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#if you’ll ignore me I’ll be sharpening my knives
callsign-rogueone · 17 days
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all the small things - g.t.
Garrick Tavis x gn!reader 💌: …would you consider writing something for Garrick that explores some of the little intimate, familiar, or caring details he would do for/with the person he’s in a relationship with? words: 1.1k 🏷: no book spoilers! NSFW at the end, because it’s Garrick and I had to. just some thoughts about Gare being soft and cute (and a little sexy) with his partner. I managed to make this gender neutral. I’m trying a list format this time bc that flows better than a dozen little scraps lol
I feel like Garrick is a quiet partner, that he shows his feelings for you in a lot of little ways that you might not even notice.
He’s just always there.
If you’re studying, he’s studying with you, or working on something else quietly, sharpening his knives, etc.
While you’re chatting with a friend, he’s sitting a foot or two away, slicing a clean dagger through an apple, cutting off a small piece and extending it to you silently.
He is absolutely not afraid to use his stature and his scary reputation to his advantage when it comes to protecting you. 
Some guy made you uncomfortable in the laundry room? Well, now every Thursday night is laundry night for both of you, and he’s gonna stand behind you the whole time, brooding at anyone in the room Xaden-style and making sure they leave you alone.
Your safety is his number one priority.
We all know Dain’s philosophy — I’m going to do everything I can to keep you out of harm’s way
Garrick’s is a bit more nuanced — Harm is going to come to you no matter what, because the world is cruel and we’re literally preparing for war. While I’ll still do everything I can to protect you, I’ll also do everything I can to teach you to protect yourself.
He’s strict about keeping your training routine, giving you extra practice sparring near-daily. He knows when you can handle it and when you can’t. On days when you’re truly exhausted, injured, or at your limit, or something really upset you etc, you’ll spend training time resting — cuddles!
I know this man is an amazing cuddler. All that soft, warm muscle… big hands… strong arms to wrap around you… there’s no escape. Not that you’d ever want to leave lol
… Where were we?
He takes responsibility for your safety (as much as he can in this very dangerous school) while still letting you handle yourself.
That said, he’ll take matters into his own hands for small situations. He will not hesitate to pull you out of the way if people run by and might bump into you, etc. (plus it’s an excuse for him to hug you in the middle of the day lol)
He grabbed you by the back of your shirt once to stop you from hitting the ground when you tripped over your own shoelace — he then proceeded to set you upright and kneel down to tie said shoelace for you. 
Xaden never lets him hear the end of that. (“How come you never tie my shoes for me, Gare?”)
Big acts of service guy.
He’ll fill your water bottle in the morning, and he expects it to be empty at the end of the day or he will make you chug it because hydration is important. He ignores any eye rolls or complaints — you both know that he does this because he loves you.
He makes sure you’re eating, knows your favorite and least favorite foods, and will wordlessly move things on / off of your plate at meals, because you’re sitting directly next to him, of course. You know he wants you close and that’s a way you show love back to him. You also give him your leftovers sometimes. The boy can eat; that's half of how he put on so much muscle.
If you have long hair, he’ll keep one of your hairbands or pins etc in his pocket for whenever the need arises. He likes helping you with your hair, too. He's not the best at braiding or doing other hairstyles, but he’s trying and he’s improving! He also absolutely loves it when you sit in front of him and let him brush your hair / detangle / condition it etc.
He will always take the opportunity to wash your hair. He's super thorough with it and it feels so nice and relaxing.
As Ilya Kaminsky wrote: “Soaping together / is sacred to us / Washing each other’s shoulders. / You can fuck / anyone— but with whom can you sit / in water?”
Garrick. Garrick is whom. he loves showering with you after a long day, washing your back or places you can’t reach, being super gentle with any injuries you have, kissing every bruise and scar.
aaand this is getting nsfw, because it’s Garrick;
Don’t get me wrong though — he loves showering with you for other reasons, too. He loves seeing you naked, obviously, loves gliding soapy hands over your skin, kneading the softest parts of you, massaging gently and getting you all pliant and relaxed for him…
He’ll never pass up an offer to press you against the tiled wall and fuck you until you need to take another shower.
Speaking of fucking… Garrick fucks. 
He took his sweet time with you in the beginning, when your relationship was just starting, because he wanted to make you feel loved and safe with him of course, but also because he was studying.
He’s learned almost everything about your body. He knows what feels good for you, and recognizes all the signs that you’re about to cum — the cute sounds and expressions you make, the way your breathing changes and you grip his hand a little tighter… 
King of praise btw. The boy cannot shut up between the sheets. always telling you how pretty you are, how well you’re taking it, that you deserve to feel so good, just relax and let it out…
But it isn’t all soft and sweet. He's strong, and you’ve put that strength to the test multiple times. He's more than able to pin you down, to keep your legs spread, to hold you in all sorts of positions while he does what he does best.
Being an executive officer comes with a lot of paperwork, and he often gets stuck doing Xaden’s too (they really need to stop using that as a betting chip), but if you sit on his bed all pretty and keep quiet while he works on it, he’ll make it up to you by bending you over the desk when he’s finished.
Remember what I said about keeping you out of danger? There's gonna be consequences if you do something reckless in training or out in the field… That’s all I’ll say on the subject for now 🤭 
I got a little carried away there… Can you tell I’m currently working on three different Garrick smuts? gonna be exploring some of those things in more detail ^^ 👀
all in all, Gare is an amazing boyfriend and he loves you so much 🥺 big strong boy is just so soft for you and only you, and wants to take care of you all the time and make you feel loved and protect you from the cruelty of the world. ❤️
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Okay so I never explained the Things I was gonna explain but y’all will have to wait because A) it’s night and thus even less safe but also B) the vibes are absolutely not it rn and I did not survive growing up in my haunted ass house by ignoring my instincts
I will have the next food post out soon though! I’m going to save the planned red beans and rice post for Monday though because that’s How It Should Be
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dreamwritesimagines · 3 years
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Twisted 27 - When The War Comes [Spencer Reid x Reader]
A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤
Series Masterlist
Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, guns, knives, sharp objects, stabbing, hallucinations. 
Word Count: 7500
Summary: Who will you become?
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You had to control your anger. You had to control the fire in your veins until you were sure that your niece was safe, that your family was safe, then—
Then you would handle this situation. Until then, it had to wait.
All the training your father had given you was basically screaming at you to attack the threat, but you managed to keep yourself from doing so while you followed him through the woods, paying close attention to your surroundings.
The cabin. This was the way to your father’s cabin in the woods.
You had counted ten armed men on the way here but you had to assume there were more scattered along the woods. You stepped over a tree root before you looked up at the night sky and quickly found the stars that would help you. Thankfully it was a clear night, and your father had taught you long before how to read the sky for direction, in case you needed to-
Hunt.
A shudder went down your spine but you quickly shook your head, you had no time for that fear lurking in your head.
Fear could wait until you made sure you and everyone back home survived.
Considering how your family had no boundaries when it came to you, you were one hundred percent sure that by the time tonight was over, they would arrive at your apartment to see where you were.
“So what is your game here?” you moved your wrists that he had bound the moment you two had reached the end of the road and got off the car to walk into the woods, “You take me there and what? You’ll kill me?”
He looked over his shoulder, “How can you ask me that?” he said and you raised your brows.
“How can I not ask you that?”
At least you could leave a note. Lincoln was just that stupid.
“They’ll come looking for me,” you told him as he rolled his eyes, still pointing the gun at you.
“Who, your boyfriend?”
“He works in the FBI, you fu—“ you had to remember to stop yourself. He had access to Lily, so you knew you had to play it along, even if you barely felt anything other than anger. “Yeah. My boyfriend.”
“You broke up with him once, you can do it again,” he said and pointed at the pen and paper on the kitchen island, “Just write you need some time or whatever, he can see it when he gets here. Less suspicions.”
You grabbed the pen and paper, then clenched your teeth, your mind working nonstop.
“I’m waiting, Y/N.”
You stole a look at him, then leaned in to write on the paper;
Hamlet,
I need some time alone.
Ophelia.
Ophelia died in a lake, and you hoped that Spencer could make the connection between that and the time you had told him about Lincoln pushing you into the lake by the cabin.
He took a look at the note, then made a face.
“You call him Hamlet?” he said, shaking his head, “I never really liked that play. Let’s go.”
“Do you seriously think I would harm you, in any way?” he asked when you got to the stone stairs leading to the cabin, “I will explain everything once we sit down.”
“Will you untie me?”
“I’m not an idiot,” he answered as you climbed the stairs after him, his grip on your arm almost too tight and you gritted your teeth to stop yourself from coming up with a comeback. You looked up at the cabin, the memory of the last time you were there hitting you out of nowhere and churning your stomach, but you managed not to throw up as he slightly pushed you through the open door.
Don’t be scared, you commanded yourself in your head Fear is useless.
That was one of the things your father had taught you during those predator and prey games. Prey always got scared, which led them to panic, which led them to making mistakes that would cost them their lives.
You were a predator. You had always been a predator, since you were a child, and there was no fucking way Lincoln of all people could turn you into a prey.
He pulled a chair, then motioned at you to sit down.
“Remember, if you try anything…” he said, “If I don’t send the code to my friend—“
“Yeah, you’ll hurt my niece,” you spat, “Some man, aren’t you? Threatening a kid.”
He untied your hands, then pulled them behind the chair and started tying them again, and you raised your brows slightly.
Rather than wrapping the rope around your wrists separately then pulling them together, he was just tying them together, which was a terrible rookie mistake your father would never have done. Escaping from those, especially with a rope was almost easy with enough knowledge, and you slightly widened the gap between your wrists by pressing your thumbs together, not wide enough to make him suspicious but wide enough to give you enough space to move your wrists when you wanted to get rid of the ropes.
Almost everything was automatic at this point, you were following everything your father had made sure to engrave into your mind.
“There, that’s better,” he said and let out a breath, a small smile pulling at his lips, “Hi.”
You tilted your head, looking at him silently.
“That was a bluff by the way. I would never hurt anyone you love, I thought you knew that by now.”
That seemed to distract you from the fury, “What?”
“Everyone that I killed,” he pulled a seat for himself so that he could sit across from you and leaned in slightly, elbows on his knees, “Everyone, that was for you. I did it for you. Don’t you see that? From that childhood friend to your douchebag ex?”
Oh God you were going to be sick.
Spencer was right. You were sitting with the copycat killer back there, at the charity auction.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember,” he ran a hand through his hair, “You told me what was happening, when we were kids. You told me a week before that night in the graveyard, that’s how your father let me come with you both. My parents had drunk too much at your parents’ party— you don’t remember any of that? I was the one who you shared that sacred secret with, no one else, not even your family. It was me.”
“Sacred?” you repeated, “My father was a monster, Lincoln.”
“Don’t say that,” he shook his head, the glare in his eyes sharpening, “Never say that. He…he is way ahead of all of us, if he didn’t get caught he’d be an even bigger legend than he already is. He brought us together.”
“You brought me here by threatening me and you tied me to a chair. My father is a terrible person, but this right here is your choice you fucking asshole.”
“Because I need you to understand,” he nodded to himself, “You will understand.”
“I will understand what?”
“That I did this for us!” he snapped and he swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath, “That I love you.”
A hysterical laugh escaped from your lips and you gawked at him.
“You love me,” you repeated, “You— you have been terrorizing me for months, you killed people, you fucking destroyed my life because you love me?”
“I’ll set you free,” he said, “Free of all these bounds everyone else put you into. I’ve seen your potential back when we were still kids, then after your father was arrested they turned you into something else, some shadow of what you’re capable of. Then I came back and you…” he ran a hand over his face, “You decided to get into an agent’s bed.”
“Don’t even—“
“He would try to change you,” he cut you off, sniffling, “He would, Petal. He would smother you with these stupid ethical rules and all that bullshit, but I’ll— we’ll be free together.”
If your last encounter with your father had taught you anything, it was that delusional killers didn’t exactly react well to a reality check. You moved your hands under the ropes, pulling at them just a little.
You would just have to play along until you were free, then you could be out of there.
The more you know about your prey, your father’s voice echoed in your ears, The easier it will be to take them down.
“How about your girlfriend?”
His head shot up and he shrugged,
“I mean,” he trailed off, “She thinks she’s my girlfriend.”
You gritted your teeth. “Erica,” you said, “Right. My girlfriend doesn’t have the same financial status as we do, huh? My fucking assistant, Lincoln? What did you offer her?”
“Offer her?” he asked, “I didn’t have to offer her anything. Who did you think your father’s outside source was?”
You pulled back slightly and he scoffed a laugh.
“I know,” he said, “She wants to kill you, not that I would ever let her, but she can believe that for the time being. I know you feel betrayed honey—“
“Don’t call me that.”
“But we only need her until a point, after she makes a phone call to get your family off our backs, she will be my gift to you.”
You dug your fingernails into your palms to remind yourself to focus, “Your gift?”
“There’s nothing like killing someone you know,” he dragged the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, “It’s not like strangers, not at all. That shit’s special, Petal. You’ll see when the time comes.”
Before you could even think of an answer, you heard the footsteps coming closer and the door opened, making you turn your head to see Erica who almost looked intimidated for a moment upon seeing you, but she managed to pull herself together.
“You might want to check out the west team,” she told Lincoln and he paused.
“Can I trust you with this?”
Erica frowned, “You can trust me with anything, you know that,” she said softly and you closed your eyes for a moment, pulling at the ropes tight enough to hurt before you felt it get loose just a little. The rough material of the ropes almost burnt your skin the more you kept moving your hands, but you gritted your teeth, trying to ignore it.
You heard the door close and the lock sliding into its place as you opened your eyes, and saw Erica putting the key into her pocket.
“I like your dress,” she said as she sat down, “Too bad it’ll get bloody.”
“You were my father’s outside source?” you asked, trying to ignore her comment, “You?”
She gave you a bright smile, and rested her arm on the back of the chair, making herself comfortable.
“That’s right.”
“Whatever he’s paying you—“
“He’s not paying me,” she spat as if she was insulted at the implication, “You ungrateful little bitch. I’m doing this because I want to, because I respect him. I believe in what he stands for, not like you would understand.”
“Jesus, you’re one of those freaks,” you muttered to yourself, tugging at the ropes around your wrists, “Serial killer groupie huh?”
“I’m not a groupie,” she spat,  “I respect your father, not just any serial killer. It’s him. No one in your family deserves him, much less you, and—“ she shook her head, “The way you disrespect him and his name…”
“Disrespect him?” you let out a laugh, “Oh that’s rich.”
“He was right, you know?” she said, “Only the smart and strong is supposed to survive in this world, not weak. And he tried to raise you to follow in his footsteps, but you were too weak to do so. He just doesn’t see that.”
You clicked your tongue, “But you see that?”
“If he were my father,” she leaned in, gritting her teeth, “It doesn’t matter. By the time this is over, after I get rid of you and prove myself, he will see me as a daughter. Not you. You’re not strong enough to survive in our world. Lincoln agrees—“
“Lincoln is using you,” you cut her off, “He’s going to get rid of you as soon as he’s done. Let me guess, he told you you could kill me?”
“We’ll make you regret disrespecting father’s name first, then I will kill you, yes.”
“Yeah that’s not gonna happen,” you said, “Face it, you fucking idiot. He’s using you, just like my father is using—“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence when she lunged from her seat and slapped you across the face, her ring splitting your lip. You made a face, and spat out the blood filling your mouth, trying to ignore the sting on your tongue upon biting it.
“You know what?” she asked, “Lincoln always said no for some reason, but if you keep going like that, I can make you hurt really bad.”
“Aw sweetheart, you don’t have enough training for that,” you cooed, “What, you did some google search, looked up my father’s methods and now you think you can torture people? You think that’s how it goes?”
“I didn’t say it’d be physical,” she curled her lips, “You wouldn’t want your family to get hurt, do you?”
Your eyes snapped up to hers, that fire awakening at the pit of your stomach. She tilted her head, obviously pleased with your reaction.
“I suggested Lily instead of your ex….Anthony, was it? I said we should kill her and put her in the middle of your living room back then, but Linc said no. He said it’d hurt your father too.”
A numbness spread over your forehead, then went to the back of your head, reaching your spine as you blinked a couple of times.
“You were going to kill my niece?” you heard yourself ask and Erica crossed her legs.
“I bet that would’ve made you think twice before you disrespected John.”
You could almost feel it. Feel the fury taking over, that anger your father had always insisted you possessed roaring through you until it reached your heart, wrapping itself around it tighter and tighter.
Let the predator come out Petal, your father used to say Let it come out.
You rolled your shoulder back and cracked your neck with your eyes closed, an exact copy of your father as you twisted your hands under the ropes before you opened your eyes again to look at Erica.
“You don’t deserve him,” she insisted, “You all—you all just locked him away and forgot about him until Linc came back, until we started this. He will see soon that blood means nothing, me and Linc are going to be his legacy, not you.”
You tugged a little harder around the knot, then turned your wrist and managed to pull it out of the tight rope even if it scratched the skin over your wrists, making the burn spread over your arm.
“He taught you some stuff, big fucking deal,” she said, “I learned by myself. Without anyone to help me. Without someone else holding my hand.”
You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the throbbing as you slowly pulled your other hand out of the knotted rope.
“Yeah you missed a rule though,” you asked, dragging the tip of your tongue over the dried blood on your lip, “You’re not supposed to make them bleed unless you can kill them.”
Erica pulled her brows together, then a shriek escaped from her lips as soon as you let the rope fall, raising your hands in a mocking manner so that she could see.
“You chose the wrong victim, baby,” you said and she kicked the chair at you, then darted for upstairs, screaming while you just raised your brows, rolling your eyes.
Panic always led to mistakes like these, like rushing to somewhere one couldn’t escape from.
Upstairs was always a bad idea.
You made your way to the kitchen and pulled open the second drawer where your mother used to keep the knives, then grabbed a huge knife before you flipped it in your hand.
“Erica,” you called out, “Get back here, you’re fucking fired!”
She slammed a door upstairs and you scoffed a laugh, adrenaline pulsing through you as you dragged the tip of the knife over the walls, climbing the stairs.
“You know, if you give me the key I might make it quick,” you flipped the knife again, playing with it before you ran it over the steel staircase finial, letting her hear the sharp noise, “No promises though.”
Silence.
“I know you’re in here,” you sang, looking into the dark. Your father had taught you this long ago, if you couldn’t see, you had to make sure how to listen in the dark to find the location of whoever you wanted to hunt.
You took a deep breath and held it, not even moving a muscle and sure enough, a very faint creak reached your ears and you turned your head.
Second door to the left.
It used to be Mina’s room.
You let out a whistle echoing in the otherwise silent hall, disappearing into the dark before you stood in front of the door and ran the tip of the knife over the wood, almost relishing the slight whimper coming from the other side of the room.
“You were going to go after my family?” your voice rose as you kicked at the door, and Erica let out another scream.
“Lincoln!”
“Oh come on, where’s that strong survivor you’ve been telling me so much about?” you taunted, kicking at the door again but it didn’t open. “Hm? I thought you were going to prove yourself?”
“I-I swallowed the key, I can’t give it to you!”
“Ah well, I guess I’ll have to cut you open!” you shouted and kicked at the door once again and at last, the lock broke with a click and the door swung open, hitting the wall. Erica grabbed the chair closest to her, holding it up.
“Don’t!”
You flipped the knife in your hand, the grinned and took a step to her, so focused on adrenaline pulsing through your system that you didn’t even notice her eyes focusing on something over your shoulder until it was too late. Before you could even turn around, someone pulled you back, expertly avoiding the knife by bending your arm back and pressed a cloth over your mouth and nose, that sharp scent making you gag.
Chloroform.
Lincoln.
A tingling reached your head and that fuzzy warmth reached the back of your head, then closed your eyes shut.
                                                ***
You had no idea how long it took you out, but when you opened your eyes, it was still night. You grabbed at the side of your head and sat up in the bed, the whole room spinning around you.
Your childhood bedroom. You were in your childhood bedroom in the cabin.
“Hey,” Lincoln’s voice reached you and you turned your head to see him leaning on the doorframe.
Shit.
That was a mistake. Of course that was a mistake, and you couldn’t even believe yourself just how stupid you had been to act so careless.
“Easy, chloroform messes you up,” Lincoln said, “I’d stay in the bed for a while if I were you. You can’t attack anyone like this, you know?”
You weren’t supposed to follow your dad’s example in a situation like this. There was a reason why he was locked away, a reason why people had caught up with what he was doing, he was way too impulsive, way too destructive in terms of physical means. You had been so focused on protecting your family and going after the nearest threat that you had forgotten who you were.
You weren’t just your father’s daughter, you were also your mother’s.
And this right here? It wasn’t your father’s expertise yet, his time would come when you would have to fight your way out.
It was your mother’s.
Manipulation.
It was time to channel her, not your father.
“What happened?” you asked and Lincoln heaved a sigh, then pushed himself off the doorframe.
“You went after Erica,” he said, “She’s pretty shaken, but I told you Petal. You need to be patient, we just need her up to a point. After that, she’s all yours.”
You narrowed your eyes and slowly swung your legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through your hair.
“And how much longer will I be subjected to this humiliation of yours? Can you give me an exact time or should I just wait here?”
He stared at you for a moment, trying to understand what you meant and you just arched a brow, a look of completely nonchalant sneer flashing over your face, the exact same expression you had seen on your mother countless times.
“I’ll take this silence as a no.”
“Humiliation?” he repeated, “When- how did I humiliate you?”
“How did you humiliate me?” you scoffed a laugh, “Are you serious right now?”
Jesus, your head was absolutely killing you but you had to focus.
“I’d never humiliate you, I love you.”
“Yeah yeah,” you waved a dismissive hand in the air, “You love me, we’re supposed to be together. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it while ignoring your actions, is that it?”
“My actions? Y/N—“
“So you bring me in here,” you cut him off, glaring at him, “You give me this whole speech about how you’d do anything for me, how we’re—we’re meant to be, and then you leave me in the same room with your ex so that she can boast about you? How you two are in love, how you two are together?”
“I told you, we just need her until—“
“That’s your love?” you interrupted him again and pushed yourself to stand up, crossing your arms while looking him dead in the eye, “Is that the proof of your love? Rubbing your girlfriend on my face? All the while she talks about how you two are going to be my father’s legacy together, like I don’t exist?”
“She just thinks that, I made her think that so that we can use her—“
“And then,” you said through your teeth, “You stop me and knock me out while I’m going after her to get rid of her?” you clapped your hands slowly, “Yeah. Proclamation of love right there Linc, congratulations.”
He licked his lips, obviously taking aback. “Y/N, we need her for now.”
“Mm hm, exactly,” you shot him a sweet smile “Looks like you need her a lot.”
“Not like that,” he shook his head, “Not what you think, I swear. She’s nothing.”
“No, I think she’s not nothing,” you clicked your tongue, “I think you formed some sort of attachment to your prey—“
“I didn’t!”
“Because you grew soft for her, and now you’re confused whether you want me more or her.”
He strode to you in three steps and pulled you closer, tilting your head up, and you had to command yourself not to make a face.
“I want you,” he said, “I always have, you know that.”
“Bullshit.”
He groaned, “Y/N-“
“No, it’s fucking bullshit.” You pushed his hands away, and searched your mind for the final nail on the coffin.
“Did you sleep with her?”
The expression on Lincoln’s face shifted and he averted his eyes.
Bingo.
“Did you? While you were in love with me, while you knew that we were meant to be, did you or did you not sleep with her?”
“You slept with that agent,” he shot back and you shook your head.
“I didn’t know you would do anything for me,” you insisted, “I had no idea—you said you had a girlfriend, I barely remember anything from my childhood let alone sharing so much with you and you didn’t tell me. But you knew,” you dug your finger into his chest, “You knew everything and you kept it hidden from me, so answer me this, did you sleep with her? While you knew you were in love with me?”
He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, then closed it again, and you took a step back, trying to look heartbroken.
“Wow.”
“Y/N.”
“Wow. You actually did.”
“Listen to me, she doesn’t mean anything, I swear to you. It was just to manipulate—“
“Get out of my room.”
He frowned, “What?”
“Get the fuck out of my room and leave me alone until you’re ready to show me you actually love me.”
“You don’t mean that,” he started and took a step towards you, but you grabbed the nearest object which turned out to be one of your old dusty plushies and threw it to him.
“Get out!” you yelled and he took a step back, raising his hands.
“I’ll… I’ll come back when you’re calmer,” he said and closed the door behind him, and you lost your balance, falling on your knees.
People were just so easy to manipulate, thanks to your mother.
“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “Thanks mom, time for dad’s turn.”
Weapons.
You reached under your bed to take a look at the secret compartment that your dad used to make you put your knives, but it was of course empty. Lincoln was stupid when it came to you, but he wasn’t a complete idiot, apparently. You pushed yourself off your knees and stood up, then closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, trying to clear your mind.
Your father had taught you this long before, in every room, there was something you could use as a weapon or turn into one.
You took a deep breath, exhaled it and opened your eyes.
It would have to be something precise, Lincoln had a point, you were in no shape to get into an actual fight with him. So you would need something sharp, and something that you could hide in either your sleeve or somewhere easily reachable. Something that Lincoln wouldn’t see until the next time.
You could tear down the bed to get to the bed springs, but it would take a long time and there was the danger of him walking in on you.
There was a chair and your post-its, some tape, small notebooks by the corner, hair ties and a music box on the desk in front of the window—
The music box.
The music box had a mirror.
“There you are,” you muttered to yourself as you took the music box, then grabbed the tape and your hair ties. You checked the door, then sat down, covered the mirror with the long skirt of your dress, then pushed on it with your elbow until you heard the small noise of the mirror breaking. You pulled back and uncovered it, then grabbed the longest shard, ripped out a couple of pages from your notebook and started taping it around the shard before you wrapped your hair ties around it so as not to let it slip or hurt your hand.
By the time you heard Lincoln’s footsteps coming upstairs, you had spent almost an hour preparing your weapon. You looked up, then closed the music box and put it back before tucking your newly made weapon under the lacy sleeve of your dress, and got on the bed, leaned your back to the bedframe and crossed your arms.
“Petal?” Lincoln called out and you gritted your teeth and turned your head when he peeked his head in.
“Hey, do you want to join me for some food downstairs?”
You narrowed your eyes, “Depends. Will your girlfriend be joining us?”
“I knocked her out and put her in your dad’s basement,” Lincoln said, “She will stay there until you feel like getting rid of her, and I won’t stand in your way this time. Okay?”
He offered you his hand and you eyed it, then pushed it away and managed to stand up on your own.
“Still dizzy?”
“A little,” you confessed, “Still angry too.”
Lincoln chuckled and heaved a sigh, “We need to talk about this jealousy of yours babe.”
You managed to control your expression and ignored him as you went downstairs. The rug was pulled to the side so that you could see the hidden door to the basement, but it was closed. You looked at the table in the middle of the living room that was covered in food, and there was a vase of jasmine flowers between the lit candles. You were still sure that you couldn’t engage in an actual fight until the chloroform was completely out of your system, but you didn’t have to worry about it since Lincoln seemed not to put any knives on the table. Your dad’s old vinyl was playing by the corner, the soothing melody creating a complete contrast with what was happening.
“A dance before dinner?” he asked you, “Come on. That dress needs to be used in a dance, don’t you think?”
You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders and took his hand, then wrapped your arms around his neck as he pressed his hands to the small of your back, pulling you closer before you started swaying with the melody.
You just needed an exact time for him to lower his defenses completely, because you only had one shot at this.
Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.
“You have no idea how much I waited for this,” he said, “When I was in Italy, I would….dream of this at night.”
You didn’t answer, you just made sure to keep your wrist at an angle so that the mirror shard wouldn’t slip.
“And when I came back and saw you for the first time in that red gown…” he murmured, “I thought I would drop dead. You were even more beautiful than I pictured.”
“Why didn’t you tell me back then?” you asked absentmindedly and he shrugged.
“I didn’t know how you would react.”
“And all those people who died?”
“Some of them were diversion,” he said, “Some of them were chosen. I promised myself no one could make you sad, ever. I would’ve killed that agent too if he was the one to break up with you, but then you said it was your choice, and… I don’t know. I thought it’d raise suspicions.”
Spencer.
He had considered killing Spencer.
Goosebumps rose on your skin but you reminded yourself to stay calm and focus, you had already slipped once because of your anger, you wouldn’t get a second chance.
“What about Anthony?” you asked, “You killed him… was it to frame me?”
“God no,” he said, shaking his head, “Of course not. Erica thought it was revenge for how you were treating John, but I wanted to make you remember how it felt to be in the scene of your father’s doing, how….how powerful it made you feel. I thought that would make you see how everyone around you was trying to make you into something you’re not. Deep down, Y/N, you’re just like me. That’s why we will be legends.”
A bitter taste appeared at the back of your throat and you swallowed thickly.
“And my father?”
“He knew we were supposed to be together,” he said, “He knew you would need a…companion in this. Us, free together. That’s why your father failed, because he couldn’t share who he was with your mother. It won’t happen with us, ever.”
Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.
You moved your wrist so that the shard could slip low enough for you to hold it and Lincoln leaned in slightly, his eyes closing.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips and you smiled.
“Oh Lincoln,” you murmured, your heart beating in your ears, “You should’ve known better.”
With that, you drove the shard right into his stomach, making him gasp and open his eyes. Betrayal was written all over his face, it was very clear he hadn’t expected it as you twisted the shard, making him lose his breath before you pulled it back, blood splashing over your face and your dress. You shoved him, making him lose his balance and fall down, taking the coffee table with him, causing some noise and as if on cue, Erica started screaming his name from the basement.
“Erica, shut up before I come down there and break your fucking neck!” you called out and the screaming stopped.
“Thank you,” you said and turned to grin at Lincoln who was breathing hard, his face pale.
“Y/N—“
“Oh don’t worry, you won’t die right away,” you said, “Dad taught me that one, ages ago. I stabbed you in the stomach, and it’s a pretty thin shard, so it’s not the blood loss that will kill you. It’ll be the toxic shock, because right now everything in your stomach including acid is contaminating your system. Should be fun, huh?”
“Why did you—“ he coughed, and you snapped your fingers.
“Hold that thought, I gotta get something from the kitchen,” you said and walked to the kitchen to open the drawers, then grabbed some knives and scissors before you want back to the living room, “Yeah, you were saying?”
“We’re meant to be,” he managed to say, trying to breathe and you hopped on the table before you cut the floor length skirt, ripping it out.
If you were going to run through the woods, you needed to be in something you could easily move and fight in.
“Nah we’re not,” you said, “You’re delusional, that’s it.”
“Petal—“
“See, I could’ve gone easy on you,” you said, wrapping the cloth around your injured wrist, “Really. I could’ve just escaped and handed you to the FBI and be done with it, but no. You two had to bring my family and Spencer into this so now,” you tut-tutted, “Now you get to suffer.”
“He doesn’t understand you,” he said, pressing on the wound and leaning his head back to the wall, “He never will, not like I do. We’re meant to get rid of every weak person in the world, everyone who deserves to die.”
You let out a laugh, now wrapping the cloth around your knuckles, “Uh huh.”
“You’re meant to be the legacy.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just meant to be a wedding planner,” you pointed at him with the knife and walked to him to grab the key from his pocket, then you pulled his boots off his feet, took off your heels and started getting into his boots.
“Petal, we’re supposed to be together.”
“Because my insane sadistic father said so?”
“Because I know you.”
You looked up from the boots you were tying as tight as possible, “Hm? You know me?”
“I do.”
You put two of the knives in each boot and jumped down to rock on the balls of your feet, trying to see if you could move well.
“That’s your first mistake buddy,” you said, now wrapping the rope over your boots, “See if you knew me, you wouldn’t be so careless, would you? You took me here and what? You didn’t think I’d kill my way out? You didn’t think I’d turn you and your serial killer groupie partner into my prey?” You pulled at the rope, “Honestly, you two fucked with the wrong legacy.”
“I don’t—“
“My father raised me to be unstoppable,” you said, “And apparently you know that. So you should’ve considered that it’d take more than two copycats to take me down, and—“ a manic laughter escaped from your lips, “Did you seriously think you could beat me at my own fucking game?”
He coughed, making a face and closed his eyes.
“You have hours until you die, but if I make it out on time, maybe I’ll send some medics here. Maybe. Depends on if I feel merciful, who knows?” you grinned, “Your survival depends on my mood, isn’t that ironic?”
“There are ten men between here and your weekend house, you’d never make it out.”
“I’m not going north,” you said and Lincoln frowned.
“South? That’s just woods.”
“No, it’s a longer way than north, but there’s a road at the end. Dad once made me find my way through the woods.”
“You can’t leave me behind,” he coughed again, “We’re meant to be together. We’re meant to work together and kill together, that’s our love story.”
You pursed your lips, then grabbed a jasmine from the vase and walked towards him.
“Even if I wanted to follow in that monster’s footsteps,” you said, looking down at him, “Even if I wanted a companion, it wouldn’t be you. You’re fucking dead weight, Linc. You don’t have what it takes.”
With that, you let the flower drop on him, unlocked the door and stepped outside, the chill air filling your lungs. After looking around to see whether it was safe, you went to the back of the house, and looked up at the stars, calculating which way to go.
Then, you tied your hair up and started running.
                                             ***
As it turned out, Lincoln had fewer men on the south of the woods, but there were still people. You had gotten rid of two of them and tied them up with the rope you had taken with you, but it would take one mistake for them to drag you back to the cabin, so you couldn’t take any risks.
You heard the faint noise of a radio and looked over your shoulder, then climbed up to the nearest tree, keeping as silent as possible. The light of a flashlight soon lit up under you and a man came into your view.
“South number five is clear,” he said into the radio and as soon as he put it into his pocket, you jumped down silently, standing behind him for a moment before you smacked his head into the tree, making him pass out. You unwrapped a part of the rope and tied his hands and feet before you stuck the cloth around your arm into his mouth so that when he woke up he wouldn’t be able to ask for help. You let out a breath and walked deeper into the woods, but as soon as you jumped over a tree root, someone grabbed you by the hair and slammed you head first into the tree. A ringing echoed in your ears, getting louder and louder but you managed to pull the knife from your boot and drive it into his leg, making him grunt and you used your whole body weight to turn around with his arm around you, popping it out of its socket and he dropped you with a yelp, kicking you in the ribs and a fire spread from your ribs into your whole body, making you stop the scream at the last minute.
“You fucking bitch-“ he said but as soon as he grabbed you again, you managed to push yourself up and grab the rest of the rope you had left. You kicked him back and jumped on his back, wrapping the rope around his neck as he tried to get you off.
“I’m not killing you you fucking idiot!” you grit out as he slammed back into the tree to get you off, “I’m making you pass out, that’s all!”
Soon enough, he dropped to his knees and fell to the ground while you tried to catch your breath, but everything hurt. You wiped at the blood that was seeping from the cut on your forehead, drenching your face and your dress but managed to tie him up and get away from him.
It didn’t take you long though. It felt like the whole forest was spinning around you and you felt someone pulling the ground from under your feet before you fell back, your eyes closing.
You had no idea how long you stayed there unconscious but the unmistakable sound of a shot being fired made you open your eyes with a gasp as you winced at the pain pulsing through your whole body.
“It doesn’t sound so good.”
You slowly turned your head to see your father sitting by the tree, his arms crossed and you let out a groan.
“Is this hell?” you asked, “I just died and it’s hell, right? There’s no way I’m hallucinating about you.”
“You didn’t die yet,” your father said as he looked at the way the shot was fired. “I assume you didn’t search for Lincoln’s gun before you walked out of the cabin?”
“Lincoln can’t move,” you said and your father tut-tutted.
“Erica could move just fine the last you saw her though.”
“Shit.” You closed your eyes for a moment and your father heaved a sigh.
“So what do we have here?” he said, “Head injury, concussion, loss of blood, and that guy over there just broke a rib or two, right?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, you wouldn’t stand a chance against someone coming at you with a gun when you’re like this.”
You swallowed thickly, your eyes burning.
“I can’t move,” you managed to say through your teeth, “It hurts.”
“Does it hurt enough to kill you? Because that’s what will happen if she and her men find you here.”
You tried to blink back the tears, “What if it’s supposed to end this way?”
“Supposed to end this way?” your father stood up and glared down at you, “Petal, I didn’t spend years to train you just so that you could die in a forest in the middle of nowhere. Get up.”
“Dad, I tried to survive, okay?” you said, “I tried—”
“Well, that’s not enough right now, is it though?” he asked and snapped his fingers, “You’re a survivor, your mother and I made sure of that. Stop acting like a prey, get up.”
“Dad-“
“Get up!” his voice shot through your head and you opened your eyes again, coughing, that ringing in your ears due to the pain blocking out everything but the gunshot that sounded much closer than before. You dug your fingernails into your palms and pulled yourself up by grabbing at the nearest tree, then wiped the blood off your face again.
“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, “Okay, Stop acting like a prey. Which way to go?”
You looked up at the night sky and found the star you were looking for before you started making your way through the forest, even if it felt like you could pass out any second. You had no idea how long you had been walking when all of a sudden the brightness of flashlight entered your vision, making you hold your breath and grab the handle of your knife tighter, thinking that it was Lincoln and Erica’s men.
It was only when you saw a very familiar face wearing an FBI vest that you let out the breath you were holding, the knife slipping from your grip.
“Spencer?” you rasped out and he just stared at you before he started running to you.
“You’re alive,” he managed to say before he pulled you into a tight hug, making you wince in pain. He pulled back immediately, his hands cradling your head.
“Are you—“
He didn’t get to finish that sentence. It happened in less than a second, but the sound of a gunshot that rang through the forest echoed in your ears before blood splattered over his face, making you stumble as if someone pushed you from behind.
“Why is there blood?” you managed to ask before a fire spread through your chest, taking your breath away and Spencer’s eyes widened as he lowered them to the gunshot wound bleeding on your chest. Everyone ran past you, yelling something into the radio and shooting their guns at someone behind you while the fire made its way through your whole system, the ringing in your ears getting worse.
The last thing you remembered was Spencer catching you before you hit the ground but whatever he was saying to you got drowned out in the loud noise of the helicopter flying above you. The lights of it got brighter and brighter before a warmth pulled you out of the pain and surrounded you.
Then everything went black.
Chapter 28
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mnstrfcker · 3 years
Note
Yooooo tell us about your yautja ocs! What are they like, what are their backstories etc etc I want to know EVERYTHING 🤩🤩
OKAY IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS QUESTION BC I AM LITERALLY VIBRATING WITH THE NEED TO GUSH ABT MY BOYS (Unfortunately I can't reveal anything abt their backstory as that would be major spoilers for anyone reading my story, but I am down to write abt their personalities!)
Okay so-
Ta'thiir
·A giant teddy bear. He was always the sweeter of the three, he got teased alot in his past for his big heart.
But make no mistake, he is one lethal hunter and his kindness is shown only to those who earn it.
·He is the messiest of the three. He simply sets something down and tells himself he'll get it later- which he does- after one of his brothers points it out.
(I feel you Ta'thiir, I really do.)
·Easily excitable. Anything as simple as a grin and giggle will have his heart soaring. He is the extrovert. Loves long, loud conversation.
Is a lover of the alcoholic drinks made on his home planet, doesn't drink too often but won't deny if you offer.
·Fiercely protective. If its something or someone he actually gives a damn about, he will tread the fucking clouds and kick down heavens door to fight god if it meant protecting it/them.
Me'Ki-Ta
·If grisl could be a person, it would be him. He is all rock, thorns and fire. He's got a 24 hr resting bitch face and punches people in his sleep. He dreams of violence, wakes up and chooses it.
·Has the worst temper out of them all. And many people would think he's cold and unfeeling, just angry. This is wrong. For a good reason, Me'Ki-Ta has had to harden his shell.
He is the most emotional of the three, if anything. He trusts his instincts almost to a fault, because the last time he ignored them it cost him nearly his entire clan.
He feels sadness, anguish, shame- it all comes out in an angry manner. The dude doesn't know how to be soft.
·Loves to read. This is not something Elite Hunters normally do, it was only highest ranking Yautja- known as Ancients- who read. Everyone knows how to, of course, but it is rare one would for leisure.
He likes the quiet entertainment they provide. A scene playing out in his head, vivid. Books can be violent and fell of war, or heartbreaking and bittersweet. He finds solace in the pages, able to feel without admiting to it.
·Cannot sit still. You will rarely find Me'Ki-Ta relaxing for longer than 2-3 minutes. This does include reading- he will have a book in his face while he tends to his hounds, or sharpening his blades.
·The most possessive out of the three. Borderline obsessive sometimes- he's got abandonment issues. Dude is just deathly afraid of losing people he cares about.
Mohtiat
·The goof of the group. Inappropriate jokes, pranks, its all him. Unless he ropes some poor soul into his games.
Please engage in playful banter with him, he loves that shit.
·Has slight OCD tendencies developed in the past, for example- he sharpens his blades evenly and three times on each side, if he differs he starts all over again until he gets it right or it feels okay to put them away. Look sideways at his knives and you'll get cut without touching it.
(His main fixation is repetition in even numbers.)
·The flirtiest. Dude was a champion during the time before the incident, he was quite the charmer. Now its much more subtle and toned down- but no less effective, believe me.
·Loves to fiddle with technology, he's the most curious of the three. He's the technician on the ship.
Has a bulky tool-belt he wears to repair anything- and yall, its a low rider. The way he wears it on his hips is something I shed tears about everyday.
·The best at expressing himself. He's a smooth talker, and is the best at showing just what hes feeling. He isn't afraid to look like an asshole it means protecting someone over their feelings.
Vaa'Leao
·If you look up 'bad bitch' in the dictionary you'll find her face plastered next to it. Sometimes I imagine her with a russian accent bc she WOULD be the brooding russian bounty hunter lady with 23 knives in her jacket.
"On Yautja-Prime, you either dominate or get dominated. Take that however you like."
·Will never admit it and would in fact die before doing so but she adores plants. So much. The main reason she goes hunting on Earth is for the prime sport and ✨succulents✨
·Dead-face heart-stoppingly blunt. If you have something in your teeth, she will tell you not matter who is there with you. If you made a mistake, she will point it out.
She sees it as helping, but desbite this she sometimes comes off as rude. The bars fights she's been in are legendary.
(Also- if she finds you attractive, she will tell you. And keep telling you until you either accept her advances or reject her. She won't speak word of it again if you say no.)
·Is very passionate about herself. Confidence 101 if it had legs and could take lives. She has a big ego, but she's got the skills and skulls to excuse it. She's just that good.
I'LL DO ONE FOR THE REAPER CLAN SOON- STILL FLESHING THEM OUT!!
I hope this is okay! I went WILD LMAO.
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marvelslut16 · 3 years
Text
Trust me for once
Prompt number: 26 “How about you trust me for once?”
Fandom: Marvel
Paring: Bucky Barnes x reader
Rating: T
Word count: 1.3k
Warnings: Swearing. Bitchy/moody Bucky. Angsty. Mentions kidnapping/self-sacrificing 
A/N: I’m thinking of doing a second part to this, thoughts?
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It’s been half a year since James Buchanan Barnes officially joined the Avengers, and in those six months he’s befriended everyone on the team. Everyone but you, him and Tony even got over their issues, but the winter soldier can barely get through a simple conversation with you. If he happens to walk into a room where only you are, he’ll immediately turn around and walk out. Bucky’s apparent hatred for you makes it extra awkward being Steve’s other best friend and all. America’s golden boy forces you and Bucky to spend time together because he wants his best friends to be friends. 
You’re leaning into Sam’s side on the couch you two are sharing, it’s movie night at the Avengers compound. You’re quoting the words to Clueless quietly into Sam’s pecs, you got to pick the movie this week. Sam lets out a chuckle as you murmur, “you’re a virgin who can’t drive.”
“That Josh guy looks like Scott,” he whispers to you. 
“Oh my God, he totally does!” you let out a loud laugh. Everyone’s eyes turn to you and Sam’s laughing forms. You chance a glance at Bucky and find his piercing blue eyes glaring at you. You let out a little sigh of disappointment before turning to Scott, “Scott, did you have an acting career back in the day?” 
Tony laughs the loudest, having just been bugging Pepper over the resemblance of the two, which she hadn’t seen. Scott becomes flustered as he denies that Josh looks anything like him, but that only causes you and Sam to start laughing louder. The sound of boots clomping out of the room pulls you from the groups teasing of Scott, only to find Bucky walking out of the theater. 
You unwrap yourself from Sam’s arms and follow Bucky out, Sam and Steve giving your back knowing looks. You find Bucky in the kitchen grabbing a plum with his metal hand, and you have to wonder for nearly the hundredth time if he has feeling in the hand since he never crushes anything with it. 
“You okay?” you grab a glass and fill it with water, trying to give off the impression that you weren’t just following him.
“I’m fine,” he brushes past you heading to his room, and your heart breaks a little that he still won’t try with you. That he still wants nothing to do with you, even though everything he does grabs your attention and pulls you in. What did you do to make him hate you so much? 
Just over a week after the kitchen incident, you not even attempting to speak to him during this time, you see him again in a briefing for your next mission. You’re leaning your head on Steve’s shoulder as you two wait for everyone else to file in, your eyes are starting to droop and cause you to slip back into sleep. You had been out drinking with Steve and Sam the night before, Bucky had opted out, not coming home until close to three in the morning, and being called into the emergency meeting at seven. 
When everyone finally files in, Steve gets up to give the briefing causing you to lean to your right and lean onto Sam. He hands you a hot cup of coffee to match his own, neither of you awake enough for this right now. Steve starts to explain that a new Hydra base has been found and the messages we’ve intercepted seem to lead everyone to believe that they’re looking for a new Winter Soldier. You chance a quick glance at Bucky, seeing his jaw tick in frustration, but his eyes hold a tiredness that doesn’t come from lack of sleep. 
“Okay, so we’re going to go in, in pairs,” Steve starts to give orders. “Sam will be with me, (Y/N) you’ll be with Bucky,” you stop listening after this, sharing a look with Sam. 
Once the meeting ends and people start to file out, you linger hoping to catch a moment with Steve before you have to suit up. “No, I won’t switch anyone around,” Steve doesn’t even look up, already knowing you’re there and what you want. 
“But Steve, it’s dangerous!” you whine. “I don’t want to die because he doesn’t give two shits about me and won’t have my six.”
“Bucky’s not like that,” Steve deadpans, looking up from the file in front of him to meet your eye. 
“I know,” you throw your hands up in frustration. “But we’ve never even done training missions together and you’re throwing us into the deep end here.”
“He won’t let anything happen to you,” a small smirk forming on his face. “And I know you won’t let them anywhere near him.” 
Once in your gear you plop next to Bucky on the quinjet, hoping to at least talk strategy on the flight. “So what's the plan for when we get there?” you skip right to the point, since he clearly hates making small talk with you. He ignores you, instead focusing on sharpening one of his many knives he has on him at all times. You scoff before heading off to Sam, but not before you admire how good Bucky looks with his hair pulled back and clad in his tactical gear, “whatever.”
--
In the base Bucky takes the lead, making sure you stay behind him in case Hydra agents are waiting behind one of the corners. You two reach what seems to be a warehouse holding storage crates full of weapons and new Hydra tech. As you and Bucky peer into a box container that has some weird looking gun, you hear six sets of footsteps and multiple voices speaking in Russian. 
Bucky pulls you behind a tall crate, he’s facing you as you two crouch down and out of view. The footsteps enter the warehouse, voices growing closer and closer to your hiding spot. Too close for either of you to call for backup, you reach a hand up and cover your mouth so you don’t breathe too loud. 
The voices stop a few feet away from you, but the voices continue to talk. They know you’re there, there’s no way they don’t. You and Bucky are just sitting ducks. Fear washes over Bucky’s face for a split second and you know what you have to do. You need to protect him from these people at all costs, even if it means you get hurt. 
“Bucky, we’ve got to run,” you whisper to him, leaning closer so you don’t have to be as loud. 
“They’ll catch us,” his breath tickles your face as he speaks. 
“I know you hate me, but how about you trust me for once?” the look in your eyes begging him to agree. “I’ll cause a distraction with their tech, just run and don’t look back. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Fine, but I don’t like it-”
“You don’t have to like it so long as it gets you out of here safely,” he gives a small nod.
You crawl across the ground, up a few feet to the crate that held the guns from earlier. You take in a shaky deep breath, pasting a fake reassuring smile on your face, before turning and giving Bucky a quick thumbs up. There’s no going back now. 
“Hey dumbasses, over here!” you hop up, grabbing one of the weird looking guns and aiming it at the men. 
Within seconds the men are surrounding you and screaming in Russian. You raise your arms up in surrender, looking through your peripheral to make sure Bucky made it out of the warehouse safely. The last thing you see before you’re being pinned to the ground is Bucky’s fine ass running out the door, rounding a corner and running out of sight. A single tear slips down your face at the uncertainty of your future, and for the fact you never worked things out with Bucky. But he’s safe, and that’s all that matters.
Part two: I trust you
Permeant tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always
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omnivorousshipper · 3 years
Note
Hello Omni! May I request Owen trying to apologize to Mia through his actions, but Mia doesn't get the message until Owen verbally asks for forgiveness.
Awww!! I don't think we'll ever get it, but I really hope we get to see Mia and Owen interacting with each! Is Owen at all remorseful for his actions?
~~~
Mia glared harder and harder as she watched Owen Shaw
When Dom had told her Deckard would be coming, she had been excited to see the man again. He gave her all sorts of tips about cooking and knife throwing. He had even gotten her an impress set the last time she saw him
What she wasn't expecting was for Deckard to bring his brother and sister
Hattie was nice, if awkward around kids. It was actually funny to see a hardened MI6 agent almost fleeing from a four year old trying to give her a spit covered candy. However, Mia had been pissed when she had seen the other Shaw brother
She would never forget the kidnapping or how Gisele lost her life against Shaw. Quietly, she had taken Deckard aside and asked him to keep his brother away from her. Luckily, Deckard understood completely and followed her request
But. That didn't stop Owen from trying to approach her
Or her kids
Mia had been busy talking with Tej that she hadn't noticed Jack getting overwhelmed and having a meltdown. She was normally good at catching the signs of when he needed a break from the commotion, but she had been distracted
What she hadn't expected was Owen to hurry over and help calm Jack down. He had gently talked to him and helped cover his ears to block out the noises. Stunned, Mia could only stare as Jack's breathing started to slow and the tears stopped
A moment later, she was rushing over to them
"Get away from him!" She hissed lowly and tried to keep her posture loose so not to scare Jack
"Just trying to help the little tyke." Shaw said smoothly, raising his hands up in surrender. "I've had the same issues."
Mia narrowed her eyes at him
"Come on, honey, let's get inside." She rubbed Jack's back and led him inside to help him calm down
She pointedly ignored the way Owen was looking at them with empathy
---
Frowning, Mia bit her lip as she tried to sharpen one of the knives Deckard had given her
It was on the rare occasion she helped the crew on a mission and she wanted her blades as sharp as she could make them. She was good with a gun, but they needed to be stealthy during this mission
However, the only knives she's ever sharpened were kitchen ones and not large hunting knives. She wasn't used to using a whetstone to sharpen them
So focused on the task, she hadn't heard footsteps walking up to her
"If you keep going like that, you're going to damage it." A soft voice told her
Mia nearly jumped from her seat at the unexpected voice and gripped the knife tightly as she glared up at the man almost looming over her
Owen simply stared at her, not bothered by her harsh gaze
"Here. Let me show you."
"And how do I know you're any good?" Mia sneered
"Cause I've been doing it since I was a babe." Owen shrugged
Keeping her eyes narrowed at him, she finally handed the equipment over. She hadn't been expecting Owen to sit closely next to her and show her how to do it properly
"You need to angle it right..."
Mia would never say it, but she appreciated the lesson Owen gave her
---
It had been a few weeks after that incident and Mia could feel herself slowly relaxing around Owen
She had finally admitted that he seemed good with her kids and allowed him to help coach Jack with his ADHD. It was nice to see her little boy rushing up to the man and not be judged for rambling about whatever had taken his fancy that month. Owen would always listen with rapt attention and encouraged Jack's interests
It also helped that everyone else in the crew had accepted Owen's dry wit, love of cars, and intelligence. Mia could feel herself softening around the man
But she couldn't understand why he always seemed to be offering her help
She was frankly getting sick of the man getting under foot, asking if he could carry anything, do something, or clean. However, when he offered to help in the kitchen, she had found out how bad of an idea that was
Because now she was looking down at three completely burned pies
"How could this happen...?" She mumbled, poking at one with a fork. It was almost all pure ash
"Sorry." Owen cleared his throat and looked away from the pies. "Deck always said I was shite at cooking."
"All I did was tell you to put them in the oven." Mia frowned and narrowed her eyes. "You didn't do this in purpose did you?"
"No!" Owen glared at her. "I was only trying to help."
"Why?" Mia snapped, done with all the things Owen had been trying to help with. "Do you think I'm incompetent? That I can't do things for myself?"
"No, not at all." Owen said quickly
"Then why do you keep doing all these things? I don't need your help!"
"I know!" Owen shook his head. "I just wanted to show you how sorry I was for, well, the past."
Mia blinked and could only stare at Owen
He met her eyes but she could see his hands fidget slightly at his sides
"So, all this was... an apology?" She asked tentatively
"Yeah." Owen sighed. "I didn't want to harm you back then, and wasn't planning on it. I just wanted your brother out of the way."
"And that makes things ok?" She hissed
"No." Owen shrugged. "You don't have to forgive me. I only wanted to show you that I'm sorry."
"By destroying the pies?" Mia drawled, unimpressed
"Ok, that wasn't supposed to happen." Owen mumbled, a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks
Mia could only stare at Owen, looking him up and down. Finally, she sighed
"I still haven't forgiven you, but I'm not as angry about it." She admitted. "But, if you ever try to hurt me or my family, I'll cut your balls off and force feed them to you."
Owen nodded thoughtfully before a small smirk played on his lips
"You'll have to learn how to sharpen your knives by yourself then."
Mai could help the small laugh that left her
~~~
I hope you enjoyed friend!
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yandere-daydreams · 4 years
Note
Vampire hunter au,but with Nekomata as vampires who corner a aspiring vampire slayer. Oh,thier father is the chief of the vampire hunters? Even better ~♡
Every time I write a Team-Darling piece, I feel l get a month closer to my inevitable, quickly-approaching death. That being said, I’d gladly pay that price for any excuse to make Nekoma into the nocturnal, over-dramatic creatures of the night they so clearly deserve to be, especially if an unsuspecting, headstrong Darling gets thrown into the mix, whether they like it or not.  
Title: Inhuman.
TW: Vampire/Vampire Hunter AU, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Death, Slight Kidnapping, and Dehumanization.
~
You should’ve known better than to attack at night.
It wasn’t like you were a rookie, a neophyte, too eager to put your rosaries and your crossbow and your newest, shiniest arrows to use to notice when you’ve walked into the jaws of the beast you should be skinning into a morbid rug, this far into a hunt. You weren’t new to this, you weren’t naive, but your prey wasn’t, either. You didn’t know when they’d discovered you, but they’d been smart enough not to call out the cloaked stranger sitting on the other side of dimly-lit taverns, the well-packed traveler that only seemed to need a room at the village’s only inn when the weather was at its worst, and you’d gotten confident, because of that. You’d gotten comfortable, enough so to see no flaw with gathering your supplies and following a member of their pack into the woods surrounding the small town they’d been occupying for the past few weeks. It’d be an easy hit. It was supposed to be an easy hit. You’d taken on more, you’d take on stronger. This clan wasn’t supposed to be any different.
It wouldn’t have been, if you’d just had the patience to wait until sunrise.
Something in your legs strained as you were forced to the ground, Fukunaga (you’d picked up some names, after so much time spent tracking your targets) wasting no time pinning your wrists to the small of your back and forcing you onto your knees as soon as you were inside of the small, isolated cabin he’d dragged you to. There were no candles, no lanterns, but enough moonlight flowed in through the uncovered windows to allow to you to see, making the fact that you were completely, utterly surrounded undeniable. Around you stood the ten figures you’d been hunting for months, draped across stiff chairs and leaning against walls, all at attention, but all resting, too, as if they’d been waiting, as if they’d planned this. They might’ve - actually, you hoped they did. You might not be able to live with the humiliation if your capture had just been a lucky accident.
He’d already torn away your weapons, left your pistols and your knives and your lovely, lovely crossbow on the forest floor as you struggled to keep his teeth from carving out your throat, but your fingers still twitched for a dagger, a staff, something to defend yourself with as a man stepped out of the shadows, shorter than the rest with light hair and eyes so dark, they barely caught the light as he looked over you. “That took too long,” It was Yako, judging by the dead-pan of his tone, the fragility of it, continually ready to shatter and fall apart as soon another member of his pack spoke out of turn or his meal turned out to be a little less helpless than he’d accounted for. “Did it struggle? I told you, Kuroo doesn’t want it--”
“Of course I struggled. I’m not some fucking damsel,” You growled, squaring your shoulders as Yako’s narrowed gaze dropped to you. “I have a tongue, I can speak for myself. If you have a question for it, talk to it.”
Despite the darkness, you could see Yako’s fists clenching at his sides, the corner of his lips pulling into a small, disciplined snarl. There was a flinch from Fukunaga, a move to step forward from Yako, but a tan hand wrapped around his bicep before he could do anything he’d regret, a pale elbow coming to rest on his opposite shoulder. Kai, ever the peace-keeper, was already working to diffuse the situation, to put himself between Yako and the source of his aggression, but whatever progress he might’ve made was interrupted by Haiba, an immortal turned so recently, you could still see his fangs as he spoke, dozens of jagged, sharpened points emerging from under an innocent smile, or, an unaware one, at least. “It’s a little late to talk back, isn’t it?” He asked, leaning against Yako, but not seeming to notice the way he glowered and bristaled. “I mean, we’ve already caught you, and it wasn’t even hard. Shōhei was able to overpower you on his own, so you don’t stand a chance with the rest of us here. If you were a damsel, you might’ve put up more of a fight.”
It was all you could do to grit your teeth, to keep yourself from daydreaming about all the many ways you could kill him and keep him deam. That was the problem with monsters, the problem with anyone whose survival depended on another person’s suffering. They didn’t have to take more than they needed, they didn’t have to do more damage than they had to, but eventually, they’d give in to their own instincts and they would, and they’d come out of it as guiltless as they went in. Habia was worse than most. He was young, he was guarded by people who wouldn’t stop him. His path of ashen, bloodless corpses had been the one you’d tracked, the one he hadn’t even tried to disguise as a slew of natural deaths. The rest weren’t better, all ruthless and cruel in their own right, but the thought of behind lectured by someone so reckless had you struggling against Fukunaga’s hold, ignoring the small, cautious squeezes and the airy mumbled, all warning you to ‘not make this worse than it has to be’. “Tell your friend to let go of me, and I’ll show you a fight--”
“Let go, Fukunaga.”
This voice was calm, composed, filled with the level of apathy Yako tried and failed to capture. You didn’t have to try to reach for a name, no, not when Fukunaga was so quick to release you, letting you rub your sore wrists as the rest of the accumulated group fell back, allowing Kozume to slip past without ever lifting his eyes from the cabin floor. He was one of the quiet members of their clan, a beast who fed sparingly and did so openly even less, but from what you could gather, he was the planner, the schemer, not the second-in-command but an opinion that would certainly be listened to, when he chose to speak. You pushed yourself up as he approached, but you didn’t stand. You didn’t know if you could. Kozume was less physically intimidating than the rest - frailer and weaker, on the surface - but something about the oppressive silence he carried with him, about the seamless way he moved... it filled you with a swirling, sourceless dread, a delayed panic that made up for lost time by racking over your nerves like a tidal wave. Kozume saw that. Kozume seemed to see everything, as he kneeled in front of you.
He was quiet. Too quiet, like he didn’t really care whether or not you heard. “You know we could kill you if we wanted to, right?”
You swallowed, thickly. “I’m aware.”
“Then, you should also know our leader is the only reason we haven’t. He said not to hurt you, so we’re not going to. He’s out hunting, right now, but he won’t be happy if he comes home to a scene he didn’t ask for. He’s understanding, but…” There was a nervous hum, a shift of his weight that could either mean he was bored, distracted, or glancing over something much more graphic, much more bloody than he cared to talk about. “His patience has limits. None of us want to deal with that. It’s a drain, really, and it always makes everything so awkward after he’s done.”
He said it like it was nothing, like your life wasn’t on the line. Like you had every reason to be scared, but all he had to worry about was upsetting his absent, elusive master. “I don’t see why I should care,” You spat, doing your best to sound aggressive, but it came out hollow, synthetic. Lacking the force you’d once had behind your words. “He wants to kill me himself, so what? Just throw me in the cellar and drag me out when your valiant leader feels like getting around to it.”
“Oh, you’ll see the cellar, but I don’t think he’s going to kill you. He wouldn’t make us work so hard, if he didn’t think we were working toward something. He wouldn’t make us work at all if he was just planning to get rid of you.” You didn’t notice him moving, not until his icy fingers were clamped around your jaw, holding you in place as he leaned forward. You tried to struggle, tried to pull away, but his grip was iron-clad, it was bruising. It hurt, tears welling in the corners of your eyes as his nails dug into your skin, so much sharper than they’d seemed, before, so much more inhumane. For the first time, his pursed lips broke into a smile, revealing two rows of razor-sharp fangs and, as your panicked stare rose to meet his, eyes that glowed gold as they glazed over, captured in something sadist, something…
Something monstrous.
“I think Kuroo just brought home a new pet.” 
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cruelfvkingsummer · 4 years
Note
August Walker is a dickhead which is probably why my heart and my pussy beats for him. So imagine he's a dick to you but your also a dick to him, like he says some hurtful shit but you dish it out just as harshly. But he loves it. But maybe one night after and night out with both of your friends you overstep your mark and he decides to puts you in your place (preferably face down ass up) 😂 Maybe some loud and foul mouthed smut. - 🍉
August x Reader: Crossing Lines
TW: Dom!male, rough sex, daddy kink, general nastiness, knife play, dub con turn consensual, possesssiveness, dark!aug (??? i mean it’s our boy august???)
A/N: G-Girl same, honestly I have an issue with being attracted to alpha males that are assholes
August was so ...vexing.
He is cocky, tactless, uncooperative but has the nerve to be a control freak. He just triggers your fight response with those eyes that look at you as if he knows all your dirty secrets and that stupid fucking butt chin that he uses to get what he wants around the lady agents.
The two of you had always butted heads the moment you had been paired up in a mission where he was to be your bodyguard as you try to steal a file from a Russian government employee. Apparently being your babysitter was his punishment for causing too much damage in his last mission.
You weren’t the best when it comes to fighting but no one could deny that you were the best in gathering information no matter how meticulously it was encrypted. Hence, why you always had to have a partner in every mission you take and unfortunately, it would seem August always had time in his hands.
You worked well on the field, of course you did you were both professionals,but behind the scenes you had been two snide comments away from snapping his neck and he knew it too.
That cocky, irritating, insanely attractive psycho!
Unfortunately, being The Hammer and The Dagger was a perfect combination because the both of you kept getting paired up or grouped together in missions no matter how much you begged and pleaded the Director to move you to another team.
So now, here the both of you were in a single hotel room filled with guns and knives fuming at one another. To be fair, it was only you who is fuming as he calmly sharpened his knife by the bed. His muscles flexing as he drags the impossible massive knife on a sharpening rod.
You had to be with his annoying ass for a few more hours, waiting for a report from above if the mission was a success so they can start the paper works and discharge you both properly.
“You look like you’re head is about to explode, honeybee,” he looked up at you, the glint in his eyes is your only sign that he enjoyed fucking with you and that your reaction is only egging him on.
“Exploding to pieces seems like a better fate than another second with you, August.”
You know he doesn’t like being called by his name and you only do it to irritate him and unfortunately, this started a weird rumor in the team when you accidentally slipped and called him his name during a meeting when everyone knows not to do it or they’re gonna pay the consequences.
August only made it worse by smiling at your slip up and calling you that stupid nickname he made up for you.
“Hmm, something tells me otherwise, honeybee” he chuckled, blowing on the sharp knife and quickly putting it on it’s rightful place with the others. Making you gulp, what the fuck is wrong with you?
“God, you are such a psycho.” You crossed your arms, standing up ready to stay in the chair that is on the other side of the room so you don’t kill him with one of his precious knives. “Ever since Hunt pulled a fast one on you, you have been insufferable!”
You knew Ethan Hunt was a sore spot for August. In a race to fight a threat against the world Hunt disobeyed him and became the hero while he was left on the dust chasing a false lead. It was a huge bruise in his ego and he had disappeared for a year killing terrorists to soothe his anger and fortunately get him back to the good graces of the Director.
You sighed, ready to turn back and apologize, but a set of heavy hands grabbed your arm and threw you off the bed, face first.
“August!” you shrieked but he was faster than you, sitting on your waist and forcibly placing your hands above your head. You looked up to see he had removed his tie and is starting to wrap it in your arms, the other end getting tied to the shitty metal headboard.”What are you doing?! This is not funny!”
Your protests were silenced when he pushed your legs until you were face down ass up, before slapping your ass so harshly that you could feel the hot pain despite your leather pants protecting you, ripping a scream out of your mouth.
“I suggest you be very, very, quiet, my little honeybee,” he hissed, ignoring your shaking body. “I’m not in a good mood right now.”
“August, let me go! I will fucking kill you.”
A yelp went out of your mouth as he slapped your ass again.
“Language,” he scolded, chuckling darkly at your sniffs, not being able to help your body’s reaction to his ministrations.
Sexual torture has not been part of your training.
“I’m sorry, okay! I’ll do whatever you want just ...”
“Oh, that’s a very dangerous thing to say, sweetheart. You don’t even know half the things I want to do to you.” he hummed, you could feel your face heating up as he continued to run his hands around your body, not having the decency to not hide his groan when he squeezed your ass.
“Stop touching me!” you objected, out of principle. There was no way in hell you would let him know how good it felt to finally know how his hands felt on you.
“Oh?” he removed his hands out of your body completely and when you tried to look behind you, your body turned cold when you saw him take the knife he had been sharpening. “So if I unwrap this little present right now, you won’t be wet?”
“A-August ...” you whimpered.
He placed a comforting hand in your ass, leaning your body to cover yours to leave a kiss on your temple. “You better be real still for me, honeybee.”
Your leather pants, worn for the sake of the mission, peeled like a second skin as he ran the tip of his knife from top till the end of your crotch. “Oh, honey.”
You couldn’t help but tear up from embarrassment, you knew what he was seeing, you were fucking soaked. And you didn’t even have any underwear to protect your decency as the leather pants had no space for it.
You heard him rip your pants open, baring you to him.
“Is this all for me, sweetheart?” he mocked, running the blunt edge of his knife to catch your flowing juices, he stared at you as he made a show of licking the now wet knife and it took every training in you not to moan out from the view, opting to close your eyes and bury it on the sheets.
Your had snapped up as he slapped the center of your crotch, your juices making the pain sharper, “Answer me!”
“Yes! Yes! I’m sorry!” you sobbed, feeling a strange kind of comfort in the way his warmth resonated on your back as he pulled your hair out of the bun it was placed it and used it as some sort of leash to pull your hair up. 
“It would seem I got myself a crybaby, didn’t I?” he ‘tsk-ed’, making you try to hold back your little sobs that wracked your body. However, your own body betrayed you as you wiggled towards him, whimpering and desperate for his touch
“Now, tell me,” he demanded, running his finger up and down your slit “Whose pussy is this?”
You were eye to eye now, so close the two of you were sharing a breath. His hands tightened on your hair making tears fall down your face. “It’s yours,” you whispered.
He pulled your hair tighter, making you cry out, and more tears to fall to your face “I didn’t quite hear that, honeybee.”
You licked your lips instinctively, “My pussy is yours, August.”
This time he smiled, it was evil and full of lust but it was the first genuine smile you pulled out of him.
“Yes, it’s mine,” your eyes rolled at the back of your head when you felt two fingers breaching your cunt slowly. “Not Hunt’s, not anyone else - it’s mine.”
“Yes, yes,” you gasped into his lips, waiting for his permission to kiss him. But he had other plans, letting go of your hair so you were face down again on the sheets.
You were about to whine, to beg him to stop teasing you when you heard  his zipper opening up and his warm hands obscenely opening up your entire pussy for his visual enjoyment.
“Now i’m gonna make sure that it will be the only thing you’ll remember.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
August looked down at your tattered and bruised body on his chest. How peacefully you could sleep next to a murderer in a room full of every weapon known to man was beyond him
But by God did it make him smile.
Your hair was a mess and your lips were swollen from being bitten, bruises and bite marks filled the rest of your body that was all of his doing but you still clung to him like a koala and buried your face in the crook of his neck like he was your anchor and not a ticking bomb.
“God, what have you gotten yourself into, bee,” he muttered, placing a soft kiss on your forehead that tasted strange on his lips.
You were a soft woman living in a brutal world. You deserved a man not a monster like him. But now, you had become the woman who had done the impossible and stolen August Walker’s attention and heart.
So if the world wanted you back, they would now have to go through him.
He picked up his only personal phone placed behind the bedside table, opening up the Director’s name in his contacts.
‘I will be taking on every assignment Agent 1198 has. Like always.’ He sent the text, stealing glances at you to make sure you’re still asleep so you won’t find out his sneaky secret.
‘Done.’ the director replied, making him smirk. The Director owes him a lot of favor and after he had threatened to work with the Russians if they didn’t pull out Hunt from one of your mission she had relented and agreed to put him in everything she was on, doubling his work as punishment but he didn’t mind.
“My honeybee,” he whispered, pulling your body over his and wrapping his arms around you so you were like a soft and warm blanket on top of him. “What have you done to me?”
Taglist: @harrysthiccthighss​ @madbaddic7ed​  @summersong69​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @summersong69​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @coldmuffinpartycloud@agniavateira​@crimsonrae​@omgkatinka​
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vanilla-vivillon · 3 years
Text
Aight here’s that part two of ✨Kanej✨Kiddie
Here’s part one - https://dablackdahlia.tumblr.com/post/650477962667425792/hey-so-i-have-some-kanej-kid-headcannons-that
It had been two month since Azriel started working for the dregs
And Inej was getting closer to her
At first she started to ask around with other suli in Ketterdam
They were few
But they were close
No one seemed to know who Azriel was
Inej even went and talked to the settlement in the countryside
But no one knew her
And Azriel was no help either
She had however revealed she was actually half Ravkan
The whole situation was a coincidence really
Luck
But Inej learned to never squander these opportunities
The next priest Azriel was going for was a ravkan one
He preached about Grisha saints
Sankta Zoya of the Storms
Sankta Leoni of the waters
Sankt Adrik the uneven
And dozens more Inej pious as she is couldn’t recognize
Azriel came to Inej neeeding assistance
She needed to get in one of his seminars
But pretty quickly the little pests figured out there was a dreg running around getting rid of them
And security was tighter
“You can break into the Slat but you can’t break into a religious seminar?” Inej asked while sharpening her knives
“The slat is easy”
“Why do you say that?”
“There are cracks and corners” Azriel said annoyed at having to explain herself
“Such as..?”
“Brekker’s window.”
Inej stopped
Kaz always kept his window unlocked for her
She and him never saw it as a security risk
Who would ever attempt to get into DirtyHands penthouse?
But if Azriel got in...
“That’s quite the climb”
“Who’s saying I’m climbing?”
Saints Azriel could be insufferable
She claimed she was twelve but she clearly wasn’t
Ten at most
Yet it seemed she already masterd snark
“Then how do you get up there?”
“Come now Wraith, I can’t tell you all my secrets”
Seemingly bored of this conversation Azriel got back on track
“Will you help me or not?”
Inej was pretty big in the small religious community
She was invited to the seminar herself
“Say please”
Azriel rolled her eyes and with exaggerated reverence said “please Sankta Inej of liberation will you help a poor sad orphan in her job so she doesn’t get sent to the gallows?”
“Kaz won’t send you the the gallows”
This piqued her interest
For all she knew Her boss regarded her with indifference bordering on Adversion
“And why is that?”
“He likes you”
“He doesn’t like anyone”
“That’s not true” Inej paused “I’ll help you”
Azriel gave a wicked grin
“Perfect”
The chapel was grand
Beautifully glass stained pictures of Saints adorned the walls
Azriel couldn’t stand it
Inej adored it
There cover was Azriel was a recently freed slave that Inej saved
Her name was Anvi Patel and she was thinking of joining the church
It was crucial that Azriel has a full conversation with Reverend Kordov
Of course she didn’t tell why to Inej
“Alright what’s your plan Azriel?”
“That’s on a need to know basis Captain”
Saints Azriel was spending ti much time with Kaz Inej thought to herself as the little pest looked around the chapel
Hazel eyes scanning every crvice and corridor of the building
And her nature filled eyes found the reverend
“There” Azriel send gesturing toward him
He was a man with greying hair and kind eyes
Inej almost felt bad for him
Almost
“Alright we’ll go up and you’ll introduce me as Anvi. Tell him I want to work for the church choir”
“You can sing?” Inej questioned as they started towards him
“Like a dying Cat”
They reached the priest
“If it isn’t the Liberator” said kordov
“It’s wonderful to meet you Reverend” Inej responded
“And who might this be” the priest asked turning towards Azriel
“This is Anvi. I recently liberated her. She was hoping to join a choir, I was wondering if this church had one yet”
“Of course we do!”
Kneeling down towards Azriel “Were you a singer?”
“Yes I was” her entire demeanor changed
Gone was the clever bengal cat
And in came a timid and meek bunny
“A-a Little. Before everything happened...” she stuttered meekly
“Where are your parents?”
“Gone” the same thing Azriel told Kaz and Inej when they asked.
Inej started to wonder if she played the part to well
Perhaps she truly was a slave
“Is it true that this place is dedicated towards Grisha saints?” Azriel asked
Ah
So that’s why she needed a conversation
If this place worshipped Grisha it made sense it had quite a few members with... special talents
If Azriel wanted to take down the place she needed to know if there was Grisha in hiding
Any Grisha in Ketterdam knew to keep there talents hidden at all costs
While getting taken off the streets was less of a risk thanks to Inejs hard work,
There was always a risk
He nodded “we talk about the lesser know ones”
“I always thought Grisha were so illusive” Azriel said getting a little bolder and stop stuttering
“They are. But these are no ordinary Grisha”
“Take Sankta Galina”
Inej never heard of her
But Azriel seemed to know
“Healed a Shu Princess years ago”
“Yes that’s correct, do you know what the Shu did to her after?”
“Cut her up and sold her blood to the Kaelish” Azriel said making sure to put some fear in her voice
That was odd
While Azriel might’ve done research
It was suspicious how much she knew
Perhaps she grew up in a church
Kordov seemed suprised aswell
“I’m suprised you know so much about Grisha saints”
Obviously not likening where the conversation was going Azriel swiftly changed the subject
“I’ve been hearing rumors...”
“What kind” Kordov said suddenly more interestied
“Well I heard that there were Grisha in this very chapel!” Azriel said looking around at other patrons to feign excitement
Kordov went pale
“Where did yu hear that?”
Azriel seemingly suprised by his reaction
“I’m sorry reverend. Twas just a rumor really”
But Azriel got what she needed
There were Grisha in the church making everything much harder
“As much as we’d love to stay and chat Anvi must be getting back to her sister”
The reverend quickly regained his composure and plastered on a smile “I di hope you’ll visit again”
“We will” Inej replied
When they were safely away from the church Inej questioned Azriel
“He has Grisha there Azriel”
“I’m aware”
“He might even be Grisha himself”
“I’m aware of that to”
“Hey” Inej quickly turned in front of Azriel stopping her brisk pace
“Do you really think you can take on Grisha?”
“Of course i do”
“You’re a fool then”
Azriel ignored her and kept walking
“I’m serious Azriel. What’re you gonna do when you have three inferni after you”
“Outrun them”
“And how did you know so much about grisha saints?”
Azriel laughed at this
Not a schoolgirl giggle
Not even a wicked laugh
Just plain old laugh
Like she thought it was funny
“I’m Ravka there all anyone can talk about. The great Sankta Zoya. The beautiful Sankta Alina, Hell even Sankt Adrik people adore!”
But then Azriel stopped short
She revealed something
Something important
But Inej didn’t want her to close up again
“The saints aren’t to be mocked like that. Speak of them with wonder”
Azriels shoulders relaxed a bit
Inej didn’t acknowledge this big information Azriel has given her
Azriel was from Ravka
Interesting
Hey y’all. It’s me. Back. Here’s part two of the Kanej kid thing y’all liked. Part of me thinks I should just write a fanfic
But the other, lazy me thinks this is easier.
Sorry for the many grammar errors typing Is hard for me.
My ask box is open and I take any Grishaverse requests
Also give this a reblog if you made it here
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Text
Wanna Bet?
Summary: “I bet you can’t go 24 hours without cussing.”
Warnings: Lots of explicit language. Very creative explicit language. Basically crack humor.
Word Count: 2178 (Officially the longest thing I have ever written)
This is for @navybrat817​ and @stargazingfangirl18​ ‘s writing challenge (i finished with 3 hours to spare lol) and the prompt that I used is bolded below. Although it isn’t smut, I really hope you enjoy!
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It started as a bet, as most things do. You couldn’t believe the whole world thought Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, was the epitome of chivalry and good manners. You guess people idolized the 40s as having chivalric gentlemen, who could do no wrong. If you went on national television and told everyone the all-American, patriotic Captain America said twelve variations of the word “fuck” in the last minute, not a single soul would believe you. It was honestly ridiculous and a bit naive of the public to think a man from Brooklyn in the 1930s, who served in the US Army, who had been standing up to bullies ever since he could walk, wouldn’t ever curse. 
When you were preparing to meet Captain America for the first time, you understood that he would be different from what the media portrayed him to be. But you really didn’t expect that you would meet Captain America while he was cursing out a bag of broccoli. The fact that Captain America cursed wasn’t surprising to you, but the fact that Captain America cursed like a sailor -- very, very creatively and for the dumbest of reasons -- was, frankly, both hilarious and offsetting. You didn’t think you would ever be able to get the thought of Steve describing broccoli as “fuckin’ green dickweasels who’re making a mockery of actual trees” out of your head. 
It was an hourly occurrence to hear new inventive curses from Steve, such as “wankhammer”, “fopdoodle”, “douchenozzle”, and “cockwaffle”. Your personal favorite was “fucktangular”, but “asstrumpet” was a close second.
_________
You knew two things: you were exhausted and the world was safe for now. Each step leeched the remaining scraps of energy from your body as you trudged, one step at a time, back to the Avengers Compound. The lingering slime from the aliens that attacked had made its way everywhere - inside your combat gear, in your hair, and even in between your toes. Every movement you made was accompanied by a cacophony of squelches, curses and groans, both from you and the other Avengers. Steve didn’t disappoint, commenting that “the arsebadger aliens could have been cleaner” while futilely attempting to wipe the slime off his shield, only managing to spread it even more.
Entering the elevator with the others, you leaned against the side rails and waited, transferring some alien remains to the elevator while doing so. Too tired to do anything, but too wired to sleep, you collapsed on the couches in the lounge and the others followed your lead. 
“Fuck.” Steve groaned. Everyone turned to look at him and found he was sprawled like a starfish on the floor. The supersoldier had fallen off the floor. If you had the energy to do so, you’d be laughing your head off.
“I thought you could do this all day, Mr. America?” Bucky smirked. He was the only one still standing, and wasn’t even looking at Steve. He was sharpening his knives in the corner of the room. Fucking supersoldiers with enhanced senses.   
“Leave me alone, dickweasel.” Steve muttered, rolling onto his side while flipping Bucky off.
“Hey Cap,” you called, voice slightly muffled by the couch cushions. “You curse so often that I bet you can’t go 24 hours without cussing.”
“Capsicle can’t go an hour without cursing, let alone a whole day,” Tony said, grinning. “He’d never take the bet.”
Steve huffed. Everyone knew about Steve’s competitive streak. He would never back down from a bet. “It’s on. Starting at 12 tomorrow, I’m not allowed to use any curse words for 24 hours. I’ll be tracked by F.R.I.D.A.Y all day so there aren’t any complaints. If I win, Y/N has to do both of our mission reports for a month.” 
You narrowed your eyes, knowing Steve was well aware of your tendency to procrastinate on or even forgo doing the mission reports entirely. “And when I win, you’ll allow us to get a team cat! And I get to name them.” You were met with groans from your teammates. 
“But you always pick the stupidest names,” Sam said, crossing his arms and glaring at you. “Remember your plants? Who names a succulent ‘Eggboi’?”
Before you could respond to Sam’s slander of your naming abilities, Steve cut in. “Deal.”
_________
It was 11:59 am and the Avengers were gathered in a circle, surrounding you and Steve as you shook hands. 
“I think I’ll name them ‘Le Ole Razzle Dazzle’. It has a certain ring to it, wouldn’t you agree?” You smirked. “Or Razzmatazz for short.” 
Steve frowned. “First of all, that’s a terrible name. Secondly, you’re severely underestimating my self-control -”
“This bullshit’s coming from someone who jumped out of a plane WITHOUT a parachute,” Bucky interrupted. “Self-control, my ass.”
While Natasha was kind enough to cover up her laughter with a cough, no one else gave Steve the same courtesy. With tears in his eyes from the laughter, Sam announced, “The bet starts in three. Two. One.” 
When it became clear that nothing interesting was going to be happening for the time being, everyone left to do their own thing, leaving you and Steve alone. You smiled at Steve as innocently as you could, fluttering your eyelashes to seem less suspicious. He just looked at you weirdly.
“You’re planning something.” It wasn’t even a question. You should have known Steve was too smart to fall for your puppy eyes. The fact you tried using the puppy eyes trick was quite ironic as you were planning on winning a kitten. 
“Mayhaps, my good friend. But you can’t stop me.” You laughed as you ran out of the room, leaving Steve shaking his head at your antics.
Time for Phase Two. 
_________
You held your breath - afraid that one wrong move would alert the enemy to your position. Slowly placing your hand on the metal grate in front of you, you peered through the bars of the vent to make sure the target was still in sight. Although crawling through the vents was a bit more Hawkeye’s style than yours, you needed to be as stealthy as possible.
Your mission was simple - subdue the target by any means necessary. 
Lifting the grate slowly, you managed to lift it enough to pass through. There was a small clang as you moved, and you held your breath to make sure no one was looking or had noticed you before sliding feet first out of the hole. You were free-falling for only a couple of seconds, with your legs together, making sure to point your feet. Your arms were above you, hair floating above you. You couldn’t help but revel in the glimpse of weightlessness which made it seem like you could fly.
You landed, exactly as you intended, on your target’s shoulders, twisting until both yourself and Captain America were on the floor, with you on top. You hoped that wasn’t the last time you were on top of Steve.
“Jesus Christ! What the fu-” Steve stopped and took a deep breath, craning his neck to look at your smug face. “Fudge.” You pouted. “That was dirty, Y/N. I didn’t expect this from you.” You couldn’t believe he was using the patriotic Captain America gaze of disappointment on you.
Grumbling, you picked yourself off the floor and dusted yourself off. You extended your hand out to Steve who, after narrowing his eyes at you, took it. He was honestly right to doubt your intentions. As soon as Steve turned around, you took the liberty to smack his ass. Hard. 
Steve whirled around with a wounded look on his face. “Y/N!” he shouted, hand reaching back to rub his butt. Seeing the innocent smile on your face, he huffed and walked out, completely ignoring the sniggers from the rest of the people in the room.
“Love you too, Cap!” you called out after him. He just flipped you off.
_________
Steve was fed up with the bet. You had been provoking him all day, popping up at the most random times to cause chaos and get him to break. He bet you could give Loki a run for his money for his title as ‘God of Mischief’. 
Sometime while he was training, you had snuck into his apartment and had rigged his bathroom door to dump a bag of flour on his head, so he literally could not take a shit in peace. Fuming, he punched a clean hole through his wall, which Tony was certainly not happy about, and tried to lay down on his bed before realizing that someone had replaced his bed with one that was too short so his legs hung off the sides. Steve had to take a minute to stop himself from giving you a piece of his mind.
That wasn’t all. Even Fury was in on the bet. On Y/N’s side. He had been called into Fury’s office under the guise of getting a new mission but was instead locked in the room with the song “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley blaring on the speakers for an hour. He ended up punching the window and jumping out of the building to escape the torture. It definitely was not one of his finer moments. Y/N was going to pay for what she did.
_________
There was only an hour left of the bet. Steve had survived a feather ambush, a cactus crowd, and a salt shaker stuck to his leg. (It was still stuck. He couldn’t get it off.) All things considered, Steve was feeling pretty smug, certain that he would win. But when he took one look at Y/N’s face, he immediately thought again. 
Trying to escape, he speed-walked into the lounge, trying to escape from Y/N, but not wanting to be rude. Instead of an empty room, every single Avenger was there. Raising one eyebrow, Steve walked past Bucky, who smirked at Steve, and tried to open the door. When it didn’t open, Steve looked back at all of the smiling Avengers. 
“Why am I being locked out?” All Steve wanted to do was wait out the rest of the bet in his room, but sadly, the Avengers were a bunch of nosy bitches who liked to bet on his life.
“Well, I didn’t want you to miss out on the main event,” you drawled, tilting your head slightly with an innocent look on your face as Steve slowly turned around and pouted.
“Just get on with it.”
You beamed, pulling out a tablet. “It will be my pleasure.”
The lights dimmed dramatically, leaving the room in darkness except for the spotlight, which shone directly at the corner of the room, where Bucky just happened to be leaning against the wall. Picking at his nails with a knife, Bucky was unbothered by the stares and the cameras pointed at him, taking his time to start talking.
“This is what I call the incident of a thousand seconds.”
Bucky didn’t even get two sentences in. “Absolutely not.” Steve wanted to curse up a storm. “No way.”
Natasha cut in. “Well, now I’m intrigued. Spill.” 
“I’m just saying. You know exactly how to end this, pal.” Steve just glared. There was no escape. If Bucky put his mind to something, there was no stopping him.
“As you know, Steve respected one Peggy Carter.” Steve groaned loudly, shoving his face into his hands. “One day, Peggy wanted to ask Steve about some battle strategies, but it wasn’t the right time.”
“Do you really have to make puns about my misery?” 
As if Steve hadn’t spoken, Bucky carried on. “Steve had just gotten back from a successful mission and was celebrating with the rest of the Howling Commandos. Peggy came by and asked Steve if he ‘had a sec’. And poor, poor, Steve. Without even thinking, he responded ‘Yes, I have a lot of--’”
“Oh fuck off, Buck.” The room spun around to face Steve, whose face paled. “No.” His eyes widened. “I didn’t say that out loud.” But, looking at Y/N’s grin, he knew he had messed up. “Fucknugget.”
_________
Steve wasn’t one to go back on his word. The next day, he signed the paperwork for Y/N to adopt a pet. He hoped that with Natasha going with you to the animal shelter, she would stop you before going too far, but he very much doubted it. The newest addition to the team was set to arrive any minute, and he could tell that Sam and Bucky were the most excited.
“And a drumroll please,” you shouted, always having a flair for the dramatics. Steve didn’t move an inch. Unbothered, you held up a gray kitten like it was Simba from the Lion King. 
“Introducing… Princess Avocado Elizabegg Eggbert.” 
Steve let out a wail of anguish. “Please. I’m begging you. Please change her name.” 
“No.” Cuddling Princess Eggy closer, you made indecipherable high-pitched sounds at your new baby“Please?”
“You’re such a sore loser.”   
__________
@tessabennet​ Thank you for reading this and encouraging me to finish!! :)
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lilbabycee · 4 years
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may we be blessed with a smutty birthday drabble w Steve where he has everyone pretend they forgot readers birthday when in reality there’s something big planned 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 never had a big bday so I will be living through this lolz
change of plans // steve rogers 
↳ pairing: steve rogers x reader
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i’m actually sorry this took so long and sorry that it’s so long too lol:
you don’t know if you’re ready to face today.
it’s your birthday and you’ve never done anything big or extravagant - you think that maybe you’d like to keep it that way, though you’ve never had a big celebration before so you don’t even know how that’d feel. maybe there’s something comforting about the predictability of how today is going to go, but you can’t help the part deep inside of you that longs for something new.
waking up to an empty bed, you brace yourself for some kind of over-the-top present from tony but as you head out of your bedroom, you find the rest of you and steve’s apartment entirely unchanged. you tentatively walk through empty hallways into the kitchen and everyone is standing around aimlessly, chatting to each other about insignificant things and attempting to make themselves breakfast.
“hi guys,” you smile at all of them and they return the sentiment. “what are you making?”
steve breezes by you to press a brief kiss to your forehead before shoving a piece of burnt toast into his mouth. his voice is muffled when he says, “mornin’ doll.”
“looks like it’ll be cereal cause none of these idiots know how to cook,” natasha sidles up to you, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head playfully at the group of men crowding the kitchen. “sam’s still working out and we don’t wanna have to wait until he’s done. we probably should’ve though: he’s the only one who knows how to make anything decent in here.” she nudges your shoulder, “any plans today?”
you’re momentarily thrown, blinking in confusion because natasha always remembers your birthday. 
“uhh,” you shake your head and plaster a smile on your face, “no, nope. not up to much really. how about you?”
bruce strolls by and waves at you while natasha plucks a grape from his bowl, popping it into her mouth. he gives her a look but she just smirks as she chews slowly, ignoring him and turning back to you. 
“actually, fury called not too long ago. he’s got some important mission lined up for us somewhere in alaska... surveillance or something.”
“oh,” you frown, brow furrowing because you thought that you would’ve heard about it. “should i go suit up or...?”
“actually,” natasha swallows her grape and stands up straight, “it’s only some of us going. sam and bucky are staying here with you: the rest of us are heading out in about an hour.”
your heart sinks at the thought of not being able to spend your birthday with the whole team, though it seems as if they’ve forgetten anyway so maybe it’s not that big of a deal. but the thought is fleeting because you realize that you’re going to be able to spend some quality time with two of your favorite people who will definitely have remembered your birthday. 
when the quinjet takes off an hour and a half later, sam, bucky, and yourself are all left standing on the launchpad, bucky’s hair blowing dramatically in the gust of wind that it leaves behind.
“so,” bucky rocks back on his heels and stares at you with a mischievous smile on his face. “what do you wanna do?”
“neither of you have any plans?” you look at them skeptically but they both shake their heads. you look down, disappointed because they always do something fun for you on your birthday. sam always bakes a cake and bucky always lets you win when you’re sparring but since neither have happened today, you’re assuming that they’ve forgotten... just like everybody else.
sam shrugs noncommitally.
“nope,” he adds, giving you a charming gap-toothed grin. “i mean, i’ve got some paperwork to do and i’m sure bucky’s got some knives to sharpen or something-”
bucky pins him with a glare but then looks back to you. “-but otherwise, we’re totally free...so, doll?”
“we could watch a movie?”
“yes!” sam exclaims excitedly, already sprinting inside. you and bucky are still staring at the door he burst through when you hear him call out: “i’ve got dibs on the first pick!”
that makes bucky’s eyes go wide and he quickly starts to chase after him. 
“fuck no- sam!”
you’re sandwiched between your two heavily muscled best friends, cuddled up on the sofa with your body spread across the laps of both sam and bucky. a thick blanket is draped over all three of you while die hard plays in the background, but none of you are paying attention because you’re all making each other cry with laughter which drowns out the sound of the movie. 
“we should go out tonight,” bucky casually suggests during a lull in the conversation, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the table.
“true,” sam agrees, nodding his head. you look at him in shock because his default state is to always disagree with bucky. “the others aren’t supposed to be back for a couple of days so i don’t wanna stay all cooped up in here. you down, sugar?”
“yeah, i’ll go,” you nod, playing with your fingers because you’re still so shocked that they’re just casually making plans like today isn’t your birthday. of course you’re not going to point it out to them - you don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but you think that it’d be nice to be wished a happy birthday at least once today.
hours later, you’re wearing your favorite outfit - “we’re going to dinner, darlin’,” bucky let you know earlier - and just touching up your face when bucky and sam pause their incessant bickering to call you downstairs. at this point, you’ve come to terms with the fact that not a single person in your life has remembered your birthday. you’d shed a couple of tears in the bathroom not because you are dying for a huge birthday celebration, but rather because it goes to show that you don’t hold a lot of relevance in these people’s lives. 
nobody on the team has ever forgotten a teammate’s birthday, so it cut deep this morning when they all went about their day as normal and barely even acknowledged your presence. you tried to brush it off but the moment you were alone, it all hit you like an oncoming freight train. 
ready to forget this disappointing day and move on, you come down the stairs as quickly as you can and head to the front door only to see sam and bucky dressed impeccably and... still arguing. they stop when you stand in front of them. sam whistles loudly which makes you roll your eyes playfully while bucky just nods his head.
“you look great, doll,” he smiles at you and not being able to take any more compliments, you clear your throat loudly and step in between them.
“let’s go,” you say and grab a coat, stepping into the garage. once you all pile into one of tony’s many cars, you take off into the night. 
you’re too distracted by your racing thoughts to notice the moment that you pull up outside of an extravagant hotel. you frown as you get out of the car because you thought you were going for dinner at the restaurant on the other side of town. 
“change of plans, lil bit. tony recommended this place to us a few weeks ago and we just never got around to going.” sam smiles at you, offering you an arm as bucky flanks your other side. when you step foot inside of the luxurious building after handing the car keys to the valet outside, a well-dressed usher leads you down a hallway to an entirely separate part of the ground floor. you don’t think much of it because you’re used to private dining when tony’s involved, but you manage to lose both of your friends by the time you’ve made it through the labyrinth of hallways. 
“excuse me, have you seen the two men i was with just a second ago?” you ask the usher kindly. he looks back at you and just smiles.
“this way, please,” he gestures for you to open the doors however, something doesn’t feel quite right. you’re on high alert but you tentatively push open the heavy gold doors anyway, hand ready to grab the knife that’s resting snugly in your thigh holster.
what you’re not expecting is a lounge filled with balloons and a chorus of “surprise!”, so loud that your bones threaten to jump out of your skin.
the room has been decorated in all of your favorite colors, lights strung up everywhere and banners in bold letters that say happy birthday, y/n!, as well as all of your favorite people with beaming smiles on their faces. sam and bucky are standing with rhodey in the corner and as you stare at them disbelievingly, bucky just throws you a wink.
“wh-what,” you stutter, teary eyes round with confusion, “what the fuck?”
“happy birthday, angel,” a very familiar voice comes from behind you and you spin around to throw your arms around your boyfriend’s neck in glee.
“all this?” your voice is muffled in his shoulder. “for me?”
“all for you, baby,” steve murmurs, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “you didn’t think we’d actually forget, did you?”
“i- i mean,” you exhale, shaking your head, “maybe? i just didn’t know how important it was to you guys-”
“y/n,” he takes your face between his hands and stares at you solmenly, “you are the most important thing in my life-”
bucky clears his throat in protest but steve ignores him.
“-and i would be a fool not to celebrate you everyday. it really got me thinking when you told me that you’ve never had something big done for your birthday. you deserve something extravagant and over-the-top because you deserve to be appreciated every second of your life because you’re so loved by everyone here. are we clear?”
you can’t help but kiss the stupid lopsided smile off his face because you love this man more than you’ll ever be able to articulate. to give the two of you some privacy, everyone else has started drinking and dancing, speaking to their friends animatedly as they avert their eyes from you and steve’s private moment.
when steve slips his tongue in your mouth and his hands wander down to grab your ass, you moan into the kiss only to pull away seconds later, blinking up at him as you both try to catch your breaths.
“steve, we’re in a room full of people,” you remind him.
“then let’s get out of here,” he presses you into his front and you can feel the hardness of his cock against your stomach. 
“but i haven’t said hi to anyone else yet,” you whine, not wanting to be rude. 
“we’ll come back, baby,” he brushes his nose against the curve of your jaw. “just a couple minutes. you look so fuckin’ good right now i don’t know if i’ll be able to last any longer without getting my cock in that tight little-”
“steve!” you gasp, swatting his arm and then looking around to see if anybody’s heard him, but he just chuckles low in your ear, soft lips dropping kisses on your even softer skin.
“c’mon, doll,” his teeth catch on your earlobe and your bite your lower lip, contemplating whether or not you should give in to your horny boyfriend. “they won’t even notice we’re gone-”
“uh, we definitely will,” tony strolls over and butts in with a smirk on his lips and a drink in his hand. “happy birthday, babe.”
“thanks, tones,” you give him a one-armed hug because steve still won’t let go of you. 
“your real present from me is over there,” he gestures vaguely to a huge pile of presents that makes your eyes go wide again, “but out of the kindness of my heart, i can also give you the gift of my wonderful storytelling so that people won’t notice that you guys have gone off to f-”
“thank you, tony!” you kiss his cheek quickly and proceed to drag steve towards a hallway that you assume leads to the bathrooms. you wave to your other friends briefly as you walk out, finding that the hallway you’ve gone down doesn’t lead to the bathroom, but rather a set of elevators. you and your boyfriend both pause, taking a minute to look at each other and you can almost see the lightbulb that pops over the both of your heads.
steve presses the up button and then his lips are on you, hands roaming your body eagerly against the closed doors of the elevator. slowly, his fingers travel underneath your clothes and start to massage your bare skin. you do the same, one hand gripping his hair and the other undoing the button to his slacks, shoving your hand into the band of his underwear desperately to palm at his manhood.
he hisses, stopping his assault on your body to throw his head back at the feeling of your deft fingers stroking him like that. you’re about to pull his lips towards yours again when you hear a chime and promptly stumble backwards, taking your supersoldier with you. 
you cry out a laugh as you fall into each against the wall, drunk on desire and your adoration for the flustered man in front of you. chuckling, steve stabs the first button on the panel and is immediately kissing you again, tongue delving deep into your mouth as his large hand tightly grasps your jaw. 
as the doors close and you start to move upwards, steve wedges one of this thick thighs in between your legs, pressing the muscle of his leg into your core. 
“ride it, darlin’, c’mon,” he breathes into your ear, leaving wet kisses down your throat and framing your hips between his hands. you do as you’re told, pushing your hips down onto his thigh to get some friction to relieve the heat that’s building in your stomach.
“so good for me, that’s it sweetheart.”
it’s a quick ride to the top but with steve rutting against your hip with your hand down his pants and you against his leg with his fingers in your underwear dancing over your center, the two of you gradually push yourselves to a climax, almost there until there’s that same chime again. your boyfriend swiftly picks you up and you squeal, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. his hands massage the globes of your ass as you walk across the roof, onto the edge of the balcony that overlooks the upper east side.
he rests you against the ledge and you keep one of your legs around him as he gets both of your clothes out of the way so that he can run the tip of his hard cock along your needy hole.
“shit, baby,” he spits right onto it, slapping his cock against your swollen skin, and you groan loudly, involuntarily clenching around nothing. “m’not gonna last.”
“neither am i,” you reassure him. “please steve, i need it.”
“i’ve got you, doll.”
he doesn’t say anything else because his eyes are glued at the mesmerizing way that his bulbous tip gets swallowed by your tight entrance. he rocks his hips back and forth, burying himself deeper and deeper into you until he bottoms out with a loud moan.
there are tears in your eyes from how good it feels; the open air on your nipples and the fact that someone could see you like this, vulnerable and open with a cock buried deep inside you, makes you shudder, trails of water spilling onto your cheeks. 
“oh my god, sweetheart,” steve murmurs reverently. usually he takes a minute to let you adjust to his size, but the two of you are so close that he just goes for it, the sound of your lovemaking echoing into the night sky. 
“yes, yes- fuck, steve, please,” you blink up at him and he uses his thumbs to wipe the tears off your face, pressing kisses to both of your cheeks. 
“i know, baby, i know,” he reassures you, his own skin slick and cool in the evening air as he continues to drive into you relentlessly. you ignore how uncomfortable the exposed stone on your naked body is because you’re almost there and you know he is too.
“m’gonna come, honey,” he tells you, hands coming up to pinch your nipples at the same time he bites into your neck. “you gonna let me come in you? give you my birthday present?”
you can barely speak, babbling incoherently as your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head but you nod eagerly, nails digging into his back as he uses you to chase his orgasm.
“come for me, baby - c’mon, milk my cock, s’all yours.”
his words push you over the edge, your entire body convulsing as your breath is snatched from your lungs. you contract around his length and he stills entirely as he spills his release into you, the guttaral moan that leaves his chest raw and animalistic.
“fuck,” he drawls as he presses his forehead against yours. 
“right?” you agree, looking right into his pretty eyes, brighter than the lights behind you.
he presses a chaste kiss to your lips.
“happy birthday, baby.”
“thank you,” you kiss the corner of his mouth and run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, “i love you.” 
as his chin rests on your shoulder, you take a minute to appreciate how thoughtful the big blonde man in your arms and you don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone this much in your life. 
“can we do this every birthday?”
you laugh at his suggestion and tug lightly on his hair, heart about to explode from adoration.
“sure we can.”
“hey, lovebirds!” tony’s voice makes the two of you jump in surprise. “i’m not gonna turn the corner because i know for a fact that you’re not wearing any clothes, but i should definitely warn you that bucky and sam are on their way up with their phones... so unless you want a pornhub feature, i’d haul ass and get back downstairs if i were you. happy birthday, y/n!”
you both look at each other and then the mess that is your pile of clothes, and in unison you both realize that you’re fucked either way. but you know that it’s worth it since you’ve had the best birthday surprise ever, but you still don’t know how much steve is gonna love having his ass on display for his best friends.
“y/n! stevie! wh- oh fuck, are you kidding me?!”
that’s bucky, sounding traumatized as he sees the two of you stark naked. 
“wh- damn, i didn’t expect you guys to actually be fuckin’.”
sam sounds genuinely shocked but simultaneously looks impressed. you close your eyes in amused mortification because steve’s body is shielding yours entirely and now, sam and bucky have a full view of his pale backside.
“guys,” he groans, blood rushing to his cheeks. 
a flash goes off and steve cries out in protest. you laugh in disbelief, staring at bucky holding his phone up with a grin.
“happy birthday, y/n.”
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panharmonium · 3 years
Text
the edge of seventeen [fic]
summary: Daegal forgets his own birthday.  Merlin has a conniption.  Daegal has a crisis.
context for newcomers: This is the next installment in an ongoing AU that @once-and-future-gay​ and I have been playing around with, wherein both Will and Daegal survived into Season 5.  The background for that AU can be found here, and the associated fics (plus one art post) are at the following links: be good / persistence / tournaments / daegal post-carpentry (art).
a/n: @once-and-future-gay​​, this was actually written for your birthday XD  I started it that Tuesday intending for it to be a very short snippet that I could post the same day, but I quickly realized that it was turning into a bigger piece, and now, a week and a half later, it’s a 10k story.  I apologize for how belated it is, but I hope you'll accept it as a birthday gift anyhow - I figured that if it were up to me, I’d rather have ‘more fic’ than ‘on-time fic,’ so - happy (belated) birthday to you, and here’s some more of this AU for you, featuring Daegal and a wide supporting cast! ✨
“Are you trying to slice that thing or just beat it to death?”
Will stared incredulously down the table at Daegal, who continued to hack at the seedpod held between his fingers even though his aggravated chopping did little more than squash the unyielding capsule down into the wood of the table.  “It’s my knife,” Daegal muttered, stabbing at his botanical nemesis.  “It’s dull.” 
“So sharpen it.”  
“I did,” Daegal replied.  “It’s old.  It doesn’t hold an edge.”
Will beckoned for the knife.  Daegal scooted it down the table to him like an innkeeper sliding drinks down the length of the bar, even in defiance of Merlin’s exasperated, “Don’t - !”  But Will caught the knife easily, handle-first, and gave it a disapproving once-over.
“Use mine,” he said, and slid one of his own blades down the table.
“Don’t - !” Merlin bit out again, then sighed and returned to the text he was copying after Daegal intercepted the blade without injury.
“Careful,” Will warned Daegal.  “It’s - ”
Pop.  Daegal startled out of his seat at the first enthusiastic slice of the knife, as the capsule burst and sent hundreds of tiny black seeds scattering in every direction, the dried granules rolling off the edge of the table and pouring onto the floor with a rain-like hiss.
Merlin sighed and rubbed his forehead.  Will picked up his own half-finished carving again and gestured at Merlin’s face.  “You’ve got a bit of ink on you, you know.”
Merlin shot him a flat look.  “Have I?”
“Yeah.  Just over your nose there.”
“Maybe it’s because you keep doing things that make me want to pull my hair out.”
Will gave Daegal a knowing grin across the table.  Daegal, doing his best to contain the spilled seeds, couldn’t help feeling pleased, even if the smile he offered to Will in return was slightly sheepish.  
“Do I?” Will asked Merlin, utterly unconcerned.  “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Stop giving him knives!” Merlin burst out, gesturing broadly at Daegal’s end of the table.
“He’s fine!” Will said.  “He’s a big lad.”
“And he’s making a big mess.”
“I’ll clean it up,” Daegal assured Merlin, scooping the runaway seeds into uncooperative piles.  “I didn’t think it would cut so well, is all.”
“You need better tools,” Will declared.  “Merlin, the man works for you.  Why haven’t you got him outfitted properly?”
Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by a rap at the door.  “It’s open,” he called, frowning.  It was a bit late for visitors.
The door swung open, revealing Gwaine, who took only a single step into the physician’s chambers before pausing at the loud crunching sound under his boot.  “Hallo,” he said curiously, lifting up his foot.  “What’s all this, then?”  
“Seeds,” Daegal supplied helpfully, at the same time as Merlin grumbled, “Never mind.  Don’t come in; you’ll track it all over.”
Gwaine obliged, bowing at the waist in deference to Merlin’s directive.  “Don’t mind me,” he said.  “I only came by to see if you lot fancied an excursion.”
“What sort?”
“The lads and I are off to see the sunrise.  Thought you might like to join us.”
It was only after a moment’s confusion that Daegal realized Gwaine was talking about the tavern, in some sort of post-curfew, plausible deniability-laden way.  Daegal wiped seeds from his palms and looked hopefully between Will and Merlin, not daring to believe that they would say yes.  It wasn’t often Gwaine heard the word “no” from someone he’d propositioned, Daegal was willing to bet, but Daegal knew trying to drag Will and Merlin out of their nest two whole bells after curfew, especially when the weather had frosted all the windows, was an extremely optimistic maneuver, even for Gwaine.
Will, predictably, snorted, not even bothering to pretend he was interested.  Merlin did a better job of feigning regret, holding up the heavy text he was copying as if it explained everything.  “Can’t,” he said simply.  “Sorry.  Too much work.  Too late.  Too tired.  Too cold.”
“Any other excuses?” Gwaine asked, the corners of his mouth twitching up.  
“Pick whichever one you like best,” Merlin said, returning to scratch away at his manuscript.  “I’m comfy in here.”
Gwaine gestured amicably at Daegal.  “How about you, lad?”
Daegal’s eyes widened.  Merlin always made tavern nights with Gwaine sound legendary, and the fact that Will groaned every time they came up in conversation made them even more intriguing, but Will, in a surprisingly swift intervention, interrupted before Daegal could even open his mouth.  
“Not a chance,” he said, when Daegal tentatively started to rise from his chair.  “Sit down.”
Gwaine did not seem offended, but simply leaned against the doorframe and grinned in that careless way of his.  “Can’t the lad have a bit of fun?”
“Not with that lot.  Not at this hour.”
“I’ll look after him.”
“You?  By the time you’re done drinking you won’t know him from Bruta.”
Gwaine shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  He pointed at Daegal.  “Invitation stands, lad.  Another time, maybe.”  
Daegal nodded wistfully, and Gwaine bade them farewell, departing.  Will, shaking his head, returned to his whittling, muttering, “Not ruddy likely.”  He brushed wood shavings off his knees, adding to the mess on the floor.  “Lunatic.”
“He’s a good lunatic,” Merlin said, absorbed in his copying.
“If you say so.”
“I could still go, maybe,” Daegal said.  “I could look after myself.”
Will raised his eyebrows.  “At the Rising Sun?  After curfew?  You’d wake up with your head in a snowbank.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, you would,” Will said, not budging. “Don’t go courting trouble.  You’re too young for that crowd.”
Daegal scrunched up his nose.  He knew that in a contest of stubbornness, Will would win by a mile, but still - “I’m not too young.  I’m seventeen.”
Merlin’s head snapped up from his book, his copying abruptly forgotten.  “You’re sixteen.”
“No,” Daegal said, bewildered by Merlin’s sudden bizarre intensity.  “Seventeen.”
“Since when?”
“I had my birthday last month.”
“You what?”
Daegal, confused, looked between Merlin and Will, the latter of whom sighed.  “Oh, lor.”
“What?” Daegal asked.  “Have I - is that bad?”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Merlin demanded, ignoring Daegal’s question.
“I don’t know,” Daegal replied, taken aback.  He hadn’t even thought of it at the time.  What was there to think about?  It was just another day.  Sometimes he didn’t even remember his birthday had happened until it was already over.  Once he hadn’t remembered until the last week in January, when he’d taken a courier job and been forced to lie about his age.
Merlin looked incensed.  Will, by contrast, looked like he was trying not to laugh.  “Right, then,” he said, getting up and tucking his carving into his pocket.  “I’m off.  You two have fun.”
Daegal had an absurd urge to beg Will to sit back down, because Merlin was starting to get a frankly loony look on his face and Daegal did not understand what was the matter.  But Will just patted Daegal on the top of the head on his way out - tap tap - and let the door swing closed behind him.  
Merlin, his hands on his hips, assessed Daegal with narrowed eyes.  
“I’m sorry?” Daegal ventured, unsure what he was apologizing for.
Merlin pressed his lips together.  “You and him,” he said, pointing to the door where Will had just exited, “you’re two of a kind, you know that?”
Daegal did not know.  He had no idea what Merlin was talking about, in fact, and he was afraid to ask.  He did not exactly want to apologize again, though, because that felt sort of like apologizing for being like Will (although why Merlin seemed to think this was the case was a mystery).
“Right,” Merlin said after a moment.  “Not to worry.  I’ll take care of it.”
Daegal hesitated.  “Take care of what?”
Merlin sighed and shook his head, but did not answer.  Daegal decided that perhaps it would be best if he did not needle Merlin with further questions right now.  His mentor was acting very strange, and Daegal could not possibly imagine what had gotten him so worked up. 
He would just have to ask Will about it later.
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As it turned out, Daegal did not have a chance to ask Will about it later.
The next day, Will did not come by.  The day after that, Merlin sent Daegal out to collect more dried seedpods to replace the ones Daegal had mangled, which took all afternoon and was exhausting enough for Daegal to go straight to his little chamber in the servants’ wing and flop into bed after supper.
The morning after that, he woke to find a smiling Elyan hovering barely two inches above his face.  
Daegal stifled a gasp and only just barely stopped himself from whacking Elyan across the nose.  He scrambled upright in the bed, his back pressed against the wall.  “El - Sir Elyan!  What - ”
“Good morning,” Elyan said, as if he could not possibly have been happier to have gotten almost-smacked in the face.  “Merlin sent me down.  Said it’s your birthday.”
Daegal goggled at him.  “My what?”
“Your birthday,” Elyan repeated.  “Isn’t it?”
Daegal shook his head, certain that he was still asleep.  “No.”
“Merlin said you might say that.”  Elyan whipped the covers off Daegal’s legs.  “Up you get.  It’s time for breakfast.”
Daegal shivered violently, his sleep clothes providing little protection against the cold.  “I don’t normally - I’m supposed to go and help Gaius - ”
“Not today.  You’ve been given the day off.”
Daegal stared.  “What for?”
Elyan chuckled.  “Still asleep in there, I see,” he remarked, tossing Daegal a shirt.  “It’s your birthday.  Haven��t I just said that?”
“It’s not, though,” Daegal said, feeling as if he were speaking a different language.   “My birthday’s in November.”
“Not this year, it isn’t.”  Elyan grinned.  “Get dressed.  We’ve got all sorts of things do today.”
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When Elyan had said ‘all sorts of things,’ Daegal had not expected one of those things to be a full breakfast served in the King and Queen’s personal chambers, catered by the King and Queen’s personal serving staff, and attended by the King and Queen themselves.
“I didn’t know,” Daegal whispered frantically to Merlin, as Elyan ushered him inside the room.  “Why wouldn’t you tell me?  I would have worn something else!”
“You don’t have anything else,” Merlin shot back under his breath.  “Relax.  Arthur put his undershirt on back to front this morning; he’s hardly Sir Stylish.”
Daegal gave Merlin a panicked, pleading stare, but Merlin just plunked Daegal down in a seat and left to pour the drinks.
“We’ve been meaning to do this for ages,” the Queen told him, sitting down next to Elyan.  “Merlin keeps you very busy, doesn’t he?”
Daegal’s mouth was too dry to formulate any sort of reply.  Only a few short months ago this very same woman had been standing at Morgana’s elbow, plotting Arthur’s assassination, and at the time, Daegal had not even realized there was anything wrong with her.  There was, after all, nothing hard to believe about a servant-turned-queen who’d gotten a taste for power and decided to keep climbing the ladder, and while Merlin had always been very adamant that Daegal would never have believed this of Gwen if he had ever met her previously, it was hard for Daegal to look at her and not remember how she had willingly embraced the woman who later tried to murder Merlin and threatened to do the same to Daegal, if he didn’t keep his mouth shut.
Merlin, busy setting out the ewery on a sidetable, heard Gwen’s comment and spared Daegal the necessity of replying.  “Arthur keeps me very busy,” he said, directing a pointed look at the king.  “If you’d like me to arrange your subjects’ social schedules on top of my other duties, Sire, perhaps you ought to hire someone else to look after your washing.”
Arthur waved a hand.  “Guinevere likes that funny thing you do with my socks.”
“Guinevere,” corrected the Queen , “thinks her husband is perfectly capable of rolling his own socks, thank you.”  She smiled encouragingly at Daegal.  “But enough about the laundry.  We’d been meaning to have you round for a meal, to say thank you, and Merlin mentioned that it was your birthday, so we thought now would be the perfect time.”
Daegal barely even heard the bit about his birthday, instead fixated on what had come just before it.  Thank him?  What for?  He had nearly gotten the king killed.  
“Merlin tells us you’ve been helping Gaius?” Arthur prompted.  
Daegal nodded. 
“He’s a fine physician.  If you’re pursuing a path in the healing arts, you couldn’t ask for a better teacher.”
“Is that something you’re interested in?” Guinevere asked, warm interest written across her face.
Daegal’s eyes darted helplessly to Merlin, who nodded encouragingly.  Daegal cleared his throat.  “Er - I think so.  Maybe.  Merlin says I’m picking it up quickly.”
“Well, you’ve already saved one life,” Arthur said with a grin, gesturing at himself, “so if that’s any indication of your capabilities, I expect you’ll do well.”  He offered Daegal a platter of pastries.  “Tell us about your studies.”
The meal continued on in much the same fashion, with Gwen and Arthur asking Daegal questions and Elyan occasionally putting in a comment or two of his own.  Daegal did his best to answer honestly, even as he was plied with heaps of food, most of which was comprised of dishes he had never had the chance to try before and all of which flavors he was certain he would never be able to remember later, given how worked up he was.  Arthur was gracious and charming throughout, very unlike the man who often featured in Merlin’s grumbling suppertime complaints.  Elyan talked to Merlin as much as he did to either of the royal guests, which was probably a breach of some kind of protocol, though nobody seemed to mind.  And the Queen - the Queen looked exactly the same as she had when Daegal had first met her, minus the cloak and surreptitious glances, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought nothing had changed.  
Except - 
There came one moment, towards the end of the meal, when Merlin put a goblet down in front of Gwen with a playful and very exaggerated “Your Majesty,” and Gwen jabbed his knee with a fork under the table where Arthur couldn’t see, all the while both of them keeping their eyes locked on each other as if daring the other one to laugh first, and it was then that Daegal knew with absolute certainty that this was not the same woman he had met that night in the woods.  
“I hope you’ll accept this token of the Crown’s appreciation,” Arthur said to Daegal later, when they had finally finished their meal and risen from their chairs.  “You’ve done this kingdom a tremendous service, and I’m indebted to you.”  He passed Daegal a very official-looking bit of folded parchment stamped with the royal seal, which Daegal knew it would not be appropriate to open now.  He took it and bowed the way Merlin had shown him.
“And there’s something from me, too,” said Guinevere.  “Only it would have been a bit difficult to get it up the steps - Elyan will take you to see it instead.  I think you’ll find it useful, given that you’re apprenticing to our physicians.”
Daegal could not possibly imagine what on earth could have been so unwieldy that she could not get it up the stairs, but he bowed to her as well.  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you,” she said, in a more solemn voice.  “For helping, when I couldn’t help myself.”
Daegal straightened, hesitant.  Her eyes - it seemed ludicrous to Daegal, now, that he had not recognized the enchanted version of her for what it was.  That hollow shell had had no soul.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he blurted out.  “I wish I could’ve done more.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” Arthur said, wrapping a steady arm around his wife’s shoulders.  “For both of us.  We owe you a great deal.”
Daegal bowed to both of them again, and Elyan escorted him to the door.  “Oh, and Daegal?” Gwen added.  
Daegal stumbled over his own feet trying to turn around.  “Your Majesty?”
She smiled at him.  “Happy birthday.”
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“What did Arthur give you, then?” Elyan asked, once they were out in the street.
Daegal fingered the mystery envelope.  He did not know, and honestly, his head was spinning too much for him to even think about puzzling out a jumble of words right now, especially when he was only just learning his letters to begin with.
“Can I have a look?” Elyan asked, and Daegal willingly handed him the parchment.  Elyan slipped a finger under the seal and unfolded the document, parsing it with a speed Daegal had pretty much despaired of ever achieving for himself.
“Mm,” Elyan said.  “Thought so.  Typical kingly stuff.”
“What is it?” 
“Land grant,” Elyan said, handing back the parchment, and then, as if this were nothing to worry about, he turned and ambled into the stables.
Daegal stared after him.  “What?”   
“Land grant,” Elyan repeated.  “You know, like a knight’s fee.  For services rendered to the Crown.”  He wandered deeper down the central aisle of the stable, stalled horses on either side of him lifting their heads.  “Come on.  It’s through here.”
Stunned, Daegal followed him, his fingers clutching at the incomprehensible slip of parchment.  “I can’t own land,” he protested.  “I don’t own a second pair of shoes.”
“You do now.  Or you can afford to, at least.”  Elyan glanced back at Daegal.  “Don’t worry, it’s a small plot.  Just a little square out in the Sprawl.”
Outside the city walls, then.  “I don’t - what am I supposed to do with it?”
“You could live there.”
“But - ”  Daegal stared at Elyan’s back uncomprehendingly.  “I live in the Citadel.”
“Rent it?”
Daegal’s head was going to explode.  “Will says landlords are leeches,” he said faintly.
Elyan laughed.  “Herb garden?” he suggested.  “Merlin’s always sending you off to gods know where, searching for things you could grow yourself.”
Daegal hardly knew what to say to that, but Elyan stopped walking before Daegal could think of anything coherent.  “Here we are,” Elyan announced, clapping a hand down on top of a stall door to his left.  
A wave of misgiving flooded Daegal, temporarily wiping away the lingering shock of the land grant.  “Are we riding somewhere?”  
He had not considered this, and he did not want to admit that the only way he was going to be able to ride anywhere at all was on the back of someone else’s saddle.  He had never had access to a horse himself, and had only had the opportunity to ride twice in the past - the first occasion had been extremely brief, and the second had ended in him being thrown, so he was not quite sure that it counted.
“Not today,” Elyan said.  “Unless you count the training ring.”
“Sorry?”
“Merlin says you don’t know how to ride.”
“Yeah,” Daegal said.  He could feel himself turning red.  “I mean - no, I don’t know how.  Not well.  I don’t need to.  I don’t have a horse.”
“Didn’t have a horse,” Elyan said, as if making a correction.
“What?”
Elyan gestured at the stall they were standing next to.  “Couldn’t get her up the stairs.”
Daegal’s mouth popped open.  The creature Elyan was pointing to was a dark bay with an irregular, splotchy white blaze down her muzzle, her smooth coat appearing nearly black in the dim light of the stables.  She was stout and smoothly muscled, watching them with a calm, composed energy, and even as Daegal stared, she stretched her neck over the stall door and sniffed at Elyan’s hands, perhaps searching for any remnants of his recent breakfast.
“My sister,” Elyan said proudly, scratching the horse’s cheek, “is aces at presents.”
“She’s not for me,” Daegal croaked disbelievingly.
“Of course she is,” Elyan assured him.  “She’s the same stock as Merlin’s.  Steady temperament, friendly, not likely to spook.  Not like Arthur’s beasts.”
A horse, Daegal thought numbly.  A horse. 
“I can’t take this,” he mumbled.  “It’s too much.”
“Of course it’s not too much.  You saved the king’s life.”
I almost killed him! Daegal wanted to shout, but Elyan would not understand.  
“And you’ll need transportation, anyhow,” Elyan continued.  “You can’t be jogging along behind Merlin on foot.  Apprentices in the royal household have mounts, or they can’t do their work.”
Daegal bit the inside of his cheek.  “I don’t even know how to ride her.”
The horse cocked her ears in Daegal’s direction and swung her blocky head around to inspect him, her dark brown eyes sedate and trusting.  “What do you think we’re here to practice?” Elyan asked cheerfully, retrieving a halter and lead rope from a hook on the wall.  “Go on, say hello to her.”
Daegal’s hand came up of its own accord, hovering in the air below his new mount’s nose.  She lipped at his fingers curiously.  “Hello,” Daegal breathed.
He didn’t deserve her.  He knew he didn’t.  
But he was falling in love with her anyway.
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It was a very windswept and breathless Daegal who climbed off his horse later that day and ran to greet Merlin at the fence.  
Evening was coming on, and the temperature had sunk as quickly as the sun, but Daegal did not even notice the stiffness in his fingers or the tightness in his cheeks.  He was too carried away with the elation of riding, and the dizzying knowledge that he now had the means to go anywhere he wanted, anytime, without begging for rides in the back of strangers’ wagons.  Months ago he would have killed for this kind of ability to roam.  
It was strange, now that he finally had the freedom to run away whenever he pleased, that he no longer felt he had anything to run away from.
“Having fun?” Merlin asked, elbows resting on the fence.
Daegal did not think fun was the right word.  There was just no good way to explain that he felt like a menagerie bear whose shackles had slipped, or a noblewoman’s bird escaping out a cracked window.  “It’s brilliant,” he said, settling for a completely inadequate adjective.  “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”
“And he’s good at it!” Elyan put in, walking Daegal’s horse over to the gate.  “We’ve only been out here one day and he’s got her cantering already - I think this beast is talking to him.”
If Daegal’s cheeks had not been whipped rosy by the wind already, they were certainly turning pink now.  “No,” he said to Merlin, “not - talking to me.  Obviously not.  Just - I sort of feel like I understand her, is all.”
Merlin did not seem to think this was strange at all, and produced a chunk of some sort of winter root vegetable from his coat, offering it to the horse.  She snapped it up eagerly.  “Animals talk,” Merlin said, shrugging.  “It’s people as don’t know how to listen that get kicked in the nethers.”  
He untied the gate for Elyan, who led the horse through it and started up the path back to the stables proper.  “How was your day?” Merlin asked Daegal, as the three of them walked, Elyan leading the horse on one side, and Merlin and Daegal on the other.
Daegal had to think before answering.  It had been, by a wide margin, the strangest day he had ever experienced in Camelot, starting with Elyan’s surprise appearance that morning and punctuated by a number of other unexpected visitors.  Leon had arrived in the stables not long after Elyan and Daegal, bringing with him a collection of exquisitely embroidered tack (“Part of Her Majesty’s gift,” he’d explained), and then he’d spent the next hour walking Daegal through the various bits and pieces, guiding him through the process of putting them on his mount and taking them off again.  Percival had dropped by with his own mount and accompanied Daegal on a slow ride outside the ring, along the edge of the woods - Elyan had ridden in the saddle behind Daegal, just to be safe, but he had not had to take the reins from Daegal once, and they had gone on a nice plodding walk around the frostbitten perimeter of what would be fairgrounds, come summer.  Even Mordred had made a brief appearance, in his oddly intense way - apparently out for a ride of his own, watching Elyan and Daegal lungeing Daegal’s mount for a few minutes, before nodding to the both of them and continuing on his way, his own horse cresting the hill so smoothly that it appeared as if it were not touching the ground.
“It was strange,” Daegal decided.
Merlin walked along beside him, his boots crunching on the frostbitten grass.  “Why?”
“I don’t know.  All these people - ”  Daegal paused, brushing a hand against his horse’s flank.  “I don’t see why they’re taking an interest.”
“It’s your birthday,” Merlin replied.  “People are supposed to make a fuss.”
Daegal was not sure about that.  It had not ever been his experience in the past, at least.  “It’s not really my birthday, though.”
“Only because I didn’t know about it.”
They continued walking, Daegal worrying at his lip.  “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said abruptly, after a minute.
“You’re not enjoying yourself?”
Daegal shook his head quickly.  “I am.”  Too much, he thought.  His exhilaration at being taught how to ride had driven it from his mind for a while, but now - 
Elyan waved to someone up ahead, interrupting Daegal’s thoughts.  There in the stableyard was Gwaine, lounging against the edge of the open doors, dressed not in his crimson surcoat but in plain clothes, and tossing a small pouch from hand to hand.  
“You’re early,” Merlin called to him.  “We’ve still got to groom and water this creature.”
“I thought I was supposed to be in charge of the watering,” Gwaine replied, which seemed like a very odd thing to say.  “Wasn’t that the plan?”
“I’m talking about the horse.”
Gwaine pushed himself off the wall, joining the little group as they entered the yard.  “Our guest of honor,” he said, indicating Daegal.  “This fellow’s been doing our job for us, Elyan.  Saving the king is knight’s work, isn’t it?”
Elyan led the horse past Gwaine with a smirk.  “How would you know?  You’ve never done a bit of it.”
Gwaine shook his head, glancing at Daegal in a comradely way.  “Why does everybody think I only took this job for the food?” 
Daegal, who had only rarely interacted with Gwaine before, did not know what to answer, but Merlin saved him the trouble.  “Because we know you,” he said, and then smiled when Gwaine gave him a crooked grin.
That was utter nonsense.  Even Daegal knew that Gwaine had nearly died during Morgana’s occupation, specifically while fighting to keep a number of his fellow prisoners from starving - but Merlin and Gwaine were a bit like Merlin and Will in that way, at least to Daegal’s limited experience, wherein Gwaine did not always want people to see him for what he truly was, and Merlin always chose to see him anyway, if only from behind a mutually agreed-upon smokescreen of affectionate teasing.
“Well, let’s hurry it up,” Gwaine said, tossing his little bag in the air.  “I’d like to get on with my bit.”
His bit?  
Gwaine paused in front of the empty stall while Elyan gathered what they would need for a post-ride grooming.  “I hear it’s your birthday,” Gwaine said to Daegal, and then before Daegal could explain that it wasn’t, exactly, Gwaine handed Daegal the little leather bag.  “There’s for you, then.”
Daegal, surprised, loosened the cinched string at the top of the pouch and tipped the contents into his other hand.  Out tumbled four dice, the smoothly-carved cubes clacking against one another as they fell into Daegal’s palm.  
Daegal looked up at Gwaine, confused.
“I thought you could use them,” Gwaine said.  
“For what?”
Gwaine grinned and exchanged a knowing look with Merlin.  “My bit.”
Daegal stared at at the dice in his hand, then snapped his gaze up to Merlin, suddenly seized by a burst of excitement.  “Are we - ”
Merlin held up a finger.  “On three conditions,” he declared, obviously trying not to smile.  
Daegal closed his fingers tightly around the dice, trying not to appear too eager.
“One: you’re going to untack and groom your mount.  The stablehands will do that for you, when you ride out with our party, but she’s your responsibility.  You have to know how to take care of her.”
Daegal had no objections to that.  He already loved this horse better than anything he’d ever owned.
“Two: weak drinks only.”
We’ll see, Gwaine mouthed behind Merlin.
“Three - ”  Merlin held up a third finger.  “You leave when I leave.  Will’s right about the after-curfew crowd.  That’s a sort of trouble you don’t need.”  He looked expectantly at Daegal.  “Agreed?”
“Agreed.”  Daegal nodded fervently.  “Is it - who’s coming?”  
“Everybody!” Elyan supplied happily, uncinching the horse’s girth.  “You saved our king.  We owe you a night out.”   
Merlin, who had perhaps understood Daegal’s question better, said, “Everybody who likes drinks and dicing and general uproar.” 
This statement prompted appreciative, anticipatory grins from Gwaine and Elyan, and Daegal refrained from asking any follow-up questions, having understood the answer perfectly well.  He had been working with Merlin long enough to know that if there were one thing Will avoided more assiduously than King Arthur, it was large groups of loud people losing their heads over absolutely nothing.
“Let’s get started, then,” Gwaine said.  “D’you think you can untack this beast and learn the rules to Hazard at the same time?”
Daegal stuffed the dice into his pocket and grasped the bridle’s noseband buckle.  “I can try.”
Gwaine grinned wolfishly.  “That’s just what I like to hear.”
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They ended up staying a bit later than they’d intended. 
By the time Merlin finally had the sense to bring the evening to a close, Daegal had turned the single half-penny he had started with into several silver pieces (“Alchemy!” Gwaine had proclaimed triumphantly, knocking his cup into Daegal’s so that some of the drink had sloshed over), and Daegal had become very popular with some of the tavern regulars, who were beyond tickled to see a seventeen year-old boy flatten strangers’ smug expectations of victory.  Daegal had not won every time, of course, but he had gotten extremely lucky at several critical moments and had at the very end miraculously thrown his chance number twice, after the odds had already been declared heavily against him (and thus after the other players had upped their contribution to Daegal’s stake with the expectation that he would lose).
Merlin had pulled Daegal from the game after that, sitting him back down at the knights’ table, which was piled high with food and drink.  “First lesson,” he’d said, offering Daegal a very watered-down ale, “and one you won’t learn from Gwaine - quit while you’re ahead.” 
They had stayed for a long time after that, socializing and eating their fill, until Merlin had finally seemed to take notice of the time (or perhaps of the slightly seedy-looking characters who had started to wander in through the back entrance).  Merlin, at that point, had prompted Daegal to gather his winnings, say his goodbyes, and make his exit, pursued by a chorus of enthusiastic farewells from the knights, none of whom showed any sign of abandoning their seats anytime soon.
Stepping out into the night air was like diving into a frozen moat.  Daegal drew his cloak tighter around his torso as he and Merlin wound their way through the town.  The Rising Sun’s interior had been as stiflingly hot as its namesake, overflowing with a press of bodies and thrumming with a constant cacophony of conversation, and even from the outside its closed shutters leaked driblets of light and noise, as if the building were bursting at the seams.  The town, by contrast, was stone-silent and frigid, everybody shut up in their homes waiting for the weak light of morning. 
“You did well,” Merlin said, as they approached the citadel.  “You’re sure you’ve never played Hazard before?”
Daegal shook his head.  His mother would never have let him, before, and after - 
He pushed that thought away, watching his breath mist in front of his face.  He’d never had enough money to gamble with after that, that was all.
“You weren’t helping me, were you?” Daegal asked Merlin.
“No, you got lucky.”  Merlin chuckled.  “The look on that fellow’s face...”
Daegal smiled faintly, remembering.  Daegal had taken rather a lot of money from a beefy, belligerent fellow who had been bothering everybody all night, which had resulted in a vastly improved tavern experience for all when the man had stormed out in a rage, and which had also earned a round of free drinks for Daegal’s table.  “He wasn’t too pleased, was he?”
“No, he wasn’t.  Not quite the sort of evening he was expecting to have, I don’t think.”
They walked on, approaching the retracted drawbridge, and detoured to the parallel pedestrian crossing instead, passing through the smaller door to the bridge’s left and entering the courtyard, Merlin offering a hello to the familiar guards as they went.
“How does it feel to be older?” Merlin asked, as they crossed the darkened square.
Daegal shrugged.  “I don’t know.  The same, I suppose.”
But that wasn’t exactly true, Daegal thought, as they entered the base of the North Tower.  Last year, things had been very different.  A few months ago, he could never have dreamed of the sort of day he’d been having today.  And now - 
He hesitated at the bottom of the stair leading to the physician’s chambers.  Merlin, oblivious to the fact that Daegal was not right behind him, kept climbing.  
“Why are you doing all this?” Daegal asked.  His voice sounded strange in his own ears, or maybe that was just a function of the echo in the hollow space, his words bouncing off the stone shell on either side of him.
Merlin turned around, surprised to see Daegal still standing at the bottom of the stairs.  “All what?”
Daegal made an uncertain gesture.  “This.  All these things today...I don’t understand.”
“It’s your birthday,” Merlin said, as if that made any sense at all.
“It’s not, though,” Daegal said.  “Even if it were, I don’t see - I mean, it doesn’t matter.”  He shrugged uncomfortably.  “Who cares?”
Merlin stared levelly at Daegal.  “I do,” he said.
A long silence ensued.  Daegal could not possibly have formulated a reply to this even if he’d known what to say, but Merlin did not ask him to respond, instead descending a few steps and putting a hand on Daegal’s elbow, nudging him up the staircase.  “Come on,” he said quietly.  “It’s late.”
Daegal followed him without a word, stunned and silent, seven stories straight up.
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“Isn’t it a bit past your bedtime, old man?” Merlin said, immediately upon opening the doors to the physician’s chambers.  
Daegal, trailing behind, thought this was a very unusual way for Merlin to address Gaius, but as he peered around Merlin’s shoulder, he realized it was not Gaius to whom Merlin was speaking, but Will, who was sitting by the little hearthfire at the left of the room with his feet propped up on a stool.  
“No,” Will replied, though he did look like he was ready to doze off.  “It might be a bit past Arthur’s, though.”
Merlin swore and stopped dead in the doorway.  “He sent somebody up?”
“Several somebodies.”
“What did you tell them?
Will waved an unconcerned hand.  “I don’t remember.”   
“Will - ”
“Isn’t he waiting for you to turn down his sheets or something?”
“Did you tell them I was at the tavern?”
Will smirked.  
Merlin, cursing under his breath, took Daegal by the upper arms and maneuvered him into the room.  “Drink some water.  Kip on the patient cot - you’re up early collecting pots with Gaius tomorrow; you might as well sleep here.”  He tore off his outerwear and dumped it on a table.  “You,” he said to Will, “on the other hand, can go home, you ass.”
Will tipped his chair back, cupping a hand to his ear.  “What’s that?  ‘Have my bed, William’?  All right, if you say so.”
Merlin flashed Will a rude gesture before tearing out of the room.  Daegal caught the door before it could slam and closed it carefully, so as not to disturb Gaius, who was sleeping behind the screens that had been drawn around his corner.
Will rose from his seat with a yawn, stretching.  “So you had your evening out at last.”
Daegal did not answer him, his mind still trapped back there in the stairwell with Merlin.  I do, he heard again, as he struggled to untie his cloak.  I do.  
“Was it everything you thought it would be?”
Daegal managed to undo the knot, his fingers clumsy with cold.  He pulled his cloak from his shoulders and folded it slowly, first in half, then in fours, and then laid it aside before doing the same with Merlin’s rumpled jacket, single-mindedly focused on his task.
“I hope you at least took something off Gwaine.  Fellow’s too cocky for his own good.”
Daegal, out of things to fold, stared at his hands.  Will came closer, scrutinizing Daegal in the low light.  “How much did you have to drink?” 
Daegal stuck his hands into his pockets, avoiding Will’s gaze.  Not much, was the true answer, but he couldn’t find the words.  
He fingered the coins in his pocket, the silver pieces cold and clinking against one another.  
“Oi,” Will said, frowning.  He tipped Daegal’s chin up to see his eyes.  “You all right in there?”
Morgana had given Daegal a sack of coins just like this, once.
Daegal yanked his hands out of his pockets as if he had been burned, jerking back from Will’s fingers.  
“This is wrong,” he blurted out.
Will blinked at him.  “Sorry?”
“I can’t do this.  It’s - I can’t.  It’s not right.”
“What isn’t?”
“Everything!  The birthday, the money, the tavern, the riding - ”  Daegal's voice was rising, but he could not rein himself in.  He had been trying to tell this to someone all day.  “The horse, the land, breakfast - ”
Will stared at him, confounded.  “Breakfast?”
Daegal struggled mightily not to holler in frustration.  Will, of all people, ought to have understood, but it appeared he was committed to being just as obtuse as everyone else.  “Yes!  I don’t deserve it; it isn’t right - ”
Will’s eyebrows shot up.  He did not give Daegal another chance to wake Gaius, but planted a hand on Daegal’s shoulder and spun him around, muttering, “Go,” in a low voice, pushing Daegal away from Gaius’s sleeping area in the direction of Merlin’s chambers.  Daegal allowed himself to be marched up the little staircase, Will following, until they were both in Merlin’s room, the small chamber chilly and cloaked with shadows, lit only by a single hanging candle.  
Closing the door, Will turned back to Daegal.  “Start over,” he commanded.
Daegal whipped out Arthur’s envelope.  “The King - he gave me a land grant.”
Will snatched the piece of parchment out of Daegal’s hand, scanning it briefly.  “So?” he said, discarding the envelope onto Merlin’s desk.  “He can afford it.”
“But it’s - ”
“Nothing he’ll miss.”
“But - ”
“But what?”
“The Queen - ”
“What about her?”
“She gave me a horse.”
Will shrugged.  “And?”
“It’s too much!  I can’t - ”
“Are you planning to thank her for it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to take care of it?”
“Of course!”
“Then what’s the trouble?  She wanted you to have it.”
“She gave it to me for the wrong reasons!” Daegal exclaimed frustratedly.  “She kept saying I helped her, but I didn’t do anything.  I didn’t even know she needed help.  I thought she wanted the throne for herself - ”
“You stopped her killing her husband,” Will said, interrupting.  “You saved his life.”
“I didn’t save him.  I almost killed him.  I’m the reason he needed help in the first place.  But all of them are acting like - ”  Daegal thought back to earlier that night, to Elyan, who had shown Daegal how to calculate Hazard odds in his head; to Leon, who had spoken to Daegal like one of the adults; to Percival, who had taught Daegal the less savory lyrics to the tavern’s favorite drinking songs; and to Gwaine, who had murmured advice in Daegal’s ear while Daegal cast his dice.  “They kept saying I’d done their job for them.  They - ”  
A horrible, hollow feeling bloomed in Daegal’s chest, strangling his voice.  He pulled the coins out of his pocket and dumped them onto Merlin’s desk, not wanting to carry that cold weight for another moment.  “They don’t know me.  They don’t know what I’m like.”
Will watched him closely, his eyes narrowing.  “What are you like?”  
Daegal shook his head and sank down onto Merlin’s bed, staring at the floor.  He didn’t want to say it.  He shouldn’t need to say it.  Will already knew the whole story; Daegal shouldn’t have needed to retread all the ugly details.  
Will folded his arms, leaning back against the top of Merlin’s desk.  The single candle did very little to illuminate his set expression, but the moonlight in the window behind him threaded his silhouette with silver.
“I shouldn’t have said anything about my birthday,” Daegal murmured, his voice thick.  “I should have just kept it quiet.  That’s what you do, isn’t it?”
Will frowned.  “Who said that?”
“Merlin.  When I didn’t mention my birthday - he said you were - well, he said we were two of a kind.”
Will shook his head.  “I don’t hide my birthday.”
“I think you must,” Daegal said stubbornly, returning to his intense inspection of the floorboards.  “Because I don’t even know when it is.”
“Neither do I.”
Daegal looked up, surprised.  “What?”
“I don’t know when my birthday is.”
“Why - ”
Will lifted a finger repressively, and Daegal realized he was not going to be getting that part of the story tonight, or maybe ever.  “It doesn’t matter,” Will said.  “I don’t care.  I don’t fancy it much, anyhow.  It’s nothing to me.  Merlin, though - ”  He gestured at the room around them, at the mussed bedclothes and the stacked manuscripts and the sketched diagrams pasted to the walls.  “He doesn’t like it when I say things like that.  It bothers him.  He’s got ideas about how these things are supposed to be done, and he thinks it’s wrong, not telling me happy birthday, even if I’d rather he just left it alone.”
Daegal had no trouble believing it, if Merlin’s reaction to Daegal’s skipped birthday were anything to go by.  “But then - ”  Daegal frowned.  “He mustn’t know when your birthday is, either.”
“My birthday,” Will said, in a long-suffering way, “is whenever Merlin decides he wants it to be.  He comes crawling into my cott at some godsforsaken hour of the morning on whatever personally convenient day he’s picked that year, and then he yanks me out of bed and feeds me too much food and drags me all over creation doing the sort of things he thinks I’ll like doing.  I’ve been telling him to drop it for more years than you’ve been alive, but he never listens.  It doesn’t matter how much I whinge about it.  He never forgets.  He can’t help himself.  He thinks it’s important, telling people he’s happy they were born, even if they don’t think being born was such a fantastic thing themselves.”  
Will gestured at Daegal.  “If you’re going to be one of his people now, you’re going to have to get used to that.  You don’t have to like it, but you’ve got to understand it.  That’s who he is.  That’s how he treats people.  He won’t give you a pass on birthday fuss just because you don’t think you’re worth fussing over.  He’s not built that way.”
Daegal heard Merlin’s words again, echoing against the frozen stones of the stairwell.  Who cares? Daegal had asked.  
I do.
He twisted his fingers together.  Out in the physician’s chamber proper, Gaius was snoring.  
“It’s not just Merlin, though,” Daegal said finally, in a soft voice.  “Everybody - all of them are doing too much.”
“Too much how?”
“They keep thanking me.  But the gifts are - I didn’t earn them.  I don’t deserve them.”
“Who told you that?”
“I don’t need anyone to tell me; I know.”  Daegal stared at Will, helpless to explain why Will’s inability to accept this simple truth made him feel so utterly lost at sea.  “I don’t understand this.  You’re the one who kept saying I did something wrong.”
“You did do something wrong,” Will replied, as if this entire line of discussion were so obvious that it did not need to be examined.  “But you did something right, too.”
“I - ”
Will held up a hand.  “Who was it nearly got themselves killed saving Pendragon’s gleaming hide?  Who was it betrayed Morgana?”
“Me, but - ”
“Who was it came back to save Merlin’s life?”
“From something I did to him in the first place.”
“From something Morgana did to him,” Will corrected.
“I helped,” Daegal retorted.  “You’re always saying - you said I need to take responsibility.”
“You do,” Will said.  “For all your choices.  Not just the shyte ones.”  He gestured at the door, back towards the rest of the castle.  “You saved two lives.  You nearly got yourself killed doing it.  That’s what they’re all thanking you for.  It’s not about what you did for yourself; it’s what you did for everyone else, when you didn’t have to.  You didn’t have to come back for Merlin.  You didn’t have to follow him to Camelot.  You could have just taken Morgana’s money and run.”
“I tried,” Daegal confessed, his mouth very dry.  “I tried.  I couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?” Will said, as if he already knew the answer.
“I just - couldn’t.”  Daegal remembered it with a nightmarish clarity, hesitating in the thickness of the undergrowth as the encroaching night muddled his vision, knowing that Merlin was suffocating at the bottom of a muddy ravine where no one would ever find his body.  “I felt like something was going to swallow me.  I would’ve rather died than felt like that all the time.”
“That’s because you know what’s right and what’s wrong,” Will said, as if he had been waiting for Daegal to say this all along.  “And you chose right.”
“I chose wrong first.”
Will shook his head.  “Lots of people choose wrong first.  Doesn’t mean that what you choose next doesn’t matter.”
Daegal played with the hem of his sleeve, wrapping a fraying thread around his finger.  Will pushed himself up from the desk and dragged Merlin’s chair over to a spot across from Daegal, then sat down.  “Listen here,” he said.  “I can’t say I’d be too pleased to get a load of gifts that I didn’t think I ought to have, either.  But you can’t give them back, and you can’t convince people that you don’t deserve them, either.”  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  “You’ve got to just smile, and say thank you, and do your best to be worthy of everyone’s gifts.”
Daegal absorbed this, nodding slowly.  “I’m trying.”
“I know you are,” Will said.  “And so does everyone else.”  Will met Daegal’s gaze unflinchingly, his outline illuminated at the edges by the moon at his back.  “Don’t you ever tell me that lot doesn’t know what you’re like.  They know it better than you do.”
Daegal swallowed, not trusting himself to speak.  
“Now then,” Will said, linking his hands behind the back of his chair and stretching out his arms.  “This is rubbish timing, but you’ve got to start practicing sometime, so let’s just get it over with.”  He withdrew a thin, utensil-sized package from his pocket, extending it to Daegal.  “Don’t have a crisis, now.”
“Oh - no - ” Daegal moaned.
“Oi,” Will warned.  “What’ve we just talked about?”
Daegal took the parcel.
“Smile and say thank you,” Will prompted, when Daegal did not say anything right away.
Daegal managed a wobbly smile, and an even wobblier thank you, which Will, to Daegal’s very great relief, chose not to comment upon.
Daegal untied the parcel.  The cloth casing fell away, revealing a short and sturdy pocketknife encased in a plain leather sheath.  Daegal picked it up and turned it over in his hands, knowing immediately that Will had carved the handle himself.  It fit into Daegal’s hand as if it had been moulded from a plaster cast, and it was the only part of the knife sporting any decoration, inscribed as it was with an angular script that Daegal could not read in this light.  Daegal removed the sheath and found that the blade had been sharpened to a dangerous edge, the point glinting in the moonlight.
“Elyan did that bit,” Will said.  “It ought to hold an edge better than what you have now.”
“No more mashing seed pods,” Daegal murmured.
“Exactly.”
Daegal ran a finger over the symbols carved into the handle.  He hadn’t learned all his letters yet, but he thought he ought to have been able to recognize a few of them, at least.  “What’s this writing?”
“Oh, that,” Will said, as if he had almost forgotten.  “It’s spelled.”
“Spelled?”
“Magicked.  Against slips.  To spare your fingers.”  Will waggled his own fingers in the air, and Daegal had to laugh a little.
“Merlin?”
Will’s face took on a thoughtful look.  “No, actually.”  He pointed at the unfamiliar runes, his tone becoming more serious.  “Mordred says that if you’re going to exploit his people for personal gain, then you’re going to learn something about the culture.”
Daegal froze.  A chill ran through him.  He had never even considered - 
He gripped the inscribed handle with sweaty fingers, mortified.  “He’s angry with me.”
“No,” Will said.  “I don’t think so, at least.  It’s hard to tell with that fellow.”
At Daegal’s dismayed look, Will added, “He offered to spell the thing himself, at least, so I can’t imagine he’s too upset with you.  But he has every right to be, you realize that?”
Daegal nodded quickly.     
“You’re going to go and see him,” Will said, his voice calm, but his tone brooking no argument.  “And you’re going to apologize, and you’re going to listen to whatever it is he wants to tell you.  You understand?”
“Yes,” Daegal said quickly.  “I’ll do it.”  He glanced at the door.
“Not now,” Will clarified.  “Tomorrow.  He might not be angry just yet, but he will be if you yank him out of bed a few hours before he’s supposed to be on patrol.”
Daegal’s shoulders sagged.  Will was right, but Daegal could not stand the thought of waiting.  Yet another guilt-monster was chewing a hole in his stomach, and he was starting to think those gnawing teeth would never let him sleep.  He recalled, suddenly, with a fresh wave of horror, the outrage on Merlin’s face when Daegal’s falsified triskele had smeared away, how tightly Merlin’s fingers had dug into Daegal’s wrist.  
Here was one more stupid thing Daegal had done.  One more person he’d injured.  One more wrongheaded decision.  
His eyes drifted longingly towards the door again.  
“No,” Will said, shaking his head.  “You made that bed, now you lie in it for one night.”  
Daegal sighed, and Will’s tone softened.  “You’ll make it right in the morning,” he said.
Daegal traced one of the Druidic runes with a finger.  He supposed that was the best he could do.
Will stood up and beckoned for Daegal to join him.  “Listen,” he said, pushing Merlin’s chair back under the desk.  “It’s late.  I don’t want you up all night brooding over this, all right?”
“All right,” Daegal said, but he had a feeling he was in for yet another night of lying awake under a blanket of guilt he had woven for himself.
“And - not that this needs to be said, but let’s not tell anyone you’ve got a magic pocketknife, all right?  Pendragon will think I’ve been messing about with enchantments behind his back, and he’ll have me booted out of this kingdom faster than you can say insufferable bastard.”
“But you don’t have - ”
“Yes, I do,” Will reminded Daegal, giving him a significant look.  “And that’s exactly what you’re going to tell people, if anybody starts asking questions.”  He opened Merlin’s door, ushering Daegal through it.  “But let’s not give folk a reason to ask, all right?  Otherwise the next person trying to kill the king might be me, because if Pendragon wants me out of this place he’s going to have to execute me and exile my corpse, no matter if I did sign a stupid promise ‘renouncing the practice of magic in all its forms,’ or whatever other rubbish that idiot asked me to agree to.”
Daegal followed Will across the main chamber, watching while Will pulled on his outerwear.  “I’m guessing he never gave you a land grant, then?”
Will burst into laughter, leaning heavily on the door handle.  He only remembered to clap a hand over his mouth when a slumbering Gaius snorted and rolled over.  “Oh, lor,” he wheezed, trying to recover himself.  “Don’t do that to me.”  
Daegal smiled sheepishly.  Will straightened up, his eyes creased with pure, undisciplined mirth.  “You won’t let all those fancy presents go to your head, now, will you?”
“I won’t,” Daegal promised.   “But - about Arthur’s gift, though.  I don’t actually know what to do with a plot of land.”
“Neither does Arthur,” Will said, rolling his eyes.  “But I do, and so does Merlin.  We’ll work it out together, all right?”
“All right,” Daegal said, as Will unlatched the door.  “Erm.  Will - ”
“Yeah.”
Smile and say thank you.  “Thank you,” Daegal said, trying on a smile for size, hoping it did not falter too much at the corners.  “For the knife, and - everything else.”
Will regarded him in that way of his that was very off-putting when you did not want to be read like a book but somehow oddly useful when you were trying to communicate something unspoken.  “You’re welcome,” Will said finally, surprising Daegal by reaching out and mussing his hair.  “See?  You’ve got the hang of things already.”
Will turned to go, but when he reached the top of the staircase he paused, glancing back.  “And, listen - ” he said, his voice low enough not to wake Gaius, but somehow warm enough to push back the December chill.  “Whether you like it or not - happy birthday, lad.”
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Daegal sat tucked away in one of the window nooks, his cloak wrapped around him like a blanket and the glass casement leaching heat away from his side.  Merlin was long since abed, and Gaius’s muffled snores filled the main chamber, a soft drone of sound behind the screens.  Outside, the moon hung chubby and ovoid in the sky, like a pale seed on a black field of soil, like the bulbs Daegal would plant in his new garden, which was out there somewhere, nestled in the farming fields of the Sprawl.
He rubbed his thumb over the unfamiliar runes carved into the handle of his birthday blade.  His sixteen year-old self would have thrown that knife away, just to be safe.  There would have been no reason for him to believe that someone he’d injured would ever magick a gift for him just to be helpful, and sixteen year-old Daegal would have assumed that the spell “to spare his fingers” was in fact a curse to make sure they all fell off.  
But seventeen year-old Daegal was determined not to think like that anymore.  He was not going to think the worst of everyone who tried to help him, and he was not going to throw away gifts, whether he thought he deserved them or not.  He was going to smile, and say thank you, and do his best to be worthy of what he’d been given.
He leaned his forehead against the cold glass, looking down at the flickering lights on the city walls and the dark countryside beyond.  The Sprawl’s rolling jumble of cottages and fields melted into a shadowy sea of forest, and far away, the looming bulk of the White Mountains towered over the skyline, the peaks’ black silhouettes only distinguishable at this hour by an absence of stars.  
It was a very big world, Daegal thought, following the craggy outline of the range with his eyes.  And he had made plenty of bad decisions blundering around within its borders, that was certain.  But there was something beautiful about it still, even in the dead of winter.  
And it was not nearly as bleak as it had appeared to be, this time last year.  
Seventeen was going to be different, Daegal told himself.  Like Merlin always said.  It won’t always be like this.  Things will be better.  Daegal could make them better.  He had chosen wrong first, but he could choose right next.  He could choose right from now on.  He had made a mistake, but he could make it right in the morning.  
And tonight - tonight, it was still his birthday.
It isn’t, his sixteen year-old self snapped.  
“It is,” Daegal said.  “It’s my birthday.”
Who cares, the voice scoffed.
Daegal wrapped his fingers around his unearned mark of forgiveness, the grooves of the rune-etched handle imprinting themselves into his skin.  “I do,”  he said firmly, putting every ounce of conviction he had behind the words.  “I do.”
His younger self shut its mouth.
Daegal smiled slightly.  “Happy birthday to me,” he murmured, and was surprised to find that for the first time in a long time, he actually meant it.  
Curled up against the window, he tucked his knife against his side and fixed his eyes on the horizon, settling in to wait for the sun.
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sunshinesukuna · 4 years
Text
lemon detergent
pairing: tsukishima x reader
tw: fighting, injuries (bruises), light swearing
wc: 1.7k
genre: angst to fluff
ayyy catch me plagiarizig my own work. eh, miya atsumu can rot anyways. im sorry if this is bad, i haven’t given you guys writing for over a week and my people-pleasing ass rushed to give you guys some content ahhhhh. éñÿwâÿś, enjoy <333
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Three strikes and you’re out. For each of you, so technically that was six strikes, but the two of you never debated the technicalities of it. Not like you had time to, with a hectic schedule as third-year students and athletes. Him chucking volleyballs into the air, and you chucking yourself up in the air in the wondrous sport known as cheerleading.
He’s already waiting for you in your usual spot behind the gym. God forbid anyone see the two of you together unless it was a life-or-death situation. Hinata would grow at least a feet before that would ever happen. At least that was easy when you were dating someone like him. Being in different classes, different teams, houses on the opposite sides of town. You wondered when you would actually be close to him both emotionally, and physically.
Now that you’re closer, you can smell him for real. The tang of lemon detergent that his mom loves and clean sweat can only mean it’s Tsukishima. You stand in front of him wordlessly, eyes expectant for something. Well, something other than the forlorn look in his eyes that he’s giving you. 
“I don’t think I can come to your house after school tomorrow,” he says. There it is. You were totally expecting that this would come at some point during the year, but you didn’t expect it to come this soon. You’re still disappointed anyways. 
“It’s the third time you’ve bailed out on me this week alone, Kei,” you complain. He puts a finger to his lips at the sound of your quickly rising voice. “I barely see you at school outside of the gym!” 
“And I told you, I’m practicing. It’s not like I’m cheating or anything.” Certainly feels like you are, you want to say. But it’s best if you keep those words in the back of your head.
“For what? Nationals aren’t for two more months!” He breaks eye contact with you, opting to stare at the tree at the edge of the road. 
"Practice makes perfect.” 
“But you shouldn’t overwork yourself this much! Even I take breaks from cheerleading every now and then to come to support you at your games!” 
“(Y/N), I think you’re misjudging how important the Interhigh is to Karasuno. If we lose—”
“I know how important the match is, Kei. But there’s a difference between giving it your all and giving it too much.” You pause, taking a long breath. “Even cheerleaders don’t break our backs trying to reach new heights.”
Tsukishima sighs before putting his hands back into his pocket. He furrows his eyebrows.
“What would you know about it? Cheerleading isn’t a real sport anyway.”
Words cut deep like knives. Tsukishima’s don’t. They hit you like a bag of bricks all at once. 
The pang in your chest isn’t just from his words, it’s from his indifference. His eyes giving you that blank stare as he brushes off everything important to you. His hands staying still in his pockets as he talks to you, like you’re not even worthy of his attention. 
“What?”
And thus the standoff begins. 
First is the lunch line. You think waiting for food while hungry is hard? Try waiting for food when you’re hungry and have Tsukishima Kei looming over behind you. You’re about to plant your feet down in the floor when you’re finished, waiting for him to finish up, but you remember that you have no one to wait for.
So you briskly pick up your tray and move to a table where you spot some of your friends from cheer sitting. His eyes twitch at your figure walking so easily away from him. But it’s not like you would notice.  
Second is the hallway. Your heart clenches a bit when you spot Yamaguchi around the corner, because you know who’s going to be next to him. You can already smell the lemon detergent from here. 
His eyes burn through his glasses when you walk by. The usual glance and smile is thrown out in exchange for… nothing. Your eyes look straight forward at the end of the hall, where your classroom is. Frustration rolls off of him in waves so intense you can practically smell them, like a disruption in his lemon detergent-scented aura.
No matter, that means it’s working, right? He’ll fess up sooner enough.
But what was it again? Three strikes and you’re out.  The third strike comes later at practice.
You really should have thought this out even further. The damaged piping in the gym the cheerleading team usually used meant that they had to share with someone. And who else to share a gym with than the Karasuno Men’s Volleyball Team?
So here you are, stuck at one side of the gym while you can feel Tsukishima’s eyes on you from the other side. The routine starts off well. The first stunts all hit, with none of the same wobblings that was there in the first few weeks of learning it. 
And there it was. The throw was already crooked from the beginning. If you couldn’t reach the other flyer’s hand, then you were done for. In a last attempt to save the pyramid, you flung out your legs, trying to land on your feet.
Bad move. 
Your knee landed on something— but it wasn’t your teammates’ hands that were ready to catch you. A spike of pain shot up your foot. Suddenly the world was a blur as skin-coloured blobs that could only be your teammates rushed to help you. The lights above were reduced to sparkles that were just too bright. 
The buzzing in your ears was enough to block out the sounds coming in, but you could hear snippets of conversation here and there. 
“Was that (Y/N)?” 
“She landed on her knee!” 
“It looks bruised….”
On your knee, eh. So that was why the fire was all concentrated on your patella. The sweat on your hands wouldn’t let you regain your balance. You slump down with your back to the floor, hands over your face to block out what little pain you could, but the faucet of liquid fire trickled down your knee to no end. 
“May I help?” someone asked in a low baritone voice. You assumed that your coach said yes because you felt yourself being lifted in the air off the mat. The nape of your neck was wet, either from your sweat or this person’s. 
This person was strong too. They walked briskly and easily across the halls of Karasuno, even with a body in their hands. But their heart rate was abnormally fast. They probably had been exercising. 
You dare to open your eyes. All you see are pools of purple and white, obscured by the residual tears in your eyes. It could be anyone. But as your senses focused, hints olive and green came into the image. Your sense of smell was also starting to refocus as well. Lemon detergent, deodorant, and rubber.
Lemon detergent…
You opened your eyes as widely as you could. It was Tsukishima. Face unmoving and eyes showing no sign of emotion, but anyone could feel a sense of emergency with his rushed steps and the way he clicked his tongue anytime anyone stood in his way. 
The scent of sharp disinfectants replaced the lemon detergent as you were put down on a soft bed. You winced at the new position you were put in, your weight crashing down on your lower body yet again.
“It hurts...” you squeak out, every word another rope squeezing your chest flush out of air. 
“It does. It hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”
That’s enough to set your heart at ease, if only a little. No sappy words to shoo away the pain by pretending it isn’t real, just a concise confirmation that what you’re feeling is real. And somehow, that’s just enough.
Tsukishima works quickly and quietly, adjusting the ice packs where needed. Whenever you wince or gasp in pain, he’s quick to rub a long, lanky finger over the purple parts of the bruise that doesn’t have ice covering it. It still hurts like a bitch, but at least the pain is only physical.
The emotional ones are just beginning to heal. 
The 10 by 10 room is sealed — door locked, windows bolted — but it still feels like the two of you are in front of a gargantuan stage, packed to the brim with people watching you. Or is it just because the only audience you have are one another?
“I’m sorry for saying cheerleading wasn’t a sport,” he mutters. Your hearing has started to sharpen again by now. 
“What?” 
“I’m sorry for brushing off your advice, and belittling something you love,” he says again, Tsukishima’s tone much clearer now. His words ring like a gong in your head.
The throbbing in your knee seems to lessen with every word he says. The longer he talks, the more the fire in your feet seem to subside. Were those his words going to your head, or the gentle massages he was giving your knees as he talked?
“You don’t have to accept my apology. I can wait until you do. But… I know I did something wrong. And I intend to fix it.” 
“I’ll accept your apology,” you say. On several conditions.” 
His head perks up, eager to hear what you’ll have him do in order to restore things back to the way they were. Scratch that, in order to make things better. Like hell he’ll ignore you again if it leads to something like this.
“What are they?” Tsukishima.
“I know you’re practicing really hard and all that, but can you spend some more time with me?” you ask. “You don’t have to spend that much time, just… enough so it actually feels like we’re dating?”
“Weren’t we already?” 
“You know what I mean.”
Tsukishima takes a long breath. He stays silent for a long time, the only noise in the room the sound of ice against ice as he moves to take another icepack for your knee. 
“Alright. Anything else?”
The idea you have is silly. But it couldn’t hurt to give it a try. What’s the worse that could happen?
“Buy me some of the detergent you use.” 
192 notes · View notes
pastelchris · 3 years
Text
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of blood and sacrifices.
❝ there was no joy in his expression, just a heavy bundle of pain and anger, as if he finally lost hope that they would see him as the good guy, too blinded by their fake beliefs to think out of the golden cage they were trapped in. ❞
† PAIRING › hong joshua x yoon jeonghan
† GENRES › heavy angst, oneshot, cult!au.
† WARNINGS › major character death, mentions of blood, mentions of knives and daggers, religious trauma, strong language.
author’s note: okay so, this was very rushed because i was listening to music and i came up with this, it’s still pretty messy so i’d call it a drabble?? but i hope you’ll still like it <3 i projected all of my religious trauma in this hehe. also! you can find a quick playlist i made with the songs i listened to while writing down here!
jeonghan’s hands were trembling, everything around them seemed to rotate and fall, just like the tears from his face, salty reminders of the sins he committed, sparkling just like the stars that he used to see in the other’s eyes.
« listen to me shua- » he pleaded so pathetically that not even he could bear the sound of his own voice.
« no matter what they said to you alright? that’s all fucking bullshit, we’re not sick or twisted for god’s sake, if the heavens ever were to speak, they surely wouldn’t tell us that loving is a sin. »
« we were born sick my dear... » the other kept his stare fixed on the marble statue in front of them, his hands were dripping blood from holding- gripping the golden cross at the edge of the table like his life depended on it. which, ironically, was exactly what he thought.
« well then i’ll be damned if i give a fuck, shoot me right now i couldn’t care less! in fact- » he got up, opening his hands just like the Christ behind him, letting out a dry laugh.
« i couldn’t give less fucks of your stupid words, of Their stupid words. may i be blessed right? fixed, stripped o-of this- this sin that ruins me everyday right? they fucking brainwashed you shua, now c’mon and look at me right in the ey- »
« I FOUND THEM, COME HERE »
from that moment, everything felt unreal, starting from the group of people that stormed inside the church, to the side of a knife caressing his neck, keeping him in place;
he saw his lover looking up and praying; he knew they weren’t going to hurt him, or so he hoped, nothing would matter anymore if they took his life.
« keep him in place. jeonghan, you idiotic brat, you really couldn’t keep that mouth shut am i right? you really had to-»
« take me to church, i’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, i’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knives- » jeonghan smiled devilishly while singing to him.
« offer me that deathless death, oh good god! let me give you my life! » he mocked, locking hands on a fake prayer, he made sure that shua’s eyes were closed, too busy praying to pay attention to his sinful lover, who knew he wasn’t going anywhere that night.
he yanked one of the men away from himself, crawling then to the pastor’s feet, looking up at him with a fake pleading stare.
« i’m sorry father, i truly am.....truly.... »
there was a moment of silence,
in which everything seemed to stop,
in which his now fake tears rolled down the cheekbones, to the chin and then falling on his neck and collarbones;
a moment in which he started to smile, a painfully hilarious smile, as if he wasn’t able to take anything seriously anymore, just like his eyes, there was no joy in his expression, just a heavy bundle of pain and anger, as if he finally lost hope that they would see him as the good guy, too blinded by their fake beliefs to think out of the golden cage they were trapped in.
« i truly am sorry that you’ve ended up believing the words from an old boring book and worshipping a fake god, losing both sanity, pride and soul, but see... » he said, slowly getting up, he lessened the space between his and the pastor’s face, still smiling from cheek to cheek, he turned the palms of his hands to face the ceiling, raising his shoulders.
« we’re all gonna die in the end, my love. but when i go- » he turned to face joshua, who was looking at the statue in front of him, cornered by a bunch of guards praying with him, jeonghan smiled, he knew the other was going to be alright, and that was all that mattered to him.
« when i go, don’t cry for me dear- » he continued, caressing the pastor’s warm cheek with a finger.
« because where i’m going, there’s no such thing as slaughter, and everything you preach as right, see- where i am going, none of that matters, we’re bound to live in eternity as one alone, so nothing you’ve preached here will matter. but before i go, i have a last question. » he asked, pushing a dagger on his waist. « do you really think i am going to listen to one of your nonsen-» he ignored him.
« was it at least worthy? all those killed, all those poor souls you extirpated like weed just because they weren’t like you, all those families left without a father, a mother, a brother, all those lovers left alone....was it worthy staining your hands with blood forever? because my dear, i may be a sinful wench, i may be the worst you’ve ever seen, a crazy bastard, a crooked soul. but you see, none of that will matter one day, while your hands, those will stain blood forever, no matter how much you try to wash it off, they will stain and stink and it’ll slowly poison you from inside, so, good luck with that.» he chuckled, looking at the pastor getting paler and paler by the second, he glanced at joshua, who gulped feeling his gaze upon him.
« and to you, my dear, my sun and light, be careful who you side with, there’s more sickness and crookedness here than you might ever think.» he then pushed it, it wasn’t an epic scene, blood started leaping from his side, and his body pathetically fell on the ground, getting heavier and weaker by the second, then everything got blurred and nauseous.
they say while you die, you get seven seconds in which all your life flashes by your eyes. jeonghan thought it was bullshit, and now, staring at the intimidating white statue by him, more than his life, he saw all of his regrets flashing by.
was it really worthy?
was there a way to turn back time?
would he do it all the same then?
funny, he thought, how crazy a man had to be to see all of his mistakes flashing by and still decide to pick them all, make them all... and yet, the first thing he thought about was joshua, his golden wavy locks, his plump lips, candid smile, his infinite love for the god he oh so worshipped, still, it had been just a short sparkle of time he spent with him, and even so, even thought it’d been the death of him, he was glad to have died for him, he realized how the most dangerous thing is none of the ones he was taught about in his youth, at the end, the only one we are all willing to live, kill, die, is love.
he did it all three, and was now happily facing the consequences.
the end.
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spell-cleaver · 4 years
Text
The Mourners
This year I got to participate in @grishaversebigbang and it was so much fun! So many thanks to my gang:
Corporalki: @dirtyhandsnet
Materialki: @dthieno, whose art is here, @mooni-mars, whose art is here, @phantomscpera 
Summary: When Kaz Brekker goes missing in the middle of Ketterdam, Inej and Jesper team up to look for him, and think about what he means to each of them along the way.
Read it here on AO3, or under the cut!
The Mourners
Inej Ghafa was feeling relaxed, which then made her feel suspicious.
She'd been perched in the rafters of the Slat for several hours now, sharpening her knives with a sort of lazy precision, only half of her attention focused on monitoring what was going on below. Anika and Pim had started bickering with Bastian, and Big Bolliger was staring at them with an odd look on his face—she made a mental note to investigate that later. She knew Per Haskell was upstairs, reviewing the meticulously kept records Kaz had given him on the Dregs' profits; he'd want to talk to Kaz as soon as he got back. So did she.
The assassination of the Zemeni ambassador still unnerved her. She wanted to spin more theories about it with him, wanted to find a way it could make sense, because if this assassin could pull off something the Wraith couldn't fathom... she didn't like that at all.
But Kaz wasn't back yet. He'd taken Jesper and Seeger to East Stave to scout out something Inej apparently hadn't been privy to, but that had been at noon. Now it was nearing eleven bells, and he wasn't back yet.
That was... strange.
She was not Kaz's keeper. But this, just as much as that assassination, unnerved her.
The Slat came alive whenever Kaz Brekker came home. She'd been crouched up here for hours, observing it all; she certainly hadn't missed his entrance.
Something must be wrong.
He'd grouch at her for fussing, but... something was clearly wrong.
She stood, nimble and balanced as a crow on its perch, and scampered along the beam, then along the wall, dropping nimbly onto the flight of stairs that led to the upper levels. Then she made a beeline for the ground floor, where Anika and Pim were still caught in their argument with Bastian. Anika's crop of yellow hair was easy to pick out.
They jumped out of their skins when Inej cleared her throat behind them.
 "Do you know where Jesper is?" she asked lightly, but tactically. It wouldn't do to reveal that she was worried about Kaz, but Jesper? He might give her a few clues.
"Last I heard of him, he was going to the Crow Club," Pim said with a shrug, turning back to glare at Bastian. Inej nearly rolled her eyes; the Dregs could fight about the strangest things sometimes, and she was tempted to place a bet on how strange this disagreement would end up being as well. "Why?"
She shrugged. "He's my friend. And he owes me a game of cards."
"You'll find a game of cards at the Crow Club," Anika snorted, the corners of her lips curling upwards in a smirk. Inej ignored her and just pulled the hood of her jacket up, ducking out of the doors of the Slat to head on her way.
She kept her head low in the nighttime air, squinting against the dim yellow lights. The bridge over the canal, she crossed with speed, eyeing the cluster of people on the other side but walking straight forwards; they didn't look too dangerous, and if they tried anything she knew how to make them regret it.
But they didn't approach, and she continued on.
The Crow Club loomed; she gave a grim nod to the bouncers outside then ducked in. They knew her face well enough from whenever Kaz had asked her to run an errand and they didn't bother making a move to stop her.
She grimaced when she entered, squinting at the sudden change in light and noise. The music nearly blasted her off her feet, and the lamps on the walls and the glittering decor provided a stark contrast to the dull outside atmosphere no windows available to let in the night.
She glanced around. Most of the denizens were... not well-dressed but not poorly dressed either, out for a night of fun and pouring kruge into Kaz's coffers, while she was wearing the same dark clothes she always wore, but she passed unnoticed through the crowd anyway, like smoke.
Jesper... Jesper, where was—
She heard the spin of Makker's Wheel and glanced in that direction. He wasn't there. Instead, he was—
She heard raised voices.
Frowning, she headed for the toilets off the side where the back door onto an alley that wound its way to the canal stood open. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the... alley... that wafted in, careful to shut the door that led back into the main room of the club, and then she heard the voices again.
"You think I had any choice about this, Rojakke? I didn't know Kaz was gonna let you go! I can't stop him."
Inej started forwards. That was definitely Jesper—he leaned against a wall a little was along, his lanky body as disproportionate as the ramshackle Slat. And there was Rojakke with him. She hesitated, then just stood there a little way away from them—close enough that they could see her if they looked, they were her friends and she wasn't about to eavesdrop on them without giving them a fair shot at spotting her—and listened.
"He trusts you, you gotta tell him—"
"Kaz? Trust me?" Rojakke was grasping at straws there and they both knew it, because— "Kaz doesn't trust anyone."
Rojakke grunted. "Yeah, well. He's wrong. I ain't no cheat."
"You wanna say that to his face? Or his cane?"
"I wasn't." That was a lie, Inej was pretty sure, but she couldn't help but feel bad for him anyway. "I ain't no cheat, and I'll tell him myself—where is he?"
"I don't know."
"He was with you, now where'd he go?"
"Rojakke, I don't know, now get out of here and get another job."
"Where's the Wraith? I'm sure she'd—"
"I don't know," Inej said, stepping forwards. Rojakke damn near jumped out of his skin, and she was pretty sure she saw Jesper reach for his guns before he realised who it was. "That's why I was looking for you, Jesper; where's Kaz?"
"Why does everyone think I know that?" Jesper grumbled.
"Because you were with him last!"
"I—"
"Rojakke, you've been let go." Inej cast him a look. Weakness wouldn't help here, and he'd been close to taking out his gripe on Jesper with his fists. "Get out of here, bluster about Kaz isn't gonna help you."
"I ain't got paid for my last shift yet!"
"And you're not gonna get paid if you've been skimming."
"So what, Brekker kicks me out without having the guts to come do it himself? Sends a little girl and a gunslinger to do it instead?"
"Kaz didn't send Inej—"
"Yes," Inej said flatly, slipping her hand into her pocket. Her brass knuckles fit snugly around her fingers. "Get out, Rojakke."
Rojakke reached for her, scowling fiercely. "I ain't leaving until I get what I'm owed, from Brekker or from—"
She struck him in the cheek. Once, twice. He staggered back.
"Rojakke..." Jesper said.
Rojakke ignored him, staring at Inej. "I thought we was friendly!"
Inej ignored that. 
"You're a great dealer, Rojakke, you can get a job at any gambling den on East Stave. How about you just get out of here before Kaz comes looking to settle this debt himself, instead of sending a little girl and a gunslinger to do it, hmm?"
Rojakke scowled even more fiercely. She met his eye solidly; the only sound was the rhythmic lapping of the water against the nearby canal.
Finally, without a word, he left.
*
Inej led Jesper to an unused private gambling parlour before sitting him down in the dealer's chair. She didn't take one of the five seats around the table; instead she perched across two of the armrests, one boot planted firmly on the floor, the other perched at her knee.
"So?" Jesper raised an eyebrow at her, studying her. He could never tell much about her from her expressions, she rarely gave anything away, but something about the tension in her posture, her shoulders, her face, told him she was worried. "I appreciate the help with Rojakke, but what's this about?"
"You were with Kaz earlier. Where did he go? It's nearly twelve bells and he hasn't come back to the Slat since noon." She fixed her eyes on him: right now, she seemed so tense and taut that it was hard to imagine anyone ever not being able to notice her, but the shock she'd given him in the alley was proof enough of just how easy it was for her to vanish. Sometimes,  Jesper, wondered if she genuinely was part-wraith after all.
He shrugged, leaning back in the chair, his left leg bouncing where he sat. 
"Hell if I know. He just dumped me here, told me to let Rojakke go, 'cause he'd been skimming or something, then took off into the night." He tapped at his knee. "You don't know where he is? You know everything in this city."
Inej snorted. 
"I wish." Jesper couldn't but notice as her fingers ghosted across her forearm, the mangled scar there, but didn't dwell on it. "But no, I don't know. And I don't like it."
"Because Kaz always tells you everything?"
"As if. I usually tell him most things, and I get nothing back. But it's not like him to take off into the night like this."
Jesper raised an eyebrow.
Inej rolled her eyes, a short laugh escaping her. 
"Not for so long," she amended. "Not after he's spent so much time on some mysterious task with you. Did anything strange happen at... wherever you were, today? If he was distracted..."
"You think Kaz got jumped?" He shook his head. "You're fussing, Inej."
She wrinkled her nose.
 "No." She slid off the chairs and back onto the floor. She didn't pace, what she did was more graceful than that, but— yeah, no, she was pacing gracefully. "This is odd. Especially with the murder of that Zemeni ambassador."
"No one who goes after an ambassador is gonna go after Kaz."
She gave him a look.
 "What were you two even doing? I don't understand why Kaz is still being so secretive about it."
Jesper debated telling her for a few seconds. If Kaz hadn't already told her—and he told his Wraith everything—then he probably didn't want it shared. But he also probably didn't want Inej up and fussing about him all night, which would just harm his reputation.
"We were spying on the building works for the Kaelish Prince," he said easily. "Kaz is pissed off about something, he's intent on Pekka Rollins. There's no way he suddenly got the money to buy that building and start working on it, not from what we know about the Lions' coffers. Kaz wanted to check it out, see what Pekka's hiding."
Inej narrowed her eyes. "You were spying on Pekka Rollins?"
Right, he thought bitterly. That was usually her area of expertise. 
"Nah. Just scouting the place around. You know Pekka's got good security; he probably doesn't want to send you in unless he knows there's something worth investigating. Doesn't want to risk you like that."
She snorted, glancing away.
 "I could handle it."
Jesper winced. 
"Look, I'm sure it's not that Kaz doesn't trust you."
It came out more bitter than he'd intended, and Inej stopped her pacing to glance at him. Good; at this rate, he thought as he bounced his leg some more, they were both going to wear out the gaudily patterned carpet.
"Kaz doesn't trust anyone," she said softly, repeating back what he'd said to Rojakke. How long had she been standing listening to that conversation, anyway?
He sank back in the chair with a slight sigh. 
"I'm sure he'll be back soon, then you can interrogate him on wherever he's gone to your heart's content," he offered.
She took it as the joke it was, and smiled. 
"He'd sooner break my arm with that cane of his."
"Nah." He kicked his legs up and got to his feet, heading for the door. "Then he'd have to wait for you to heal before you could spider again, and he's too impatient for that."
"Thank you," she said abruptly, just after he opened the door and the noise crashed in. "Come back to the Slat with me?"
Jesper glanced back at the tables, at Makker's Wheel, then to Inej, and realised that had not been a question.
"Sure," he said, and slung an arm around her shoulders. She was smaller than him, so it was easy; it was also easy to feel the way she tensed up momentarily, until he relaxed his grip and she leaned into him properly.
They walked back like that, the song of the canal the only sound.
*
The next morning came, and Inej woke to the sound of Per Haskell's fury. Kaz was not yet back.
He was spitting, shouting something at Anika or Pim or someone, and Inej was fairly sure he'd be shouting for her next; who else would know where Dirtyhands had gone than the Wraith who kept his secrets?
But she didn't know where he was.
And that meant, she thought grimly, counting her blades where they laid tucked against her skin—Sankta Alina, Sankt Petyr, Sankta Lizabeta—she had to go and look for him herself.
The first plan of action she ought to take was to go to the Kaelish Prince herself, and scout out what had happened. That was the last place he'd been reliably, other than a brief visit to the Crow Club and disappearing, and... well, Inej would be lying if Kaz didn't always seem to have a vendetta against Pekka Rollins. From time to time he'd get a vicious look in his eye; he'd say nothing but he'd stare into the distance, hand tightening on his cane and mouth tightening in a way that made the harsh lines on his face even more severe, eyes narrowed minutely. It was a tiny expression that she doubted most people would pick up on, but he had been the one to teach her to notice things. He couldn't give her a knife then expect her not to use it.
So, by all realms of logic... the Kaelish Prince was where she'd be headed. To investigate Pekka Rollins more, and therefore investigate what by all the Saints Kaz was up to.
But she didn't. Kaz would not have returned there—she knew that. She'd go there as a desperate measure, but if Kaz had merely been on a night stakeout mission to watch a place, he would've told someone.
He would've told me.
Instead, when she climbed out of the tiny window of her tiny, ratty room and vaulted over ramshackle rooftops, she headed west—towards West Stave. It was morning, there would be a fresh wave of pigeons flowing in from arriving ships, ready to be plucked and ushered into various dens of iniquity, and wherever profit was being made, Kaz was right around the corner.
She clambered over the rooftops, just enjoying the way the crows swooped overhead and the early morning sunlight played against the still-dewy cobblestones. They distracted her from her worry.
She shouldn't be worrying. Kaz knew what he was doing. Kaz didn't need her to, as Jesper had so eloquently put it, fuss.
But she worried anyway. Something was wrong.
Was she just hurt he hadn't told her? she wondered as she shimmied down a drainpipe and landed in the street, striding through clouds of tourists like a shadow. She passed the White Rose, saw Nina Zenik striding towards it. When she caught her eye, Nina gave her a flirtatious wave and Inej returned the gesture, smiling exasperatedly.
Somewhat buoyed by that, she continued on, but she had to continue thinking—was she just hurt that she didn't know? The fact that she didn't know shouldn't be unusual. She hadn't known Kaz had had dirt on those guards at the standoff a few nights ago, she hadn't known he'd be able to look Geels in the eye like that and win, and she hadn't known he had dirt on Big Bolliger. Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason, but he always had one—it just so happened that none of the rest of the poor suckers who shared this city with him happened to have any clue what it was.
She ducked down West Stave, ran along Goedmedbridge, then onto the other side. Beneath her on the canal, a boat full of flowers punted past; she could smell wild geraniums, flamboyant roses, orange lilies...
Inej appreciated flowers, but few with sweet, notable scents were hardy enough to be grown in Ketterdam. The artificial perfumes slathered on them stung her nose, and she turned away.
Perhaps it was a good thing there was no boy in this city who would buy her flowers.
She ducked into the crowds and just... observed this time, hanging around the Anvil in particular, watching people come and go. Cobbet, Tante Heleen's favoured bruiser, was stationed outside the Menagerie as usual, and Inej ducked her head to avoid meeting his gaze before she melted back into the shadows. She climbed back onto the rooftops and watched from there.
Kaz wasn't anywhere around here; she'd know the distinctive tap-tap-tap of his cane anywhere. But she still let herself scan the crowd, and listen closely at every door before she took off back towards the White Rose again, hopping back down—again—to street level. Perhaps, if Nina didn't have a client, she could talk to her; she served some of the richest and most well-connected men in the city, soothing their pains and anguishes, and it was perfectly plausible that she'd have heard something during those sessions. There was nothing entitled men liked doing more than talking.
She was heading back over the canal when someone grabbed her wrist.
She didn't cry out. She just instinctively drove her elbow back to wind them, stomping on the arch of their foot, sliding Sankta Lizabeta out from her sleeve to jag against his jugular—
And Cobbet wrapped his massive hand around her throat. Tight enough that she couldn't escape. Tight enough that it sent shivers and shudders racking through her, terrified. She could breathe, but... it was tight enough that he could change that in a heartbeat.
The edge of her blade caressed his throat in return; she was at eye level with the thin stream of dark blood that dribbled down onto his collar from the oh-so-shallow cut.
"Tante Heleen saw you spying on us, little lynx. You trying to take our secrets back to Brekker? You belong with her."
Inej could barely move her jaw, but she got the dexterity to spit, "No secrets worth stealing from a prissy, pompous peacock."
He tightened his grip and she gasped, choking, being shoved up against the wall of Goedmedbridge. Tourists and pigeons and lowlifes alike were giving them a wide berth.
Inej thought of the good maiden who'd thrown herself off the bridge to give it its name, and wondered if the event didn't have a much darker root than the story told.
She pushed her blade deeper into his neck in response, hating the savage pleasure she got from seeing him bleed, knowing she'd have to do penance for it later... but she watched him bleed, and cut deeper, and they were at a standoff until—
"You're going to drive away the pigeons with all this brutality," she whispered hoarsely.
With a grunt, Cobbet released her. She tried not to gasp, to rake in air, even as she could feel bruises blooming over her throat like the blue and purple irises which had fallen from the flower boat to the canal below. She refused to give him that satisfaction.
"Brutality from a spider who fights like a thug."
"And you're not a thug yourself?" Inej's gaze flickered when she saw a flash of blue and gold. There was Tante Heleen in her standard peacock blue regalia, if without the finer hints of it—wearing it down the street on West Stave would be asking to be pick-pocketed. She gestured with a hand for Cobbet to move away, then smiled sweetly at Inej.
Inej held her gaze, hard and fierce, until Cobbet vanished into the crowd by his mistress's side and they returned to tormenting the poor girls who hadn't escaped their grasp.
Inej turned her back and strode down to the other side, fast enough that her feet almost grew wings and took flight.
"That was a close call," quipped a voice.
She pivoted on her foot to seize the person's elbow, Sankta Lizabeta still red with X's blood—but she stopped, and scoffed, when she recognised Jesper. 
"Oh. It's you."
"Yes, it's me." He followed her farther along the canal, to where there was a tourist climbing into a gondel and wobbling like Inej's young cousin the first time he'd tried to walk the tightrope. Inej raised her eyebrows at the tourist—Ravkan, by the looks of them and the language they were speaking—and wondered if they'd fall.
They didn't. She turned her attention back to Jesper. "I appreciate your help in that situation."
"If I'd helped?" he scoffed. "It wouldn't have helped at all."
She couldn't deny that.
She had to be the one to defeat challenges when they came—she had to, or she'd look weak. And if she looked weak, the sharks would be after her blood.
She had to find her own battles, or people would start thinking she was an easy target.
But she didn't say any of that, or respond to it—this was a barbaric way to live. She just pursed her lips, and Jesper took that as his cue to continue.
"Per Haskell wants to know where Kaz is."
"Don't we all."
"He figured you'd be the most likely to know."
"Doesn't everyone."
Jesper frowned. "No luck then, I take it?"
"None."
He blew out a breath between his teeth. "How long have you been looking?"
"Not long," she conceded, bringing up a hand to rub at her throat. "I got distracted."
He gave her a sympathetic look. It wasn't pity—neither of them had the capacity for pity anymore—and she just replied with a wry smile in return.
"I'm going to check out East Stave," she said, putting a bit of spring back into her step. "I assume Haskell sent you to find me?"
"He was going to send Teapot. I thought you'd prefer my beautiful face."
She snorted; when he gave her a mock wounded look, she smacked his arm lightly and grinned. "I do prefer your face, Jesper, thank you for coming."
He grinned in response, stopping in the middle of the street to give a flamboyant bow. That, and the eyesore that was what he called appropriate dress, meant that the crowd parted for him like he was a street performer.
"Any time, my friend," he said on the way back up again. "Are we dropping by to see Nina on the way out?" He turned towards the White Rose, but she grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back on track before he fell in the canal.
"She's probably with a client, and you'll draw enough attention as it is. Do we really want her here too?" She smiled, to take the sting out of it; Jesper huffed. Those two—those three, perhaps—had a reputation whenever they went out for waffles together.
"But Inej, my dear," Jesper said as they turned onto a new street. "What's the point if you don't draw any attention to yourself?"
She laughed. "The point, Jesper..." She slowed her pace, dropped back and vanished from his side to duck into an alley and scramble onto the rooftop in three neat bounds—up onto the overflowing dumpster, grab onto the pipes, swing herself round and up.
She clambered over to peer over the building's front. In the flow of the crowd, Jesper hadn't noticed for a few long-legged paces, then he stopped and stared around, somewhat frantically, though there was a touch of amusement there too—he knew she was messing with him.
Inej took a small stone, a fragment of a loose plate, and tossed it down. It bounced off his shoulder; he looked up, then, and scowled at her.
"Is to not get caught," she finished. "Now, get up here. And do you have anything less..." She grimaced. "Noticeable?"
"No," he said baldly.
"Great." She sighed. "Get up here anyway." The unusual slope of some of these roofs—why was Ketterdam so strange?—and the sort of damp, grey mist that was clinging to the wind that blew in from the north meant that the street goers probably wouldn't notice a boy wearing bright yellow and green perched on the rooftop.
Probably.
He eyed her perch. "How did you get up there?"
"Alleyway. Dumpster, pipes, jump."
He backtracked, and scurried to eye the route. "Are... you sure...?"
"Or there's a ladder buried under the pile of rags in the corner," she said helpfully.
Jesper went to look, and sighed when he saw it. "Of course there is. Did you put that there?"
"Of course I did. Make sure to bring it up with you—we don't want anyone else to see it, and no one else will see it on the roof."
"Will do."
*
Jesper made it onto the lip of the roof, eventually, and then they both dragged the ladder up to rest lightly against the tiles. Jesper had never seen Ketterdam from this angle before, but Inej seemed to navigate the landscape here almost more confidently than she did on the ground. No wonder she was such a good spider.
He peered over the side, at the network of people who rushed through the city's streets, the gondolas that rushed through the canals, like blood around its beating heart. He felt prickly up here, fidgety; the mist muted everything and all seemed still.
Everything moved, but at its own pace. A seabird flew by to shit on the roof right next to him.
They climbed along rooftops for a while, the place a whole new terrain—Jesper was no longer sure where they were in the citywhen he glanced down, unless he could pick out a few familiar shop fronts. It was a whole new world, but Inej navigated it with ease.
After a while, Jesper was starting to tire, but he didn't want to say so. He wanted to keep watching the way she worked, gracefully slipping over peaks and shingles like she was more bird or gutter rat than girl. A few times he started panting after he hauled himself up too far, too heavy for the climb or unable to find the nonexistent handholds she seized, and his attempts to disguise it only brought amusement. He rolled his eyes, running his hands over his guns for... well, reassurance. They were pristine, even if moisture was starting to condense against them. He'd make sure to clean them later, to check they were alright, but they probably were. So long as he hadn't bashed them in the climb.
"Here," Inej said at last, settling down to sit herself cross-legged on a seemingly unremarkable stretch of roof, adjacent to the street, with a sooty chimney at her back. If she got dirty where she leaned against it, it didn't show up against her black hair and clothes.
He was a bit more protective of his nice colourful outfit, but... if he was trying to blend in, and he was tired.
He plopped down next to her, and leaned against the brick.
"Shhh," she admonished in a whisper. "Not so loud."
"Why?" he hissed back; noise hadn't been as much of a problem when he was scaling that wall back there, and grunting and cussing to the high heavens.
She just tilted her head and he heard it, then: voices, drifting. They weren't from the street, the street had its own noise, but... behind them...
"The chimney," he realised.
Inej nodded. "Something about the acoustics means that sound travels especially well in and out of that fireplace, through the vents. There are several spots along here"—she pointed, and Jesper looked ahead to see more busts of chimneys  loom out of the smog and mist, behind to see the  same; they'd come up a ridge between two—"and they lead to different rooms in the building. This one is where you usually hear the most... high end gossip."
"Of course you knew this was here," he marvelled quietly. The Wraith and her secrets—this was one he was happy to learn. "This whole spidering thing is easier than it seems."
She raised an eyebrow at his sweaty, soot-stained, shredded clothing. "Is it?"
Point taken.
"Where are we?" he asked. "What building is this?"
She tilted her head, then, towards the street that ran adjacent to their position by the chimneys. She was closer to the edge, so she had a better view, but he leaned over her to peer down...
And opposite them was a shop whose windows were full of dresses. And suits. And hats.
He frowned. He knew that tailor's shop. One of the fanciest in town—sold outfits to merchers, kingpins and Barrel bosses alike. Tante Heleen's finest came from those doors; the merchers conducted... merchering in that shop's suits; even Per Haskell owned a flamboyant hat or two, and a fine burgundy waistcoat, from the good old days when he could fit it around his waist.
He'd visited that shop yesterday. That shop was situated directly opposite the building Rollins had made—
"We are on the roof," he said quietly, "of the Kaelish Prince!?"
"Yes."
"This spot would've been so nice to know about this time yesterday."
She shrugged, a little smile playing around her lips. "Kaz doesn't know all my secrets, as much as he may like to think he does."
"Evidently." He gave her an appreciative look. "He should've asked you to go with him, yesterday."
"It's fine that he didn't. I'm sure he had a reason. He always does."
Yes. That he did. "Why are you so loyal to him?" Jesper had to ask.
"He paid off my debt at the Menagerie. I owe him a lot of money."
Jesper glanced down at her scarred forearm—where the feather tattoo had once been, and where the crow and cup tattoo sat on his arm. He'd never understood why Kaz didn't make her take on their tattoo once her old one was removed; he supposed it was one of those strange acts of generosity that sometimes seized him. Whenever they came up, before Jesper realised what exactly his ulterior motive was, Jesper usually got the urge to ask if he had a fever.
"Yes, but..." He scowled. "You fuss over him. You care about him. Why? He's a podge; we both know that."
"He is."
"He doesn't deserve you."
She smiled at him. "He doesn't deserve you either, Jesper. You worry about and look up to him as much as I do."
Jesper suddenly found it difficult to meet her gaze.
"I'm just good with guns."
"You're great with guns. But the fact you dragged your sorry guns up here with me proves you're an even better friend."
He didn't know how to take that, so he just shot her an awkward grin and they fell silent.
"How long did you spend scouting out this place yesterday?" Inej asked.
"Far too long, now that I know this was here the whole time. The Kaelish Prince just opened up, how long have you known this place was here?"
Inej shrugged. "Since we heard that Rollins was buying up the place," she said. "I figured it would be something we'd want to spy on."
He laughed—loudly, at first, then more lowly when she shushed him. "You—"
She shushed him again.
"What—"
Then he shut his mouth.
There were voices.
"This chimney overlooks several of the private parlours Rollins uses for the higher class pigeons," she murmured. "There should be interesting discussions going on in there—can you hear..."
He could.
Two... Dime Lions, he was pretty sure they were, judging by the way they spoke; they were certainly some of Rollins's gang members, even if he didn't recognise their individual voices, but he did recognise what they were talking about.
"Did the merchers leave anything in here when they were here?" one grunted—a woman, by the sounds of it. Something rattled—it sounded like a curtain on its rail; he betted they were sweeping the windowsills and crannies of the room for lingerers human and valuable. "I liked the look of them watches—"
"We gotta tell Pekka if they did. You know he don't want to piss off the merchant council. They'd be out for 'is neck."
"You take the fun out of everything," one of them moaned, and the other one laughed. There was an oomph; Jesper assumed he'd swatted his companion. "Ow!"
"Get to work on that there carpet, brush up all the shit they left behind. This is important."
"I got that, when the merchers showed up on the doorstep. What're they doin' here?"
Jesper and Inej exchanged a look. Multiple members of the merchant's council, visiting a new pleasure and gambling house on East Stave? It wasn't unheard of for any of them to visit this part of town—except maybe Van Eck; the only spine that guy had was a pious stick shoved up his pious backside—but all together? At once?
He didn't like this.
"Pekka was putting on a show, of course." The man was started to get irritated from her constant questions, but Jesper hoped he indulged her further—hoped they kept talking—
"He's always putting on a show. What was this show?"
"Taking down the competition. He made some deal with Van Eck before; he already had an in with him. So now he's trying to make a deal with the whole council to bring—" A pause, so the sarcasm and drama in his delivery could be fully appreciated. "Industry and commerce, in the name of Ghezen."
The woman burst out laughing. Even Inej rolled her eyes, and Jesper tried not to be amused at all of it.
The man sounded miffed. "Yeah, well, they're cleaning up the rats. That kid he dragged in, them who was spying—had him arrested for murder, right in front of them. And it was just the beginning." A laugh. "The Lions already rule the city, but soon there won't even be competition."
Inej caught her breath.
She exchanged a look with Jesper.
"How'd you know that?"
"I was there. Dragged that bastard in myself—him with his cane, wriggled like a worm. That kid who thinks he runs the Dregs, got Fifth Harbour cleaned up for them, keeps trying on shoving us out of there."
Jesper froze. Inej looked like she wasn't sure her heart was beating anymore, though her face was utterly frozen in that expression, leaning in to listen better...
"Brekker?" The woman scoffed. "You sure? Brekker's a demon—"
"Looked like a kid to me. Spat like one, too. Right in Pekka's eye."
"What happened to him?"
"Hell if I know. Pekka probably tested out this new influence he's got with the merchers on him, got him locked up somewhere. Outta his way." There was a thumping noise, like he'd put down his broom to shrug, and splutter. "Now, get over into that fireplace, it's gotta look presentable..."
Their voices faded into an indistinct background noise. Jesper and Inej... sat there, for ages. They didn't leave the room for what must have been an age, until the next bell, when the fussing, cussing Lions ushered themselves out. Only then did Inej... lift her head again and look him dead in the eye, and that was when Jesper knew it was bad.
Jesper opened his mouth. "Locked up—"
Inej stuck a finger up, pinched her lips together and inclined her head further down the rooftop. He nodded, and followed, until they were farther away from the grates.
"Locked up," she confirmed, still in a hushed whisper. "I... why was Kaz spying on him? What did he want to know?" She looked genuinely perplexed. "What has he got himself into? And why?"
Jesper said nothing. Then he said, "That's a lot of questions."
"And we don't know the answers."
Jesper tried to smile. "I'm up for more climbing and eavesdropping if you are. I'm up for even a few break ins if you are." He thought the eyebrow waggle might be a bit much, but he did it anyway.
Inej did laugh at that, eyeing Jesper's outfit—still eye-catching—before she nodded with a grin.
"Jesper," she said lightly, though he could hear the strain in her voice, "I am always up for a few break ins."
*
In the end, it wasn't hard to figure out where they should be breaking in. Kerch was small, and the Merchant Council even smaller—and besides, Inej had not missed the name that that man had dropped when regaling the woman with all the juicy gossip.
Van Eck.
Jan Van Eck, of the long, timelessly esteemed Van Eck family, reaching back generations. Inej had tabs on him just as she had tabs on everyone important in that city—or rather, everyone important to Kaz's schemes.
Van Eck, an upstanding, pious businessman, who did not know honest work from dishonest work but worshipped Ghezen fanatically all the same. He had a son supposedly studying music in Belendt—a son who had actually left home and refused to answer his letters, hiding in the Dregs, protected by Kaz for a reason Inej could not fathom, though she didn't admit any of that to Jesper; that was Kaz's little secret to protect and use when he wanted to—and a wife slightly older than his son. She was pregnant. He lived on one of the fancier streets and had a beautiful garden that backed on a canal; his first wife, Wylan Van Eck's mother, had died of a mysterious illness several years ago.
He had been the one to pull the strings and... get Kaz locked up?
Do something to Kaz.
They needed to see his transactions. They needed to know what he'd done, who he'd paid, what he'd gained from it—and where he'd put Kaz.
And hope that it wasn't a grave six feet under.
Inej didn't stop. She barely blinked. She kept forging onwards.
Jesper jogged to catch up. At one point they shimmied down, off the rooftops, and were instead fording through the throngs of tourists along the Lid to get to the Zelver District, then through the throngs of people in general.
"Where are we going?" Jesper asked. His stride was long, but Inej was fast, and she noticed he was half-jogging to keep up.
"Van Eck's transactions are all handled by one man—well, he has a team of lawyers and accountants and legal yes men, but they're headed by one man, and that man has the files to everything."
"Ah," Jesper said. "And we're breaking into his home to see what legal actions he's taken recently to have Kaz condemned?"
"Yes." She hopped up onto a narrow, crumbling wall between the path and the canal; a stone slipped and her foot went out under her, but she caught herself and leapt back onto the pavement again without even veering towards the water. "And Cornelis Smeet will hopefully have answers hidden somewhere in the backlog of his office."
"So we're going to break into the house of some upstanding mercher's favourite lawyer and rob him plain as day? In the middle of the day? When do I get to start shooting."
Inej laughed. "I'm not a planner like Kaz. I'll get in, get the information, and get out. Then we can go find Kaz, and you can shoot at his captors to your heart's content."
"After Kaz has cracked them across the heads with his cane and decimated them first, I presume?"
"Of course. After that."
*
They returned to the Slat, then—there was no way Inej could hope to break in there without first scouting it out, and figuring how to get past those famous dogs of his, so they had to slink back with their tails between their legs and, honestly, no further clue where Kaz was. Inej avoided all of Per Haskell's questions pointedly. No, she didn't know where Kaz was. Yes, she had tried to find him. No, she hadn't found him. Yes, she was telling the truth.
Just not the whole truth.
She didn't tell him about the Pekka Rollins situation. Or the merchers. Haskell was soft. He was old school. He wouldn't want to pick a fight with those two big bosses, even if it was for his favoured lieutenant. And Inej wasn't going to risk him telling her to leave it alone and stop poking the beast.
So she just made empty promises to keep investigating the next day—there were debts to be paid and money to be made—and slipped back to her room again to feed the crows, pausing outside Kaz's office door.
There was no one in there, of course. But she glanced around, then glanced back out hurriedly—guiltily, almost.
Jesper saw her do it, but they just exchanged a look, a nod, and didn't elaborate from there.
*
"Kidnapping and killing a mercher's son?"
"Those are the charges."
"What— Kaz wouldn't—" Jesper stopped pacing—there wasn't much space to pace in Inej's cramped little room, but he made do—paused, then started again. "No, Kaz would." Inej shifted uncomfortably. "That was what they had on him?"
"That was what they claimed they had on him."
"Of course. It's probably nonsense—Kaz would do it, but he wouldn't get caught." He paused. "Would he?"
"He didn't." Inej gritted her teeth. "Van Eck's son never arrived at the music school in Belendt, and he's blaming Kaz for his disappearance."
"Poor kid. Poor soft little mercher's kid, if Kaz went after him."
"He didn't. Wylan Van Eck came to Kaz, trying to get away from his father."
Jesper froze.
Inej settled onto her windowsill, letting her legs swing underneath her, so she could look Jesper in the eye. "He just turned up in the Barrel one day, and Kaz wanted to know why. So he had you find the kid and convince him to join the Dregs."
Jesper's mouth dropped open. "Wylan? You mean that shy little kid—"
"Keep your voice down; everything leaks in the Slat. But yes."
"No way. That—" He paused. "That explains a lot, huh."
"About what?"
"Why he's so sheltered. Why—"
"You flirted with him?" Inej sat forwards, amused, and he laughed.
"Maybe I did."
"I heard you had a slight crush on him."
"An interest is more like it, thank you very much—"
Inej laughed—then sobered up rapidly. "But... yes. Van Eck had Kaz thrown in Hellgate for kidnapping and murdering Wylan."
Jesper's lips went wan. "You didn't mention Hellgate."
"I did!"
"You— never mind. Hellgate?" His hands ran lightly along the revolvers at his sides, twitching. "I... What. Poor Kaz."
"Don't say that to his face."
"Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it. Maybe it's more like poor Hellgate."
"Yeah."
"So," Jesper said. "We go get Wylan. Dump him in front of the Council, to prove he wasn't murdered and kidnapped. Get Kaz out of there—"
He trailed off when he met Inej's eye; they shook their heads at the same time.
"They won't listen," she said. "If Pekka wanted Kaz in there, there was a reason, and there's no way two Barrel rats are going to be listened to. They'd just claim that we kidnapped Wylan, not matter what we got him to say on our behalf; they'd accuse us of threatening him. And Pekka would probably get us silenced as well."
"So what else can we do?"
Inej smiled. "We can break into Hellgate."
*
Inej was insane, but so was Jesper, so he supposed that was why he was following her.
Apparently breaking into Hellgate wasn't the death sentence that Jesper had always figured it would be. Inej had sat him down in Kaz's office, picked the lock on a few of his drawers, and pulled out...
First, a false bottom.
Then, another false bottom.
Then, a sheet of papers in neat, cramped Kerch, covered in spidery diagrams and annotations, currents and notes about guards rotations, names and bribery prices and potential secrets to threaten with, drawings and notations of the types of locks used at each door and padlock...
"What is this?" Jesper hissed. Inej held her finger up to her mouth, stuffed the meticulously flat pages in her pocket in a few neat folds, then slipped out of the window onto the rooftop.
Jesper sighed, but clambered out after her, trying not to think about how ungainly he probably looked, with his lanky limbs. At least here, they were high up enough that only the birds had a hope of seeing him.
Once they were onto the rooftop, Inej threw her legs over a peak and slid down it silently. Jesper followed—and noticed how the wind cut out here, the breeze dying to barely a stir. She pulled the sheets out, then, as well as a small pencil he hadn't seen her stick in her pocket, and crouched cross-legged in the cranny.
"Come down here, where we'll definitely be able to talk without anyone listening," Inej said. "Kaz has multiple plans for breaking into Hellgate—though, as far as I know, none for breaking out."
"He was prioritising the wrong thing."
"Or that was something I never found out. It's possible he has them, just hidden elsewhere."
Jesper gave her a look. "You mean he didn't tell you?"
She shrugged. "I spied on him, that was how I found them."
"You spied on Kaz Brekker—"
"You can't train a falcon then expect it not to hunt," she shot back, though not without a grin.
"How many secrets of Kaz's do you know just because he didn't trust you not to find them out anyway?"
"Probably far more than he's comfortable with."
Jesper laughed loudly. "I don't think he's comfortable with any of them."
"Exactly. Now," she'd turned back to the plans. "Nina Zenik, from the White Rose, has been wanting Kaz to help her get a friend of hers out of Hellgate."
"There's no way he'd do that."
"No, not at all, and he hasn't—but he has the plans for it if he needs to. I'm sure a big, strong Fjerdan will come in useful for a plan of his one day, and when he does, Kaz will help."
"He's such a bastard."
"He is." She took the [pencil] and circled the blueprints to Hellgate, looking at it from a bird's eye view and squinting. "But he's a prepared bastard, and that's gonna be useful for us."
They'd stayed up there for ages, flicking through his multiple plans of attack and adapting it to fit their... specific talents. The one time Inej brought up going to Per Haskell to get some backup, Jesper shot her down.
"No," he said. "He... you know he won't pick a fight with Pekka over Kaz. Especially won't break into Hellgate for Kaz."
Inej frowned, but said nothing—just nodded.
Once they had the plan, they looked at each other.
"Kaz came up with the plan that's gonna bust him out," Jesper observed passively.
Inej snorted. "Of course he did."
*
In actuality, their plan wasn't nearly as refined or put together as Kaz's would've been. It was based off of an early draft and even then, cut back for convenience; if it worked, it would be a miracle, and everyone in the Barrel knew that miracles were scarce.
But Inej and Jesper went out to get their allies and get their supplies nonetheless.
Inej dropped by the White Rose that afternoon, standing waiting in the parlour before Nina's latest client—Van Aakster came out. Inej took note of him, then dismissed him. After that, she slipped right in before anyone else could.
"I'm on my break now, madam, I'm afraid— oh." Nina's sickly sweet spiel turned into something coarser and more genuine when she set eyes on Inej. "It's you."
"It's me," Inej agreed, leaning against the wall and shutting the door behind her with one smooth motion of her foot. "I haven't seen you in a while."
"And I haven't seen you, Brekker's been running us both ragged. Which means you must be here on his behalf. What does he want me for?"
"I'm not here on his orders—"
"Great, then do you want to get waffles? I don't have another client for a few hours."
Inej paused. "Waffles sounds nice," she said, smiling. "But first: how do you feel about breaking into Hellgate?"
Nina blinked.
Then she stared.
Then she bent over double in a mighty guffaw, grinning, and clapped her hands. "I'm in. You know I'm in." The relief in her voice was subtle, but there—like a bowstring that had been drawn tighter and tighter and tighter for months had finally been released. "So long as we rescue—"
"Of course." Nina didn't flinch at Inej's promise, or even the fact that Inej knew about Matthias in the first place. "But there is someone else to rescue too, and I get the feeling this is going to be entertaining."
"We're rescuing Dirtyhands himself, then? What trouble did he get himself into this time?"
"More trouble," Inej said, "than I suspect Haskell will want to deal with."
Nina froze. "You haven't told him?"
"If I don't tell him, he can't explicitly order me not to."
"Inej Ghafa, I like the way you're thinking." She was concerned—Inej understood that; so was she—but it was drowned out by the blaring relief. Kaz's plan, counting on the fact that Nina would be there, would want to rescue Helvar, was turning out to be useful. "Now, let's go get waffles, and I can hear all about this place you're coming up with."
"It's Kaz's plan. Jesper helped me adapt it."
"Jesper's coming? I like it already."
*
Jesper had grown fond of rooftops, no matter the difficulty getting onto them. He let his legs dangle as he waited for Inej to track back to the Slat with Nina in tow; when he saw their silhouettes coming from ages away—his sharpshooter's sights were useful in more ways that one—he shimmied down and hit the stairs of the Slat, jogging down to the ground floor to meet them. Muzzen was hanging around on the other side of the canal for them, the sun was setting and the night was spreading its obsidian wings over the city, so it was just Jesper and his supply of Kaz's many Komedie Brute costumes they were waiting for. They'd convene, scatter the resources to where they needed to be, then meet up at midnight.
But on the way down, with his arms full of boxes and his guns slapping against his waist, he ran into someone.
Wylan Van Eck glared at him. "Watch where you're going."
"It's a bit hard, fancypants, can't you see I'm carrying stuff?"
Wylan just huffed and grumbled something unintelligible. Usually Jesper would push it, tease some more, but... he paused. Studied him closely.
He'd always thought Wylan, with his gleaming rosy curls and button nose, wide eyes and delicate, clever hands, looked like a prince out of a fairy tale. The truth was... well, as close to that image as anyone from Kerch could be: he was a mercher's son.
It explained everything, and kicked up more questions than a horse kicked up dust in the fields at home.
What was Wylan doing, slumming it with them?
Merchers weren't nearly as glamorous as fairy tales made princes out to be, but their life styles certainly were.
"What?" Wylan snapped.
Jesper shrugged. "Just admiring your beautiful face."
Wylan glared, and hurried off.
Jesper headed down, and then they were outside and the time had come.
*
Inej had reached Terrenjel by the time they arrived so she watched them come, in the dead of night, the lanterns on the boats from Fifth Harbour bobbing like small moons over the waves. Nina stepped out first, veiled in blue in the image of the Lost Bride, while Jesper's Mister Crimson mask was one of the more hideous things Inej had ever seen, in the eerie mist and lighting of the night. Muzzen came last, sporting another Mister Crimson outfit—no one could ever accuse the Dregs of being original when it was unnecessary.
They hit the shore and she slipped in next to them, squeezing Nina's hand first. Jesper jumped, but immediately clocked who she was, in her Grey Imp image, and gave her an acknowledging nod; then they were scurrying onwards, and paying the Dime Lion who stood watch.
Inej... really wasn't happy, come to think of it, that the Dime Lions ran the Hellshow when she knew it was Pekka who'd got Kaz tossed into here in the first place, but that didn't matter. She'd bribed the right guard with the right secret to get him to pass a message to Kaz, in code, so Kaz ought to know that they were coming that day. He knew what to do.
So she stood there, and pretended her trembling under the Lion's gaze was from excitement and not dread, as he led them down and down and down into the winding staircase that led to the old prison.
Nina's hand constricted on hers the farther they went; there were no railings on these stairs, and everyone was jostling around them like it was the Lid at early light. The homely scent of cleaning liquids and... well, dedicated scrubbing, gave way to the inevitable stench of mildew, sweat, and unwashed bodies dwelling in their own waste. And the farther they descended, the louder the chanting got, until it was less a pounding and more a roaring; less like water, more like fire.
Then they emerged there, and Nina gasped next to her, the room packed with people. Inej's eyes stung from the assault of colour; her ears stung from the assault of sound. She could taste sweat on the air. Komedie Brute costumes abounded and bumped into each other, the strange lighting and otherworldliness of the room making them seem to change size and colour, as though they were peering through a kaleidoscope. Jewellery and silver zips and adornments flashed gold, like sparks, as they reflected the braziers; everything seemed to glitter.
But, as much as she could appreciate the strange beauty and ugliness of the room, Inej let her gaze be drawn to the important parts: the exit, where the crowd was thickest, and the wheel up ahead—and the men who stood beside it.
The person running the fight, a young man in a filthy, shredded lion skin cape, spun the massive wheel. The red needle clicked, clacked, clicked, clacked, clicked—
And landed on boar.
The man standing in chains—a very young man, barely older than Kaz—sagged in relief. Or perhaps that wasn't the best word for it. But he did not look quite so terrified as the lion skin man stepped forwards to unlock his shackles, and then—
There was a pounding, a grunting, a sort of groaning, and the boar thundered out of the gaping corridor that led to the animals' cages.
Inej... didn't really watch as the young man ran at it with his bare hands, something like desperation, something that certainly wasn't sanity, contorting his face. She was glad not to watch when she heard him screaming.
She just turned to Jesper and murmured, "Let's go."
He nodded back at her. She grinned.
When she looked back at the stage, the young man was nowhere to be seen, but his blood certainly was.
"Next!" the lion skin man bellowed.
The next person was brought out. And there, as they'd planned, was Kaz.
Inej hadn't seen him in... two days now, or just over. It wasn't a long time, and the differences weren't prominent, but they were there. His hair, already odd, looked like the nests of the crows he was so fond of; outside of his usual sleek, professional-looking outfits, he appeared... rougher, younger; and there was a long cut across his right cheek, now closed, which caked half his face in an unpleasant mix of brown and red.
He stepped out of the shadows like a ghost—like a wraith, a figure in black and white. There weren't many people in the crowd, it seemed, who knew that the boy in front of them was one of the darkest, brightest minds in the city, but the Dime Lions certainly did; they were snickering and pointing at him, and how he was brought so low.
He ignored them.
His gaze scanned the crowd—idly, it seemed, but when Inej skirted around in her Grey Imp costume to get a better vantage point, he locked onto the way she moved... and he smiled, ever so slightly. She couldn't help but smile back, with the same sort of wickedness to it.
The lion skin man shouted, and reach up an arm to spin the wheel against. The needle skittered around the wood and Inej watched with far more attention this time—if all went well, the outcome wouldn't matter, but when did things go well?
The wheel slowed. The needle scraped past the bear, the wolf, the snakes... and landed on the rinca moten.
She sucked in a breath.
The desert lizard.
Great. She couldn't wait to have to deal with that on the loose.
Almost time. Almost time...
She circled around again, nearer to Nina and Muzzen, to nearer the exit back into the prison. She stopped just behind Muzzen, and he slipped off his Mister Crimson cloak to reveal a guard's uniform underneath.
The guards stepped forwards, to directly in front of Kaz, to unlock his shackles.
Nina flexed her fingers, gaze fixed on the nearest guard, and narrowed her eyes.
"How down?" she whispered.
"Shut eye," Inej murmured back.
The guard went down.
Just as all hell broke loose.
There was the screech of dozens of cages and the roars and hisses of far too many animals; Inej turned away from where Muzzen had plopped his mask on top of the guard, swept him up in his cloak, to fix her gaze on the lizard lumbering towards Kaz. Bears and boars rampaged around it, the guards were screaming, but Kaz was staring this thing down like it was a city guard who thought they could push him around—
It hissed and hit; he threw himself to the side as much as possible, limping heavily. It suddenly hit Inej that she didn't know where his cane was—hopefully he'd left it at the Slat before he went spying on Pekka because otherwise—
The lizard lashed out again and this time Kaz toppled over in his attempts to get back, still glaring warily. He scrambled to get back to his feet as the lizard stalked forwards, venom dripping from bared teeth—
Inej ditched her costume. The cloak flowed behind her like smoke.
Then she leapt over Kaz's head, onto the lizard's back, and cut its throat.
"Inej," Kaz greeted in his gravelly voice.
She rolled her eyes, wiping the lizard's blood on her trousers. "You're welcome, Kaz." She glanced back at the others—Nina and Muzzen had vanished into the depths of the prison, presumably to find Helvar, though that was something she wouldn't tell Kaz about just yet. Jesper was standing by the downed guard, already taking his costume back, and brandishing that thing like a flag. It was a good thing the Hellshow didn't use bulls. "Get over here."
He followed her eyes to see Jesper, who paused awkwardly at the intensity of Kaz's gaze, of his analysis and judgement. He even waved.
Kaz limped over to them. Inej followed, silent as a summer wind, knowing better than to offer him support.
"You have bastardised my plan," he rasped.
Jesper gave him a look as carnage rained around them. "You're welcome, bastard," he drawled back.
*
There were five of them. In one room.
Nina was stubbornly not looking at Matthias, despite the fact she was stealing a few glances here and there, while Matthias glared at her constantly. Wylan was collapsed in a corner opposite them, looking baffled as to why Kaz had decided to throw them all in there.
Inej and Jesper—Inej perched on the arm of a sofa, Jesper sitting on the sofa itself—sat near to them and exchanged odd looks.
There was a thumping, a specific gait that they all knew too well, and the door burst open to admit Kaz, back to cutting his normal, intimidating profile with a coat and his cane, his coffee-dark eyes staring around at them. Jesper noticed that they softened slightly when they landed on Inej, and didn't harden until after they'd moved away from Jesper. He didn't know what to think about that.
Inej spoke up first. "So you recovered your cane after all?"
"I'm not foolish enough to take it with me when I go scouting an enemy boss, Inej." His voice was grating, like he found the question so obvious it was annoying. Inej and Jesper exchanged looks—again. "But yes."
"And the old man didn't kill you too badly for getting captured?"
"He's never happy—"
"What an understatement."
"—but he's more interested in the proposition I have for him—what I found out from Rollins."
Inej pursed her lips. "If it was this important, why did you go scouting alone? I'm always going to have a better chance at discovering the truth than you are."
Kaz just said, "It's personal with Rollins," and left it at that.
He wasn't going to explain himself. Of course he wasn't.
"There's a Grisha Fabrikator named Bo Yul-Bayur in Fjerda," Kaz announced. "He's Shu, and has developed a drug—jurda parem—that is meant to be used on Grisha. It makes them capable of feats unknown to man, miracles worthy of saints"—Kaz glanced at Inej with humour; Inej rolled her eyes and shook her head—"and he's been captured by Fjerdan authorities, who want to use it."
"Why?" Nina snapped. Her attention had been piqued the moment he said Grisha, and... Jesper wouldn't admit it, but his had been too, when he'd said Fabrikator. "Why would they want to help Grisha?"
"They don't. The drug is highly addictive and essentially makes the Grisha slaves. The Fjerdans want to see if they can turn what they view as heresy to their advantage—to serve them in battle."
Helvar looked furious. "That would never happen. The drüskelle—Brum would never—"
"Jarl Brum is dead, isn't he? He's not calling the shots anymore. And the drüskelle are helping keep Yul-Bayur captive."
Matthias looked ready to object again, Nina looked like she'd make their hearts burst accidentally if she became any more stressed by the truths Kaz was dropping like dead flies.
Inej cut through the tension to ask, "And why," she narrowed her eyes, "do you care?"
Kaz slashed his gaze to her. "Because, darling Inej, the Merchant Council is offered thirty million kruge to anyone who can break into the Ice Court and bring Yul-Bayur back to Kerch. If jurda parem is unleashed on the world, it'll be chaos. The stock markets will collapse. The economic state of the world as we know it would be changed forever." He tutted. "You know they can't have that."
"And why are we here?" Wylan finally had the courage to pipe up. Jesper shot him an impressed look, and all he got in return was a dirty one. Rude.
Kaz said, "Because, Wylan Van Eck, your father has forged an alliance with Pekka Rollins and hired him to send a team north to break Yul-Bayur out himself. And we're going to go after them, and we're going to get there first."
Matthias looked like someone had smacked him, repeatedly, in the face with a fish. Nina was staring at Wylan with raised eyebrows.
"Haskell gets twenty percent of the cut," Kaz said. "Everyone else gets four million kruge, each."
Jesper glanced around. A gunslinger, a spider, a Heartrender, a demolitions kid who could double as a hostage, and a Fjerdan who'd know his way around.
And Kaz.
The most important part.
"Think on it," Kaz said callously. "I'm not going to force you to say yes." But he gave Matthias a pointed look—Jesper suddenly remembered that the two had conversed, briefly, beforehand. He wondered what he'd offered him.
Kaz turned to leave, but suddenly Jesper was filled with an urge, the need to say something, and he opened his mouth— "Kaz."
Kaz turned back, expectant.
Jesper looked at him, equally expectant.
Kaz's gaze slid to Inej, then back to Jesper, sitting so close and looking at him with just as much weight.
His hand constricted on the head of his cane. He was wearing gloves, as always—and suddenly, Jesper remembered that Kaz had not been wearing gloves in Hellgate. He wondered what that meant.
Kaz turned back to leave the room. The door slammed; the clack, clack, clack of his cane faded down the stairs.
Jesper heard Inej sigh, but all he did was clench his jaw, stand up himself, and leave the room too.
Unlike Kaz, he headed up.
*
"Have I converted you to the rooftops?" Inej called out teasingly.
Jesper turned his head to grin at her from where he was perched on the edge of the roof of the Slat, legs swinging out over the drop below, thumping against the walls. Inej slipped down next to him, close enough to bump shoulders, as they watched the sun rise to the east over the university and financial districts, staining the skyline scarlet.
"Maybe you have. It's fun up here."
"It's peaceful. You're on your own and no one will come up here to bother you."
"Yeah." Jesper grinned down at the drop. "Also it's kind of exhilarating."
Inej laughed. "That too."
They sat in silence for a moment more. Inej was very aware of her friend's solid, warm weight at her side, the garish colours of his favoured clothing too familiar to be jarring, now, and the way his guns clicked lightly against her sheathed knives.
"Ready to go to Fjerda?" Jesper asked her.
"I'm not looking forward to it. This sounds like a suicide plan."
"But we'll go anyway." He wrinkled his nose. "Despite the fact that none of us particularly like the cold."
"We'll be able to compare Kerch's wet cold to Fjerda's frozen cold."
"Both will be disgusting, I'm sure."
"You'll be stuck on a boat for two weeks with Wylan."
Jesper raised an eyebrow. "Still can't believe he's actual mercher material. Well, no, I can believe it—it fits. But it's strange."
"It's strange that the person Nina's been fighting for the last year to save is a Fjerdan who more than anything wants her dead."
"Should we have left them in a room together?"
"Nina can handle herself."
"I know. I'm worried about the Fjerdan." He wrinkled his nose. "And Wylan."
"I'm sure Wylan has the sense to leave the room while he still can."
"For now. As you said, we're going to be stuck on a boat with them. For weeks."
Inej watched him. "You don't like boats?"
"Not at all."
“I haven’t had the best experiences with them on the sea,” she confessed. “Though canal boats are fine.”
He looked back at her, then, and the sunlight shone gold on his face. "Then why are we doing this? What's in it for us?"
Inej sighed. "Four million kruge." Jesper had just raised his eyebrows and nodded his agreement appreciatively when she added: "And the hope that we'll make Kaz proud."
Jesper let out a snort. "Has he thanked us for saving him yet?"
"No, not yet. And I wouldn't hold my breath for it."
"What a bastard. Want to help me annoy the hell out of him on the journey there?"
"Don't you already do that?"
He punched her in the shoulder.
"Alright, alright, I'm in. He deserves it."
"He'll kill us, but he deserves it."
"No, he won't," she said—a little too solemnly, she thought. The wind stirred the strands of hair in her plait and tugged at them like a child playing with string. "He needs us."
"He'll die before he admits it."
"But he needs us anyway. And we'll mourn him if he does."
"No mourners," Jesper said.
Inej said back, "No funerals," and dwelled on it.
The idea was that in Ketterdam, people got left behind. There were too many tragedies on a daily basis, too much pain and suffering, and too many people oblivious or uncaring to it. If you were shot or stabbed or slaughtered, no one would be around to scream. If you vanished into thin air... no one would notice your absence; no one would miss you.
Inej thought that maybe—maybe—that wasn't quite true.
"Kaz is who he is. He's not going to be changing any time soon," she said.
Jesper scoffed. "He's not going to be changing at all."
"I'll take that bet."
"Really?"
"Yeah." She turned back towards the rising sun, tilting her head back to let the rays touch it, closing her eyes. "If being forced to work in such close quarters to us for so long on this trip doesn't lead to some noticeable change in him, I'll take you out for waffles. And if it does, you take me out."
"Deal." They clapped and clasped their hands together, gripping them tightly. "That's even a gamble I'd be glad to lose."
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micahscowgirl · 4 years
Text
Bite me ~ Chapter 3
Micah Bell x f!reader
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Warnings: Cursing, Knife Play (not sexual sort of but still there), Girl x Reader (at the end)
Word Count: 3220
Wow, okay, this just happened. So, in my notes when I was planning this chapter, this part didn’t exist. Like, at all. This entire chapter was just a gap in between two bullets in my notes. The bullets were: Dutch asks you to go on a mission. And after the mission, Micah and you have to get a room at the saloon because of some O’Driscoll boys. That’s. All. This entire chapter came to me once I started typing. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. I would say I’m sorry, buuuuut... I’m not <3
Chapter 3
The morning was foggy, the smell of dew in the air. You had gotten a good night’s rest and thought your day was going to be a good one. You were wrong. After exiting your tent and tying the flap up, Dutch waved you over to his tent. 
"Are we sleeping in now?" he says with a smirk. "Wish I got the memo, I woke up a couple of hours ago like most everyone else."
"Sorry, Dutch. Haven't slept that good in a while, I guess my body was refusing to wake up."
"I'm just picking on you, darling," Dutch winks. "Now that you're up, I have a task for you. I want you to head into Valentine and meet with a man Uncle met. He has a lead on a farmhouse. I already talked to Micah about everything--"
"Wait, Micah? You can't be serious. You saw how well we worked together in Strawberry." you say sarcastically.
"I saw that Micah slipped up. But I've also seen the energy between the two of you. Something spectacular. Y'alls talents work well with each other." He laughs. "I need someone strong to keep that boy in line." He pauses to take a long draw from his cigar. "While it's still early, the two of you should head out. Both of you need to head to Smithfield's Saloon. I saw Micah out by the horses earlier, I would talk with him, I explained most of everything yesterday to him."
You nod, knowing there's nothing you could do to change his mind, and head to find Micah. You find him sitting on a barrel past the horses, sharpening one of his knives. He glances up at you, looks you up and down, smirks, then continues what he was doing.
"You know, I've noticed that your shirt choice has changed since you decided to go out to play with Charles. They button up higher. You hiding something, dollface?" He looks back up, hoping for a reaction. 
"Yeah, some asshole thought it would be a fun trick to stick his nose in other people’s business, and thought it was even funnier when I hurt myself. Some dick he was." 
"You better watch that mouth of yours, princess," he stands and moves so he's just inches from you. You know it drives him crazy when you hold your ground. "Talk like that to the wrong person, you're giving yourself a death wish." Cigarette smoke is fresh on his breath. You're honestly surprised at the absence of whiskey.
"You're the most 'wrong person' I know, Mr. Bell. Why don't you take that knife of yours and stab me right here." You rip open the top of your shirt, revealing your breasts peeking from your chemise, and point to the bruise he caused. "Look at that, you already created the perfect target."
He looks down and smiles, then looks back up to your eyes, staring deeply. He lifts the freshly sharpened knife up and places the tip of it right on his mark. It wasn't enough to hurt you, but he wasn't being gentle either. You twitch barely, but it was still enough for him to notice. His face is so close your noses are almost touching. "What's wrong, doll," He moves to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. "You scared?" He moves the knife slightly, making a small cut right on your bruise. You whimper, causing him to grin. 
You feel his mustache tickling your ear. It's hard to remain still. Micah has managed to make you wet. Your clit is throbbing. In this moment, all you can concentrate on is him. Without the smell of whiskey, you smell him. His musk, sweat. His breath is making you hot. You want him to bite you, grab your waist hard, and use you. Your breathing hard now, every inhale causing the knife to poke your breast, not cutting you, but causing you to shiver in anticipation. He moves his head back to look at you, lifting the knife up, right in between your faces, admiring the small amount of blood on it. Continuing to smile like an animal, he says, "You going to hold that tongue now?" You remain silent. "That's better. You be a good girl, now." He steps back, sheaving his knife, not caring to wipe it off. You breathe out hard. Fuck, you wanted him.
He walks over to Baylock, "We should get going now, got to get to Valentine. We're already running behind schedule." He tries to hide his smile, but you see it. You make your way over to your horse and mount. He trots over, "After you, doll." You kick your horse and move out of camp. You're still hot, but coming to your senses, you realize how stupid you were. He was being a complete dick, and you managed to get turned on. You hated him more now or at least convinced yourself that you did.
~~~~~~
The two of you arrive at the saloon in Valentine. After dismounting your horse, you look at Micah. Neither of you had said anything since camp.
"Well, this is the place."
"After you, doll. Show us your talent. I’ve never seen you in action." You nod, and turn towards the door, popping a button open on your shirt first. You would normally do two or three, but the bruise wasn't very appealing. One still allows enough for a peek.
You walk in and spot the man that must've been who Uncle told Dutch about. 
"Mr. Davis?" He turns, acknowledging that he's your guy. Micah leans against the wall near the entrance. You sit on the stool next to the man and motion the bartender. "I'll take a beer please."
"I must say, you aren't the 'man' I was expecting to meet here." He seems nervous.
"What can I say, some things take a women's touch." You rest your hand on the man’s knee as your beer was delivered. You nod your thanks then turn to face your lead. After sipping your drink, you continue. "Now, darling, why don't you tell me what all the fuss was about. I was sent all this way, it better be good." You keep your eyes locked on his, parting your lips slightly, holding his attention.
"Well, um, ma'am, it's my boss. He has been working me to death--I work on his farm--so I asked for some time off." You catch him stealing a quick glance down at your chest. You gently draw soft circles on his knee with your fingers. "Well, he ended up just firing me. Said I was a burden to him anyway. I-I've been working for him for years, I've been in his house. Plenty of expensive items. I even noticed a lockbox in his room. Must have tons of stuff in there, it's huge."
"Oh, I bet it is, darling," you move your hand up from his knee onto his thigh and give a gentle squeeze. He gulps. "Now let me ask you this, what do you want in return for this information."
"Well, I was hoping after you take your share, uh, you could release his cattle and burn his crops." He shrugs.
"Of course, there's always a catch." You smile. "You want me to be a bad girl, don't you. I don't think that will get you your job back, though, sugar."
"I-I don't want it back. He was never fair to me. I just want him to pay."
"Of course, anything for you, darling." You lean back and pull out your map, laying it on the bar. "Now, where is this house?"
He leans forward onto the counter and starts to trace down a road. As he does, you slide your arm under his, resting in on his leg. You can feel the nervous heat coming off his entire body. 
He finishes up and you thank him. You stand from your stool, making sure to move your breasts past his wandering eyes. "Thank you, dear, you've been very helpful." You place your hand on his shoulder and leave a small kiss on his cheek. "Your wish is my command. That bastard is gonna regret getting rid of his best help, 'cause he's gonna need it after tonight."
You place a quarter on the bar and then walk away, winking at Micah as you pass him, pushing through the doors. The man watches you as you leave. Micah can't help but chuckle at how red the man’s face became, then he follows you out.
Once you are back on your horse, Micah speaks, "Well, well, well. Aren't you a dirty girl." You ignore his ‘compliment’, knowing if you linger on it, you might feel yourself get hot again. 
"Got us the information, didn't I?" He smiles. You realize that he actually has a nice smile. When it's genuine, anyway. "Come on, let's find this place before it gets dark."
~~~~~~
Your pocket watch read 11:54 pm. You and Micah were both leaning against a rock, sitting on the ground. His head was hanging towards his chest and his hat was pulled down in front of his eyes. You reach over and grab his shoulder, shaking him. "Wake up, Micah, the lights have been out for an hour now."
He lifts his head and pulls back his hat. "You know I don't sleep." He looks at you. You smelt whiskey, now. He had drunk half a bottle when you had first arrived at the house a few hours ago. "Are you ready?" 
You nod, holding up a box of matches and your gun. He made it very clear that he wanted to go into the house and you should take care of Mr. Davis' bidding. Micah didn't want you even doing that, but you didn't agree with breaking promises. Both of your stand and start to walk towards the house. Micah starts to walk up the porch, but you grab his wrist to get his attention first. He looks at you. "No. Shooting. We don't need to fuck this one up. And be careful, don't need you getting killed."
"Awe, how sweet. Didn't think you cared, sweetheart."
You wrinkle your nose. "You wish, I just care about the cash you return with. Although, if I'm being honest, if you die, I can't kill you later on."
He chuckles, "Keep dreaming, doll, you'll be dead long before you get that chance. Because of me, of course."
You let go of his wrist, letting him enter the house. You make your way over to the fence the cattle are housed in. You follow it until you find the gate. Locked, of course. You pull out your lock breaker and get to work. It's only a few minutes later when Micah shows up. You've already led four cows outside the fence. You don't need to get them all out, just a few to lead the rest. Micah nods at you, and you both make your way to the side of the fence opposite the gate. Convenient enough, the wheat you were going to burn was right next to outside the fence where you stood.
"You ready to run, doll?" You nod. He points to the woods nearest the both of you. "That way. Whatever you do, do not stop running. Should bring us right back to our horses."
"I'm ready." You strike a match and throw it into the dry crops. Immediately, Micah and you both shoot your guns into the air, yelling at the cattle. "Yah! Yah!" All of the cows panic at once. The cows you let out, start to run off. The rest of them start to follow. You hear yelling from the house.
"Now!" he yells. You take off into the trees. He was faster than you, but you kept running. There were no gunshots, no shouting, but you kept running. Eventually, you came up to the horses, Micah was already mounting Baylock. You do the same and then you both make your way back towards Valentine. 
You look over at him and you start to laugh. "Oh my god! We did it!"
He had a big smile on his face, "I guess we did, didn't we!" He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a huge jewelry bag. You smile at him. "Wait, it gets better." He puts it back, reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a bundle of cash. "It's at least 500, maybe more! Plus the bag!"
"Micah, I must say I'm impressed. I think you deserve a drink!"
~~~~~~
You were sitting with Micah in the same saloon you were in earlier, this time in celebration. There was a couch on the upper floor that the two of you had claimed. It was almost 2 am, but the saloon was still crowded. Drunks surrounded the bar, a few men were playing poker, and a few girls were looking around for work. Micah and you were drinking and you were more than a little drunk.
"Micah. You know, Dutch doesn't know, like, know, know."
"What are you on about, Darlin'" Micah was drunk as well, sitting with his arm around your shoulders.
"The take. The cash. He doesn’t know what we got. I wanna keep it. I mean," you giggle. "I'm a 'bad girl'." You mimick your conversation with Mr. Davis.
"Indeed you are. Bad and dirty." He reaches over and unbuttons a couple more buttons on your shirt. The first one was still undone already. He touches your bruise. "See? Dirty. And so naughty for playing your little arrow trick on me." You giggle again. "I still haven't gotten you back for that."
"Micah!"
"What? Quiet down!"
You hold up your bottle. "I'm dry." You make a pouty face. He sighs. "Pleaase."
He grins, then stands to walk down and get you another. 
You watch him as he walks away. After your glance leaves him, you see one of the saloon girls sitting down and smoking. You once again thought of a way to fuck with Micah. He made you wet earlier that day, you wanted him hot as well.
You get the girl’s attention and motion her to you. She has brown, thick curls, held back with a pin. Her dress was a dark burgundy, tied tight around her waist, perking her breasts up. As she got closer, you saw how beautiful she was; her pale face was covered in dark freckles. She was wearing makeup that matched her dress. 
"Hello, miss," you say, giggling still. "I'll give you 10 dollars if you help me out." She sits next to you in Micah's seat, nodding. That was more than she normally charged for almost anything. You pull out the money and give it to her. "That man," you point down to Micah, who is waiting at the bar. "That's a real dirty man. He did this to me." You show her the bruise through your unbuttoned shirt. "Nothing too bad, but I wanna get him back, ya know?" She nods again. "I need you to kiss me. Hard and rough; he likes it rough. I want you to play with me. Play the part." She looks surprised, such easy money!
You see him taking the two beers from the bartender. "Okay, he's coming."
You reach your right hand up into her hair and pull her in to kiss you. You reach your other hand to her waist. She follows, wrapping one arm around your neck, and placing the other on your thigh. You might be doing this as a joke, but you still get turned on. Your tongue slips out tasting her lips. She lets you in, letting a small noise escaped her lips. She's enjoying this, too. Through all the bad in the world, having someone kiss you and feel you can make everything better.
Micah reaches the top of the steps and turns to walk towards you. He stops suddenly at the sight. His breath catches and he feels himself get hot. Your hand moves up from her waist and grabs her breast. You both were squirming, trying to get closer to each other. The lights were dim on the top floor, so the blinding lights from the bottom floor blocked everyone’s view. Except for anyone who was on the top floor. Those people consisted of a drunk who was passed out on the other side of the balcony and Micah. He pulled himself together and walked closer to get a better view. He stopped directly in front of the two of you and leaned against the rail to watch.
You didn't even notice him. You were only aware of her. Her of which you didn't get her name. Her of which was enjoying this as much as you were. You stop kissing her and move to sit on her lap. That is when you noticed Micah, standing there, watching the show. Your show. You grab her face and kissed again, hard. One hand was on your waist, the other on your breast. You slowly start to grind on her lap, wanting her to feel your lust. She reaches in your shirt to fully grab your breast. You let out a small moan when she pinched your nipple. You were getting wet now. She pulled from your mouth and placed her lips on your neck. She moved them down until they were on the breast she was grabbing. She sucked on the tender skin. You let your head fall back, looking straight into Micah's eyes. You were immediately pulled in. They were so deep blue, it caught you off guard every time you looked into them. 
She pulled away from your chest, making a popping noise when she released your skin. The skin was bright red, and would only get darker as the night went on. She moved down and begin to flick your nipple with her tongue. "Ah, oh my god!" You say in a gasping voice. You moan, not quietly anymore, but still hidden behind the piano and conversation of the saloon. Only you, the girl, and Micah heard your cries. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your head further back. You let out another long moan, looking into his eyes still. "Micah.." you moan his name.
"You are a dirty little girl, aren't you?" He whispers to you.
She finally released herself and leaned back on the couch. Micah let go of your hair and you leaned back forward. You kissed her again, this time softer. You start to feel tired, the beers having their final effect on you. You pull from her, eyes, dreary, and whisper to her, "Th-thank you, you're ama-ama--" your panting in exhaustion.
"You're amazing," she says, and you slowly fall off her lap onto the couch. She lifts your legs and stands, lying them comfortably back down. A small snore immediately comes from your sleeping, drunken body. She looks at Micah, nods, "Sir."
He nods, then turns his attention back to you. Normally, if he saw two girls together, he would be attracted to both. But it wasn't just two girls. One of them was you. He wanted you.
He heads back down to the bar and paid for a room. You both were staying there tonight.
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