#crimes of passion fanfic

[ao719]

Vancross

Vancross - Rescue You (Chapter 23)

Most of the characters belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: A group of friends embark on their final year at Vancross Institute with the hopes of making it their best year yet. When a new face with a complicated family plagued by secrets and rumors arrives on campus, new friendships are formed, a new relationship blossoms, and threatening challenges arise.  

Title inspiration: Rescue - Lauren Daigle

Main Pairing: Liam x F!OC

A/N: Multiple crossover series. There will be random sprinkles of canon throughout this story, but for the most part, it’s pretty much out the window. Not beta’d. Please excuse any errors.

Rating: M • Warnings: This series will contain nsfw material, language, some alcohol and drug use, and is not suitable for minors. If you read, you acknowledge you are 18+

Catch up here

“Are we there yet?” Trystan cut his eyes up to the rearview mirror and stared at Blaine. “I’m just kidding. Everyone is just so fucking quiet and it’s starting to make me a little uneasy.” 

“Nerves are good. Gets the adrenaline going,” Leo quipped. 

They’d been driving nearly an hour with Amalas checking in every 15 minutes since they crossed over the Drakovian border to ensure their earpieces were still working. Thankfully, they hadn’t had any issues so far. 

“We’ve got to be close,” Simon said. 

Trystan had been quiet the entire ride, trying to get himself into the zone; he’d have to become a slightly different person once he entered the lion’s den and he needed to get himself into that mindset. But as the marker Everett placed to signal his upcoming turn came into view, he figured it was time. “We’re close …” 

Trystan slowed the SUV, turned onto a dirt road, and shut off the lights, leaving the path ahead visible only by the silver moonlight from above as they moved at what felt like a snail’s pace. The path was lined by a thick forest of trees on both sides, giving nothing away as to what lay beyond them. 

“I’m just gonna say it … this feels very fucking ominous,” Blaine whispered.

After several long moments, lights flickered from a vehicle parked up ahead, and the SUV rolled to a stop just as Amalas’ voice crackled in their ears. 

“I see that you’ve arrived. Everything clear?”

“Good here,” Trystan confirmed, and the other three repeated his words.

Trystan and Leo exited the vehicle first, and Blaine and Simon gave one another a look before they followed suit. As they approached the other vehicle, they watched as a familiar face came into view.

Jonas, Croía’s former guard, bowed to Trystan. “It’s good to see you, sir. If only it was under better circumstances.” 

“Agreed,” Trystan said. “Thank you for your willingness to help.”

“Of course.” 

“Is everything set on your end?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Trystan turned to look at the other three. “Don’t forget to stay alert and don’t draw attention to yourselves. Wait it out until the time comes, and once each of you has your spin as we’ve planned, you slip out through the side exit of the ballroom. Everett will be waiting to lead you to the tunnel … and I’ll meet you back here. Try not to get caught or, worse, die.” Blaine’s and Simon’s brows rose and Leo snorted. “Kidding … mostly.” He looked at each of them, not needing to say what he was thinking; the gratitude in his eyes at what they were risking for his sister said more than enough. “See you soon.” 

They all shook his hand before the three of them slid into the other vehicle with Jonas, who was getting them through the gates with the help of Everett. 

As they drove off back down the path, Trystan turned and walked in the opposite direction before veering off onto a smaller path in the woods. He hadn’t been down there since he was a teenager when he would hide from his lessons or escape the constant watchful eyes of his parents. It was clear no one else had been down that way in quite some time, evident by the brush covering the path.

After walking roughly a mile, Trystan came to the end of the trail where the entrance to the tunnel was located. It had been closed off over a decade ago, but he knew there was a way to open it, and instructed Everett on how to do so. He spotted the thick piece of wood that was keeping the heavy door wedged open just enough, and he smiled triumphantly when he slipped through. 

“You made it.”

“Did you doubt me?” Trystan asked as he shook Everett’s hand. 

“Not at all,” Everett smiled as they started walking down the dark passageway with his flashlight guiding them. “Guests started to arrive roughly 15 minutes ago.”

“And you’re going to the gate?”

“Yes. Jonas just sent me a message, so I’m headed there now.”

“Perfect.” Trystan glanced over at him. “How’s Croía?”

“I don’t know,” Everett shook his head. “I haven’t seen her today. She’s been with your mother since this morning.”  

Trystan’s jaw tensed, but he nodded. When they rounded the first corner, Trystan stopped Everett. “Once you get back inside, there’s something I need you to do …” 

****

Jonas waited in the car line going through the front gates of the palace where a guard was doing clarification checks of the guest list. 

“A guard is circling the vehicles while the other does the clarification checks,” Jonas said quietly. “If they tap on your window, roll it down and act bored and annoyed by their presence.”

Blaine, Leo, and Simon nodded their agreement from the backseat as they fixed their masks into place; each mask was designed to conceal most of their face, giving off phantom of the opera vibes. 

When the first of the three vehicles ahead of them finally pulled through the gate, Jonas drummed his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel; Everett had yet to come and replace the one guard checking the guest list. After a few moments, the next car pulled through the gate, leaving one more ahead of them.

“Come on,” Jonas mumbled under his breath. He watched as the other guard slowly circled the vehicle in front of them and felt the sweat beading his brow as they got closer to finishing. The guard circling the vehicle tapped the back of it, signaling them to go ahead. “Shit.”

Just as the car ahead started to roll through the gate, Everett appeared, and Jonas released a breath of relief as he slowly began pulling forward. He watched Everett say something to the guard, who then handed him the tablet with the lists before hurrying toward the palace as he rolled to a stop in front of him.

“IDs,” Everett said curtly, falling into character. 

As Jonas spoke with Everett, Leo, Blaine, and Simon watched as the other guard slowly circled their vehicle; their eyes tracked his every movement until he stopped in front of Leo’s door and tapped a knuckle against the window. 

Leo’s jaw tensed as he rolled it down. “What?” he snapped. 

The guard peered inside. “Just checking the vehicle, sir.”

“Make it quick,” Leo spat in feigned annoyance. “I don’t intend on spending my evening sitting in the back of my damn car.” The man met his gaze, but unlike the guards he was used to dealing with back home, this one arched a brow almost in a challenge. It didn’t deter him, however. “Well, are your eyes fucking working? Or do I need to tell Queen Viktoria that we were late due to being held up at the gate by her incompetent guard?” 

The man stared at him for another heartbeat before offering a curt nod. “Enjoy your evening, sirs.” 

Leo rolled his eyes before rolling up his window. When Jonas pulled through the gate, Simon let out a snort. “Dude …” 

“I just know that guy has a list of nobles he wants to kill and Lord Sterling DuPont was just added to it,” Blaine chuckled. 

Leo grinned. “Gotta give ol’ Sterling a reputation.”

“Everyone still connected?” Amalas’ voice crackled in their ears.

“Good here,” Blaine answered. “We just got through the gate.”

“Good on my end,” Trystan’s voice came through. “But I’m probably going to lose you here in a second. I’ll let you know when I’m back on.”

“What do you mean?” Blaine questioned. “What if you need—”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Just get inside.” 

“That’s fucking great,” Leo grumbled. “We’re not even inside and he’s already going rogue.”

“I can still hear you, asshole,” Trystan said.

“I’ve got eyes on him for now,” Amalas interjected, reminding them she was watching the security feed. “If he needs assistance, I’ll let you know. You three just worry about what you need to do.”

Leo sighed just as the SUV came to a stop outside the front entrance. “I’ll see you back where we met up,” Jonas said quietly. “Good luck.” Blaine patted his shoulder right before a staff member opened the door.

Leo slid out followed by Blaine and Simon, and each offered a curt nod as they buttoned their suit jackets before making their way up the stairs. As they stepped through the front entrance, while some guests were led straight into the ballroom, they were instructed to take their place in a line. 

They glanced around the foyer, dimly lit by the two gothic-style chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. In front and behind them in the line stood other masked guests … the men who would be vying for Croia’s hand that evening. 

And suddenly, the full impact of what that evening was about hit Blaine like a ton of bricks. Croía was, in a nutshell, supposed to be auctioned off to one of these men … like some prized fucking animal. 

It made his throat burn with bile. 

“Remember, it’s not the Princess you need to impress this evening,” one man in front of him said quietly to another beside him, but not quietly enough for Blaine not to overhear. “It’s Queen Viktoria who will be choosing. And considering the Crown Matrimonial is in play—”

“I’m aware, Father,” the other man interrupted. “I’ll have no problem showing the Princess exactly where her place is and will be if I’m the one chosen.” 

Blaine’s hands balled into fists at his sides as his jaw tensed. Confirmation of these men being aware of the power being offered to them had just been given. They had no intention of showing Croía any sort of respect that evening. Why? Because they weren’t trying to gain her favor but Viktoria’s. 

Tonight, they needed and were expected to show Viktoria that they’d be both willing and able to keep Croía in line. 

Anger flared in Blaine’s chest at the thought of any of these assholes crossing any sort of line with his friend. And more bile rose in his throat at the idea of Liam having to hear about it. 

“Blaine?” Simon whispered.

Blaine snapped from his daze and looked at Simon and Leo; both their eyes flickered down to his balled-up fists. He cleared his throat and flexed his hands open. “I’m fine.” 

After several long moments, they finally stepped over the threshold into the ballroom, and they all immediately searched for Croía as the line slowly moved. They finally saw her standing at the front of the dais, dressed in a black and gold gown and a matching gold mask. 

Behind her were six figures seated on the dais. 

The two in the center were the unmasked King and Queen, dressed in black regalia; two chairs sat on either side of them, each one occupied by a figure dressed in a hooded black garb, and their identities were concealed entirely by full-face masks, each of a different design. 

“That’s not unsettling at all,” Simon quipped. 

As Simon, Blaine, and Leo grew closer to the dais, they adjusted their masks, ensuring they stayed in place. Leo’s eyes were locked in a side-long stare on the King and Queen while Blaine’s remained on Croía. Some suitors simply bowed without a word and walked away. Others, however, like the asshole in front of them that Blaine overheard in the foyer, seemed to deem it necessary to assert their dominance.

“Your Highness,” the man bowed when he made it in front of her. 

Blaine watched intently. Croía didn’t move, even as the man took her hand in his without her permission. He brushed his lips against her knuckles before lifting his head, and Blaine saw the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smirk as his grip on her hand tightened. “After tonight, you’ll be the one bowing, and hopefully to me.” 

A low growl left Blaine’s throat, and Leo inconspicuously nudged him at hearing it. “Chill.”

“He just—”

“I know.” Leo’s jaw tensed. He’d heard it, too. And he’d give anything at that moment to beat the living audacity out of the guy, but they had to stay focused. 

It was finally their turn.

Simon stepped up to Croía first, silently bowing at the waist before stepping away; he had been worried his voice might give him away should he say anything. 

Leo followed behind him. “Your Highness,” he bowed and quickly stepped away. 

When Blaine stepped up in front of Croía, his eyes found hers, but she didn’t meet his gaze; she was looking through him, staring straight ahead instead as if in a trance. He quickly scanned over her for any sign of injury or distress, but nothing stood out other than her thin, statuesque posture. When his eyes fell on her face again, his jaw ticked when he saw a lone tear trickle down her cheek from beneath her gilded mask. We’re here, Croía. “Your Highness,” he said quietly to mask his voice as he bowed before stepping away. 

****

Lydea closed an open stateroom door as she made her way down the hall; she was doing one last cursory check of the upper levels. When she rounded the corner, she stopped short and furrowed her brow. “What are you doing?” she called out. 

Everett turned and met her gaze, offering a bow as she approached him. “Just doing a cursory check of the corridors, ma’am.” 

“I’m doing the cursory checks. Your post is downstairs in the ballroom.”

“I just thought — with all the guests this evening, I mean—”

“I’ve got it handled. Now get your ass downstairs.” 

“Of course, ma’am.” Everett gave another stiff bow before hurrying for the stairs. He waited a moment before glancing over his shoulder, seeing her still watching him; he quickly looked away. Once at the stairs, he inconspicuously slid his eyes in her direction once more, watching her disappear down the corridor he’d come from when she spotted him … and he smirked. 

She’d done exactly what Trystan said she would. 

Lydea let her gaze flicker around as she walked the length of the corridor; the guards were all stationed downstairs, either in the ballroom or on the grounds around the palace. Not in the third-floor corridor. And certainly not the one that led to the private suites of the Thorne progeny. 

Once at the end of the hall, Lydea turned and started checking the doors to the rooms. 

Vasili’s and Sebastyan’s doors were locked as they usually were. Marguerite’s door was locked, the same as it had been since her last visit more than a year ago. 

In the next hall, Emika’s and Kaspar’s doors were locked. Astrid’s door was locked. Her own door was locked. She bypassed what was once Trystan’s room without a second thought and peered around the corner at the lone door at the end of the small hallway. 

Croía’s room. 

By itself. 

Away from the others. 

Lydea approached it and jiggled the knob. It, too, was locked. She sighed as she turned back and started to make her way back to the ballroom, but she halted a step after passing what was once her eldest brother’s room. Her brow furrowed as she turned back around, confirming what she thought she saw. 

The door was cracked open. 

With one hand on the hilt of her dagger, Lydea pushed open the door with her free hand and stepped inside; she glanced around, taking it in for the first time in eight years. She froze again and tilted her head to the side when her eyes fell on the oil painting on the far back wall; the portion of the wall it was hanging on was ajar and she could feel the draft coming from the stone passageway … the passageway that only she and her siblings had access to through each of their suites. 

Lydea slowly moved toward the opening; Kaspar and Emika were the only ones she knew who still used the passageway from time to time, and it was entirely possible they entered Trystan’s old room for whatever reason their twisted minds felt necessary. Hell, they could be having weekly slumber parties in there and she wouldn’t know or even care for that matter. Being that Kaspar was told not to be near the palace that night and Emika was charged with keeping him away, however, she was curious if her two younger siblings had managed to sneak in. 

Stepping through the opening in the wall, Lydea made her way into the passageway; she stopped once inside the darkened stone hallway, listening for the echo of voices or footsteps, but heard nothing. She stopped again at the end of the stone hall, staring at the wooden door that led to the massive chamber beyond it. 

It was open. 

“What the hell are those two up to now?” Lydea whispered to herself as she started for the door. She stepped inside, expecting to find her two younger siblings lounging in the secret sanctuary they used as children, but her brows rose at who was there instead.

Leaning against a column at the edge of the room, Trystan nonchalantly — and expertly — twirled a dagger in his hands. “Hello, Lyddles,” he smirked. “Long time no see.”

“Well, this is certainly a surprise.” Lydea feigned indifference while her mind raced with how the hell he’d managed to make it inside completely undetected. “I can say that you’re the last person I expected to find here.”

“You know how much I love surprises,” Trystan grinned. “You’re looking rather official in your uniform.” He tilted his head in thought. “It suits you.” 

“Cut the small talk,” Lydea said as she stopped a few feet away from him. “How did you get in here? And considering you’re not supposed to step foot inside the palace, let alone the country unless summoned by the King or Queen — which you weren’t — what are you doing here?”

“To answer your first question, I have my ways. As for your second question … I think you already know the answer to that.” 

Lydea stared at him. “Croía …” 

“Still sharp as a whip, aren’t you?” Trystan grinned.  

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not going to get very far in your task, I’m afraid.”

“You almost sound convincing.” Trystan offered a menacing smile as he skillfully flipped the dagger in his hand. “Almost.”

“The guards will be up here in a moment,” Lydea said, “and unfortunately, I’ll have to take you into custody.”

A low, sardonic chuckle escaped Trystan. “Lyddles, give your big brother a little more credit than that. You haven’t alerted your guards. And even if you tried with that silent trigger on your fancy little radio — yes, I know about it — this chamber, if I recall correctly, doesn’t emit signals for shit because we’re too deep inside the palace and these concrete walls are too damn thick. That’s why Astrid stopped coming in here because she couldn’t get a signal on her phone.” He saw the flicker of irritation in her eyes from him remembering those details, and he grinned triumphantly. “Now … we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours.”

“No, dear brother, the choice is yours. I’m either taking you with me freely or against your will.” 

Lydea kept her voice steady and expression indifferent despite knowing this was a battle she would more than likely lose. This was Trystan. She’d never admit it out loud, but her big brother could outsmart her both intellectually and physically. 

“Your confidence is inspiring. Truly,” Trystan teased with a smirk. “But I’m going to call your bluff.” 

“Trystan, you don’t want to do that.” 

All facetiousness left Trystan’s face and his glare on his sister turned sinister as he took a threatening step forward. “Let me put it to you this way … I’m not leaving here without Croía. I’ll burn this palace to the fucking ground if that’s what it takes. And you know I’m crazy enough and feeling pissed off enough to do just that. So we have a couple of options here. I’m either going to take you out and continue on my way … or I’ll give you a chance to do the right thing and you can help me.” 

“The right thing is for Croía to—”

“Don’t,” Trystan spat. “You know nothing about her and what the right thing for her is. This … she is not built for this. And I don’t mean the crown, I mean this place. You and I both know that.” The brief flicker of guilt in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. “She’s not me or you. She is good, Lydea. Let her stay that way.”

“Trystan, my duty is—”

“I don’t give a fuck about your duty,” Trystan took another step forward. “You know this isn’t right. She’ll never be the person they’re trying to mold her into no matter how hard they try. This is going to do nothing but break her. But you’d rather stand there and watch her crumble than give her a fucking chance at a life away from here because of your high and mighty duty?” He paused, tilting his head. “Or is it because you’re afraid?”

“I am not afraid,” Lydea ground out through gritted teeth.

“Huh,” Trystan hummed. “Could have fooled me. Because the way I see it, you’re acting like a fucking coward because you’re afraid of what mommy dearest will say. You never could stand to be a disappointment, even if it was in the devil’s eyes.” A breath escaped Lydea as she held her brother’s gaze. “I’ve never asked you for anything. Even when my entire reputation was on the line, even when the lies started to spread like wildfire and I knew you were probably the one person who could prove my innocence if I begged you to really look into it … I never asked you for a damn thing. I’m asking you now. Not for me but for her.” His voice dropped to a dangerously threatening tone. “And I’m only going to ask once.” 

Lydea’s jaw tensed, and Trystan braced himself for a fight that would be grueling but that he knew he would win. She held his gaze for a few more heartbeats before closing her eyes and releasing a sharp breath. “What do you need?” 

Trystan straightened. “You better not be toying with me, Lydea. I’m in no fucking mood for games.”

“I’m not toying with you,” Lydea chided. “Croía asked me to help her … to get her out … and I wanted to, but …” 

“Well, here’s your chance to make it up to her,” Trystan interrupted. 

“Again … what do you need?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m doing,” Trystan said pointedly. “Because one, I don’t know if I can truly trust you. No offense.”

Lydea crossed her arms but shrugged. “None taken.” She couldn’t blame him there. 

“And two, the less you know, the better. I’m not asking you to directly insert yourself,” Trystan explained. “I only need you to help create a diversion …”

****

Long after the guests had made their way through the receiving line, Croía remained standing at the front of the dais. She wasn’t allowed to sit. She was the spectacle of the evening, the trophy for those not vying for her hand but for the crown her mother had dangled in front of them. 

The “suitors” would come and stand in front of her; they’d ogle her and talk about her and make comments as though she wasn’t right there and could hear their every word. She felt like a prize up for grabs. 

She felt used. 

She felt disgusting. 

In the last few days leading up to that night, Croía had given up; that sliver of hope she’d held onto to somehow find a way out had completely vanished after Lydea declined to help her. She hadn’t necessarily accepted the fate being forced on her that evening, but she had come to accept that there was nothing short of death itself that was going to get her out of it. And up until that night, she’d been in a daze of sorts. The days had been a blur. She’d been numb. 

Now, she was scared. 

Croía felt her throat burn and her eyes sting when two of the “suitors” finally turned away from her and headed back into the crowd after sharing would-be plans they had for her with one another. She felt sick. She fought the instinct to glance over her shoulder to where her mother was on the dais. Why she’d want to look to her for comfort, she didn’t know. She wouldn’t get it. 

She had no one. 

She was alone.

Croía’s breath hitched in her throat as she fought back the emotions threatening to spill out; she closed her eyes and thought of the one thing that could calm her … yet simultaneously wreck her. 

Liam. 

An ache rippled through Croía’s chest as she envisioned his smile, his kind blue eyes, and the sound of his laugh. Her mother’s words about him forgetting and giving up on her had infiltrated the deepest parts of her the past few days; as she slowly lost what little hope she had left, those words burrowed themselves into her soul. 

He’s forgotten you. 

He’s given up on you. 

What she wouldn’t give to tell him how sorry she was. She didn’t mean to let him down. She should have listened when he warned her not to come back here. She had no one to blame but herself for where she was at that very moment, and she couldn’t and wouldn’t blame him or anyone else for feeling the same. She’d made the stupid decision to come, all to seek some form of approval and affection from her parents that she knew deep down she’d never get. 

I was a fool. A naive fool. 

A voice pulled her from her daze and her eyes snapped open as her body went rigid under the scrutinizing gaze of another “suitor” now standing in front of her.  

****

Blaine, Leo, and Simon stood in the back corner of the ballroom, casually sipping drinks as they scanned the crowd. 

They’d kept to themselves save for a few curt nods of acknowledgment that they returned to other guests. They all found themselves on edge, however. Each time one of the guests approached Croía — who had yet to move from her place at the front of the dais — they watched them intently. When the King, Queen, and their creepy hooded cronies stepped off the dais and made their way around the room, they managed to dodge them entirely, making sure to stay huddled in an area they already bypassed. When the King and Queen returned to their seats on the dais, the others remained mingling with the rest of the crowd before they slipped out; Amalas confirmed they had left, having seen them on the security feed.   

“It’s almost time.”

Leo released a breath of relief at the sound of Trystan’s voice crackling in his ear. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Handling something.”

“Handling what?” Simon asked.

“Lydea. I’m moving into my spot now. They should be starting any moment. Everett is in position waiting for you.” 

As if on cue, a bell chimed, signaling that it was time for the Drakovian waltz. They had worked this part out so that no matter where they were positioned, they knew where they needed to end up. They watched as Croía finally moved from her place at the front of the dais to the center of the dance floor while the other guests took up positions around her.

As they made their way to the dance floor, out of the corner of his eye, Leo saw Lydea stride into the ballroom with another guard following closely behind her, making her way toward the dais. “Are you sure you handled your sister?” he whispered. “Because she just walked in and is headed right for your parents.”  

“Just do what we planned. Don’t worry about her.” 

As the music started and slowly began to swell, Lydea stepped onto the dais with the other guard and they stood in front of her parents, blocking most of their view. She leaned forward, appearing to start some deep discussion as the dance started. 

Other guests besides those vying for the Drakovian crown were now on the dance floor, but the idea was to give each “suitor” a dance with the Princess. 

The asshole that had been in front of them in the line earlier had somehow managed to end up as Croía’s first partner. 

As they went through the steps, Simon, Blaine, and Leo kept their eyes on Croía, and during each switch, they moved closer, throwing some off as they cut them off and took their respective partners, but it was easy for them to rectify and not enough to draw attention. 

Croía was being spun around from one guest to the next. When she switched partners again, the man she had been supposed to go to was cut off as another swept her away into a twirl. She glanced over at her mother on the dais, knowing the slip-up would infuriate her, but she hadn’t seen it; she was busy speaking to Lydea. 

When she looked back at her dance partner, he smiled. “Nice moves, darl.” 

Croía’s eyes slightly widened, recognizing both the voice and the silly term of endearment. “Si—” 

Before she could finish, Croía was twirled away into another pair of arms. She glanced around for who she could have sworn she’d just been with, but she couldn’t spot him in the crowd of tuxes and masks. Her chest burned where the brief spark of hope had started to ignite but was abruptly put out. She knew it wasn’t possible and her mind had just been playing tricks on her. 

Blaine had Croía now, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to her, not knowing how she or himself would react. He just wanted to get her the hell out of there and away from this place and these people as soon as possible. 

A few moments later, Croía was spun away again, landing in another set of strong arms. She knew something wasn’t right; she should still be at the center of the dance floor, but she had somehow shifted and was now near the back edge instead. She glanced at the dais again to gauge her mother’s reaction to her having somehow messed this up, but she was still distracted in conversation with Lydea. 

“Looking fancy, Cocoa Bean.”

Croía’s gaze snapped to the man in front of her at the instant recognition of the nickname; when she met his piercing blue gaze through his mask, her eyes welled with tears as her heart pounded. “L-Leo?” 

“Shhh.” Leo looked around, feeling her start to shake in his grasp as he continued to shuffle through the waltz steps. “Breathe, Croía,” he whispered. “Focus and don’t draw attention to yourself right now. I’m going to pass you off here in a minute and you need to go. Do you hear me?” She gave a quick nod, holding his gaze through the mask as if she were afraid this moment wasn’t real. “Good. I’ll see you soon,” he winked.

With that, Leo spun her away from him with a bit of force, sending her stumbling backward toward an alcove at the back wall. Before she could register what was happening, an arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her through a secret door. She went to scream, but a large hand clamped over her mouth to silence her. Her eyes snapped up when she was spun around and they widened when she saw his face. 

“Trystan,” Croía choked out as he pulled her to him. 

“I’m here, kid,” Trystan replied. “I’m right here.” He closed his eyes when she clung to him, fisting his suit jacket in her hands; he could feel her trembling and hear her breath hitch but forced himself to refocus, stepping back from her and gripping her shoulders as he looked into her tear-filled eyes. “Listen to me. We don’t have a lot of time. I’ll explain everything, but we need to go. Now.”

Croía’s mind and heart were racing but she had enough sense to nod in reply. 

Trystan gripped her hand like a vice as he pulled her down a dark and musty passageway, moving through it as if it were second nature. The sound of her heels clicking against the concrete floor echoed against the old stone walls; he was moving so fast that she had to practically jog to keep up with his long strides. She had no idea where they were or where they were going. 

After turning a few more corners, they rushed toward a door at the end of the passageway, and when Trystan pulled Croía through its opening, she was outside. She watched him turn and pull out the thick piece of wood that had been there. The heavy door slammed shut with a resounding thud. 

“Let’s go,” Trystan said as he turned back, grabbing Croía’s hand again and pulling her into a pathway in the woods. 

Between the still lingering panic and moving so quickly, Croía was gasping for breath as they rushed through the dark woods. Her gown had snagged on branches and brambles, tearing the fabric in places and sweat beaded the hairline of her no longer elegant updo. 

Soon, they burst through the end of the pathway onto an abandoned dirt road, and Croía skidded to a halt when she saw two SUVs and the silhouette of a man standing in front of one … a man she didn’t recognize.

“Trystan,” Croía’s voice cracked as she stumbled back.

“It’s ok,” Trystan said. “Everett has been helping me … feeding me information to help get you out. He’s good. He’s coming with us.” He looked at the guard as he gave a quick bow. “Everyone ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Everett nodded.

“Good. Let’s go.” 

“Where are Leo and Simon?” Croía asked.

Trystan ushered Croía to the first SUV, opened the back door, and helped her in while Everett slipped into the driver’s seat. “They’re in the other SUV with Jonas and Blaine.” 

Jonas and Blaine, Croía thought as she was hit with another wave of emotion.

As he yanked the seatbelt across her chest and buckled it, Trystan could sense her gaze on him, and he looked up; he lifted his hands and pulled the mask off her face. “Are you ok? Are you hurt anywhere?” 

“I …” Croía trailed off as a lump swelled in her throat. She was overwhelmed and confused. Too much was happening all at once and she couldn’t think straight.

Trystan. Leo. Blaine. Simon. 

How they managed to get in or what exactly they had done, Croía didn’t know. But for a brief moment, she couldn’t help but think … if they were there, did that mean someone else was there? 

Those words that had made a home in her soul filled her head once again. 

He’s forgotten you. 

He’s given up on you. 

“I’m ok,” Croía finally choked out just above a whisper. 

Trystan nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” He stepped back and shut her door. “Amalas … we’re on our way,” he said as he walked around to the other side. He chucked Croía’s mask on the ground of the dirt road before he slid inside. 

****

Amalas and Olivia looked at one another with grins. “Do you want to tell them or should I?” Olivia asked as she gestured in Liam’s and Alia’s direction; they were both pacing on the deck outside. 

“You can do the honors,” Amalas replied as she looked back at the screen and began typing. “I need to get this footage onto a USB before I wipe their security feed.”

Olivia nodded as she pushed back her chair and stood, making her way toward the sliding door. When she opened it and stepped outside, both Liam’s and Alia’s gazes snapped in her direction. “They’re on their way back.” 

“They … they got her?” Liam’s voice cracked.

Olivia felt an unmistakable sting in her eyes at the look on her friend’s face. She nodded, “They got her.”

Alia squealed through tears and ran inside, throwing her arms around her sister. 

A sharp breath, one he felt like he’d been holding all night, escaped Liam. And suddenly, he was trembling. “They got her …” He needed to hear her say it again.

“They did.” 

In the next moment, Liam sank to his knees and covered his face with his hands. Weeks worth of suppressed worry mixed with more gratitude than he’d ever felt in his life and it all poured out at once. 

Olivia placed her hand on his back as she crouched down next to him. “She’s on her way, Li.”

****

Thirty minutes into their drive back to Rivala, Trystan glanced over at Croía beside him, watching her as she stared out the window. His hand was clutched in hers; she hadn’t let it go since he got into the SUV. 

But she’d been silent. 

And that worry Trystan had about how far inside her shell she would be gnawed at him because he hadn’t been able to gauge her.  

Trystan hadn’t expected her to ask him questions about any of what took place that evening, not right now, not with Everett in the vehicle, someone she didn’t know. But it was her emotions — or lack thereof — that had him worried. 

While Croía had shed some tears, it wasn’t anything like what he’d braced himself for. She’d always been an emotional person, and considering what she’d been through, to be honest, he expected her to break down now that she was out. But she hadn’t. He knew she probably had a lot on her mind and that she had to be feeling beyond overwhelmed after everything that happened just that night alone, but he wasn’t sure if he could chalk her lack of emotions up to that or not.

As she stared out the window, Croía’s mind and heart felt heavy. She wasn’t sure where they were headed, but as long as it was far away from the place she once called home, she didn’t care. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she continued blinking them away and pushing those emotions threatening to unleash back into their bottle; she feared if she allowed them just a little bit of freedom, she wouldn’t be able to get them back under control. So she coated herself in a blanket of numbness … but it didn’t stop those words from breaking through. 

He’s forgotten you. 

He’s given up on you.

Croía wished she could drown them out, but they played in an echo on repeat in her mind. And each time she heard them, that thread holding her together would fray. 

Those words wouldn’t allow her to make sense of Leo, Blaine, and Simon being there. They offered excuses as to why else they chose to be a part of it, reasons that didn’t involve Liam … 

Because he’d forgotten … he’d given up.

****

Sitting inside the living area of the cabin, Alia and Liam stared out the window, waiting for the slightest glimpse of headlights to shine into the darkness outside and signal that the others had returned. Amalas and Olivia had made them stop watching long enough to force both of them to eat something, but as soon as they finished, they both returned to the sofa facing the window. 

Liam’s eyes flickered between his watch and the window; he’d been counting down the minutes since Olivia stepped onto the deck to tell them the news. It’d been just over an hour … they should be there.

Just as his eyes slid down to check his watch again, Alia sprung up, and his gaze snapped back to the window; the trees outside were illuminated by a light that grew brighter with each second. 

Then two SUVs rolled to a stop. 

Liam slowly rose to his feet as his eyes shifted between the two vehicles.

Alia was already rushing for the door. She flung it open, ran out onto the porch, and paused, watching as the back door of each SUV opened. Trystan emerged from one, and Leo from the other. When Trystan reached into the vehicle, she saw a hand take his, and a moment later, he helped Croía out. 

Alia flew down the stairs, making a beeline toward her. “Croía!” She threw her arms around her. 

Croía returned her embrace as her vision blurred. “Hi,” she choked out. Her eyes snapped to the front porch when two figures appeared from inside. 

Olivia and Amalas. 

Something inside Croía’s chest twisted, both with gratitude and heartache. 

Alia drew back to look at her. “You’re ok?” 

“Yeah,” Croía nodded before she was pulled into another hug. She closed her eyes, trying to compose herself. 

Alia stepped back again, tearfully smiling as she tucked a loose strand of Croía’s hair behind her ear. Hearing the soft crunch of gravel behind her, she glanced over her shoulder, and when she looked back at Croía, her smile was broad. 

When Alia stepped aside … there stood Liam. 

Croía felt that dam inside her start to crumble at the mere sight of him. 

He didn’t forget.

He didn’t give up. 

He’s here. 

Suddenly, that thread that was barely holding her together snapped and the last several weeks crashed over her all at once. Her heart felt as though it was folding in on itself, making it hard to breathe. Croía pressed her palm to her chest and bowed her head as a sob ripped from her throat and her knees buckled beneath her, and she began to sink to the ground.

Before she could hit the gravel, Liam was there, wrapping his strong arms around her and pulling her up to him as she fell apart, trembling through broken sobs in his embrace. He bit his lip, rapidly blinking his eyes to rid them of the sting in an attempt to hold himself together for her because, at that moment, she needed him to. 

Trystan chewed the inside of his cheek, watching her finally drop that veil and break down. 

With an arm wrapped securely around her and holding her against him, Liam cradled the back of her head with his hand and tilted his head, pressing his lips to her ear. “I’m here, love,” he whispered as she continued to cry into his chest. “I’ve got you.”

When he glanced up, Liam saw the misty eyes of the others as they stared at her … at the two of them. And in the next moment, he scooped her into his arms.

Croía tucked her head into the crook of his neck, clinging to him as he turned and carried her into the cabin. 

***************************************

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[jerzwriter]

A Sparkling Holiday

It's their first Christmas together, and Trystan and Carolina are bringing in traditions from their past, and starting some new ones of their own.

Book: Crimes of Passion (post Book 2) Pairing: Trystan Thorne x F!MC (Carolina Rose) Rating: Teen Words: 945 A/N: Participating in @choicesficwriterscreations Holidays 2023, @choicesholidays it sort of fits "But it's tradition..." @choicesdecember2023 Christmas Thank you for the prompt @inlocusmads. I just loved writing this! I hope you enjoy it, too!

Full Masterlist | CoP Masterlist | Holiday Fics Masterlist

With the workday behind her, Carolina sat back on her couch with a cup of coquito in hand and numerous cardboard boxes surrounding her. Her sweater was covered with bits of silver tinsel, and her smile radiated just as brightly with each ornament she removed. Christmastime. She had a love/hate relationship with the season ever since her father was killed. But she promised that she’d focus on the positive long ago. Not only would he have wanted that, but despite her sometimes hardened exterior, there was light inside of Carolina Rose that fought to shine no matter what life threw her way. If asked, she’d deny its existence, but those who knew her best saw it as clear as day... and one of those people just entered the room.

Having Trystan in her life made finding the magic in the holiday season much easier. A year ago, she would have chastised herself for the stupid grin she wore as she watched him placing his box of decorations beside her. They decided to let the pros decorate his big, fancy apartment, but Carolina’s place was another story.   They'd decorate it together, with items from each of their pasts and a few new things they had chosen.

“What have you got there?” Trystan smiled as he sat next to her.

“It’s a Teddy bear that doubles as a Christmas tree ornament. I bought it for my father at the school bazaar when I was in third grade.”

Trystan took the weathered pale blue bear with a loose button eye from her hands and looked it over carefully.

“I know he’s seen better days,” Carolina apologized. “But he means so much to me.”

Trystan tugged at the string on the button, pulling the eye back into place.

“If you can get me a needle, I’d be happy to fix it. Not that he needs fixing. He's perfect as is.”

“He is?” she queried skeptically.

“Of course! Things that are loved are always beautiful. Take you, for example; you’re simply exquisite... because you’re so loved.”

She threw her arms around his neck with a boisterous laugh. “Trystan Thorne! Are you saying I’m beautiful because you love me?”

“Was my name mentioned anywhere in that sentence? While I love you immensely, you were already well-loved when I came into your life. I can’t take full credit.”

She ran her hand through his hair, mindlessly twirling a long lock around her finger. “And what about you? Are you this gorgeous due to how much I love you?”

“Of course,” he teased. “I was a hideous beast until you came into my life.”

“Not quite,” she grinned. Leaning forward, she took his lips into a soft, lingering kiss, and when she broke free, she decided she must have another. Trystan was too happy to oblige, but she pulled away with a smile when he went in for a third.

“That’s enough, your highness! If we keep this up, there won’t be any decorating this evening... and I, for one, am quite anxious to see what you’ve brought.”

“Well, nothing will compare to this adorable little bear....”

“That goes without saying,” she teased, “but what do you have in your box of Drakovian Christmas magic? Barbed wire? A venomous snake or two?”

“You peeked!” He clutched his chest in mock horror.

“Nope. It’s just a given!”

If Carolina had any thoughts she could be wrong, they were dismissed when Trystan opened his macabre assortment. She was speechless but gasped at one item in particular.

“Is that...please tell me that’s not a skull!”

“It’s not a skull,” he deadpaned. “At least not a real one, just a quality replica. Using the real thing was banned in the early 20th Century.”

“What? Why do you have a skull amongst your Christmas decorations?”

“Because it is a decoration. Every home in Drakovia has one.”

The look of horror in her eyes told him further explanation was necessary.

“It’s a replica of one of my ancestor’s skulls. King Yorick.”

“Please tell me that’s a joke... you did not have a King Yorkick!”

“Nah,” Trystan laughed. “It was King Vyacheslav. I just nicknamed him Yorick because... you know... Hamlet.”

“Yes. I may not have had the best education, but we did cover Hamlet. But why does his skull adorn every Christmas tree in Drakovia?”

“Because unlike most of our monarchs, he was known for his kindness and good deeds. At the holidays, he ensured every child in the kingdom had a gift under their tree.”

“And to commemorate his kindhearted nature... you put a replica of his skull on your trees each year.”

“Precisely.”

She shook her head with a sigh. “Trystan, I will never understand your people.”

“That’s all right,” he agreed. “Neither will I.”

They sifted through the box, through the black feathers, miniature swords, and a few items Carolina was afraid to ask about, and then Trysten suddenly shut the lid.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Putting this away. We can start a new tradition... using my childhood Christmas decorations for Halloween. I much prefer the items we purchased this year.”

He pulled two ornaments out of a paper shopping bag. “See! Barbie and Ken, in all their pink majesty. This is more fitting for our tree!”

“I have to agree with you there,” she nodded. “And they’ll make great playmates for my little bear!”

They removed all the new ornaments one by one... each more sparkly and glittery than the last... then they took out one last thing... their bright, golden star purchased on a walk through the Union Square Holiday Market.

“Do you want to put it on, or shall I?” Trystan asked.

“New tradition. I say we always do it together."

"I can agree to that," he said, holding her hand as she rose on her tiptoes to place the star on the tallest branch of the tree.

Carolina stood before the tree, her face aglow with childlike wonder.

"It's beautiful," she cooed.

Trystan reached out, brushed his hand along her chin, and turned her face toward him. "It is," he smiled. "Absolutely beautiful."

~~~~

That got much more schmaltzy and gooey than I anticipated, but they deserve it! (And I deserve the coquito! lol)

Thank you for reading!

Tagging separately.

[roseythorne]

3 Word Prompt: Trystan, MC, subway :)

⪩⪨ subway

a/n: as much as i’d love for this prompt to be referring to a certain sandwich shop that now offers footlong cookies (OMG??) i have determined that it is, in fact, not. thanks for the prompt! :)

featuring: m!trystan thorne x mc (second person pov!)

your ankles cried out in pain as you trudged down the steps to the subway after a painstakingly slow day at the agency.

you never thought you’d miss those high-stakes cases—or maybe you just missed working with your partner-in-crime.

as you hastily crossed the threshold into the tightly-packed subway, all you longed for was to be at home, in bed in your lover’s embrace, tangled together in crisp sheets after a warm shower that magically melted away the endless cases swimming through your whirring mind.

oh, how amazing that sounded.

you weaved through throngs of disgruntled commuters returning home from their tedious nine-to-fives before finding refuge next to a pole. you squeezed by to give yourself as much space as possible, when—

“fancy meeting you here, honey.”

you whirled around, bewildered at the unmistakably suave voice.

“trystan?!”

the sea of heads surrounding you slowly swiveled around to look at the commotion, eyebrows raised.

you sheepishly shrink back, murmuring a quiet apology while trystan places a calming hand on your shoulder.

“my love is just excited to see me, that’s all. carry on.” trystan dismisses the irritated stares with a regal wave of his hand, and just like magic, they obey.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes before folding your arms and gazing up at his smug smirk. “so? why are you sneaking up on me? you were working from home today, no?”

“ah, you see…” he brandishes a gorgeous bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind his back as your breath catches in your throat. as you admire the flourishing blooms in front of you and their sweet, fragrant scent, your concerns about how he perfectly preserved such a gigantic arrangement in the tightly-packed subway vanish into thin air.

he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, lips curving into a bashful smile. “well, i was going to surprise you with these when you returned home, but i got caught in a bit of a, ah… as you would put it…”

“trystan, did the police chase you again.”

his eyes widen in horror as he presses a finger to your lips. “darling, not so loudly in public, please!” he makes a show of looking side to side before meeting your gaze and whispering in a clandestine tone. “i may have had a little… ‘altercation’ on my way to the tube. however, it’s really no matter, as i succeeded in my mission to surprise my love, no?” he flashes a devastating grin—the one that never fails to melt you.

sighing, your gaze falls to the dazzling bouquet in front of you before you look up at him, a smirk playing on your lips, much against your will.

“you’re never going to stop being a thorn in my side, are you?”

“never, my rose,” he whispers affectionately, wrapping his arms around you before pressing a soft, loving peck to the top of your head.

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) if you have a prompt you’d like me to write, feel free to drop it in my ask box! <3

[choicesficwriterscreations]

Crimes F/AotW - Oct 1-7, 2023

✒️= Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨= Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🌺 = Hispanic Heritage Month 🦄= Bisexuality Awareness Week | 🏳️‍🌈= LGBTQIA

Trystan Thorne

First Date ✒️| m!Trystan Thorne x f!MC - @jerzwriter 🌺Carolina Rose

I Will ✒️| m!Trystan Thorne x f!MC - @moominofthevalley

Made in Love ✒️| m!Trystan Thorne x f!MC - @moominofthevalley

F!Trystan x F!MC Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈 by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

M!Trystan x F!MC Fanart 🎨 by @nukritus

M!Trystan x M!MC Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈 by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Trystan Thorne Fanart 🎨 by @nukritus

Trystan Thornes Fanart 2 🎨by @nukritus

The Rain ✒️| Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @starsarewithinme

We Don't Have to Hide Anymore 🎨| m!Trystan Thorne x f!MC by @cassie-thorne

Main CFWC Fic of the Week ListBlades Fic of the Week ListOpen Heart Fic of the Week List

[inlocusmads]

vigilance and other nice qualities ~ trystan x nora

Nora gets help from one of her old contacts to learn more about her royalty of a client and is faced with some surprising observations.

banner art -> Saint Cathrine Bartolomoe by Vento, ca. 1520

wc: 2.9k, tw for violence and strong language, teen and up audiences

a/n: tagging @choicesbookclub

link to nora x trystan (crimes) masterlist

At the centre of every social circle that the city was built on, Bull was in at least twenty eight of them. He took boxing lessons from a Hollywood stunt director who flew in and out of LA and sold tabloid photographs from gathering more tabloid photographs - a middle man situation. When Nora first met him, they decided not to fight. He wanted a private eye’s influence and knew that she’d need him more than he’d ever need her. But years passed. He evolved from a part-time hairdresser with a terrible boss in 1992 to an information emperor. Nora would be doing him a disservice if she were to compare him with her aunts back at home. At least her aunts didn’t engage in physical violence.

Bull threw her a wad of cotton to stop her bleeding nose. He grabbed an old handkerchief hanging on some metal pole and tied it around his freshly formed wound.

“You fight well, Nora.”

“Yeah, it has been that long, huh?” Nora sniffed, the pain coursing through her nostrils.

“You grew your hair. You were not recognizable at first. Forgive me for instigating action.”

“No -- forgive me.” Nora insisted. “It’s weird that it has happened twice. It’s all on me.”

“Well, I’m glad you are taking blame because this wound is going to need some stitches.”

Nora sighed. She reached into her pocket and grabbed a roll of loose cash, tossing it at him while managing the pain of a nose half-broken, likely.

“You come prepared too!” Bull expressed joy, counting the bills. “Do you want something to drink while we are talking?”

“I’ll get out of your hair in a few. Don’t need all that trouble.”

“Nonsense. You can’t leave without having a drink, at least for old times’ sake.”

“Just one. It’s a work day.”

Bull had found a stable job, Nora was surprised. He’d switched careers so often, she’d once found him married to an up-and-coming designer, dressed in silver fleece back in 2017 and in the same year, he’d gotten divorced and started a taxi business. Clearly he was so well-to-do, he didn’t need a new job as an undercover mechanic. Although the warehouse he worked at was pretty neat and nice; the floors were tiled, a taken-apart car sat on a towing crane and a supposed Go-Kart project he was working on, was at the front - a toolbox sprawled open, with a welding kit connected to a transformer. And they weren’t the stuff you’d find in a parts shop. No, it was all new - prim and polished, with professional gloves.

The drink was nicer too. Single-malt Irish. The glasses weren’t plastic - they were more verdant than the stuff Uncle Tommy kept around. Nora took a sip from her glass, setting it down instantly.

“So- what’s up? What are you doing these days?” Bull asked.

“Oh you know --” Nora shrugged. “Desk job.”

“Not too different from police work, now is it?”

“Sometimes I get to --” she gestured at the air, “-run?”

Bull poured some more whiskey into her glass. “Run around for what, exactly? I mean, I don’t know about the business, but PIs somehow have it worse. Runt of the litter and everything, y’know? Joseph from the 47th Precinct started one and guess what? Shut it down the very next week. Now I think he’s teaching middle school baseball.”

“I can teach middle school baseball.” Nora said, missing the point.

“You’d be a shit coach.”

“Never said I’d be a coach. Just that I’d teach baseball.”

“All right. What you’re here for?”

“You’re familiar with uh— small potatoes royalty?”

“Would never call anyone small potatoes. First mistake anyone makes is undermining them. Why? Finally running around with the big leagues, aren’t you, Nora?”

“The electricity bills aren’t getting any cheaper.” she shrugged. “You know Trystan Thorne?”

Bull paused. “I think so.”

“What’s his uh - deal?”

“Seriously?”

“What? I’m sorry my questions aren’t too specific.”

“No, it isn’t that. I can’t exactly give you a Cliff’s Notes version of everything.”

“Fair point. You do run a business.” Nora wiped the rest of the blood off her nose, grabbing a bandage and plastering it on. It was painful without something to clean with and the constant stench of iron only made her impatient and hasty with dressing it. Oh well, it’s a short walk home. Wasn’t like she had a life to get to, anyway. No rush. She finished her glass of whiskey, a smidge drunk to help with the pain.

“Is he your client?”

Nora nodded.

“Holy shit.”

“Supposed to be good or bad?”

“He’s quite a hit with the paps. He makes you think he’s an open book, y’know, with everything just out in the open.”

“I just want to be able to trust his words, considering he might be a — person of interest. I don’t care for him other than that.”

“Then I’ll be helping you do your job and you know my requirements.”

“Come on, Bull. What’s his character like? Is he after a — specific thing?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Because I’m not trying to date him to have deep conversations.”

“Not everything’s a simple yes/no answer.” Bull shrugged. “I mean, he is charismatic. He presents a very trustworthy front and it’s good for his image, since he comes from a family of liars and swindlers. And he’s gotten smart, because the paparazzi bothers him less and less when he plays into the ‘black sheep of the family’ persona. They’d have nothing else but to print the same thing over and over again. Oh look, he’s spotted getting a herb tea! How different can he get?. Wears the same thing outside - classic trick to make photographs unusable.”

“So he’s smart.”

“Very smart.” Bull said. “He doesn’t have a press team or anything. It’s just him and his — psh- sister, I think. She runs a luxury business here. Not to mention he’s got some wild contacts. I mean, traditionally, where do you usually find celebrities?”

“I dunno— sex parties?”

“No, you idiot. With whom?”

“I guess other popular people.”

“Trystan here is friends with practically anyone he meets. Comic book authors, critically acclaimed authors, amateur filmmakers, film students, nail artists, pharmaceutical execs, street dealers, Hollywood stars — the list goes on. He puts himself out there, deliberately.”

“Artists.” Nora supplied, making cotton balls out of the bloodied wads.

“All kinds of artists.” Bull tossed the cotton out of her hands. “And he’s quite an academic. Not in your Oxfordian-pretentious-asshole way, but in an actual smart, resourceful way. He probably knows way more about you than you about him.”

“He thought I was a stripper in a detective costume initially.”

“You’re going to let that fool you?”

Nora gave him a nonchalant shrug. “He did hire the Agency after the first two hours of working with me. When I barely knew him. Reckon he’s done some Googling?”

“Googling?” Bull took second-hand offense. “He probably knows your coffee order by now. The place where he’s from - Drakovia, doesn’t skimp on funding intelligence. He’s earned military training in the past. He knows how to — uh — talk, if you get it. Almost a borderline psychic gift. I don’t know how he does it, but you have to play your game just right, like extremely carefully. When you’re talking, count your words. Take note of things he says in throwaway lines, when he’s at the peak of his comfort.”

“Do I tell him anything?”

“Nothing that isn’t relevant to whatever — jewel thief he’s hired you to find out.”

Nora was reluctant on sharing about the case. It’d hit the news stands in about two or three days anyway, Bull would find out eventually.

“Quick n’ easy. You do your job. Get out. Don’t fuck with smart people. You and I - we aren’t that smart, I think you agree.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good talk, Bull. I’ve got to get to work.”

“Stop dicking around, all right, Nora?” Bull gathered up the mess of bloodied tissues and cotton wads.

“What’s he after?”

“Who? Trystan?”

“There’s got to be something these guys want. Like how actors want big breaks and writers want big breaks and uh - you know, something I can —” Nora gestured, “I can really sink my teeth into and use it as a killswitch.”

“Gain his trust. He’ll tell you on his own.”

“How do you know that?”

“I happen to know he enjoys belladi from just being his waiter at a fundraiser once. All I did was ensure his flute of champagne remained full and listened. Really listened. That man has got centuries worth of stories to tell and nobody to listen to. That’s what you do. Listen without making preasumptive opinions.”

“Yeah, okay, don’t fuck with smart people, got that. Ciao.” Nora gave him a quick salute with her fingers, turning on her heel towards the doors.

“I’m afraid you didn’t got it- Nora- argh—”

**

Nora found him on the sidewalk, patiently waiting. Trystan leaned against his sports car, watching and smiling at the pedestrians who didn’t smile back.

“Oh good, you are here.” Trystan beamed at her. “Your uncle said you had stepped out— what happened to your nose?”

“Kitchen accident.”

“Right.” he narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t believe her. Or maybe he was trying to study her - deduce something out of her microexpressions and body language. Nora suddenly grew aware of Bull’s advice and the hot blood coursing through her veins in panic. She noticed he had his hands tied to his back, as if he were hiding something. It was a brown paper bag.

“It was a kitchen accident.” she insisted. “What do you have there?”

“Oh, just something I picked up.” he handed it over. A brown paper bag with a croissant in it, with some raspberry filling and a paper cup of coffee with the order written on the side. She took a closer look at what the barista had scribbled in blue ink: dark roast coffee, two pumps of cream, one sugar. Bull was not joking. Her hands grew stiff, as she continued reading the list of ingredients, before Trystan interrupted.

“I figured we would not have time for breakfast.”

Nora’s first thought went to poison. She dealt with the idea for two seconds before rejecting it, considering Trystan needed her more than she needed him. He was going to have to keep her alive. Unless there was some sort of truth serum that made her run loose with her words, there was no reason to suspect anything could be spiked. Could just be a peace offering. A thank-you of some kind, grateful she accepted Sonja’s case when none of the cops were willing to take it forward and no other agency barely credible or within a half hour’s drive from Trystan’s penthouse. Still, it wasn’t like someone could Google Nora’s coffee order.

It tasted good per usual. She saved the croissant for later in her left jacket pocket using her left hand, just to throw Trystan off, in case he had some ideas of gifting her a can opener next time meant for right-handers. Considering the kitchen accident was the only excuse she had for suspicious injuries, it wouldn’t be too thickheaded to assume he’d give her a can opener sometime later.

“Are you going to say goodbye to your uncle?” Trystan asked, as he got into the driver’s seat in his car. Nora strapped in her seatbelt with her left hand, adjusting it to make sure the croissant in her pocket didn’t disintegrate.

“I’ll call him. We’re on a time crunch here. Ruby’s got a copy of the toxicology report. It should help us analyse some injury patterns and compare it what we know about the kind of weaponry or poison we can track down. To put it simplistically.”

“Right.”

Liar. Nora thought to herself. He’d have pored over Forensic Science For Dummies last night. Heck, he would have even arranged an intimate dinner with one of the leading forensic scientists in the country, discussing precisely this. He was pretending to be this unassuming ‘foreign diplomat’ or whatever he called himself, and very good at it too.

Trystan drove down the street, meeting a chunk of 10AM traffic in the middle of the high road.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. You must be devastated after yesterday.”

“I actually got a good night of sleep.”

“That’s — good.” Is that good? Good for Trystan? Someone who definitely sleeps with one eye open at all times?

“Yes, I am very reassured that we will find Sonja’s murderer and bring him to justice however means necessary. A lot more hopeful than I usually allow myself to, but I have got a very good feeling about this, actually. Today, I woke up with this — interesting — can I say lust? Lust for hope and it is an interesting feeling. Perhaps we might obtain a —break through, so to speak in the evidence present.”

“Of course, of course, hope is just — y’know how I’m all about the hope.” Nora attempted to make conversation. “Did you get a good look at Sonja’s other paintings?”

“Nothing different apart from the eldritch horror-looking work.” he chuckled dryly.

So he did look at her paintings later. Nora realised Bull wasn’t just right. He was prophetic. Was that good? She’d seen her fair share of amateur detectives who’d seen an episode of Elementary or CSI and assumed they could do the same, but Trystan didn’t seem like those pop culture fanatics. He was invested in the case, and not just acting out of emotion due to the grief his friend’s passing had caused. He was actively taking charge and Nora wasn’t sure if this was the right idea. Bull did tell her to keep him talking, to underline his throwaway lines and go from there, but how? When he seldom talked in full sentences and only used his extensive vocabulary to flirt with people? Or maybe that’s another guerilla tactic too. This was difficult. She couldn’t be vigilant all the damn time.

“You must know a lot about art history, then.”

“Not entirely.”

The car stopped at a stoplight junction.

“I absolutely loathe the traffic sometimes. It just forces these unnaturally long mundane conversations, do you think? Which is why I always carry some downloaded music with me-” he punched some keys on the GPS screen that doubled down as an entertainment system. “- do you happen to enjoy some classic pop?” - he set the volume to three, probably to not let the music overpower the constant horn sounds, playing ABBA’s I Still Have Faith In You. “- Queen, John Lennon, King Crimson, Bowie- they were some of my first Western artists I listened to when I came to America. Queen has a special place in my heart. It was a gateway to learning more- collloquial English, if I can say that. Diplomatic-speak can get very boring and sometimes off-putting. You would not want your date complimenting your good handshake and your choice in dress suits and ties. Who does that? Anyway, I have grown a lot. Companionship was so much easier back at home. People had so much trust to spare. Or at least, I had so much of that to pass around.”

“Well, your faith is in the right place.”

“You think so?”

“I’m fairly good at my job. I don’t think you would have anything to worry about.”

“I am not worrying about anything. Rather I am more than happy to know I have placed my faith well.”

“Strong sense of judgement, yes.”

“That I am still yet to learn how to do that.” he grinned. “So what are we now? Partners? Considering we are working this together?”

“That’s uh — fast— but sure. Partners work.”

“Wonderful! I can finally place the order for the matching shirts.”

“You got us matching shirts?”

“Yes, the ones with ‘I am his’ and ‘I am hers’ but with partners in brackets. I am sorry, but it is a Drakovian tradition for good luck and I have some requirements as a client and a partner. Maybe I should have run it by your boss first-”

Nora stared at him, eyes widened. Trystan hid back a smile for approximately a second before erupting into laughter. “You would really believe me, just like that? It is such fun messing with you!”

“No I don’t, but I do have some complicated feelings about merchandizing.” Nora’s cheeks flushed red.

“Ooh complicated feelings. I love some complicated feelings. Tell me some more.”

“For starters, I don’t like texts on shirts. It makes it hard to read.”

“So you just —stare at people’s chests? My, my Detective, how juvenile of you, tch tch-”

Nora sighed. “There is no winning with you, is it?”

“Nope. There is no losing either, because it is time well spent, right?”

The car rolled into the parking lot of Astoria Forensics, Ruby’s place of work. Nora didn’t even have to supply him an address.

“Let us get this case a-rolling, shall we?” Trystan pressed a button to open the door for her.

_______

A/N:

I hope you enjoyed reading this! The one pet peeve I had with the book is that we never got to see the initial scepticism besides it being fodder for the banter. I really wish we could've experienced the doubt and the stress MC was going through, while trying to learn to trust Trystan and his story.

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[peonyblossom]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Crimes of Passion (Visual Novel) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Main Character & Jimmy Rose Characters: Main Character (Crimes of Passion), Jimmy Rose Additional Tags: Coming Out, Nonbinary Character, Canon Deceased Character, Grief/Mourning, transgender awareness month Summary: Jenna finally comes to terms with their gender identity and goes to visit their dad's grave to tell him. A/N: for @choicespride Transgender Awareness Month Event

[zepskies]

A Crime of Passion

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader 

Summary: When Beau Arlen decides to “make it up to you,” he’s damn thorough.

AN: I couldn't help myself lol. I wrote this last night. Here's a quick little drabble for the Take Me Home series, set directly after A Good Man Is Hard to Find!

Based on this request from @jessicalynnann.

Word Count: 550

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Implied smut, fluff, and a murder (of sorts).

Catch up on the TMH-verse: ⤵️

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You just…you couldn’t stop laughing.

“All right, you done?” Beau asked.

You never thought you’d see this man blush so thoroughly. It made you laugh harder, though you tried to stifle it with your hands covering your face.

He had you laid out beside him, still skin against naked skin as the cool air began to dry your dewy bodies.

You were lying against him in an odd position, considering your bed now had a deep crack in the bedframe that ran all the way down the middle. It meant your legs were bent at an angle, almost like you were laying in a recliner seat.

You just couldn’t believe it.

This man had really broken your bed.

In fact, he murdered it. Killed it dead. Though you supposed it was a crime of passion, in this case. (You held in a snort at the thought.)

There were even a couple of screws that had rolled across the tile floor.

“Again, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I promise I’ll pay for a new frame,” Beau said contritely.

The truth was, he was embarrassed beyond belief.

Another giggle escaped you, though you tried to soothe him by caressing his cheek.

“Baby, it’s okay. This thing was old. I’m surprised it survived the move all the way from Chicago, honestly,” you said. The twinkle of mischief in your eyes made his face warm further.

“But how damn lucky am I,” you added, your lips curving. “My man quite literally shatters expectations when he makes love to me.”

And despite the unexpected cracking sound that had left you wide-eyed, it had been a spectacular finish. Even now, you were still tingling between your legs from how hard you’d come on his cock. (Twice.)

You slipped your bare leg between both of his and pressed a sweet kiss to his chest.

Beau fought it, but he had to smile at your words, and your affection. He sunk a hand into your tangled hair, first brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“You sure you’re okay then?” he asked.

“I’m more than okay,” you said. He felt the shape of your smile against his skin. You pulled back to meet his eyes. “Better the bed than my back, anyway. Jesus.”

Beau let out a sigh. Another giggle bubbled over and escaped you. You rubbed his arm.

“Think of it this way,” you said. “Now we can go pick out a new bed together.”

Beau tilted his head at that, and he nodded. A smile grew across his face.

“Now there’s an idea,” he said. It was probably too soon for him to broach the topic of moving in with you, but this could be a good first step.

“Right?” you replied in excitement. But there was something else dancing in your eyes. “We’ll just have to make sure the frame’s reinforced with titanium or something, because goddamn.”

Beau couldn’t help but laugh. He dropped his forehead against your shoulder while his own shook. You held him to you and didn’t bother to try and hide your own amusement anymore.

One thing you knew for sure?

There was no way in hell you’d ever let him live this down.

And one thing he would never tell you…

Beau Arlen was damn proud of himself.

AN: 😂 Well then. That was fun, and I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[demonshauntingthedoves]

Crime of Passion [kinktober special]

Crime of Passion : A murder committed in the heat of moment without aiming to actually do it. In other words, to kill a partner under a strong emotional impulse during sex.

Summary : They say it's done in the "heat of passion" without a clear intent to truly commit the crime. And you did it too. Only you did strongly intent and prepared to do it.

Pairing : Husband!jungkook x female reader

Genre : Erotica, Eventual Yandere!

Warnings : Sexual and Yandere themes, dom!fc, dom!jk, lot of edgeplay, blowjob, use of aphrodisiacs, penetrative sex, praising kink, spanking, nipple play, infidelity, murder, torture, fc is crazy at the end but smart to (witch laugh).

WordCount : 1980+

With a pop you let go of his dick.You leaned back panting heavily and looked up at Jungkook through your long lashes. You rubbed the corners of your mouth with the back of your gloved hand, wiping the remaining beads of cum you failed to swallow. A sultry grin bloomed on your face as you glided your hands up his thighs again whilst batting your kitten-like-eyes at your husband who was sprawled out on the leather couch. From your bent position, you kissed the way up his knee and thigh and then quickly pecked the swollen head of his cock which still begged for your attention despite receiving full treatment of warm mouth moments ago.

“Don’t tease me! Just get over here and get it done with!" Jungkook hissed at the sensation. His hooded eyes raking your cleavage as your chemise hung low over your chest.

You rolled your eyes but crawled on him and licked a strip up his throat like a starved kitten. He threw his head back and let out a heavy puff of smoke from the thick cigar in his hand. You dragged your wet plump lips over his Adam's apple which bobbed, feeling your hips grind on him.

"Ahh!..Jungkook." You gasped and purred when you felt your core painfully ghosting over his cockhead which was ready to slide in.

“Don’t torture me, Y/n. Just let me in!” He growled lazily and smacked your ass. 

But you wanted to prolong this moment as long as possible. You didn’t take so much effort just to rush everything.You wanted to make it slow and sensual, almost transcendental.

Your barely covered skin glowed in the golden glaze of the scented candles. The low tune of vinile drowned in the melodies of your moans and his groans as you humped on him. You didn't let him enter you. You wanted to edge him. You rolled your ass sexily and bit hard on your lower lip feeling the rough fabric of his trousers; which you had pulled open in haste; scratch your inner thighs due to continuous friction. 

Your hand slid up into his lustrous hair like a quiet snake and pulled his head to dive in a kiss which turned desperate when he leaned in. Loud smooches and smacks echoed in the dimly lit room. He grabbed your lace cladded ass and smacked it, then he dug his fingers through them to reach your core. You gasped and hid your head in the croon of his sweaty neck. You kissed the mole on his honey skin and moaned loudly in his ear when he pinched your labia.  

“Now you see Y/n, hmm? Dont play with me!” His rum-tinged breath send tingles down your ear.  

You sighed and abruptly stood up. His brows furrowed when he didn't feel you doing what he said and opened his hazy eyes wide.You were just standing there with your hands on your hips. He enamored at the glory of you adorned in a deep burgundy coloured lingerie. Your honey skin glimmered through the dark berry chemise as your ears shimmered with the purple diamonds. Your baby hair was tucked out of your lazily tied bun and your round breast heaved up and down. And the gloves, he absolutely loved when you played the princess. Your tiny hands tucked in the velvet gloves. You could kill with that look.

You were a rare jewel, the black rose in the colourful ones. You were a temptress. His temptress.

 “Fuck sweet thing! You look drop dead gorgeous. Gonna kill me?!!” 

 "Hmm, I might be plotting" You playfully muttered.

It was times like this, when he knew you wished to take the lead. He could feel the exhilaration when you had aggressively pulled his collar and pushed him on the couch just to give him the best blowjob of his life. You wanted to have it your way. And he absolutely loved it. He might as well let you.

But not now when you looked like a goddess he wanted to worship. He couldn't keep his hands to himself. He needed to ravage this fierce beauty of yours. So he pulled you by your hips and cupped your chin to slam his hungry mouth to yours. 

His desperate hands traced every curve and crevice of your body.He picked you up and placed you on the bed whilst he undid the buttons of his floral shirt. By that time, you were already on your hands and knees, offering the perfect sight of your perked up ass on the edge of the bed. Like this, he could easily plummet his cock inside you but what is the fun in that.

He'd like to play the edging game as well.

 He harshly tore away the lace near your core and bowed down to latch on your pussy from behind. His fingers dug in your plush skin of your buttcheeks and smacked them while his tongue ravaged your dripping rose. The staccato of your ohs and ahs echoed around the four poster bed as he had your delicacy. 

"You have the sweetest rose I've ever tasted." 

You smirked in satisfaction that the viagra you had slipped in his rum was kicking in. But the moment you started to tremble, he stopped his ministration, only to climb on top of you and remove the rest of lace covering your shining skin. 

You buried your face in the silk sheets when you felt his cockhead nugging at your hole. A pleasure induced moan slipped out of you as he thrusted all the way in one go. The rest of your pleas were muffled as he jackhammered into you. Your body jerked forward with every swift move of his hips pistoning into you.

"So good for me, Y/n, o-oh my goddess!!"

The sheets were wet with amount of your drool leaving your gasping mouth. He was really fucking you good and sexy. You let him take his time, take all the time he had left.

Just when you thought he was about to cum, you crawled away from under him as he grunted loudly. You turned around pushing the hair that stuck your sticky forehead.

 "It's my game. I started it and might as well finish it." You said between your panting.

Your fierce eyes pierced through his blown out once. He surrendered to you.

As you busied yourself to remove his shirt and pants completely. He slapped your pussy out of frustration and pumped his fingers into you out of anticipation.

He bare back hit the mattress as you straddled him. You didn't miss a beat between settling on his erect length and rolling on him tortuously slow. 

"You're going to be the death of me,Y/n"

He growled looking at your naked figure on top of him. You hair messily fell down and draped on your chest.The only chlothing remaining on you were the gloves which rested on his buffed chest for support. You looked so pretty only in them. But he could still fell the edges of your sharp nails through the velvet gloves as you hopped on him. It was then, that you could get your words out.

"O-ohh, am I?!! Tell me you'd die for this pussy?!!" 

You asked him as you slided all your hair back, revealing your nipples to him.

"No question, I'd die for it. For you!!!"

He fingers reached up to touch and twik your nipples. Your breath staggered from the pleasure booster as you began to bounce on his cock. 

"So you'll die for me, right?"

Your hand clutched the thick column of his neck testing his waters. You pressed on his throat firmly as you felt your high approaching.

"Yes - f-fuck-ing -yes!!!" Jungkook stuttered and held your wrist with one hand and pinched your clit with the other.

You moves faltered and became sloppy as you glared at the fucked out face of Jungkook.

"So if you die, you'd be pleased to die with the sight of me on your cock, right? You'd want nobody but me ??!!"

Something flashed in Jungkook's hazy eyes as he grasped your hipbones tightly and titered,

"Ofcourse, sweet thing. Why would I want anybody but you?"

Liar

You tightened your grip on his throat as you rolled your ass on his abdomen.

And on queue, he started to thrust up in you, as if to prove his point or distract you from yours. You gasped in surprise and leaned forward on his chest. It took some more thrust for you to come undone.

You trembling body fell on him. His nose brushed yours, as you both stared in each other's eyes. Weary breaths feathering your faces. Your face softened as you looked at his loved filled eyes. But you could always see through the curtains of feign-what truly hid behind them.

You leaned back and resumed your movements. Your one hand still intact on his neck. You thought and thought twice.

His eyes fluttered to the cinnabar mole on the side of your chin.

Jungkook groaned again close to the edge. You touched the taunting cinnabar mole with the other hand. And smiled at the realisation.

So just because she had the exact same mole as you, he considered fucking her.

She was a washer brought to you. A poor but starry eyed girl. Her coily hair smelled of oakwood and detergents. That was the second thing you had noticed about her. The first thing was her mole which mirrored yours. You had smiled and welcomed her impressed by that only one feature of hers.

You should have known that you wouldn't be the only one to be impressed by that one feature of hers.

Your intuitions were gnawing at you the one time you'd sniffed the scent of oakwood coming from not only his clothes but his skin.

You were suspicious for days until one day you went into his study to offer him tea, only to be greeted by the smell of soaps.

But nothing phased you more than the instance when you caught her sniffing his clothes from the pile in hamper.

It unnerved you -the fact that they were romanticising behind your back but what devastated you was- the fact they thought you were stupid enough to not know and not do anything.

It wasn't much to fault the poor girl, she had her little piece of torture. You only scrubbed her eyes with the detergent and made sure she would never be able to see the morning sun again. She didn't know what were you capable of.

But that couldn't be quite said about your beloved husband. He knew what a fierce woman you were. If one span of your hips could make men fall on your toes, then one snap of your knife could make their heads fall too. And maybe he forget that.

You'd would love to remind him that for once and all.

"Nobody but me. But why do I feel you forgot that for some time now, hmm?"

Jungkook stiffened under you as you gyrated your hips on his. His aroused face turned into one of fright.

"W-what are you talking about Y/n?"

His hand caught yours which was heavily pressing on his pulse.

"So you would love to die with me on your cock, wouldn't you?" You asked him again.

When you looked at him with darkened feline eyes, Jungkook's face fell. He shivered from overstimulation and culpability.

"You said it would be your last wish!!!" Jungkook saw the crazy glint capture your eyes. You weren't playing anymore. This wasn't just a game anymore.

You placed your other hand on his throat and enveloped them tightly in a chockhold. After overcoming from shock and conflict, Jungkook clenched his jaw and tried to swat your hands away but failed due the lack of control he had in the daze of alcohol. His body was going numb. He couldn't even utter a word.

"Then die!!" You shouted at his face.

You pressed your thumb on pulse and strangled him. You chocked him with all your might.

It felt cathartic to punish him for his wrongdoings. He dared to betray you. Only to receive back all your bubbled up wrath and frustration like this.

He tried to undo your hands but nothing could stop you.

You breathe in.

His face went a deep shade of crimson. You could feel the loud throb of his pulse. You were there.

Until you no longer felt his pulse and his face unshed of all colours and went pale. You were done.

You breathe out.

You got up and wrapped yourself in the silk robe. You plopped down on the couch and took a hit from the cigar he threw. You puffed out dancing clouds of smoke looking at your dead husband. You gave him quite a lovely departure in the peach tapestries of silk you specially decorated for this occasion. Quite a heavenly departure for a person who ought to go to hell.

You slid the gloves out your hands and threw them in the fireplace. No one would doubt you now with no fingerprints. And even if anyone did, you'd simply cover it up under the Crime Of Passion.

A/N : Phew! Wanted to write something for this Kinktober and came up with this. I didn't actually select a single kink while writing this. But there's a tiny buffet of some common kinks. This story takes 360° turn from smut to murder.

[reveluving]

i'll show you little by little

summary: why not spend your day off with a little TLC with your wannabe sherlock?

pairing: m!trystan thorne x f!mc (written as ‘you’, no name usage)

warnings: teen (t); none, really. just poetic, but make it tooth-rottingly fluffy & comfort!

a/n: contributing to our favourite royalty because he deserves it (& 'cause I can't find any open f!mc for him—) as usual, the MC can be yourself or an OC of yours! i love this man as much as the next person, so please, don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» fancy reading another choices fic? check out my m.list!

'He just wants you to know that he’s with you every step of the way.' ;

Imagine waking up with Trystan on a day off. It’s been a minute since you’ve gotten the time just to sit back and unwind, so as soon as you’re presented with one, Trystan takes it as an opportunity to spoil you, and it all begins by turning off your alarm when he knows you’ve forgotten to do so yourself.

But with how busy you’ve been for the past couple of months or so, your body clock forced you to wake up hours before your usual time. 

That doesn’t deter him though, because as soon as he feels you stretch, no matter how hard you try to avoid waking him up, he’ll instinctively wrap his arms around you, nuzzling the back of your neck with a deep, groggy “morning”. It’s not hard to convince you to stay, especially when you’ve got your furnace for a partner to keep you warm in between the cold sheets; the best of both worlds. 

The muted blue sky, too, only persuaded you to stay in bed—no longer nighttime but not exactly morning just yet. 

Like any other morning, it’s not the most silent, with the occasional honks and beeps of the road—where the world was beneath you. It's just you and him now. He knows that you know you’re strong, almost too dedicated to your job but so much more empathetic than any front liners out there.

He’ll tell you if he knows you need a little boost, but the sharing of smiles and lazy kisses speaks louder than words. 

As soon as he notices you spacing out, possibly thinking about recent cases that may have hit you harder than usual, you’ll feel his lips—kissing the crown of your head, on your temple, your jaw, anywhere; slow and deliberate. His cold fingertips brushing your skin with feather touches, just to hear your sweet giggles or even a huff of amusement.

Anything to keep you grounded, and anything to reassure himself. Not a single sign of him rushing you to come to terms with whatever was bothering you.

He just wants you to know that he’s with you every step of the way. 

And he’ll do much more; bringing your hand up to his lips. With the help of the lights of the bustling town, he makes sure to hold your gaze as he plants even more kisses; starting with the inside of your palm, to your fingers, then to the back of your hand before trailing his lips up your arm the way Gomez would show his affection to the love of his life, Morticia. 

He loves it when you lightly run your nails over his shoulders, a sign that you, too, were with him, in more ways than one. It sends shivers down his spine the same way a breeze would on a chilly day. 

The two of you would just stay in each other’s arms for hours, just until you could see the first rays of sunlight, and even then, you'd have to convince him. The second the rays hit your eyes, he'll pull you to his chest, closer than you already are, as if protecting you from the first sign of reality. 

But as mentioned, if you’re planning to get out of bed real soon, you’ll have to fight for it.

“What’s the rush?” Trystan mumbled against your skin, planting a kiss on your shoulder for the umpteenth time.

“Are you going to be like this the entire day?” You asked with a chuckle.

"Depends," He hummed, pretending to think for a moment, "Was that an offer?"

And before slipping out of his hold, he whispers an “I love you” in your ear before letting you go. 

Breakfast is another story. Just before he enters the shower after you did, he’ll jokingly tell you not to lift a finger in the kitchen because he’ll do the cooking, though you can tell that he’s also serious about it. 

So, that’s what you did—not make breakfast, but he didn’t say you couldn’t do just a bit of work while waiting for him, and boy, was the look on his face comical.

“What did I tell you?” He grumbled, the slight pout telling you that he was more so disappointed than anywhere close to being angry.

“You didn’t say anything about a quick homework,” You countered playfully as you glanced up at him. You craned your neck, prompting him to lean in to accept your reassuring peck on his lips, “I won’t take long. Just for today.”

I promise.

He’ll huff but says nothing more as he immediately does his thing. Some good ol’ pancakes with an array of toppings. Though simple (and very Americanized compared to the ones in Drakovia), it eventually grew to be his comfort food since his exile, if he's the one who made it, that is. 

A reminder that picking himself back up would start somewhere small, and now he gets to share that same comfort with you. 

It didn’t help that your seat was facing the stove, so your quick glances at him became subconscious stares. Stares that Trystan thrived on, especially after locking eyes with your embarrassed ones with a knowing look.

“Your breakfast, beautiful.” He placed a stack of pancakes and an empty plate for you before laying out the toppings on a charcuterie board—maple syrup, fancy butter, fresh fruits, your favourite proteins and even went as far as whipping his own cream rather than the canned one sitting pretty in his fridge. 

Of course, you took the opportunity to stare at his muscles for a bit as he whipped the crème Chantilly by hand. 

“Thank you.” You made sure to really show your appreciation by looking up at him, a grateful smile gracing your lips. It pleases him, but not enough, not when you’re still reading the file. 

He won’t go so far as taking it out of your hands, but what he’ll do is sit close to you, plating your favourite combo before cutting a piece of it.

“Open up,” He said, holding the forkful of pancake to your lips, chuckling under his breath when you looked at him in mild surprise. As if you weren’t used to the fact that he was a passionate partner, no matter how long you’ve been together. You couldn’t help but share the same amusement as well, bashfully opening your mouth for the food he had thoughtfully made.

One forkful became two, and two became more, before you eventually closed the file, plating your own with Trystan's favourites before feeding him too.

» tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for fic of the week ;; & the gorgeous blue rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[ao719]

Vancross

Vancross - As Long As There’s You At My Side (Chapter 19)

Most of the characters belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: A group of friends embark on their final year at Vancross Institute with the hopes of making it their best year yet. When a new face with a complicated family plagued by secrets and rumors arrives on campus, new friendships are formed, a new relationship blossoms, and threatening challenges arise.  

Title inspiration: Golden - Scars On 45

Main Pairing: Liam x F!OC

A/N: Multiple crossover series. There will be random sprinkles of canon throughout this story, but for the most part, it’s pretty much out the window. Not beta’d. Please excuse any errors.

Rating: M • Warnings: This series will contain nsfw material, language, some alcohol and drug use, and is not suitable for minors. If you read, you acknowledge you are 18+

Catch up here

Leaning back against his headboard on a Friday afternoon, Liam typed away on his laptop, finishing up the last couple of paragraphs of a paper he had due for one of his classes. His eyes flickered up from the screen and he smiled when they fell on Croía; she was lying horizontally across his bed with one of his legs draped over the backs of her knees as she, too, worked on a paper for another class. 

It had been a month since Vancross closed its campus to students and they started virtual classes. Hour-long meetings with the professors from each of their classes were held Monday through Thursday, leaving them with three-day weekends to work on assignments and study for exams while the investigation into the attack remained ongoing. From what they were told through weekly updates from the Dean, they still had no evidence as to who was behind it. 

Liam wasn’t sure how to feel about the situation. On one hand, it was nice being home and with his family which he typically wouldn’t see much of during the school year. On the other hand, it was his final year, one they were midway through, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be returning. He was thankful, however, that Croía chose to stay with him in Cordonia. 

When they learned that the campus would be closing, Constantine and Eleanor didn’t hesitate to invite Croía to stay, and she didn’t hesitate when she accepted the offer. A week later, Blaine and Alia arrived in Cordonia after the same offer was extended to them. The four of them were staying in Liam’s wing, working on assignments and studying together along with Rashad and Olivia, who would come from their duchies a couple times a week. 

Liam knew his mother was trying to make their time away from campus feel as close to normal as she could. 

After finishing the last of his paper, Liam closed his laptop and set it on the bed before moving next to Croía. “How is yours coming along?” he asked before dropping a kiss on her shoulder.

“Done,” Croía smiled as she scanned over the document. “Just looking it over.”    

“Do you have anything else to work on?”

“I have to study for my IRT exam.”

“Good ol’ International Relations Theory.”

Croía looked at him. “How did you manage to get out of taking that class anyway?”

“Because I took it last year,” Liam chuckled. “I got put in it by some glitch in the system and they were going to take me out, but I asked my advisor if I could just get it over with, and he said it was fine as long as I thought I could handle it with my other classes.” 

“And … how’d you do?”

“Aced it, of course,” Liam smiled.

Croía playfully rolled her eyes with a good-natured grin. “Overachiever.” 

“Think of it this way … that means that I’m the perfect person to help you study.”

“Oh?” Croía chuckled. 

“Mmhmm,” Liam nodded as he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. He felt her smile before parting her lips, allowing his tongue to find hers. 

As the kiss deepened, Liam lifted his hand, closing her laptop and pushing it off to the side; he rolled to his back and pulled her over until she was straddling him. He combed her hair back from her face, becoming more consumed in the kiss with each slow curl of her tongue against his. With his legs dangling off the edge of the bed, he sat up; one hand dropped and splayed against her back to press her body flush against his own as he wrapped her long hair around his other. He gave a gentle tug, causing her to break the kiss as her head tilted back before his lips found her neck.

Over the past month, Liam found himself lost in Croía any free moment they had. He couldn’t get enough. Since that first night in the safe house, she couldn’t seem to get enough either. He’d always found her innocence and shy-by-nature personality endearing, but he also loved watching this more sensual side of her unfurl and come alive. Each time was more perfervid than the one before as she became more attuned with not only this never-explored side of herself but him as well. And while she was still the same kind-hearted, sweet, and coy woman he first met, the confidence that this newfound side gave her was, if he was being honest, sexy as hell and a turn-on all by itself. 

Just as Liam’s hands slid up underneath Croía’s shirt, planning to pull it off of her, a knock sounded on his bedroom door. He paused his movements, slowly lifting his head as she looked at him. 

“Li?” Blaine called out on the other side of the door. “Your dad is downstairs.” 

Liam dropped his head back with a sigh. “Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.” He looked back at her, smiling ruefully. “Sorry.” 

“It’s ok,” Croía chuckled as she maneuvered off his lap. 

Liam stared at her longingly as she adjusted her clothes back into place and he let out a grumble as he flopped back and rolled to his stomach, burying his face in his arms. “I need you to describe to me, in detail, Rocky Mountain oysters.” 

A laugh escaped Croía as she walked by the bed. “I’ll give you a second.” She opened the bedroom door and stepped out, closing it behind her as she met Blaine. “He’s coming.” 

Blaine flashed a knowing smirk having heard Liam grumble a moment before. “Not the way he wants to be, I’m guessing?” He let out a rumble of laughter when her cheeks flushed as she walked past him. 

Croía headed downstairs, and when she reached the bottom, Constantine was waiting near the door, smiling. “Hello, Croía,” he nodded.

“Hello, sir,” Croía smiled in return, then waved to Eleanor who stood behind him. 

A few moments later, Liam appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Hello,” he greeted his father. “Everything ok?”

“Yes,” Constantine nodded. “I was stopping by to see if you were busy.”

“Not at the moment,” Liam replied. “I just finished up a paper. Why, what’s up?”

“I have a meeting I need to attend with Landon regarding trading coming into Portavira’s entrepôt that I thought would be good for you to sit in on.” 

“Oh … yeah, sure,” Liam nodded. 

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Constantine said. 

Eleanor stepped forward. “Croía, I have some preparation planning for the Peace Summit to do and wondered if you might like to join me?” she smiled. “Please don’t feel like you have to say yes, I just thought I’d extend the offer while Constantine stole Liam away.” 

“Sure,” Croía smiled. She’d heard the summit mentioned a few times in the time she’d been there and, truthfully, she found herself a tad curious about it. 

“You’re not busy with any classwork?” Eleanor asked.

“No, ma’am,” Croía shook her head. “I have an exam I was going to study for, but Liam was going to help me, so I’d be waiting until he finished up anyway.” 

Eleanor smiled. “As long as you’re sure … and you want to. Again, please don’t feel like you have to.” 

“I’m sure,” Croía smiled. 

“Alia and I will hold down the fort while you’re gone,” Blaine said from the top of the stairs where he leaned against the railing.

Liam glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head with a knowing smile before looking back at his parents. “We’re ready when you are,” he said as he gestured toward the door. He slipped his hand into Croía’s as they followed him into the hall. 

Constantine and Eleanor fell into step on either side of the pair as they walked down the corridor; while Liam talked quietly with his father about the meeting, Eleanor looked at Croía. “It’s nothing arduous that we’re going to be doing,” she said. “Just going over the current guest list from those that have responded and some plans for the event.” 

“Well … full disclosure,” Croía began, “I haven’t … I mean, I’ve never helped with anything like this before,” she smiled sheepishly. “So, if I get in your way, feel free to tell me.” 

Eleanor smiled and patted her shoulder. “You’ll be fine.” 

When they came to a split in the corridor, Liam slowed his steps as his father turned one way and his mother the other, both pausing to wait. He looked down at Croía and smiled. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“I won’t keep her away from you for too long,” Eleanor said. “Promise.” 

Liam kissed Croía’s cheek before turning and heading down the corridor with his father toward the King’s study while Croía joined Eleanor on the walk to hers. 

****

Sitting inside the Queen’s study, Croía flipped through a list of names. “They’re broken down by country and kingdom,” Eleanor explained. “It’s just easier to keep track that way, and then, when the time comes for the seating arrangements, we can keep them all together.”

“It looks like you’ll have a decent turnout,” Croía noted as she looked at the list. 

“Yes,” Eleanor smiled. “It’s the first time we’ve held a Peace Summit here, so I’m glad we’ve gotten such a good response so far.” 

Members of royalty from various kingdoms such as Monterisso, Pavedena, Naporvie, Ulmeria, Monterre, and Ismar, to name a few, were all planning to attend as well as members of government from Ardona, Rutherland, Esherstein, Ithanstan, and Drivosa. 

The families of all of her and Liam’s friends, Croía noticed, and their friends were all on the list to attend alongside them. 

There was one country and kingdom noticeably not included. 

“Did … did you extend an invite to Drakovia?” Croía asked, immediately wishing she hadn’t as soon as the words left her mouth.

“We did,” Eleanor answered. “We haven’t heard back from them yet. But there’s still time.” 

“No offense, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” 

Eleanor looked at her, smiling sadly; she’d heard the same thing from Trystan. “We’ve extended invites to them in the past for various events, but they don’t usually respond. So, while I know they’re likely not to attend, I hope they do.” 

It was the truth. Eleanor did hope the King and Queen of Drakovia would attend, but not for the reasons Croía probably thought. The attendance of the Drakovian monarchs could bring a different kind of peace. And at the thought, a pang of guilt shot through the Cordonian Queen, knowing both her words and motives were deceptive, but just as they were trying to protect Liam, they wanted to protect Croía as well. 

“Have you spoken to your parents?” Eleanor asked as casually as she could.

“Oh, uh … no,” Croía answered. She let out a breath and dropped her gaze back to the list in her hands. “I’ve called a couple of times, but I … I haven’t heard anything back. I’m sure they’re busy.”

Eleanor stared at her; she’d heard Croía make that same excuse before as to why she hadn’t been in contact with her parents. She knew she didn’t believe her own words, able to hear the disappointment and hurt in the lie even though she tried to mask it. She’d heard from Liam how Croía was treated, but heard even more unsettling details about it from Trystan. And her heart broke for the young woman sitting before her, the one who still held onto hope that her family would someday show her love and affection despite being made to believe all her life that she was nothing to them … the same young woman who had become an integral and special part of her son’s life, and because of that, her own. She’d taken a liking to Croía, more so over the last month and seeing firsthand how happy she made Liam. Perhaps it was her natural motherly instinct, but she wanted to protect Croía from all of the same things she wanted to protect her own children from. And she wanted to help her, to see her thrive and succeed; it was part of the reason she’d asked if she wanted to join her that afternoon. 

Eleanor knew Croía didn’t have the experience that others in her position typically would, and not all of those kinds of lessons could be learned from a class or a book. And while guest lists and event planning were the more frivolous sides of her role, Eleanor had a few reasons for spending this time with Croía; she had a purpose for it all. 

“Well, why don’t we see how many from each country and kingdom are coming so far,” Eleanor said, changing the subject. She smiled as she sat next to her on the small sofa. “That way, we can start to figure out how we’re going to do the seating.” 

****

That evening, Constantine and Eleanor sat inside the King’s study, unwinding from their day with drinks. When Constantine’s phone rang, he stood from the sofa and walked to his desk, lifting the receiver to his ear. “Yes?”

“Hello, Constantine,” Trystan greeted him.

“Trystan,” Constantine said as he glanced over his shoulder at his wife; she rose from the sofa and came beside him as he put the call on speaker. “How are you?”

“I’m well. I hope you and Eleanor are the same.”

“We’re good,” Eleanor answered, letting him know she was there. 

“I’m here with Cameron,” Trystan said. “We just wanted to give you a little update.”

Constantine and Eleanor shared a look. “We’re listening.” 

“It’s not much of an update,” Cameron chimed in. “We’re still looking for the proof we need. We just need some more time to find that smoking gun.” 

“What we’ve found so far is better than nothing,” Eleanor replied. “It has to lead somewhere.” 

“Unfortunately, these people are very good at keeping things hidden,” Cameron said.

“I can imagine, considering they’ve flown under the radar for as long as they have,” Constantine scoffed. “But at least we’re getting somewhere.” 

In the time since they started their undercover investigation, the Cordonian monarchs along with Trystan and Cameron had uncovered more than they bargained for with the help of Damien and his Interpol connection. They’d come to learn that things were far more complicated and complex than they initially thought. And despite how much they’d found — and because of it — they needed more. What they had was only enough to drum up more suspicion and speculation. Both the delicacy and complexity of the situation called for more conclusive evidence because they couldn’t take any chances or risk any slip-ups based on technicalities. They needed a surefire smoking gun before they could make any moves, and they had yet to find it. 

“How’s Croía?” Trystan asked.

“She’s doing good,” Eleanor answered. “She was with me earlier, actually, helping me with some things regarding the Peace Summit.” 

“Taking her under your wing, are you?” Trystan quipped. 

Eleanor chuckled. “I simply extended the offer to keep her occupied while Constantine had Liam sit in on a meeting with him.” 

“She likes to learn, but was never given the chance back home,” Trystan said. “So I’m glad she’s got you there.”  

“Speaking of the summit,” Eleanor began. “Are you still  aiming to have enough evidence by then?” 

“Yes,” Cameron answered. “Damien still thinks it would be easier to have Interpol be there than it would be for them to get into Drakovia. I’m hoping we’ll have what we need, and that’s the goal, but I don’t want to make any promises.”

“And I still wouldn’t put too much faith in them attending,” Trystan interjected. “I know Damien thinks that’ll be the easiest way, but it’d be a damn miracle if they accepted. And if they do, be on alert because it wouldn’t be because they’re actually looking for peace. If they accept, they’ll have an ulterior motive for doing so.” 

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Constantine replied. 

“And Liam and Croía … they still don’t know anything about it?” Trystan asked.

“No,” Eleanor and Constantine answered in unison. 

“We’ve only been giving them the updates from the Dean and the University’s investigation, not our own,” Constantine added. He shared a look with his wife. “We’ll tell them when we need to …”

****

After having dinner with Blaine and Alia, Liam and Croía headed up to his room while the other two decided to venture down into the capitol in search of dessert. They’d offered for them to tag along, but Liam knew they hadn’t spent much time alone since their arrival in Cordonia; he’d told Blaine about one of his favorite local spots to take her. 

Croía sat on the bed and let out a breath, glancing at Liam when he sat down beside her. “How did that meeting with your dad go?”

“Fine,” Liam shrugged. “Just some trade stuff he wanted me to overhear.” He glanced over at her with a chuckle. “How was planning with my mom?” 

“It was fine,” Croía smiled. “Everyone is coming to that summit. Alia and her parents and sister. Blaine and his parents. Kennedy and her mom. Dionne and her parents. Peter and his parents and brother … to name a few.”

“Yeah, I knew Blaine and Alia were coming, only because they told me,” Liam said. “I figured the others would more than likely tag along … or be dragged along,” he chuckled. 

“I noticed Drakovia wasn’t on the list,” Croía said. “I asked your mom about it … she said they invited them, but in a surprising turn of events, they haven’t heard back,” she quipped. 

Liam shifted to sit in front of her. “Maybe they’ll come.” He knew they wouldn’t.

“Doubtful,” Croía replied. Liam smiled sadly before lifting a hand to her cheek; he drew her to him and pressed his lips to hers as his other hand settled on her waist. Before they could get too lost in the moment, she gently broke the kiss. “I have to study for my IRT exam.”

“You have all weekend,” Liam whispered. 

Croía chuckled as he kissed her again. “I need to get some studying done tonight. And you said you’d help me.” 

“I will help,” Liam said as he brushed his thumb across her bottom lip before kissing her once more. 

“I think we have two different definitions of help at the moment.”

A rumble of impish laughter escaped Liam as he drew back to meet her gaze. “Ok, I’ll help you study. But how about we make it a little more … interesting?”

Croía couldn’t help but chuckle at the mischievous smile he wore. “How so?” 

“I’ll quiz you …” Liam smirked, leaning forward and pressing another lingering kiss to her lips. “And reward you for every right answer you get.” 

Arching a curious brow, Croía smiled. “Reward me how?”

“Guess you’ll have to agree to play to find out.”

“Ok,” Croía laughed. She reached for her book on the nightstand, but he stopped her. “The questions are in the book.”

Liam tapped a finger to his temple. “It’s all up here.” He grinned when she laughed, then kissed her again as he guided her back on the bed, stopping once he was hovering over her. “First question,” he murmured against her lips. “Which theoretical perspective views globalization as a new form of imperialism?”

Croía smiled. “Neo-Marxism.”

“Good,” Liam said before finding her lips again; he kissed her slow and deep, curling his tongue against hers before shifting a moment later, kissing along her jaw to her ear. “Next question,” he whispered. “Globalization is most associated with which theory of world politics?”

“Liberalism.” 

“Uh-huh,” Liam hummed as his lips lingered on her neck. He slipped his hand beneath the hem of her shirt and pushed it up, revealing her lace-covered chest; he gently dragged his hand from her neck down between the valley of her breasts and his lips followed their path before shifting off course and trailing over the swell, stopping when they met the seam of fabric. “What is the economic theory and ideology that serves as the backdrop to what is commonly referred to as globalization?” 

Croía shuddered as his lips brushed over her covered peak, feeling his warm breath through the thin lace; her thoughts jumbled when the tip of his finger dipped beneath the scalloped seam and began to pull it down. “Neo-stru—” He paused, arching a brow as his gaze flickered to hers, and she shook her head. “Neoliberalism.” 

A wolfish smirk curled on Liam’s lips as he slid the rest of the fabric out of his way and lowered his mouth down to her pebbled nipple; he slowly swirled his tongue before pulling away and blowing a stream of cold air against her, drawing out a soft gasp. “Name two contributing factors to global integration,” he murmured against her as his lips moved to her stomach. 

“Transportation and Communication …”

“Mmhm,” Liam hummed, continuing his slow descent as his hand slid up to caress her. 

“And European Colonization.”

“Very good.” Liam shifted himself lower, placing a kiss just below her navel; his hands slowly pushed up the hem of her pleated knit tennis skirt before he hooked a strong arm around one of her thighs and draped it across her hips. “What is the type of exchange rate that is based on its expected value in the international market and is considered to be self-correcting?”

Croía bit her lip, fixated on him as his lips made a path along her inner thigh, all while holding her gaze. “It’s … it’s fixed—” He paused, and she swallowed thickly. “Floating. Floating exchange rate.”

“Nice save.” Liam ghosted his lips over the thin piece of lace that covered her and he smirked when just that light touch drew a soft yet needy whimper from her. “Name one revolutionary approach to International Relations.”

When he placed another teasing kiss over the lace, Croía’s eyes fell shut as a tingle shot up her spine; she instinctively tried to arch her hips for more but was stopped by his arm holding her in place. “F-Focus on — focus on North — North and South relations,” she stuttered through a breath.

Liam chuckled, dragging a finger along the seam. “I think I might prefer to focus on the south right now,” he said before he pulled the lace aside and dropped his mouth down on her. 

When she felt his velvet tongue swirl against her, Croía’s lips parted with a moan as her hand slid into his hair. 

*******

A couple of days later, Liam, Croía, Blaine, and Alia sat in the living room of the south wing, all working on assignments and studying for upcoming exams. 

“I wonder how much of this shit I’m actually going to use in the real world,” Blaine scoffed. 

Liam chuckled just as the door to his wing flew open; they all glanced over as Leo strode into view. “Hello,” he grinned. He walked further inside and sat beside Croía on the sofa, slinging an arm over her shoulders. “Hi, Cocoa Bean.”

Liam shook his head as the others laughed, including Croía.

One night while they all hung out in the game room, Leo had caught a glimpse of Liam’s phone, seeing Croía listed in his contacts under ‘Cocoa’. He’d laughed himself hoarse, despite there being a story behind the nickname, one Liam tried to explain. Leo ignored him and the story entirely and had been calling her Cocoa Bean for the last few weeks anytime he saw her. She didn’t seem to mind, however, so neither did Liam. 

“What are you up to?” Liam asked. 

“I want to go golfing,” Leo said, “but I have no one to go with. So I thought you all might like to join me.” 

Blaine threw his book down. “I’m in.”

Liam’s brows furrowed. “I thought you hated golf?”

“I don’t hate it, but it’s not my favorite thing either,” Blaine replied. “But I’ll do anything to get away from this shit for a while,” he said, gesturing toward the book and his laptop.  

“I’m game,” Alia said.

Liam and Croía shared a look, both shrugging. “Ok.”

****

A while later, after changing into appropriate attire while Leo filled a cooler with beers and White Claws, the five of them headed out to Cormery Isle’s golf course. 

They laughed and joked as they made their way through the course, all in much need of the little reprieve.

Liam, Croía, and Leo pulled up in a golf cart to where their balls landed on the seventh hole; Blaine and Alia pulled up in a second cart behind them. 

After taking their shots, Leo, Blaine, and Croía sat on one of the carts after grabbing a drink from the cooler, waiting while Liam and Alia made their shots. 

Leo glanced back at Blaine from the driver’s seat, chuckling. “Remember last year when we were shotgunning beers for every shot we took?” 

Blaine snorted, nodding before he tipped his head back to take a sip of his beer. “And we were all shitfaced drunk by the time we got back to the palace and your mom made us all her infamous hangover remedy.” 

“I swear, her spiced apple tea hangover cure is fucking gold,” Leo said. “They’ve made me functional for so many events.” 

“What’s a shotgun?” Croía asked.

Leo’s brows rose in surprise and he glanced over at her in the passenger seat. “Cocoa Bean! You’ve never done a shotgun?”

“No,” Croía chuckled, shaking her head.

“Oh, we’ll need to fix that,” Leo said. “Blaine, grab me a drink.”  

Blaine reached back, grabbed a can of White Claw from the cooler, and handed it to Leo. “So, the first thing you’re gonna do is make a hole down here,” he said as he tapped his finger near the bottom of the can. He grabbed the pen they were keeping score with and carefully poked through the can, maneuvering it around. “Ok,” Leo said as he finished making the hole wide enough; Blaine leaned forward from the backseat of the cart to both inspect and watch. “Take this, put your thumb over the hole, and position your other hand so you can open the tab.” He handed her the can, and she did as instructed. “Good. Ok, now, put your mouth there,” he pointed to the hole, and she leaned forward and replaced her thumb with her mouth. “Now open it and then suck.” 

“Tilt it slightly,” Blaine added.

Croía tilted the can slightly as her nail flipped up the tab, but she was met with a rush of unexpected carbonation, causing her to cough into the can. 

Suddenly, the liquid shot out from the opening, spraying Leo directly in the face.

Croía slowly looked over at Leo with wide eyes as what little she managed to get into her mouth dribbled out; liquid and foam dripped from his face.

In the back seat, Blaine let out a loud bark of laughter as he threw his head back. When he heard her wheeze, he looked at Croía and started to laugh even harder at seeing how hard she was now laughing; her face was bright red and her hand covered her mouth, which was open in shock as her body shook. 

When Croía took a breath, she squealed out a laugh as her foot kicked the panel under the seat and she doubled forward. Both the sight and sound sent Blaine over the edge; he tipped sideways, rolling out of the cart into the grass as he clutched his stomach. 

Alia and Liam approached after taking their shots, and Alia started to laugh just at the sight of Blaine rolling around on the ground. 

“What the hell happened?” Liam asked, seeing a substance dripping from his brother’s face; he wore a grin despite whatever just occurred. 

A loud guffaw erupted from Blaine as he started to try and tell them the story; he rolled to his side with a wheeze as he slapped the ground, unable to continue. 

“I was trying to teach Cocoa Bean how to do a shotgun,” Leo began to explain through a laugh of his own as he wiped his face down with his golf towel. “But I somehow managed to get a face full of White Claw instead.”

Alia couldn’t contain her laughter at the imagery.

“I-I’m sorry … I-I got a …” Croía trailed off, unable to speak as another shriek of laughter bubbled out of her. 

Liam looked at her and he couldn’t help but chuckle as she gripped his arm; tears glistened in the corners of her eyes as the melodious sound of her contagious laughter filled the air. He’d seen her laugh plenty of times, but never that hard … and he never wanted to go another day without seeing or hearing it again, without seeing her so utterly happy and carefree.

“Holy fuck,” Blaine chortled. He slowly rolled onto all fours, trying to catch his breath. “My abs hurt. That …” He trailed off, snorting. “That was the funniest fucking thing. His face …” He howled, dropping his head onto the ground between his arms as he continued to laugh. “Shit, Croía.” 

Leo gripped Croía’s shoulder. “We’ll need to work on your execution, Cocoa Bean,” he chuckled. 

*******

The following Friday, Liam, Croía, Blaine, and Alia sat in the living room of the south wing, watching a movie; they’d spent all week working on assignments, had gone out to the beer garden with Leo, Rashad, and Olivia the night before, and were taking that night to relax. 

Midway through the film, a knock sounded on the door; Liam paused the movie and shouted for them to come in. A moment later, Constantine and Eleanor appeared. “Sorry to interrupt,” Constantine smiled apologetically at the group as they all sat up.

“No worries,” Liam said. “What’s up?”

Constantine and Eleanor walked into the living area and took the two empty seats on either end of the sectional. “We just received a call from the Dean. Vancross is opening campus back up.” 

They all smiled. “When?” Blaine questioned. 

“One week,” Eleanor answered. “They’re giving you next week free of classes to allow you to get yourselves situated before returning.”

“So they finished the investigation?” Croía asked.

“They closed it,” Constantine said. “They couldn’t find any evidence pointing to who was behind the attack. Being that it’s been over a month, they didn’t have much of a choice. I’m sure they’ll still be looking into it, but they think it’s time for the students to return.” 

“Your parents are aware,” Eleanor said to Blaine and Alia. “They’re leaving it up to you whether or not you want to go right from here or go home for the week before returning.” 

The pair shared a look. “We should probably go see them before going back,” Alia said. “We won’t see them again until graduation.”

“Yeah,” Blaine nodded. 

As they began to discuss leaving the following morning, Croía took in Alia’s words. We won’t see them again until graduation. She hadn’t seen her mother since her impromptu visit, and she hadn’t seen her father since she left to attend Vancross. She hadn’t been home at all. They hadn’t tried to reach out to her and hadn’t returned any of her calls. And while a part of her knew it was foolish to even want to see them or to think they cared about seeing her, another part of her couldn’t let go of the notion that she had a home and family of her own. 

Alia and Blaine excused themselves to go call their parents and make their arrangements to leave, leaving Liam and Croía alone with Constantine and Eleanor. 

“I … I should go home, too,” Croía said. 

Liam furrowed his brows as he snapped his gaze in her direction. “What?” 

“Alia’s right,” Croía said quietly as she looked at him. “We won’t have another chance to go home again before graduation, and that’s a few months away. And I haven’t … I haven’t been home at all since school started.” She could see the wariness in his eyes. “I know I haven’t talked to them … but maybe I should try to see them.” 

Liam knew why she wanted to go — or rather, felt like she had to. She didn’t want to give up on believing that maybe one day they’d see her for more than the mistake they told her she was. She wanted their love and acceptance so badly that she was willing to risk her emotional well-being on the off chance she might get it. Every instinct inside him wanted to tell her not to go, to beg her not to go and to stay with him. He’d seen firsthand what being around just her mother did to her, and he didn’t want to see her fall back into that headspace she was so easily put in before. He didn’t want to see her hurt and defeated if this trip home didn’t go the way she hoped it would … and he was almost certain that’s what would happen. 

Liam let out a breath. “But Croía—”

“It’s just a week,” Croía interrupted, seeing more trepidation fill his expression as he stared at her. “And then we’ll be back at campus.” 

Constantine looked at his wife the same moment Eleanor looked at him; he recognized the question in her eyes. He knew she didn’t want Croía to go either and that look told him exactly what she was thinking: She doesn’t know what we know. But he subtly shook his head at her silent request. They couldn’t risk telling anyone, including Liam and Croía. Not yet.

“Are you sure, Croía?” Eleanor asked, hoping she might reconsider. 

“I’m sure,” Croía nodded with a halfhearted smile. “And while I’m there … maybe I can bring up the Peace Summit and gauge their interest in possibly attending.” 

“Well, how about I go with you,” Liam said. 

Constantine and Eleanor both stiffened at his words. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I think it might be best if I go by myself,” Croía said, much to his parents’ relief. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. 

Liam continued to stare at her. “When … when are you going to leave?” 

“Blaine and Alia seem to be leaving in the morning,” Croía noted. “So maybe sometime tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have to have Jonas call to have the jet prepared and sent.” 

“No need to call for the jet. You’re more than welcome to use ours,” Constantine offered, although his motives weren’t entirely selfless; he didn’t trust a Drakovian jet landing on Cordonian soil. 

Liam heaved a sigh as he finally dropped Croía’s gaze. He didn’t like the idea of her leaving. He didn’t like it at all. 

**** 

The movie night had been cut short so Blaine, Alia, and — much to Liam’s dismay — Croía could pack their bags. 

Liam sat on the edge of his bed, watching Croía stuff the final pieces of her clothing into her suitcase before zipping it shut. She set her bag over by the door and turned to face him; the look he gave her had her seriously contemplating her decision. 

When Croía approached him, she rested her hands on his shoulders, and Liam pulled her down so she was straddling his lap. He searched her icy blue eyes as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to go,” he said just above a whisper.

“I’ll be ok,” Croía said, not sure whether she was trying to convince him or herself. 

“Does Trystan know you’re going?”

“No,” Croía chuckled, knowing he was hoping her brother would change her mind. “I haven’t called to tell him, but I will.” He shook his head, dropping her gaze. “If I come back disappointed … it’s no one’s fault but my own.”

Liam looked at her again. “If that’s even a possibility, why go?” he asked. “Why risk making yourself feel like that?” 

“Because I … I just feel like I need to do this,” Croía replied. “For myself.” Liam sighed, dropping his head on her shoulder. “Listen …” She forced his gaze back to hers. “If this trip goes badly … I promise, it’ll be the last time I try.” 

“You won’t go back again?”

“No,” Croía shook her head. “I think this trip will tell me everything I need to know.” 

Liam chewed the inside of his cheek as his hold around her tightened. “I still don’t like the idea of you going … especially by yourself.” 

“I’ll be ok.” 

Knowing he wasn’t going to change her mind, Liam heaved a defeated sigh as he dropped his head on her shoulder. “I’ve gotten used to you being here with me,” he murmured. “I don’t want to wake up without you.” 

Croía chuckled. “It’s only a week.” 

“Too long.” Liam lifted his gaze back to hers, holding it for a moment before he closed the small space between them and pressed his lips to hers. 

When they parted, Croía rested her forehead against his. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

Liam kissed her again, this time more ardently; he turned, laying her back on the bed, planning to make the most of that night. And she eagerly returned the kiss with the very same intention. 

*******

The following morning, Liam and Croía said their goodbyes to Blaine and Alia before they left, and that afternoon, they rode in silence and hand-in-hand in the back of an SUV to the airport for Croía’s flight. 

Anthony drove the pair with Jonas riding beside him in the passenger seat; knowing they were in cahoots, she had instructed her guard not to call Trystan, telling him she would do so herself. In the third row behind them sat Leo, who offered to tag along, knowing his brother might need a distraction on the way back. 

Liam tossed and turned all night, trying to come up with some way of changing Croía’s mind, but he fell short. Despite her assuring him she would be fine and that it would only be a week before she saw him again, he still couldn’t bring himself to get on board with the idea. He didn’t push, however, because he didn’t want her to think he was being overbearing. 

When the SUV pulled up to the tarmac alongside the waiting jet, the two guards exited the vehicle first; Anthony went to do a cursory check of the aircraft while Jonas grabbed Croía’s suitcase. 

When Liam’s guard reappeared a few moments later, giving the all-clear, Liam sighed as he opened the door and stepped out, turning to offer a hand to Croía; she said goodbye to Leo, who gave her a quick hug, before taking Liam’s hand and allowing him to help her out. 

The pair walked slowly toward the stairs; Jonas shook Anthony’s hand before stepping onto the jet while the latter headed back to the SUV, giving Liam and Croía some privacy. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Liam asked, forcing a small smile. 

“I’ll be fine,” Croía reiterated with a sad smile as she looked up at him. “Remember, it’s only a week.” 

Liam wrapped his arms around her as hers looped around his neck. “I know …” He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. 

“We’ll talk every day.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Croía assured him, and he kissed her again. 

Croía cupped his face in her hands. “I love you,” she whispered against his lips as he rested his forehead against hers.

“I love you, too.” 

After drawing back from another kiss, Croía stepped back, knowing she wouldn’t get on that jet if she lingered there any longer. “I’ll call you as soon as I land.” 

“I’ll be waiting.”

Liam watched her turn and head up the stairs; she gave him a wave and one last smile over her shoulder before disappearing into the cabin. He walked backward, watching Jonas secure the door, and when he reached the SUV, he leaned against it, waiting to see her take off. 

A moment later, Leo appeared beside him. “Relax. She’ll only be gone a week.”

Liam didn’t take his eyes off the jet as it turned toward the open airstrip. Yes, he knew it was only a week, but he had an odd feeling that he couldn’t seem to shake, one that grew in intensity as he watched the aircraft pick up speed down the runway before lifting into the air.

******* 

The following Thursday, Liam sat out on the balcony of his bedroom, eating breakfast as he scanned a newspaper. His eyes kept flickering to his phone, waiting for Croía’s morning call. 

As promised, Croía had called him twice a day every day since she left. They messaged each other throughout each day as well. 

That first night, when Liam asked how her return was received, all Croía said was, “as expected.” Each night since, she told him how her parents had been in closed-door meetings all day and she had yet to see either of them. That was until yesterday afternoon when she sent a message to tell him she was having dinner with them that evening; she said she would call him later to tell him how it went. 

Croía never called. 

Liam had sent a couple of messages to see if everything was ok and to ask how the dinner went, but he never got a response. 

As he looked at his phone again, Liam told himself not to panic, that she had probably just fallen asleep and wasn’t awake yet. He still couldn’t shake that odd feeling he had, though, and it was doing him no favors in staying optimistic. 

When his phone chimed with an incoming call, Liam threw the paper down and snatched his phone up; he let out a breath when he saw the name flash across the screen. “Hi,” he answered.

“Well, don’t you sound chipper this morning,” Blaine chuckled.

“Sorry,” Liam sighed. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be heading out tomorrow morning.” 

Blaine was flying back to Cordonia tomorrow so he and Liam could head back to Vancross together Saturday morning; they wanted to give themselves time to get resituated in their suite and relax before classes started up again on Monday. Rashad and Olivia were taking the Domavlliers jet but weren’t planning to return to campus until Sunday. 

“Is Alia coming too?” Liam asked.

“No,” Blaine answered. “She has an event she’s attending with her family tomorrow evening, so she’s just going to meet us back at Vancross Saturday morning.” 

“Ok …” 

“Are you alright?” Blaine asked.

“I’m just waiting for Croía to call.” 

“What’s wrong?”

Liam sighed. “She was supposed to call me last night but never did. And she hasn’t called or answered my messages this morning.”

“Calm down,” Blaine chuckled. “She’s probably still sleeping. Don’t get yourself all worked up over nothing.” 

“Right …” Liam drummed his fingers against the table. 

Something told him it wasn’t “nothing.” 

*******

The next afternoon, Liam sat inside the living area of his wing after he’d returned to the palace from picking Blaine up at the airport. Liam held his phone to his ear, listening to it ring and ring and ring before Croía’s voicemail picked up. He sighed, ending the call and tossing his phone on the table in front of him before running his hand down his face.

“Still nothing?” Blaine asked, and Liam shook his head. “Let me try.” He scrolled through his contacts before tapping his finger against Croía’s name. It rang … and rang and rang and rang … until her voicemail picked up. “Nothing …” 

“Has Alia heard from her?” Liam asked.

“She said the last time she talked to her was Wednesday.” 

“Same as me …” Liam let out a breath, running his hand through his hair. 

“We’ll keep trying,” Blaine said. 

****

That night, Liam tapped his foot anxiously against the carpeted floor of his bedroom as he tried calling Croía again. He still hadn’t heard back from her. When he reached her voicemail for the umpteenth time that day, he let out a frustrated breath as he rubbed his eyes, waiting for the cue to leave a message. When he heard the beep, he lifted his head.

“Croía … it’s me again. I’m really worried. I just want to know you’re ok. Please … please call me back.” 

Liam sighed as he dropped the phone away from his ear and ended the call. He thought about calling Trystan, but another part of him thought maybe he should wait. Like him, Blaine, and Alia, Croía was supposed to be returning to campus tomorrow and he didn’t want to worry her brother for no reason if there truly was an explanation as to why she hadn’t returned any of their calls or messages. He couldn’t figure out what the hell that explanation could be, but he was holding onto that small sliver of hope like a lifeline. 

*******

The following morning, Liam drummed his fingers across his thigh from his seat on the jet; through the clouds, he could see Vancross University’s campus as they flew overhead, headed for the airport. 

“Alia just landed and is headed back to campus now,” Blaine said, reading a message from her. Liam looked at him. “I told her we’re about five minutes behind her. She said she’ll let us know if Croía is there.” 

They had yet to hear anything from Croía; their calls were now going straight to voicemail, and messages were still left unanswered.

It had been three days since Liam last spoke to Croía and that odd feeling he had when she first left had now grown into full-on panic. When he said his goodbyes to his family that morning, his mother asked if he was ok, able to tell something was bothering him; he didn’t tell her what was going on because he didn’t have any answers to explain it. 

Liam’s only focus that morning was getting back to campus and seeing if Croía had arrived yet. 

****

When Liam and Blaine arrived back at their suite, they dropped their bags in their rooms and met back in the living area, both with their phones in hand. Liam tapped his finger against the screen on Croía’s name and put the phone to his ear; it went straight to voicemail again. 

Blaine could see the concern etched in his friend’s expression. “Maybe her phone broke or something.” 

Liam merely nodded at Blaine’s attempt to settle his nerves, but he didn’t believe it. Something was wrong. He could feel it. 

Suddenly, the door to their suite flung open and a frantic Alia rushed inside; she was out of breath, clearly having run from her building to theirs. 

Blaine turned toward her. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

“Croía’s stuff … it’s not there,” Alia breathed as she pressed a palm to her chest. 

Liam’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“Her room is empty. All of her stuff … it’s gone.” 

The color drained from Liam’s face as his heart plummeted into his stomach. “No.” In the next moment, he was rushing out the door, and Blaine and Alia followed behind him. 

Liam ran along the campus path from his building towards the other. When he entered through the front doors, he bound up the steps two at a time until he came to the correct floor; he flew down the hall and pushed the door to the suite open, making a beeline for Croía’s room. 

When Liam stepped inside, he froze. Just as Alia had said, the room was empty save for the bare bed and the desk and chair. 

There was nothing but empty hangers in the closet. 

The drawers of the dresser were pulled open and bare. 

The books that once lined the built-in bookshelf were gone. 

The only thing that remained to show Croía had ever been there at all was the pictures still pinned to the corkboard above the desk she once occupied. A photo of their whole group together from a night they had a bonfire on the beach, several photos of her and Alia, her and Liam, and a few of the four of them together on the many nights they hung out. 

Liam looked around the empty room, blinking as if her stuff would suddenly reappear … along with her. His eyes fell on a crumpled article of clothing he spotted on the floor of the closet. He walked over and picked it up; when he held it in front of him, he saw the ‘Rys’ stitched across the top of the back. It was the mock jersey she had worn to his final polo match. He sat in the chair and leaned forward, burying his face in the shirt; the scent of vanilla and sandalwood still lingered in the fabric.

Fisting the shirt in his hands, a wave of worry, guilt, and anger washed over Liam. He didn’t trust the idea of her going home, but he didn’t try hard enough to convince her not to. He knew in his gut something was wrong when he didn’t hear from her, but he didn’t try to figure out what it was. 

Blaine took a tentative step toward his friend, seeing his hands start to shake. Suddenly, Liam stood, grabbing the chair by its back and hurling it across the room with a growl; the sound of it slamming against the wall caused Alia to yelp. 

Liam ran his fingers through his hair, lacing his trembling hands behind his head. The stress of the past few days had finally gotten the better of him. His chest was rising and falling heavily, his breaths shuddered and quick as he tried to wrap his mind around what the hell was happening. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know anything. 

Blaine approached him, resting a hand on his shoulder. After a few quiet moments, Alia broke the deafening silence. “What … what do you think happened?” Blaine glanced over his shoulder at hearing the worry laced in her words. 

Liam dropped his arms to his sides, looking around the room again as his jaw tensed. “I … I don’t know,” he said. He stormed out of the room, unable to stand inside the emptiness any longer, stopping once he was in the living area. He pulled his phone from his pocket and went to his contacts, tapping a name on the screen before lifting it to his ear.

“Liam?”

“Have you heard from Croía?” The question tumbled out of Liam, who didn’t care about a polite greeting at the moment.

“No …” Trystan paused for a moment. “She’s supposed to be returning to campus today.”

“Yeah, but she’s not here. I haven’t talked to her since Wednesday morning; she hasn’t answered any of my calls or messages. Any calls to her started going straight to voicemail this morning. We just got back to campus, and Alia found all of her stuff from their suite gone. Her room is completely empty, Trystan.” 

Trystan could hear the worry in his voice; his own anxiety spiked at what he’d just been told, but he hid it, trying to remain calm. “Let me try to call her phone for me. I’ll call you right back.” He didn’t wait for a response before hanging up. 

Liam dropped his arm, gripping his phone tightly in his hand. The few seconds that went by felt like hours until his phone rang; he answered before it made half a ring. “Anything?”

“No … right to voicemail.” Trystan heard Liam let out an exasperated breath. “Listen, let me make some calls … see what I can find out. I’ll let you know as soon as I know something.”

*******

In the living area of his suite the following afternoon, Liam sat slumped on the sofa; his fist was pressed against his mouth as he stared off in a daze with his phone clutched tightly in his other hand. Blaine and Alia sat in silence across from him on the other end of the sectional. 

It had been over 24 hours since Liam had spoken to Trystan, and every minute that passed that he didn’t hear from him only caused both his concern and irritation to heighten. He’d tried calling and messaging Croía several more times after his conversation with Trystan but to no avail. He’d gotten a mere couple of hours of sleep last night, and that was only because he dozed off at the kitchen counter while waiting to hear from Trystan or Croía herself. Blaine found him at 2 a.m. when he exited his room to get a bottle of water; he was slumped on the stool with his head on his arms and his hand curled around his phone. He woke him up, telling him to go get some sleep, but when he entered his room, sleep was the last thing on his mind. 

When Liam’s phone chimed with an alert, his head snapped to the screen; he sank back with a heavy sigh at seeing the message from his mother, telling him she hoped they all got settled in ok and to enjoy his last day before starting classes back up tomorrow. He sent back a quick response before tossing his phone onto the table and laying back, covering his face with his hands. 

Blaine looked at him. “Who was—”

“My mom,” Liam interrupted. 

Alia and Blaine shared a look; Liam’s stress over the situation was palpable. Alia glanced back in Liam’s direction. “Why don’t we go get something to eat while we wait.” 

Liam dropped his hands away from his face and met their gazes; his expression was a silent declination. “Come on, Li,” Blaine sighed. “I’ve been with you since yesterday afternoon and you haven’t eaten anything. You’re not doing anyone any favors by starving your damn self.” 

“We don’t have to go far,” Alia said. “We can go to that Greek place right across the street from campus.”   

As Liam sat there and contemplated their suggestion, a knock came on the door of the suite; he sprung up and rushed over, flinging it open. 

Liam swallowed thickly when he saw none other than Trystan standing on the other side, and the look on his face immediately filled him with dread. 

***************************************

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[jerzwriter]

A Bronx Valentine

Book: Crimes of Passion Pairing: Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose (F!MC) Words: 900 Rating: Teen Summary: It's their first Valentine's Day as a couple, and Trystan and Carolina have plans to spend it in a very traditional manner... until they don't. A/N: I have a few notes at the end, but I will be participating in @choicesfebruary2024 Eros/Philia

Dinner had been delightful. Ruby’s recommendation was exactly what Trystan and Carolina had desired. Cozy. Candle-lit. Off-the-beaten path and not too crowded, even on Valentine’s Day. It was BYOB, so Trystan saw to it that the wine game was top-tier, and the food rivaled any place Michelin would quickly grant three stars.

The only thing that could rival the restaurant was the company, which was quite evident as Trystan stared at Carolina in rapt attention. Lovingly caressing her hand as she regaled him with stories of her past. He wanted to know absolutely everything about this vision who was foolish enough to love him, and he would have gladly listened to her all night.   

Just before the coffee was served, Carolina kicked off a shoe. With the floral brocade tablecloth providing cover, Trystan visibly shuddered as his girlfriend's stockinged foot trailed up and down his calf. They seemed to know exactly where the night was headed, but Carolina had one more story to tell. With his interest more than piqued, Trystan had enough, all but jumping from his seat to wave down the waiter for the check.

Their anticipation was palpable on the taxi ride home, and they all but hopped out of the car the moment it came to a stop. Bolting up the stairs, their laughter filled the air as they stumbled into her room, Carolina knocking things over as she clumsily felt around for the light.

"I can't believe we're going to do this," she chuckled. "I only meant it as a joke."

"Are you kidding?" Trystan beamed so brightly that there was almost no need for that light. He grabbed two glittery pens and some paper from Carolina's stash and rushed to take a seat at her side. "This is inspired! It's brilliant! I'm distraught that I haven’t heard of it before!"

"Yeah," she winked seductively, caressing his cheek with a smile. "But if you had, you wouldn't be doing it for the first time with me."

"Yes, and while this is a very unique of losing our virginity together, and I, for one, cannot wait! Now! Let's get to it!"

Carolina grabbed a sheet of paper from Trystan’s hand with a raised brow. “Do you think this is enough?”

“Hardly!” He gasped, pulling an entire memo cube from beside him. “We are going to be here a long time."

Carolina scooted down to the floor to write atop her coffee table, and Trystan quickly followed.

“Raul!” Carolina hollered as she wrote the name down. “Definitely, Raul!”

Trystan knit his brows. “I don’t think you ever told me about him?”

“Of course I did!” Carolina insisted. “He was the jerk who insisted being demiro was not a thing and just kept pushing and pushing no matter how uncomfortable I became.”

“Asshole,” Trystan mumbled.

“Precisely! Granted, I happily dumped a pitcher of Sangria over his head on our last date... quite satisfying, but... this adds a certain... je n’est ce quoi. Who is your first victim?”

“Augustine, for starters. He was the jackass that went to the tabloids about our relationship before I had even come out at bi."

“Prick!” Carolina exclaimed.

“... and then there was Alicia....”

Carolina looked up from her writing, “I don’t think I remember her story?”

“Fake pregnancy extortion scheme.”

“Dear God!” Carolina laughed. “You have a much more storied dating history than I do!”

Trystan looked up at her with a playful smirk. “I was simply the bigger whore, dear.”

Carolina burst into giggles. “This is entirely too much fun!”

“Inspired!!! Oh," he said, grabbing a sheet of glittery red heart stickers. "Do you think we should put some of these on?"

"I can't see why not! I think it would be a lovely touch and in the spirit of the occasion!"

"Ah!" Trystan grinned. "The Bronx is the best place in the world.”

“In fairness, I don’t think the Bronx Zoo is the only place that lets you name a giant cockroach after an ex for Valentine’s Day, but they really do make a big deal of it.”

Trystan shook his head in amazement as he pulled out his phone. “I can’t believe this tradition hasn’t made its way to Drakovia!” Then, after a few clicks, he let out a gasp. “OH...MY... GOD!”

“What is it?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his waist and peering over his shoulder.

“The San Antonio Zoo lets you name a giant roach after an ex... then they feed it to another animal in the zoo!”

“No!” Carolina said with a gentle laugh. “Absolutely not. Even if it is a giant roach, I’m not supporting animal cruelty.”

“But it’s a ROACH Carolina, and it’s going to be dinner for the other animals anyway.”

“Perhaps,” she shrugged. “But it’s not going to be at my suggestion. I’ll stick with just naming a roach that's a Bronx native, just like me!"

“You’re no fun,” he pouted.

“Really?” She teased. “We'll see what you have to say about that after this little activity is over.”

Trystan’s eyes lit up as a lightbulb went on in his head. With another gasp and a quick clap of his hands, he reached for a stack of paper. Carolina tried to remember if she had ever seen the man this enthusiastic.

“Are you that excited about our post-Roach naming activities?”

“Always,” he winked. “But I just thought of something! I can name roaches after my siblings, too!”

“Oh, God!"

“And parents... I can name them after my parents! Not to mention, you've never even met my cousins.”

Carolina put her tiny stack of names to the side and grabbed her pen.

“Babe, do you want to tell me some of their names so I can help you? This looks like it might take a while, and as much fun as this is... I really have other things I’d like to get to.”

Trystan leaned over and gave Carolina a long, lingering kiss. "Of course, my love, but it must be said... this is the best foreplay I’ve ever had.”

A/N2: When I saw this, I knew exactly what I had to do! I could absolutely see these two doing this - and having entirely too much fun doing so! I'd like to thank The Bronx Zoo for the inspiration!

@choicesficwriterscreations Tagging others separately.

[choices-ceri]

SO WAS IT HONESTLY THE BEST?

Book: Crimes of Passion

Rating: T

Pairing: Trystan Thorne x Ceri Rose

Word Count: 1330

Summary: How much would Ceri give to stay with Trystan?

EDIT: the link should work now

^o^

[choicesficwriterscreations]

Crimes of Passion 2023 Masterlist 2/3

✒️= Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨= Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈= LGBTQIA

September 2023

Sebastyan Thorne 🎨 - @chersonesse

Between Coffee & Cases ✒️ | m! Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

I'll Show You Little By Little ✒️| m! Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @reveluving

Crimes Drabble ✒️🏳️‍🌈 | Trystan Thorne x MC - @lilyoffandoms

Film Appreciation 103 ✒️🏳️‍🌈| Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @inlocusmads

Trystan x Gabriel 🎨🏳️‍🌈by @/artbyainna (C: @lilyoffandoms)

A Moment in Time (Series) ✒️| m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @jerzwriter Part 2: Trystan's POV (2/3)

Take Me Anywhere But Home ✒️Ⓜ️🔥| m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @reveluving

October 2023

Week ending October 7, 2023 Click for full list

A Day Off ✒️🏳️‍🌈| Trystan Thorne x MC - @starsarewithinme

hobbyist antiquaries ✒️| Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @inlocusmads

Sebastyan Thorne 🎨| by @nukritus

Tricks and Treats ✒️🎃| Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @jerzwriter

Trystan's Biggest Fear ✒️| Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @moominofthevalley

Trystan Thorne x MC 🎨🏳️‍🌈| Trystan Thorne x MC - @saotomexmary

Crimes Drabble ✒️🏳️‍🌈🦄| Trysan Thorne x MC, Luke Watanabe x Ruby Webster @lilyoffandoms

The Favourite Brother ✒️| Sebastyan Thorne - @starsarewithinme

Heavy is Her Heart ✒️ | m!Trystan Thorne x f!mc - @moominofthevalley

Trystan Thorne x F!MC Fanart 🎨 by @nukritus

Trystan Thorne x F!MC Fanart 2 🎨 by @nukritus

CoP M!MC and F!MC Fanart 🎨- @fairymatchmaker

Follow Your Heart (to New York) ✒️🎨| Trystan Thorne x F!MC - art by @/irdeinfierno (IG) fic: @storyofmychoices

Nope ✒️| Trystan Thorne x MC - @alj4890

Tragedy: The Origin ✒️| Trystan Thorne, Juliana Georgescu, etc. - @starsarewithinme

You're Shining (more than any star) ✒️| Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @reveluving

Crimes of Passion 2023 Masterlist 1/3 Crimes of Passion 2023 Masterlist 3/3

[alj4890]

Hi I have a Halloween prompt for you. Please feel free to use it if it inspires, and ignore it if it doesn't! 🎃(Any pairing, though you know... lol)

"I'm not going in there."

"What? It's just a Haunted House. Kids are going in."

"I'm sorry, but nope!"

😂 Oh goodness @jerzwriter . This prompt has been my response to any haunted house attraction. I am the biggest weenie out there. When I saw this Halloween inspired request (which I love) I immediately thought of Trystan and Cameron. So for this, I'm having our newly abdicated crown prince and his favorite detective spending an autumn evening deciding what to do for date night. This also goes along with @choicesprompts flufftober prompt of an embarrassing secret revealed.

Thanks again @jerzwriter for this. It helped pull me out of my writer's block ♥️

Masterlist

Nope

"So?" Cameron prodded. "What are we doing tonight?"

"Whatever you'd like." Trystan twined his fingers with hers as they walked down the sidewalk. "Other than having dinner with you, I'd like nothing more than to make this a normal date."

"You know," she teased, "nothing has ever been normal when you're added to the equation."

"That's what you love most about me." He winked at her as he brought their clasped hands to his lips.

Trystan brushed a tender kiss to her knuckles. Cameron normally would have scoffed at such a response but she was too happy at finally having the man she loved free and safe at her side. Nothing could possibly ruin their first night back in New York.

Trystan paused when he saw something that caught his eye.

"What is it?" Cameron tried to see what he was staring at.

A slow smile formed on his handsome lips.

"I think I found our next activity, love." He began to tug her along.

He couldn't help but notice that she seemed less than eager to cross the street.

"Trystan, why don't we do something else?" She pulled her hand out of his. "There's a ton of stuff a couple can do in New York."

"Like what?" He moved behind her and nudged her off the crosswalk.

"Um..." Cameron winced when she looked up at the building that changed every year into something absolutely dreadful. "Whatever you can think of, I'm sure it's here."

"I can't think of anything better to do on an autumn evening than a haunted house." Trystan slipped his arm around her waist and led her towards the line. "It's the perfect way to get the blood pumping."

"I can think of a more interactive way to get the blood pumping." Cameron cast a suggestive look his way. "If you catch my drift."

Trystan leaned down to kiss her. He stopped right before touching her parted lips, smiling at hearing her slight gasp.

"Trying to distract me from our night out as a couple, detective?"

Cameron grimaced over his seeing through her ruse. "No."

"Um Hmm." He chuckled. "We are going to have fun if it kills us." He captured her lips in a much too brief passionate kiss. "Then I plan on spending the rest of the night entwined with you."

Cameron felt heat spread throughout her body. As much as she wanted to distract him from taking her into a gimmicky Halloween attraction, she knew how significant tonight was for them. It was the first time they were able to be alone and have a real date. No sneaking around. No pretending to be just friends. No worries about someone trying to kill them.

She couldn't insist they escape back to one of their apartments.

But, she also knew she couldn't do a haunted house.

"Trystan, I'm not going in there."

"What?" He couldn't believe he'd heard her correctly.

Her voice actually had a slight tremble to it. It was an odd sound to say the least. He'd seen her defiantly dare crazed murderers to come at her. There was no way she could possibly be scared of some cheesey Halloween attraction.

"It's just a haunted house." He reminded her. "Kids are going in."

Cameron knew she sounded ridiculous. She also knew that she did not handle these types of man made scares well. There was only one thing she could do.

"I'm sorry, but nope!" She folded her arms across her chest and averted her eyes from her date's.

Trystan eyed her then the building.

"Why?"

Cameron ran her hands over her face. She hated that out of everything he could pick for them to do in New York, Trystan found the one thing she could not stomach. She also despised the fact that she would have to explain herself.

Can this get any worse?

"Look," she began with an irritated huff, "I don't do well in these things."

"What things?" Trystan asked.

She glared at him. "Haunted houses."

"Why?" He prodded once more.

"Oh my god!" She threw her hands up in frustration. "I'm a former cop! I might not carry a gun anymore but I do carry a taser."

"And?" Trystan still wasn't quite connecting this to her dislike of haunted houses.

"And I'm the person who whips out her weapon at anything that jumps out at me from the dark!" She snapped. "I don't have a flight mode, only a fight one."

Trystan tried to keep from laughing. He really, really tried.

He lasted all of three seconds.

Cameron glared at him while he wiped tears from his eyes.

"So what I'm gathering is..."he snorted with his laughter, "you might tase someone in there?"

"I hit people who jump out at me in these things." She mumbled. "I punched one guy out in a werewolf mask when he came up behind me and howled."

Trystan doubled over. He reached out to grasp her arm to help him remain upright as he laughed over her predicament.

"It isn't that funny." Cameron grumbled.

"It's hilarious!" He managed to get his laughter under control. "I never dreamed this night could be so perfect."

Cameron shook his hand off.

"Oh come on, love." He wrapped his arm around her. "Even you can see how funny it is."

"I don't think it's as funny as you seem to think it is." She mumbled, highly embarrassed."

Trystan began to guide her away from the attraction.

"You are the bravest person I know." He told her, squeezing her close. "To hear you have a weakness is not only surprising, but also gives me hope that perhaps one day I can be like you."

"Trystan," Cameron could feel herself blush over such praise, "you are incredibly brave. Look at all you've been through with your family alone."

"More like I had the flight of fight or flight when it concerned them." He reminded her. "It took knowing you and having you beside me to finally rise up to the challenge of fighting them head on."

She shook her head, wrapping her arm around his waist. She squeezed him tight in a side hug. It baffled her that he never saw the type of man he truly was.

"Would I want a partner who wasn't brave?" She asked.

"We both know my charm and persistence got me that coveted spot by your side." He reminded her.

Cameron laughed. "You might be Prince Charming, but that wasn't it."

"My handsome looks?" He asked.

"Nope."

"My fortune?" He continued.

"Not even close." She squeezed him again. "It was your refusal to leave me alone to face possible danger. You stayed by my side the whole time. That's why you are my partner and one of the many reasons why I love you so much."

"Cameron." He said softly, tipping her chin up for a kiss. "This is one of the many, many reasons why I love you."

"My kisses?" She teased.

He grinned, shaking his head. "You see me like no other."

They shared another tender kiss before continuing on down the street.

"Now," Trystan began again, "what shall we do since a haunted house is out?"

"We could go see a movie." Cameron offered. "That's a pretty normal date activity."

"Can it be a horror film?" Trystan asked with a hint of mischief. "I would like to scare the pants off of you tonight."

Cameron burst into laughter. "Sure. Those I can handle."

"Perfect." His smile grew. "I know just what to do once said pants are off."

[justyourusualash]

When there are a lot of pretty actresses in your country and your indecisive ass can't decide who'll be your Detective.

Like! Look at them! They're all so gorgeous looking! Who the hell am I supposed to choose?!

Help?!

The first one is Yami.

Second is Kiara.

Third is Disha.

Help me!

[inlocusmads]

laplace's angel ~ trystan x nora

Four times Trystan resorts to trickery to slip out of situations and the one time he is forced against his will not to, the habit is killed and resurrected back to him, at the same time. (crimes of passion)

wc: 4.1k, teen and up for strong language mayhaps.

A/N: The title is a reference to Will Wood's song by the same name - Laplace's Angel. For @choicesjanuary2024 challenge, prompt "reflections" day 28 I think???

Yes this is an incredibly long fic. No I have no regrets.

Banner credits: Duane Keiser

1

It was a competition between him and Vasili. The first person to throw a die and make the number six appear twice would get exempted from going with the Queen on a sabbatical for a personal inspection, a public appearance and two articles written about her all at once.

Vasili had shrewd eyes and the dexterity of a skilled swordsman at the age of twelve. Everyone knew he was much more capable than his so-called ‘legitimate counterpart’ as the press put it. Trystan was no skilled swordsman. However, he was good at getting out of things he didn’t wish to partake in. It was an imperative bet, considering one of them would have to go anyway and be subjected to the scrutiny of a thousand eyes watching their move. Trystan didn’t want to go simply because he found his mother to be unreasonable - in letting him and his brother fight when neither of them wanted to. Vasili didn’t want to go because who would ever take care of the plants in his absence? That and he was Eveline’s son before he could be a throwaway chew toy for the Other Family, as he called it.

The two took turns - two tosses for each of them every round. The first person to throw six twice was declared the winner. The loser would have to retreat to their bedroom to pack up a suitcase for that evening.

“Your turn.”

Trystan didn’t want to use cheap tricks to get by. His brother - though maybe conditioned to him as a competitor to the throne - was still his own brother. Not by blood, maybe, but by simply wanting to eat dinner with them. Nevertheless he decided to cheat anyway. A gift, they’d said he had. One of charm, of trickery and deception. One that made him destined for great things, as the elder ministers of the court had said. If only he stopped playing games and took things more seriously. If only his mother could talk some sense into him and his father saw him as an heir and not a son he could support by watching him play football in the mud.

Nevertheless, he had to cheat. Trystan knew you could palm the die in a way it always landed on a six. He’d practised it before, when mother had taken all of his things from him and locked him in a room to think about what he’d done. He picked up a few coin tricks, but he wasn’t good at them to do magic. He asked his friend, Gustav for help and he was more than happy to teach how you could break a stick a particular way that it always lended the bigger piece. Everything from the way he threw his dice that it landed twice on the same side was rigged. He just ensured to wait a few turns until he could do it so Vasili wouldn’t believe his brother tricked him. He was smart. Vasili could sniff a trick a mile away.

“You cheated.”

“It was a completely random throw.” Trystan reasoned, fiddling with his ring.

“Well, it is not so smart of me to agree to a random game of choice.”

“I mean, we are all -- a random throw of a die to some extent. You are neither smart nor unintelligent for trusting a random game of throw. Life is too. Marching into the valley of death. Us people.”

Vasili sighed. “I do not have time for this Trystan.”

“Enjoy the nice vacation, then.”

“Shut up.”

***

2

“And -- it is all in the way you fold and shuffle the cards--” Trystan said, as he demonstrated a simple card trick to a table of his drunk friends. They had enough fancy cocktails sitting on an empty stomach, no food thanks to the absurd outfits they had to fit into.

It was supposed to be a year preserved into history books because the Palace had never once gone to such exorbitant efforts to pull in as many people as possible for Trystan’s eighteenth birthday. Forget birthdays and birth-months - years were historical. Stuff of the legends to be turning eighteen; to immediately start preparations for the coronation, look for suitors and ensure the season of socialising and fanfare went as far as mid-August before the cold set in. Eighteen. A chance to showcase one’s potential. If there was a perfect time for everyone in the kingdom and beyond to meet up, it was now.

A series of drunken cheers erupted as Trystan performed a nice, easy bait-and-switch trick he’d been practising for weeks. It was recommended you entertain the guests while you’re busy being a showpiece too.

Vasili was trained to talk about politics - it would be truly impressive to see a seventeen year old so well-versed in international relations. Lydea, fifteen-going-sixteen was excellent at marksmanship - probably earning the Commander's attention towards her. Twelve year olds Kasper and Emika were not just to look adorable but to represent Drakovia’s moral rules and values through some terrible singing. (They’re just kids!) Fifteen year old Astrid and an eleven year old Marguerite were instilled with the knowledge of Drakovia’s industries - mainly bread and silk. Fourteen year old Sebastyan followed his brother, Vasili everywhere he went and involved himself in games and songs - trying to make himself useful. And thirteen-year old Patryk stuck by his mother and father as they engaged in pleasantries.

“You should be doing something useful.” Sebastyan approached Trystan and his friends.

“Do you want to see a magic trick?” he asked.

“Please.” Bas scoffed. “Everyone knows you are terrible at it.”

“Try me. Think of a card.”

“Why? I cannot pick one?”

“Think of one. That is the whole point, Bas.”

“Okay, I have one.”

“If I guess your card right, you will have to do something for me.”

“What will I get if you do not get it right?”

Trystan sighed. He removed the one ring from his finger and placed it squarely on the table. “How about this?”

“Psh, that hunk of metal? No. I shall rather relish in your loss. One in fifty two. Forget the odds. You cannot trick your way out of this.”

“Promise?”

“What do you want me to do if you win?”

“I will cash in that favour later. What is your card?”

“Seven of spades?”

“All right--” Trystan spread out the deck, turning up all the cards and palming the seven of spades quickly.

“This is cheating. Where’s the trick?”

“I am looking for the card, Bas. You need to understand I may have accidentally teleported this because of my uh-- intense magical powers. Also you have mustard on your tie.”

“Where?”

Trystan slipped a card down Sebastyan’s shirt when he wasn’t looking. It was a quick manoeuvre, so seamless that to Bas, it appeared as if his brother hadn’t moved a muscle at all. It took months to practise such fluid movements, Trystan almost pursued ballet and theatre just to make a fool out of his brother. All for the bit.

“Guess you lost it, Bas.”

“I didn’t lose the card!”

“Sure you did. You with your mind powers.”

“What? You think I’d put it down my shirt? I don’t even have--” Seb adjusted his blazer, only for the card to fall right into his palm. “What-- no-- now listen-- you put it there--”

“How can I? I am right across the table.” Trystan shot him a smirk, shrugging. “I think I’ll cash in the favour now. Take my place in the interview for the Gazette’s; they’re planning on conducting this evening and make sure you talk their ears off.”

“I am not doing that.”

“You promised me, Bas. You know what happens to Drakovians who don’t keep their word? They die. Yes. I can enact the royal decree number twenty two thousand and ninety seven to execute you. I know, grim, yes. Do me this favour and I’ll show you how the trick is done.”

Unfortunately he didn’t fall for it easily.

“Fine. You can impress that special someone you keep seeing.”

“Which-- who--” Bas lost his composure, red rising to his cheeks.. “-- okay, okay-- I -- they are not-- fine, I will take the interview.”

“Thank you. By the way, I will not tell anyone about your blossoming romance with--” before Trystan could finish his sentence, Bas clapped his palm against his mouth.

“I will do it! Fine! Stop!”

***

3

It was an awkward dinner and an even more awkward post-dinner mandatory conversation over nighttime tea. They had retired to the living room. The Georgescus were delighted with Maksim’s extensive collection of books while Viktoria and Eveline talked to each other in hushed whispers. Trystan was left to himself, staring out of a window, wanting to rip the skin off of his body because of how atrocious this had all been. First, they took Gustav away from him. His Gustav. Second, they insisted they arranged a suitor for him. No prior consent, not even so much as a “hey there son, just FYI, Juliana’s going to be your future wife or something so just -- letting you know, cool?”. Nothing.

It wasn’t her fault. Juliana Georgescu didn’t like the arrangement either. She held her glass of cider, looking thoughtfully at a painting and walking around, unsure if she should take part in a conversation. The Georgescus were wealthy, well-connected and had roots planted in almost all of the country’s infrastructure industries. It was obvious they were looking for someone for Juliana - someone of her age, 20-something; someone who was equally well-connected and when the call came from the Palace’s Head Office, the Georgescus were elated. Looked like they didn’t tell her either.

“Who is in that painting?” Juliana finally approached him after not saying a word to him over dinner.

“Some -- person.”

“Very helpful.”

“Do you always look at paintings for a-- what you call, a source-- a source of enjoyment?”

“Is that supposed to be like, an insult?”

“A question, actually.”

“Right.” Juliana narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, sort of. My mothers took me to the Louvre when I was four. Why? Do you work on art?”

“Something like that. It’s this really erm-- thoughtful piece I am working on. It is more of an experience, really. You’ve got to like, immerse yourself in the background before you can immerse yourself in this whole conceptual worldbuilding -- arena-- of -- thoughts--”

“Hearing a lot of words but what is it, actually?”

Trystan stuck out his palms in a pushing-motion, ensuring his back was facing the window. “Do me a favour and in count of three, push me but you’ve got to use your palms against my hands. Sort of like pressing a wall, you know?”

“Okay, and what happens?” Juliana studied the ring on his finger, as if it were some button that could be pushed for Trystan to explode or something.

“You will see,” he winked. “Push on my palms..”

Juliana pressed her palms against his, confused as to what weird party trick she was buying into and gave him a slight push. Trystan used the time to yank a smoke canister he’d stolen from the barracks in the North Wing. It fell with a sharp tang, erupting fog everywhere. It diffused quickly into the room, earning the others’ attention. Panic took a chokehold. Trystan disappeared into the mist of fog, falling backwards through the window into a rose bush and scrambled for the hills.

Personally he was against standing up people or leaving abruptly. It was quite rude and he hoped someday he’d get to tell Juliana how sorry he was for the coughs and how it made her look like she’d conjured up a trick; a wizard with fog machines for arms blasting Trystan off the window. Right now, it was a message to his parents. He couldn’t do this anymore. He never asked to be king, never desired for the position for its intellect or power or strength like his siblings yearned for. A nobody. That’s who he was. Leaving a gathering abrupt was worse. Crowning a nobody as king would send you to the ninth circle of hell, the way he saw it.

***

4

“They’re going to ask us if we’re pregnant.” Juliana swallowed hard, as the interviewer, Mr Konjović from the Daily News’s Nation Watch segment adjusted the teleprompter. “They’re going to ask us if -- Trystan, I need you to be prepared.”

“I am.” Trystan looked around the set, impressed by how many people they had behind the camera. You’d expect- you, the viewer, presented with two reporters talking about breakfast and the weather, in a lonely corner of the room keeping you company, but it was far from that. There were several back exits, a stream of lights for any occasion, a sound engineer’s booth on two ends, a hallway leading up to more sets- it was tremendous. Trystan felt like a newborn baby exploring the world. He was twenty one after all. Good as a toddler chewing on a stuffed animal’s arm.

“If they ask if I am pregnant, what do you say?”

“I am not.”

“No, I am not.”

“Right.”

“Trystan.”

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I hate this. I hate this so much.” Juliana straightened her blazer and smoothened her skirt. The harsh lights impaired her ability to see clearly and made her sweat, which in turn, made her anxiety hit levels incomprehensible on any scientific instrument.

“Not a fan either. In the name of questions, they will ask us intrusive things and poke us until we share something of importance.”

“So we word it in a way that it feels like something important.”

“They smell BS a mile away. We only have the pregnancy story to sell. Until Mother can come up with something.”

“We don’t have other options?”

“I can think of one.” Trystan turned to Juliana, taking her hands in hers. “You should let your hair down. You look wonderful either way, but having your bangs like so--” he reached out to smoothen the front of her hair, “-- might help with the lighting.”

“Thank you.” Juliana smiled at him, removing the rubber band that held her hair in place. Curvy strands of hair fell on her shoulders.

“I will hold onto this.” Trystan said, fiddling with the rubber band.

“What if they ask if we decided on a wedding ring?” Juliana panicked.

“We are not married yet. Is that not an answer?”

“I don’t know. I know for sure that is not the right answer.”

“Fine then.” Trystan removed his ring from his left hand - the one that he refused to remove, despite all the others receiving their good share of polish. “Wear this and tell them I gave you something of sentimental value.”

“I cannot.”

“Why not?”

“Trystan, it is your ring.”

“And I want to give it to you.”

Before Juliana could protest, Trystan slipped the hunk of metal on her finger.

“Right. We just have to sell this story.” she said, bit taken aback by the gesture. “Somehow.”

Together, they watched as the producers set up a storm of cameras; unpacking them from their boxes and protective plastic sheets. Mr Konjović finally took his seat across from the coveted royal couple, eagerly imagining the ratings pouring in from around the world. The Royal Couple Break Their Silence would be put up in bulletins everywhere. The tabloids would reference his interview for years to come. Everything - from the wedding to the scandalous details, right from their mouths at the expense of their comforts. It was everything Konjović needed.

The rubber band flicked from one end to the other. Trystan controlled it with ease, interweaving them to make shapes. He wasn’t sure if the public would approve of him making shapes out of stretching rubber bands, considering the interview was supposed to be memorable. That was what he was told to do. Sell the story that he would be a good king, a ruler, steering the ship to the twenty first century. Tell them exactly what they want to hear. If they angle at a scandalous premarital pregnancy, go with it. If they insist on some insider gossip on the affairs of the Thorne family, you must fabricate it enough to not be damaging but instead, welcoming. Get people invested - old and young- whoever watches the television.

Trystan wasn’t having any of it.

“Are we ready?” Konjović asked, as the cameras counted down and cut to the intro. Konjović prepared himself before the cameras could cut back to him again.

“I am not ready.”

“I have got this.”

“Somehow I am apprehensive.” Juliana shot him a look.

“And we are back to this exclusive interview with --” Konjović couldn’t finish his sentence. Trystan had sent the rubber band flying a short distance across the roomland square on the fire alarm. The glass broke, hitting the trigger switch in process and sending the fire alarms blaring. The fire alarms triggered the sprinklers attached to the roofs and a thunderous shower rained down upon them; water drenching the cameras. Everyone ran to take shelter, while the producers cut off the broadcast.

“That was good, was it not?” Trystan chuckled, as Juliana removed her blazer and draped it over their heads - running to the sound booths as everyone else. Everyone chatted in chorus about the crappy infrastructure and how the fire alarms had never passed the inspection test and how the stupid boss upstairs wouldn’t bother fixing it.

“What will you tell your mother back home?” she asked, worried. Hastily she removed Trystan's ring from her finger, handing it to him as if the mere weight of the accessory was enough for her to suffer from regret she couldn't tell him.

“Nothing. If you can keep a secret, I can.” he pressed a finger to his lips.

Juliana shook her head, suppressing a smile. “How did you even figure this out?”

“Luck. I knew it was going to hit the glass one way or the other.”

“If it didn’t?”

“Well, that would be a nightmare for us, right? Good thing it worked. I am terrible at coming up with baby names on the spot.”

***

+1

Old habits die the same way. It starts as it always ends, with a pair of dice.

The table with an ongoing game of poker rice at the Clocktower Casino had a rule for its esteemed players. Blindfolds. A measure to make people forget they ever gambled and ensured they gambled some more in the process. It did make the job difficult, but Trystan had no choice but to play. No tricks, he couldn’t even read his cards. A hotel staff walked from player to player, giving them just the information they ought to know, ensuring they bet higher and higher.

Trystan was losing. He reached for the table, fiddling with the ring he had loosened off of his finger. The precious ring. The one he’d made himself. The one where he’d found scraps of metal at a young age, decided to despite, with no metalworking knowledge, glue it with precision like putting two puzzle pieces together and ever since then, it never left his hand. He tried memorising what it felt like. How it would be to lose something so valuable - all for the job.

Nora had had her arm fractured, her ribs broken, blood out of the crook of her teeth for the job. He can give up a ring.

There were times when he could trust nobody and this accessory, this piece of metal that he had constructed out of nothing when he carried so much in him at a young age - the ring that, when away from Trystan's reach, felt like as if an aching wound from a bullet that cut through his heart. The way he had bent up a long strap of copper, pricking his thumb in the process. The times he kissed it for good luck, hiding under his bed while his mother took away everything he was, leaving behind a shell of a child Drakovia would have to accept as ruler. Things didn't change. He would hold himself tight inside closets while Drakovian guards sent by family searched him in his house to deliver a personal message. Deliver in the way subpoenas are delivered. Minus the polite paperwork and adding in a lot of screaming.

The one thing Trystan would willingly bet on, because he knew he would do anything to get it back.

Now, it was hopeless.

He had a few pictures of the woman he was looking for, but his ring remained in the winning pool stash for the winner; who had won despite the blindfold. The one time he slept, he lost everything. The one time, he decided he wanted to play earnestly. Or forced to. The one time he willingly agreed to playing without any tricks up his sleeve, an escape plan in his mind and a blueprint written on a tissue. It truly hurt.

“So did we get her pictures?”

“Yep.” Trystan tossed his phone into Nora's hands.

“What's up?” she asked him, pulling him back as he attempted to cross the road.

“Lost a ring.” he chuckled. “It's funny. After today, I planned to quit it all. The silly card games -- the -- fun little tricks -- I do not wish for it to be my only defence.”

“One year on the job and you want to be on the side of Good?” Nora joked.

“It is not good or bad, you see, it is more of -- this thing where I hope. I hope the disruption causes me to escape. I hope I find a pipe to crawl out of the right tunnel and see the light. Tricks and -- swindling and cheap lying -- they all rely on a lot of hope. You would have to have a stupid amount of faith to do anything. The greatest liars are invincible. They hope so much that things go well. That they can sell this lie as much as they can. That they can pretend and pretend all their lives.”

“Jeez.”

“I am sorry, I am boring you -- I --” Trystan trailed off.

“No you are right. Thieves put so much faith in them and the universe alone, despite knowing it is going to work against them. I've seen it on the job on sparse occasions. I know the difference between a day's bread and embezzlement and how bread carries hope and company fraud squashes it for the very same people who pickpocket bread.”

“I don't think when it comes to lying--” Trystan went through his camera roll. “- there is a difference. But I don't want to hope anymore. Trickery has made me watch my own brothers die for a crown that would not have shed half as much blood as they have. Gustav, thrown out of the country because we broke the rules out of sheer hope that even if we could never see each other, we won't forget the other. Juliana who died protecting the family that would not put her first. I think I am done, Nora. Before harm comes your way as a result of my doing.”

“What if you didn't have to do it?”

“How do you mean?”

Nora reached into her pocket and fished out his ring.

“How did you --”

“Stole it from the poker table. I was watching your game. You were losing badly. Didn't look that different from an onion ring so --” Nora whistled, “-- switched it up.”

Trystan blinked, bewildered.

“Oh come on. Of course I know it isn't just a ring.” Nora rolled her eyes, yanked his left hand and slipped the ring on his finger. “There. Moral of the story being, if you can't steal, just have someone do it for you. Hope restored?”

“I -- I don't know what to say --”

“I know you are scared, because some who say they are a liar and a crook probably aren't one. Or maybe it's some deep poetic shit I don't understand. The point being, it is scary to be alone and I don't blame you for picking up some survival skills along the way. I resorted to physical violence in school. It sucked. And it is this funny thing where if you -- don't -- say, punch people, it feels like you are losing your sense of self. Losing a lot of hope.”

“It has been two months.” Trystan sighed.

“Let’s start small. You got your ring back, right?”

His gaze flicked to his hand.

“And one day you'll get your hope and faith -- and whatever else you lost, back.” Nora clapped his shoulder, a small smile on her lips. “It's a -- rocky path. But you'll get there.”

***

A/N: If you made it here, thank you so much for reading!

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