#just shut up and let me be for five seconds fucking go rot to hell

[holylulusworld]

The Widow (1)

Summary: You trust no one. Not since they got your husband killed.

Pairing: TFaTW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions death of a loved-one, the reader is under protection, bitchy reader, arguments, grumpy Bucky, angst

The widow masterlist

The Widow - Prologue

You wake from another nightmare, screaming at the top of your lungs. When you sit up, you clutch the blanket to your chest and try to remember what your therapist told you.

“One,” you count. “Two,” you sniffle. “This is shit.” You grab the lamp from the nightstand and throw it at the man stepping inside your room.

“Whoa, watch where you are throwing your lamps,” Bucky grumbles. He dodged your attack just in time to watch the lamp hit the wall next to him. “I came here to check on you, not to get hit by a lamp.”

He tugs his gun away, looking around the room. “What happened? Why did you scream? A spider? A bug?”

“Get out,” you look away to not show him the unshed tears in your eyes. “That’s none of your business. I didn’t want you to come here and save me. Go back to sleep.”

Bucky watches you run your hands over your arms. He knows the signs of nightmares all too well. Sleep is not his friend. Most of the time he wakes from another nightmare. Skin sweat-slicked and with a racing heart.

“I’m outside if you need anything.”

“Sure-“ you quip. “Just like the other guys promising to protect me and Ransom if he tells them everything he knows about his former partner.” You pucker your lips. “Now he’s dead and gone all because of them.”

“He’s dead because he was a criminal.”

“Ransom wasn’t a criminal,” you throw the blanket away and slip out of the bed to walk toward the second nightstand. You grab the lamp and throw it at Bucky. This time you hit him square in the chest. “Get out! I dare you to say one more word about my husband.”

Your lips quiver and you clutch your hands to your chest. No. You won’t cry in front of this stranger. He’s no better than the others.

“You should practice your aim,” he looks at the broken lamp on the ground. “I hope you know, it’s your job to keep the house clean.”

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you, doll!” He grunts and storms toward the door. “If you want to stay alive, stop screaming for nothing.”

“Asshole!”

The door slams shut, leaving you angry and sad. Why does everyone believe Ransom was a bad person? He made one single mistake.

Your husband trusted the wrong person and ended up laundering money for a mafia boss, not a businessman in trouble.

“I see she’s still alive,” Sam grins when you glare his way. You only lifted your eyes from the magazine you pretended to read to watch the two men. “Anything to report, Bucky?”

“She threw two lamps at me,” Bucky grunts. “I think we should handcuff her. Maybe a gag will help too.”

“Fuck you,” you snarl at Bucky. “I didn’t ask you to babysit me. Ransom is dead. I know nothing about his business. So, let me go. I’ll figure things out from here.”

“No can do,” the super-soldier glares at you. “Why don’t you try to act like a decent person?”

“Why don’t you choke?” You flash him your best-faked smile. “I hope all of you getting my Ransom killed rot in hell.”

“Bucky, a word?” Sam jerks his head toward the kitchen. “We need to talk about a few things. Especially her husband’s death, and his business.”

“I can tell you everything about my husband’s death,” you snarl. “Your fine agents told his former business partner where to find us. He died protecting me. Ransom was more man than you could ever be!”

“Bucky, don’t,” Sam holds his friend back. “Please just drop it. She’s…hurt…and scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you huff. “I’m annoyed by his presence.”

Bucky follows Sam out of the room. He huffs and balls his metal hand into a fist. “If you don’t find someone else to babysit her, I cannot guarantee she’ll be alive at the end of the week…”

“Bucky, I know she’s driving you up the walls, but her husband died in her arms.” Sam places pictures of your dead husband on the table. “Five bullets hit him, and he still managed to protect Y/N.”

“Hmm…” Bucky glances at the pictures.

“She’s traumatized but won’t admit it.” Sam gives his friend a stern look. “She has nightmares and mood swings. This has nothing to do with you or your presence. Y/N watched her husband die and held him in her arms. She was like a feral animal, biting and scratching the agents when they tried to part her from her dead husband.”

Bucky is silent for a moment. He’s still not convinced that you and your husband aren’t bad people. “He did business with the wrong people. It’s his fault.”

Sam bites his tongue. “Bucky, just protect her. Y/N doesn’t deserve to die because of her husband’s mistakes. Remember, she’s an innocent bystander.”

“Right.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you repeat his name twice. “I knew I heard the name before.” You chuckle darkly. “The man telling me that my husband was evil did unspeakable things himself. You killed innocent people hiding behind a different name.” You sneer. “Only because you don’t call yourself the Winter Soldier anymore doesn’t change your past.”

Bucky is frozen to the spot. His past can’t be undone, but he tried to make amends as best as he could. Now you look at him like he’s some kind of monster. You out of all the people dare to hold his past against him.

“What? Cat got your tongue. Doesn’t feel good when someone judges you only because they read shit about your past, huh? Well, shit darling. I won’t stop digging out your past, babysitter. If you want me to stop, go and leave me alone. Send someone else to watch over me!” 

“How did she find out about me and my past?” Bucky hisses at Sam. “I thought she got no access to a phone, TV, or the internet.”

“I can read, and have a very good memory,” you smirk darkly at Bucky as you walk inside the kitchen. “You didn’t live under a rock over the last years. I saw you more than once on TV. The hair is shorter now, though.”

“Y/N,” Sam tries to stop you and his friend from arguing again. “What the soldier did wasn’t Bucky’s fault. He got brainwashed and…”

You raise your hand to stop Sam from arguing with you. “Ransom didn’t become a criminal on free terms either,” you grit your teeth. “He tried to do business and make some money. My husband didn’t know he got himself into trouble by doing business with that monster.”

“He’s still a criminal,” Bucky grunts. “He did all of this for money.”

“Says the man claiming to be innocent, even though you killed hundreds of people. They threatened to kill Ransom and me if he didn’t do as they said. He was a victim, you were just…” you huff and turn to leave. “A monster hiding behind your friend Captain America.”

You know it’s not fair to call Bucky a monster. All the things you read about him tell you that he was a victim.

You just can’t bring yourself to admit that he was a victim too while he treats you like shit, and keeps on telling you your husband was a criminal…

The widow (2)

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #tfatws!bucky barnes #The Widow (1) #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader

[gaycragula]

I'd love some König x M!Reader where König has been captured by an enemy, and the reader, along with a few others are going on a rescue mission to find him. The reader eventually finds König, all tied up, and has a little bit of fun with him before untying him. When he's untied, he gets his revenge on the reader. ;)

(My life will be completely fulfilled if you write this)

Caught Between a Rock and a Hard… Man

NSFW UNDER THE CUT Warning: Smut. 18+/explicit content Pairing: König x Male Reader

Pairing: König x Male Reader Warning(s): sub reader, dom König, dick sucking, deep throating for a moment, throat fucking, tied up, captured and tied up König, dry humping, handjob, pinned against a wall, cum on face, cum eating, choking on air/choking for air, coughing caused by choking, spit on dick, attempt at making him game accurate, probably didn’t work Word Count: 1994 AO3 Link

The building was teeming with hostiles. Or so it was supposed to be. Your team had split apart to cover as much ground as you could as quickly as you could. 

You’d been put by yourself on the first floor of the building. Each room you entered was empty, though you could tell people had been there recently. It frustrated you with every room you entered. Empty cans, bottles, and miscellaneous trash littered most of the rooms. 

You groaned as you ‘cleared’ another empty room. These fucks had probably left long ago. Probably with their little prisoner too. You almost decided to call off the mission temporarily as you entered another room. You’d just took a breath to tell your team to regather before you stopped in your tracks. 

In the corner of the room sat the mountain of a man you’d been looking for. His arms and legs were tied to a chair, his head lulled forward and his shoulders rising and falling with each breath he took. 

You made quick work of making sure no one was hiding in the room before setting your gun down and stepping over to the masked man. “König,” you called out before your hand brushed over the mask on his head. 

He jerked in response, head shooting up at the sound of your voice. “Scheisse, you came.”

His voice was rougher than it normally was though that still couldn’t mask the relief in his voice. “Of course I did,” you hum, crouching down to cut the ropes off. “I couldn’t leave you to rot.”

The ropes were tight leaving very little room to get a knife in. You debated trying your knife anyway, biting your lip as you thought. “Are you waiting for permission? Untie me,” König hisses, trying to jerk his leg in your general direction. 

“Shut it big guy. Those fucks got you secured in that chair. Don’t wanna hurt you,” you snip back, trying your luck at sawing through the outside of the ropes. 

König shifted in the chair, his head lulling back as you sawed through one of the five ropes holding his leg. “These guys must’ve been terrified of you,” you joke, moving onto the second rope. “They sure as hell didn’t want you up and running.”

“They knew what would happen if I got out,” König chuckles, trying to pull his leg out of the binds. You chuckled before his words settled in your mind. 

You bit your lip as you mulled over his words, glancing up at him. He was still looking straight up, the ideas his words put in your mind seemingly only affecting you. 

Your knife cut through the final rope and you heard him let out a sigh of relief as he immediately stretched it out. “Thank you, liebling.”

You stood up and stepped around him to do the other leg, your touch lingering just a little too long on König’s thigh as you moved. You felt his muscles twitch under your touch before you were down and working on the second set of ropes. 

Now that you knew what you were doing, you managed to get them off quicker, setting the rope out of the way. König was quick to stretch the leg, hips shifting in the chair and you felt your breath catch in your throat. 

You took a deep breath before you made the decision to slide into König’s lap. His arms twitched and his head jerked back up, his eyes meeting your own. “What are you doing?” He whispers, eyes narrowing as he watched you. 

“Testing something,” you mumble back, shifting so you were straddling one of his thighs. Whatever König was starting to say next was quick to die on his tongue as you pressed your knee into his groin. 

You heard him curse before he was pressing his hips harder against your knee. You leaned forward, resting your head in the crook of his neck. Your nose buried into the fabric of his mask, his scent filling your nostrils. König cursed and you felt his shoulders tense as he pulled against the ropes keeping his hands connected to the chair. 

“Leibling please,” he pleads, his nose pressed against the temple of your head. “Don’t tease me like this.”

You hum in acknowledgment of his words as you begin to fumble with his belt. König was no help, basically humping your leg. Your hand pushed against his waist in an attempt to slow him down to no avail. He was whispering your name over and over, desperate for the friction your clothed leg provided him. 

 The sound of his belt coming undone was music to your ears and you were quick to let it drop to the ground. The button on his pants was easier to get undone and you were unzipping his pants just as fast. König’s dick was straining against the fabric of his boxers, a wet spot already forming. 

“Quit humping me,” you hiss, pushing against his hips again. “You’re like a dog in heat.”

A noise akin to a growl sounded in his chest as he reluctantly stopped his hips. You rubbed him through the fabric of his boxers, the groan he let out at the feeling making you shift in your spot in his lap. His breath was coming out ragged, his hips twitching in anticipation.

You pulled the hem of his boxers away from him and used your other hand to pull his cock out.

König’s groan vibrated in his chest, his back arching away from the chair as you ran a finger down the underside. His breath hitched when you wrapped your hand around him, squeezing just enough for König to feel the pressure.

You gathered some spit in your mouth then let some drip down onto his cock to slick it up. König sighed, his head falling over the back of the chair as you slowly jerked him off. His thighs quivered under you, shoulders tensing every few seconds as he tried to move his arms. 

It wasn’t long before he was practically begging you to speed up. His legs were restless under you. You could hear his boots scraping the ground as he tried to find a comfortable position for them. He was panting, chest heaving and you almost missed him moaning your name. 

You glanced up at him and felt your stomach flip. He was looking at you with pure lust. His eyes lidded and the glint in his eyes had your face heating up. You slid your free hand under his hood, rubbing your thumb over his jawline as you pressed your forehead against his. 

You were suddenly very aware of the temperature. Your gear felt too hot on you, König’s breath fanned hot air over your face and you were aware of how much you’d been sweating. A curse fell from your mouth and you pushed yourself back from König and the hand on his dick came to a stop. 

“No, no. Please don’t stop,” he begs. “I’m so close. You can’t stop now.”

“König we’re not secure,” you mutter. “I don’t want to get caught like this.”

König groaned in complaint as you wrestled his dick back into his pants. You’d gotten it back into his boxers before you heard the thud of ropes falling to the ground and you were on the ground with him on top of you, your back pressed against the wall.

He held you in place by your hair as he stood up and pulled his dick back out. You couldn’t even speak before he was pressing the tip against your lips. “Open up.”

The tone in his voice shot fire through your veins and you did as told. König used the grip in your hair to keep your head still as he pressed into your mouth. The stretch to accommodate his size burned and you could feel yourself tearing up. 

You placed your hands on his thighs to stabilize yourself as you tried to relax your jaw as much as possible. König cursed above you, resituating his legs so that you were practically trapped between the wall and him. 

He knew you couldn’t take all of him in your mouth, you trusted he wouldn’t push you past your limits. The thought helped relax you body as König started fucking into your mouth. You felt the tip of his cock brush the back of your throat with each thrust in.

König was mumbling above you. You couldn’t make anything out with the squelching sound his cock was making. Your eyes fluttered shut and both your hands move to undo your own pants, you dick achingly hard. 

You got your belt undone before König was tugging at your hair, regaining your full attention. “Hands off,” you hear him say, borderline snarling at you.

You groaned around his dick, reluctantly putting your hands back on his thighs. König grunted in approval, running his fingers over your scalp in some form of thank you. 

The room filled with König’s grunts and groans and the squelching of his dick as he fucked your mouth. He was hunched over you, the hand not in your hair planted on the wall behind you so he could lean against it. His thrusts were getting more erratic, his groans louder. 

Your fingers dug into his thighs in an attempt to ground yourself, to focus on your breathing. The grip in your hair tightened and you let out a noise of surprise as König pulled you farther down his dick. 

You felt him go down your throat, your airway clogging momentarily as your nose pressed against the hair on his pelvis. König held you there for a moment but as soon as you pushed back against his thighs, he let you go completely and pulled his dick out of your mouth. You heard him jacking himself off above you as you fell into a coughing fit, caught between trying to catch your breath and trying to not choke on air. 

König’s hand returned to your hair and he’d pulled you back upright, his tip pressed against your lips again as he came. You flinched as it shot up your cheek, narrowly missing your eye, the rest coating your lips. 

He sighed quietly as he looked down at you. You could tell he was smiling under his hood. Whether at the mess he made or at you, you weren’t sure. You licked your lips to clean them off at least a little bit, fighting the urge to grimace at the taste as you swallowed. 

The sound of static coming from your headset startled you and you felt yourself jerk as your teammate’s voice filled your ear asking anyone if they’d found König.  

You did you best to calm your breathing as fast you could before responding, “Yeah, I found him. Just got him up and running.”

König took the time you were speaking with the team to put his dick away and pull out a handkerchief to wipe the rest of your face off. Your team made the decision of where to meet up and you were quick to shut your mic back off once it was decided. 

You pushed yourself off the ground, sighing quietly as you redid your belt, hoping to whatever forces above that your boner wasn’t too noticeable. König chuckled as he watched you before gently grabbing your chin and tilting your face towards him. He cleaned the rest of his mess off of you, which you were more than grateful for, before leaning down and lifting his hood up just enough to kiss you. 

“Thank you liebling,” he whispers as he stands back up. “We’ll continue this when we get back to base.”

“Long as you don’t try to kill me again,” you mumble, rubbing the front of your neck as you started out of the room. Despite your words, König could tell you were excited to get back. 

#x male reader #smut #x reader #cod x reader #male reader #könig x reader #könig x male reader #choking #cod x male reader #tried to make him game accurate #did it work

[jade-owaowa]

2:56/2

2:56/2

By Jade Arnett

10 PM

Thank God for the notes app on my phone, I'm about to make extensive use of it tonight. This will be a chronicle of everything that happens tonight. The reason I want to document everything is that I no longer feel safe in my own home. Last night….. I had a run-in with something awful. I can’t go back to my house. My wrists are bloodied and bruised and my lungs feel like they’ve been filled with blood. I am currently on the bus to get to my best friend, Wynn. I will update this once I get the chance.

11 PM

I have been at Wynn’s for around an hour. She changed the bandages on my arm and got me some cough medicine. I don’t want to tell her what I saw, she’ll think I’m crazy or something.

12 AM

She’s pressuring me to tell her what happened.

12:30 AM

I finally am giving in and telling her over Waffle House. I just hope she believes me

12:40 AM

I’m riding shotgun in Wynn’s car. As I write this, my darkness is on low, and I'm holding my phone at an angle. I looked in the rearview mirror and I felt…..his…. Presence.

12:50 AM

We’re here, we were greeted by a waitress who seemed rather friendly, she kind of looked like my mom a bit.

1:00 AM

“Creeeeeeeekkkkkk” my imitation of that old monster we called a house was spot-on.

“The floorboards were horrifically noisy and woke me up every night at 2:56 a.m. I would hear the heavy thud of boots stomping down on the old wooden floor.”

“Did you ever see anyone?”

“Stop rushing my story, Jesus.” 

I took a sip of my black coffee. Me and Wynn were enjoying our meal at Waffle House. was 1 a.m. now, and we were just sitting and talking.

“My body would immediately sit up. Once I was jolted awake I would smell the same putrid smell of gasoline and rotting meat. The footsteps usually went away….”

I paused for a second, trying to collect my thoughts.

“But this time….. this time was different.”

Knock………Knock……..Knock

“I flinched at the three heavy-handed knocks, each one louder than the last. At this point, the smell had gotten so bad I had to cover my nose with my bed sheets.”

“Wait, do you mean those dino ones?”

“Wynn shut the fuck up.”

Wynn laughed a little at the idea that I still had dinosaur bed sheets at the age of 18.

“Yes, and I am proud of it, so stop laughing,” I said in a semi-annoyed tone.

“Anyways, let me go for five fucking minutes without interrupting me, it's already 1:30 am now.”

“Fine fine fine, continue your bullshit ghost story.”

“Thank you. The room was pitch black other than my door. I aimed my neon blue alarm clock straight at that damn door. Nothing was getting in or out without my knowledge. If I said that I wasn’t scared of the dark, I’d be lying right through my goddamn teeth. Even with the clock, it felt that there was less light than normal. It seemed as if the darkness was fighting the light and prevailing. Then I saw it. The doorknob began to shake and shake and shake until it seemed like it was going to fly off of the door.”

I paused and took another gulp of my coffee. It had turned lukewarm over time.

1:45 AM

“Do you think it was your grandfather just going to piss or some shit?”

“Hell no, I could hear that motherfucker snoring like his life depended on it.”

Wynn started snorting like a pig.

2:00 AM

“Hey, it’s already 2 am.”

“I'll try to wrap up soon. The door was locked, so whoever - or whatever - couldn’t get in. Then I heard it speak.

‘Da………..bria’

“I knew who it was immediately, I believe that the thing coming to visit me……”

“Yes?”

“Was my father.”

“Holy fucking shit.”

The problem with my father coming to visit me every night is quite simple. He’s been dead for nine years. He died in the very house that I was staying at.

“I know, but it wasn’t him….. it was something……. malicious. Its hoarse voice didn’t sound human. It felt like a cheap imitation.”

“What, do you think it was a spooooookyyy ghooooost or something?”

I was right, she didn’t believe me.

“I'm not sure, But what I do know is that it wants me dead. Immediately after it called out my name, I became light-headed and felt like I was going to pass out. I began coughing up blood and old scars on my wrists began to open up. Blood was soon flowing from me like water. I fell on the floor and heard the thing scream louder and louder.”

“OPEN OPEN UP UP OPEN NOW OPEN OPEN OPEN.”

This thing was definitely not human

“Who the fuck are you?” I yelled at the thing, expecting an answer for God knows what reason.

“COME YOUR TIME TIME YOUR COME YOUR TIME COME.”

The broken English in the imitated tone of my dad sent shivers down my spine.

“I crawled my way to that door and pressed my body against it so that it didn’t get in.”

I glanced at the clock, now reading 2:45.

2:45 AM

“I stayed holding that door until the morning. When I finally opened the door, there were bloody footprints leading from my dad’s old room in the basement to my room. I haven’t been back at the house since.

“ When was this?”

“Last night.”

“Jesus Christ Dabria, you didn’t get high did you?”

“ No, I was completely sober.”

“So you called me because you didn’t want to sleep there again?”

“Yeah, I don’t feel comfortable at all there anymore. My dad didn’t visit me last night, and I don't care to figure out who did.”

“Well. let me use the bathroom then we can leave here and go to my place.”

“Okay.”

I sat and gulped the last bit of my coffee. There was something strange; it was oddly empty, even for almost 3 a.m. at a Waffle House. The waitress was no longer in the restaurant so I assumed she left for the evening. I ignored it though, and finished writing this in my notes as I wanted to document this conversation. I will keep updating it.

2:56 AM

Tap tap tap

I froze. I saw it. The time on the clock read 2:56 a.m. That Thing was not my father. It gave me a smile and a wave. This is goodbye, I think.

3:00 AM

I am hiding in the bathroom, Wynn is dead and I have a knife in my hand.

3:15 AM

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming

3:30 AM 

I can’t keep doing this, maybe I should just go out and accept my fate.

Day 2

I'm starting to go insane.

Day 3

I'm so thirsty.

Day ??

I don't know what day it is, I'm so hungry I have begun to eat Wynn.

Day ???

I think this is it, my strength is gone, I am out of food and the tap in the sink doesn’t work anymore. I’m going to let him in, I love my father I love him I love him I love him I love him I lo-

Battery depleted

“What the fuck… chief, come here a minute.”

“What’s up lieutenant…. Oh my god…”

“There's…. so much blood.”

“Dispatch…. this is unit 212…. send a coroner and an EMT asap to 1440 Arroyo Lane.”

“Copy.”

“Oh my God oh my God I’m going to throw up.”

“Jesus, murder-suicides are always the worst.”

“What do you think the motive was?”

“Who knows.”

“ Three people dead, damn you think people would have found them by now.”

“Unit 212 this is dispatch, what are the descriptions of the bodies.”

“One female with heavy lacerations on her wrists, a fatal stab wound in her stomach, and dried blood on the corners of her mouth. She has black hair, blue eyes, and a slender build. The next one appears to be a middle-aged waitress with lacerations to her neck. She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a medium to stocky build. Last is another female. She has Black hair as well, with brown eyes and a medium build.”

“Copy.”

#goth lit #gothic literature #literature #author #writing #writers on tumblr #short story #creepypasta #horror #r

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ "the next time i see you, it'll be in hell" / "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me"

♡ pairing: connor kent (superboy/RotS) x fem! reader

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / i was listening to 'esa hembra es mala' by gloria trevi so if you do speak spanish, that's a song rec while you read this fic. if you don't, listen to 'hermit the frog' by marina instead!

"connor please, you're giving ME a headache and it's only seven in the morning," his friend, jake, spoke as his hands covered his face, "wait, shut up, who is that?" connor asked, seeing you with a few friends.

jake sighed, "that's ( your name )," he spoke softly, "she's friends with everyone here. some like her, some can't stand her. it all depends on how she feels with you." you were schools resident 'popular' girl and had a bit of a following among your class.

"i'm gonna go talk to her," connor said. his friends eyes widened, "connor no!" jake screamed, grabbing his friend and pulling him back, "she's a complete bitch, don't do it!" jake exclaimed as he could tell that everything he was saying was going over connor's head.

you fixed the newspaper that had superboy's face plastered on the cover, "i just think that superboy could beat robin if i'm being honest. PLUS he's attractive because you can actually see his face," the day old conversation between you and your friends about who was the better sidekick struck up again and anyone who knew you knew how much you adored superboy.

"hey ladies," you turned to look at the boy, confused on who he was as you had never seen him around school. you gave him a small smile, "uh, hi?" you asked, "do i know you?"

the boy who approached you was wearing sunglasses which threw you off considering your school didn't allow anyone to wear them inside the building. you looked to his other friend, recognizing him as someone you had in your Calc class.

"just wanted to introduce myself, i'm connor," he said, giving you a sly smirk. you shook his hand, half awkwardly, "please i'm ( your name )," you replied as you saw the way connor gave jake a wink, "is there something you wanted or?" you asked again, not knowing why he was still here.

"no, just wanted to say hi to my future girlfriend," you let out a laugh, catching everyone off guard, "please, as if," you replied as you grabbed your friends and walked away, kind of taken back by the new boy.

"he was kinda cute," one of your friends said as you rolled your eyes, "uh, not really? kinda weird if you ask me," you replied, looking down at the newspaper, "well, i'm going to class, see ya," you said, walked towards your AP Lit class.

you sat down in the front, immediately talking to the friends you had in the class. it wasn't even five minutes later when connor entered the class, immediately smirking when he saw you. you growled, instantly annoyed at his expression.

"ah, so you've met the resident new boy?" you nodded as your friend giggled, "he's really nice. made more than a friends already," she said as you shrugged, "okay and? he had a lot of nerve coming up to me and telling me i'd be his future girlfriend," you replied.

she let out a belting laugh, "yeah, he told meghan from fifth period the same thing," you saw connor walking up to your desk and before he could make himself comfortable next to you, you instantly put your leg on the chair, "don't even think about it," you said, not even looking at him, "the desk in the back is available though," you smirked as you watched your teacher roll her eyes at your attitude.

connor bent down to your level, "don't gotta be so hostile, sweetheart, i know you like me," he whispered before getting up and leaving.

your friend, looked at you, laughing at disbelief at both of your attitudes. you rolled your eyes, trying to pay attention to the discussion as you could feel connor's eyes on you almost the entire time.

+

throughout the weeks and going into months, your relationship with connor didn't change. he arguably became the biggest pain your ass from the beginning of the day until the final bell rang. he managed to befriend a few of your friends which meant that you were around him at times.

you sipped your coffee as you were reading the newest article on superboy, "ah, ah, ah, what do we have here?" connor asked, taking the magazine from your hand, "superboy fan, huh?" he scanned the cover, a smug smirk coming onto his face as you snatched the magazine back.

"yeah, someone who's actually useful in life," you replied as he walked with you to your locker. he had never saw the inside of it and taken back by the amount of photos you had....of him, "aww, don't be that way, sweetheart! maybe one day superboy will actually give you a chance," he joked.

your annoyance instantly shot up as you slammed your locker and walking away, "see ya later sweetie!" he screamed. you stopped in the middle of the hall and flicked him off, "the next time i'll see you, it'll be in hell!" you yelled, storming off to class.

you walked into class, sitting down as your friend, henry, walked up to you, "hey babe," he said, a warm feeling crossing your face at the term of endearment, "hey henry, what're you up to?" you asked, seeing him looking at you, a bit nervously now.

"i was wondering if you were free-," before henry could say anything else, connor walked up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder. he had heard the conversation between the two of you and knew exactly where it was heading, "uh, she's not interested, better luck next time," connor stated, surprising henry with his sudden angry attitude.

henry knowing he didn't want to risk the chance of getting his ass kicked walked away from the conversation as you stared at connor with rage in your eyes, "what do you want?" you seethed as you saw connor's smirk playing on his face, "you weren't actually entertaining him, were you?" he asked in disbelief, "i literally hate you with every ounce of my being," you blurted, finally sick of connor's attitude.

his mouth hung open as you got up from the desk, "do me a favor and PLEASE leave me alone, that's all i ask," you stated as you walked out of class and deciding to ditch for the rest of the day.

"told you she was gonna blow up," jake informed as he sat down in his seat, connor still standing in place, taking in everything you had said. he knew he was being a bit of an ass but he didn't know you were that angry with him.

connor knew he had to make this up. he genuinely did like you and he didn't want to ruin his chances with you because of his shitty attitude. throughout the class period, he picked his brain for ideas until sirens went off in his head.

SUPERBOY.

he knew you were practically in love with his alter ego and he knew he could use superboy as a way to persuade you into giving him another chance. that is if he played his cards right.

+

you reluctantly showed up the next day, trying to avoid connor as best as you could. you were talking with a few friends, gossiping about the fight that superboy and robin had against a few low level villains in metropolis last night.

"hey, look at connor," jake whispered, seeing his friend practically beat up. you were taken back by his appearance as he had a few bruises on his arms and legs, "are you okay?" jake asked connor.

connor shook his head slowly, his body still recovering from the night before, "what were yall talking about?" he asked, trying to redirect the conversation. everyone looked to you, "someone was gushing about superboy, so please, if you'd continue," meghan said playfully.

"oh shut up, like you don't have robin posters all over your room," you retorted as you watched connor struggling to stay upright, "all i'm saying is that superboy remains the best sidekick there is. did you see the way he walked out of that fight scratchless and look at robin, he nearly died," you continued.

meghan instantly retorted as you noticed how eerily silent connor had became. you turned over to him, about to say something sarcastic towards him until he flopped on top of you, passing out completely. you looked down at him, "connor?" you whispered, "hey connor, wake up," you whispered, shaking him a bit.

"take him to the nurse!" jake yelled at you as you grabbed connor by the arm and pulling him against you, "fuck off, he's heavy as hell," you breathed, trying to steady his weight against you before walking slowly towards the nurse.

you made the walk to the nurse but by the time you made it, connor had woken up, "don't take me to the nurse, please," he whispered, "what are you talking about?" you exclaimed, "you clearly aren't okay and you don't look okay either," you added on.

he steered the two of you to the family bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit, "clean me up here, i really don't want to be questioned right now," he said, nothing cocky or playful in his voice. you sat him on the toilet, bending down to clean his face first, "hey, is everything okay....you know at home?" you asked.

he laughed, shaking his head, "these injuries aren't from my guardians if that's what you're wondering. i kinda got into a fight last night," you stared at him confused, "did you lose or something? these injuries look horrible," you replied.

"course i did, just took a nasty beating before i won," he said as he flinched at the rubbing alcohol hitting his arm. you muttered a sorry as you put a band-aid on a few of his cuts, "listen, i wanted to say sorry for acting like a prick," connor muttered a few minutes later.

you were taken back by his apology, "i knew i was being an ass but please don't take this as me joking but you're actually the best thing that's happened to me since i transferred," you remained silent, not knowing to respond as you put the last band-aid on his knee.

"and if i could have a second chance, that would be super dope, ya know?" he tried to say without sounding nervous, "you better not be joking, kent," you threatened, putting your finger on his chest and shoving him a bit.

connor flinched back in pain as you muttered a sorry, "i'm not joking, i'd really like to take you out for coffee sometime," he asked as he grabbed your hand and gave it a kiss. you agreed as you responded with a kiss on his cheek, "also, i had this lying around my room and figured you'd like it more than i would," he dug into his backpack and gave you a magazine.

your eyes widen seeing what it was. it was the magazine that superboy first appeared in and you had analyzed a few signatures of his to know that it was his signature on the front, "did superboy sign this?" you practically tried to contain your excitement as you ran your finger over the sharpie.

connor nodded, "i met him one time after he saved a few people in metropolis last year and got him to sign the magazine. i figured since you like hm a lot more than i do, you'd take care of it better than i would," overwhelmed with excitement, you grabbed connor by the neck and kissed him.

connor was taken back by the sudden kiss but awkwardly responded with another kiss as you held the magazine close to your chest, "i can't thank you enough for this connor," you whispered, your lips still on his a bit. he chuckled, "just meet me at the coffee shop near the school and that'll suffice," he replied, giving you another kiss before slowly getting up.

"now lets get to our second period before we get marked truant again," he grabbed your hand and held it as softly as possible, "you know how much shit our friends are gonna give us, right?" you said, laughing a bit. connor nodded, "nothing we can't handle," he replied as he squeezed your hand in reassurance.

#dc x reader #dc imagine #dc #superboy x y/n #superboy x reader #superboy imagine #connor kent #connor kent imagine #connor kent x reader #connor kent x you #comics

[viking-raider]

Southern Generation - Part I

Summary: After more than a decade of service, Captain Syverson as retired from the military, but now that he is retired, he still needs to find a job.

Pairing: Syverson/OFC

Word Count: 6,214

Rating: PG - Quasi-Slow Burn, Language, PTSD, Fluff, Angst, Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Reclusive Behavior

Inspiration: I wrote a similar story for another fandom and I’ve wanted to finally write a Sy story, since I don’t have one.

Author’s Note: I wasn’t going to post this til I was done, but thought what the hell. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ of for her help with it.

He was home, finally and for good.

After more than ten years of service in the U.S Army and retiring as a Captain, Austin Wyatt Syverson was no longer a soldier. It felt amazing to be back on southern soil again, home sweet home; back in the city he was named after.

Austin, Texas.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Syverson found his way back home, to his flat in central Austin. He didn't expect a huge welcome back, unlike the first time he came back home from overseas, years before. His parents had decorated his apartment with streamers, a 'welcome back' sign and balloons. They had cake and noise makers as he entered, surprising him. But, this time, there was none of that, just bare gray walls, covered in band posters and other things Syverson liked.

His father had died of a heart attack two years into his second deployment and his mother had passed from breast cancer a year before. He was an only child and he wasn't close to his other relatives, so he would have hit the floor if any of them had even sent him a 'welcome back' text.

No, Austin Syverson was on his own, and he was more than all right with that. One thing he wasn't all right with was not having a job. So, after settling in, getting into his civilian clothing and cooking a good home cooked lunch, he picked up a newspaper and perused the job section. He preferred a job that he could do with his hands, he had always liked working with his hands, even as a kid, tinkering in the garage with his dad. Several advertisements caught his attention and he saved the numbers in his phone, planning on calling them to inquire about the job, but for now, Syverson just wanted to relax and settle in as a newly-minted civilian.

The one thing he did miss was Aika, the German Shepherd he befriended back in Baghdad. He had started the process of having Aika sent over from Iraq, but she was stuck in a month-long quarantine, before she would be cleared to be with him again, in Austin.

“She's all the family I need.” Sy said, popping the cap off a cold one.

Bright and early the next morning, Sy started calling the numbers in the advertisements and discovered to his disgruntled annoyance, that the paper he picked up was nearly a week old. He made a mental note to give the clerk at the corner store a piece of his mind, the next time he saw him.

“I'm really sorry, Mr. Syverson.” the owner of a construction company sighed, feeling bad that he didn't have room on his current job for him.

“It's fine, I'll find something.” Sy frowned, rubbing the side of his face. “Thanks though.” He sighed, and started to hang up.

“Wait!”

Sy paused, his finger almost pressed to his screen to hang up the call, and put it back to his ear. “Yeah?” He replied, biting his lip.

“I just remembered, it's a private contract, I got it a couple days ago.” He explained, fumbling through several stacks of papers and files he had strewn across his desk. “It's out in Celina, I know that's a bit of a drive from where you are in Austin.”

“That's fine.” Sy answered, relieved. “A job is a job.”

He figured if he could do a job overseas, he could do a job three hours outside of Austin.

“Well, if you want it, it's yours.” He told Sy, finally finding the paper he was looking for.

“Of course!”

He gave Sy the details of the contract, it was a private contract, sent into his company by a young lady, who lived just outside of Celina, Texas, on a small farm. Apparently the house and the barn on the property were in disrepair and she wanted them repaired. So, Sy took the contract and the information, then hung up with him, immediately calling the number he had given him for the young lady.

“Hello?” A soft, almost meek, voice answered.

“Hi, I'm Cap-” Sy cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, it was going to be a while, before he broke himself out of the habit of introducing himself as Captain Syverson. “I'm Austin Syverson. I know you don't know me, but I got your contract from Mr. McJames, the owner of Diamond Ridge Constructions, in Austin.” He explained to her, sure it sounded a bit crazy.

“Oh.” She replied, unconsciously brushing her hair out of her face. “Right. The contract.”

“Is it still available?” He asked, feeling a small tingle of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes!” She answered, hastily, worried she had given him the wrong impression. “Yes, the contract is still available. You're actually my only inquirer for it.” She told him, honestly.

“I would love to meet up with you and talk about it.” Sy said, letting out a relieved sigh and felt his massive shoulders relax.

“Um,” She gulped, licking her lips and felt her hands shake.

“I could meet you in Celina, take you for coffee?” He suggested, hoping to make her more comfortable with meeting him in a public place. “My treat.” He added, with a sweet tone.

“No, no.” She squeaked, fidgeting in her chair. “That's all right, if you want to take the contract it's yours, Mr. Syverson. It's seventeen an hour, with everything provided.” She explained to him, taking deep breaths, to calm down her nerves.

Sy was a little surprised by how easy it was, but he was willing to do the job, either way. “Of course, I would gladly take the job for you.” He agreed.

“Excellent.” She smiled, bouncing on her toes. “You can start at your earliest convenience.” She told him.

“I can come by tomorrow morning, if that's all right with you.” He replied, looking around his kitchen for something to write with and on, so he could take down her address.

“That's splendid.” She assured him, then rattled off her address for him. “If you have any issues finding the place, just call.” She told him, before they hung up.

Sy woke up early, for the three hour drive from Austin to Celina.

It was a nice drive, watching the bustling city of Austin slowly melt away to the rural landscape of the countryside, endless farmlands of varying crops. Sy found it rather soothing, after seeing nothing but sand, rubble and burned out buildings for so long. He felt like he was getting back to his roots again, his southern heritage. His GPS chimed into his thoughts, announcing he was within a mile of her home. So, he turned off the music he was playing and rolled down the window of his truck, squinting at the mailboxes that dotted the few dirt driveways along the long country road.

“You've passed your destination.”

“Fuck.” Sy grunted, tires screeching as he turned around.

He stopped his truck by the side of the road and got out, looking up and down the empty road, frowning. He pulled his GPS device off its holder and started walking in the direction it indicated her house was in, pausing, as it told him he was standing exactly where he needed to be. Turning in a circle, he noticed the sun baked, wooden gate, that was slightly hidden by weeds and had no mailbox. Frowning, Sy locked up his truck, pushed open the gate that almost fell over in the process, before walking up the driveway.

The simple, two story farmhouse slowly came into view. The roof of the farm porch was dilapidated and sagging, there were shingles missing on both roofs, the paint of the house was faded and peeling, chipping away from the warped and cracked boards, a couple of them were missing.

“It definitely needs work.” Sy said, stopping to look the house over, then noticed the barn a couple of yards away, in even worse condition. “Looks like I got my work cut out for me.” He sighed, but wasn't daunted by any of it.

His eyes moved away from the barn and back to the house as the screen door opened and a woman stepped out onto the porch; Sy could practically hear the high-pitch creak of the screen door from where he stood. She was a teeny little thing, maybe five foot, and looked timid, by the way she hugged the screen door, using it to hide behind as she watched him finish approaching the house.

“Mr. Syverson?” She called out to him, biting her bottom lip.

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy answered, stopping at the bottom of the warped steps leading up to her on the porch.

“I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the place?”

“Not at all.” He smiled at her, shaking his head. “I don't lose my way often.” He assured him, teasingly.

“Good.” She chuckled, nervousness. “I suppose you'd like a closer look at the place?” She asked, glancing around the porch.

“If you don't mind.” Sy nodded, glancing around as well.

Biting her lip, she stepped out onto the porch, the screen door closing with a soft bang. “I'm sure you saw a lot of the issues on your way up.” She explained, slowly stepping off the porch.

“I have.” Sy nodded, looking down and smirking at her bare feet. “Seems a lot of the boards are rotted and the house, and barn, could use a good fresh coat of paint.”

“That's the least of the problems.” She replied, looking at the side of the house as they rounded its corner, heading towards the barn. “There's several weak points in the roof, on both the barn and the house.”

“When was the place built?” He asked, touching the side of the house, flecks of paint brushing off under his fingertips.

“1921.” She answered, looking up to the top of the house, squinting in the bright sunlight. “I bought the place four years ago.” She explained, turning towards the barn.

“I can understand you wanting to fix up the house, being you live in it.” Sy commented, checking out the barn. “But, what do you want the barn with? If you don't mind me asking.”

“I'm considering turning it into my studio.” She answered, trying to push open the barn door.

“What do you do?” Sy asked, helping her push open the door; one handed, while she leaned her body into it.

“I'm a graphic designer and a photographer.” She explained to him, stepping inside the barn with him.

“That's cool.” He smiled at the back of her head.

“Thanks.” She replied, smiling at him over her shoulder. “So,” She gulped and glanced around the barn. “Do you think you can do the job?” She asked, regarding him.

Sy heaved a sigh and roamed around the barn for a moment, checking things out. “I'm more than sure I could.” He finally said, stopping in front of her and crossed his arms. “It might take a couple of weeks to finish. But, I can do it.”

“Great.” She smiled, relieved and excited to hear that he could.

“I can start right away, if you want.” He added, resolute.

“Sounds excellent.” She nodded, fidgeting and nervously twisting the hem of her tank top with her fingers. “I can get the tools for you.” She turned and left the barn, heading back towards her house.

Sy followed after her, staying on the top step of the porch, while she disappeared inside. “Here.” He smiled as she came back, carrying a heavy red and rushed toolbox; stepping forward to take it from her.

“If you need anything else, more tools or supplies, like, I don't know, lumber or whatever.” She mumbled, staring down at her bare feet, shyly. “Just ask.”

“I will.” Sy grinned down at her, hefting the toolbox and making the tools inside of it rattle.

With that, Sy gave her a gentlemanly nod of his head and stepped off the porch. He carried the heavy box of tools down the long driveway, back to his truck, still parked on the side of the road, where he left it. Opening the back hatch, he set the tool box down in the truck bed and opened it, checking out all the tools that were stored inside it.

“Not too bad.” He nodded, approving of the selection that was inside, then turned towards his first project for the place, the pathetic excuse and falling over the gate.

Digging his phone out of his pocket, Sy googled the closet hardware store, secured the toolbox in the back of his truck and hopped in behind the wheel and followed the directions into the town of Celina. He knew she told him to tell her if he needed anything while working on her property, but Sy had a sound enough savings, that he didn't mind spending his own money on bits and bobs. He browsed the aisles of the hardware store, picking up a couple of tools he would need and weren't in the box, then several boards of wood, to build a new gate.

“Thanks.” Sy muttered, nodding his head at the hardware store owner, collecting his things and packing them back into his truck.

Getting back to the farm, Sy parked close to the head of the driveway and got to work, tearing down the old gate and piled up the lumber to the side, out of the way. Without a power source, this far out, Sy relied on a trusty hand saw and the thick muscle of his arms to cut the fresh boards, still strongly smelling of the pine tree they were hewn from. He measured everything out, tucking the pencil behind his ear, as he leaned into the saw as he cut them to length and nailed them together, forming the new gate.

She watched him the whole time, from the upstairs window of her office. He was a hard and diligent worker. Taking painstaking time to double, or even triple, his measuring of the boards, before finally cutting them with a manual saw. In a matter of hours, he had the new gate made and started putting it up. Biting her lip and saving her work on her laptop, she went downstairs into her humble little kitchen, whipped up a couple of things, making some food and drinks, before texting him.

» If you're hungry, I made lunch.

Sy smiled at her text, putting the last screw into the gate and pushed it open with two fingers. Grinning and proud of his work, then turning back to his truck, he put all the tools away and cleaned up the rest of the mess he made, then drove through the gate, stopping long enough to get out and close the gate behind him, then went up and parked beside her own little car. She came out onto the porch, holding a plate of food and a tall glass of cold lemonade.

“Thank you.” He grinned at her, taking the plate and glass, and sitting down on the rickety porch swing, balancing the plate in his lap.

“You're welcome.” She mumbled back, so shy that she didn't meet his blue eyes.

Chuckling, Sy took a deep gulp of the lemonade, parched beyond belief after all the work he had done. He moaned as the cold tang washed over his tongue, refreshing him tremendously. “That is delicious, thank you.” He complimented her.

“Thank you.” She smiled, still fidgeting beside the swing. “I'll be inside, if you need me.” She said in a rush, and scuttled inside.

Sy tilted his head as the screen door slammed shut behind her. She was a curious person, always so nervous and shy, fidgeting and never meeting his eye. He wondered if his presence made her feel uncomfortable, he was wearing a red, DILLIGAF t-shirt, a tight pair of black jeans and boots. He was an imposing guy, with stacked muscle, which made his job in the Special Forces easier, and his head was shaved, while sporting a beard. Sy's whole presence came off as authoritative and commanding, it was a natural effect he had, it was one of the reasons he had advanced in the military and succeeded as a leader so well.

Sighing, he finished off his food and gulped down the rest of his lemonade, before getting up and carefully knocking on the wood of the door frame, peeking inside. The main door was half open and he could see into the foyer and the living room beyond that, the large rug on the hardwood floors and the mismatched couch and furniture of the living room, a flat screen tv mounted above the fireplace. He could just see around the corner into what looked like a dining room, seeing the edge of a table and a couple of chairs. She appeared from the other side of the door, looking up into his eyes for a moment, before dropping them down again.

“All finished?” She asked, quietly.

“I am, thank you.” Sy smiled at her, pressing his lips together. “It was really good, the best I've had so far, since coming home.” He told her, taking a step back as she opened the screen door, taking the dishes from him, their fingers brushing.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” He asked, gulping at the soft touch of her fingers.

“No, thank you.” She squeaked, drawing away from him. “I appreciate you fixing the gate.” She added, breathlessly.

“Of course, ma'am.” Sy smiled, chuckling softly. “I'll be back tomorrow and I'll have a look around the house and see what projects need more direct attention.” He explained to her, glancing around the porch.

“That sounds great.” She mumbled back, clearing her throat.

“I'll take my leave then.” Sy said, bowing his head to her, and heading back to his truck.

There was an infernal banging coming from outside, with a loud clattering that followed, all of it in a steady rhythm that was driving her crazy.

She was nuzzled into the warmth of her thick down blankets, in that heavenly position, where you found the perfect spot on the mattress to lay, and even the slightest movement will ruin it, in a millisecond. She growled into her pillow, still reluctant to move even the tiniest bit, but she couldn't take it anymore, and thrashed out of bed, in a fling of arms, legs, pillows and blankets.

“What in the world?” She huffed, pulling on an oversized hoodie and scrambled downstairs.

She froze, catching a glimpse out of the large bay window in her den, a huge male with a shaved head, and realized it was Sy. Gulping, she moved closer and watched him through the window. He wasn't in his red shirt and jeans this morning, but wore a blue tank top and a pair of basketball shorts, but still sporting his combat boots. He also had wireless earbuds in, head bumping to whatever he was listening to. Mustering some early morning courage and stepped over to the front door, pulling it open.

“Careful!” Sy called out, appearing from the other side of the house.

She looked down and saw a good amount of the boards of the porch were gone, and looked back up at him.

“Morning.” He smiled, one corner a bit higher in an amused way.

“Morning.” She squeaked back, burrowing into her hoodie a little bit.

“I thought I would start on the porch.” Sy said, looking over what he had already torn up.

“I-I can see..that.” She stammered, biting the inside corner of her lip, then looked behind her, to the coo-coo clock on the foyer wall.

It was seven in the morning, and Sy had already been on the farm for an hour and pulled up just about half of the wrap around porch. She looked back at him and was rather impressed by it, with a shy nod of her head, she went back inside and into the kitchen, setting up the coffee maker and got breakfast going. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, she glanced in the direction of the noise and followed it again.

“Would you like some breakfast or coffee?” She asked as Sy yanked up another warmed porch board, with his gloved hands, biceps bulging as he got it loose with a grunt.

Tossing the board into the growing pile, Sy wiped his sweaty face on his arms and turned to look up at her. “I would love some, if that's all right with you.” He answered, he only had a liquid breakfast of a tall black coffee from Starbucks as he left Austin for Celina.

“Pancakes, eggs and bacon, okay with you?” She asked, fidgeting.

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy nodded, smiling sweetly at her.

A smile twitched on her lips, before she turned on her bare feet and went back into the kitchen. She pulled open the refrigerator, pulling out the milk, eggs and bacon, before going into the pantry to grab the dry pancake ingredients. The coffee maker beeps as she whipped up the pancake batter and turned, pulling out two cups from the cabinet and setting up her own cup, before going back to the front porch.

“Coffee is ready, if you want to—come in—and get your cup ready.” She told him, shyly.

“Thank you.” Sy smiled at her, wiping his face again.

Pulling off his gloves, stuffing them into his back pocket, Sy entered the house, glancing around as he followed her into the kitchen. He found his cup by the coffee maker and smirked at it, it was a Texas Rodeo cup, a picture of a bucking horse on the background of the shape of Texas.

“I wasn't sure what you took in your coffee.” She commented as he stirred a single sugar into the cup and took a seat at the breakfast nook table.

“Either straight black, or with one sugar.” He replied, taking a sip of the steaming brown liquid, while he watched her finish mixing the pancake batter. “Depends on my mood.” He added, as she poured a bit of the thick batter into the sizzling hot skillet on the very old, blue and gas stove, that had to be made in the 1940's.

Easily. Sy thought, taking a deep gulp of his coffee.

“So, you live here alone?” He asked, lifting a brow at her and set it cup down on the table in front of him.

“I do.” She nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear, and flipped a couple of the pancakes.

“Does your family live nearby?”

She paused for a moment, her back stiffening at the mention of her family. “My mother passed away, when I was born.” She said, her voice strained. “I don't have any siblings and I don't know where my father is.” She explained, flipping the finished pancakes onto a plate by the stove and turned to the cardboard carton of eggs.

“How many would you like?” She asked, holding up a sooth, brown shelled egg.

“Three, please.” Sy replied, nodding his head to her. “Sunny side up.”

“What about your family?” She asked, cracking his eggs into the pan.

“No siblings and both of my parents are dead.” He answered her, leaning back in his chair. “My dad died of a heart attack, during my second deployment and my mom died of cancer, little over a year ago.” He explained, watching her baby his eggs.

“I'm so sorry.” She frowned, looking over her shoulder at him, with a look of pure sympathy, but no pity.

“It's all right.” Sy told her, his voice soft.

She fried the bacon with the eggs, then set the hot stack of pancakes and bacon on the table, setting Sy's plate of sunny side up eggs in front of him, with a container of syrup and a dish of butter, before handing him his fork. She sat down at the table, across from him, with her plate of two scrambled eggs, then took two pancakes and three pieces of bacon for herself, drizzling her pancakes with the maple syrup.

“Thank you, ma'am.” Sy smiled, before digging into his food.

“Lily.” She mumbled, staring at her untouched plate.

“Excuse me?” Sy frowned, looking up at her, fork posed at his mouth.

“Lily.” She replied, a little bit louder. “My name is Lily. You can call me, Lily.” She told him, meeting his eyes.

Sy grinned at her, lowering his fork and sitting up straighter. “All right then, Lily.” He nodded, loving the roll of her name off his tongue. “I'm Austin. But, everyone just calls me, Sy.”

Lily held her free hand out over their plates. “It's a pleasure.” She smiled at him, sweetly.

“Same.” Sy replied, gently taking her smooth and dainty hand in his big and calloused one.

Both of their faces warmed, before their hands pulled apart and they went back to finishing up their breakfast, having a polite and casual conversation as they did. With breakfast finished, Lily cleared away the plates and silverware, setting them in the sink to be washed later on, while Sy pulled his gloves back on and headed back out to finish pulling up the rest of the porch boards.

“Now that all the boards are pried up,” Sy explained as they ate lunch together in the kitchen. “I'll be able to start nailing down the new ones.” He told her, gulping down his glass of iced tea. “I'll put down the boards in front of the main door, so you can actually get out of the house, without having to be a hurdle jumper.” He laughed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Sy was true to his word, as he always was, he had all of the boards of the porch along the front of the house down, even though it took him until after sundown to pull it off. He sighed, as he drove the last nail in flush to the board. He stood with a groan, his knees and shoulders stiff and screaming from the hard work of the day. Gathering the strewn about tools, Sy put them back into the tool box and lugged that into the back of his truck.

“Lily.” He called out through the open screen door of the house, knocking gently on the door frame.

“Yes?” She called back, then appeared a moment later.

“I'm done for the day.” He told her, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “I'll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Bright and early, I'm sure, Captain.” She smiled at him.

Sy chuckled, he had told her a teeny bit about his career in the military, how he was a Captain and had spent more than ten years in the service, right out of high school, much to his parents' disappointment, since they wanted him to go to college. But, Sy wanted to serve his country, especially after the attacks in New York, causing him to enlist in early 2002.

“As always.” He grinned back, rubbing his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Good night, Ms. Lily.” He bowed his head to her and stepped back.

“Good night, Sy.” She nodded back to him.

Sy got into his truck and sighed heavily, as he started the engine. He was exhausted beyond belief, he scrubbed at his face as he drove down the long driveway, stopping to open and close the gate as he left the property. He only got a couple miles from Lily's, when he decided he was just too exhausted to drive the three hours to Austin. So, he turned around and headed for Celina, knowing there was a small motel there that he could rent a room from for the night. There was also the upside of staying in the motel, it was only thirty minutes away from Lily's place, which meant he could get there earlier and could work for a few more hours.

Lily came out onto the porch, when she heard the hammering on the east side of the house stop. Her bare feet gliding over the smooth new boards on the porch. Rounding the corner, she found Sy with his back against the side of the house, where he was currently prying the warped siding off of. She chuckled, realizing he had apparently stopped for a short break and fallen asleep. She moved closer to him, watching his face pinch and his head shake, like he was trying to wake himself up, but couldn't.

“Sy?” She called to him, softly, kneeling down beside him. “Hey, Sy.” She reached out to touch his shoulder. “Austin.” She said his name, gently.

She had no sooner touched his shoulder, than he jerked violently and lunged towards her. Lily yelped and scrambled backwards, away from him. Sy shook his head several times and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard, his entire body rigged.

“I'm sorry.” Sy pushed the words out of his throat. “I am so sorry, I didn't realize I fell asleep.” He said, sitting back where he had been. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” He looked over at her, his intense blue eyes scanning her for anything out of place, but only found her frightened and shaking.

“Lily.” He choked.

He had episodes like this, on and off over the last thirteen years, he had decked more than one of his men, who tried shaking him awake. He had even ended up choking one of his commanding officers, and needed his squad to pull him off and slap him back into consciousness. Sy had lost more than one friend and girlfriend over his episodes, nightmares and PTSD, he really didn't want to lose Lily over them.

“I'm-I'm f-fine.” She gulped, biting her lip and tried to calm herself down. “Are you?” She asked, pressing her back to the post that supported the porch roof.

Sy let out a hard breath, pressing a hand to his face and took a moment to settle his nerves, relieved that he hadn't hurt her. “I'm fine. I just didn't realize I fell asleep. I've been really tired lately.” He paused and dropped his hand.

“I've been tired for years.” He admitted out loud.

“You've been working from sun up to sun down, here for a month. That's without a day off, Sy.” She said, drawing her knees up to her chest. “You really should take a day off. When was the last time you had an actual day off?” She asked, studying him.

“What year is it?” He asked, chuckling at her.

“That's not good.” Lily said, shaking her head at him, then stood up. “All right, Syverson. You're officially off duty, effective now.”

“But, the siding?” He said, waving his hand over the unfinished siding on that side of the house.

“It can wait.” She told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” He asked, heaving a sigh and standing up.

“Whatever you like, Sy.” She said, turning back towards the house.

“What if I'd like to finish the siding?” He asked, smirking at her, impishly.

Lily turned, lifting a brow at him and narrowing her eyes, making him chuckle at her, throwing his hands up in defeat. He followed her into the house and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. In the month since Sy had taken the job on Lily's property, they had gotten close and she had made him feel more at home than he had ever felt, anywhere in the world. Now, that she had made him take the day off, Sy had no idea what to do with it. Since he was a little boy, he was working hard, either on his parents' small farm or dealing with his deployment in the middle east.

He stepped back out on the porch, smirking to himself as he stood on solid porch boards that didn't squeak and creak under his weight. He still needed to stain the boards, but he planned on doing that after he removed all the siding from the house and put up fresh ones. His only missing plan with the siding was finding out if Lily wanted him to stain those too or if she wanted the house painted a particular color. But, he'd figure that out tomorrow, for now, he started out over the slice of land out front of the house. The grass was almost as tall as he was and he knew she didn't have a mower, not even an ancient push mower, so it would be something else he'd need to get his hands on to tame the wild jungle of sun bleached grass and weeds.

Humming to himself and taking a sip of his coffee, Sy walked around the porch, surveying the work he had done on that side, with two thirds of the siding pulled off, then continued to the back of the porch. The backyard was just as vast and wild as the front and sides of the house. Her land butted up against another farm that looked like they grew wheat. He noticed a slight movement on the thin trail that cut through the overgrowth and stepped off the porch to follow it, stopping several yards away from the boundary line that divided the two properties, finding Lily leaning on the rusted metal gate, her arm held out above it as a dapple-gray horse came trotting up to her, taking the apple out of her outstretched hand. She rubbed the mare's nose, smiling softly at it, and pulled out another apple out of the pouch of her hoodie.

Sy smiled as he watched her feed and pet that magnificent creature. “A friend of yours?” He asked, alerting her to his presence.

Lily blushed at him, trying to bite back her smile. “You can say that.” She replied, feeling the horse nudge her gently, and produced another apple. “Her name is Juniper.” She explained, patting the side of the horse's neck.

“She's beautiful.” Sy replied, but his eyes were on her.

“Isn't she.” Lily agreed, grinning at the horse, oblivious.

Sy moved closer to them, his shoulder brushing Lily's as he reached out to pet the mare, chuckling at Juniper's snort and head shake. “She hasn't been a mare for very long.” He pointed out.

“Nope.” Lily shook her head. “She was born a little more than three years ago. My neighbor, her owner, mostly deals in wheat and corn, but his daughter is working on becoming a champion barrel racer. So, he bought Juniper, when she was about a year old.”

“She looks in good shape for it.” He commented, checking out the rest of the horse. “Have you seen any of her shows?” He asked, looking back at Lily.

“Sadly, no.” She shook her head, shyly. “I do know she won her last one.” She added, smiling up at him. “It was her first win, in the ten or so shows she's competed in.”

Sy smiled at her, she seemed and sounded so proud of the horse's owner winning the competition. “We should go to her next one.” He suggested, lifting his brows at her.

“What?” Lily squeaked, looking at Sy like a frightened doe.

“Yeah, it will be a great day off for me.” He grinned at her, liking the idea. “I've never seen you leave the property, either.” He added, his brow creasing as he thought about it. “I've only seen you go far enough to get the mail, come to think of it.”

“I don't know.” She gulped, licking her lips nervously. “I've had a lot of work lately.” She stammered, fidgeting and rubbing her hands on her thighs.

“You give me guff for not taken a day off, and won't take one yourself.” He teased her, lightheartedly. “What's the worst that can happen?” He asked, leaning against the gate. “It's not like the world will blow up.”

“It might.” She mumbled, toeing at the sparse gravel under her feet.

Sy could tell she was anxious about leaving the house, he could understand that, the world was a shitty place, and he had seen a lot of that first hand. But, he blew it off, figuring it was just the stress of getting all her work done on time.

“I'll think about it.” Lily said, biting her lip and shyly scrunching up her body.

“Good.” He smiled, hopeful.

PART II

#Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #Southern Generation #Southern Generation *fic* #captain syverson #Syverson #Sand Castle #Syverson/OFC #Syverson x OFC #Austin Syverson #viking-raider fics #Texas #us military #Fluff #Angst #PTSD #Construction #Farming #renovation #contract work #Austin #horses #anxiety #panic attack #Hurt/Comfort #quasi slow burn #domestic life #Domestic Kink #retirement #Celina

[whump-a-la-mode]

Ok so I had a prompt idea? We’re all familiar with the “villain is sent to a ‘rehabilitation center’ that turns out to be secretly torturing the villains there” trope, but consider this: scared villain is captured by a kind hero and sent to a villain rehabilitation center, and villain has never experienced such warmth and kindness! Not to mention frequent visits from hero to check up/see how they’re doing. Maybe it’s no good but just a thought I had; I love your writing so much!! 💛🌼

(No pressure though, I know you’re probably busy!)

Oh, I absolutely love this prompt! Evil rehab centers are all well and good, but I’d never thought of one as being a source of comfort. I hope you like this! I was going to do some more with it, but it was already running a little long ^^

Thanks so much for the prompt!

CW//Arson, burning buildings, smoke inhalation, fear of death, gross food, mentions of torture, animal disease

As though singed by smoke, Villain’s lungs burned.

Even as they gasped, they felt as though they could not inhale a single breath. Yet, somehow, they had enough air to keep going.

It wasn’t as though they had a choice.

They were unsure, at that point, if their legs were truly moving at all. They had lost feeling in them far too long ago to be able to verify such a thing. Somehow, though, they were moving forward. Even if they wanted to, they didn’t know if they could stop, with momentum pushing them as it was.

Everything was riding on this. Days of keeping ahead, of leading the chase. If they stopped moving for just a moment, it would all be wasted.

And their life would be over. If they stopped running now, there would be no Villain left.

In that instant, they understood what it was to be a rabbit. When there was a fox on your tail, there were no do overs. No second chances. It was run or die.

As long as they could, they were going to run.

Villain couldn’t remember the name of the building in which they had managed to find the briefest of respites. Despite its sprawling size, there was nothing truly remarkable about it. Perhaps it did not have a name in the first place. At some point, it had been some sort of industrial complex-- the home of half a dozen separate companies, each clashing and butting up against one another.

Yet, the structure had long since been left to rot. They had a feeling that mold clinging to every corner had something to do with that.

Just a week ago, they would never have dreamed of so much as going someplace like this. The air smelled rotten, and breathing it left a sour taste sticking to their tongue. Not to mention the fact that several animals of varying size and danger had already claimed the rotten complex as their home.

But, they weren’t the same Villain they had been a week ago. Stumbling upon the building had felt like a gift from above, and, the night prior, they’d managed to get some honest-to-god rest among its sodden carpeting.

It was the most rest they’d gotten in days, despite the fact that, halfway through it, they’d awoken to a diseased rat with its teeth buried in their forearm. They’d had worse awakenings.

After shooing away the animal, they’d managed to sleep an hour or so more. Then came the worse of their two awakenings, that night.

The shouting voices of heroes.

Villain didn’t know how they’d found them. There was no trace, no trail. They had no vehicle-- instead moving through the woods on foot. ‘On foot’ was quite literal in that instance, considering the fact that they’d lost their shoes three days ago to a patch of quickmud.

But, still, they’d been found.

They didn’t no how long ago it was, that they’d been awakened by those voices. With the darkened building’s clocks hanging stubbornly on the wrong minute and hour, there was no way to tell how long it had been.

How long they’d been running...

Villain skidded around a corner, hissing as their foot caught on an uprooted carpet tack. Had they been this way before? It was impossible to tell-- all the halls looked the same.

The halls repeated, just as the heroes’ footsteps did.

How were they not tired?

Maybe because they’d eaten. And slept. And had water.

Villain had found that stream the other day, though...

Everything about them seemed to be repeating. The walls. The footsteps.

The lies of the heroes.

“Just stop running! We don’t want to hurt you!”

They couldn’t count just how many times they’d heard those words. Lies. Of course they were lies! Or, perhaps, it was their own sick attempt at a joke. We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to kill you!

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not just yet.

Another corner was taken with haste, and their nostrils were overwhelmed with the scents of rust and oil.

The garage was massive-- reaching further upwards than the shreds of sunlight filtering through dusty windows could reach with their furthest rays. Its concrete floor stretched out, seemingly, all the way to the horizon-- dotted only by support beams, and whatever scattered machinery and supplies the company had not deemed valuable enough to bring along.

The source of the scent of gasoline was quite rapidly made apart. Stacked haphazardly in the corner, red gas containers stood. Their reek alone made it well known that they were far from empty.

But the gas was far from Villain’s main concern regarding the garage.

In the past few days, they had become awfully good at finding exits. It was with a ruthless instinct that they scanned the room for one.

But, in the end, they reached a terrifying conclusion.

There was one exit. It was the same door as the entrance. The garage doors on the other side of the chamber had long since been chained shut, and there was no time for lockpicking.

The heroes flooded in.

It was with an exhausted hopelessness and steadfast stubbornness that they kept running forth. Of course, with their terrible luck, they did not make it very far. A rebar pipe caught their toes, sending them sprawling onto the concrete, pain shrieking from a thousand different, tiny wounds.

For a few seconds, Villain let themself breathe. They figured that, at the very least, they should let themself enjoy their last moments alive.

Their relaxation did not last long. They refused to die laying down. Trembling from exhaustion, pain, starvation, dehydration, and terror, all at once, they staggered to their feet. For a moment, their vision blurred, before solidifying once more.

Half a dozen heroes fanned out before the entrance, guarding it ruthlessly. Faux looks of concern painted their countenances.

From the array of aches and pains swarming Villain, a single one, all at once, made itself known. Something pressing up against their leg.

Their lighter.

Their trembling gaze flicked to the pile of glimmering red gas cans. It was behind them-- only a few steps back. If they could just...

“Villain!” The person in the front of the group called out-- Hero. “There’s nowhere else to go. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You just need to come with us. You can’t survive like this much longer, you know that!”

No. What they couldn’t survive was the heroes.

But, they didn’t have to.

Villain took a step back, inching towards the pile.

“Come on, buddy!” Another hero called. “What are you so afraid of?”

It was the heroes who should be afraid. Another step back.

“There’s nowhere to run, Villain.” Hero spoke once more. “Just come with us. No harm will come to you, I swear to it.”

No.

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not today.

They took the final step, until they were mere inches from the pile. With a well-placed kick, and a horrible clattering, the cans toppled from their precarious pyramid. The reek of gas grew tenfold as brown liquid spilled out, onto the concrete below.

Stepping back from the gasoline-- they were ready to go, not just yet-- they reached into their pocket. The heroes had no time to identify the object they pulled out. By the time they realized what had happened, the lighter had already been thrown.

The flame leapt into the air with such force that Villain was thrown back, tossed to the concrete like a ragdoll.

The faux compassion on the heroes faces turned to an emotion that was very, very real.

Fear.

Spreading so fast that its growth could be heard, the inferno pounced, grabbing onto the base of a wooden support beam and licking its way upwards.

“Everyone!” Hero shouted-- terror in their voice overpowered by sheer determination. “Get out! This building’s not stable.”

“W-what about you?”

“If I’m not out within five minutes, send someone in after me.”

“Are you certain?”

“We’re heroes. And, sometimes, that means saving villains, too.”

Despite their clear reluctance, the other heroes, one by one, nodded, allowing their terror to spur them to flee.

When the last of them was gone, only two remained in the garage. The villain and the hero.

Villain looked upwards, watching as the flame reached the top of the support beam and rippled onto the ceiling.

There were only two ways this could end. They knew that.

Either Hero lost their nerve and fled, allowing their prey to escape, or they both perished in the flames.

No matter which came to pass, there was only one thing that mattered:

They would not die by the hands of a hero.

“You’re scared.” Hero began. Another stupid speech. “I know. I know you’re scared. This last week has been hell for you, I know that. But it doesn’t have to go down like this. You can still make the right choice. 

Please. Come with me. I don’t want to hurt you. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to die!”

“You’re a bad liar, you know.” They croaked.

Villain’s lungs were already torn from gasping. The slowly-rising smoke only served to salt their wounds.

Before them, a flaming ceiling tile fell, spraying them with embers.

“You don’t want this! I know you don’t! You don’t want to die!”

“Why do you think I’m doing this?! Of course I don’t want to die, you fucking idiot!”

“Then come with me!”

“It’s like you don’t even hear yourself.”

The building shuddered as a support beam splintered and collapsed. The force of it sent Villain, once again, to the concrete, bathing their face in smoke. As they scrambled to their hands and knees, they could not help but let out a shuddering cough.

“Villain! Watch out!”

“Wh-”

The ceiling tile struck their head, burying them under its accompanying rubble.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Warmth... and music.

They awoke to warmth, and music.

The first of the two came in the form of something soft, heavy, enveloping them, making them feel as though they were buried within a cloud. The music, too, seemed to surround them-- there were no words to it, just the soft, lulling tone of a piano, accompanied by the occasional splash of waves.

It was confusion that first whispered to Villain, when their leaden eyelids at last agreed to open. Above them sat an off-white sky, stretching out to meet with a light blue wall. They blinked once more.

Where...

The chase the heroes the running the building the gas the fire the rubble the-

Villain jolted upright, tossing off of themself a heavy, fleece blanket. Trembling fingers gripped the mattress below them as they scanned the world around, instincts kicking in, searching frantically for an exit.

The room was small, walls colored a soft, baby blue, and lit by a pair of lamps with warm, orange bulbs. The few items of furniture were made of a light brown wood-- three small nightstands, two in corners, and one next to the bed in which Villain lay.

Next to one of the stands was placed a small writing desk and chair, while the other was accompanied by a potted plant, petals just starting to emerge from its buds. Embedded in one wall, a window stood, a small radio perched upon its sill.

The door was at the room’s far end, next to their bed. A wooden door with brass handle-- easy to break down.

But guarded.

Before the door, a figure stood-- a person dressed in a bright flannel, from the breast pocket of which stuck an overabundance of pens.

They did not look particularly strong, but, then again, neither did Villain. At the sound of their movement, the figure turned to face them, a smile growing upon their round face.

“I didn’t even notice you waking up.” They hummed. “Good morning.”

There were two options for escape: The door or the window. Neither was particularly desirable, but they had to choose one...

“Hey, buddy.” The stranger’s voice felt almost as warm as the fleece blanket. “You’re looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, there. I’m sure this is all a bit overwhelming, and I’m sure you’re pretty confused. I’d be confused too, trust me.”

No. There was no confusion in Villain’s mind. They were focused on one thing, the only thing that mattered: Getting out of here!

The flannel-wearing figure took a few steps towards the bed. In instinctual panic, the villain scrambled to their hands and knees, shuffling backwards until their spine was flush with the headboard.

“Hey, hey, shhh.” They hushed. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll stay right back here, okay?”

“L-Let me out of here!”

The figure frowned.

“Bud, I’m not sure that you’d last another day out there. Not in the state Hero found you in.”

Hero. Of course they were working for Hero.

“I’ll explain everything, alright bud? But let’s just start here. My name’s Doctor. What’s yours?”

Villain only then noticed that they were shaking like a leaf. Whatever this method of torture or interrogation or whatever it is was, they wanted no part in it. They just wanted to go home! To get out! Warm bed or not, this was a prison. They were sure of it.

But, the bed was comfortable, and there wasn’t a single rat in sight...

“How about this...” Doctor coaxed. “You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you what’s going on, okay?”

A trade. Information for information.

Was it worth it? They supposed there was little use in lying.

“V-Villain. My name’s Villain.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Villain.”

“Now, wh-what is this p-place?”

Doctor nodded.

“This is the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center. We’re in the city, right by the river. Next to the botanical gardens, if you know where that is.”

They were really telling them the location of their prison? Surely it would have been better to keep such a thing secret. That is, assuming they were telling the truth.

“I believe you’ve been asleep for about... seventeen hours.” Doctor glanced to their watch. “Yep, just about. You’ve been here for maybe half that time. After you got caught in the fire, Hero brought you to the hospital. They bandaged your wounds and brought you here. I hope you slept well.”

Villain almost laughed at that, before a realization struck them. They had slept well. Sure, remnants of the specter of fatigue still haunted them, but for the first time in days, they felt awake enough to think clearly.

But, this was still a prison.

Right?

Prisons didn’t usually have soft beds and fleece blankets, but...

No. It was a trick. This was a prison, and they were a prisoner.

“Let me go.” Villain insisted, though it was halfhearted. “Y-You can’t keep me here! I’m leaving. I need to leave!”

Doctor frowned again, biting their lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Villain, but for now, you’re going to have to stay here. But, I promise, you’ll like it here.” They sighed. “I know you’re scared, and confused, and a thousand other things. But, here, you’re safe. There’s other people here-- quite a few of them, in fact. And, at one point, they were all like you. But ask any one of them. This is the best place for you to be.”

Other people?

“Where are they? W-What are you doing to them?!”

Doctor smiled.

“They’re in our main wing, right now. I believe everyone is eating lunch right about now. I don’t know about you, but where I come from, lunch isn’t a form of torture.”

Villain pursed their lips.

“Then, where am I?”

“This is our arrivals wing. You’re going to stay here, for a few days. Until you’re comfortable, and we can make sure all that smoke is out of your lungs. Then you can join in with everyone else. I’m gonna move over to the side of the bed now, okay? I won’t touch you.”

Even with the warning, Villain couldn’t help but flinch as Doctor approached. They moved to the nightstand at the bed’s side, plucking a small, red box from its surface.

“Hero told me to give this to you, when you got up. It’s not exactly the most nutritious thing to start your day off with, but I think you deserve something tasty.”

They offered the box. After a moment of hesitance, Villain snapped it from their hands, drawing it close to their chest. Was it a threat? Some kind of warning? Morbid curiosity took hold of them, prompting them to open the box’s lid.

Chocolates.

A dozen chocolates, laid out in the design of a star.

“I can eat these?”

“Go ahead.”

Without hesitance, this time, they popped one of the candy pieces into their mouth. Its flavor overwhelmed them, strong enough to nearly knock them over. It’d been days since they’d eaten anything that didn’t come off a bush or from the dumpster.

“Um...” Villain looked back up, closing the box. “So, when are you going to kill me?”

Doctor laughed.

“Hero will be visiting tomorrow. With how long they can talk for, I think you’re only in danger of dying of boredom.”

This was a prison. Of course it was.

Yet, as they glanced down at the box of chocolates, they could not help but forget all thought of panic and escape.

#villain whumpee #whump #hero caretaker #scared whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #ask

[sunder-soul]

𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖛𝖊

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Chapter One: There's just something about those Riddle murders that doesn't quite make sense... Wordcount: 2.3k Content warning: language, allusions to bigotry.

Permanent Taglist: @jujugentle @weirdowithnobeardo @pearlstiare @fromthehellmouth @whoevenfrickenknows @moatsnow @voidmalfoy @lucys-brain @sunles @arana-alpha @tallyovie @expectoscamander @nothinghcppens @itsjustfics @mikariell95 @suicide-sweetheart636 @toasterking

Name: MORFIN GORMLAITH GAUNT

Age: 46

Wand: fir, 10 ¾ inches, dragon heartstring

Residence: Gaunt Estate, Little Hangleton, Yorkshire

Marital status: -

Offense charge: three counts of murder in the primary degree

Date of charged offense: 1st July, 1943

Offense Detail: prisoner entered the residence of the Riddle family (Muggle, IM-00) and inflicting the Killing Curse (UC-001-1717) upon the three members of the Riddle family present; Thomas Riddle (63), Mary Riddle (60), and their son Tom Riddle (37). Use of the Killing Curse has been confirmed by Prior Incantato (see report DMLE-619-1951-BLE, SA: Robert Odgen).

Date of Testimony: 3rd July, 1943

Prisoner plea: guilty

Sentence: Azkaban, 360 years

Date of Sentence: 3rd July, 1943

You frown.

It’s very late, the candle your desk is barely a stub, the little flame hovering nervously on the surface of a broad pool of wax, and you’ve been copying over these stupid reports to the new, tamper-proof parchment forms for seven hours now – but something is extremely odd about these dates.

“McCollin,” you say slowly. “Did you work this case?”

“Hmm?” McCollin doesn’t look up at the desk beside you, head resting heavily on one hand and his spine curled into a perfect and truly concerning C-shape over his own stack of files. He looks close to passing out right there and then, salt-and-pepper hair a little greasy, scruffy five o’clock shadow, eyes bleary and shadowed.

“Gaunt,” you read, “1943. You were working with Odgen then, right?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I remember that nutter.”

“What happened?”

“Guy was from one of those ancient pure-blooded clans, you know, one of the real fanatical ones, inbreeding and liquidated assets and all,” McCollin yawns, dragging his hand down his face and smearing ink across his whiskered cheek. “Hated Muggles like nobody’s business."

“Yeah he killed three Muggles, right?” you peer at the report.

McCollin nods at the form he's copying. “Went off the deep end one day. Walked right up to their house and murdered ‘em. When they brought him in he was ranting and raving about how they’d had it coming for years.”

“He was arrested, charged, and sentenced within three days,” you say slowly.

He finally looks up at you. “So?”

“That’s the fasted processing I’ve ever seen.”

“The guy admitted to it, kiddo,” McCollin says in deadpan, “he had snakes nailed to his door and his family tree was basically a Christmas wreath.”

“Yeah, but… what made he snap?”

He laughs again, shaking his head despondently as he returns to his form. “You got a lot to learn.”

His tone wants to be fond but it just strikes you as patronising, especially considering the amount of times people have said that exact same stupid line to you. It’s like half the bloody department think being Muggle-born makes you incapable of understanding the subtle and unique intricacies of wizarding culture – as if bigotry and supremacists and assholes are exclusive to the magical world. “What?” you say a little too defensively.

“Families like that… guys like that… they’re not right in the head. Hate Muggles just to hate ‘em, reckon they’re all that’s wrong with the world. Honestly it’s a miracle he didn’t do it sooner.”

You look back down at the report, suspicions anything but assuaged. “Yeah,” you say quietly, “it is.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“Did you ever watch Gaunt’s testimony?”

“You’re still going on about that?” McCollin drawls, heaving the towering box of finished files up a bit as he heads for the lifts.

“I looked him up in Records and the memory’s only available with supervisor permission,” you push, following him quickly. “If you signed me off then I could get Owler to –”

He slams the button and stares at the little golden arrow above the elevator grate slowly sliding towards the basement floor. “And why in Merlin’s name do you want to watch the Gaunt trial?”

You slip your hands into the pockets of your purple Ministry robes. “I’m interested.”

“Interested,” he echoes, shooting you a look. “Is that so?”

“He was processed in three days, McCollin. If it was that obvious he was guilty, it must have been one hell of a trial.”

“It was,” he scoffs as the lift dings and the grate grinds to a noisy open. “Fine, but only if you finish Johan’s quota by five.”

The triumph is impossible to keep off your face and McCollin rolls his eyes at your immediate glee. “I’m on it,” you grin, spinning around and racing back to your desk to get started.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“Merlin’s beard,” McCollin mutters, shaking his head at the stack of completed transcripts. “I gotta hold stuff over your head more often.”

“Just sign the slip, McCollin,” you smirk.

He sighs and grabs the quill from your hand, and you hold your breath as he scribbles his initials on the slip. “You’re obsessed,” he drawls.

You seize the slip and round on the lift, heart racing with excitement. “I’m interested.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

The trial is absolutely insane.

Morfin Gaunt looks like a Witch Weekly cartoon caricature of a fanatical blood-purist and he rambles in a manic-edged, ceaseless torrent about how much he enjoyed murdering the Riddles as the Wizengamot mutters and blithers disapprovingly for about three hours – but something catches your attention right near the end. Something you can’t help but ask Owler about the second the memory ends and you’re thrown back into the Records Room.

“Who’s Merope?”

Owler’s sallow face looks about as thrilled at your question as he was at your request for the memory in the first place. “Merope Gaunt,” he says in a flat, nasally voice, waving his wand at the Pensieve and sending the memory swirling back into its phial.

“Merope Gaunt?”

Owler’s thin, anaemic lips downturn even more. “His sister.”

You stare at him. It is not at all what you’d expected. “And why did he call his sister a mud-soused, scumsucking slut?”

“Ask your supervisor.”

“He seemed to be saying he killed those people because of Merope, why on earth would his sister be why he –”

“I keep the records, I don’t conduct the investigations,” Owler interrupts with not inconsiderable disdain. “Now if you could please –”

“Did they bring Merope in for testimony?”

Owler gives your continuing presence a very dirty look. “No.”

“Why not?”

He pushes the door to the Records room open and stares at you.

You try to hold your ground but Owler is unrelenting, and you're forced to step past him with a curt sigh. “Right, well, good afternoon, Owler, thanks for –”

The door slams shut behind you.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“Get what you wanted?” McCollin smirks as you collapse stony-faced into your chair.

“I forgot how impressively unpleasant it is to talk to Owler,” you mutter, resting your head in your hands. “Did you know about Merope?”

“Merope?”

“Yeah, Morfin’s sister.”

“Didn’t know he had one,” McCollin says disinterestedly.

“He was saying some stuff that made it sound like she’s why he killed those Muggles.”

“Uh huh.”

You lift your head, giving him an incredulous look. “He said she’s why he murdered three people, McCollin. How does that not interest you?”

McCollin throws down his quill and sighs sharply. “Look kiddo, the guy’s rotting in Azkaban, he admitted to the murders, they found the curses in his wand, and he had a memory of the whole thing. What exactly are you hoping to achieve here?”

You can barely believe it. “Why isn’t Merope Gaunt mentioned in any of his trial documents?” you say sharply.

“Either she wasn't relevant to the proceedings, or she's dead, or he made her up,” McCollin shrugs, “like I said, the guy went off the deep end.”

“But why doesn’t it say –”

“Just drop it,” he sighs impatiently, “you have work to do, and I won’t have you wasting clocked time on some case from nearly a decade ago.”

“Come on, McCollin, can’t you admit that it’s weird that –”

“I said drop it,” he says sharply, “don’t make me be the big mean supervisor here, you know I hate it.”

You glare at him. “Fine,” you say through gritted teeth.

It’s almost too easy to pull Morfin’s old file from where it’s still sitting in the refuse pile and subtly charm a copy of it that evening.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

Merope Gaunt, as far as you can tell, fucking vanished off the face of the earth in 1925.

There’s nothing, no addresses, no marriage or death notice, no registered Floo connections, no DRC calls for gnomes or doxies or even the odd kappa, not a single trace of her after Morfin and their father Marvolo had a stint in Azkaban for assaulting Bob Odgen back in the 20s.

It seems like the second they were locked up, she scarpered.

You sit back in the Archives Hall and let out a long breath, flipping the folder shut dejectedly. Morfin’s file is a thick wad of anti-Muggle hate crimes rivalled only by his father’s, and closer inspection had revealed that the Gaunt family estate sat a cool twenty minutes' walk from Riddle House where the murders had occurred. If Morfin had lived so close to some of the Muggles he hated so much, he’d been sitting on a clear motive for murder for years.

So why suddenly snap?

What had pushed him over the edge?

Why did he cite Merope in his deranged testimony?

Why talk about her in that way?

Where the hell did she go?

There are endless questions and zero answers. Plus, you kind of get the feeling that if McCollin saw you hunched in the Archives after-hours trying to find those answers, you’d get your pay docked.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

That night, you sit bolt upright in bed with a surge of electric realisation.

Mud-soused… scumsucker…

You’ve heard that language before. You’ve processed about four hundred case files of harassment with that language.

“Idiot,” you breathe, smacking your forehead and falling back onto your pillows with a thump. “Idiot, of course…”

Because that’s the way Pure-blood extremists talk about witches and wizards who've fallen in love with Muggles.

Suddenly, you have a pretty good idea where Merope might have disappeared to the moment her blood-obsessed brother and father were out of the picture, and a pretty good idea of where you might be able to look to find her. Because you’ve been looking in the wrong place.

You’ve been looking for her in the wizarding world.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“I have the craziest news for you,” you grin, slamming a silver Sickle on the counter and taking your seat at the bar.

“You say that twice a month,” Mori grumbles, setting your drink down and sliding the coin into his huge, calloused hand.

“It’s true twice a month.”

“It’s true half as much as you think.”

“I found her.”

Mori’s dark brows raise. It makes his gruff face look slightly less intimidating. “The lady from that old case you're into?”

“Yeah,” you beam, seizing your drink and leaning forward. “Started going through marriage certificates, and –”

“You’re telling me that your big-shot Ministry intern arse has been working this thing for a month and you didn’t even check marriage certificates?”

“Not Muggle ones,” you smirk.

Mori takes a glass off the bar and starts to clean it as he peers at you. “Go on.”

“She married the same guy her brother murdered, Mori,” you breathe, glancing around to make sure none of the shady denizens of Moribund’s are listening – it’s not like the bar's regular patrons are so welcoming to your big-shot Ministry intern arse on the best of days considering you’re half-way down Knockturn Alley in the dead of night. “They fucking ran away together!”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Mori mutters.

“Exactly!”

“What are you going to do about it?”

You shrug, taking a sip of your drink and feeling supremely pleased with yourself.

“What, you spent that much time investigating this thing for no reason?”

“Nah,” you say quietly, lips still in a smile. “I have a feeling there’s more to it than this. I still have to find out what happened to her after they got married and her brother murdered his new in-laws.”

“And what’s this guy’s name again?”

You give him a dry look. “You know I can’t tell you names, Mori, I’m pushing the bounds of my contract telling you this much already.”

He shrugs his massive shoulders, casting a wary look around the dark bar. “If you’re looking for people who might know a thing or two about murderers and Muggle-haters, you’ve come to the right place.”

“I’m here to talk to you, Mori, not the murderers and Muggle-haters.”

“You’re here to drink cheap and rant to someone who won’t rat you out to your boss,” he growls.

You give him another grin. “Cheers to that.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You find Merope’s name in a record tome of an old church parish almost by accident. There’s barely any information there, just one name on a huge list of those buried in the pauper’s graveyard less than ten blocks from where you’re sat amongst the looming shelves of the Muggle public archives at that exact moment.

But there is something.

It says she died in a place called 'Wool’s Orphanage' on New Year’s Eve in 1926. It’s not hard to guess why she might have been there, and how she probably died.

Merope Gaunt had a child.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Reply/message me to get added to the tag list! 💖

#don't mind me starting a new series on a whim pls #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle imagines #harry potter #FIL #dark tom #minific #white dove #auror reader #post hogwarts reader #borgin and burkes #afab reader #smut #tom riddle smut

[slashersthings]

Billy Loomis x Fem! Reader/Part 2

“You're right, Billy, guess we're not going anywhere.”

Those words have you grasping the stair railing in front of you, knuckles going white from the forceness of it.

“We do have a better option here, don’t we?” Billy replies with a chilling smile directed at you and Stu laughs.

“Billy, please, don’t do this.” You start your first plea of the night, which seems to fall on deaf ears, as Billy and Stu just share another laugh and go about starting a plan to eliminate their ‘problem’.

“What about Y/N’s car?”

“I’ll get the keys and drive it somewhere they’ll never think to look.”

“And the body?”

“They’ll never find it.”

“And then what?” You interject into their disturbing conversation of how they’ll dispose of you’re body and they look up at you again, “You think my parents are just going to forget I existed and go about their life, acting as if I wasn’t missing?”

“We’ll think of something.” Stu says too quickly for your liking and Billy nods in agreement.

“You can’t really go through with this, right? Billy, you and I are friends, for God’s sake!”

“With benefits.” Stu adds with a giggle and under different circumstances, you’d have probably blushed and pretended not to understand what he was talking about, but maybe, just maybe, this was your ticket out of this house.

“Billy, you know deep down you can’t hurt me and if I mean anything to you, anything at all, please, let me go.”

You catch a glimmer of hope when you see Billy’s eyes soften at your words. Maybe this could work, maybe you could convince Billy to let you leave this house alive and not in a trash bag.

“Get the car keys.” Billy suddenly says and Stu nods, hurrying in the direction of the living room.

Well, you did say ‘maybe’. “Billy, I know you think you don't have any other choice here, but please, trust me when I tell you that you do.”

“It’s so easy to want to believe you, Y/N, mainly because you're so damn smart, smarter than me, that's for sure.” Billy takes a step further, “But I can’t let you walk out of this house, knowing what you know.”

“I won’t tell anyone about this, Billy, you and Stu will never get into trouble, I promise you that.”

Another step, “See, it sounds so simple when you say it, but actions speak louder than words, Y/N.”

“Oh my God, Billy, we were just practically dry humping on your couch ten minutes ago, doesn't that tell you something?”

“Yeah, it tells me a lot. It tells the story of two people who've wanted each other for a long time and decided to give it a go, but the protagonist, you, should have seen the warning signs a few chapters back.”

You back away from the railing when you finally notice that Billy was coming closer and closer to the stairs, “So, I guess I don't get a fairytale ending, eh?”

“Not this time.”

“It’s a shame,” You whisper, eyeing the open bedroom door a few feet away, “I really like those.”

“Everyone does until you realize relationships in fairytales are completely unrealistic and the white knight you hope will show up never does.”

“Hey, Billy, can I borrow this butcher knife?”

You dash off to the bedroom with a scream after hearing Stu’s deranged question from the kitchen, Billy quickly at your heels.

“Get back here, you bitch!”

You manage to make it into the bedroom and slam the door in Billy's face just in time. You felt sick to your stomach, eyes watering from fear and sadness. How could you've been so stupid? How did you not see the signs?

You yelp when Billy starts pounding on the door, screaming at you to open up and let him in. “I’ll go easy on you, babe, just let me in.”

“You mean you're going to kill me!”

There's silence on the other side, confirming that you're right. “Get the car and the duffel bag. We'll need what's inside.”

You hear Billy telling Stu what to do and swallow back your tears. You needed to think up a plan and you needed to think it up quick.

There didn’t seem to be any usable weapons in this bedroom, at least not any that would do severe damage to those two.

You glance around the bedroom, finding a phone sitting on a nightstand by the bed. As soon as you pick it up, there's a ‘click’ in the lock of the door, and your eyes widen.

No, no, no, this wasn't happening. He had a key. He had a goddamn key to this bedroom.

Billy bursts into the bedroom a few seconds later and you scream, scrambling over the bed to get to the other side of the room. “Please, stop screaming.” Billy pleads with you in a hushed whisper.

Uh-uh, no fucking way.

You shake your head, eyes looking for anything to help you. “What for? So, you can kill me without the neighbors hearing?”

“No, so I can talk to you without my ears bleeding.” He deadpans, and you tilt your head, giving him a long, hard look.

Billy closes the door, locking it too, and, yep, your heart was racing and you felt sick again, “If your gonna kill me, let's just get it over with, okay? No more theatrics.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Y/N, you're right, I can't do that to you.”

“Then what? You're gonna keep me here as your hostage?”

“There’s an image.”

Your eyes widen, “I hate that I can't tell if you're joking or not.”

“Be a good girl and you'll find out.”

You also hated the fact that a familiar heat pooled between your legs, because there should be absolutely no reason for this to be turning you on.

But for some reason, your body disagreed.

“Let me leave and you'll see how much of a good girl I can be.”

He chuckles, eyes gazing down your body, then back up to your worried eyes, “Oh, I have no doubt about that. But, you can't leave just yet.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Because you think I'm going to go to the police and tell them what you and Stu have been up to.”

“You got it.” He shrugs, taking a step towards you, “And I wish I could say that you'd be different from that and keep your mouth shut, but I don't think that's possible. Am I right?”

“No,” You murmur, shaking your head, eyes tearing up again, “No, you're not right. Billy, you may not believe this or not want to believe in this, in me, but I don't want to see you rotting in a jail cell for the rest of your life.”

Feeling a rush of bravery, you close the gap between you and Billy, grabbing his hand with your own, “I care about you, I have for a long time now, and I think you feel the same way about me.”

“You know I do.”

“Then believe me when I tell you that I won't breathe a word about this to anyone. Not my parents, not the police, absolutely no one.”

He sees the determined look in your eyes and with a deep sigh, he reluctantly nods and pulls you closer, “I hope you won't make me regret this later on, Y/N.”

“You won't.” You smile and lean up to kiss him, “But, there is just one thing.” You say after pulling away from him slightly.”

“Yeah? What's that?” Billy asks, showing no interest in talking as he pulls you with him to the bed.

“Who’s going to tell Stu?”

Billy stops abruptly at your question and you giggle, perching yourself on top of the bed. “Ah, yeah, you wanna do it?”

“Yeah, uh, no, not happening. He's been trying to kill me a few minutes ago.”

“Alright, I'll go tell him.” He says but doesn't make any effort to leave, instead, he pulls you to him, kissing you deep and hard.

“Billy, ” You murmur against his lips, “What about Stu?”

“I’m going, I'm going, ” He grumbles while wrapping his strong arms around your waist, “Ten minutes.”

“Five.” You argue, fingers sliding up into his hair.

“Eight.” His tongue licks your upper lip, and your resolve starts to crumble.

“Fine.” You agree and Billy quickly presses you into the bed after that, making you let out a little mpgh noise against his mouth.

His body molds on top of you, his tongue buried inside you mouth, and for just a few minutes, you choose to forget what took place fifteen minutes ago.

His mouth is hot on your neck, licking and biting, and you make a mental reminder to check for marks when you leave. But when his hips roll against yours, and you feel him pressing against your center, all thoughts go out the window.

...”Hey, Billy, what's going on? Did you take care of Y/N?”

You freeze, eyes worriedly staring at the locked door, “Oh no.”

“I guess I better tell him.” Billy says and gets off of you reluctantly, “Stay right here.”

“Yes, sir.”

You watch him smile before unlocking the door, “What the hell, man, what's going on?”

“I gotta talk to you about Y/N.”

“What?”

“Let’s go downstairs.”

Billy closes the door, leaving you alone in the bedroom with your thoughts. You were now in deep with these two. You were an accomplice to their crimes.

...Well, at least you weren't dead.

#billy loomis x reader #billy loomis #stu matcher #scream #i intended for this to be smut but 🤷‍♀️🏻 #I was listening to taylor swift and things kinda got sappy

[mightymorphingayagenda]

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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[balmasedas]

desperado / druglord!javier peña au. 

chapter one.

summary: reader is a dea agent. violence has arisen in the streets of colombia and she's determined to bring javier peña to justice. things take an abrupt turn when, instead of her finding him, he finds her and realizes they got much more interest in each other than just drug-related topics. 

warnings: only +18. overall, this is smut so smutty. canon violence. detailed warnings in every chapter. spanish traductions are in the notes, though for the sake of non-spanish speakers, spanish dialogues will be minimal and not relevant to the plot.

word count: 2.5k.

You throw your sweater in the backseat of your car before exiting it. In the morning, you had dug through your boxed-up winter clothes after shivering in your shirt-sleeves as soon as you got out of your department. Now, the temperature has risen to the seventies and you give yourself a clap in the back for deciding to wear something decent underneath. Spring in Colombia is a nightmare.

The crime scene is packed with local police and DEA agents. There are no civilian spectators this time, they know better than sticking their noses in the Medellin's cartel businesses.

Upon your arrival, you don’t need to identify yourself to the uniformed men guarding the perimeter. They know you well by then. You are the only female in the team that has to deal with these kinds of situations —gruesome, gut-churning, dirty shit. Not a very much "lady-like" job, some would express. For that, you have earned yourself the title of a gritty woman. Maybe because you were gritty, maybe because you were a woman.

Sometimes, though, you find yourself wondering why you turned down some run-of-the-mill desk job back in Virginia. It would’ve been a dull routine, for sure — hideous, even; but gossiping about some flash romance between two co-workers is less taxing than having to witness five rotting corpses at first daylight. 

"Jesus Christ," you lift your sunglasses to your head. Your partner, esteemed, weary agent Steve Murphy, turns around at the sound of your voice. 

“You’re up early.” he asserts, with a raised eyebrow. 

You purse your lips. “Had a bad night. Ran out of whisky at one am.” 

Not even Hugo, or Hughie for his gringo friends, could help you. You forgot that his daughter would be celebrating her birthday and his all-night store would be closed until the next morning. Normally, you would own an arsenal of alcohol, but it has been an abnormal week and a hell of a night —starting with the spiral of violence that has arisen in the streets of Medellin.

"Well, look at the bright side: your stomach is empty," Murphy mumbles.

Looking at the bodies in front of you, you can’t agree more: their hands are tied-up to the oxidated wire behind them, hanging by their arms. They are barefoot and scantily clad. There is a visible gunshot wound in all of their front heads, some flies are already hovering around the open flesh. A quick death to eternal torture, you suppose.

"When did you get the call?" you inquire.

He fiddles with his wristwatch. "About two hours ago." you only hum in response, keeping your eyes in front of you and paying no mind to Steve who only grows impatient at your silence. "You think this was Peña's job?" he adds.

You nod in denial. "If it was, it doesn't make sense." Not one bit. "Peña works underground, quiet, like a sneaky rat. I'd even say they're more well-behaved than most cartels. So why do this?"

Why such a declaration of violence? Why draw even more attention from the authorities? 

"Maybe he decided to toughen his punishments?” You scoff at his remark.

“He can do that without half the city knowing it. A ditch is much more subtle than a monument to death blocks from the US embassy.” 

Murphy smirks. “Seems that you have given it a thought before, Sarchie.” you narrow your eyes. He knows you hate that nickname. Your tendencies to boss him around had brought you consequences: the unofficial title of a Sargeant. Sarchie, shortened and friendly.

“Killing someone? Yes, you. Multiple times a day.” you put your sunglasses back on and walk away. The forensic police won’t be there until the next half hour, at least, and you are too disquiet to wait around. Plus, your stomach is growling, but Steve doesn’t need to know that. “We’re gonna need their names, I’ll see what I can find. You have a little chat with the coroner and see if they can speed up the autopsy. The sooner the better, ok?” you spot the smirk on his face. You know what he’s thinking. You shut your car's door and point a finger at him through the window. A clear warning sign in your eyes. “Shut the fuck up and do it.”

(,,,)

Happy hour. You give up on the investigation and stop off at ‘Chiquita’, a popular local bar near your place. The prices are cheap, the drinks aren’t that good but they do the job. The place is crowded — hot couples with wet, glowing skin grinding against each other. Happy or horny or both. You take a mental note to have some fun later. 

As you sip at your bourbon and crack your peanuts, you let yourself dwell on what you found out about your case. You finally got the names of your five guys. For that, much research wasn’t needed: All of them had their IDs in their pockets and they were exactly who you feared they were: no ones. No ties to any big names, no official involvement in any cartel — at the most, a few minor possession charges. As for weeks, your few clues have led to nowhere and the enigma surrounding the Medellin cartel seems to worsen with every minute that passes by.

You hate mysteries. Colombia’s full of them. 

You take your second bourbon in one smooth shot and ask for another. You grab a colombian peso from your wallet and slide it across the wood. Your eyes stop at the picture of your parents that you carry around. It’s tiny and worn, just like your relationship with them. They haven’t heard from you in weeks, a fair deal, if anyone asked. They don’t have to deal with their fucked up daughter and you can focus on your work filled with dead ends and a ghost that haunts you while you’re awake: Javier Peña.

“¹Qué tomas, preciosa?” a velvety voice caresses your ears. A pleasant smile breaks quietly over your lips. Just in time.

You turn your head to the side. The stranger, with chocolate-skin and inviting eyes, is waiting for an answer. You tap your fingers against the glass.

"Bourbon," you say. "²Pero no me vendría mal un trago más." he grins and holds up two fingers to the barman. He sits at the empty seat beside you, he’s exuberating confidence. He’s offered you the bait and you'd taken it.

"³Algo más que se te ofrezca?"

You look him in the eyes. You know how the story goes from there. It isn’t any different than the one from last night, or the night before. As an apex predator, he's out for something to satisfy his hunger. He won't go home without reaching his goal and you're desperate enough to let him.

"⁴Sí. Hay algo más que puedes hacer por mi."

(,,,)

The fucking cat on the window has been staring straight into your eyes for the last fifteen minutes. Matias, the guy you've met hours before, is too focused on you to notice the awkward presence of the animal, so you don't bother shooing it away. 

He's enjoying himself, pounding into you in a symphony of lust bites and moans. But the sound of skin on skin doesn't match the intensity of your passion for this encounter.

It's not that his performance was terrible, it was just... soft. So soft, too soft. From the sweet nothings, he gasps on your ear to the gentleness of his grip on your hip. 

You aren't a sweet girl. If you were sweet, you wouldn't have traveled all the way down to Colombia to participate in the war on drugs. If you were fond of delicateness, you would've stayed inside and touched yourself to a Cristina Peri Rossi novel instead of searching for strangers at bars.

You don't like to believe you are a special case. On the contrary, you assume your attitude is the rule and not the exception. Not a hell of a woman, but a woman made of hell – waking up already worried about the hours ahead of you. How could you not? Your life is as wide and empty as the sky. Unstable, unpredictable. Anything can happen. A good meaningless fuck is the only moment you allow yourself to feel something — someone. By then, the detachment that gets you through the day disappears and raw feral emotion takes its place. 

You are addicted. It's like a drug, but worse. Drugs don't have feelings, people do.

You’d grabbed Matias' hand and wrapped it around your neck a few times but your request had been ignored; you’d even pushed his ass against your body so you could get closer to a feral touch, but he had insisted on something more caring and delicate. 

And delicacy just won't do. 

So, after a few tries, you give up. You lay still, under his heating body, dead eyes directed at your window. No emotion whatsoever, no release. Like a numb, stiff sex doll, rooting for his satisfaction. Forgotten until next time.

“⁵Donde?” he blurts in your ear. You evaluate your options quickly. 

“⁶Adentro.” Any other place would demandsñ more attention. By then, he would be aware of your passivity and asking too many questions. You don't answer questions, you make them.

His body tenses and trembles. You feel heat dripping between your legs but it doesn't come from you. He leaves a few small pecks on your neck — thankfully, the last ones for the night. Matias breathes over you for a few seconds before he gets off. You stare at the roof in silence, and when he asks if you finished, you simply nod.

You can't grasp what he says under his breath after you ask him, as nice as possible, to leave. What he does or doesn't vocalize, it doesn't matter. You won't be repeating with him. You never fucked the same person twice. 

Once you hear the front door shut, still resting on your bare skin, you lit a cigarette. The room is void of artificial light, and the cat is still in the same place, with his silhouette contoured by the gleam of the moon.

"Sneaky bastard." you chuckle, then get up from the bed and slowly approach it.

You stop at the wooded frame of the window, maintaining your distance. Not too close to scare him or him to scare you. He isn't a friendly guy. He isn't even yours — just a grumpy cat that stops by your department too often demanding some food. You tried to get him to come inside before, but all you had won from your offers were a couple of scratches. Nonetheless, the cat has seen more of you than many people have. So, even though you renegade from him, you found yourself inevitably attached. He's the closest thing to a family, after Murphy, of course. But Murphy hasn't seen you on your worst, yet.

"Hope you see the same shit I see." you grimace and shake your head. "Not like that, I mean... I should choose better who to fuck with. And they should choose better too." the cat remains silent –obviously– and you keep talking. "You could make yourself useful and spook them away before I have to." he meows, you roll your eyes and decide to leave him alone. "Then again, I could do it myself if I told them I hold long conversations with the stray cat that lives in my window."

You choose to take a bath and call it a night. You glide through the living room, though before you can reach the bathroom something stops you. There's a noise outside, some glass breaking down on the streets. You can ignore it, conflict isn't a foreign subject in Colombia, especially at late hours. But then it repeats itself a second time, and the third bugs you too much for you not to grab your night robe and take a look at it from your window.

The only light pole is out of order; there's not a soul in sight; music can be heard from afar. You see nothing out of place until you do.

Your car is parked across the street. All four windows have been smashed, the tires are flat. You barely waste time cursing before you flee out of your place. You thought the night couldn’t get worse but the world has a disturbing obsession with testing your patience. 

Once you take a step outside and approach your damaged car, you’re not sure where your chills are coming from. Perhaps, because of the unfriendly weather or maybe because you’re suddenly aware of how idiotic was your decision to go outside. 

Everything inside your vehicle is left untouched. There weren't objects of value anyways. You find no logical reason for someone wanting to wreck a car just because —yours, of them all.

Big red warning signs color your mind. Your eyes scan your surroundings with speed. It's a dark, lonely dessert. You're now sure that what happened isn't some random event. The victim could've been to another person, but you weren't just another person.

"⁷Discúlpeme, señorita." a voice throws yourself far from the source. You reach for your gun just to find nothing there. Damn you. "⁸Está bien?" you look at the man. An old man that, at first glance, doesn't represent a threat. His voice is gentle, his voice is tinted with a caring voice. You lower your defenses, just a bit, not enough to stay around.

"⁹Sí." you mutter.

Slowly, you walk back to your apartment. Old man glues his eyes to your form and you don't take your own off from his'. Before reaching the sidewalk, you trip with something. Your back collides against a car and you're ready to apologize when the owner exits it there’s not a sign of rage in his face. On the contrary, his stare is blank and his mouth doesn’t even twitch.

Bad news.

You intend to run, but another guy blocks your passage and two more appear at each side of you. You turn over to ask the old man for help, but he’s gone along with your last piece of hope. Can’t blame him, you would’ve escaped too if you had the chance. However, you can’t and the smartest thing to do is acknowledge it and work from it. 

You stay still thinking it will persuade them to opt for gentle treatment. 

How naive of you. 

A set of fingers dig into your arms, another one grabs you by the neck and lowers your head as they drag you into their car. Guarded by two of them who sit at your sides, a dark cloth bag is placed over your head and your wrists are restricted with a zip tie. 

All you have left now is your hearing, you pick up a few things: the engine roaring, the tires burning on the asphalt as you speed off, some spanish words thrown in the air. Nothing substantial, nothing of use.

You sit in silence and wait for the worst.

#my work #javier peña #javier pena #narcos #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #javier peña imagine #javier pena imagine #javier peña one shot #javier pena one shot #pedro pascal smut #javier peña smut #javier pena smut #pedro balmaceda pascal

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Inukag *warning this chapter might hurt*

Staring out through the windshield of his car, his darkened home was the picture-perfect mirror of the pain settling into his soul. Inuyasha had no idea how he’d even managed to make it home without driving off a cliff or plowing himself into a stone wall, because his body and mind were completely numb.

‘Read’ but not answered…

Was it a good sign that the woman at least looked at it? Inuyasha rested his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes. He’d fucked up… again— just like the night of the accident. His eyes squeezed tighter shut as the emotional pain of everything slammed him with the force of a freight train. This was bad… bad, bad, bad… “FUCK!!” He roared into the still night air. With Kagome’s memories coming back, she’ll remember everything, and it was over. He’d had this second chance to reverse all the damage and he went and fucked it up again.

Not surprisingly, Kagome didn’t respond to his first text, so he typed out a final message for the night: ‘You’re mad at me. I get that so I’ll give you some space but I just wanna say good night Kagome. I love you -Inu’

‘Read’ but not answered…

It was all he could do for now, his only solace knowing Kagome had her mother to comfort her. Inuyasha sighed, long and deep as he pulled the keys from the ignition and dragged himself into his home. His body felt heavy with exhaustion. A weight crushing him down like a boulder. It took all he had to just drop his keys to the floor beside the entrance and shuffle into the bedroom instead of falling right then and there. He didn’t want to move anymore. He deserved the silent darkness of this tomb-like home along with its judgmental echoes of the life it once held.

The next morning after a restless sleep, Inuyasha called out of work. When would he be back, he couldn’t answer them? Part of him didn’t care anymore. Fire him, it wouldn’t matter to the walking dead. Miroku called in concern for his friend, but Inuyasha let it go to voicemail. He didn’t feel like talking to anybody right now, not when he knew it would have a ring of ‘I told you so,’ mixed in. That wasn’t necessary. Didn’t he feel bad enough?

A good morning text sent… left on Read…

An apology text….

Another apology text…

Voice messages left randomly through the day…

All left on Read and unanswered.

The anxiety filled hours ticked on with Inuyasha left curled up in a ball under his blanket. He’d done a number on his living room to physically release the anger he felt at himself, and now he was just dead to the world. All the drapes were tightly closed to the sunlight outside and he only left his bed to attend to bathroom matters. He didn’t wanna give up all hope, but with his mind in tatters and thoughts only of despair, there was nothing left to cling to.

By nightfall Inuyasha was convinced Kagome had truly given him up and he couldn’t blame her for it. This was all his fault. Him and his stupid big mouth. There was no denying it. He shouldn’t have argued with her. Just like before, instead of using his ears to listen, he responded with ego when he had no right to chastise her over not telling him something. The whole reason he was in this mess is because he never listened to her when it mattered the most— and there in lay the heart of it all. Neither of them had the opportunity to talk about what caused the original fight or process what drove Kagome to leave. Inuyasha thought he’d understood its origins and accepted responsibility for it, but clearly, he was wrong, and this new situation is most certainly what would have taken place if Kagome hadn’t crashed her car— a debilitating depression.

If Kagome didn’t want him anymore, then there wasn’t anything left for him in this world as far as Inuyasha was concerned. His yoki called out for her, wept for her loss, and with it all the energy in his soul to care slipped away. He was simply empty without her. No appetite or desire or thirst, just an ocean of dread, and waves of numbness dulling all his senses.

How much time had elapsed, how many days gone by? The clock ticked away hour by hour like a death knell with Inuyasha simply waiting for a release to come. All the messages left on his phone were from everyone other than the one person who could have brought him out of this funk. But her ringtone never came. It is what is it. Was it day four? Five? Six? Inuyasha couldn’t tell, but feeling his body starting to let go, he decided to send one last message to Miroku before shutting off the phone for good.

At the Hoshii residence, Miroku and Sango were on edge dealing with the crisis. Sango had been doing her best to help Kagome to cope with her pain, but Miroku was growing frantic over Inuyasha’s refusal to answer him. He’d driven by the man’s home and knew the car was there, and that was it. No one answered the door and with all the curtains closed he couldn’t see inside. Finally, on day five while they were visiting with Kagome, Miroku heard his phone ping with a message.

Inuyasha: thanks for being a good friend. Tell her she was the only one I’ve ever loved

“What the hell?” Miroku blurted out as he mulled the message over and over in his head.

Sango rushed over at the concern in her husband’s voice. “What is it?!”

“I think that idiot is planning to kill himself— I better… I better go.”

Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Higurashi also came out of the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“It’s about a message Inuyasha just sent,” Sango explained as her husband was digging around in his small pouch and grabbing his car keys. “Miroku is gonna check on him.”

“What did it say?” Mrs. Higurashi questioned.

So, Miroku showed the woman his phone. “It doesn’t sound good.”

“Oh, dear!” She reached for a jacket near the front door. “I’m coming too! Sango will you stay?”

“Of course, I’ll be here with Kagome. You two go.”

It was a good thing that Miroku had held onto a spare key to Inuyasha’s home that he’d been given and simply forgotten to return. When he and Mrs. Higurashi walked through the door, chills crawled over his skin. It was evident that the house had been closed-up for several days, no windows opened, or ventilation, just a silent graveyard feeling with a fog of musty air mixed with the scent of rotting kitchen garbage and body odor. It was revolting and only heightened the pairs concern for the occupant.

“Inuyasha?!” Miroku yelled as they made their way through the dark home but received no response. The man wasn’t in the living areas or bathroom, so the logical option was the master bedroom at the far end of the hallway. ‘Please be alive,’ he prayed.

Once inside the room, they could see an unmoving body underneath the blankets and if the buildup of body odor told a story, it was sure to be his friend underneath those covers. “Inu?” Still no response.

Mrs. Higurashi turned on the bedroom light, and the brightness finally caused the blanket to shift ever so slightly. “Oh, thank heavens,” she gasped out in relief as she held a hand to her chest. He was still alive.

Miroku rushed over and yanked the blanket off. “Inuyasha!” Tears instantly gathered in the panicked man’s eyes. The state of his friend was heart breaking. Inuyasha had lost weight. His skin was gaunt and pasty white, hair matted and dirty. “Oh, fuck, we— we should call emergency!”

“No…” Inuyasha croaked out and buried his face deeper under his arm. “Let me die.”

“Fuck no, you idiot! Kagome still needs you!”

“Better… off… without me…”

‘Seriously?!’ It was rare for Miroku to get so upset, but in that moment, the anger that bubbled up to surface took over and his arm flew up ready to strike his friend. “You stupid—!!”

“Don’t!” Mrs. Higurashi yelled at Miroku. “He needs help, not anger right now.”

That seemed to snap Miroku out of his emotions, but the tears broke free. It was hard to see his friend in this position, just so frail— nothing like the tough hanyo that he’s known for years. Even after the death of his mother, Inuyasha didn’t break down this badly. Miroku grit his teeth to his own pain and pushed forward. “You idiot. Dying isn’t gonna help Kagome. So, whether you like it or not, we’re gonna help you.”

Mrs. Higurashi now moved around the bed to where she could sit beside Inuyasha. Her own eyes were clouded too, but the woman pulled on all the strength she could muster to hold it together. She placed a hand on the arm he was using to cover his face. “Inu, Miroku is right. Kagome is hurting just as much as you, and I don’t think you’d want to cause her anymore heart ache by going out this way.”

“But she hates me…” Inuyasha whimpered weakly. “Please just let me go.”

Mrs. Higurashi had to squeeze her eyes shut to hold back her tears. Her heart broke for the man. Gently, she pulled his arm down, her voice shaking as she spoke. “Inuyasha, you’re like a son to me, and I won’t let me son die. We’re gonna figure this out, but you need to live please, for her, for all of us that cares about you.”

Inuyasha’s eyes cracked open just a tad. “I’m so, sorry,” he mumbled. “So… sorry…”

She kept her voice as soothing as possible. “I know, and so does Kagome.” Mrs. Higurashi then turned to Miroku. “Do you think you can get him into the shower and clean him up? I’ll make something for him to eat. He needs something in his stomach immediately.”

“Y-Yeah, I think I can do it.”

It took both of them to help Inuyasha into the bathtub. He was so emaciated and dehydrated, that he had no strength left in his body, just dead weight. While Mrs. Higurashi left them to deal with the kitchen, Miroku stripped his friend of clothing and ran a bath to bathe him. Inuyasha offered no resistance, just a few tears flowing down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Inuyasha kept repeating.

“Don’t apologize to me. Save it for Kagome. I can’t believe you’d think we’d be okay with you dying! You’re my best fucking friend you asshole! I want my kids to grow up with their uncle!”

“But I keep screwing up.”

“And that’s life. It ain’t the end of the world yet.”

“Feels like it.”

“Whether you believe us if not, Kagome is hurting cause she in love with your stupid ass too. You can still fix this.”

“Don’t know how.”

“And that’s why we’re here.”

“Thank you…”

Inuyasha’s eyes started to roll back, so Miroku slapped him hard in the face. “Oi! Don’t you be dying on me now! So, wake the fuck up!”

“So… tired…”

“Gonna clean you up and momma Higurashi will get your strength back, so hang on just a little longer…”

Now cleaned up and dressed in something comfortable, they prop Inuyasha up in a recliner since he was still struggling to hold up his own body weight. He simply had no reserves left to draw from and under human standards wouldn’t have lasted this long. A hospital was better equipped to deal with this kind of situation. Inuyasha should have been put on IV fluids to hydrate him faster along with special supplements pumped directly into his system because after this long, the organs would have started to shut down, and his stomach would struggle to process anything. But Mrs. Higurashi made due to honor his request, starting with a bland rice water chicken broth of starch, proteins, and vegetable nutrients to re-prime it slowly. She also sent Miroku to the store to purchase drinks with electrolytes given to infants when they are dehydrated. It was a painstaking process to feed Inuyasha spoonful by spoonful.

“I need you to help me fight Inuyasha,” the woman coaxed the weakened hanyo. “So, you can live through this and see Kagome again.”

Tears flooded Inuyasha’s eyes at the mention of Kagome’s name. “After everything, why would you still want me around her?”

“Because you love her, and she loves you, and as long as there’s love it can find a way. Son,” she placed a hand on his, “I know it feels like the end of the world, but it will get better if you want it to. Do you want it to?”

“Yes,” he sobbed.

Her hand now gripped his tightly as her expression grew determined. “Then fight for it!”

It took several bowls of soup before gradually Mrs. Higurashi started giving Inuyasha fish and small pieces of chicken meat to eat. She had to stick to easily digestible foods, but at least his coloring was improving, and he could feed himself now. The sun has already set, by the time Inuyasha could finally stand up on his own.

“You’re lucky you’re a hanyo. That’s what’s probably saved your life.” Miroku expressed to his friend.

“I know.” Inuyasha could feel his demon half working harder to regenerate his physical body. Though while his body was recovering, his heart still felt broken. They kept telling him that Kagome still loved him so there is hope, but a part of him struggled to believe it. He’d already hit such a low point, to suffer rejection now was almost too unbearable to even comprehend.

Miroku continued talking. “Inuyasha, you’re not gonna do this alone. We will be there to support both of you, but it’s time you confront this. You and Kagome need to talk… about everything— even though she may not remember, a lack of communication is exactly what triggered this whole situation.”

“I know…” Inuyasha sighed.

“All couples go through struggles,” Mrs. Higurashi added with a comforting tone in her voice. “A strong relationship doesn’t come from a having a perfect one, Inuyasha. It’s developed through adversity. How well a couple can take the challenges thrown at them and grow from it.”

“You remember what happened with me and Sango, we almost didn’t make it because of my bad behaviors…”

“Your damn womanizing,” Inuyasha cut in.

“Yeah, that,” Miroku grumpily agreed. “She had to give me a harsh ultimatum to wake me up. But I did, and now look at us. This is your harsh moment, and you can choose to wake up, or loose the best thing that’s ever happened to you. It’s your choice.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Inuyasha ran a hand down his face. “Of course, I don’t wanna lose her.”

“Then are you ready to see Kagome?” Mrs. Higurashi questioned.

Inuyasha exhaled slowly. “Ready? No…” he was terrified to face the woman. “But I’ve gotta do it.”

#inukag #inuyasha #inukag au #inukag fan fic #inukag fan fiction #kagome higurashi #missing memories #ch 11 #petri808

[seiyasabi]

Purely Platonic

(This is a Platonic Yandere All For One x Reader story :)) Aka, the bastard views you as a kid(? Not rlly bc everyone is aged up) that needs protection, instead of loving you like a lover, ya’know? 

TW: unhealthy platonic relationship, foul language, !slight gaslighting!, etc.. 

This was a request, and I’m sorry if it was too short to your liking or not the plot you were looking for  :)) ) 

“What do you mean I can’t go on the mission?” The large man in front of you says nothing, as you turn to a certain blue haired man, “Tomura, you said that he allowed me to go! What the hell-” 

“Now, now, (Your name), that’s no way to speak to your brother,” Scowling, you cross your arms over your chest, a few snickers are heard from the male next to you. He’s clearly tricked you. 

“Yeah, sis, that isn’t any way-” 

“Don’t patronise her,” That effectively shuts him up, “Can you tell me why you wish to leave the base so badly?” The answer was simple; you felt trapped. Sure, ever since the imposing villain saved you from the streets you never had to worry about a place to stay, if you were going to eat, hell, you weren’t even told ‘no’ if you wanted something. But, it seems like that came at a price. You’re never allowed outside, you can’t have friends outside the league, and there’s someone constantly breathing down your throat if you’re outside your (windowless) room. 

“Everyone here has to help out to stay, and so far I’ve only sat around doing nothing! I just want to help-” Your adoptive father cuts you off. 

“You do help,” He stands up from his desk, and steadily walks towards the two of you, “If someone is injured, they go to you. Your healing quirk is very helpful,” The older Shigaraki places a hand on you and Tomura’s shoulder, “The both of you are very useful as you are.” Your frown deepens as a rare, true smile crosses your sibling’s face. Useful? Sure, you want to help out, but you don’t want to be used! That then makes you think of what he’d do if you run out of use… and it makes you angrier than before. 

“You say that I’m useful, but I can never actually do anything! You won’t let me go on one mission, hell, you don’t even let me go grocery shopping! I don’t understand why you’d keep me around if I’m too weak to do basic things!” A dry hand wraps around your throat, their pinky and ring finger raised away from your skin. 

“Would you stop being a fucking brat for five seconds? You’re lucky Sensei even took you in, yet you’re questioning him! If you know what’s good for you, you’d shut your whore mouth before I rot it off,” His red eyes glare at your equally angry (colour) eyes. 

“You don’t understand, because you’re not kept under lock and key! You get to leave and go wherever you want! Oh, little Tomura wants to go video game shopping? Sure, go ahead! Oh, little (Your name) wants to go to Toga’s birthday celebration? Denied! It’s not fair!” 

“Maybe if you weren’t such a weak bitch you’d be let outside! Maybe if you weren’t such a liability you’d get to go on missions! You’re so fucking useless, but it seems we’re on the same page about that!” You both continued to argue, and your father continued to watch emotionlessly. The way Tomura talked about you made him extremely angry, afterall, you’ve saved his ass from certain death seemingly hundreds of times. 

“Enough,” Looking back at him, Shigaraki waves off the blue haired man, “Leave, I need to speak with your sister.” 

A shit eating grin crosses his face as he leaves, “Have fun, (Your name),” You move to flip him off, but stop yourself at the last minute because of a certain presence with their hand still on your shoulder. 

“Why are you acting this way? Do I not do enough for you?” Your eyes widen in surprise at his words, and you quickly shake your head no. 

“It’s not like that! I just want to leave the compound every once in a while and do stuff other people my age do. Himiko and I are the same age, yet you never let me be her buddy on missions. She gets to do everything under the sun, but I’m stuck inside 24/7 waiting to help in any way I can, which is almost never,” You avert your eyes to the ground, “And when we first met, you told me that you’d allow me to stay as long as I’m useful, but it seems I’m now useless.” 

“Who told you that?” Damnit, he only heard half of what you said! He always does that. 

“No one has explicitly said that, besides Tomura, who literally JUST said it, but come on. Everyone has to work for their keep, and all I have to do every once in a while is heal a broken leg. There’s no use in me being in a criminal organisation if I do virtually nothing,” You shrug your shoulders listlessly, only adding to Shigaraki’s frustration. 

“You’re only useless if I say you are,” He releases your shoulder, and walks back to his desk to take a seat, “And, from what I can remember, I’ve never said that. But, if you keep up this rebellious attitude, you may become too much.” 

Fury squeezes your heart in a harsh grip, consuming you completely, “‘Rebellious attitude?’ So me asking to go outside is worse than Muscular killing that bus full of children? How does that make sense! God, it’s like you just want me to rot here! Why won’t you let me at least help?”

His deep voice rivals yours in anger, “Because I said so. My help comes with a cost, and in your case, I wish for you to stay in the safety of the compound. Do you want some monster like Muscular to do horrible things to you? Because that is a large possibility, (Your name). Tomura and the others can protect themselves, you, on the other hand, cannot. I’m sorry, but I will not budge on this.” Tears of frustration fill your eyes and start to roll down your face against your will. 

“I can’t even go out with one of them? I know for a fact that Himiko, Jin and Dabi would protect me-” 

“I said no!” This was the first time he’s actually yelled at you, making you jump about five feet off of the ground. Cowering in fear, you back up at the sound of his chair scraping against the wooden floor, “I’m sorry for yelling, but you cannot and will not ever leave this compound. Me yelling already has you cowering in fear, so what makes you think you should go outside? There’s worse people than me out there, and we both know that they’d take advantage of you,” You started to outwardly sob at this point, the entire situation becoming way too overwhelming. Your two hands cover your face as you sob into them, trying to hide your shame and frustration. Two arms wrap around you, one holding the back of your head, and the other around your mid back. Knowing who was touching you made you even more inconsolable. 

“Don’t touch me! I don’t want to be near you right now,” You try to shove him off of you, but he holds firm. 

“When you were younger, my hugs always helped,” You continued to struggle against him, especially when you felt his hands heat up, “Now, it seems you’ve outgrown me again.” 

Again? What the fuck does he mean by that? 

“What do you mean?” Your hands are on his chest, trying desperately to create some space between you. 

“Everytime you reach a certain age, you try to rebel,” With one swift push, you were close to him once more, “You always think you’re too cooped up, too old to be kept inside, too old to be so close to your Papa,” Fear wells deep within your chest, “And everytime, I need to regress you back to the time I found you. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the only way I can keep you safe.” 

His quirk takes action in a split second, sending waves of pain throughout your body. 

“After all, this is the only way I can keep you safe. I’ve already lost my brother, I’m not losing you too.” 

#yandere all for one x reader #yandere all for one #all for one #yandere mha #yandere bnha #platonic yandere

[gojos-sidepiece-69]

Tokyo Tech Training- Chapter 5

The four of you first-years finally stumbled back to your dorms at the end of the day after an overdose of brain-rotting movies and binging food that would bring you one step closer to Type-2 Diabetes. You decided that a hot shower would help dissolve your stress from earlier, but that didn’t seem like nearly enough...a lightbulb flicked on over your head as you remembered that Tokyo Tech had a natural hot springs on location, and that sounded more than promising. You hadn’t used it yet, but you hoped it was empty; you signed in contentment at the thought of laying in hot water in the dark, unbothered: no thinking about anything, not even your literal deal with the devil. You could worry about that disaster tomorrow; today was enough of a shitshow in and of itself. It was 11:55 PM, so you quietly padded through the dorms so as not to wake anyone up.

You exited the building and strolled to the hot springs behind the building, taking in the cool night air. You inhaled slowly, and the scent of cherry blossoms filled you with tranquility.

In order to get to the hot springs, you had to pass through a small bamboo shed to rinse yourself clean and change into one of the clean bathing suits that were provided in the lockers. You shut the door to the shed behind you softly, and began stripping off your clothes. You kept your clothes out on the bench, much too tired to stow them away in a locker. The water droplets from the shower head felt cool and refreshing, and you walked over to the corner to pick up a swimsuit.

However, a small part of your brain told you that there was no way anyone would see you here; after all, it was dark and past the usual students’ bedtime on the weekdays. They were all such early risers. So you decided to forego a swimsuit and lay in the hot springs completely nude, because that would be the most relaxing. Who was going to judge you, anyways? People did this all the time. You grabbed a white towel to take with you for drying off after the soak, and headed out towards the spring.

You slipped into the hot water and sighed deeply, closing your eyes. You were in the moonlight surrounded by cherry blossom trees, beautiful black rocks, and the peaceful sound of water flowing. You leaned your head back against one rock and smiled, almost drifting off into sleep. The water felt like silk draped around you, and you were in it deep with only your head above the surface. “I didn’t peg you as the type to skinny dip at night, princess. But you keep proving me wrong,” said a familiar voice in a cocky, insolent tone. Your eyes flew open in fear, unfortunately landing on Gojo Satoru leaning back against a rock five feet away from you, head tilted upwards.

Your heart rate quickened with anger. This was supposed to be your night alone, head clear except for the sounds of running water. Your fool of a sensei was supposed to be 38 floors above you somewhere downtown, probably screwing another girl. Not sitting across from you, ruining your night. “What the hell are you doing here?” You said angrily, crossing your arms.

“Well, after a long day of exorcising high-grade unregistered curses all on my own, I thought I deserved a nice little dip in the spring. Funny, though, don’t people usually put something on before they jump right in?” He teased you and you instantly remembered how exposed you were to him. Even if it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already seen before, it still made you nervous. Why were you nervous? Nothing was going to happen. This was your night to unwind. You looked at him for a minute, trying not to stare. He had taken off his stupid black sunglasses and had his eyes closed, head still tilting up. He hadn’t opened them or looked at you yet, and you were just waiting for his eyes to pierce into yours. He looked like a sculpture, his strong arms resting on other rocks and his collarbones glistening with moisture. You scoffed at his comment. “Why are you here, exhibitionist?” He asked with a smile, and your face reddened at his comment.

“I’m not an exhibitionist. You think I care about getting your attention? I’m not that pathetic,” you jumbled out. “And if you must know, I’m here to relax after all the shit you’ve put me through in the past few days.” His smile deepened as he finally turned toward you and opened his beautiful eyes. You swallowed as he got up from his position and moved closer to you in the water. “Sweetheart, I haven’t put you through anything you didn’t want to do yourself. And I would argue that you do quite a lot to get my attention. Already forgetting about just yesterday, when you were jizzing all over yourself to the sight of me? You couldn’t keep your hands out of your pants.” Your chest started heaving as you forgot how to breathe.

He moved closer. “As for relaxing, I think I can help you with that.” He stopped about a foot away from you and your stomach flipped. “But I’m only going to help you if you ask me real nicely, like a good girl.” You silently cursed him for being such a stupid tease. Your brain was telling you to just get out of there before things escalated, to keep your ego and moral high ground intact, but those things were long gone. You hated yourself for thinking with your heat instead of your head. Damn it. You chewed on the inside of your lips, salivating at the sight of Gojo in the water. You could see droplets clinging to his chest, torso, and...v-line. His boxers were underwater, but he smirked when he caught you staring. “It’s not polite to stare,” he said intimidatingly, standing at full height, while you were still mostly underwater.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, and you almost folded under the weight of your lust. Seeing him touch another woman yesterday only made you ten times hungrier for him. You needed a taste or you would lose your mind.

You could only manage a weak, “Come here,” but that wasn’t enough for him. He tutted and shook his head. “I said, ask politely. Remember the magic words?” You wanted to strangle him. “Please, Gojo?” Your voice almost cracked with impatience. “Wrong! You’re forgetting already?” He laughed, crossing his arms. Your mind flashed back to your first night together, when he asked you for those “magic words” before he went down on you. Oh. “Please...come over here, Sensei,” you said quietly, and he flashed his white teeth. “Good. Was that so hard?” He closed the remaining distance between you and you could’ve sworn your heart was going to burst right out of your chest.

He bent over and wrapped his fingers around the backs of your thighs, lifting you up onto the edge of a large, smooth black rock. Water spilled down from your body, revealing it all to Gojo. His head was directly level with your chest, but he didn’t make any sign of moving it yet. “Gojo, come on, I already asked you nicely. What else do you want?” You whined quietly. “Nothing, I’m just admiring the view,” he smiled, rolling your eyes at his boyishness. He secured both of his large hands tightly around your waist to keep you from slipping off the rock, and started sucking at one of your breasts. He started with just moving his tongue over your nipple slowly, and then took the whole breast in his mouth. He moved his tongue in a way that was making your pulse quicken and your thighs slick.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in closer. He pulled his mouth off of your breast, and you looked down at it and nearly moaned at the sight of it: wet from his mouth, and left with tiny purple spots to mark his territory.

He moved onto your other breast, his face completely shoved against it. You could feel him smile against your chest, tongue again swiping torturously slowly across your nipple. You started panting, and you felt embarrassed that he could feel your heart moving at a million miles per hour while he was somehow still completely calm and collected. You gripped roughly at his wet hair, and whispered to him, “Need...need more.” He looked up at your blushing face and quirked an eyebrow. “More? You should’ve just said so. Always remember, communication is key,” he said as he roughly parted your thighs. “Shut up, idiot,” you choked out after his stupid insertion of a “wise” life lesson. He kept your shaking legs open with a Vice-like grip, and dipped his head down. His breathed teased against your opening for a few seconds, until he finally gave into his need to taste you.

His tongue took a broad stroke up your heat, lapping at the juices. He moaned lightly and pulled his head back out to make eye contact with you. “You taste so fucking good, sweetheart. You’re just gonna sit nice and still for me while I taste you, okay?” You nodded, and he went back down. He talked into your pussy as he said, “So pretty and wet, just for me,” and you just about lost it. His hands massaged and rubbed at your inner thighs softly while his tongue ravaged your pussy. He stopped at times to suck and blow onto your clit, and you had to forcefully bite down onto one hand to keep from screaming out and waking up everyone in Tokyo. The other still gripped onto Gojo’s hair. You could only moan softly as your teacher got you wetter and closer to your destination.

You pushed your legs around him tighter, and he kept moaning softly as he picked up his pace. He pulled his head back to look up at the mess you were, and made direct eye contact while inserting one, then two, of his fingers. You let out a feral sound, and he laughed at the effect he had on you. His ego liked how easily he could make you lose your mind, begging for him desperately like he was the only man on earth. He never broke eye contact while he grinned and pumped his fingers in and out of you. Your release was threatening to fall over, but you seemed to have an issue finishing without him telling you to. “Pl-please,” you panted breathily, and Gojo laughed up at you again.

“Okay, okay, needy. That’s it, you did amazing for me. You can cum now,” as he bent down to place another heavy kiss on your clit. You moaned loudly into your mouth as you came onto his luscious lips, and he groaned slightly. He pulled you off of the rock and onto the ground, and your legs almost gave out. He licked the mess you made off of his lips before saying cheekily, “You liked that, huh. Just can’t keep away from me. You feel more relaxed now?” You couldn’t help but nod, head still spinning from your intense orgasm.

“I could tell,” he said. Before you could think about returning the favor, your white-haired man-whore turned around and walked right out of the hot springs. Your eyes trailed over his back muscles longingly as he entered back into the bamboo shed. He left you with a dull ache between your thighs and a heaving chest. You raked a hand through your wet hair and squeezed your eyes shut. And just like that, the rational thinking and whatever was left of your moral compass came flooding back in. God damn it, again?! So this was going to be a regular thing now? Being fuck-buddies with your ridiculously attractive teacher? This was so illegal...but then again, since when were any of the rules in this Jujutsu world unbreakable?

You sunk back down into the hot springs and sighed. The amount of shame that washed over you was significantly smaller, because as much as you hated to admit it...he really did help you unwind. And release some pent-up stress. Okay, a lot of pent-up stress. You leaned your head back against a smooth rock and decided on a short nap before taking on the challenge of walking up to your dorm because you weren’t sure you’d be able to walk straight.

After a fifteen-minute power nap, you heaved yourself up out of the water and wrapped the fluffy white towel around your body. You made your way into the shed again, sleepily searching for the bench with your clothes on it. You could’ve sworn you put it on that one over there...your eyes narrowed as you frantically searched all the lockers for your clothes. Where the fuck were they? You couldn’t just walk back through the school in a towel, you’d get in trouble for sure...and then it dawned on you. Bastard. Gojo, the biggest fool of them all, probably thought it was a funny idea to snatch your clothes, leaving you even more of a hot mess than you already were. You were threatening to boil over in anger, so you picked up your phone to call him immediately.

He picked up after one ring, “Want more already?” He said airily. You could tell he was driving away fast, back to his place. “Shut the fuck up and listen for once in your life. Did you take my clothes?” Your voice shook. He gasped. “Why would you accuse me of such a thing?! I would never. That being said, yes, I took them. I couldn’t help it, your little pink panties were just so cute,” he laughed.

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Get over here right now. I’m not walking back through the school in a towel,” you said sternly. “Not a chance, sweetheart,” Gojo sang. “You’ll have to come get them yourself if you want them.” That wasn’t about to happen. “Go fuck yourself,” you said, and before hanging up on him, he replied, “Oh, I will, darling.” You were so angry that you ran all the way back to your dorm, not caring about loudly your feet were stomping on the floorboards. You saw three sleepy, confused faces peep out at you from their rooms, but they dismissed seeing a large, white fluffy bird fly past them as a weird dream.

You slammed your door shut and threw your towel to the side, putting on some actual clothes. You put your hands up against the wall and breathed for a minute, trying to process your emotions. This boy was going to leave you in a wheelchair and in therapy. You were ripped from your animalistic rage when you heard your phone chime. It was a single picture from your sensei. Him dangling your lacy underwear from his long index finger. You felt a familiar blush rising to your cheeks, but shook it away as you threw your phone against the nearest wall.

🌹

#smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #chapter 5 #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #long fic #series #netflix

[cityofimagines]

My Angel – JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: your relationship with JJ is still relatively new, but that doesn’t stop you from showing just how much your care about him after his has an episode with his dad.

A/N: this popped into my brain randomly because im in love with fluffy jj, and jj in general. i literally just wanna give him the biggest hug in the world 🥺 this is also my first real obx imagine so lmk what you guys think!! 

warnings: mentions of abuse

word count: 1841

It was currently a perfect day in the Outer Banks. 86 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, on your way to meet your friends on the dock. You finally found a time when everyone was off work simultaneously for the first time this week. John B’s boat was practically rotting from not being used in five days.

You fast walked down the hill to get to the meeting spot. As you got closer, you noticed most of the pogues plus Sarah Cameron, the newest addition to the group thanks to John B, all chatting.

“Hey guys!” You exclaimed as you neared them at the end of the dock.

“Hey (y/n)!” Kie smiled and ran up to give you a short hug.

“What’s up (y/n)?” John B asked, giving you a nod.

You shook your head. “Not much. Just excited to finally see you guys!” Which earned smiles from the rest of the group. Everyone was clad in swimsuits, t shirts, and flip flops, signaling that they were more than ready to get this day going. But before you could, you noticed something major was off. “Where’s JJ?” You asked looking around for your boyfriend.

“We were gonna ask you the same question.” Pope said.

“That’s so weird. We texted earlier and he was obviously down to come...I assumed he’d be the first one here.” You continued.

“Who knows maybe he’s just running a little late. It wouldn’t be the first time anyway.” Kie smiled and put a hand to your arm. “We can wait a few more minutes.”

You had been friends with all of the pogues for about two years now, pretty much since the week you moved here. However, you and JJ had only been dating for less than a month, so this relationship was still fairly new. You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was having doubts about you or your relationship. After that thought passed you wondered if something bad happened to him. JJ is known for having not the cleanest record, much to your dismay, so you couldn’t help but think he was in trouble. As more time passed, the more negative overthinking you did.

You checked your phone for any sign of him, but the only notifications present were from Apple telling you to update your software for the millionth time. The rest of the group had descended into a random conversation, but finally after 10 minutes of waiting for him you decided to speak up.

“Hey guys? I think I might go look for him…” You trailed off, looking in the other direction towards the rest of the island.

“It is pretty weird...JJ isn’t one to miss out on days like these.” John B added. “You want us to come with you?”

You smiled at his offer, but declined. “No it’s fine honestly. You guys go have fun. Don’t let me ruin your day.”

“You could never.” Kie said. “You’re sure?”

You nodded. “I promise it’s okay. I’m just scared something happened. I’m gonna go look for him and maybe we’ll meet up with you guys later if we can.”

Since your relationship with JJ was still so new, you were still learning how to manage spending time with him alone and spending time with the rest of your friends. You felt bad for leaving them because you hadn’t hung out all week, but something was pulling you towards JJ in that moment.

“Sounds good.” Kie finished. “Good luck and hopefully we’ll see you later!”

“Thanks guys.” You smiled one last time before turning to walk back towards where you came from. Your car was parked in a lot close by, so it didn’t take long for you to get in there and gather your thoughts. Where could JJ be? He couldn’t be at work, because he’s been working with Pope and his dad lately, so obviously if Pope was at the dock JJ would be too. The only other place he could be would be...his house?

The second that thought dawned on you, your face sank. His house.

JJ opened up about his home life to you pretty quickly into your relationship. You had known each other for so long before that he felt like he could trust you explicitly. He told you all about how his mom left when he was young, and how his dad is a disgusting physically and emotionally abusive alcoholic. This revelation led to a few tears and more than a few sleepovers at your house.

You backed out of the lot and sped down the streets as fast as you possibly could without it being able to technically count as speeding. Your heart was now pounding at the thought that something bad must have happened today involving his dad.

After a too fast car ride you came up on his street. You parked across the street in front of his house, not even daring to go near the driveway because who knows what his dad would do. You weren’t even completely sure his dad knew you existed.

You felt crazy walking around to the back door dressed in a bikini with nothing but an oversized t-shirt covering you, a messy bun sitting on top of your head, sunglasses behind your ears, and cheap flip flops.

Once you got up to the door, your hand hovered in front of it in a knocking position. Suddenly you were terrified. What if JJ wasn’t even here? What if you were just being a stupid worried clingy girlfriend? What if his dad answered? What would you even do in that situation?

A crazy thought came over you and you decided to forego knocking and reach out for the doorknob instead. You turned it quietly and the door clicked open. You closed it behind you and took a look inside at the house you had only seen a couple times before. Beer bottles lined every open surface. Clothes and dishes were strewn everywhere, medicine bottles sat on the kitchen counters. You bit your lip to keep from tearing up at the sight. The fact that this was the only place the boy who had your heart had to call home broke you.

You walked into the living room and jumped a mile when you saw an adult figure on the couch. Luke Maybank, luckily asleep. Still no sign of JJ.

You walked deeper in the house, down the hall to where you knew JJ’s room was. The door was cracked slightly, and you held your ear up to it. Your heart broke even more when the sound of crying filled your ears. You opened the door and it creaked, causing your boyfriend’s head to snap up in your direction.

“JJ…” You began.

“(Y/N)? What the hell are you doing here-” He said, cutting you off.

No words came out of your mouth for a minute as you took in the sight. He was hunched over sitting on his bed, clutching his side. His shaggy blonde hair looked more oily than normal most likely due to his hands running through it excessively. He had a black eye and a split lip, with random patches of dried blood around his mouth. You had heard about his dad’s horrible parenting, but nothing could have prepared you from seeing its effects in real life for the first time.

Finally you came to your senses. “I was looking for you.” You started. “We were all waiting for you on the dock and when you didn’t show up I just had a feeling something was wrong…God JJ why the fuck didn’t you call me? I would’ve come as soon as I cou-”

“Shh baby. It’s okay. I’m okay.” He said. “C’mere.”

You couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes as you took all of three steps towards him. He wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you in. Your head rested on his.

“It’s not okay!” You cried out, his hair muffling your voice. He shushed you and started rubbing your back.

“I’m fine sweetheart. You shouldn’t even be here anyways-”

“Will you shut up?” You said, the question coming out harsher than you meant. You quickly pulled away and looked down at him. “Shit- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...I’m just fucking frustrated that you have to go through this. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

JJ reached up to wipe the tear that had fallen onto your cheek. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. I promise I’m fine. Go back out with everyone. I’ll catch up later.” He said.

“No.” You shook your head. “We’re going to my house. I’m fixing you up.”

“(y/n)...”

“Either you come with me or I’ll help you here.” You gave him an ultimatum.

He sighed and his head fell forwards on your stomach. He was still sitting on his bed and you stood in between his legs. You grabbed his hand in yours. “Please baby. Let me take care of you.”

“Okay. Your house it is.” You helped him up and walked him out to your car. You even helped him into the passenger seat, much to his dismay. Seeing him like this had you seething inside, you couldn’t help but want to love on him with everything you had.

A short drive to your house later, you walked inside and told him to sit down on the couch. Your parents were both at work and you assumed your older sister was with her own friends. You ran to the bathroom to get bandaids, rubbing alcohol, and an ice pack for his eye.

You sat down with everything and began tending to his cuts. You felt like crying again, but reminded yourself to be strong for him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked after a few moments of silence.

He shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about. He’s just an asshole.”

“I wish I could do something more to stop it.”

“You do enough. I don’t deserve you.” He said quietly.

“Stop it. If anything I don’t deserve you.” You replied. You took the ice pack off his face for a minute to look into his eyes fully. “You’re the best part of my life JJ Maybank. When you’re hurting so am I.”

He leaned down to kiss your forehead. “My angel.”

You wrapped your arms around his torso delicately so as to not hurt him. You weren’t sure if words could adequately describe what you were feeling regarding JJ, so you just sat in his embrace. He wrapped his arms around you after a few moments. 

“I’m so sorry you have to deal with all of this. I hate making you upset.”

“Not your fault.” You whispered into his shirt. “I would do anything for you. You know that.” 

He pushed your head up to his and planted a passionate kiss to your lips. He pulled away and rested his forehead to yours. You ran a gentle hand up and down his side, feeling him get chills as you traced the muscles that hid underneath his soft skin.

“You wanna sleep?” You asked.

“Honestly...yeah.” He said quietly.

You patted his legs twice signaling for him to stand up. You switched positions so you were sitting behind him.

Once he got comfortable in your lap, you started running your hands through his hair and on his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed.

“I got you sunshine. You’re safe with me.”

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj imagine #jj maybank imagine #jj x reader #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks headcanon #jj headcanon #jj maybank headcanon #dating jj maybank #john b #rudy pankow #rudy pankow imagine #jj fluff #jj x reader fluff #jj maybank fluff

[ola-elaina]

PAUSE CHALLENGE

Summary: peter and y/n messing with each other once again, overflowing milk and too much ketchup and y/n putting peter in a tough situation

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: here’s another fic that’s been rotting in my drafts. enjoy!

“Peter’s inside with a 50-kilogram dumbbell and he hasn’t put it down since I came in and that was 5 minutes ago. What are you kids doing?” Steve asked when he saw you making your way towards the gym where you left Peter to get some water.

You chuckled. “We’re doing a challenge.”

“Well, you better get back to him. He looks like he’s going to pass out.”

“He’s fine. He’s Spider-Man.”

Steve faced you fully, putting his hands on his hips and stern look on his face that he only gives you when you and Peter does something stupid.

“Okay, okay!” You said defensively and ran back to the gym.

“Okay, Peter! Play!” Pointing a make shift remote towards him which is actually your phone.

Peter groaned, dropping the weights on the ground practically throwing it. You grimaced. His face and arms were red as tomato.

“Y/N!”

“I’m sorry! I mean, you’re Spider-man and you’re like a thousand times stronger than me. You literally held a torn in half ship by the webs, what’s a 50-kilogram weights?”

“My arms are going to be sore! You left me for so long! We’re doing this for fun not to torture each other!”

“I’m sorry. I’ll tone it down a little.”

***

The next day, Peter found you in the gym this time. You were on the treadmill starting off the workout that Nat tailored specially for your training.

He peeked his head on the door and saw Natasha giving you instructions. A little while later, Peter saw her making her way out the gym.

When she reached the glass door, Peter acted as if he wasn’t there for the last 10 minutes waiting for her to leave the room. Nat only smile and nodded when she walked past him which Peter returned back.

He waited for a few seconds before coming in making sure she’s far enough from the gym to mess with you.

Nat is strict with her trainings, making sure that when she’s training or training you, focus is all on the workout. And Peter definitely does not want to know what happens if he disrupts that but she’s not here right now.

Peter approached the treadmills, your back was to him.

It’s payback time, he thought.

“Well, well, well.”

“Peter, no. Not right now.” You said when you saw Peter holding a remote.

He laughed, evilly. You felt your heartbeat double its rate and not because of the running.

“No!”

“Yes!”

“NO!”

“Pause!”

“AhHH—!” You screamed, feeling your life flashed before your eyes. It felt like everything was going in slow motion, your heart beating loud against your ribcage. Well I guess this is it, goodbye face.

You waited for your body slam down against the treadmill and break your face.

But it didn’t come.

Your eyes was shut tight. When 5 seconds past and you were still not on the ground, you open of your eyes and saw Peter holding his laughter.

You breathed out. “What a dick!”

Peter roared with laughter. “It was just a scare. I wouldn’t let you fall!” Stopping in between words because he was laughing so hard.

“Nat’s going to kill you if she finds you bothering me.”

“I know. I just sneaked it to get back at you. Bye!” With that he bolted off the gym, allowing you to return to your run.

***

Monday morning came and Peter slept in the compound so the two of you were driving to school together.

When you came in the kitchen, Peter was making himself a bowl of cereal. An idea popped in your mind.

You waited to come in when he’s about to pour the milk. When he did, you immediately came in. “Pause!”

He gasped, mouth staying open as he stared at you in disbelief. When he looked back down his bowl, it was almost to the brim of the bowl.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. Y/NNNN!”

You laughed.

“It’s going to overflo—”

“Okay, play.”

“Well, it’s too late for that!”

Peter stood up, looking at his leg pant wet with milk.

“Agh! The hem of the jeans is wet. We’re going to be late.”

“Chop, chop then.” You said, leaving the kitchen as you bit the apple you grabbed from the counter.

***

It was your third period, physics which you and Peter shared. The whole class was chatting quietly and waiting as names are called one by one.

Mr. Harrington was giving back the test he made you answered last Friday.

Peter, who already got his, was awfully quiet beside you, flipping through a notebook. You brushed it off and waited silently for your name to be called.

Five names later…

“Y/N.”

You were literally halfway through standing up when Peter pulled out a remote and said, “Pause.”

“Y/N?” Mr. Harrington called again, looking at you with confusion.

You widen your eyes at Peter. “Peter, press play!” You hissed at him through your gritted teeth.

Peter hid his laugh by covering his face with a hand but his giggles still escaping his mouth.

“Ms. Stark, are you okay?” Mr. Harrington inquired, making the whole class look at you as you were still stood frozen on your seat. You felt your cheeks burn, making you send a death glare at Peter.

“Okay, play, play!”

You quickly walked away from your seat to Mr. Harrington to grab your paper.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Harrington! My leg cramped.”

“It’s okay.”

When you got back to your seat, you smacked Peter’s arm discreetly. “Aw!”

“That’s so fucking embarrassing! Ugh!” You groaned, covering your face with both hands. Face still hot from embarrassment.

***

You still haven’t gotten over the embarrassment until lunch. So of course you had to get back at Peter.

You, Ned and Peter are now in line to get some food. Peter was behind you and when it was his turn to grab his food, you pulled out the remote from your jean pocket that you stole from his backpack, “Pause.”

The lunch lady, Teresa, arched a brow at him. She laughed, shaking her head.

Teresa has worked at Midtown even before you and Peter started attending the school. The two of you have pulled pranks on the cafeteria which she unfortunately has witnessed all.

So when she sees you both doing some stupid stuff she would just laugh it off.

A few minutes later, MJ arrived at the table you and Ned picked. The two of you were watching him just standing in the queue. The other students would just look at him weird and move past him.

“Why is he just standing there?”

“It’s for a challenge they’re doing.” Ned answered before taking a bite off his burger.

You laughed, standing up from your seat. “Okay, I think I’m satisfied.”

“Play!” You said as you reached where you left him

“You really had to do that when everybody is literally in line for lunch?”

You goofily stuck your tongue out to his direction.

***

Now you and Peter are in the common kitchen, about to eat the sandwiches you got from your stop at Delmar’s.

You were squirting some more ketchup on your sandwich when you heard Peter say, “Pause.”

You gasped, mouth hanging open as you looked at him. “Peter! I only wanted a little bit!”

“Let me help you with that.” Peter laughed, placing his hands around yours and squeeze the bottle harder, more ketchup coming out of the bottle.

“Okay, play.”

“Ewww! You ruined my sandwich!” You pointed the bottle at him and squirted some ketchup at his direction, making you laugh as well.

***

Later that night, your dad summoned you and Peter to talk about some new specs that the both of you wanted to add to your suits.

A few moments later, your dad asked Peter to tighten something behind a suit his working on. You were watching Peter do what your dad instructed from the side table.

“Woah, okay. Too tight, Parker.”

“Oh—”

“Pause!”

Tony cocked his head towards your direction where you were giggling.

“Y/N! Press play!”

Your dad groaned. “What play? Kid, loosen the back.”

Peter looked at him and the at you, obviously conflicted.

“Peter! Whatever the hell you’re playing right now, I want no part of it.”

“Uhhh…”

Your laugh boomed throughout the lab.

“Now, we get to see which Stark he’s more afraid of.” You announced, jumping off the stool you were sitting on.

Before you exited the lab, you yelled out. “Choose wisely, Parker!” Followed by an evil laugh.

thanks for reading! feel free to send requests, questions or just talk to me on my ask!

if you want to be added to my peter parker, tom holland or permanent taglist, let me know <3

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker one shot #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x stark!reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #mcu #mcu fic #mcu imagine #spiderman fic #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man #spider-man: far from home

[creativeskullcreations]

Outside chapter 24: The Final Showdown (part 2)

Please note this chapter has even more violence than the last one. So there's your warning.

Also next week is the final chapter of Outside, plus a little extra thing at the end. So it'll be a double-post pretty much.

Scout and Will were both held by two Sock Puppets each, arms held in tight grips as Mortimer forced his nose back into position. He glared at them as he walked by to where Stacy had been hanging, only to stop when he realized she wasn't there anymore.

Without a word he turned right back around and backhanded Scout, making her cry out in pain while Will yelled at him.

"Oh don't be so loud and crude." He ordered the man blandly, rubbing his hand like it was sore. "I wouldn't have to get so violent if you two hadn't been so rude."

"Go to fucking hell!" Will shouted, only to receive a glare in return. One of the Socks covered his mouth, shutting him up very effectively even as he tried to fight back.

"Now then," He turned back to Scout. "Why don't you-"

A gunshot, and Mortimer stumbled forward as blood began blooming over his Host's chest. Scowling he turned to see Stacy holding the gun with shaky Puppet-hands, a determined glare on her face. She fired off another shot, but missed completely. Mortimer reached and, like strings had attached to her, she was pulled into his grip, even as she struggled against him.

He glared down at her and she glared back, before he blinked and was suddenly back to his affable old man persona.

"Really now Scout, did you think you could hide from me?" He asked, turning to face her as he raised his free hand. "Did you really think I wouldn't be able to see?" He snapped his fingers, and Scout was in his grasp while Stacy fell limp, held up only by the Socks. "Did you forget I control everything here, including you? Although I must admit, that little trick is new. Riley would have a field day with this information, if it wasn't for our... little situation."

Scout cowered in his grasp as he carried her back over to the symbol covered wall. Giving a tsk at the cut rope, he pulled a new one from his pocket and retied her, leaving her hanging, trembling, and no longer with the human power of adrenaline to keep her brave.

He meandered his way back over to his book, seemingly unaware of his Host bleeding out. Or maybe he just didn't care, he did have more after all. He opened the book, taking his time to find the page he wanted as Will and Scout watched. He found what he wanted and calmly looked over at the smaller Puppet with unblinking eyes as he recited a spell.

Pain unlike any Scout had ever known coursed through her fabric, worse than when she'd electrocuted herself with her own flashlight. It felt like she was being ripped apart at the seams, stitching coming undone and stuffing unraveling inside of her. The flashlight, useless as it was, coming unscrewed inside her head as her eyes rolled back. Distantly, she could hear screaming.

It felt like hours, days, before it finally stopped, and she sagged down. Gentle wooden hands tilted her face up so Mortimer could look her over properly. Whatever he saw, he seemed to like, as he smiled and nodded, and turned to head back to the book. Tilting her head, she saw Will and Stacy both staring horrified, and looking pale. There was a puddle of vomit below Will, and her Host was leaking blood out of her nose.

Looking ahead, she saw Mortimer back at the book, and Scout hung her head in defeat. There was no getting out of this, and she wasn't sure if she could handle anymore pain like that. She didn't even know what else Mortimer had planned, but based on what she knew of him, she was sure it was horrible.

As he began reciting the spell, however, the door Will and Scout had come in through burst open, and the other three Hosts came running in.

"Will we have a fucking problem!" Mason screamed, only for them to pause as they took in the scene. "Oh, I see you have one too." Was all he said before he was shoved aside by the other two.

They split up, running in different directions as Rosco burst through the door-frame, followed by the other three Handeemen. Lisa, screaming in French, raced by Mortimer and clocked him in the head with her pipe. She then grabbed the book he was reading from and ran as Nick ran after her.

"Everything is under control I swear!" Riley yelled as she tried to wrestle Mason down. Lisa started smacking Nick with the book, and poor Sammy did his best to play keep-away against Daisy with the remaining four Hand Puppets. Will took the chance to stomp on his captors' feet while Stacy yanked her prosthetic away and started clawing at them.

Quickly, she was able to break away and make it to Scout amidst the chaos. She worked at the small, tight knots until they were loose enough the Puppet dropped out. She caught her, and then started searching for the axe from earlier. Seeing it on the floor, she went for it, but was pulled back before she could make it.

Mortimer, back up and looking madder than ever, had a firm grip on her prosthetic. Thinking quick Scout reached under her Host's shirt and pushed the quick release, sending them tumbling forward as the Puppet Master staggered back. Dropping Scout but grabbing the axe, Stacy turned just in time to block another attack. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Puppet crawling off to find somewhere to hide, and Mortimer saw it too.

Acting quick, she kicked his Host's feet out from under him, then scrambled up, but it was already too late. Scout had vanished. She wanted to search for the missing Puppet, but Mortimer distracted her by pulling her down onto the floor with him.

Scout, for her part, was steadily making her way towards where Daisy was, dodging around the feet and legs of the others. It was easy, as she was currently Hostless and had cornered Sammy and her siblings up on a table.

And oh she hadn't done this in a long time, not since Riley had caught her watching cable. But, she was still able to school her expression into something pitiful and pitch her voice up into a pathetic whine as she crawled up to Daisy and tugged on her dress. Instantly she was distracted, scooping Scout up as the smaller Puppet started crying.

"Scout, honey, what's wrong?!" She asked, voice still hoarse from her recent decapitation. She held the smaller Puppet close, others forgotten for the moment in the face of one of her children showing such distress.

"M-Mortimer h-he did something!" She sniffed, curling against her like a child searching for comfort as she let out a whine. "It hurts..."

"What hurts, honey? Who did this to you?" She stroked her head, and for a moment Scout was reminded of Stacy, comforting her after a nightmare one of them had. It didn't feel as nice, however, when it was wooden fingers combing through her hair.

"Mortimer r-read from a book. He said something and now everything hurts." She sniffled, trembling softly in the other's hold. "Make it stop hurting..."

Daisy dropped her to the floor and raced to where Mortimer was. Scout quickly scrambled up and over to Sammy, who had watched the whole scene play out in disbelieve.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?! Go!" She insisted, and he hurried to get off the table, pausing only to scoop her up with the others.

"Have you always been able to do that?! Do I need to tell Stacy about it?!" He asked as he booked it for the door. She slapped at his face in response, soft hands not hurting in the slightest.

"No! Shut the fuck up!" She hissed, internally cringing at what all of her siblings had witnessed. Now they'd know how she got away with watching cable. Or maybe not, Canon was probably the only one smart enough to make the connection after all, and she was currently half dead from the looks of things.

A shriek of "Mortimer Handee!" rang through the room, stopping everyone as they turned to see Daisy bodily tackle the other Puppet to the ground. Instantly the other two were on her, struggling to pull her off as she did her best to strangle him.

The Hosts did not waste time, taking their chance to hurry to where Sammy was already making his way out the door. Stacy didn't even pause to grab her arm, opting to just get a new one later rather than trying to find it. She slipped out behind her cousin, grabbing Scout off of him as she went.

Unfortunately, Rosco was right behind them, grabbing Mason as he tried to leave and throwing him across the room. He hit the wall hard as the not-dog Puppet turned back to the group with a low growl.

With a shout, Stacy brought the axe down on it's head with a splattering of old, rotted blood. Will butted in, pulling the axe out and  repeatedly chopping into the Puppet's "skull" even as it went down. He then moved to start chopping it into actual pieces while the others watched, horrified, and more rotten blood leaked out.

"Rosco!" The cry gave him pause before he was set upon by Riley, who had just noticed her beloved pet being murdered. Lisa ran to help, but was grabbed by a Sock Puppet as a second one reached for Sammy. Stacy managed to dodge the one after her, but only because it tried to grab her missing left arm. Four out of the five Hand Puppets scattered and vanished, with only Canon staying and watching everything with dull eyes.

Stacy backed away, looking for a weapon that wasn't blocked off and finding nothing. Not even the gun was visible, and another Sock was gathering up the make shift ones the others had brought in. She patted at her pockets, finding only a small pocket knife that she had trouble opening up one-handed.

Stacy was exhausted, and felt sick. She had no clue what kind of injuries Scout might have gotten on her body, and she wasn't at all eager to find out. She had no idea how to get out of this, though at this stage, she didn't even know if she wanted to. She just had to keep on fighting.

But she was just so tired of it all.

Nick finally wrestled Daisy off of their leader, who stood up on shaky Host-legs and brushed his suit off. With a glare he stalked over to where Stacy was, who did her best to look threatening with her tiny knife.

"You impudent little girl, are you aware of what you've cost me?!" He asked, snatching the knife from her hand with his Host. "You had your chance to let us have Scout and leave things be! And look at you, not the least bit sorry!" He grabbed her by the throat and threw her to the ground, turning her over to face up at him with his foot. Lifting a hand, he once again dragged Scout over to him, from wherever she'd been hiding.

He grabbed her body in one hand and dug his clawed fingers into her head, ignoring her cries of pain as he began to pull and twist. "Enough of this song and dance! You will not have another chance! I am ending this now!-"

Something dug into the side of his head, and Stacy watched as his Host snapped the knife off and left the blade buried inside. He dropped Scout to claw at his own head to try and remove the blade, eyes wide from the pain and giving small, choked gasps. Stacy caught the falling Puppet, scrambling back and up as she looked for anything to help. Instead she saw her discarded arm and dove for it, hooking it back in just as Mortimer finished re-subjugating his Host.

She turned, standing and grabbing Mortimer's face in her metal hand just as he came at her. Squeezing with full strength, she heard rather than felt as wood began to splinter between her fingers, and more red sap leaked out. He struggled briefly, clawing at her arm but soon went limp as his face exploded with a loud crunch. He fell, along with his Host, to the ground, limp and possibly dead.

She could hear Scout dry heaving, as she stared down at the sticky mess in her hand, slowly opening it and dropping bits of Mortimer's face. She turned to look at the nearest Handeemen, which happened to be Nick and Daisy.

The artist immediately dropped his compatriot, hands going up in surrender. By the door, Will finally succeeded in subduing Riley, pinning her to the ground after pulling her from her Host. The Socks nearby dropped their captives and fell to the ground similar to Mortimer, unable to keep going by their own, mindless selves.

Mason groaned as Sammy ran to check on him, leaving Lisa and Stacy to help Will in separating Puppets from Hosts. The Puppets were then tied up tight with spare rope laying around. Scout gathered her siblings, making them sit and wait for their Hosts to finish.

A quick peek outside the room showed a different layout than before, whatever spell that was on the building having been broken. Because of that, finding an exit was easy, and Will took the time to bring the van over to the nearest one. The Handeemen were loaded into dog crates, still tied up and gagged, though only Riley really tried to fight it. Scout's siblings were loaded up into another cage, if only to make sure they didn't try and run off. Scout herself sat on top of the cage, staring blankly at the building beside them.

Cans of gasoline were unloaded and emptied throughout the building as Sammy examined Mason. "Well it doesn't look like you've got a concussion." He was saying, shining a small penlight in his eyes. "But you should still go to the hospital anyways when we're done here. We all should, honestly."

"I just wanna go to bed and forget about this, myself." Mason admitted. He looked back at the yet to be loaded up cage of smaller Puppets. "What do you think they're gonna do with those?"

"Don't know." They watched them for a while, but the Handpuppets just stays seated, not even talk amongst themselves. "You think Will would let me take Bit home?"

"Don't see why not. I know Lisa's gonna ask about our two." Mason told him. "I do know the others are going into their basement, though. Been down there a couple of times. Not a fun place."

"Good for them." Sammy said with a hint a malice creeping in. "I think they deserve whatever Stacy and Will do to them."

Another, longer, pause, and then Sammy went to go get Stacy's car. Once parked, he loaded up the caged Hand Puppets into the backseat as the others came out.

"Everything in there is as soaked as we can get it." Will said as they loaded the now empty cans back into the van. "All that's left to do it light it up and watch it burn."

"Neat. So who's gonna do it?" Mason asked. Will looked over to Stacy, who was busy gathering Scout up, and sighed.

"I'll do it. No need to make a big production over it." He said, striking a match and throwing it into the open doorway. Flames started to spread into the building instantly, licking up the walls as the more flammable things caught fire. Host bodies and fabrics turned to ashes and unseen ghosts watched the destruction peacefully.

But that was all on the inside. Outside, Stacy was carefully examining Scout for anymore injuries. "I told you, I'm fine!" The Puppet insisted as her Host poked around her body and face, searching for any rips or new stitching.

"I'll believe that when I see it, Scout. You were unconscious for a long time, and anyone could've done anything to you." She sighed, leaning back a little on the barrel she was sitting on. "I'm just glad we all got out of there alive."

"Yeah..." The Puppet looked away, flinching when she spotted the bits of wood stuck to Stacy's hand with still sticky sap. "Ew..."

Quickly, the Host tried to wipe it on her jeans, but it didn't help. "The prosthetic guy is gonna be so mad at me for this." She muttered, pulling it off her pants. Scout just gagged again.

"I am going to have so many fucking nightmares." She admitted. "That was the most badass thing I've ever seen, but it also so fucking scary and gross." A pause as she thought about something. "Do you think he's really dead?"

"I sure hope so! I don't think I could actually do that again." Stacy sighed, finally giving up on getting her hand clean. "And I think I'm down to just one hand again for a while. Hope Chelly doesn't mind my one-handed typing."

"I don't think she'll care." Scout admitted. "What are you going to do with the others, anyways? They aren't gonna stay in the house are they?" She was not excited about it if they were. She liked having her own space, and didn't want to share.

"I don't know yet. We'll talk with the others about it tomorrow. For now, though, Lisa's gonna try and find us a hotel to stay in tonight, and we're head home in the morning." She looked up, seeing flames had started coming out of the windows. It wouldn't be long before somebody called the fire department, and they didn't want to be anywhere nearby when that happened.

So she bundled Scout up in a one-armed hug and made her way back to her car, where, luckily, Sammy was climbing into the driver's seat. She climbed into the front passenger seat with Scout, who couldn't help but look back at her siblings as they started driving away.

They looked scared, and Scout couldn't blame them. If she hadn't already made the decision to escape she would've been terrified too when Stacy had climbed out that window. Not that she hadn't been scared, but at least it'd been a choice she'd made herself. Her siblings, on the other hand...

She thought about saying something to them, but backed down when she caught Canon's glare. It was hard and furious, and Scout didn't like that it was directed at her.

She turned back around and settled against Stacy, who held her just a bit tighter. They could always talk about things tomorrow, and she could give them some advice. For now, Scout just wanted to sleep.

And sleep she did.

#hello puppets #outside #fanfiction #mortimer handee #stacy stein #riley ruckus #daisy danger #nick nack #will carson #canon #lisa montgomery #stitch #sammy davis #bit #mason kamiya #bonzai #violence #scout