#keep holding your Title IX for now

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | now you got me

ix. now you got me by inhaler

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the happy little bubble you and luke made for yourselves inevitably bursted a few days after you made it official– though if you asked luke, you rejected his advances, which always earned an eye roll from you followed by a long kiss to his lips that had him silent for the next five minutes. you knew he was milking the hell out of you saying no to his question until he let you listen to the song, but you were his and he was yours regardless of the title. 

you stared at yourself in the mirror, blushing as you ran your fingers down the marks on your neck. you added a turtleneck under your chb shirt, not having enough energy to cover up the marks on your neck with makeup, and you definitely didn’t have the energy to explain to people how you got them. thankfully, the weather cooperated with you today. it was unusually cold for the summer, a slight breeze entering your room from your opened window. as you continued to get ready for the day, your phone buzzed with a text from your dad. 

‘hey kid, can you come to my office real quick?’

you hadn’t spoken to your dad in weeks, not since he stormed out of the cabin after finding out what started the fight with your teammate. this was the longest you’d gone without speaking to him. you texted a thumbs up and made your way out of your room. 

luke was sitting on the coffee table in the middle of everyone, looking at you with wondering eyes, “where are you going?” 

“my dad wants to talk.” 

“do you want me to come with you?” luke got up from where he sat. you told him last night that you’d been avoiding your dad as much as possible, and he did the same with you. as much as you guys butted heads, luke knew that it was taking a toll on you. you shared that you were scared about what would become of your relationship with your dad. luke, being as close to his mom as you were with your dad, understood. he knew what it was like to feel like your biggest supporter was giving up on you. it wasn’t a feeling he’d wish on his worst enemy, and definitely not a feeling he’d ever wish on you. 

“no, it’s fine,” you clenched your jaw, shaking your head. 

luke’s shoulders slumped over as he stuttered in his actions to sit back down, “oh, okay–uh, let me know if you need anything.” 

you nodded and waved a small goodbye before exiting the cabin. your heart was pounding the entire time you made your way to your dad’s office. a lot of things had been weighing on you this summer– your probation, a possible dent on your record, your estrangement from your parents, luke– and it was a lot to handle. camp half blood was supposed to keep you away from the problems that existed in your day-to-day life, but it seemed to follow you. 

you entered your dad’s office to see him typing away on his laptop. his eyebrows raised when you walked in, motioning for you to shut the door. he closed his laptop and placed it in one of the drawers of his desk. he took a deep breath, “hey, kid.” 

“hi, dad,” you replied, suddenly feeling like a little kid again. you sat on the usual chair in front of his desk and leaned back, “what’s up?” 

“i, uh,” he cleared his throat, “i just wanted to say i’m sorry for how we left things. i shouldn’t have stormed out like that. i was just angry. but not at you, at myself for making you feel like you had to fight these battles for me.” 

he leaned across his desk to hold your hands, “you’re my kid, y’know. my job is to protect you, not the other way around. so i apologize if i ever made you feel like you had to come to my defense.” 

“and i’m sorry for being mia the last few weeks,” he chuckled, squeezing your hands, “i’ve been in contact with my lawyers and they’re working on making sure the charges against you don’t stick so i’ve been pretty busy with that.” 

“you think it’ll get sorted out?” you asked. 

“yeah, don’t worry about it. it’s finishing up and i think you might even be able to play this season,” your dad smiled. “but i have to deal with a pr crisis right now that sprung up on me this morning.” 

your shoulders relaxed at your dad’s words. at least your probation was getting sorted out. that was one less thing to worry about. you tugged on the sleeves of your turtleneck as you got comfortable on your chair, “what’s the pr crisis?” 

he sighed, pulling out his laptop, “something with the band.” 

you hoped your dad didn’t notice the slight widening of your eyes. because you hadn’t been talking to your dad, he didn’t know about the recent developments between you and luke. you two didn’t show much pda outside of the cabin, scared that one of the campers would break their nda and post a picture of the two of you. neither of you were ready to tell the world about you two yet. it’s too soon. you didn’t even have the “what’s going to happen to us after summer?” conversation yet. 

“what happened?” 

“some pap pictures leaked. it’s of this new actress in hollywood and a guy leaving her hotel room. the press is reporting that the guy is luke. it looks a lot like him and you know the media– they run any story that’ll get them clicks even if it’s not fully fact-checked as long as they add the word ‘allegedly’ to the article,” he rolled his eyes, turning his computer to face you. “nobody knows where the pictures came from, so we don’t know if it’s actually luke or not, but i’ve been on the phone with may and their team all morning trying to do damage control. she’s telling the guys about the pictures right now.” 

at first glance, your heart dropped to your stomach. the guy did look an awful lot like luke. the rational part of you knew that this was probably taken before the two of you met because you’ve seen him every day since and he was practically imprisoned at chb all summer, but then you thought of your impromptu trip to achilles’ arcade and it made you want to throw up. if luke could sneak away with you like that, it would’ve been easy for him to do the same when he was alone. 

were the nights he didn’t spend in your bed because he was “writing” just an excuse to sneak off to meet up with the girl in the picture? she was gorgeous, after all. blonde, tall, the perfect new hollywood star. they’d make such a great power couple. the two rising stars in their respective industries, the perfect pair. 

the boy’s face, who may or may not be luke, was covered by his hood, but you can clearly see that he was kissing the girl deeply, with his hand placed on the curve of her back. the next picture was them with their fingers laced together as she led him into the hotel, giggling at something he said. the guy had a similar build as luke and dressed the same way as he did when he was having a lazy day– sweatpants, hoodie, and converses. 

bile made its way up your throat as you continued to scroll through the pictures. you looked at the time stamp of the photos and closed your eyes, wincing, when you saw that they were taken two days ago. luke didn’t sleep in your room two days ago, nor was he in the cabin. he showed up the next day saying that he was in the studio, trying to finish up the song so you would officially accept being his girlfriend. 

you squinted at a close-up picture of the pair, zoning in on the guy's hand. you breathed out a sigh of relief, fingers immediately clutching the ring that rested on your index finger. you turned the laptop back to your dad, “that’s not luke.” 

his eyebrows shot up, looking between you and his laptop screen, “how do you know?” 

“look at his rings,” you pointed at the bands around the guy’s fingers, “luke doesn’t wear a ring on his ring finger anymore. and look, the guy has a ring there and it’s gold.” 

“how are you so sure? what if he just decided to wear it that day?” 

“trust me,” you waved off, “he’s particular about his jewelry. he stopped wearing one on his ring finger a while ago. and luke doesn’t wear gold jewelry.” 

your dad narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously, shutting his laptop, “i didn’t realize you were that close to luke that you had his accessories memorized.” 

“ah– well,” you cleared your throat, looking down at your feet. you felt caught. “s’your fault, really. you made us live together.” 

“is there something you need to tell me, kid?” 

you got up from your seat, quickly making your way to the door, “geez, dad, i didn’t realize the time! i promised clar that i’d help her with camp duties, so i gotta go. thanks for all your help on the probation and permanent record thing. you’re the best!” 

you didn’t bother to turn around to see your dad’s reaction to your excuse. you knew that he could see right through you. 

you dad called from behind you, his joking tone camouflaged by his “dad” voice, “tell castellan that if he does anything wrong, i’ll kill him and his career!” 

“love you!” 

your dad shook his head, biting back the smile on his face, “love you too, kid.” 

as you were rushing back to your cabin, you ran smack dab into luke who was frantic, worry evident on his features. his eyes widened when he saw you and he placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you so you didn’t fall at the impact. 

“five star,” he sighed out, out of breath, “i don’t know if mr. d told you but those pictures aren’t me, i swear!” 

you had two options– you could one, tell him that you knew it wasn’t him and put him out of his misery or two, you could pretend to not believe him and make him sweat. luke looked like he was about to get on his knees and beg you to believe him. you wouldn’t be surprised if he made a powerpoint presentation listing the reasons why it wasn’t him in those pictures. 

you pursed your lips, “i saw the pictures luke.” 

“and they weren’t me!” he said, exasperated. his eyebrows knitted in anxiety, as he chewed on the nail of his thumb, “you gotta believe me, babe. i don’t know who that guy is but i can promise you it’s not me.” 

you tried not to swoon at the pet name that left his lips. “how do i know that? you weren’t home the night those pictures were taken.” 

“i know it looks bad, but look,” he ran a hand through his curls. “i finished the song the boys wrote and you can go listen to it right now, but then that night, i got caught up with a song idea about you and i stayed up all night to write it. you can listen to the demo right now if you want. you can listen to all the demos you want if that gets you to believe me. i think the recordings have timestamps too, so you’ll see i was in there all nigh–”

“down, pretty boy,” you couldn’t keep it up any longer. luke looked like he was two seconds away from bursting into tears and as much as you wanted to hear him yap, you didn’t have it in your heart to drag it on. you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck. you pressed a soft kiss to his lips and he instantly relaxed at the feeling. 

your lips moved in sync as his hands found your waist, pressing you closer to him. his tongue licked your bottom lip, asking for permission, which you gladly granted. it was the sound of clarisse and chris inside the cabin, tapping against the windows that pulled you and luke apart. you both turned to look at your friends who all had shit-eating grins on their faces. 

travis and connor were behind the couple, shaking their heads, “get a fucking room, you heathens.” 

luke flipped them off and pressed a softer, more innocent kiss on your lips before you spoke. “i knew it wasn’t you. just wanted to see you sweat a little bit.” 

“that was mean,” he pouted, but he couldn’t fight off the smile on his face. he always seemed to smile after he kissed you. it made you want to kiss him again, starting a never-ending chain of kisses that would surely lead the two of you to be unproductive for the rest of the day. “i was so scared, five star, you have no idea. the fucker looked so much like me.” 

you laughed, playing with the curls on the nape of his neck, “trust me, i know. my heart dropped to my ass when i first saw them, but i knew it wasn’t you.” 

“how’d you know?” 

“the rings,” you flushed, thinking about how crazy you must sound knowing these small details about him.

“shit, five star,” he whistled, surprised. there was a warmth in his chest that spread throughout the rest of his body at the idea of you paying attention to these things about him. “nothing can get past you, huh? i didn’t even notice that.”

“yeah, at least you know not to sneak around behind me because i’ll find out,” you teased, lacing your fingers together as you slowly made your way up the steps of the cabin. luke stood in his spot, pulling on your hand to get you to to turn around. you walked over to him, confused, “what’s up?” 

“y’know i wouldn’t think of doing that, right?” he asked, voice suddenly serious. “i would never do that to you.” 

your eyes softened as a wistful look appeared on your face. you kissed his cheeks, relishing in the feeling of luke wrapping his arms around your torso in a tight hug. you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, placing a feather-light kiss on his jugular, “yeah, yeah.” 

“‘m serious,” he pulled away, holding your face in his hands. he was staring at you intently, making sure that you were hearing his words. you never gave him an indication that you didn’t trust him, but luke knew that it was better to tell you these things straight up if he wanted to have a real relationship with you. he knew it takes a toll on the people he dates (not that he’s had any relationships like what he has with you) to see these bullshit stories online. if he was in your position, he knew the reassurance would help. luke placed a kiss on your forehead, “i wouldn’t do anything to mess this up if i can help it, five star.”

you let out a forced laugh, awkwardly shifting in his grasp, “yeah, given that my dad controls your contract, i know you wouldn’t.” 

luke frowned, “not because of that.” 

“uh huh,” you said, feeling too vulnerable right now. you didn’t know how to handle this situation, so you coped with humor, “he likes you so don’t worry, your contract extension is practically in the bag.” 

“y/n.” 

you tensed at luke’s use of your real name. he never called you by your name. he always called you by the nickname he gave you when he first met you. five star. you knew luke wasn’t in the mood to joke around. “luke, it’s fine.” 

“i don’t want to pick a fight,” he sighed, playing with the hem of your shirt, “but i just need to hear you say that you believe me when i say that. i wouldn’t cheat on you or do anything to make you feel like i ever would.” 

your voice shook as you spoke, “what if you’re just saying that because it’s still summer and we see each other every day? what’s gonna happen when i’m back in school and you’re out in the world traveling and living your rockstar life?” 

luke’s heart broke at your words. did you really think that he would forget about all of this once september rolled around? as if you didn’t consume his thoughts every day since he met you, as if he didn’t count down the minutes until he got to see you again when he was forced to be away from you because he had things to do, as if he didn’t have a sinking feeling in his stomach when you weren’t next to him. he was starting to think you didn’t understand just how deeply he felt about you even when you assured him that you did understand. 

“i’m not gonna lie, long distance is gonna be hard,” he said, “but we can figure it out. i know it.” 

“i never knew you were such an optimist, castellan.” 

luke laughed at that. if only you knew how many times he psyched himself out of making a move on you because of his own pessimism. it only changed recently, when he finally decided to say fuck it and go for it. “for you? always. i’d be stupid not to be. you’re a good thing, five star.” 

luke fucking castellan. you pressed your head into his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat against your face. he gave you a tight squeeze, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. he loved having you like this, all soft and cuddly with him like you didn’t want to let him go. he should be scared at how quickly he was falling for you, how attached he already felt. 

you kissed his lips again, pulling away with a smile, “so babe huh?” 

“babe, baby, sweetheart,” he mumbled, leaning over to kiss you again. “anythin’ you want.”

[cafeinthemoon]

King - Chapter IX

Chapter 9

Wordcount 3,4k

Title Misguided Behavior

Previous chapters

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8

Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 🖤

Warnings: Poseidon is his own warning; non explicit sex; mentions of deep waters and fear of drowning

Tagging @cloveradora @the-dumber-scaramouche @mikkies @sl33py-zer0 @nooneknows8976 (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A. Finally I'm getting the feeling that the story is moving forward! Yay! Here we have a small, yet important revelation about reader's past, and a peculiar confession from Poseidon, to say the least 😅 Then, a place I've waited so long to introduce to you: the Sea Library, which I'm sure would make the Beauty and the Beast's one seem modest in comparison haha And, finally, the appearance of a new, essential part of this drama as our reader tries to prepare herself for war...

Hope you enjoy this one, and sorry for making wait ^^

It was like laying on the beach, at the very point where the sand meets the sea, but having a block of marble to support your back instead.

That didn’t mean there was no comfort around you: the water was warm, and its warmth extended to the floor where you were; however, the heat that came from Poseidon’s body felt deeper. And this sensation only increased when you realized that this time things wouldn’t be like the wedding night: now, his mercy has reached its limit and no freedom to move or to breathe would be conceded to you so soon, for his arms squeezed you and his legs kept yours in place, his mouth over yours, making you unable to speak.

Knowing your own limitations, you didn’t even try.

This must be my punishment for the slap.

You closed your eyes, sensing your sight getting dark as a strange noise filled your ears. You never knew if your husband noticed this but, following what he said about keeping what belonged to him intact, he moved away from you, allowing you to fill your lungs with the hot air of the room right before you passed out.

But that was just the beginning.

Getting off you, he sent all the water back to the bathtub with a movement of his hand. You looked around and noticed that the spots touched by the water didn’t remain wet when the waves ceased and returned to the tank, which included your dress, tossed aside by him; you shouldn’t be surprised for witnessing the absolute control that the Lord of the Seas showed over such a small portion of water, but here you were, with your eyes wide open and a ridiculous gaping mouth.

And, of course, that didn’t go unnoticed by him, who chuckled as he took you in his arms and led you to the tub’s interior.

As he walked to the opposite side of the tub, you sensed his feet walking down the stairs on its bottom, and each stair that they touched, the water raised an inch and your heart skipped a beat. In an unconscious move, your body curled over itself on his lap.

Heavens, what he’s planning to do? Is he going to…

Your discomfort wasn’t enough for Poseidon to stop: when he reached the last stair and entered the deepest parts of the tub, he just kept walking inside the water with the same naturalness one would walk on the land, holding you bridal style.

At the point where the water covered his waist and your legs and back, he stopped and made a sudden move to release you into the water.

Something – perhaps the thing that some called the primitive, survival instinct – screamed inside you and forced a physical reaction: you wrapped your arms around Poseidon’s neck, looking away from the water, staring at the bathing area’s entry over his shoulder. Only when the rational side of your mind took over again you realized the shameful position you were put in: with your legs surrounding his waist, the soaked fabric of your underwear clinging to your skin – soaked with only water, you hoped – you were holding on to your husband so tight that you were sure you would’ve suffocated him if he was a human. In other occasions, you would’ve moved away from him immediately, but that time it would mean your death, so you ignored your hurt pride and stood there, trembling.

And the god’s mockery was the price you paid for your safeness.

– So... you cannot swim, dragonet? – he whispered in your ear, each word vibrating with the idea of the frail, rebel human finally bent down, depending on him; and, with all possible disdain, – Pathetic.

You were fighting to control your breath, your shivers and your voice all at once, trying not to reinforce the ridiculous depiction that was just imputed to you, but that was too much.

– Poseidon-sama… – you heard yourself whisper; however, you bit your tongue one second before it started begging him to not release you.

You felt his right arm tightening around your waist, as his left hand caressed the back of your head.

– Hm, what is it? Do you already regret challenging me in my own domain? Are you ready to retract yourself? – his lips left a brief kiss on your lobe – I am eager to find out how your voice sounds when you apologize...

In face of that provocation, what was left of your anger was shaken inside you, so you made no attempts to hold back your words.

– No… – your nails dug in the skin of his shoulders – You will drown me here before you hear me apologize, my Lord!

He laughed.

– Good to see you still have some fight in you, but are you sure about this? – his lips brushed your ear as he spoke – Even with the choppy, deep waters under you?

You sensed a strange movement in the water and gasped.

– You are a though one, more than I gave you credit for – Poseidon continued with his teasing, not hiding his diversion, until a slight change in his tone was sensed, for something awakened his curiosity – Still, it intrigues me: how can you not be able to swim? You were raised in a land where there is access to the sea. Have you never touched its waters?

Given that things have come to this point, it was useless to try and hide this from him now. You let out a sigh and confessed something that has been just a trivial fact about yourself until the moment you were taken to live in that underwater kingdom, when it became as embarrassing as a sin.

– I was raised away from the beach – you explained – My mother never loved the sea, so she would never allow me to come near it. Only after she passed away, I was able to go to the coast, but I always stood close to the sand. And, every time I’ve traveled with my father, we would always go through the land. Because he followed the instructions of my mother, my feet never touched the floor of a ship.

Somehow, speaking about this took off a weight from your shoulders and prepared you for whatever reaction your husband could have. When his verbal response came at last, it sounded more serious than you expected.

– This is the most personal thing you have ever told me about yourself, little dragonet. However, I cannot accept the idea that you never found your mother’s attitude strange, to say the least. How can it be that you have never questioned her? You, who did not think twice before defying me?

You swallowed. He was right, and you knew it – how could you never think of asking your mother about her reasons to stay away from the ocean? Was it a childhood trauma? A nightmare, a prophecy or something more mundane, like a distaste for the sea breeze? Or maybe you’ve tried to question her once or twice, but she simply avoided the theme and you forgot about it?

It is really strange now that I think about it. It’s like, before I was taken to his domains, the sea didn’t matter to me. There were days when I even forgot it exists.

Your silence before those questions was taken as a confirmation that none of this sat right to you, so he just continued to talk, more to himself than to you.

– Besides, I am not satisfied with the fact that you just told me these things in face of death – he held you tighter against himself – You are already mine, you understand? It is not fair that I must appeal to such ways every time I need an answer from you.

When your eyes started to burn, you shut them tight to avoid the tears... all in vain.

Then just don’t ask anything more from me.

– Fair? But how could there be any justice in this? – you started with a mumble, but your tone raised as your words came out – I was chosen to live here, but the choice was not mine! I never wanted to come to your domains! I never wanted to become yours! I never wanted to have this conversation! I never wanted any of this to happen...

A lump appeared in your throat, and you were unable to keep speaking. Suddenly, you felt tired, and your head just fell forward, leaning on your husband’s shoulder. His only response to that – not that you expected anything different – was silence.

It's like someone who watches a child throwing a tantrum. My anger and any of my other feelings mean nothing to him. Is this how a god should behave with us?

When you spoke again, your voice was an exhausted whisper.

– It is important for me to know… My entire reason to exist... it changed when you intervened in my fate, my Lord... I need to know why…

That time, you had a verbal answer from him. A clear, simple answer, but enough to make you gasp in incredulity.

– You still ask me why, my dragonet? The reason is obvious – Poseidon gave you a soft, long kiss on your hair – I love you.

Now, you couldn’t help but obey the impulse of moving away from him, frowning as you stared into his eyes, trying to find the slightest signs of mockery or insanity – and the scariest part of this is that you found none.

That’s not possible! He can’t be serious!

– I don’t believe you… – you mumbled, the sight of his traits blurry by your tears.

However, the god was impassible, as if convincing you of his honesty wasn’t a priority… and, indeed, it wasn’t.

– It does not matter if you believe it or not. It is true – he promptly replied – I love all the women I have taken as my wives, and you are not an exception. I do not touch people for whom I hold no love. But you… – you felt his hand caressing your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from your face – Despite the instabilities of your human heart, which often led you to a misguided behavior, I can not help but feel love for you.

You remembered Suriah’s words about his love for the women he brought to his house, as well as his dislike for rebel ones, and the possibility of this being true got you scared: following her logic, Poseidon’s love for you must have grown deep in an impossibly short amount of time.

But, well, even though you asked him to kill you, asked not to be impregnated, suggested that he treated his women with injustice and, finally, physically attacked him, he kept assuring you about his feelings, stating that it didn’t matter if you thought he was lying; besides, he has treated with you mercy in some sense: he agreed with your request and didn’t make you carry a child right in your first time with him; he treated you with gentleness after that; heavens, he even killed a man to protect your integrity.

It just didn’t make sense.

And how arrogant of him to dismiss my feelings as “misguided behavior”. Is this how he expects to win my affection?

– Like I said, I don’t believe you, Poseidon-sama – you slowly turned your face away from him, trying to stay out of his hand’s reach – You only feel desire for me, if most. It is not the same thing as love.

Despite your attempt to avoid it, his hand reached your face again, this time holding your chin and making you look into his eyes.

– To me, one does not exist without the other – was his reply – You may understand this in any way you want, but it does not erase the truth of my words…

That moment, you sensed a slow, uneasiness in the water around you. At the same time, your husband approached his mouth from yours, drowning you in a kiss before you had a chance to react.

And then, he moved away just enough to finish his sentence:

– …Neither the truth of my actions.

The agitation you noticed on the water went from subtle to clear, and as it raised until it covered your legs, still wrapped on his waist, you sensed it becoming warmer, as to follow the stream of emotions of its master: in each movement, each wave that touched your skin were the confirmation of his words and the extension of his feelings and thoughts, reaching for you with the same persistence as his mouth on your lips, your neck and your collar, and as his hands going through your body, freeing you from your underwear, making you ready for him.

And you just let him.

I was so willing to drown myself here and escape from him… what happened, then? If I don’t believe in his love, what am I doing here?

As if guessing your thoughts, his voice was heard again, bringing out those very questions.

– Where has your determination gone, dragonet? – he held your jawline, his lips brushing over yours – Have you finally seen the truth, or are you just tired?

Your face burned with that, but you didn’t deny him an answer.

It’s simple.

– No, my Lord…

I don’t believe in your love, but I do believe in your desire. And, because of this...

– It’s too late for me.

***

You were waking in silence through parts of the castle that looked familiar, both in an architectural and energetic sense, having a servant to accompany you.

Though they only happened one or two hours ago, the events of that morning seemed as distant as if they belonged to a remote past now, as much as that empty, long corridor where everything started seemed to be in another building on the other side of the kingdom – and you only hoped that you’d never find yourself anywhere near it again.

Moments after touching you in the bathtub, Poseidon took you out of the water and carried you to bed, leaving you there to rest, all by yourself, as he went to a small office he maintained inside those chambers without giving any explanations about what he intended to do or when he would return, and you, who just wanted to reach the castle’s Library before that day ended, were forced to wait until your husband decided to come back to the bed area and finally give you permission to leave the room, which didn’t happen until a long time.

While you waited, hidden inside the sheets, in the middle of that enormous bed, you recalled the things that happened between you since your arrival.

How could he be so sure that his actions were guided by love when all of them showed no regard for your individuality, your nature and your choices, that is, the least expected from a respectful, reasonable love? Heavens, you were taken away from your home, your family and the life you knew to be confined in the depths of the sea, among dozens of other women who were there only to serve one individual, a man who you’ve never met before and who expected compliance and docility from you above all things! What kind of love was that? Were all the other gods just like this?

Maybe the selkie, Melian, was right. This isn’t an appropriate place for humans to live. We’ve been distant from the gods for so long that it’s impossible to live in peace with them now. We don’t even share similar views on love.

Still... you couldn’t continued to say no to him.

At some point, you just let him hold, touch, take you, reaffirming those twisted feelings towards you which he called love, and even started to enjoy it, lured by the fantasy that they were, in fact, the feelings of a loving husband, and now this attitude had your senses and your judgment contaminated, and you saw yourself unable to wash him away; you kept revisiting the events of earlier, the attentions he gave you, his teasing, his caresses, his seductive whispers, and understood that you might have started developing a sort of addiction, so much that, when the next encounter with him happened – because it would happen – you would no longer be able to put up a fight, not even as a formality.

And the scariest part of this is that I’m already missing him. At least my body is. If only he was normal man… I could even say I’m falling in love.

As you walked, you crossed your arms upon your chest, adjusting the shawl as if you were feeling cold.

The servant glanced at you with a worried expression.

– Is everything alright, y/n-san?

You forced a smile on your face.

– Yes. Thank you.

You weren’t sure you convinced the servant of your well being, but were grateful for her to not insist on that conversation: suddenly changing the subject, she indicated a new direction in your path, stating that the Library wasn’t too far now.

– We just have to go to the end of this corridor and walk down a few stairs – she was saying – The Library’s doors are just ahead.

That information revived your moods, and in a minute or two you were standing before the wide, golden doors of the Sea Library. The servant pushed them by the knobs, two spheres with delicate figures of fishes surrounding them that moved like they were swimming in water as a response to the push, and the doors were opened at last.

You were marveled.

On the large hall of white marble that extended before you, imposing shelves of noble wood, with books of all colors and sizes that filled them up to down, occupied the majority of the space, creating hundreds of corridors through which you knew you could get lost if you just walked into them without trying and memorizing the way. The place, you noticed, was formed by at least three floors, connected between themselves by stairs of the same marble of the hall, leading to shelves even larger than those ones near you.

I could spend my entire life here, and there would be still books to read.

The servant’s voice at your right brought you back to reality.

– Do you need me to wait for you here, y/n-san?

You blinked twice. When you turned to the girl, you saw a clever smile on her lips.

– It’s impressive, isn’t it? – she whispered; and, glancing at the shelves, – You don’t know how privileged you are for being allowed to stay here.

Your throat tightened at those words, but you didn’t want to discuss this with her. You had a work to do. Answering her question, you told her that she could go without you, because you intended to stay there for a long time, and she left you right after, wishing you luck in whatever research you were going to start.

Once the doors were closed again and you found yourself alone with the books, you took your first step toward them… and realized you had no idea where to begin.

Stopped before the first shelf and stared at it with something close to fear. You tried to read the titles that were at your eyes’ height, but they were all written in languages you’ve never seen before, some of them seeming impossible to be adopted by a human group; you raised your hand to touch their spines, but stopped before your fingers touched them.

It was when the weight of your mission finally reached you.

Look at the size of this place… Only one year to work on my task would never be enough...

You looked around and, despite sensing your hopes fading, you started to walk through the shelves – and, apparently, this had a soothing effect in your heart, for in a few minutes you found yourself more comfortable than intimidated by those structures.

It’s like traveling through a big city. Scary and fun at the same time.

As well said by the servant, that was an impressive collection, and you wondered how long your husband has taken to gather all of them, if he remembered the first ones or if he has found some of them personally or delegated this task to his servants. You stopped in front of a shelf and sighed: you knew so little about him that all the inner debates you had while coming to the Library were nothing but pathetic.

I’ve been feeling so much for a stranger.

Your mind was making so much noise for nothing. You chuckled and turned away from those books, decided to explore the next shelf…

– A human being using the Tyrant’s Library to gather weapons? Finally, some diversion coming our way.

Chapter 10

[thistlecatfics]

ALSO SNAPE. older teens/young adult period is such a ✨fun time✨in his life! so many possibilities! pre DE baby snape era… SWM era… immediately following voldemort’s defeat… right after harry begins hogwarts… he totally wouldn’t, but aaaagh i would LOVE to hear him unpack that first potions lesson with harry in therapy lmfao.

… also thanks to the snames post i now can’t help but imagine james and snape in therapy following SWM. i feel like james would be a much more… workable? client than sirius, especially if his parents were encouraging! would be a fun fic i’m just saying 👀

Ok he is the last one for the night because I was just like "oh I'll jot down an idea or two" and then I look up and it's suddenly 20 minutes later.

Adult Snape -

His character is like… DEFINED by not being in therapy. He (or at least part of him) is constantly living in the past and in each traumatic moment, and he does. not. move on. He survives. He does not heal. He is not interested in healing. 

Could you imagine Dumbledore trying to force him to go to therapy as a Hogwarts employee? LMAO. Snape would be like “You first, bitch.” 

Though I would love for Dumbledore to force him on a sabbatical where he did an intensive residential trauma treatment program for six months then six months to do potions research somewhere with no children and no one to ask him questions, and it would be the reward for completing the program. (That and a year off from teaching first through fifth years.) (I hc he actually likes teaching 6th and 7th years since he can be selective about them.) 

(I’ve never worked in non-substance use inpatient so I can’t say much about it and it would absolutely be a referral. Dumbledore’s like “so I have this guy I want in therapy…” and I’m like “... have you considered residential for him?”)

Adult Snape and I would not work well together. It would not be worth trying. (Though it’s easy to think of him as an old man but he was in his early 30s in the books lol.) 

Also if he’s being forced into therapy as an adult, he would absolutely remain silent the entire time as a test of wills with the therapist. 

Ok but younger Snape??

He only goes to therapy for Lily. Let’s imagine pre-SWM, Lily is like “I love you but I no longer like you. Go to therapy. Work on yourself. Then maybe we can be friends again.” 

Self-esteem!!! Identity! Identity in a social justice lens!! 

Definitely a lot of praise for his intelligence, but also slowly naming other values too. It would totally be a situation where I’m like “It’s ok if you disagree, but I think you have inherent worth, just as you are, separate from your intelligence. You don’t have to believe me, but I believe it. I’ll hold onto that belief until you’re ready to hold it too.” and he’d roll his eyes. Lol. 

Unconditional positive regard again as the key therapeutic factor!!

Being really careful to avoid any impulse to “fix” him and just bear witness and build trust and slowly co-create space where he can be honest about his feelings and hurt. 

As a teenager, I can’t imagine he ever mentions his family at all. I think it’s purely about his life at Hogwarts - he keeps those worlds so separate. (One of those situations where the therapist is immediately like “oh your family is FUCKED” but waits for the client to give an opening.) 

Ok post SWM???

James -

Also, yes, you’re absolutely right James would be an easier client to work with in many ways. Basically, he has a secure attachment style from parents who were able to meet a decent chunk of his emotional needs as a child, and so he is able to trust people more easily, which means therapeutic work can go deeper faster since the trust building stage is much shorter. 

I think the hard part for him in therapy would be motivation – why is he seeking therapy? He’s forced to by the school? He’d be absolutely in denial that he did anything wrong. 

I have a colleague at my old job who worked with students who were found responsible by the Title IX Officer for violating sexual harassment/violence rules (but not expelled), and I think I’d want James to go through that pretty structured program. I think I’d be too easy on him when the necessary step would really be around taking responsibility for his own actions (within a very complicated situation in which he’s not entirely in the wrong!) 

I also think he’d work better with a male therapist but maybe that’s just my bias. I’d want him to work with someone who feels more comfortable pushing him, and that’s just not my vibe. 

Snape post SWM?? 

He ABSOLUTELY shuts down. Talk to this bloody shrink about what happened?? Absolutely not. 

His main (only authentic?) relationship was just cut away (his fault, but still, it would be intensely difficult.) 

I headcanon that he really dives into dark magic during this time – not so much the Death Eaters but only Death Eaters as they are vehicles for the opportunity to explore the Dark Arts, an area where he can feel in control and powerful and so self-soothe. 

I would try to engage with him through magical theory and the Dark Arts and whatever his main interest in the present was (no judgment, confidentiality made clear), and see if we could use the magic he was creating and experimenting with as a vehicle for considering himself and his own internal experiences and feelings and needs. 

He’d be the type of client where I end up binging research after I see them to be able to keep up with them and try to be able to use it as an in for therapeutic work. 

I do think he really wants an audience for his experimentation, and so he might eventually start to enjoy talking about what he works on and we would SLOWLY build that therapeutic rapport. 

It might work, it might not, but I’d hold fast to my optimism even when it was hard. (And he would make it very hard.)

(And canonically, I think there just wouldn't be enough time to build that rapport. He'd join the Death Eaters and stop going to therapy before we get the opportunity to do some real work.)

[xadoheandterra]

Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Jak takes a trip up to the power station. He is not pleased.

​“Bring him home, Jak.”

Jak breathed out heavily as he stared at the wreck that was the Industrial District. Daxter, on his shoulder, remained eerily silent as they looked out at the wreckage. Half-on-fire zoomers still littered the ground alongside metal head bodies, puddles of dark eco, and elfin corpses alike. When Ashelin and Torn flew Jak and the others back into the city nobody got a really good look at the damage except for the Stadium, Main Town, and the Waterfront. He focused on the immediate, and by the time they’d gotten back anyway most of the cleanup they already found accomplished. Now Jak couldn’t help but wonder if putting off this expedition for so long merely meant he attempted to hide from what he knew to be there.

Nobody mentioned the other districts, really, and Jak doubted they’d even want to. Not if the Industrial district looked like this. Jak fought down the urge to flinch and instead picked his way around the zoomers and corpses. Each time he passed a pool of dark eco he could feel his lungs burn as his body subconscious absorbed everything within reach.

“You gonna be okay?” Daxter asked quietly to his ear, but in the silence the words were frighteningly loud.

“Yeah,” Jak replied through gritted teeth.

“My fur itches,” Daxter complained.

“My skin burns,” Jak said back, and then they lapsed into silence. “We gotta do this.”

“Vin deserves it,” Daxter agreed, and ducked his head.

“They all deserve it,” Jak countered as he stepped around a mangled corpse pinned underneath a zoomer.

“What do you think the slums looks like?” Daxter asked, voice a bit faint. “The water slums?”

“I don’t want to think about it, Dax,” Jak whispered.

They continued the trek in silence, and Jak wondered how many people knew the state of the rest of Haven. Did Ashelin know the extent of the destruction? Did Torn? How many survivors were stuck behind walls and barricades of red, green, and yellow? Jak clenched his hands tight around his gun and girt his teeth. This was his city for better or worse, now, and nobody thought fit to tell him a thing. They were more worried about his knowledge of the political scene.

“Shit, Jak,” Daxter breathed as they inched their way up to the second level. Whole sections of the walkway appeared to have collapsed, probably from some abnormally large metal bug. Jak sucked in a sharp breath and picked his way across the crumbling path. He made sure to set each jump down as gingerly as he could, and swallowed heavily at each ruined wall and zoomer.

“Yeah,” Jak said hoarsely.

“D’you think anyone’s trapped?” Daxter questioned as they slipped around a still on-fire Hellcat—how they remained on fire Jak didn’t want to know. All of the flames by now should be burnt out, right? “D’you think the fighting’s even stopped here?”

“I don’t know, Dax,” Jak replied. “I don’t know.”

“This’ gotta change.”

“Yeah.”

Toward the last stretch before the power station, and Jak wondered how they even got the communications tower back up and running if the Industrial district still looked this bad, Jak monkeyed himself over a few construction beams that helped hold the walkway up in the first place, and slipped around yet another crashed zoomer. His ears twitched, some sort of faint sniffling sound—a gas leak, or water leak, or something—caught his attention.

“You hear that?” Jak asked lowly. He crouched down and shifted his feet so that they were a bit wider as his fingers adjusted the mod on the gun.

“Sounds like cryin’,” Daxter said back. “You think there’s a kid?”

“I was thinking more like a gas leak,” Jak muttered and carefully stepped around the zoomer. He nudged the wreck with his gun and winced at the unholy sound it unleashed, which almost drowned out the frightened scream. Daxter bolted from his shoulder and Jak jerked with a shout of, “Dax!”

“Jak there’s a kid!” Daxter hollered back from the hole he’d wiggled into. Jak cursed loudly and quickly holstered the gun.

“Alright, alright,” he breathed out sharply and tried to shove down the twist of the dark eco, the rage at this mess from overwhelming him. “Kid okay? Kid hurt? C’mon Dax, speak to me.”

“Scraped and banged up,” Daxter called back. “Broken wrist? Arm? I can’t tell. S’too dark.”

Jak scrubbed a hand down his face and closed his eyes. His breath shuddered and he tried to think of someone, anyone, that could be a calming influence. His mind kept on jumping over to Ashelin and Torn and the Council and possibly ripping people a whole new one. He grit his teeth.

“Okay,” Jak said. “Okay. Can you get the kid out?”

“Maybe?”

“Get ‘em over to a zoomer,” Jak instructed. “One of the wrecks, we’ll salvage it. Or something. I’ll check out the Power Station, find Vin. We’ll…figure something out.” Jak cursed. “Precursors!” He stomped over to the door to Vin’s Power Station a bit unneeded, but it helped burn off the twisted feeling beneath his skin.

Jak flexed his fingers and wanted to curse as the tips burned with the same intensity of his mouth. He didn’t doubted that his nails were now blackened, or that his canines elongated. He didn’t even question it, because the sparks of dark eco that leaped off of him as he reached toward the rubble that blocked the doorway told him enough already. He could feel his head throb, feel the burn of horns that itched beneath his skull. Jak let out a frightening roar as he tossed aside what blocked the doorway, eyes dark as pitch. He heaved, his arms and legs shook. Off in the distance he could hear a resounding crash and winced—he wondered if he’d hit a survivor? Perhaps killed someone again without thinking, without realizing—Jak hissed between his teeth and gripped at his ears—his scarf prevented him from actually grabbing his hair—and pushed the burn down.

Not now. Not now precursors damn it all. It felt like a thousand ants raced along his veins and muscular tissue. Each breath felt like he breathed in gravel. Jak shuddered and moved toward the door—he couldn’t lose control here. Outside, outside of Haven, away from people maybe. Maybe. The Forest no doubt—he could find metal bugs aplenty there and truly let loose, truly let everything he forced himself to seal away now free. With that silent promise Jak shouldered the rest of the way into the Power Station and had to stop.

Metal heads, metal bugs, dark eco by what felt like tankards. Jak stumbled, dizzy. The mere scent of it all so overwhelmingly painful it forced him to his knees. He let out a faint keening cry and tried to rub his hands over his face, tried to ignore the way his body felt bloated and ballooned around his skeleton. Jak bit his lip, tried to focus on the pain and past the mess—past the burnt out consoles and the sparking electronics.

Vin. He came here for Vin. Jak breathed in sharply, coughed hard enough to burst a blood vessel in his throat and spat out what little blood gathered in his mouth. He shoved aside the metal heads nearest to him and looked hard for wherever Vin could be. He had to be here somewhere—somewhere—

A boot. Jak reached blindly for it, shoved away the two metal heads that blocked his view, and unearthed pants, a leg, an arm—Jak grit his teeth. He shoved away what he could and—there, there Vin lay.

“H-Hey buddy,” Jak mumbled. “Sorry it took…so long.” He didn’t know what Vin wore on his head, but it looked tacky and the design bulky. Jak figured it for some kind of last defense Vin made, not that it did any good once the shield wall went down. “Gonna…take you back home, okay?”

Despite the ruined state of the room, electronics, and the numerous corpses Vin looked almost pristine. Even with the tears in his clothes and the obvious killing blow Jak couldn’t find anything that even suggested the metal heads got any further than just hitting him the once. He breathed out heavily and grasped at Vin’s corpse, before he hailed it up and onto his shoulder. Exhausted, dizzy, and definitely oversaturated with more dark eco than he could remember getting stuffed into his body for a long time, Jak stumbled out of the power station.

He stumbled all the way over to the zoomer Daxter hotwired, carefully arranged Vin in the backseat, behind the sniffling kid, and picked his way back toward the Palace.

Ashelin came tearing out of the Palace the minute Jak pulled up in the stolen and hotwired zoomer. She looked infuriated, but Jak ignored her in favor of the kid in the front seat, and Vin in the back. He helped Daxter get the kid out of the zoomer, and then reached over and hauled Vin up onto his shoulder.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Ashelin demanded. Jak brushed past her with Vin, one hand gently guiding the trembling child while Daxter held the kid’s uninjured arm and chatted soothingly away. “Five days Jak! I’ve been looking everywhere for you for five days and don’t you dare ignore me!”

Jak slipped through the open doors to the Palace, carefully laid Vin down on one of the couches in the open foyer that served both as a trophy room for Baron Praxis back when he had control, and a receiving room that intimidated guests. The woman behind the front counter gasped at the sight of the corpse, and at the way Jak carefully handled it. Not even a second after making sure Vin’s body lay comfortably did the elevator doors open and Zoe come tearing through them faster than anyone her age should. Jak looked up at her, still ignoring Ashelin’s continued tirade, and tiredly spoke up for the first time since he unearthed Vin’s corpse.

“I brought him home, Zoe,” Jak breathed out. Ashelin fell completely silent when he spoke. “Like I promised.”

Zoe stumbled as she slowed down, and then without heed to her clothes or how it might look to others, she threw herself over towards Vin’s corpse and let herself cry. Jak closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and breathed out sharply through his nose. When he opened his eyes he directed them right to Ashelin, and she could see the purple bleeding black that began to overtake them.

“We need to talk,” Jak said, and his voice sounded a bit rougher. “Now, Ashelin.”

Ashelin swallowed heavily, glanced to Vin and the sobbing Matriarch that named Jak King back in the council chambers almost a week ago, and without a word promptly turned on heel and headed toward the elevators. Jak nudged the boy at his side along and gestured to the receptionist calmly.

“Lyra, get a hold of Samos and bring him here,” Jak said, eyes hard as he tugged his scarf off from his head. “Have a couple of packs of green eco delivered upstairs with him.”

Lyra the receptionist nodded quickly and Jak followed Ashelin into the elevator with the kid and Daxter. Ashelin stood stiff off to the side, and she looked fit to burst but kept her mouth shut. Jak felt grateful for that; he knew he looked frightening at the moment. With forced calm Jak settled against the back rail of the elevator, watched the doors slid shut, and waited. It didn’t even take a minute before Ashelin whirled around.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me that half the city remained in ruins?” Jak said slowly. He side-eyed Ashelin who looked like she swallowed a lemon for a moment. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that half the city hadn’t been cleaned up?”

“We’ve been busy—” Ashelin started.

“Going over useless crap,” Jak spat. “How many people are trapped, Ashelin, without food, water, or supplies?” He turned fully this time, teeth ground together. “How many injured? How many dead?”

“Jak that isn’t—”

“You made me King!”

Ashelin jerked back, and the kid at Jak’s side whimpered. Jak breathed out slowly, closed his eyes, and forced the burn of eco back. He clenched one hand at his side and kept the other relaxed enough to rub soothing circles against the kid’s back.

“You made me King, Ashelin,” Jak said softer. When he opened his eyes they were barely tinged purple. “You put me in charge of this entire city. Do you think I care about learning the most prominent families when there are still people dying out there?”

“We drop supplies regularly,” Ashelin said. She kept her voice soft, almost soothing. “Shipments of food, water, anything we can spare.”

“Spare?” Jak shook his head. “Out of all the districts which ones do you think were hit the hardest? Main Town? The noble houses? The Waterfront? The Stadium? Or was it the Industrial district? The Bazaar? The slums?”

Ashelin swallowed.

“How many people are trapped in buildings half collapsed, starving and drying from disease and dark eco poisoning? How many children?” Jak questioned, lips pressed thin. “The shield wall hasn’t even been fully repaired yet, how many metal heads still roam streets? How many people die while you force me to learn useless facts about a government that sits on its laurals?”

“Jak…” Ashelin picked her words carefully. “You have…you can’t make changes so easily. There’s protocols…the council has to approve things—I have a point to this, Jak. I do.”

Jak turned away.

“Get together the Underground, their KG minders, and start cleaning up the other districts,” Jak said. He completely ignored Ashelin’s words. “Starting with the industrial sections. We need that shield up and fully functional. Move refugees to the Waterfront and Stadium, and Main Town.”

“Jak you can’t—”

“Are you in charge of the KG or not, Lady Praxis?” Jak demanded sharply and Ashelin fell silent. “Am I not your King?” She swallowed, the doors to the elevator opened, and Jak carefully ushered the kid out. “Go and start recovery efforts. We’ve wasted enough time.”

“But what will we—”

“I’ll handle it.”

Ashelin shoved herself toward the elevator doors before they could close.

“How?!” she demanded. “How will you handle it?”

Jak paused, then glanced back at her. “You have three hours to get the KG and the Underground moving. In three hours everyone from the Sage lines will meet here for an emergency session. Am I clear?”

“But—”

“Am I clear, Ashelin?” Jak demanded, tone a bit sharper, and Ashelin jerked.

“Yes,” she bit out. Jak nodded, turned back around, and led the kid toward his rooms. He kept the careful façade of calm the rest of the way. There was way too much to do, right now, and first priority was to make sure the kid was healed up and had a place to go. He’d deal with everything else—and whether they listened—after that.

Ashelin stomped into her rooms within the Palace, a veritable cloud of rage storming around her. She breezed past the couch where Torn lounged, face drawn and tired as he stared at the television without really seeing it. She practically stomped all the way to her office and slammed the door shut with a loud bang. On the couch Torn pulled his hands over his face, twisted around, and got to his feet.

“Ashe?” Torn called. He leaned his back against the office door and knocked. “Ashe?” He could hear a thump, and the door rattled a bit. Torn sighed. “Don’t throw shit at the door, Ashe.”

“Fuck off!”

Torn groaned. “Ashelin what is going on?” The door shook again, and this time Torn could hear something shatter. Within the office Ashelin cursed, and wisely Torn shifted from the path of the doorway just in time for a knife to slice through it. “Ashelin what the hell is going on?”

For a moment, silence, and then the door yanked open and Ashelin stared at Torn with fury. The red of her eyes almost twisted with the eco Torn knew resided within her very blood, and Torn wanted to grimace. Out of everyone that he or Ashelin knew only a small handful of people could get her this worked up, and given the way things recently worked out Torn could bet on at least two people who pissed Ashelin off.

“Where is he?” Torn asked, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t even dressed for this shit right.

“In his rooms,” Ashelin ground out.

“And what did he do?” Torn asked. Besides disappear for five days. Ashelin stared at Torn for a long moment, then closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Torn relaxed the slightest bit; if Ashelin was trying to calm herself then whatever it was definitely meant good things down the road.

That didn’t mean of course whatever got her pissed wasn’t good for the immediate situation.

“I have been commanded to move out the Underground and the KG,” Ashelin said, and her teeth were grit together.

Torn breathed out heavily and closed his eyes. “Well,” he said tiredly, “it was only a matter of time before he found out.”

“We don’t have the manpower for a rescue!” Ashelin practically shrieked. Torn jerked away from her and frowned.

“We don’t have the manpower because over half of our forces are still trapped and in need of that rescue, Ashe.” Ashelin’s mouth clicked shut. “You and I both know that we should have taken care of the other districts over a week ago.”

“But the council—” Ashelin protested.

“The council only cares for its own interests,” Torn pointed out. “Ashe, you know this.”

Ashelin looked away and scowled.

“Are you upset he gave you an order, or are you upset you couldn’t get this done yourself?” Torn quarried, one eyebrow raised.

“Shut up, Torn,” Ashelin grumbled. Torn smirked and Ashelin punched him in the arm. “Help me get the word out. I’ve got less than three hours.”

Torn blinked. Jak put a time limit on this? That the Commander hadn’t expected. Cautiously he asked, “Why?”

“Jak’s called an emergency session for the Sage lines,” Ashelin breathed out slowly. “All remaining direct descendants are required to attend.”

Torn nodded. If anything it made sense, although he wondered how Jak knew to even call for an emergency session. Ashelin hadn’t gotten around to discussing what emergency sessions entailed, or the reasons to even call on them yet as far as Torn knew. He cokced his head as he thought about that, and then as the reason for the session abruptly clicked. Torn wanted to laugh.

“Fuck, Mar, no wonder the kid doesn’t want to listen to political ramblings,” he said as he scrubbed his hand through his hair.

Ashelin, halfway back into her office, turned around. “What does that mean?!”

“Ashe, he knows Zoe,” Torn said with a snort. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. Mar.” Ashelin blinked, took a second to think it over, then cursed.

“Why didn’t you tell me this, Torn!?” she demanded, decided it wouldn’t be worth it to have the argument when she had work to do, and turned around to finish fishing out the jury-rigged communications system that’d gotten buried.

“I didn’t think of it,” Torn protested. “Mar, I didn’t even realize how much like King Damas Jak even looked until after I finished up his hair. Put him in front of Zoe, someone who knew King Damas as a kid?” In retrospect the whole thing was actually obvious, but Torn couldn’t fault himself for not knowing. King Damas had been ousted when he was a kid and he could barely remember what the last monarch looked like—almost all materials on him had been removed. Plus Torn’s duties kept growing—keep Jak safe, deal with the emergency protocols and responses for the KG and the Underground, help with rescue operations—so he couldn’t be aware of everything.

“Fine! I wasted a week then!”

Torn rolled his eyes and moved back over toward the couch. He picked up his jacket and the breathing apparatus that attached to it, and calmly began to shrug the clothing back on. “Do you want me to say sorry?”

“Torn, just get the word out!”

“Yes ma’am,” Torn replied sarcastically. He slipped out the door before Ashelin could say anything, fingers already tightening the jacket closed. He shook his head; Jak never ceased to amaze him on the amount of trouble he got into.

[cksmart-world]

SMART BOMB

The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

By Christopher Smart

June 25, 2024

TOP 10 WAYS TO STAY COOL IN SUMMER

1 – Run sprinklers under your trampoline.

2 – Put ice cubes in your money belt.

3 – Eat lots of spicy-hot brazed pork belly.

4 – Get a neck fan or a pair of pet hummingbirds.

5 – Keep your deodorant in the refrigerator for cool pits.

6 – Fill your iPhone spritzer with mint tea and gin.

7 – Stop cooking pot stickers and hush puppies.

8 – Take a jar of pimento olives from the frig and put one up each nostril.

9 – Soak your feet while reading “The Zen Monkey and the Lotus Flower.”

10 – And the #1 way to beat the heat: Pick a fight with your spouse right before bedtime — to keep from sleeping next to a hot body.

STATE TO FEDS: 'UP YOURS'

Washington is always passing laws and implementing regulations and here in Utah we've had a gutful. It's government overreach pure and simple. We're into God and Jesus and beehives and we know how to discriminate. Take Title IX for example. A long, long time ago Nixon came up with Title IX so young women could get a fair shake in school sports and other programs — it says no to discrimination on the basis of sex — or states lose federal funding for education. Now the fairies in the Biden Administration have extended Title IX to protect transgender students from discrimination, as though they deserve freedom and liberty, too. Well, those people need to read The Bible because God made every person a certain way on purpose and they should stay that way. If not, everyone gets all mixed up on which restroom to use and it really screws up fashion. Utah lawmakers want to avoid, at all costs, a revival of the kilt. With the new Utah Constitutional Sovereignty Act, affectionately known by lawmakers as the 'Up Yours' law, the Legislature can declare a federal law or regulation stupid and unconstitutional and pretend it doesn't exist. It's called “Freedom,” you liberal, communist whiners. We can eat our cake and have federal funding too, no matter what Marie Antoinette said.

THE 10 COMMANDMENTS ARE TRUMP'S FAVORITE ONES

Hey Wilson, did you ever hear this American thing about separation of church and state. So apparently they don't teach that in school any more. “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.” Yes Wilson, that's the First Amendment to The Constitution. But down in Louisiana the governor just signed into law a regulation requiring the Ten Commandments be displayed in every public school classroom on account of lots of “Christians” are saying this is a Christian nation and to hell with Jews and Muslims and atheists and everyone else. And what a coincidence, Donald Trump agrees. “I love the 10 Commandments,” he said to a group of influential evangelical Christians last week. “Has anyone read the ‘Thou shalt not steal’? I mean, has anybody read this incredible stuff?” Funny he chose that one instead of, “Thou shall not commit adultery.” But hey, no one's perfect. At least that's what Christian Trumpers say. Move over Moses, a lot of those evangelicals believe Trump was heaven sent. Apparently a lot of Mormons do to. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Post script — That's going to do it for another sizzling week here at Smart Bomb where we keep track of polygamy so you don't have to. Hold on to your jeans Wilson 'cause this could make you jump: Joseph Smith, the founder of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was not a polygamist. We warned you. The earth-shattering news comes from noted religiologist Matthew Bowman in The Salt Lake Tribune. “In the past few years, popular YouTube channels, podcasts and documentaries have been spreading the story among Latter-day Saints,” he says. But hold on to your “Pearls of Great Price,” because most of the evidence points to something different — between 1839 and 1844 in Nauvoo, Illinois, Smith secretly married some three dozen women — although he lived only with Emma Hale Smith. His secret leaked and he was soon killed in the summer of 1844, Bowman says. In 2014, church leaders confirmed Smith's polygamy. Smith's successor, Brigham Young, made no secret of the practice taking 56 wives. You heard right Wilson, fifty six! Fun Fact — Some converts to Mormonism in other countries weren't told by missionaries that Smith was a polygamist. Oops, slight oversight. Well, you know, it's hard to remember every little detail.

OK Wilson, do you and the guys know any Mormon hymns? You know, like “Give Said The Little Stream” or “Put Your Shoulder To The Wheel?” No? Well it seems like we ought to come up with something to fit in with or polygamy and 10 Commandments motif. So wake up the band and give us your best shot:

To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time to every purpose under heaven A time to be born, a time to die A time to plant, a time to reap A time to kill, a time to heal A time to laugh, a time to weep To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down A time to dance, a time to mourn A time to cast away stones A time to gather stones together To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time to every purpose under heaven A time of love, a time of hate A time of war, a time of peace A time you may embrace A time to refrain from embracing To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time to every purpose under heaven A time to gain, a time to lose A time to rend, a time to sew A time for love, a time for hate A time for peace, I swear it's not too late!

(Turn! Turn! Turn! — The Byrds)

[throwaway-yandere]

*puts on clown makeup* pls consider yandere gorou and itto maybe im reading too much into the ayato fic but was it a tease for those two or

Huehue I'm actually considering that! Gorou would be VERY fun to write, I have a soft spot for his type of yandere. (Believe me, I had so many ideas for cat!ayato but i had to scrap them because it wouldn't fit with the flow of the story ;;;-;;;. Gorou was supposed to be a wholesome secret admirer of yours and Kokomi is his number one supporter! The second half was going to be under kokomi's point of view, where she watches Ayato eat her friend. But switching it up to Heizou's POV makes more sense because it establishes that Ayato have already taken a lot of victims/rivals if a student detective is hunting him down–)

Though to be quite honest with you, my brainrots on yandere!itto isn't all that serious. I don't think I can write him as a very intimidating yandere like cat!ayato since I believe his "himbo"ness is what sells his character the most, but we'll see 👀

However, I don't think I can promise that I'll post fics of gorou and itto atm. I was actually writing a yandere prof!albedo fic before I got a cat!ayato request

I know this sounds REALLY BAD for the reader out of context but yeah! For now I don't have plans yet for yandere!gorou and yandere!itto ehe! Someday, someday! I'll get back to you!

[juminly]

Ruminations of A Dreamer - Part IX (Viktor x F!Reader)

Title: The Kiss. Summary: Just like the title says. This is the story of your first kiss with Viktor. ♥ Series Masterlist –♥– “Y/N, I-” Viktor stuttered, the only thing halting him from moving away was the firm grip you had on his tie. He had been as quiet as he could have been, his kiss was soft, a transient glimpse of the simple contentment birthed by such a minor display of affection, a ghostly touch that shouldn’t have woken you unless… you had been awake the entire time. The thought had his eyebrows raised in surprised contemplation then furrowing at the prospect of being caught in an act that he wished to keep as a secret, a memory he locked in his heart and cherished at all times. "If you're going to kiss me, Viktor. Do it right." Using all the courage to will those words out of you, it had been about time that you did. Yet, when this moment came, a moment you’ve been waiting for, for too damn long, they left your lips so effortlessly and the look on Viktor’s face. Gone were the days of holding back, hesitation fuddling you at each step you took towards the man your heart beat so hard for. It was about time that you spoke your mind without censoring the immensity of your feelings or wants. His slim visage contorting right before your eyes while his expression morphed into all of the possible emotions that could be physically expressed by a human. You really couldn't help but giggle as his lips pursed into a pout, in an adorably sulky gesture that he most probably had no idea he was doing. The fact that this sweet man had absolutely no control over how much his facial expressions revealed made him all the more endearing to you. Especially now when you’ve caught him in a so-called ‘compromising’ position that you favoured way too much and your face was clear to show that.

“What is it, Viktor?” You smiled softly as your dozy eyes searching his face expectantly, taking in the subtle blush that tainted his cheek when on the other end, his mind was spiralling into the realm of overdrive where the current event had absolutely not been on his radar or on the spectrum of possibilities he thought he would find himself in. “Do you not want to kiss me?” “I- '' The handsome man you just couldn’t think of as a friend any longer stammered, ambers darting around anywhere but you frantically until they resolutely settled on yours. He could try to escape this burning question, a fated consequence to the unrelenting sensation he felt when he thought of you, this niggling magnetic pull that he wrestled futilely just as he was now. “It is a thought that has not left my mind ever since I’ve danced with you, Y/N.” It wasn’t that Viktor was running away from this undeniable fact, he feared that his inexperience would cause him to fumble through the burning embers of your bond that would soon blaze into ardent flames.

Every part of him vibrated with an inexorable need to draw you near, to hold you close and have every part of him be flush with yours. His solemn voice confessed with unshakable certainty, your name rolling off his tongue as if it were a saccharine delicacy. A taste that he yearned to have in his mouth.

Just a taste of you.

“Are you sure?” You teased him playfully, pulling on his tie, the sudden motion evoking a shaky gasp passing through his thin lips, the barely-there distance that separated you slowly closing. “Because your face says something else. You’re kinda giving me mixed signals here.” The hint of laughter in your voice helped alleviate a bit of the nervousness you felt, knowing that your cheeks had turned into the pinkest of blushes, the beautiful sound reassuring him once again that you weren’t the least bit upset by the kiss he stole from you.

If he couldn’t see the way your lips were hooked into a smile ever since he did so, if he couldn’t see that you were over the moon and fought for every sliver of composure you could muster, every ounce of strength that stopped you from becoming a stuttering mess, then he was blind. Not that he hadn’t been oblivious to the truth behind the series of signs he had picked up on, over the course of what you called your ‘friendship’.

“I don’t know what to say about that.” The way Viktor sputtered his words, a light chuckle hanging on the edge of them had you both relaxing just a smidge, leaning a bit closer to one another in the process. While his love struck rumination persisted and your bashfulness could always be an impediment for your forthcoming and evident revelation, it was about time either of you put a stop to your foolishness. “Don’t talk.” With one of your hands cradling the side of his face, gently tracing the fine lines of his jaw while you reached up with your other hand, brushing your index between his eyebrows, smoothing the knot between them like you would to soothe a kitten. It was when his confused self caught on to what you were trying to do, those expressive and endearing eyes of his gawking at you with a charm that you only saw in him; that you had stopped.  Slipping your hand to cradle the other side of his face, leaning close enough for the tip of your nose to brush against his, your touch as soft and faint as a gentle breeze blowing past him, a quick flash of pink had Viktor’s eyes finally train down your face, swallowing audibly as he watched you licking your lips just a breath away from his. Your actions were not only inviting, they spoke the volumes that you kept hidden inside you, all the love and affection brimming from you, screaming to be released; resonating with volumes of his own. Together? They would form an omnibus dedicated to the foolishness of two lovesick ‘friends’ dawdling around a truth they had been blinded to. But no more. “Just kiss me.” An order. A siren’s call. An undeniable desire and need. Whatever it had been, your lips met halfway, carefully moving against each other at first, fervency pouring into the soft sweetness you shared as the two of you broke the chains of caution that held you back. There was no tip-toeing around the fact that you were both head over heels for each other, there was no denying that you were mad for each other. Both his arms wrapped around your waist, hugging your small form closer to him while you held his face tightly. This is where he wanted to be, what he had wanted to happen. To embrace you, to feel and to express the love between you. Viktor knew of the premise of romance, love, affection but in that moment, he was experiencing it, gathering empirical evidence which only points to one simple truth. Viktor was utterly, deeply, undeniably, most certainly, in love with you. Finally, breathlessly breaking away, you immediately hid your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the smell of him, his hand smoothing soothing circles on your back. Whether it was for you or for him, he had no idea but it felt good and it felt right, so he was just going to keep doing it. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me for so long, Viktor.” You admitted shyly, your voice coming out as a squeak while the deepest flush crept on your cheeks, your hands hanging on to his tie as if it were your lifeline, the only thing that kept you from your heart giving out from happiness and embarrassment. He wanted to see you as you expressed yourself to him, he longed to understand how your reciprocated feelings affected you as they affected him. Only for you to feel him hook his hand under your chin, tilting it up for you to see that he was not in a better state than you were. But the smile you had was mirrored on his handsome features and the look in his eyes was one that you have been longing for so long. “And I’ve been thinking about more than just the taste of your lips.” His thumb experimentally glided over your soft lips, the curve of his lips curling up into a loving smile while he took the moment to enjoy studying your face. “More?” Damn your vocal chords for giving away just how ecstatic you were. The thought of him wanting to have ‘more’ with you was enough to drive you into a frenzy. How many times, endless nights and daydreams, have you thought of the things you could share with him. It was hard for you to tame the excitement buzzing through you, a swarm of butterflies flying in

your chest and bunnies leaping around. It was practically a zoo in there. “A lot more.” His whisper lost in your mingled breath, his lips tentatively brushing against yours this time, savouring the soft imprint of your softness against him, his tongue sweeping between them while you welcomingly pried them open with a dreamy sigh which made him smile into the kiss. You really couldn’t wait to know what ‘more’ was, what it could be and what it entailed. Your body thrummed with every strong beat of your heart, erratic with each pulse as the man you had become so deeply in love with kissed you with gentleness that brought tears to your eyes, handling you with the utmost delicacy, as if you were the most precious and fragile of treasures. The soft whimper escaping you enunciated a muffled grunt from Viktor as your tongues lapped passionately in exploration of your newfound… love. Ardour flowing in his veins, one of his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your chest towards him tightly, engulfing you in the warmth his body had to offer while his hand poised at the back of your neck, gently caressing your nape and sending the most pleasurable of shivers up and down your spine. Ah, the way your body quivered in his loving hold, the sensation of having your figure pressed against his. Gods, the way you whined, so sweet and wanton,as you forced the kiss deeper, letting your emotions rule you for once, while he effortlessly found himself doing the same. He couldn’t get enough of this, couldn’t get enough of you. Neither of you could wait for what ‘more’ held for you. The shining light emanating from your hextech jewels burning brighter, enfolding you both in warmth and rejoicement, sensations that were much too familiar for Viktor yet this time, it wasn’t a dream. You were real. And suddenly, it dawned on him that it was you. All along, you were the bright blue aura in his dream. –♥– Taglist: @theweebrises @dedicated2viktor

[calliopesstories]

The Heart Of A King - Chapter 1

Relationship: Caspian X Susan, Caspian X Reader, Platonic!Susan and Platonic!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut (I’ll try the best I can), historical inaccuracy, misogyny and belief of 16th century, mention of death and sex, arranged marriage, /!\ Not proof read and non-english speaker writter /!\

Summary: There are opportunities in life that you have to take but you were different tough. Since you were born you always had things given to you on a silver plate. Yet you decided to create your own opportunities the day you chose to follow your father in all of his travels. It was no surprise for your parent when you left them no choice but to take you with them to the court of Cair Paravel, heart of your homeland. Even in your wildest dream you would have never thought of what destiny had in store for you when you took that opportunity and stepped in the castle of King Caspian and Queen Susan.

Words: 3,027

Author’s Note: Narnia (and the islands as well as the surrounding countries) is located in the Atlantic sea next to the strait of Gibraltar. It’s a mix between Southern Spain in terms of architecture and temperature, UK/France in terms of landscape and of course what you can see in the movies and be described in the books.

Two days of sea then just as much by carriage to reach the most magnificent palace of Narnia. No need to say it was all worth it. Nothing could compare to the beauty of Cair Paravel, its garden viewing the ocean, its impeccable white walls made of marble and the stained glasses that was colouring the inside of the castle in various colours. Last time you had been within the walls of this palace you were a child no older than five and yet it felt like yesterday. Nothing was as breath-taking as the home of the kings of Narnia, not even your father’s castle at Narrowhaven which was praised for its uniqueness and atypic beauty. Anyone who would be away from their home would feel homesick quickly but not you, you had left Narrowhaven when you were nine and only came back last year.

 Your father was the Grand Ambassador of King Caspian; he had started his duty under the rule of the king’s father and had sworn loyalty to his son. Thanks to his duty to the crown he had met your mother, he had married her and sired you, their one and only child. They had never needed more; you were everything they wanted and one day you would inherit the land and titles hold by your father. You were already marchioness of Narrowhaven however one day you would become the Duchess of the Lone Islands, courtesy of King Caspian IX. Not a lot of noble houses could brag about the fact that the king himself had gave them the right of female peerage. Just a few of you – daughters of high-ranking nobles – could take on the titles even with a male heir in the line of succession at the condition of the girl being born first. Not even the royal family had that right. Not that it made you feel particularly lucky, it was nice to think the castle you had grew up in would stay in your family forever even after marriage.

 The carriage stops right in front of the palace entrance. A flight of stairs leads to wooden graved doors decorated with gold and silver. You remembered well the tree with two trunks engraved on the doors after an old legend of Narnia but your child mind must have deceived you as you thought the doors were so big that giants must have lived here before. Turns out the door were huge, but not that much. They were twice the size of a grow man. Behind you servants were taking your personal items in order to put them where you’ll be leaving from now on.

 “You have the right to breath you know,” your father took your arm and patted gently your hand. “It’s not the first king you meet.”

 “There is a huge difference between a foreign king and the one for whom your father is working.”

 “Don’t worry Y/N, King Caspian is gentle and patient man. He knows you had never done this before that’s why Lady Prunaprismia will stay with you for a month then you will need no one’s help,” encouraged your mother.

 She knew you by heart. Every look, every breath and every head tilting had a significance your mother had no difficulties to understand. So when she saw you biting your lower lip, she understood how unsure of her statement you were. She had no doubt you would do well on your job. There were a few prized places at court that a woman of your status could hope to have: lady-in-waiting to the women of the royal family or governess to the king’s children. Those were official jobs but there was one every noble woman craved to have: mistress to the king. You had seen how this works and from one country to another, things weren’t that different. all hoped to dethrone the queen, thinking the king who loved them enough to put an alliance forged for years into the dirt for the beauty of their smile or whatever prowess they were doing in the royal bed. Foolish girls with foolish dreams.

 You were content with the place your mother had found you. What better way to learn the way of life than to help one grow? Prince Rilian wasn’t the son of Queen Susan yet she was the one who appointed you governess of the sole heir of the kingdom. This was thanks to your mother, the former governess of the queen. She had raised the Queen before she became your mother and by the way she was speaking of the queen you knew she was like a daughter to her although no one could take your place in her heart.

 You finally arrived in the throne room. The glass roof and the stained glasses gave the place an ethereal look worth of kings and queens. At the end of the room was standing four thrones of marble in front of a golden stained glass. You knew only three of them were occupied because the two were for the king and his queen, one was for the crown prince and the last throne was for the royal advisor – who had been executed last year for treason. The royal couple was waiting, stoically in their throne. You had no chance to look at them as you kneeled in front of your king and your queen before your father did, he had the privilege to stand in front of the king he had seen grow up.

 “His Grace Y/F/N, Duke of the Lone Islands, his wife Y/M/N, Duchess of the Lone Islands and their daughter the Lady Y/N,” announced a man on your right. “Welcome to the court of His Majesty King Caspian X and Her Majesty Queen Susan.”

 “Thank you Trumpkin but I know Lord Y/F/N for long enough to need no introduction. Please stand up my ladies there is no need for that between us.”

 You stood up and saw for the first time the king with your own eyes. You had heard stories about how handsome of a man he was and he truly was but more than that he had this glimmer in his eyes, something close to melancholia although well hidden behind a dazzling smile. You could lose yourself in his eyes. It was the voice of your mother that made you realised you were staring at the king for far too long. The queen had walk to your mother and the both of them exchanged some words before they turned to you. You bowed before the queen who wasn’t older than you.

 “I heard so much about you,” said Susan taking your hands in hers. Her smile was infectious and bright, contrary to her husband she was glowing with joy. “I’m sure will become good friends you and I.”

 “I hope so Your Majesty,” you really hoped to be in the queen’s good grace.

 “Last time I saw you, you were unable to keep yourself still.”

 “You remember Your Majesty?” asked your father. You had been told that the King and you had met when you were younger but you had no memories of such event. “Well, I must say Y/N has changed since.”

 “I can only agree with you.”

 You smiled at your father; you knew what he meant by this statement. You had become less impatient, more careful of your words and most importantly you were smart, street smart. You had helped him many times and he liked to think he was the reason why you were doing so good around people. But you were lacking the subtility to leave at court for a long time, which was a good thing when you were traveling around the globe with your father, staying at court for short periods but now you were to live at Cair Paravel for as long as the king would want you around, and unbeknown to you the king was thinking about the length of your stay.

 A door opened at your right and a small child ran pass you to be catch by the king. The prince you were supposed to take care of and who look exactly like his father if it wasn’t for his light baby blue eyes that was surely from his mother’s side. The young prince laughed in his father’s arms; he tried to push away from his face from the beard his father bore and that was probably irritating his soft and sensitive skin. The prince was five years old – for what you’ve been told – but he was taller the average five years-old, something he must have got from his father. The woman with him was his great-aunt, the Lady Prunaprismia, wife of King Caspian’s former advisor and his aunt by marriage. Although he holds no grudge against the woman for her husband’s betrayal, she had been asked to leave court forever. The King was a kind man but he wasn’t a very forgiving one. Not when it concerned his father and by extension his mother.

 “Rilian, this is Lady Y/N, she’s going to take care of you once aunt Prunaprismia will be gone,” informed Caspian. He put the child back on his feet and Rilian bowed before you. You imitated the prince, a huge smile on your face, won over by the child sweetness. The King kneeled next to his son and looked at him in the eyes. “I want you to behave with Lady Y/N like you’ll do with your aunt. Be nice, can you do that for me?”

 The prince energetically nodded widening your smile even more. King Caspian planted a kiss on his forehead. You saw him saying something to his son but couldn’t quite hear what it was. The queen had reached a hand for the prince to take but he preferred to stay with his current governess. The hurt in Queen Susan’s eyes was left unnoticed by you. it was common knowledge that, after five years of marriage, the queen hadn’t been pregnant once. Some rumours said she was barren, others that she had been made queen for very political reasons – which was the case for most queens though – and others that the king was never sharing her bed, still mourning his first wife, the one that gave him his heir, the one he had been in love with. And, after all, with an heir alive did he truly needs another child if he doesn’t love his current queen?

 Rilian and Prunaprismia left the group alone after the lady gave you a meeting point for the next day. Right after your mother and you were taken to your quarters while your father staid with the King to discuss important matter. It took you fifteen to arrive there. There were four separate rooms: two bedrooms, one for your parents and one for you, both at the opposite from one another and with separate entrance. A common room with a fire place, chairs, shelves filled with books and it was the room you entered first. Next to it there was a dining room big enough to fit ten people around the table and was only furnished with a sideboard to contain plates, forks, knives and the usual.

 Your room had a view of the garden and the sea, although you had been assured it would be temporary – you were supposed to get the one next to the prince’s – it was provided with all the luxuries you could think of. The decoration was elegant and refined, suiting a woman of your age and status. You had everything you could need, even your ladies-in-waiting you were sure had stayed at Narrowhaven. Those ladies were from smaller houses, ranks below your high-birth but they were your closest friends. Your only friends for that matter. Marwen, Cora and Lyria had been in your life since you were four, they had been your friends before being at your family’s service. They had travelled the world with you and your father, not once had they complained. They were the most loyal people you knew. After your father that is. Just seeing them made you happy and ready to face whatever the future had in store for you.

 Later that day Lady Prunaprismia’s servant had come to your door to take you to her quarters – which was supposed to become yours in a month. Lady Prunaprismia was in the middle of the room, waiting for you, the king by her side. On the table behind them was a book, both of them assumed you knew how to read and write, you were part of one of the great houses of Narnia, it would have been improper for you and your family to be illiterate. The king was the first to sit down, quickly followed by his aunt; again there were side by side while you were asked to sit across the table. You never liked being outnumbered and it was even more intimidating with the King right in front of you.

 “You have the right to breath you know,” King Caspian had leaned on the table to comfort you. you let out a stressed laughed but it made you realised you had been holding your breath. You took a deep breath and felt better. “That’s more like it.”

 “Lady Y/N, this book is the most important book in this castle. It holds all of the prince’s needs, medical events and so on. Until the day you’ll be left alone with him I am going to ask you to study this book to the point where you’ll know it by heart, words for words.”

 You opened the book carefully and the first sentence you read spoke about the prince’s books preferences, one of them you knew well as your father used to read it to you when you were younger. That memory brought a smile on your face. The book was quite big, there was a lot of information about Rilian and one month seemed like a too short amount of time to memories it all.

 “My aunt is a bit extreme; some information is dated and don’t suit Rilian anymore,” you continued to flip through the book as the king continued to speak. “Besides you are to be is governess, not his nurse, you are tasked to educate my son, to teach him basic knowledge until he’ll be old enough for a tutor.”

 “I’m allowed to enter the prince’s chamber at any given time?” you were sure you just had thought that but your mouth had decided to actually put sound on it. “Without permission or schedule!” Wow, that’s what you call trust!

 “You won’t be the only one taking care of Rilian. As I told you he has nurses who are supposed to bath, to feed and to generally take care of his physical health. Make sure he’s in good shape, if you prefer. You are in charge of making sure they do their job.”

 The close the book. You had never realised it was that much trouble taking care of a child. well, you guessed it wasn’t all day long a joyful stroll through the garden but God! Did the child really needed someone dedicated to wipe his butt? You remembered your childhood quite well and, in your memory, your parent partook a huge part of raising you into the woman you were today. But you kept that for yourself, not all parents have the same parenting technics, maybe it was how the king had been raised and he was a fine man. Besides, who were you to tell him how to raise a child? You had no child!

 “I know it’s a lot to take in one day. Don’t worry, you have time,” Prunaprismia took your hands, a kind smile provoking another on your face. “And from what I heard from your mother; you are more than capable.”

 “But if it’s really too much for you, I…we will understand, the Queen and I know taking care of a child, especially one who isn’t yours, can be demanding and challenging. If you think you won’t be up to the task, say it now or never, I’d rather know now and don’t worry it doesn’t mean you are not allowed in court anymore. That would be too cruel.”

 “You can count on me, Your Majesty. I won’t let you down.”

 You rose from your chair, taking the book in your arms and confidently walk away. That was the plan and, in your head, it was the perfect plan to show both of them how serious you were. Of course the cat didn’t agree with your plan and you tripped over him, falling on the ground. You heard Prunaprismia and King Caspian gasped before joining you, asking how you were doing. You felt humiliated. You just had fall on your ass in front of the king! God must have serious grudges over you! As you got back on your feet you swear you could see your pride and dignity staying on the floor by the devilish Shame. Hello you, you’re back again? You thought, sure to have left shame on the continent, somewhere in England or France.

 You assured the King and Lady Prunaprismia that you were fine and – carefully – get out of the chamber. You had a month to learn everything about the prince and to create a bound with him strong enough to hold against the child losing one of the few people he had entire trust and love to. One single month for something that took five years for the Lady Prunaprismia to achieve. That was so you, accepting a challenge when you perfectly knew it would difficult and completely impossible. But ever since you had dared yourself to do things no one would have thought a girl of your birth would do, it had always opened a door to something interesting and bigger than you thought. If you think about it, what would have happened if you had stayed with your mother at Narrowhaven all your damn life? For sure you would have never met the Royal Couple and have a full conversation with the king.

Taglist:

@aleksanderwh0r3​ @learisa​ @hxrgreeves​ @blackst0nes7077​

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Chapter Fifty-Six

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII, XLIII, XLIV, XLV, XLVI, XLVII, XLVIII, XLIX, XLX, LI, LII, LIII, LIV, LV

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

Biela was in one of the cities of Assyra, helping provide some form of comfort and support to the many grieving families left without their young. The cities of her kingdom were slowly building their way back to their former glory thanks to the war ending, but there was still much, much work to be done.

And she would not rest until it was.

She was still half tempted to take her frustrations out on that angel and his foolish cousin who decided to defy nature in her lands, leaving her people to pay the consequences. But she held back, if only so they could live with what they had done.

Dacia and Caius both were with her to provide as much light and warmth in this time, something she had always lacked the ability to provide. Dacia stood by her side while combing the streets for a period of respite.

“I do hope this haunts them,” Biela said, darkly, letting Dacia link their arms together.

“I am sure it will,” Dacia replied. “Levant and Amara both.”

“Hmph.”

They let silence fall for a bit longer when she felt a tugging at her skirt. She nearly thought it was some mangy animal, but stopped moving when she realized it was a child that was clinging to her skirts, clearly trying to keep herself from tumbling to the ground.

“Who’s child is this?” Biela demanded, looking around.

Dacia was already moving to scooping her up when Biela locked eyes on a violet eyed child that had a hand half reaching for the toddler in Dacia’s arms. She nearly went after them had it not been for their bolting like a rabbit, likely to get as far away from Biela as physically possible.

Of course it ran. Biela never had much luck with children capable of forming their own opinions. They more often than not were best left silent. But for some reason, this particular toddler decided to demand her attention.

Dacia seemed to be looking the child over, checking for cuts or bruises, though she couldn’t find any. She gave Biela a look that had Biela frowning at her. “What.”

“Well, clearly she had a home.”

“Oh really?” Biela asked. “From the looks of it I’d say she was missing a few requirements for that, considering her very dirty skin on top of her very dirty clothes.”

“Well all the more reason to take her with us,” Dacia replied. “Children are dying. We cannot let another fall through the cracks.”

“I suppose,” Biela said, eyeing the child staring right back at her. She squinted.

When the child removed her hand from her mouth, as soaked with slobber as it was, she still reached out for Biela. Biela frowned in distaste. She had been soaked in blood once, but she still was not a fan of fluids from infants. “I will not take you,” Biela retorted to the baby. “But fine, we will bring her with us.”

Biela thought back to the last thing Raziel had said to her the day before. That ‘Congratulations’ stuck out in Biela’s mind and she had half a thought to go wring that old bird’s neck.

She hated seers.

---

Lev was closing the door to Eden's nursery oh so carefully when Ash found him. And by found him, Lev meant Ash smacked the side of his leg with his cane. Lev stifled a yelp, so he didn’t wake Eden, and glared at Ash. It was safe to do so because Ash couldn’t see him.

“Ow,” Lev mumbled, sidestepping another sweep of the cane. “I- can I help you?” He paused, and quickly corrected himself. “Is everything okay?”

“Hm. Pick a new tone,” Ash said, flippantly. “I want you to make yourself useful and take me to Cameron’s library.”

Lev sighed softly, and started walking. “It’s this way,” he said, just to get Ash started. “Though I don’t think he’s got any books in braille.”

“Well lucky for me I’m not going to be the one doing the reading,” Ash replied, following after him.

“Am I-” Lev bit off his questions, and instead said, “It’s up these stairs, and then we’re gonna take a left.”

Ash slowly followed after him, taking one step at a time, clearly not quite used to climbing the stairs without the morsels of eyesight he once had.

Lev quietly narrated the path he took to one of the tables he liked to frequent during the few times he’d had the time to sequester himself away in the library. It was near the very meager collection of fiction Cameron had; most everything else in here seemed to be non-fiction of all sorts.

“I’m sure there’s a system,” Ash said, side stepping the things in his way. “Knowing Cameron it’s bound to be just as elaborate as his many personalities.” At Lev’s confusion Ash sighed. “A catalogue. Something to classify the books to keep them separate by title or genre or subject or something.”

“Oh. Oh. Yeah. There is. Do- do you need me to find you a book?”

“I want you to find every book in Cameron’s library about the gods,” Ash said, leaning against one of the shelves. “You’re going to actually learn something about well, something aside from whatever romance novel you are currently gurgitating.”

“Gurgitating,” Lev mumbled to himself, trying not to sound annoyed. He puffed out a breath, and then, “I’ll see if I can find a few. There’s a table next to you if you want to sit.” Though Ash might prefer to stand, so he could complain about that too.

He could feel Ash’s glare against his back. “I’m coming with you, genius,” Ash said. “How about you knock the attitude off. I can feel your passive aggressive puffiness from here.”

Lev considered that, and then decided honesty was the best policy. “I’m just a little cranky,” he said, and then added, “And so are you. I’m sorry if I’ve been snapping at you, though. Shouldn’t take crankiness out on someone else. Not their fault.”

“Duly noted,” Ash said. “I’ll be sure to pass that along to someone who cares. Now take me to the books.”

Lev led the way, gathering every book Ash told him to, up until his arms started to get tired, and then he very firmly insisted they go back to the table. “I can’t carry any more,” he said, “And I certainly can’t read all of these in one sitting. The rest aren’t going anywhere.”

“That’s fine,” Ash said, taking a few books from him to tuck under his arm. “You won’t be able to retain all of what you need to know if you do that.”

Lev sighed, loud enough for Ash to definitely hear this time, but just settled down at his table, spreading the books out. Ash took the chair across from Lev and had him pull out the first book.

“Do you want me to read out loud?” Lev asked after a moment of staring at the introduction.

“Tell me what you know about the gods,” Ash said. “The angels should have given you a rudimentary understanding of each god in school, but angelic teachings tend… to embellish a little and make Asmi seem more important than the others. Which is not to say they’re not important,” Ash added, hastily. “As they are the god to the angels, but each is important and I want to figure out how much work you’re going to need to understand.”

Lev paused, trying to dig up memories well over a century old. “I knew of Asmi,” Lev confirmed. “And they said that demons split their worship between... Five? Five gods? I think? I know demonic magic is tied to specific gods. I think. Or- there’s a choosing?”

“There is Kaveh, the oldest- twin to Asmi, who is the one who created both the other gods and the demons. Demons were pulled from the earth as angels were the stars. Kaveh’s magic is one of the most powerful, bestowed as they are the oldest god in the pantheon,” Ash said. “They rule magic such as telepathy and forms of telekinesis and other mental based magics.”

Ash took a breath. “Asmi, as Kaveh’s twin, was born at the same time. It was just them alone in the universe, right? Asmi created the angels so of course they would become the patron to all angels. As they are tied to the natural balance, all our abilities come from nature.”

“Third,” Ash said, “Is Mizra. Mizra is the seer. Knows all that is, was and all that could be. They’re known for being relatively… prickly, I guess. Just like Kaveh, but a different flavor. Next is Ruya. Ruya is the god of echos and reigns over the illusion workers. And lastly is Basim who rules over empathy based magics. Anything having to do with the emotional spectrum. Each god has access to the rawest magic, but only demons can access the designated power that each god rules over.” He paused, took another breath and leaned back. “Does any of that make sense?”

Lev blinked several times. “I...” he trailed off. “That was a lot. But.. I think so?” Even though Ash couldn’t see, Lev ticked them off on his fingers, “Kaveh is the oldest, and rules mental magics. Asmi is balance, Mizra is the Sight, Ruya is echoes and illusions. And- Um. Bas- Basim is empaths?”

“Yes,” Ash said, satisfied. “They’re each patron to a particular person they find interesting, so a person can have two gods bugging them, but only hold power for one, if that makes sense? They might just… be a little more enhanced. Kaveh: the cunning and resourceful; Asmi: the natural order and witches; Mizra: survivors; Ruya: the wild and unchained, and Basim: patron to the merciful.”

“I... I think so?” Lev said hesitantly. “Does everyone have a god who is their patron? Or only specific people?”

Ash rose a shoulder. “I think it’s just certain people that the gods have taken a liking to. I haven’t read anything about every single demon having a patron on top of their god.”

Lev nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said out loud after a moment. “I think that makes sense.” He tapped his thumb on the book, and then asked thoughtfully, “Do gods favor bloodlines? I never really paid much attention to if demons’ magic was genetic or not...”

“I do think sometimes it’s through bloodlines, unless a god has deliberately chosen the child. Their magic usually comes in around five to seven years old; just like an angel’s,” Ash said. “The gods wait to see what the child will grow into and go from there.”

“That makes sense,” Lev mumbled, more to himself than anything, and then said, “So there’s no real way to know what kind of magic Eden will have, then?”

“Not until she’s close to five, no.”

Lev gave a small hum. “Does Asmi ever choose demons?” He asked, just out of sheer curiosity.

“If they find a liking to a person, sure,” Ash said. “They’ll most likely bless that bloodline. Isn’t Sorin a demon with fire magic anyways? Also, Asmi likely is responsible for the few powerful bloodlines of demonic healers. They’re very rare, just like elemental demonic users.”

Lev gave a few blinks. “I didn’t-” He thought again. “Right. Fax’s cousin.” After another awkward pause, he added, “I forgot. Fax had fire magic too. He just so rarely used it. Mostly to light his cigarettes or the fireplace.”

Ash looked vaguely disapproving with the mention of cigarettes, but said nothing about it. “Sazra’s bloodline is most likely one blessed by Asmi. She’s one of the very few demonic healers I have met. And she’s a very strong one at that. Probably why she was in this house for so long. Demons were never very kind to their healers- always enslaved them.”

Oh. Lev looked down. “I’m guessing she wouldn’t want my pity,” he said slowly.

“Probably not,” Ash said. “But back to what I was saying. Power and magic are tied to the gods and the gods are tied to us. Sometimes even the gods walk among the people, though Asmi is somewhat trapped in their realm whereas the other gods are not.” Ash grimaced. “Instead they get to use me as their mouthpiece.”

“They’re trapped?” Lev asked, his concern getting dragged away from Sazra. “That sounds awful.”

“Less trapped and more they don’t have a physical form,” Ash admitted. “If they want company from us mere mortals they are very capable of yanking us to them.”

“Oh,” Lev said, considering that. “Do they do that often?”

“I’m not sure with other people besides me,” Ash said, “but they sure do like my company. Maybe a little too much.”

“I’m sorry,” Lev said honestly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It’s fine,” Ash said. “I’ll manage.”

Lev frowned, but Ash couldn’t see. He tapped the book with his thumb. “Do the gods talk directly to their followers often? Like when... when Asmi spoke to me, before I came back? Or did they only do so because I was... partly dead.”

“I think… they were curious and infuriated. Not many people show up on the gods' radar. When they do, they take notice.”

Lev nodded. “So they don’t visit people often. And that’s true for all the gods?”

Ash lifted a shoulder. “From what I’ve seen, yeah. Maybe us mere mortals aren’t all that interesting in the grand scheme of things, though I’m sure they do find our little lives absolutely hilarious sometimes.”

“Ah,” Lev said, rubbing his face. “I suppose bastardizing nature would put me on their radar,” he sighed.

“And now we don’t have magic,” Ash said, sardonically. “I’m sure we’ll be hearing from Asmi soon.”

---

Cameron was seated in the chair while Darius napped. He had been working on the backed up paperwork from the last several days. He had a solid chunk of paperwork from both the club and further Obsidian Court workings when there was a feather light knock on the door.

He bit back his irritable sigh and looked up to see one of the sentries standing stiffly in the doorway. Cameron flicked Darius a look, to make sure he was still sleeping before fixing his attention on the sentry. “What do you want?”

“There’s an angel here,” they said.

“I am aware there are several angels here,” Cameron said, crossly. “Be more specific.”

“Raziel,” he rushed out. “Um, she said her name was Raziel.”

Oh brilliant. “And what does that overcooked chicken want?” Cameron said, flatly. “Lev is unable to speak with his family for the next several decades.”

“She’s here for you, sir.”

“You can tell Raziel to fly her carcass back to her roost,” Cameron said, turning his focus back to his work, dismissing the sentry to do his bidding.

Cameron had but a few moments of peace before the sentry returned, looking rather ashened. “I’m afraid she was rather insistent, sir.”

Cameron sighed sharply out of his nose and got to his feet. The sentry stiffened slightly as Cameron walked past him, ordering him to not take his eyes off Darius while Cameron dealt with the ancient angel.

“And to what do I owe this displeasure,” Cameron said, eyeing Raziel, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Mizra sent me,” Raziel said, irritatingly calm as always. “So unfortunately, I am not able to leave until I’ve passed their message along.”

Cameron’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I haven’t been to a temple in well over five hundred years.” In fact, he had never stepped foot inside one to begin with. “Why would they bother themselves with my presence now?”

“Both kingdoms are healing,” Raziel said. “And they’re tired of waiting for you to come to them. I’m sure if I hadn’t reached out to them for my own reasons they would have found another way to reach out to you and demand you listen.”

Cameron fixed his jaw. “We’ll speak in my office,” he said, walking past her.

Raziel followed him, staying a good three paces behind him until they reached the office. She even settled in the chair without prompting, hooking one knee over the other.

Cameron took his place behind his desk and leaned back. He eyed her for a few seconds, trying to figure the best approach to handle both Mizra and Raziel. “I have not participated in the Rite,” Cameron said, evenly. “I am not able to, so I do not have any connections with Mizra.”

Every demon born had their god and had their own coming of age where they cemented their connection to their god. Every demon, legitimate or not, was supposed to form the connections with their god in order to fully claim their abilities. Cameron never had, his mother had forbade it, so his magic was barely a whisper of anything- calling it a magic felt like too grand of a word. He had never spoken to a priestess, of any god. Cameron had no Rite to claim.

Raziel didn’t even blink. “Then complete it. Before Mizra starts meddling more personally.”

“I do not have the time,” Cameron said. “And I am now much too old. Have been for well over five hundred years.”

“Make time. Your god demands it.” She flicked her fingers at him. “Your household doesn’t need a second god looking at it with ire. Nothing I remember of the Rite says you can’t complete it later in life.” Her silver eyes tracked his every minute move. “I’m sure you’re not the only one with subpar parents.”

“I suggest you do not speak ill of my parents,” Cameron said, flippantly. “They’re my problem and they’re also dead. No need for you to make judgements that do not pertain to you. Besides, the Rite is a demonic passage. Perhaps you should keep to your own lane in that matter. I will make time, but it will have to wait.” Cameron rubbed his temples, alleviating the growing pressure. “As I said, I am busy.”

“I did not mean offense,” Raziel said mildly. “I spoke only of what Mizra told me. And on top of what they’ve said of your parents, ill or otherwise, they have insisted you speak to them.”

“What part of ‘I am busy’ seems to get lost in your decrepit mind?” Cameron snapped.

It was then that Cameron felt himself be… pulled somewhere; he and Raziel both. Cameron went very still when a very pale… being was standing in front of him. Mizra, he presumed, with their pale skin and white hair, almost a similar likeness to himself. They looked less than pleased to drag him here into their realm. “When I request you,” they said, coolly. “I do not mean to be put off for something you consider more important. There is nothing more important than I, do you understand me?”

“My apologies,” Cameron said. “I did not mean any disrespect.”

Mizra’s eyes narrowed. “There is not an ounce of respect in your frail little body, Cameron Luain.”

“Mizra,” Raziel said. “It would make pulling us here rather pointless if you lose your temper now.” And then she smiled at the god.

Mizra fixed their mouth into a thin line. “Your mother,” they said, turning back to face Cameron, “defied my wishes when she decided to keep you from me in attempt to keep you powerless.” Cold washed down Cameron’s skin. “She is now rotting in the ground and no longer an obstacle, therefore, I am very kindly requesting you have the Rite performed.”

Cameron flicked Raziel a glance before tightly folding his arms over his chest. “I suppose I will make the time,” he bit out, bowing his head slightly.

He could feel their very smug faint smile directed his way. “Very good,” they said. “It seems when I told Raziel to fix you, I had not accounted for how foolishly bullheaded you male creatures are.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” Raziel interjected. “I apologize I was not able to successfully pass along your message on my own.”

Mizra frowned at her. “Yes, I do suppose you did fail in your one task, Raziel. I had expected far better from someone I had blessed.”

“I suppose I’m out of practice,” Raziel replied. “I’ll do better next time.” If Cameron didn’t know better he’d say Raziel’s silver eyes, so eerily similar to Mizra’s, crinkled with affection at the god.

“As you should,” Mizra said, primly. “Failure is unacceptable and I would so hate to find someone else to keep me company. Most of you mortals are rather boring.”

Cameron was rapidly growing all the more irritable with these too ancient beings and found the phantom pain in his head to be growing steadily behind his eye.

Mizra cut their focus to Cameron. “And while I have you here,” they said, “I expect you to start eating something. You’re too thin and disgusting. You need to eat more.”

Cameron stared blankly at the god. “You want me to eat more?” he echoed.

Why would a god care about his eating habits?

“Oh please,” Mizra huffed, “I do detest repeating myself.”

“I could always check in on him,” Raziel offered.

Cameron cut her a withering glare. The last thing he needed was Raziel to babysit him. “Last I checked,” Cameron said, “you were barred from Lev’s presence.”

Mizra waved a dismissive hand. “You make it sound like I care what your little king wants,” Mizra said. “Raziel will do my bidding and hold your hand if need be.”

Cameron felt rage boil under his skin, but promptly kept his mouth shut.

“I highly doubt I’ll need to go that far,” Raziel said, amused.

“Was there anything else you required of me,” Cameron bit out.

“Oh very well, very well,” Mizra said, “If you’re going to act like a child I will send you back. Raziel, I will speak to you soon.”

With that, Cameron felt himself be dropped into his body.

Raziel looked annoyingly unruffled. “So I’ll see you next week?” She said lightly.

Cameron got to his feet and leaned over his desk. “Get the hell out of my house right now,” he snapped. “If you are not off of my property in the next five minutes I will not be so pleasant. Get out now.”

Raziel lifted a single brow, but stood gracefully. “I’ll let you know before I come over next time,” she said on her way out. “Do not make Mizra wait much longer. They have much less patience than I.”

Cameron let the door shut behind her before he nearly collapsed in his chair. He grabbed his head, tight, hoping to alleviate the pressure building, but it did very little.

---

Nik woke from his nap, still angry and irritable. The last twenty-four hours had not done much for his temper so he had taken a nap. And that did not help either. He wandered the house and found a rather beautiful man in the bedroom, sitting up in the bed. “Well you must be Darius,” Nik said, crossly.

The man gave him a rather mild smile and nodded.

Nik’s eyes narrowed. “So are you crippled and can’t talk or are you being annoying on purpose.” When Darius didn’t say anything, because of course he didn’t, Nik said, “Right, whatever. So I guess you’re Cameron’s boyfriend or something? And you were dead, so why didn’t you stay dead? Nevermind, that’s stupid. I guess if you were going to defy nature, you might as well do it for Cameron.”

Darius cocked his head and reached for a pad of paper only to scribble a ‘It’s nice to meet you, Nik.’

“Oh please,” Nik said, “I’m being a dickhead to you. You don’t need to lie to me.”

‘I’m not lying,’ Darius wrote. ‘I’m rather used to crass language when people are upset.”

“I’m being crass?” Nik demanded. “I think you being alive is rather inconvenient for me since everyone in this damned house knows who the hell you are besides me.”

‘I apologize for Cameron not telling you,’ Darius said. ‘It was all rather sudden. I do hope we can be friends, Nik.’

Nik rolled his eyes. “Do I look like someone who has friends?”

‘Ash and Amara seem rather fond of you,’ Darius observed.

Nik rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, Ash and Amara make bad choices daily, so I wouldn’t hold either of them to a high standard. Case in point: bringing people back from the dead and killing a million kids, but hey, what do I know?”

And now he’s in the line of fire.

Sympathy shone in Darius’ eyes and it took tremendous effort to not wipe that infuriating look off his face. “Stop looking at me like that,” he snapped. “I’m not Cameron and I’m sure as hell not Lev. Puppy eyes don’t work on me.”

‘Well, I’m actually a cat.’

“Oh great,” Nik said. “You’re a cat.”

Darius gave him a dry, feline smile. ‘Not a fan of cats?’

“Not this particular one.”

‘If it helps,’ Darius wrote. ‘Cameron loathes cats as well.”

“Well he clearly likes you,” Nik said, frowning. “If you claw up my clothes, I’ll cut your hair off.”

‘Well, I will make a note to leave your clothes alone,’ Darius replied.

“I think you enjoy mocking me,” Nik said. “You get to waltz in and drop into my relationship because Cameron killed you or something. I’m sure the whole thing was very traumatic.”

That was the moment Lev chose to poke his head in. His brows furrowed in his usual expression of worry, and he was quick to cross the room. Nik folded his arms as he watched Lev kiss Darius on the cheek.

Traitor.

Lev was just as quick to tuck himself into Nik’s side, however, insistently tugging at Nik’s arms until he could pull it around his shoulders. Against his will, Nik felt himself loosening as Lev scented him, a low soothing purr coming from Lev as he did.

“Is everything okay?” Lev asked.

“I mean I guess,” Nik said, crossly. “I wake up to him in my bed that I can’t even sleep in because I guess it was his bed first, or something.”

Lev nosed at Nik’s jaw lightly. “It was,” Lev said unhelpfully, and then, with irritating optimism, Lev added, “We can pick another room. Any room. I doubt Cameron will make you stay in the rooms he’s moved us to right now. And I also doubt he’d say no about much of anything when it comes to decorating your new room. Not right now, anyway. The opportunities are almost endless.”

“Whatever,” Nik said. “I have to move around my life because Cameron felt bad for killing the guy.” He glared at Darius frowning at him. “You’re not special,” he said. “Just because you’re some pretty face doesn’t mean shit. We’re all pretty faces. Don’t expect me to get in line to kiss your ass like everyone else.”

Darius blinked at him, seemingly bewildered, but he just nodded at him.

“Nikolas,” Lev chastised, but even his scolding was tempered by worry. “Darius hasn’t done anything. And I was the one that asked for him; I’m the one that told Cameron he was still there.” Lev hesitated, and then added gently, “Darius helped me while I was dead. He kept me steady, kept me sane. He deserves another chance as much as I do. More. He’s a kind person, Nik. That’s all.”

Nik sighed through his nose. “Fine,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Is Cameron home or is he going to resurrect some other not-boyfriend?”

Lev shrugged. “Last I saw he was in here with Darius, so I don’t know.”

‘I think he’s in his office,’ Darius offered.

“I’m hungry,” Nik mumbled, pathetically.

“I can go get Cameron,” Lev offered, oh-so-helpfully. “With everything going on I don't think it’s a good idea for us to touch anything in his kitchen. Besides, Eden should wake up from her nap soon, and she’ll need a snack too.”

“Okay.”

---

Lev knocked on Cameron’s office door lightly, but didn’t wait to open it. The room was dark, and Lev almost assumed it was empty, but he heard a quiet, “Shut the door,” from the direction of Cameron’s desk, so he slipped inside, closing it obediently.

After letting his eyes adjust, Lev realized Cameron was bent over the desk, head in his arms. Lev chose to approach slowly, hovering his hand over Cameron’s shoulder before ultimately letting it drop back to his side instead. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“I’m fine,” Cameron said, stiffly. “Just a headache.”

Right. Lev worried his lip between his teeth. “Nik’s hungry,” he finally said. “I can make him something, if you’d like.”

“Fine,” Cameron said, dismissively. “Just clean up after yourself.”

Lev nodded, but didn’t move. “I had something else to ask,” he finally said. “If that’s okay?”

“Alright.”

“I should probably get back to training, if I can get Ash to sign off on it? Or Sazra?” Lev fiddled with the bottom of his shirt, and then grimaced. “Or- can I? I don't- it doesn’t have to be you, but- I had planned- without my magic- well, without my magic, I really am useless, aren’t I? And I don’t like feeling like I’m a vulnerability for Nik, especially when he’s pregnant.” He took a deep breath, hardened his tone. “I won’t let anything happen to my mate.”

“Probably,” Cameron agreed. “Get it okayed by Ash and Sazra and I will put it into my schedule. I’ll fit you in.”

“I- oh. Okay,” Lev said, trying not to be too enthusiastic. He put his hand on Cameron’s shoulder as he started to say, “Thank you,” but his voice died a little as he realized just how thin Cameron’s shoulder was.

Cameron carefully removed Lev’s hand from his shoulder. Even in the dark Lev could see Cameron giving him a slow once over, noting how clothes that had fit perfectly a month ago were just a little loose now. Lev hadn’t paid attention before, but Cameron’s shrewd gaze made him hyper aware.

“Make sure you eat too,” was all Cameron said in the end. “And close the door behind you when you leave.”

Lev swallowed. He ran his fingers through Cameron’s hair once, just to reassure himself that he could, that they were both still there and then backed for the door. “I’ll bring you something later,” he promised. “And some painkillers.”

He made sure that the door clicked shut as quietly as he could.

---

While Cyrus flipped through one of the several books he’d lain on the bed, Sorin napped sprawled on his lap. Sorin’s surprisingly strong tail wrapped around his wrist insistently, the prehensile appendage tugging every once and a while as the demon dreamed.

Cyrus had spent the last few hours reading up on the gods. While he was certainly more educated, he felt like it was only a surface level understanding of them. Which- understandable. There was a lot, and these were gods.

Rather than continue to stare blankly at the pages, Cyrus settled more deeply into the pillows he was propped up against. Sorin huffed at him, his tail tightening briefly, but when Cyrus made no move to get up, the demon fell asleep again pretty quickly.

Once the house was quiet, Cyrus closed his eyes and tried to remember how Darius had shown him how to reach out for Asmi. It’d certainly been more ritualistic than Cyrus was able to do right now, but even attempting without the words and candles and pomp and ceremony, when Cyrus opened his eyes, he was back in the warm room, Asmi seated before him.

“Asmi,” Cyrus said, dipping into a small bow. He looked up, offering a small smile. “Will it always be that easy to reach you?”

Asmi lifted a brow. “If you were aware of your studies, you would know,” they said, amused.

Cyrus gave a shrug in acquiescence. “True,” he said, “But who better to ask my questions than you? I’ve been reading, while my mate keeps me on bedrest. Trying to understand all of it. The sheer amount of literature to wade through is... overwhelming.”

Asmi brought their tea to their lips. “I imagine getting caught up on nearly forty years of spellwork will take you some time. I’m sure you will now have plenty of time to do so without your magic distracting you.”

“Was taking my magic an opportunity to learn or a punishment?” Cyrus asked, out of sheer curiosity.

Asmi merely gave Cyrus a slight smile.

Cyrus settled in the closest chair with a bit more weight than he usually would. It seemed even in this dimension he was weaker than usual. “Some things have to remain a secret, then?” He asked, mulling it over.

“I told you there will be a price to pay,” they said. “You will pay it tenfold. I do not like to be made weakened by anyone, and this time, my point will be made.”

“I understand,” Cyrus said quietly. “I don’t take this lightly, and I will work hard to learn what I can while without magic.”

“Excellent,” Asmi said, setting their mug of tea down. “You will not regain your magic until I am satisfied.” Asmi flicked a hand, and with a ripple of magic Ash, Lev and Darius appeared in the room with them.

Ash was quick to bow deeply before standing upright wearily. “You summoned me?”

Cyrus flicked a glance at the other two; Lev was quite bewildered, though he gave an echo of Ash’s movements after a beat. Darius gave his own slow bow before quietly buckling into the chair behind him.

Cyrus thought about moving to check on him, but Lev beat him to it, fussing quietly while keeping an eye on Asmi warily. As much as he hated to admit it, he was relieved. It would have taken a lot of energy to stand. Instead he fixed Asmi with another curious stare. “I assume you have a message for all four of us?”

“You should watch your assumptions,” Asmi said. “But yes, I do and I did not feel the need to repeat myself four different times.”

“Apologies,” Cyrus murmured, before falling silent expectantly.

“Apologies noted,” Asmi said, crossing their legs. “I have spoken to Levant already, about carrying a piece of the burden should you defy the natural balance once more. You have all felt its effects. There is and will be a void where your magic was and would be, and that void shall remain until you earn the right to your magic. I demand respect from the lot of you and for you to learn a lesson.”

Ash looked a mix of rage and submission but ultimately hung his head without a word.

“How do we earn it?” Lev asked, and then immediately looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up. Cyrus grimaced in sympathy, but he’d been wondering the same thing, and so he simply looked to Asmi again. Earning it could mean a thousand things, and they were all from different places and backgrounds in life.

A serpentine smile curled on Asmi’s lips. “I am glad you ask. You will all learn everything about the gods, you will worship and devote yourselves accordingly. You will become nearly as knowledgeable and devoted as a priestess and you will not have your magic returned to you until all of you satisfy me. Not one, not three. All four of you will satisfy me or none of you will satisfy me.”

“Understood,” Cyrus said. He’d honestly expected something worse, and judging by the surprise on Lev’s face, so had the angel. Ash and Darius were harder to read, but that was just fine.

Asmi’s eyes narrowed, seemingly reading his mind. “Be glad it is not Kaveh. Would you wish to want harsher punishments, I am sure they will be more than willing to provide.”

“Of course,” Cyrus murmured. Where faint enthusiasm had grown in Lev's expression, it’d quickly become ashen, and he’d reached for Darius’ hand silently.

Darius quietly squeezed Lev's hand. “Your mercy is much appreciated,” Darius murmured, hoarsely. “We will do all that you ask.”

Lev nodded vigorously, again simply echoing the sentiment.

“I will make sure to help in any way,” Ash said. “I already have Lev reading the old books on the various gods from Cameron’s library.”

Cyrus nodded slowly. “I might reach out to you,” he said to Ash, before adding, “And Sorin can find resources for me in places I cannot go. Though it might be a few days; we’re going to be moving soon, before Biela’s mercy wanes. I won’t be welcome in demonic territory at all for the foreseeable future, if ever.”

“I can’t leave Cameron’s house,” Lev piped up nervously. “And Darius shouldn’t be moving around much yet either.”

“Well it’s not like your magic is going anywhere,” Asmi replied. “I’m sure you will figure out how to get to a temple. The lot of you are irritatingly creative.”

“Best see if Biela has any mercy left to spare,” Cyrus advised, even as he thought internally that they might not get their magic back in the next half century just from this.

“Better chance of draining the ocean with a straw,” Ash muttered.

Lev sighed softly, and looked down at Darius. “I can talk to Cameron,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

When Darius nodded tiredly, Asmi said, “If you all have nothing else interesting to say I am sending you back.” They didn’t give much room for Lev, Darius, or Ash to speak before they disappeared.

Cyrus blinked at where they had been. “Thank you,” he said, and then clarified, “For taking the time to explain. You could have left us to flounder.”

“I see no point wasting my time,” they said, dismissively. “You will likely have the most to learn, as you think you are above myself and had performed that heinous magic twice. You will find my mercy and my forgiveness is not easily won.”

Asmi waved a hand and sent Cyrus back to his body. Judging from how Sorin’s face was so close to his he could feel the demon’s whiskers tickling his face, it’d been obvious that Cyrus hadn’t been in bed with him in any way beyond physical. Sorin pressed a paw to Cyrus’ chest slowly, spreading his toes and digging his claws in. Five sharp points let Cyrus know just how pisssed Sorin was.

“Alright, alright,” Cyrus muttered. “I’ll rest.”

Sorin gave a pointed sniff, but backed off, nosing the books onto the floor before Cyrus could move them himself. He draped himself across Cyrus’ body, purring deep in his chest the moment Cyrus relaxed.

Point taken.

---

Nik found himself getting summoned to Cameron’s office. He couldn’t even come get him himself, instead he had one of his toadies come and fetch him. Nik did pause, though, when he realized Cameron’s office was pitch black. “Cameron?”

“Sit.”

“Well great to see you, too,” Nik muttered, plopping down on the chair across from him. “For what have you summoned me?”

Cameron looked up in his direction, his eyes glowing animal bright in the darkness. It was so leery; NIk kept forgetting demons could do that. “I want you to go stay with your brother,” he said.

“You’re seriously kicking me out?” Nik said. “Is it because I refused to kiss Darius’ ass?”

Cameron blinked slowly at him, clearly not aware of Nik and Darius’ previous conversation. “No,” he said, mildly. “And it’s not forever. You can come back, if you want, during the weekends or for a couple of days during the week, the choice is yours.”

“Is this because of the demon lands being poisoned?”

“Yes,” Cameron said. “And since you decided to keep the fetus, and you decided to mate with me, that makes you both my responsibility, and I’m not going to let your sentimentality cause a miscarriage or stillbirth because you wanted to be near Lev.”

Nik felt heat rise in his face. “So what, because you mated with me, so my dad couldn’t take me home, you now have control of me?”

“If you want to be so frank,” Cameron said, bluntly, “we can do that. Demonic customs and all of that. However, consider it me giving you the choice to come back a few days of the week. I’d rather keep you off demonic land all together if I had my way about it.”

“And you don’t?” Nik snapped.

“If I had my way about anything, your brother would be dragging you by your ear back to his house in the next thirty minutes,” Cameron said, sharply. “If I had my way, you wouldn’t be back until the fetus was well past four months old when the likelihood of an infant death was not nearly so high. If you wish to act like a petulant child, do it on your own time.”

“I am not acting like a child.”

“Yes,” Cameron said, “you are. You’re throwing hissy fits when you’re not getting your way and yelling at people for things they had nothing to do with. You are actively being a selfish little twat who refuses to not do what the hell is the right thing to do because you want to stay with Lev.”

Nik stared at him in shocked outrage. “Did you seriously call me a twat?”

“Is that all you got from that,” Cameron snapped. “So help me if I have to make the choice for you, you are not coming back to this house for the next eight months, you hear me? I will have your brother tie you to a fucking tree to make my godsdamned point.”

Nik opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to form a thought, let alone a coherent sentence. “...fine,” he said. “I’ll go. I just, I didn’t want to leave either of you, especially when you can’t follow.”

“We will be fine,” Cameron said, a shade calmer. “I’m sure Lev will facetime you or knit you some baby blanket to pass the time, or whatever it is angels do for their pregnant mates. I don’t really care as long as both of you stop pissing me off.”

Any other time the idea of Lev knitting would make him wheeze. “I’m sorry,” Nik said, leaning back into the chair, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I’m just- I feel like I can’t get my footing lately and all of us are spinning out.”

“Well this will be a good chance for you to get grounded then, isn’t it?”

“When am I going?” he said, defeatedly.

“Nate will be here within the hour.”

----

It was dark when Eden woke. It was dark and she did not like that. No one was there to pick her up, and she didn’t like that even more. Papi had left her again. She remembered him leaving, and then Da had put her to bed instead of the pale one later that night. That was too many alterations to what was right and she did not like it.

Not one bit.

A shrill shriek bubbled in her throat, and she banged her hands on the side of her crib the moment she pulled herself up.

No one came to pick her up, which really was unfair. Eden deserved to be picked up. She screeched again, but the house was silent other than her cries.

Filled with the determination of a child wronged by the world, Eden scrabbled her way over the side of the crib. She hit the floor with a solid thud, and almost began to cry from the shock of it all. After a few minutes of sniffling, Eden was on her way again, hooking her little fingers around the door. It took a few tries, and she got it stuck on her leg more than once, but she got it open.

One of the Big Talls stared down at her, seeming as startled to see her as she was to see them. Rather than wait to see what they’d do, Eden booked it, moving as fast as she could crawl on chubby baby legs.

Behind her, the Big Tall said something loudly, and unwelcome hands grabbed her around the waist. Eden wailed a toddler war cry and bit the nearest finger with her little fangs. That seemed to work, because very quickly she found herself on the ground, even if the Big Tall still had a grip on her, and had cushioned her fall.

---

Cameron had yet to go to bed. He was sitting it the dark in Darius’ room past midnight with a small light and his book. His head snapped up when he heard Eden’s telltale screech-crying right aside a grown demon’s screaming as well.

He quietly sat down his book, ignoring the pain pulsing behind his eye and wrapping around his head and headed for the sound in question.

He found Eden on the floor, sitting and crying and smacking the sentry’s face, perhaps to get him to stop screaming. Or maybe she just felt like hitting someone.

Cameron scooped her up off the floor and peered down at the sentry’s bleeding hand and back to Eden’s sharp little fangs. “I see your venom has come in,” he sighed. He toed the sentry’s face up in his direction. “I will make sure to add this inconvenience to your paycheck. When you get a hold of yourself, take the rest of the night off.”

With that, Cameron stepped around him and took Eden down the hall. She was sniffling and mouthing at Cameron’s shoulder. He lightly pinched her leg. “Bite me and I’ll bite back,” he warned.

She seemed intent on ignoring his threat.

Cameron opened the door of the bedroom Lev was sleeping in and flicked the lights on. “Wake up,” he said, even as Lev stirred awake.

Lev propped himself up on his elbow and squinted at them. “Eden?”

“You wanted to keep the baby,” Cameron said, irritably, tracking across the room. “Take her. Be careful, though, her venom came in.”

“Oh baby,” Lev said, reaching for her. He was sitting up by now, and once Eden was safely in his lap he started rubbing her back lightly. “She can stay in my bed tonight. Maybe she had a nightmare.”

“Maybe,” Cameron agreed, tiredly. “Just don’t roll on top of her, I guess.” He started for the doorway and flicked the lights off once more, at least giving himself some relief. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Cameron made his way back to his chair, rubbing his temples on the way. Unsurprisingly Darius was sitting up, waiting for him. He patted the bed on the side Cameron had always slept on, clearly offering him the spot.

“You should be asleep.”

Darius gave him a very long look that Cameron chose to interpret as he should be as well- and then promptly dismissed it. “I have work I need to be doing.”

A small crease formed between Darius’ brows and he patted the bed more insistently.

Cameron sighed sharply. “If I get in, will you stop being a nuisance and go to sleep?” When Darius nodded, pleased, Cameron sighed once more and began undressing slowly, doing his best to not further aggravate his headache.

He crawled into the bed and put his face in the pillow, all too aware of the coolness of Darius’ skin next to his.

tagging:  @incandescent-creativity @solangelo3088 @lil-miss-red @halstudies @littleyellowdinosaur @caelisis @idreamonpaper

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 IX

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers (this chapter, noncon, trauma)

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You receive an unexpected visitor as the king behaves unexpectedly.

Note: Yay, another chapter!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Gilla left as the windows began to dim and a cool breeze washed over you. You remained as you had been, on your side, arms crossed, filled with rage but dragged down under a blanket of fatigue. But sleep wouldn’t cum and closing your eyes only made your head pound. 

So you stared at the canopy that hung from the corner of the bed as Loki’s words echoed in your head. You might be angry with Gilla, you might never forgive her, but could you let her be punished by the merciless king and his cronies? You couldn’t deny that it was nice to have company other than the king but you couldn’t help but think of that day. If you hadn’t followed her, if you had just left her behind… would she be in your place? Would she be worse off?

It didn’t matter. You were the one thrown in the dungeons and whipped. You were the one wrenched out of them and tormented by the king’s depravity. And you were the one laying in the early evening shade wishing none of it had happened.

You heard the door to the receiving chamber and you sat up. You sat at the edge of the bed and stretched out the cramps in your arms and sides. The white silk around your body sent a shiver up your spine and you looked over as a shadow appeared in your peripheral. You ignored it as you stood and closed the window.

“The autumn has come,” Loki said as the window snapped shut. “Even the leaves begin to turn.”

You ignored him and kept your back to him as you peered through the mosaiced glass. His footsteps moved lightly along the floor as you sensed him pacing behind you.

“I am still your king. You cannot ignore me thus.” He demanded.

“Your majesty.” You said firmly and swept away from the window to sit on the bench.

He sighed and took your place by the window. He leaned against the sill as he watched you and you stared at the floor. 

“What is the matter?” He asked.

You looked at him sharply and clenched your jaw. If you said all that you thought, he might just toss you to the dungeons again. Was it truly worse than here?

“Nothing, your majesty, merely awaiting your orders.” You said blithely.

His forehead wrinkled and he tapped his heel on the floor. He played with the front of his jacket and pushed his hair behind his shoulders.

“Do you know how long you were… disposed?” He asked.

“Does it matter?” You shrugged.

He watched you, his eyes strayed to the front of the white sleeping gown; it did little to hide your figure. You resisted the chill that crept through you and tilted your head.

“More than a week. Close to two.” He answered his own question. “I had my physician feed you and see that you were sustained. You did not sleep for all of it but when you were awake… well, do you recall any of it?”

You swallowed and shook your head. “So why did you not rid yourself of me then? Barely any use to be had.”

He wiggled his long fingers and pushed himself from the sill. He neared and stood before you. He looked down his long nose and you refused to look back.

“I did think of it, I cannot lie, but I spent too much time upon your training, little mouse.”

“Training?” Your eyes flicked up in disgust.

“Perhaps I might not harness your mind but your body does respond to me,” he bent and grinned as he brought his finger up under your chin, “But I might have left you overwrought. Birger did recommend I allow you some rest.”

He dragged his thumb over your lip and you recoiled. He snickered and stood straight. He backed away and strode around the chamber.

“There is a proper meal on the table. You must eat if you are to recover your strength,” he let out a long breath as he neared the door, “And for this night at least, I shall restrain myself from you.”

You sneered at him. “Am I to thank you for that? When you put me in such a state? Oh, what pious abstinence you have, my king.”

He laughed again and his tongue slid over his lip. “My king…” he mulled, “I do prefer that, little mouse.” He curled a finger towards himself, “Come. Eat. And do try not to look at me so, it riles me.”

You tore your eyes away from him and did not move. You listened to his movement and there was a gentle rustle. He neared again and a rush of air swept around you and a swath of dark fabric settled over you. Loki encased you in the black robe he often wore. He braced your arms through the cloth and pulled you to your feet.

“Be angry with me.” He chided, “It assures me that you are well.”

He turned and tugged on your wrist as he drew you with him. You were too weak to resist and in that instant, the king was being more malleable than you’d known him. So you let him and prayed he was not upon another trick. A night without his touch would be the closest to content you could hope for.

🐍

Loki slept beside you but kept away from you. You were surprised and wary of his distance but he did nothing but snore softly and twitch now and then. When he woke, he called Hal to ready him for his day, and left you as you were. His calm had you unsettled. He had a sinister patience and you knew, it would not hold out.

You rolled out of bed shortly after. The wardrobe was unlocked and you dressed in a green gown and block stockings along with a pair of beaded slippers. You ate the bread, cheese, and grapes waiting for you in the receiving chamber and sat with your thoughts before your empty plate. Your stomach was painfully thankful for the meal.

You watched noon rise through the window. The sun beamed at its apse as the scent of fall whisked in. How long had you been in the royal abode? More than a month? Maybe two? You couldn’t remember. The blur of days one into the next unsettled you. Would the rest of your life pass in the same despondence?

You were disturbed only by the noise of armor outside the door. You shuddered as you thought of Magnus and the last words he’d said to you. Loki had distracted you from the villain on the other side of the wall. What would keep him from intruding in the king’s absence and seeing through his promises?

The muffled timbre of his voice gave you pause as you began to pace. You heard boots on the stone as he was met by another. You recognized the tones but could not place them exactly. You wrung your hands as you faced the door and listened.

“The king is away,” Magnus huffed. “He is not expecting you, your highness.”

“I have seen to it that he isn’t,” the other returned. From his title, you could guess it was the king’s brother but for what reason he would come to the capital, you could not surmise. “Is the girl within?”

“The girl?” Magnus repeated.

“Do not act dumb with me, you brute,” Thor snapped, “You know of whom I speak.”

“She is but she is to receive no company but that permitted by the king.” Magnus declared.

“I am still a prince, I shall permit myself,” Thor rebuffed and the door jolted suddenly as the handle turned. The guard growled as the prince forced his way into the chamber and you retreated behind the sofa. “Ah, there you are.”

“Your highness,” you eked out as you looked around. “The king--”

“The king is at council, I know. I have come to surprise him.” Thor boomed. “And you, sweet maiden.” He approached the other side of the couch. “I see he keeps you well,” he peered down at your gown, “But I think red might suit you better.”

“There is wine in the cabinet,” you offered, uncertain what else to say.

“Perhaps later,” he said, “Why do you shy away? Do I scare you, my lady? I promise I am no villain.”

You shook your head, unable to find your voice. He chortled and rounded the sofa. You stumbled back and caught yourself on the straight back of the couch.

“I have been astride for much of the last days, perhaps you might accompany me on a walk of the gardens? I would do well to stretch my legs.” He stopped before you.

“I cannot-- Lo-- The king--”

“You let me attend to my brother. I handle him better than any.” He held out his hand. “Come, lady. As the seasons change, you would be remiss to remain pent up.”

“I don’t--” You began.

“Whatever displeasure he finds in it shall be my burden, not yours,” he insisted, “But if you should go against a prince, he will find his own recompense.”

It was a threat. A subtle one. The brothers, as dissimilar as they appeared, were more alike than any could know. You did not dare to test his words.

“I would not go against you, your highness,” you took his hand meekly, “Is it very cold outside?”

“A cloak might do you well,” he eyed the length of silk around your hips as he untied his cap with his other hand, “You might borrow mine.”

“Thank you, your highness, but I--”

“Let us be off,” he draped the red cloak over your shoulders and dropped your hand to tie it beneath your throat. “It has been a time since I was in the capital.”

He took your hand again and pulled you to the open door. Your eyes met Magnus’ as you were guided out into the corridor. He turned to face the prince.

“I should go,” Magnus said, “The king has charged me with her safety.”

“You needn’t trouble yourself,” Thor smirked, “I shall be there. She needn’t anymore protection than my own.”

“The king--”

“I will not remind you of my title again. If you are so concerned with your master, dog, why don’t you go find him?” Thor snarled.

He brushed past the guard who scowled at the dismissive gesture and led you down the corridor. You were off-balance as he tugged you along and you struggled to keep up with his long steps. The stairs proved near treacherous as your nerves had you unsteady. The stone passed you by as your thoughts raced.

As you came out in the sunlight, the prince’s hand went to the small of your back and his gait slowed. He drew you closer as he led you around the façade. The tall hedges stood at the other end of the yard and the song of birds mingled with the vines that grew over the walls of the palace.

“I was rather disappointed that my brother cut our introduction so short,” he said at last, “And he was so quick to be away I thought to come visit him instead.”

“Oh,” you watched your skirts move around your legs as you walked.

“I do love my brother, even if he does not think so.” He neared the maze of greenery and inhaled the scent of pollen and dirt. “He can be so… detached. And I was almost insulted to think he would hide anything from me. Especially a creature such as yourself. It is as if he does not trust me.” He shook his head and looked down glumly. “Why, he would not have the throne if I had not abdicated. Not that I’d want it back. He is better made for that than I.”

You said nothing. There was nothing you could say. You were a peasant and a whore. Your grasp of politics was sparse if not comical to those born to it.

“Tell me, lady, where did my brother find you? I never saw you at court before.”

You looked away and examined the bushes. You felt thin as air, ready to dissipate into nothing.

“I am not of the court, your highness.” You confessed.

“Oh? A servant then? Gods knows my father did have a taste for them as well.”

“I am-- was a crafter. I worked in my uncle’s shop.” You replied. 

“Ah…” The prince thought, “And he was a patron to your uncle’s business.”

“Well… no. We worked with clay and wood more than silver or gold. He--” You blinked. How could you say it? Should you?

“You needn’t be shy with me, lady. I am only curious about my brother’s pet.” He mused and you frowned. “Oh, I see, you do not like that. Well, what should I call you? What are you to him?”

You stopped short and he turned to face you as his arm slipped from behind you. “You might guess at it but I don’t think it needs to be said.”

He chuckled and puffed his chest. “I see.” He squinted, “He always did like a woman with a will. And to think a peasant might dare to act as her own… My brother is not so complicated as he pretends.”

“Your brother will be upset you broke into his chambers, I think.”

“And as perturbed that you did go with me, my insistence be damned.” He grinned. “I am not your enemy so do not make me one.”

You averted your eyes and carried on as he turned to walk beside you once more. You were quiet, pensive. You recalled the tournament and how you had sneaked out; it was the last you had been out on your own feet. You followed the prince as he knew the labyrinth well and your gaze strayed to the thorny roses as you reached the centre.

“Sit,” he guided you to a stone bench, “I wouldn’t think Loki allows you much time without his chambers. If you were mine, I wouldn’t either.” He winked and pivoted on his heel, “Perhaps when I am here, I might find a lamb of my own.”

You watched his broad shoulders as he fingered the petals of a rose.

“I love my wife but she nears motherhood and thinks more of the child than her own husband. She isn’t of the condition to tend to my affections,” he mourned. “But a man has needs and if a wife cannot serve her husband, he musts seek them elsewhere.”

You shifted on the bench as he continued along the brush. “My brother is wise. When he finds a wife, he can retain you still. You see wives are not so… daring.”

“Surely not,” you muttered. “Are there not whores in your city?”

“Whore-- do not be so crude,” he reproached. “But I’ve not yet found any I should like as a mistress.”

You nodded as you watched his back. He continued around the border of the small square at the centre of the maze. You gripped the edge of the bench. You bent as if to stand and he didn’t seem to notice. Your heart began to patter as you stood. As the thought dared to flit through your mind.

When would you ever see the outside of the palace again? When had you so long away from the king? When had a chance ever shone so brightly before you? Why, you had been arrested upon your intrusion so how difficult should it be to reverse your trespass?

You stepped slowly along the bench. Thor bent and plucked a rich red bloom. He stood and turned to face you.

“Do you dare try it?” He wondered. “Do you think you might get far?”

Your eyes flashed and you froze. He smiled and held up the rose to his nose.

“Go on and lose yourself in these hedges. I will wait an hour before I report back your flight.” He snickered. “More than enough time.”

“What-- Why?” You sputtered.

“Because it is what you want. Because my brother did lie to me. Because I enjoy his temper.” He came closer and flicked away the rose. “Because I have been bored for months.”

“No, no. We should go back.” You deflated. “If I run…”

“He will be most unhappy. And to think what he should do to you.” He tutted. “But if you don’t run,” he pushed his cape back on your shoulders and cupped your tits. “To think what I should do.”

You shoved his hands away and fell back on the bench. You caught yourself and spun so that you came up on the other side of it. He bent and placed his hands flat on the stone. “So, my dear, do you think you might evade me for long enough? If you do, do you think you might elude my brother too?”

You blanched and your skirts caught on the bushes as you backed away.

“Oh, but let’s be fair. I shall count one hundred seconds before I seek you out.” He raised his hands and covered his eyes coyly. “Better be quick, my lady.”

You peered around in disbelief. He couldn’t be serious and yet he began to count aloud and your blood turned cold in your veins. You trembled and turned on your heel. You rushed to the other side of the square and lunged into the winding pathway. If you could retrace your steps, you might escape and tell Loki what his brother did. But the king might not believe you; surely he wouldn’t and you would be the one to atone for Thor’s lust. Though if you could escape them both…

You raced blindly along the hedges as Thor’s count faded, though it floated on the air still. When it stopped, your chest clenched. You were lost. You’d tried to recall all the way you’d come but it had all been scrambled by the adrenaline pulsing through you. You stopped and hissed as your lungs burned. You clawed at the laces along your throat and threw the cape over the hedge. You continued back and turned along another path.

You heard steps on the other side of the hedge. You stopped and listened as you walked slowly along the dirt. You heard a laugh and you got down on the ground. You slid beneath the bush, more so, into it, as the leaves pricked your skin and tickled you. You tugged your skirts after you as your ears burned at the noise of the prince’s pursuit.

“Oh ho, my lady, I know you are close.” He stomped along the next hedgeway, “A clever trick but you forget who I was raised with.” 

His boots came into view as you stilled in the bushes. You hoped the green silk helped hid you amid the leaves and dying buds. He stopped and knelt for a moment. “But which way did you go? I shall sniff you out, little lamb.”

You covered your mouth as ripples of fear swallowed you up. You squeezed your eyes shut as he continued his taunting. At last, he stood and turned back the way he’d come. “I hear you…” he called ahead of him as he rushed on, “Gods, I will have you!”

You let out a breath as his voice trailed away. You didn’t dare move in fear that he might come back. Though Thor did not share the same reputation as his brother, you suspected he was just as bad.

🐍

The sun had shifted to the west when you finally emerged from the leaves. The sky continued to darken as you wove through the walkways. You stopped only when you heard the clink of armor and the call to assemble. The guards had been searching for more than an hour by then. You kept close to the bushes and sank back in as you avoided the marching sentries.

You came out near the outer walls of the palace grounds. You caught your breath against the stone and ducked down along the brush. It wasn’t far from here that you’d been caught that fateful night. As you watched Gilla climb to freedom and you were dragged back down to your oblivion. 

You could see the moon as the sun began to set. It was a sliver of hope. The search carried on as you kept to the shadows and the statues. Several times, you’d nearly been caught. Each, you were certain you would. Once, you tried to start a scale of the wall but had been scared back down by the voices below.

You crept around to the gates and watched from behind the plinth of a tall statue of an ancient king. You watched from your vantage as the guards stopped each person and each cart to inspect. You might be able to sneak under the axle of one. Might.

The longer you stayed on royal grounds, the more likely you’d be found out. You couldn’t go back now and feign being lost. You couldn’t blame Thor when he’d surely already expounded a tail of your deception. You had to get out.

You stayed low as you watched the soldiers search a cart and as they moved to the other side, you approached the large wheel. You heard a thump and shout. The wheel jerked and you barely avoided being crushed as you crawled beneath the cart and hooked your arms and legs into the axel. Your skirts swept the dirt beneath you as you were rattled along.

Clear of the gates, you slowly let yourself down and laid flat until the cart passed over you completely. Stunned, you opened your eyes and felt your body, making certain you hadn’t been mangled without realising it. You sat up and peered around. The city beckoned to you. Welcome home! 

If you could hide in the alleys, you could find a way out. You might even get to the next village before any knew it and from there, you’d be lost to the wind.

You took a step forward and were suddenly jolted back as an arm wrapped around your waist. The heavy mail was cold through the thin fabric of your dress and you were slammed against the wall as a shadow scowled down at you. His heavy breaths seared you in the cool night air.

You squirmed as the gauntlet stretched across your throat and you picked at it helplessly. Your slippers slid in the dirt as you beat at the angry wraith that held you. He leaned in and inhaled so that it tickled your cheek.

“Sneaky little bitch,” Magnus growled.

“Let me go!” You tried to bend his finger back. “Get off!”

He scoffed and tore you from against the wall. He turned you and gripped the back of your neck as he marched you away from the palace and down the road. He kicked your feet as you dug your heels in and thrust your forward. You realised, he wasn’t taking you back.

“Wait, where are you taking me?” You struggled as you latched onto his wrist and he squeezed until you winced. “You monster, get--”

“I’ll kick your fucking teeth in,” he snarled, “Now shut up, whore.”

“You can’t--”

“I can do whatever I want. The king’s charged me to find you. He’s angry enough, imagine how much worse it’ll be when I return empty-handed…” He sneered, “Imagine how the days will feed his temper. To think what he will do when you are eventually discovered.”

“What-- You--”

“If I have to tell you again, I’ll do worse than he ever did,” Magnus twisted your arm back and forced you ahead of him. “Not that I won’t try anyway.”

You whined as it felt as if your arm would snap. He kept on as he steered you towards the dark streets of the city and into a long alleyway.

“It’ll be a pity if his whore should turn up dead,” he snorted, “Pity either way for you.”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Six

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: nsfw sort of?? barely

***

Cassian is going to kill Nesta.

He’s never met a woman so stubborn that she would rather throw herself under a bus than accept help from others.

“What happened to your rants about universal healthcare and redistributing wealth?” He gestures furiously between the two of them while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. “I’m trying to redistribute the wealth!”

She scoffs from the passenger seat. “Nice try, comrade. I’m not letting you dangle your wallet over me while I live with you for free. It’s disgusting and manipulative.”

Cassian wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “Why do you automatically assume I’m trying to manipulate you?” he says incredulously.

“You don’t get to pay for my things,” she snaps. “They’re mine.”

“I know you’re already broke from that MRI—”

“That’s none of your business.”

They pull up to one of the university buildings. “Oh, great argument.” Cassian brings the truck to a stop. “Are you gonna use that one in court?”

Nesta buttons her blue blazer and furiously grabs her things, not saying a word.

“What are you thinking now?” Cassian pokes, the hardness dissolved from his voice a little.

She shoves the passenger door open. “How much longer it’s going to take to get my car fucking fixed,” she bites, hopping out of the truck and slamming the door shut on Cassian’s face.

Clenching his jaw, he watches her walk sharply for the building, tension ratcheting her figure. Impossible woman.

She does look damn good in a pantsuit, though.

***

Nesta has to take deep breaths before she enters the mock courtroom, refusing to let Cassian get to her head right now.

It's not his offering to pay for her endometriosis treatment that pisses her off, but it's that he won't take no for an answer. She wishes he could just let her dig herself into a hole of debt and despair like millions of Americans already do every day. She wishes he wouldn't demand an explanation from her every time she screams and cries about getting her way.

Later. Her mind clears through an imaginary filter. You’ll deal with him later.

Now, she has a case to win.

Nesta strides into the courtroom with her file of documents and takes the speaker’s bench, her opponent already seated on the other side of the aisle. Emerie Nikolis is five feet nine inches of Mediterranean goddess, and the only student at Prythian Law who’s been able to challenge Nesta for her spot at the top of the class. Not that she’s succeeded.

Nesta’s never been up against another woman for a moot court, though, and it adds a buzz to her nerves. Men always come into the courtroom with too much confidence and not enough research, and from there Nesta can steadily dismantle their arguments until they’re left spluttering. From Emerie’s cutting hawk eyes, Nesta knows she doesn’t function like that.

As student judges file in and head for their seats, Nesta leans over and mutters to Emerie, “Good luck defending the side that represents everything morally corrupt with this country.”

Emerie brushes back her ponytail and smiles mockingly at Nesta. “You mean the side that powerful white men have chosen since the beginning of time? I won’t need luck.”

Nesta scowls at the panel of student judges. They are all white men.

“You’re lucky I enjoy a challenge,” she hisses, and sits back in her seat as they start calling oyez.

***

Cassian doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

He’s cleaning up around the house while Nesta is gone, and ends up finding a worn paperback trapped between the leather cushions of the couch. Pulling it out, he takes one look at the cover and nearly chokes. A half-undressed man graces the cover in regency-era clothes, his flowy shirt unbuttoned to reveal toned abs. A woman with golden curls clutches onto him passionately, only dressed in a corset and underskirt.

A slow smirk spreads over his face and he snickers. He didn't know people read these anymore. A glance at the back of the book proves his point: published in 1999, a true vintage piece.

Plopping onto the couch and laying back, he opens the paperback. If Nesta doesn't want him reading her books, she shouldn't leave them lying around the place.

Flipping to a random page, he frowns when it isn't a smut scene. Boring. He keeps flipping until he finds one, and props his feet onto the armrest to get comfortable. Now what exactly does Nesta Archeron get off to?

Over an hour and a hundred pages of surprisingly tender romance later, his aching eyes finally slip closed. The open book falls onto his face, and the scent of faded ink follows him into sleep.

Cassian is in a dim candle-lit room. Foiled wallpaper and overstuffed furniture decorates the space, and there, by the small window, she waits.

She turns her head to speak over her shoulder, “You came.”

“I did.” The line comes to him naturally.

Without turning around, her hands reach up for her hair. She starts removing pins from her updo, golden curls falling apart one by one. Once the last pin drops, she finally turns around.

Gleaming locks now frame her soft face and shoulders; her pale breasts rise and fall above the low curve of her thin nightgown. Under the candlelight, she looks freshly forged and porcelain-like at the same time.

“Could you help me?” Nesta says.

Cassian is stuck in his spot, unable to move. He's never seen Nesta like this: so heavenly, but so different.

“Cassian?” she asks again.

“Oh,” he stutters, “um— what do you need?”

She steps closer. “You.” His breathing stops. Nesta slips her slender hands up his arms, to his shoulders. She's holding him close. “I need you to tell me something.”

“Anything.”

Her breath fans over his face. “Do you want me?”

Cassian is very still.

“Do you want me like I want you, Cassian?” she repeats, pressing closer to him. He can feel her nipples through the wispy fabric of her gown.

“Yes,” he breathes shakily. He doesn't know which hurts more: wanting Nesta or being wanted by her.

“Have you been very lonely, Cassian?” She drags her hands back down his arms, finding his hands and placing them on her shoulders. “Is that why you like having me around so much, because you’ve been lonely?”

This Nesta knows him… a little too well. His breath hitches as his hands, directed by Nesta’s hands, slowly pushes down the sleeves of her nightgown. In a flash, the fabric has dropped to her waist, baring her unblemished chest and stomach. Before Cassian can even absorb what's happening, her arms are winding around his neck again, and now she's pressing entreating kisses into the crook of his neck.

“Tell me,” she mutters onto his skin. “Do I make you feel heard, or am I just a pretty face to you?”

“Nes—Nesta.” Cassian tries to swallow air.

She smells so good. She feels so good, and she's not even doing anything to him, just holding him.

“Heard,” he gasps when she goes for the buttons of his shirt, her mouth finding his chest. “You make me feel heard. I like it when we talk and you listen to me. Nobody listens to me.”

She pulls away from him, mouth shining. He just now realizes how jarring the gilded ringlets of her hair are.

“That’s so good,” Nesta purrs, reaching up to clasp his face. Her hands feel thin and rough, like paper. “You’re so good.” She reaches in, her lips chasing his, and—

Awareness seeps into the corners of Cassian’s reality, and his eyes peel open. He blinks between two different worlds until he finally realizes— it was a dream.

Of course it was a dream. Nesta doesn't have blonde hair or curls. And her skin isn't porcelain smooth, but dotted with freckles and moles. And yet, the arousal stirred in him is very much real, evident by the ache in his dick. Fuck.

A throat clears softly and Cassian jumps. The romance book is still on his face, he notices, and his world is darkened by the rough pages. Batting it away, confused, he fully awakens when he sees who’s in front of him.

She’s still in her pantsuit from this morning, but her hair is undone and her cheeks carry a rare flush. Her clothes are rumpled.

“Nesta.” He scrambles upright, painfully aware that he was just dreaming about her half-naked. He carefully arranges his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs. “You’re back,” he says casually. Taking notice of the blackness outside the windows, he becomes concerned. “You’ve been out this whole time? Oh God, I was supposed to pick you up—”

“No, no,” she says quickly. “Didn’t you see my texts? I went out with some people from moot court.”

Cassian widens his eyes. He’s never heard her mention any friends from school, much less leave the cabin to hang out with other people.

“I totally kicked this girl’s ass in the Title IX case I was telling you about,” Nesta goes on, “and she wanted to take me out for afternoon drinks, and some other guys ended up tagging along too…” She twists a piece of hair around her finger, the experience sounding as brand new to her as Cassian suspects it is. “And yeah, then she got me a cab.”

He raises a brow and leans back. “You willingly let someone else pay for you? Wow, you really are drunk.”

The smile blossoming on her mouth drops and the cold veneer returns. “So you go through my stuff while I’m gone?” she scolds. “How many times are we going to have the boundaries conversation?”

Cassian picks up the paperback still on the couch. “Oh, this? This was just a little light reading. You know, since I share my Netflix and Prime with you, I figured you could share your period-piece smut with me.” He fans through the pages, trying to find the spot he left off on. “I didn’t even know people read physical romance books anymore. That’s like me keeping VHS tapes of porn instead of using my phone.”

Nesta stomps over and snatches the book out of his hands. “It’s not like I enjoy owning books with ugly covers,” she hisses. “I get headaches reading e-books. And this is a classic.” She carefully wipes at the cover as if Cassian got dirt all over it.

Cassian tries to snatch it back. “I wasn’t done with it,” he grits. “Nesta, give it back.”

“I’m glad we brought up boundaries,” she says instead. “Because we need to talk about this morning.” Shoving the book into her pants waistband, she peels off her blazer and takes a seat on the coffee table in front of Cassian.

Cassian blinks, gripped by the authority in her movements. Nesta pokes a finger at his chest. “What you said bothered me all day. Nearly ruined my night. So I’m telling you now, I’m not taking your money for anything, ever. And if you bring up the topic again, I’m moving out.” She sounds dead serious.

He’s not afraid of her. “I’m bringing up the topic now,” he pushes back, his tone hard. “As someone who considers you a friend, I don’t like to see my friends struggling.”

Nesta blinks, and maybe finally accepts that she can’t fight her way out of this, because she drops her finger. “I can’t be financially dependent on a man, Cassian,” she admits, refusing to look away from him. “I’ve done it before, and it’s no way to live life. I don’t care how nice you are; I’m not taking your money. And you can’t make me.” She doesn’t shout or hiss that last part. It’s said with a quiet strength, and it makes Cassian want to concede everything. If this is about her ex-boyfriend, then he doesn’t want to be anything like him.

But it doesn’t change the fact that her health is still on the line. “What if you don’t take my money?” he says quickly. “What if I make you work for it?”

Law school doesn’t allow for part-time jobs on the side, and Nesta’s been scraping by with scholarships and leftover money from her father’s will. The suffering is worth it now, she told Cassian once, if she’s at a law firm the year after next with a starting salary of 100K.

Nesta purses her lips, skeptical. “What kind of work?”

“You can be a legal consultant for Night Court.”

“Do I look qualified to be a legal consultant?” She’s glaring now.

“Well, it’s either that or you get to be my personal assistant.” Nesta looks even more outraged at that, and Cassian holds up his hands. “I respect your need to stay independent,” he says, “but you can’t convince me that a handout or two is worse than going broke.” Cassian himself would be dead right now without all the handouts he got over the course of his life. “Please, Nesta,” he says quietly. “Think about it for me. And if you still hate it, I’ll never bother you about it again.” Even though it would kill him.

Nesta stares at him, the gears in her brain visibly turning. Finally— “Rhysand’s company does run on handouts anyway,” she mutters, glancing away. “What’s one more?”

Before Cassian can drop to his knees and thank her, she whips her head back to him. “But I want to do real work, Cassian. Not the pretense of work while I get a fat paycheck.”

He bursts into a grin and grabs her arms. “I’m gonna work you so hard.” He kisses her hard on the cheek.

Nesta makes a choking noise and starts coughing, and Cassian realizes how that sounded. “Did I say something wrong?” he plays innocent.

Nesta’s face is red for reasons other than alcohol now, but she covers it up by shoving Cassian hard enough to send him into the couch cushions. “Asshole.” She pulls her book out of her waistband and throws it at Cassian’s chest. “Have your romance back, I’m going to bed.”

“Hey— wait, it's six p.m. What about the puzzle?” he calls after her. She ignores him and keeps walking.

“Fine,” he says to her back, “but don't go to sleep with your contacts in again; you're gonna hurt yourself.”

As she reaches the stairs, he adds, “I’m proud of you for the moot court, by the way. I’m telling everybody you're the smartest person I know.”

Nesta pauses briefly at that, before saying, “Goodnight, Cassian,” and continuing up to her room.

Later that night, Cassian does want to tell everybody that Nesta is the smartest person he knows. She's the smartest, coolest, and wittiest person he knows, full stop, with killer looks and a criminally underrated personality. But something is holding him back from sharing his feelings with the rest of the world.

It's the same feeling that's had him avoiding Feyre these last few weeks. The unspoken knowledge that not everybody sees Nesta the way Cassian does, paired with the fierce desire to protect her from any sort of criticism.

He doesn't have any definitive proof to justify his feelings, but he knows he can't stop thinking about Nesta. He knows his friends will take notice of the change in his behavior eventually, so in a fit of restlessness, he reaches for his phone to test a theory.

Scrolling through his contacts, Cassian eventually settles on Mor. She's close to Feyre and Cassian both, has an inclination to gossip, and she’s never interacted with Nesta. Perfect.

Cassian: what do you think of Nesta?

He's straightforward with her the way he always is, the way she always is with him.

Mor answers quickly without question: didn’t she let feyre work her ass off at age 14 while she sat around and did nothing?

Mor: she sounds like a bitch and i have yet to see anything to the contrary.

Mor: she has very nice eyes though

Mor: if u know what i mean ( . )( . )

Cassian wishes he hadn’t even asked. He doesn’t even know how to reply to that, so he’s about to turn his phone off when another message from Mor comes in.

Mor: why do you ask? how are things going with you two?

Cassian sighs deeply, not in the mood to start a fight with one of his best friends. He never told Feyre about taking Nesta to the doctor, or the following MRI and diagnosis. The last time he had a real conversation with Feyre was the first night of Nesta’s period, when he was worried sick over how to take care of her.

“What should I do, Feyre? She's crying herself sick upstairs and all I have is this stupid hot towel.”

“You don't have to do that,” she sighed tiredly over the phone. “Nesta goes through this every month. She’ll survive. Don’t get yourself worked up over nothing.”

That was when he decided he was calling a doctor no matter what.

And now… He’s confused and upset and he doesn't know why. Instead of arguing with Mor, he texts back, it’s nothing. A second later, he adds, but she's not a bitch.

He wants to say more, but texting Mor an essay on why she’s wrong for judging Nesta without knowing her would make him look crazy, among other things. He doesn’t know why he has to clarify that Nesta isn’t a bitch in the first place.

Either way, Cassian’s theory was proven correct.

He decides not to mention Nesta to his friends anymore.

***

Nesta lays in bed, thinking about the absolute day she’s had.

If getting drunk with Emerie Nikolis and Eris Vanserra at two in the afternoon wasn’t enough, stumbling back home to find Cassian like that finished her off for good. Her cheek has been tingling for hours.

She remembers how this housing agreement between them first started: I need you to know you can enforce whatever rules and boundaries you want while you’re here.

Nesta huffs a laugh. Boundaries are for strangers. Cassian seems content to poke and tug at Nesta’s boundaries whenever he wants, and Nesta… is okay with this. A mere month ago, this would have been her worst nightmare— living with a man who pushes her on every decision, who never does what she wants but somehow always knows what she needs.

But now they're friends, and Nesta is slowly learning that the rules are different with friends. Not everything has to be spelled out, because Cassian will understand what she's trying to say anyway. Not everything that is unknown has to be scary, because Cassian is never scary.

He’s allowed to read her books because he won’t make fun of them. He's allowed to know about her personal health matters because he won’t tell anybody else. And apparently, he’s allowed to give her a job so she doesn’t go broke trying to afford endo treatment.

These are the new rules.

She’s ridiculously glad that she told Lorene she won’t be coming back to the apartment for a few weeks. She doesn't know what she'll do after then, but for now she is okay.

***

a/n: hello i love writing cassian pov and learning more about him so much :) also thinking about having cassian call nesta 'baby' when they get together more often than 'sweetheart' just bc i think it would be a good look on him. pls share ur opinion.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream VIII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 182

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream; Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter IX: He Loves Me

We were coastin' on the coast when you opened my eyes

Made me notice where the ocean was holding the sky, right

I was blinded, your smile shining behind those green eyes

The horizon so enticing, please, say you'll be mine

The second Friday in the month of November finds Iris at home as she usually is, tucked into her living room sofa, a large glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her, right next to a loaded pipe.

This week in particular has been grueling, though in the best way. Her classes are going swimmingly, so much so that she might be able to skip the final in her multimedia journalism course; but that means she has to stay on top of every single assignment, making sure everything she turns in is up to par. Not only that, Her segment on Good Morning, Central City is in less than a week, and with the television promotions for it, there has been an increase in traffic on her blog, an increase in comments on her posts, an increase in stories in her inbox waiting to be told. It’s mind-boggling, and Iris finds herself so giddy, she doesn’t always know what to do with it.

Some of it she channels into Barry. Since opening up to one another after Barry’s visit to his dad, everything about them has been more: more exciting, more passionate, more intimate. Iris can honestly say that she’s never been fucked as well as Barry fucks her, and she can’t decide if that’s just because apparently nothing turns her on more than Barry sliding thick and slow into her and muttering, ‘yes, take all of me, baby; good, good girl,’ or if she feels the way she feels because it’s him, because he is a dream of a man, some fantasy she must have conjured up in a daydream she doesn’t remember having. She finds herself always wanting him: the heavy fullness of him, and the way he smiles at her every time he sees her after they’ve been separated for even minutes; the whispered words of ardor, and how his eyes always track her movements, watching and observing and cataloging; the feel of him lean and long and hard on top of her, and the attention with which he listens to her, validates her.

And when she thinks she needs even a moment from that, there is her Friday night ritual. She’s already showered and dressed in a silk nightgown, this one in a deep purple color with thin straps and an open back. She takes a sip of her wine as she scrolls through her phone looking for a song; she chooses one, don’t wake me up ‘cause i’m in love with all that you are, and then she settles into the sofa corner, pipe in hand. Lighting up, she inhales, and releases.

She is full and high when her phone rings sometime around midnight.

Movements slow, she grabs her phone from where she’d tossed it on the table next to the half-empty carton of pad thai. Barry’s name flashes on the screen over the picture taken of them at Wally’s birthday party. Her smile is easy and so is the absurd little flutter in her belly.

(But high Iris will concede that, while she figures she should be past this stage now, this jittery, nervous stage, she’s not at all ashamed that it is still how she feels, because there is something so delightful about being with someone who gives you butterflies, even as time keeps passing).

Her stomach dips as she brings the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

“Hey, baby.” The sound of his voice, a little bit deeper than normal, a little bit slower than normal, makes her stomach tighten even more.

“Hi, Bear.”

It’s then that she notices the sound in the background, music and loud voices. She thinks she hears someone saying, “Barry, are you talking to your girlfriend?” but then Barry hushes them and comes back onto the line.

“What are you doing, beautiful?”

“What I’m always doing on Friday nights.”

“Getting high in those sexy pajamas you like wearing?”

Iris laughs softly, noting the effect of his voice on her, how even over the phone and even when he’s apparently surrounded by people, it travels, quiet and steady, over her skin.

“Are you drunk, Barry?”

“A little bit,” he says, “mostly tired though.”

Iris shifts on the sofa, snuggling deeper into the couch. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know. At some bar with Cisco and Chester. We were only supposed to grab food and a couple beers but then they had some sort of two for one special happening, and Chester and Cisco are degenerates, so here we are.”

Iris shakes her head at that, and there’s a short pause before Barry speaks again.

“I miss you.”

“You saw me yesterday.” The part of Iris that wants to appear less affected by him is glad that he can’t see the grin that lights her eyes as her cheeks warm, as she bites her bottom lip. “And we talked this morning.”

“Hmmm,” Barry hums. “Tell me you miss me.”

“What if I don’t?” Her taunt is quiet, like the whisper of her hands on her own body, trailing along her thighs at the hem of her nightgown.

There’s another pause and the sound behind lowers a little, becomes duller. Her own music comes to her attention again, you make me see the truth in things, i think that you are, the remedy for everything, it seems that you are, the truth itself ‘cause nothing else can take me so far, and it makes her shiver from the truth of it.

“I wouldn’t believe it,” Barry tells her, finally. “Yeah, I saw you yesterday, but I had you shaking on top of me.”

“Faking it,” she quips back and Barry lets out a small bark of laughter.

“Tell me you miss me, Iris.”

She licks her lips slowly, thinking of last night when she had seen him, the encounter he’s talking about, when he’d had her climb into his lap after dinner at her small little dining table and fucked her right there.

“Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah, I miss you, you cocky jackass.”

His answering chuckle was a low thing, deep and dirty. “Now tell me what your pajamas look like tonight?

“Barry, are you asking me this around your friends?”

“No. I'm standing outside of the bathrooms now. Boys' night shifted when they saw a couple of pretty women and I got tired of fifth-wheeling. And I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

She can picture him, standing in the corner and leaning against a wall, a hand in his pocket as he clutches the phone to his ear; his cheeks are probably rosy with his indulgence and his lips pink from licking at them, his hair messy from touching it.

His voice dips again. “Now tell me.”

Iris can admit to herself that she likes when Barry gets a little stern with her, when his voice deepens and he sounds so sure of what he wants, what he needs from her. It makes goosebumps crawl along her skin, and it does so doubly now, her senses already loose, dipping into the warm, heady place that intoxication takes her.

“It’s a nightgown,” she explains. “Purple. Silk. Stops at the middle of my thighs. Has a low back.”

His groan is loud and clear. “You had to come from one of my dreams. There’s no way you’re real.”

The statement sobers Iris, if only a little, but enough that the smooth and easy flow of her breathing stutters, much like the beat of her heart, stilling until she thinks she’s gonna lose breath, and then hammering back.

“I could say the same for you.”

The responding silence is piercing, expansive, a space where words left still unsaid are scattered along the floor, merely waiting for one of them to pick it up and say it.

“Iris,” he starts, and then he pauses again. “Can I come over? I know it’s your self-care night, and you can tell me no, but I need to… I really just want to see you.”

She doesn’t even think about it. “Yeah, Barry. You can come over.”

Twenty minutes later, she peels herself off of the sofa to open the door for him. He’s standing on the other side, in dark blue chinos and a baby blue and white checkered shirt, his favorite tan desert boots on his feet. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he’s leaning against the door frame when she pulls it open. His hair is a mess and his jaw is covered in stubble, but other than the faint red tinge in his cheeks, there is nothing that tells her he isn’t as lucid as talking to her had made him seem.

She smiles up at him, aware that her own eyes are probably low and red, but he smiles back, just as softly. He doesn’t come in right away, instead reaching out to pull her to him, one big hand holding the back of her neck. He looks down at her, eyes traveling down the length of her body.

“Hey my good girl,” he greets at last, and before she can respond, he leans down and kisses her. The kiss is chaste at first, one peck and another. Then he pulls back, only enough to scoop her up, gripping her by her waist and settling her in front of him, her legs wrapping easily around his hips. She yelps at the action, but then he’s kissing her again, and they’re moving into the apartment, Iris noting the faint slam of her door behind them.

He carries her to the couch and drops down in the center of it, keeping her atop him, keeping his mouth on hers. The kiss is slow, so slow, the sort of kiss that has no purpose, not one other than allowing them the space to be together. He holds on to her by her hip, free hand trailing up and down the length of her exposed spine, but he doesn’t make any move anywhere else. He seems content to just kiss her, this deep, open-mouthed kiss.

It’s like he’s trying to get inside of her, to climb in and settle down, to take up space with his searing, insidious presence.

It’s as if he’s trying to tell himself that this isn’t a dream, that it’s really her, it’s really them, moaning into each other, holding onto each other, breathing each other in.

It’s as though he’s trying to cement their story, to write it clear into her skin so that she can’t deny it’s veracity, like he’s promising that the only thing she’ll get on the other side of her climax is this, a gentle, effortless sort of fall.

Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that.

When he pulls back, Iris cannot say how much time has passed. She only knows that her body has molded to the shape of him, that her heart has found the rhythm of his, that she’s there with him, my afternoon dream when the world is speedin’, i am still sleepin’, in my blue dream.

“What was that about?” she asks him. She stares back at him, and the way he looks at her is more intoxicating than the wine he’d just tasted on her tongue, more so than the weed that so effortlessly floods her bloodstream.

“Told you I missed you,” he replies, voice husky with exhaustion, and likely the arousal she doesn’t think ever really disappears.

She nods, a little dazed. They sit together for a while longer; Iris tucks her head into Barry’s neck and he keeps rubbing his warm hands along her spine. The atmosphere is delicate, peaceful. She takes him in, inhaling the citrusy scent of him, savoring the feel of him so close to her, surrounding her. They stay that way until Iris feels her own exhaustion tugging at her. She climbs off of him and, after turning off her music, she pulls him through her bedroom and into her bathroom. They brush their teeth, Barry with the toothbrush that he’d bought to keep at hers, and Iris reties the silk scarf she’s wearing on her head.

Inside her room, Barry strips down to his boxers, laying his clothes neatly on the arm of the chair by her window. They get into bed, Barry spooning her, his arm holding her tight against him. She settles in, fitting herself snuggly against him, and he kisses her temple before resuming his stroking, this time on her belly through her nightgown. It doesn’t take long for her to drift off, her breathing deepening before evening out. And just before she goes under, she hears it, Barry muttering, “I love you, Iris,” into her hair, so low that she’s sure she’s only just dreaming it.

When Iris wakes up, the first thing that happens is she hears it again, hears him, Barry’s night-rough voice whispering “I love you, Iris.” It runs in her head on a loop, an anaphora to every other thought, every question she’s having: i love you, iris, did he think she was asleep? i love you, iris, did he mean it? i love you, iris, does he want her to say it back? i love you, iris, i love you, iris, i love you, iris.

Over the past few weeks, Iris has become more comfortable with the idea of it, with the reality that what she feels for Barry is real and big and grand. It still takes her aback, how quickly she’d, they’d, fallen into it. As naturally wary as Iris is, she can’t discount what she’d felt last night when he’d kissed her, when he started into her, like she was the sun and the stars and every other bright light in the galaxy all at once; with awe and reverence and yearning; like he wanted to be consumed by her, and he didn’t care how close he got to that fiery, burning light, as long as she was standing there waiting for him.

And it’s enchanting to be looked at like that. Iris has been trying to get it out on paper, that feeling, trying to make sense of the contradictions: the fear that comes with caring about someone enough that they could break you; the power that follows knowing it’s the same for him too; the overall potency that comes with falling in love.

Still, the thought of saying it aloud, right now—when she’s still working on writing it all out, still trying to explain it to herself first—makes her seize up, her eyes darting wildly, her limbs frozen in anxiety.

Barry begins to shift behind her, loosening his arm from around her, and she takes the opportunity to slide out of the bed. She pads across her carpeted bedroom floor into the bathroom where her feet meet cold tiles. She uses the bathroom, washes her hands and brushes her teeth, and throws water on her face. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, chocolate brown eyes bright in her face, her skin clear, her mouth turned down in consternation.

She goes back out into her room. Barry is fully away now, lying on his back, both of his hands cradling the back of his head. Her comforter is pooled at his hips. She takes in his bare chest, the way his biceps bulge in this position, how clear his eyes look in the sun, even as his lids are low with sleep. Those candy eyes catch her as she walks over to him, staying on her as she kneels on the bed and crawls over him, settling herself on top of him. He’s half hard under her and he lets out a soft little grunt when she sits her butt right on his crotch.

“You sleep okay?” she asks him as he reaches up and traces at his iris tattoo. She loves it, the violet ink that has sunk into his skin, the hints of blue and orange giving it depth, the fact that it’s an iris, placed big and pretty over his heart.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead of answering her question. His voice is still sleep-rough and scratchy. The sound of it sends a soft little tremble through her.

She smiles, the gesture real but uncertain. Well, maybe not uncertain, but she’s aware that she’s in her head again, trying to parse through her feelings. Or, rather, trying to figure out which of her feelings is taking precedence, which one she thinks that she should address first.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

Barry hums as he drags a hand from behind his head, placing it at her hip. “You know it’s okay not to be, right? Okay, I mean. And you can talk to me about it, whatever it is.”

He gives her hip a squeeze.

“No, I am okay. I’m good, really. I just…” she licks her lips as she hesitates, unsure if she’s even ready to bring it up, unsure if she even should. But she knows that she’ll think about it all day, will hear it in her head all day, will wonder and question and drive herself sick with the thoughts of it. So she bites the bullet, lets out a long exhale, and takes him at his word that she can talk about it.

“I heard what you said. Before we fell asleep last night.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his entire body stiffens, his hands stilling on her hip. He doesn’t break, though, and continues to watch her face in that way that he does. For a moment, Iris wonders if he even remembers what he said, if the words were just some half-drunk confession he hadn’t actually meant to say,

(and the flicker of disappointment that follows is tangible, an almost visceral response that tells her much more than anything else could have).

“Okay,” he says after a moment, tilting his head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She wishes she was as good at reading him as he is at reading her. She’s supposed to be able to make the observations, to understand the truth behind what people don’t say. Sometimes she thinks that she can, thinks that when she really looks at him, she can see what’s simmering in those eyes, can understand his intentions in the grip of his hands, and the curve of his spine, and the shape of his mouth. But it doesn’t feel constant, not like he is with her, and that fact is doubly true right now. Because she can’t tell anything about what he’s thinking, his only tell being the way his hand is still on her hip, tighter than it was before, holding her to him.

“I don’t know,” she tells him, truthfully. “Did you mean it?”

For the first time, he averts his eyes, gazing over at the window. There’s nothing to see; the blinds are closed and the curtains are drawn, but he focuses there for several long seconds, brows furrowed and lips pursed. She blinks, and then she’s suffused with something foreign, something cold and bitter.

“You didn’t,” she says, and it isn’t a question. “Okay, that’s, that’s…”

She moves to climb off of him, but he’s quick, bringing her back by sitting up and wrapping both of his arms around her.

“Where are you going? I’m not done.”

Her eyes flash. “Well you haven’t said anything and I don’t need to sit here like this and listen to you tell me that you didn’t mean to say you love me.”

“What are you upset about, Iris?”

“I’m not upset, Barry,” she says, her frustration evident. She tries to move again, but he holds on to her. “It’s fine. Of course you didn’t mean it. It’s only been a few months. We’re just…”

“We’re just what, Iris?”

He’s looking at her again, with those pretty, too-knowing eyes, and she feels a little like she can’t breathe. Because he didn’t mean it. And the thought that she’d managed to get this all so wrong is, is horrifying.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, and even though she didn’t actually believe it to be true, she continues, “sex, I guess. Apparently.”

She shifts again, but he tightens his grips even more and she can’t understand it, why he’s still surrounding her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him so potent.

“Is that really what you think?” he asks, and he doesn't sound angry so much as annoyed. “That I’m just here for sex. When it’s you that initiated all of our first encounters, when…”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, fuck you, Barry. Like all that slick talking isn’t initiating. You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

This time, when she tries to yank away from him, he lets her; and with a grace she doesn’t feel, she climbs off the bed. She strides towards the living room, but she doesn’t get far because Barry grabs her by the arm and presses her body against the wall near the door.

“Let me go, Barry,” she says, heart hammering angrily against her rib cage. He releases her arm immediately, but he cages her in, planting his hands on the walls on either side of her.

“Look at me, Iris,” he commands, his voice a raspy whisper. She blinks over his shoulder, taking in the messy blue comforter on her queen bed in the middle of the room, and the pale cream curtains on the windows to the right that don’t hide much light, and the blue and cream striped lounge chair where Barry’s clothes are.

“Baby, please,” he tries again, and it’s the pleading that makes her turn.

He looks a little like he sounds, frazzled and out of sorts, his eyes darting quickly across her face and the shadow at his jaw far past 5 o’clock.

“I meant it.” The words come out softly, a little strained, and he blinks once, twice, before repeating. “I meant it. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“No,” Iris shakes her head. “You’re just saying that now. You didn’t mean it.”

Barry lets out a heavy sigh as he steps back from her. She doesn’t move, though, she can’t. Instead, she watches him, her body lost in the turmoil of the past few minutes. He walks towards the bed, then steps away again, stepping in a circle before coming back to her. This time, when he looks at her, she sees it, him, his feelings.

“You looked terrified this morning, Iris,” he explains, “thinking about what I said. I think that I can read you, that I can see into what you aren’t saying to me. I see the way that you look at me, the way that we are together, and I can swear that you also…”

“What if that’s just sexual chemistry?” she interrupts, because she’s still spiraling, her body still so heavy with the range of emotions she’s experienced in the span of just minutes. And what if he really didn’t mean it, what if she’d actually started writing this story wrong, what if this has all been some dream she’s just starting to wake up from.

Barry stops pacing to look at her, incredulous, and then he narrows his eyes at her.

“Is that really what you think, Iris?” He steps, no stalks, towards her, steps slow and measured. He looks up and down the length of her, eyes lingering at the spread of her hips, the dip of her cleavage, before settling on her face. “You really think that the way we are together is, is just sex?”

She opens her mouth but doesn’t answer, and he closes the distance between them. He stands so close that she has to throw her head back against the wall in order to see up at him.

(She tries but can’t find it in herself to be ashamed of what this does to her, even as she’s not happy with him, having his attention on her like this, having his hard length pressed against her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him like this.)

“I know that no one else fucks you like I do, Iris.”

That makes her snap and he pushes at him and he stumbles back near the bed. “You’re a smug fucking bastard, Barry Allen.”

She moves to grab her phone off the counter, intending to, she doesn’t know, throw it at his head. But then she’s plucked off her feet. She squeals as he tosses her onto her back and straddles her hips, holding her by her arms above her head. She bares her teeth at him, but doesn’t try to get away from him this time. She’s breathing heavily, and he is too, and for a second, Iris thinks that this love stuff is too much. Because that’s what’s going on here, isn’t it? It’s their first fight and it’s about love, about the fact that they’d slipped into it so simply that they (and by they, she means she) is finding it difficult to just let it be.

“I don’t mean it in an arrogant way, Iris,” he murmurs. “I just… you are a fucking goddess, baby, and if you’d ever been with anyone the way you are with me, there’s no way they would have ever let you go.”

He presses down on her arms a little, presses his hips into hers a little. “And no one has ever made me feel like this, the way that you do, in bed and out of it. And you don’t have to say it back. Not until you’re ready. I meant what I said but I didn’t think you would hear me. I just needed to say it.”

His eyes roam her face and she stares back. Her breathing has begun to level out, but she’s still left with, with adrenaline or something, a heavy, aching sort of feeling flooding through her, making her warm and jittery and, and wet. Which, she’s never been turned on by arguing before, but, by god, she is. She is. Turned on and in love and so gone on the man above her that she doesn’t think of anything at all before she leans up and kisses him.

For the first time since they’ve started doing this, Barry doesn’t take his time. He kisses her back, just as hard, the kiss more teeth and tongue than mouth. He keeps a hold of her arms in one of his big hands and then reaches down to push her dress up over her hips, lifting his own hips just enough that he can pull himself out of his boxers and spread her legs, hiking them over his waist. He doesn’t bother with taking her panties off; he just yanks them over to the side, probably ripping the delicate lace, and then runs a couple of his sure fingers through her slit to see if she’s wet enough to take him. Satisfied, he grips himself and then slides into her.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, dragging the word out, and Iris seconds that, throwing her head back at the heavy, hard, full feeling of him. He gives her one experimental thrust, and then another, and then he’s setting a pace, fucking into her in hard, shallow strokes. He clenches hard around her, her head filled with the press of his body and the smell of his skin and the thought of his love, i know the meaning’, for all the seasons, you are the reason, my love. Then Barry leans down on her, so that his chest brushes her nipples and his pelvis rubs against her clit every time he rocks into her, and her head clears of everything but this.

“God,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed.

He moves his mouth to her ear as he picks up his pace, murmuring as he always does, “fuck, baby, yes, you feel so good, girl; my good girl, shit” but his words aren’t as smooth as they usually are. He is frayed, his breathing choppy and his pace brutal. She likes it though. Her pussy grows wetter with every thrust, her hips rocking up to meet him, and she breathes out through her nose when she finds her mouth stuck in a round “o.” They’re both slick from the exertion and Iris can’t tell if it’s his sweat or hers or theirs. He holds on to the meat of her thigh, widening her so that he can ride her deeper, harder. She drips, down onto her thighs, soaking him too, and she knows that were she to look down, his dick would be so obscenely slick with her. He kisses at her ear, down to her neck, along her jaw, biting and licking and sucking on her skin. His grip on her is hard, and it isn’t so much rough as it is raw, inelegant and sensual and crude and so so so so good.

The thought of it is just as arousing as the act of it, and Iris manages to breathe out, “shit, Bear, how, how, how are you always so gooood?”

He flashes her a grin, her Barry coming back to her, and he says into her ear, “because it’s us, baby. Because I love you and you’re falling for me and we were meant for this.”

When Iris comes, it’s so hard she swears she goes blind for a minute. The world darkens and all she can do is feel: passion and euphoria and ecstasy and every other expression like it.

She’s thirty minutes late meeting Linda for their monthly brunch..

She and Barry shower together, and she drops him off at his car downtown and then she drives the couple blocks over to Golden’s. Before he gets out, he leans over and kisses her, a long slow sort of kiss, licking deep into her mouth as he cradles her face gently in the palm of his hand, and then he taps the top of her car twice before ambling over to his jeep without saying a word.

She feels a little funny after all of that, wondering why she still hadn't been able to say the words to him. He hadn’t said much to her as they’d dressed and gotten ready to leave her apartment. But he hadn’t stopped touching her either: taking her loofah from her and washing her down in the shower, running his hand over her hip after she’d hopped into a pair of light denim boyfriend jeans, rubbing on her thigh as she’d driven them downtown. She doesn’t think he’s upset with her; he’d told her she didn’t have to say it back. But he’d retreated, at least verbally, and it’s fucking with her, making her realize how much her fear is keeping her from him.

Golden’s is already open by the time she gets there so she walks in through the front door, throwing a hand up at Kamilla as she heads to the back in her stiletto heeled ankle booties, tugging lightly at the long, faux pearl necklace lying over her white half tucked in sweater. It’s packed as usual, the Saturday lunch crowd filling most of the seats, and she has to walk around chairs half pushed in and groups of people laughing and enjoying their Saturday.

She slides into the booth across from her best friend, the table already littered with food, Linda’s mango mimosa mostly gone. The other woman looks up at her, perusing, her brown eyes curious. Iris ignores her to grab her champagne flute, dropping a frozen mango slice into the glass and pouring a smidge of juice in, topping it off with champagne. She downs half of it in one gulp.

“You’ve been fucked,” is the first thing Linda says, when she finally decides to speak.

Iris chokes on her swallow of mimosa.

“Freshly,” Linda adds. Her red painted lips curve up in a devious little grin. “Is that big ass hickey you’re sporting the reason you’re late?”

She rolls her eyes, but touches gently at where she knows it’s sitting, an uneven patch of darkened flesh about the size of a quarter on her neck just under her left ear. She’d been in too much of a daze while she was putting on her minimal makeup earlier, the moisturizer and a little concealer, a bit of bronzer on her lids, liner and mascara. She hadn’t noticed the hickey, not until she was putting on her lipstick in the car and she didn’t have any foundation to cover it with.

“I’m too old to have a hickey,” she says to Linda instead of responding to her question.

“Tell your boo that,” Linda responds.

Iris wrinkles her nose at “boo” and starts spooning some sticky sesame chicken onto her plate. She forks a dumpling and bites at it as she goes for the lo mein and she doesn’t realize she’s reaching for the edamame until Linda stills her hand.

“Okay, what’s up?”

Iris chews the rest of her dumpling. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re eating.”

“Is that not why we’re here?”

“No, I mean you’re eating, doing that thing where you just throw food into your mouth without stopping or even really tasting it. You only do it when you’re really anxious and there’s no notebook or wine handy.”

Iris stills with a piece of shrimp in her hand. She drops it back onto the platter and sits back into the booth, chewing and swallowing while Linda waits patiently, sipping from her glass.

And then she blurts, “I’m in love with Barry.”

Linda nods, not yet committing to a response. “Okay.”

“And he told me he’s in love with me and I didn’t say it back.” Iris lets out a breath, tension releasing like a pressure valve has been turned.

“Why didn’t you say it back?”

“Because I’m a coward,” she answers.

Linda’s head shake is automatic, her brown waves brushing at her neck. “There’s not a hint of coward in you, baby girl.” Iris takes her best friend’s white silk blouse just as she says, “Now why don’t you really tell me what’s up.”

To give herself some time to put it all together, she finishes her mimosa and mixes another, though this one with less champagne, and she eats another dumpling, chewing slowly. Then she clears her throat.

“For a while now, I’ve been feeling, I don't know, lost. I was single, school was boring. Work was too, and it seemed like all of you were moving forward while I was just watching. Nothing felt exciting, not even my blog really. And then Barry came along, and I swear, the moment I saw him, it’s like my entire world lit up. There was this, this spark, and even when I was claiming that he was just around for sex, there was always this feeling that it was bigger than all of that, bigger than anything I’ve felt before.

And suddenly, I feel so different. I feel good, Linda. Everything is starting to feel good. My blog is getting real recognition now and Dr. Jamison must also be getting good sex because she’s been an actual joy to be around. And Barry...and Barry is…”

“Putting you to sleep every night?”

It makes her laugh, the way Linda wiggles her eyebrows as she says it, the way her eyes light up with mirth, the way her smile is a soft thing.

“Yeah, he is,” Iris says, her mouth twisting wryly. “But what if it’s a fluke, Linda? This man is everything I’ve wanted in a man and so much more than I even knew I wanted. What if we do this and I learn that he’s been, just, fucking with me this whole time?”

“You know that’s not true, Iris.” Linda picks up her own glass and drains it.

“But how can I trust this?” she pushes. “This happiness that seems to have only come when Barry stepped into my life?”

Linda reaches over and grabs Iris’s hand, and Iris clasps it like a lifeline, her pale orange tipped fingers pressing hard into Linda’s hand and Linda’s own pink tipped fingers pressing back. “There are no guarantees. So maybe we do find out that Barry has been faking this entire time. But what if he’s not? What if he’s as kind and loving as you say he is? ” She lets that digest for a moment.

“Love, and life, is a series of ups and downs, of good experiences and bad, Iris. The timing of it all is just coincidence. And I hear you. It feels so scary to realize that someone has that sort of power over you; that the care of your heart is in their hands. But what I’m learning with Dan is that love, love is always worth it. Because what you’re feeling, it doesn’t go away just because you don’t say it back, just because you don’t acknowledge it. And when you don’t you risk cutting it, him, off, and you’ll get hurt anyway. And that, my love, will be your own fault.”

Iris thinks about Linda’s words as they finish brunch, moving the conversation to Linda’s upcoming trip to meet Dan’s family. She thinks about it as she gets into her car and drives back home, forgoing working on a story in favor of plopping down on the couch and letting music play, my mind is open, so wide since you came inside, i feel so alive, without you life just passes by, passes by, lost in the reality of what she’s feeling.

She thinks about the words as she goes out to grab dinner, picking up a salad for herself and a chicken sandwich and fries for Barry, the intention to take him food not one fully realized until she’s parking in front of the precinct that Barry works out of.

She thinks about the words because Linda is right.

(She would never tell the other woman this, but she is right more often than she’s not, her poise and curious nature making her one to offer sound advice, always realistic and with love.)

She loves him, she does: his wit and his hands and his eyes; his compliments and his patience and ability to make her feel as if everything he’s ever wanted is present in the curves of her body; as if it is his profound pleasure to coax it out of her, with every touch, every moan, every dirty, mumbled thing.

Buoyed by the fact that she’d said it aloud, at the very least, and she didn’t wither away after she had, she grabs the food bags and her purse and walks up the steps to the precinct.

Her dad is working tonight but since she’ll see him tomorrow at dinner, she doesn’t drop by his office. Instead, she heads downstairs to where CSI is located, following the stairs to where they’ve apparently put them in the basement. The hallway is well lit, and there are several windows covered in closed blinds that lead to the lab door. She balances the bags in one hand and opens the door with the other. And she’s stopped short at what she sees.

The room looks like how she’s always imagined a crime lab to look like: lots of white, microscopes, and computers, shelves full of test tubes and petri dishes. Barry is there and so is the Cisco guy she remembers from Fall Fest. There’s a woman there too, in the utilitarian black pants and matching blazer that Iris knows is the norm for detectives. And it’s not that she’s there, because that’s not weird. But she’s there, next to Barry, close to Barry, leaning on his counter with her hand on his arm as she talks. She’s as tall as Iris is in the four inch booties Iris is wearing, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair and the sort of white girl next door look that men fall all over themselves for.

Cisco notices her first, as the door closes softly behind her, and Iris feels a bit mollified at the way his grin rises up when he sees her.

“Iris,” he calls, eyes twinkling. “Nice to see your beautiful face.”

Iris winks at him, pulling out a flirtatious grin so that she doesn’t scowl at the sight of the woman touching Barry.

(She’s not jealous. She’s not, but Iris can’t stand the thought of Barry looking at someone else the way that he does her, can’t stand the thought of him touching someone else the way he does her, can’t stand the thought of him whispering, yeah, baby, fuck, ride me just like that, to someone else the way he does her.)

Cisco, though, is loud enough that Barry hears him, and she watches as he straightens at the sight of her, eyes wide. “Iris!”

He gives her his look, the one where he rakes his eyes over the length of her and then lingers on her face, always trying to read her. She’s still a little frustrated at how she’s always such an open book for him, apparent after he’s finished his perusal and he smiles, slow and with more smirk than anything else. The woman next to him only moves her hand from Barry hesitantly, turning to see what all of this commotion is about. She gives Iris the same once over that Barry did, though decidedly colder, and Iris tilts her head at her before settling her gaze on Barry.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Iris says. “I know that you’re busy, but I thought I’d drop off dinner for you.”

She steps further into the room, and her heels clack loudly in the too quiet space. She pauses in front of where Cisco is sitting. She turns to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything. I should’ve texted Barry to see who else was around, but I was picking up dinner and just decided to get him some too.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “You can get me next time.”

Iris passes him and lets her eyes wander back to Barry and the detective, who’s stepped back in a bit. As soon as Iris catches his eyes again, Barry steps away from her, moving around to meet Iris. She stops at a point along a wide expanse of empty space on one of the tables, and Iris feels it’s a safe enough spot to place the food without contaminating anything. As soon as she drops the food on the table, Barry cups the back of her head and stares down at her. His thumb traces the mark he’d left on her neck.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, eyes wondering, smile tender.

She looks over his shoulder to where the woman still stands, looking at her too. She gives her a smile in greeting. Iris thinks it’s returned.

“I’m sorry. You look busy,” she responds. “Should I go?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just surprised to see you.” Without stepping away from her, he turns to address the detective. “Patty, I’ll come down as soon as I have the results for you.”

Her gaze trails over to Iris once more, observing where Barry holds onto Iris’s neck, onto her waist. “Of course,” she murmurs, finally.

She walks out of the room, her low-heeled boots nearly silent on the floors. Both Iris and Cisco watch her go, but Barry doesn’t pay much attention, his focus on Iris as he continues to rub along his mark.

Cisco stands, sort of abruptly, his chair skitting across the floor. “Barry, I’m gonna step out for a minute.” He shrugs out of his lab coat, tossing it on the back of his chair. His thick brown hair brushes against his shoulders with every shake of his head. “It’s good seeing you again, pretty lady.”

Iris offers him another smile. “You too, Cisco.”

She turns back to Barry who’s eyeing her, expression curious. “You’re here,” he says, voice low.

“Yeah,” she nods at the bags she’s placed on the table. “I don’t know, I went to get dinner and I was, well, I was thinking about you.” She shrugs with a nonchalance she doesn’t feel.

“Yeah?” Barry’s answering grin is wide, and a little bit boyish, cheeks reddening; it makes Iris smile back in turn.

“Come on,” Barry says, picking up the bags and walking over to a desk tucked into the corner. “I've got a few minutes.”

The desk is messy, stacks of folders and sticky notes all over the place, and he moves some papers around so that he can place their food down. He rolls his desk chair over for her to sit in and he grabs the bag, pulling out her salad container and his sandwich and fries and placing them in front of their spots.

She waits until he sits down in the hard back chair he’d gotten from under one of the computers and she snaps the top of her salad before she says, “so why wasn’t I introduced to the detective?”

Barry takes a bite of his sandwich and looks at her in question. “Who? Detective Spivot?”

“Don’t you mean, Patty?”

Barry pauses with a fry poised for his mouth. “Sure,” he says. “Patty is one of the detectives on the case we got called into.”

“Hmm.” Iris stabs at her salad. She takes a bite and chews, though she doesn’t really taste it.

Barry places his half eaten sandwich into the cardboard container and he turns to her, giving her his full attention. He inclines his head, watches for a second. She thinks that the corner of his mouth tilts up, that humor brims in his eyes.

“What do you want to say, Iris?”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed that she can’t focus on how cute he looks with his lab coat and glasses on, annoyed that that woman was touching him, annoyed that she’s annoyed.

“I didn’t know you were so close to the detective. Y’all were very...touchy.”

Shaking her head, she starts to go back to her salad, but then he drops his food and rubs his hands together. He leans towards her.

“Come here,” he says.

She ducks away, but he grabs her wrist gently and pulls at her. She goes, because her tripping heart and her heaving chest and her warming sex won’t allow her to not. Barry sits her in his lap, sideways so that her legs are half hanging over his. She’s a head taller than him in this position, and he presses a hand at the small of her back as he looks up at her.

“You’re jealous,” he announces, seemingly pleased with the fact.

Iris rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

Barry laughs. “So you’re just really grumpy right now?”

“I’m just curious,” she says.

“Oh?”

“About the touching.”

“She’d literally just put her hand on me as you walked in the door. I was about to move it.”

Iris harrumphs. “Doesn’t Detective Spivot know that you’re…” Iris waves her hand as she trails off and it makes Barry’s slight grin widen.

“That I’m what?”

Even she knows that the huff she lets out would only be completed with a foot stop.

“That you’re taken,” she says, boldly. Because whatever she was feeling, whatever he was feeling, this morning, they are still them: two people who’ve crawled into open, waiting hearts and made space for one another; two people who are pages deep into a story that the stars must have already been writing; two people hours into a dream that is so vivid, it has to be real.

The statement seems to sober him, because his eyebrows furrow. “Am I?”

She wants to be bothered by the genuine question in his eyes. But they’ve never blatantly talked about them. There has been some conjecture, sex-fueled mutterings that hinted at the reality of them, of their feelings. There have been looks between the two of them that tell far more than Iris has ever even realized could be portrayed through eye contact. He’s told her that he loves her. But they’ve never defined or drawn out the lines or made it real.

But like she said, they are them. And he is. Taken. So she slowly licks her lips, and nods her head. “Yeah, you are.”

This time, Barry’s smile is a sexy, lilting thing. “I’m fully yours, Iris. You have to know that.” He turns her so that he can hold her gaze, and reaches up to curl his fingers around the back of her neck, his thumb hitting that mark again. Then he says,

“I love you. I will until you love me back and forever after that. And that means that I don’t see anyone but you. I haven’t seen anyone but you since the minute I laid eyes on you in that slinky dress you had on, dancing in the middle of the crowd by yourself.” He presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Even before, for months before, I couldn’t see anyone else. Because I was waiting for you, Iris.”

He gives her another kiss, this one longer, deeper, like the one he’d given her before he left her car. She finds herself humming into his mouth, her arms tightening around his shoulders. He rubs against her thigh, higher, then a little higher, until Iris is opening her legs to try to get some sort of friction.

Minutes or moments or eternity after, he pulls his mouth away, though he doesn’t move away from her fully. Instead, he looks at her, and she finds herself lost in him, in this dream of a story. She sees the words of it, my afternoon dream, when the world is speeding; i am still sleeping, in my blue dream and i know the meaning, for all the seasons; you are the reason, my love, and she wants to add to it, wants to let herself live in it, wants to finally fall into this love story without fear or reservation.

“Barry,” she says, whispers, and she notes how hooded his eyes look through the wire-framed glasses he’s wearing and how just the act of sitting here on his lap calms her at the same time that it inflames her. Then she thinks about his infinite levels of patience as he’s waited for her to be ready for him and how he’s always been interested in what she thinks or feels and how no one has even treated her body with the, the homage that he seems to. And she...and she loves him. “Barry, I…”

“Alright, Barry, we have…whoa.”

Iris blinks out of her haze, startles out of the confession she was about to make, at the sound of Cisco’s voice. Still, it takes a second before she’s able to pull herself from Barry, and from the expression he’s saddling her with, she thinks he might have an inkling of what she was about to say.

“None of this hanky panky,” Cisco continues, either oblivious or uncaring, Iris doesn’t know. “Spivot and Mitchell need to see us.”

“Alright,” Barry calls over her shoulder. “I’ll be down in five.”

When Cisco nods and leaves again, Iris is pulled back into Barry’s orbit. He palms the back of her neck, thumb brushing the mark on her throat. She assesses him.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“I’m sorry.” He immediately goes red. He averts his eyes for a moment, before they drift back to her. “It’s tacky, I know, and I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late. This morning, I was, I don’t know, confused about us and I just…” He pressed his thumb into her skin. “I told you I’m not composed around you; I’m a mess.”

Iris covers his hand where it’s still on her throat. “You know that I’m yours too, right?” The earlier moment seems to have passed, but she can, needs to, give him this. His stare is hard and almost unreadable.

“Yeah,” he says after a while, sort of breathless. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

She wishes that she could stay in this moment with him, such a stark deviation from the way they’d left each other this morning. So she takes that feeling with her as she packs her salad up and helps him clean up the trash. Together, they venture into the hall and Barry leads her back out into the bullpen where Cisco is standing with Spivot and a tall, dark-skinned man with a baldhead and a beard. All three of them turn at the sound of Iris’s boots on the floors. Something about the look of them makes Iris grab Barry’s hand. Barry stops her a few feet away and leans down.

“I like how territorial you’re being,” Barry all but whispers in her ear. “I’ll come over after work and remind you why you don’t have to be.”

The thought of them this morning, the hard press of him, his breath rough in her ear, makes her look up at him, her eyes bright, bottom lip between the white of her teeth. It’s only Cisco’s pointed throat clearing that keeps her from falling mouth first into him.

Barry’s grin is knowing. “Bye, baby,” he says, a little louder this time, and Iris shakes her head, knowing he’s saying it in front of Patty for her benefit. He drops a kiss on her check and Iris nods at his coworkers.

“Detectives. Cisco.” She squeezes his hand once and drops it. “See you later, Bear.”

She steps away and walks out of the station, but not before she hears Mitchell say, “Damn, Allen, how did you bag that?”

She wishes she could explain that she’s the one that doesn’t know how she got him.

Barry does come over later, and as soon as he walks through the door, he pushes her up against the wall and fucks her, groaning “mine, mine, fuck, mine” into the bite on her throat, as Iris moans it back in kind, “yours, yes, Barry, I’m yours.”

My afternoon dream when

The world is sleepin'

I am still thinkin'

Of my blue dream

It's bliss

[lavenderbexlatte]

office hours

nct 1.8k words gender-neutral reader insert Reader x Qian Kun SUGGESTIVE/NSFW

🖤 warnings: vaguely inappropriate work relationships, kissing n’ touching, a boner 🖤

connect with me! / masterlist

“Any final questions before I let you go?”

You glance out over your small class of undergraduate seniors, anticipating the usual last-minute queries about due dates for next week or term definitions from your lecture today. These students are pretty bright, all things considered, and extremely attentive even though your senior seminar class meets in the morning.

That’s why the question that one of your back-row girls asks bowls you over as much as it does.

“Doc, do you think Professor Qian is cute?”

“Professor Qian? In the music department?” you ask, trying to hide how flustered you are.

“Yeah. D’you think he’s hot?” the girl repeats, grinning as she shoves her notebook into her bag without breaking eye contact with you.

“I guess…I’ve never really thought about it,” you say honestly.

The girl hums. “Well, I think he’s pretty hot.”

You get the feeling that she’s got an agenda, a feeling that’s only solidified when you see a few of your other students struggling to hold back laughter and smiling into their books. This is not gonna fly. They can’t make things weird for you, these little punks.

“Any other final questions?” you ask, “About the material?”

Heads shake around the room.

“Okay. Go home, and you better have your summaries to me by Sunday night!”

The students pick up their bags and their books and their Hydroflasks, and they leave the room in their ones and twos. As the last one bids you goodbye, and you’re left alone with your notes again, you sincerely hope to yourself that this isn’t going to become…a thing. These kids (young adults, actual grown adults, though you always think of them as kids) are far too old to be pulling shit like this on you.

Truly, deeply, sincerely, you hope that your 22-year-old student is not planning on trying to bag the music professor. That would be way too much trouble to have on your radar.

You sling the last of your class materials into your bag, and head for your usual stop after your ten o’clock class: the nearest dining hall. The school gives you free lunches on the days that you teach, so you might as well take advantage.

One trip through the buffet-style lines later, you’re balancing your full plate as you scan the room for an open table. The only one you can spot, however, is right next to a group of students, and holding court is none other than your senior girl with the apparent penchant for older men.

“-like a fucking idiot!” you hear one of the other students laughing, “He’s faculty. He’ll get fired.”

“Only if I snitch,” your student is saying.

“Or if literally anyone finds out,” says another one.

“No one would find out. No one would care,” your student dismisses. “Unless they’re in the music department, no one even knows who Qian is.”

So she’s really trying to fuck Qian Kun, huh?

It’s none of your business, really. But if this actually happens, and it even gets out that you knew and said nothing, it’ll be your ass on the line, too. And you’re really not one to fight important shit like Title IX. But the girls at the next table aren’t letting up, the conversation turning more and more raunchy and giving you a growing desire to plug yours ears with the shitty cafeteria napkins for some sense of deniability.

You stab at your meal, annoyed at the position that you’re in now, the liability you hold. Fuck.

You’re gonna have to go see this other professor, and head off this mess before it begins.

---------------

It’s rare that you’re on campus in any place but your own department, but you find yourself in the music building later that evening. You’d done a quick snoop on the faculty page and found Professor Qian’s office hours, and decided that sooner is better. If you can get to him before your (admittedly pretty and fit and 22) student does, then maybe you can spare everyone the headache.

His office is tucked at the end of the hall, farthest from the doors into the building. Lucky him, you think. Your own tiny office is smack in the middle, with essentially no privacy as other faculty and students come and go all day long. The door is shut when you reach it, but the light inside is on, so you knock.

“Just a sec!”

You oblige, waiting and praying to anyone who’ll listen that you’re not about to see a very familiar coed behind this door.

But no. When finally, the door opens, all you see is Professor Qian.

He’s not someone you know well, or someone you see often, and maybe that’s why you spend such an awkward amount of time just looking at him. Your first extremely stupid thought is that your student is kind of right: he’s cute. Thick brown hair, neat eyebrows, a jawline that makes him look like a goddamn marble sculpture…

“Can I help you?” he asks.

You nod, mentally kicking yourself for being weird. “Yeah, hi. Can I come in?”

Qian Kun gives you a brilliant gentle smile that reveals deep dimples, and gestures you into his (blessedly empty) office. You introduce yourself, give him your name and your department, and after a cordial handshake and pleasantries, stood in the middle of the tiny space, you decide to just come right out and say it.

“I have a student who I think you know,” you say, “She’s a senior and a double-major.”

He asks for her name, and you give it.

“Yeah, she’s in my senior seminar,” Professor Qian tells you.

“Mine, too,” you say, “And she’s gotten a little…TOO comfortable in class, lately.”

His grin turns lopsided. “Are we talking eating without permission, or something less tasteful?”

“She has made it clear that she’s interested in some things involving you. And her. And sex,” you tell him, fighting to keep your voice level and not actually die of embarrassment.  

Now the grin disappears entirely. “Seriously?”

You nod, “The exact words I heard were ‘he’s super stacked and I want to-‘”

“Whoa, okay!” Professor Qian cuts you off, “Okay, yeah. No.”

“Professor, I’m sure you know this, but I can’t let anything like that happen. We’ll both get canned,” you say.

“Kun.”

“Pardon me?”

“Call me Kun,” he says, “We’re colleagues, don’t need to dance around titles.”

“Kun,” you repeat, “Alright. But you – you’re not going to-”

“Christ, no,” Kun says emphatically, looking scandalized.

“Good. This has been the most thoroughly uncomfortable conversation of my whole career, but good,” you say.

“I would rather you bring it up to me than let things get worse,” he assures you.

“I’m sure it’s flattering to know that students are interested,” you joke. “Sort of wish I was that kind of attractive.”

Kun laughs. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve always thought you were attractive.”

Your brain comes screeching to a halt so quickly, you’re sure Kun can hear as it slams on the breaks and leaves you confounded and blinking at him. He has the presence to look a bit sheepish, having just turned this around on you.

“I’m sorry, was that too much?” he says, running a hand through his hair nervously.

“Unexpected but appreciated,” you reply. “And what do you mean, ‘always?’”

Kun shrugs, leaning back against his desk. “We share a lot of students. They talk about you, that makes you stand out, I see you around. Frequency bias.”

You crack a smile. “So, I come here to save you from one of my horny students, only to find you’re my secret admirer, is that it?”

“You could say that.”

He looks amused but not smug, satisfied but not cocky. The way he’s leaning his weight back on the sturdy wooden desk makes it really difficult not to notice his strong thighs in their fitted slacks, or his chest against the thin fabric of his shirt.

Maybe you were a little harsh, before, judging your student’s attraction to him. You can see the appeal. Completely.

You take a step closer to him, which isn’t difficult given the extremely limited space in the office. “You spend a lot of time thinking about me?”

“A completely normal amount of time,” he replies.

“What kinds of things do you think about?”

Kun reaches toward you suddenly, and then hesitates, leaving his hand hovering in the general direction of your hip. Fascinated, you cover his hand with yours and bring it down to meet your side, as he intended.

“How you always look so put-together but act so cavalier,” he says, finally. “How the kids say you curse in lecture and sit cross-legged on your desk and watch TikToks on your phone, but also grade harder than anyone in your department.”

You hadn’t known that anyone noticed those things. Not your students, and least of all some random colleague.

“So what do you wanna do about it?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Well,” says Kun, taking hold of your hip more firmly, “Since you’re right here, and the door is shut, and you’re not one of my students…”

You laugh, and his smile makes those dimples pop out again.

“Then,” he says, “Then I think I wanna do this.”

You can say with absolute certainty that you didn’t come here to kiss Qian Kun, but that’s exactly what’s happening. He kisses calm and steady, and you’re ready to about melt into his arms. It’s just a few gentle presses of your lips against his, until he suddenly grabs you around the waist and spins the both of you, so that you’re the one up against the desk.

He lifts you the little bit so that you can sit on the cold surface of it. You move your legs to either side of his hips, and he groans a bit as he draws even closer. As he settles his body against yours, you can feel the barest beginning of an erection pressing against your inner thigh.

“Excited already?” you ask, amused, as Kun traces a path of kisses across your jaw.

“Maybe,” he replies, “Are you complaining?”

“Not at all.”

He laughs at that, which makes you laugh, and you hook your arm around his neck to bring his mouth back to yours. You could get used to this, you think, as one of Kun’s hands sneaks down to jerk your button-up out from where it’s tucked into your nice jeans. As soon as he has access, that hand goes right up your shirt to find purchase-

KNOCK KNOCK.

You jump, and Kun glances over his shoulder at the door, panic evident on his face. Before he can call out to tell whomever it is to wait a second, the door swings open.

“Hey, Qian, I had a question about the performance review for-”

Of course, it’s her. Your student, the very same one with the hots for Kun, walking headlong into the office. When she finally looks up and sees you there, on the desk, legs spread and Kun between them, she freezes.

“I…” she sputters, “I – I guess I’ll come back later.”

“Close the door behind you,” Kun agrees.

She nods, looking mortified. “Yeah, yeah, of course. S-see you on Monday, Doc!”

[female-malice]

One of my favorite female athletes took a nosedive into cringe recently and idk how to handle it.

Sue's had a TRA girlfriend for 5 years and for 5 years her platform has been TRA-free! I thought she could keep holding out but no. She gave in. Now her platform is identical to her girlfriend Megan's.

Sue... dude... you're 41. You're about to retire. And this is how you start your last season??? Idk if the basketball gods are gonna be happy with you endorsing anti-Title IX laws. You need luck to win a championship. Now that you're advocating against women's sports for the PR, is basketball luck going to go your way? Idk...

[gaveherhearttotheliontattoo]

Title: Wrong Winchester Turned Right (Part X)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Female)

Word Count: 2506

Warnings: None that I know of

Prompt: So not really a prompt, I was on Pinterest and I looked up fanfiction prompts and this popped up from a user who I can’t find the account of… Anyways reader jumps on the back of who she thought was her best friend in public but ends up quickly realizing her mistake.

Note: Shoutout to my beta reader for keeping me going

(Read Part I Here, Part II Here, Part III Here, Part IV Here, Part V Here, Part VI Here, Part VII Here, Part VIII Here, Part IX Here)

Taglist: @vicmc624

--

“70 years?” The shock you were feeling clearly shown across your face. “But then how is she here now?” You searched your brain, the depths of your memories to try to recall if there was anything you didn’t tell them. You’d spent so much time researching, you weren’t sure it was possible that you could have messed up on a detail as large as the resurfacing of this creature.

Dean watched you pace. He didn’t think you even recognized when you stood up to start walking. “It’s okay, (Y/L/N).”

You stopped walking, when did you start doing that, and stared at Dean. You had begun to associate his use of your last name with the intimate moments you’d shared. “I can’t explain this, how is that okay?”

“(Y/N/N), it is okay. You shared what you knew and we just have to do a little more digging.” Sam watched you, he’d seen the look in your eyes several times when you reached a stopping point in a case. “Maybe we should get some food.”

“You cannot make me calm down with food me with food Samuel Winchester.”

“Look, I know you. You’re hungry, hangry even. Let’s get some food and spend a little time just thinking about what could possibly explain the return. Any holidays, anniversaries, or similarities to another creature.”

You looked between the boys. “Fine, but we need to figure this out fast before she finds someone else to ensnare.”

------

After returning to the motel room you all secured a spot and opened up your laptops to do some research. You refused to give Sam the satisfaction that he had been right about food helping you, instead you continued to glare at your screen. It was like a scavenger hunt, picking through various clues to lead you to the reasoning she could possibly be awake 70 years earlier than she should.

You started by searching holidays that fell around that time that could have impacted this arrival. You’d hoped it would be as simple as All Hallow’s Eve but the timing didn’t make sense. You searched through the holidays but the only one that caught any attention was Litha, also known as the summer solstice. It was the longest day of the year but it was also the day that indicated the dark was taking back over. Considering the creature’s nature it wouldn’t be far off but there had to be something more. You switched to anniversaries.

You researched old cases that seemed similar. Disappearances of multiple girls, bodies never found, but a trail of men left in the wake of their disappearances. You spotted the trend of years between the appearances start to dwindle. What could have changed to cause this?

Dean spoke up, breaking your train of thought. “According to legend she is supposed to appear once a year, some Scottish folklore, but Sam found something saying she’s not supposed to appear for another 70 years.” 

“The American folklore mentioned that she was far more efficient when she would come out so she didn’t need to come out as much.”

“Folklore is just that boys, we need to remember that just because it’s what someone believes, it doesn’t mean it’s completely factual. Once upon a time the cases that resembled her activity were sparse but over the last 500 years it seems they’ve gotten closer and closer.”

“How did you research that far back already?” Dean stared in amazement. He drained the last of his beer, a small drop trailing down his chin.

You watch the drop of beer and your brain thinks of how nice it would be to lick it off of him. Well, that is going to be distracting. “Been doing it for a long time and I already had some prior knowledge. Her pattern is becoming more predictable though. Perhaps her investments aren’t lasting as long or the blood isn’t as rich as it used to be. Hunters do like to drink.”

Dean shared a wry glance with his brother as he popped the cap off his next beer. “Cheers to that. So, anyways, how do we know when she’s going to disappear?”

“We don’t, the dates of disappearance are the only thing that were ever inconsistent throughout time. Which is why we need to act fast.” You knew it was coming, the food break could only stall the conversation of you being used to lure her out for so long. “I say we take two days to prep and plan, and then Friday evening is the night we go through with it.”

Dean reminded himself this was the right thing to do and bunched his hands into tight fists. “What do you believe is the best course of action?”

You’d chosen the bed as your place of study but wished you were closer to Dean in this moment. You shifted your laptop to the bed and moved to the edge of Sam’s bed, close enough to rest your hands on top of Dean’s white-knuckled fists. “We go on a date.”

“A date? How will that get her attention?”

“I’ll be all dressed up and so happy to be out with you but you’ll go on and break my heart. My appearance should attract her because she has a thing for shiny objects and a mean man who deserves to die would be the icing on the cake she needs.”

“Doesn’t sound like we have to wait until Friday.” Dean adjusted, his muscles loosening at the fact that he would be with you during this scheme.

“We should wait though. Friday night is date night for most people. We need to round out the image and appearances too. Plus we can’t stop our search, especially with the interaction I had today. She’ll know we’re onto her and if we were to just go for it the next day it would look suspicious. Waiting provides us time to make it look like we are struggling, giving up, weakening.”

Dean released the fists he held and gripped your hands with his. “Weak is one thing we are not.”

“We know that, she won’t, especially if we can pull the fight off.”

Sam, who’d been patiently biding his time finally spoke up. “You two should investigate together tomorrow. You haven’t quite appeared as a couple in public and it will seem odd if the two of you just go out Friday. I’m going to take a shower while you figure out what you think you can fight about.”

You waited until the water was running, unable to pull away from Dean. You’d agreed to start something, but now the thought of ending it, even faking ending it, seemed too real too soon. “Can we pull this off?”

“Oh, I think I can manage to get upset with you about something.” Dean chuckled when you snarled. “See, we’re already ready to argue.”

“What about Sam?” Dean just stared at you, waiting for further explanation. “We could fight about Sam. I’ve been hunting and investigating with him over you so it wouldn’t be far fetched to think that there was something going on there.”

Dean flinched. “I don’t want that imagery, again.” Dean pulled you onto his lap, linking his fingers behind your back. “Does this mean we have to go shopping?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly pack going out clothes for a hunting trip.”

Dean resigned himself to the idea of spending hours looking for clothes with you, but reminded himself it was just more time he got to spend with you, something he was enjoying probably far too much. “We’re doing it together. I think it’ll help with the appearance, plus I want as much time with you before this all goes down.” Dean planted a kiss to your neck.

“It hasn’t even been three weeks that I’ve known you, the real you, but it feels like so much longer.” You hooked one arm around Dean’s neck, leaning back so you could look into his eyes. This next part wasn’t going to make him happy. “Promise me one thing, if this turns south and she lures me in, you won’t let her keep me. Trap me up until you can figure out a way to get me back or end it.” You felt yourself hit the bed before you had time to process what was happening.

“End it?” Dean was stomping the length of the room, thrusting his fingers through his hair. “We just talked about how we aren’t weak. There is no way anything is going to happen to you.” Dean stopped and looked at you. “I’m going to walk around outside for a bit, I need some space to think over the fact you want me to just end it.”

You flinched as the door slammed behind Dean. Maybe it was callous to say end it but if it was necessary so be it. To hell with him. Who did he think he was getting upset when he said he would go with the plan. To. Hell. With. Him.

You stood, prepared to just change and go to bed, but found yourself seeking out the man who continued to push your buttons.

“This is my choice!” You yelled to his shadow. “I can ask Sam to do it if you don’t think you can but I refuse to live a life with this creature where I’m luring and killing men for sport. You’re either with me or you’re not.” Satisfied you got that off your chest you turned to reenter the motel room but found yourself scooped into Dean’s arms. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Don’t you dare ask Sam.” Dean carried you to the hood of Baby and set you down, standing between your legs. “Of course I would do it but did you think the concept would be easy for me to think about? What if I told you to end it for me if she managed to get her claws in me and I was fighting to hold on? How would you respond?”

You bristled, the thought quite unpleasant. “I get it, and I’m sorry, but it is part of the job, the life.” You leaned forward and linked your hands behind his neck, drawing him closer. “This should get her attention.”

“I’m not doing this for her attention,” Dean mumbled, dropping a featherlight kiss to your lips. “I like you, and I don’t like people lightly. Giving me time to wrap my head around losing you before we go through with this plan is probably for the best and it will probably help my anger during our faux argument.”

“It’s not going to be easy for me either. I may have been indifferent to you at first but I like you too.”

“Indifferent?” Dean chuckled. “You couldn’t have cared less about me at the start if you tried.”

“You’re wrong,” You said, recalling the day you jumped on his back. “I would say I found you annoyingly attractive but we just started off on the wrong foot.”

“Does that mean we are on the right foot?”

You answered by sealing your lips to his. You crossed your ankles behind his legs, pulling yourself as tight against him as you could. You didn’t even recognize your own behavior anymore, but you were about to put your life on the line in a way that you never had before. Not just yourself though, someone who had quickly become an important piece in your life. It should have shook you how much you cared about Dean but instead you felt comfort in his arms. 

“You’ve really gotta stop thinking while I’m kissing you,” Dean interrupted your train of thoughts.

Sighing you moved your hands to cup his face. “I was just thinking about how comfortable I am in your arms.”

“Oh,” Dean said, squeezing you tighter. “Well, in that case, could you think out loud?”

“Let’s go back in before we draw too much attention to ourselves.”

Dean scooped you off the hood of the car. “Don’t wanna scratch the hood.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, you didn’t scratch the hood, now put me down.”

Dean continued to carry you, dropping you on the bed, ignoring the look Sam was giving him. He turned to his duffle bag, deciding he needed to take a very long shower. He lifted the duffle bag onto his shoulder and winked at you before walking into the bathroom. He wanted you to join him but this case needed to be over before he could think about going any further with you.

He stripped out of his clothes and turned the water on, not as hot as he normally would but he needed to cool down, which would normally work if you hadn’t knocked on the door. “What?”

“I need to change.”

“Couldn’t you just ask Sammy to step outside?”

“Oh, don’t be a baby.”

Dean pictured you changing, easily done since you’d showered together just that morning. How had it only been since that morning when it felt like it had been days if not weeks since that had occurred. “(Y/L/N), you’re killing me.”

“When you first started using my last name I hated it but now I find it endearing, kind of a turn on.” You heard Dean groan, bringing a smile to your lips. 

“Could you just change and go so I can get on with my shower.”

You slipped your night shirt over your head. “Right, I’m sure that’s all you need to get on with.” When Dean’s head whipped around the shower curtain to glare at you the laughter bubbled from deep within before you could stop it. “I’m going.” You walked out still laughing, catching a curious eye from a lounging Sam. “Just teasing your brother.”

You curled onto your side under the blanket, keeping room for Dean since you knew that was where he was going to sleep. You thought about how you woke up with him and the events that had transpired to his black eye, followed by the entire day you had. You were overwhelmed and the exhaustion soon took you under.

Dean attempted to get under the covers without waking you. Sam was out and the only light was from the moon shining through the curtains. He sucked in a deep breath when you rolled against him, nervous.

“What time is it?” You mumbled.

“Just close your eyes and go back to sleep.” Dean wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close so your head rested on his chest. As soon as Dean could feel your chest rising and falling at a slower rate he relaxed and felt himself begin to fall asleep. He knew the next two days were going to be long as the preparations to face the creature who inadvertently brought you together unfolded so he took the time to enjoy the feel of you in his arms. Running his fingers and up and down your arm he let the pattern lull himself to sleep.

[autopotion]

5, 6, 9

5: A popular series/game you just can’t get into no matter how much you try?

i'm just like @catiuapavel re: pokemon. i played it a bunch as a kid, but these days none of the games can hold my interest, i find the premise extremely boring. battling and catching cute animals just doesn't keep my attention for the sheer length of those games. it's also the kind of thing i wish i was into, because It's Huge, but i also don't feel like i'm missing out because i've got other things i can be into. i felt some FOMO when pokemon go was a huge thing, but that's mostly because i didn't even have a smart phone then, so i couldn't have played even if i wanted to (which i did, just so i could play with friends)

6: A game that’s changed you the most?

this is a tough question. i'm nixing any games from my childhood because i don't feel like they "changed" me as much as they established my interests/character. (who was i when i was five years old? a five-year-old.) so final fantasy tactics is out, because that one is more amy-defining than it is amy-changing (though i feel like i've grown into it and continue to find things to love about it, twenty fucking years later). i'm actually gonna answer this question in phases.

high school: final fantasy ix. i like ffvii better, but that's mostly nostalgia; like other people who have mentioned this already, ffix's narrative has an extraordinarily unique relationship with death that completely changed how i feel about it as a person, and what it means to face it. it gave me like a baby existential crisis, but a good one.

university: i technically played assassin's creed games first, but i feel like getting into skyrim was the number one game-changer for me (lol). an entire world of video games that weren't just linear, tightly controlled rpgs or relaxing & simple adventure-platformers opened up to me after i mastered skyrim. skyrim was the game that got me from "gamer who only plays one specific genre" to "gamer who is willing to experiment and play with all kinds of different genres." the open world and real-time combat was so huge and terrifying to me when i first played it, but because skyrim is easy (relatively speaking, like it's easy for its genre) i was able to get over some fears and learn some new video game skills that have stayed with me since.

post-university: good lord but dragon age. it was the gay romances that drew me in and kept me there, i'd never experienced anything like it before in video games. i loved the date mechanics of ffvii, but dating aeris as cloud was different than dating aeris as me / as a woman, and dragon age like... as sad as it sounds, it offered the chance to play as a lesbian, which was really exhilarating the first go-round. it's still mind-boggling to me that people play it and do like... all the straight person romances. why???

recently: i'm still stewing over it but i think outer wilds is really one of the best games ever made and, like ffix, also has an extremely unique, refreshing, and also kind of terrifying approach to life & death, and i'm obsessed with it. i'll be chewing on this game for a long, long time, it's without peer tbh.

secondarily tales of the abyss has now surpassed a vast majority of jrpg titles i hold dear to my heart, like i'm talking most of the final fantasies, so that was fun to play. ALSO has a very good relationship with existence & with death, though imo it's more depressing than ffix (but like, worthwhile depressing)

sorry about the length of this question lol. it's hard to answer. i'm sure i will find another game somewhere down the line that will change me again, too.

9: A game you turn your volume off every time you play it?

i hate turning off the volume on video games!! the audio experience is CRUCIAL to my experience of playing a game. like i'm obsessed with footsteps sounds, for instance, those tiny audio details can drastically alter a game for me. i don't like to listen to or do anything else while playing games, i like to be focused in on what i'm doing. the only exceptions to this are if i'm doing something extraordinarily repetitive, like level grinding, and i'm getting tired of the battle music, so i'll put on a podcast or listen to music or something. but in general i prefer to be deeply engaged in the audio experience of playing a game