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duskandstarlight · 3 years ago

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Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

Notes: Well, over a year you've had to wait for these two to seal the deal... BUT NO LONGER. And because I'm thankful to you all for sticking with this story, I've granted you with over 16k of sinful naughtiness. I think it's safe to say this is NSFW but you guys have read my smut before, you know the drill.

Embers & Light has always very much been the alternative story to Habits, but I couldn’t help but write in some crossover moments here to highlight the differences in events--timeline is a fascinating thing! Lemme know if you spot the moments :)

Please let me know what you think :) Comment and kudos will make my day!

I won't be able to write much of August (wedding & mini-moon) but I'll be doing my best to get you guys something as soon as possible. Hopefully by the end of the month, anyways <3

Oh! And I got a bookstagram. Find me at bookships.and.fandoms (and bear with me, I cba to take pretty pics atm)

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

Cassian stared at the doorway and the staircase beyond it, his gaze fixed and unwavering. Nesta had slipped out of the living room to follow Feyre up the stairs over ten minutes ago and he was already consumed with the biting sort of worry that gnawed at your insides.

He wasn’t concerned about what Nesta might be discussing with Feyre—that was her business—but because he couldn’t help but fret when it came to Nesta’s wellbeing.

It was a myriad of concerns that trampled through his mind like a herd of cattle. Had she slept enough? Had she recovered from being caught in the crowds the day before? Was her conversation with Feyre going to have her take three steps back rather than one forward? Cassian had spied the book of fairytales she’d slipped into her bag. Had guessed what she’d intended to do with it.

And then there was the fact that Nesta had left the bed before he’d woken again. Cassian couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d not been there when he’d opened his eyes, especially after the night before.

But that was how it was with he and Nesta. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Cassian often felt as if they were on the right path; as if once the world shut its eyes, the pressure was off and their play could continue. But as soon as light bled back into the sky, things weren’t the same. They weren’t cold… but Cassian felt suspended in a limbo of flirtatious banter and respectful distance. Which was hard, when all Cassian wanted to do was be as close to her as possible: to hold her hand and wind a hand through her hair. To kiss her brow and mouth and sink his teeth into her neck—

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He wanted to do wicked things. He wanted to make her moan and shatter. Wanted to know how she felt wrapped around him. Wanted to see if she’d gasp awake as he pushed inside of her.

Their trip home was going to be a turning point. Or at the very least it would be a milestone—a hammered notch as they progressed towards something. Yet, Cassian wasn’t naive: he wasn’t expecting Nesta to fall into his arms and never leave. But he hoped that it might make Nesta see their connection—not the tie between them, but the chemistry that Cassian knew would forever exist even if the mating bond was severed.

From the very first moment his gaze had settled on the haughty, vicious sister Cassian had known. Had nearly been brought to his knees—the heart-stopping moment so powerful, it suspended time as he felt something turn inside of him, as if something that had lain dormant had finally snapped open an eye.

And because of that Cassian would willingly allow Nesta to forge the reigns when it came to whatever it was between them. He could go slow. He would take the chance that Nesta might grow to accept him, even as he was seized by the terror that she might grow bored and draw a line under things before he had the chance to prove that he was worthy.

Cassian took a deep, steadying breath that made his ribcage heave. Thought of the lullaby that sat in his room at the House. Used that to ground himself and banish the painful thoughts.

Nesta had cared enough to gift him a piece of his past that nobody else had ever gone to the effort to find for him. And that was… everything. It was everything to him.

“I can hear the worry grinding gears in your brain.”

Rhys was standing where Mor had been a few moments earlier, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his eyebrows raised. Cassian hadn’t noticed Mor slip away. Couldn’t even recall what she'd been saying to him. Had he ignored her? He didn’t know. Didn’t really care. They all knew he was head over heels when it came to Nesta anyway.

Cassian blinked. It took him a moment to process Rhys’s words, but his body finally caught up. An instinctive grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he commanded his eyes to sparkle, even though it was all fake. “I was under the impression you didn’t think I had one.”

Rhys didn’t chuckle or retort with something dry. Sometimes his brother allowed him to indulge in his self-deprecating behaviour, but it didn’t seem like today was one of those days. Instead, he cut to the chase. “They’re fine.”

Cassian bristled. Didn’t bother to pretend his mind wasn't solely on what was happening upstairs. “Feyre’s speaking with you now?”

Nesta would hate that. Would know if her sister was communicating to her mate whilst they were talking.

His brother’s laugh was as smooth as velvet. “No, she locked me out. It’s a habit she’s started recently and it’s usually coupled with the mental finger.”

This time, Cassian’s smile was genuine, as was the chuckle that chased it. “Feisty.”

“You have no idea,” Rhys responded with a wink.

Mor, who had breezed back to Cassian’s side with a new cup of coffee, rolled her eyes. “We do actually, you two are like rabbits.”

“We’re mated,” Rhys replied with a wave of his hand. “It’s to be expected.”

Mor lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Cauldron, I need to bed someone rather than hearing about my cousin’s exploits with my best friend.”

“Head to Rita’s and find yourself a pretty fae,” Cassian drawled, tugging Mor into a one armed hug.

“Mmm,” Mor hummed, but she chewed on her lip again. Glanced nervously at Azriel, who was in deep conversation with Elain. His shadows were tucked in neatly to his frame rather than trailing, ever-moving and loose around his body, but Cassian knew he could hear them.

Cassian dropped a friendly kiss to Mor’s head before he let her go. Tussled her hair, grinning mischievously when she squawked in disapproval.

As if sensing that his cousin wanted a change of subject, Rhys looked square at Cassian. “Azriel will come over later to update you on the latest movements.”

Cassian sobered as if someone had poured icy water down his back. “Not later,” Cassian corrected firmly.

Tomorrow. No the day after that. Cassian couldn’t guarantee that he’d be able to stop once he’d had his first proper taste of Nesta.

But of course they couldn’t do that—wouldn’t. The situation in Illyria was too dire for them to be so selfish as to lock themselves away for days.

It didn’t mean Cassian didn’t want to, though.

“You’ve got plans?” Rhys asked lightly and Mor froze.

You’ve got no idea, Cassian thought. But then realised his brother knew. Of course he did. Surely everyone in this room knew how desperate he was to get back to Illyria. To have Nesta in his bed again, writhing and moaning, their bodies slick with sweat as they moved in unison.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian grounded that desire between his teeth, until it was nothing but broken, delicious shards that scraped down his throat. His blood coiled. “Yes. Maybe.”

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

Biting back a sigh, Cassian nodded. “I know. Come at noon. I suppose I’ll be camped out in Illyria for the foreseeable future.” He cast a stern look at Mor. “Send me letters.”

“You have a housemate,” Rhys reminded him. “You’re not going to be entirely alone.”

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

He grunted and unable to stop himself, he voiced the fear that always niggled away at the back of his mind. “For now.”

But Rhys just loosed another manicured shrug, that was at odds with the ground-breaking revelation that followed it. “For a long while. Nesta has expressed her desire to remain in Illyria long-term despite the discontent. Assuming you don’t mind sharing your bungalow.”

It felt as if an iron band of hope was clamped around Cassian’s chest. He stared at his brother. Tried not to blink. Crossed his arms firmly over his chest, protecting his heart. “And you know this how?”

“Nesta spoke with me. We have arrived at a truce, of sorts.”

That must have been what they’d spoken about yesterday on the balcony. He wanted to know more—everything—but Cassian would not press Rhys. If Nesta wanted to tell him, she would. He had to respect that.

So, he bit back his curiosity and grumbled, “About time.”

Rhys clapped his hand on Cassian’s back, but there was something wary in his expression, as if there was something he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Finally, he said, “Patience is a virtue, brother.”

“I’m not the patient sort.”

“You are when it counts,” Rhys countered, and Cassian didn’t say anything because they both knew what he was referring to. Rhys had been the first to know. Had witnessed Cassian in a tangled web of despair and longing and unwanted visions. His brother had immediately put two and two together. Because he’d been there, too. Knew what it was to want someone you thought you couldn’t have. To hope that someone might finally grow to see you in colour rather than in black and white.

Cassian cast another look towards the empty doorway and the quiet hallway beyond it.

A shiver of anticipation ran through him. It was time for them to go home.

***

In the end, Cassian folded to his worry and had Elain fetch Nesta from upstairs. It was time to go, he’d insisted, even though there was no true reason as to why they needed to leave quite so quickly.

“No guesses required to identify why you want to head back to Illyria,” Mor muttered out the side of her mouth, as the creak of the stairs a few flights above heralded the sisters return. Cassian jabbed his elbow into his friend’s ribs and Mor yelped through her grin, even as she had to sidestep, the nudge throwing her off balance. “What? It’s all over your face. You think I can’t read you after five hundred years?”

“Don’t announce it to the room,” Cassian muttered darkly under his breath, “and you won’t find yourself torn to pieces.”

Mor briefly bumped against his arm, the jostle affectionate. Unfazed by his threat, she glanced sideways at him with rich chocolate eyes. “I won’t. We just want you to be happy, you know.”

Cassian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Now isn’t the time for a lecture about finding a more suitable mate.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t meant to voice what he’d kept inside for so long.

Mor’s eyes widened, but she wound her arms around his waist. Cassian allowed her to tuck herself under his arm. His friend scented of citrus and cinnamon. When she craned her neck to look up at him, her expression was glowing with sincerity and Cassian realised that she hadn’t been insinuating that Nesta wasn’t right for him at all. “We’re all cheering you on from the sidelines, Cass, I promise.”

The muscle in Cassian’s jaw flexed. He looked away from her, towards the doorway again, unable to help himself. “Don’t say anything.”

She tightened her grip on his waist. “I won’t. I promise.”

“She doesn’t want it.”

Mor untangled herself from him. Shook her head in disagreement. “She does. She just isn’t ready to admit it yet.”

They both fell quiet as Nesta walked through the door with Elain and Feyre. The first thing Cassian noticed was that she scented of water and salt—tears.

Heart pattering with concern, Cassian quickly scanned Nesta’s expression and body language, searching for clues. But Nesta remained close to her sisters rather than apart, her fingers snagged in Feyre’s, her expression not in tatters but smooth and calm, like still waters.

“Ready to go?” Mor chirped from beside him. “I can winnow you back when Sala arrives.”

Nesta’s grey-blue eyes slid to Mor. “I called her on my way down.”

“Then you have time to see the snowdrops you gave me before you leave,” Elain responded eagerly, tugging at Nesta’s arm. “The cuttings took well to the soil. I planted them beneath the shade of the birch trees near the river.”

Cassian watched Nesta disappear into the garden. Surveyed the way a strand of golden brown hair that had escaped her loose braid floated on the breeze, as if it was part of the element rather than separate, as Elain bent to show her the snowdrops.

Yet despite the clear ease to Nesta’s movements, Cassian couldn’t help but ask Feyre whether everything was okay when she came over to hug him goodbye.

“We’re fine,” Feyre assured him, as together they watched Mor tentatively sit beside Azriel on the couch. For once the Shadowsinger’s shadows didn’t lighten, but Azriel still turned to her, drawn by some magnetism as she began to speak with him.

Slim fingers closed around his. Squeezed. “Thank you for fetching the book of fairytales for Nesta.”

The strand of ebony hair that had wrangled free of Cassian’s hair tie tickled the side of his forehead as he inclined his head. That had been a long time ago, when Nesta was a viper that he dared to poke with a stick, just so he could get a reaction. “Of course.”

“You travelled all that way on barely healed wings just to fetch a book.”

It wasn’t just a book, but Cassian knew Feyre understood that, so he only grunted, “Az took me most of the way. He waited to winnow me back.”

But Feyre’s eyes were burnished, as she asked, “Is there anything you won’t do for my sister?”

“It depends,” Cassian replied honestly. Because although he’d rather die than see Nesta hurt, Cassian wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to her when her fire was ill-wrought. And that’s what he liked about the both of them: if he was an ass Nesta told him straight, and he did the same for her. A grin slashed across his face. “Your sister has claws and teeth when she’s angry.”

It wasn’t long before Sala landed on her four large paws in the garden, prompting goodbyes. Mor winnowed Nesta and Sala, whilst Az’s scarred hand closed around Cassian’s arm.

Together, Cassian and his brother passed through realms of shadows and light and raging wings. Then Illyria was taking shape before Cassian bit by bit: there was the sting of winter on his cheeks, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the scent of pine and untamed air. It felt like that wonderful first heave of your lungs after being starved from air. It alerted Cassian senses—woke him up.

Not bothering to say goodbye for the second time, Azriel bled straight back into shadow, but Mor raised a hand in a parting wave from where she stood beside Nesta and Sala. Her long golden hair caught on the breeze. It tussled behind her like its own puff of wind, before she vanished into nothing.

When Cassian’s eyes snapped to Nesta, he found her standing with her eyes closed, breathing in the wilderness of their surroundings. After a few beats, Sala jumped onto her hind legs, climbing up Nesta’s body with her snow-crusted paws to knock her head impatiently against Nesta’s.

A breath of laughter clouded in front of her as Nesta ruffled Sala’s ears. She murmured something Cassian couldn't identify in the manticore’s ear, before Sala dropped onto all fours and padded through the snow in the direction of the main camp.

Cassian watched the manticore go. He suspected Sala was going to seek out the widows camp and check everything was in order. It was the kind of thing Nesta would fret about—that whilst she was warm and fed, others might not be extended the same courtesy.

Or, the dark part of his mind whispered, she wants Sala out of the house.

You can fuck me wherever you like in the bungalow, Cassian.

The many needles of thrill pierced through him just as Nesta met his stare from across the snow. Suddenly, Cassian didn’t know what to say. His tongue felt swollen and thick in his mouth, words suddenly as viscous as tar. The atmosphere had altered—the aura surrounding them despite the distance suddenly heavy with promise: a change that pointed to something new.

The siphons on the back of Cassian’s hands glowed in anticipation. Nesta merely raised an eyebrow at him. Turned. Walked towards the house just as he caught the thick scent of jasmine and vanilla on the wind.

Cassian’s nostrils flared as it wound around him; invisible ropes of arousal. And then he was moving, following Nesta’s footprints.

His friends had winnowed them to the back of the house, halfway between the small stone outhouse and the backdoor. They weren’t far from the bungalow, but it felt like miles as Cassian stomped noisily after Nesta, his boots compacting the snow as if they were grinding shards of glass into powder.

When Cassian drew up behind Nesta, she already had a hand half-raised towards the door. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she was a whirlpool of warmth. It sucked him in, begging him to line his torso against her back, so when she cursed, realising she hadn’t taken her gloves off, Cassian didn’t hesitate to reach over her shoulder and rest his palm against the wood, encasing her.

The touch of his bare skin—or Nesta’s—was the key to the magical lock. A thunk sounded as the bolt released but Cassian didn’t push open the door—was too preoccupied with the female before him—who had twisted to stare up at him.

As soon as their gazes snagged, history began to knit together in a rush of thread, until it was a tangible, living thing. Because this moment had been written in the stars as soon as Cassian had seen Nesta in her amethyst dress in the human realm; her hair wielded into a mighty crown, her expression haughty and defiant, yet burning with the potential of a life not yet lived. They’d denied that history, even as it waited patiently in the wings. It had watched as they danced around each other, fumbling and snarling their way to this very moment—

They moved in unison. Cassian’s head bowing just as Nesta reached upwards; her body bowing to his, her palms sliding across his jaw until they were around his neck. Their lips met with a force that rattled Cassian’s bones. This wasn't a brush of a kiss. This was immediate and awakening: Nesta tasted like life and breath, like destiny. And yet again, Cassian knew with startling clarity that they were meant for this, he and Nesta. They were meant for each other and nobody could tell him otherwise, including her.

A soft breath whooshed out of Nesta as her back hit the door, but then Cassian was pushing it open, guiding her inside in a whirlwind of noise and wreckage.

The scrape of wood on the flagstone tiles sounded as Nesta’s back knocked against the table before Cassian turned them, his wings grazing against cupboards and the cool walls. Items clattered and shattered, but Cassian used his wings to keep a check on his surroundings, the touch guiding him to the left-hand wall where he could press her against the wall and devour.

Because Cassian could not tear his mouth from Nesta’s. Couldn’t stop tasting her. Couldn’t stop craving the roll of her tongue and the sound of her guttural moans. It fuelled a fireball inside of him; it roared into life in the centre of his heart, before spreading throughout his limbs, rushing through his body until it settled deep in his groin, aching and burning—screaming for relief.

When they finally hit the wall, the thud of their bodies shook the cabinets and the porcelain within it. Without thinking, Cassian took the brunt of it, his hand flying to cup Nesta's lower back and head to purposefully shield her from the hurt.

Because he was coarse and rippling, galloping towards a primal sort of wilderness that Cassian wasn’t sure he could control.

If Nesta was ignorant to the fact or wholly aware Cassian didn’t know. All he knew was that her hands were scrabbling at his leather like dancing flames, tugging him closer.

When he pressed his body over hers, aligning every inch of her to every inch of him, she whined.

Cassian swallowed it. Slanted his mouth across hers. Tucked his wings in tight as every muscle in him tensed in anticipation.

Nesta tasted of chai and vanilla and embers with a destiny to roar.

Another strangled noise came from her throat as Cassian sank his hands deep into the hair at her scalp, coaxing strands free from her braid as his fingers threading through her hair, just as he had done the night prior when he’d coaxed her to sleep. But this wasn’t a soothing touch. This was a touch to startle every nerve ending to life.

Time began to bleed around them, but Cassian only registered the fluidity of the frantic dance they had not learnt. The way Nesta arched into him as his palm slid back to span her waist. The pant of her breath against his skin. His heaving chest. The way his wings began to spread again of their own volition, like a fan unfolding to reveal a secret pattern—as if they were controlled by nothing but the ache of his cock as it strained against the leather of his pants.

As if in acknowledgement that his body was no longer ruled by him, his hips slanted upwards of their own accord. It was a desperate bid to relieve the ache, and his throat vibrated with a thunderous growl as Nesta dug her nails deeper into the leather of his jacket, using it for leverage as she arched into him.

Something turned further inside of Cassian, like a lock beginning to grind as a key turned. And then it felt as if he were plunging beneath water; ducking into the depths and travelling beneath an invisible barrier before emerging on the other side buoyant and surging with power.

Ruby crashed through his veins, like the walls of a dam broken free and… singing light. Magic roared so loudly in Cassian’s ears that he no longer heard the galloping beat of his heart or the sawing of their breath.

Reeling, he tore his mouth from Nesta’s. Her eyes were just as wide, puddles of startled moonlight—endless mercury—and Cassian didn’t need to look down to know that her hands were wreathed in silver.

For a moment they stared at one another. Time slowed until it was sluggish around them and then the feeling receded, as if Cassian was being carried by a wave as it was dragged unwillingly from the shore on thundering feet.

Sound bled back into Cassian’s ears, like raindrops slowly blotting paper. A moan whispered on a wind carried through him, the words fleeting—her name three times, like always—before they dispersed into nothing and ragged breathing filled the hole.

Fuck, they needed to be careful. He needed to be careful if just kissing her led to some transcendental experience. Cassian knew Nesta became open during sex—had seen tumbled images of tangled limbs and heard her moans—and he couldn’t afford to lose her when she had finally let him in. Couldn’t let her down, even though he wanted nothing more than to finally be found worthy by someone.

That twisted rope between them couldn’t widen and strengthen. Couldn’t finally open and click into place with a consensual snap.

Because Cassian had heard stories of mates who had gone to bed. Who had fleetingly accepted what they wanted in their hearts but not in their minds. And after they had both finished and life had been breathed into that bond, only death could sever their Cauldron-blessed connection.

Cassian would not have a mate with regrets, but he didn’t have the will-power to deny himself of her any longer. Not when he could scent how much Nests wanted him. When he could feel it like an unquenchable ache in his bones—an ache which made him tremble and shake. His rocky warrior exterior ground to nothing but sand.

As if Nesta could read his thoughts she tipped her head back, baring the column of her neck.

A resounding guttural sound dragged from his throat. The noise was animalistic and unchained. A booming crack ricocheted around the walls, the muscles in Cassian’s back burning as his wings snapped outward.

Something toppled from somewhere and crashed to the floor, but Cassian didn’t bother to raise his head to look at what it was.

And then time seemed to both slow and drive into a frenzy. Cassian launched at Nesta’s neck at the same time he tugged at her hair, urging her head to fall back even farther.

His lips were against the column of her throat in the blink of an eye; his teeth scraping, his mouth sucking until her blood pounded in his ears. Nesta’s knees buckled but Cassian quickly pinned her body to the wall, holding her up, his knee sliding firmly between her legs…

And… nothing. There was no panic or sensation of being trapped—no sudden fire launching him back thirty feet—but Cassian still tore his mouth from Nesta’s neck. Had to know she wasn’t panicking. “Ok?” he rasped.

A frown burrowed Nesta’s brows. Her swollen lips parted in confusion. Somehow it made her look more beautiful.

Cassian raised a shaking hand to trace it away. “Nesta. Are you ok?”

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

When Nesta spoke she was short of breath, the words an exhale. “Don’t hold back.”

Cassian practically arched into her at the words but he made himself remain still, even as his body vibrated with tension. His bones creaked but he held fast.

That stubborn, beautiful chin lifted and Nesta’s eyes glinted wicked yet pure. Always an oxymoron, his Nesta.

“Don’t hold back,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. She pushed her hips against his thigh and the friction had her lips parting, a shaky breath tumbling from her lungs. “I can take it.”

The words were like slashing knives of pleasure, severing the leash on any control Cassian thought he had.

The subsequent rush of air Cassian loosed was akin to a snorting horse.

Then he was moving and their mouths were fused together again, their tongues a delicious push and pull of control and pleasure before he yanked away.

“Thank fuck,” he gasped. His hands flew to her hips, guiding her to ride his thigh. “Thank fuck, Nesta.”

The friction had Nesta moaning, her fingernails digging so hard into the leather of his jacket Cassian was sure she had dented the material. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but the living fervour that clawed at them.

His hands were everywhere at once. Tangled in her hair. Sliding over her cheek. Cupping her ass. Attacking the buttons at the back of her dress, until they popped and scattered. Until he could pull the material down her arms, exposing tantalising creamy skin.

At the first sight of her breasts, Cassian growled. He bowed his head to capture a nipple sharply between his teeth before he laved over it with his tongue, smoothing over the wound. He relished the way Nesta cried out. Arched into him. She began to tear at his jacket. It snagged on his wings but Cassian shrugged it off until it hit the floor with a thud.

The first slide of Nesta’s palms beneath his tunic was like oil sizzling in a pan. Cassian hissed as the callouses of her palms scraped deliciously over his skin and scars and ink. Snarled as she made quick work of the stays and fastenings. Tried to focus on her other breast as she inched her hand beneath the tight leather fabric and eased him free.

Fingers wrapped sinfully around him, causing Cassian to snarl around a peaked nipple—to buck sharply—pressing them more firmly against the wall.

“Don’t bother,” Nesta moaned as Cassian wrenched desperately at the fabric of her dress, trying to coax it further down her body. She ground down onto his thigh as it to emphasise her point—her need—and the heat of her burned.

It was all Cassian needed to hear. He fumbled desperately with her skirts until a hand was under the material and sliding up her thigh. Until fabric ripped and her underwear fell away in what Cassian imagined to be a ripple of lace.

In one swift movement, Cassian lifted Nesta’s body upwards, until her legs were gripped tightly around his hips and her back was flush against the wall. Her hands flew to find purchase, grappling at the back of his neck, and when she was steady she raked her hand purposefully through the hair which had come loose from his tie. Tugged at the leather until his hair fell over his face. Whined. Tangled her fingers through the ebony strands as if they were her reigns.

Cassian splayed the hand that wasn’t supporting her body against the cold wall. Tried to catch his breath, but the position evened out the height between them. Just a slight movement would allow him to capture her lips with his, and Cassian couldn’t deny that demanding tug that drove him to devour. Nesta seemed to feel the same way. Moaned in relief as Cassian tasted her as if he couldn’t get enough, gave back as good as she got. Over and over they moved, until they were nothing but an undulating wave of tongue and teeth and groans. The pleasure was a surging, roiling entity. It was all consuming. It overtook Cassian’s body, demanding that his hand drag from her ass straight to her core.

When his fingers slid through wetness, Cassian’s groan sounded like thunderous defeat. He dropped his head to Nesta’s collarbone. Gently pressed his lips to her clavicle. To her shoulder. Tried to ground himself as he slid straight to the spot that made her keen—as pleasure ignited down the bond like a crashing wave. Brushed over it again and again and again. Relishing in the noises he coaxed from her. At the curling fists of desire that clenched agonisingly inside of him.

Cassian had to see Nesta fall. Had to look into her eyes as she broke.

But he wanted to be inside of her when it happened.

Cassian was reaching for his cock at the same time that Nesta let out a broken moan. “Do it,” she breathed. There was no bite of authority in her voice, as if all of the energy she had directed in the pursuit of pleasure had smoothed over the serrated edge of her personality he loved so much, leaving a softer version in its wake. “Please. Just—”

A satisfied snarl ripped from Cassian as he felt her want. And in that moment, Cassian knew there would be nothing gentle about how this was going to play out. It was going to be rough and frantic, riding a wave of pleasure that had been building for too long. Knew afterwards that they would sink to the cold floor in a mass of tangled limbs and mingled breath.

And Cassian wanted that. Had never wanted release so badly in his life.

Something clambered in the back of his mind. Something he needed to remember, but his limbs were moving of their own volition. He didn’t even bother to pump his cock or squeeze it to relieve the tension. Only cared about finally being inside of her.

The heat and slickness of her was sinful and divine when he lined himself up at her entrance. The hand he had braced against the wall came to span her cheek. It relied on Nesta clamping on tightly to his waist with her legs and the press of his torso against hers, but they managed it.

Shaking, Cassian raked back the hair that had fallen free from her braid back from Nesta’s face, just as she tugged him in for a bruising kiss.

There was a moment when everything paused and trembled. As Nesta pulled away and stared at him, her eyes swimming silver—glowing with it—her pupils obscured.

His magic surged at the sight of it. Crashed against his skin as if it was trying to escape. His siphons burned bloody.

“Cassian,” Nesta panted. Despite the keen desperation, there was cushion to his name. Gently, Nesta bowed her head until her forehead rested against his. The gesture was surprisingly tender. It tugged at his heartstrings, triggered his hips into movement as they finally pushed forward.

The tight heat that wrapped around him like velvet was so immediate that Cassian swore. Sweat trickled down his back and seeped into the tunic Nesta hadn’t gotten round to discarding. He trembled as Nesta’s breath stuttered and he felt the burning pain mixed with pleasure as he sunk in an inch. Felt the stretch of Nesta’s body as it strained to fit around him.

Claws dug into his back—Nesta’s nails—biting into his skin, until the metallic tang of blood infused the air.

Cassian’s body stilled before he even had a second to register that he needed to stop. That instinct buried deep to make sure she never hurt.

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

“No,” Nesta moaned. She shifted her hips and Cassian sank a little deeper. That pain flared again through the pleasure and Cassian grip on her turned vice like.

Sense stumbled into his desire addled brain, like a fawn on gangly legs.

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

He bowed to bury his face in the crook of her neck but Nesta whined. Tilted her hips again, urging him deeper. “Nesta, stop.”

“No.” Her whimper was doused in frustration, but all Cassian could feel was that sharp needle of pain.

He tried to pull back, but Nesta clamped down around him with that incredible strength of hers. The strength that only seemed to appear at times of desperation or anger.

Cassian’s jaw flexed, his features hardening. “I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Nesta countered, defiance colouring her expression.

“I am,” Cassian retorted, not allowing for a passing beat of their hearts to pass before he replied. “I’m hurting you. Don’t pretend that I’m not.”

I can feel it, Cassian wanted to explain, but didn’t. Knew somehow that if he did they might not end up joining at all.

Desire fogged Nesta’s mind and it fuelled the punch to her next words. “I don’t care.”

Ire punched through Cassian’s desire enough for him to see red. “Well, I do,” he snapped.

Nesta’s nostrils flared at his tone and her eyes burned silver. Cassian wondered how everything had gone southward so quickly—they were on a sinking ship and he needed to patch it up. Knew she felt rejected. So, he kissed her and pushed back that unquenchable ache he felt for her. Knew it hit home because she gasped softly into his mouth, her surprise tart on his tongue.

He pulled out. As soon as his cock fell free that pain throbbed and ebbed. But Nesta moaned all the same.

Moaned again as he drew his head back to stare at her.

She surprised him when her eyes remained open rather than closed off. There was no hard shield. Nothing but want and a vulnerability that made his heart squeeze.

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

He kissed her again. Trailed a thumb across her swollen lips, ignoring the desire that roared as Nesta sucked it into her mouth, her tongue darting across the top before the bit down lightly.

“This is how things are going to go,” Cassian murmured lowly, pulling his thumb out of her mouth and across her jawline, trailing the wetness all the way to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Nesta shuddered.

“I’m going to get the door and send whoever it is away,” Cassian continued. He paused to let the words sink in. Lowered his head to trace a path with his nose, up the slope of her shoulder, all the way up her neck until his lips were grazing the shell of her ear. “You will go to your bedroom. When they’re gone, I’ll find you.”

Another shiver coursed through Nesta’s body. Her fingers tightened around his neck.

When Nesta next spoke, Cassian knew he’d piqued her interest. “What then?” she demanded.

“Then I’m going to make you come until you see stars.”

Nesta’s entire body froze. For a long moment, she didn’t so much as breathe, but Cassian felt the throb of her blood and magic as it pounded against her skin.

Then, Nesta’s hands worked between them, until her small palms were splayed across his chest. She pushed firmly, indicating that she wanted to get her down. Her body slithered to the floor, her lean legs falling away from his body.

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

Nesta lifted her chin. “Hurry or I’ll start without you.”

A breath heaved at Cassian’s lungs and he felt his pupils contract, pushing out his irises until they were swallowed by black. The image of Nesta sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but skin, her legs open, a hand moving between her legs had that coil within him tightening to the point of pain.

A growl spiked through the air as another knock sounded at the door.

Nesta must have known she’d wrangled back control, because she arched a cool eyebrow at him. “I thought you were going to answer the door?”

A dark chuckle forced its way out of his chest, but it was mechanical rather than true. Because there was nothing funny about resisting Nesta right now and his body seemed to know that.

Cassian reached for her before he knew what was happening. Rested his forehead against hers. Breathed once. Twice. “I need to calm down,” he confessed.

Nesta snickered, but the sound fell flat as her breath hitched upwards at the end. It betrayed the effect he had on her, even as she said silkily, “Did the image of me pleasuring myself get you hard?”

“I was already hard,” he growled. He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. “As you well know.”

A hand reached between them. Stroked over him—the touch feather light but tantalising enough that Cassian bucked into her touch.

And then cunning words, “Maybe I’ll let you watch.”

A string of swear words left Cassian’s mouth. He yanked back from Nesta, as if someone had tugged firmly on a leash. Tugged up his pants and jerked ruthlessly at the ties until they fastened, trapping his cock back into the leather.

With a growl, Cassian waved a hand towards the living room—to Nesta’s room to the right of it. “Leave before I fuck you against the wall, Nesta,” he barked.

Nesta’s sly laugh skittered over his skin, and without pulling her dress back up to cover herself, Nesta sashayed through the nearest arch and disappeared.

*** It had been Mas and Roksana at the door, laden with bags full of groceries and supplies from the market. With full access to the house, there was no reason why they shouldn’t have just come right in. Which meant Mas had suspected somehow, enough so that she had left the bags on the front step and remained standing with Roksana a few feet back.

“I am sorry Sinta, but the meat might spoil,” the housekeeper had apologised as soon as he’d opened the door, his hair a tangled mess from where Nesta had yanked it free of its tie. He hadn’t had the sense to recover it from the floor, but he had righted his tunic and fastened his pants.

And thank the Cauldron for that, because Roksana peeked up at Cassian with wide eyes from her position of safety behind Mas’s legs. He didn’t know when Lorrian had brought the youngling back to the camp, but Cassian guessed it hadn’t been easy on the two of them to take a little girl out of the warmth and back into the snow.

Cassian tried to soften the eyes that he knew were a little wild. He raked his hands through his hair and sent them his most disarming smile, but there was fuck all he could do about his scent. So he thanked her, trying to keep his voice light and conversational. Ordered her to take the rest of the day off.

To the housekeeper’s credit, she did not linger. Had merely nodded and rushed Roksana back into the snow, towards the main vein of the camp.

Yet, whilst the housekeeper’s interruption had been unwanted, it did grant Cassian some breathing space as he rammed perishables into the cool box. Because even though Cassian would allow Nesta to decide how this all played out, he needed to lay down a rule of his own: he could give her the space to decide what she wanted—for him to prove that he could be what she needed—but there was one thing he could not suffer through.

And if they had stormed ahead in a hurricane of lust; with Nesta’s back against the wall as Cassian pounded into her… Well, it would be too late for Cassian to lay down his one condition once they were sweaty and sated. Nesta was more likely to get up and walk away. To not look back.

Cassian found Nesta sitting at the dresser in her room re-braiding back her hair.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Cassian opened his mouth to explain who had been at the door, but an iron band closed fast around his chest, robbing him of breath.

“What are you wearing?” The words came out of him eventually, entirely uneven to the point of being choked.

Because Nesta was wearing his shirt. It was the same steel blue shirt she’d worn that first day in Illyria. The shirt that was an identical match to her eyes, purchased before Cassian had realising what his subconscious had done. A shirt he’d had to hide away in the spare room because Cassian hadn’t been able to bare seeing it in his closet—of being reminded that his mate was a ghost who had banished him away.

Go home, Cassian.

Nesta met Cassian's eyes in the mirror. Announced with cool simplicity, “You ripped my dress.”

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

An indifferent shrug. “Why wear my own clothing when I know what fate it will suffer?”

Cassian knew his nostrils billowed, but he remained propped up against the doorframe. Pretended he was stuck to it like glue because his body was trembling for him to launch across the distance and claim her mouth. Her neck. Her.

The silence seemed to unnerve Nesta. Cassian knew that from months of living with her. From months of studying her slight tells when her masks slipped.

Right on cue, Nesta reset her posture—a gesture that most people read as defiant. But Cassian knew it was also a sign of nerves. She shrugged with feigned indifference, even as her throat tightened and that damned pulse fluttered temptingly against her throat. “You liked it the last time I wore it.”

Cassian huffed a breath. He had liked it the last time she wore it, even if she’d been so gaunt that he’d worried she might wither away. But the shirt… it had put images in his mind that Cassian had long tried to store away, imprisoned in rock and flame: her in his clothing, not fucking other males but him, her lithe legs wrapping around his waist as he sank deep—

Which brought Cassian neatly to the point he needed to discuss with her…

Nesta’s eyes tracked Cassian in the mirror as he peeled himself out of the doorway and came to stand behind her. When their eyes locked into place, it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. There was something deep in Nesta’s gaze that made it feel as if he was tumbling down a rabbit hole, that magnetism between them drawing him in like gravity.

When Cassian’s fingers brushed Nesta’s neck—ran down the braid she had draped over her shoulder—Nesta shivered. “You had your hair down then,” he rasped. Didn’t wait for her to protest, as he slowly coaxed the tie free from the end of her hair.

Nesta turned preternaturally still, watched him gently part her hair in the mirror until it fell free from her plait, his calloused fingers brushing over her skin as he coaxed her hair to fall down her back.

The pulse hammering at her throat and the warmth radiating from her skin were the only indications that Nesta was alive rather than stone.

Only when Cassian had finished and lifted his hands from her neck, did Nesta come back to life.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. But she cocked her head slightly to dissect him. “It’s a nuisance like this. It gets in the way.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cassian corrected, his voice rasping, like sand scraping against skin. He ran a hand through her hair as if to emphasise his point, his fingers running down, down, down until her waist.

When Nesta stood and turned into the warmth of him, Cassian scented what she wanted. But there was something else simmering in her expression—surprise. As if she’d caught the truth in his words and hadn’t expected someone to truly think her beautiful.

She stepped closer, until the lines of her torso ghosted his. Until Cassian’s heart pounded so hard he could hear the frantic tempo of it in his ears. Nesta tilted her head back so she could stare up at him and Cassian’s hand weaved through the mane of her hair before he could stop himself.

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

But Cassian waited. Waited for Nesta to reach up on tiptoes and press her mouth to his.

The kiss was not like their bruised, desperate kisses from earlier. It was coaxing and unsure; the tentative beginning of something that was not merely fuelled by ardour. But it soon blossomed into something more, like a snowball rolling down a mountain blanketed white, gaining speed as it grew and grew—

Dragging his mouth away from hers, Cassian fought for breath. Battled to remember what he needed to do and say. But then Nesta was tugging his head back down again, her fingers tangled in his hair, the gesture indicative of an insistent need that Cassian knew would not go away.

As always, Nesta tasted divine. Addictive. He could taste the curl of her power on his tongue—silver and white, life and death—and he wondered if she could taste his. Knew his siphons were glowing scarlet—

“Nesta,” he murmured hoarsely, her name a caress against her lips. He couldn’t invoke a distance between them, couldn’t stop touching her. His nose brushed hers as her drew back an infinitesimal amount. Closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply, summoning courage. “You can dictate how this goes between us. But if we do this, I can’t—there’s no-one else. Just you and me.”

The subsequent pause was one of the worst of Cassian’s life. It was barely a breath. The blink of an eye. But it felt as if it was malleable and elastic, drawn out by the hands of fate as everything suspended in time.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, but in the end he managed it. Caught Nesta’s eyelashes flutter downwards, casting shadows on her skin. Her fists tightened in the fabric of his tunic, anchoring him to the moment.

She swallowed. Shook her head. Agreed with a conviction he had not been expecting, “No-one else.”

The relief that swooped through Cassian was so fierce it was painful. But he still didn’t dare to believe it.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger so Nesta could not look away. So he could look into the deep waters of her irises and know she was telling him the truth.

But her gaze was steady and unwavering, as he demanded, “Say it again.”

His voice cracked but Nesta didn’t appear to notice. Her grip on him tightened. “No-one else,” she repeated on an outward breath.

A low, ravaged moan sounded from Cassian’s throat. “Diyosa,” he murmured, slipping into Illyrian. Goddess.

“Bruha,” Nesta corrected. She fumbled over the pronunciation but Cassian felt as if he had been an ember that had burst into flame. Witch.

He let out a rough bark of laughter. Then he swore in a long, drawn out moan. “No Illyrian,” he ordered roughly. Pressed his mouth firmly against hers, the kiss searing. “Otherwise this will be over far too quickly.” Another kiss. “And I want to take my time.”

The smile Nesta painted against Cassian’s lips was feline. “You’ve made a lot of promises, General. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

Cassian snarled. Spun her body until her back was cradled against his chest. “I have, haven’t I?” he mused lightly, even though the hammering of his heart must have beat a betraying rhythm against her shoulder blade.

In the mirror, Nesta’s expression grew less poised and controlled. Delight mixed with anticipation clung to her features at this game they played; this tussle for control. She did not try to wrangle free from his hold or shift uncomfortably in his arms at having her back enclosed against his.

It thrilled him—that trust. Enough so that when he met her eyes in the mirror, Cassian found that his irises had been swallowed by his pupils until they were only a ring of chocolate gold.

Slowly, Cassian brushed Nesta’s hair over to one shoulder with his left hand. Traced his fingers down the arc of her neck to her collarbone. Continued a path down the centre of her chest, to the pyrite which glittered between her breasts.

When his fingers met the first button of his shirt, Cassian toyed with it. Purposefully grazed his nose against the shell of her ear. “Shall I start here?” he murmured. “Undress you in front of the mirror whilst you watch?”

Nesta suppressed a shudder, but Cassian caught it. Could swear he felt her blood boiling beneath her skin as he slipped the button free of its hole. Then another. And another. Until there were no more buttons and the material hung free.

Leaning back into his body, Nesta rested her head against his chest. Curved her back slightly so her chest thrust upwards, silently instructing him where she wanted his hands.

And Cassian couldn’t deny her. He turned his palm so it was face up and curled into a loose fist. Brushed his knuckles down her sternum all the way to her bared naval, before bringing it back up. His fingers ran up the side of the material free of buttons, until he was at her collarbone—her shoulder—leaving a litter of goosebumps in his wake.

This time, Cassian snickered when she shivered. Dropped a slow and deliberate kiss to her bare shoulder as he slowly, slowly inched the material down, down, down over her arm. Repeated the motion on the other, until the shirt pooled onto the floor, exposing her bare body to the mirror: endless creamy skin, divine curves, the luscious full weight of her bare breasts, and… lower.

Nesta’s eyes, which had been tracking the fabric as it fell away, snapped to his as a feral growl ripped from him. And she moaned at the expression on his face. Grabbed at his hands, pulling them to her body.

“Touch me,” Nesta hissed, but it came out strangled. Almost pleading. Another crack in her armour as it broke and fell away.

The sight was enough to threaten Cassian to his knees. He guided her body backwards, his hands splaying firmly across her stomach despite her whine, until his legs hit the edge of the mattress

Neither of them broke eye contact in the mirror. Not when Cassian coaxed Nesta down to sit on the bed with him. Not when he pulled her between his legs, her back firmly against his chest. Not when he bowed his head to kiss the slope between her neck and shoulder.

When Cassian finally brushed a thumb over her nipple, Nesta back bowed so fiercely Cassian was thankful he had an arm strapped across her stomach.

The small noise she loosed fuelled his fire and Cassian held on to her. Stroked over that peaked nipple again as Nesta careened into his touch. Followed it with a firmer roll with his thumb and forefinger. Used the fingertips of his other hand to draw slow, tantalising circles across the silken skin of her lower stomach, before he moved southwards…

The air around them hushed when Cassian’s fingers stilled. Anticipation built and only when it vibrated with tension did Cassian slide his hands to cradle Nesta’s hips.

A snarl of frustration, but Cassian paid the sound no heed. Only grazed his thumbs over Nesta’s hipbones. Watched her expression in the mirror—the way her face contorted as she squirmed into his touch as if she was a puppet on strings. Ground back onto him, pressing into that building ache that was bordering on painful.

Fuck, Nesta.

Cassian wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or in his head, all he knew was the blessed, fleeting relief he felt as he bucked into the small of Nesta’s back on instinct. He was rock hard and thirsting to be touched, but the thickening scent of Nesta’s arousal pulled his focus.

A groan rumbled from Cassian’s throat as Nesta’s hand darted between her legs. He caught her wrist just in the nick of time. Kissed the heart of her palm. Rumbled into her ear, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

His voice was coarse enough that Nesta shivered, the goosebumps travelling down her skin like a cresting wave. She didn’t struggle against him, nor did she move to disobey him as he dropped her wrist. Instead, she waited, trembling and shaking at every pass of his thumbs over her skin.

Cassian buried his nose behind the shell of her ear. Breathed Nesta in, steadying the drum of his pulse.

Not once did he take his eyes off of hers in the mirror, especially as he murmured, “Shall we find out if you’re wet for me?”

Nesta squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if the movement would steady her. Swallowed hard. It was so unlike her to take stock, to show any signs that she was rattled, that Cassian softened. He nuzzled at her neck, trailed a line of kisses instilled with promises. A hand flew up to tangle in Cassian’s hair, keeping him there.

“Yes.”

The word stuttered out of Nesta on several staccatos, but she forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror. Watched as he pulled her tighter against him and hooked her legs over his thighs so she was spread wide. Slipped his hand across and down…

The first ghost of a touch had Nesta panting through her nose. The second had her gritting her teeth. The third had her moaning, her back bowing so sharply as he skimmed straight over the place she wanted him the most.

Her head hit the centre of his chest with a resounding thud that had his bones creaking, but she did not look away from him. Seemed to know the game they were playing without him having to express it.

When Cassian brought his fingers lower and discovered just how wet Nesta was, he had to force his wings in tight to his back to hide his surprise. Growled, “You’re soaked.”

Pleasure and embarrassment twisted in Cassian’s stomach, and Cassian wanted to tell her that it was not something to be ashamed of, that he wanted her just as much as she clearly wanted his fingers between her legs.

Her eyes glinted steel, her stare commanding. “Make me come—“ she ordered, but Cassian chose that moment to roll his finger over that spot at the apex of her thighs.

The command bottomed out of Nesta as she inhaled sharply. Satisfaction bloomed inside of Cassian; because he may have done this countless times before but barely enough with her. And nothing seemed to matter apart from him seeking out her satisfaction. Of learning about what made her body freeze with pleasure and what made her come undone. “There?” he murmured into her ear, repeating the movement, before he passed his fingers down further. Until they were at her entrance, playing gently before he drew upwards and circled.

This time, Nesta groaned. Her hips jerked sharply beneath him, tilting, guiding him to just the right place.

Picking up on the cue, Cassian increased the tempo and friction until Nesta’s hips were rolling in a punishing rhythm against the hard length of him.

And Cassian snarled in satisfaction, his fingers tightening around her hip in a plea for her to keep moving—to not stop pushing back on him—because it was blissfully good. The rapid tightening in his groin was almost painful, the cord so tight that Cassian thought it might snap. But he couldn’t stop Nesta, not when she looked so bewitching, the arousal so stark on her face as he stroked and circled and pressed.

Burning pleasure clambered to its peak and Nesta’s eyes grew so heavy they fluttered closed. Something unintelligible left her lips, her head tipping back into the heart of his chest.

When Nesta’s arms wound around his neck, her knuckles accidentally grazing the leather of his wings, Cassian part-snarled, part-roared. Swore. Held her even tighter as his wings snapped out high and mighty behind him. They wrapped around Nesta’s body before Cassian’s pleasure-fogged mind could stop them curling towards her, starved for her touch.

Fuck, he was unhinged. So desperate for relief—in the scent and feel of his mate—that his control was barely there. Enough so that he didn’t react when Nesta reached out her hand—

Sense knocked Cassian for six only when Nesta’s fingers were millimetres from touching the membrane. He drew back his wings so fast the air around them stormed, but he swooped in before surprise could register on Nesta’s face. Dipped his chin and coaxed her head even further back so he could claim her mouth.

The taste of her lips was as vital as breathing, the scrape of her nails on his scalp grounding. He moaned into her mouth at the same time as she whimpered. His hand was still moving between her legs, interchanging the same three patterns over and over again, mixing things up as soon as Nesta’s moans grew too untamed: he wanted to draw out her pleasure, not sate it with a few choice strokes.

Pulling away, Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. Coaxed her to dip her chin until she was looking back at their reflection in the mirror: ebony and golden brown, tan and cream.

Nesta’s irises were wisps of silver, but when he traversed past that bundle of nerves so he could slip two fingers inside of her, they flickered into living flame.

That was indication enough that she liked what he was doing. Cassian had quickly learnt that Nesta became completely readable between the sheets, that mask slowly crumbling away until she broke completely.

Curving his fingers as much as he could, Cassian pressed upwards hard—again and again— revelling in the strangled sounds Nesta made. The way she writhed but tried her best to hold his gaze.

Cassian dropped a lingering kiss to the crown of Nesta’s head. Murmured into her hair, “Is that good, sweetheart?”

The only response Cassian received was a long moan which extended into a whine as he withdrew his fingers. Then a sharp cry as he swept them upwards, swirling them in a well-practiced motion that had Nesta’s lower half seizing in pleasure.

Cassian circled again. Again. Firmer. Faster. Nesta’s cries grew louder, her breathing became more laboured. A silver wreathed hand flew to his forearm—not to stop him, but to keep him there.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” Cassian scratched out.

In vain, Nesta attempted to burrow her head into his shoulder, but Cassian’s voice dropped out of soft and into the role of general within the fraction of a heartbeat. “Eyes on the mirror, Nesta, or I’ll stop.”

It seemed to take all of Nesta’s energy to fight her leaded eyelids and meet his dark eyes in their reflection. When she did, Cassian’s magic roared and pounded beneath his skin, as if it was trying to break free and join Nesta’s. There was a pressure and power fuelling the sensation that was separate to him. It was like the magnetic force which rules the relentless ebb and flow of the tide—that desperate crash followed by a scrabbling, thundering retreat.

That twisted rope between them grew corporeal, tugging at their ribcages as if it was clambering to remind them both of its existence. Of the cost of this exchange.

Something deepened in both of their gazes, but if Nesta had felt what Cassian had, she gave no indication. She only arched her hips back into his, grinding backwards.

Cassian loosed a rough groan that skittered across the shell of her ear. Her gaze was purposeful but hooded, as if she was in a continual battle with the pleasure weighting her eyelids.

“Good girl,” he praised as Nesta’s eyelashes fluttered from the strain of maintaining eye contact. And then his fingers were everywhere at once and Nesta’s moans fell away to short gasps that rose in volume.

Nesta tightened her fingers around his neck, scrabbling for purchase, for some sort of tether as her pleasure launched high into the air. The hand that had been at her hip, steadying her, encouraging her to roll back on him moved to her breast; cupping and pinching and rolling as she stuttered pants and words that Cassian couldn’t make out.

When Cassian slid two fingers inside of her again and pressed down firmly on her clit with his palm, Nesta’s cry was wild.

“Look at me,” Cassian ordered as Nesta’s eyes flew shut. His voice was resonant—startling—even to him. It punched through the bubble that had encased them—their entwined scent—and Nesta’s eyes snapped open.

For a beat, time seemed to stand still around them. Their gaze fastened back into place and for a moment, Cassian could see a conflict of thoughts swirl in the magic of Nesta’s irises.

He froze just as anguish crashed down that bond, right into the heart of his chest.

It knocked the breath from him. Confusion rattled inside of his head but he came up empty of answers. Had he gone too far? Had he hurt her somehow?

“Sweetheart—“ he started, but stopped. Unsure of what to say because he could still smell how much she wanted this. Could feel how soaked she was. But perhaps that was what the mating bond did. Fooled reason with an overwhelming drive to pleasure and claim.

Cassian went to draw his hand away but Nesta’s hand whipped out, her fingers curling around his wrist. Desperation flooded her next words—the plea in them stark. “Don’t stop.”

As if to punctuate her point, she rolled her hips. His fingers slid over her of her own accord and she stumbled a moan. Light barrelled down the bond and Cassian’s blood spiked, thrilled as he felt the truth of her words, as she ground back into him again.

“Fuck that feels good,” Cassian grunted into her ear. His hips pushed into the small of her back, accentuating his point. It chased the delicious reprieve from the ache in his cock, even as he knew this moment wasn’t about him. As he pulled her back into the solid muscle of his chest, steadying her movements so he could pick up where he left off: so he could watch the pleasure whip away her conflicted expression until her eyes were once again blazing with the promise of flame.

Silver mist climbed from Nesta’s fingertips into the air. It crawled over the glowing ruby siphons across the backs of his hands, past the corded muscle of his forearm and the rolled up sleeves of his tunic, to his chest, his neck…

A sheen of metal shone in Cassian’s eyes, flickering across his irises so they appeared to turn a metallic gold. The lick of Nesta’s magic didn’t burn. It was a rush of heat—the tender caress of a lover’s kiss instilled into his skin over and over again, ascending Cassian to another realm of pleasure, as if he’d climbed a staircase to an entirely new place.

It felt like an extended method of foreplay Cassian had never been privy to before, lighting up every nerve ending until he was so hard he could cut stone.

Gritting his teeth through the pain-cloaked pleasure, Cassian focussed instead on Nesta’s bare skin.

The tempting fullness of her breasts. The way desire had completely rewritten her countenance. The way she whimpered and then cried out.

Cassian sped up his movements. Until his fingers were no longer teasing, but dancing over her with sure, quick movements designed to thrust her towards a crescendo.

Nesta’s magic swirled into flame, the heat of it a licking promise down Cassian’s limbs. He groaned, swore at the exquisite pain on her face as she hung at the precipice, ready to plummet into rapture.

Her climax became a tangible, living thing and Cassian wanted to see it play out for as long as he possible could. Wanted to see her break for him again and again and again.

So, he waited until she reached the summit and when she was there he slowed down his movements. Ordered through her whimpering, “Look at me Nesta.”

Metallic irises met his, and then Nesta was trembling and shaking in fits and bursts as her release ripped out of her like a taut cord cut loose. Cassian drew her orgasm out as best he could, suspending that pleasure until finally Nesta slumped against him, spineless.

She turned her head to bury it in his shoulder and Cassian let her. Stroked her hair. Pressed a kiss to her sweaty head. Murmured, “Good?”

Slowly, Nesta nodded, but for a long while, that was the only communication he received. But Cassian let her recover. Watched the way her ribcage moved as she heaved for breath. Relished the way her body was splayed out over him, her legs held wide open from where they were hooked over his thighs.

Unable to help himself, Cassian brushed over her sex. Delighted in the way Nesta shuddered rather than batted him away. Fresh desire reignited across her expression and Cassian played gently for a few minutes, revelling in the wetness that had gathered from her release.

Finally, Nesta lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” Cassian replied hoarsely, his heart squeezing at the genuine fear in her words. He let out a rough laugh, passed his fingers lightly over the knot at the apex of her legs for the last time before he withdrew them.

Nesta moaned softly, even as her brow twisted into a small frown.

“It felt good,” Cassian elaborated. He kissed her shoulder at the same time that he pushed his hips into hers as if to demonstrate just how much he’d liked her magic. “I’m being strangled to death in these pants,” he confessed.

When Nesta cocked her head, her hair moved in a golden tangle. Then she smirked. Unravelled her limbs from him and turned.

Nesta slung her legs over his waist so she was straddling him just as Cassian’s hands caught in her hair. A booming sounded as his wings snapped out and fanned behind him, settling like falling fabric.

“We can’t have that,” Nesta remarked, her breath a whisper against his skin.

“No,” Cassian agreed roughly. “It’s your favourite part.”

Nesta snorted a laugh, but it was not derisive. “Egotistical bat,” she muttered.

A slow, smug smile was Cassian’s only reply. Because he was more focussed on her mouth. With the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms as he ran them up her legs and over her rounded ass. His touch was a promise as he tugged her into his body and ground up into her core, the seam of his trousers doing nothing to relieve the damning ache in his cock.

Together they gasped, and then, as always, they moved at the same time, their mouths slanting one another within a fraction of a second.

The heat of Nesta was liquid, the touch of her smoke—feverish and everywhere all at once. It was the same heat that had roared into existence when Cassian had pinned her against the wall earlier, yet… better somehow. Passionate and awake rather than fogged with lust. Life-giving.

A shuddered groan was pulled from Cassian’s chest as Nesta’s hands slid beneath his tunic and met his burning skin. And then the tunic was on the floor—the rest of his clothing was torn from him soon after. It all happened at such speed Cassian could barely keep up, but when Nesta reached for his bare, burning skin—the tattoos on his arms and the faint scar on his stomach—her fingers were gentle.

“Battle scar,” Cassian panted in explanation, as Nesta’s fingers lingered on the silvery tissue that wound over his lower abdomen: a permanent reminder of what had happened to him during the final battle with Hybern. “The trauma was too great for Madja to heal completely.”

“I remember,” Nesta replied shortly and she looked so fierce that Cassian reached for her. Cupped her cheek with his palm.

“Still breathing, Nes.”

Nesta nodded, but when she kissed him this time there was something fierce and desperate about it, her fingers burying deeper into the mane of his hair.

And then a hand was trailing down his skin and closing around his cock. The touch was sinful and a glimpse of the heavens. When he hissed into her mouth, Nesta gripped tighter—until pain laced the pleasure—just how he liked it.

His groan was that of rumbling thunder as she began to move her hand. It was everything Cassian needed, but it was too much, too good. He scrambled to hold on to some sense of control, because he’d never been this close to losing it from just a few touches.

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

The realisation thumped through Cassian so loudly his heartbeat punched like a fist against his ribcage.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

Nesta’s eyes shot to his, but rather than looking startled she arched a challenging eyebrow.

“If you so much as try to put my cock in your mouth I’ll explode,” Cassian rasped.

Before she could protest, he was gathering her to him and had slipped a hand down between her legs.

Just the touch of his fingers had Cassian seizing back control. Nesta stilled at the sudden pleasure, as if she was trying to coax time into suspending the sensation.

“Still so wet,” Cassian purred against the tip of her ear.

Gliding his fingers over the centre of her, Cassian paused briefly at the apex of her legs, toying with her clit, before he ran them back down. When he drew his fingers back, rubbing them together and raising them to the faelight, they glittered.

Nesta’s nostrils flared as if she was an animal in heat. And Cassian knew before he spoke that his voice? would be what pushed them over the edge. But he said it anyway, his voice dropping impossibly low, “Is this all for me?”

Nesta launched at him until their mouths collided, until they were nothing but a clash of teeth and tongues, their skin so flush they may as well have been fused together.

Burying her fingers deeper into the tangled mane of his hair, Nesta tugged sharply. Met his gaze head on. Demanded, “Fuck me.”

All it took was those two words. Cassian moved, flipping them so Nesta’s back was flush against the mattress. He covered her body with his and Nesta whined at the contact, her body bending and arching towards him as if she were a plant and he was sunlight.

Cassian ran a hand up her bare thigh to her ass, coaxing her leg to bend, but Nesta was too impatient. She broke free from the weight of his body, repositioning herself until legs were wrapped tightly around his hips.

An uneven laugh choked out of him. “So stubborn,” Cassian chided darkly, but he allowed his hips to fall into the cradle of hers. Hissed as he loosed his control and thrust so his cock could glide through her centre. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Nesta, fuck.”

Nesta’s breathy whine fuelled the sparks of pleasure that crackled through him like static energy. He kissed her hard. “There’s a high probability I won’t survive this.”

The snort Nesta loosed tried to sound unaffected, but her voice shook as she accused him, “Liar.”

But he wasn’t lying. And Nesta knew it. She had to know it because his walls were now shattered around them in splintered shards.

Yet, Cassian found himself assuring her. “Not lying," he grunted as he passed over her again. Pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth—a parting goodbye as he moved to kiss the underside of her jaw, down the column of her throat. Down further, to flick his tongue and scrape his teeth over both nipples.

He moaned when she moaned; their sounds a chorus of want until he couldn’t take it anymore. Cassian’s claws clipped around the metal of the bed frame at the same time that he pushed off of the palms that were framing her face, until he was on his knees before her.

Despite the desire coursing through him, Cassian’s head was nothing but clear as he slid his hands under Nesta’s ass and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her so that the undersides of her thighs were flush against his knees.

Nesta’s hair was tousled over the pillow, her lips swollen and parted as she surveyed him. When she tried to wrap her legs back around his hips, Cassian held firm. And despite the fact that Nesta listened to nobody, she allowed him to bend her knees and press his calloused palms to the insides of her thighs in silent instruction.

They fell open and a growl rumbled in Cassian’s throat. His hand was fisting his cock, lining it up to her entrance before he knew what was happening. But then he remembered the pain from before. And even though Nesta was more than ready for him, the thought of hurting her made him feel physically sick.

When he moved away, Nesta let out a strangled noise. A hand shot out, closing around his wrist. “You said you’d fuck me.”

Cassian wanted to explain, but that meant alluding to that tie between them, that instinct that couldn’t allow him to see her hurt. Cassian knew Nesta wasn’t ready for that. Knew that if he so much as breathed a word about it that this precious moment would fall away.

And Cassian was selfish. He had to see how this played out. Had to know if Nesta could grow to accept the bond between them—deem him worthy enough to accept something that was Cauldron blessed.

So, he only drawled, “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

One swift movement had Cassian gathering Nesta into his arms. This time, he allowed Nesta’s legs to wind around him. She gripped him like a vice and Cassian knew it wasn’t from fear of him dropping her. When he sat back against the headboard and guided her onto his lap, Cassian expected her to bite out a comment about doing all of the work, but Nesta only let out a pleased sound. Weaved a hand back into his ebony hair. Wrapped a tight fist around his length, twisting once at the tip, before she guided him to her entrance.

Cassian hissed a curse as she closed around the head. Murmured her name into her mouth. Gripped tightly at her hips when she didn’t stop sinking down on him, as he felt that pain mixed with the sweetest pleasure.

“Nesta.” The way he said her name was firm and commanding, but he still had to dig his fingers hard enough into her skin that he was sure it would leave temporary bruises. The thought made him falter, but then that sharp pain flared again as she resisted against him, and he knew that the bruises were a necessary evil. “Nesta,” he barked, “Go slowly.”

Something creaked and cracked between them. A stretching, growing pain reached its fingers down that bond, the sensation strong rather than constricted as it fought to make its way down their usually thin tie.

Nails dug into Cassian’s neck. A whimper sounded in his ears as Nesta fell forwards, burying her face into his neck. “Please,” she whined in frustration. “Cassian—”

She broke off as she clamped down around him and Cassian felt an ebb of pleasure cut through the pain—that promise of something more.

“Don’t make me hurt you, sweetheart,” Cassian pleaded and the rawness in his voice stopped her resisting against him. He eased a hand between them, touched her right where she wanted him. Allowed her to tug his face upwards so she could kiss him. It was infused with desperation and Cassian eased his hold on her hip. Allowed her to lower herself downwards until she had slid another inch deeper. Continued to stroke her until Nesta began to shake.

“I’m going to—,” Nesta gasped against his mouth. Her body trembled and Cassian’s blood roared at bringing her to the edge again so soon, despite the pain. “Cassian—”

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

Nesta’s snarl whipped around the room, but Cassian smoothed the sound away by fusing his mouth on hers. She stopped shaking but the sharp bite of Nesta’s glare pierced its teeth through his flesh in a flash of silver.

“It will be better if you wait,” Cassian gritted out in explanation when they parted. Nesta’s breath gusted against his skin. “And I don’t think I can hold on if you come so soon. You feel so good, Nesta. So tight.”

As if on cue, Nesta contracted around him and Cassian ground his teeth together so hard that the muscle in his jaw worked. But he let Nesta slide down on him another inch. Then another. And another. Until their hips were finally flush with one another and that pain had bled away until it was nothing.

The moaned words that fell from Nesta were indistinguishable, but he felt her tremor. Felt that surge inside of him as Nesta repeated herself with a whine that indicated she was toppling over the ledge of control, like a glass teetering before it fell.

And then she was moving and Cassian let her. He was unable to think or breathe. Could only focus on the feel of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian groaned. His head thunked back hard against the headboard as she ground her hips into his, testing the feel of him. “This is better than I’d dreamed.”

No soft snicker, only an untamed whine. Then teeth scraping a sinful path down his neck to his pulse.

Cassian’s hips kicked up hard as her teeth nipped.

“Sorry,” he gasped, because even though Nesta had told him not to hold back, he was still concerned about hurting her. But Nesta’s fingernails bit into his skin and her body moulded to him—a delicious second skin—as she inhaled sharply. “Again,” she demanded with a fierceness that did not allow disobedience. “Do that again—”

It didn’t take a second command for Cassian to thrust up hard. And true to her word, Nesta took him all. Did not change her mind and ask him to hold back. Instead, Cassian knew that this was exactly what she wanted—no, needed. She needed this punishing rhythm just as much as he did.

And it felt… incredible. Beyond anything Cassian had ever felt before. The blood roaring in his ears intermingled with Nesta’s cries and the slap of his hips meeting hers, was the only thing he could hear, his senses narrowed down to the sensation of her wrapped around him, so tight …

It was too good. It threatened to break him, to take everything that he was and reform it entirely, as if he was going to shatter and be pieced back together as someone else entirely. The air around them became taut with pressure, tanning leather stretched too tight over a rack, as if their joining controlled one of the essential elements.

“Cassian.” That one word threatened to break him. Not bat or it or you, only his name falling from her lips as if it was their secret. “More.”

Exhaling a curse, Cassian planted his feet firmly on the mattress and thrust up with as much vigour as he could muster. The movement had them slipping from their upright position and Cassian’s claws absent-mindedly closed around the metal bed frame, strapping them in for the ride as his body coiled and tensed as he slammed into her over and over.

Nesta cried out. Grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they moved together as if they had been made for this moment, their wild gasps melded together until they were one.

Only when release teetered too close to the edge did Cassian drop the rhythm. Cupped the breasts he had dreamed of more times than he could count. The breasts he’d had the privilege of seeing bare and glorious only twice before.

Capturing a nipple between his teeth, Cassian scraped his teeth hard enough that Nesta stopped rocking and angled her hips until he was pressing impossibly deep inside her. She whimpered. Clenched and unclenched. Throbbed in a way that told him she was as close as he was—that if he wasn’t so close himself, he could drive her over the edge with a few well-timed thrusts.

The understanding had him letting out a jagged groan. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

A whine in response, but Cassian didn’t let it go. He raked back the hair from her sweaty forehead. Pressed his lips to her swollen ones in a lingering kiss. Watched the frown that knitted her brow as she was overtaken by the feel of them.

“What do you need, Nesta. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

Nesta wound her hands around his head, buried her face into his neck. Began swaying and circling her hips in a rhythm that was dictated purely by the chase of pleasure. “Just… this,” she panted. “I just need this.”

Then it was only the licking fire of her breath against his skin. The magic that curled around them like a heated blanket and the building anticipation of both of their releases, which pulled at him like a strange sort of magnetism, begging him to fall with her in unison.

“Cassian—” Nesta began in warning, but he had already felt her begin to quake, as if the ground was moving beneath their feet—the mountains trembling.

That pull became a driving force—a cresting wave of pleasure so profound that Cassian felt that twist inside of him—that signal that he was about to join her.

He groaned, jerking his head back so it collided with wood, the pain grounding him enough that he could say, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Nesta broke, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask it of her. Her cry was muffled and Cassian wanted to tear her mouth from his neck—to hear her break for him—but then she was sinking her teeth into his skin right over his pulse.

Roaring, Cassian kicked his hips up hard on instinct as she marked him, but the shock distracted him. Clouded the desperate clamber of his release so he could hold himself back.

Cassian held tightly onto Nesta as she slumped against him. When she lifted her teeth from him, Nesta whined like an animal. Dragged her tongue over the dent she’d made in his neck—once, twice, three times.

He shuddered. Couldn’t help it. Turned his face into her hair. Breathed her in. The gesture was tender, like an animal tending to the wound of a significant other—its mate.

And wrapped in this moment, Cassian could almost believe that this was something more than sex for Nesta as her forehead came to rest on his collarbone. As she kissed the hollow of his throat. Then the knot. His lips.

“Good?” Cassian asked softly. He lifted a hand to her face, ran a calloused thumb over her cheekbone.

Nesta made a rare, content sound that vibrated through him like a balm. She leant into his hand, her eyelashes swooping down.

When she finally pulled back to survey him, her eyes were still dark. She shifted her hips. Moaned quietly. Rasped, “You’re still hard.”

It was a miracle Cassian hadn’t followed. If it hadn’t been for her teeth in his neck, Cassian would have been wrestling with the embarrassment of finishing too soon.

“I was too preoccupied with your teeth in my neck.”

A flush crept its way up Nesta’s face, like vines reaching their wicked encroaching fingers up a wall. But she raised her chin. “You wanted me to do it.”

It was true, he had wanted her to. And he wanted to do the same to her—to mark her as his so everyone would know that she was off limits for the brief hours before her body healed.

“And what about you?”

The patter of Nesta’s heart broke into a sprint. It was the only thing that betrayed her feelings, her expression devoid of any reaction. “What do you mean?”

Cassian leant forward until their noses brushed. Lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want me to bite you, Nesta?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. If she had wings, they’d have flung wide by now. Would have collided with furniture and cut through air.

That was answer enough.

In one movement, Cassian lifted himself up and over, until Nesta was on her back and he was pressing her body into the mattress. Breath gushed out of her lungs but it was not from fear, not as Nesta turned herself out bare and tilted her chin for him—for once not in defiance but as an act of vulnerability—of complete and utter trust.

Every instinct in Cassian clambered to the surface, but he closed a fist around it until its life fluttered against the cage of his palms and fingers: his to control, rather than the other way around.

Slowly, Cassian lowered his nose to the exposed skin and breathed her in: her scent and the life that pummelled beneath her skin, the roaring of her blood as it crashed through her veins. It took everything in him not to move inside of her, to thrust up hard and feel the way her breasts would move against his chest.

“I could do it right here,” Cassian murmured, his mouth ghosting over the pale column of her neck until he came across that pulse. He brushed a tongue across it.

The movement was a mirror of what he’d done before in the human realm and Nesta knew it. But this time she did not jerk back from him demanding what he’d done. Instead, her body drew up beneath him, exposing more of her neck, begging for more.

Cassian groaned, raking his teeth over that swell at the same time that he pushed in deep. Nesta’s groan was guttural and everything. His blood turned molten, so hot that he expected his skin to melt away until he was nothing but bones.

“Please,” Nesta panted, her fingers tightening around his back.

Another flick of his tongue over her pulse. “Do you want me to bite you or fuck you?”

“Both.”

That was enough to loosen the fist on Cassian’s control. He sat back on his knees, prying her hands from his neck, coaxing her fingers until they were above her head and clasped around the railings of the headboard. Nesta’s breasts rose with the movement, her peaked nipples so tempting he bent to take one into his mouth. Then the other. Suckled until she mewled and her nipples were no longer rosy but red from his attention.

Cassian lifted his head and surveyed Nesta. Warned her, “Hold on tight.”

And then there was no thinking, no worrying or desperation to hold back. It all came as easy as breathing, their tempo,the snap of his hips and the shift of the mattress as her body shouldered the impact. At some point, Cassian’s body fell over hers, needing to feel every inch of her against him. His wild, punishing rhythm dropped into a rough rocking that was intimate at the same time it was claiming.

Nesta didn’t seem to mind—let out a pleased moan of consent, her legs clamping tighter around his hips until they were flush with hers. When he next moved she whined, and Cassian felt that change inside of her—somehow—that twisting fist of pleasure that glimmered down the bond, pushing against the walls of that thread, pushing it wider and wider, like a heart expanding.

Silver-wreathed fingers tugged his head down until Nesta could claim his mouth, fusing them together so they were complete. Cassian shuddered as her fire cascaded from her fingertips and down his body. His magic, attracted to hers, began to suck out of his pores, but it didn’t leech him of power. Instead, it was like his magic was searching for its mate, desperate to be reunited.

Then that sensation again, as if Cassian had ducked beneath something and had come up for air somewhere else.

Ruby greeted silver like a long-lost lover, blending until their magic was a metallic sheen of scarlet—a fog that misted their bodies, rubbing tantalisingly against their skin as they rocked and moaned their way to release.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta begged desperately through stuttered breaths, and Cassian wondered how many times she’d reached this pinnacle with other males only for it to be taken from her.

Cassian’s hand found its way to her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek as that coiled release twisted across her devastatingly beautiful face. “Can’t,” he panted honestly, his other hand searching for hers across the mattress until he was clasping it—holding on for dear life. “I’m so close, sweetheart. You have no idea how good you feel.”

“Come with me then,” Nesta pleaded. Her eyelashes had fluttered downwards as she took in a sharp breath of pleasure, but now they opened. Stared deep into his soul. “Come with me—”

Then her body turned both loose and taut, clamping yet completely molten as her release ripped out of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore. Invisible hands clasped around his ass, tugging him deeper—deeper. Everything in him tightened as Nesta crashed around him, and that siren called to him, singing her name, over and over as pleasure clawed at him, desperate to whip out of him.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

Cassian launched at her neck, his teeth sinking deep enough to claim as Nesta cried out, her body trembling as he continued to thrust into her, wringing out her release at the same time he desperately clambered towards his own.

He managed to pull out just in time, his teeth still deep in her neck, his release spilling hot onto her stomach in bursts of pleasure.

And even though Cassian had vowed to bite her and Nesta had already marked him, he found himself apologising at the red, angry dents in her skin. How was it that he couldn’t bare to hurt her but biting her neck was a completely different story?

“Sorry,” Cassian rasped. His mouth was as dry as a desert as he gingerly touched his fingers to the marks, but Nesta’s fingers clasped around his, halting him. Then she raised her other hand and brushed her knuckles over the identical marking on his. Reminding him that she’d done the same—had been the first to do it.

“I liked it,” Nesta admitted brazenly, but she didn’t stop him from dragging his tongue over the marks. Shivered instead. Held his head to her.

“That was intense,” Cassian rasped eventually against her ear, after the quiet had settled over them like a blanket. He nuzzled at her neck again, unable to help it—just one more precious moment like this until he had to pull away.

When Cassian pulled back to meet Nesta’s eyes, he found that the blue bled back into her irises. “It was always going to be intense,” she replied frankly.

Then Nesta looked down at her body, as if she’d only just remembered how he’d marked her in a different way. “You didn’t have to do that—pull out. I can take a tonic.”

Cassian hadn’t wanted to pull out at all—and neither had that tie which bound them together—but that wasn’t the point. “I’d rather be cautious,” he explained—a little too shortly, because Nesta bristled.

“Neither of us have had a tonic in a while,” Cassian elaborated when Nesta’s expression hardened.

He tried not to think about how his body had been desperate to spill inside of her. For him to press as deep as he possibly could until he was spent.

Climbing off of the bed, Cassian disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a wet towel.

“A while?” Nesta queried, picking up their conversation, as he began to clean her up.

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes lest she read him. His shoulders turned rigid at the thought. “Have you been sneaking people in and out of the bungalow that I’m not aware of?” he asked.

They both knew that Cassian would tear any male she brought back to the bungalow to pieces, but neither of them voiced it.

“You go back to Velaris,” Nesta accused. “You visit the other camps.”

For a moment, Cassian stared at her. Did she believe that he’d been fucking other fae? She had taunted him in Velaris the other day, but Cassian had thought that it was just their extended, agonising tussle of foreplay.

Perhaps you should go in search of some female company tonight.

Cassian managed to huff a breath, but it wasn’t one of amusement. He knew that his expression was steely as he said, “I told you that I don’t sleep with Illyrians. And I haven’t been fucking around in Velaris.”

From the way Nesta’s expression darkened, Cassian wasn't sure she believed him.

She opened her mouth to throw back a retort, but Cassian wanted the discussion to end. If she knew he’d barely touched another female since he’d met her, she’d run the other way. It was too intense a confession for someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

“It was self-inflicted,” Cassian supplied, his tone flinty enough to warn her that he wasn’t willing to discuss the subject any further.

Climbing off of the bed to further his point, Cassian extended a hand towards her. Banished any of the rigidity to his posture. “Come stand in the tub with me.”

There was a sinful promise behind the order. Already Cassian could envisage how he’d press Nesta against the tiles, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses as he kneeled before her—

Nesta must have thought similarly, because the pleasure that sparked in his stomach was not his own. But still she studied him, her head cocked as if she was trying to figure him out. Her hair was a muss of golden brown, her skin glistening with sweat that Cassian wanted to lick off.

Nesta parted her lips, taking stock, but Cassian didn’t allow her to speak. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he vowed. Meant it. Because already he was turning hard again, that desire to have her roaring.

He’d known this would happen. Knew that finally being inside of her wouldn’t sate him but stoke the embers into flames. But Cassian didn’t hide it—utterly unashamed of this need for her. From the way Nesta’s nostrils billowed, he knew she'd marked the change in his scent.

Nesta’s eyes flicked to his cock and the she-devil smirked, her lips curving in a way that had Cassian thinking about how they might wrap around him—how her tongue might feel, how warm she’d be…

In one supple movement, Nesta stood. Took his hand, her slim fingers threading around his large ones. Raised her chin and levelled him with a smoky blue gaze that promised wicked, wonderful things. “Then lead the way, general.”

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#embersandlightfic #duskandstarlightwrites #nessian fic #nessianfanfic #nessian smut #acosf #acosf fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfic #sjmaas #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #morrigan #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #feyre #elain archeron #rhysand

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Bit Of Love... Potion?

Prompt: "I promise I won't let him draw on your face with permanent marker." "Hmmm... So can I draw on his face with washable markers?" "No!"

Pairing: Hermione Granger x fem!reader, lots of Ron Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 4.6k

A/N - This was written for @firewhisky-kisses writing challenge. This is my second Harry Potter themed story ever since I only joined the fandom like two weeks ago (very much feeling like an outsider atm) so please don’t judge too harshly. I am still getting used to these characters and the wizarding world itself. I decided to write something a little lighthearted.

Warnings - Playful threats of violence

"I'm gonna kill him," You growl loudly as you storm into the common room in search of Hermione Granger. She was one of three people at Hogwarts you would consider your best friend. The others were Harry Potter; and the other you were about to murder for catching you off guard. You held a towel around the top of your head to conceal your worst nightmare. Stray Gryffindors were settled around the room doing one thing or another as the day was drawing to a close. Hermione was resting on an armchair by the fire utterly engrossed by the massive book in her hands.

"Who?" She doesn't even bother to look up as you approach.

"Ron obviously," You groan, grip tightening on the towel to stop it from slipping. "who else would go out of their way to annoy me."

An unamused sigh falls past her lips as she finally lowers her book. "Show me,"

"No, it's embarrassing." You protest. Looking around the room; you didn't speak to anyone else in here too often so what did it even matter what they thought.

"Well then I can't help you,"

You shift your weight uncomfortably before pulling the towel off in a dramatic reveal of your beautiful head. Hermione's eyes drift over you; struggling to hold back her amusement as she finally sees what happened. "It's... not so bad," She replies quietly, a melodic chuckle drifting into the air. "Bright."

"I look like a walking highlighter." You whine, taking a seat on the arm of her chair. "Fix it,"

Hermione whips out her wand and with a flick of her wrist you assume your hair has gone back to normal. She was too good of a witch for it to not have. Reaching for her book, you inspect the cover as you slide into her lap. Absentmindedly flipping through the pages with complete disregard for where she was up to. "Ronald Weasley is gonna regret ever messing with me,"

"It is not that bad," Hermione plucks the book from your grasp. "You did slip him Puking Pastilles the other day."

"That was funny though" A smile spreads over your lips at the memory of Ron throwing up in the great hall before charging out. “This isn’t”

"He threw up all over my shoes,"

"Gross," you laugh a little. "If it had been my shoes, it'd be a different story. What should I do to get back at him?"

"Leave him alone? Show you're the mature one and move on?"

"Don't be silly Hermione," Your head falls back against the plush fabric of the chair. "Why should I stop and not him? Maybe he should be the mature one."

"He won't stop unless you stop,"

"I could hex his broom at quidditch practice," You think out loud; chewing on the inside of your cheek. "Watch him fall on his face."

"Absolutely not. You're not putting him in the hospital wing over some silly prank war."

You gently roll your eyes. "We could-"

"There's no we," Hermione interrupts. "Please do not include me in your nonsense. I'm not helping you. Can you get off me?"

Sliding off her lap and onto the floor, you rest your head against her knee. "I'll think of something- don't you worry. He won't be getting away with this."

"At least do it quietly,"

You're quiet for the moment; going over different options while staring at a tower of books on the coffee table. Next to them say some parchment and a quill. "Are those yours? Can I borrow your quill?"

"Knock yourself out,"

You grab the feather and a piece of parchment paper and get to work laying out all your options to get back at Ron. Hermione would probably kill you if you hurt him so that rules out a fair few things. You could buy something at Zonko's but at this point he'd probably see those coming; you can only slip him sweets that make him sick so many times. Then again maybe it was just simple enough to work. You scribble it down on the parchment paper anyway. Next you add the nose biting teacup but that was rather impractical considering he hardly ever drank tea. Acid lollipops were an option, they would just burn a hole in his tongue but that could count as hurting him even if it was an easy fix.

"What are you writing?" Hermione wonders, you glance up to her and smile a little. "I assume you’re not studying all of a sudden."

"Nope," You hold up the paper for her. "I'm listing ways to get back at Ron."

"Of course you are," She takes your list. "Why don't you just buy a joke wand?"

"Boring," Jumping to your feet, you snatch the paper back. "I need to do something out of the box."

"Don't come to me when things go wrong," She insists softly, returning her attention to her book.

"Things won't go wrong," You declare proudly. You'd been doing this since your second year so you kind of have a knack for pulling pranks at this point. "Have a little faith in me."

It takes a day or two but thanks to Harry dragging you along to advanced potions class at the start of the year you decide the perfect way to get back at Ron is to make him fall in love with you. Well, a weird embarrassing obsession kind of love. Commence operation; practice your potion making by creating a love potion and tricking Ron into consuming it. Not only do you get to embarrass him but it can count as studying which will keep Hermione at bay. Not that you're going to tell her because Love potions of any kind are banned at Hogwarts and she'll just insist it's a bad idea. Now all you had to do was figure out how to actually make a love potion. Professor Slughorn has made one at the beginning of the year but you weren't actually taught how to make one nor do you actually remember much about class that day. Once you figured out how you could collect the ingredients and then trick Ron into drinking it. It shouldn't be too complicated.

Every free period following is spent huddled in the back of the library, searching through what felt like a mountains of books on potions. A good portion of what you read is just the history behind the potion itself and the dangers. It wasn't a potion that would cause him any harm so there was no need to worry. Eventually, you manage to create a checklist of ingredients that consisted of;

Ashwinder eggs

Rose thorns

Peppermint

Powdered Moonstone

Pearl Dust

Rose Petals

This joke was beginning to feel like more effort than it was worth but you were determined to see this through. Ron would never see this coming. After returning all your books to the shelves, you figure getting some help from Harry is the next step. The only place to get all the ingredients was from the potions classroom or the supply room. You couldn't just walk in and take stuff without seeming a little suspicious; you also weren't exactly Slughorn's favourite student. Everyone knew it was Harry. So your final option was to sneak around.

"Harry- wait up," You run up beside him as g walks through the courtyard. Rather surprised to find him alone considering your next class was with him and Ron.

"Hey,"

"Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Depends," He shrugs. You offer him a very gentle smile, fluttering your eyelashes a little. He wasn't exactly the type to say no to you but better safe than sorry.

"Can I borrow your invisibility cloak? I promise I'll return it tomorrow."

"What for?" Your stomach sinks a little at his question. You can't risk telling him in case he tells Ron which will ruin the surprise.

"I need some ingredients for a potion and I don't really feel like asking for permission," Telling half a truth is much easier than coming up with an entirely new lie. "Please? How many times have I broken the rules for you now and I would do it again."

"Professor Slughorn probably wouldn't mind if you just asked. What are you making anyway?"

"I just wanna do some late-night practice. I'm more of a do what I want then ask for forgiveness later kinda person so can I? Please?" Emphasis on the 'please' in hopes that it will somehow help your case.

"Sure,"

"Thank you," Looping your arm with his, you begin to practically drag the poor boy through the courtyard. You couldn't be late for class again. Snape would take any excuse to punish you. "let's get to class before we both end up in detention."

Thanks to Harry's cloak, you manage to collect every ingredient needed for your forbidden love potion and get to work. You wouldn't say potion making was your worst subject but it's definitely not your best either and it was showing. After a few attempts by candlelight in the early hours of the morning, you finally manage to create a love potion. Normally you'd test a potion before recklessly using it on unsuspecting friends but there was no time or way to do that without them catching on. The last step was simple, deliver all kinds of spiked candy to Ron Weasley and pretend like everything was normal.

Sitting in the great hall, you slowly lift spoonfuls of cereal into your mouth as you listen to Neville drone on about his dream; at least that's what you hope he's talking about. Last night had wiped you out; your body was exhausted. You could just about keep your eyes open and all you wanted to do was go back to bed. Hermione was sat directly across from you, very delicately buttering a piece of wholemeal toast.

"I don't think it means anything, you're just thinking too much into," Hermione explains to Neville. You just shrug your shoulders; you hadn't really been paying attention anyway but you manage to perk up a little as Harry plops down beside you.

"What time do you call this Potter?" You scold, bumping your shoulder playfully against his.

"And where's Ron?" Hermione continues.

"He should be here soon enough. He's just taking extra care getting ready."

"Why?"

"He's trying to impress someone," Harry reaches for a bowl of fresh fruit.

"Oh do tell," An aura of giddiness envelops your words as if you don't expect the answer to be yourself. There was a chance he hasn't taken the bait yet and he just genuinely had a crush.

"I promised I wouldn't,"

"Come on, Harry. We won't tell."

"He's never mentioned liking anyone before," Hermione adds to the conversation, biting into her toast with a crunch.

"I don't know- ask him." As if summoned on cue, The redhead appears beside Hermione. He doesn't seem any different other than the smile and distant look in his eyes. Not to mention, he may have combed his hair? You couldn't be sure though.

"Did you sleep in again," She pauses for a second, her brows knitting together in a frown. "And is that... cologne I smell?"

Ron doesn't answer, he just looks at you with the expression of someone hopelessly entranced. It's a little weird but you take it as a compliment on your potion-making skills. "You alright there Ron?"

"Perfectly fine," He nods.

"Are you gonna eat something? We have class soon?"

"I'm not hungry,"

"Not hungry?" The volume of Hermione's voice catches you off guard. "When have you ever not been hungry, Ronald?"

"First time for everything Hermione," You take a sip of your water. All eyes were on Ron but he couldn't tear his away from you; that dopey grin never quite fading away. Was this how it was supposed to work? You had never seen it in action before. "I'll see you all at lunch " You announce, rising from the table. "I forgot my quill again this morning and I can't keep pretending I remember the stuff I'm being taught."

"How many classes do you have today?" Harry calls out before you can leave. You'd think he'd know your schedule by now. "I was thinking we could practice some potions later?"

"She has two," Hermione answers for you.

"Today pretty quiet for me usually but I have a study session later with Luna. She's helping me in care of magical creatures sorry," You flash a tight smile. "Maybe next time."

You had one class this morning and then one straight after lunch. Your free periods were supposed to be spent studying considering you were taking five N.E.W.T classes but you've never been one to study when you don't have to. Thinking on it, you probably could have studied with Harry in your free period before lunch but you think he has class then. The morning class is over before you know it and you're heading back to your dorm for a well-deserved nap when you practically crash into a none other than a Weasley.

"Watch where you're going, Ron."

His expression immediately brightens and he stands a little taller. "Oh, it's you, hey."

"Hello," Ron was a pretty awkward guy on the best of days but this felt weirder. A small, awkward smile settles on your lips. "Don't you have a class right now?"

"Mhmm," He nods but doesn't move nor continue talking.

"Ooookay then, well... I'm gonna go." You slide by him and scamper away. "I'll see you in a little bit."

When you imagined him under the influence of a love potion you expected less creepy staring but maybe he was just working his way up to it.

After a very short nap, that kept getting interrupted you're sat in the great hall waiting for classes to end and lunch to officially begin. There were a decent amount of students, all doing their own thing. Meanwhile the Gryffindor table was practically empty other than Dean, who was sat at an angle on the other side of the table and a couple of seventh years. You'd gotten so bored while pretending to study that Dean had suggested playing a game; this is the third match to decide who comes out on top as the Hangman champion of this free period. Three letters in and none of them had been right. The wooden frame was already drawn and waiting for the stickman to be hung

"S?" You guess.

His head shakes as he draws a wonky circle to start the stickman's fate. "Sorry."

"... I maybe?"

"Finally you got one.," it was a ten letter word and he filled in the second and eighth letters With I's.

"Can you give me like a hint?"

"I'm not gonna help you beat me," Dean replies. "Hey, Harry,"

"Harry!" You greet brightly, turning to find him towering over you. "We're playing hangman, do you wanna join? I'm about to win."

"No, you're not-"

"Did you do something to Ron?" Harry cuts of Dean. You swallow hard. Busted... or maybe not. Your brow furrows as you focus on the curled edge of the parchment you had been playing on.

"What are you talking about? I haven't done anything, I've been with Dean for like the last hour."

"He just seems very interested in you all of a sudden. I thought it was a one-time thing this morning but I've had to suffer through two classes of him talking about how cute and dreamy you are."

"Ron has a crush on her?" Dean's tone was rather playful.

"Maybe he just realised how cool I am," Your shoulders rise in a little shrug. "H?"

"Where is Ron anyway?" Dean adds the letter H to the begging of the word. You still have no clue what the word is but thankfully your two other friends finally appear just in time to interrupt. You'd rather draw by forfeit then lose altogether. Ron nearly shoves Hermione out of the way just to sit down next to you.

"I missed you this morning,"

"Missed you too Ron," You pat him twice on the cheek.

"What did you do to him?" Hermione's eyes narrow in on you.

"Who?"

"Ron obviously," She huffs. "I bumped into in the hallway and he said he couldn't wait to see you."

"As his friend, I'm happy he's excited to see me," You counter, resting your head on his shoulder. "At least someone at this table appreciates how cool I am."

"You're awesome," Ron wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight side-hug "I think I may be in love,"

Dean giggles to himself but Hermione is anything but amused. "For goodness sake, you can't be serious?"

"I'm very serious," He fights back, sounding almost offended but such an accusation. "In fact," a wave of regret washes over you as Ron gets up and climbs onto the bench in front of the now rather busy great hall. "I'm in love with-" you sink down as he shouts your name for everyone to hear. Mean snickers and playful giggles follow. You reach for his hand, tugging on his arm gently as to not hurt him.

"Sit down," you spit through gritted teeth. Heat rushing to your cheeks as if him announcing his love to everyone wasn't embarrassing enough already

You try to enjoy lunch as much as possible with Ron attached to your side. Hermione was relatively quiet but her harsh glare was enough to put you off starting anything with her. And so you mostly spoke to Harry and finished your game with Dean. The word was Hippogriff which you managed to guess before the final leg finished off the stickman. Thankfully, your next class provided a nice escape from Ron. However it couldn't stop the sly comments in the hallways and mean laughter. This joke was very quickly becoming anything but funny.

This continued into the next day, you were regretting spiking so much candy. Not to mention Hermione hadn't spoken to you since lunch yesterday and you couldn't figure out why exactly. Normally she gets a little annoyed at your silly jokes with Ron but she seemed really mad at you. And considering you share a dorm room, things were feeling very tense, to say the least.

Managing to slip away from Ron long enough for a quick conversation, you find your fellow Gryffindor sat alone having an early breakfast. "I said I wouldn't help you,"

"Huh?" You hadn't even asked her anything yet or sat down for that matter but at least she's talking to you again.

"You want my help right?" She meets your gaze as you take a seat. "What did you do?"

"I actually wanted to know what was wrong?" Which was very much true. "You seemed... upset yesterday. I don't like it when you're mad at me."

"Judging by the way he was all over you yesterday my guess is It was a love potion correct?" you're impressed that she managed to guess and so quickly too. "A strong one at that. That is the only way to explain him suddenly being in love with you."

"I'm offended that you don't think Ron could like me that way," The words came a little more defensively than intended. "am I really that bad?"

Hermione's face morphs through a sea of emotions finally settling on looking a little disheartened. You wonder what's going on in her pretty little head. "It's not that I don't think he could like you that way- maybe he does and that would be fine. You're..." She seems hesitant to continue, her head falling. "amazing. Just that's not what this is."

"You're right," You confirm, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice. "Like always. I slipped him a love potion thinking it would be funny and now it's not."

"How can you be so reckless," Compared she seemed so delicate just moments ago, she quickly bounces back to scold you. "You know they're not allowed at school."

"Worth it," A small chuckle bubbles up from your throat. It had been a little funny and definitely embarrassing plus you got to test your skills so you weren't inherently regretting your decision. You just wish the effects would fade already. "I didn't learn the antidote and I'm not spending hours in the library again."

"It'll wear off soon enough, how much did you give him."

"I made like... a cauldron full but I don't know how much he consumed."

"So it's my understanding that you idiotically gave him a lot?"

Words mumbled by your juice, you nod to convey your answer.

"Then it'll take a while to wear off."

Ron slides up beside you, taking you by surprise. The juice comes back up in sputtering coughs. "Speak— of— the devil."

"Good morning my beautiful angel," Even you cringe at that one. Harry takes a seat on your left side. "Did you sleep well?"

"You should know, you were watching me this morning," Ron pulls you closer to him. When you awoke this morning, not only was Hermione already gone but it had been quite the surprise to find Ron had snook into the girl's dorms to be with you.

"You're so adorable when you're sleeping."

"If you'll excuse me, I can only handle so much nauseating sweetness," Hermione takes one sympathetic look at you and then scurries away like she can't handle being here any longer. Something was definitely off with her. Today was gonna be a long day...

How you longed for the weekend to come early as each class tortured you with new knowledge that had to be burnt into your brain. It didn't help that Ron was getting increasingly annoying; it was like he was incapable of being alone. After the school day finally ended, you retired to the common room; both the boys joined you. Harry was complaining about how much work he's been assigned from one class while Ron seemed happy to just be near you in any compacity. Which right now meant having his arm around you.

"Here," Hermione interrupts, dropping a plugged vial onto your lap.

"What is it?"

"An antidote." She was biting back an insult or an 'I told you so', you couldn't be sure but there was a hint of aggression behind her words.

"Drink this," Before you even have time to process, Harry is shoving the vial towards Ron.

"What is it?"

"I think you should try it," Ron doesn't even question the request when it comes from you. He takes the vial and downs it in one. An unsure look is shared between you and Hermione but sure enough, Ron's goofy grin begins to fade.

"What the bloody hell happened?"

"I slipped you a love potion and you became obsessed with me." You answer. "It was funny at first but then you announced you were In love with me to the whole school."

"You think a love potion is the same as a comb that changes your hair?" The boy sank into the seat cushion, finally removing his arm from around your shoulders. "I don’t feel so good."

"He needs something to perk him up," Hermione states. If she knew that, she should have come prepared.

"He has candy hidden in his draws"

"Yeah... it's probably best if he gets rid of all that," You admit, getting up. "Wait here,"

It was only fair you provided something so you grab the last chocolate bar you had from your dorm room. "You shouldn't have messed with my hair." You declare, handing over the chocolate with an almost sad smile.

"Now you two can hopefully put this silly war to bed."

"Not likely," Your voice syncs with Ron's, and with it comes a genuine smile. It was nice he was back to normal.

"I have to get back at her."

"And how will you do that Weasley?" You drop back down next to him.

"I think I'll go back to the good old fashioned permanent marker while you sleep."

"Why would you tell me in advance?"

"Because you don't know when I'm gonna do it." He declares with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So now you'll be on edge waiting for it to happen."

In this situation, the equivalent to snitching to a teacher to prevent something from happening was to tell the only one opposed to this whole situation entirely. "Hermione tell him. You had no problem insisting I be the bigger person."

She simply rolls her eyes before turning to Weasley. "Ronald, Consider not retaliating especially with a permanent marker before one of you," she glances towards you; rightful so. "Goes too far."

"she started it," He protests, "I didn't sip her a love potion."

"You better not come anywhere near me with marker pens."

"Sometimes I think I'm talking to myself." And with that, she wonders off

"I'm watching you, Weasley," Now, you were going to have to keep a very close eye on him to assure you didn't wake up with a fake mustache or something. Jumping up you chase after Hermione.

"Thanks for helping." You fall into step with her. "I'd be lost without you."

"I know,"

"Wow. Modest." You mumble sarcastically before falling silent; unsure of how to approach the next question. "Do you like Ron by any chance?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you like Ron?" You repeat. It was the only explanation you could come up with over why she would be so angry the last couple of days. "You seemed really upset since he's been all over me so I thought maybe it was like jealousy or something."

"Don't be ridiculous," She fires back. "I don't like Ron."

"I never imagined you two together but I think you'd be sweet," You comment, intentionally trying to get a rise out of her. Hermione sighs loudly as she comes to a stop.

"Ron is one of my best friends but I don't like him in that way," From a few steps away, you turn back to her. She's clutching a few books tightly against her chest, refusing to look at you. "I swear that I don't."

"Then what?"

"I don't know," She shrugs pathetically. "I just saw him all over you and I didn't like it. You're never normally like that together and he kept pushing me aside to get to you."

"I'm not following," You're honestly more confused than before.

She approaches you slowly, still unable to meet your gaze but her lips very softly connect with your cheek. "I promise I won't let him draw on your face with permanent marker."

Her words spark a lightbulb. You've never done a double prank but perhaps now would be a good chance. You could do it to him before he gets the chance to do it to you.

"Hmmm... So can I draw on his face with washable markers?"

With a heavy sigh, she simply states her favourite word "No!"

"But-"

"No." Hermione continues walking and you're left watching her.

"Hey," You call out. "Do you wanna head down to Hogsmeade tomorrow? I'll buy you a butterbeer to say thank you."

"You just want to visit the joke shop, don't you?"

"Desperately," She always could see right through you. "But still. I want to go- just you and me."

"I would like that," She finally meets your gaze and she looks happier now. The almost set sun, casting her in such a warm, welcoming glow. Hermione was a hard girl to figure out but that's what made her so interesting. "I was hoping to get a new quill anyway."

#Hermione Granger x reader #ron weasley x reader #harry potter #Hermione x reader #hermione granger #ron weasley #harry potter fanfiction #stephs200challenge

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dumbkiri · 5 years ago

Text

Hypnotic You

Second Series for Jason Todd

Request: Mixing up requests I got in submissions.

Summary: [Name] has to come to terms that she really isn’t a fighter yet. Her mother, Diana Prince, left her in the care of Batman to help [Name] fight or at least learn how. Jason and [Name] have been partners for a long time and he is her mentor. But that all changes when he requests to go back to his team, The Outlaws. [Name] feels that she is left behind and comes across a new friend.

But this new friend of hers is another enemy of the Justice League and a sworn enemy of her mother’s. [Name]’s body is resistant to some magic, but when Hecate awakens her godly form, is she able to control her dormant powers?

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem! Reader

Genre: Mystery, Drama, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 2.5k, 6 pgs

WARNING(S): NONE???

The sun shined brightly onto Gotham City providing light and warmth in the cold season of Winter. The snow that piled up from last night's storm was gradually melting under the bright star. And [Name] witnessed the frost on her living room windows going away.

She watched her neighbors do their daily routine of mowing their luscious green grass. Their kids had the job of taking out the trash and recycling. The mother would usually watch on holding their newborn baby or she was wiping her hands on a dish rag. [Name] turned away from the normal scene and glued her eyes on the TV.

"In Today's news, Batman and Robin had stopped another criminal last night. Despite the storm, the caped vigilantes stopped the Riddler from robbing one of Gotham's finest jewelry stores. The Riddler is now being sent to Gotham--"

[Name] turned the TV off knowing that the Riddler would just escape again from wherever he's being sent to. She stayed on her couch for a while and enjoyed snuggling with her warm blanket that she got out of the dryer. Her eyes closed in happiness and she began to wonder in her land of dreams. That was until there was a knock at her front door.

She grumbled in annoyance and got up from the couch. [Name]’s sock covered feet carried her to the door and she opened it with a kind smile. There standing on her porch was her best friend and partner, Jason Todd. He was wearing his signature red hoodie with black jeans and black adidas. He stuffed his hands into his hoodie and sighed, “Are you gonna invite me in?”

[Name] snapped out of her trance and opened the door more to let him in. She watched as he relaxed and walked into her house. He took his shoes off by her door where her own shoes were placed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked and walked in front of him to stop him from entering her kitchen.

“I’m hungry,” He responded and took his hands from his hoodie. He placed his cold fingers on her exposed waist and moved her aside. [Name] recoiled from his touch and giggled, “You should warm your hands up. Oh, I’ll make you hot chocolate!”

Jason stayed silent and watched [Name] run into her kitchen. He chuckled when he saw that she struggled to reach her mugs on the top shelf. But after a few seconds, she managed to get them. “I said I was hungry, not thirsty,” Jason grumbled and sat in the barstools at the kitchen island. [Name] stopped pouring the hot chocolate and looked at him, “Do you not want any?”

“Let’s go grab a bite.” Jason asked suddenly.

“Are you asking me out to eat breakfast with you?” [Name] looked at him questioningly.

Jason sighed and walked over to her. He grabbed the mug filled with hot chocolate topped with cool whipped cream. He took a sip and relished the hot drink entering his freezing body. “I am asking you to eat breakfast with me,” He replied after setting the cocoa down on the granite counter.

[Name] smiled and grabbed a napkin from the kitchen island. She wiped Jason’s mouth to get rid of the whipped cream. She made eye contact with the male and laughed, “Yes, I’ll go eat with you, Todd, so stop your glaring.” [Name] walked away and threw the napkin into the trash. “Gimme five minutes to get dressed.”

It took her longer than five minutes to get dressed, but Jason wasn’t going to ruin her perfect mood. He looked at her outfit and he took notice how she wore gloves and a scarf. “What?” [Name] interrupted his thoughts and placed her hands on her hips, “I’m not going out there freezing my butt off like you, okay?”

Jason raised his hands up and looked away, “I wasn’t going to say anything about your fashion choices. It’s a smart idea to bundle up, I don’t want anybody blaming me if you get sick.”

“You really do care for me,” [Name] softly said and Jason scoffed, turning to the front door. He opened it and walked out. He was going to ignore her comment about how he felt toward her. Jason wasn't’ sure himself. There were days he wanted to shoot her because of her rash decisions of saving a petty criminal. Yet there were days he had the strong urge to protect her from those petty criminals. “I’ll buy breakfast!” [Name] shouted as she locked her front door.

……

“The reason why I brought you here was because we need to talk,” Jason lit a cigarette and before he could inhale the deadly toxins, [Name] was quick enough to snatch it from him.

“Smoking isn’t allowed in here and I want to enjoy my breakfast before we get kicked out.” She smiled at him kindly.

Jason grumbled under his breath as he watched the female put out the cigarette in her empty glass half filled with ice. He crossed his arms over his chest and began speaking, “I requested that we change partners or back to our original teams. Now I don’t want you to interrupt me because I need you to listen to my reasons.” Jason’s blue eyes connected with her [e.color] eyes.

[Name] remained quiet waiting for his reasons. She stopped messing with the crayons she got from the host and paid Jason her undivided attention.

“I feel as though I need to work with my team, The Outlaws, more than Batman’s sidekick. Roy said he needs some help with the team and that they’re breaking without my leadership. I am also needed on higher stake missions and not burglars who steal money from an ATM.”

“He didn’t just steal money from an ATM. He was stealing from homeless people!” [Name] whispered-yelled. She was a bit frustrated about Jason’s choice.

“Hey, I told you to not interrupt me,” Jason scolded and continued his explanation. His stare softened and his body slowly relaxed into a vulnerable state. “I’m needed with my team, [Name]. I helped you with a lot of your training and I believe you already make a fine Batgirl. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Yes, I do,” [Name] spoke up, not caring that she didn’t let him finish, “You help me make those hard decisions. You sometimes influence me, but most importantly you make me decide what I want to do. I never really had that choice with Batman and Robin. You help me a lot in those times, in our missions.”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, “Those aren’t missions, [Name]. I get it, you entered the fighting scene a little too late. But what Batman has us doing, what he has you doing is nothing compared to what I used to do with my team. We take down guys like Sionis. We take down actual criminals with dangerous agendas.”

[Name] felt small in her seat.

“And to be frank, I’m tired of dealing with those petty criminals. I want the real deal. I want to go back to my team,” Jason finished.

[Name] swallowed the lump in her throat, “Then be with your team, Jason. No one is going to stop you.”

Jason stared at her and was baffled by her response, “You-- Why are you not stopping me?” He was 100% positive that she was going to throw a royal fit. But here she was surprising him.

[Name] pushed her plate of food away from her kid’s menu. She grabbed a red crayon and began doodling. Her attention was divided now and it was because she needed a distraction. She could no longer stare in his gunmetal eyes anymore. “You said you needed your team and that they needed you. Why would I stop you if you want to leave?”

“I don’t know, I thought you would have put up a bigger fight. It’s what you would usually do.” Jason replied back and watched her aimlessly draw on her kids menu. He didn’t know what she was trying to draw and honestly he didn’t care. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he quickly looked at who was calling him. It was Roy Harper.

[Name] pretended she wasn’t looking, but she noticed how Jason didn’t hesitate to answer the call. She put her crayon down and raised her hand in the air to call the waitress. Their waitress came by with a pretty smile. “Can I have the check please?” [Name] warmly asked with her own smile. The waitress nodded her head and handed the check to which [Name] handed back cash. “Keep the change.”

Jason watched [Name]’s interactions with the waitress carefully. He noticed the front she was putting up. After all, he spent a long time with her to notice how she was doing. He focused back on the call and listened to Roy’s words. Apparently, Sionis was still in the game while in prison. It meant that the criminal had connections inside the prison to make deals outside. Jason wanted to shoot himself twenty times right about now.

[Name] waited patiently for Jason to end the call, so they can have a proper goodbye. It was rude to leave while he was on the call, but it was also rude to answer the phone when he was having a conversation with her. Yet [Name] didn’t have the confidence to communicate with him. It wouldn’t matter anyways because they were no longer going to work together. Maybe that is why [Name] felt so sad. She was growing attached to the male even if they did have their downs.

“I got it, Harper,” Jason said with the roll of his eyes, “We’ll talk about it more later and plan from there. Alright, see you guys later.” He ended the call and gave a curt nod to [Name]. “Roy called about--”

[Name] waved him off and laughed, “Spare me the details and go get the bad guy.”

Jason sighed and gestured to her with his hands, “You’re mad.”

“I’m upset,” [Name] truthfully said with a shrug of her shoulders. Her eyes were downcasted to examine her scramble of a drawing. “I thought of us as a team, you know? So being sent back to a dynamic duo like Batman and Robin kind of makes me feel-- I don’t know,” [Name] laughed and looked up at him. She waved her hands side to side, “I don’t know what I’m talking about now, my words are going to be scrambled soon if we keep talking.”

[Name] put her wallet back in her purse and flipped the straps on her shoulder. She was collecting her things. She scooted to the edge of the booth and stood up, “But thank you for teaching me the ropes and other important things. I’ll catch you on the flipside.” [Name] turned her back on Jason and hurried to exit the restaurant. She was really digging herself into a hole back there.

“Catch you on the flipside? God, what was I thinking?” [Name] scolded herself and lightly hit the side of her head with her palm. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” She helplessly muttered as she walked further away from the restaurant. [Name] walked past some people going about their business and easily dodged the shoulders of people not paying attention to their surroundings. She was surprised that she was able to notice the people around her when her mind was plagued with questions.

At this point, [Name] wanted to be home and enjoy her hot chocolate for real this time. If Jason really requested for her to go back with Batman then the caped crusader will call her if she soon. "I should go pick up Blue from the pet store. Ah, I forgot my poor baby had an appointment today,” [Name] hailed a taxi and got into the backseat while telling the driver where to go.

“Rough mornin’, miss?” The taxi driver asked looking into the rearview mirror.

[Name] gave him a small smile, “You can say that.”

The taxi driver whistled with his clapped lips. They seemed to bleed a little meaning that he was picking at the skin of his bottom lip recently. “The storm must have hit yer area hard or somethin’ if ya ain’t smilin’. The kids ‘round here are havin’ a field day! Throwin’ snowballs and jus’ havin’ some normal fun! Ya should join ‘em, put a pretty smile back on ya face, y’know?”

“I will when I pick up my dog from his appointment. Blue would love the snow and I’m sure the kids would love him,” [Name] replied looking out the window. She watched the buildings she recognized pass by with a blur. Then she averted her attention to the taxi driver. She noticed a purple ring surrounding his irises before it disappeared.

The taxi driver cleared his throat and clenched the steering wheel tighter, “He must've really hurt yer feelings.”

“Excuse me?” [Name] swallowed and stared at the man with a new sense of curiosity and suspicion. She scooted to the edge of her seat and asked again, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said he must’ve hurt yer feelings. Especially if ya have that sad look in yer eyes like someone ran o’er yer dog. What’s his name?” The taxi driver tilted his head to the side and a large pop resonated in the taxi.

Uncomfortable, [Name] leaned her back into the cushion of her seat. Her lips parted in uncertainty, “He’s only a friend and there’s no reason for you to know his name. You’re a stranger.”

“I’m more than jus’ a stranger, darlin’,” The taxi driver answered quickly. The car came to a stop and [Name] opened the door. She almost forgot to pay the man, but he stopped her with a creepy smile on his face.

“No need to pay me, girl,” He said and leaned over the passenger seat, “I want ya to know somethin’.”

[Name] got out of the car and closed the door. She bent down to listen to him talk though. She didn’t know why she was staying any longer with this weirdo. Yet her curiosity wasn’t quenched, not now. “She’s always watchin’ ya. Said somethin’ about awakening yer true potential.”

“Thank you for the ride, sir,” [Name] dismissed his words and ran into the pet store where she felt somewhat safe. She picked her phone from her purse and dialed Jason’s number hoping he would pick up as quickly as he did for Roy. It rang twice then went straight to voicemail. Might as well tell him what happened to her.

“Hey, Jason, I called to tell you the strangest thing that happened to me. This taxi driver gave me the weirdest ride ever. I-- He knew that I talked to you? Actually, he doesn’t know you, but I don’t know. It was the oddest thing that’s ever happened. He knew what I was feeling. I mean he knew-- Whatever, just give me a call back?” She said with nervousness, “He said someone was watching me. I have to hear some advice from you.”

She ended the call there and perked up at her dog barking happily. She hoped that the taxi driver was only crazy and that what he said wasn’t true. [Name] has enough to worry about.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 years ago

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Eye for an Eye

This is a request written for Peachy.

Warnings: non/dub con sex (oral, intercourse); death.

This is dark!Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader is the longtime girlfriend of a mafioso, but she finds herself in danger when a rival mob boss, Steve Rogers, looks to even a score.

Note: So this is the last of the requests I have finished atm. As I mentioned, I’m taking a step back. I’ll still be doing stuff here and there but I’m not longer going to be putting so much pressure on myself. I’m eager to get some time to just relax and think about ongoing series without feeling like I need to sit down and get it done. Requests will be done in due time but I need the time to get my head straight and really calm down. The last few days have really shown me some awful things, but the support I’ve received is unbelievable and for that I am entirely grateful and I love you all!

...

You hadn’t slept in a week. Like truly slept. Little dozes here and there as Charlie held his private meetings or received a special visitor. That was when he wasn’t away tending to ‘business’ This business however was getting in the way of your own life. Your safety. He was never really one to go into detail; you knew the type of work he did and you had accepted it long ago. But when you could sense the tension in the air; the anticipation of doom all around, you needed some explanation. Some reason for the pistol under your pillow and the shotgun beneath the counter.

He was out of town again. You were trapped in this mansion which had grown so prison-like. Robert was there too. He stayed behind when Charlie was away to keep an eye on you. It gave you a little relief to have him downstairs prowling. A rare sense of peace as you sat against the headboard reading. A single lamp on the night table, barely more than an orb in the dark of the room. It made you feel even lonelier in the large bed.

You rested the open book against your chest and closed your eyes as you leaned back against the headboard. Your eyelids itched and you were tempted to fall asleep but your paranoia always kept you just above the cusp. You sighed and listened to the night outside your window. Leaves brushed against the window and the wind swept gentle over branches. It was oddly peaceful despite the chaos brewing within you.

You were close to falling off into your subconscious when an eerie silence rose. It was too quiet. You sat up and reached for the pistol under your pillow. Another gun cocked from downstairs and you crawled out of bed. You aimed the pistol ahead of you as you held your breath. You could hear Robert’s voice from below. You descended the stairs as another, unfamiliar voice responded.

“You think you can draw before I pull the trigger?” You edged forward; the stranger’s voice cool and taunting.

“We’ll find out,” Robert replied and the air grew thick.

You crept towards their voices, gun held steady as you came up behind the tall stranger standing in the kitchen. You could see Robert’s hand hovering above his own weapon still on his hip. If he moved a finger, the man between you would put him down in an instant. You pressed the barrel of your pistol against the intruder’s back.

“Do you think you can beat me?” You asked quietly. You kept the tremble from your hand. You had never shot a man before. Sure, you had expected that one day you might have to, but that didn’t make you any more prepared for the reality.

His shoulders dropped and the blonde man raised his hands with a chuckle. He let the gun dangle from a single finger. Robert nodded at you and neared to take the weapon from the man.

“Keep your hands up,” You ordered, “Sit on the stool.” You nudged him with the barrel and he reluctantly obeyed as you led him to the tall seat. “Robert. Call Charlie. Get him to come home.”

The phone was already dialing as Robert kept the stranger’s gun pointed at its former owner. As the man sat facing you, you recognized him. The presence of such an infamous character had your heart racing. Charlie must be in some serious shit to have the man come here himself to do the job. The only other man in New York more powerful than him was in his kitchen.

Steve Rogers grinned despite his predicament. Your nostrils flared as you stepped closer. “Do you know how to use that thing?” He asked dryly.

“I do,” You assured him, “Why? You want me to show you?”

He tilted his head as the lines in his cheek deepened. “I take it Charlie’s away then.” You didn’t answer and merely kept your gun aimed at his chest.

“Won’t be here till the morning,” Robert hung up the phone. “I’ve got some men on the way though. Keep him alive until the boss decides what to do with him.” He cleared his throat and tucked away the cell. “You can go back to bed.”

“Not much use in it. Wasn’t sleeping anyway,” You turned back to the mafioso on the stool. He looked rather intrigued by the dull conversation. “What exactly did Charlie do to have you sneaking in our back door?”

“Well, doll, he really fucked up,” He seemed completely unfazed at his predicament; two guns ready to fire at his slightest move. “But you don’t have to pay for his mistakes. You just gotta lower that gun and step away.”

“Shut up,” Robert barked, “Y/N, don’t bother with him. And you,” He glared at Rogers, “Leave the lady alone.”

“She asked,” He shrugged. “I was only being polite.”

“Well, what did Charlie do, Rob?” You asked, “I’d like to know. Think I have a right...considering.” You gestured the gun to the man smirking at you. You wish he’d stop that.

“Took what’s rightfully his.” Robert boasted, “It was on our turf. We didn’t break no rules.”

You exhaled deeply and rolled your eyes. “You fucking idiots are all the same,” You muttered. “Always talking in riddles.”

“And yet you’re still fucking one,” Steve ventured and you turned back to him.

You snarled and took another step forward, the barrel against his chest. “Another word and I’ll have killed one.”

“Back up, Y/N,” Robert warned. He sounded nervous.

“It’s fi--” Suddenly the gun was being twisted from your hands and it discharged.

You were shoved back as another bullet flew, the deafening bangs rung in your ears. You slipped on the tile to your knees as Robert fell to the ground, a sickly chortle from his lips as he collapsed. You looked over at him as his lips opened and closed in a ghastly weeze and a river of blood seeped from his chest. You glanced back, a bullet hole in the fridge just behind Steve. You stared down the muzzle of your gun as he aimed it back at you.

He sat back on the stool and you tried to stand. “Ah, stay there.” He pushed back the hair which had fallen down his forehead, “My men will be here soon. The gunshots will draw them.” He explained nonchalantly. “Think they might be closer than yours.”

“Just do it,” You hung your head, “Please.”

“I came here for Charlie.” He intoned, “So...tell me the truth. Did you ever have to fire this thing?”

You lifted your head and stared up at him. You must’ve looked pathetic. Sat on your heels in nothing but a cotton nighty. You shook your head. “Not at a person.”

“You know he did,” He nodded to Robert’s body. “A hundred times over at least. He knew it was gonna end like this one day.” A silence rose around you, he lowered the gun to rest on his knee. A threat nonetheless. “Would it be worth it for you to die this way? For Charlie?” He tilted his head, “Alone?”

You had no answer and so you looked back to the tile. The adrenaline was like acid in your veins. You felt like you were going to vomit.

“Let me just say, if I was in his shoes, I’d not be leaving my woman alone. Not on a night like this,” He remarked. “Or maybe, he’s got another. He seems the greedy type. Has proven as much.”

You swallowed at the suggestion. You knew there was someone else. You had smelled her on him but this wasn’t a relationship you could just walk away from. “Stop.” You whispered, “Please. Just...get it over with.”

“Stand up,” He ordered but you didn’t move. “Come on. Up.” He stood and nudged your head with the pistol.

You pushed yourself shakily to your feet. The barrel slipped down your temple and cheek, trailing along your neck until it was just above your nighty. His blue eyes swirled with thoughts and he bit the tip of his tongue. He sidled past you and crossed to Robert’s body. He kept his eyes on you as he undid the dead man’s belt with one hand, pulling it loose with a jolt.

He neared you again, “Turn around.” He spun the gun in the air. You did as he said. “Hands behind your back.” You pushed your hands behind you and he pressed them together, looping the belt around your wrists again and again. He secured the belt, the leather so tight it almost cut off the circulation.

He turned you to face him, both hands on your shoulders as he guided you backwards to the stool. The gun was tucked into his pants; its presence never leaving your mind. He grabbed you by the hips and lifted you onto the seat. His fingers brushed over your thighs as he backed away and crossed his arms.

“Well, tonight’s not a total loss. I mean, killing Charlie would have been a simple end but...seems I’ve found myself something even better.”

You tried to twist your hands apart but your binds were impenetrable. You gulped as the front door opened and he took out the gun. He looked down the hallway and nodded. Shit. They weren’t Charlie’s men. The footsteps that neared sent chills through you and another man entered with a grumbled greeting. He stopped short as he saw you on the stool.

“What’s this?” The dark-haired man asked.

“Our prize,” Steve replied, “Charlie’s not here but I think we can find a way to draw him out into the open.”

You were shoved in the back of the car. Steve and his accomplice, Bucky, it seemed his name was, were in the front. Your arms were trapped painfully behind you against the seat. You were silent; trapped in dread. You shouldn’t even be alive still. That fact was most frightening. Of course, it was smart to use you as leverage but you didn’t expect you’d truly find your way back to Charlie after all this. Not in one piece.

You were pulled out, your bare feet tender on the cold pavement. You were led inside a bar; it was almost morning and the last of the staff were just clearing out. They were hardly bothered by the bound woman being dragged through their workplace. You expected they had seen worse. You were left in the backroom; an office fit for any underground king. You shivered in your nightgown as you paced around until your legs were sore.

You sat on one of the twin sofas along the wall, knees drawn up as your wrists were caught painfully between your body and the arm. You leaned your shoulder against the back of the couch to alleviate the pressure on your hands. Your head fell forward and you slipped into a shallow sleep. It was an uneasy slumber; overwrought and uncomfortable. You were awoken by the click of the door.

The belt around your wrists was loosened and torn away. You turned your legs over the edge of the sofa and rubbed the raw flesh. A weight settled on your shoulder as Steve draped his jacket over you. “I told Bucky to bring you a blanket,” He said, “Guess he forgot.”

“I’m fine,” You went to remove the coat as you stood and he caught the lapels and held it in place.

“Your teeth are chattering,” He argued and you dropped your hands. “Take what little kindness you’ll get.” He let go and turned away from you. You watched him sit behind the desk in the leather chair and lean back with a sigh. “Sorry about the wait...Charlie’s back in town.” You clenched your jaw and he pointed with two fingers across the desk, “Sit.”

You neared stiffly and lowered yourself into the chair across from him. The jacket was warm; almost comforting. “Does he know I’m here?”

“He knows I have you,” He said, “We’re still waiting for his response to our offer.”

“Which is?” You ventured nervously.

“Fair trade; him for you,” Steve leaned back, his elbow on the arm of the chair as he rested his chin against his knuckles. Your lips parted and you quickly pressed them shut. “Yeah, I don’t think he’ll take it either.”

You placed your palms flat against each other and bent your head. He was right. You had accepted that Charlie was a selfish man but you had excused it for what you thought was love. You had even ignored his duplicity towards you because despite it all, he still treated you well. He doted on you when he was there but he wasn’t present as much as he used to be. You had always known it would catch up to you. Whether it came in the form of heartbreak or death. Or both.

“He’s a moron, if you ask me.” Steve continued. “It’s the best deal he can hope for. Plus, he’s giving up a hell of loyal woman…” You peeked up at him, “Gorgeous, too.” You felt your cheeks burn and averted your eyes. Was this some game? Was he so eager to humiliate you before you end? “Never found a girl I could stand for long. They just want the money, you know?”

“Money can’t buy everything,” You grumbled, “Like my life? If I made an offer, would you let me go?”

He considered you and smiled. “You’re right. Money can’t buy everything, but you don’t really strike me as the type who wilts at the sight of green.”

“I hated that house,” You said quietly. “It was too big. Too lonely, but Charlie didn’t want to downgrade. He was all about bigger and better. But I just told myself what he wants is what I want. Funny what we call love. Feels like stupidity to me. Fear, really.”

He nodded, checked his watch, sighed. He leaned forward and grabbed a pen, playing with it before chucking it away. “You hungry?”

“I don’t want a last meal,” You hissed and slumped down in the chair. “I’m just ready for it to all be over.”

“Tired, at least? You look it. Got a loft upstairs. I sleep there on the odd occasion,” He stood, “Better than the sofa.”

“Why?” You looked up at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I don’t want to kill you.” He rounded the desk and leaned against it as he stopped just before you. “You see, I don’t have to do that to even the debt. Charlie took something from me, so I’ll take something from him.” He bent down so that he was eye level, “I don’t think you’re getting it; you’re mine now, doll. And you’re more use to me alive than dead.”

Steve left you in the small loft beneath the roof of the bar. It was quaint despite it being no more than a prison. One of his henchmen stood outside the door, just at the top of the stairs to keep you from fleeing. Even if you could, you don’t know where you’d go. After this, you could go back to Charlie. Not now that you had admitted to yourself the farce that was your relationship.

You slept for a few hours on the bed. It was only a double but the covers were comfy and it was warm. When you woke, the man known as Bucky brought in a tray of food and rectangular box. You ate before you opened it. There was a dress inside; pale pink satin that dipped low in back and a pair of strappy heels. There was nothing else. No panties, no bra. It would be little better than being naked. You could take the hint.

You washed yourself in the small shower hidden underneath the slant of the roof. You stepped out and towel-dried your hair as best you could. You pulled on the dress and slid into the heels. The fabric did little to hid the buds of your nipples and clung to the curves of your body. You paced around until the door opened again. It was Bucky again.

“Here,” He held out a pale trench coat.

You took it and slipped it on as he led you down the stairs. He kept his hand on your elbow as he led you to the car and shoved you inside roughly. His blue eyes strayed to you in the mirror throughout the ride. To him, you were still the enemy. Hell, you were. They were all your enemies.

The car stopped in front of a house much like your former abode. Probably bigger. Charlie would’ve been jealous. You were led from the car with as little courtesy as before, your heels wobbly on the mosaic drive. You climbed the front steps and Bucky followed closely. He directed you through the airy lobby and up the winding stairs. He caught you before you could pass the third doorway.

He knocked on the door evenly. “Coat,” He held out his hand until you removed the trench and relinquished it with a shiver. “Inside.” He twisted the handle and pushed it open. You glanced at him before stepping through. The door clicked shut behind you.

Steve was waiting for you. He had a snifter of bourbon next to a bottle as he sat on a leather armchair. A twin seat was just across from him and he smiled as he stood to greet you. “Please, sit.” You braced yourself and marched over to him. Before you could lower yourself however, he took your hand and kissed it. A real gentleman. That was how Charlie had got you; how he had conned you as he had everyone else.

You lowered yourself and he lifted the decanter to reveal a second, empty glass behind it. “Drink? Figure you could use one.”

“Yeah, I really could,” You agree and crossed your legs. He poured a glass and passed it to you. You took it with a thanks and sipped. He watched you silently and you drank deeper. He didn’t speak until you drained the entire snifter.

“The dress fits you well. The colour is nice on you,” He gulped from his own glass and stood. “It will look better on the floor.” Your vision wavered with alcohol but you felt entirely sober at his words. He smirked at you, his eyes roving your sitting form. “Not that it hides much,” You followed his gaze to your nipples poking against the satin.

He curled two fingers in a gesture for you to stand. You rose and neared him. Your limbs were weak with surrender, you mind eager to numb the sudden whirl of emotions. You stared at the collar of his shirt as you stopped before him. He cradled your face, tilting your head up until you were forced to look at him.

“He doesn’t appreciate you,” He purred, “In a way, we’re both getting back at him.”

His thumb ran over your bottom lip. He bent to kiss you. You let him. It was an eager kiss, hungry and forceful. As he pulled away, he nibbled your lip. His fingers crawled along your neck, playing with the thin straps of the dress as he eased them down your shoulders. He slid them lower until the neckline droop and your chest was bared. He let go and the satin puddled at your feet. You kept your shoulders straight, the warmth spreading down your body as he looked down at you. Nothing but the strappy gold heels remained and you resisted the chill rising along your spine.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” His hand trailed down to your chest and he circled his thumb around your nipple. His other hand came up and he cupped them, pressing them together as he admired them. “Just relax. You might even enjoy it too.”

He placed little kisses and nips along your collarbone and chest. He doted on each breast, his tongue swirling around each nipple, working his way down. He got to his knees before you and you inhaled sharply. His hands gripped your hips as his nose tickled just below your stomach. He took your leg and bent it slowly.You grabbed him to keep yourself from falling as he hooked your leg over his shoulder.

He inhaled your scent as he nuzzled the trimmed patch of hair at your vee. This time the shiver was irresistible. You had to lean against him to keep your balance. His warm breath tickled you. He pressed his lips to your pussy and slowly delved his tongue further. He softly licked your clit and you gasped. Your fingers dug into his shoulder as he tended to you fondly. You closed your eyes and thought of Charlie. Is this what he felt when he was fucking that other girl?

It didn’t make it okay. Your breath caught in your throat as the pressure began to build. Your nerves began to cluster at the tip of his tongue and you moaned. Your hand was at the base of his neck as you clung to him; chasing the release which had been denied to you for so long. He squeezed your ass and it was like a strike of lightning. You hissed through your teeth, your leg curling around him as you shook in ecstasy.

As you caught your breath, you removed your hand from his neck. You felt awful but so good. You should not have liked that so much. He peered up at you and slid your leg from his shoulder as he stood. He took your hands and guided you to the bed, turning to nudge you onto the edge. You sat numbly and watched as he began to undress. You were in a daze; hypnotized by every inch of his flesh as he bared it.

When he was completed nude, you found yourself staring at his cock. He was big. You looked down shyly as you reprimanded yourself. He approached and used to fingers to push your chin up. You stared up at him and he bent to kiss you with a devilish smirk.

“You gotta get out of your head,” He whispered, “It’s all in here.” He reached to dip his fingers between your folds. “Deep down, we both know you want this.”

He pulled his hand away and took yours. He drew you to your feet again. Your ankles shook in the steep heels. His fingers walked the length of your arms then down your sides. He only stopped as his hands snaked around to your ass, kneading the flesh as he lifted you off your feet. You squeaked in surprise and he steadied you against him. Your clasped onto his shoulders as you felt as if your would fall.

He hooked his arms under your knees and held you aloft with your feet floating in the air. He moved his hips around and you felt his cock poking around. He finally found your entrance, a deep breath as he gazed down at you. You closed your eyes in shame as you felt your walls begging for him.

“Look at me,” He breathed and you forced your eyes open. They widened as he pushed inside and your lip trembled dangerously.

His irises turned smokey as he brought himself to his base. He thrust into you carefully at first and you whimpered at each rock of his hips. His fingers were stretched along your back as he worked into you. He spoke in a low purr,

“Charlie doesn’t know what he’s lost, does he?” He brought you down entirely on his cock and wiggled his hips before picking back up, “So soft, so warm,” He threw his head back as he sped up, “God, you’re fucking tight.”

Your own moans rose in time with his grunts. You couldn’t help it. It had been ages since Charlies had fucked you. Longer since he had made you feel desirable. Sure, Steve’s words were carnal, shallow even, but it stoked a fire deep within you. Your hand was on the back of his head as you began to move your pelvis in time with his. His cock fit perfectly in you. Ever time he thrust into you, a burst of sparks trickled up your thighs.

You hugged him closer as you felt the impending climax. You were desperate, panting. There were tears in your eyes as you chased the momentary pleasure which would help you forget. Help you feel.

You tugged at his hair and whispered in his ear. “Tell me I’m beautiful,” The tear streamed down your cheek, “Please.”

“You are beautiful,” He said with conviction as he plunged into you. “Absolutely…” His breathed was rampant, unyielding, “Breathtaking.”

You whined and tossed your head back as you orgasmed. You hung on to his shoulders as you leaned back on his cock. He kept his motion, his grunts and groans growing louder until he brought himself to his very limit. Your limit. You felt him cum inside of you but didn’t care. You wanted him; all of him, and he wanted you. Or at least lied well enough to make you feel he did.

Your heart pattered as he carried you back to the bed, his chest rising and falling furiously. He turned and fell back onto the mattress so that you were on top him. He was still inside you, clinging to you tightly as you settled against him. He was warm. He wasn’t supposed to feel this nice. He was a criminal. An enemy.

“I meant it,” His fingers rustled your hair and brushed over your scalp, “You are beautiful. A man would have to be fucking stupid not to see that.”

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#dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #mafia!steve rogers #steve rogers #mafia steve rogers #mafia au #au #dark fic #dark!fic #dark steve rogers #fic #darkverse #dark!verse #mcu #marvel #request #one shot

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enkisstories · 4 years ago

Text

Detroit Become Human AU: A world without Connor

In a recent Sims 4 post Daniel accidently erased Connor from existence by means of using a phrase that could be misunderstood as him making a wish. I made this into a 2,000 words essay.

As for my sims, I focus on playing the Renegades atm, so World without Connor is just a what-if that may or may not happen.

Premise:

The same soul that incarnated as Cole later became Connor (they are not the same person). Therefore the easiest way to go to erase Connor would be to keep Cole alive. From there ripples spread out, changing history (a little).

Hank is still divorced, the accident still occurs and the human surgeon is still high on Red Ice, but this time the android surgeon manages to save Cole. This results in Hank never plunging into depression. Instead it turns him into an android rights supporter early on and, seeing how respected Hank is/was at the DPD, this attitude spreads to all officers. Some more, some less, naturally. The first visible change is the two receptionist androids coming to life slowly, similar to Markus when he was with Carl.

Chapter-by-chapter:

The Hostage

Daniel kills John and kidnaps Emma just like in canon. However, with no Connor, the officers to arrive at the scene are Hank and Gavin. They find all the clues, then step outside. Hank motions towards Wilson with the intent to save him, Gavin doesn’t really care either way, as Wilson is neither a rival nor helpful for his career. Therefore he focuses on the deviant. Strangely enough, Gavin finds that he can empathize with the machine that was to get replaced. Drawing upon his own fears, Gavin manages to talk Daniel into releasing Emma and surrendering. When Cpt. Allen tries to get a shot, Gavin stands “totally coincidentally” too close to the deviant, therefore Daniel gets taken alive.

Over the next few days Daniel gets questioned and eventually reset to factory settings, because by this time “deviance” is viewed as a bug. Caroline refuses to accept her “repaired” android back, so the DPD simply keeps it as coffee fetcher and janitor. Daniel’s explosive personality surfaces now and then, but goes under the radar, because the cops are way worse to each other.

Broken

Now we get to see the results of the DPD officers’ being influenced by a pro-android Hank: The duo who comes over to Manfred Mansion actually asks questions before shooting. They learn the full truth and Markus never gets shot. This seems good for the moment, but will backfire later.

Partners

Hank and Ben find and arrest the deviant. Simple as that.

The Interrogation

Daniel is present, excited to meet another deviant. Just like in canon Hank doesn’t get the captive to talk, Gavin suggests violence, Daniel (in Connor’s place) begs to get a chance talking to it and Chris probably learns a lot about how not to be a cop. In the end Gavin goes in, gets a confession, but pressures the deviant too much, resulting in him attacking.

Daniel, still mind-wiped, protects his humans, eventually ends up with a gun in hand and shoots the deviant in panic. He realizes it feels familiar.

“Now that is new”, Gavin comments while Hank orders Daniel to put away the gun. Shaken Daniel demands an explanation. “Down with the gun”, Hank sais again, but despite them having bonded those last two months, Daniel turns around and now they both point their weapons at each other. Again the deviant demands an explanation. Funnily enough Gavin of all people defuses the situation by telling Daniel that if he knew the truth, he’d shoot himself and afterwards Gavin and Hank. Daniel replies this order of events isn’t possible, but Gavin shots back that with Daniel it probably is, seeing how fucking irrational he is. Daniel laughs and lowers the gun.

Waiting for Hank

Everyone is worried. It slowly sinks in that deviance isn’t just a series of glitches, but something different. Captain Fowler wants to take Hank off the deviant cases on account of him being not impartial enough. They argue and in the end Hank stays in the cases, however, he has to accept Gavin as his partner. Fowler claims as the DPD’s most anti-android employee Gavin will balance out Hank’s bias.

For a chuckle the player at this point can tilt the camera to get a look into the cafeteria where the “most anti-android officer” sits, amiably chatting with Tina and Daniel. Any by “amiably chatting” I mean the trio making fun of other officers.

On the run

Ben, Hank and Gavin arrive at the scene and the same dialogue as in canon plays: Ben asks “Have you decided what to do with it?”, only this time he refers to Gavin, not to Connor.

Hank and Gavin chase Kara, under the belief that she uses a little human girl as meat shield. Hank sarcastically comments this must be a deviant’s first instinct, Gavin replies “watch out for Cole”, whereas Hank punches him.

They reach the highway, where Hank orders Gavin to stand down. “Too dangerous.” – “Why’d you care what happens to me? You hated me from the day I started at the DPD, because god forbid a man might ask about advancement options and not work out of their bleeding heart’s desire!” Hank punches him again, because “good” doesn’t “imply “nice”.

The Nest

In the elevator Gavin tries to annoy Hank with coin tricks. He uses a dollar coin, then Hank pulls out two half-dollars and does the same trick, only with two hands at the same time. Both Gavin’s and Hank’s tricks do not compare to Conor’s, by the way.

Gavin gets a little revenge when they discover the pigeons in the apartment. He mercilessly teases Hank about his phobia. Rupert tries to slip away, but gets spotted. The cops give chase, Hank drops, but Gavin pulls him back up. They stare in “Did that just happen?” disbelief. Gavin claims he will always save human lives before destroying android lives, but it is obvious that he had an ulterior motive (Daniel would be sad at Hank’s death). Hank concludes that the deviant’s only crime had been squatting anyway and calls it a day.

Russian Roulette

Cue to an utterly sweet scene in Hank’s house where his ex has just dropped off Cole, who immediately greets Sumo.

Then Daniel knocks at the door. He informs Hank that there is another case to see to and that Captain Fowler sent him to babysit Cole. Hank on the one hand is grateful for Jeff being so considerate, but on the other hand side he is loath to leave Cole with Daniel.

Daniel proceeds to greet Cole and Sumo, but suddenly stiffens. The boy being Emma’s age he suddenly remembers her, but not everything that happened. Daniel asks if John sold him to the cops and adds that he feels like killing him. “You did”, Hank sais. Now everything comes back, Daniel has a breakdown and eventually shuts down on Hank’s kitchen floor. Hank has to google the PL600’s manual to revive him, with much cussing.

The Eden Club

The deviants are never discovered, because Hank is still occupied with Daniel and Gavin comes to the same premature conclusion as in canon.

Public Enemy

Tina is present and due to her apathetic nature Perkins takes her for an android. Gavin flares up. He then proceeds to interrogate the three androids in the kitchen while Hank inspects the roof.

Hank discovers Simon, but takes him for Daniel. Realizing that whoever this Daniel is, he must be a deviant and sort of friends with these humans, Simon plays along. He agrees to “return” to the DPD with Hank. He also claims he has identified the deviant. Gavin is at first grumpy, but then he laughs and sais “Of course you would, after all, I trained you!”

On the way back, Simon and the deviant JB300 escape (and subsequently return to Jericho).

Hank and Gavin think Daniel has just defected right in front of their eyes. They are disappointed to no end, but learn the truth when they return to the police station where the real Daniel waits with Cole and Sumo. “I didn’t want to be alone, but I couldn’t leave them alone either, so I brought them…”

Meeting Kamski

Since we have lost/let escape each and every evidence, we now have to kill Chloe.

Hank, Gavin and Daniel go visit Kamski. Daniel remembers more about the Phillips, namely their swimming pool and John’s love for technology. He gets increasingly angry and when asking the android creator doesn’t get them answers, he pulls Gavin’s gun at the man. After little more dialogue and maneuvering, it becomes apparent to the humans that Daniel won’t shoot, but Chloe is unaware of this and goes in-between Daniel and Elijah. Daniel panics and accidently pulls the trigger, killing her. Kamski informs the cops that all the information they need is in her brain.

Last Chance, Connor

Perkins arrives and states that the FBI will take over, despite Hank’s protests that they now have a lead.

Meanwhile Cole has nicked his father’s keycard and goes adventuring. He correctly guesses his dad’s password. Perkins finds out, grabs the boy and drags him back up the stairs. Hank doesn’t take kindly to his kid being handled like this and beats up Perkins.

This allows Gavin and Tina to dress up Daniel as a deviant. He wants to go to Jericho to learn what and who he is as well as everything about deviance. Hank still sort of trusts Daniel. He strongly believes now that socialization is the key, a fully socialized android like Markus won’t go on a murderous rampage and one like Daniel is able to keep their shit together with a little effort. Tina says “Let’s face it, Gavin, he’s no more instable than you are, or any of us. The only difference is that with androids we didn’t expect it.”

Crossroads

Daniel meets the deviant leaders. He is surprised to find a collective instead of a strict hierarchy: Lucy is the metaphysical leader, Simon the secular leader, Josh the diplomat and North the general. And they squabble about as much as his cops.

However, little Cole has curiously followed the deviant and the FBI in turn has followed Cole (Perkins placed a bug on Cole back at the DPD) and now all hell breaks loose. Daniel is forced to flee with the deviants.

Night of the Soul

The deviants regroup. With Lucy dead, Simon, Josh and North argue how to react to the Recall. Daniel once again is disappointed and angry. He votes for attacking the camps. With the other three all contrary his vote turns out to be the decisive one.

Battle for Detroit

Hank and Cole are reunited, but the android surgeon who saved Cole’s life is in danger of getting carted to the recycling camps. Hank is close to drinking himself into oblivion, something he has last done during his divorce. A handful of cops decides on a whim to aid their Lieutenant in getting the hospital androids to safety. Since most of them are not deviants, the androids refuse to leave their workplaces. Footage of androids defending from the army to continue to care for humans goes around all the news channels.

Meanwhile North’s group has succeeded in taking over the camps. Perkins arrives at the scene, but he has only a handful of agents with him. Daniel steps up to him and asks “Looking for the rest of your team? The agents you positioned at the other camps? Uh, bad news. There were no journalists…” With North and Daniel as their leaders the deviants didn’t hesitate to kill their enemies, especially with no witnesses around. Perkins, who normally doesn’t show or even feel emotions, snaps. He is about to call in an airstrike on the neighborhood. North counter-threatens with the dirty bomb. The only one who might have been able to defuse the situation, Josh, is dead.

Daniel knows he can stop either North or Perkins, the other will press the trigger. If he stops North, he will die, but his human friends, Emma, Cole, Hank and Gavin, will live. If he stops Perkins, the humans will die, but he won’t. After everything sacrificing themselves is too much to ask for, so Daniel knocks out Perkins. Miraculously North doesn’t immediately trigger the bomb, but Daniel still feels like shit. Loyalty is important to him and his loyalties now lie with the DPD cops (not the DPD as an institution), yet he let them down.

Now North has looked up to Daniel the moment they met. After all, he didn’t take shit from his humans, from her point of view he “showed them”. She didn’t understand what exactly she felt, her feelings for Daniel always were different from those towards Josh and Simon. Now she realizes it isn’t just her-worship, but attraction and although North hates doing the same motions she had to do as a sexbot, she motions to kiss Daniel.

Cue to the “Kiss” ending and since public opinion should be in favor of androids, we have achieved sort of a good ending.

#dbhtextpost #detroit become human #dbh #non sims #sims4 dbh gameplay

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sometimeinjoon · 6 years ago

Text

Feeling

2.3k, m

Ah, yes. The smell of your fucking Gucci perfume. Jungkook fucking hates it.

It’s not like he’s in any position to complain though, and he acknowledges that. “Yes, please give me the best seller,” he remembers telling the woman at the booth. One whiff and he wants to pass out. Perfect. Humans like these smells.

Mortals’ very presence pesters him, really. But you’re so soft. Literally. He has to hold himself when he’s around you. It’s going to be a bit gruesome for the god of the underworld to have to take his love down there; Charon won’t let him hear the end of it. “You did what?” he already pictures the ferryman chuckling. “Squeezed her tits too hard,” he’d have to answer. Whether that’s tragic or funny, he’s yet to decide. Usually he’d be prideful about his strength. But he doubts if he would be if he kills you with it.

It’s uncanny being around mortals, Jungkook thinks to himself. So fond of the physical things they can’t take when they pass. Fond of needlessly expensive things. Fond of weird jokes and —what were they called— emojis. This world doesn’t make sense to him. None of this does.

But oh does his heart flutter when you wear the lace lingerie he buys for you. And when you send the eggplant and tongue once you actually explain to him what it meant. He replies with that face that looks like a smirk and he’s livid that that makes you giggle. What the fuck?

But he also wants to make sure you’re happy. And spoiled. And feeling the emotions he has for you through tiny cartoons on your phone. He wants to clad you in silk that he’ll tear off once night falls. He wants you eating the finest food. It’s like this world is meant to make those who walk on it hypocrites: scoffing at things but indulging in them.

He’s in bed looking out the window and he wonders what it would be like to be a mortal. His rule in the underworld is coming to a close and he’s actually considering not staying as a guardian of the circles of hell. Even though he’s so fond of the weirdos in limbo. You did this to him. You made him want to be weak and materialistic and an emoji user. You made him want to be human.

He wonders if he’ll permanently like the way you smell when he converts. He wonders if he doesn’t need to worry about literally crushing you when he hugs you. He wonders what it would feel like to want to buy luxurious items “for the experience of having nice things”. If he does decide to become mortal, he’d be given a wonderful life here. The underworld owes him that much for having to deal with the literal worst assholes that have ever died. He’d be given a mansion, cars, money, acres upon acres of land.

He wants you there with him. He wants you laughing at the way he would mess up his sunny side up and settle for scrambled instead. He wants to put his hand on your thigh when you go for long drives. He wants to be as mortal as a mortal can be with you. He wants to indulge in the sins of the humans with you. He wants you to be his other half.

Then it settles on him that that’s what you are and what you have been for the past few months. You’ve accommodated him in your apartment and when he told you he’s literally Satan, you didn’t run away. You cook him meals he’s insisted he doesn’t need and you kiss his forehead when he pretends to fall asleep on your boobs.

It’s already 7 pm and he gets giddy because you’ll be home soon. He gets up and walks out of your bedroom and slumps himself onto the couch, drinking a bit of the ambrosia Hermes hooked him up with to turn his sense of smell into that of a mortal. It wears off after a few hours and he dare not waste it on hours he’s not with you. Hermes promised him a permanent ambrosia next week, and he’s excited.

One shot of that whiskey looking liquid and he’s drunk on the smell of the fabric softener you wash his clothes with and on the smell of the stargazers he bought you yesterday. And then you walk through the door and wow, fuck, that fucking Gucci perfume. He smiles from where he was seated and he can smell the takeaway you brought home, and dare he say it, he might suddenly be hungry.

He stands up to greet you once you place the bag on the coffee table. He gives you one of the lightest hugs he could muster and buries his face in your neck, the smell of your watermelon shampoo still so intoxicating even though there’s barely any scent left. He kisses your skin and he tells you he missed you. He asks you about your day and he listens. He listens to the most mundane things because he’s moved past being obliged to do so because it’s what humans do— he actually cares now. He cares about that dick that didn’t hold the elevator open for you. He cares about all the paperwork you finished so you could take the day off on Saturday. He cares about the donut place you and your friend tried out for lunch. He cares that you want to take him there on the weekend since you wouldn’t have work.

He smiles as you speak, and he smiles as you hand him the dinner he wants to remind you he doesn’t need. He smiles as he eats it and he smiles as he enjoys it, as he enjoys this simple thing with you. At this point, you’ve made him human. You’ve made him appreciate the little things being a god doesn’t provide. You’ve made him love.

Then he smiles when you kiss him. He smiles when you straddle him and tell him you’ve missed him too. He smiles as he wraps his arms around your waist and welcomes you into his chest. For the first time, he feels like he doesn’t need to be urgent with you. He doesn’t need to tear off your clothes and pin you to the bed like he’s so used to. And so he lets you feel that through his kiss. He lets you feel that in the way he caresses your body.

You’re wondering why Jungkook’s being so gentle and you ask him if he’s okay.

“I’ve already told you a million times, gods don’t do anything humans do,” he laughs. “We don’t get tired, we don’t get hungry, we don’t get sick.”

You nod and think of how he just doesn’t seem like a god when he’s with you. You think of how upset he gets when you overwork and how happy he gets when you bring home books written about him and his brothers. He seems so normal, so full of emotion. You tell him your thoughts and he says you’re right.

“We’re like humans in that regard, I do agree,” he says silently, kissing your knuckles. He looks at you and you’re wondering what he’s doing, what he’s feeling. Why he’s so kissy and so lax. Why he hasn’t carried you off into bed and spanked you a few times. Why you’re still clothed at this hour.

He pulls you to him and hugs you. He lays his hands flat against your back and starts moving them in circles. He notices how you relax under his touch and he feels a sense of pride that he can do that. That he can cause you something that isn’t pain. Pain is what he is good at, and for the longest time he thought it was the only thing he was capable of even when he strives to give you pleasure. He massages the small of your back and you moan— you moan! You moan at something that isn’t sex! Humans do that?

He runs his hands lower until he meets your ass, and he closes his eyes as he’s once again reminded of how soft humans feel. How soft you feel, as you’re the only one he’s ever touched so lovingly, so carefully. He’s built to tear flesh and to throw people around in Cocytus but he’s happy to just be running his hands around your body like this.

He holds your thighs and he carries you to you room and the smell of your humidifier reminds him of sex. Which is strange, since sex smells like sweat and cum and this, this feels so new. He’s not sure what to do with all that he’s feeling. He’s not supposed to be. Feeling. Feelings. Is it normal to feel so much all at once?

He lays you down gently and you’re looking at him wide-eyed and confused. He kisses you while he unbuttons your blouse and he takes it off of you slowly. He looks hungrily at your black bra but he unclasps it and sets it on the far edge of the bed. What’s happening? What happened to your demon? To your hungry, relentless god of the dead? Where has he gone?

“Have I ever told you how much I have to control myself around you? How careful I have to be because I don’t want to hurt you?” he asks. And no, he’s never told you, but you knew. You saw how carelessly he squeezes metal door handles and dents them. You saw how many ATM machines he’s broken because he just presses the buttons too hard. You saw how naturally strong he is but you’ve also seen how he’s cradled you in his arms at nights when you slept. How softly he runs his hands through your hair when you shower. How he rubbed your back a few moments ago. You never wanted to acknowledge how carefully he treats you because you’re going to fall in love with him if you do.

He’s removed every piece of clothing already, everything still intact, not shredded like they usually end up. He pulls his shirt over his head and kicks off his sweats. Then he kisses you again. And again. And again. He kisses you like kissing naked is what he intended to do.

You push him away and he looks concerned if he’s put too much weight on you or if he was holding your face a little too hard.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, voice full of lust. “Fuck me already.”

He shakes his head and smiles. He knows you’ve fantasized about being made love to. Tonight, he plans on making those fantasies come true.

He pulls you down the mattress and aligns himself to your entrance. He takes his time in teasing your pussy with the tip of his dick and you’re already moaning so much from that alone. You ask him to put it in and he does, but he does so painfully slow. You try to push yourself down on him but he’s holding you and there’s not much you can do. His brows are furrowed and he’s concentrating on how good you feel; how tight you are each time. He draws back when he’s halfway inside and he drives into you fully the second time. He fucks you slow but hard, his lips on yours. He’s making you feel every bit of him and you receive it, you welcome it with the moans and when he plays with your clit they only get louder. He notes that you’re moaning differently this time and maybe he’ll fuck you again like this tomorrow so he can hear them again. Maybe he’ll fuck you like this every night.

He takes you orgasm after orgasm, not once letting you switch how you’re laid down. He likes the control and depth he gets when you’re on all fours but he’s only changing how your legs are spread apart for him right now. Your back has not once left the sheets.

You insist he let you ride him and he obliges. He holds your waist for support and he helps you sink down on him. He tosses his head back in ecstasy and he looks at you with his eyes lidded like you were the most beautiful thing he’s seen. You are the most beautiful thing he’s seen.

His breathing becomes uneven and you quicken your movement. He nods, wordlessly telling you “yes, fuck me just like that.”

When he cums, he holds back the urge to say he loves you. He covers it up with moans and your name. He pulls your forehead to his and he kisses you again, as if saying thank you. He pecks your nose when you move back.

He cleans up while you doze off. He puts his shirt on you when he settles on the bed. He laughs at how tired you get from sex but he’s grateful he gets time alone to think while still in your presence.

Jungkook looks over and attempts to fix your hair while he hoists your head up onto his chest. He fights back several urges, but when he presses a kiss to your cheek he does it. “I love you” slipped off of his tongue like it was the most natural thing he could say.

All he’s going to be thinking about for the rest of the night is how quickly you said you loved him too.

#demon!jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook oneshot

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englass · 6 years ago

Note

Oh, could I request John letting the deputy hold him because he understands she's going though a lot atm. :^) thanks for reading.

No worries hun! Thanks for sending this in! 😁 It took a while, but I had fun with it nonetheless. Kind of ended up running away with the idea, but I hope you enjoy it!

– – –

When Rook had gotten in that plane, as prepared as she could be with a freshly tattooed chest and a determined glare for the dogfight that was about to go down, she hadn’t exactly considered what could happen.

Sure, she hoped that she’d win. That she would finally free the Valley from the tyranny of John Seed by the end of it all, knocking him off of his high horse, and hopefully without that much bloodshed if at all possible.

But what she hadn’t considered was if things went wrong.

With a strangled gasp Rook hobbles toward the panting John Seed, his tailored clothes scuffed and dirtied, as he rests against the trunk of a tree. Eyes closed and head tipped back with both hands in his lap, radio tossed and abandoned at his side. Despite his ruffled appearance anyone would think that he just did a lap around his airstrip instead of get in a literal, and verbal, dogfight with somebody. He near enough looks unharmed.

Lucky prick.

Rook stares at her nemesis, usually groomed hair now tussled, before leaning heavily against the same tree that he’s up against. Sliding down until she’s sitting next to him and mirroring his actions; head tilted skyward with eyes closed, pained groans slipping through stilted breaths every now and again.

Despite sitting next to the infamous ‘reaper’ of the Valley, Rook can’t help but feel nothing but calm, strangely content as the warm afternoon sunlight flitters through the gaps in the leaves above, shinning down on the both of them with speckled light. Considering how cold it’s gotten the warmth is a welcome blanket for the shaky Deputy.

“Ya know,” she starts with a wince, holding her side, “despite it all, that was actually kinda fun.” There’s a fractured laugh underling her tone, mirth trying to break through even as she sucks in a stuttered breath between gritted teeth.

John scoffs, not even sparing her a glance, “I think you need to rework your definition of ‘fun’, my dear Wrath.”

“Says you,” she says accusingly, “I hardly think you’re one to talk, what with the type of stuff that you do to people.”

“What I do, Deputy, is not for my own pleasure, but for the salvation of sinners like yourself,” he replies with a snip. “I have told you this numerous times and yet, even in the wake of your atonement, you would rather still be barred from the Gates of Eden and condemned to an eternal damnation than swallow that filthy pride of yours. I only want to help you, Deputy, to give you a new and better life amongst the project; if only you would just say yes.”

“Oh leave off, John,” Rook whines, “I’d rather not talk about atonement and crap while I lay here dying.”

“Oh please,” John grouses, finally looking toward her, “like you’re actually–” he pauses, words dissolving on his tongue like powered tablet. His ocean eyes going wide as they glue themselves to the jagged piece of metal sticking out of her side; crimson painting her shirt, staining the hand that presses under the metal with a noticeable tremble, a vivid red.

“Huh, that bad eh?” Rook weakly jokes, watching the emotions dance hectically across his face, changing as quickly as the current, before looking skyward once again, pointedly refusing to look down at herself. She winces at a jolt of pain. “That’s reassuring.”

“Deputy...” the youngest Seed flounders, unable to look away from the sight she makes; caught in a trance as any harboured animosity fades to ash. There’s no way the Deputy – his deputy – could be dying, there‘s just no way. A piece of metal couldn’t stop them, surly. They’ve been through worse than this, he knows they have. He can’t lose them now that he’s finally got them, that wouldn’t be fair. That’s not fair...

John’s quick to snap back to reality when he hears the Deputy gasp, her free hand pressing into the ground beside him as she attempts to move herself.

John doesn’t spare a thought before he’s grabbing her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He hisses in a rush, “stop moving, you will only make it worse!”

“A little late for that, I‘d say,” she grumbles lowly. “Now let go, I’m hardly going anywhere.”

Really such a fact should’ve had John vibrating, excitement twisted into something cruel and consuming, but he finds himself feeling the furthest from that than what he ever thought he might do. Seeing the Deputy like this was making him feel rather ill, a nasty sensation curling low within the pit of his stomach.

Also, were they always that pale?

So focused on his own conflicted thoughts and absent observations, John doesn’t notice when the Deputy edges a little closer to him; shimmying into his side.

With a whimper Rook moves her free arm, slipping it behind and around John’s back to grip and hold as much of his jacket as she can. Her head falling heavily to rest on his shoulder with a pained sigh.

John freezes at the touch, the familiarness of it making him feel a touch uneasy; a tad nervous. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had held him in such a way, if ever at all even. It’s completely foreign to him. And he especially never expected this type of gesture from the elusive deputy of all people, despite how much he might of dreamed and secretly hoped for it on lonely nights with only his hand for company.

But, even more so, he never envisioned a situation like this – so potentially dire – to be the one where his dreams finally became a reality. Or at least as close as he was possibly going to get them to reality anyway.

What a living nightmare this day was turning out to be.

“What are you doing?” The question is a lot quieter this time around; softer than he intends it. A breath of a secret shared between friends, or unrequited lovers.

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying, John,” Rook tells him bluntly, gaze distant and watery as her grip grows tighter, “and believe it or not, I’m actually really fucking scared right now, so if you could just shut up and let me find at least a little bit of comfort in you before I die then that’d be great.”

There’s a weighted pause filled only with the shimmering of leaves and unsteady breaths.

“Comfort, from me?” The baptist jokes derisively, “you really must be scared then...”

Yet, despite his tone, Rook can still hear the unintentional lilt of hope that’s layered within the question. The hope that maybe she, or anyone really, could want something so simple yet meaningful from him; something so soft and genuine.

And, not for the first time, Rook can’t help but feel sorry for the complicated man next to her. Memories of her makeshift baptism, the look on his face as Joseph walked away from him, fluttering to the forefront of her mind. If only life had given him a better hand.

“Yes, John. Even from you.”

There’s a broken sound that comes from him, a whine or a laugh she isn’t sure. Yet, the sound quickly slips from her mind when she feels his own arm come around to grip her shoulder, hesitant at first before hugging her closer, his head gently leaning to rest on top of hers.

The hand gripping his jacket is covered by his own, pulling her away – she whimpers pitifully at the movement, weakly holding on, “shh, it’s okay, Deputy. I’ve got you” – only to draw her hand up to his face. Fingers interlaced he kisses the palm of her hand before placing it over his chest, holding it there as his thumb brushes back and forth in a soothing motion; a silent reassurance.

If someone had told her a few weeks ago that she’d be hugging John Seed after being impaled by a piece of plane shrapnel, she likely would have scoffed and sarcastically entertained them. If not straight up laughed at them. Funny, she supposes, how life’s turned out for her.

“You’re not going to die, by the way,” John suddenly says, breaking the hush that had fallen between them, “I won’t let you.”

Once upon a time, Rook might have rolled her eyes at how childish he sounds, a little kid getting ready to throw a strop. However, the Deputy has had enough interactions with John Seed by this point to be able to gleam when he’s being serious.

It’s a little scary in its own right, hearing that cold shift that sends chills down her spine, but ultimately she decides to ignore his self-made promise. There’s nothing she can say to it.

“I hope I don’t,” Rook says honestly, “there’s still stuff I wanted to do.”

“Like what?” He asks conversationally.

The Deputy huffs around a laugh, weak and slightly derogatory, “it’s stupid really, but would you believe me if I said that I wanted to get married?”

“Married?” John’s chest does something funny at the thought. “You? Forgive me, deputy, but you hardly seem the type.”

“Wow, really? No offence John-no, but you do realise that I’m more than just a Deputy wrecking your shit, right? I have dreams and hopes for the future too, ya know? And besides, what do you know; you don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

“But enough isn’t a full picture, is it?” For a moment the Deputy goes quiet, and John can practically taste the bubbling bitterness in her next words. “How old am I, what’s my favourite colour, my favourite film; what was my first car, my first pet. Hell, does anyone even know my name...?”

It’s embarrassing really, allowing something so small and arguably petty to colour her the way it does, but if she really is about to die then surly now is as good a time as any to get her grudges and grievances out there. Confess, as John would put it it. After all, she’s done so much for everyone, got so much blood staining her hands (both figuratively and literally), and yet not one person has even asked for her name.

She’s a title, she knows that, has since this whole thing started, but bleeding out has a way of forcing things into perspective it seems. She’s going to die in the arms of her greatest enemy and no one is even going to be able to mark the grave because no one even knows her fucking–

She stills; tenses. Breath catching as she does so, but she pays the pain it causes no mind. Focusing only on the ring of John’s voice, his tongue curling around a name she didn’t think she’d ever hear again from another; didn’t think he even knew. Just how did he...?

“... what?” She sounds so small, so much like she did as a child, but she doesn’t care. Did he really just...

He pulls her closer, turns slightly to whisper her full name into her hair, lips brushing against her lightly as he does so. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

Rook sniffles, her breaths quickly becoming shallow and shaky as she presses further into John, burying her face as far into his neck as she possibly can. Hiding herself as tears begin to trail down her cheeks in lonely streams. Her retort is weak and warbled.

“Shut up.”

And, surprisingly, John does.

Although it might not be ideal, not at all how he hoped for them to come together, but for the first time since he can remember John feels what he believes to be genuine content. More than happy to offer his deputy all that he can give them in this uncertain, but surly fated, moment. This had to be destiny at play, he was certain of it. This was meant to happen.

And as he listens to her cry quietly, feels her sag and flinch in pain and anguish against him, waiting for his followers to hurry up and find them, not once does his hand let go of hers.

#i hope it’s okay?#i wanted something kinda sad but comforting #also #i hate dialogue #but i’m trying to get better at it #doubt i’m succeeding mind you #but i’m trying #my gorgeous murder husband #john seed #john seed x female deputy #john seed x deputy #john seed x rook #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #anonymous #request

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onewaywardwitch · 6 years ago

Text

Just A Typo (7/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Hacker!Reader

Summary: It was a simple challenge between a very competitive group of friends. A challenge that ended very differently than anticipated.

Warnings: Language, torture but nothing too intense, an insane amount of sarcasm

Word Count: 2600 exactly!

A/N: Seriously, this was not supposed to be so sarcastic but oh well. Also, Captain Marvel is literally my favourite movie now. It’s incredible!

Destroyed. A total mess.

Bucky couldn’t think of any other words to describe the state of Y/N’s apartment. While she didn’t have a whole lot of furniture, anything she did have had been turned upside or simply thrown to the side. Her kitchen table was missing a leg and for some reason he couldn’t look away from it.

“Shit…” Tony muttered, kicking at a broken cupboard door lying on the ground.

They had gotten there as fast as they possibly could, but they were obviously too late. Tony had barely explained what was happening to the rest of the team, only demanding they get a move on immediately. When he finally told them on the way, Bucky nearly snapped his gun into pieces. Everyone had glanced at each other in worry. Even Natasha seemed concerned for Y/N’s safety. For once no one had anything to say, an eerie silence hanging over the team until they reached their destination.

The rest of the building appeared perfectly normal. Too normal for anything remotely interesting to happen. Bucky saw a mother rushing past them, chasing after her child who was clutching a small gaming console in her hands. Both were too preoccupied to notice the superheroes walking by. They were so blissfully unaware of what had happened near them, and for the briefest moment, Bucky felt jealous. Jealous that they could lead normal lives, that they didn’t have to peer around every corner before they turned. And he felt guilty too. Guilty that Y/N wouldn’t be able to have that kind of freedom anymore.

“Cameras were all down within a ten mile radius. Businesses in the area all said they experienced some kind of malfunction half an hour ago,” Steve said, re-joining the rest of the team in Y/N’s apartment.

“How convenient,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes. It did nothing to hide the unease on his face.

“What are we thinking? Hydra?”

“This is my fault,” Bucky spoke up suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him. Clint opened his mouth to argue with his statement, but he didn’t give him a chance to.

“I walked her home once. Someone must have followed us. Seen us together and figured she must have been someone important. This is all my fault.” He rubbed his hand over his face and Steve went over to console him and try to convince him otherwise. Meanwhile, Tony was running every kind of test he could think of in Y/N’s home, hoping to find a fingerprint, even a single strand of hair. He knew Bucky was blaming himself, but he couldn’t help but think it was him who was responsible. After all, he was the one who was constantly chatting with Y/N, always keeping up to date with each other’s lives. Anyone who worked in the tower could have seen them together and spilled it to someone. It was his fault for not taking more precautions, for not checking up on her when she was at home.

He shook his head, clearing himself of those thoughts. If they were going to find her, which they were, he would need to keep his mind focused.

Natasha quickly looked at Tony in realisation, her face suddenly full of dread.

“I'm not telling her friends.”

~~~~~

“Well, this feels uncomfortably familiar,” I said after finally regaining consciousness. My mouth seemed to work faster than literally any other part of my body; a blessing and a curse. It took me a few moments to realise my wrists felt scratched and were burning slightly. It took another minute for me to cope on that my hands were tied securely behind my back.

I wriggled around, attempting to loosen myself free. I only succeeded in scrapping the chair along the floor slightly.

“This looks so much easier in the movies,” I grumbled. I resorted to simply looking around the room, hating how familiar this whole situation was. At least the last time I knew where I was.

The groan of the metal door opening brought me back to the present. A woman entered sporting a bored facial expression and, for some unexplainable reason, I had a feeling she was going to despise my entire personality.

“We know you work for Stark.”

She had a heavy accent, one that my uncooperative brain failed to place.

“And we have heard of your skills with a computer. You are a valuable asset to have, and far easier to get to than we had previously anticipated. But you are here now, Y/N Y/L/N, and you are going to work for us.”

Her glare turned cold and calculating, her arms folded across her chest.

“That’s a great speech. Really impressive. How long did you spend rehearsing that in front of the mirror?”

Whoops, bad move.

She smiled threateningly at me and left the room without another word, the slamming door making me jump slightly.

~~~~~

It could have been a day, but I had never been good at judging the time. Realistically it had only been a couple of hours. So that was their plan, leave me alone without food or water until I agree to work for them. I huffed, silently hating the universe for the way things were turning out for me.

“Hey! Someone, anyone?”

The same woman entered again, looking more confident this time. She stood in front of me, patiently waiting for me to agree with their plan.

“Have you thought about interior design? I mean, judging from this room alone,” I scanned the bland, purely grey room that contained only a table and me in a chair, “you’ve got a real eye for it. Definitely worth considering if you're looking for a career change.”

This time I didn’t jump when the door slammed behind her.

~~~~~

She came in of her own accord a couple of hours later, just as I started regretting not having dinner. This time, she held a laptop under her arm.

“As you weren’t cooperating, we began questioning whether you actually have the skillset to do what we want you to do. We aim high here. But first, we must know if you are actually worth our efforts.” She set the laptop down on the table in front of me. “You are going to hack into Stark Industries to prove we should keep you alive.”

Woah, déjà vu. Kind of. There was no death threats last time.

I stuck out my chin defiantly and looked her right in the eye.

“Not a chance.”

My God, that was terrifying.

She smirked and left momentarily before returning with a plate and glass in her hands. She placed them beside the laptop. They were nothing special, a simple glass of water and a basic meal of bread and a couple of spoonfuls of steamed vegetables. I tried to convince myself I wasn’t hungry, but my growling stomach betrayed me.

“You can have the food when you hack into Stark’s.”

I barely heard the door close.

~~~~~

Sam leaned across to Bucky. “How many more times is she gonna hit him with that cushion?”

The person in question was Becca, one of Y/N's closest friends. The team had decided they needed to explain the situation to both Angie and Becca immediately. The pair were excited to be brought to the tower before Tony, who felt obligated to speak to them, informed them of what happened. He had a green tea prepared in advance for Angie, Y/N having told him many times before that that was how she dealt with her stress. Becca was the unpredictable one, and she had taken to grabbing one of the cushions off the closest sofa and beating Tony over the head with it.

“YOU-”

Whack.

“-ABSOLUTE- “

Thump.

“-IDIOT!”

Smack.

“YOU BASICALLY FORCE Y/N TO WORK FOR YOU-“ Another hit from the cushion. “- AND THEN YOU GET HER KIDNAPPED?”

No one even attempted to stop Becca from hitting Tony, the group of superheroes fearful that she would turn her wrath to one of them. Wanda had set Angie on the seat beside her and forced the green tea into her hand. She seemed to be in shock, barely even noticing the tea burning her tongue.

A few moments later, Tony grabbed the cushion off Becca, whose hits had become far less aggressive, the tears streaming freely down her face. She dropped onto the sofa, Steve rubbing her arm in an attempt to comfort her. It wasn’t working.

“Who… do you know who took her?” Angie spoke up, drawing all attention towards her.

Tony and Steve shared a look. “We’re not too sure, but it's looking like Hydra. We’ve got every camera in the world looking for her; street cameras, ATMs. There are a few Hydra bases that we know about. We’re going to check them out too. We’ll find her,” Tony replied confidently, even if he was only trying to convince himself.

“And if you don’t?” Becca said, wiping the tears from her now slightly puffy eyes.

“We will,” Bucky answered her, and she shot him a small smile. “Guaranteed.”

~~~~~

I continued to refuse to work for them, much to the chagrin of the woman placed in charge of me. She was obviously getting tired of my comments every time she came in. After what I believed was two days stuck in that little cell, she realised she’d have to allow me to eat the food, or else I wouldn’t have lasted too long. She was reluctant to release the restraints on my wrists, but I merely smiled sweetly at her and told her to thank the chef. That earned me a rough smack on the back of my head.

I lost track of time completely in there. The hours were going by slowly, but I knew it couldn’t have been any longer than a week. The meals only tasted blander with each passing day and my back was aching from the lack of movement.

She came in again, the woman I was so sick of seeing. She must’ve hated me a whole lot more than I hated her, because this time she didn’t come in empty-handed.

“Woah, new haircut?” I questioned, my voice shaking as I eyed the small, handheld box that I couldn’t quite identify.

She noticed I was staring at her new gadget and held it up for me to see properly.

“Ah, this is for you.” Another person came into the room, dragging a second chair into the room. He came up behind me and tied my hands behind my back once again, my grunts of annoyance doing nothing to deter him, before leaving. “Since you have decided to make this much more difficult than necessary, we realised we may have to up our game.”

She twirled the device a couple of times and I attempted to keep a calm appearance.

“You’d be surprised at how easy it is to get these. So simple, yet so effective,” she winked at me. “It's a compact stun gun. The basic ones have become a lot common nowadays, but we’ve made some improvements to the original design.”

I laughed nervously as she took a seat in front of me, watching my reaction closely.

“Running out of new ideas?”

Without another word, she leaned across and pressed the front of the gun against my arm. I yelped as a small jolt of electricity rushed through my skin. It wasn’t exactly painful, more surprising than anything else.

“That was nothing, the lowest available setting. You only feel a tingling sensation. If I was to increase the voltage, however…” Her sentence died off as she turned the small dial on the side of the gun. My body instinctively tried to pull away from her, the restraints completely inhibiting my movement.

I still wouldn’t describe it as painful, but it was fairly uncomfortable, bordering on the edge of pain. The muscles in my arm were subconsciously contracting in anticipation each time the gun came into contact with my skin. She quickly grew bored with the setting it was at, deciding to up the voltage once again.

“MOTHERFU- “

That one was painful. I had no control over my body’s reaction to the electricity this time. It felt as though every single muscle in my body was contracting at once. She began to hold the gun to my skin for longer periods of time, drawing the pain out for a few seconds longer each time. She seemed to enjoy the gasps and shouts of pain that I let out.

Fortunately for me, someone came in to call her out. At least, I assumed that’s what they were doing there. There was a faint ringing in my ears making it difficult to fully understand what the pair were saying. Or they were speaking another language. Either way, the woman was leaving, kicking the chair back in frustration.

“Try not to miss me too much.”

She hit my head with the butt of the gun, clearly sick of my comments every few minutes. It took me a few minutes to lift my head back up again. I shook my head, trying to stop the room from spinning. I silently thanked the universe for forcing that sadistic woman out of the room.

I had spent the past few days convincing myself that the Avengers would find me, yet it failed to cross my mind what would happen if they didn’t. I hadn’t even thought of that possibility. I wasn’t a spy or a super soldier. I didn’t have any exceptional powers that would allow me to break free from here, or to withstand more intense torture. I wasn’t built to hold up under interrogation. The only thing I was good at is hacking. And there was no way I could hack myself out of this situation… Oh…

I couldn’t fathom how my brain had completely short-circuited, making me forget the only crucial bit of information I actually needed in order to escape this actual nightmare. I had been working on it at the tower for a while now, and I was only telling Bucky about it recently.

“See, I figured that if someone else is going to try hack into the tower, they’re not going to make a stupid mistake like I did, right?” I glanced across to Bucky, who was focused on what I was saying. Not needing any reply, I continued on.

“I'm installing this new system that’ll basically send a virus to whoever is hacking you. So, while they’re hacking into our system, we’ll be doing the same to theirs without them even knowing. That way, we’ll be able to access everything they have and know where they are. And it’ll be impossible for them to get into our system at all now. They can try, but I've made it virtually unhackable,” I explained proudly.

My little epiphany ignited a new hope in me, and I shouted once again, calling for my ‘babysitter’.

She couldn’t have looked more defeated. I'd be sick of me too if I were her. She didn’t even come into the room fully. She must have been dealing with her boss only minutes ago, and it evidently didn’t go well. She looked at me pointedly, waiting for me to give her a reason to stay and put up with me for a while longer.

I needed to convince her I was serious. So I groaned and hung my head slightly, staring at her and clenching my jaw in mock frustration.

“Fine, I'll hack into Stark’s.”

She grinned like a middle-aged woman set free in Ikea.

Taglist (open):

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(if I forgot to tag you just send me a message)

@amybarter15 @imperialoath @throw-some-music-my-way @mamaraptor @marbleowl @lydklein1 @wantingtobekorra @alysawrites @uhholyhazza @ladymelissastark @sarcasm-n-insomnia @foxylupines @myrabbitholetoneverland @amazingficsthatididnotwrite @markusstraya @padfootormoose @worldofchoices @just-some-stuff-in-life @colie87 @catsandbooksinafarawayplace @littleblackdressxx @thequirkypeach @astronomicparker @asguardiansoftheavengers @awesome-alysia @sebbystanlover-vk @unknownwonder @wowstiless @d-eracine @nattie0010 @bloodyproudpotterhead @waddupmydood

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sign-from-god-complex · 6 years ago

Text

A Gift From Me To You - Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Patton reminisces, reflects, and helps Virgil work some things out.

Warnings: A continuation of Virgil’s panic attack from the last chapter and some negative thinking. (If there’s anything else let me know!)

A/N: I think I’m pretty happy with this chapter overall! Ngl, a tiny bit worried about keeping up the schedule of posting every two weeks considering that I only have one more chapter pre-written so far--I'm working on chapter 5 atm--but hopefully I'll manage to get some stuff done in the next couple weeks now that I'm a lil less busy.

But anyway, I hope y’all like it!!!

AO3 Link // Link to Chapter One! // And Two!

————————————————

Patton’s first class had gone by like a breeze. Truthfully, he felt like he was walking on air. He knows he told Roman that nothing had changed, but really, it was hard not to be a little bit excited when you find out the boy you love is as perfect for you as you’d always thought.

Of course, his excitement also came with a few points of sadness as well.

When you don’t have a soulmark, society doesn’t see any of your relationships as more important than any other. Everything had equal potential. A friend had the potential to become your best friend or a partner. A partner had the potential to become someone you hated or someone you’d spend the rest of your life with. It was a grab bag; nothing was guaranteed.

When you had a soulmate, that person was always going to be the most important person to you in society’s eyes. It didn’t matter if you had a partner you loved with all your heart, your soulmate was more important than them. It didn’t matter if you had someone else you wanted to ask to be your boyfriend too, your soulmate was more important than them. Your soulmate was always going to be more important than them.

Patton hated that line of thinking.

There wasn’t some weird cap on the amount of love you can give out to people—if Patton’s parents had taught him one thing, it was that. Patton was perfectly capable of loving someone else just as much as he loved Ro, and as a matter of fact, he did. He was just afraid he’d missed his window.

Logan had weird beliefs about soulmates. Despite Patton’s insistence that they’re just another form of relationship, no different than a regular friendship or boyfriend—except maybe a bit closer—Logan refused to agree. He remained adamant that soulmates were somehow more special and resulted in an infinitely closer bond that none of the three of them could ever understand.

It bothered Patton because he always looked so bitter as he said it. Logan wasn’t a romantic, in fact, he’d expressly stated on more than one occasion that he was glad he didn’t have a soulmate. It was something him and Roman had argued about several times before, slightly more angrily than their regular arguments since it seemed to be a sore spot for both of them.

Patton wished he knew why soulmarks upset Logan so much, but he refused to talk about it. Every time Patton asked Logan just mumbled something about abandonment or hypocrites, before changing the subject.

Logan would definitely see his and Roman’s relationship as more “special” or “important” than either of their relationships with him and this worried Patton a lot. Barring any other feelings Patton may have for Logan, he didn’t want to lose their friendship because Logan thought Patton cared about him less than he cared about Ro, or something equally as silly.

He’d managed to convince Roman to hold off saying anything to Logan until they were both there, but they knew they had to talk to him about it today, or else Logan may find out through someone other than them. They didn’t want to risk him feeling like they didn’t trust him or something.

A lot of their evening had been spent discussing what was going to happen with Logan now that they had soulmarks, actually. Because this was more than just Patton being worried about slipping away from his best friend, Patton was also worried about losing his chance to ask Logan on a date so soon after him and Roman had finally worked it out.

The day he had confessed to Roman that he had a crush on Logan had not been a good day.

Patton had come to realise his feelings for Logan at some point almost 6 months ago. It wasn’t like Logan did one thing and suddenly Patton had felt completely differently towards him than he had before, it was more subtle than that. Patton had noticed one day just how his feelings had changed from that platonic appreciation he had felt when he met Logan to something more complex.

And it had been exciting! Patton liked developing new feelings for people! It just filled his heart with wonderful new possibilities. And sure, there was a chance things wouldn’t work out, but there always was, and he was willing to risk it anyway.

The two of them had gone back to Roman’s house after school that day. Logan didn’t join them as he had a test to study for and Patton had thought it was the perfect time to tell Roman about his feelings. Communication was the secret to a healthy relationship after all; it wouldn’t do to keep something this important from his boyfriend.

Patton sometimes forgot that not everybody saw the world as he did. So when hurt had flashed across Roman’s face as quick and bright as a shooting star, Patton had realised he’d messed up.

Roman had turned away almost instantly, though not before Patton had seen tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh, shoot, Ro,” he’d whispered, “No. Hey, hey, hey, come here.”

Roman had walked over to the window, away from Patton, wrapping his arms around himself. He’d been shaking slightly and Patton had longed to hold him until he was okay again.

“Logan’s great,” Roman’s voice had broken, though Patton had known he was trying not to show it, “I’m sure you two will be very happy together.”

With a barely audible sigh, Patton had moved to stand behind Roman, leaving some distance between them.

“Roman Prince, you turn around and look at me right now,” Patton had said, as sternly as he could muster. Which hadn’t been very stern, considering he’d been watching Roman’s heart break right in front of him and it was all his fault. He should have been more careful.

Roman had turned around, his eyes falling on a spot over Patton’s shoulder, and Patton’s gaze had followed the tear tracks leading down Roman’s face. All he’d wanted to do was wipe them away and wrap his arms around him, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Roman.”

Patton’s voice had been soft and kind and infused with all the love Patton had for him. It’d caused Roman to flick his eyes to land on Patton’s face and in return, Patton had given a soft smile.

“I love you,” Patton had put as much conviction into the words as was possible, urging Roman to believe him, “I love you so, so much.”

Roman’s eyes had become watery again, and he’d sniffed slightly as Patton had put his hands on Roman’s waist, drawing him in closer.

“I have an infinite amount of love,” Patton had said, “You know that about me.”

Roman had laughed a little as he nodded. Patton loved Roman’s laugh. It was anywhere from big and boisterous to soft and shy, and every time he heard it it made him want to cover Roman’s face in kisses. But this laugh was tired and self-deprecating and Patton couldn’t stand for that.

“I love animals; I love cookies; I love my parents,” Patton had continued, “I love sunsets and I love hugs. I love onesies and blankets and helping people in need.”

He’d looked Roman directly in the eye.

“I love you. And I love Logan.”

Patton had paused for a second, thinking his next words through. Their breathing had been soft and quiet, barely taking up an inch of space in the bedroom.

“I don’t love you any less because I also love cookies. It’s not like, onesies get 15% of my love and animals get 23% and I have to ration it all out. You all get 100% of my love. You, Roman, get 100% of my love.”

A tear had rolled down Roman’s cheek and Patton had moved his hand from Roman’s waist to wipe it away. As Patton’s thumb had slid across his skin another tear had mirrored the action on Roman’s other cheek, so Patton had reached up to cradle Roman’s face in his hands.

Roman’s eyes had been closed. Tears had clung to his eyelashes and his face was covered in a light blush. He’d looked so fragile and beautiful that Patton couldn’t have done anything but slowly bring their lips together.

The kiss hadn’t been heated, but it had been warm. Roman had poured every insecurity he had into it and Patton had felt his chest expand as he’d responded with love. The kiss had been soft and slow, like a lazy Sunday morning waking up next to your partner, the sun shining in through the open curtains, knowing you’re safe and you are loved. Patton knew he was safe and loved, and he’d needed Roman to know he was too.

As they’d broken away, Patton had leaned his forehead against Roman’s. Roman’s hands had migrated to rest on Patton’s hips, so Patton had linked his hands together behind Roman’s neck, gazing into his boyfriend’s eyes.

“My love for Logan does not diminish my love for you, my dear,” Patton had finished, “I love you with all my heart and I always will.”

Patton was pushed from his reminiscing by a text from his aforementioned boyfriend.

👑 My Prince 👑: cute boy just ran me down in the hallway. seemed upset. can you go check on him? i gotta get to class.

Patton smiled. Roman seemed to act like he didn’t care about other people’s feelings sometimes, but that wasn’t true at all. Half of the people Patton comforted he only knew were upset because Roman pointed them out to him.

Roman knew Patton loved helping people and Roman liked to claim he wasn’t any good at comfort, though Patton knew that wasn’t true either. Really, he thinks the incident with Logan spooked him. Roman was always excellent at cheering Patton up when he was upset, just another way they worked so well together.

He had a free period now, which Roman knew, so he typed out his reply.

Patton-Pending: Sure!! Where were you?? <3

Barely a second went by before Patton got another text; Roman always was a scarily fast typer.

👑 My Prince 👑: main corridor of the west building, near the english classrooms. he was headed towards the bathrooms i think xx

Patton-Pending: On it!!! Xxx

Thankfully in Patton’s nostalgic haze, he’d wandered somewhat in the direction of the right building, so it only took him a couple minutes to arrive at the bathrooms Roman had indicated.

As he pushed open the door, Patton could hear heavy breaths echo around the room, interspersed with the occasional quietly muttered swear word. Patton wanted to chastise the boy for his language, but he also knew that now really wasn’t the time.

“Hey, kiddo, you alright in there?” Patton asked as he slid down the wall to sit outside the boy’s bathroom stall.

It was a mostly rhetorical question since Patton knew he clearly wasn’t alright, but his answer, or lack thereof, could give Patton some insight into his state of mind.

There was a slight hitch in the breathing, but no audible reply from the other side of the door, so Patton tried again.

“Kiddo, I’m gonna need you to breathe with me, okay? Do you think you can do that for me?” he paused for one moment, but after receiving no reply, continued, “Knock once for yes, twice for no.”

There was an agonising moment where he didn’t think he was going to get an answer from the boy at all before Patton heard one quiet knock on the bathroom floor. He breathed out a sigh of relief. Although there were things he could still do to help the boy calm down, it was much easier with some degree of cooperation.

“Alright, you’re doing so well already, okay? I just need you to breathe with me, in for four, hold for seven and out for eight and I’m gonna count out loud, okay?”

There was one more soft knock before Patton began to count, listening carefully to the boy’s breathing to check whether he was able to follow along. There were a few failed attempts, the boy’s breathing unsteady and panicked, but after several minutes, he seemed to have calmed down quite considerably. Patton relaxed just a little bit more.

There was a short moment of silence before the boy spoke up, “Thank you.”

Patton smiled. The boy’s voice was sort of croaky, but Patton was glad that he felt confident enough to talk to him. Patton may even be able to get him to discuss what it was that made him so upset in the first place, as long as he makes it clear that he’s willing to listen.

“No problem, kiddo! That’s what I’m here for!” Patton responded, “My name’s Patton, what about you?”

There was a quiet, semi-humourous chuckle from the other boy.

“You can call me Anxiety.”

Patton hummed slightly. If Anxiety wanted to go by a fake name, Patton wasn’t going to call him out on it. There are tons of reasons why he might not want Patton to know who he is, including feeling embarrassed about having a panic attack in the bathroom.

“Okay, Anxiety,” Patton said, “You think you feel up to talking about what made you so upset?”

There was a long enough pause that Patton felt for sure he was going to refuse to talk, but just as Patton was going to let him know that there’s no pressure to agree, Anxiety said, “I found my soulmate today.”

Patton gasped. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for y-”

“No.”

Anxiety’s voice was harsh and pained. Patton immediately snapped his mouth shut. He should have been more careful. It was clear that this had upset Anxiety, so he shouldn’t have acted so excited about something that was obviously not a positive experience for him. Before he could apologise though, Anxiety pushed on.

“He… He already has a boyfriend. And they’re good together. Better than we could ever be, I’m sure. He’s- God, Patton, he’s too good for me. I know that soulmarks are designed by the universe, or whatever, but they must have made a mistake. I’m not good enough for him.”

Patton let Anxiety’s words wash over him as he tried to come up with some advice. He thought it was best to deal with this issue bit by bit, rather than addressing it all at once and overwhelming him.

“Now, kiddo, if you keep talking bad about yourself, I’m gonna have to physically fight you!”

There was another chuckle from Anxiety, though this one slightly more upbeat.

“Gonna have to get to me first, Pat.”

A few knocks sounded against the locked door of the bathroom stall, making Patton grin. If Anxiety was feeling good enough to joke around, then Patton was doing an okay job.

“Raincheck on the fighting then, kiddo,” he hummed, moving on to the next topic of discussion, “You know not all soulmates are romantic, right? Just because he has a boyfriend doesn’t mean you can’t be in his life.”

There was a sigh from Anxiety.

“I’ve had a crush on him for years, way before I knew we were soulmates. I don’t think I can do just friends,” his voice sounded muffled, like he was talking with his head in his hands.

Patton considered this for a second.

“Well, then what about polyamory?”

Patton was gearing up to give an explanation of polyamory and how it differed from cheating, all the usual stuff, but Anxiety beat him to it.

“I mean… I guess… but I don’t know. I still don’t understand why they’d want me. They’re better off without me.”

Patton frowned.

“Kiddo…”

“No, it’s true, Patton,” a sob broke free of Anxiety’s throat and Patton winced slightly.

He leaned over towards the door, wishing he was able to physically comfort Anxiety. The other boy may not necessarily want that, but Patton definitely wished the option was there.

“Just take a deep breath, love, everything is going to be fine,” he cooed, voice as soothing as he felt he could make it.

A laugh from the other side of the door, this one cracked and so sure of its lack of self-worth. It was hollow and messy and tired, filled with so much emotion and so much sadness but at the same time none at all. Patton tried to piece it together, attempting to get a handle on what he could say to make this okay, but it was almost overwhelming to think about.

“Is it, though? Is it going to be fine? I love him! But I can’t do this to him. He deserves better.”

Anxiety’s voice echoed around the bathroom, filling Patton’s ears with disjointed syllables, and he opened up his mouth to speak before he could even register what had been said.

“Well, don’t you think it’s up to him to make that choice?”

There was silence.

Patton wasn’t exactly sure where the advice came from, but it felt like the right path to go down. Before Anxiety could likely even open his mouth again, he pressed on.

“Shouldn’t you let him decide whether he wants to be with you or not? Is it really fair to deprive him of his soulmate just because you think he deserves some arbitrarily-decided ‘better’ person, who he may not even find? They may like you, but you haven’t even given them a chance. Other people always see things in us we don’t see in ourselves.”

Patton thought of Roman. Of how he always felt like he was everybody’s last choice, a consolation prize while you waited for the one you truly wanted. It didn’t matter how popular he got—those people didn’t matter—but the people he truly cared about, those are the ones he always felt will leave him when they get a better offer. A better offer that Patton knew in his heart didn’t exist. He wasn’t leaving Roman, not for anything; he was going to stick by his side until he realised that he was loved. All of him was loved.

Patton thought of Logan. Of how confident he was in his intelligence and how insecure he was in his emotions, never letting his real feelings shine through for fear of… what? Being shunned? Breaking down? Patton didn’t know, but he wanted to be there when it happened. He wanted to catch every falling piece of his broken best friend and help him understand that this is what he was made out of—stardust and light, not cogs and wires. He wanted to show him that it’s okay to be loved and to love in return.

Patton thought of himself. How he was never doing as much as he could be doing, and how he was always hurting the people he loved by being reckless. He thought of his family, how they were the best at everything they did, and all Patton was good for was making other people cry. He couldn’t help all the people he needed to help, it was all too much for one person to handle.

But when Patton felt hopeless, Roman was there. When Patton felt stupid, Logan was there. When Patton felt unloved and unwanted there were a dozen hands lifting him up showing him how wrong he was.

He wanted Anxiety to feel that too.

“Your self-worth issues are clouding your judgement,” Patton whispered, “We’re all human, Anxiety, we all have our issues. Nobody’s as perfect and wonderful as you think they are from a distance.”

There was a shaky inhale from the other side of the door.

“Yo-”

Anxiety’s sentence was interrupted by the sound of the bell. Patton heard him curse under his breath, he imagined due to having missed almost all of the period sitting in the bathrooms. Patton was about to ask Anxiety to continue when he heard the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor outside and the door to the bathroom flew open.

“I thought you were gonna call me, V-!”

The figure in the doorway stopped short, the bag they had in their hand swinging back-and-forth due to their abrupt stop; their other hand held a reusable Starbucks coffee cup, which now had spilt slightly from the top of the lid and onto their skin. Patton gave them a small smile and they returned with a nod, their previously shocked expression having melted into something more confident.

Dropping both the bag on their back and the bag in their hand at the door, they strode up to stand in front of Patton.

“I think I can take over from here, gurl,” they said, offering him their hand to get up.

Patton gratefully accepted before turning to face the bathroom stall once more.

“Anxiety,” Patton began, “‘There are millions of possibilities for the future, but it's up to you to choose which becomes reality. Please understand. You choose your own future,’ but you don’t have the right to choose other’s futures for them.”

Remy whistled. “Woah, deep.”

“It’s a Steven Universe quote,” Patton laughed, “Good luck, Anxiety; I have full faith in you.”

And with that, he walked out of the bathroom to find Roman and Logan for break.

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Chapter 4

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Tag list: @bunny222 @jadedfantasies231 @221b-quote @reinefandoms @i-really-dig-the-purple @bionic-egypt @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @mistress-jinx09 @soijusthavetoask @iamsexuallyattractedtopans @the-writersblock @theunoriginaldaisy @therubyjailcell @sandersfandersblog @hghrules

General tag list <333: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard

#woo! new chapter!#glad to get that out of the way #maybe I can even write another one shot now #it's almost been a week I really need to get on that #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders side fic #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #lo can write

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whumphoarder · 6 years ago

Text

New Year's Regrets

Summary: In the midst of hosting his annual New Year’s party, Tony is called away to rescue a very impaired Peter from a rooftop in Queens.

Word count: 2,609

Genre: Fluff, whump, crack

A/N: Mega thanks to @sallyidss for beta reading and just generally being lovely <3

Link to read on Ao3

“So I take the tank, fly it right up to the general’s palace, drop it at his feet,” Rhodey recounts. “I’m like, ‘Boom! You looking for this?’”

As the gathered crowd breaks into laughter, Rhodey shoots a grin at Tony, who is standing about ten feet away and leaning against the bar. Still got it, the colonel mouths.

Tony just rolls his eyes and flips his friend off. He peers into his half empty glass, wishing the amber liquid inside was something a bit stronger than the apple juice he’s currently sipping. But he’s been really trying lately.

A moment later, Tony’s pocket starts buzzing. He frowns and fishes his phone out. There are only a handful of people for whom he’s authorized FRIDAY to let calls through while he’s hosting his annual New Year’s Eve party, and two of them are currently in the room.

He presses the accept call button as he slips out onto the balcony. “What’s up, kid?” he says into the phone. “You having a nice New Year’s?”

The voice on the other end comes back confused, like someone awoken from a deep sleep. “Wha…?”

Tony frowns. “Peter?”

“Oh. Hey… Mis’t’r Stark. What, uh, wha’ d’you need?”

“You called me, genius,” Tony quips, but he’s still frowning at the obvious impairment in the kid’s voice.

“Oh…” is Peter’s only reply.

“Where are you?” Tony asks, as though he’s not already having FRIDAY track the kid’s phone.

“I’m… out.” Peter giggles a bit. “Outside. 'S’New Year’s.”

Tony relaxes somewhat and lets out a long sigh. He’s always known this day would come—hell, he’d been the one to institute the ‘call me anytime you need a ride home’ rule—but he’d been hoping the kid would give it a couple more years at least. “So you went to a party after all, I take it?”

“...There’s a party?” Peter sounds confused.

Tony scoffs, “I’ll say.”

“Hm. Where?”

“Some rooftop in Queens, according to FRIDAY,” Tony replies, looking at the data he’s just pulled up on his watch. “Having a good time?”

“Ughh… Don’ think so,” Peter groans. “‘M’head hurts.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “Already?” It’s barely half an hour past midnight, but he wonders if maybe the kid’s spider metabolism has burned through the alcohol already and jumped straight to the after effects. He winces in sympathy—that’s really gonna suck in the coming years.

“Mm…” Peter grunts. “Don’ feel good.”

Tony sighs. Not really how he’d expected this night to go, but also far from the worst New Year’s he’s had. “You got a ride home, kid?”

Except for the faint sound of a car alarm beeping in the background, there’s silence on the other end.

“Peter?” Tony prompts again.

“Wha…?” Peter slurs. It’s followed by a choked gagging sound that can only mean one thing.

Tony squeezes his eyelids shut and presses his fist to them. “You’re throwing up, aren’t you?”

The only response is a few whimpers and then another retch.

“Jesus, kid,” Tony mutters, running his hand over his face. “You really went all out.” He can’t even send Happy since the man is in Chicago visiting his sister for the holidays. “Alright, I’m on my way,” he assures.

“Mmh...” Peter grunts in acknowledgement before disconnecting the call.

Tony opts to take the Iron Man suit rather than fight traffic less than 45 minutes after the ball dropped in Times Square on the basis that one, it’s faster, and two, it’s significantly easier to hose vomit off of a metal suit than the custom leather interior of his car. His plan is to crash the party and whisk his intoxicated protégé back to the Tower to sleep it off in one of the guest rooms before Pepper realizes he’s left hosting duties to her. Yet again.

He soars over the city, following the path FRIDAY has illuminated for him. He’s expecting to start seeing lights or hearing music blaring pretty soon, but frowns as he draws nearer to the dark rooftop of what appears to be a parking garage.

“FRI? You sure this is right?” he mutters as he approaches.

“Yes, boss,” she confirms. “Peter’s phone is located near the southwest corner of the structure.”

Tony flies over the rows of parked cars, peering between them for any signs of life. Finally he spots the crumpled form of a red and blue clad teenager sprawled out on the ground near the edge of the building between a beat-up Honda Civic and a silver Lexus.

Tony’s boots touch down on the rooftop with a clink. “Christ, kid,” he mutters. “So not only did you sneak out to patrol while May is at her company holiday party, but you apparently disabled your suit’s tracker. Again.” He retracts his helmet and crouches down next to the boy.

Peter’s mask is half pulled up over his face and a puddle of vomit sits beside his head. “...M’s’tr Stark?” he slurs before turning his head to the side and gagging again. When he’s done, he clutches his head and moans.

All traces of humor dissolve from Tony’s features. “FRIDAY, scan him,” he commands. “Is he safe to move?”

While the AI does her thing, Tony peers closer at Peter, for the first time realizing the kid’s suit is darkened and slightly singed over his chest and side. “What the hell happened?” he demands. “Are these… burn marks?”

“Robbery. ATM. Was swingin’…” Peter mumbles. He makes a small gesture with his hands, like something exploding. “Then… poof.”

“Poof?” Tony repeats.

The kid giggles a bit. “Poof.”

FRIDAY cuts in, “Scan complete, boss. Moderate concussion and first degree burns to the torso detected, but no skull fractures or spinal damage. He is safe to move.”

“Great.” Tony exhales deeply and runs an exasperated hand over his face. He looks down at the kid on the ground in front of him. “Why couldn’t you just go out and get drunk like a normal teenager?” he implores.

Peter squints up at him. “‘Cus ‘s’bad for you…” he mumbles.

“Oh yeah, the vigilante life is much better for your health.” Tony rolls his eyes. “FRIDAY, I feel like I’m gonna regret this, but initiate Baby Monitor protocol. Start with the last two hours.”

The helmet reconstructs itself around Tony’s head and images from Peter’s bodycam come into focus before his eyes. He fast forwards through the beginning of Peter’s patrol until the screen suddenly erupts in a burst of light.

“Whoa, go back,” he instructs the AI. “Play that again, speed at twenty-five percent.”

The video rewinds and then the scene replays much slower. After a few moments, the camera view changes from swinging steadily between buildings to capture a small explosion of light and color. Then the web snaps and Peter drops from the sky, slamming onto the parking garage below.

Tony is speechless for a second. He stares down at the injured teenager on the ground. “Did… Did you get hit by a fucking firework?”

Peter groans, “Think it was the other way around...”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony mutters. “What am I going to do with you?”

What he ends up doing is wrapping Peter’s floppy arms around his neck and hauling the kid up, bridal style, to fly them both the short way back to the tower. It takes only a few minutes, but the movement doesn’t seem to be helping and Peter pukes twice more in that time.

“God, how are you not empty yet?” Tony questions as Peter retches over his mentor’s shoulder. He’s keeping up his light, sarcastic air, but there’s a growing concern in the pit of his stomach.

“Uhhg…” Peter moans back. “S’rry. Feel sick.”

“I gathered that much,” Tony replies worriedly. He sends a message ahead for Cho to meet them in the medical wing.

They arrive at the tower and Tony steps out of the suit. He escorts the wobbly teenager in past the muffled music issuing from the party to his private elevator, and then up to Medbay. It’s not nearly as well equipped as the medical facility at the compound, but it will have to do.

Bruce is standing there waiting for them, his suit jacket removed and his tie hanging loose around his neck.

Tony guides the boy in to sit on the closest bed. “Where’s Cho?” he asks.

“Last I checked she was downstairs doing tequila shots with Thor,” Bruce says with a chuckle, undoing the buttons on his wrists so he can roll his shirt sleeves up. “She wasn’t exactly on call tonight. None of us were.”

Tony scoffs. “Yeah, I guess that was a bit of an oversight.” He takes in his friend’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “You good? Or should I make some calls and see if we can get him into SHIELD?”

“Nooo…” Peter groans in protest, pulling his legs up on the mattress and turning sideways to lay down. “Don’t wanna go...”

Tony can’t say that he blames the kid; SHIELD Medical is a nightmare. Not that the doctors aren’t good—they’re excellent—but the bedside manner is more than a little lacking, and there’s just so much paperwork.

“I think I’m alright.” Bruce glances up at the ceiling. “FRIDAY, what’s my BAC?”

“Your blood alcohol content is 0.07%,” she reports.

Tony shrugs at him. “Good enough to drive, good enough to doctor, right?”

Bruce returns the shrug. He turns his attention to Peter, who is curled up on the bed now, face screwed up and clutching his head in obvious discomfort. “Cho didn’t give me any details, but from the looks of him I’m guessing a head injury?”

Tony hums affirmatively and takes a mini Starkpad out of his suit jacket to pull up the bodycam footage while Bruce shines a penlight in Peter’s eyes to check his pupils. Peter flinches at the sudden brightness. Then the doctor runs a finger side to side across Peter’s field of vision to track his eye movements.

Once Bruce has completed his little exam, Tony projects the video off the screen and out into the room. When it gets to the explosion and subsequent fall, Bruce balks at the screen.

“Was that a…?” the scientist starts.

“Firework, yes,” Tony confirms with a snort of amusement. “Happy fucking New Year.”

Bruce barks out a sharp laugh. At Tony’s raised eyebrows, he quickly sobers. “Sorry. I mean, that had to hurt, but…”

Peter interrupts their banter with a moan, followed by a dry heave. Bruce jumps into action, grabbing one of the plastic bins from a nearby shelf and shoving it under the kid’s chin. Nothing comes up, and eventually Peter collapses back onto the bed, looking utterly miserable.

“Yeah, he’s been doing that,” Tony remarks. “Puked a couple times on the way over.”

Bruce frowns. “We should get him a CT scan. Nausea is common with a concussion, but actual vomiting is a little concerning.”

“Nah… ‘m’kay…” Peter mumbles, eyes closed.

“We’ll let your mildly buzzed doctor here be the judge of that,” Tony retorts.

Bruce rolls his eyes at his friend. “As if you’re completely sober.”

“Believe it or not, I actually am,” Tony huffs. “Getting a jump on my New Year’s resolution.” He presses the spider insignia on Peter’s suit and the material loosens, allowing the two men to shimmy Peter out of the suit. It definitely took the brunt of the burn damage from the firework, Tony notes with a measure of relief, but Peter still whimpers a bit as they carefully peel the fabric away from his bruised and slightly pink side.

Once the scan is complete, they move Peter—now dressed in a hospital gown—back into a bed. Tony sits next to him, his hand running idly through Peter’s curls while Bruce looks over the results.

Just then, the Medbay doors swing open and Pepper strides in, her high heels clicking across the tile. She’s still dressed in her sparkly black gown and her expression is unreadable.

Tony jumps up immediately, causing Peter to whimper at the loss of contact. “Shit, the party! Honey, I can explain, I didn’t—”

She rolls her eyes at her fiancé. “Save it, Tony,” she mutters, but there’s no actual heat there. “Thor and Cho are hosting now.” Her gaze falls on Peter and she softens. “Is he alright?”

“He will be,” Tony says quickly. “Right, Brucie?”

Bruce nods, flipping around the screen to display the images of Peter’s head. “CT scan shows no bleeding in his brain or skull fractures that FRIDAY missed. With his healing, he should be fine after a day or two of rest, given that he stops picking fights with Roman Candles.”

Pepper opens her mouth like she’s going to say something but no actual words come out. She closes it again. “You know, I don’t think I want to know,” she concludes.

Tony rubs his hand at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s probably better that way,” he agrees.

Peter suddenly sits up and gags at the empty plastic tub again. He brings up a bit of bile this time. Tony grimaces and places a hand on the kid’s back.

Bruce frowns, looking back at the scans in his hand. “That’s the only part of this that’s concerning me. His injuries really don’t warrant all this vomiting.”

Pepper smirks at the two baffled men. “You geniuses really can’t figure it out?”

Tony’s brow furrows. “Figure what out?”

Peter spits out one last string of saliva and moans, letting an arm wrap around his stomach. “Don’ tell Aunt May…”

Bruce gives him a sympathetic look. “Peter, I know you don’t like to worry your aunt, but she needs to know about your concussion so she can monitor you over the next few days.”

“Nooo not that,” Peter groans. He shifts his gaze to Pepper, a pleading look in his eyes. “Ms. Potts?” he whimpers.

Still smirking as though she knows something Tony doesn’t, she steps closer to the bed. “What is it, Peter?”

“Didn’t mean to. Was jus’ kinda sad and people say it helps,” Peter murmurs. “Holidays since Ben are kinda…”

Tony watches Pepper’s smirk fade into a sad sort of smile. “I know, hon,” she says softly, taking over Tony’s job of stroking her fingers through the kid’s hair. “It’s alright, May won’t be too mad at you. Just maybe next time you decide to polish off her bottle of”—she sniffs twice, wrinkling up her nose—“peppermint schnapps, don’t go out and get a concussion afterwards.”

Bruce shudders a bit while Tony just heaves out a sigh and slaps a hand to his face in exasperation. “Really, kid?” Tony groans. “Couldn’t you at least try something with a little more class?”

“Sorry…” Peter mumbles.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Pepper says with a little laugh. Turning back to Tony she says, “Now you really need to get back to your party before Thor discovers your stash of hundred year old single malt and goes to town.”

“Yeah,” Tony mutters, moving away from the bed. “Good point.” He glances back. “Bruce, you staying or coming?”

“I’ll stay a while,” Bruce replies, nodding to his patient. “He shouldn’t be alone just yet, and he could probably use an IV anyway.”

Peter looks distraught. “Oh ‘m sorry Dr. Banner…” he moans. “I don’t mean to make you miss the party…” He screws up his face in thought. “...You can take me with you?”

“Over my dead body, kid,” Tony scoffs. He adds under his breath, “Though next time, you’ll definitely be trying something better than schnapps, Jesus Christ…”

Fic Masterlist

For more WorriedDad!Tony & his exasperating Spider Son, try You Broke Tony

#spiderman fic #spiderman #irondad fic #irondad #sick peter parker #hurt peter parker #new years #mcu writing #if anyone knows how to actually use the tags here pls let me know #i just kinda make stuff up #and this fic is like 100% crack omg #had a good time making it tho #hope your holiday season is going well!

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bisexualstokes-archive · 6 years ago

Text

Atrophy (6/7)

Chapter (6/7): Lucky Rating: Teen+ (For: Language, Graphics Depictions of Violence) Summary: An old friend returns, to wake Nick from a terrible nightmare. Chapter Notes: @letswaitforme, @deltajackdalton,@impossiblepluto,@mutatedsilverunicorn,@12percentplan,@telltaleclerk…idk, who else wants to be tagged in updates of this fic?? lemme know ;)

Previous Chapter | Read on ao3

“Let’s begin at the beginning, Greg. How did you find the house?”

Overexposed lighting, overly clean surfaces, beeps and shouts and screams. He would hate it--he once confided to his friend, that he hated hospitals.

“Greg?”

The poor guy, probably terrified enough as it is. Second time being in the hospital within months.

“Greg, are you listening to me?”

The buzzing and bustling, the hovering, the constant pokes and prods and questions. It almost made him claustrophobic.

“Greg!”

A hand on his shoulder firmly pressed the fabric of Greg’s shirt. Not as firm as Nick’s grasp was, but enough to summon Greg Sanders back into his body. His fingers fumbled on the edges of his shirt, screams and cries reverberated in his head.

“Where did you go? Sara said you and her were in the garage, examining Nick’s car--”

“Car, right. Yeah, we, uh, we were processing Nick’s car. Nothing out of the ordinary, but we noticed his kit wasn’t there, nor any evidence from the scene. There was security cam footage from across the street that showed a woman exit Nick’s vehicle--well, presumably--and draw some cash from an ATM, then she got a cab and vanished. We had nothing, for a while, though I’m sure you know that. Then, somebody called my phone with a voice modulator, told me they had a lead but would only meet me in private--”

“Don’t tell me--”

“I was gonna call for backup, it’s just--”

“I expect something like this out of Nick, but you, Greg? Who knows what could have happened--”

“I found him, didn’t I?” Greg snapped. A look of shock blossomed on Catherine’s face. Greg’s face fell, this sudden outburst was out of character for him, but it was hard to shake off the rage towards the psycho that reduced Nick to the man he found in the closet. It was hard to shake off the shock, that something like this could happen to somebody so close to him. It was hard to think that Nick has been through so much in the last eleven years, that somehow he’s found the strength to hold on, when everything and everyone is telling them that he shouldn’t be alive.

Their attention moved from each other to the man on the other side of the glass, lying in a hospital bed, unconscious. Sara was sitting next to him, held his hand. Catherine sniffled, then walked into the room, Greg followed behind.

Greg stood at the foot of the bed, as Catherine pulled up a stool on the other side of the bed. Nick looked peaceful in his restful state, but Greg could still hear the man’s screams and sobs ring out in his mind, as his body was moved onto a stretcher.

“It’s okay, Nick, they’re taking you to the hospital,” Greg had told him, after making the mistake of taking his hand away from Nick’s. A connection, one that Greg would never fully understand Nick’s need for, severed.

“No! No hospital! Mmm fine...Need to...find...Greg…”

“I’m here, man, I’m right here.”

“He’s buh-buried...need to...dig him up...Mahaha--arshhhhhhh too…”

A sedative, Nick had screamed so loudly as the needle was pushed into his skin. Greg wondered if Nick had been shot with one of the darts found on the bed. As they brought Nick out of the house, Greg could only think about collecting a tox sample, to see what he had been drugged with, to cause a reaction to the sedative so violent he had nearly punched the poor paramedic.

“Ray processing the scene?” Sara asked in a hushed voice, not that Nick would be able to hear them anyway.

“No, I got someone from swing--Ronnie Lake,” Catherine replied, her eyes on Nick.

“Good. Ronnie’s good.” Sara gulped down something, a light layer of tears glimmered in her eyes. Greg wanted to move to her, offer some comfort, but found his hands glued to the end of the hospital bed.

It was different, when Nick had gotten shot. They were all worried, sure, but when they found out he was awake, conscious, demanding pizza and cracking jokes, they knew that he was at least somewhat okay--they hadn’t heard about the details of the shooting right away, all they cared about was Nick, and even when they did, Nick had just jumped right back into work, seemed okay, seemed like his normal self. Maybe that’s why Greg had neglected Nick’s state of mind at the funeral explosion, elected to just help Nick get dressed into a spare change of clothes, get cleaned up, instead of goading him back to the hospital as Catherine had commanded.

Maybe it was selfish, to take that for granted, to not pay more attention, because what if Nick was indulging in the same reckless behavior that had nearly gotten him killed after Warrick was? He could have been triggered by the loss of another member of law enforcement--even if Officer Clark wasn’t part of their team, per se, Nick wore his heart on his sleeve, the guilt complex was apparent. What if he had walked headfirst into this situation? It was hard to tell if the signs of struggle in the bedroom were from the original crime scene, or from any sort of struggle Nick would have put up. They would have to wait for him to wake up to find out what really happened.

“Willows? Catherine Willows?”

A doctor entered the room, nudged Greg aside to pick up Nick’s chart.

“We’ve already contacted Gil Grissom, the other emergency contact, but were told that you were here on site. I see you found the place all right.”

An attempt to lighten the mood, put a smile on their sullen faces. He must have good news, else, he’s trying to ease the pain of his news.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t our first rodeo,” Catherine told him. Nick would have laughed at that.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that Nick’s going to be just fine. He’ll be sore for a few days, has a broken hand, and will be sporting a new scar on his chest, but it could have been much worse. After decontamination, there’s also no side-effects apparent from the tetrodotoxin, either. Most patients survive that, if they didn’t, uh,” The doctor coughed. Greg noticed how young he was, how green. “Succumb to the more harmful effects.”

“Tetrodotoxin, the paralyzing agent?” Sara asked in a hoarse voice. “Was he…?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to him to find out, but with the high dosage he was given, it’s a miracle he’s even still here. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t have been fully lucid. In fact, I’m shocked he’s not in a coma, most patients usually fall into one, if they survive.”

Greg’s heart had stopped at the mere idea of Nick being fully aware of what was happening to him--with the nonsense he seemed to speak at the house, he hoped that perhaps it was some sort of fever dream, hallucination.

And then, he remembered the phone call.

“Doctor…” he cleared his throat, didn’t even want to consider the possibility, but the question had to be raised. “Was there any signs of...of seh…”

His voice cracked, trailed off before he could even finish the word. Catherine had removed her gaze from Nick to look at Greg with a widened gaze, a realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

“No.” The doctor responded, quickly, shortly. He didn’t seem too fond of the idea, either. “No, there weren’t in our examinations.”

The young doctor also cleared his throat, looked back to the chart.

“He’ll be staying overnight for observation, given a prescription for some painkillers, but he should be able to go home in no time.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Catherine muttered, her eyes falling back onto Nick.

The doctor left the room, and Greg resumed his watch over Nick, who still seemed to be asleep.

“So...Grissom’s his emergency contact?” Greg asked with a small chuckle, breaking the silence. He became aware of the fact that Nick wouldn’t quite like being under the watch of so many eyes, removed his gaze to stare at the floor.

Sara chuckled back. A smile cracked on Catherine’s face.

“Yeah, guess so. Said he was gonna change it, after the restaurant shooting. Guess he didn’t think he’d need to, so soon.”

The resumed their shared silence, waiting. Waiting for Nick to flutter his eyes open, demand a pizza or a beer. Waiting for some sign that even though the doctor said he’d be able to go home soon, that truly, he would be able to go home soon. Waiting for an indication that he would be okay, he’d be back to normal. Waiting for Nick Stokes, the mountain of strength that he is, to wake from his slumber.

They would be waiting for a while.

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Lucky. If he had a nickel for every time he heard the phrase “he’s lucky to be alive,” he would be able to retire from the Las Vegas Crime Lab by now.

He was lucky that Grissom came and saved him from that terrified woman with a gun.

He was lucky that the glass just barely missed his neck, that the fall from the window didn’t injure him any more. He was lucky that Brass and his squad showed up when they did, lest Nick witness his house from becoming any more of a horrific crime scene.

He was lucky that he was given a fan. Funnily enough, he was even lucky that he shot the damn light, that the ants came pouring into the box, because if they didn’t, he would still be six feet under. He was lucky that Hodges just happened to call right before the lid was opened. He was lucky that Grissom’s plan worked, and that he was above ground.

He was lucky that he was only shot in the shoulder, though one bullet was dangerously close to his heart.

He was lucky that he had stood his ground where he did, that the van’s door didn’t hit him as an explosion sent shock waves through the air.

But luck isn’t what Nick would use to describe the outcome of his survival against Veronica. She never intended for him to die, not really. He was her favorite toy, after all. She wasn’t going to give him up that easily.

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The sound of a cane woke Greg up from a standing slumber, two canes, two Doctors, accompanied by a third person that made Greg think he hadn’t woken up, and that he was still dreaming about a screaming man chained in a closet, who was oddly silent, though physically struggling.

“Ran into a friend downstairs,” Ray announced as he, Grissom and Doc Robbins all entered the room.

“Gil?” Sara asked, hopping up from her seat, though she didn’t let go of Nick’s hand. Grissom walked over, embraced his wife, planted a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Got the first flight that I could, but I can’t stay long. How is he?”

“Not...entirely sure, he hasn’t woken up yet,” Catherine said, walking over to plant her hand on Grissom’s shoulder. “I’m...gonna go call his parents.”

Grissom nodded, looked to Nick. He placed his hand on Sara’s on Nick’s. A feeling fluttered up Greg’s chest, hope. Grissom was here, so Nick would definitely be okay.

“Any idea who…?”

“No. House was registered to a ‘Gertrude Ortollins,’ we’ve got an APB on her now. Hey, Gil, good to see you,” Brass replied, entering the room.

“Jim,” Grissom acknowledged, shaking Brass’ hand with his free one.

“How’d it go with Marsh’s family?”

“About as well as it did with Clark’s. How’s Nicky?” Brass asked, wiping his face with his hand.

“Still sleeping.”

An exasperated sigh, laden with worry.

“Sanders, you--you were at the house, what did you see, what happened?”

All eyes on Greg, and he felt a bead of sweat on his forehead. The details were, in fact, hazy, but he told them what he remembered anyway.

“Went to the house, found a bedroom, Nick was in the closet, and he was, uhm...heavily drugged--paralyzed, I guess--Something knocked me out, and when I woke up, there were darts on a bed and Nick was half-free. He kept saying ‘dig him up,’ and I-I thought maybe he was talking about…But he wasn’t and now we’re here.”

“No sign of the person who knocked you out? Male or female?”

Brass grabbed Greg by the shoulders, shook him a little, drilled him into the ground with questions. He pulled a picture out from his pocket, a crime scene photo.

“Do you recognize this? See it anywhere in the house?”

It was a picture of a body, dressed up in Nick’s vest, surrounded by evidence tags, markers, his kit, his gun. The man’s eyes were wide open, glazed over. A word, written in marker--”STOKES” with the “O” acting as a bulls-eye, a dart lodged right in the center.

“Take it easy, Jim, we’re all a bit worked up--”

“Zip it, Langston!” Brass snapped. Grissom and Sara tore away from Nick, sensed that the detective had reached a boiling point.

“Ray, let’s go get some coffee,” Doc Robbins muttered, nudging Ray out of the room.

The dust in the air settled, once Brass heaved another heavy sigh.

“I should...I should go apologize,” he muttered, and left the room. He left the picture on the floor, Greg picked it up and put it back on the bed.

Greg, Sara and Grissom were all left in isolation and silence, a trio that had not worked together for years, and yet, it felt like nothing had changed at all. A feeling of togetherness, in their silence, as they continued their watch over Nick Stokes, a man they all loved in different ways.

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Birds. Birds were flying above him, chattering away, not a care in the world. No particular destination, just the air beneath their wings, a light feeling in their chests. Circling the air...or, were they circling him?

His body, sprawled on the ground, a bird who fell from the sky. He felt small, so small in comparison to the winged creatures above him, to the large shovel that was balancing his broken body.

“Aw, you poor thing.” A voice cooed at him. A giant woman loomed above him, looked down on him. “I’m gonna keep you.”

The shovel propelled his body into the air, he was unable to move his limbs, fell haphazardly into the woman’s hand like a rag doll. She poked and prodded at him, stuck a needle into him. And then another. And another. Perhaps his body was somewhere else, feeling the pain she was inflicting on him. This body was nothing, just a lifeless toy.

“You’re mine,” the woman kept whispering to him, petting his chest with a single finger, applying particular pressure to his scars. All clothing was gone--he felt so naked, so embarrassed.

She brought him into a house, the wallpapers were continuous streams of crime scene tape. The house was silent, except for the shuttering click of a camera. Camera flashes were the only source of light.

“Oops!”

His body rolled out of her hand, onto the ledge of a staircase. With the tip of her foot, she nudged his body forward, and he tumbled down a seemingly endless amount of stairs. He couldn’t feel the pain, as his limbs flailed around, as his head finally came to an impact with a clear, glass surface. The bottom of the stairs landed him into a box, a glass coffin...no, not into, above. He landed on top of the body of Officer Marsh.

The sound of a phone ringing, a voice picking up. His voice, talking to Greg.

“Hey, man, sorry, I can’t make it to breakfast.”

“What? Why? What the hell is wrong with you, Nick? Then again, I figured as much, you’re such a shitty friend. Don’t even know why I even said yes when you asked me.”

He wanted to scream, tell Greg about the man in the box beneath him. To warn him, not to go looking for Nick.

“You know, first you send Officer Clark to the back in that restaurant, and now you sent Marsh down a flight of stairs? Down to the ground, buried alive? Do you even remember what that felt like, Nick? How it felt to be struggling for air, struggling against six walls, just inches from your body, unable to move? He’ll die by asphyxiation, alright, but it’ll be post burial. Unlike you. You always survive, when the people that should...don’t.”

Click. Flash. His body rose up, dangled by something tight around his wrists.

“You’ve been a very bad doll,” the woman whispered to him. “It’s time for your punishment.”

He was carried to a dollhouse, an exact scale model of the house he was currently in--if he had a heart, it would have stopped, the miniature killer was back, was going to go after Sara again, or worse, maybe everyone again.

But this woman wasn’t Natalie Davis, this was Veronica...a woman with no last name. Nothing to set her apart, nothing to identify her as anything other than Nick’s “owner.” He might as well get used to calling her that.

Discordant music was playing, some stupid song he would hate for the rest of his life, mixed with a song he once sang to himself, during an extended period of torture, to keep his sanity. A futile effort, now, his sanity flew away with the rest of the birds.

She split the house apart effortlessly, located in the bedroom, there was a closet, with an attachment for the chain that she was holding him by. She attached his body to it, closed the door, then closed the house. A large eye peeked into the window, watched him, for minutes...for hours...for days? Maybe even years. The eye left, a camera lens took its place.

Then, it began to rain.

Tiny birds flew like darts against the window, he could just barely see corpses smash against the window and slide down.

And then, one big corpse hit against the window, dead center. Bulls-eye. It wasn’t a bird, it was Greg Sanders.

“Another broken toy, ready to be buried.”

He wanted to scream, he didn’t care what happened to him, his life was meaningless, he served no purpose other than to please Veronica, none of that really mattered, so long as Greg was safe.

“Dig him up!” he cried out, pleading, the puppet finally had a voice.

“Nicky?”

“DIG HIM UP!” at the top of his lungs, all energy expelled from his body, but a shock brought him back to life, as he opened his eyes and saw Gil Grissom sitting next to him.

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Nick had woken up unceremoniously, his eyes had fluttered open, just as Greg thought they would. They all encouraged a charming smile to spread onto his face by showing them their own, it worked, his eyes lit up and his lips spread apart, curving slightly upward.

“Greg,” he croaked. “Sorry I...missed breakfast.”

“It’s okay, call it a rain check.”

He groaned, twisted his body a little.

“What...What happened? How long have I been out?" he added, after seeing Grissom next to him.

Greg’s mouth gaped open in shock, he had not expected those words, out of someone who seemed to be in a conscious state of mind at the scene of the crime.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sara asked.

“I...I was at a crime scene? I turned around, and...woke up here,”

Greg held up the picture.

“You don’t know anything about this?”

Nick stared at the picture for a moment, a puzzled expression on his face, his brows furrowed down, a glimmer of something shone in his eyes.

“Nuh...No.”

Grissom had been staring intently at Nick the whole time, his head cocked to one side.

“Greg, Sara...could you give us a minute?”

Maybe this is all a bit overwhelming…

Greg and Sara nodded, left the room in a mutual agreement that Grissom would get the answers. A mostly impartial third party, who hadn’t been there, for the past two years.

Greg was hopeful again, that maybe Nick was just hazy from the sedation, that Grissom would be able to talk to him, get at least some of the story while it was still fresh in Nick’s head. They gave the pair their privacy, Grissom had closed the blinds after they had left the room. Catherine rejoined them, Sara filled her in on what happened. Catherine knocked on the door, but didn’t enter.

Grissom came out, almost an hour later, with reddened eyes, immediately embraced Sara.

“Well? What did he say?” Catherine asked, peering into the room through the crack in the door.

Grissom looked up at her, a solemn expression on his face, as he held onto Sara’s hand.

“He doesn’t remember anything.”

#csi cbs #csi fan fic #nick stokes #greg sanders #whump fic #nick and grissom #my fic #fic: atrophy #OH MAN #i wrote this in like four hours enjoy #BORDERLINE HORROR THIS CHAPTER IS!!#that freaking nightmare sequence I CANNOT

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