing your legs with bliss. Juices ran down your thighs, your muscles trembled from strain. And then you heard him curse under his breath as he wrapped his hand around his cock.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the detective fisting his shaft, his cheeks red, his jaw slack, hand stroking in rhythm as your pussy swallowed his club. You snuffed a groan, your throat thick, the air thicker. He was entranced, hypnotized by the sight--he slowed, pulling out, watching your cunt fight to keep the weapon inside, and then plowed through, relishing the shock of pain that rippled through you. His breath was tattered with desire.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “Fuck, yes. You like that.”

Jaw shaking, you could do nothing but nod and gather every single ounce of strength you had to not howl in pleasure.

“This pussy likes getting fucked by anything.” He was spitting the words between his teeth. Pre-cum gleamed in the dim light of the alley, and he slicked it over his cock. “Doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you whispered, which was really more of a squeal. “Yes, yes, it does.”

“That’s right.” His hair fell into his eyes, and a groan rumbled in his chest. “Shit, you look tight.” He plunged the baton faster, deeper, huffing. He snarled. “Fuck it.” 

A clatter on the concrete, two big hands snatched your hips. Seconds later, Zimmerman’s massive, throbbing cock split you open. A shuddering groan of disbelief fled his throat, and you screamed in the back of yours, eyes shut tight. One long stroke out, and he slammed back in, pounding your cunt with hard, furious thrusts. More drool rolled over your lips, this time from the heady rush of pleasure, the absolute perfection of how fucking thick his dick felt inside your pussy.

Zimmerman was possessed--every thrust earned a grunt from his chest, every smack of skin quaked your body with force to steal your breath. You whimpered, begging yourself not to whine. But then a finger found your clit, swirled it with a calloused pad, and you snapped. 

For a moment, you were boneless, but he held your hips, fucking so deep that he pierced your cervix. Sharp white pain melted into pleasure, and you pleaded, panted for more under the noise of your connecting flesh.

“That’s it,” he said. “That’s it. You wanna cum? You wanna cum on my dick?”

Sweat slipped down your nose. You nodded. “Yespleaseyespleaseyesplease--”

“Yeah, good.” His finger moved faster on your clit, his cock hammering you deep. “Good…”

You nodded, mouth open with the flood of euphoria--Zimmerman was muttering behind you, take it, take it, and you were, you were taking every single fat inch of his dick and it was rending you open and making you limp and emptying your brain of everything but the primal need to fucking cum.

“Fuck, Flip,” you said, because you weren’t sure what else to call him, “I’m--I’m--”

“Cum on me,” he growled. “Let that little pussy squeeze my cock.”

A harsh, fast rub of your clit, and you released, biting your lip so hard it bled. Euphoria wracked you, and you shook to your core, clamping over and over on his length. Zimmmerman groaned, working you through it, pistoning his hips as you spasmed around his shaft.

“Shit,” he hissed, “shit, shit, dammit--”

His voice hiccuped in his throat as your pussy pulled him into his climax, cock still buried inside, pumping you full of his cum. His fingers gouged your hips, his own rocking with the remnants of his orgasm, his shaft pulsing at your entrance as he spilled the last of his seed inside of you. Cursing, he heaved with latent anger, pulling out of your sore cunt. You felt his release leak onto your thighs.

A zip. A jingle of a buckle. He was still catching up on oxygen. “You on the pill?”

You swallowed, cheeks buzzing. You wanted to pull up your pants, but your hands were still cuffed. You felt utterly helpless and exposed.

“Um. Yeah,” you said. “I. Um. I am.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Good.” 

In silence, he popped the lock on your cuffs, and your arms were released. You yelped in relief, slumping against the wall, and he shuffled behind you, letting you straighten onto your feet.  You waited for your breath to even before you moved, blushing while you wiggled your pants above your thighs. When they were finally in place, you turned to face him, rebuttoning your waist.

But no one was there. The alleyway was empty. The air was cold. The baton was gone. 

And so was Detective Flip Zimmerman. 

[amajikilvr]

hi! can you write a bnha sickfic for me? the scenario i want is; tamaki is sick with a stomach bug and gets sick during class time. his anxiety is at it's peak from gettin sick, but mirio is there to help him through it. thank you, if that wasn't too much to ask!

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under the weather - tamaki amajiki

word count 1.1k

contains graphic depictions of illness and vomiting, anxiety, crying, panic attack, comfort

characters included tamaki amajiki and mirio togata

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Amajiki had unwisely dismissed the queasy feeling stewing heavily in his stomach.

It’d been there when he’d rolled out of bed, but he didn’t let himself think too deeply about it and its implications. His anxiety had given him an ultimately harmless upset stomach an infinite amount of times in the past and because of that, he figured this was nothing new or anything to worry about.

He knew he was wrong about that claim from the moment that the idea of eating his usual hefty breakfast made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Amajiki was someone who loved to eat and that paired well with the conditions of his quirk so he ate his food this morning as usual because it was his responsibility to do so.

His work-study, something he couldn’t even fathom doing with his gut constantly churning like this, was relying on his constantly varied diet and for him to show up after school…

Maybe it was nothing and his anxiety had just simply turned it into something. He had to believe that, had to believe it wasn’t sickness to blame.

He couldn’t be sick today. He couldn’t be sick, period.

Waiting for this first class to end is bad enough before his stomach suddenly gives a startling groan that’s both extremely audible and just as nauseating. Amajiki’s eyes go wide with embarrassment as he winces and waits for it to pass. Someone nearby had to have heard that over the teacher’s lecture.

The sounds don’t seem to be stopping any time soon either. The angry burbling noises continue mercilessly on as if the organ itself is yelling at him. He holds a shaky hand to his clammy forehead and tries his best to ignore the sudden pressure that’s building in his chest.

It starts with a loudish belch that Amajiki wasn’t prepared for, his ears fold over themselves and burn with intense shame when he receives several varying glances from the students around him. Some appear merely amused by his surprising outburst and some toss dirty looks his way.

There’s another. This burp is much queasier, wetter, and is stifled pathetically against the hand he slapped over his mouth after the first one. Something truly horrible burns his throat, insistent, and his stomach gives another drawn-out sickly gurgle.

An excess of saliva fills his mouth, rapidly pooling on the tongue that suddenly feels heavy, and he can taste the remnants of his breakfast with every single sour burp that leaks out of him. Reality hits him with a rush of despair.

He’s going to throw up.

The nausea is aggressively overwhelming, but Amajiki can manage to register that one thing he’d been denying, that one thing he’d been trying his best to push out of his mind this entire time. He still can’t get himself to move or do anything for that matter. He’s petrified, frozen in place at his desk.

He whines, low and fearful, before the first gag makes him jolt forward. His stomach clenches, bracing itself. The second one accomplishes nothing more than a final soggy belch and it’s the next violent retch that does it.

A torrent of thick vomit hits the hand that’s still over his mouth, a good portion of it spurting between his fingers and out from under his palm. It gushes down to his desk, half-digested chunks of his last meal splattering the front of his shirt.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh shit!”

“Ack!”

“Gross!”

The various surrounding cries of disgust are nothing more than faraway background noise as Amajiki sputters and coughs up more lumpy sick onto the tabletop. He lets out a wobbly sob when some of it squirts from his nose, burning like the abundance of tears stinging his eyes.

His head pounds like a drum and his stomach continues to ache even after expelling its ill contents. It’s an eternity of sitting there while trying to catch his breath and keep his cries subdued.

Nothing else seems to exist. It’s just him and his mess…

“Hey,” It’s Mirio. He clutches Amajiki’s trembling shoulder with a strong hand and doesn’t look nearly as repulsed as he should be. “It’s okay. Can you get up for me?”

“M’m really sick…” Amajiki mumbles, feeling dizzier by the second and head growing foggier in half of that time.

“I know, buddy.” He feels his shoulder being squeezed. His vision focuses somewhat, for better or worse. “Let’s get you out of here. Do you think you could walk if I helped you?”

Maybe it’s the pungent smell of his own vomit choking him or the stares from his classmates that pierce his skin like needles, but either way, Amajiki finds himself being led, practically dragged, by Mirio to the door.

They’ve nearly made it there when his stomach gives another urging twist and he whimpers as he swallows thickly. Amajiki tugs pressingly on Mirio’s shirt and he gets the message quickly, thankfully, pulling him over to the trash can at the front of the room.

Salty tears dribble down his flushed cheeks as he weakly spits up more liquidity puke on top of piles of pencil shavings and discarded papers. His shoulders shake forcefully from the effort of silently crying before Mirio places a palm on his back and moves his bangs away, effectively stilling some of the hysterical tremors running through him.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. Just let it all out, you’ll feel better, I promise. Keep breathing for me, Tamaki.”

Mirio’s soft comforting words guide him through the necessary actions that his body forces upon him. His stomach heaves for the last time, it’s beginning to really hurt from all of the throwing up, and soon he’s finished up and greeted by the fresh air of the hallway.

It’s a much appreciated change from the humid stench that had started to hang heavy in the classroom. He really does feel terrible about that and even worse for whoever’s tasked with cleaning the source. There’s one more emergency pitstop to the restroom on the way and they’ve made it to the nurse’s after what feels like a slow-moving century..

Now that he’s resting on a cot with a small bottle of Gatorade (and a clean shirt), his tummy still feeling upset and turbulent but somewhat calmed compared to before, Amajiki can’t help but let everything sink in and think about what really happened back there.

“Everyone saw me…” He mumbles miserably, rebirthed horror creeping in menacingly to join his lingering nausea. “Oh my god, it got everywhere… I don’t know why I didn’t move...”

“And? They’ll all forget about it by next week! Tomorrow even.” Mirio replies almost immediately from his nearby chair. So far, Recovery Girl hasn’t even questioned his presence.

“Messes can be cleaned!”

Amajiki voices his disagreement in the form of a single grunt and takes a very tentative sip of his drink. That acidic sick taste still remains in his mouth no matter how much he tries to rinse it out. His stomach grumbles a few times, almost passively.

“Aren’t you worried about catching this from me?” He says finally, disbelieving that he was actually lucky enough to have someone like Mirio with him through all of this.

“Maybe you just ate something bad.” Mirio retorts with an air of confidence that Amajiki can only dream of having. “Besides, best friends who share the flu together, stay together!”

“... You’re impossible.”

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[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.20

A King’s Cottage

12/20/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,881

Warnings: fluff, cute Peter Parker, smut, subtle trauma flashbacks

A/N: A lot has happened since I last posted a chapter. I lost my desire to write ever again for a bit and it was hard to come back from that. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. It was really very difficult to finish it but once I pushed through it all just came tumbling out. Thank you for being so patient with me. It means a lot to me. All of you mean so much to me and I hope that I haven’t disappointed y’all too much.

“Have you got everything?” Nat is fussing. She’s unpacked your trunks several times, checking them over again and again.

Three formal gowns, just in case. Almost ten casual gowns. Soft and free flowing like the white one you tend to favor. All of them had been newly commissioned for you. Two tiaras were put in a smaller locked chest, again, just in case.

You liked the more casual dresses. You didn’t want this time alone with Steve to be all formality and duty.

Your marriage may have begun as such, but you hope that truly, your marriage is one of love now. You want to know him the best. Knowing you the best is something you hope he wants too.

It feels as if a new chapter has begun in your life and you cannot be more grateful.

“Nat,” You sigh, watching her unpack your gowns for the fourth time.

“Should I get you more nightdresses?” She asks herself quietly.

“Nat!” You call a little louder.

She looks at you, her emerald eyes far away in thought.

“What?” She asks, finally focusing on you.

“You don’t have to worry. I have everything I need.” You promise her, but she frowns at you.

“What if something happens?”

“Let her go.” Grandmother’s stern voice cuts in from behind you, sitting by the window in one of your tea table cushioned seats. “It’s time they reconnected.”

“Yes, but…with her Majesty’s pregnancy-”

“She will be in safe hands. As you very well know. His Majesty the King is not one to cross and is more than capable of protecting his beloved wife.” The old woman argues, her gravelly voice somehow strong despite her age. “The Queen’s cottage is in King’s Peace. No one would dare disturb them there.”

Nat frowns and you know that she’s thinking about Hydra and their lack of worry with upholding rules of honor.

Hydra won’t care that the cottage is in King’s Peace. They’ll invade if they so please and if you’re honest, you’re terrified. You know that Steve is strong. He’s large and his muscles are hard, his body built out of marble…but he’s only a man. He couldn’t take on six men if they stormed the cottage.

What if it were nine men? Thirteen? He’d die trying to protect you and your child.

“Maybe-?” You begin, worry turning you blood to ice.

“Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours, my dear.” Grandmother orders, getting up and wagging her finger at you. “Take your tonic at the end of the night. Eat a hearty breakfast. If you are tired, sleep. If you are hungry, eat. And if his Majesty should give you a command, obey should it concern your safety. Your priority is that baby you’ve got growing in your belly. Are we clear?”

You consider the old woman for a long moment, weighing your life against Steve’s and you know that if you had to choose it would always be Steve. You’d save him if you could.

With the little one in your tummy however, you know that you’d run and leave him to be slaughtered if Steve ordered you to do so.

Sadly, you nod.

“Don’t worry, my dear.” Grandmother closes the space between you and gently caresses your cheek. “Nothing shall happen. You will go, spend a month with his Majesty, and be back before you know it. Back to duty and regulation.”

Well, that doesn’t sound nice at all.

You frown. Grandmother cackles.

“Farewell, my dear. Safe travels. And do yourself a favor, enjoy yourself. Not everyone can marry his Majesty Steve Rogers.” She winks at you.

“Grandmother,” You gasp, mouth dropping open at her playfully suggestive words.

She moves from the room, chuckling happily. “Come along, Lady Romanoff. His Majesty will not tarry for much longer.”

Natasha moves to grab one of your trunks. “Peter?”

“I’m coming.” Peter declares, running in and easily grabbing the two other trunks then moving with them towards the door.

“I wish I were coming with you.” Nat laments.

“You will be. Just two weeks behind.” Steve wouldn’t deprive you of Nat for too long but he is adamant on spending some alone time with you and, if you’re honest? You want it to be just the two of you as well.

“Who will dress you? Who will make your baths? Who will hold your hair up when you get sick?” She worries.

“Nat,” You begin, chuckling slightly. “I grew up in a village where I had to hunt my own food. Preparing my own bath will not kill me, nor will dressing myself. As for tending to me when I’m sick-"

“That’s what I’m there for.”

The familiar deep tone comes from the doorway and both you and Nat turn to look.

Steve stands, dressed in dark trousers, his navy tunic over his usual white linen shirt. Through his arm he has two cloaks, one deep almost blood red with silver stitching along the hem. The other a chocolate brown with gilded thread for embellishment.

What catches you off guard is the bright face that stares at you. The trimmed hair is so short. Just enough to put your hands through, golden tresses that shorter glisten in the light from your window.

His beard, rough and thick, is gone.

Without it, Steve looks years younger. Happier. Lovelier. Though you miss the gruff sight of his facial hair, this soft cheek and sharp jawline is to die for.

“There you are.” Nat says, a slow smile creeping into her face. “I’d wondered where our Steve Rogers was hiding.”

Steve pushes away from the doorframe and reaches up to stroke his chin and cheeks.

“It was time.” He says, sounding slightly ashamed.

“Long past.” Nat tells him, not chastising but stern.

“Yes.” Steve agrees, then with a shyness you’re unfamiliar with, he peeks at you from behind those impossibly long blonde lashes.

Cheeks flushed; he smiles softly.

“Perhaps my love doesn’t like it?” He checks, concern crinkling his brow.

You realize that you’ve been standing with your mouth agape, overwhelmed by your husband’s beauty.

Shutting it, you feel your own neck burn.

“Like it?” You sputter. “I love it, Steve. You look…I can see your face.”

Finally, you smile. Steve does too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next twenty-four hours are rough. For you especially.

You wish that your voyage had been one of ease and comfort. Steve had been hoping for a lovely trip and you’d wanted it to be perfect too, but the entire first day of your journey was lengthened by your constant need to stop.

This trip, the rocking carriage, the bumps and the trembling wooden wheels do not agree with your pregnant state.

Your early morning sickness had improved as of late but something about the swaying and jostling seems to have disagreed with your poor little one. Nothing has been quite so terrible as grabbing your skirts and hoisting them back out of your way as you haphazardly tumble from the carriage to puke into the nearest bush.

True to his word however, Steve has rushed after you, making small declarations of, “Watch your step, my flower.” and “Y/N, wait. Hold my hand as you alight.” and “Does that feel good? When I rub your back?” and “I’m sorry, my petal. I didn’t think about how the journey would make you feel.”

As you straighten, you assure him that you’re fine. You half force a smile, he hands you a water flask, and you clean your mouth as best you can.

“You don’t have to pretend to be fine. You can be comfortable with me, Y/N.” He shifts on his feet, stepping closer by inches and it makes his newly cropped hair bounce a little. It falls forward onto his forehead where it twitches in the late winter breeze.

It’s brisk and normally you’d be shivering, but your thick linen dress and the red cloak that Steve had bought for you keep you mostly warm. You’ll need a thicker cloak soon if the weather gets worse.

With a tentative hand, you reach up to push the strands away from his face and he freezes. Visibly, he’s immobile and it takes every ounce of strength you have left to keep from laughing as he cheeks are painted crimson.

His blush is pleasing and it fills you with pride that you really do seem to have this effect on him.

Instead of laughing you smile wryly, your cheeks aching from the urge to chuckle.

“I wish I could.” You admit, exhaling forlornly while maintaining your now slightly sad smile. “But it will take some time. You were very compelling in your hatred for me. Your sudden kindness has me quite thrown.”

Steve’s face saddens, but you don’t feel bad about his expression. This is the new beginning for both of you, but it doesn’t wipe away what happened before. These are the facts of your marriage and pretending they didn’t happen would be unwise.

“I never really hated you.” Steve says. “Not really. I hated that I had no choice.”

You nod slowly, seeing it all from his side of things and knowing now with how important his people are to him that he must have seen this marriage as unavoidable. An intrusion to his mourning.

There was never an option.

It was marry you or relinquish the Kingdom and for Steve there was only one choice.

Resting your hand against his cheek, you nod for him. You hear him. You want him to know that.

“I know. But it’ll take time. I can’t just pretend it never happened.” You explain.

“I guess that’s reasonable.” He grumbles, then gets distracted and places his hands on your stomach flipping his hands underneath your cloak to feel you over your dress. “Are you well enough to get moving again? We still have a half day’s journey to go.”

The way he cups your teeny barely formed bump makes your heart erupt into flutters. He places his other hand on your lower back and slowly strokes the aching muscle.

“Should we just turn back and go home?” He wonders.

“No!” You answer, a bit too quickly. “No. I want to go. I just need a minute.”

“Have an hour.” Steve quickly offers, moving a little closer so that your left side is pressed against his chest.

This time you don’t try and stop yourself. You laugh.

“I don’t need an hour. Just a few moments will suffice.” You assure him.

“I wish I could take the sickness from you.” He frets.

A sudden thought occurs to you and because you have no damn filter, you speak it before you can stop yourself.

“Margaret didn’t have sickness in her first few months with child?”

There’s a very thick pause and though it feels as if it lasts hours, it really is just a moment.

“Now that I think about it, she did wake up a few mornings feeling ill. We attributed it to rotten food or an outbreak of the sweating sickness. It passed after a few weeks so we…didn’t think…” He trails off, thinking back, his mind trapped in the past.

“I’m sorry.” You bite your lip hard, regretting your train of thought. You avert your eyes, down to his chest to avoid the look of sorrow you know you’ll find in those sea storm blues. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Heat lines your jaw as Steve reaches up to cup the side of your face and with his thumb he smooths your lip, preventing you from biting it any longer.

“It was a fair question. I would want to know too. We should have picked up on the signs, but we weren’t trying to start a family although the Kingdom and the council expected it. Because of what we did-”

“Fighting the evils? Like Hydra?”

“Yes. Because of that, we didn’t want to start a family right away which wasn’t normal for my position especially. It was a surprise when I found out that she was carrying what would have been our first child.” The yearning in his voice is heartbreaking.

You aren’t jealous in this moment, but truly sorry. Margaret and Steve seemed to have really loved each other. To have had a child coming and lost it…

Reaching down you curl your hand around your own little swell but find Steve’s hand still pressed to it, his hand a bit firmer but just as careful as before.

“I’m so grateful to you for telling me. For showing me that I could live again. For letting me love you and our future heir.” Steve gushes so suddenly that your heart flips and dips, making you gasp in surprise. “I won’t make the same mistakes. I will cherish every moment we have together.”

“Steve…” You whisper, overcome with awe in how he can make you melt so easily.

Without warning, he dips his head and presses his lips to yours.

It’s a soft kiss, wanting but gentle. Your knees buckle and he catches you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

He chuckles, soft bubbles of air through your kiss. When he pulls back, he’s still chuckling.

There’s beauty in the way he smiles. The happiness in his face. The love in his eyes. It’s gorgeous but not in the way that attracts a person to another. His bliss is pure and radiant, and it fills you with hope.

You feel lucky to love him, but even if you could only see this happiness from the outside, you would be just as pleased. How amazing that you get to be one of the reasons he smiles like this.

“We should get going, your Majesties. This part of the Kingdom gets cold very fast and with night upon is, it will be too cold to stop again.” Peter looks down at the pair of you from the front of the carriage where he sits beside the coachman.

“Don’t you think you’re taking your duties a little too seriously? I’m here after all.” Steve rants, turning to look up at Peter with a look of tempered annoyance.

Peter smiles. “You told me to protect the Queen. I will do as commanded. Hurry up, please.”

Your turn to chuckle. “Do all of your friends talk to you like that?”

Steve sighs. “Just the ones that know me too well. He is right though. It will get very cold soon. Come. Will you be okay?”

“I think the worst is over.” You nod. “I’m ready.”

“Don’t worry, my blossom. I’ll keep you warm.” He whispers then helps you back in as the wind whistles and thrashes the moss green forest around you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Frost bites at your nose, the winter air like pinpricks against the exposed skin of your neck and cheeks.

“Here, bundle up.” Steve says, rushing to pull your cloak’s hood over your head.

In awe you stare at the so-called cottage before you, speckled with random dashes of quick melting snow.

“Steve…” You whisper, and he chuckles, leaning down to bury his nose against your temple.

“I love the way you say my name.” He whispers huskily, body shifting around yours and providing you with more of that delicious heat that you’d cuddled up against in the carriage for the length of your journey.

“I thought you said we were going to spend some time at your cottage?” You gasp.

Steve pulls back, sliding his hand along your forearm until he slips it into your hand and gently gives it a squeeze.

“We are. This was my mother’s favorite place. Empire Cottage. We spent every winter of my youth here.” Steve explains and pulls you forward. “Would you like a tour?”

He seems so happy that you don’t have the heart to tell him how much this is not a cottage. This is a castle. A small one, only about fifteen or so bedrooms probably but it still has towers—two of them with dark slate pointed roofs and parapets—and it still probably has two large halls for feasts and balls. There are extensive gardens lining the gravel drive up towards an arched stone canopy before the front doors for boarding carriages in the rain.

If the pale gray color is anything to go by, it’s a new addition. The rest of the stonework of the cottage is dark and weathered. Aged. This place has stood for many years.

“When our Kingdom was in its infancy, this was our castle. There are a few villages still standing a few hours’ ride out and you’ll find the ruins of the ones that gave up and chose to move closer to the new one. That one has only been around for-”

“Two hundred years?” You offer, freshly versed in the histories of Broklin.

“Yes.” Steve nods, shining with smiles for you before he pulls you along the curving drive.

You glance behind you, watching Peter and the coachman disappear into what must be a stable.

As the rocks crunch beneath your feet, Steve releases your hand in order to jog towards the small slope on either side of the drive where soft green grass grows peppered with bunches of what you recognize as freesias. Pale blue to contrast against the dark and light grays of the cottage behind them.

“My mother planted these. All of them. By hand.” Steve brags, and you can’t help but smile at his childlike excitement.

It feels almost out of place what with him and his big body and the brooding man you’d come to know, love, and fear.

Those storm blue eyes however are three shades lighter as they gleam with wistful but pleasant memories.

“They’re beautiful, Steve.” You move towards him and he holds out his hand for you.

Taking it, you let him lead you forward away from the trembling blossoms.

“I think it’ll probably snow tonight. One last freeze before Spring comes.” Steve tells you, just chit chat.

It’s so out of the norm, you’re not sure how to respond. So, you nod. “Mm.”

“Bucky jumped off of that boulder.” He tells you, pointing across the circular lawn between the curving drive. “Broke his ankle.”

He laughs just once, then looks at you just as you shiver.

“Oh, you’re cold.” He fusses. “Let’s get you inside.”

“No, I’m okay. Show me more.” You argue.

“We can see more later.” He insists and gives you no room to resist as he tucks your arm underneath his and walks you towards the front doors.

Inside you find dark, rich, very well-kept wooden walls and tan stone floors. Your eyes scan the vaulted ceilings, rafters exposed as he leads you through the cottage, up a set of pale wooden stairs lined with braziers along the stone walls that shift back into chocolate wood as the two of you reach the second-floor landing.

There are small coves in which the braziers sit and long, colorful tapestries adorn the spaces on the left and right.

The same insignia from your necklace stitched at the center.

Absentmindedly, you reach up to trace the shape.

Now that you see it so large…it looks like a shield. And really familiar…

“We’re here at the end.” Steve points, showing you the way.

“We are?” You wonder stupidly, still lost in the beautifully aged castle around you. It feels darker and drafty compared to home, but this place is cozy.

You’re beginning to understand why Kings of past have called this a cottage compared to the massive halls you’d left yesterday morning.

Steve stops, turning to look at you as the two of you reach a set of pale wooden doors. Made of driftwood?

You reach for it, fingers eager to feel the silken grain.

“Would you prefer to sleep by yourself?” He asks, and it’s the hurt…the disappointment that makes you look at him.

Despite the emotion you’re sure you just heard, he smiles, soft and kind. A smidge of tightness around his eyes is all that keeps the façade from ringing true.

“No.” You hurry to tell him, grabbing onto his hand more tightly. “No, of course not. I want you with me. I’m sorry, I just…for a moment I didn’t understand what you meant.”

The tension fades from his body.

You relax too. He slides his hand out of yours and you feel the gentle graze of his fingertips as he wraps his left arm around you, trailing that strange slightly warmer than normal heat down along the length of your spine to the small of your back.

He lays his hand flat, stealing your breath as it curves to your body and then he reaches for the handle of the door and pushes it open, still staring at you smiling as if you are the only thing in the world he can see.

For a moment, he’s all that matters. You’re not sure what has shifted between the two of you.

Yes, you’re pregnant. Yes, he knows that now and it’s why he was fussing over you the entire way here. Yes, he’s trying to make amends. Especially after the ridiculousness that happened with Sharon.

Your blood still boils when you think about it and the way she seemed not to care when you’d confronted her.

All of this, you know. What you most definitely know is that something has changed. Something large and permanent. You feel it in your bones as it carves Steve’s name within them and splinters you with his own altered bones.

Steve Rogers is different. You are different. Finally, as Steve leads you over the threshold into a large bedroom decorated in pale blue luxurious silks, linen, carpets, dark pine trunks, a vanity, a table large enough for four people to eat, and a roaring fire already filling the space with heat—finally, your marriage can start.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry.” Steve sighs, hovering over you with his hands on the arms of your armchair.

He’s got his weight completely settled there where he’s holding your seat, looking down into your sleepy eyes as you blink them awake slowly and set aside the shirt you’d been working on.

It’s a normal shirt, one of Steve’s, dark red. You’ve been working in a pattern of dark blue and real silver threads. Expensive but pretty. Even with a tunic on, with the pattern worked only into the wrist and neckline, it will be visible and dress up any old tunic he chooses to wear with it.

“Don’t be.” You smile at him, trying to clear the fog of sleep from your mind.

“I am.” Steve insists. “This is supposed to be our time alone together and I’ve spent the first three days in council.”

“Hydra is attacking our people, Steve. I don’t begrudge you your duties. I only wish I could help more instead of sitting here stitching. Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do?” You reach up and stifle a yawn, Steve’s eyes sparkle with delight—at what you just said? He has the strangest reactions to some of the things you say.

At times you’re only making an observation or speaking your mind and more often than not, he pulls you to him and kisses you. Lately, those kisses have gotten slow, languid, like molten iron flowing slow and hot.

He does it this time too.

He hooks his hand behind your neck and draws your lips to his. With a slightly opened mouth, he takes your bottom lip between his and pulls a little before kissing you again, driving your sleep away.

With your mind in a flurry, he pulls back to look at your face, lips still puckered after his are gone.

He chuckles, just a quick bubble of air expelled as he brings his hand forward to stroke your cheek.

“What was that for?” You wonder, finally finding your voice through the swoon.

“For being my Queen.” He explains. “Because you deserve to be.”

“Even if I’m not high-born?” You whisper so that only he might hear. Just in case there are listening ears.

“Especially because you are not high-born.” He promises and places his hand back onto the seat.

You smile, at ease, and finally comfortable with him.

Over the past three days, Steve has spent a total of a few hours in your company.

He’s gone before you wake—"I’ve got to go. Sam and Bucky have come to deliver more news on the attacks to our smaller villages.” He kisses you slow but pulls away before you have chance to wrap your arm around his shoulder and he slides away as your hand slides along his arm until he’s out of reach—and he’s in bed long after you’ve gone to sleep.

He curls up behind you, warming you up with his heat, nuzzling into the back of your neck, wrapping you up so tight that you groan in slight protest because you can’t breathe but he’s only giving you a long squeeze.

When he releases you, you turn to look blink at him still asleep. He kisses your lips and you pucker your own but fall asleep before you’ve finished.

Despite this short time that you spend with him, things feel settled. This is who the two of you are. Both searching for a connection and finally having found it.

Slowly, he squats down hands still holding your chair as you adjust to look down at his beautiful blue eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak but the wind outside suddenly whistles. It seeps through the cracks in the old stone walls and the blaze set to warm the room crackles loudly, the cold wind finding a way to force it to dance.

You look behind you, staring at the window as a sudden fall of white begins.

“It’s snowing?” You gasp, slightly excited.

“Looks like it.” Steve says, then stands and moves to the window. “The ground will be covered by nightfall. It will be impossible to go anywhere in the morning.”

“Bucky and Sam?��� You gasp, worried for their safety. “Are they staying?”

“They already left, my petal. Don’t worry.” Steve assures you and throws you a smile. “It’s just us now.”

“And Peter.” You remind him.

“Peter is in the small manor behind the castle, along with almost all of the staff.” He moves towards you, slow deliberate steps. His boots echo with a gentle tap until he stops before you. “We’re finally alone, my flower.”

Your heart seizes up, nervous flutters fill your tummy. You’re wrapped up in a thick woolen shawl, settled over the long and relaxed gray dress you’d chosen to wear while you lounge indoors. It sits off your shoulders in a pattern of dark gray lace.

Steve offers you his hand and you wonder if you’re ready. If this time will be the right time. You’re eager. But you’re scared. Everything that’s happened before rings fresh in your mind as you take his hand and he pulls you to your feet.

Letting you go, he slips his hands underneath your shawl, his calloused fingers stroking the soft skin of your shoulders as he pushes the shawl away and it falls onto the seat you’d just been sitting on.

You can’t breathe. You’re so nervous it’s like your wedding night all over again.

Fear begins to grow as you remember the pleading. The begging. The pain.

“Steve…?” You whisper, looking up to find him watching you carefully.

He suddenly dips down, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. While you wrap your arms around his neck timidly, he lifts you easily, your feet dangling as he carries you towards the end of the bed.

“I have so much to make up for.” He tells you, his voice pained, hurt. As if it physical ails him to remember what you’re remembering too.

“Steve…” You lament with him, trying to move past the rough images that fill your mind.

“Forgive me, my sweet. My love.” He grieves.

“Steve…” Is all you seem to be able to say.

He puts you down on the bed and before you can catch your breath, he’s kissing you again. With his knee on the edge, his hand holding the back of your head to keep your kiss pressed, he slides his hand down along your leg until he can flip his hand underneath your long skirts.

As his skin grazes your ankle, you gasp and pull out of the kiss to watch him.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his hand now locked around your ankle.

Every other part of him but the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes deep and labored, freezes. He is a statue, waiting for your word.

But you have no voice.

You nod.

He comes rushing back up to meet your lips, collapsing on top of you, the full force of his body pressing you into the mattress as he lays you back. His tongue slides along your lips and you open for him as he explores the taste of your raspberry flavored lips.

Kissing him is easy. You love this. But as his body presses into yours, crushing you against the soft bed, a panic begins to grow in your chest.

It’s a fledgling of a feeling, and suddenly, his body is gone. You gasp as he releases you, searching for him in a frenzy to keep him in view.

But you don’t see him. You expected him to stand up, remove his shirt to expose for you the perfection of his body.

Instead you see the fabric of your skirts rise and then fall again.

Pushing yourself up, you rest on your elbows to get a good look and finally feel Steve’s hands find your legs again.

You can’t see him, hidden as he is beneath your dress, but his hands pull your legs wider and you don’t have the strength to resist. You don’t want to resist.

You’re scared…but you trust him.

He pulls off your shoes and the clatter against the floor. His lips are pressed to the inside of your right ankle, the tip of his tongue trails up along your calf then back down to press another kiss. He repeats this move on your left leg and you try not to hyperventilate.

You don’t want to faint now.

He takes his time, repeats the same movements until your skin is pimpled and your heart begins to slow.

Placing his hands flat against the sides of your knees, he traces them up along your thighs, the rough skin of his hands renewing the stutter in your heart.

Heat puddles between your legs and you’re suddenly very embarrassed.

You try to shut them but he’s right there, already kissing the inside of your thighs. He nips at them, biting down on the soft fleshy bits before kissing and licking at the offended skin.

You’re gushing, too nervous to realize that you’re actually enjoying yourself. His touch feels good. Better than good.

It feels just as you’d wished it had from the beginning.

He pushes your legs apart further, grabbing behind your knees to push them up and over his shoulders.

“Steve…” You whimper, voice high and wheezing.

Hot air floods against your bare cunt as he breathes on you, “Hhhaaaaaaaaa….” It’s an audible breath, muffled only by the layers of fabric still keeping him from view.

He presses his nose to your clit, and instinctively you reach down to place your hands on the bulge that is his head. You don’t push but instinct is telling you to. This is embarrassing.

He’s smelling you. He’ll know your scent…What you smell like in your most intimate of places.

A sudden and very slow flick of tongue spreads your folds and you whimper with shock.

Falling onto you back, you find a spot on the pale blue canopy of your bed to stare at.

“You’re gushing, my sweet…” Steve tells you, and you try to close your legs again but he’s already there and he dives in.

The sound is lurid, a soft slur and squelch as he opens his mouth and suckles on as much of your pussy as he can. His tongue explores your insides, finding your entrance to tickle and savor.

You moan, toes curling against his back as he scoots closer and hooks his hands around your hips.

As he finds your clit and laps at it with a passionate almost hungry fervor, you reach down to pull your skirts up over his head.

You want to see him. This is everything you’ve wanted. Maybe not specifically this, but Steve with you…enjoying your body.

His blonde hair peeks out first but as your skirts fall away to expose his half-hidden face, he looks at you and meets your gaze.

His eyes are dark, blown out from lust as he becomes more aggressive and latches to your clit to suck.

Your hips quake, stuttering as the pleasure begins to press along your cunt.

He breaks away, catching his breath but hurries up to rest over your body once more and kiss you soft.

You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he explores the hollow of your open mouth.

“You taste like sugar, my sweet.”  He whispers, voice deep and husky.

“Steve…” You moan, and he slides back down to spread your folds with two fingers before tasting you again.

He settles over your clit, tongue flicking at the nub with want and speed. He suckles on it, pressing his tongue flat against the bud.

You whimper more loudly as the pressure catches you by surprise.

“Steve!” You moan, shocked by the rush of it.

“Mmmph.” He moans, shaking his head almost violently. Running his tongue fast against your clit.

It pushes you over and your body is suddenly floating. It’s unreal. It doesn’t exist for this one moment in time.

A wave of numbness flows from your cunt down into your legs, to your toes and feet where they go limp against Steve’s back.

Your hands, curled into his hair, go slack as your body melts into the mattress.

Steve is still there, licking and nipping at your cunt, making you twitch.

You’re wrapped up in bliss and you don’t know which way is up or down, only that Steve is still there, making you want more.

Your hands tighten once more as the moments pass and you try to tug his head up from between your legs.

“Steve…oh, Steve…” You sigh, satisfied and happy. “Kiss me…”

He smiles at you, eyes curling at the corners with the brightness of his own happiness, but he shakes his head.

“Why?” You ask, as he laps at you some more.

When he stops, you can see his chin drizzled with your slick. He licks his lips and a fresh wave of arousal floods between your legs.

“One down.” He says, then hooks his hand into the fold of your thighs and hips to pull you down towards the edge of the bed again. “One-hundred and eighty-one to go.”

“Wha-?” You begin to ask, confused by the number, but then he’s back on your cunt, his tongue working its magic and setting your skin on fire.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

what abt one where you try to console Arthur after his breakup from Mary and one thing leads to another

Mm, this one turned out hot. Also, fuck Mary. She pisses me off. 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Warnings: smut

Arthur’s been in his room for a while. Too long in your opinion and you’re beginning to worry. He was out in Saint Denis all yesterday and this morning, but when he came back about an hour ago, he was unusually distant. Sure, Arthur’s not a talker, but he almost always wanders camp, chipping into conversations and he always comes to see you. Not today though. Something’s wrong. 

You’ve been trying to sneak into the big manor for some time to go and talk to him. After all, you’re his best friend (and you’re secretly in love with him). If anyone’s going to coax him to talk about what’s bothering him, you can. However, you’re pretty much being kept prisoner to this damn crate by Grimshaw. She’s mad because you spent a week straight out with Arthur, wandering from Strawberry to Annesburg. It doesn’t even matter to her that you both came laden with pelts, meat, provisions and even a few hundred bucks to contribute to camp. She says you should’ve been helping around camp with the other girls. Whenever you’ve tried sneaking away, she’s swooped down on you like a massive hawk on an unsuspecting squirrel. 

However, when Arthur came back, Karen saw how desperately you wanted to go see him. She knew something was wrong too. She was already nearly a bottle down on whiskey, so she did you the favor of getting herself even more drunk. You’ve been watching her. Grimshaw gets incredibly angry when Karen is drunk. As she drinks more and more, getting deeper in, Grimshaw marches over. 

“What the hell you doin’, girl? You’re supposed to be workin’, not drinkin’ enough to sink a saloon!”

“Ah, shut up, you old bat!” Karen hollers back. 

The two quickly descend into a heated argument, giving you the opportunity to sneak away and into the house. As you scurry off, you swear Karen gives you a wink, but maybe she’s so drunk that she can’t operate her eyelids properly anymore. Hard to tell. 

Finally, you get to the second floor without any problems. Slowly, you open the door to Arthur’s room. He’s lying on his back in the bed, an arm draped over his eyes. 

“Arthur?” you say quietly. 

He lifts his head and spots you. His face falls more, but he sits up. “Hey, Y/N.” 

“You okay? You seem down.” 

You take a seat next to him on the bed. He clasps his hands between his knees, his elbows on his thighs, but his eyes are planted on the ground. 

“What happened?” 

He sighs. “Not really much of anything, but… God, I’m such a damn fool.” 

You hesitate, dying to comfort him. You’ve been friends for years and you’ve had a crush on him for ages. You can’t even name how many nights you’ve pretended to be enfolded in his arms, and how many nights you’ve touched yourself, pretending it was him. Hell, you’ve even called out his name. Slowly, you reach over and grab his hand. He looks up at you, surprised. 

“Arthur, you’re not a fool. You’re smart, brave, funny. I’ve seen you take pity on people, even when they haven’t deserved it. Please, tell me what happened.” 

He sighs and squeezes your hand. “I, uh, went and saw Mary. She wrote to me again.” 

“Mary? I thought she wouldn’t contact you again again after you got her brother back?” 

You knew all about that of course. You were the only one Arthur confided that into. One of the benefits of being such close friends for so many years. 

“I didn’t either, but she did. Said she wanted to see me again.” 

“And what did she want this time? She need you to go scare some other people again?” 

He sighs and you can’t tell if he’s smiling as his face is still pointed to the floor. “Yes. Guess her daddy was provin’ once again how much he don’t care for his family. He sold her mother’s broach so I went and got it back. Then, she had the nerve to ask me to go to a show.” 

“She asked you out on a date? I thought you two weren’t sweet on another?” You fail to hide the pain from your voice. 

“I didn’t think we were, or she was anyways. I… like I said, I’m a damn fool. When I’m not around her, I don’t really want nothin’ to do with her. Mostly because I…” he pauses and squeezes your hand again. “But when I’m around her, it’s like I can’t really control myself. She knows exactly how to play and manipulate me. So yeah, I went on a date with her. Whole thing felt wrong. And then… she asked me to run away with her.” 

Your heart drops. Shit, is he only here to collect his things and then disappear with her? The thought breaks your heart. You know exactly how much you’ve come to depend on him and it scares you that he would so easily and willingly abandon the gang and you. It hurts too. Can you tell him the truth? 

“So… you’re just here to gather your things, I’m guessing?” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. 

He looks up at you finally. “Course not. I have people to take care of. I… I told her I had someone waitin’ for me.” 

Your stomach suddenly becomes alive with butterflies. “And what did she say?” 

He sighs again and looks back at the floor. “She didn’t take it too well. She… she called me some bad things. Was convinced that I lied to her, played her.” 

“Well that’s rich, coming from her!” 

He huffs a small laugh. “That’s what I told her. Only made her more mad though. She started sayin’ the same ol’ bullshit, that she shoulda had my hung a long time ago, that she should turn me in now.” 

“She wouldn’t, would she?” 

He huffs again. “She said that all the time when we was datin’ as kids. It was all garnish though, never had any weight to it. I expect it’s the same now. She only says it because she’s mad and wanted to… well, convince me to do things her way.” 

You smile and squeeze his hand again. “Well, if anyone’s the fool, Arthur, she is.” 

“Oh she definitely is a fool, mostly for putin’ in good years on a no-good outlaw.” 

You frown a bit. “Arthur, I’ve been with you for a few years now. I don’t think I’ve invested my time unwisely.” 

“Then maybe you’re a fool too. You’d be a lot smarter to stay away from me, darlin’. I ain’t no good. I ain’t got much good in me.” 

You can tell Arthur needs a morale boost, but you’re not quite sure what to say. Suddenly a thought strikes you. 

“Arthur… can I do something? I wanna show you what I feel about you. And, well, considering you and Mary dated for so long, something tells me she never did anything like this for you.” 

He looks up at you. “What you talkin’ about?” 

You smile and slide off the bed, going to your knees and placing yourself in front of him. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek. You rub his stubbled jaw for a moment, his eyes sparkling with… what is that? Excitement? Finally you lean in and kiss his lips. Oh God, how you’ve wanted to do this for so long. He doesn’t pull away, instead his hand plants on the back of your neck. His mouth moves with yours and his warm breath washes over your face. 

After a moment, you pull away. “Arthur,” you whisper, “let me show you how I feel about you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

You smile. “Like I said, let me show you.” 

He gives you a stiff nod and you smile, going back in for another kiss. As you do, your hands go to work on his shirt, undoing his buttons. Your lips follow your fingers, tracing his naked skin as you work your way downwards. Damn, he’s good looking, with hair in just the right places. You saw him shirtless once when he was bathing in a river, but you weren’t close enough then to truly appreciate his body. His built, but not overbuilt. 

Finally you get to his pants. He’s breathing hard and you can see him straining against his jeans. As you’re undoing his gunbelt, he groans. 

“God, darlin’.” 

This urges you on and you quickly unbutton his pants and reach a hand in to stroke him. Damn, he is firm. You feel a familiar pulsing between your own legs, so you pull him out and stare shamelessly at his cock. He’s thick, a long vein running down his entire length. You start pumping him, slowly, and watching him grow even more. He groans again and leans back, planting his hands on the bed. 

You’re filled with an urge to pleasure him. He needs the release. This poor man has been working so hard with so little thanks. He’s more than earned this. You look up at him and his eyes are closed as your hands work. 

“Arthur, I want you to look at me,” you say. His head tips forward and his eyes open. When you’ve got his attention again, you smile. 

After pumping him two more times, you slowly dip down towards his cock. You run your tongue from the base of his length all the way down to his head. He shivers beneath you, a hiss escaping his lips. His cock pulses hot and hard. You wrap your lips around his head and begin sucking, tickling just the tip. His hips buck a little, but you can tell he’s trying so hard to control himself. Slowly, you slip more of him into your mouth. He’s beginning to pant as you bob against him. 

“Oh my God,” he groans, making you smile. You pull him from your mouth with a small pop and then you stand up. His eyes find yours with a silent plea, begging you to continue. 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Morgan. I’m gonna take good care of you.” 

You quickly take off your clothes, but make sure to give him a show. A few moments later, you’re standing stark naked in front of him, letting his eyes rake over your body. You grab his shoulder and guide him to lie down on the bed before sliding your leg over him to straddle his hips. His cock’s still standing, eager for your center. 

You grab his length once more and give it a few pumps, bringing it back to full erection once more. Then, you angle him towards your slit and then sit down on his hips. It’s your turn to groan as his cock spreads your walls. His hands go to your hips and squeeze, then they slide up to grab your breasts. You put your hands on his and begin thrusting your hips, your eyes meeting his. His cheeks are flushed pink, like your own, but his eyes are glued to yours. 

You bounce on his hips, trying to bring him to his release, which he so badly needs. He’s panting beneath you, which says that he’s close. His own hips are thrusting up into your pelvis, burying his cock deeper into you. He suddenly brushes your spot, making you gasp. This seems to encourage him as he bucks harder, brushing it more and more. You start to pant on top of him. 

Without warning, Arthur suddenly grabs you, flips you onto your back and plows right back into you. He pumps himself hard against you, making the whole bed move. God, you hope no one can hear this, but you kind of don’t care. He takes your right knee and brings it up, wrapping your leg around him to give him a better angle. His cock goes even deeper into you and he starts kissing your neck. You can feel your own orgasm beginning to peak, but you want to chase his. He’s more than earned it. 

As he’s plowing into you, he starts losing his rhythm. He groans into your neck. 

“I want ya to cum to me, darlin’,” he growls in your ears. 

“Arthur,” you pant. “This… this is about you. Don’t… worry about… me.” 

He smiles and kisses your lips. “God I been wantin’ to do this so long.” His hand glides down your body and down to your slit. You want him to touch you there but know he shouldn’t. Just as you’re about to say something, his fingers brush over your clit. This makes you tilt your head back, groaning as your hips angle up into him. 

With his fingers stroking your clit and his cock brushing on your spot, it only takes seconds before your back arches, your toes curl and your fingers dig into his back. 

“Arthur!” you yelp as your orgasm rips through your body. He sucks on your neck and his fingers continue stroking your clit, prolonging your release. Your center pulses around his cock, almost painfully so. You haven’t orgasmed with a man inside you in many years. 

As you pulse around him, he groans and pushes harder into you. As you settle down beneath him, he suddenly thrusts the hardest he’s done and then he quickly pulls out. Just in time as his cock releases his spend, spreading over your stomach. He grunts loudly as he releases, but then he opens his eyes and looks down at you, covered in his juices. 

“Sorry, darlin’,” he grunts. He bends down and grabs a cloth, cleaning you up. 

“I ain’t complaining, Arthur. That was… damn. I’m gonna admit something: I’ve imagined doing this with you but I never thought it could be that good.” 

He chuckles, throwing the cloth across the room. “I doubt that, darlin’. I’m very out of practice.” 

“As am I, Arthur, so it works out. Maybe you and I… can make this a regular thing?” 

He smiles and bends down to kiss you again. “I’d like that. Thank you.” 

[jaskierrrrrr]

hey gang, remember when I asked for prompts so I could write and *John Mulaney voice* then I didn’t? Well here’s the first one! For @andthencamethefeels, who requested Jaskier and hanahaki disease- (sorry it’s like a month late) I hope you all like it and are keeping safe <3

trigger warnings for emetophobia and vomiting

***

One of the surprising things that Geralt had found out about travelling with Jaskier was that he wasn’t at all squeamish. He’d learnt fairly quickly not to underestimate Jaskier when it came to things like fighting, as the bard was more than capable of fighting with the dagger he kept strapped to his leg, slashing and cutting wildly, all while keeping up a steady stream of curses. He’d even been solely responsible for seeing off a band of mercenaries the other week; too preoccupied with the Witcher and his swords, they’d failed to notice the threat Jaskier posed until he’d shattered a clay pot over the leader’s head. They didn’t stick around for long after that. Despite repeatedly reminding himself not to underestimate Jaskier, the lack of squeamishness really was unexpected. Perhaps because Jaskier often seemed so dainty with his delicately laced shirts and embroidered doublets; even when he had to fight, he did so with a grace and elegance more associated with dancing than swordplay. But Geralt had quickly realised that Jaskier was reliably strong-stomached, when his attempts to hide a particularly gruesome injury that exposed part of his shin bone were completely ignored by Jaskier, who bent over his leg and dealt with the wound as best he could in a calm, swift manner, despite his shaking hands and pale face.

He doesn’t say anything the first time it happens. It had been a fairly pleasant evening; they’d set up camp for the night by a small stream, and Jaskier was idly plucking at his lute while Geralt sharpened his swords to stop himself staring. The abrupt halt of music and a thud as the lute hit the ground made him look up in alarm; Jaskier was usually so careful with his prized instrument, and for a brief moment Geralt thought something had attacked him. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of Jaskier stumbling to his feet, his normally flushed cheeks completely draining of colour as he staggered off into a thicket. 

He’s gone for a while, long enough for Geralt to contemplate going to check on him, but just as he’s about to grab his sword, Jaskier reappears, wiping his hand across his mouth. He doesn’t look unwell, but he doesn’t exactly look content either- the lines around his mouth are tighter than usual and there’s a crease between his eyebrows that makes Geralt’s fingers twitch with the urge to smooth it away. He opens his mouth to ask if Jaskier’s alright, but before he can say anything, Jaskier cuts in.

‘I’m fine,’ is all he says. 

Geralt knows it’s a lie; he can see the tension in Jaskier’s shoulder blades as he regains his lute and adopts his previous position, before resuming playing with an air of forced casualness. He wants to call Jaskier’s bluff, but something in his tone suggests he’d be unwise to do so. Despite his misgivings, he stays silent, reassuring himself that it’s unlikely to happen again.

Except that it does. Not just once either- the routine becomes worryingly frequent- Jaskier suddenly falls silent, jumps up from whatever he’s doing and disappears, sometimes for up to half an hour, and returns looking pale and haggard, with an expression on his face that Geralt can’t quite place.

He asks him about it. Or at least he tries to- Jaskier’s non committal answers when he asks if he’s okay are enough to rival the Witcher’s own frequent ‘hms.’ 

His limited responses do little to reassure Geralt. If anything, it’s more concerning; usually Jaskier can’t shut up about his life, whether it’s beamoning the state of his outfit after a particularly sweaty day of travelling or complaining about stiff muscles after a week on the road. Geralt finds himself creating an endless list of possible causes for Jaskier’s sickness, each more concerning than the last, but if he could at least find something that fitted, then he’d know what kind of cure he needed to find.

He pushes down the voice in his head that asks, ‘what if there isn’t one?’

Things come to a head, as they were bound to do. They run into trouble on the road: a particularly vicious pack of harpies that catches them so off-guard they’re forced to find refuge in a narrow-mouthed cave. Geralt uses the last of his strength to pull a boulder across the mouth of the cave- the harpies probably couldn’t reach them anyway, but he’s not taking any chances- when he hears a fervent ‘oh fuck’ over the screams from the beasts.

‘Don’t worry,’ says Geralt through gritted teeth as he gives the boulder a final shove, ‘they’ll probably get bored after a while.’

‘It’s not that,’ Jaskier chokes out, before abruptly doubling over and retching.

Geralt’s eyes widen in shock, but before he can take more than a couple of steps towards the bard, Jaskier throws a hand out behind him.

‘It’s fine,’ he chokes. ‘Stay back.’

But it’s too late. Geralt’s already seen it, and he’s more horrified by what’s happening than he was by even the most deadly causes he’d managed to come up with. He can’t move, he can only stare in horror as Jaskier chokes up handfuls of petals, as bright and lurid as the bard’s favourite doublets. They flutter to the floor as Jaskier’s sides heave; he lets out a groan as another wave hits him, except this time it’s fucking brambles, knotted and gnarled, their thorns tearing at the inside of Jaskier’s mouth, making him gasp in pain.

Geralt’s paralyzed; his eyes widen in horror as Jaskier seizes the brambles in his hands- already beaten and bloody from the harpies’ claws- and pulls. 

Finally, after what seems like an age, he yanks a particularly vicious clump from his mouth, and to Geralt’s relief, it seems to be over. Jaskier blinks, shudders, and falls to a seated position, bracing his back against the wall of the cave and wiping his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. He’s looking down at the floor, refusing to meet Geralt’s eyes.

‘Any chance you didn't see that?’ He asks weakly. 

Geralt doesn’t know whether to punch him or hug him. He settles for growling ‘what the fuck, Jaskier?’

Jaskier shudders again, before pushing himself to his feel and taking an unsteady step towards the Witcher. His blue eyes finally meet Geralt’s amber ones.

‘It’s not as bad as it looks.’

‘Bullshit,’ says Geralt. He clenches his fists to stop them shaking. ‘Try again.’

‘What?’ Jaskier retorts, ‘you think I can’t handle myself?!’

‘No,’ says Geralt, getting more incredulous by the second, ‘I think you just vomited up a load of flowers, and correct me if I’m wrong, but unless you’re a fucking rabbit and I somehow haven’t noticed for the past decade, that’s not exactly normal!’

Geralt takes a deep breath, aware that his shouts are probably attracting the attention of the harpies. He cannot understand why Jaskier is being so blasé about this. He’s never come across anything like this in all his years fighting monsters and curses. The feeling of panic at losing Jaskier rises like bile in his throat, but when he speaks again, he tries to stay calm. He doesn’t want Jaskier to know why he’s so concerned, and the bard is already looking at him quizzically.

‘We need to find Yennefer. She’ll know what to do.’ Geralt says, partly to reassure himself.

‘I’ve got it covered,’ Jaskier says calmly.

Geralt throws his hands up. ‘Oh, you know the cure?’ He asks, sarcasm dripping from his tongue, ‘because funnily enough, I don’t think you’d be sick if you did.’

When Jaskier’s face is like thunder, but he stays silent, Geralt knows he’s won.

‘So we’ll go to Yennefer,’ he says, a little triumphantly. He can’t help it, it’s not often he beats Jaskier in an argument.

‘Fine!’ Jaskier cries, striding towards him until they’re face to face. ‘Even though it’s not like she’ll know some miracle cure that I don’t, that actually might have some chance of working!’

He snaps his jaw shut and steps back, as if already regretting what he’s said.

‘Anyway,’ he adds abruptly, before Geralt can ask what he meant, ‘you’re going to have to deal with our friends outside before we can go anywhere.’

Geralt nods jerkily and unsheathes his sword. He can’t argue with that. And slicing a few harpies will hopefully stop him puzzling over what Jaskier had said. Or at the very least distract him from the voice in his head that tells him there isn’t a cure.

***

In the end, it takes them about a week to reach Yennefer, and it would have been longer if Geralt hadn’t threatened to smash Jaskier’s lute if he didn’t stop trying to delay them. Jaskier gets quieter and more on edge the closer they get, but it all changes when they see Ciri running out to meet them, her long blonde hair flying out behind her as she pelts down the hill. Jaskier’s face breaks into a wide grin as she hugs them each in turn and drags them by the hand to the small cottage where she’s training with Yennefer, chattering non-stop as they make their way inside.

Yennefer doesn’t seem surprised to see them, despite the fact they weren’t expected for at least another few months. Once Ciri’s disappeared upstairs, Jaskier falls silent again, and it falls to Geralt to haltingly explain what’s going on while Jaskier draws patterns on the table with trembling fingers.

The impassive look on Yennefer’s face doesn’t change, but she tilts her head to one side, black curls falling forward.

‘And what would you like me to do about it?’ she asks.

Geralt wonders briefly if she and Jaskier have conspired to ask stupid questions just to make his temper rise. ‘Find a cure, of course.’

Yennefer’s eyes narrow. 

‘You don’t know?’ she aims at Jaskier, who barely raises his head from where he’s slouched over the table.

‘Of course I do.’ Jaskier mumbles, looking at the ground like he’s hoping a hole will appear and swallow him up.

Before Yennefer can respond, there’s an almighty crash from above them, followed by a small voice shouting ‘don’t be mad!’

Before Geralt even has time to question what kind of damage Ciri’s managed to inflict, Jaskier mutters, ‘I’ll take care of it,’ rises from his seat and bounds up the stairs.

Geralt turns to Yennefer.

‘So are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?’ he growls.

Yennefer’s frown deepens. ‘You mean he hasn’t told you?’

‘Told me what?’ Geralt cries, resisting the urge to tear his hair out in frustration.

Yennefer sighs dramatically, before rising from the table to look out of the window. Geralt doesn’t catch what he says, but it sounds a lot like ‘boys.’

Geralt waits impatiently, biting his tongue until Yennefer finally turns back round to face him.

‘There’s only one thing that causes this kind of sickness,’ she says. ‘Unrequited love.’

‘What?’

Yennefer bites her lip in annoyance. ‘You heard me. He’s in love with someone who doesn’t love him back. Or in Jaskier’s case, someone he thinks doesn’t love him back.’

So Jaskier’s in love. Geralt isn’t surprised, but it still hits him like a punch in the gut. Jaskier is in love with someone and it isn’t him. He tries his best to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth, but it lodges in his throat instead.

‘Who?’ he chokes out.

Yennefer laughs. ‘Are you seriously asking?’ she asks. She buries her face in her hands when she sees Geralt’s expression

‘I’m not sober enough for this.’ she groans, before sitting back down and looking Geralt straight in the eye. 

‘It’s you, you idiot.’

Geralt freezes. ‘No it’s not,’ he replies, automatic. ‘It can’t be me.’

‘Oh, how foolish of me, I forgot,’ Yennfer says sarcastically, ‘it’s that other Witcher he’s been following around and singing ballads about for a decade despite all the dangers. My mistake.’

Geralt feels a small flicker of hope flare deep in his chest, but it’s extinguished just as quickly.

‘It can’t be me. You know how I feel about him- it’s not unrequited. Not by me, anyway. It must be someone else.’

The sorceress blinks owlishly at him. ‘Did you miss the part where I said Jaskier only has to think it’s unrequited? And assuming you’ve reacted to your feelings for him the same way you react to anything, by, oh I don’t know, burying it deep down and ignoring it, can you blame him?’

She has a point, as loathe as he is to admit it.

‘What do I do?’ he asks gruffly.

‘You need to tell him how you feel. And it has to be convincing, or… it won’t get better.’

Geralt gets the hint. He murmurs a thank you and rises, taking the stairs two at a time. He finds Jaskier and Ciri frantically picking up shards of what was once some sort of vase. He coughs once, and both their heads jolt upwards at the sound.

‘It was Jaskier!’ Ciri cries, attempting to hide the remnants of the pot behind her back.

Jaskier gasps. ‘Traitor!’ he calls, but he can’t hide the smile from his face. Geralt’s struck by how beautiful he looks, with the faint laugh lines etched around his blue eyes, before shaking the thought away. He has to concentrate, has to do this right.

‘Ciri, can you give us a moment?’ he asks. She happily drops the pieces of ceramic and runs down the stairs. Geralt swallows, steeling himself, but before he can open his mouth, Jaskier frowns and turns away from him, bending to pick up more fragments.

‘Yennefer told you, didn’t she?,’ he says, his voice tight. ‘Don’t worry about it, there’s nothing you can do-’

‘Jaskier.’

‘...and it doesn’t really matter anyway, I mean I was always going to die one day anyway, we can’t all be Witchers or mages-’

Geralt can’t wait any longer. ‘Jaskier, I love you.’

Jaskier abruptly stops speaking. The pieces of vase slip from his fingers, but he doesn’t turn around. When he finally speaks, his voice is so quiet that despite his heightened senses, Geralt has to strain to hear him.

‘Please don’t lie to me,’ he says, voice shaking, ‘it just makes it harder.’

‘No, Jaskier, wait-’

‘Just stop it!’ Jaskier cries, and he sounds broken. He spins round, and Geralt’s startled to see tears in his eyes. ‘It’s just cruel!’

He shoulders past Geralt and runs down the stairs. Geralt hears the door wrenched open before it slams shut. Panic overwhelms him. How the fuck is he going to fix this?

Yennefer’s voice rises from the bottom of the stairs. 

‘Maybe go after him?’ she says, like she knows what he was thinking. 

Suddenly, Geralt remembers how to function. He runs out of the door, skidding in the grass as he races to catch up with Jaskier, whose anger has already carried him quite far.

‘Leave me alone!’ Jaskier shouts as Geralt catches up to him, without turning round.

Geralt doesn’t think, he’s consumed with desperation to show Jaskier he isn’t lying. 

He grabs the bard by the laces on the back of his doublet; Jaskier gives a strangled cry as Geralt spins him round, but he doesn’t pause to apologize. Instead, he pulls him in by the waist and kisses him as deeply and passionately as he can, his grip around Jaskier’s waist tightening as he holds him close. Jaskier stiffens in shock, but then his hands rising up to scrabble at Geralt’s shirt. when he can’t get a hold on the fabric, he moves his hands upwards to tangle in Geralt’s hair.

The kiss feels like it lasts a century. It’s still not long enough for Geralt to try and express all the things he’s wanted to say to Jaskier throughout the years, but he tries his best. When they finally break apart, they’re still tangled up in each other’s arms, and both breathless. Geralt’s chest heaves as he tries his best to tear his eyes away from Jaskier’s reddened lips and flushed face. He swallows heavily, before tracing a finger down Jaskier’s cheek

‘Do you believe me now?’ he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

Jaskier blinks once, slowly, before his lips pull up in a mischievous grin.

‘Actually, I’m still not sure. I think you’ll need to try and convince me again.’

The corner of Geralt’s mouth curls up in amusement, before he pulls Jaskier towards him once more. He’s only too happy to oblige.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Ablaze - aka Obi-Wan learns the truth about what happened to Anakin post Mustafar Oneshot

Whatever Obi-Wan had hoped for, it wasn’t this.

He had been convinced when he turned his back on his past, tears blurring his vision as he left Anakin - his brother - behind by the molten lava lake of Mustafar, that that would be the end of it. He had known the twins once born must be hidden, concealed from the Empire and Palpatine. He had held them in his arms, as he watched Padmé’s life leave tear filled her eyes. As he watched her succumb to a broken heart, as her time ran out.

Obi-Wan had hoped that in spite of everything Anakin had done, every deed committed out of some sort of misplaced idea of justice to save his wife, he’d have passed on to find peace. There was the guilt, crippling and heart wrenching as it weighed heavy on his shoulders, looming over him every waking moment. Like a phantom, he wandered lost with only one purpose. One foot on the ground, one already in the grave as he watched over Luke faithfully. It was his only mission, as heeded the Lars’ warnings of not coming too close. Of not getting to know Luke personally. He watched as the boy grew to resemble his father more with each day, bringing back still painful memories of Anakin as a padawan, of Anakin questioning him, initiating arguments yet always returning for comfort and solace.

He had prayed that, much as it had destroyed him, Anakin was finally free from the demons that had plagued him so.

Anakin; who had been lured and manipulated into becoming a disciple of the Dark Side. Anakin; who had always been good, and kind, and just. Anakin; who loved so deeply, so truly that he stifled the air in Obi-Wan’s lungs. His brother, his son, his best friend - all in one. Anakin; whose final resting place lay among ashes, fire and brimstone. Obi-Wan considered it his cross to bear, and perhaps one day, he might have the courage to tell Luke the truth. Once Luke was old enough to understand, and to feign for himself. With the truth, danger would be sure to follow. The eyes of Emperor Palpatine were everywhere.

He had been wrong.

The first time caught wind of rumours regarding some mysterious empirical Enforcer cloaked in black, purging the remaining Jedi from the Galaxy on behalf of the Emperor - he felt sick to the stomach. Nauseous and dazed, losing focus the world became a blur as he casually continued to eavesdrop. He'd caught whiff of the grim news by accident from some bounty hunters normally located off planet, on one of his rare trips to the Cantina of Mos Eisley. At first, he told himself he must have misheard them. But the more he listened, the more he heard, the further the claws of dread sank into him. Suffocating him.

A menace clad all in black, face concealed. A Force wielder, one of the bounty hunters had professed. The other denied the existence of such a thing, but did affirm she too had heard some tall tales from a couple of drunk Imperial cadets, matching the description.

A regular smuggler was quick to chime in, in a foreboding low voice, that speaking of the devil might as well conjure him forward. Obi-Wan should have asked, then. But he couldn’t bear it. He’d prefer being unwise, uncertain as to the identity of this cloaked assassin. Deliberately ignorant by omission. Still, a voice at the back of his mind screamed at him to trust his gut feeling.

So, for a few more months, he buried it. He ignored the inquisitive part of himself, the one wanting desperately to pry and find out more. The one wanting to either reaffirm, or deny, what he was already suspecting. Eventually it got the upper hand. Hood pulled over his head, one night he surrendered to the urge. Travelling by land speeder with the intentions of visiting that same Cantina, back to the same area.

While it was not likely he’d be approaching the same crowd - bounty hunters never stayed long without Jabba the Hutt personally acquiescing - there might be other visitors willing to share their knowledge. Or perhaps suitable victim to coax information out of, via mind control. Against better judgment, Obi Wan found himself considering kidnapping, or at the very least stunning an unsuspecting stormtrooper, simply to pull the soldier away from public eyes for interrogation.

As luck would have it, he needn’t have worried. Ears perked, senses keenly attuned to his surroundings, he was quick to pick up on a rushed, impatient tone. There was a note of distress, of distinct dread radiating from the person speaking. Letting the Force guide him, Obi-Wan found himself drawing near to a small, scrappy docking area on the outskirts of the small city. Three ships anchored neatly aligned, all in beat up condition from bad to worse. The vessels would fly, but not much more. Pacing back and forth by the cargo holder of a battered YT-freighter, was a young twi’lek male. Lekku twitching, sharpened teeth bared. His company consisted only of a human woman, who looked about the same age but less antsy.

“How can you be so sure he won’t find us?”

“Because rumour has it this planet is off his radar,” said the woman, with clear disinterest. “We’ll have time to repair the ships. Turk'll gather up some credits, and then we'll go undercover. The Empi--”

“We’re not talking about the Empire, Oma!” hissed the twi’lek, and Obi-Wan felt the tension of anticipation pouring into his bones, as he pressed his back closely to the wreckage of what was once another clay building.

“It’s all the same, he is no different. He can’t be everywhere at once, surely he must have more important clientele to keep up with. We’re only possible associates at best, and even then he has no evidence.”

“You don’t understand!” the twi’lek raised his voice, before catching himself. "He doesn't need a justifiable reason to give chase!"

In an instant, the man's wide eyed stare darted madly around the location. Obi-Wan waited patiently, seeking aid from the Force to remain unseen and concealed. He had perfected the expert craft of hiding his Force signature, all to stay alert out of sight and mind from the Empire. For four years, it had worked to his favour. Still, he pulled his robes tight around himself, nodding in greeting as a random stranger - a Rodian - passed by in the opposite direction. Obi-Wan was considering wiping the encounter from her memory, but the woman disappeared into the night and it seemed an unnecessary endeavour.

With a hushed tone, the twi’lek piped up again as he inched closer to Oma, his female companion.

“He knows we aided that young Jedi. He knows we docked on I’qka, we’re in the Imperial records. The kid told us himself he was being hunted! Don’t you figure if there’s a kid on a planet that rarely ever receives visits from outside travelers, and this kid disappears with the one ship that has been knowingly recorded, that’s going to raise suspicion?”

“Which is why we’re going to make repairs only on The Japor, and trade this ship in for something more inconspicuous,” said Oma, still as unbothered as before. “You think too much about it, if anyone’s gonna raise suspicion, it’s you with your fidgeting. Pretend you never met the kid, and it’s gonna work out a hell of a lot better for us.”

“No one’s gonna want this junkyard of a ship,” the twi’lek huffed, glancing with a doubtful expression back at their vessel.

“There’s a constant demand for functioning scrap parts here, we’re gonna make a fortune if we pick it apart. Might even trade some parts off to the Jawas. You get in their good graces, and they’ll find you whatever you need.”

“Better be. I just don’t understand… aren’t you afraid of him?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m afraid or not, what matters is that we keep running. It’s only a problem if he catches us, and as long as we’re one step ahead, he’s no threat.”

Oma sounded calm and collected, but Obi-Wan could sense a fleeting tinge of dread through the living Force of her bloodstream. He could sense her palpitated heartbeats, sense her shortness of breath. He must condone their bravery however; hiding and assisting a Jedi fugitive under the Empire’s nose was high treason, punishable only by death penalty. Helping a Jedi was just as bad as being one, and the two must have been aware of that when they decided to act out of compassion. He couldn’t do much to aid their flight or ensure their safety, given the risk of blowing his own cover and subsequently Luke’s, but he was going to ask the Force be with and guide them. He hoped it’d be enough. Perhaps the Jedi was someone he knew, so he would wish him too a safe haven.

“So, we just keep running forever and hope he never catches us?”

The twi’lek sounded dejected, his lekku twitching in distress as he padded over to slump down to sit on the lowered landing pad. Obi-Wan felt his sadness as clearly as were it his own, even as Oma placed a hand on his shoulder to offer what appeared to be a supportive squeeze.

“Isn’t that what we do best? Let’s just hope the kid will get by and find a safe place to stay. That would make it all worth it, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but if… if he comes after us, at least we’ll know he probably hasn’t found the kid. He’d need us alive, right?”

“Right,” Oma nodded, although that possibility didn’t seem to particularly put her at ease.

Obi-Wan sighed softly.

If the rumours of the Empire’s treatment of traitors was anything to go by, he’d presume a swift death was to prefer. More than one person had whispered of torture, and torment to force an approved testimony out of prisoners. It was frightening, how low the morals of those in power had stooped in such a short amount of time, since the fall of the Galactic Republic.

He had fought bravely in The Clone Wars for freedom, for justice. Was this his reward? Was this what the Jedi and their troops had laid down their lives to preserve? Then, on the other hand, Anakin too had been adamant to protect freedom. Had been adamant to end slavery, never able to overcome his own traumatic childhood raised on this burning sand planet as a slave to Watto. Mournfully, Obi-Wan regretted that he had never taken the time to speak about that experience in depth with Anakin. Regretted that he had not trusted Anakin’s visions of Shmi’s death. Perhaps, if his mother had lived, he would have resisted Palpatine’s lure.

It all came back to Anakin.

Every waking moment, Obi-Wan's mind would wander aimlessly until memories of familiar, mischievous blue eyes flashed before his inner vision. When he slept; nightmares of Mustafar, the stench of burning flesh and shrieks of anguish haunted him. Pleas for help, begging for him to come back. Begging him to stay. Every time, Obi-Wan tried to will himself to stay. Longing to turn back around, to hurry to Anakin’s side. To hold him in his arms, as they both perished in a burst of flames and embers. Instead, he had no control of his own limbs as he walked away. The sound of Anakin’s pained howls, and the gurgling noise that replaced them as the heat withered away his esophagus ringing in his ears.

“Are you afraid?”

Obi-Wan startled, at first convinced that the voice had spoken directly to him. He blinked his eyes, looking up only to realize it was Oma who had broken the silence. The twi’lek craned his neck to glance up at her, her dark eyes unreadable in the distant light spilling out of the freighter they called home. The twi’lek exhaled heavily; only to offer a sharp nod, eyes once more scanning their surroundings as if he’d been reminded of their vulnerable state.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“If he was so intent on killing a kid, what’s to say he’d hesitate to kill us just out of spite? I...” he paused momentarily, tone almost inaudible as he spoke again and if Obi-Wan hadn’t been so attuned to their conversation, he would have missed it.” I know people opposed to the Empire. They’re… attempting to align. To form some sort of resistance. Either way, a childhood friend of mine, M’naaka, works in close contact with their organizations.”

Oma only nodded to confirm she was listening, but he expression spoke of curiosity. It was clear she had never heard of this before.

“So, M’naaka has never met him directly, but--” the young twi’lek’s head shot up abruptly, his entire body strung out like a prey animal sensing the close proximity of a predator.

When nothing happened, no ambush forthcoming - Oma herself beginning to look increasingly uneasy - he settled back down into his tale.

“But she’s heard from her companions. They say that if Vader’s got reason to keep you in his sight, you’ve already lost.”

‘Henceforth, you shall be down as Darth… Vader.’

No.

No.

“Vader has bigger problems to cater to, if what you’re telling me about your friend’s contacts is true.”

Vader.

The name left Obi-Wan cold - the same sickness of that first mention of an assassin of the Empire cloaked in shadow had brought forth. The nausea returning, head spinning. He had pleaded with Master Yoda years ago, as they rid the ransacked and destroyed Jedi Temple of clone intruders, pressing that he must watch the holographic surveillance recordings. That he must see who had massacred their peers; the people he had grown up with, the only family he had ever known. The only life he knew, laid to waste. Children chopped to pieces, young men and women cut down in their prime. Whoever he had imagined to be the perpetrator, it was not Anakin.

Even now, he couldn’t believe Anakin could be capable of such vile acts. Yet, the holograms didn’t lie.

Now the sinking feeling Obi-Wan had experienced in that horrifying moment - as he'd watched Anakin kneel obediently before the now revealed true identity of Sith Lord, Darth Sidious - had returned tenfold. The sorrow.

He'd watched Anakin take on the mantle of Darth Vader; apprentice and second in command only to Palpatine himself. He'd watched all his hopes for his former padawan as a young Jedi crumble to ashes, scattered to the wind. Molding to become one with the sand dunes of Tatooine nightfall as he was brought back to present day. The bitter cold of the air was matched only by the block of ice forming in his chest cavity. He shut his eyes, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

The memory was still fresh, still vivid and tangible. Anakin, body set ablaze. Eyes a sickly yellow; bloodshot and animalistic as he poured the full intensity of his rage, his hate, his fear into the already heavy, charged air of Mustafar. His clothes, his hair, his skin aflame. Obi-Wan could not bear to watch the man he had loved as his own brother succumb. He abandoned him. Had left it up to the Force. He had assumed that the Force would take pity on Anakin - the man who was supposed to be The Chosen One - despite the monster he had become.

There were so many question, nothing made sense anymore.

How?

How had Anakin lived? Why? What must he look like? What agony must he be in? How might anyone survive being set afire? Obi-Wan had assumed that Maul was alone in his conviction, his ability to feed off of the Dark Side to sustain himself despite his mortal wounds. Had Anakin relied on similar tactics? Where was he now? Was there anything left of the man Obi Wan had raised and mentored? Did he know where to find his former master? Was he coming for him?

Vader. Of course.

Who else would be so consumed by spite, as to hunt innocent Jedi children to purge? Who else could be so petty, so insidious, so self absorbed? Anakin had been good, at heart. He’d been flawed, he’d been human. He’d been lying, he’d bent the rules, he’d become too attached. But he’d been well meaning, he’d been gentle and loyal and caring.

The shadow that had taken his place seemed to feed off of death, as if the blood on his hands made no difference to him. And why would it? Obi-Wan had seen the children lying lifeless on the cold stone floors of the Temple halls. In that moment, he had known there was no saving Anakin. He had refused to kill Anakin, had been adamant Master Yoda go in his stead. Anything at all, but that. In the end, he was left with no choice. Left with a naive belief, that maybe he could help Padmé bring Anakin back to sanity. Help him see reason. In the end, it was all for naught. In the end, Padmé faded away to become one with the Force. Leaving behind Anakin's estranged children; children he must never be made aware of.

Anakin died that day.

The Anakin Skywalker Obi-Wan had known, burned to dust upon shores of ash. The man reemerging in his place was changed; twisted, evil and unrecognizable. The man who had taken his place was but a pawn of the Emperor, serving his master’s bidding at his beck and call as a slave. There could be no other explanation. The man in Anakin's place had nothing left to live for, no one left to save.

Why hadn’t Anakin told him about Padmé? He must have known it was an open secret. He must have known Obi-Wan had already suspected it for several years. How could he hesitate? How could he stubbornly go on, wrestling in silence with his own fears and the expectations placed upon him by outside forces? How could he find Palpatine a better confidant?

Padmé had died, and Anakin with her. And with Anakin’s death followed a part of Obi-Wan.

As he swallowed down the stone cold terror of truth welling up in his chest, biting back an inexplicable urge to weep over the pitiful fate that had befallen his brother in arms - Obi-Wan somehow found enough strength for his legs to carry him back to his land speeder. Enough energy to take him home; home to safety and solace, where he may still serve his purpose of guiding and watching over Luke.

A man like Vader would not hesitate to twist Anakin’s son into something as cruel, and vicious, and unyielding as himself. But despite the fact that Obi-Wan refused to acknowledge Vader as Anakin, refused to believe Anakin had ever possessed the ability to overstep the line so grievously - deep down, in his heart, he knew it was a poor man's comfort. But if he dared set it the truth free, dared allow himself to dwell upon it, he feared he too would lose his mind.

Deep down, he knew that the love he had harbored for the boy had never been enough. It seemed, he had never really known Anakin at all.

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

I always did want to write something like this, a piece where Obi Wan tackles the realization that Anakin is still alive under the mantle of Darth Vader. Here's my take, until canon inevitably offers us an official version, of a possible look at that. I had fun writing Obi Wan though, and his denial of Anakin's true self as a juxtaposition to Ahsoka's acceptance of the truth.

If you ship Obikin, you can always look at it that way too. It is written to be canon compliant, however!

Enjoy!

Link below to the Ao3 post, and subsequently my account:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636756

Lose Companion to Lifeline:

https://stuffilikeipostno2.tumblr.com/post/634787175881474048/lifeline-ahsoka-reaching-out-for-anakin-post

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578304

[zutaraangtastic]

imagine your polyship adopting a cat together and everyone fawns over the cat like they’re everyone’s child (bonus if the cat is Zuko's and named Your Honor.)

Coming back to these prompts after a little break (reminder that we are not accepting new prompts; we received these before July 1). Accidentally gave this cat fic a little plot, hope you enjoy! - Mod J

While waiting for the rest of his family and a picnic lunch to arrive in the garden, Zuko notices Izumi crouched in the dirt. Normally, she’d be sitting on the bench, reading in the shade—unlike Kya, who’s laughing wildly and kicking around in the fountain, thriving in the hot Fire Nation sun.

Zuko humors her, lets her splash him and treats her to some slow and easy firebending counter-moves that make her wobbly water whips sizzle into steam. It was refreshing and cooled him off at first, but it has gotten a little tedious to keep drying his robes every five minutes. He’s not dressed for play, just stealing an hour away from the day’s endless succession of formal meetings to spend some time with his lovers and their visiting children.

(His children, in some way—they’ll have to get all that out in the air sooner rather than later, before the oldest two figure it out on their own. His daughter is too smart for her own good, and Bumi is more observant than Katara or Aang realize.)

Izumi still hasn’t moved, so Zuko tells Kya to keep practicing, maintaining a watchful eye on her as he goes to find out what has Izumi’s attention.

He hears it before he sees it: a small, rumbling growl coming from a dark gap beneath the wooden walkway and the ground. Izumi stretches out a tentative hand, but on instinct Zuko pulls her back just as a set of teeth snap near her fingertips. She yelps in surprise, and his heart jumps into his throat with panic that she might be hurt. Her hands are shaky, but otherwise unscathed. Zuko breathes a sigh of relief.

Kya arrives at the site of the commotion, wielding a tenuous rope of water. She lashes it towards the gap and misses, splattering the walkway instead. Izumi jumps to her feet and wards Kya off before she can try again.

“No, don’t hurt it! Avatar Aang says to respect all life!”

“I know that, he’s my dad!”

Zuko spots Katara making her way across the garden to them, a welcome sight amid the chaos. While she sorts out the girls’ argument, he lowers his face close to the ground so he can peer into the hole, holding a small flame for light. A ferret-cat is coiled at the deepest end, its feline eyes gleaming at him before it turns its head away and resumes digging, presumably trying to tunnel its way out. It’s hard to tell, but it looks injured, half of its ear torn, its fur dark and wet in places.

It must have wandered into the garden after a fight. There haven’t been any ferret-cat families here in a long time—after how Azula terrorized them, Zuko wasn’t surprised when they disappeared. It’s hard to believe that that childhood, good and bad, is almost 30 years gone.

He’s spent much of his time as Fire Lord working to restore relationships between the nations. Restoring one with the local fauna shouldn’t be too great a task.

After she finishes explaining the animal crisis to Kya and Katara, Izumi turns to Zuko with imploring eyes. “Can we help it?”

Zuko smiles and squeezes her hands gently in his. “Of course,” he says, and looks to Katara. “Do you know where Aang is? Earthbending might be most useful here.”

Katara nods. “I was thinking the same thing. He just put Tenzin down for a nap, so he should be on his way.”

Just as she says it, Bumi appears around the corner. He sprints down the colonnade parallel to the garden, with his father chasing behind by air scooter. Judging by his casual poise, Aang isn’t really trying to win their race, unlike Bumi, who arrives sweaty and panting. He nearly trips over Kya, earning him a sharp look from Katara, which goes ignored as he turns and waits with his arms crossed. Aang leans forward to speed up in the last stretch only when he realizes he’s being watched.

Dissipating the air and landing lightly on his feet, he ruffles Bumi’s hair and says, “Looks like you’re just too fast for your old man!”

“Dad.” Bumi pulls a face and ducks out of Aang’s grasp. “I told you not to let me win!”

“If you didn’t think you were too old for air scooter rides now, both of us could’ve won.” Aang grins, arms akimbo, and flashes a quick wink at Zuko. “Problem-solving is my middle name, just ask your Uncle Fire Lord. At least he listens to me, most of the time.”

“We’ve got one for you, O Wise One,” Katara says, at the same time as Izumi glues herself to Aang’s pants leg and tugs him to see the ferret-cat, explaining how she found it.

Zuko moves out of the way, gesturing for Bumi to wait his turn. The boy still sulks, but less so when Zuko gets him to talk about his practice training with the palace guards. Getting all fired up about it again, he reenacts some of the kicks and stances he’s learned, and puffs his chest out when Zuko nods approvingly. He barely seems to notice Katara tailing him, attempting to smooth down his hair. Zuko catches her twinkling eyes over Bumi’s head. He fights a smile and tries to stay interested in Bumi’s rambling and cartwheeling.

It’s Kya who sends up the cry when the kitchen servants arrive with lunch. Aang waves for them to start without him, nudging Izumi to go join the others. Katara and Zuko shepherd the kids to their chosen picnic spot under the shade of a maple tree, while Aang sets about fashioning an earthen cage.

Bumi and Kya chow down eagerly, while Izumi only picks at her rice. She nods when Katara encourages her to eat, but she’s distracted, watching Aang. He sits in lotus on the walkway, waiting patiently.

“I thought he was going to earthbend it out,” she says, frowning.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to scare it,” Zuko suggests. “Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing. If you really want to help, here.” He takes the top off a bowl of steamed meat buns and hands it to Izumi. “Food might coax it out. But you have to eat some of these too, okay? Don’t give them all to the ferret-cat.”

Izumi jumps to her feet, smiling brightly. Then she pauses and looks from the bowl to Zuko. “But Avatar Aang is vegetarian. Will I hurt his feelings?”

Katara exchanges a nearly saccharine look with Zuko, her eyes reflecting the melting of his own heart. “It’s okay, honey,” she says, patting Izumi’s hand. “He won’t mind. Uncle Sokka has practically made him immune to the smell of meat, I promise. And, you can tell him we’ve got vegetable buns for him once he rescues the ferret-cat.”

Izumi nods resolutely and hurries back down the little hill. She lays down a trail of buns leading into the makeshift cage, before sitting next to Aang, painstakingly copying his position. Zuko watches, almost overwhelmed with warmth, as Aang assuages Izumi’s hesitation, gesturing to the food for her to eat. 

Across the picnic blanket from him, Katara wipes Kya’s mouth clean and chides Bumi when he burps, before she releases them, warning that they’ll scare the ferret-cat if they play too loudly. They end up in the fountain where Kya was before, within sight but a safe distance away.

Katara scoots closer to Zuko, laying a hand over his, and he leans on the other as he twines their fingers together, low enough to stay hidden.

“Izumi’s really growing up, isn’t she?” she remarks.

Zuko groans. “Don’t say that, she’s only eight. I want her to stay this way forever.”

Katara laughs lightly. “You’ve done well with her,” she says, and she sounds almost wistful. 

He wonders if she daydreams as often as he does about a life where they could raise Izumi and the rest together full-time, where they could spend the whole day like this with Aang and their children. 

But judging by the sun, edging past its midday zenith, it’s almost time for him to get to his first afternoon meeting. He’s just starting to think he won’t get to see the ferret-cat rescue for himself when a furry white-and-brown head pokes out of the hole. Izumi gasps, and Aang grins at her with a finger to his lips. While the animal busies itself with digging for the meat, he slowly raises the layer of earth it’s on and slides it towards the cage. Zuko and Katara stand to get a better view, and Katara beckons for Bumi and Kya.

The ferret-cat seems to notice the trap at the last second, but Aang earthbends the door into place before it can do anything. Everyone ventures closer once it’s clear that the cage is secure. Katara kneels, drawing water from her satchel and bending it between the gaps in the sides of the box to surround the ferret-cat in a healing blue glow. Izumi speaks soothingly to it while it hisses and squirms.

Smiling, Zuko bends to kiss the top of her head. Then he catches Aang by the shoulder, squeezing gently and resisting the urge to drop a kiss there, too. Aang’s eyes are shining as he looks fondly from the children to Zuko. It’s easy to read the gentle pride in his posture—Zuko knows that for all the world-saving and spirit-negotiating and political crisis-averting Aang’s done, he takes the most satisfaction in the small, everyday kindnesses. He’s always had this soft spot for animals especially.

“I have to go,” Zuko says, “but you know where the physicians’ wing is. I’m sure someone there has some veterinary experience.”

Aang clasps Zuko’s forearm, hand slipping up his sleeve and thumb caressing the way back down to his wrist. “You’ll find us later?”

“Of course.” Zuko reluctantly disentangles his hand and looks over his shoulder to add, “Izumi, be good and listen to Uncle Aang and Aunt Katara, alright?”

He leaves the kids discussing names for their new pet, with Katara jokingly suggesting something to do with honor and Aang interjecting that they might need to wait a while before the ferret-cat is ready to be domesticated. Kya and Izumi get into another argument over it, while Bumi unwisely sticks his fingers in through the gaps.

Zuko pauses one last time at the edge of the garden to look at his family, and knows he’ll spend this meeting daydreaming.

[nellied-reviews]

Cigarette Candy Re-listen

Okay, it’s episode 5 of my epic Wolf 359 re-listen, and that can only mean one thing: 

Cigarette Candy

In which Eiffel is ill, Minkowski and Hera are out of the picture and I have way too many thoughts about how Hilbert is totally not making Eiffel sick. Nuh-uh.

Where do I even begin with this episode?

Maybe I'll start with the obvious: Cigarette Candy is a very different episode on a re-listen. It was a sinister, tense episode to begin with, sure. But knowing that Hilbert really has been making Eiffel sick adds a whole layer of uncertainty, for me at least.

Because what is the point? Largely, I think it's an episode about whether or not Hilbert can be trusted. We heard last episode, after all, that the good doctor was  willing to leave Eiffel to die in space. It's natural that we might now wonder where his loyalties lie. And so we get this, an episode that teases us with the idea that Hilbert might, in fact, be a bad guy. And of course, the answer we are left with, at the end of the episode, is that no, Hilbert’s creepy and weird and a million kinds of unethical, but ultimately he is one of the good guys.

It's a brilliant misdirect, and it relies entirely on us misunderstanding what an evil Hilbert would look like. We, like Eiffel, assume that Hilbert, if he were actually evil, would be the archetypical mad scientist. And mad scientists aren't generally subtle. They certainly don't do regular things like help Communications Officers overcome the flu. And so we assume, since Hilbert isn't cartoonish in his villainy, and does, ultimately, help Eiffel, that he mustn't be a villain at all. We're wrong, of course. The episode doesn't give that away, though. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Because as Cigarette Candy starts, it's not immediately clear that that's where this is all going. Instead, we tune in to a weirdly happy Eiffel, who claims he's trying a new, more optimistic approach to life. It's odd, and doesn't exactly bode well, especially with the occasional, gross coughing that Eiffel insists is no big deal. But it still feels like a light-hearted, comedy set-up. And hey, at least Hilbert seems to be doing something helpful, this time, right?

Of course, it's worth mentioning that Hilbert's "help" involves the titular cigarette candy, which are what Eiffel calls his nicotine lozenges. These, we quickly learn, are the reason for Eiffel's new, sunny outlook on life. They're sugary, they're soothing and - oh, yeah - they taste like "day-old ashtray". Which... eww!  But apparently Eiffel prefers that to the default cinnamon? Enough that he's consuming them in unwise quantities? I don't know, it certainly wouldn't be my choice. But you do you, Eiffel.

In any case, it leaves us in this weird situation where Hilbert is actually in Eiffel's good books, which is fun to listen to, until the doctor suddenly lets slip that hey, Eiffel, it's strange how you aren't experiencing any myalgia... yet.

It's super unsubtle, and part of me really wants to believe that Hilbert did it on purpose, just to troll Eiffel. "English such inelegant cudgel of a language", my ass. I see you there, Doc.

Funny as it is, though, it also marks the point at which the episode takes a sharp U-turn into psychological and medical horror, as Eiffel slowly begins to suspect that Hilbert has been poisoning him. Things only get worse when Eiffel faints and is taken to sickbay, and when Hilbert admits that he's not really a proper doctor, bound by all of those pesky ethics, it's downright chilling.

One phrase in particular, I think, tells us everything we need to know about Alexander Hilbert's motivations: "Always saw Hippocratic Oath as leaving one with a very limited scope. True science mustn't be so severely hindered." Hilbert, in the end, is all about the science, and he'll break the rules to get results, if needs be. It's a single-minded, pragmatic focus that we’ll see from the doctor over and over again as the show wears on. Here, then, although we don't know it yet, we're actually getting our first proper insight into what makes Dr. Hilbert tick. Pretty neat.

That said, on a first listen-through, before we learn about Decima, it just sounds like your standard mad scientist rant. It's followed up by some more mad scientist antics too, as Hilbert confines Eiffel to sickbay, ties him up and claims total authority over Eiffel's schedule, cutting him off completely from Hera and Minkowski. It's textbook nefarious, and so it sets Hilbert up perfectly as a properly sinister, if slightly cliché villain.

Of course, it's also just about plausible. We can just about see how confining Eiffel might help him get better soon, and we can just about see that he's not fit to be working, and we can just about see how a lack of distractions might be helpful. Add Eiffel's potential delusions into the mix, and we can see how the whole business could just be a misunderstanding, a product of Eiffel's fever and Hilbert’s lack of people skills. We can't 100% write the doctor off as a villain - and so the episode manages to maintain the tension, all the way through the back end of the episode. Is Hilbert really as evil as he seems? Or is Eiffel imagining it all? 

It's at this point that the first season's log format works in our favour, because if we're only hearing the personal logs of Douglas Eiffel, we're only getting the story from one very limited, potentially delusional point of view. We aren't getting Minkowski or Hera's more balanced perspectives, and so the suspense is preserved - is Hilbert trustworthy? We can't know. It's the sort of thing the show won't be able to do as easily in later seasons, at least not without finding a plot-related reason to side-line the other, more objective characters. Here, though, the nature of Eiffel's logs creates a more claustrophobic, tense bottle episode, where we can never quite be sure what's going on.

The absence of Hera and Minkowski is also ominous in and of itself. The pause after Eiffel calls out to Hera and she doesn't answer, in particular, is really eerie, at least for me. I don't know, I guess I'm just used to Hera being there?  It certainly cranks up the tension, especially when Hilbert foils Eiffel's attempt to contact Minkowski, and even more so when he reveals that he also knows that Eiffel hasn't been taking his drugs - that's why he's been giving him them intravenously.

And look, I know we've said that Hilbert isn't bound by the Hippocratic Oath. Being shady and unethical's kind of his thing. But can we just stop and appreciate just how messed up it is to drug Eiffel like this? It's not even like it's the first time this has happened, either. Remember the halothane gas? What we're seeing, in that light, looks more like an emerging pattern - a pattern of incidents where people are messed with, physically or psychologically, without their consent.

It's something we'll see again and again, throughout Wolf 359, and more often that not, it's linked less to individuals like Hilbert, and more to Goddard Futuristics, and their general ethos of dehumanising callousness. Hilbert is possibly evil, sure. But he's backed up by a whole, sucky-ass corporation, who have created an environment where consent - and all of the respect for human dignity and life that that implies - is not encouraged or valued. It's a gross, corporate attitude that is linked directly to moments like this, where Eiffel can be drugged and held captive against his will precisely because Hilbert knows there will be no official consequences for it. Goddard Futuristics do not care about human minds or bodies. They just care about the profits. It's not the same thing that drives Hilbert, as a character. But it aligns with his goals. Hilbert wants answers. Goddard wants money. Neither care much for actual humans.

That's actually one of the most frightening things about this episode - that, and the recording that Eiffel makes for Minkowski, urging her not to trust Hilbert once he's dead, which is funny, in a dark sort of way, until you think about Lovelace's old crew, and how Dr. Hilbert - sorry, Dr. Selberg - picked them off, one by one. That's essentially the exact same scenario that Eiffel's imagining here, when he worries about Hilbert going after Minkowski next, so perhaps he's not too far off the mark. Yikes.

Still, all is well in the end, as Hilbert reveals that Eiffel is cured! The knife was only for cutting Eiffel's restraints - way to not terrify your patient, doc! - and now Eiffel is cleared for duty, effective immediately. Phew!

It's a relief, for Eiffel and for us, and it's very easy to just see it as a heart-warming ending. The mad scientist turns out to be a good guy after all, Eiffel learns a lesson about judging people, and everyone goes back to their routine. Crisis averted. The episode asks, "Can Hilbert be trusted?" The ending tells us that he can. Case closed.

Only it's not that simple, is it? For one, Hilbert admits that Eiffel was infected with a tropical flu from his lab; knowing how much we now know, how likely is it that that "tropical flu" was actually Decima, or somehow Decima-related? In this respect, Hilbert's trustworthiness is actually far from established.

Secondly, though, and perhaps more interestingly, there's also the idea that Hilbert might have genuinely cured Eiffel, but might still be up to no good. A dead Eiffel, after all, means no more Decima research, and that would be a disaster for Hilbert. Keeping the crew alive and healthy is in Hilbert's best interests, and so, to a degree, he is actually trustworthy, or at least reliable. In fact, Hilbert is probably one of the most reliable characters in the series, if only because he can always be trusted to protect his own interests. Unlike the others, whose goals sometimes shift, and whose actions are often determined by their emotions or their underlying characters, Hilbert almost never acts in such a way as to compromise his goals and his work. His focus is single-minded, and it makes him very, very reliable - trustworthy, almost. But good? Ethical? Not so much. It's at best a parody of integrity, a twisted, brutal code that doesn’t care much for other people.

The story, I think, is more interesting for it. Instead of a story about how Hilbert secretly has a heart of gold, we get a more unsettling story about how Hilbert can be relied on, but only to a certain extent. Instead of a story about a good person being good, it's the story of a bad person doing good - and that is infinitely more compelling.

And of course, all this is only really obvious in hindsight. Listening to it blind, we get an episode that is funny, tense and just about the right kind of creepy. It's simultaneously the darkest thing the show has done so far, an excellent black-humour-filled bottle episode and (almost) a heart-warming tale. To have that and all the bonus, retrospective Hilbert characterisation?

*shakes my head*

This episode, man.

 Miscellaneous thoughts:

 I said already but cigarette candy sounds so gross!

Zach Valenti does such a good job of sounding properly, horribly ill throughout this whole episode

"Officer Eiffel, you look terrible." Aww, no need to sugar-coat it, doc!

"You're not making me sick, are you?" "What possible reason could there be for doing that?"  *whistles innocently*

Ugh when Hilbert says "Good night!" like that :O

Heh, the ticking clock in the background when Hilbert gets the kife out is a nice little touch

"Bedside manner is like anaesthetic. It just gets in way of what needs to be done."

[rwbyremnants]

Warning: tiny gore, mostly implied

=Chapter 29

Weiss's stay in the hospital felt like it took an eternity. Nearly two weeks had passed since the incident before they were confident enough to release her into her mother’s care - and even then, she was to return for regular check-ups and would not be allowed to participate in any vigorous physical activity for another two. That was fine, except for…

“UGH!” Yang burst out as they rode home in the back of Kali’s car. Her mother was in the front, alongside her new best friend. “You know what that means, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” Weiss sighed, rubbing over her stomach through her blouse. She had been doing that on a regular basis ever since they took the bandages off; she was so used to having something blocking her there that now it was fascinating to feel her tummy directly again.

“How are we gonna…” Glancing at the front seat, she then cleared her throat and attempted, “How will we play tennis anymore?”

Trying not to laugh, she answered, “Oh, you’re right. Between your shoulder and this wound, playing tennis would be a little unwise. Maybe we shouldn’t play tennis for a while until we’re all healed up.”

Kali called behind her without even turning around, “You two aren’t fooling anyone in this car.”

“About what?” Mrs. Schnee asked. “Tennis? I didn’t even know Miss Yang played.”

“I stand corrected,” she laughed, and Yang and Weiss laughed along with her. Though she felt a little guilty that her mother was left out of the conversation, perhaps it was best that way.

Still, after a minute or two, Yang seemed to feel differently. She scratched the back of her head before commenting, “Hey… Mrs. Schnee, um… I gotta say, it's been really great that you've been so… accepting.”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“Well, with me and Weiss. Kind of expected you to flip your lid.”

The woman fell silent for a moment as she thought about that. Then she shrugged her shoulders. “I can't pretend to understand what my daughter is going through, what she feels. We've both understood all our lives that people like you are sinners. And yet… it's my own husband who's done the most harm to my daughter. You make her happy while the man I used to trust more than anyone else hurts her. Seems to me like… all the rules have changed, I suppose. Something like that.”

Though Yang had no response for those words, apparently Kali did. “I won't try to pretend I've ever been religious. But isn't your god supposed to be one of love and acceptance? If he can't accept the love in this backseat, then he isn't much of a god to me.”

“That's…” It almost sounded like Willow was about to argue. Then she simply sighed and slumped down in her seat. “Maybe so. I don't know.”

The rest of the ride home was a little bit uncomfortable, but Weiss felt some satisfaction that at least her mother seemed to be doing some deep thinking on the subject. Everything would be fine in due time.

Once Willow was safe and sound in Atlas Heights, the other three returned to the Belladonna home. Without having selected another fallback location, that was still to serve as their headquarters for the immediate future, and they had much to discuss.

“I'm trying not to lose my cool,” Yang confessed as she rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans. “What if she wants to kick you out because your dad's been making threats and stuff? I'm going to have to argue with her, and I'd rather not do that if I don't have to…”

“Then don't,” Weiss told her simply, as if that settled the matter.

“But I'll have to. I mean, you're my girl, right? I'd throw myself from a train for you. If I can't even stand up to Salem, then I don't deserve the title of ‘Weiss's girlfriend’ at all.”

The paper-shaker reached over to squeeze her hand as they pulled onto Blake and Kali's street. “You deserve it if I say you do. And that's that.”

“Oh boy,” Kali sighed onto the steering wheel. “Look at all this…”

She was referring to the dozen motorcycles parked in her driveway, partly spilling into the backyard. It was bad enough that she had no room for her own vehicle and had to park on the street, which probably rankled. Of course, the Duchess took it all in stride.

“Chins up,” she whispered as they walked up toward the front door. “This is our first big meeting since the fire, but it's not our first meeting ever. We'll be fine.”

“It's my first big meeting!” Weiss insisted. “I'm a baby Dragon, remember?”

Yang slid her arm around Weiss's back, squeezing probably a little bit harder than was strictly necessary. “Don't sweat it. I'm going to be right there the whole time, okay? Just… stick to the truth. That your dad has lost his marbles and you have nothing to do with it. Easy peasy.”

“I hope you're right…”

They had never seen the Belladonna living room quite so full. In fact, several Dragons had to sit in the dining room, craning their necks to see everyone else. Salem laid claim to what had probably been Mr. Belladonna's easy chair as if it were a throne; Weiss expected nothing less. Sienna was nearby, ready and willing to assist in any way needed. Blake seemed to be flitting around and helping Vernal freshen drinks - something not quite in character, but probably expected of her as interim host until her mother returned.

“About time,” Salem grunted from under the hem of her hood. “Thought they might have changed their minds about discharging the girl.”

Weiss swallowed, eyes sweeping the room to look at all the faces gazing back at her. Vernal, Blake, and Coco were there, and Velvet was perched at Coco's side. She was the only one who smiled and waved at Weiss, which she appreciated more than she could say in that moment - both because she was nervous, and because she knew pleasantries would have to wait until after business had been taken care of.

“She's going to be fine,” Kali told her, hand still lingering on Weiss's shoulder. “And now that your Warlord and Duchess are here, shall we get started?”

Salem gestured with one pale hand to the rickety looking folding chairs off to one side. Where they had come up with so many folding chairs, Weiss couldn't say, but it looked like someone had raided a church basement. Kali took the one closest to the High Dragon, and Weiss and Yang took the other two.

“This meeting of the Vale Dragons has come to order,” Sienna announced with a few claps of her hands. “Please join us in the credo!”

Weiss felt the tingling a fear in her stomach - what credo?! Before she had a chance to ask any questions, everyone else in the room was saying in one strong voice, “Strength! Loyalty! Unity! Sorority!” Even Velvet. It felt awful to be the least informed member of their ragtag family, but she knew it was going to take time for her to get caught up.

Then it was Salem's turn to talk. She didn't stand or otherwise call attention to herself; she didn't need to.

“Sisters, we have a problem.” A few of them nodded, and there was a sharp bark of laughter from somewhere that Weiss couldn't quite pinpoint. “One of our own has betrayed us.”

“Oh no,” Weiss couldn't help breathing. The whisper didn't go unnoticed.

“It isn't little Princess Schnee. No… another is our turncoat. Selling inside information to the highest bidder. Someone none of us would have expected in the slightest.” Her inflection scarcely changed as she called out, “Neo, come forward.”

It took a great effort of will for Weiss to suppress the urge to ask who in the Sam Hill she meant. Not that it was necessary; the instant Salem finished speaking, a few of the Dragons stepped aside to reveal a smallish girl with two-tone hair that matched her eyes - one brown, one pink. She had never seen anyone with eyes like those before. The girl's eyebrows hiked up at being addressed, but an instant later, she stepped forward as she had been commanded.

“You cannot answer for your crimes directly; I understand this. Most of the questions will be simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’.” The girl nodded. “Did you set the fire?” She shook her head vigorously, leaning forward very slightly as she did so. “Did you drug Sustrai?” Another shake. “Did you help someone else do either of those things?”

This time, the girl didn't look quite so confident. Such a long hesitation set off a ripple of gasps around the room. Weiss found herself completely shocked; how did Salem know all this? How could anyone have figured out the culprit was this tiny slip of a girl that she had failed to notice at all?

“I'll need a name,” the High Dragon pressed, ignoring the way the target of her interrogation began to tremble. “You may write it down and we'll take it from there. If you do, the consequences for you will be far less dire than if you withhold that information.”

Only a few seconds ticked by as the girl considered her situation, looking around the room at all of the outraged faces. Weiss's was not the only one a mask of complete shock, but several others, including Yang and Blake, were full of pure fury. Then she reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and produced a tiny notebook and a stub of a pencil. The scratching of it upon a scrap of paper barely lasted a second or two before she tore it out and passed it over to her leader.

Salem's eyes were shadowed by her hood, and therefore it was impossible to know her true reaction to reading the name. Her fist curled around the scrap and she straightened to look at the accused.

“I would ask why you have betrayed us, but given your condition, it would require quite a long amount of writing. You may present that to me when next we meet. For the time being, you must choose your punishment. Lashes… the mark of betrayal… or banishment.”

Even though the traitor had looked anxious and frightened up until that point, this was the first time true fear set in. She glanced around as if hoping for help from another Dragon, but found none. She fell to her knees in front of Salem and pressed her forehead to her knee, but one of Sienna's boots raised to shove her away an instant later.

“You are not worthy to touch our leader!” she hissed at her through clenched teeth. But Salem raised a hand to forestall her from further reprimanding the accused.

“That will be all. What is your choice?”

Instead of answering directly, Neo shivered with the force of her silent sobs for a few more seconds. Weiss had been expecting her to write down her decision, or finally speak up, but instead, she merely began to remove her jacket.

“In the backyard,” Salem ordered. “No reason to get blood on Kali's pristine carpet. Who will witness?”

“I will,” Yang volunteered, raising a hand.

“And I,” said another woman Weiss didn't know. She felt like a stranger at an ice cream social with all of the unfamiliar Dragons crammed in there. That would have to change if she were truly going to be part of the organization.

“Very well. See that it is done.”

To her surprise, it was Sienna who got up to escort the girl out. Weiss had been expecting the girl to say something, and she did - but it wasn’t quite what she expected.

“Hnanhu.”

Her brow furrowed at the sound. What was she hearing? Did this girl speak some other language - was that why she had been so quiet? Had she taken a vow of silence as part of her Dragons initiation?

“You’re welcome. Do well to remember this kindness.” Only now, she noticed that Salem was taking great care to look directly at Neo whenever she spoke. “Take her.”

As the four of them left, she looked toward Kali as the wheels continued to turn. “Is she… a deaf-mute?”

“She's hard of hearing, yes.”

“Oh.” Her eyes turned toward the door through which they had disappeared. “Do you think… I mean, shouldn't we have-”

“Whether or not Neo is capable of hearing or speech has nothing to do with the grief she has caused the Dragons,” Salem said in an even tone of voice. “I do not believe it was done with any malicious intent toward us, but rather was motivated by selfishness - or misplaced loyalty to someone else. Either way, she will receive the punishment she deserves, and hopefully that will be the end of that.”

The others nodded their agreement… but Weiss couldn't help feeling sympathy for her. Salem made it sound like she got paid to somehow arrange for Emerald's drugging, which did anger her on a personal level, but she had no idea what her life would be like if she was hard of hearing, unable to interact with the larger portion of the world the same way. Being able to hear was such an integral part of her life! Maybe in exchange for her betrayal, Neo had been paid money that would have helped her cope somehow - not that she knew how. Deafness was an issue she never had to seriously consider before.

Salem clapping her hands brought her attention back around. “To business. There may be Huntsmen ties to the arson, and the stabbing.” A ripple of gasps went through the room, but she pressed on, “Not corroborated. A suspicion and no more. This name is from someone among their number, but as much as I detest Watts… I can't readily believe they're behind this. Neo’s accomplice may have gone rogue.”

“I agree,” Kali put in, inclining her head slightly. “Our current ‘cease fire’ is beneficial to everyone. Why would they risk that in this way - what's the draw?”

“Salem?” Weiss attempted. The woman didn't speak, but did turn to look at her, waiting patiently. “I m-mean, High Dragon. Do you think… my father could be behind it? He pretty much admitted he was behind the fire already. What if he did this, too?”

To her surprise, Salem favored her with a cold little smile. “I'm sure of it. We just need to follow the money.”

“Oh.”

“We already knew Neo’s been seen on Huntsmen turf,” Blake said, arms and legs crossed as she glared into the corner. “But that's not a crime. Well… not really. I've listened to records with Sun and Neptune while checking in on him after… the bike race.”

“But it is suspicious,” her mother added, and Blake nodded her agreement. “We'll have to implement a strategy for monitoring…”

As Weiss tried not to fall into a pit of despair, the others continued to discuss the situation and where they should go from there. She was having trouble focusing. How could her father, her own flesh and blood, sink this low? It was as if instead of a great man with a few flaws, he had always been a terrible man underneath a paper-thin veneer of respectability and moral high ground. All it took was deciding his daughter needed “correction” for that facade to fall away, revealing a true monster.

Beyond that, she also couldn't help worrying that her new life in the Dragons was going to get her killed - or get someone else killed, like Yang. But she mostly agreed with her mother's sentiments. For all the ways that her life had become more frightening, it had also changed for the better. She didn't want to give it all up now - especially not Yang. Not without a fight. She simply hoped that fight wasn't one she would lose.

She didn't snap back to reality until the three returned, the shivering and shaking Neo suspended between Yang and Sienna. Her shirt was in place, but red was seeping through the light pink fabric where it stretched over her back. Weiss wanted to cry. But Neo’s eyes were curiously dry; she looked as if she were crying during the lashing but had stopped before being brought inside.

“Neo Politan, you are hereby pardoned of your sins,” Salem declared without preamble. This time, Weiss could definitely tell she was taking extra care to form each word with her lips, and that Neo was watching them move. “Forgiven, but not forgotten; the High Dragon never forgets when her girls are wronged. Do your best to prove yourself worthy of trust again.”

The girl nodded, shaking so much that it almost looked like a spasm. Sienna glanced at Kali. “Your restroom?”

“Upstairs on the left,” she told her, and she pulled Neo along. To her credit, she didn't put up any fight; she was simply numb from the cruelty of the punishment. Her legs dragged occasionally but she was picking them up most of the time.

The room was only quiet for a moment before Salem asked, “You don't approve of my methods?” Weiss was horrified to realize she was staring at her.

“I… yes, High Dragon. Wh-what I mean is, I do approve! But I'm… she's so small…”

“Not much shorter than you,” Yang pointed out. “And you took the branding like a champ.”

“Cinder always said she could count on Neo to watch her back in a fight,” Coco said in a quiet voice. “I mean… maybe not after this, but yeah, she's a scrappy little thing.”

Salem cleared her throat and folded her hands neatly in her lap, waiting for the understandable rise of chatter to settle again before she spoke. “That takes care of our primary business. What of our hunt for a new sanctuary?”

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

From there, Weiss lost track of the conversation somewhat. Many potential sites to rebuild Shopkeeper's were proposed, and the pros and cons of each debated. Yang even suggested the abandoned train depot, leaving out that she used it as a hidden make-out spot; it was dismissed as too old and decrepit to renovate. Weiss pretended not to notice how relieved her girlfriend looked.

In the end, it was decided their temporary plan would be to clear the debris from their haunt and see if it was worth restoring to its former glory. The meeting was adjourned with Kali expressing distress at the mess her house was left in, but also obviously resigned to her fate of clearing it away.

“Don't worry, we'll help,” Weiss promised her with a small smile as the dozens of bodies filed out of the tiny home. “Won't we, Yang?”

The blonde looked more resigned than enthusiastic about pitching in, but she still nodded. Velvet was able to pester Coco into staying, as well, and the four girls helped Blake put the living room and dining room right while Kali focused on the kitchen. Most of the efforts needed there were on rinsing out drinking glasses, of course.

“That could have gone worse,” Velvet piped up.

“Really?” Yang snapped at her as she finished wrapping the power cord around the vacuum cleaner. “Like how?”

As Velvet recoiled, she went on, “W-well, I… turned out not so awful in the end, right? We have someone to blame, and… and Neo says she won't do it again…”

“I still had to watch her get lashes. With a whip. Don't like watching friends get hurt like that, no matter what by. Even if they brought it on themselves.”

The poor, mousy girl went back to cleaning. After a second or two, Weiss followed Yang as she stowed the vacuum in the hall closet.

“Did you have to come down on her like that? She's just trying to be positive.”

Shaking her head, she leaned against the closet door and stared off toward the living room. “Yeah. Nothing to be positive about as far as I am concerned.” Weiss only stared evenly at her, so she eventually threw up both hands and hissed, “What do you want me to say? That I'm glad I had to watch a girl get her back ripped up all over? I'm not. Makes me sick to my stomach. But I get that there's a reason we had to do it.”

“None of that is Velvet's fault. You know that. She was just trying to look on the bright side of things, and… sure, I guess it's a little naive, but doesn't she have enough stress in her life right now? She might have to leave the country, leave us! And Coco!”

“Well…” Yang squirmed uncomfortably for a second before sighing, her shoulders slumping downward. “I know. Probably wants all her last memories of America to be good ones. But I can't act like a Dragon getting whipped is good, no matter why it happened.”

Weiss wrapped her arms gently around Yang's middle, laying her head on her shoulder. Hands found the center of her own back to return the gesture, and she allowed her eyes to close for a moment, simply drinking in the nearness.

“I understand. But Velvet needs friends right now. Just tell her… tell her you're sorry you were so short with her, because you're upset about having to watch the whipping.”

Squirming a little, Yang said, “I'm, uh, not so good at feelings. You know that. But I'll try.”

“Thank you.”

“What do I get as a reward?” A slight gleam crept into her violet eyes.

“The satisfaction of knowing you did the right thing, you big ape,” she snapped at her, and Yang chuckled aloud. “Come on.”

The apology was met with flustered assurances that it wasn't necessary, which of course made Yang insist, and eventually Velvet thanked her and bowed her head in mild shame. Weiss and Coco shared bemused smiles as the audience of this exchange, both thinking their girlfriends were awkward squares and all the more adorable for it.

“So about you and Velvet,” she asked her as they hauled sacks out to the trash cans on the curb.

“You want another lesson?” When Weiss's face paled by several shades, Coco laughed and slapped her on the shoulder with her free hand. “Okay, okay. What do you want if it's not that?”

Shaking her head out to rid it of strong mental images, she went on, “Someone mentioned that you also have a fella you're going steady with. Does he know…?”

“About Velvet? Of course.”

“And he doesn't mind? No jealousy, nothing like that?”

Shrugging, she took out a cigarette and lit it as they gazed back at the Belladonna home. Weiss tried her best not to be offended by the acrid scent of smoke. “Nope. We have an understanding. Besides, he's… Fox is… we are definitely not like most couples. We’re more like friends who occasionally go to bed together. I’d marry him for the social arrangement, and because we’re comfortable with each other.”

Almost dreading the answer, Weiss asked, “And Velvet?”

“It's different,” she said with an uncharacteristic tenderness in her voice before taking another drag. She didn’t need to hear any more to know exactly how she meant that; the way Weiss felt about Yang.

“Y-yeah. Well, I mean, I guessed that; you two seem really close.” Coco nodded. “Would you… I mean, what if you moved down to Australia with her?”

“Where would I go down there? What would I do? Even though I- a part of me wants to, wants to follow her to the ends of the Earth, the rest of my whole life is here. She would have to take care of me, and that’s not how Coco wants her life to go.”

Hunching her shoulders against the light chill on the breeze, weirded out by how she referred to herself in the third person, she asked, “Then why not just break up with her now? Don't make her wait for it to happen.”

“Because now is all we have, Schnee.”

Something about the pure bitterness in that statement made Weiss think better of continuing the conversation. Coco's eyes were hidden behind her aviators, as usual, but she had to wonder how haunted they would look if she could see them. In absence of knowing what else to say and feeling helpless, she rested a hand on her shoulder to offer her a moment of meager comfort before returning to the house.

Everything taken care of, Kali was already whipping up something tasty in the kitchen, Blake at her side. Coco and Velvet took their leave, which meant Yang had to set the table all by herself - once Weiss left to help with dinner, feeling it was more pressing.

“There's really not much left to do,” the elder woman assured her with a gentle smile. “It's just a simple stew. Matter of fact, I was thinking about leaving to pick up Willow to join us once it's on to simmer.”

“Oh,” Weiss said with a small, pleased smile. “Okay. I could help stir it until you get back.”

Blake narrowed her eyes at her. “Why do you look so thrilled right now? Like Christmas came early.”

“No reason.”

“She's just happy that her mother isn't languishing in regrets and Merlot,” Kali told her daughter while patting her on the shoulder and leaning over to kiss the side of her head. Blake pushed her away, but there was no real force to the push. “Mind the store for me?”

“Sure, Mom.” The woman took her leave. As Blake turned back to the stove and took up the wooden spoon, she said, “Could you cut that out?”

“What? Cut what out?”

“Trying to set our moms up with each other.”

Weiss blinked in surprise, hand falling away from the silverware drawer. She had been about to get a spoon to test the flavour of the stew before she was extremely distracted.

“Admit it,” Blake went on as she stirred, barely glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “I definitely haven't been the one pushing them together. And you’re always into everyone’s business, you busybody.”

“Busybody?!” she burst out, fists on her hips. “How can you say that? Sure, I like to know what’s going on with the Dragons and with Pyrrha, and Ruby, but I’m only concerned about my friends; I don’t stick my nose in otherwise!”

Tossing her hair slightly, the cook’s daughter stirred a little more vigorously than was strictly necessary as she snapped, “Yeah, the one who keeps demanding to know what’s wrong between me and Yang, and grilling Coco and Velvet about their relationship - I overheard you,” she offered before Weiss could ask.

“Better a busybody than some, some… eavesdropper!”

“Hey, I can’t help it if I have excellent hearing!”

“Girls, will you keep it down to a dull roar?” Yang said from the doorway, the elbow of her good arm leaning against the frame. Not that her other arm was “bad”, but she tended to favour it slightly while it was still healing. “Seriously, what’s the crisis?”

Fists vibrating at her sides, she told her girlfriend, “This germ is insinuating things, Yang!”

“Things that are true!” Blake protested, having abandoned the stew for the moment.

“Yeah, yeah, I overheard. There’s something I don’t get, though.” When neither of them responded, Yang shrugged and added, “What’s so bad about them spending more time with each other? Maybe they’ll move in together. Then you’d both have a sister. Why’s that such a horrible thing?”

Blake didn’t respond at all, simply breathing hard and staring down at the linoleum. But Weiss thought she knew why. This may have still been related to her issues of jealousy over Yang. Not that she expected her to admit as much, even if confronted. It also probably had a lot to do with Kali focusing more of her attention on the Schnee family lately; she would probably feel the same way if her relationship with her own mother were closer than it had been for the past several years.

“Blake, I'm sorry,” Weiss attempted in a more even tone. “I can honestly tell you that I haven't been encouraging them in any way. But I also haven't been discouraging them; I think it's healthy that they each have a friend now. Don't you? I mean, my mother has been trapped in the house for years, only really leaving to go to church and the Country Club. And my father kept her on such a tight leash that she barely even got to do that!”

“What about my mother, huh? She has the Dragons, and her job - and she has me. So what does she need with a… a replacement family?” The instant Weiss raised a hand as if she were going to pet her consolingly, Blake bristled and turned away. “Save it. I need some air. You can handle stirring the stew, right? Can't you, Weiss Belladonna?”

Before either Yang or Weiss could say a word, Blake fled the room and headed for the driveway. They still hadn't spoken to each other when they heard her motorcycle roar to life and fade into the distance.

[mint-yooxgi]

{10} - Scales of Fate: Storm Breaker - Dragon!Jongdae X Reader // Part 1

Dragon AU - Part of the EXO Dragon Series

Genre: Mature, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jongdae X Reader

Words: 3,016

Disclaimer: I had plans to write this series way before everything with Jongdae was announced. As I've previously stated on my blog, I am simply using him as a face claim for my characters. If you are uncomfortable with this, or do not like it, you do not have to read this.

A/n: Wow! Look at this, the next part is here! I’m still super excited for this seres and for you all to see what I have planned, so I do really hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Previous

The sound of the rain pouring outside serves to bring him comfort during this time. The sound of crashing thunder, followed swiftly by a flash of lightning sends a small shiver down his spine.

Ever since he can remember, Jongdae has loved storm week. He can feel his whole body come alive from the electricity that surges through the air during this time. Only he is able to venture out during this time, thanks to his powers. Being able to manipulate electrical currents has never worked more in his favour.

Standing closest to the opening of the cave, he shifts quickly. Lightning flashes once more, illuminating the main entrance as he looks back into his home one final time before stepping out onto the ledge. The rain begins to pelt against his entire being, the water serving to illuminate his black, iridescent scales. He allows his eyes to fall shut, revelling in the sensations he’s feeling. 

God, how he’s missed this.

Spreading his wings fully, he allows himself to get used to the feeling of the rain beating against his skin before taking off into the stormy sky. He and his brothers need more supplies, otherwise they may not last much longer through the week. He knows for a fact quite a few of them weren’t expecting to have an extra mouth to feed during this time. Though he assumes it’s not really much of a difference in numbers considering Junmyeon isn’t with them this time. 

Jongdae supposes being trapped for a week with one’s mate can’t be too bad, all things considered. As long as the two get along well enough, things should be fine. Though, he can’t help but be slight envious of his one brother. Despite Baekhyun’s mate also being stuck with them, Junmyeon has it good. Instead of being stuck in a house with all of his brothers, plus his mate, he gets to hide away in her cabin with just the two of them. If any progress is to be made between the two fo them, Jongdae supposes it would have to be during this time, and from Luhan’s reports, it sounds to be working out just fine.

Flying just below the cloud line, he can feel the static spiking in the air, alerting him to another lightning strike that is to come. Gliding past, lightning forks beside him, and he spins through the air, a huff of amusement escaping his nose. Luckily, he doesn’t need to be too worried about being spotted during this time, mainly because of the weather, but also since his scales are as dark as the night sky. The blackness allows him to blend into his surroundings anyways, should any brave or daring hunters be out during this time.

Turning in the opposite direction he usually flies in, he lets out a small snort. He knows better than to attempt to gather the needed supplies from the village located just off of the coastline. Considering everything that’s happened there so far, he knows he should avoid it for the time being. Not only did his one brother kidnap the leader’s daughter, but Junmyeon is stuck just on the outskirts of the village. Though Jongdae supposes Junmyeon’s mate makes the situation worth while for him. However, he knows going into that village for supplies would be unwise.

Pushing himself against the wind, he can feel the muscles of his wings straining. It’s been quite a while since he’s faced such strong winds. Even the rain seems to be thicker this time around, almost feeling like tiny pebbles once coming into contact with his scales.

Pushing through the storm, he sees the small town he’s been sent out to raid come into view. This town is hidden deep within the forest behind the dragon’s mountain. Approximately sixty people live there in total, for it’s more of a traveller’s rest stop than anything. Knowing the time of year, and how small the town is, he plans to be in and out within fifteen minutes at the most.

Landing a little ways from town, Jongdae shifts back into his human form, slipping on the spare pair of pants he so meticulously held in his one claw while flying over here. They’re a little bit wet, but they’re better than walking around naked, or in his giant dragon form.

Weaving through the trees, he moves as quickly as he can considering the wind and rain which still pelts against him from all angles. It’s much harder to move in this form through the storm than when he’s in his dragon one. He grits his teeth in slight frustration, raising a hand slightly in front of his face to block some of the rain from obscuring his vision.

He can faintly see the lights from the town ahead, blurred as they are from the rain. Each step closer that he takes, he prepares for what he’s about to do.

Locating the local rest stop and barn, he focuses his gaze on the latter of the two. Concentrating, he begins to feel the spike in electricity in the air as he directs a bolt of lightning to hit the side of the barn. Almost immediately, flames burst onto the side of the wood.

Faintly, he can hear shouting coming from inside the rest stop before a few workers burst out into the rain. Jongdae makes sure not to create too much of an issue for them with the fire, just enough so they’ll be too distracted to notice him slipping inside and grabbing some supplies for himself and his brothers.

So far, his plan is going smoothly. He’s able to get inside without being spotted, grabbing a few large bags that rest near the side of the kitchen and filling them with food and other supplies he and his brothers need to survive for a little while longer.

The sound of voices approaching from outside in the storm begins to become louder, signalling to him that it’s time to go. Swiftly, he tosses the bags over his shoulders, wobbling a bit under the bulk of them as he attempts to find his balance. Luckily, he’s able to make it out in time before the first of the workers can reenter the kitchen and spot him.

Carefully moving through the woods once more, he finds it much more difficult this time around with the bags now over his shoulders. He can’t wait to be able to shift back into his dragon form and fly home.

Making it back to his original position, he’s able to shift without an issue. Giving himself a good shake, he flicks the excess water off of his being before stretching out his wings and preparing for takeoff, the bags now clutched in his claws for safe keeping.

Thunder crashes once more as he takes off from the ground, gaining height and momentum with each passing second. Once he’s high enough, he begins his journey back home, wanting to get back to his brothers and out of this storm as soon as possible. Jongdae loves storms, though he doesn’t necessarily love being drenched in water.

Once he’s about a quarter of the way home, he notices the rain starting to lighten up slightly, and he takes a deep breath in. His chest involuntarily lets out a slight grumble as a faint, but pleasant scent hits his nostrils. Taking another deep breath, it happens again, and he finds himself being drawn to the scent that keeps waning in and out. However, the closer he gets to the origin of the scent, the more off course he becomes, and the more the smell of blood is becoming prominent in the air.

His eyes flash a deeper yellow than normal as his teeth become bared. He doesn’t understand why, but the sudden urge to protect something overcomes him, an almost primal instinct which cause him to increase his speed the closer he gets to the origin of the scent in the air. 

Ever so faintly, he can hear rustling coming from the forest beneath him, as if two beings were rushing through the foliage, one giving chase to the other. He follows them just above the tree line, noticing a small clearing up ahead that’s just big enough for him to land in if need be.

His heart nearly stops in his chest as he sees you run out of the woods, breathless and injured, being chased down by a bear that’s four times your size. He understands now his sudden rush of emotions, and why the scent in the air enticed him so.

You’re his mate.

Seeing you trip over a root, then slipping due to some mud seemingly snaps him back to his senses, swooping down just in time to prevent the bear from swiping at your cowering form. He lands just overtop of you, covering your entire being with his own and letting out a threatening roar towards the bear.

Sensing the threat he now poses, the bear freezes, turning around in the next moment to run in the opposite direction. A low growl escapes his lips as he watches the bear disappear back into the woods, his tail swishing threateningly behind him as his body now shelters you from the rain.

A broken sob leaves your lips and he swears his heart breaks for you. He can see you visibly trembling beneath him, and he wonders if this is how Baekhyun felt the first time he met his mate: hopeless and sad. 

Given any other situation, he would have already shifted into his human form and attempted to comfort you, but he needs to get back to his brothers, plus he still has all their supplies with him, and the storm is starting to pick up again. However, he can’t just leave you here all by yourself. What kind of mate would he be if he did that?

Backing up slightly to get a better look at you, he stares you down, a type of fondness shining in his eyes that you mistake for hunger. Your entire body trembles as you attempt to back away from him, wincing as you put too much pressure on your wounded arm. His growl causes you to flinch.

What a way to die. If not by a bear, by a dragon. You can feel your heart racing in your chest, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins, though it’s beginning to wear off. You just hope this dragon makes it quick and painless, for you don’t think you could handle anymore pain tonight. The bear already took a large gash out of your arm with its claws, half of your shirt soaked with your own blood.

You end up staring into the eyes of the dragon for a good while, feeling the rain soaking through your clothes as it chills you to your bones. A shiver runs down your spine, and you can feel yourself beginning to become light headed from the amount of blood you’ve lost. You choke on a sob, fearing what will become of you in the next few minutes.

Your sob seems to pull the dragon out of whatever trance it’s been in, for it blinks in the next moment before stretching it’s large wings out behind itself. The force of the wind nearly knocks you completely to the ground as the dragon takes off, but not before grabbing you in one of its claws.

“Put me down!” You screech, struggling slightly in the dragon’s hold, only serving to aggravate your wound. “Let me go!”

The further away from ground you get, the more lightheaded you become. Additionally, it’s becoming more difficult for you to see, considering the wind has now become more intense, and the rain is still continuing to assault you while in the air. You notice a few bags held in the dragon’s opposite claw, finding it odd that it would be carrying such a thing. 

You begin to find it more difficult to breathe, and you can feel the dragon tighten it’s hold on you, almost as if reassuring you that you’ll be fine. You just hope that you don’t end up dead.

After a few minutes, Jongdae notices you’ve stopped struggling in his grip. He glances down at you, worry shining in his eyes even though it appears as if you’ve just passed out. He needs to get home, and quick.

Luhan, I’ve got a situation here, get Yixing ready, he calls out for his brother in his mind, wanting to make sure you get medical attention as soon as the two of you are back home.

Oh, dear lord, don’t tell me the humans got you, too, comes his brother’s response.

No, something much worse, Jongdae replies, seeing the mountain get closer with each passing second.

Jongdae… Luhan’s worried voice echoes in his mind.

I’ll explain when I’m back, just be ready, is the last thing he says before pushing himself as hard as he can for the final leg of the journey.

Seeing the cave opening come into view, he lets out a final roar. Bursting into his home, he allows the bags of supplies to drop to the floor as he shifts almost immediately, you carried in his arms.

“Jongdae, I swear to god, if you’re missing a limb-“ Yixing’s comment dies in his throat once he sees how distressed his brother looks with you in his arms.

“I found her running through the woods being chased by a bear. She’s bleeding really badly,” Jongdae explains, moving quickly over to the couch to place you upon it as some of his other brothers come into the room to see what all the commotion is about. “Please, you have to help her.”

Once he’s placed you gently on the couch, he kneels beside you, holding your one hand in his as he gently strokes your forehead, brushing your hair back from your face. He can still feel his heart racing in his chest, scared he’s going to lose you after only just finding you.

“Let me see what I can do,” Yixing responds gently, moving over to the couch where the two of you are. He begins to remove your torn sleeve, only receiving a warning growl from Jongdae. “I need to see the wound in order to assess it, now, don’t I?”

Jongdae manages to calm himself slightly by looking at Yixing’s now quirked eyebrow. Despite not liking the fact that his brother is revealing your skin like this, he knows there’s no other way if he wants that wound of yours to heal properly.

“Jongdae, why don’t you give Yixing some space to work,” Luhan suggests gently, a soft, knowing smile planted on his lips.

“Yeah, and put some pants on,” Sehun teases, causing Jongdae to send a glare his way. The pants he had originally brought with him got lost in the woods after he found you, but he couldn’t care less about them right now. 

Letting out a small sigh, he reluctantly lets go of your hand and backs away from you. Moving down the hallway, he nearly races to his room, throws on another pair of pants, then comes back to the living room where you still lay resting on the couch. 

He notices his brother healing you, watching as your wounds begin to close slowly. A small, relieved smile tugs at his lips as he notices your features beginning to relax the more the wound closes. He doesn’t know what he would do if he found you only to lose you immediately afterwards.

Once Yixing is finished, Jongdae immediately moves over to your side, taking his place once more by kneeling beside you. You seem to subconsciously relax even further when he holds your hand, a fact which makes his beast hum contently in his chest.

“You should let her rest,” Yixing tells him. “If you said she was being chased by a bear in this weather, only to be confronted by a dragon, her body is most likely under a significant amount of stress right now.”

“I know,” he sighs, looking up briefly at his brother only to turn his gaze back to you in the next second. He’s noticed most of his other siblings have moved off once more in favour of unpacking the supplies he’s brought back, opting to give him some space during this time, of which he appreciates greatly. “I’m going to take her to my room.”

“Just be careful, she has lost a lot of blood,” Yixing responds, nodding one final time at Jongdae before heading back to his own room.

Ever so gently, he lifts you off the couch and carries you to his room, closing the door softly behind him. Placing you on his bed, he tucks you in, noticing how you bury yourself deeper into his pillow, a small smile gracing your features as you sleep peacefully.

A low hum escapes passed his lips in content, his heart skipping a beat after finally being able to calm down. He manages to pull up a chair beside his bed, and he wonders if this is how Baekhyun felt waiting for his own mate to wake up in his room all those days ago.

Leaning forwards slightly, he gently strokes the side of your cheek, his chest rumbling as he feels your soft skin beneath his fingertips. He can’t wait for you to wake up so he can properly introduce himself to you. You’re so beautiful, practically perfect to him, and he doesn’t even know your name yet.

What he does know, is that you’re with him now, and it was fate that brought the two of you together outside during this storm. No matter what, he vows to himself never to let anything bad happen to you again, not as long as he’s around to protect you. You deserve all the happiness this world has to offer, and he’s willing to give it to you.

[fangirlxwritesx67]

Paper Rings

au college Sam Winchester x OFC Dani  Word Count: 1300 Tags: none, literally, this is a fluff bomb of cute fluffy love and soft baby Sammy feels, stationery shopping, kisses. *** This one is for the best fanfic reviewer in the whole world, @dawnie1988​. Her request: Fluff. All the fluff. I want to be smothered in it. I’m thinking Sam this time, either canon or canon adjacent Sam or something a little more in the stratosphere of your au ‘Show Me How’ type Sam, dealer’s choice on that one Song Inspiration: Paper Rings by: Taylor Swift *** "There's nothing like a brand new notebook to make you feel like anything is possible, right?" Sam started. Was she talking to him? He turned his head to see a dark haired girl smiling eagerly at him. "It's the best part of a new school year. The new notebooks, the new pens. Even though we're in college now, I still love it." She was looking at him, her dark eyes sparkling, clearly expecting him to say something. "Uh, no." He stammered out. "Oh, yeah, I guess maybe dudes aren't as into that?" Before he could answer, she continued. "Anyway, hi, I'm Dani. I'm so excited to be in this class. Aren't you?"

“No, I mean, yes.” Sam wasn’t usually this flustered. “No, it’s just, my parents weren’t really the ‘back to school’ shopping type. But yes, I’m looking forward to Educational Psychology.” Apparently that answer was enough to encourage Dani.

“Are you going to be a teacher? I am. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. It runs in my family. My grandpa taught high school, and my dad is a professor. Even my mom teaches music. I want to teach Middle School. I feel like those kids just have so much potential, you know? Like, if you catch them there, you can change the course of their lives.”

“Uh, I’m Pre-Law.” Sam was trying to keep up and formulate some kind of response. “I’m Sam.” 

“Nice to meet you, Sam.” Dani flashed him a bright smile and then turned to the front of the room as the professor walked in and called Educational Psychology to order. Sam was relieved to settle into the familiar territory of lecture, reading and taking notes. It was much easier than keeping up with Dani’s endless stream of chatter. 

At the end of the class, he had to hurry to his next one, which he had unwisely scheduled across campus. But the next time he walked into the classroom, there was Dani. She seemed to have been waiting for him, hardly letting him sit down before she launched into a discussion that covered the last class as well as the homework for this class. 

Sam was surprised to discover, in the flow of her words, that she had an astute grasp of the topic. He found himself agreeing with what she had to say, mostly in his head, of course, because she didn’t give him much chance to answer. When the class started, she responded to the professor’s questions with the same kind of enthusiasm - verbose, but knowledgeable. 

From that day, Sam and Dani seemed to fall into easy companionship. They sat side by side in class, they studied together for tests, and they managed to team up for group projects. 

They were friends, nothing more, but Sam treasured it. Dani was everything he was not: confident, chatty, secure in herself. He could tell that she was grounded by the support of her parents, who were present and caring, affirming her and encouraging her interests. It was a sharp contrast to his lost mother and distant father. 

Sam and Dani studied for finals together like they had for everything else. For Educational Psychology, of course, but also for their other classes, sharing study tips and quizzing one another. The library was closing for the night when Sam stretched and looked at her. They had been lost in their books for hours.

“I don’t know about you, but I can only learn so much on an empty stomach. Wanna hit the diner?” Sam stood up and stretched. Dani agreed eagerly. 

Once they were seated at a booth, Sam declared a study-free zone. He was launching into one of his favorite topics, about how brains need time to process, when Dani interrupted.  

“I agree, Sam. No more school work.” She reached out and took his hand. He startled into silence. “Let’s just talk about us.”

As usual, Dani talked the most, saying ten words for every one of his. But the words he did say were honest, heartfelt. She made him feel comfortable enough to tell a little bit of the truth about his life. Dani listened intently, her expressive face displaying every emotion: sadness, confusion, and ultimately, concern. 

“So the day we met, when you said your parents were not really the back to school shopping type, this is what you were talking about?”

“I… guess.” Sam wasn’t used to talking this much about himself. He felt himself get quiet, retreat back inward. He felt like maybe he had shared too much. 

“That’s too bad. You really deserve better, you know?” 

Sam was unsure how to react to such honest caring, so he shrugged. “It is what it is.” He answered dismissively.  He paid for dinner and drove Dani back to her dorm. Like a gentleman, he got out of the car to open her door. 

He was caught off guard when she threw her arms around his neck. Standing on tiptoes, she kissed him. 

Kissing Dani was the easiest thing in the world. Sam already knew her, trusted her. Kissing her felt right. And at the same time-

“Dani, you don’t have to-”

She pulled back, her hands still locked around his neck, to look him full in the face. “Sam Winchester, I don’t do anything because someone thinks I have to. I want to, I want this, I want you.” 

Sam wasn’t used to anyone knowing him, seeing him, much less wanting him. For a long moment he was silent, leaning his forehead against hers without speaking, their lips barely brushing.

“Kiss me once,” she whispered,  “Kiss me twice, I’ve been waiting for this.”

He knew Dani, trusted her, so he let himself get lost in the moment. When she finally pulled away, reluctantly, the only thing he could find to say was, “Thank you.” 

***

Sam and Dani finished at the top of their class in Educational Psychology. That class was the rule rather than the exception. Sam ended the semester with grades that would get him on the Dean’s List and guarantee two more years of scholarships. That was what he needed, to prove himself, to make this work. 

Dani went home to her family, to enjoy the break and celebrate the holidays together. Sam took an overnight bus to the last town Dean had mentioned, and when his brother wasn’t there, he hitch hiked until he found him. 

Dean greeted him with a giant hug. 

“College boy, huh? Hope you’re not too fancy for spaghetti-os and some bad TV reruns with your big brother, huh?” 

“Never.” Sam answered quickly.

*** Sam moved back to college for the spring semester at his earliest chance. He had kept in touch with Dani by text over the break, so he was not surprised when she returned to campus. What did surprise him was her insistence that they go to Target. 

“I need things for my dorm,” she said. But when they got there, she skipped the housewares section entirely and headed straight to the office supplies. 

Sam stood in the aisle between the sharpies and the binders, taking in the color coordinated staplers and stationery. 

“It’s not back to school season, really.” Dani said. “But pick your notebooks.”

Sam shook his head, baffled. “No, I can get what I need at the dollar store.” 

Dani almost stomped her foot. “C’mon Sam. This is my favorite thing, and I want to share it with you.” She took in his expression. “You can have nice things. You deserve this.”

At her urging, he picked up a few notebooks, a folder or two, and then a set of pens. 

She held his hand as they left the store. “See, now that you have new school supplies, don’t you feel like anything is possible? ” 

Sam took her face in both hands and kissed her, right there outside of Target. 

“Wrap your arms around me, baby boy,” she murmured as she sank into his embrace. 

“With you, Dani,” he murmured finally, “You’re the one I want. Yeah, anything is possible.”  *** This one’s unbeta’d so all the mistakes are on me. *** SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler @divadinag @emoryhemsworth @fookinghelljensensthighs @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @kickingitwithkirk @maddiepants @magssteenkamp @onethirstyunicorn   @there-must-be-a-lock @tloveswriting Sam Girl For Life: @awesomesusiebstuff @lilsylvia @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ Gay Screaming: @boondoctorwho​, @cracksinthewalls​, @fookinghelljensensthighs​ @itmighthavebeenintentional​, @justcallmeasmodeus​, @lastactiontricia​ @mskathywriteswords​, @rockhoochie​, @there-must-be-a-lock​, @thoughtslikeaminefield​

[bellemorte180]

Wanderlust Chapter Three:

Wanderlust Chapter Three

The Salvatore Boarding House was massive. It had an old family money vibe that made Klaus scowl. It was obnoxiously large and scaled across an impressive amount of land. It looked as though it was built in a Tudor style and would fit more in the English countryside than in the middle of Virginia. It was built almost on a curve and had a large roundabout driveway; with a patch of greenery in the center. It was nestled back into the trees and had a long private drive that took Marcel and Klaus at least five minutes to drive up.

Whichever of the Salvatore ancestors wanted to build this home clearly wanted to flaunt their wealth. The closer they approached; Klaus could make out a few stained-glass windows, impressive lawn decor and a garden that Klaus would bet neither of the Salvatore brothers actually cared for. The house was constructed with dusty red bricks, wooden beams and off-white plaster that had intricate wooden designs that were meant for nothing more than to give the home a superior feel. The home itself screamed wealth and privilege.

It wasn’t that wealth or privilege made Klaus uncomfortable, given his own background, it was just he understood perfectly what went on behind closed doors. He knew how superiority always came with those who accumulated a large amount of wealth and the destruction that caused. Men who were born into a life where everything was handed to them, they assumed they owned everything; even people. Homes like the Salvatore Boarding house always reminded Klaus of his father; and that was a memory he craved to forget.

Marcel gave a humorless laugh as the house came into view. Klaus smirked at his partner, understanding the sentiment. Marcel came from nothing; raised in extreme poverty by a mother who did not even name him until he was two years old. He worked for everything he had from the ground up. He received full ride to college simply because he pushed himself in his teenage years. Excelled at the FBI academy and let nothing stand in his way. It was something Klaus admired about him; hard work and loyalty.

“Let me guess, the house makes you feel right at home?” Marcel ribbed him, causing Klaus to roll his grey-blue eyes at him. The second Marcel learned that Klaus had a trust fund stowed away doing nothing but collecting interest, Marcel could not help but tease him. Never once did his partner ask why Klaus never touched it or why he didn’t just turn it over to his siblings. “Did the manor your parents owned rival this one?”

“No.” Klaus turned and smirked at Marcel. “It was bigger.” That caused Marcel to laugh and clap his hands in applause. It was a running joke between them; ribbing on their difference in circumstances. To outsiders, it was cold and harsh but the two had a comfortable understanding with one another that they rarely felt insulted by the remarks. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

The two agents stepped out of the black SUV and walked towards the front door. It was an intimidating door with an obnoxious door knocker; clearly only there for show. Marcel just pointed at it with a slight laugh and Klaus could do nothing but roll his eyes again. He reached out and ran the doorbell that was on the side of the house; he could tell that Marcel was tempted to use the knocker for nothing more than pure amusement.

It took several minutes but when the door opened, it was most definitely not Damon. Elena opened the door and her eyes widened at the sight of both Klaus and Marcel; her eyes doing a double take when she landed on Klaus. From the records that Klaus pulled, as far as they knew, Damon lived alone in this massive house but in the back of his mind, he remembered Caroline mentioning that Elena was engaged to be married to Damon’s brother.

“Elena, who is at the door?” A man who did not match the driver’s license photo they pulled of Damon asked. He was medium height, shorter than Klaus, and had light brown hair. He was clean shaven and wore a simple pair of jeans and a light blue cotton shirt. He came up behind Elena and held out his hand. “Stefan Salvatore.”

“Special Agent Marcel Gerard.” Marcel replied grasping Stefan’s hand. “And this is my partner, Special Agent Klaus Mikaelson. We were hoping to speak to Damon.” Neither Stefan nor Elena looked surprised that they wished to speak with Damon. A looked passed between the engaged couple but they nodded. Elena stepped aside and allowed them to enter.

The interior of the house was everything Klaus expected it to be. Large, grand and outdated. It had high ceilings with wooden beams across the top. Old tapestries hung on the walls and carpets that reminded Klaus of medieval times rested on the hard wood flooring. A large fireplace stood on the far wall and a chandelier that held candles instead of real lights hung from the ceiling.

The home told Klaus that the Salvatores wanted to flaunt their wealth, but not actually live there.

“If you want to have a seat, I’ll go and grab Damon.” Stefan replied and Marcel gave him a gracious smile while Klaus strolled across the room; looking at everything he could fine. This was the typical roles they played when questioning a suspect together. Marcel played the charming gentleman while Klaus played the bad guy; the one who put the fear of god in their suspects.

“Can I get either of you something to drink?” Elena asked with a polite smile, but her gaze kept flickering between the two of them. She appeared uneasy as though she was hiding something, and it made Klaus suspicious of her. He already had a low opinion of her just on the little he knew about her but there was something more to her than what Klaus could see.

“No.” Klaus replied in a blunt and brisk tone; causing Marcel to turn his gaze towards him, but Klaus ignored him. “Have you spoken to Caroline today?”

“No. Not since yesterday.” Elena stated and a worried look appeared on her face. “Why? Is she okay?”

“As far as I know, she is fine. I just assumed you would have gone to see her, that is all.” Klaus replied but said no more when Stefan returned with Damon; who was a just as he pictured. He had jet black hair, ice blue eyes and dressed as though he wanted the world to know he was the bad guy; tight jeans, black shirt and if it wasn’t in the middle of summer, Klaus would assume a leather jacket would be slung over his shoulder. “Damon Salvatore, I presume?”

“The one and only.” There was a snark in his voice that Klaus found irritating. He just grinned at Damon, trying to push down his already horrible opinion of him. He knew that this was the man who had put Caroline in the hospital nearly a decade earlier and Klaus had this urge to avenge that wrong against her. He couldn’t; not without proof he was the one who committing these murders.

“We were hoping to speak to you about Andi Star.” Marcel asked politely, making it very clear that Stefan and Elena needed to leave the room. Stefan smiled politely and took Elena’s hand, pulling her somewhere else in the house. “We won’t take much of your time.”

Marcel pointed to Damon’s couch and Klaus could not help but notice how Damon’s smirk faltered ever so slightly at Marcel asking him to sit in his own home. However, Damon followed the directions and took a seat. Marcel sat across from him, but Klaus continued to survey the room, never directly looking at Damon. The goal was to unnerve him, making him distracted and hopefully make him slip up.

“From what we understand you were in a relationship with Ms. Star?” Marcel asked politely, flashing him that winning southern smile.

“Yes and no. Andi and I were…. complicated.” Damon replied but neither Klaus nor Marcel spoke. Klaus walked over to a painting that had to be older than all of them combined. Klaus had the urge to touch it, just to see if it would provoke a response but he refrained; it was too early in the questioning to use such tactics. It was unwise to riel him to immediately. Marcel held Damon’s gaze, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. “I lived here. She lived in Charleston. We never were serious when she first moved down there, roughly eight years ago? It was an on again, off again type of relationship. On when she was in town. Off when she wasn’t.”

“It ended at Christmas?” Marcel asked.

“Yes.” Damon agreed. “She wanted to take things to the next level. She wanted me to move to Charleston. My life is here.” Damon’s eyes continued to follow Klaus, who was still pacing around the room. “I own the Mystic Grill and a few other establishments. I can’t just close up shop and relocate. Andi wasn’t willing to move here. The only logical conclusion was to end things.”

“But you went to Charleston when she went missing? Only a few days later?” Marcel asked, and Damon refocused on the other agent. He seemed taken aback. “Our field office in South Carolina faxed over the case file about her disappearance. You drove six hours when she went missing. The police questioned you on her disappearance for two days.”

“Which I had nothing to do with.” Damon snapped. “They let me go and I helped the search party look for her.” Klaus gave a small smirk at his irritated tone, something Damon noticed but wasn’t foolish enough to comment on. “Look, just because we ended things does not mean I did not care for her. I did not have anything to do with her murder.”

“What about the restraining orders?” Klaus asked, speaking for the first time since they were introduced. He was standing directly behind Marcel, admiring an old vase that he was not really seeing. He picked it up slightly before placing it back down. “In the last four years she had filed no less than three restraining orders against you. She claimed that you liked to get rough with her during arguments.”

“She dropped those.” Damon replied undisturbed. He had been expecting this line of questioning, having been subjugated to them during the investigation into Andi’s disappearance. “We fought like cats and dogs, but I never hurt her. I was just as devastated to learn about her disappearance….and when they found her body.”

“What about Vicki Donovan?”

“What?”

“According to her brother, you and Ms. Donovan spent some time together.” Marcel clarified and Damon was taken aback. Klaus moved from his spot at the table and moved to look at the window, gazing into the vast backyard. It was manicured to the point that it had to have a groundskeeper; Klaus made a note to check on everyone Damon employed. “And according to her work history, she worked for you also.”

“I didn’t realize Matt knew that Vicki and I had been together.” Damon muttered. “Yes. Vicki and I had sex. It was only a few times but that ended just as quickly as it started. It was fun for both of us and nothing more. What can I say? I get around.” Damon’s tone sounded proud at the fact that he liked sleeping with multiple woman, including his employees.

“And is that why you fired her? Because she stopped sleeping with you?” Klaus asked from the window, not bothering to look at him or move away from it. However, the window was placed that Klaus could see Damon’s reflection in it. He could see how Damon narrowed his eyes just slightly enough to show is irritation at Klaus. Damon did not like Klaus and that pleased him.

“I fired her because she kept getting high on the job.”

“Was she getting high when you slept with her?”

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“And what is that Mr. Salvatore?” Klaus asked, turning from the window. When Damon did not reply, Klaus moved over to the sofa and sat down on its arm. He made himself comfortable and gazed at Damon for the first time; his glower piercing directly through the other man. “Tell me, do you like to get high? Perhaps on heroin, speed, maybe prescription medication? Say Dilaudid?”

“Not my poison.” Damon snapped. Gone was his smart smirk and cocky attitude. Klaus could tell that he was not going to tell them anything; but they knew that going in. The goal was to unnerve him enough to have him make a mistake. Learn what he was hiding. “I’m a bourbon man myself. I have no need to inject my veins to feel good.”

“And what about Caroline? Did you make her feel good when you put her in the hospital during your relationship?” Klaus asked, his gaze unflinching. Damon said nothing but glared at Klaus. “According to your arrest history and Caroline’s own words, you beat her to the point that she was hospitalized for several days. Tell me, what kind of man lays a hand on a woman? A weak one?”

“You know nothing about my relationship with Caroline. She was nothing more than a vapid little twit in her teenage years and those charges were bogus. If her mother was not the Sheriff, I wouldn’t have been charged with anything at all.”

“Where were you on June 5th? The night of her disappearance?” Marcel asked.

“Here.”

“With who?” Klaus chimed in; unflinching at the heated stare that Damon was throwing his way. Klaus had stared down monsters far eviler than the man before him. Klaus could break him in two if he desired; which he did, he just knew he couldn’t.

“I was alone.”

“How convenient. No woman in your bed to make you feel good?”

“Yeah, well it was a dry night.” Damon snapped back. “Look, I had nothing to do with Caroline’s kidnapping and despite our differences, I’m glad she is okay. I did not hurt her, and I most certainly did not kill Andi or Vicki, or those other women. I had nothing to do with this and I suggest that the next time you want to speak with me, I want to have my lawyer present.”

“Very well. Thank you for your time Mr. Salvatore.” Marcel replied, standing from the sofa but Damon paid him no mind; his eyes focusing directly on Klaus. Klaus did not move from his spot but returned Damon’s gaze; appearing unimpressed and almost bored. After a moment, Klaus gave a humorless chuckle and stood.

“Don’t leave town.” With that Klaus brushed past Damon and strolled toward the door. Marcel was only paces behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Stefan and Elena lingering near the stairwell. Both Marcel and Klaus knew that they would be listening, and he could see their uneasiness; their line of questioning having its effect.

“Dick.” Klaus paused at the sound of Damon’s voice. His teeth ground together, and his shoulders tensed. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and break the man. Caroline’s bruised body flashed before his eyes and he almost did spin around to face the man, however, he felt Marcel’s hand on his shoulder, ushering him forward and out the door. Walking out into the sunlight did nothing for Klaus’s temper; if anything, seeing the underserving wealth blatantly flaunted before him and knowing who it belonged to made Klaus furious.

“Agents! Wait.” They were by their SUV when they saw Stefan running after them. He appeared almost as frustrated as Klaus felt. “I apologize for my brother. Damon on his good days is impulsive. Andi’s death really rattled him but there is no way he was involved with it, or any of this.”

“And what of his violent history? Andi filed three restraining orders against him, claiming abuse and he put Caroline in the hospital during their relationship?” Marcel told him gently. Stefan closed his eyes and shook his head. Both of the agents could tell that Stefan had a long history of having to clean up after his older brother.

“I did not know that Andi filed anything against Damon. He has gotten help. Therapy on and off for years to deal with what happened with Caroline.” Stefan stated and Klaus believed him. “At the time that they were together, all of us, Elena, Bonnie and myself tried to get her out of it the moment we knew something was off about it. She didn’t listen.”

“So, it was her fault?” Klaus hissed out through clenched teeth.

“What? No. Of course not but we tried everything we could at the time.”

“Not enough clearly.” Klaus replied and Marcel sent him a sharp look. It wasn’t a warning, but his partner was clearly telling him to back down. Klaus pushed his lips together in frustration and tried to get control over his temper. He understood that his questioning of Stefan about Caroline was unfair. He understood how domestic violence worked and if a victim did not want to leave, it was difficult getting her to do so.

“Where were you on June 5th?”

“I had a conference out of town. Chicago. I come home on June 7th.” Stefan replied calmly and Marcel nodded. He pulled out his phone and typed a note into it. Klaus could feel his temper slowly calming down. He glanced back at the house and could see both Damon and Elena standing in the window, whispering to one another. Klaus got the feeling that Elena was not as close of a friend that Caroline painted her to be.

“We will be checking on that.” Marcel muttered and Stefan nodded. Marcel headed towards the driver side of the SUV. Klaus gazed through the window for a few more seconds before getting into the passenger side of the car. Once seated and the door shut, Marcel turned to look at him. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“That! Interrogating Stefan about not doing enough to get Caroline out of a situation ten years ago?” Marcel muttered. Klaus didn’t say a word but pursed his lips in irritation. “Look, I get it. Domestic violence is a touchy subject for you given your history and I get that Damon seems to be a right prick, but you can’t blame his brother for something he had no control over. If Caroline did not want to leave, then there was nothing anyone could have done.”

“I know.” Klaus agreed. Marcel nodded and started the car, driving down the long drive. Klaus continued to think on the Salvatore brothers and how they were completely different, and alike in some ways. “I just lost my temper. Damon pushed all the right buttons.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think you pushed his right back.” Marcel stated and that did please Klaus. If Damon felt pressure from the two of them, then perhaps he would make a mistake or reveal something if he is the killer. If he isn’t, then Klaus can at least enjoy that he pissed him off.

The remainder of the drive remained silent back to the station remained silent. The two agents lost in their own thoughts; going over the facts of the case and what theory’s they each were presenting. As Klaus sat at the small round table with coffee in his hand, he couldn’t help but feel as though something obvious was missing. A question staring him right in the face.

“You know, it still amazes me that an uptight British man like yourself prefers coffee over tea.” Marcel replied, teasing him; trying to ease the sour mood he had been in at the Salvatore house. Marcel could tell that he had a growing respect for Caroline and that her experiences touched a part of his past that he hated to discuss; so, Marcel left it alone.

“My brother Elijah shudders at that very notion.” Klaus replied, causing Marcel to laugh. Marcel had met most of Klaus’s family over the years, with the exception of his eldest brother Finn and his wife. Elijah was the definition of a fussy British man. Always dressed to the nines and never had a hair out of place.

“You know, there are times that I wished I had siblings and then I remember yours and it makes me very thankful to be an only child.” Marcel’s voice was light, and Klaus just rolled his eyes; but could not disagree. There were times he wished he was an only child. Especially now that his younger siblings had a tendency to show up at his flat unannounced. “What are you thinking about?”

“Damon Salvatore.” Klaus replied, taking a sip of his coffee. He hated where his train of thought was going but then, he typically did not like how his mind worked while he was on a case. “He is hiding something. I’m not sure what but it is something big. I’m just not sure if it has anything to do with these murders.”

“You don’t think he did it?”

“No.” Klaus said in a low tone. “He is most certainly an asshole and I have no question that he abused Andi when they were together. I believe him when he said that his relationship with Vicki was nothing more than sex. He was her employer and she had a drug problem. She probably thought sleeping with him would let her keep her job and support her habit.” Klaus ran his hands over his face. “Not only that but you got a good look at his arms. Track marks? Of any sign that he used a needle routinely?”

“No scars that indicate that. Although, he could inject between his toes but that’s really only seen in experienced drug users. If that was the case, he probably still would have scars on his arms.” Marcel leaned back in his chair and Klaus could not help but agree with him. “You know, there is something bothering me. How the hell is he getting the drugs? Dilaudid? That is not some common street drug. It’s a schedule two drug and if someone was getting large quantities of it, there would be a record of it somewhere.”

“It’s not just Dilaudid though. It’s the fact that he has it in liquid form. If he was giving them pills, I would believe that he was getting it from someone off the street. However, liquid form is more potent and far more difficult to come by outside of a hospital.” Klaus said as he reached over and picked up Caroline’s hospital records again. “Maybe a medical professional? Someone with access?”

“Possibly.” Marcel’s head tiled back and forth for a second, thoughts rolling through his head. “However, if it was a medical professional and they were taking from the hospital, it would have been noticed. Doesn’t Vincent have a friend at the DEA who might be able to see if Dilaudid has gone missing in the area or if large quantities have been ordered?”

“Davina Claire and I wouldn’t see why not. If it is for a case, Vincent wouldn’t have a problem asking her.” Klaus replied, thinking on Vincent Griffith; the supervisory agent who oversaw the entirety of their department. “Why don’t you call him? He likes you better than me.”

“Everyone likes me better than you.” Marcel joked and Klaus just rolled his eyes, not looking up from Caroline’s records. It was not secret that Vincent and Klaus butted heads and if Klaus was not good at his job, Vincent probably would have had transferred a long time ago. Klaus’s brows pinched together in confusion and flipped through the file Dr. Fell had provided them. “Sure. I’ll give him a call. What is it?”

“Read this.” Klaus handed over Caroline’s medical records. “Right there.”

“And?”

“See right there, Dr. Fell notes that the track marks on Caroline’s arm were poorly done. He missed the vein several times, which caused the bruising on her arm. It looks as though he blew a few veins in her arms. If we look back on the autopsies of the other bodies, I think we would find the same type of marks. If he was a medical professional, the injection would have been clean.”

“So not a medical professional then?” Marcel asked lightly, shaking his head. “then that makes the question on how he got the drugs in the first place even more curious.” He stood from his chair and chugged the remainder of his coffee. “Let me call Griffiths and see if he can work his magic and can get anything from the DEA. You know how they just love sharing information.”

“Bureaucratic bullshit is what it is.” Klaus snorted and Marcel just nodded his head. While Marcel left the conference room to make his call, Klaus rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. Between the case and the uncomfortable bed at the cheap motel they were staying at, sleep was not a friend to Klaus. Although, sleep was not something he had much experience in for the last few years. Memories of every victim he couldn’t save haunted him.

He looked down at his own coffee mug and noting that it was empty. It was awful coffee, but it was better than nothing at all. Scowling, he stood from his chair and walked through the station. He passed the sheriff’s office and noticed that Liz was at her desk, flipping through files. She was back in uniform, looked more rested and made a mental note to send some food over to her when they ordered from the Grill later; seeing that the Grill was the only decent place to order take out from.

He refilled his mug in the kitchenette and as be passed through the station again, cursing the distance between the coffee maker and the conference room, he glanced into Liz’s office again. He stopped, staring through the large windows and saw Elena Gilbert sitting across from Liz; who was wearing a very displeased look on her face. Liz’s eyes flickered towards the window and did a double take when she noticed Klaus standing there. She waved her hand, motioning for him to come in. Following directions, Klaus moved to the door and stepped inside.

“I want to talk to you, not him.” Elena hissed when she saw Klaus stepping into the office. Klaus shut the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar before taking a seat beside Elena; leaving his back to the office door. “I have nothing to say to him.”

“He is running this investigation Elena. If you do not tell him what you told me, I will tell him, but it will go a lot better for you if you just tell him. It will prevent him from wasting time on someone who is not the killer.” Liz closed her eyes and rested her forehead in her hands as though she was fighting an intense migraine. Elena pursed her lips disapprovingly before turning to Klaus.

“Damon didn’t kill those girls.” Elena replied and Klaus just cocked an eyebrow at her. When she didn’t say anything, he waved his hand; indicating that she should continue. “Stefan was in Chicago the night that Caroline was taken.” She swallowed and closed her eyes. “When Stefan goes out of town, I’m usually with Damon.”

“When you say ‘with’ Damon, what exactly do you mean?” Klaus asked. In truth, he knew exactly what she meant but he needed her to say it. There could be no mistaking what her when it came from clearing a suspect. Klaus knew that Damon was hiding something and the goal of his needling him was to figure out what it was. He just did not realize it would have that effect on Elena.

“I’ve been sleeping with him, okay?”

“You’ve been sleeping with your fiancé’s brother?” Klaus allowed the words to leave a nasty taste on his lips. Klaus did not think the opinion of Caroline’s friend could sink any lower, but he was proven wrong. “How long?”

“Since Thanksgiving. It’s why he officially ended things with Andi at Christmas.” Elena paused, before speaking. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to call the wedding off or not. I love Stefan but being with Damon makes me feel free. I never intended to sleep with Damon but when I -shit Caroline!”

Klaus whipped around and saw both Caroline and Bonnie standing just outside the door. The look on Bonnie’s face told them all that they heard every word. However, Klaus’s scrutiny switched from Bonnie to Caroline in an instant. She looked pale, frail but incredibly strong all at the same time. The heartbroken look that was written all over her features told Klaus everything he had to know. Her words about Damon’s abuse to her being ancient history was nothing more than a shield.

“What the fuck Elena?!” Bonnie hissed to her, crossing her arms; shaking her head. “You’re getting married in four months. To Stefan! What were you thinking?”

“Caroline-“

“Don’t. Elena. Just…don’t.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. She turned quickly and walked as fast as she could through the station; Klaus being able to see that her feet were still healing. Liz stood up quickly to chase after her, but Klaus shook his head.

“I’ll go after her.” Klaus pointed toward Bonnie and Elena, the former looking as though she was about to lay into Elena. In truth, Klaus thought she deserved it but was in no mood to witness it first-hand. Perhaps it was selfish, but he just needed to see if Caroline was okay.

“There is a picnic table under a large oak tree in the back. She probably went there.” Liz replied and Klaus nodded. He left her office quickly, just in time to hear Bonnie’s voice echoing throughout the station. If the deputies didn’t know about Damon and Elena’s affair, they certainly did now. By morning the entire town would be aware, including Stefan.

He found her easily, for there was only one large oak tree behind the police station. Caroline was sitting with her back to the table. Her arms where crossed but due to her light pink tank-top, Klaus could see the bruises running up and down her arm. Her left hand was in a white plaster cast. The closer he approached, he could see that her eyes were red and that she had tears running down her cheeks.

Klaus sat down quickly beside her and did not say a word. He just held out his hand, linking their fingers together and Caroline’s tears fell faster. Klaus just let her cry; never once letting go of her hand. Caroline’s grip felt as though she was hanging onto him as though he was her lifeline; terrified that if she let go, even for a second, what sanity she had left would come crashing down around her.

“I’m sorry.” Caroline whispered. “I shouldn’t let this get to me.”

“After learning what you just did and everything you’ve been through, if you were not out here crying, I would have to assume you were a sociopath.” That caused Caroline to give a humorless chuckle. She brought her cast up to her cheek in order to wipe some of the tears away. Seeing her movement, Klaus leaned forward and wiped her tears away with his thumb. It was perhaps not the most professional move on his part, but he could not help himself. Their eyes locked with one another and the small smile she gave him was probably the most genuine one he has seen from her.

“I take it you were looking into Damon.” Caroline replied and Klaus nodded. “Makes sense. What with all the questions you were asking yesterday. That and he was in a relationship with Andi and he is my ex, I suppose it would be completely logical assumption. However, seeing that Elena apparently was with him that night, he has an alibi.”

“Yes.” Klaus nodded. “Marcel, my partner, and I were looking into Damon based on his connections with you, Andi and Vicki as well as the fact that he has a violent past. I suppose if Elena is willing to admit that they have been having an affair, then it is safe to say that he was not the man who kidnapped you.” Caroline closed her eyes and Klaus wanted nothing more than to see her smile again. “Perhaps it is not the most appropriate thing to say but at least you won’t have to see him at Elena’s wedding because at this point, I don’t think there will be one.”

“No.” Caroline replied, laughing. She knew it was not funny, especially since Stefan was going to be heartbroken but it was what she needed to hear at that moment. “I don’t think there will be either.” She shook her head in disbelief. “You know, I called Elena that night. I wanted to see if she wanted to grab dinner or something because I figured she would just be moping around their apartment with Stefan gone. I guess I know why she never answered. Poor Stefan.”

“Is there not some, girl code or something about dating one’s ex?” Caroling turned and looked at him with disbelieving eyes. Her curiosity and the sparkle in her eyes were exactly what he wanted to achieve. He smiled widely at her. “My sister Rebekah has said something akin to that in the past.”

“You have a sister?” Caroline asked and Klaus nodded. She was imagining what a female version of Klaus would look like. Did she have the same sandy blonde hair and blue eyes? Did she have his dimples? Caroline shook her head; knowing that now was not the time to be ogling to the agent who has been nothing but kind to her. “Is it wrong that I wanted it to be him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Damon was the easy suspect. I don’t think anyone, outside of Elena and Stefan, would be surprised if he was the one doing all these awful things.” She paused before pushing on. “I’m tired. I just want this to be done. I want this bastard to be caught so I can look him in the eye and let him know that he didn’t break me. I want this to be over so I can begin healing. I don’t think I can do that if he is still out there. But I have to try.”

“You are unbelievable.” Caroline began to look offended and Klaus could sense that he was three seconds from being told off. “I meant that as a compliment, love.” She narrowed her eyes playfully and bit her bottom lip; sending Klaus’s mind to places it should not go. “What I mean is that two days ago, you clawed your way out of some cell, harming yourself in order to do so. Today you found out your friend has been sleeping with a man who used to beat you. Most people would be in the hospital, curled up in the fetal position but here you are. Sitting on a bench, holding a real conversation. You have no idea how strong you are.” The smile on Caroline’s lips was enough to make Klaus’s heart stutter; until a thought occurred to him. “Wait. Why are you not in a hospital right now?”

“Well…..you see…” Caroline bit her bottom lip and looked at Klaus worriedly. Her eyes blue eyes were down casted; as though she knew she was about to be in trouble for something. “I might have checked myself out.”

“You checked yourself out?!” Klaus all but yelled; not in anger but in complete disbelief. “I take it back. You are a sociopath.”

“Hey! Be nice to me! I’m vulnerable!” Caroline cried but there was a hint of laughter in her voice. Klaus stood up, unlinking their hands for the first time; both forgetting that they were holding them together in the first place, and crossed his arms. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“We are going back to the hospital.” He held out his hand, but Caroline refused to take it.

“No. No. Nope.” Caroline shook her head. “I cannot sit in that hospital bed anymore. I can’t just sit there and wait for news. I need to do something. I need to start getting back to my life. I already promised Dr. Fell that I would come in everyday for checkups and allow for home visits. I feel fine. I came here to tell my mom that I was going home and to see if she would mind staying with me tonight. I can’t go back to that hospital.”

“Caroline.” Klaus said, pinching the bridge of his nose. In that moment, he never considered how exhausting she could be. He saw Bonnie strolling across the lawn towards them. Once she reached them, Klaus turned to her. “Please convince your friend to go back to the hospital.”

“Oh, I’ve tried; from the second she called me to pick her up to the entire drive here.” Bonnie stated in a tired tone. She was irritated and from her ridged posture, Klaus could tell that her confrontation with Elena did not go over well. “I’m hoping she will reconsider but the more we push, the less likely she will actually do what is good for her.”

“I just want to go home Bonnie.”

“Fine.” Klaus stated, taking a deep breath. “But I am putting officers outside your house, twenty-four hours a day. If you hear the slightest noise, you call me immediately. I do not care if it is just a creak of a floorboard or the wind. You call me. At any time.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary tonight.” Bonnie prompted in a sweet voice. “Liz already said she is sleeping on your couch tonight since you’re being stubborn and I’m blowing up my air mattress. Slumber party.” Bonnie reached out her hand. “come on. I will even watch Gone with the Wind with you for the billionth time.”

“Thank you.” Caroline stood and leaned into Bonnie, giving her a hard hug. She looked over her friend’s shoulder and tossed Klaus a thankful smile. He nodded towards her and strolled across the lawn. He looked over his shoulder and saw the two women slowly making their way towards what he assumed was Bonnie’s car. He made a mental note to ask Liz to station officers outside Caroline’s home; if she did not already.

The moment Klaus reached the police station door, Elena by passed him; not even sparing him a glance. By her posture, Klaus could tell that she was very angry. Her face was flushed, and her eyes red. Klaus found it very difficult to feel sorry for her. He knew she never intended Caroline to be hurt, but now her actions were not only going to cause her to lose the trust and relationship with Stefan but she would have a lot of ground to try and regained with not just Caroline, but it looked like with Bonnie as well.

“Ms. Gilbert.” Klaus called to her and Elena paused. Her stance was rigid, but she did not turn around to look at him. She knew that she could not simply ignore him, but she did not want to look at him either. “Was it worth it?”

Elena did not answer him.