#so he’s still a brat. but he’s less lethal now. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

Text

statistically significant | 2 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Present day

Miruko’s agency was large, much larger than you had expected.

From the street, it had looked unobtrusive enough, a moderately-sized office building with a modern-looking glass front. You could see into a large reception area on the ground floor, and open workspaces on the next few floors, conjoined desks piled high with paperwork and slightly wilted-looking office plants. If not for Miruko’s name emblazoned over the entry in bold, metallic letters, you could have taken it for just another office building.

Once inside, however, the building became much more than that. After checking in at reception, you were led deep into the building, and gestured into an elevator that took you tens of floors down. When the doors opened, they let out into a cavernous space, stretching under what must have been the entire block. The floor was equipped with a gym, several reinforced training spaces the size of office buildings themselves, and what appeared to be a surveillance room where footage from the training spaces could be replayed.

Your mouth dropped open. Did all hero agencies hide deep underground like this? How many other underground floors were there? How big was Miruko Agency, really?

Your guide had enough tact to ignore your inelegant expression, instead leading you towards a training room. A huge, clear window tens of meters across looked into the space, but you would bet anything that it was made of some material much stronger than glass, which was especially evidenced by what you could see going on beyond the window.

Rubble littered the room, scattered in towering piles that gave the appearance of a post-doomsday cityscape. You didn’t know if the room had been set up this way, or if the rubble was the result of the battle going on within; there were two heroes that you could see darting around the space, both appearing to be causing maximum chaos.

Closest to you, a woman with wild pink curls was emitting a powerful stream of some cement-colored substance that ate away at anything it touched, causing it to smoke and hiss and crumble. She melted a huge hole in a pile of rubble, and a man with a shock of golden-yellow hair leapt away from what had probably been his hiding place, backpedaling wildly.

You perked up when you realized who they were--Ashido Mina, the number twenty-nine hero Pinky, and Kaminari Denki, the number thirty-three hero Chargebolt.

Kaminari threw out a hand, and a crackling wave of lightning struck out at Ashido. The lights flickered out briefly, and even behind the window, you could feel your hair stand on end. You blinked past the powerful flash that had temporarily blinded you, casting about for Ashido who had surely been struck down, only to choke on a laugh when you caught sight of her flashing Kaminari the middle finger, sliding away from a huge chunk of rubble she’d dislodged with her acid to use as a shield.

“They’re idiots,” a voice intoned from your side.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, turning to find Miruko herself standing next to you, powerful arms crossed over her chest. Despite her words, a little fond-looking smile flickered at the edges of her mouth.

You schooled your slack jawed expression into a smile. “I don’t know--their personalities are mostly why they’re so popular, so they must be doing something right. I did a little digging into everyone’s results before I got here, and they stood out among a lot of the rest.”

Miruko’s gaze flicked over you. She was short, maybe even shorter than you, but her keen red eyes and very lethal-looking biceps more than made up for her stature. She was intimidating in person, an air about her that told you she could snap and turn on you at any second. Despite the fact that she had asked you here herself, you felt like she might seize you and bodily throw you out of her agency.

“And that’s why they’re idiots. Their results are buoyed by their personalities,” Miruko sniffed. “They need work.”

You prickled a little, feeling like you should say something in their defense, but the truth of it was, you were here to help them work on things.

Some weeks ago, Miruko had contacted the Public Safety Hero Commission with interest in the ranking model. Your version had been in production for close to a year, and you had recently been making scholarly noises about feedback loops, asking for permission to provide pro heroes with individual results breakdowns. Miruko had caught wind of this and demanded on site assessments for her “team of frigging clowns” as she had so eloquently put it. And so you had been loaned out, with the idea of helping to direct the training for the heroes at Miruko Agency, providing them a real time comparison of their training footage to the generic hero ranking model results.

If this trial run was successful, if you could help any of the heroes measurably jump ranks, then the Commission had committed to providing individualized results for the thousands of heroes employed today. The Commission had also expressed interest in your idea of creating and packaging smaller models that took less technical skill to operate, for heroes to use to direct their own training. They had even seemed receptive to giving you a small team of research scientists and software engineers to build such a product, so you would be looking at a pretty sick promotion, not to mention.

Miruko made her way over to the surveillance room, beckoning you after her, and you watched as she leaned over a desk, pressing down a button with one gloved finger.

A crackling sound echoed overhead and her voice followed. “Alright, brats, recess is over. Anyone not heading out on patrol, meet in the surveillance room now.”

The flickering light from Kaminari’s lightning fizzled out, and the door to the training room opened not long after, Kaminari and Ashido spilling out in a chaotic whirlwind of limbs and petty squabbling. They were the first to arrive at the surveillance room, and Kaminari visibility perked up when he saw you.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself on a gasp when Ashido’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “What the fuck, Mina--! Why are your elbows so sharp? Can you just not--?” He grabbed her elbow. “Stop, look, it’s stats girl! From the Awards!”

You startled a little, shocked that he had remembered you. That had been almost a year ago, and you’d only exchanged a couple quick comments in the stairwell.

Ashido looked up from where she appeared to be attempting to crack one of his ribs, her expression shifting into something altogether too interested. You flushed when a sharp grin broke out over her pretty features.

“Oh my god, you’re stats girl? I have been waiting forever. It’s an absolute honor to meet you.” She held out a palm, waggling her rosy fingers expectantly.

A rising sense of horror grew within you. Did...did Kaminari remember you so clearly because he’d told people about the incident? What exactly had he mentioned to her? Who else had he spread the tale to?

“Um, yeah that’s me,” you managed, trying to tamp down your embarrassment.

Ashido grinned wider, leaning forward. “I was totally convinced Denki and Eijirou made you up, except that Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. You’re, like, a legend. Do you do autographs?”

You gaped at her, your mind sticking on the phrase Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. A nervous, hunted energy crept over you. Revenge...for months.

Miruko’s rabbit ears twitched and she turned to you, frowning. “I wasn’t aware you’d already met some of my circus monkeys. Is this going to be a problem?”

You dithered nervously, not actually sure if it would be. You’d known Bakugou worked at her agency, considering you had done a fair amount of pre-work collecting everyone's results. But you’d honestly put off thinking about this. Bakugou had been in quite the rage at the Hero Awards, but that had been almost a year ago. And Ashido had phrased his revenge plans in the past tense… Surely he didn’t still hold as much of a grudge now?

Miruko eyed you suspiciously for a moment, but she was distracted when the scuffle of boots indicated the approach of other heroes, and a pair of burly men with curling satyr horns rounded the corner, one of them leaning forward to speak to her. Ashido sent you a wink when Miruko turned her back, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like later.

In the next few minutes, a small group of heroes assembled, ranging from relatively well-known heroes like Ashido and Kaminari, to a couple of heroes who ranked deep in the hundreds--you only knew some of their faces because Miruko had provided you with a list of her employees for preparatory research purposes. They formed a small crescent around the surveillance area, chattering lowly to themselves and eyeing you with speculative curiosity.

To your eternal relief, her most famously explosive employee was conspicuously absent, and you felt yourself relax when it seemed like everyone had turned up who was going to.

When it seemed like the crowd size was finally large enough to please her, Miruko barked a loud “SHUT UP” at them. The din of low voices instantly died down.

“Alright brats. Over the next few months, Y/N will be working here at the agency with us. She has been invited on behalf of the commission, and will be analyzing your quirks, your methods, and your recent work,” Miruko said. “She has individualized results pulled from the current hero rankings that can inform you how to improve. I expect you to take full advantage of this opportunity.”

She gestured to you, giving you a meaningful look as if she expected you to introduce yourself. You gave a little wave, glancing at the heroes around you.

“Um, hi,” you said. “As Miruko-san said, I can give you a little advice based on your current results breakdown. I also plan to analyze video of your training in the coming weeks, and build parallel models to simulate future results given your performance. We can compare those to the current rankings for an idea of how much work you will have to put into particular skills for you to move up in the ranks.”

A small murmur went through the crowd at the prospect of moving up in the ranks. Some gazes sharpened in interest.

You continued, “This is also a good chance to work on specific growth areas -- I can train smaller models on subsets of videos so you can compare your skills more directly with each other or with other heroes from other agencies. Please let me know if there is anything special any of you would like to focus on.”

Miruko stepped back in front of you. “Y/N is going to set up in the surveillance room for the next few weeks. I’ve already established checkpoints for all of you to meet with her, but I encourage you to meet with her more often if you can.”

There were a couple of nods, and a few interested whispers from somewhere at the back of the crowd. Miruko took a breath like she was going to say more, but then--

“Hard pass,” a voice growled from your left. Your hackles instantly raised, and it took your brain a couple seconds to catch up with your instincts. You whipped around wildly when you realized you knew that voice, and you almost jumped a full foot in the air when you caught sight of those familiar blonde spikes over another hero’s shoulder.

You hadn’t noticed his approach, but Bakugou had clearly returned from a fight only minutes ago. His hair drooped a little with sweat, there was dirt streaking the points of his high cheekbones, and his costume was shredded by a thousand tiny tears, like he’d been thrown through a glass window. And...was that blood on his gauntlets? Was it his?

You were torn between immediate annoyance and something like concern at the sight of him so obviously roughed up.

“The meetings are not optional,” Miruko’s voice took on a hard edge.

“I already know what this fucking nerd has to say,” Bakugou drawled dismissively. “And I don’t give a shit. I don’t need assists if I’m the one busy saving the fucking day.”

Your mood edged cleanly into annoyance. It seemed he hadn’t changed any, then.

Miruko’s face darkened. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Bakugou bared his teeth. They gleamed almost blindingly white against the dark dirt on his face. “No.”

A wild look entered Miruko’s eye at the challenge. “Everyone is dismissed. Except Katsuki,” she uttered in a low, dangerous tone.

There was a small pause. The heroes around you looked at her askance, and her features darkened even further. “I said scram. NOW!”

The effect was immediate. It felt like no sooner had you blinked than the hall was suddenly clear. The sight of Kaminari and Ashido wheeling around the corner was all the proof you had that the team hadn’t suddenly vanished from existence.

Bakugou snorted and propped himself lazily against a column, affecting a slouch, one pale eyebrow raised over his insouciant expression. It looked almost too perfectly arrogant, and you wondered if he practiced it in the mirror sometimes.

“I said the meetings are not optional, Katsuki,” Miruko hissed, taking a step closer to him. “You can ignore her suggestions all you want, but you will attend them.”

Close as they were, you could see she was almost a full head shorter than him, but the force of her anger seemed to make her larger somehow--she wasn’t towering over him, but she was certainly terrifying. Towering under, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

Bakugou, for his part, held his ground. His mouth curled disdainfully. “What’s the fucking point? The nerd’s just gonna tell me stupid shit. And I’m not going to listen.”

Your fingers twitched in irritation. Data wasn’t stupid shit -- it was mathmatical fact, almost as divorced from human bias as it was possible to be. How was it humanly possible that he hadn’t learned anything or grown even the littlest bit? How was it possible that he was just as infuriating as he was a year ago?

But fine. He could have things his way if that’s what he wanted.

Miruko’s face twisted in a scowl, and she took a deep breath like she was ready to start yelling. But you got there first.

“He has a point,” you said, giving him a hard look over the top of Miruko’s head. “I would hate to waste my time on someone who’s been stalled in the rankings for a year now. He wouldn’t know how to implement my advice even if I were to give it.”

You paused, letting an uncharacteristic smirk curl your mouth, trying your best to channel his disdainful energy. “Isn’t that right, Number Eight?”

Bakugou’s gaze sharpened over Miruko’s silver hair, twin pinpricks of red narrowing in on you. He abandoned his slouch, his body tensing like a hound that smelled blood. “What did you just say?”

You pushed down the petty satisfaction that rose within you at his reaction. He was so fucking prideful, so easy to bait.

“Hmm, cognitive delays,” you said, pretending to tap your chin thoughtfully. “Very worrying. Further evidence he wouldn’t be able to process the information, though. No, I think it’s best if we don’t meet.”

Bakugou pushed himself off the column, edging around Miruko as his mouth drew into a snarl. You were immediately reminded of the Hero Awards, that same overwhelming prickle of power edging over you as he stalked closer, the same scent like caramel and gunpowder.

Miruko’s eyes flicked between the two of you curiously, an eyebrow raised in interest. You hoped it meant she was interested enough in your data analysis to intervene if Bakugou tried to sauté you like an onion.

“If you melt through this blazer I really will sabotage the hero rankings and dip you all the way to number five hundred,” you threatened, edging away from Bakugou as he drew closer. “And also you owe me money for that dress.”

“I’m not gonna fucking give you shit,” he announced, looming over you when he’d decided he was close enough to intimidate. He was near enough that you could feel the heat of him, but he hadn’t put his hands to you yet. It seemed Miruko was enough of a deterrent to curb his bad behavior. “And I’m not gonna meet with you.”

“Good, then we agree,” you said, tipping your head back to look him in the eye. “You’re not good enough to do better anyways.”

Bakugou growled, the phrase clearly still enough to tick him off a year later. “Fuck you, I’m the best.”

“That’s not what your ranking tells me,” you clicked your tongue, feigning disinterest. With the dirt and scratches all over him he looked wilder than ever and you would be a fool to ignore it, but Miruko’s presence made you bold. And something else, some latent streak of frustration and pettiness told you to keep going, to keep pressing the buttons that were getting this reaction from him.

“Your ranking tells me you haven’t even improved the tiniest bit in an entire year. At this rate, you’ll never even hit the top three, never mind be the best. I don’t think you could improve even if you wanted to,” you said.

Bakugou looked like he wanted nothing more than to tear your head off with his teeth. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

You opened your mouth to reply but there was a sudden motion at the edge of your vision, something pink and blurry and wild. You glanced past Bakugou’s shoulder to find Ashido leaning around the wall, waving a hand frantically and mouthing something at you. You squinted, watching her lips shape themselves carefully: make a bet.

What? Make a bet?

She wanted you to make a bet?

You looked back up at Bakugou, taking in the oppositional expression, the angry curl of his mouth, the straight slope of his nose, and those keen, blood red eyes glaring down at you. This was certainly the face of a man who wouldn’t be told what to do, who couldn’t be told what to do.

But despite your words and your inherent distaste, there was no denying he was actually your best shot, the cleanest pathway to your promotion. Bakugou was smart, driven, and absolutely lethal. If anyone could turn around a rank at top speed it was him.

But he couldn’t be made to do it. He had to want to do it.

Ashido waved in the corner of your vision again, enunciating with exaggerated facial expressions. Make a bet.

Things clicked into place.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure,” you looked away from Ashido, inspecting your nails casually, like your focus would rather be anywhere than on this conversation. “In fact, I would bet almost anything that you wouldn’t know how to implement my suggestions, even if you tried.”

Bakugou froze, red eyes passing over you curiously. For one heart stopping moment, you thought he was on to you, but he just leaned down instead, putting his face close to yours.

“I’ll fucking take that bet.”

You tried to push down your sudden swell of excitement, fighting to keep your expression neutral. You knew he wouldn’t cooperate if he thought you were happy about this.

“Fine. You have two months to jump a rank,” you said. “Or I win. And you’ll pay me what you owe me for the dress.”

Bakugou smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. This had the effect of emphasizing both the tears in his shirt and the swell of his biceps.You quickly attached your eyes firmly to his face--that was so not what you needed to be focused on right now.

“I’ll do it in one,” he said. “And then I win, you smug fucking nerd.”

You gazed at him steadily. “Agreed. Miruko’s number seven--you think you can beat your own boss with just a month of work? You’ll never.”

“You haven’t heard what I win yet,” he said.

You stared at him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “You go up in rank. That’s what you win.”

Bakugou’s handsome face shifted into an uneven smirk. “Oh no. This is twice now you’ve opened your little know-it-all mouth and acted like you know what the fuck you’re talking about. When I win, you’ll tell me I’m the best and I was right all along.”

You suppressed an eye roll. If he moved up a rank, the point would very obviously be that you were right all along. Was he really so unreasonably competitive and spiteful that he needed to be told he was right?

Then you remembered he’d quite literally dragged you into a stairwell and implied he'd fry you to a crisp when he found out he was number eight. Of course he was.

Well, a few throwaway words were worth nothing compared to the promotion you’d be getting. He could have his sense of self satisfaction when you were knee deep in software engineers and fat stacks of money.

You took a deep breath, holding out a hand. “Okay. If you win, which is a very big if, then I’ll admit it. Deal?”

Bakugou considered you for a long moment, red eyes watching you closely, before a calloused hand engulfed yours. “Deal," he growled, a crooked grin flickering at the edge of his mouth. "Get ready to eat shit, nerd.”

You suppressed another eye roll, hoping to god this was going to be worth it.

This was going to be the longest month of your life.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #tw threats #tw gendered violence

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leahblackk · 4 years ago

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Lies pt.3

(The gif is not mine. Whoever made this thank you so much and I’m sorry)

Summary: After Y/n is kidnapped Spencer needs to find her before it is too late, but this makes Spencer being put into a very familiar position.

Type: Angst.

Alright people, finally we have the last part of lies and I have to thank all of you for the support and for being so patient with me. I am so sorry for taking so long, and I am sorry for what you will read. I might or might not have cried while I was writing it and editing it. And this fucking thing is so longgg so i am sorry. It took 16 pages like what???

With so much love and pain, Leah.

If you haven't read the first and second part here are the links.

And if you can read this while listening to Moonlight by future Islands it will be perfect because I was definitely listening to it while I wrote this.

People who asked me to tag them: @rexorangecouny, @b-a-utiful, @measure-in-pain, @jemimah-b99, @brod16

Y/n and Spencer have never been apart from each other. There was something that made the two young doctors crave each other. There was a connection with so much chemistry, with so much love and appreciation. The love they felt for each other wasn't like the others, and they never felt that way with anyone. After all, they belong together because they fit together. Because they were meant to be.

One of their first dates was to watch stars while they made a picnic. Spencer remembers the way her hair was being softly moved by the cold wind of that night. The moon wasn't complete because that way, they could see the stars better. The constellations were connected in the way they were, how the sky was being decorated by the little space things we call stars.

Spencer remembers very vividly how she always talks about astronomy and how the sky and space made her feel.

And that night, the stars were out. Spencer wishes she could be there with him to tell him facts about astronomy even though Spencer already knew all those facts. Still, in the way she narrates it, how she talks so happily, how she moves her hands, and how her eyes are sparkly and lighter than the stars itself make everything better. It was better to hear and learn those facts from her than in a boring book he could finish in less than an hour.

But she wasn't with him. He didn't even know where she was, but when he was out there watching the stars while hot, painful tears were streaming down his face. The universe was the only one who could know how he felt because the universe himself was the one that made them be together. Or well, that's what Spencer liked to think.

But certainly, the night sky wasn't that beautiful now she wasn't there. The night was colder, and he felt alone, empty. The stars seem dull in his eyes. The universe and astronomy weren't that beautiful anymore because the only stars Spencer wanted to watch were her eyes.

And then and there, Spencer made a promise. If he didn't find Y/n, he would never look at the night sky ever again. He won't even going to talk about astronomy in his life because that was her thing, and Spencer didn't want to take that away from her, but if he did find her, he would look at the stars every night before he goes to sleep. He would talk about astronomy, but only to her. He would thank the universe for the rest of his life. He would read all the facts so he can tell her because she always wanted to learn. She always asked Spencer about astronomy.

Spencer wanted his universe again.

He was so stuck in his mind. His eidetic memory wasn't a blessing at that moment. So he didn't hear his friend Derek Morgan approaching him.

He stood beside him. The doctor wasn't looking at his friend. He was looking up.

"Did you know space is complete silence? Some people might think it has a specific type of sound. But is silent." He murmurs while Morgan looks at him in confusion.

"No, I didn't know." He was going to encourage his friends, but the young doctor interrupted him.

"Did you know that on mars, the sunset is blue? I think it's something interesting."

"Kid…"

"Did you know that the name milky way galaxy has something to do with Greek mythology and Hercules? It says that Hera was nursing Hercules while she was asleep, and then when she woke up and pulled away, her breast milk spilled across the heavens. But in Greek mythology, Hera didn't like Hercules because it wasn't her son. Y/n told me that."

"Spencer, I think that's pretty interesting, but-"

"Did you know that-"

"Spencer!"

"What?" Spencer finally looked at his friend with tears in his eyes.

"We are going to find her. I promise."

"Are we? I mean, it's been an hour, twenty minutes, and three seconds since she was kidnapped, and we don't even have a clue where she is. Do you think we are gonna find her, or you just say it because you know this is all my fault, and if I didn’t kiss Cat, she wouldn't be kidnapped?"

Morgan sighed and hugged Spencer. The young doctor was known because he didn't like physical contact, but at that moment, he needed it. "This is not your fault. None of this is your fault, and we both knew you had to kiss her. You err was not telling her why you did it, but you will."

"I tried Morgan," Spencer cried. "I tried, but she wouldn't listen to me. Why didn't she listen to me? I love her. I love her more than anything. I can't lose her. I can't."

"You won't, kid. You won't."

And there, Spencer cried in Morgan's shoulder.

Twenty minutes after, Spencer tried to help the team in everything he could, but sometimes he would space out, thinking in those moments where Y/n would bring him back to reality by holding his knee. He looked down and put his own hand in his knee, trying to remember what it felt when it was her the one doing it.

"Go ahead, Garcia," Morgan said. There weren't pet names anymore. No one was in good humor to flirt. Even Penelope, her best friend, was missing, and his lack of pet names, cocky and sarcastic answers was showing. She didn't smile, but everyone knew something was wrong besides their current situation.

"A-A video has been sent to- to Spencer. It is Y/n" Penelope tried to talk. Her eyes were red, meaning she was crying.

Everyone looks at Spencer. "Show us." He said.

"Right away."

Everyone looked at the screen in front of them, waiting anxiously for the video. Spencer knew it wasn't a good one. The video started with a woman in front of the camera not giving a chance to see what was being her but apparently it was a chair.

The woman was trying to get a good angle, and when she made it, she started to walk away from the camera, not losing her view—everyone gasped except Spencer and Hotch, who already had their suspicions. The woman was Cat Adams.

"Hiya Spencie, sadly, I don't get to see you, but at least you can see me," she greeted. "I found someone outside of your office, and it was easy to catch her, and you thought she was smart."

Cat stepped aside, leaving Y/n in everyone's view. She had some minor bruises in her temple, and her lip was bleeding, meaning she had to fight for her life. She was awake, but she was looking at anything more than the floor. Her wrists were tied in the back of the chair, so were her ankles.

Spencer looked carefully at her, looking for lethal injuries, and when he didn't find them, he felt relieved. He looked at her face, and his heart hurt at the view, but even at that moment, he thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world to him, she always has been, and she will always be.

"Look at the front Y/n," Cat said. She didn't do what she wanted, so Cat walked where she was and grabbed her chin, moving it to the camera. Spencer watched her eyes, empty, without light he always liked and red, she had been crying. Those pretty eyes weren't looking at him. Those eyes he loved so much were lost, and Spencer thought it was his fault. He believed it was his fault. "Say hi to Spencer," Cat demanded. Y/n didn't listen to her. "I said to say hi to Spencer," she slapped her cheek, making Spencer's tears finally drop, and a few of the team as well. But even though Y/n didn't say anything. "So, someone has decided to be a little brat. You like brats, Spencer?" Cat asked.

Cat disappeared from the view just leaving Y/n there. She exhaled and looked at the camera. She moved her head to the left, trying to escape from the camera view. Adams came back with something the team wouldn't recognize. She smiled and lit it, the tip of the strange object lit up like a small candle, and put it in Y/n's arm, inside of her arm. She gasped and sobbed. She was trying to be strong, strong for them. "You decided to be a brat and don't do what I say, so this is your punishment."

When she didn't receive any painful reaction from the young agent, she put the object away, watching the slight burning she left in Y/n's arm. "Now, I think we can negotiate with your little friends, don't you think?" She looked at her, but she didn't respond. "Alright, crime fighters, this is what I want. The little bitch here aka Spencer's girlfriend, or should I say ex? Did you break up with Spencer Y/n? After you saw how he kissed me, did he kiss you in the same way? I bet he didn't." Y/n remained silent. "When I talk to you, you will answer me," Cat slapped Y/n’s cheek. She looked at Cat with anger this time.

"How far did you go with your obsession for him? If I wanted to be with you, we would have, but he didn't, did he? So you had to plan and do all of this so you can have all the attention and recognition you didn't have as a child, isn't it? How pathetic you are." Y/n finally talk.

"You don't talk to me like that." Cat slapped Y/n cheek with so much strength that it made Y/n spit blood. And then she looked at Cat again and chuckled.

"You wanted me to talk."

Cat ignored her words, being annoyed by them. She looked at the camera and smiled. "How I was saying, what I want is to Spencer to come. You can bring your team I don’t care, besides I want to all of them watch the show, but you had to enter the building alone, and you can’t do dirty tricks or anything like trying to get the FBI inside because I had cameras everywhere and if I see someone else trying to be inside I will kill her. All of you can watch everything from outside, that's actually the plan, and then maybe I can give you back your little girlfriend. You have to enter with any guns, with anything. Just you, and maybe without clothes, only if you want," Cat smirked and then began to walk close to the camera. "You know the rules, but the question if you dare to play the game Spencie. I see you soon." She winked and took the camera, and the video stopped.

Everyone stayed silent.

"Oh! She sent an address." Penelope knowledge.

"How did she escape?" JJ asked.

"That's what I like to know. Care to explain, Strauss?" Hotch talked, wapping the few tears in his eyes when he saw Erin Strauss walk to the BAU.

"Don't talk to me like that, Aaron. This is not my fault."

"Then who is? One of our agents is being there torture, and you didn't even have the decency to say that maniac escape from prison?"

"I didn't want to alarm the team. She killed a few cops on her way out, but apparently, she had everything planned for weeks."

"Obviously, she had," Rossi said. "Remember when you bring Aaron down because you said he wasn't doing a good job? What is this, then? Are you doing a good job, Erin?"

"This is not my fault, and you know it. I have the power to fire you both for being so unrespectful," Erin attacked.

"Oh yeah? Please do it. I really don't care, Erin. Fire me if you want, but I promise you that I will end you if something happens to her. I actually would like to know what your superiors would think about Erin Strauss. The section chief let a criminal escape and then don't say anything about it.”

"Guys, thank you, Hotch and Rossi, but I don't think how this can help to rescue her, and my girlfriend is out there being tortured by a psychopath, and I really don't think that fighting will help."

"Reid, it's right, we can discuss this later. Right now, we need to think about how we can act," Erin proposed.

"There's any other way than me going," Spencer said with confidence.

"No! Of course, no, that's the worst plan, Spence. I don't think it would work. She's crazy, remember? She would kill you and-" JJ started.

"JJ, she's my girlfriend, and she's suffering, and it's probably my fault."

"It's not," Hotch said. "We will act, and we will find her, I promise you. Besides, she's really strong."

Spencer nodded. She is strong.

She is strong.

He repeated like a mantra to try to calm his nerves.

She is strong.

. . .

Y/n could see everything so dark and tried to see where she was. She wasn't where Cat left her first when she recorded that video and probably sent it to her friends. She was worried, and not because of her life but for Spencer’s.

She knew he would appear at any moment with the team's approval or not. He was like that. He would give anything for her, even his life, just to save her, and at any other time, that would be comforting, but at that moment, that wasn't good. Her anxiety was all over her body, she could feel the blood in her mouth after the slap Cat gave her, and she could feel the injuries where Cat burned her, she could feel the tight hold in her hands and ankles, she was worried about the team, she was concerned about Spencer, she was concerned about Diana. And last, she was concerned about her life.

Was her life going to end?

Why wasn't that worried about her life? She was sick and concerned about everyone around her but her. Why wasn't she worried? Did she didn't care if her life ends at that moment?

She was confused, concerned, and full of anxiety. She was hurt. She wanted to get out there and never come back.

Cat interrupted her thoughts when she came in. With a black chair and put it in front of her. Cat looked at her and smiled. "Don't worry. I won't kill you even if I want to. I made a promise with Spencie, and besides, if I kill you right now, the show wouldn't be that fun, don't you think? " She walked and sat in front of Y/n. "You know, I always felt that you and Spencer needed couples therapy, you didn't trust in him, and he didn't communicate with you, and you didn't tell him the truth, but maybe when he comes, we can discuss that," and then she left leaving the young doctor confused.

. . .

Spencer enters the building. Of course, he did. He wasn't going to leave her girlfriend in the hands of that woman even if she didn't want to see him after what he did. And he knows that if she didn't look at him while he was in there, he wouldn't be mad about it. He deserves it, after all.

He was worried. A man he didn't know was escorting him where he was supposed to be. And he was nervous, of course, he was. Her mom was with Penelope, he didn't tell her what happened because he loved Y/n so much that she would feel bad, and Spencer didn't want that.

The man stopped in front of a black door and then left him there, alone. Spencer felt confused, looking everywhere to see what was happening, but then the door got open, letting him see Cat, and he looked inside of the room trying to find Y/n, but Cat blocked his view. "Don't be rude, Spencer, here you follow my rules, and my first rule is to cover your eyes," Cat smiled while she showed him a black tie. Spencer took it, and he put it in his eyes.

Cat took his arm and guided him where she wanted him to be, in a chair in front of Y/n, who also was covered, she tied his ankles to the chair. The room was empty, only with the three people there and two chairs and a table in Spencer’s left. It was dark and cold. The two doctors were anxious. She knew he was there, she could sense his perfume, and Spencer knew she was there because he could feel her in the same way he always perceives her when she came into a room.

Spencer wanted to see her and Y/n deep down. Her soul wanted to see him as well.

Cat took the tie off Spencer's eyes first, and at that moment, his eyes, for instinct, looked for hers. Those beautiful eyes he was craving for, those who were his strength and debility.

He finds them blind on a black tie like his. But there was her, with her hands free in her lap, but her ankles tied in the chair. Her lip was bleeding, and he could see some minor injuries in her temple, the burning in her arm. There she was.

Cat walked to her and took the tie out of her eyes, they were closed, and then she opened them looking for something that Spencer didn't know what it was, she wasn't looking at him yet, but he was craving for it.

Her eyes were red from the crying and how tired she was. Spencer promised that when they get back home, she will sleep for three days straight to recover. She was so beautiful. She was everything Spencer ever wanted and more, and she was his love. The small light of the room, making her look like an angel. His angel.

Y/n finally looked at him, she was scared of what might happen with him, but she was glad to see him even if she was scared of it, even if she didn't know if she really wanted to, but there he was. Looking straight at her, looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him, at that moment, or maybe she has always been, and she never knew.

But his brown hazel eyes were so comforting. That was what she needed to feel strong, to feel free? His lips were highly red, so his eyes, he has been crying, and she could tell. She wonders if she might have something to do it.

She feels baffled, but she sees him, and that was what she needed, even if she says otherwise.

"All right, I guess it is time to begin," Cat starts talking. The surprise was that at that moment, they forgot they weren't alone. "First, don't you think this feels familiar. Don't you get some kind of dejá vú Spencie? This doesn't bring you memories for a certain brown hair girl?" Cat starts passing around the small room.

"I don't know what does that have something to do with all of this," Spencer says, not taking his gaze out of Y/n, but she does. She looks at the floor and his heartaches. She isn't looking at him.

"Oh, Spence, it has all to do with. Did you know that your little girlfriend here felt threatened by her?"

Spencer looks at her, trying to understand or see some kind of emotion in her, trying to find the truth, but she doesn't let him.

"Is that true?" Spencer asks with fear of what the answer might be.

Y/n doesn't respond.

"He's talking to you, sweetheart," Cat says.

"Is not that I felt threatened by her," She says, and Spencer's breathing contains because he is hearing her voice, her sweet voice, "is because I never thought- I felt like I wasn't what she was for him, for you," she looks at him this time, "she was practically your first love, and I came later. Sometimes you have this person in your life, and it is the first time you feel this way. You don't want it to end. And sometimes you feel like you're not good enough even when they say you are, mostly if they loved someone with their entire heart like you did with-with Maeve."

Spencer's face softens by her words. She felt like this, and he never knew.

"But-"Spencer says but is interrupted by Cat.

"Oh no, you are not going to say anything, and all the bullshit we all have heard. I want you to tell her the reason why you kissed me, "she smiles.

"It was because she told me that if I didn't kiss her, she would make your life miserable, and I couldn't stand that. I am so sorry."

"Yeah, but look, I did otherwise. I just have to say that I really loved that kiss. Don't you want to give me another one?" she got closer to him.

"Cat, I don't think-"He says.

"What I told you about rules?" She says and walks to a table and brings a knife with her. "You will listen and do what I say, or bad things will happen," Cat walks to Y/n and puts the knife in her arm.

"Wait! Please don't hurt her. I will do what you want."

She looks at him and smiles, "Good boy."

Cat gets closer to Spencer and sits in his lap. She looks at Y/n first and winks at her, then takes Spencer’s face in her hands and kisses him, but this time Spencer doesn't close his eyes, doesn't even touch her. He is looking at Y/n, trying to apologize with his eyes. She looks the other way while a tear escapes from her eyes.

"Mhm, I bet you enjoy those kisses Y/n. But you need to learn how to share with the class." She gets up and claps her hands together, "Now this night is getting boring. Ugh, I guess it is time to decide whom I will kill," She takes a gun out of her back and points it to Spencer and then to Y/n.

"You said you wouldn't hurt her, "He says.

"I said I wouldn't kill her if you come in, and I didn't. But now you are here. I can do whatever the hell I want, and I want you alive, so the only option is her," She points to her.

"Kill me instead. She doesn't have the fault I didn't end it up with you. It's me who you should be angry with, not her! The only bad thing she ever did was love me."

"I know, Spencer, But I see it in this way. Do you remember all those pretty and lovely letters I wrote you, Y/n? When I said, he didn't love you because he loved Maeve first, and well we all saw how that ended it, but then he found me, and because he couldn't have me, he chose you. You never loved her truly, Spencer, if you think about it. She is just a replacement. And besides, I am mad at you, of course. But I will prefer to see you suffering every day of your life for not choosing me. That is the worst punishment."

“But you should kill me instead, she doesn’t have anything to do with this,”

“I can’t believe you actually prefer to die. But you are right, you have all the fault, because of what you did to me and all the things I did for you and you never accept me. I guess the only way we can fix that is taking something you care about,” she points to Y/n.

Then suddenly they heard a loud noise they couldn't figure out what it was, but Cat was concerned. "What was that? I swear to god it is one of your agents. I will kill you both, "Cat shouts.

"No, it is me. Come look at this Cat, it is urgent," The man said. The man who was with her in all of that, the one who help to bring Y/n. Her brother.

"I will come back soon. You can't escape here, and I will be on the other side of the door. Besides that, we have cameras, so you two will wait until I come back."

Cat leaves, and silence remains in the room.

"Angel, look at me," Spencer says, but she doesn't look at him, "Y/n please," He begs and then she looks at him. "It doesn't matter what she says, or what she is trying to make you believe or what she said to you before, but I do love you so so much. With my entire heart and soul, you are everything and much more to me. I love you so much. And I am so sorry for what you have been through because of me, and I am sorry I didn't realize the way you felt about Maeve. I did love her I am not gonna lie, but what I felt for her wasn't real love, and what I feel for you is much deeper, and you are everything I ever wanted and If someone ever tells me that I can change what happened to her I wouldn't because of what happened I get to know you and love you, and I don't regret anything. You are my universe, and please believe when I say you are everything to me. " Spencer was desperate to let her know what he truly felt.

And then the door got wide open, and it wasn't Cat on the other side or her brother. It was Hotch. Y/n started crying softly when she saw him. There he was. He approached her while Morgan and Prentiss entered the room to help Spencer.

Hotch hugged her, and she cried on his shoulder. "You are okay. Everything is okay now. You will be home soon," he says while he unties her ankles without breaking the hug.

"Thank you, Hotch."

"You don't have to thank me, that's what family is for," Hotch says while he let her free. With tears in his eyes, Prentiss was full of worries that faded away when she saw her and hugged her.

"Oh my god, Y/n, please never do this to us ever again. I was so worried."

"I’m sorry," she chuckles, and Prentiss does the same.

Then Morgan hugged her, crying as well. "We are so glad you are okay. You don't have any idea how worried we were and Penelope, oh my god," He says.

Y/n chuckle and smile. "What happened to Cat and the other man?" She asks.

"We entered the back door, there weren't any cameras, and then we got him before he said anything, we made him call Cat, and we got her as well. They are with the police right now, and you won't see them ever again." She nods.

Spencer looks at her, and Y/n looks at him, but he knew she needed to be checked out for her injuries, so he doesn't say anything yet.

They walked her outside, and JJ and Rossi hugged her, leaving her without air, but happy to see her family again.

. . .

After they checked her and see her injuries, they drive back to Quantico. Spencer was dying inside. He didn't know the next chapter in their life, he didn't want to lose her, but he did understand if she didn't want to be with him.

Everyone greet her, happy to see her again. She couldn’t see Diana because she will be worried about her injuries, Y/n cried with Penelope, but she was happy. Those were happy tears. She was finally in home.

And then she walked outside being called by the sky, looking at the stars. The same ones he was looking at hours before. It was three Am, and he was tired. He walked where she was, looking at the stars and then at her.

"I think we need to talk," he says, playing with his fingers.

"Yeah, I think we do." He looks at her.

"Y/n I want to start saying that I am really sorry. For everything, and I understand if you don't want to be with me anymore, I don't know if we are together right now, you know? You kinda broke up with me," he chuckles, and she does as well. Good sign, Spencer thinks.

"I think we can try, you know? I understand why you did what you did, but it doesn't ease the fact you didn't tell me," Y/n signs. Of course she wanted him back, after all. But she was concerned about their communication skills, not only Spencer’s but hers.

"I know, but I will make it up to you, and I can work that out. Please.” Spencer takes her cold hands into his, giving small kisses to them.

"We need to try the communication, but it can work," Spencer smiles and hugs her.

She hid her face in his neck, and he does the same. He felt like home, he felt like everything was okay, and it was now. She stepped back, but then she hugs him, this time putting her head in his chest.

She looks at the stars, but he's looking at her. She looks at him, smiling. "Why are you not looking at the stars? It is a beautiful night."

He smiles at her, "Because you are the only star I want to look at."

She smiled at him and hid her blushed face from him. He smiles and hugs her tight.

Even though they had an awful night, she still looks at the stars at the end of the day.

At that moment, without them knowing, they made a promise to all the stars in the night sky. At that moment, when they were the only ones in the world.

They enjoy each other warmth, the one they have been craving for, the one that keeps them in their track, with the promise they will try one more time, and maybe a happy ending with love and pride.

Finally everything will be okay, because they were together like the stars in the night sky who were looking at them with pride and love, to always and forever to the end of the world.

277 notes · View notes

mightymorphingayagenda · 4 years ago

Note

cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!

then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here, x

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.

“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.

Humourless.

And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.

“This is the part where you-“

“Shhh.”

A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.

In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.

Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.

She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.

The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.

It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.

Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.

It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.

Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.

Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.

Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.

“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. “If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”

Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.

“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.

“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.”

Cue phase two of the plan.

Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.

Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative.

“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.”

“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.”

Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.

He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.

“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.”

Eris said nothing.

“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued. “To do as you’re told.”

She gave him strict instructions. Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me. Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.

“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.”

She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.

Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.

And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle: a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.

She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.

Who’s your daddy, now?

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.

They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.

Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.

“Damn it,” she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway…

“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.

She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…

“Ugh,” she said again, louder. Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time.

Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?”

He meowed again.

Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.

“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.

Cassian’s jacket.

Uhg.

Now she was thinking about him again.

Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.

He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.

She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”.

He purred.

Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath. Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him. The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.

Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.

The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.

Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.

Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автома́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.

Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.

Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.

She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.

Not a man. A boy.

A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.

Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.

Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex. Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet. In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.

But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it.

Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.

She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her.

Her screaming.

Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body. What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.

It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.

And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.

It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles. And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.

Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.

And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even. In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.

A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.

Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.

Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues.

No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.

And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.

Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь”

Her mother’s last words.

Ten numbers.

Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door. All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.

Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.

Like a phone number.

No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough. Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.

A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.

“Здравствуйте.”

Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.

Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.

“Who is this?”

Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?

“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-”

The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.

A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.

What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.

Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.

Go down for murder.

Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body. How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.

Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly. Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.

Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers. The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.

“If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”

“You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?”

“Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.”

“Woof,” Nesta had said dryly.

“Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”

“You offering to adopt me?”

“I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.”

Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.

“But you ever want job, you call me.”

Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.

Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.

In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.

She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.

And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice. Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.

Until Feyre had moved to the city.

Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics, selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit. Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.

At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.

Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner.

Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.

Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.

Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.

The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.

Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.

Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring. A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings.

If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain.

It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done. Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.

She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.

That and the fact they were really very good.

Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.

In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly. Sinking deeper into the basin.

A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-

Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.

Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.

“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.

“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.

Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.

“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.”

“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.

“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.

“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”

If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully.

It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.

“You told me to give him a chance.”

“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?”

Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.

Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.

“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on-

“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?”

“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”

“Ever heard of the third date rule?”

“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?”

Feyre sighed.

“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-”

“So why did you send him my way?”

Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.

“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.”

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked.

Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.

“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.”

It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.

“Well I’ve been smoking.”

“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.”

“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.”

“He only smokes them on special occasions.”

“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?”

“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh so you did hear me?”

“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”

She hung up.

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.

When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.

It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.

Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.

But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.

Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.

Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.

What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client. An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could. Because it was just easier.

Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.

Fuck.

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.

Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot; but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.

Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong.

She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.

A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living!

Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.

But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.

—

Cassian had ignored her calls.

All three.

Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.

Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator. Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.

Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy. She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.

Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.

Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.

It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.

“All work and no play?”

Cassian looked up from his desk.

“I can fix that,” she said.

He’d never looked more handsome.

Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.

He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.

It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.

“What are you doing here?”

Rude.

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.

“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.

“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.”

She turned to find him watching her.

His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.

Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.

“You’re still upset about that?”

“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.”

“Oh really?”

“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.

She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.”

“You don’t have a clue what I want.”

“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly.

The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.

It was all very conflicting.

“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.

“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again. “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.”

The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.

“You’re right,” she said.

Cassian blinked.

Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.”

The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.

Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike. “Your emergency, of course. Which was?”

“Nothing to do with you.”

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.

“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.

But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.

“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.

“Shit.”

His head fell into those large hands.

“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up. So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.

“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.

“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.”

“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.

Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.

Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.

“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?”

She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.”

“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.”

Nesta slid of the desk.

“Go on,” she instructed.

“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.”

Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.

“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.

“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.

“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.

“I can tell.”

She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”

Cassian swallowed.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.

“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?”

“If you say please.”

“Please don’t screw around with me.”

Nesta faltered.

Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.

“I’m really into you,” he admitted. “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.”

The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.

“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”

She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.

Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.

Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.

“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion. “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.”

She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.

“Nesta-“

“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.”

“Someone could come back-“

“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.”

His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.

“Nesta-”

She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders.

“I want you,” she purred again.

He might have tried to breath. And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.

“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.”

His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.

“You want me,” he breathed.

She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.

The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously.

“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.

“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.

“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.

His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.

“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.”

“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.

She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter.

“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…”

“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.

“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.”

“And I’m saying you could be in me.”

She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.

The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over. The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.

“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.”

“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.

“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout.

“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.

The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.

Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.

“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.

“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.”

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.

Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.

“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.

“Yes, yes, please.”

“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.”

Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze, wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.

The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair.

“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.

And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.

“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.”

“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.

His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.

“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.

The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.

“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.

“More,” she demanded.

It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.

She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him. Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.

“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.

He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.

“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.

“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.

“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.

“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.”

“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”

His words sent her over the edge.

Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.

Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.

Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders. Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.

Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.

“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.

“Then get on your knees.”

Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.

“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.

“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again. “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”

His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.

Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.

Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.

“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.

“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.

He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.

In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.

Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.

She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.

“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.

Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.

The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.

Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.

Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.

“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.

His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.

His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.

“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.

“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.

“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.

Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.

“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.

She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.

Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.

He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.

She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.

“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.

He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.

Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.

“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.

Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.

“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.

“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.”

“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.

Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.

“Down boy,” she purred.

“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.

“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.

“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.

And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.

Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.

“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly.

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.”

Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.

“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.

She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.

“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.”

“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby”

Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.

“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.

She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.

Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth. Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.

“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.”

Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew. His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.

“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.

“Cassian,” she keened.

She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.

Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles. Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips.

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.

“Let me take care of you.”

“Cassian.”

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there. “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Nesta smiled.

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.”

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.

It was so good.

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him. And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl. Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,” She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit.

Nesta whined softly.

“Cassian…more…”

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.”

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.

“Oh!”

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.”

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.”

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.”

She turned her gaze to him.

“Shame.”

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.

Cassian grinned.

“You like Italian?”

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”

“Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.”

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.

“Lethal,” he whispered.

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair.

Their second date had been incredible.

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child.

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?”

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying. Which off course only made him like her more.

“What? Make you blush like a-”

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them- like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?”

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”

“Says the military man.”

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.”

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”

“That was so a line!”

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.”

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive. “Because I’d love to take your top off.”

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.”

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.

“What would you rather we talk about?”

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute. It reminded you that you were alive.

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore. Tame Impala playing from his pocket.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.

“Well you’re the only one getting it.”

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.”

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly, hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.”

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.

“Yes please.”

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower-

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.

“What are you doing?”

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did. Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.

“Congratulations.”

Cassian grinned.

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”

“Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.

“Please do.”

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.”

He pulled back abruptly.

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?”

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.”

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-”

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.

“But I-”

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.”

“More romantic than that sentence?”

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.”

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.”

“How have you already failed?”

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.”

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.”

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf.

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.

“Did you decline my call?”

“Yup.”

“Bastard.”

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.”

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.

“That why you’re calling?”

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?”

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation. “Yeah, I’m free.”

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday.

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-”

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?”

Shit.

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait. In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-”

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.”

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-”

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.

“Fine, your stropping-”

“Fuck off.”

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.”

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.”

“Hang on a minute-”

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.”

“Alright, alright Don.”

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.”

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?”

Cassian sighed heavily.

“This a secure line?”

“Always”.

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.”

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?”

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.”

“Lucien?”

“Turns out the kid’s his.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.”

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?”

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.”

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-”

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.”

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.

Rhys went silent again.

“We could always just kill Eris.”

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-”

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.”

“Dick.”

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-”

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.”

“I’m fucking Persian!”

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.

“A fanabla!”

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.”

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.”

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-”

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.”

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?”

“If I said yes would you come back to us?”

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.”

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.”

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.”

“Nesta’s no Feyre.”

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

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helena-thessa · 3 years ago

Text

Eren, and that f*cking white bird

Okaaaaay so, here’s an absolutely nonsensical, self-indulgent crack fic alternate scene for you all. Inspired by this comment from Slutty Pennywise @a-slut-for-smut that made me scream, fall out of my chair, and laugh for five! minutes! straight.

Babes, you’re a genius and despite what you say, I think you’d make an excellent writer. This comment is proof of it. Hope you enjoy this nonsense. 🖤

Lord, please forgive me. Eremika sympathizers, do not read this. Rated T. Unedited. Content Warning: description of thoughts on animal abuse/cruelty and foul language. Without further ado:

Levi lifts his chin, ignoring the hammering of his pulse, the desperate need to take a deeper breath. “You don’t like it.”

Her lids flutter, surprised, but then Levi watches the defensive arching of her taut shoulders, the half-curl of her free hand forming into a fist. The hand holding the necklace grips tighter, her knuckles turning white.

“That’s not it,” Mikasa says carefully, chewing her bottom lip. Her tepidness is dissolved by the time she releases it. “I love it, Levi. It’s perfect. Growing up, I… I imagined a house— a home— like this one. And by the end of the war, after everything we went through; a place like this, this freedom, this peace… it’s all I wanted.”

He can tell she means every word that she says, the same as he can tell there’s still more she is reluctant to say. Mikasa takes in the vaulted pine ceilings, the grand open floor plan, the oil-painting worthy view of the coast from the front windows. It’s not that she’s been unseeing, Levi realizes. It’s that she’s seeing something he cannot. Like she’s seeing ghosts.

Mikasa turns back to him, openly distraught. “It’s everything I’ve wanted, but it’s… it’s not—...”

Her words are wrecked with grief. Her watery, washed-out gray irises are drenched with it. A grief viscously different but no less despondent than others he’s witnessed from her.

It’s not…

Waiting for the rest of her words is like standing next in line at the gallows. Levi waits, the quicksand no longer just beneath his feet, but filling into all four chambers of his heart.

Mikasa tries and fails to finish the sentiment. She looks everywhere around the room, at her boxes, at the enormous front windows, at the fireplace in the adjacent living room, at the staircase leading to the upstairs rooms, but not to him. She looks everywhere except to him.

There’s only silence between them, a horrible, throbbing sort of silence. It stretches on, tense and endless, until a seagull cries in the distance. A sharp, abrasive shriek that instantly spikes Levi’s agitation.

Retired or not, soldiers’ instincts kick in. Both Levi and Mikasa turn toward the avian cry, intently focused on the interruption. The window they search appears empty at first, but the second Levi blinks, planning to turn away from it, the gull comes into view.

No ordinary gull, the bird is a large, white creature, its plume of feathers spread out so majestically, Levi has to blink twice to be sure he’s seeing it right. The bird all but floats down onto the windowsill, it’s tail feathers arched toward them to bow down.

What a pompous, stupid-ass little fucker bird, Levi thinks first.

But when he glances at Mikasa, her distraught eyes widened by recognition, another thought registers. Eren.

A cold, heavy reality settles over Levi. When the understanding comes to him, it's the noose tightened around his neck. It isn’t ghosts that Mikasa is seeing; it’s a Ghost.

It’s not who she wanted, Levi suddenly understands. That’s what she meant to say: It’s everything I wanted, but it’s not who I wanted it to be with.

Levi glares at the pompous, stupid-ass little fucker bird, and the pompous, stupid-ass little fucker bird glares right back. It’s black, beady eyes are eerily reminiscent of a flash of green during youthful cries for vengeance. Eren’s ghost lingers beneath those white plumes. And Levi knows, in that moment, Mikasa isn’t the only one being haunted.

He stands there, stone-still, not at a desperate loss, but with a dismal certainty. Even from the grave, Eren has managed to cockblock him.

The gull cries out again, a shrill, stomach-curdling wail, and Levi can almost hear it’s demands. For Titans to be destroyed, all of them wiped out from their world. I’ll kill all of them, the bird shrieks. Every last one of them!

If only the loud-mouthed brat had been half as passionate about the woman who loved him.

Levi can’t help but wonder. Can he roundhouse kick the little fucker bird off the windowsill just like he did to Jaeger in the courtroom? While he fantasizes, Mikasa sighs, forcing her teary-eyed gaze from the white bird.

She looks as though she’s about to speak, but before she does, Levi interrupts.

“Alright,” he says, carefully if not coldly. “I see.”

Mikasa’s owlish blink is more than just weary, but he doesn’t have the ability to focus on it.

Levi looks at her like she’s a collapsing house of cards. A deck he shuffled and a hand he dealt to himself. The precarious arrangement made possible by his stubborn refusal to acknowledge its inevitable outcome: they were built to fold inward and fall apart.

“See what?” Her confusion is laced with an edge of warning, a question as much as a threat.

Levi plans to ignore her warning. The harsh words are about to fly out, but then the seagull cries, once, twice, thrice. It wails, repeatedly, and every muscle in Levi’s body twitches with the impulsive need to launch forward and snap the little fucker bird’s neck.

“What the fu…,” Mikasa mutters, shock quickly turning into agitation. “What is wrong with that thing?”

Levi huffs. “Tch.”

What wasn’t wrong with Eren? He’s about to answer, a bitter retort on the tip of his tongue, when the little fucker bird cranes its neck all the way to the side, appraising him. Levi narrows his eyes, bracing himself for whatever it does next. His battle-scarred hands clench into fists, itching to get a hold of the avian cockblocker.

Mikasa takes a hesitant step toward it. “Maybe it’s hurt?”

“Maybe it’s stupi--”

The gull launches itself face first into the window, its frantic beak darting against the glass pane with wild impatience. Despite connecting with the glass, it continues to throw itself forward, squalling again. Its cries become so viciously, obnoxiously loud, Levi has to push his fists into his side to stop from covering his ears.

“I’m going to throttle it,” he announces, projecting over the whining gull.

Mikasa takes a hurried step forward. “No, no, you can’t.”

“Why not?” Levi throws another lethal glare at the bird, unwilling to sympathize with it. “The little fucker is just going to kill itself first.”

Mikasa tries to approach the bird on the window, but it's cries become more despondent, it’s thrashing more haphazard. The white bird squalls so loudly at her nearing approach, she has to jump back.

“Walls,” Mikasa swears, frowning. “Well..., maybe we should put it out of its misery.”

Levi almost sighs aloud in relief. “Yes, we should.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before she’s brandishing a knife, pulling the weapon out from God-knows-where with God-like speed.

She is Godlike. Strong and perfect, beautiful and fierce. Her dark hair falls in messy, sensual waves, her clothes still half-wet from her recent swim. They cling onto her figure, displaying every curve, and he’s reminded of what’s beneath them. How she feels when his hands take violent hold of her, how she arches while he glides his tongue up, over, and in her. The glint of steel flashes at her side, an expert hold on the knife between her anything-but-delicate hands, hands that have pushed through his hair, roamed over his chest, took confident hold of his coc—

“Levi,” she says, amused.

He looks up to her face, surprised at the dark glimmer of mischief and lust in her eyes. Only a moment before, she’d been upset.

“What?” he asks. Realizing how hoarse he sounds, he subtly clears his throat.

She gestures to his waist, with a feline grin and mewl of breathless laughter that tells him exactly what he’ll find before he even looks down to check.

Watching Mikasa Ackerman pull a knife out on the bird in Eren’s image has given him a hard-on.

“Hmm. This turns you on,” Mikasa acknowledges slowly, smiling wickedly.

Levi is shameless. He reaches down to readjust himself better in his pants, unblinking while he meets her gaze. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

She tightens her hold on the knife, lips parting, and drops her focus onto his hand’s familiar hold on the bulge beneath his pants. She’d rather be holding him.

“Oh,” she breathes. If the gull is still shrieking, neither of them hear it. “Well then. What do you want me to do about it?”

Mikasa lifts the knife, twirling it deliberately with one hand, and waits for his reply.

Levi decides not to remove his hand now that he’s finished readjusting. Instead, he grips himself harder.

“I want,” Levi starts, low and guttural, “... I want you to kill that pompous, stupid-ass little fucker bird.”

Mikasa hums briefly, a moan of approval, and bites down onto her bottom lip. “Gladly.”

#think i'm going to hell #beyond the walls fic #rivamika beyond the walls #crack fanfic #fandom friends are the best friends #rivamika #rivamika fanfic #rivamika fanfiction #lena writes

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Kiss The Chef

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott, Tracy Brothers, Grandma

Scott didn’t often cook, but he enjoyed it when he got the chance. Unfortunately, his usual apron appears to have vanished.

Once again, I was inspired by @gumnut-logic - this time in a conversation about the boys and food which turned into Scott cooking for his brothers. It spiralled from there, and I hope the final product is as fluffy as it was in my head!

Scott hummed a little as he bustled around the kitchen, grabbing various ingredients and lining them up on the counter beside the measuring jug. It wasn’t often that he cooked – cooking took time, and time wasn’t something he often had much of, between rescues and the seemingly never-ending paperwork – but this time, circumstances had conspired and he’d been able to find the opportunity to make himself comfortable in the kitchen.

Of course, activity in the kitchen from anyone who wasn’t Grandma drew brothers like flies to honey. Scott had barely finished measuring out the ingredients before the familiar footsteps of the middle Tracy could be heard behind him.

“How’s it going?” Virgil asked, coming to a stop right by his elbow and forcing Scott to contort slightly before said elbow made contact with his brother’s chest. He glanced over and saw brown eyes looking straight at him.

“It’ll go faster if I’m not interrupted,” he pointed out as he tipped the last ingredient into the mixing bowl. It was a lost cause, of course. He’d agreed to make pancakes, and that meant there would be a hoard of little brothers tripping over themselves to get at the batter. In all honesty, the only surprise was that Virgil was first.

Normally it was Alan.

Virgil chuckled, the noise deep in his chest, and Scott took it for agreement. “I’ll come back when there’s something worth testing,” he said, and Scott rolled his eyes.

The sudden hand on his shoulder was unexpected, clamping him in place for a moment mid-reach for the frying pan. “Vir-”

More unexpected was the lips on his cheek, firm but brief. Startled, he fumbled the pan and it crashed onto the stove.

“Virgil, what-”

His brother tapped him on the chest, fingers making an audible tap-tap against the laminated fabric.

Oh.

Pancake making was a messy business. Scott had made them enough times to know that no matter how careful he was, as soon as little brothers inevitably got involved batter would go everywhere and he’d need to get changed. That had prompted a rule – no making pancakes without an apron. Unfortunately, Scott’s usual apron of choice had vanished. So had all the others.

He had no idea where this one had come from, but attempts to hunt down the mysteriously disappearing other aprons had been rudely interrupted by Grandma’s promise to start making the pancakes herself if he didn’t get into the kitchen right now and he hadn’t had a choice.

It had been a foolish hope that none of his brothers would notice, let alone ignore it.

Kiss the Chef, the bright pink monstrosity demanded in white cursive coiled across the chest. A vibrant kiss mark in bright red punctuated the end of the phrase, and Scott was well aware that it wasn’t actually insinuating a harmless peck on the cheek.

Who had bought the thing – and why they’d bought it – he had no idea, but he suspected his cheeks might be going a similar colour from the way Virgil smirked.

“Just doing what I’m told, big brother.”

He retreated back to the stairs, and Scott was left with a feeling of dread as he rescued the pan and returned to mixing the batter. While Virgil could be a cheeky menace when he wanted to be, he had not been the brother Scott had expected to initiate any teasing.

This did not bode well.

“Hey, Scott.” Nor did that.

His shoulders slumped in a sigh as the expected troublemaker made his entrance, swanning over to where he was standing and peering into the bowl.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” Gordon asked in a tone Scott knew full well was his I’m going to be an irritating brat for as long as I can get away with it voice.

“Yes,” he said, nudging the blond back with an elbow as he splashed some more milk into the batter and kept stirring. He could just throw it in the mixer, but there was something more satisfying about doing it by hand.

Keeping the batter close to his chest – and maybe trying to hide the slogan emblazoned on the apron – while Gordon was nosing around seemed like a sensible precaution to take. Not that he thought Gordon would attempt sabotage when the promise of edible food lingered, but sabotage was far from the only thing Gordon could do with a bowl of batter.

“Hmm.” Gordon hummed doubtfully, amber eyes narrowed. Scott eyed him cautiously, knowing better than to believe there was no ulterior motive going on somewhere in his head. “Well, if you say so.”

Unfortunately, Scott had to put the bowl down to pick up the milk to add the next splash. The moment it was stable on the counter, Gordon struck.

A hand hooked around Scott’s neck, and the next thing he knew, he’d been yanked sideways just enough for Gordon to press his lips in the exact same place Virgil had scant minutes earlier.

Scott swallowed a noise of surprise at the sudden attack and concentrated on not falling on top of his younger brother. “Really?”

“Gotta kiss the chef,” Gordon grinned at him, eyes alight with mischief as he released him.

Cricking his neck against the treatment, Scott straightened up again. “Well you’ve done that, so scat.” There were some battles that weren’t worth fighting. “I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

The grin he got in response was vaguely alarming, but to his relief Gordon shimmied his way back out of the kitchen area and headed outside. That relief, however, was short-lived when he realised there was a cluster of little brothers out there.

Virgil was perched on a lounger, talking to Alan, who in his teenagerhood had clearly decided that today was a day to laze around and was flaked dramatically across his own lounger. The addition of Gordon, who flounced his way into the conversation with entirely too many dramatics, just put Scott on guard.

It wasn’t like Virgil to start something like this, but sometimes he and Gordon worked together – proving that their teamwork wasn’t restricted to when they were in uniform – and the addition of Alan at this point was all but certain.

Sighing and resigned to a visit sooner rather than later from his youngest brother with no doubt the same aim in mind, Scott returned to his pancake batter, which was almost ready to start cooking.

Sure enough, a blond head of hair appeared in his periphery just as he finished the first pancake, which he tipped gently onto the plate and tucked into the oven to keep warm while he started on the next.

“Yes, Alan?” he prompted, deciding he might as well let the youngest get on with it so he could finish the rest of the batch in relative peace – as much as peace was a possibility with four little brothers in the vicinity. He didn’t know where John was, but as he was fresh down from Five, probably horizontal somewhere and grumbling about gravity. The ginger would appear when pancakes were ready.

“Can I have a pancake?” Big blue puppy eyes looked up at him, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“When they’re done.”

“You just finished one,” his brother pointed out, a pout forming on his face.

“When they’re all done,” Scott clarified. Today they were going to eat together, all five of them in one place for the first time in a while. It had the added bonus of his share not being swiped when his back was turned.

The pouting lip began to quiver, and he had to remind himself to stay firm. Alan’s puppy dog eyes were lethal weapons, and Scott was all too aware that he was far from immune. On this, however, he refused to budge.

“If you want to help, you can set the table,” he said. “Otherwise, get out of the kitchen. I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

Thankfully, Alan seemed to realise he was defeated, even if the visual deflation of his youngest brother had part of Scott screaming to make it better. He forcibly restrained it before it could make him change his mind.

“Fine.” It was whined, one last plea for Scott to change his mind, but he turned his head away and poured the next portion of batter into the pan.

He hadn’t forgotten about his scheming little brothers or the apron he was wearing, exactly, but Alan’s pout might have distracted him just enough that the hand clamping his shoulder and tugging it down far enough for his youngest brother to follow the other two and leave a kiss on his cheek caught him off guard.

“Chef kissed,” the blond declared smugly. “I’ll set the table.” Despite his three youngest brothers being cheeky menaces, Scott sent him a smile as he straightened again.

“Thanks.” That was one less chore for him to order a brother or three into doing later. John was, of course, exempt from setting the table so soon after returning from orbit – Scott didn’t feel like dodging sherds of broken crockery – but that still left three brothers capable.

The pancake was ready to flip, but he still kept half an eye on Alan heading for the cutlery drawer as he wiggled the pan, making sure it hadn’t got stuck. Consequently, he was caught completely off guard by the lips pressing against his other cheek.

He didn’t yelp, but the pan might have rattled against the stove a little. A pale hand caught his and steadied the pan before the pancake was lost, and Scott peeled his attention entirely away from Alan to glare at the culprit.

“Really?”

The look he got from John was pure amusement. Of course John would betray him and join in with their younger brothers. Why had Scott expected anything else?

“Don’t let it burn,” was all the ginger said in return, releasing his hold on Scott’s wrist.

“Don’t sneak up on me while I’m cooking,” he retorted, giving the pan another wiggle to make sure the pancake hadn’t stuck before flicking his wrist in a practiced movement.

He’d always been good at flipping pancakes.

If John had a reply to that, it was nonverbal, because the next Scott was aware of him, he was perched at the table, tablet in hand, while Alan set out the plates around him.

From there it was routine, pancake after pancake piling up on the plate. He knew from experience he had to make enough to feed a small army to have any hope of satisfying the bottomless pits he called brothers, and making that many pancakes took time.

Alan had the table set long before Scott was even halfway done, and had at some point retreated back outside to rejoin Virgil and Gordon. That was fine by Scott; if it meant he didn’t have to keep fending off puppy dog eyes, Alan could do what he wanted. Even if he was slightly wary of that particular trio.

Still, with any luck, they’d leave him alone until he was done cooking now. Pancakes had a special place in the Tracy family, and surely even his little brothers wouldn’t do anything to disrupt that.

Surely?

Scott had underestimated the lure of the ridiculous apron he was wearing.

“Hey, Scott.”

Gordon materialised by his elbow, a finger heading for the batter before Scott rapped it warningly.

“You’ll get them when they’re all done and not before.” He didn’t like the look of the scheming grin on his younger brother’s face. “And the more you mess around near me, the longer they’ll take.”

The warning fell on deaf ears as arms snaked around him, forcing him to let go of the pan before it clattered off of the stove. “Gordon!”

The kiss his brother planted on his cheek shouldn’t have been unexpected. He should have seen it coming, should have realised they weren’t going to let the apron go so easily, but wasn’t once enough?

Amber eyes flicked past him for a moment, before something that looked like a challenge settled in them and Scott found more kisses being plastered on his cheek.

“Gordon!” he protested, working his way free so he could at least keep going with the pancakes. “Gordon, stop, I’m cooking. Do you want these pancakes or not?”

Virgil was on his other side. He hadn’t noticed him get there, but somehow he knew he was there. Scott barely had a moment to put two and two together and realise what they were up to before an arm slid across his shoulders and he was being tugged away from Gordon.

“Virgil-” he tried, keeping half an eye on the pancake in the pan and wiggling it to check if it was ready to flip. It was, and he tried to ignore his annoying little brothers as Virgil proved some sort of competition seemed to have started and pressed more firm kisses to his cheek.

Gordon retaliated.

“Guys,” Scott pleaded as he almost missed catching the flip, fumbling the pan in a way he hadn’t done since he was a kid. “This is not helping.”

Gordon crashed to the ground with a squawk, but was immediately replaced with his younger brother, who had those big blue eyes focused on him again.

“But it says to kiss the chef,” Alan pointed out, standing on tiptoe to catch Scott. He sighed loudly.

“And you’ve done that. Several times, in fact. Back off and let me cook in peace if you want these pancakes any time soon.”

“But Virgil and Gordon are winning,” Alan pouted. Virgil’s arm tightened around Scott’s shoulders and resisted all attempts to shrug it off. The puppy dog eyes were back, and he sighed. Well, it was harmless enough, he supposed.

“Virgil,” he warned, shrugging his shoulders again. Thankfully, that time his brother relented, and even went as far as dragging their squid of a brother out of the kitchen area with him. “Make it quick,” he warned Alan – and if John even considered joining in the competition… Well, Scott hoped he wouldn’t because he knew he wasn’t actually going to be able to bring himself to say no, no matter how much it was interrupting his cooking.

He crouched down a little so Alan could reach without standing on his tiptoes or tugging him over, and dutifully allowed his youngest brother to pepper kisses on his cheek for a moment. Once Alan was satisfied – and he assumed Alan had beat the other two, but he hadn’t been counting – he was shooed away, and Scott finally got to finish cooking in peace.

It didn’t take much longer. He turned around, plate in hand, to see all four brothers were waiting with varying levels of patience around the table.

Scott had had some time to think while he finished the pancakes. While it may have devolved into some silly competition between the three youngest, it had no doubt started off as some form of teasing about his unfortunate apron, and as a big brother, he couldn’t let that pass without retribution.

Simple was best. Scott carried the plate over to the table and leaned over Virgil as he put it down on the table.

Little brother never saw it coming, too busy keeping an eye on Gordon and the arriving pancakes to notice that Scott was closer than he strictly needed to be.

Pancakes safe on the table, Scott turned his head and trapped Virgil’s shoulders beneath his arm so he couldn’t retreat from the firm kiss he pressed to his brother’s cheek.

Virgil gave a chuckle, but Scott didn’t hesitate, reaching out to collar Gordon as the slippery fish tried to duck away from his own payback. Scott wasn’t biggest brother for nothing, though, and with a quick couple of steps, both blonds were trapped in his arms, one big kiss being pressed to first Gordon’s, and then Alan’s cheek. They squirmed, teenage sensibilities apparently too delicate to take such obvious displays of affection even in a family setting.

John eyed him warily as he approached, one eyebrow raised as though asking Scott if he was really going to get him, too? Well, Scott had four little brothers and they’d all got him, and quite frankly he loved them all way too much to let any of them miss out.

In deference to the fact that John had only got him once, and was also fresh out of orbit, he kept it lighter than the ones he’d bestowed upon the youngest three, but no amount of raised eyebrow was going to stop John from receiving one at all.

Satisfied that his brothers had got the message he wasn’t going to sit and take any teasing without suitable retaliation, he settled into the empty chair by John and swiped the first pancake from the pile. His brothers took the cue and it wasn’t long at all before the usual mealtime noises of five brothers carried through the air.

“None for your grandmother?”

Grandma had appeared behind him without him noticing and he winced at starting without her. His brothers all similarly paused. She was smiling, and Scott noticed a camera sticking out of a hidden pocket in the onesie.

He was still wearing the apron, bright pink with its white Kiss the Chef proclamation, so he leaned back and grinned at her. “You’ve got to kiss the chef, Grandma.”

Alan burst into giggles, Gordon failing to stifle his own laughter next to him. Virgil and John were slightly better, but Scott saw their matching grins out of the corner of his eye as he looked at their grandmother.

“Cheeky boy,” she said, but she was grinning, too, and with him sitting down it was no trial for her to lean down slightly and press her own kiss to his by now thoroughly-kissed cheek. He caught her in a one-armed hug and kissed her back. “Where’s this rule when I cook, hmm?”

“You don’t wear the apron.”

“Maybe I should,” she mused as she took her place at the head of the table, between him and Alan. “Now, pass down that plate, dear.”

He obliged, and smiled as she bit into her first one with an appreciative noise.

“You should cook more often,” she told him. “That apron looks good on you.”

That remark set his brothers off again, even Virgil and John making amused noises if not the full laughter of their youngest brothers, but Scott just leaned back in the chair to glance down at it. It was garishly pink, and certainly wasn’t referring to the various cheek kisses it had sparked, but while his brothers had gone a little overboard… He couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed it a little.

Not that he was going to admit that.

“I look good in anything, Grandma.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #john tracy #grandma tracy #thunderfluff #kiss the chef

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masterweaverx · 4 years ago

Text

The Dumbest RWBY Oneshot Ever

Weiss Schnee was feeling, all things considered, pretty good.

Sure, she hadn’t slept in something like forty-eight hours. And, alright, the immortal witch-queen of the Grimm had parked a gods-damned WHALE as large as Beacon itself on Atlas. And even after Oscar blew it (and her) up with a magic cane, there was still the voluminous horde of shadow demons it had vomited up roving her home city while innocent citizens cowered in the subway. Not to mention the monster that had broken into her own home and terrorized everyone with its creepy speech before it died, leaving behind the mangled body of some poor silver-eyed faunus and traumatizing Ruby with the gruesome implications.

And then there Ironwood going insane, declaring them all enemies of the state, infecting Penny with a lethal virus, and threatening to blow up Mantle. If her sister was to be believed he’d also killed one council members and been barely prevented from murdering one of his own Ace Ops before they contained him. And, of course, there was the tiny fact that Weiss had herself condemned the city of Atlas to fall as a result of all that...

Realistically, she should have been weighed down with guilt, and exhaustion, and resentment, and probably a lot of other things. But what Weiss felt now was something like... relieved pride. Despite all odds, they’d saved Penny. They’d brought Ironwood to heel. They’d even killed Salem--temporarily, she was coming back, but still an accomplishment. And, as she strode down the golden path from the portal and watched people slowly trickle in from the other bright ovals in this... mysterious void, she knew that the citizens of Mantle and of Atlas would escape the calamity that had been wrought.

“Hope Vacuo has enough space for all these people,” Ruby murmured as she helped Penny along on her new feet.

Yang smirked. "If there’s one thing Vacuo has plenty of, it’s space. I’m more worried about dumping everyone on them without warning.”

“That is a tomorrow problem,” Weiss declared.

“Wow.” Blake gave her a wry grin. “I never thought I’d see the day where you, of all people, would procrastinate.”

Weiss whirled, pointing the staff of creation at Blake’s face. “Where was all this sass back at Beacon?”

“Locked behind the trauma of escaping an abusive relationship,” Blake replied casually.

“...Touché.” Weiss shrugged, stepping onto the main platform and waving at the milling crowd. “Excuse me! Can anybody tell me where the Happy Huntresses are? We need to touch base.”

“They’re over there!” a woman reported, pointing at the largest portal. “They’re helping organize everyone going through--getting families back together and all that.” She shook her head. “This is actually happening...”

Yang put a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah. World’s a crazy place. Just... focus on what you need to do now, okay?”

“Okay.” The woman nodded. “I’m going to... look for my husband.”

With a final pat, Yang broke away and the five teenagers maneuvered through the press of people. It didn’t take them too long to approach the three women near the final road, since the crowd was milling that way anyway, and the tall green-haired woman spotted them first. “Hey May, your interns are here!”

“Thanks Joanna!” The blue-haired woman waved the five of them over with a grin. “There’s the heroes of the hour!”

“Interns?” Yang put a hand on her hip. “Are we getting paid for this?”

“Sorry, no pay till you’re officially hired, but I’ll make sure you get an amazing benefits package.” May Marigold had a smile on her face despite her sardonic tone. “How are you kids feeling?”

“Well, Penny’s still getting used to her new body,” Weiss admitted.

“Toes are weird,” Penny reported in a distant tone.

Ruby wrapped her arm tighter around her shoulders. “That they are, Penny,” she agreed fondly.

“Yang and Blake are still insufferably dense,” Weiss continued.

“Okay, that’s unfair!” Yang insisted. “I know I’m dense, but Blake--”

“Yang, you’re not dense!” Blake protested. “You’re one of the smartest people I know!”

May whistled. “Yeowch, I see what you mean. How about you, princess?”

“Honestly, I’m feeling unusually giddy. Not just for this whole situation, but for me personally.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you’re awake for fifty hours straight,” Joanna admitted. “You’re going to zonk out as soon as you hit a bed.”

“I expect as much.”

May shook her head. “Well, you kids have exceeded all expectations,” she assured them with pride.

“Not an uncommon occurrence for us,” Weiss replied.

“Smug little brats. So...” she nodded at the golden rod in her hand. “That it?”

“Indeed it is. The Staff of Creation, in compact form.” Weiss spun the object in her hand. “And it’s surprisingly less heavy this way. Chalk it up to magic, I guess.”

“Right.” May turned to the side. “Hey, Fiona! Got a sec?”

“One moment!” came the reply from a short woman. "You said you can’t find your dad?”

The child in front of her nodded hesitantly. “They tooks him up to Atlas when they was taking people up,” he said.

“Well a lot of those other portals come from Atlas,” the woman replied. “So it’s probably only going to be a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay...”

“My uncle here can look after you until then.”

The child looked up at the old man with badger paws, who gave him a gentle smile. “Okay,” he said, carefully settling himself in front of the man.

Fiona smiled, turning around and joining the rest of the group. “Okay, what’s--Kids!” She skipped over gleefully. “You did it--you have no idea how grateful everyone is!”

“Aha, well, it... it was nothing,” Ruby replied awkwardly. “We just did the best with what we had--”

Joanna clapped a hand on her shoulder. “You had nothing but each other and were up against two whole armies,” she pointed out bluntly. “One had magic and Grimm, the other was Atlas. And you somehow saved everyone. Accept the damn praise already.”

Ruby opened her mouth to protest, gave a look at Penny, and reluctantly let out a small laugh. “I... guess you have a point...”

May cleared her throat. “Anyway. We have an ancient magical artifact that needs to stay out of the wrong hands.” She tilted her head toward the Staff of Creation. “Fiona, if you would?”

“Oh! Right, right.” Fiona accepted the golden rod from Weiss, absorbing it with her semblance.

“Well,” Weiss said. “Glad that’s settled--”

“Whoa.”

Something about the word made the hairs on Weiss’s neck raise.

“What... wow.” Fiona seemed to sway a little, raising her arms. “This is incredible. I have tiny hands.”

“...Fi?” May gave her a concerned look. “You doing okay there?”

Fiona looked down. She raise a leg with an experimental expression, waving it around, before putting it back down. “Huh. I’ve never felt so attached to the ground before...”

“That’s... gravity,” Joanna said blankly. “It’s called gravity.”

“Huh. Really?”

Weiss frowned. “Fiona?” When the woman didn’t respond, she shared an awkward look with May. “Um.”

Blake sighed, kneeling down in front of the short woman. “Fiona, can you focus?”

The woman looked at her strangely. “...who’s Fiona?”

“Oooooooookay yeah, this--this is weird,” May said quickly. “Maybe we shouldn’t have given her the staff--”

“The staff?” Fiona looked up her. “Wait, do you mean my staff?”

“Your... Ambrosus?” Yang stared in utter disbelief. “Is that you?!”

“Well, of course!” Fiona put her hands on her hips. “Who else would I be?”

May looked around at the collection of sighs and groans team RWBY produced. “Okay, somebody want to clue me in to what the hell is going on?”

Weiss sighed. “Ambrosus is the spirit in the staff,” she explained wearily. “So I guess when Fiona used her semblance to absorb the staff, he came along with it and...” She waved a hand at the woman.

“Wait.” Fiona, possibly, held up a hand. “Absorb the staff?”

“Fiona’s semblance lets her store things,” Joanna explained. “We thought she’d keep it safe... we’ve never tried it with anything magical before.”

May took a deep, controlled breath. “Alright. Okay. So... can we fix this? Get Fiona back?”

Blake shrugged as she stood back up. “I think if we get the staff out of her

“Alright. Hey, Fi--Ambrosus.” May crossed her arms. “Can you get out of there?”

“Hmmm.” Ambrosus snapped Fiona’s fingers--or at least tried to. It took three attempts to make a successful snap. “Huh. Okay, there might be a problem, and that problem is I don’t have my powers in this body.”

“You don’t need to create the staff,” Penny pointed out. “You need to remove it from Fiona.”

“You did hear me just say I don’t have my powers, right?”

“Then use Fiona’s semblance.”

“...Doy!” Ambrosus brought Fiona’s hand to her head in a facepalm. “Ow! Huh.” The motion was repeated. “Is this what pain feels like?”

Penny nodded--and then frowned. “Hmm.” She brought her own hand to her head. “Ouch! Oh. Pain does feel different in this body.”

“Maybe we can test that out later in a more controlled environment,” Ruby said quickly, grabbing Penny’s wrist.

“Yeah,” May agreed, frowning as Ambrosus experimentally pinched Fiona’s skin. “Hey!”

“Hmm?”

“Out!”

“Right.” Fiona’s ear’s drooped... and then Ambrosus blinked. “Oh! Motile ears! Fancy!”

Blake sighed as the ears went up and down. “Focus...”

“Right, yes.” Ambrosus held out Fiona’s arms, staring at her hands in concentration. “Semblance. Semblance. Seeeem-blance. Hmmmmnnnnn. Aura, personal manifestation. Semblance. Okay. Any moment now. Definitely going to happen okay I don’t know what I’m doing wrong but nothing’s happening.”

May clutched at her hair. “What kind of ancient spirit are you?!”

“This is new for me too, alright?”

“Maybe you can’t use Fiona’s semblance because you aren’t Fiona,” Joanna suggested.

“That--huh.” Ambrosus nodded. “You know what, that just might be it.”

“Well... switch over and let her have control,” Yang offered. “Like Oz does, you know?”

“Huh. Okay, okay.” Fiona’s eyes shut, and Ambrosus took a deep breath. “Just have to focus inward. Hmmm. No, those seem to be automatic functions... no, that’s... oh, that’s an interesting memory... oh, hmm, closer... Oh! There she is and--oh.”

“Oh?” May said. “What’s oh?”

“Oh is ‘she’s been cognizant this whole time,” Ambrosus replied awkwardly.

Weiss pinched her brow. “Of course. Just... give her control, already.”

“Right, right, yes. I am so sorry for the trouble, miss, I’ll just--”

One moment Fiona was casually rolling a hand as Ambrosus talked. The next she was stock still, standing in a position far to casual for her suddenly blank expression.

“...Fi?” May lowered her hands. “You, uh--?”

With perhaps a bit too much speed, the staff of creation reformed in Fiona’s hand. She shoved it into May’s grasp, taking a few deep breaths. “Oooookay, that was weird.” Her voice was shaky, but not quite panicking. “Freaky and weird and please never ask me to do anything like that again.”

“I am so sorry,” Ruby said quickly. “I--I swear we didn’t know--”

“I know you didn’t, you’re good kids, I’m just going to... cling to Joanna for a bit.”

May sighed as she watched Fiona wrap her arms around Joanna’s waist. “Yeah, that... yeah,” she said, clearly not able to find the words to express her frustration.

“You said it,” Yang replied.

Blake sighed. “Well... at least that’s one unexpected complication dealt with. I hope nothing worse happens.”

"Citizens of Mantle!

Everyone turned to see Cinder Fall flamboyantly flinging off a black cape into the void.

“Bring me the Winter Maiden,” she demanded. “Or face the infinite depths!”

Weiss groaned. “Of course.” She pulled out Myrtenaster. “Let’s just get this over with...”

#The Dumbest RWBY Onshot Ever #RWBY #V8 #Spoilers #V8 Spoilers #Fanfiction #Fiona Thyme #Ambrosus #May Marigold #Joanna Greenleaf #Ruby Rose #Weiss Schnee #Penny Polendina #Blake Belladonna #Yang Xiao Long

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notfeelingthyaster · 4 years ago

Text

Imagine (Son of Hades! Percy; Godswapped! Big Three's kids (6/7) or (11/12)

House of Hades Pt.2 - In the Argo II

Hello darlings! Before reading this, there's at least other 11 parts - and I almost had to divide this into two - check on the masterpost - but don't be sad is ending :(

First - I have no idea if I'll divide Blood of Olympus in two because I hate the climax Rick wrote - so probably? Also not sure if I'll need an epilogue - we're not delving into TOA, though.

Second - I'll keep writing! I have a handful of ideas that I want to do next - and the next AU will have Female! Percy - so keep logging in!

Check on the warnings before proceeding, and good reading :))

To say that things are tense in the Argo II is downplaying the major depression the ship seemed to be sunk in since Perseus fell.

Leo and, surprisingly, Nico are the only ones who are able to get anything done in the first couple of days, but they aren't fooling anyone - the white eyes of the son of Zeus seem to be every day a little more bloodshot, and more than one fire happens without no explanation.

Annabeth didn't stop crying for a second - even throughout Will's examination of her and her brother - for at least 12 hours. Then she crashed for another 12 hours - and when Annabeth woke up, she was enraged.

She is going to bring the damned statue back to Camp - and then she will kick her mother's ass. That's her best friend, not collateral damage.

And when her dumbass of a best friend comes back, Annabeth is going to kick his ass too. How dare he fall - for her, not even his closest friend - into freaking Tartarus?

Frank is devastated - he and Piper are coping by planning the future - how they can spend the summer at Camp and live in Nova Roma, how they'll visit Perseus if he decides to go to college in the mortal world. It feels a little like denial.

Hazel and Jason are coping in the totally opposite way. Where Leo and Nico are fueling themselves with determination, Annabeth is anger personified and the other two went in the road of negation - they're both in a deep state of panic.

The sea became too dangerous to travel - the tides answering to Jason's turbulent emotions - and any metal on board keeps exploding or becoming so fueled with energy that no one but Nico and Hazel can touch it.

They pray together - for Neptune, Jupiter, Pluto, Letum, any god that Perseus ever helped (a lot of them) - for his protection. Jason holds evening prayers - just like in Nova Roma - and they offer anything, everything, for Percy to be alive. Everyone goes.

Except for Will, who is in a whole other league. The moment that he arrived at Camp, Percy was the one to settle him, and calm him, and take care of him. It was a side of him no other person in this ship had ever seen - Nico got in Camp in the worst timing possible, and all the others were pretty independent when they met Perseus.

But Will remembers - the nights with hot chocolate, Percy's warm sweaters, a pair of blue gloves messing his hair, the anxiety when the boy left for school, just for him to keep IMing Will every evening - and he misses Percy.

After the Labyrinth, the war, the losses, they reconnected - the prejudices against Percy's parentage long gone - and it felt like nothing ever changed.

It was Percy who helped him coming out for his mother. It was Percy that held Will after he lost Sibele - a daughter of Momus - to her injuries. It was Percy, always Percy.

Percy is much more of a father then Apollo - and much better as a brother then some of Will's siblings. So Will just locks himself up in his infirmary - and grieves. It's weird in such a hard mission to remember that Will is just fifteen and that he is a veteran of war.

The mood lingers, even when they start fighting regularly against the Apennines - and isn't this a whole other mess.

The mountain spirits are pissed - because Hades/Pluto and his wife are really pissed. It's Malcolm - the only one with a phone and a good connection to the internet - that tells them that the world started having earthquakes every few days.

The mortals are confused because most of these are not even close to the tectonic plates - and none of those cause turmoil at the sea. It's just Hades - mightly pissed his only son is beyond even his reach.

Three days in fighting the Ourae - who don't like having their mountains shaken over and over again - the sky also starts thundering. Coincidentally, it's July 30th - they've been traveling for twenty-two days - which also marks Thesmophoria - the greek festival of harvest.

But, alas, nothing is blooming. Persephone is as dangerous as her husband - and Demeter seems to follow her daughter's lead. With the Earth corrupted - the crops aren't growing.

Jason doesn't blame his matron - he is not really happy himself. Besides praying for Perseus' safety, he spends most of his days in patrol against boulders and rocks of all things.

Leo barely sleeps - too busy keeping the ship from falling apart - and Nico is, most of the time, right behind him keeping the ship steady. They try using canons and fail miserably. There's no way to fight against mountains - it's like Dom Quixote fighting against the windmills.

The others, even Will, rotate between fighting rocks and sleeping. Four days after Thesmophoria, Leo decides it's enough, turns the ship around, and solves to not cross the Apennines.

He just hopes Perseus can last another seven days.

Hazel - the only one awake, because this is supposed to be her patrol and Leo finds her the most reasonable out of all their friends, who would probably insist on keep fighting the freaking mountains - is praying. Like always.

Leo doesn't know how he feels about praying. His extended family was very catholic - they prayed for a god that they couldn't see or touch. But Leo met the gods - or, if Annabeth is to be believed, one set of them - and he doesn't like them.

They're petty children who have no care for the fate of their children - the ones who fight for them, go on their errands, keep them alive, y'know. Leo doesn't want to praise them. He doesn't think they deserve it.

But Hazel's prayers are answered when her venti, Tempest, appears aboard. Hazel tells Leo to go on without her - she'll be back soon.

He is concerned for her - like always. Of all new people, Leo seems to be the closest to her - his overall cheeriness and electric behavior are endearing to her, a light in these dark times. Sometimes, his smile makes her flush - just like Frank's did and still does.

Hazel mounts Tempest and the venti takes her, through mountains and hills, to a door. There's mist curling at her ankles and a chill in her spine.

She isn't very thrilled by meeting Trivia - Hazel heard stories of her greek son by Perseus, who seemed to hold the guy in high standard, but she knows gods. The goddess of magic wants something.

Trivia is an imposing woman - taller than Hazel, she has the same midnight skin as Perseus, though hers looks purple-ish, and her eyes are entire universes - stars bloom in her irises and twin moons rise in her pupils.

The goddess is fickle - she seems to be there and not, at the same time. Ghostly. There's three of them, then one, then five.

Trivia beacons to the daughter of Jupiter and she follows, the cursed little girl she is. The goddess offers her three options: Perseus, prone in the ground as she, Leo, and Annabeth battle an invisible foe, the two demigod installments at war, or the Argo II.

Hazel chooses the Argo II, but she promises herself, and the goddess, that she will save Perseus, and that no demigod blood will be spilled by other demigod's hand. Not again.

She will learn how to control the Mist. But Trivia is very mistaken if she thinks Hazel is going to become her acolyte. She remembers well what happened last time - she died.

The Argo II is traveling without much hassle - when they're crossing Monte Falterona, in the Campigna National Park, they are attacked by a new mountain spirit - and this one talks.

"Get Pluto his brat back, you useless halflings!"

Like the boulders the immortal is throwing at them will help. Leo screams this back at the mountain, who is not impressed at all.

Their next foe is in San Marino - a chimera. Most popular knowledge is wrong about those monsters: chimeras are not just goat-lion-snake mixes. They are an amalgamation of any three or more animals.

This one, in particular, is a very... candid mix of a Pyrenean chamois, a monk-seal, a mouflon, and a goose. Not very lethal or hazardous - just very angry. It's the first time they hear Annabeth laugh since Perseus fell.

While Malcolm is chasing and being chased around by an evil goat-goose-seal-weirdass deer chimera that he is fending off with an encyclopedia, the others can't even bring themselves to help. It's ridiculous - the thing is not even big. It's just ugly and it sounds like a honking clown.

Eventually, they get around to killing the clown chimera - it honks as it vanishes - and following route to Bologna. Frank tries to mutate to the chimera during the travel - to different levels of failure - which makes everyone laugh.

Thanks to their two encounters, the crew gets to Bologna at two in the afternoon.

Frank can't help counting the days as they pass him by. He is not the only one - he can see Annabeth muttering the time every now and then - but it feels like a countdown. Can Perseus survive one more week in Tartarus?

Even with the pressing worry for his lost friend, he can't stop thinking about Hazel and Leo. The two of them are thick as thieves - and Frank wants in.

But he knows it's wrong - Leo is a boy. Hazel is younger. Leo bares a power that could kill him. Hazel is his best friend. They're two people. - but he sees them flirting and can't keep his eyes to himself.

It's wrong. Soldiers aren't supposed to date men. Men who dated men are prostitutes, entertainers. Less. And two people at the same time? Outside of a bedroom? Preposterous.

Frank wishes he was more like Perseus. Perseus is all about duty: he would eventually marry Reyna. Or Annabeth, or other pretty and intelligent warrior, and have two point five kids with a picket fence.

But no. Here he is - midday, they are stopping for lunch, and he can't keep his eyes off Leo and Hazel - who are quietly chatting in the other end of the long table.

Frank ponders what would they think. Would the two be repulsed? Would they laugh at him? He can deal with laughter. Their disgust, however, would cut his heart in half.

Nico is in a very similar, and yet completely different, situation. He has been in love - or as close as love could be when you never dated the person - with Perseus Jackson.

He knows it's okay to be gay - he is friends with Will and Jake. He lives on CHB since he was a pre-teen. Perseus himself was - is - queer.

But the thing is, he'll never have a chance with him. Not the chance he is longing for gods know how long. He failed Perseus yet again - he let the demigod fall.

Perseus can have anyone. Perfect Annabeth Chase, Shrewd Reyna Arellano, Magic Alabaster Torrington, anyone. And he wouldn't have a problem with that - no. The problem is that he can't make a choice. Because he is in Tartarus.

Because Nico. Let. Him. Fall.

He isn't even sure if he let Perseus fall on purpose. A part of his mind knew someone would have to go. It was always meant to be Perseus. Did he purposefully let him go?

The rational part of his mind knew that if he tried to fly them off, all he would accomplish is falling into Tartarus with Perseus, probably dragging Annabeth with them.

But the guilt creeps into his heart - again, yet again, Perseus suffers for something he did or failed to do. He can't sleep. He doesn't know how anyone can eat.

A rock for him in these difficult times has been Jason. The son of Neptune seems to be as affected as Hazel or Annabeth - but Nico would never be able to rely on them.

Hazel has her own problems - a lot of them since Trivia appeared - and Annabeth is a painful reminder of everything Nico is unable to have.

Jason, however, is different. They had dreams of each other - something about their conquests, Nico didn't pay attention - and that apparently brought them close. Jason, differently from Annabeth, isn't a competition. He isn't vying for Percy's attention and love.

He is just a close friend - like Nico pretends to be most of the time - incredibly worried about the son of Hades. Nico would tell Jason about how he feels - but the militar roman's sensibilities might not be adjusted to the greeks' freedom yet.

Nico, however, is also not the only one with heart problems. Piper finds himself entranced by Annabeth Chase - even when she knows, she knows because of her powers, that Annabeth is painfully straight.

And Piper knows it's not love - it's the heat of the upcoming war and the hormones of being cooped up with just other teenagers for twenty days. She sees the blossoms of young lovers everywhere.

The yearning between Leo, Hazel, and Frank; Nico and Jason unconsciously sharing long-term crushes on Perseus; Will missing Jake and his parental figure;

She wishes she was more like Malcolm. Malcolm is asexual - besides being the only other transexual person on board.

Before this war spiked from nothing, the boy was just back from his mission for Hermaphroditus - a two-month search for a missing choker. He is still adapting to his body - it's bigger and broader and he doesn't have to wear a binder. Piper thinks it's amazing - he tells her it isn't that easy.

It's not a slow transition. One second your body is something - and then it isn't. One morning, the demigod caught him holding a red binder in his hands. Sometimes, she sees a shot of testosterone tucked in his pocket.

One day, he was a boy stuck in a girl's body. Then, he wasn't anymore. He has the body he dreamed of for forever - and it's difficult accepting it. Malcolm tells her is not exactly body dysphoria - is just difficult to conciliate.

Piper thinks after this, she'll get her body. After all of this, she deserves it - her body, all hers, with boobs and a killer jawline. Maybe then, it'll be easier to like girls as well. Maybe then, she'll shave half of her head and get a piercing. And maybe, a couple of tattoos.

But while this doesn't happen, she is whining to her asexual friend about her crush in his sister. Malcolm crushes her with logic - "Annabeth has only shown interest in men. She might be bi or pan or even a lesbian, but the odds aren't on your favor" - and she tries to put the blonde out of her mind.

Lunch, however, is a little ridiculous for her. As a daughter of love herself, that table is such a mess of yearning and pining and infatuations.

Malcolm seems to be the only rational - but even he is a little flushed. Piper totally saw that picture of Mitchell in his drawer last week.

She couldn't blame him really - her brother is hot. All demigods are - in very different ways of course, but their godly blood made them more or less otherworldly compared to mortals. Didn't matter their ethnicity, their gender, if they're disabled or not - they are all hot.

Piper, however, doesn't spend all her time freaking over hot people. She is a teenager with a friend who has a good connection to the internet, so she does that a lot - but most of her time these days is looking at Katoptris.

She's waiting for a vision of Perseus. Anything - just proof that he is alive, that he hasn't curled in a ball on whatever is the ground down there and went mad.

It doesn't come. She is looking at this ridiculous lunch table, eating vegetarian burgers, and waiting. Just as it seems like her dagger starts glowing gold - two monkey twins sweep down and steal it. And Leo's tool belt and Archimedes' Sphere.

Piper is really pissed. She wants this mission to end - she wants to find Perseus and stop Gaea, and that's her magical item. It's important. So she and Leo go after the twin monkeys.

Using one of the armory's javelin - for lack of a better option - they sprint over roofs and marketplaces. Bologna is a beautiful city - but they have no time.

They corner the twin monkeys, get their things back - and some things pertaining to a god of harvest - Triptolemus. Perhaps if they make an offer to him, Demeter and Persephone will be more cooperative. Maybe Persephone will be able to calm her husband.

Piper really doubts it. If she learned anything in the nineteen days she traveled with Perseus, is that he calls Persephone "Kore" or "Mater". The only other person he refers to with such open childish joy is his own mother, Sally.

The guy IMed both of them twice a week - enough that Piper knows their voices. While Hades isn't high in the demigod's list of people, his wife seemed to be at least number #2.

But they go back to the ship and relay their plan anyway. They set route to Venice. In the hour that it takes them to get there, they're delayed twice: once by the personification of River Ádige - which enabled them to pass until Jason helped with a small problem - and then by a couple of ventis - which Hazel sent off.

Frank, Annabeth, Hazel and Nico venture into the drowned city - Piper declines to go, saying that she is waiting for Katoptris to cooperate - being Nico the only one who actually speaks Italian in the ship.

The city is infested with anteater-like herbivorous monsters called katoplebones, which are pointedly not from the Greek pantheon. It's pretty rare for monsters to cross pantheons - and the Egyptians are pretty good in keeping them under lock and key - but sometimes, this happens.

They aren't capacitated to deal with those. Annabeth has half a mind to call the Kanes and demand an explanation. Pretty sure they were possessed by the gods to avoid this kind of situation.

She doesn't have much time to think - Hazel is quickly overwhelmed by the poisonous breath of the cows. Of course - is there anything in Egypt that isn't connected to snakes?

They find Triptolemus - who is not thrilled with their presence. Demeter - his mistress - and her daughter are distraught by Perseus' missing status - and he blames Annabeth and Nico for it.

Annabeth tries to persuade him - after all, they have Jason on board, and he is blessed by Ceres. Triptolemus - a very greek god - is not swayed.

"Your trickster words shall not fool me, daughter of Athena."

That's how Annabeth became a rosemary bush - good for memory and brainpower. Nico, when he tried to fight back, became a corn crop.

Mars is whispering in Frank's mind - he is not really fond of his father but uses his help to kill the evil Egyptian cows and get a python for the god's chariot.

He can't let Hazel die. He can't see the light go off her eyes - to see the same pain reflected in Leo's eyes. But Frank is so using Nico's stunt as a corn plant as blackmail material later. Not with Annabeth thought - she would stab him.

Triptolemus, pleased, turns Nico and Annabeth back to human and heals Hazel. Then, he tells them they have to eat barley cakes - so they can survive the poison needed to enter the house of the dead.

Proceeding south down the Adriatic toward Greece, a journey that should take about half a day, the crew of the Argo II is first accosted in Koper - a city on the coast of Slovenia - by four monocerus in the middle of the night.

Monocerus, in Leo's very succinct explanation, are "evil unicorns with big feet that can't fly and shouldn't be in a flying ship".

Whoever, the monsters apparently don't care where they should or not be - and Annabeth - still reeling for her time as rosemary - takes two of them out, keeping the horns as a prize. Nico takes one, who is so beat that leaves nothing, and Malcolm kills one with a handgun.

It's not the most practical weapon, because celestial bronze is not that easy to fabricate/find/obtain - so to use it in bullets that will explode and render it unusable it's kind of a desperate - but it's the first thing he could get - Malcolm's double tessen was being repaired by Leo.

Because yes - not only was the twenty years old able to fight with normal blades, he also fights with freaking fans made of iron.

After the run-in with the evil unicorns - Annabeth looks really cool covered in gold blood and curved silver horns in her hands - they proceed across Croatia.

It goes well for about thirty minutes - in Zadar, they cross paths with Sciron. Sciron is a bandit and outlaw, who - for some reason, is assisted by a giant predatory sea turtle.

While Hazel tricks him into throwing himself off the cliff using her new-discovered Mist, Jason talks to the turtle. It says its name is Chelone - that it's the turtle who took Aphrodite Ourania from the depths of the sea to the shores of Cythera - when she was still young, with remains of other goddesses in her anima - Innana and Ishtar.

He convinces the turtle to stop killing people - mainly by saying that he should hunt elsewhere, deeper onto the sea. It may become a problem for his father, but Jason has bigger issues right now.

They go to sleep, and Hazel dreams. She expects any god to come - but who comes to her is none other than Pluto and his wife, Proserpina.

Proserpina is shrouded in black, and her eyes are not green - but yellowish, like dead leaves. She talks - and tells Hazel that the Doors of Death are in the bottom of the Necromanteion - her powers over metal energy would guide her - and will be guarded by Pasiphae, vengeful of Pluto - and, by default, Perseus - for the lack of punishment for Minos.

Her husband is a silent presence by her side. He is not in mourning... probably. It's difficult to tell, as he is always in black. But his eyes hold a weight easy for Hazel to understand - he just lost a son to the abyss. No matter that Perseus might be alive - he wouldn't get back whole and safe.

Proserpina ends her dream by telling her to wake up Piper - the goddess is putting all her strength to send a vision of Perseus to Katoptris - they need one much more than her, seeing that they are able to interfere.

What Piper sees don't tell them a lot - Perseus seems mostly okay, with some sort of companion that Nico says it might be Iapetus, a brand new scar over his face and a bad limp.

It's the last they'll see of him until their eventual meeting face to face, but it gives them hope.

Annabeth herself has a dream - a dream that the Romans give the statue to the greeks. She sends an iris message to Rachel - so she can meet personally with Reyna.

Reyna, on the other side of the world, mounts her pegasus, Scipio, and leaves. Not only her co-praetor is in freaking Tartarus, but they are on the verge of two simultaneous wars. They need peace.

As soon as she is out of the roman range, however, she sends an iris message to Jason - telling him to go to their hero's place of rest - she had a vision from Mars. That she will meet them in Greece. Jason tells Leo to set course for Split, in Croatia. There's a roman scepter there.

Of all of them, the most capacitated for this mission are Frank and Jason, who are both educated Romans, and Nico, who can fly - a very good power to have in unstable ruins.

They're confronted by Favonious, who takes them to his master, Cupid, in Dalmatia. Nothing good can come of talking to the personification of love - such an old concept that the god has been reborn twice.

"Well, well, well"

"What do we have here?"

Jason falls onto the ground - "You think you found true love, haven't you? But alas, I was where you last expected me" - and he hates love, for that single moment.

"I shall give you what you want, Romans, if each of you is able to tell me - who do you love the most?"

Nico trembles - guilt is a difficult pill to swallow - and Frank visibly wants to bolt out of there.

"Oh, are you afraid? But there's no hiding in the face of true love"

Jason - always the brave one - gives a look at Frank. His friend never met the greeks. He might hate Jason after this.

But they need this scepter.

"Perseus Jackson"

Two heads whips in his direction - one unbelievingly, and the other distressed.

"Ah, love crafted in dreams - the perfect mix between me and my wife. Tell me, Jason Grace, was it bad when he looked upon you and saw naught but a myth?"

A laugh creeps upon Jason's spine, and he turns around. His blade hits something hard, and he is on the floor again.

"Such luck, to be able to even graze love. Perhaps yours is the purest of all - not yet tainted by failures and mistakes. On that note, why don't you go next, Nico di Angelo?"

Nico shivers - he... they have no time for that. That is unnecessary drama - to cause unnecessary problems.

A memory rushes to the front of Jason's mind - that quick chat with Reyna in Nova Roma. "The blond girl, Di Angelo"

Nico loves Perseus. It rushes to Jason now - the way that the younger boy stared adoringly at the son of Hades. The drunkness of his lovesick gaze. The despair when Perseus fell.

"Tell them Nico di Angelo" Cupid prompts "Tell them all about your guilt, your mistakes, the way you let him down, again and again, and again."

Nico floats a little off the ground. It's years of pain and sorrow that won't bring Perseus back.

"Will you fly off yet again, in the face of rivalry? Will you be my next servant - just like Favonious, consumed by jealousy, Nico di Angelo?"

Jason sees the memories. Nico screaming at Perseus. Grover reluctantly telling him about their adventures. The way he betrayed Percy - and a dozen more scenes he never saw from Nico's perspective, only Percy's, that made him unable to speak.

"It's okay Nico... I.... I get it."

It's painful to utter these words - it's almost like he is giving up Perseus. But they have a war to get through - and then, when the other demigod is back, they can figure this out.

"P-Perseus Jackson"

And then it's Frank's turn. But Frank is as pale as a ghost - he seems to be close to vomiting.

"It's a costly thing isn't it, looking at the true face of love. Now it's the turn of the brave son of Mars. Will you tell your friends easily, or shall you be a coward like the son of Zeus?"

Frank doesn't talk. Jason doesn't understand why - it's Hazel, isn't it? Is it because of Nico? He mentions talking to the son of Zeus, but Di Angelo doesn't look at him - the Cupid knew very well how to play his game.

"Come on. Tell them - tell them of whom you think before you sleep and who dominates your first thoughts every morning."

"You don't scare me"

"Oh, I scare you very, very much. Face me. Be honest."

"H-Hazel. Levesque."

"That's just half my question, little half-blood. If you want to lead the roman legions, you must answer it fully."

"I love H-Hazel. She is the one I think before I sleep and when I wake up."

"Still hiding. You're not strong enough, Frank Zhang."

Frank tries to charge at the wind, but it just mocks him. It's weird seeing Frank crying - it looks like the world is crumbling at his feet.

Jason, yet again, doesn't understand. Nico is also confused - he looks between the Romans as if he never saw any of them before. But then it dawns on the son of Zeus.

"Not only my sister. That's why you keep gazing at them, isn't it?"

All the fighting and denial leave Frank at once. His sword clangs in the ground.

"I love both Hazel and Leo. Together." He spits out, still trembling. "That's the truth. Are you happy now?"

"I wouldn't say Love always makes you happy. It can make you incredibly sad, sometimes. But you have faced it now. It's the only true way to conquer me."

Cupid appears - in a flash of white wings. It might be the god Jason hates the most - his eyes seem to penetrate his very soul. There's a scepter in his hand.

"Only a true child of Mars Ultor can yield it. It's your destiny, Frank Zhang."

Then he promptly disappears. The demigods look at each other - there's a flurry of emotions deep inside their chests. Frank looked at both of them, waiting for an attack, or for them to start fighting.

"No one has to know" He starts "I'm s-so-..."

He doesn't end. There are copious tears rolling through his face - his cheeks are a deep shade of red. A sob escapes his throat.

"P-please, p-pleased-don't t-te-tell anyone." Frank sobs, and it's such a jarring sight that both Nico and Jason rally to reassure him, leaving their own issues aside.

"There's nothing wrong with loving two people at once. No one will have a problem with it, Frank - fuck, this isn't Nova Roma. Most of us are greek."

"Hazel would hate me though. This is unnatural- I- I can't."

"You don't know that. Hazel loves you, Frank"

But the son of Mars just keeps crying until they both promise not to tell another soul what they saw. It's enough for the weird atmosphere to return.

Midway in the trek back to the ship - a six-hour walk - Nico is too riled up to safely fly with two people and none of them being too fond of air right now - Frank summons enough power to ask the question.

"So... uh... hm... Perseus?... like, uh, I can see the appeal-... but... both?... forget I asked, just....uh oh, sorry."

Jason and Nico pointedly avoid looking at each other. It's very bizarre - Jason knows a lot about Perseus, but now he knows Perseus also from Nico's perspective - and this is all messy.

They go back to the ship, relay to Annabeth that they got the scepter, and immediately go back to their cabins - to cry, to scream, to think.

It's been a day and a half - and they're still eleven hours off Epirus. Leo is pissed - because not only their three heavy-hitters are pissed at something and won't communicate, and they're of course.

Emerging from the infirmary for something other than to eat and mend people is finally Will - at least. He takes patrol in place of Nico - the boy quietly mumbled at his friend that they had a run-in with Cupid. Will can imagine how that went.

He doesn't have a clue about Frank - but Jason and Nico? They have the same long-lasting crush on Perseus - everyone on board knows that. Except, apparently, for each other. And Perseus - because his mentor/kind of brother/bother figure is a dumbass.

When they're passing through the coast of Albany, they're attacked by Khione - who is still very pissed her ex-lover's son doesn't want to spend eternity frozen with her. Leo ends up being sent away - for the distress of both Hazel and Frank and the anger of his best friends, Piper and Jason.

Piper ends up stabbing Khione - while Frank transforms into the giant dragon and burns her - making her unable to freeze them. Eventually, she runs away.

Leo, however, wakes up on an island. There's a sad girl at his side - she is using a modern blue dress, and there's a crown of black flowers upon her head.

"You were not the one I was expecting."

The son of Hephaestus wants to scream. Well, he didn't want to be whatever here is either! But her face is so sad - her gaze down to her bare feet. She seemed to be crying. He settles for asking who is her.

"I... I am sorry. My name is Calypso. This is Ogygia."

It startles him. Mainly because he has heard this name before around camp - wasn't she supposed to be freed?

"What happened to you?"

The immortal girl relays her tale - how she got freed for a year, and then the war started. The gods - Zeus - didn't trust her not to turn against them. So they locked her up - she was not the only one. Leto, Themis, Rhea - good titans or their offspring. Locked away.

She, after a year of freedom that Perseus got her, was back into her old shackles. Calypso is waiting for him for months now - but she thinks he forgot her.

So Leo tells her what happened - the bits he knows anyway. Juno/Hera, Nova Roma, the mission. Calypso seems calmer. They stay together for a while - friends it seems.

Calypso tells him about her year - about how she wanted to explore the world. She tells him she wanted to join Artemis' hunt - but, courtesy of Odysseys, she is no maiden.

He tells her about Hazel and Frank, Perseus, and the love hexagons he doesn't even know he is in - omitting the part that he is now in Tartarus. They talk about Festus - Calypso tells him about how his father is good to hear - how he came to visit, sometimes.

A week passes, maybe a week and a half. Leo vows to take Calypso off the island once the war ends, and she believes - once, a hero as brave as Leo made her the same promise, and stuck with it through the end.

In Cancun, Africa, Jason and Nico are having daily audiences with Auster, the Roman god of the south wind, in connection with the Seven being able to proceed on their way to Epirus - seeing that their ship is all broken and they have no Leo.

Auster is indolent and seems increasingly disinclined to cooperate with Jason and Nico: he dislikes the son of Zeus, and the wind never had a good relationship with the sea. Annabeth also tries her hand at it - but it's rebuffed at every turn. Piper is prohibited from entering the palace because of her magic voice.

Jason and Nico - even though they aren't speaking to each other - have for a long time admitted they don't fit completely at either camp. Jason is still too militar for CHB. Nico is too old for CHB. Both are too free with their personal lives for Nova Roma.

Auster agrees to meet with them and tells them to commit to one side - greek or roman. They deny it - they're both. The gods are both, they have been thrust in a war of both sides, they commune with gods on both aspects and they ask them to run errands for both pantheons. They have the right to be both.

Auster is not happy with this - mainly because he believes they should keep the sides separated. But it's the first time Nico and Jason agree on something - and they fight together for it. No god has the right to define those petty things when the demigods are fighting their war.

Auster merges with his greek counterpart Notus - an amalgamation of both his carefree and his militar side - and sends The Seven on their way when coerced by the threat of a hurricane and a typhoon.

He sends them to Valletta, Malta, where they find the Argo II fully repaired and in the harbor. In the port, on a small cafe, there's Leo - sitting and raging internally against the gods, who once again, fucked up something.

They trade stories, and Leo just rages more. He isn't sure how Perseus didn't ally himself with Kronos in the first war if that was the bullshit he had to deal with every day.

First Khione, then Zeus locking Calypso up, then this Notus guy - they are a week and a half late. Is Perseus still alive after nineteen days in the Pit? Is he sane? Did he tried to get out - and they weren't there?

It's with a shocking gasp from Annabeth that they realize that Perseus's birthday is in three days. They have been traveling together for thirty-seven days now - and they have to get Perseus out of Tartarus before the 18th, at least. Is the minimum.

It takes them a day to get to Epirus. There are enough monsters in their way to start a menagerie - Gaea is actively trying to stall them, so there must be a reason. Perseus might be alive.

Arriving at the Necromanteion, which they learn is just a very fancy name for catacombs, Hazel, Frank, Leo, Annabeth, Will, and Piper descend into the ruins, leaving Nico and Jason - who are both completely useless under the earth - behind with Malcolm - who, since Arachne, is pretty much claustrophobic.

They eat the barley cakes to protect themselves against the toxic potion they must drink in order to enter the temple. It's difficult to swallow poison - it burns as it goes down.

The mist tries to confuse them at every turn - Hazel diverts it. Her power over metal energy guides them - she can feel the basis of the building, way down where they are.

Katoptris burns in Piper's hand. It shows her Perseus' face - he looks cadaveric, shrouded in death. Sometimes he flickers, like a ghost - but he is alive, and heading to the Doors just like they are.

It's enough to spur them forward. Perseus is doing the same journey - from a much difficult side. They will meet in the middle.

Earthquakes strike the caverns, making part of the floor collapse. In a side, Piper and Will, surrounded by monsters in all sides. In the other, Frank, Leo, Hazel and Annabeth. The son of Mars doesn't think twice - the scepter.

He uses the Scepter of Diocletian to summon ghostly Roman soldiers, and as a Legatus Legionis, he does have the power to command all of them. It would be more controlled if he was Praetor, but the actual Praetor is Perseus, and so, in his absence, Frank will have to do.

The tunnel collapses. Hazel. Leo. They might be dead - but Frank can't panic right now. They are alive. They will protect each other, they have Annabeth Chase with them. Hazel controls the mist - everything will be just fine.

Anger grew in his chest. Those are his friends, his... his loved ones. This freaking ruin don't get to kill them before Frank summons enough courage to submit himself to the ridiculousness of telling them.

Hazel wants to cry - they left Frank behind. He might be dead - they might be all dead. Leo isn't much better. For all that Zhang seems to hate him, his infatuation with the Canadian never disappeared.

Annabeth however, is practical. She tells them Frank will be fine - the guy can transform into a dragon. Or a chimera. Probably a poisonous one, after the stunt in Venice. He has an army - it's okay.

Pasiphae is a bitch. Leo hates the woman - she reminds him of Aunt Rosa. Or Juno. Or Lady Muddy herself. He and Annabeth let Hazel do the majority of the talking - but both of them bristle as the Doors shake.

An unauthorized presence. Perseus actually did it - they have twelve minutes, in accord to Annabeth - who Leo knows better than to doubt - to open the Doors. Or he is dead, lost forever.

"It's a pity Gaea needs a son of the Earth and a daughter of the Sea... But none of you are children of the Underworld or the ocean, are you? Not even the acolyte of Trivia."

Everything indicates that she'll open the door herself - but Annabeth can't risk she whisking Perseus away to Gaea before they can reach him. So she sneaks past with her cap while they fight.

Pasiphae goes down to Hazel's illusions. Annabeth opens the Doors, before cutting the chains as Hazel and Leo distract Clytius. Perseus stumbles out, a giant tiger in his heels.

Leo didn't think he would ever see a harsher picture. The tall boy was still muscular - but gaunt as if he hadn't eaten since the fall. There were scars everywhere.

He couldn't look more - Clytius is threatening Perseus, but both Annabeth and the tiger stay in his way. Trivia appears - but they aren't truly winning until Piper, Will, and Frank are able to reach them through Hazel's magic.

Will goes immediately to Perseus' side - there's panic in his eyes. Leo can't see much this far - he hopes the son of Hades isn't dead. Piper and Frank fight alongside them. Annabeth is still hovering protectively over her best friend's prone body.

There's not much need for help - between Hazel and Trivia, the bulk of Clytius powers are unusable. The shared power of Piper (love is never where you expect it), Frank (and his undead soldiers), a very angry Annabeth, and Leo is just overkill.

They win. Will is feeding Perseus ambrosia - there's something really wrong because there are tear tracks in the blonde's face. Leo comes closer - their friends follow.

Perseus is destroyed. He looks like he has been through hell - there's a scar crossing his face and his eyes are sunken in. But that's not where it stops.

Leo's gaze goes down, to the ragged clothes that are barely recognizable - the sweatpants he was convinced to wear to go underground, the once-green sweater - and sees what is missing.

Where Perseus' leg once was, there's a metal one. The boy is curled in the fetal position - his metal leg sticks out like a sore thumb, and it looks like he might cry if he wasn't so dehydrated. The tiger nudges its head against the boy's leg and growls at them, but it doesn't attack.

"I... I can't touch him. I touched him and he started panicking... I... We have to take him back to the ship. He is stable, but..."

Frank picks up Perseus in a bride-carry - a month ago, he wouldn't be able to do it. But now, he is stronger - and Perseus must weight ninety pounds wet.

The tiger follows - when they cross to the daylight, they can see it's not a normal tiger. Annabeth - with a distraught look in her face - tells them it's a skeleton tiger. Probably a saber-tooth.

They go back on board - Piper goes up to call Nico, so he can fly Perseus into the ship. He does, but the expression in his face is so crushing Leo almost wishes they had delayed it by destroying property and landing the ship on the street.

The mood of the ship is yet again somber. No one wants to leave the infirmary - but Will forces them to rotate, so as to not overwhelm Perseus. Hypocrite - he is living in there.

Leo, Malcolm, and Piper - the least close to Percy, even though they are friends - let the others take the bulk of the shifts. Annabeth, Nico, and Jason almost get into blows about it - she wins on the fact that she knows Perseus longer.

It's difficult to IM both Rachel - who is a minute away from depression since he fell - and Lady Persephone. It's even harder to tell Sally - they leave the task to Annabeth.

They harbor for two days, waiting for Reyna. She appears from the sky during dinnertime - her horse has to be euthanized almost immediately after a run with the spirit mountains.

They talk - and end up deciding that she will take the statue back to Camp with Malcolm, the most resourceful out of them. Percy would be the logical solution - taking him out of Gaea's reach - but the son of Hades would probably be unable to shadow travel so soon.

While this happens, the others will set course to Athens - to stop Gaea and destroy the Giants. For now, they eat.

Midway through their meal, Will comes into the board - everyone knows what it means. Perseus is awake - on his birthday to boot. They take their food to the infirmary - to see the boy looking at the ceiling.

He gives them a faint smile, but no one misses the way he curls into himself any time there's someone a little too close. Perseus relays his tale - it's heavily edited, Annabeth can tell.

But he tells them about the leg - but not how he lost it - about the tiger - the name is Small Bob, but he doesn't talk about Bob - and about the firewater - but not how he got the injuries.

Small Bob never leaves Perseus's side. The demigod insists that he wants to go outside - he ate enough ambrosia and drank enough nectar that even some of his scars are gone. Not the one in his face though. Will let him go - but Annabeth thinks that he just asked out of courtesy.

He doesn't have green eyes anymore - they darkened to a point they can't distinguish his pupil. They observe as he sits calmly in the deck, metal leg sticking out, and strokes the head of the tiger, who is acting more or less like a giant house cat.

None of them miss the tracks of tears across his face, or the look he gives the night sky - it's bittersweet.

"Bob says hello"

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Text

The Bard of Kaer Morhen pt.3/4

Jaskier was still eighteen the third time he met a witcher.

Two new witchers in one year. It was officially his favourite age so far.

He was also beginning to suspect that he had a type.

He’d always loved freely and had never really considered the idea of him having a type before. He didn’t care about looks or gender. He simply just fell in love with whoever was standing in front of him. It was both a blessing and a curse. Sure he had his preferences in bed but that was less about the person and more about the variety of sex, but even then he could adapt his own particular interests to suit his partners. It was all about working out what worked best for both of them and he was extremely good at it.

He was playing in a tavern in Posada when he saw him.

Geralt of Rivia.

Now this was a witcher that needed no introduction. He was infamous, the Butcher of Blaviken. His silver hair drew Jaskier’s attention over the crowd. He was sat alone in a dark corner of the tavern and Jaskier almost missed a note when he realised that Geralt was staring at him.

And oh those eyes.

The same as Eskel and Lambert.

Witcher’s eyes.

Like the finest honey in the Continent.

He finished up his ballad as quickly as he could without completely destroying the performance and then bowed to his adoring audience. They tossed coins in his direction which he hurried to scoop up. He gave a handful to the barkeeper’s daughter as she passed, and picked up a full mug of ale, never taking his eyes off the witcher. He couldn’t. He was trapped in Geralt’s eyes. They lured him in like moths to a flame. Like he was a vampire and Geralt’s blood was the finest he would ever taste.

No.

That was shit.

And gross.

He would stick to honey and flower metaphors in future. He was good with those.

He leant against the pillar and smiled seductively at the witcher who was still staring at back at him in a way that made his heart sing. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

Geralt smirked and picked up his drink. “You’re the bard.”

Jaskier tilted his head, flicking his fringe from out of his eyes. “I’m a bard.” He agreed. “One of many I imagine. It’s a popular profession.”

Geralt growled and Jaskier was gone. His heart now belonged to this man. He was gorgeous and sexy and to the gods Jaskier wanted to drag Geralt’s leather clad ass upstairs to his room immediately.

“Why do you do it?” Geralt asked watching Jaskier with an intensity that was honestly killing him.

“Do what exactly?” He hummed as he slipped onto the bench opposite the witcher and licked his lips.

Geralt’s eyes flickered down to his lips and Jaskier did a little dance in his head. Finally!

“The songs, the coin, the poems.” Geralt tilted his head. “No one else gives a fuck about witchers. So why?”

Jaskier rested his chin on his hands and watched Geralt as he thought about his answer. “Why not?” He settled on. “Eskel saved my life in Oxenfurt, and I thought it would be a good way to repay the debt. I never dreamed it would be so successful.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how Eskel tells it.”

Jaskier smirked as he leant forward on the table. “How does Eskel tell it, my darling witcher?”

Geralt leaned forward so that Jaskier could feel the heat of his breath brush his cheeks. “That you tried to seduce him, begged him to take you home.”

Jaskier’s cheeks felt like they were on fire as he took a shaky breath, arousal flooding his senses. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from whimpering like a fool and cocked his head. “Well, you can’t blame a man for trying, Geralt.” He purred the witcher’s name and looked up at him through his eyelashes.

Geralt reached across the table and grabbed Jaskier’s wrist tightly, bringing it up to his nose. He sniffed deeply and Jaskier furrowed his brow before raising an eyebrow at the witcher’s antics.

“You aren’t afraid?” Geralt breathed huskily.

Jaskier laughed and moved his hand in Geralt’s grip so he was cupping the witcher’s cheek. There was a prickle of silver stubble beneath his fingers and he couldn’t help but stroke his thumb along Geralt’s cheekbone.

“My dear witcher.” Jaskier smiled fondly at the man in front of him. “Why would I be afraid?”

Geralt growled and pulled away and then gestured to the crowd in the tavern behind Jaskier. “Ask any of them.” Jaskier glanced behind him and scoffed.

“They simply don’t know you.” Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“You don’t know me.” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier let his hand rest on Geralt’s arm and squeezed gently. “Not yet, but I wasn’t lying when I said Eskel saved my life. He saved my life and ensured that I got home safely when there was no reward for doing so, even though I was quite honestly being a bit of a brat.”

Geralt chuckled.

Jaskier grinned sheepishly. “We all do things we’re embarrassed about when we’re sixteen.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “So what’s your excuse with Lambert?”

Jaskier laughed as he remembered his encounter with the prickly witcher from earlier in the year. “Oh come on, Geralt.” He whined but continued to trail his fingers along Geralt’s arm. “Why must you shame me in this way?”

“Seems you have type, bard.” Geralt chuckled fondly and stopped Jaskier’s flirtatious caresses on his arm by catching Jaskier’s hand in his.

Jaskier was incredibly pleased with this latest development. He smiled softly at his witcher. “Perhaps,” He laced their fingers together. “Or perhaps every breath, every rejection, every missed opportunity was just leading me here. To you.”

Geralt scoffed. “Romantic fool.”

Jaskier pouted at the new love of his life. “Geralt.”

Geralt frowned.

“Bard?” He asked looking a bit confused.

Oh.

“Oh Melitele, You idiots don’t even know my name!” He gasped and fell back in his seat, pulling his hand away from the witcher.

Geralt grumbled something under his breath.

“No no no. Use your words, witcher!” Jaskier snapped. “I sing your praises all over the Continent for two bloody years and not one of you knows my name! I am a famous troubadour Geralt!”

“It’s not our fault you have so many bloody monikers. Dandelion, Daffodil, Fleur-de-lis, Buttercup, Daisy, Marigold.” Geralt sniped back. “Two years, bard, and not one person has been able to tell me your name.”

Jaskier smiled coyly. “You’ve been asking about me?”

“Professional curiosity. You’ve made all our lives a lot easier, bard.” Geralt mumbled. “It seems only fair to know who we’re thanking.”

Jaskier tilted his head at the witcher. “Aren’t you a gentleman?”

Geralt just hummed gruffly and Jaskier patted the witcher gently on his cheek. To his surprise the witcher leant into his touch ever so slightly, he was certain that Geralt hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.

Jaskier was falling in love even more with every moment that passed between them. Yes the witcher was, like all witchers, fucking sexy, but he was also gentle and kind, thoughtful and surprisingly vulnerable? He was certain that most people would call him mad for saying that but Geralt seemed genuinely hurt that the world saw him as a monster.

Jaskier just couldn’t comprehend that at all.

He was dangerous and lethal yes, but only when he needed to be, or at least Jaskier assumed as much based on his encounters with Eskel and Lambert. Eskel in particular had never drawn his sword unless he absolutely had to, Lambert admittedly was faster to attack but then he was less forgiving to the world that showed him no mercy and Jaskier could hardly blame him for that.

“So, Geralt…” Jaskier hummed thoughtfully. “Tell me a story.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and smirked. “No.”

“No?” Jaskier cried. “What do mean no?”

Geralt grinned. “You’ve had enough second hand stories, bard.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at the witcher whilst he considered his words, smiling as he realised the implication behind the words. “I can come with you?”

Geralt hummed and nodded his head. “As long as you stay back and do as I say. Vesemir would kill me if I got you killed.”

Jaskier tilted his head. “Vesemir?”

Geralt grunted but didn’t elaborate which was fine! Jaskier would draw out more details from the witcher eventually. It seemed no witcher was totally immune to his charms.

“So when do we start?” Jaskier leaned his chin on his arms and looked up into Geralt’s eyes, happily getting lost in their swirling amber depths.

Geralt shrugged. “When I get a job.”

Jaskier grinned and leapt up from the table, bounding back to where he’d stored his lute behind the bar. There were still a few songs left in his witcher centric repertoire that he had yet to play, he could easily tweak the lyrics a little, make them about the witcher tucked away in the back of the tavern… the Butcher of Blaviken.

No.

That wouldn’t do.

He appraised Geralt thoughtfully and grinned as his muse came to him.

The White Wolf!

He took a deep breath, brushed his fingers against the strings of his lute and the tavern fell silent as he began to sing.

Geralt hadn’t intended to invite the bard along when he noticed him dancing and flirting with the crowd. He had had no doubt that this was the one. He was Eskel’s bard. He’d watched completely enraptured by the bard’s performance. His gaze drifting over the bard’s surprisingly muscular body. He’d imagined him to be slight and effeminate, like many bards were but that wasn’t the case. His legs were long but muscular. As he perched one foot on a bench and strummed freely on the strings of the lute, Geralt hadn’t managed to stop his gaze from being drawn to the man’s calf.

And his voice.

He’d played effortlessly with the melody and even Geralt’s untrained ear could tell that singing came as naturally to this man as breathing. He didn’t have to strain to reach any of the notes and his voice didn’t shake no matter how much he danced and spun and flirted with the patrons of the tavern.

No, Geralt hadn’t intended to do anything more than simply introduce himself and find out what the damned bard’s name was and yet, here they were travelling side by side towards the fields where the supposed devil had been spotted.

And he still didn’t know the idiots name.

He swore, silencing the chattering bard who looked at him curiously.

“Everything alright, Geralt?” He asked, cornflower blue eyes shining in the bright sunlight.

“Why flowers?” He asked the troubadour who smirked and gently dampened the resonating sound of his lute strings with his hand.

“We all have our secrets, witcher.” The brunet winked and strode on ahead.

Geralt frowned and ignored the surge of desire that rushed through him at the bard’s easy flirtations. “Well which one is it?”

“Which one is what?”

Geralt grabbed the bard by his shoulders spun him round so he was facing him. Geralt didn’t miss the spike of lust in the bard’s scent and filed that away for later. Not that there would be a later. One adventure, one song and some extra cash. That was all this would be.

“You know damn well, bard.” He spat out and gripped the man tightly so he couldn’t escape this time. “No changing the subject.”

“As if I would do that!” The troubadour gaped in offence and a quick sniff of the air told Geralt that he was only teasing him. “In all my days.”

“Bard.” Geralt was half-minded to forget the whole thing and gallop away on Roach but he was pinned in place by the mischievous twinkle in the bard’s gaze. He sighed and released his grip on the man.

“I call myself Jaskier.” He answered with open arms and a dramatic bow.

“Jaskier.” Geralt frowned. “From Novigrad?”

“Oxenfurt.” Jaskier corrected. “I am rather delighted that it was translated differently across the Continent. Although it does make it a little harder to make myself known.”

“You’re the bard that sings the songs of the witchers, of Kaer Morhen.” Geralt hummed. “The name didn’t matter as much as the stories.”

Jaskier cocked his head. “It did to you.”

“Hmm.” Geralt agreed. “Jaskier’s not your real name.”

“No.” Jaskier admitted.

“Will you tell me?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier shook his head. “Not yet, maybe eventually, dear heart.”

Geralt’s heart didn’t soften at the newest term of endearment.

Witchers were made of sterner stuff than that.

But he did smile fondly at his new companion behind his back as they headed deeper into the farmland.

_____

#the witcher #the bard of kaer morhen #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing

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background-noise-headache · 4 years ago

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Hurt the Bard, but like, Emotionally/Non-lethally

Um, terribly painful Jaskier-whump idea. (This has some Geraskier elements in it, but in a pre-relationship, developing friendship way, featuring a lot of Geralt openly caring for Jaskier because that’s my head canon, Geralt speaks with actions and his eyes, not his words.

I know the fandom likes to play with the idea of Jaskier’s parents being distant or abusive or neglectful. Which I do enjoy, but I vibe more with the idea that Jaskier had very supportive parents and that’s why he’s so confident and open and affectionate.

So, this: The court mage’s apprentice is bitter and angry seeing all this love that annoying brat (only a few years younger than him) gets. The jealousy is eating at him. Jaskier goes to Oxenfurt then sets out on his own to become a bard with the encouragement of his parents even if it’s not what’s expected of a viscount.

Somewhere between when Jaskier meets Geralt to the djinn incident (I imagine after Cintra) Jaskier is home for a while, telling his family about his adventures and being showered in love and sharing that love back with them, he’s missed them so much.

The apprentice is now the court mage and that anger has never gone away, just been buried and smothered because dude does not have the best coping mechanisms, no one ever taught him any. Asshole decides to cast a curse on Jaskier:

“Every kind word will cause you pain and make you rot on the inside, but no one will see the pain they cause you. It won’t kill you physically, but you’ll swear you’re dying. Every kind word, every compliment, will make you rot until the only relief and joy you get is when someone insults you. You’ll beg for them to hate you, beg for them to spit in your face.”

By the next day it’s clear how effective the curse is.

(Okay, trigger warning for body horror, skin issues, medical wounds. This is honestly me coping with a terrible nightmare I had a few years back that I never completely got over and sometimes I need to talk about it. So, bear with me, or skip to my line of astrisks)

(You know what, additional trigger warnings for toxic relationships and emotional abuse between Jaskier an characters only mentioned in the show but never seen. You know the ones)

By rot, I mean that when Jaskier looks at his skin it looks like it’s bruising, and then cracking, bleeding, pealing away. It’s molting and pussy and awful (that is specifically what it looked like in my dream, the skin on my left arm was molting.) But nobody fricken sees it! Jaskier can point to the wounds, groan in pain, nobody sees the cause. It’s not actually there, it’s technically in his head because that’s what the curse does, it won’t kill him, just rot him.

So immediately Jaskier realizes he has to leave home because every time he sees his parents and his siblings and his neices and nephews they’re excited and happy and loving. They’re quick to realize something’s wrong, but Jaskier knows they can’t see the way his skin is turning. He leaves without saying goodbye because he can’t explain.

He travels, avoids his friends and familiar places where he’s known. But when he performs his audience will tell him how wonderful his songs were and patrons will flirt and it’s all pain. It’s less painful to avoid performing, but harder to survive without it. But he can’t always bear the pain, it’s just too much sometimes.

He runs into an old classmate. He and Valdo were never close, several years apart in age. They chat, they flirt, they go to bed together. Valdo is sparing with his compliments, and very observant. Because Jaskier gets irritable with pain and too many nice words makes him lash out, but insults stir a fire in his eyes that Valdo enjoys. He thinks he knows what Jaskier really wants. He’s not sure how he feels about it, but Valdo can’t remember the last time he had a fling so interesting and contradictory.

They travel for a while. Jaskier becomes a backup for Valdo’s performances, getting a share of the coin to get by and minimal attention. It’s better this way, he tells himself.

One drunken night he tells Valdo about the curse. To Valdo it makes too much sense and it’s so tragic and the tragedy makes it more romantic. The relationship is downhill from there as Jaskier realizes the kind of situation he’s gotten himself into and how he’s becoming dependent on Valdo’s cruelty, and how much crueler it feels if Valdo says something nice.

He leaves.

He meets the Countess. She flirts with insults and thrives making people feel lower than her. She pays him a lot of money to play for her and takes him to bed and rarely has a kind word and if he avoids drinking too much he’ll never fall into the same trap he did with Valdo.

And then a song begins circulating about a poor bard cursed to long for pain and cruelty, who will never know love again. Which fucking hurts worse than any of this shit before, the message that he’ll never be loved again burns.

The Countess grows bored and kicks him out. He travels for a few weeks, to tired and burnt out to perform and goes through his money fast. He also had jack-all in the way of travel supplies, not even a bedroll, so it’s a rough few weeks after he can no longer afford a bed under a roof.

And then he meets Geralt on the bank of the Pontar. Gods it’s nice to focus on someone else’s problems for a moment. And then the fillingless pie comment, and it’s the first time in a Gods-know-how-long time that he finds no relief in the insult, only annoyance. And that old habit of bickering with Geralt kicks in because even if it’s been a few years they’re still friends.

(Yes, they’re friends. I head canon that Geralt says they’re not friends 1. because he has obvious abandonment issues and self loathing problems, as the fandom well knows, and 2. every time he says he and Jaskier aren’t friends, Jaskier insists they are with more and more evidence to prove it and it makes Geralt feel warm and fuzzy. Eventually they had that conversation and Jaskier knows what Geralt actually means/wants to hear when he says they’re not friends)

(also Geralt has been plagued with insomnia for weeks or months on end, and I’m telling you, you would be cranky too. Not getting enough sleep gives me migraines, worsens my snow vision, makes my ADHD worse, and makes me irritable. That’s why Geralt is so grumpy on the river bank)

So for a few minutes he forgets about the curse and the festering rot on his skin. And then the djinn, and he’d really like to get back at the two people that have hurt him the most recently, and then break this stupid fucking curse already.

No such luck.

And after all the djinn nonsense, Yen makes the offhanded comment, “Where’s your cursed bard run off to.”

“He shouldn’t be cursed any more.”

“Oh no, he was cursed long before the djinn.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

“I didn’t see it until you left.”

“And you didn’t break it?”

“It wasn’t killing him. The djinn was. One problem at a time. The djinn needed to be solved before this curse.”

So, yeah, Yennefer and Geralt find Jaskier outside and they have a long talk about it. Yen needs a day to prepare for breaking the curse because she’s already used a lot of chaos today and she needs rest. (And those two idiots need to talk, she can see it and it’s giving her a migraine she needs to sleep off)

Jaskier tells Geralt about the last year or so of his life. It’s fucking shit.

The curse is broken. There’s no sign of rot on Jaskier’s skin, no pain when anyone says something kind, like “we are friends” and “I missed you” which is a relief.

But the emotional changes won’t go away overnight. Jaskier responds to kindness with hostility and takes insults in silence. And Geralt isn’t doing well watching someone he cares about act... act like Geralt. Self-hating and believing they need cruelty to be normal. And there’s no traveling therapist either. So they’re doing the best they can. But it’s a rough few years as Jaskier unlearns all that shit.

It kind of convinces Geralt to get his head a little more out of his ass and stop hating himself so much, realizing how painful it must be for Jaskier and his brothers and Vesemir and Yennefer to watch.

The mountain is just a really awful few days. Jaskier takes Geralt’s lashing with minimal resistance. A comment that it’s not fair is a vast improvement from 5-6 years ago, but nothing like his younger self would have responded, all puffed up dramatics until Geralt realized how ridiculous he was being.

Geralt and Jaskier have an awkward, stunted few days hiking down the mountain, during which Jaskier decides he needs to go to the coast and sort himself out. He’ll see Geralt next spring.

He goes home and spends that autumn with his family. It’s the most healing three months he’s ever had. The mage has long since left, and Jaskier’s not sure he’ll ever get that closure, but he’ll take what healing he can get now. He’s more like his old self than he’s ever been since the curse broke.

And then Geralt shows up on the edge of winter, limping with an exhausted child surprise and a wounded sorceress by his side. Jaskier gives them shelter for a few nights but they can’t stay, they’ll in danger as long as they’re stuck down south.

The night before they leave, Geralt and Jaskier talk, clear the air. Geralt asks if Jaskier is happy. He is. So Geralt decides not to ask Jaskier to join him. Yennefer is the one to ask, because fuck that idiotic bullshit and Ciri already knows him from a few winters spent at Cintra and adores him, and he’s already great with kids, a skill Yennefer and Geralt can’t claim yet.

Jaskier’s family supports him, of course they do. He promises to return home soon.

* * *

So like, I was going to pose this as a writing prompt and offer it to anyone who wants to write it. I didn’t intend to develop it so much, but getting it out of my system helped a lot. I needed to get all those ideas out.

If it speaks to you, feel free to run with it, but please include a link to this original post or mentioned me. My ao3 is Shadowmightwrite17

(yeah, tbh, that nightmare still haunts me. I told my parents about it immediately, but I didn’t open up about it to anyone until last summer when I told my best friend about it. I was like, “did I ever tell you about that one nightmare I had where my skin was molting off my arm?” and he was like, “no. no you did not. wtf” But there was also a thing last week when I read a vaguely body-horror sentence in a Witcher fanfic about something moving under your skin and I remembered again, so like, I needed to talk about it somehow)

#jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #the witcher #geraskier fanfiction #fanfiction #my fanfic #it's past midnight I should be sleeping #i'm too tired to edit this so sorry for that

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girlmeetsliv3 · 5 years ago

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Killing Me Softly: II

Sugardaddy!BTS x reader

They were beloved. The very ground they walked on worshiped. It had been that way since before you were born and it would remain that way even after your choice. Decisions decisions, it would decide your future. But why choose one when you could choose them all? If you chose none, well… that wasn��t a decision you could make.

AN: This is for the person who requested an ot7 sugar daddy story where bts are yandere. Sorry, it took so long, but this ended up being a three-part story. Hope everyone enjoys it!

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

Word Count: 4,915

Tag List: @perrryyysblog @purpuravm @doodlesandthings @catsandstrawberries

killingmesoftlywithhislove

_Eight Months Ago_

A fit of giggles erupted from your chest as you desperately tried to hide your face from the camera pointed directly at it. “Stop it, it isn’t funny.” You attempted to sound serious but the grin on your face made it rather difficult. “Don’t be so shy,” Jungkook grumbled, but his eyes were filled to the brim with joy. The two of you had been laying around all day when Jungkook suddenly asked you to be his muse. He had been low on inspiration and wanted some pictures, you didn’t think much of it. Until he had pulled out a lingerie set and suddenly his suggestion didn’t seem so innocent anymore. It took a while, but he had managed to convince you to at least try it on before pulling out his camera and taking candid shots of you. “I don’t want weird pictures of me in your next display. Just so some weird old guy can buy them.” You pouted. Jungkook sighed before letting the large Sony A9 fall to his side. Thinking you had won, a smug look crept up your face, which was quickly wiped when you were tackled to the ground. To his credit, Jungkook had made sure you didn’t hit your head, by placing his hand on it, but when your butt hit the hardwood floor it still hurt.

“Fuck Kook. Seriously.” It couldn’t be helped that a moan of pain escaped your lips. The effect it had on Jungkook noticeable as his pupils quickly dilated and eyes became hooded. He leaned forward leaving wet kisses all along your jaw and neck. “Let me fuck you…please?” His hips began to grind against yours and god knows you would’ve given in if, “I told you I’m on my period.” A loud groan left him and now it was his turn to pout. He stared into your eyes, cupping m\your cheek gently. “Well can I please take pictures of you? They’re just for me. I can even crop out your face later if you want.” His tone was whiny, his hips also slowly rolled into yours causing the horniness you felt to worsen much more. Without thinking of the potential consequences, you nodded. A shit-eating grin spread across his face, as he lifted his camera once more.

_Present_

Jungkook’s house was an architectural marvel with it being angled towards the top and the top two floors being made entirely out of glass. It had freaked you out a bit when you first saw it, but you quickly realized the windows were tinted so that if you were to peer inside one would see nothing. You had always spent to most time inside his house, Jungkook was a homebody and preferred having slow sex on the couch or aggressively bending you over the kitchen countertop than going out. Yoongi was the same but being a photographer and not a CEO meant the man had much more leeway. A café would have been a better choice, but after your encounter with Jin and Yoongi, you learned they had little care for etiquette. The doorbell was one of those that had a camera that transmitted to your phone, so he knew you were there without you having to notify him. Sure enough, in less than a minute the door opened, Jeon Jungkook glaring down at you. Now all of them were intimidating to a certain extent but considering Jungkook was nearly a head taller and the images he possessed; he was the most threatening out of all of them.

Jungkook opened the door wider beckoning you to come in and hesitantly you did. Nothing had changed much from the ground floor, the part he always used as his studio. The door closed behind you and when you heard the beeping from the lock goosebumps rose in the back of your neck. He still hadn’t spoken, he simply walked past you are heading straight for the stairs. You followed suit even when you would rather have stayed on the ground floor – close to the door. When you reached the top floor the first thing you noticed was his bed; more specifically the pictures that laid strewn about. Quickly you rushed towards them, trying to grapple with how many there were. Some you recognized but others seemed to have been taken when you were asleep or in hotel rooms. It dawned on you when you recognized the blue bedsheets strewn about your naked torso in one of them that Jungkook hadn’t taken all of these. They had all taken pictures of you. A sob broke out as you whipped around to face the man, still standing by the stairs. “Why?” He shrugged as if you had asked him a meaningless question. As if nothing mattered to him anymore. “Hyung said we needed a failsafe. One just in case you refused to come back to us.”

Your blood began to boil. Jungkook had always been so gentle but once he didn’t get his way, he behaved like a child and threw a tantrum. This was the biggest one yet. “Do you even realize what you’re doing?! You’re ruining my life and for what? I’m sorry I don’t feel the way you want me to but blackmailing me isn’t going to make me run back into your arms. It’s only going to make me hate you more.” You were spiraling, all the pent emotions finally unraveling, and Jungkook was going to feel your rage. “I can’t get a job. Can’t move out. For fuck’s sake, I can’t even blink without feeling like one of you is waiting - watching. Don’t you understand?!” It was meant to be a strong statement, but it quickly turned into a whimper. All you wanted was a normal life and they refused to allow it. Once he saw your rant had ended, Jungkook stalked towards you pushing you onto the bed. His hands gripping your wrist tightly, caging you in with his body above you. In the midst of the tirade, you missed the way Jungkook’s face had darkened at the suggestion of you hating him. Missed the way his jaw clenched, tongue poking his cheek. Now you were truly in for it.

“You don’t need any of that shit. When will you understand? Why don’t you understand?!” He was centimeters away from your face, his nose brushing against yours but not in an intimate way. “We’re all you need. You said so yourself, so why do you want so badly to leave us? To live without love, care, trust, or money. Think about it. Why is it so difficult for you to accept it?!” The words he spoke cut through you like a blade. It was true that the seven men had cared and provided for you in a way no one had for the entirety of your life. However, if it was simple as that then you would have stayed. Would’ve given in. You would have succumbed to your darkest desires and their twisted needs. But it wasn’t that simple, it never was. “I don’t love you, Jungkook. I’m sorry but I can’t be with someone who would…do what you did. I’m sorry.” The sight of you was pathetic, you were sure of it, eyes brimming with tears and your body shaking. You wanted him to realize how pathetic you were, maybe then his obsession would stop. With a sigh, Jungkook let his face fall beside you his long hair tickling your nape. The heavy silence that hung around the two of you didn’t last for long, when Jungkook broke it he also broke your heart. “You love Hoseok though, despite what he did. You still love him. You would do anything for him, so how is it any different than what I did.”

Hoseok’s face flashed in your head: his contagious laugh, beautiful smile, his sun-kissed skin, the murderous look in his eye, the clothes tainted by blood. You shook your head to get rid of the image, causing Jungkook to chuckle. “You’re so willing to love him, but Hoseok wants us too. We want you too. I bet deep inside, you want us as well.” His voice deepened, the effect it had on your body involuntary. Your thighs clenched together, heart sped up, and panties became slick. Jungkook’s fingers worked to get your sweater off you, as he sloppily peppered kisses down your neck. Once it was off, his hands slowly rubbed up and down your arms but stopped when you flinched. The marks on your arms still incredibly sensitive, Jungkook stared at them before bringing up your arms to his lips and kissing them gently. Why did he have to be this way? Why did he have to be so cruel? Why did he need to be so kind? Jungkook crawled off you and faced the floor, instead of your face. Slowly you got off the bed, the pictures on it crumbled under you and Jungkook’s weight. It was a stupid thing to hope for, but you hoped that somehow your words had gotten through to him.

“Jimin-hyung and Taehyung are waiting for you at St.Pierre’s. If you don’t show up, I’ll leak the photos.”

Your tactic needed to change in order for this to work. Being kind, polite, and truthful had gotten you nowhere with the previous four members so something had to change. It was dangerous to be meeting both Jimin and Taehyung, the two could be brats and their antics only amplified when they were together. You had gone back home and changed into the most expensive dress you owned, a pair of red-bottomed heels, and style your hair into a nice updo. Makeup was also a must. The point was to look as if you were doing fine without them as if you didn’t need them. Showing up looking like a nervous wreck would only further prove their theory, you couldn’t have that. For the first time in a while, you felt attractive and lethal. You were going to march in their and have them surrender to you one way or another. You still had one card left to play and it was important they never find out about it, or else you would truly be ruined. Before stepping out the house, you shot a quick text to Sihyeon to make sure she was alright. Her response somewhat unnerved you.

Sihyeon: Can’t talk right now or for a while.

Y/l/n Y/n: Is everything alright?

Y/l/n Y/n: Are you okay?

Sihyeon: ttyl

You tried to call her, but it immediately went to voicemail. Fearing the worst you decided that once you met left St.Pierre’s you would go visit her, just to be safe. You grabbed your purse heading for the door, you unlocked it only to be met with the sight of the men you were supposed to meet at your doorstep. “We weren’t sure if you were coming so we wanted to stop by.” Jimin spoke a smirk on his face as he glanced at your appearance. Taehyung stood to the right of him a stoic expression on him. “I was getting ready. Wouldn’t want to look out of place next to the two of you.” It didn’t really matter what you wore, you would always be out of place next to them. The two men looked like Greek gods or sculptures that Rafael would’ve crafted. Taehyung stepped forward, peering over your shoulder. “Mind if we come in? Just for a bit?” It was a question per se, but you moved aside to let them wander in anyhow. The two analyzed your apartment with indifferent looks on their faces, Jimin went so far as to sit on the couch. “Nice place. It’s a pretty expensive location though, how did you manage to rent it?” His question threw you off guard as did the gleam in his eyes. Taehyung was admiring a framed picture of you and Sihyeon hanging on the wall. His back was towards you, so you couldn’t really tell what he was thinking. “Sihyeon knows the manager so we got it on a discount.” The less they knew the better. “Do you still have that necklace I gave you?” Taehyung questioned, still turned away from you. Taehyung had gifted you a small pendant when your birthday had rolled around, it was a beautiful amethyst attached to a gold chain. Without waiting for your response, he spoke once again. “I want it back.”

Your frowned a bit and glanced over at Jimin who was playfully smiling at Taehyung. The other had turned to look at him, and from what you could see smiled back. “Sure, let me go get it.” You walked to your room and headed straight for the jewelry box you kept hidden in your nightstand. You had never thrown away any of the gifts you’d received, deeming that a bit immature. You bent down to open the drawer, only to hear the sound of the door clicking shut. Quickly you straightened up only to see that both men were in your room now, blocking the exit. “Get out.” You chided, but the two didn’t listen. Jimin walking around and laying on your bed. “I always liked softer beds. It’s easier to sink into them as your being pounded from behind.” The vulgarity of his words shocked you. Taehyung smirking at your reaction. “The necklace babe?” You scowled and bent back down, ripping the drawer open and grabbing the necklace from the jewelry box. “Here now leave.” You threw it with all your might at his chest, but Taehyung caught it with ease. “Come on, you promised to have dinner with us,” Jimin whined, rolling on your bed until he was right in front of you.

“Fine then, let’s go have dinner. I don’t see why we’re still here.” Taehyung sauntered to where you stood, he stood so close you could see all the flaws he didn’t possess. At least not physically. “Jimin and I want dessert first.” It was when you felt the slight sting in your hand and Taehyung’s face was turned to the side, that you registered what had happened. It wasn’t his reaction that terrified you, instead, it was Jimin’s. The other man had harshly tugged you onto the bed, positioning you were strewn across his lap, ass in the air. You struggled against him, but when his hand landed harshly against your bottom you stilled. “What happens to bad girls, [Y/n]?” His voice rough, when you didn’t reply he landed another strike against you. “What happens to them?” You bit your lips to stop the words from coming out but at the threat of another hit they slipped. “They get punished.” Your dress was lifted up to your waist and you became aware of the sound of a belt being undone. Fearing the worse, you looked back only to see Taehyung with his belt in his hands the rest of outfit untouched. His hooded eyes met yours and he glowered, “You hit me [Y/n] isn’t it only fair that I hit you?” If you said no, the punishment that would ensue would be far worse. So, you nodded your head as you cried.

Taehyung had confessed to you after passionate lovemaking one night, that he had been bullied growing up. That he came to fear anyone touching him, for fear they would strike him. It had gotten better with time but the only people he really trusted were the other men and after that moment you. You had sworn to never hit him, to never hurt him, so when you slapped him it hurt much more than your abandonment had. Jimin too knew of his past which is why took it personally. Taehyung was his soulmate. You had broken him. The leather of your belt stung, however, it couldn’t compare to the pain you felt in your soul. Your mind was blank and too numb to focus on anything, too numb to play the game any longer. Too weak. Jimin was quick to pick up on it, “I’m going to ask you some questions [Y/n]. Answer them honestly.” You mindlessly nodded along to whatever he said, too lost in your own head to perceive you were about to lose it all. “How do you pay for the apartment, [Y/n]?” He probed, an eyebrow raised. “With my money.” The belt strikes once again, you lost count of already. “How? You don’t have a job? Are you sugaring again?” His hold on you tightened at the latter question. “No with the money I sa-” You had stopped midsentence when you realized what you had admitted. It didn’t matter as the belt had stopped and both Taehyung and Jimin remained still. Taking the opportunity, you crawled away from them and quickly moved off the bed. The dress falling into place rubbing against your sore behind.

A maniacal laugh tore from Taehyung’s chest, he had to lean over and clutch his knees in order to support himself. Jimin had quieted down, refusing to look up from his lap, a small smile on his face. After what felt like forever both gazed up at you, “That’s against the rules.” Just like that they stood up, dusted themselves off, and crossed over to you. Tenderly kissing your lips before walking out of the room, Taehyung poked his head back inside smiling. “Don’t worry babe, you’ll hear from us soon.” Before letting his right eye fall into a wink. At the sound of the front door being shut, you fell to your knees in prayer. Head falling onto the cold tile underneath, “Please. Please, I’m begging you.” You didn’t know who you were begging god, a guardian angel, fate, the men who had just left your apartment, or the one who was surely going to visit. It seems your body had reached its limit for you fell asleep right there and then, the dark world fading around you.

_Ten Months Ago_

The television screen in front of you had been forgotten, as Hoseok and you lay wrapped up in each other on the couch. You weren’t sure if this is what you were supposed to do. If this was okay. Being a sugar baby didn’t really come with manual instruction, the videos online didn’t really seem to fit your relationship with Hoseok either. It seemed logical to allow him to take the reins never questioning what he wanted or why he wanted it, so long as you were comfortable. Hoseok seemed to like this as well since it meant you never really objected to anything, unlike his past arrangements. There was also your uncanny ability to read him, just like now. Hoseok had been on edge as of late, it could’ve been work but you noticed he was beginning to spend more time with his friends and less with you. It would’ve been fine if his friends hadn’t begun to try to be with you whenever Hoseok stood you up. The dynamic was strange, and you were sure he had noticed it. Hoseok reached over for the control, pausing the tv show. His face was unusually stern, it worried you. “Hobi is everything okay?” The man sighing. Before he turned to look at you with a melancholic smile.

“Do you remember when you asked me why I didn’t have a normal relationship?” You nodded hesitantly. It was something you had questioned when the two of you had gone out for Thai food on your second meeting. Hoseok had said he didn’t really have time for courtship and that it didn’t really interest him. “I lied.” Noticing the concern in your eyes, he pulled you closer against him. As if he had a secret to confess that he wanted no one else to hear. “I can’t have a relationship because I already am in one…an unconventional one.” You were admittedly, shocked but not surprised. Of course, Hoseok would have a girlfriend, the man was the complete package. The longer you thought about it though, the more you picked up on his words. “What do you mean unconventional?” The relationship between the two of you was unconventional for sure, but that wasn’t what he was hinting at. “My friends and I are…” His mouth began to quiver and immediately you pulled him in for a hug. “It’s okay Hoseok. You don’t have to worry about that, I mean it’s the twenty-first century. People are more accepting nowadays.” Somethings were beginning to make sense: the tension between the seven men. The way they all seemed to communicate effortlessly. You weren’t even upset because if it means Hoseok was happy then you would gladly pretend for the sake of appearances.

“I’m not gay [Y/n] not entirely. That’s not what I’m worried about either.” He chuckled humorlessly into your chest. “What?” Hoseok pulled his head up and stared at you lovingly. His thumb trying to smooth away the frown in between your brows. The man simply sighed and smiled a bit before responding, “I’m worried because I want you too. I want you to be a part of my life, [Y/n] and so do they.” It took a while for the words to sink in, but you weren’t sure what to say or how to respond properly. “Uh. I…” The discomfort you felt was indescribable, as was Hoseok’s fallen expression. “It’s okay [Y/n]. I get it. I’m sorry for bringing it up.” You shook your head, “No. If that’s what you want. If it will make you happy then I’ll-” Hoseok interrupted you, by pressing his lips against yours. Tears of joy streaming down his face. The kiss broke when the two of you no longer had any air left in your lungs. Hoseok pulled you into his chest, running his fingers through your hair. He spoke so softly you struggled to hear it. “… love you.”

_Present_

The obnoxious blaring of your ringtone had woken you up. You could barely move, and your muscles ached from sleeping on the hard floor last night. All you had dreamt of was methods of escape, maybe if you left the country for a while everything would smooth over. You would apologize repeatedly to Sihyeon for leaving on such short notice, but it was also for her own safety. If you left the boys would no longer feel the need to target her. Some time away from them might also help your ever-increasing paranoia and your weakening mental state. Settled on your decision you located your laptop and searched for cheap flights out of Korea. Maybe you could go to Japan for a bit? Or even Hong Kong? The longer you thought about it, the more the latter seemed like a safe bet. Japan was simply too close, they could reach you in less than two hours, and they had connections there. You purchased the round-trip tickets and inputted your card information waiting for the confirmation page to pop up. Instead, you got the notification that your payment was declined. You tried again but it still didn’t work. Wanting not to stress, you searched for your credit card and tried that one. Still no luck. No this can’t be happening…

Opening another tab, you quickly typed in your bank website and tried logging in only for it to say that account didn’t exist. Your phone rang once again and this time, you acknowledged it. Pressing answer without even bothering to see who it was. “Hello?” The voice of a friendly man spoke back to you, “Good Morning Miss Y/l/n. This is Yuri from Woori bank calling to update you on the state of your account.” You sighed in relief, “Yes I was just about to call. I can’t access my account or funds.” Yuri made a noise of acknowledgment, “The thing is ma’am your account is being investigated, so you won’t be able to access it until the investigation is being completed.” You frowned, “Investigation? Why is my account being investigated? I haven’t done anything.” The line was silent for a while before Yuri replied, “The bank received an anonymous tip that the money in your account may have been acquired through fraudulent means. Whenever that occurs, we close the account and investigate it along with the police, its bank protocol.” You scoffed, “I haven’t committed any type of fraud. The person who reported it was lying or mistaking me for someone else.” Yuri didn’t seem fazed at all by your accusation, he simply hummed and waited until you finished. “Unfortunately, it comes from a highly respectable source. If the investigation proves inconclusive, the account along with the funds will be returned to you anywhere from two to three weeks from now.” His tone was too polite. Too professional. As if he was talking about the weather when in reality he was accusing you of committing a crime.

How would you survive two to three weeks without money? You couldn’t very well leech off of Sihyeon. You needed to pay rent, you needed to survive. Why – That’s exactly why they had done it. You could feel the wrath completely consume you. It was better than letting the sorrow win. It was better than giving up and succumbing. Anger was always better. You were so unbelievably angry until you saw the text from Sihyeon.

Sihyeon: I need you to pack your things and move out.

Y/l/n Y/n: Why?

Sihyeon: Jeonhan says you’re a bad influence. Yoongi told him everything that happened between the two of you. Why didn’t you tell me?

Y/l/n Y/n: You don’t understand. He’s lying.

Sihyeon: I don’t, and I can’t. I’m sorry but I need you gone within the week.

Sihyeon: Jeonhan threatened to leave me if you didn’t… I can’t lose him.

Sihyeon: Please understand.

You understood. How couldn’t you? Now that you had lost everything there was only one choice. You clicked on contacts and scrolled down to find the name of the man who you loved the most. Tears welled in your eyes, snot came out your nose, your lips trembled uncontrollably until you heard the familiar sound of the phone being picked up. You wish you could’ve remained silent but instead, you broke down. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Hoseok. Please…” He didn’t reply simply hung up the phone. That was all it took for your last string of hope to break. You willed yourself up, beginning to place your belongings into a bag. You could come back for the other items later if you would come back. Dressing into some comfortable clothing you searched up the nearest women’s shelter intending to walk there. It was a forty-five-minute walk but escaping the four walls that surrounded you sounded like a good idea. Maybe you could have sold some of the presents they had given you, or resell some of your more expensive clothes, but some part of you knew nothing good would come from that. Instead, you walked out of your bedroom, into the hall, you were about to turn towards the door when something caught your eye. The frame of Sihyeon and you had been taken off the wall, hanging on the nail was the necklace Taehyung had given you. You debated on whether to take it before grabbing it off the wall and clasping it around your neck.

When you reached the outside of the apartment complex there was a black Bentley Bentayga parked alongside the curve. Your heart sped up thinking it could be him, only to be disappointed when someone else stepped out of the driver’s seat. Only to then be confused when he strolled over to you, “Excuse me Miss Y/l/n. My name is Bo I’ve been sent by Mr. Jung to escort you to him.” It was a bad decision but all the previous times you had made ‘good rational’ ones had led you to where you were now. So it couldn’t be helped that you got into the car and allowed Bo to drive you to God knows where. You also couldn’t help the way your heart jumped with glee at the possibility of seeing him again. Though it broke your heart, you couldn’t ask Hoseok to choose between you and them. You also understood that what Hoseok felt towards you was not love, no matter how much you wished that it was. It was an unhealthy, controlling, possessive obsession; just like the rest of them. Hoseok didn’t see you as an equal but something to own. To consume. The ride had lasted an hour and a half, your phone slowly losing reception the further away you got from the city and the denser the forests became. It was when you passed by a small sign that opened into a clearing that you recognized where you were. The North Jeolla Province distinguishable from all the others as was the mountain area where the driver had turned into the place you had visited nearly two months ago with the seven men, the place where you had celebrated your birthday, the place where you witnessed exactly what the men were capable of doing in the name of love.

As the car pulled into the area where the Hanoks were, you wondered whether or not you would soon join the rotting bodies buried underneath the ground. When you laid eyes upon the man standing outside the main Hanok, his eyes peering into the car window and the heart-shaped smile on his face, you were almost certain you would.

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