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mendessi · 1 year

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I see you haven't been active in a while but I'm asking a million people if you could please write a Javi Pena fic where the reader gets injured while they're on a job and he like feels something is wrong or something like that thanks

bambi | javier peña

pairing: javier peña x fem!reader

summary: you assist peña and carillo in tulo to bring gacha down but end up getting hit before the job is finished

word count: 4.4k

warnings: canon-typical violence, season 1 narcos spoilers (go watch it already wyd), kind of established relationship already, angst?, mention of death (reader does not die), tender!javi, maybe more am not sure yet, there is def a little backstory before jumping into the main part

minors dni

You had been in Colombia for almost two years and had fought your way into the position you were in. Tooth and nail, one might add. Being a woman in this line of work, in this day and age was not easy in the slightest bit. You busted your ass in school and in training just to earn a spot in the DEA, even harder to get the approval to be sent to Colombia. Even with your father having a higher up position in the DOJ, it still wasn't easy and you didn't expect it to be.

The introduction of narcotics into the United States wasn't easy on you considering one of your closest childhood friends had overdosed on their birthday trip to Miami that you were on. There was no indication that she had even consumed any drugs let alone enough to OD on, but it happened anyways and when you found her the next morning it destroyed nearly everything in you.

You were always destined to work for the Department of Justice, but something in you shifted after the death of your friend. Once the war on drugs had been declared you knew exactly where you needed to be.

Your bags were packed within an hour of receiving the call of your relocation assignment and exactly twenty four hours later you were on a flight to Bogota, Colombia to meet your new bosses at the embassy.

There was barely any time for you to set your bags down before you were asked to meet Noonan at the embassy. You weren't set to begin work for another week so you could officially move to Medellín and settle down, but there were a few papers you needed to sign to solidify your acceptance of the job.

He remembers it clear as day, the second he saw you walking into the embassy. Hair tied into a ponytail, curly pieces framing your face sweetly. A powder blue button up was tied into a knot paired with light wash jeans that weren't too tight, but were just the right amount of loose, white sneakers on your feet. His eyes followed your every step as you shook Noonan's hand outside her office door, the smile on your face brightening the room. His stomach twisted at the thought of someone like you in the war torn country you were in, wondering what even brought you here in the first place. You looked out of place, like you didn't belong here and that made him nervous. As he watched you disappear behind the ambassador's door, he decided quickly that you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.

About thirty minutes later, Noonan was at his desk with you by his side. He and Steve both rose from their seats at the sudden presence of the ambassador and the short guest standing next to her.

"Boys, this is your new partner. She'll join you next week in Medellín until further notice." Noonan said before turning on her heel and leaving you there standing in front of the two men that towered over you.

You had heard plenty about them and their work thus far into the hunt for Pablo Escobar and always admired their bravery for what they do.

"Right, hello. Steve." He held his hand out to you and Javier did the same, his name coming out more as a mumble.

"Sorry?" You asked.

"Javier. Peña." He repeated a bit louder and shook your hand, your name barely making it to his ears because how focused he was on taking in all of your facial features.

"I look forward to working with you both. I have to get to Medellín but, I'll see you guys next week." You spared yourself the awkward small talk and removed yourself from the situation. You could tell they were just like any other male in this line of work that were immediately doubting you upon first impressions.

What they didn't know was that you were top of your class at Quantico and could take down a man that was three times your size. You were used to people doubting you and didn't expect this to be any different.

Steve and Javier both were sharing the same thoughts and that was how someone your size could've been approved to join the DEA in Colombia. They kept that to themselves til after you had left the building.

"She's gonna get torn apart." Steve sighed gathering his things. He and Javi were only meant to be in Bogota for the day for a briefing before heading back to Medellín.

About 30 miles from home, they came across you standing on the side of the road, blood drenching your clothes and splattered across your face and your government loaned car completely totaled. The tires screeched as Javi pulled off the road behind you, he and Steve out of the car in seconds with their guns in their hands.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" Javi asked, reaching a hand out to you. "Is there anyone near? Who did this?"

You were in tears, barely able to speak as Steve slowly moved around the vehicle a wave of relief washing over him when he saw the deer plunged through the windshield of your car.

"I'm sorry- I'm not- I don't ever cry like this, I swear. I'm jet lagged and covered in-" You barely could finish the sentence you just let out a frustrated groan.

"Javi," Steve called him over and he hesitated before stepping around you.

"Deer." Javi said before walking back towards you. He rested his hands on your shoulders and made you look at him, "Are you hurt?"

"No, it's his blood not mine. Fucking disgusting." You sighed, almost gagging at the sticky feeling of it drying to your skin. He almost smiled at the bad word leaving your lips, almost as if it didn't belong there.

"Here's what we'll do. We'll get your things, you can ride with us and we'll sort out the vehicle situation tomorrow." Steve said to you.

"I have a shirt in the car you can change into. It'll do til we get to your place." Javi said.

You sat in the back seat on the ride home after the boys loaded your belongings into the trunk and resumed the drive home, Javier's sweatshirt engulfing you. They weren't thinking it, but being so used to having to defend your every action to get to where you are now you felt the need to say it.

"I'm not like this usually. It's just been a rough first day." You fiddled with the sleeves of the sweater that Javier had lent you.

"You don't have to explain anything to us." Javier said.

"I do, though." Your replied in a small voice, loud enough for them to both hear and they understood it. You wanted to feel inferior to them, your two new coworkers seeing you so vulnerable before you first official day, but you knew better. They brought your things into your apartment for you once arriving and you thanked them one more time before they were gone.

When you went in on your first day, brand new desk was pushed against the two that were so used to being a duo. You even already had a nickname. You went through stacks and stacks of files catching up on the details of the hunt so far and listening to Javier and Steve tell you stories of what they'd been through so far.

Javier was slowly becoming obsessed with the way you gave whoever you were speaking to your undivided attention, how your eyebrows furrowed in concentration or even how you used your pointer finger to scan the lines of a file. The tiniest things you did were intoxicating to him and he hated it. You caught him staring at you a few times and figured he was just once again, doubting your right to be sat at that desk.

The boys both became obsessed with you in their own way. Steve obsessed with the way you carried yourself in the field. You took charge and never took any ounce of shit from any man that would look down on you. He learned quickly that you were not one to be messed with. Javier was just obsessed.

Obsessed with how your hair framed your face, how you quite literally would stop and smell the flowers while on a job, how you said his name, or how he sometimes caught you stealing glances at him from your desk that was right next to his. How your hand looked as you scribbled down notes from the day, or how you sounded when speaking over the walkies, the look on your face when you were connecting dots. He obsessed over he way you laughed at the things he said and got jealous when you'd laugh at something Steve said. He loved how easily you fell into place between him and his partner Steve, like the two of them were missing you the entire time. He loved how quickly you picked up Spanish as a second language and how intelligent you were. How you embraced to culture of Colombia as your own and were able to so easily connect with the residents of Medellín. He was obsessed with your smile, your hands, the way your waist curved, he was fucking obsessed with the way you smelled. Even after sprinting across rooftops, he still loved your scent, it's like nothing to him about you was not worth obsessing over.

It was almost your one year anniversary of moving to Colombia when he kissed you for the first time. He drove you home after a long day at the office since your car was in the shop and was nice enough to walk you to the door. You knew he was into you, he was the worst at hiding it, even Steve would tell him to which Javier would reply, "I'm not into her and even if I was, I'm smooth, okay? She'd never know."

You did know. And you were into him too, but you wanted him to make the first move. He was so caught up with his informants half the time you didn't know if that would ever happen, so whenever he was ready, you'd be there. It irked you to say the least, that somebody else was getting those parts of him but there was nothing you could do.

But that night you two stood outside your front door, talking about your childhood homes and what you loved most about them, you dangling the keys between your fingers as he leaned against the frame and kissed you. His fingers were soft against your cheek and his lips sweet against yours and you didn't know he could be so gentle. You'd seen him kill people before yet here was kissing you as if you'd break under his touch.

"Good night, Javi." You said to him, as you stood on your tiptoes for one last kiss before disappearing into your home, the biggest smile on your face.

Your relationship was what some would call a slow burn. You took things slow, mostly because between the war on drugs neither of you had time to focus on and nurture a relationship. So you remained best friends and coworkers, alongside Steve who sometimes felt like a third wheel. When the two of you did finally find some spare time, things blossomed so quickly and beautifully and the man was head over heels. Steve had a hard time believing it, but he always knew that once Javi found the right one, he'd be 150% all in. Steve loved that it was you that brought out that side of him.

"Bambi, we're rolling out." Carillo said to you. Hearing the nickname is nothing new after all these years, but it still almost makes you laugh sometimes. Who knew having a deer sprint in front of you on your first day in Colombia would get you a call sign that stuck with you for the rest of your career.

"Yes sir." You nodded and stood up from your desk and gathered your things.

"No, no, you're not coming." Javier said.

"Excuse me?" There were very few things Javi did that pissed you off, but the one that did it most was when he tried keeping you from certain jobs.

"This is gonna get ugly and I don't want you there." He rested his hand on your elbow gently.

"You don't get to make that decision. I'm going and I'm monitoring the Search Bloc. This is the one thing I ask you not to do." You lowered your voice, looking up at him.

"And I don't do ever do this, but I don't like the feeling of this." He lowered his tone to match yours. "Por favor, mi sol." (Please, my sun.)

"Javier, don't ask me again." You pulled away from him and followed behind Carillo as you and the rest of the Search Bloc loaded into vehicles and began the journey to Tolú. He knew there was nothing he could say once you called him by his full name.

You and Javi barely spoke the entire ride to Tolú and it should be known that it was a long drive from Medellín. Even though you sat in silence, he still rested his hand on your leg, his thumb rubbing circles onto the fabric of your jeans.

When you stepped out of the vehicles upon your arrival you watched and counted the men that loaded into boats to cross the bay. The plan was to catch them from a direction they wouldn't expect. Javi was going with the aerial team which meant you were splitting up.

"Hey," he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to him. "Be careful."

"You too."

He would've said the right words if he knew what would happen once you parted ways. He would've said them a long time ago if he had known. He knew it in his gut as he watched you walk away and board the boat alongside Carillo and yet he still let you go. He should've kissed you one more time. It wasn't his right to stop you from going on a job and he knew that. He let you go because of those words that he didn't say.

You and the rest of the Search Bloc trekked through the sand and the thick trees of the jungle quietly, nobody speaking a sound, guns up and ready to fire. You surely looked out of place being the only woman amongst them. A few inches larger and the gun you were holding would've been too big for you to hold comfortably.

You came across two men and the gun fire started almost immediately. This was something you were used to and certainly planned for long before you even landed in Colombia. You knew that once the first shots were fired that Gacha would try to flee.

You held your ground until enough of his men had dropped and it felt safe to start moving in. Half of those men had probably never even fired a gun before this moment. You stayed next to Carillo, taking the first steps out from the treeline only for your body to be thrown through the air as a shot from a rocket launcher hit the ground near you causing a big explosion. Your gun slammed into your face sending a piercing pain through your nose. Your ears were ringing and your vision blurred when you opened your eyes, looking at your surroundings. You felt the blood trickling down the side of your head and tasted it as it leaked from your nose.

"Bambi, are you okay? Hey! Bambi!" You looked up at one of the Search Bloc members attempting to reach you. He pulled you up to which you groaned in pain, and looked to Carillo who also looked to have a head wound. The sound of the voices and gunfire were in and out as your ears kept ringing but you racked your brain trying to focus on what was happening.

"Sí. I'm okay." You sat up and watched Gacha and his son rush down the stairs and into a red chevy parked under the house while Carillo screamed for a radio. You only allowed your body to be in shock from the blow for only a split second more before the shock was filled with anger.

"Wait, Bambi. Wait!" You clenched your teeth together and stood up, repositioning your gun as you shot down multiple men running under the house screaming in frustration as the red chevy pulled off. You fired at the truck, no bullets hitting anywhere that would help stop them.

You fell forward to your knees feeling two shots fly through your shoulder and one through your abdomen from behind. You turned and fired your gun sending three bullets into his chest, falling onto your back once he hit the ground. Multiple men ran past your body, most likely trying to flee like their boss and eventually the gun fire stopped.

You felt somebody's arms hook under yours as they dragged you back to where Carillo was with the radio. He said something along the lines of Bambi... down... tell Javier... it was all a blur.

"He's down. We'll put the bird down and recoup." You heard Javi's voice over the radio, a small smile creeping on your lips. "What's the situation there, is it safe to land?"

Carillo hesitated as he looked down at you drenched in blood he wasn't sure was your own. He knew the blood coming from your head and ears were from the rocket launcher and he could tell you had been shot, he just didn't know where or how many times. Your vest clearly didn't do its job or somehow so unluckily each bullet managed to hit you in a place you weren't protected in.

"Safe to land. Make it quick." Carillo said cupping your cheeks, forcing your eyes to focus on him. The drowsy and somehow slightly smiley look on your face told him all he needed to know. "I need medics."

"They're already on the way. Where's Bambi, put her on." Javier's chest tightened immediately as if he knew. He felt it the second Carillo got on the radio instead of you, he knew it before you even made it into Tulo. His worst nightmare was becoming a reality. "Put Bambi on."

"Hey, stay with me." Carillo slapped your cheeks once your eyes started to close. "Talk to him." He tossed the walkie to Trujillo who began describing everything to Javi except for what state you were in. You could hear Javier's panicked voice flooding the speakers of the walkie sounding angrier than you had ever heard in the entire time you've known him.

"Put her on the fucking radio!" Javi yelled at Trujillo, he had tears brimming his eyes but he didn't dare let a single one spill. Anxiety was flooding his chest at the idea that you weren't okay, but he knew it from the second it happened. "Please tell me she's okay. Please." He begged.

"Trujillo, tell me she's alive. Tell me she's not dead. Please." Javi pleaded.

Everything was in and out of focus, men shuffling around you, Carillo and Trujillo saying your name over and over again, Carillo constantly slapping your cheeks to keep you awake. You hardly noticed that your vest had been pulled off and Carillo was working to keep pressure to your wounds, but you couldn't even tell where the wounds were at that point. You felt numb. Words weren't words anymore and instead just loads of gibberish filling your ears.

"Where are the god damn medics?" You heard Carillo curse. "We're not losing her."

When your surrounding came into focus once again, Javi was running towards you, taking Carillo's place, holding your body close to his.

"Hey, hey." He said with a shaky voice. "Hey, stay with me. Where are the fucking medics!"

"My love," you looked up at him, those words leaving your mouth for the first and maybe the last time, struggling to keep him focus. His brown eyes were filled with fear and that's when it became apparent to you how bad it was. You were shot three times. Everyone was panicking and it clicked that you were possibly dying.

It clicked for Javi that you were possibly dying. That this may be the last time he look into your eyes, or the last time he heard your voice. That when he woke up this morning could've been the last time he'd wake up to your beautiful sleeping face. Or that today would be the last day you two shared coffee from the same mug at work. Or even that Steve and Connie wouldn't have you for dinner this weekend like they promised. He began shaking his head, trying to rid these thoughts. You were drenched in blood like the night he found you on the side of the road, but this time it was yours and that made him feel physically sick.

Carillo was the only one at your sides now as Javi held you in his arms, tears still refusing to fall from his eyes. Everyone moved away to give space to the normally mean man who's love of his life was dying in his arms.

"Don't do this to me, please. Please, baby." He whispered into your hair. "Please, don't leave me."

"It doesn't hurt." You said to him, your hand barely finding his, squeezing it as tightly as you could manage.

"What?" He asked, bringing your fingers to his lips. He didn't care that they were covered in blood.

"It doesn't hurt." You repeated and all he could do was release a shaky breath.

"I love you," You whispered. Your thoughts were barely thoughts anymore but as you approached what seemed to be death, the only thing you thought about what how he needed to hear it from you before you died. You weren't even sure if he heard it and the last thing you thought of before shaking hands with death himself was that you never got to hear him say it to you.

"They're here." Carillo sighed in relief as the sirens from the ambulances sounded. "Peña."

Javi looked at Carillo who was staring at you, so he followed his gaze and it felt like his heart completely stopped beating. Your eyes were shut and there was blood dripping from the side of your mouth, joining the streams that had left your nose and side of your head.

"I love you." He said to you. "I love you." He said it again and then once more after that for good measure, praying to whoever would listen that you heard it at least once before you died because he was sure you were going to die and he hated himself for not saying it sooner.

He watched as they cut your shirt off of you and began working hastily simultaneously lifting you onto a stretcher and rolling you away into an ambulance.

Carillo put his hand on Peña's shoulder and looked at him. Despite the love his life being sent away, and not knowing if you'd survive this, there was still a job to finish. Carillo, Javi and the remaining men filed into trucks and drove to the scene up the road where Gacha and his son had died. Javi felt some sense of relief knowing that this was a big hit to the Medellín Cartel.

As soon as the scene was cleared Javier and Carillo went to the hospital you were being treated in and Javier called into Medellín and Bogota to let them know that you had been injured in the line of duty. Steve and Connie were on the next flight to Tolu from Medellín and there within hours. Carillo was talking to the doctors because Javier couldn't bear to hear the news that you were dead. It would kill him.

"She's out of surgery, in recovery. She's going to be okay. She's strong, they say. You can see her soon." Carillo said to Javier and he nodded, finally taking a seat in the waiting room chair.

"Good." He nodded again, finally covering his face with his hands as the tears he fought so hard to hold back finally spilled from his eyes.

Carillo sat next to him, patting him on the back as he cried silent tears of relief knowing that you had survived.

A few hours passed and Carillo had left to make his way back to Medellín so Javier was alone in the waiting room when the nurse called for him to see you.

"Hey," You said to him, your throat scratchy from the tube they had shoved down it. His heart hurt at the sight of you. Your arm in a sling, stitches in your temple, two small stitches in your nose, and a bruised face to prove that it was in fact broken. And somehow you still made all of that look beautiful.

"Mi sol," Javi whispered as he sat down next to your bed, taking your hand into both of his, kissing each of your fingertips. "I'm so sorry I let this happen."

"It's part of the job." You told him. "I made a mistake out of rage. It's my fault."

He stared at you, "I thought I lost you. They told me you died twice. Twice."

"I had something to fight for." You said, squeezing his hand.

"I am so sorry I didn't say it before and I'm not saying it now just because of the situation pero mi amor, I love you. So fucking much that it makes my chest hurt so bad that I feel like I can't breathe and when I lost you today I regretted not ever saying it to you before." He rambled on and you could subconsciously hear the monitor beeping faster as your heart rate went up. "I love you, mi amor. Mi Bambi. Mi sol."

"I love you too." You said to him and you never meant it more than in that moment after almost losing your life, accepting the idea you'd never see him again. Now that you'd been given a second chance you'd never miss the opportunity to say it again.

He leaned forward, brushing the hair from your face with the gentlest touch, and leaning in for the gentlest kiss being so careful not to hurt your nose or any other part of your body. His thumb rested on your chin as he held it so softly kissing you with such delicacy as if not to break you and it was the most favorite kiss you had shared to date.

Javier stayed with you and a week and a half later you were on a flight home to Medellín for the rest of your recovery period. Not long after that Javier moved in officially where he helped you recover and still stay sane in the midst of not being able to go out in the field. Your dad even came to visit after hearing the news where he met Javi for the first time.

When you were finally cleared to return and leave strictly desk work to re-enter the field, Javi kept you at his side more than usual to which you had to scold him sometimes but could he really help feeling so worried all the time? Nearly losing you was scariest thing he ever experienced in your life and gave him PTSD to which he still had nightmares about.

It took navigating and discussing and finding time between being work husband and wife to actually taking care of and paying attention to your very real and personal relationship, but you finally found the well deserved balance.

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for the request! This was kind of fun to write and it was nice to write something after so long away

#pedro pascal #javier pena narcos #javier pena headcannon #javier pena imagine #narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena #narcos fanfiction

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butmakeitgayblog · 2 years

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I will gladly spend my life rolling out a red carpet for you wherever you go if you want to write a MBFW drabble about those piercings.

"Love!"

"Sweetcheeks?"

"Your assistance is required."

A long stretch of silence passed between the affectionate exchange of yells before a loud sigh made her smile.

"But I'm comfortable," Lexa heard the self-proclaimed couch potato whine back as she eyed the faint tan line that peeked out just above her bust line.

A week of painstaking attention to coverage, a week of taking the time to flip and bathe on alternating sides to keep everything even, of choosing only the skimpiest of bikini ties and religiously getting the loaf flaked out on her sofa to rub sunblock and lotion over every inch on display, and still, the twin strips of two-toned skin mocked her reflection. She made a note to toss the bikini that had obviously betrayed her into the trash.

But the allure of her own skin, still golden weeks off their senior year springbreak trip was too good to waste away in her shitty sixth story apartment.

It was just... well.

"Clarrrke."

"Yeees?"

"I need you."

"I'm very needable."

Lexa let her hands fall to her hips with a huff. "I need you in here."

"But the tv is out here."

"... There's boobs involved!"

All it took was a quick count to three for a predictable groan to ring out amid the sock-clad padding of feet.

"That's not always going to work. And it was a commercial, so don't get cocky," Clarke sighed as she perched herself against Lexa's bedroom doorway, arms folded and face thoroughly unimpressed. "What's the boob emergency?"

Smiling despite herself at the antics, Lexa gave herself a final look in the mirror before turning. "Too noticable?"

Blue eyes dropped to where she motioned toward her chest.

And stayed there.

As warm as Clarke's eyes on her always made Lexa feel, all it served to do was make her more antsy.

"Um..." Clarke breathed with a shake of her head and blinked herself out of whatever thoughts had clouded over. "I mean. They're— I— I can see them, yes."

Lexa deflated at the confirmation of what she had very much already known.

It was starting to drive her crazy, this transition into being someone who had jewellery constantly attached to her breasts. The constant considering her choices in clothing and coverage and realizing just how much the damn things acted like a homing beacon to every set of eyes that saw her.

She didn't regret them. Really loved them, in fact, but feeling eyes that weren't her own (or a certain shade of blue) openly caress her chest in pubic was beginning to be a bit much to take.

Lexa sighed and sent out a silent ode to her past self, innocently living her thoughtless, blissfully average-nippled life.

"Why the long face, sweetcheeks?" Clarke said with a frown as she pushed into the room. "You look hot."

"Because this is my nicest dress and I wanted to make a good impression."

"Okay? I'm still not seeing a problem. Again, you look hot. Like... really hot."

Lexa rolled her eyes and fought back the blush that always accompanied any of Clarke's praise. She loved that Clarke was always her greatest cheerleader. But it wasn't exactly helpful in that moment. "I was going for attractive, yet professional."

"Well you look those too. I know I'd sure hire you."

A wink and smile met Lexa's narrowed-eyed glare.

"I want to be taken seriously, Clarke. I can't exactly do that with my nipples popping out of my dress like little whack-a-moles."

She couldn't help her own dejected laugh when her best friend snorted and settled on the edge of her bed, only to lounge across the duvet like she owned the place.

Lexa always loved that look on her when Clarke lazed in her home.

"If you're that worried, just wear a bra."

Lips pulled back into an apologetic grimace when Lexa whirled around and pointed to the bare expanse of her back with a strangled sound.

"Right," Calrke rallied immediately. "Right, so... Suit, then. Go for the whole, 'power lesbian' vibe. Totally professional, will cover the peepers, and! Most importantly, still hot as hell."

Lexa mulled over her choices and gave her plan up with a redesigned sigh of acceptance before grabbing the suit she knew without question was on display in Clarke's mind.

She undressed in the threshold of her sorry excuse for a closet, took her time changing into boxes and choosing between two bras she ultimately decided to forego.

"So do you hate them now?" Lexa heard from behind her as she pulled neatly pressed slacks up and felt eyes her follow the entire way.

"The piercings?"

"Duh."

Lex paused halfway through doing up her belt. "No... Why, do you think I should?"

A loud scoff had her smiling because she absolutely already knew the answer.

She wanted to hear it anyway.

"Only if I suddenly went blind," Clarke said with a groan as she stretched further out across the bed and collapsed. "But you seemed annoyed, and... I don't know, you got weird the other day when that chick from the bagel place kept looking—"

"Staring," Lexa corrected as she riffled through her jackets. "She was staring while you were standing right there! Who does that? You could've been my girlfriend for all she knew, and she just kept doing it."

"... Yeah, but I'm not your girlfriend."

Lexa's hands faltered on a hanger at the quiet statement.

At how small Clarke sounded.

Her shoulders lifted as she sucked in a breath that did just enough to settle the guilt ridden butterflies that had erupted in her belly. Because it'd be worth it and she'd make it up to her when everything was ready. When she was ready.

Because that was the whole point of nights like tonight, with all the networking and the elbow rubbing within the east coast literary society. That was the point that she'd been working toward since she'd watched everything almost slip away from her. And she'd be damned if that was going to happen, to her or to Clarke, so if the sacrifice of happiness now meant brighter future later?

So be it.

Besides.

"I know," Lexa tried in a teasing lilt to break the tension and get them back to their relaxed eased. "'Cause you already have a girlfriend."

"Ew. No, I do not."

"Oh? So the girl you're sleeping with on a regular basis is...?"

She prided herself on the fact her voice only sounded the tiniest bit strained.

"I've slept with Niylah a couple of times," Clarke huffed. "That doesn't make her my girlfriend. I mean, last week we bought hot dogs and then made out on her couch. Does making out with hot dog breath sound like girlfriend activity?"

"Well," Lexa conceded and bit back a grin. "You certainly never did with me."

"I rest my case, jackass," Clarke muttered in a way Lexa could practically feel her scowl. "Now can we get back to the topic at hand?"

"My nipples?"

"Always."

"I don't hate them," Lexa sighed and finished spritzing her chest with the bottle of cologne Clarke had bought her for Christmas. She knew from her very scientific one-woman-survey that it smelled best when applied directly to her skin. "They're just like little magnets for every perv in the tri-state area to oogle... And not to mention they're... tender."

"Tender?"

"Yeah," Lexa said and felt heat flush her cheeks.

"What do you mean?" Clarke said in a rustle of sheets as she sat up. "Like they hurt?"

"Sort of."

Lexa went to reach for the button down laid draped over her dresser but then... then a rather delicious idea occurred to her instead.

It was shameless, and she could accept that, but with the name of Clarke's latest fling still fresh on her tongue, Lexa let her hand slip free from the shirt and slowly turned around.

She watched blue eyes grow hooded as they trailed down her chest.

"Do you think I should be worried?"

"What?" Clarke said in a throaty breath that Lexa felt everywhere.

She stepped closer. Settled into the space between Clarke's legs and frowned at the face staring up.

"Your mom's a doctor," Lexa reasoned very innocently. "And you know I trust you. What do you think?"

Clarke's throat bobbed in a swallow as she let her eyes drop.

Lexa wet her lips when hands pressed to her ribs, and she had to give Clarke credit where it was due, because her friend was always respectful. Always a gentlewoman (more or less). Always careful of when to cross certain boundaries, and more importantly, how.

So Lexa selfishly let herself enjoy the feel of those hands on her, every bit as much as she always did. She enjoyed the heat in blue eyes and the rushed pace of her pulse. She barely breathed as fingers traced the lines of her ribcage. Thumbs swept the under curve of her breast before apply gentle pressure.

"Does this hurt?" Clarke croaked and then shifted her touch higher. "Here?"

"No," Lexa said and it was all she could do not to sway into the touch when thumbs ghosted over pebbled pink.

The pad of Clarke's finger tapped the edge of the barbell that adorned her nipple and maybe she hadn't thought this entirely through.

"I think you're okay," Clarke seemed to get control of herself with the low sound of Lexa's groan at the twinge, only long enough to let her hands drop back to Lexa's ribs. But her fingers flexed and she pulled Lexa closer until her breath warmed the goosebumps that erupted across her skin. "They look good. I mean— I think they're healing just fine."

"Yeah?" Lexa tried around the lump in her throat that wouldn't seem to go away no matter how hard she swallowed. She let her own fingers toy with a few errant blonde curls. "All clear then, Dr. Clarke?"

"I think so."

"You think they look nice?"

"Mhm."

"Hey, Dr. Clarke?"

"Yeah?"

Lexa slipped a knuckle under the dip of Clarke's chin and slowly lifted her gaze upward.

"Your patient's up here."

A cherry red tongue peeked out from between a toothy smile.

Talk about shameless.

Lexa wondered if it tasted like the candy they'd shared earlier.

She leaned down and popped a kiss to the cutest nose she'd ever seen in her life and gave Clarke a wicked a smile.

"See what I mean about being a magnet for pervs?"

She let out a loud belly laugh when those hands sent her stumbling backward with a shove, once so tenderly holding her, instead following her every move with a defiant middle finger lifted in the air.

"You can't shove boobs in my face and expect me not to look. It's cruel."

"And I thought I was the boob girl between us."

Clarke sniffed and gracefully rose from the bed, though the blush that flamed over her cheeks was more than worth it. "My disease is situational. Yours is a chronic condition."

"Is that your official prognosis?"

"Yes, smartass."

"Situational, huh? You saying my boobs are irresistible?"

An unrepentant blonde brow lifting was her only answer as Clarke swept from the room.

Lexa grinned and slipped the shirt over her shoulders and started doing up the buttons. The sound of her tv roared back to life as she strapped on her favorite watch, the one that matched its twin currently binging a trashy show in her living room, the watch she wore whenever she needed that secret little bit of comfort that came from the words, 'My fearless Lexa. Love, Papa Jake' engraved in the metal pressed against her wrist.

She warmed at the memory of their undergrad graduation day every time she put it on.

She needed its faith with her tonight.

"So who's this date again?" Clarke called over the back of the couch as Lexa beelined for her shoe rack and toed on the loafers that complimented her suit perfectly.

"Not a date, love."

"Not the point, sweet cheeks."

"Uhh," Lexa tried to remember through her eyeroll while fighting with her suit jacket and grabbing up her keys. "Cos... something? Maybe. I think."

"Thank you. Now I have a name to give police if you don't come home."

Lexa laughed as she gave herself a moment to breathe and leaned on her elbows over the back rest of the couch. "It's not a date."

"You're picking her up to wine and dine her—"

"I'm picking her up because my boss asked me to," Lexa soothed to the petulant that wouldn't look at her. "And we're going to a work event to kiss up to hoity-toity publishing drones. Does that sound like date activity?"

Baby blues pinned her in a bored look when Clarke let her head flop to the side.

She couldn't resist brushing that perfect nose with her own.

"Listen," Lexa whispered in the scant space between them. "I'm gonna go to this stupid dinner. And smooze people I don't particularly like. And then I'm gonna come home, and have a real dinner with you. Okay?"

Her lips tipped up into a fond smile when Clarke smooshed her forehead to Lexa's own.

"Promise to wake me up if I'm asleep?"

Lexa pulled back just far enough to press a kiss to her favorite person's lips. "Always, love. You think I could ever have midnight pizza and shitty movie night without you?"

Stubborn eyes watched her fix the lapel of her jacket.

They turned soft when she bent down and gave her another kiss.

"Eleven thirty at the latest!" Lexa reiterated for the hundredth time that day.

"Yeah, we'll see what your date has to say!"

"It's not a date! So keep the couch warm for me. I love you!"

She only closed the door after a quiet, "... I love you too."

#anon #MBFW #clexa #clexa fanfic

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zorilleerrant · 13 days

Text

forget on the page murders, how many people have the Bats killed implicitly, during their backstories?

Alfred: a whole bunch, during wartime, and then acting as a thug for the UK government afterwards

Jake: tons. soldier, then a super secret deadly government program filled with assassins??? lots

Lucius: given some of the ethically dubious stuff tech inventors have done in the past, and how okay he is with Batman, probably at least a few while experimenting (volunteers, accidental)

Bruce: depending on how canon you consider LoA, probably a lot while training with them, even though he tried not to. in his alternate/additional trip around the world, maybe several, depending on what his teachers asked him to do

Kate: probably none. a socialite and only training to be a soldier, unless she had a sport shooting or hunting accident, or one of her friends OD'd and it was her responsibility somehow, she's unlikely to have killed anyone

Khoa: tons

Renee: probably a lot. as an active supporter of police brutality with the means to do it, and someone who's often intentionally gone off book so no one can see her do it, definitely nonzero

Dick: almost certainly no one. like. when would he even have had an opportunity to

Babs: probably no one, but given the state of Gotham, it would be perfectly within the narrative logic that she killed one or more home intruders attempting to murder her dad. depending on what training you give her before she joins up, she may well have accidentally killed several people training in an underground fight club

Luke: possibly one person during a match, since professional level martial arts do sometimes kill people in the ring. if it was during training, possibly even two. more than that and there would be all kinds of conspiracies about him and people wouldn't leave him alone so we can conclude that's the maximum. he could've run people over tho and we know his dad would cover that up he just seems like a really safe driver so I think it's unlikely

Jace: tbh I think to make his story make sense it had to be a pretty regular occurrence that he did hit and runs. probably a lot of either ODs or people aspirating their own vomit too, which you can assign variable responsibility for

Tam: given her number of backstories she could be a supervillain secretly and we would never know so honestly I think you could give her any kill count you want

Jason: if we go off his newest backstory, then probably a few dealers or creeps who were hanging around his building. in any of the newer versions it's likely he fought back against at least some adults while homeless, and we know he doesn't shy from defending himself, so easily a few. none in the circus backstory

Tim: so while he's definitely in a space where his parents would've covered up any of his friends/classmates he accidentally drowned or what have you, I do think he'd bring it up constantly, so I think that's very unlikely. but he could've watched it happen

Steph: I also just don't think she'd have any opportunity

Cass: her dad very clearly didn't care whether his goons lived or died. the only thing we know is that none of them died in front of her, but many of them could've died later, of injuries she inflicted. it's also possible she killed them during her training but went unconscious first and just never woke up, so she didn't see. this number could be pretty high, but there are only about three years during which it could take place, so not that high

Tiff: she seems like she would kill people, if given the right motive and opportunity, but she'd need a really good impetus, and she'd have to commit. so maybe one, but only if there were a predator hanging around her school or something. or one of her friends' parents was abusive and she could make it look like an accident or have Lucius make it get recorded as an accident. more likely she's thought about it but never been in that situation

Damian: definitely at least some, enough that he was inured to it by the time he joined Bruce, but also probably not that many given that he wasn't allowed out of the compound that often and he certainly wasn't going to be killing many of his teachers. we know he killed Mara a few times but they probably wouldn't waste The Juice on people lower down the food chain, so he would interpret a distinction between killing (temp) and killing (final final.jpg)

Maps: I think?? no one???

#look i said something #was going to include Bao but I'm not sure where the line between his backstory and his story is

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camille-lachenille · 2 years

Text

Grishaverse characters in the Riordanverse

When 1 am thoughts became a whole post about how I envision Grishaverse characters in the universe created by Rick Riordan.

Beware, spoilers from both the whole Grishaverse books by Leigh Bardugo, and Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson and Heroes of Olympus series.

Kaz Brekker:

Kaz is, obviously, a son of Hermes. He inherited all the thief and business skills of his father and he uses them shamelessly.

Kaz lived with his mom and mortal brother, Jordie. One day, some monsters attacked Kaz, and both Jordie and his mom died while trying to protect him. A satyr found a crying Kaz and brought him to the Camp Half-Blood. That’s where Kaz resentment against the gods began.

And, because he is so angry and bitter, I think Kaz would have been on Kronos' side during the Titans' war, more out of spite and opportunities than real belief it would be better under their rule. He changed side after Kronos' defeat and decided to help during the Half-Blood camp during the war against Gaea.

Inej Ghafa:

Inej’s ability to vanish in the shadows and move without a sound reminded me of Nico’s powers so, she is a daughter of Hades. She was born in the end of the 19th century in colonial India. She joined the Hunters of Artemis as soon she discovered she had abnormal capacities and to escape abuse she had endured in the hands of British soldiers. Inej stayed fifteen years old for more than a century and saw many sisters in arms fall at battle.

When she met Kaz, Nina and Jesper at Camp Half-Blood, she started to consider the idea od dropping immortality to stay with her new friends and family. She took the decision when Kaz decided to fight against Gaea and she admitted her feelings for him to herself. She fought valiantly along the demigods and embraced her shadow powers when regaining mortality.

Nina Zenik:

Another daughter of Hades with Nina. I hesitated a lot between Aphrodite, Apollo and Hades for her godly parent but her Grisha powers are too connected to death to ignore them, whenever she is a Heartrender or the “Corpsewitch”. So yeah, another child of Hades, even is he technically can’t have children with mortals, but who cares?

Nina grew up in foster care and became a yearlong resident at Camp Half-Blood once she discovered being a demigod. Surprisingly, she goes along very well with Aphrodite’s children and she also spend a lot of time with Jesper. Even if she tries not to be in too much trouble, Nina always ends up in some of Kaz convoluted plans. During the war against Gaea, she is captured by the Romans and she escapes thanks to Centurion Helvar.

Matthias Helvar:

For me, Matthias is a son of Mars. He joined Camp Jupiter at fourteen after losing his family in a car crash. He was a disciplined soldier and one of the most loyal followers of Octavian. He was made a Centurion at sixteen. During the war against Gaea, he captured a Greek girl and fell in love with her. Matthias helped Nina to escape and then tried to stop Octavian. After the war he is one of the most enthusiastic demigods who works on the good relationships between the two camps.

Jesper Fahey:

I hesitated a lot between Hermes and Hephaestus for his godly parent but, in the end, I choose Hermes. Jesper was that Troublemaker kid at school who couldn’t help but always accept ridiculously stupid and increasingly dangerous challenges. He finally went to Camp Half-Blood where he went along very well with Kaz, Nina, and Inej when the Hunters came. So, Jesper is Kaz annoying and irresponsible brother yet they really care for each other. And that’s why he first followed Kaz during the Titan’s war before changing his mind after the Battle of the Labyrinth because he couldn’t stand being against Nina and Inej. After the war, he worked hard to reconstruct the Camp to repair his errors.

Jesper is also very friendly with all the unclaimed demigods in Hermes’ Cabin, especially Wylan.

Wylan van Eck:

Wylan arrived at Camp Half-Blood just before the Battle of Manhattan as an unclaimed demigod. He quickly became friend, and fell in love, with Jesper. After the war, he is claimed by Hephaestus and he is very happy to meet his sibling. He created a lot of very dangerous and explosive devices during the war against Gaea and, doing so, earned respect from a lot of more experimented campers, especially children of Ares who bullied him when he first arrived.

Wylan grew with his abusive stepfather because his mom was in a psychiatric hospital most of the time because of the abuse. For him, Camp Half-Blood is his real family and, once the wars are over Wylan sues his stepfather with the help of Kaz, Jesper, Inej, Nina and Matthias. He also manages to reunite with his mom and goes to live with her. Jesper also live with them and there is always Inej or Nina (sometimes with Matthias) stopping by for a meal or the night. Even Kaz sometimes shows up and begrudgingly accept to join the board games night.

Zoya Nazyalensky:

Again, I wondered a lot about which godly affiliations were the most suitable for Zoya because I wanted to keep the storm and lighting aspect of her powers but the dragon is very badass too, so I had to make a cool backstory for her.

Zoya is a ruthless and powerful daughter of Jupiter. Her mom was a distant descendent of the tian Helios trough Medea and that’s why Zoya can turn into a dragon at will (dragons are associated with Helios and Medea can control them). She grew in a quite poor household and joined Camp Jupiter after causing a storm to protect herself against some monsters. At Camp Jupiter, Zoya entered the First Cohort because of her father. She quickly escalated the hierarchy of the Camp and became a Praetor along Nikolai. She is a very good strategist and a strict leader.

Nikolai Lanstov:

Nikolai is a son of Mercure and he joined Camp Jupiter very young. He is born from an affair his already married mother had with Mercure and understood very early that nobody really loved him in his family.

At Camp Jupiter, Nikolai managed to be very popular beside almost everybody except for Octavian’s followers. His main talents are diplomacy, twisted plans and his creativity and curiosity in almost every subject. He is elected Praetor just after the war against the Titans even if he didn’t really want to. He still took his position very seriously during the war against Gaea but Octavian is a pain in the a** and he has to flight for some time. He acts secretly against Octavian and recover his position after the war. Zoya is then elected Praetor.

Genya Safin:

Genya is a daughter of Venus. At first, she is a follower of Octavian because he is the one who granted he a good position in the legion even if she didn’t have good connections at first. But Genya betrayed Octavian by befriending a Greek and so was tortured by monsters and banned from the camp. She still fought in the war against Gaea, along Nikolai in exile, and she was officially pardoned after the War.

David Kostyk:

Not a lot to say about David but I wanted to include him and I think he would be a perfect son of Vulcain. He was a great friend of Nikolai and he followed Genya after she was banned from the Legion to take care of her.

Tolya and Tamar:

Tolya and Tamar are both children of Apollo. They were inseparable but Tamar decided to join the Amazons while Tolya preferred to stay at Camp Half-Blood. They still communicate very frequently and Tolya is one of the very few men the Amazons accept as an equal because he is absolutely not interested in being superior to women (and Tamar would kill the first person who insult her brother).

Alina Starkov:

Alina is, obviously, a daughter of Apollo. She has the ability of glowing in the dark and conjuring the sunlight. She is also very good at manipulating the Mist. She is a powerful demigod but isn’t very good at obeying orders so she is mostly in trouble. After the war against Gaea, she decided to leave Camp Half-Blood and live in the mortal world.

Mal Orestev:

Mal is a mortal who can see through the Mist. He was Alina’s best friend since they were children and he followed her in most of her dangerous quests and the wars against the Titans and Gaea. He was the only mortal resident at Camp Half-Blood, staying in the Big House, because Alina refused to train and help in the war if he wasn’t here. Yet, he was quite unhappy there and was very happy when Alina decided to leave.

And, if you wondered, yes, Octavian totally replaced the Darkling in this post.

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Prompt 37 (from the first list) and bodyguard au seems interesting

By the way I love your writing please never stopped just finished your recent fic and its one of my favourites.

~Notes: 😭😭😭 baby u can’t be out here recklessly making me sob!!! I am so flustered right now!! Thank you so much for being a beautiful soul 😌😌 ok NEGL the bodyguard thing is not here Becs I’m dumb and couldn’t think of one, but there’s protective sirius💜 I hope you don’t hate this!!! ILU!!!

Smash Game | Send Me A Prompt💜 | A Reblog Means SO Much!!!!

Alphard Black was a good man, a man of his community, a man of the law. He taught the ins and outs of the constitution at Columbia, never went an inch over the speed limit, hell, he even separated his recyclables into their proper piles for the garbage collector, and all while spending his down time volunteering at some sort of virtuous charity or impactful outreach program for inner city youths—the man basically leaped right out of the screen of some cheesy, after school special, wacky ties and rumpled hair aplenty.

Alphard Black was a virtuous, humble man who abided by the laws set out for him to a painstaking degree—So Sirius sorta thinks it’s hilarious that he’s kind of the exact antithesis of his uncle— the man who brought him up after running away from his bat shit parents and their bat shit values as the top of the one percent. Just kind of though.

Sirius likes to think he’s still a good guy—albeit in the typical, non second coming of Christ wannabe kind of way. He gives spare change to homeless folks at Grand Central, doesn’t sneer at raucous kids inside of restaurants or busses… for fuck’s sake he even smiles at strangers more often than not—— just the typical, What a nice day isn’t it, smile and not, I’m actually a blood thirsty maniac ready to carve out all your organs and wrap your naked, dead body in saran wrap Dexter style, smile…Which is actually a type of smile Sirius has become intimately familiar with considering that unlike his Uncle Alphard, Sirius may have a problem with the whole “Laws are created for the good of the public,” ideology, and rather subscribes to the way of thought that thinks it’s kind of thrilling to see how much you can bend and skirt around the rules till they break, or till he gets caught. Which in turn mostly manifests into Sirius participating in a very high demand business—the sort that’ conducts it’s transactions within the metaphorical underground, and makes it so he spends his days with a group of brilliant assholes that he considers family, and a discretely wicked boy who he thinks is most probably the love of his god forsaken life.

Mother Mary, help them all.

~*~

“Padfoot too Moony, are you in, Moony.”

A moment of static passes before Remus’s voice trickles through the minuscule bluetooth snuggled in Sirius’s ear, and he can’t help but smirk. “Why are you still trying to make these codenames work—they don’t work, they’re all awful and trash, and we should just stick with the numbers we were given when Moody first scouted us.”

“Mmm yeah, Moons, talk dirty to me.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,”

“Say trash again.”

“I hate you,” Remus intones. He sounds all surly and bothered, and Sirius’s fingers curl together to card through the phantom strands of his hair, knowing full and well how adorably flustered Remus gets whenever they are having one of their little sparring sessions—It’s also the same look he gets whenever he’s incredibly turned on and has no idea how to handle it. Coincidence? Sirius thinks not.

“Ah, Moony, my love, you say that as if my perfect baritone isn’t the highlight of your day. Like you don’t write sonnets and odes about it’s every cadence and lilt in your little diary you think I don’t know about. As if—“

“I’m shutting you off now,” Remus cuts in with his best, I’m trying to pretend that I am so totally annoyed even if I’m actually really amused by you and all your antics, voice. It’s one that’s basically come second nature to him whenever he speaks to Sirius, ever since they had met three years ago and Sirius had to teach him the trick of the trade after Remus had been invited into the fold, while also trying not to completely accost him with his lips and hands and teeth until the work day was over.

“You would never.”

“You seriously have an overinflated sense of worth if you’re starting to doubt that I very much would,” Remus goads, but he forgets that Sirius can see every nook and cranny of the swanky penthouse from his perch in the getaway van, thanks to his very beautiful laptop monitor. And yeah, Sirius can so totally spot that little flicker of a grin tugging on the edges of his pink lips, where Remus is trying to hide it behind the flute of wine in his grasp—his very strong and capable grasp, one that’s wrapped around the neck of that glass just so tight—Oh, erm, yeah. That’s a thought Sirius should definitely not be having at their current predicament.

“Righto, beautiful, whatever you say.”

“Was there an actual reason for your little interference, besides you being pissy that you had to take the get away position this time around?” Remus sighs, long suffering before offering a subdued, half grin to a very haughty looking woman passing him, predatory leer on her plump lips. And jeez, Sirius bemoans her poor eardrums if they’re suppose to be carrying diamonds that thick all night long— Poor hag will probably end up needing stitches like his dear mother.

“I missed you is all, lover.”

“Goodbye, Sirius.”

“Oh fine, you total spoil sport. Just an FYI that Marlene’s gotten into the volt’s room, and she’s decoding it as we speak.”

“Oh, good. Should I-“

“Moons, it’s Marls, she’s got her shit handled. You just stand there and be a the good, pretty honeypot that we all know you can be.”

Remus growls somewhere deep in his throat, and it’s bringing a flurry of such beautiful imaginings to the forefront of Sirius’s mind— including last night, with Remus’s lovely, thin wrists tied up and Sirius’s mouth trailing up and down his every patch of skin.

God, was that a good night.

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“I know, it’s a point of pride for me that I get to say I tap that. But hey, always game to switch things up if you are?”

“You are the absolute worst person ever.”

“Ooo are we circling back around to speaking filthy things, because I’ve been having this fantasy including you and these lace—“

That’s when Remus actually does shut off the communication device, and starts chatting up some smarmy businessman who can’t stop staring at his protruding collarbones.

Sirius is most certainly not jealous.

Nope, not at all—Not even a little bit.

Sirius is not jealous.

Okay, fine…So he’s a bit bothered, but can anyone blame him? All of that—chorded muscles and sparkling eyes—is reserved for Sirius, and Sirius alone. It’s taken years of volleying barbs and really intense sexual tension that was all finally resolved after a way too dramatic spat outside some sleazy BDSM club on the wrong side of town where Sirius got himself fucking shot, and Remus couldn’t stop yelling at him for being such a mother fucking, idiotic, thoughtless prick, (Remus’s words not Sirius’s,) for them to finally get to this point. For fuck’s sake, it seemed as if Remus’s anger fueled diatribe would never end, so Sirius just took the dilemma into his own hands and slanted their lips together, bloody and breathless, panting out an “I love you too,” while Remus just patted up and down Sirius’s torso, not knowing where to put his hands, dumbfounded and eager. As if he could hardly believe that it was actually happening, as if he was shocked that Sirius had finally just put them out of their mutual misery and spoke out loud what’s been lingering in their gazes, and tailing the ends of too short exchanges for years at that point—ones always composed of banter and barbs but always to fearful to take the extra step they yearned for.

Yeah, so it wasn’t exactly a cinderella story level of romance, but the point is they’ve fought tooth and nail to finally get to this point in their relationship. Nights made up of spilt hair on warm sheets, and hungry kisses of farewell, and shirts tumbling together so many times that they don’t even know which belongs to who anymore—All of them lingering with a sent of both of them, together. Something intimate. Something remarkable. Something far too soft when considering their line of employment—But it works for’m, and that’s all that counts.

Before Sirius could get to lost in getting all starry-eyed over the life they’ve built for themselves, Sirius moves to sweep his hands across the keyboard, A cautious eye still on Remus and his unwanted suitor while dividing the screen so that he can check back on Marlene’s progress, which is quite impressive if he does say so himself.

“And Black Widow pulls through again,” He commends with a low whistle, watching her practically stroll out of the volt, ancient artifact securely settled in the bag swinging off her shoulder, and cocky sneer proudly splayed across her pretty face.

“You know it dweeb.”

“THat’s not my code name,” Sirius points out with a put upon exhale.

Marlene’s only response is to hike up her manicured brows in counterfeit surprise. “you sure? I could’ve sworn…”

Sirius legitimately contemplates just driving off and leaving her stranded, signaling to Remus a separate meet up point for just the both of them. But Eventually, he reasons that might be a bit of an over reaction. So he settles for just growling out a reminder for her�� to “Respect the name,” while a glowing Marlene slinks into the passenger seat.

“Your so precious.” Sirius swats her hand away where she’s begun rubbing her knuckles into his scalp. “Call pretty boy and let’s bounce, will you?”

Reluctant, Sirius listens—only and only because he’s about ninety nine point five percent positive that she could probably beat’m to a pulp with one hand tied behind her back and both eyes glued shut.

~*~

The mission was one they’ve been calculating for months, a huge catch with a credibility brought with it that doubles its actual monetary prophet—(And wowza, that price check is all levels of ridiculous.) Moody is beyond proud, and tells them as much with a crazy large celebration back at their little underground headquarters, (which is actually an entire floor on one of the top levels of a huge ass skyscraper in the meatpacking district that disguises itself as just a financial consultant firm in the light of day.)

It’s made even more wonderful considering how he, Remus and Marlene are basically the guests of honor for their success. So that night they drink, and dance and just generally get absolutely slobbered…Then subsequently remember nothing the following morning, as tradition always dictates.

Though Sirius does distinctly remember trading sloppy hand jobs in the bathroom with Remus while the latest Beyonce banger pounds in the space between them.

It’s a good night.

~*~

Unsurprisingly, the hangover that persists even two days later really makes Sirius question the worth of all that celebrating, and he ponders on whether or not being sober would be so bad.

“Morning, Black!”

Sirius cringes back at a crowing Dorcas—Looking as wickedly gorgeous and put together as always—Dark eyes clear and methodic, and long curls obviously freshly washed.

“Sorcerous!” He accuses with as much vehemence as he could muster. “your evil! How are you even so perky! Stop it! Stop! You’re hurting my eyes!”

Dorcas just preens with far too much amusement than what should be warranted—it’s almost as if she’s enjoying his pitiful disposition. “Not all of us got as sloppy as you Saturday night may I remind.”

“Then you’re doing your entire life incorrectly.”

“I just have a modicum of self restraint, unlike you.”

“Lies! Lies and slander! I am so very disciplined! I didn’t even tell you guys about the time Remus gave me a blow job in the middle of a glass elevator when we were shopping for Jamsie and Lily’s engagement gift!”

Dorcas just rolls her eyes heavenwards, painstakingly exasperated. “C’mon, dumb ass, Alice needs you to use those hacking skills of yours to get the money Lestrange still owes us for collecting those tears of the ocean. And her bank account is sealed shut.”

“Ah, no Cas ’s too early! And my head hurts! I can’t.”

“Shouldn’t have been such a drunken mess during the party I reckon,” Dorcas scoffs with an imperious tilt of the head, tugging him along without even an ounce of sympathy.

“Hey! It was a celebration!” Sirius flails, and Dorcas just looks at him with a decidedly unconvinced glower.

“It’s all in moderation Sirius.”

“Not at a party it isn’t!” He argues back, totally knowing he’s in the right.

“Yeah whatever, you’re just lucky you weren’t sent off to Shanghai with lover boy, which by the way,” Dorcas pivots on her heels to face Sirius straight on, prodding at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. “Looks like you missed a hickey sweets,” she toots loftily, poking at it again, a flush blooming across Sirius’s cheeks in response. “Not good work decorum if you ask me.”

“You’re face ’s not good work decorum,” Sirius snarks back mulishly. Dorcas just laughs with glee.

“Do I need to talk to poor, innocent Remus about proper biting placement for you once he gets back?”

“Pff, Remus and innocent don’t belong in the same sentence.”

“Fine, then I can just give you some tips on how to properly layer foundation? I’m sure it’s a travesty how easily shit shows up with your Wonder Bread complexion.”

“You actually are evil! Aren’t you?”

Sirius could still hear Dorcas’s cackles from down the hall where Alice has set him up for the morning, and he idly thinks to himself how exactly he’s made it so that every woman in his life could destroy him with nothing more than a look.

~*~

Considering that all of their livelihoods are basically glorified bank robbers, Sirius knows that their jobs don’t really lend themselves to being able to check in on each other whenever they’d please—the only devices they’re allowed for communication are the bluetooth sets for the team deployed on the task at hand, and a single burner. It can get annoying sometimes, but Sirius and Remus always make it a point to send each other a message from the router phone whenever they arrive to the mission’s ground of operation—It’s a practice ingrained into them, one they began long before they ever started dating, one that they never break, not even if they’re arguing or it’s the middle of the night—It’s important. They’ve both lost to many people in their short lives, and they both know how it feels to be delegated to the worrying mess, wondering what’s happening to their loved one, being consumed by the most awful of possibilities. They do it because they respect each other far too much not to.

So Sirius finds it excruciatingly odd that he doesn’t hear from Remus in over thirty-six hours since he left to the Shanghai hit.

“Maybe he just forgot, Pads,” James shrugs, always the level headed ringleader. “No Proclivity is absolutely bullet proof—Ah, excuse me for the unplanned pun.” He scratches the back of his head a little sheepishly— the glasses of his wireframes glinting in the light of their shared workspace.

And the thing is, point. James is totally right. Remus just could’ve forgot. It was a long plane ride, he could’ve just been jet legged and a little dazed and it could’ve just slipped his mind to message Sirius when he landed. That’s totally a possibility.

But see the thing is, that’s also totally not a possibility—like at all. Remus is like the most diligent person on the face of the planet, which may kind of seem out of character considering how he’s more of the type to follow his heart over protocol when it counts, and his entire livelihood is based off the evasion of the law—But even still, Remus is also the guy who likes a true and tried method. He likes having security in the aspects of his everyday life he can control. Sirius knows how borderline neurotic Remus can get about certain things, like finishing all of his paper work the night it’s given, or having a stable workout regiment, and a bunch of other minuscule, everyday things that tethers him. But Sirius also knows that the texts Remus sends him blows all of those out of the water. They’re something crucial—something vitally important. If the roles were reversed, if it were Sirius who forgot to send the text, then yeah, Remus would have a perfect history to look back on and just shrug it off as Sirius having been thoughtless, no big deal. Remus would just make a note to give him an ear full when he gets back.

But the rolls aren’t reversed.

It’s Remus who didn’t send anything, and Sirius knows it in his heart of hearts that this is not normal, that Remus would never have forgotten. Remus would never have fucking been able to go to sleep without passing Sirius a message of safe arrival. It’s just not him.

James still looks unsure even after Sirius’s way to verbose and borderline babbling explanation of why he knows something isn’t adding up, so he decides to hit him below the belt.

“If this were Lily you wouldn’t be second guessing this.”

James jolts back as if Sirius had just smacked him, which Sirius guesses is kind of true, in the metaphoric sense at the very least. But whatever, Sirius’s right, and he knows it.

IF this was Lily— the beautiful, kind baker that James had met coincidentally on a random Sunday afternoon, someone completely divorced from this world— well, there would be no room for discussion.

“IF this were Lily you would trust your gut, and we’d already know what went wrong. We’d know that you were right, the she wasn’t safe.” Sirius’s face feels heated, and he knows that his throat is closing up, but he can’t help it god damn it. This is Remus—And even the thought of him being in any way hurt—No, Sirius refuses to think that way. Because he’s not, he can’t be. This is Remus god damn it. He’s brilliant and strong and he can handle himself. He’s what everyone in their group secretly strive to be—He’s not hurt, he can’t be hurt.

James just sits there, gawking at Sirius, for a moment of pure and utter silence. Sirius doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t fold back from the intensity in his best friend’s— his brother’s— gaze.

“This is Remus god damn it, James”

Something fierce rippling over his face, James nods, finally seeming to understand.

“Let’s tell Moody, and call a group meeting. We need to figure out what the hell’s going on.”

Sirius sags with the little relief he’s given, pretends that it doesn’t feel like there’s not a wildfire still spreading over his chest from the bone deep fear.

~*~

Two hours later finds their little ragtag group huddled in the largest meeting room they have, and Sirius hunched over a menacing letter that was hand delivered by one of Lestrange’s ghoulish little minions— Crouch if their intel is correct.

“Any news is good news, right?” Peter— their mousey little researcher— says in some weak attempt of comfort from where he’s silently been situated in the love seat the furthest away from the lump some, and Sirius replies by snarling viciously at him; making Peter shutter back, like the spineless weasel Sirius has always assumed him to be.

Sirius is not comforted. Sirius is furious and sick and he hates everything in sight. And all Sirius could think of is Remus, Remus, Remus.

“What do we do,” James’s voice is strong, convicted in the painful silence of the room—But when Sirius looks up, he could still see the worry etched into his handsome features, and the fear threaded into his stance.

James is scared, and that might worry Sirius more than anything else could.

“This is my fault, I sanctioned just stealing the money she owed us and I was the one who thought Remus would be fine on a solo mission—I thought it’d be a simple grab. I didn’t put two and two together—I just didn’t—“ Alice breaks off, looking away from the group, and Frank slings an arm around his wife’s slender shoulders.

“Hey now, ’s not your fault, ’s not no ones,” as if to emphasize his point, Frank gives a downright menacing grimace to everyone in the room, daring them to disagree. “It’s Remus, he’s resilient. And that bitch knows if he’s actually hurt we’ll destroy everything she’s ever built for herself.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Sirius’s surprised of the jaggedness of his own voice, leveling him with a look of utter fury. “She’s a psychotic, selfish, self indulgent bitch—There’s worse things than just beating him up or locking him in some cellar.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Alice shutter, is briefly reminded of that stint where she was badly injured after a run in with one of the darker ringleaders in their line of work, Riddle. And then he remembers, unbidden, how that bastard has some sort of fucked up Harley Quinn, Joker esthetic going on with Bellatrix Lestrange— and a sick, twisted part of Sirius that actually does blame Alice for sanctioning those two risky missions so close together, is savagely pleased of the effect that the reminder has on her. But the rest of Sirius is just disgusted by himself and hates himself even more when remembering where Remus is at this very moment, and what he must be going through. There’s no time to be pointing fingers, and Sirius knows it.

“Whatever, no time to think of it now,” Sirius rises, and the way all of their eyes follow his every move (Even Moody who is the actual boss— doesn’t go over his head.

“What do you think we should do from here?” Dorcas asks in a small voice, clutching onto the letter like a life line—She’s Remus’s best friend, Sirius knows that, knows that she stopped only skirting along the edges of this unsavory line of work until Remus came along and helped her wiggle out of her shell. And the reminder makes Sirius feel such a burst of aching for Remus all at once that he nearly topples over, just barely catches himself with a hand on the tabletop.

“Peter,” Sirius barks, making the blonde finally straighten. “Check out where Bellatrix is scheduled to appear next.”

“Ah, erm on it, of course.”

Sirius starts to feel a little better—no not better, balanced. He knows what needs to be done, what will happen next, knows that it’ll turn out all right.

It has to turn out all right, because he can’t fathom a world where it doesn’t— a world without Remus isn’t worth even a breath.

~*~

If there’s anything that Sirius knows about supreme bitch face herself, it’s that Bellatrix is cavalier to a fault. So it really doesn’t surprise him when Peter finds out that she’s holding a little gala for her new play things art exhibit in her own home that night, and Sirius intends on giving his congratulations, whether or not he’s on the guest list.

~*~

“Hey, can you hear me.”

Sirius presses an inconspicuous finger onto his eardrum when Dorcas’s voice breaks through, speaking the affirmative.

“All right, well Moody says that upstairs is most likely where you’ll find’m. Marlene and James will stay down at the party just incase anything goes wrong.”

“Right,” Sirius nods to himself, trying to put together all the new information that’s swimming in his mind. “Thanks Cas.”

“Stay safe, and bring him home. Don’t fuck this up, Sirius.” Her voice is small and fragile. Sirius could picture the gleam to her big doe eyes. “We need you both safe.”

“Of course."

~*~

As expected, the upstairs is a labyrinth of doors and alcoves that Sirius could barely wrap his mind around, the only constant thought is that it makes sense that Bellatrix would want to keep the money from the job she had them perform for her. The rent for this place definitely can’t be cheap.

Sirius tries at least ten different rooms before he comes across one that’s locked from the inside as well as a deadbolt, and His heart seizes with a choked sort of hope before he starts pounding against it.

“Remus! Remus! Are you in there!” His voice goes ragged at how loud he’s screaming, but Sirius doesn’t let up. He starts calling for him even louder if possible. “Remus!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sirius stiffens, his blood running cold before slowly turning around to a very amused looking Bellatrix Lestrange. Predatory sneer swept across her blood red lips, and weight slung to her left hip. The picture of radiance and leisure in her slinky, black dress. She’s having fun toying with Sirius, with all of them.

“Where the fuck is he,” Sirius spits out tersely—trying to sear wholes right through her disarming face. He thinks with a start that she’d be pretty in an almost unchanging way—a timeless elegance that kind of mirrors Remus’s. But where beneath Remus’s golden exterior is all passion and goodness and an endless capacity of love, under Bellatrix’s pale white skin and dark eyes and sheets of even darker hair is just ugliness and cruelty and Sirius has never hated anyone more, or so intensely.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry that they sent the best of their group to the den,” She swaggers up to him, each step premeditated—a lion closing in on her prey, and her leer right then— self assured and cruel all at once— is like a mirror of his mother’s so thoroughly that it’s painful. “I’d really hate to ruin those movie star good looks you’ve got going on,” she runs the back of her hand down his face slowly, tendrils of her warm breath edging his lips. “And honey, you really are so deliciously gorgeous. But Moody needs to learn that no one double plays me so flippantly. No respect, that kind of behavior really can’t be tolerated. You understand that, don’t you love?”

Right then, Bellatrix moves to gouge Sirius right in the stomach with a dagger she had hidden in the sleeve of her dress—but Sirius’s quicker.

He sweeps Bellatrix’s feet right from under her, twisting her arm behind her back and using her own weapon to chop off the doorknob, all in one fluid movement. Though, he only has a sparing moment to feel boastful before he steps into the room to find Remus—sickly looking with blood matted in his golden locks, before everything turns to a buzzing in the background—Sirius runs on autopilot, with the only crucial thought being to get Remus out safely.

“Baby, I’m here, I’ve got you.” Sirius tells him with the words catching in his throat, and feels such a drowning amount of relief when he hears a gargled retort from Remus. “I’d never let anything happen to you, love. I’m so sorry. I’ll never let something like this happen again.” Sirius tells him with all the earnestness in the world, gently collecting him into his arms. “I’ve got you now, I won’t let go.” The promise is as sure and true as the pump of his heart—Remus, Remus, Remus.

~*~

When they all return to headquarters, everyone circles a still limp and shallowly breathing Remus, while Dorcas figures out the extent of his injuries.

It’s the worst hour of his life Sirius thinks—The not knowing, it hurts like nothing else. And he swears once more, to himself and the moonlight and the stars peeking through the skyline that he’ll never let this happen, never again., doesn’t want Remus ever out of his sight.

~*~

A week later, and everything feels as if it’s back to normal—more or less.

Their bedroom smells like sage—thanks to the candles Lily bought Remus for his last birthday—And Remus’s swaddled into the most comfortable blanket Sirius could find—his twisted ankle elevated, and a fresh bowl of soup on his night stand.

It’d be the picture of absolute bliss… Now if Remus wasn’t scowling so morosely.

“You seem mad,” Sirius notes, standing over him with a freshly fluffed pillow. Remus looks up at him from under his spider leg lashes, so very unimpressed.

“You’ve never taken care of me nearly so intently a day in your life.” Remus charges.

“Untrue!” Sirius squawks in contrary.

“When I got food poising from that sushi place last year, you blamed me for eating it wrong.”

“Yeah, well it’s blasphemous to ever blame Kimiko! The woman is a titan!”

Remus’s mouth quirks up, his eyes twinkling with unadulterated adoration. “You’re an idiot.”

Sirius deflates. “Okay, so I might be kind of majorly mother penning it right now,” Remus cranes a incredulous brow. “Okay, okay so a lot mother penning it. But, Remus— love— you were missing—like legitimately missing. And then i found you and you were…” He trails off, can’t even speak the horrors of that night.

“Yeah, I was,” Remus links their fingers together, pulling Sirius closer, and opening his mouth so that when Sirius crouches to come face to face, he can kiss him properly. “But you happen to be a pretty all right boyfriend, you found me—I’m fine. You made sure of that.”

“More than all right prick,” Sirius knocks their foreheads together and Remus feigns being in excruciating pain. “I fucking hate you,” he snorts, saddling against Remus’s side, and nuzzling into his neck, taking in the miraculous scent of him— the citrus and cinnamon and sunlight that he’s come to crave at all hours of the day. “I love you sort of a lot, and it was the worst three days of my life, all right. Can you understand that?”

Remus only hums, kisses the tips of Sirius’s fingers before lacing them into his own.

“I understand, love, but Sirius, I’m fine. I’m here. You’re amazing, but you don’t need to protect me. Not constantly. This is our lives, and I need you to trust me that I can handle myself for the most part. All right?”

Sirius makes a displeased sound, lips curled distastefully, and it makes Remus actually giggle like they were school boys again. And Jesus, Remus’s smile is blinding and beautiful and fucking hell, he’s here. He’s back in there room, back in Sirius’s arms.

“God, I missed you.”

Remus crunches upwards, kissing Sirius, and it feels like a promise that he’ll never leave him again. “I love you Sirius.”

Sirius leers, isn’t ready to have the conversation about learning how to let Remus go out without him. So instead he traces his thumb over Remus’s beautifully plump bottom lip, and bends down to whisper into his ear. “So can we talk about the lace then, because I’ve made some purchases and—“

Remus pushes him off their bed, and Sirius feels his laughter punching out of him in response.

~*~

~My Wolfstar FIC Index💜

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #REMUSXSIRIUS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #spilt ink #love you angel #?!!!#This is edited from an old old FIC of mine #in my drafts #and i'm afraid my writing is so so contrasting #rip #sdlkjgalksdfjoiwpqgdsa

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kojinnie · 3 years

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Maybe, One Day, We Will | Jean, Sasha & Connie

Summary: Before the defining Raid of Liberio mission, the Survey Corps was instructed to write their wills, and Connie reminisced the night he talked about life after the war with Jean and Sasha when they were younger.

Tags: Canon universe, coming-of-age, light angst, bittersweet.

Set: The night before Battle of Shiganshina District, parallel to Eren-Mikasa-Armin’s talk on the steps.

WC: 3.1K

A/N: My tribute to the trio that holds a special place in my heart. Consider this my ode to all of us whose heart has been broken by Chapter 138. A slight nod to conversation in Chapter 137 (No spoiler, don’t worry!)

I suppose memory wore off eventually, and if I’d be lucky enough to survive this contemptible war, my only hope is one thing: to never lose the gift of memory over moments I hold dear in my heart. Especially the memory of that one night. The night before Shiganshina.

Connie Springer put down his quill as he marked the end of a sentence. He was quite surprised with how far bolder was this paragraph compared to its precedents, he smiled and remembered one of the things his mum said when he was younger, something about how one’s action is nothing but a mere reflection of one’s feeling, and perhaps Connie took the importance of that paragraph over the others and that’s why he put so much pressure on his quill upon writing that down.

He looked over his shoulder to catch Jean pondering over his paper across the room, looking visibly puzzled on what to write, “Oi Jean, you finished?”

He shook his head, grunting, “This feels so absurd.” The tall man leaned to his desk and dragged his gaze upwards, “To be so young and writing your own will.”

Connie hummed from his desk, affirming Jean’s dismay. The whole predicament the two men find themselves in were indeed absurd, albeit predictable. They both knew that to be immersed in the eyes of war mean bruising with deaths countless times, but with the war advancing at unprecedented rate, the notion of mortality grew even more palpable before the soldiers’ eyes. It was no surprise that at one night after a debriefing with the high-ranking officials, Hange finally caught up with the prospect of dying. The first time they had ever been so sure of death, regardless whether it would be immediate or later in this godforsaken war. The thought led Hange to saying before the rest of the Survey Corps, “Maybe we all should write our wills. To leave something behind, you know? Just in case.” Everyone remembered how the Commander threw a reassuring smile amidst such vivid qualm among them, “What could be more fulfilling than to have our stories and legacy passed down?”

And so there they were that night, all of the Survey Corps, taking their night off to write their will before the D-Day tomorrow: The Ambush of Liberio.

“Jean,” Connie called again. There was only the two of them in the common room, the rest were scattered all over Mitras. Taking their own space to write their own piece of mind before the mission, “do you remember the night before Shiganshina?”

The sounds of scribbling ceased immediately from Jean’s end, as he sighed, almost painfully, “Yeah, of course.” Jean found it eerie that there was a misplaced lightness in Connie’s voice, when his own was drowned in unspoken distress, “What about it?”

“I’m writing about it on my…” there was a hesitation in Connie’s words as his mind finally caught up with how unbecoming his reality was, “…will.”

The man of Ragako continued, “I hope after we’re gone, whoever reads this would know that we were once kids,” Connie’s voice dropped into a heavy murmur, “that had something to live for, yeah?”

Jean nodded his head as he forced a smile, although Connie wouldn’t be able to see as they were sitting opposite each other, “Sounds great. Something to prove that I’m not a suicidal maniac. Do you think Sasha is now writing about it too?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then I’ll write about it too.”

The noise from the dining hall finally subsided after the soldiers headed back to their quarter. Despite having tonight’s tasty feast and the raucous fun that most of these soldiers were not as privileged to have often, the lingering dread remained visible among them for what awaited them tomorrow. These men and women were to head for battle against creatures they barely understood, and to reclaimed the district that most thought to be unsalvageable with the horde of titans roaming freely within.

There were also murmurs about a menacingly gigantic beast titan, one that had took the handful lives of their comrades. One that had mystical power to summon and control titans all it pleased. One that was so frightening that the brass in the likes of Erwin Smith and Levi Ackerman were not at ease to disclose to the rest of the soldiers, leaving them in the dark of what may happen. The murmurs about the beast titan were persistent and these soldiers, no matter how hardened had they grown by deaths and battles all their lives, were all equally afraid.

Among them were three teenagers, barely made it out alive after their last encounter with the seemingly mythical creature. Now bound for yet another mission, they scrambled out of the dining hall. The tallest among them was slightly limping, leaning for support from the two others.

“Guys—” Jean grunted, followed by a disgraceful whimper as another step sent a sharp sting to his stomach, “—thanks for the help but would appreciate if it came sooner.”

They stopped and finally sat around when they found a comfortable spot underneath a building’s canopy, looking over to the city steps that glimmered underneath the full moon’s lights. From afar, they could see Eren, Mikasa and Armin sitting together down the steps, although the Shiganshina trio weren’t aware of their presence.

Jean finally let out an audible groan as he sat on a deserted wooden crate, the two others found comfort on the cold cobblestone.

“As you know, I was in no position to do so.” Sasha shot a jeer at Connie, to which he replied with a remorseful grin, “Sorry Sash, you were acting crazy—”

“—BUT IT’S MEAT! How could you take away my happiness like that, Connie!” the shriek was lunatic indeed and the bald boy just cackled, mouthing yet another apology for tying her up to the pole earlier tonight. Sasha was not amused, obviously, but she eventually caved in as she let out a long, deep sigh, retreating her head to Connie’s shoulder, “Could’ve been my last meat, you know?”

“Nonsense,” Jean snorted, still inspecting his stomach that was bludgeoned by Eren’s fist earlier. He would only finally surrender to the pain where no one would see other than two of his most trusted comrades.

“Yeah, Sasha. Nonsense.” Connie repeated, turning his head to Jean as he sought for reassurance, “We’re gonna survive this one. Right?”

There was a brief silence between them. It was clear that despite their best hope, they were thinking the possibilities of meeting their lethal ends with this mission. The idea of being young had never crossed their minds before – how they should not be thinking of their own death, how they should cast hope for the future – these were some distant ideas that they never got acquainted with. For these young soldiers, there were moments when they passingly imagined of being in their adulthood and what would they do by that time; but to their surprise, along with it often arrived the feeling of remorse, as if their wish to live on were nothing but wishful thinking. They had been conversant with death too early in their lives, and it had become a recurring visitor that they had to greet reluctantly.

“I really hope so…” she mumbled, her eyes gazed afar at the trio down the steps, “Must be hard for them, isn’t it?”

“Them?”

“Yeah,” Sasha raised his head from Connie’s shoulder and scooted over so she could look at both Connie and Jean, “I can’t imagine having to put up with such burden, returning to their decimated district.”

“Poor Armin and… Mikasa. And then there’s that maniac,” Jean scoffed, “he better does his job right. Tch. Such great power on meekly little hands—”

“—Jean,” the interruption was unprecedented as it was stern, Sasha was looking directly to him, “Cut it off, alright? It’s no use.”

There was a brief look of surprise from Jean that he immediately masked with a low chuckle, joined by Connie who was quick to disperse the tension.

Connie and Sasha knew how Jean felt about himself, and how hard he fought his own inner battle. His nightly mumbles of the regret and grief about the passing of Marco, and how he wished he had been better and stronger for tens of his fallen comrades. In those treacherous hours, often slipped through his lips ‘If only I had the power of the titans, I could have made a difference.’ or the seemingly vengeful, ‘If only we didn’t have to save Eren so many times.’ They both knew how calculating, cautious and capable Jean was, and how much he felt overshadowed by unfortunate circumstances, or how he’d always felt like he could have done more if only he had been given the chance to. Each time he succumbed into the dark clouds of his mind, Jean and Sasha was the voice of reason that brought him back from his own demon, ‘For greater good,’ was the convincing phrase that the two of them uttered to Jean, and for greater good did Jean thrived to drown his individual desire and pursuit.

“Let’s just focus on each other, okay?” Connie spoke reassuringly, trying to maintain the lightness in his voice no matter how somber had his heart grown to be, “The three of us. Let’s keep each other safe, okay?

There was a quick yet solemn unison between Jean and Sasha, “Okay.” they said, before a deep silence ensued. From afar, they could hear the sound of Armin from down the step, he was standing and babbling enthusiastically to Eren and Mikasa about the vast prairies of boundless salty water – where merchant could spend their whole life collecting its salt yet it would never deplete. The three of them let silence hung among them as they listened to Armin, and each tried to picture how marvelous the discovery would be. How beautiful, how magnificence would that feeling be. The greater good beyond the wall.

Intuitively they turned to look at each other and the smiles were poignant on their faces, each engulfed in their own thoughts. For a moment the idea of a vast world out there brought a keen warmth inside Connie’s chest, before it was abruptly ceased by the recognition that he no longer had anyone to return home to and tell the story about his journey. Sasha could read the pain that was growing to be visible on Connie’s face, she reached for his arms and squeezed it playfully, “Connie, don’t you think Armin’s crazy?”

“Eh?”

“Eh?” the two exchanged confusion, the similarity their minds shared was uncanny, “Don’t you think so? What kind of weird place would that be? Boundless prairie with water that never runs out of salt to mine… He’s crazy. Maybe knocked himself on the head too hard on the last mission.”

And then the three of them burst out laughing in the kind of humor only they would understand. Jean slid down from his seat and embraced his two friends closely, muttering under his breath, he spoke deeply, “I care so much about the two of you guys…”

There was no audible ‘We do too’ or the likes of it in their friendship for they already knew how they felt about each other. Sasha knew that the forest had long gone for her, and she knew that her home had now resided in the shared battles and journeys with her two best friends. She had accepted the fact that her days would never return to normalcy in the forest like what she had hoped in her early cadet days, but the thought that she would share these days as a soldier with Jean and Connie –no matter how awful or hard would those days be— never failed to bring her at ease. The thought of it made her smile again as she said, wondering, “What do you guys want to do once the war ends?”

The two boys looked at each other, puzzlement was quick to show. When would the war end? They all thought, as each of them had different imagery of what post-war life would look like. For Jean, it would simply look like his childhood: the return to that warm omelet lunch cooked by his mum, laid out on the dining table of his home that he hadn’t been for years, and the faint sound of his mum caressing his hair, ‘Eat well, Jean-boy!’; For Sasha it would simply mean a stroll down the market, buying all the juiciest meat she could buy, and then cook it for the town’s orphans. She thought of chopping down the oak tree behind her old home in the forest, and turned it into the largest dining table she had ever seen, so it would house enough seat for each orphan in the district; As for Connie, after the malady of Ragako, he thought hard what kind of life would he lead after the war ends. For a while, he had thought how meaningless would that be to stay alive after Ragako had been done for. ‘But maybe,’ he thought to himself one day, when he saw Jean and Sasha argued intensely about the best type of dish that eggs could be made into, ‘Maybe I could stay alive just to hear these two idiots argue every day. Maybe I could keep on fighting for everyday’s little, precious moment like this.’ Connie finally knew what kind of post-war life would he like to have: A future where he would no longer have to fight and kill. To have nights when his slumber would be soundly and peaceful, without the voices of death and miseries ringing inside his head no more. He hoped that one day he could tell the tales of his youth to all his grandkids, and how he defeated all the monsters with his two best friends.

“I think this might sound lame but,” Jean broke the silence, “I think I wanna buy my mum a house in the capital. She might like the fancy dwelling, you know.”

Jean and Connie nodded, acknowledging how close was Jean to her mum, and how there was no day passing without Jean regretting his bad behavior towards her during his insecure cadet days. Sasha giggled a little, to the confusion of the two boys, “For me… Maybe I wanna get married.”

The boys suddenly erupted into a fit of laughter, as Connie shrieked, “You—Sasha Braus? Married—to what?”

Sasha kicked the boy’s shin, making Connie whimpered in overdramatic tone, “Of course to a living, breathing man, you idiot.”

“Come, come Sasha, tell us what he’d look like,” amidst his laughter, Jean tried to hype her up, “so we would know what to look for.”

The girl looked up to the starless night and mumbled to herself, “Hmm… maybe… a cute… blond man…” her wondering was quick to be cut-off by the boys’ yet another voluptuous laughter.

“Whoa Sasha, that makes neither of us then! Are you sure?”

“So, like—Armin?”

“…or Commander Erwin?”

Sasha blew a raspberry in disapproval, but carried on with her imagery of whom to marry, “…who likes to cook and also good at it…”

The two boys were still immersed in their own laughter while patting Sasha’s shoulders teasingly, “Let’s stay alive together so we can meet your blond cook one day, okay?”

Sasha giggled to herself, drawing her knees to her chest and hid her face in a childish embarrassment. Jean turned to Connie and nudged him on the waist, making him flinched, tickled, “Oi Connie, your turn.”

He fell to a deep, prolonged hum, before shrugging his shoulder, “I don’t know, maybe something simple.”

“Like what?” Sasha asked, raising her face from her knees.

“Maybe I want to write a book,” Connie said, her mind wandered, “and maybe live close to you guys. Maybe I can try your mum’s legendary omelet, yeah, Jean?”

Jean chuckled in approval, letting Connie to continue, “I’ll have the neighborhood kids –or my own grandkids— come over to my house and listen to our deadly attack on titans. I’ll have Armin come over too since he’s a great story-teller.”

The three teenagers fell deeply into their imagination of how pretty that picture would be. Jean sighed, letting the two others know that there was still a sour fruit hanging in his mind, “Do you think one day someone would write a story about all these?”

“Possibly.”

“Do you think they’ll mention our names too? Jean Kirstein, Sasha Braus and Connie Springer…”

“Probably.”

“Do you think anyone would root for us?” Jean asked again, “Obviously we don’t have the power of the titans, nor are we humanity’s strongest soldiers…”

The three of them drowned into yet another deep silence. Their eyes stared afar at Eren, Mikasa and Armin who were getting ready to leave, secretly mirroring their own to them.

“Hmm,” Connie hummed, ever characteristically so, he maintained the keenness in his voice, “maybe someone would root for us because we remind them of themselves. Just ordinary people who thrive…”

Jean raised his brows as he looked at his best friend, “Even when we’re greeted with struggles beyond compare?”

“Exactly.”

Sasha chimed in, “Even when sometimes it feels like it’s beyond our ability…”

“We keep on fighting. Right, guys?” Connie threw his smile to the two fellow soldiers whom he had grown to love and care for, more than he had to himself, “Because that’s what matters, right? As long as we put the effort, we give our own meaning to this futile fate of being alive.”

“That’s right.” – “Yes, Connie.”

Connie sighed, this time it was the sound of relief, “I’m grateful.”

“For what?”

“For the two of you. You both are the only family I have left.” There was still a stinging pain in Connie’s words, but he was finally at terms with it. He had made peace with his grief, and it was visible to both Jean and Sasha as they hug the shorter boy closer to even a warmer embrace, and finally, they laughed again.

“Or maybe we can rebuild Ragako after this?” Jean sparked the idea, sending a glimmer of hope into Connie’s eyes, “Find the cure for your mum, and let’s live closely together there. We can be neighbors. You said there’s plenty of boar for Sasha to hunt, right, Connie?”

Sasha squealed in excitement to which Jean responded by a loving pat to his brunette hair, as he spoke again, “And maybe we can go to Sasha’s house for dinner every night since his husband’s a good cook.”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“Let’s stay alive, guys.”

“The three of us.”

“Yeah.”

“Together?” – “As long as we can.”

And so that night, they laughed and laughed. For once, under the starless skies they became what they had not been able to become: children with child-like wonders. Casting hope for tomorrow, they were there to laugh at the odds and to live their lives so well that Death would tremble to take them.

A/N: Hi guys, I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think! Comments or reblogs are highly appreciated, like so so much.

Out of all angst fics I ever read, my heart hurt the most writing this down. Truly, what an ending for them by Yams.

Credit: The last line was derived from Charles Bukowski’s publication.

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collecting-stories · 4 years

Text

The Formal - ep. 05 - Georgia

Summary: You’re forced to endure the winter formal but you can’t resist cutting out early.

A/N: How are we liking this rewrite so far guys?

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

You had tried in vain, until almost the last possible moment, to get Glenn to take you to the winter formal instead of Aiden. With Maggie only showing up to see you in your dress and then go back home you were stuck with no one to talk to. Aiden had asked you back in September, when you had just broken up with Shane and wanted to appear totally over him, if you would consider going with him to the winter formal.

You had jumped on the opportunity, figuring it wasn’t a big deal. You would go, hang out with Maggie and Glenn, then leave. It would be painless. Now you were stuck in a car with Aiden and his moron friends driving to the banquet hall in Woodbury while they passed around a flask of alcohol one of them stole from their parents.

“Hey,” Aiden nudged your arm with the metal flask and you shook your head. “Aw, come on. Be a good sport.”

“I don’t drink out of strange containers.” You replied.

“More for me!” He was already halfway to sloppy drunk as it was and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you against him. You nearly cringed. Part of you was seriously considering finding Shane and asking him to bail you out of this dance.

The banquet hall was tacky in its decoration. Giant poster board snowflakes hung from the ceiling along with blue and silver garland. Balloons were everywhere and there was a sparkly silver backdrop outside for couples to get their picture taken. Aiden coaxed you over in that direction with his friends, all of them posing in some obscene way while you stood off to the side, arms crossed over your chest. You knew you looked like a spoiled brat refusing to have fun but you didn’t care. All these guys were stupid and immature and none of your friends had come to the formal and you really wished you were sitting at Daryl’s doing homework while he worked on the car.

“I’m getting punch.” You announced to no one in particular. None of them were paying you even the slightest attention.

The music inside the banquet hall was terrible. Arguably the worst blend of hick country and radio pop that you had ever heard but no unexpected for this part of Georgia. You checked your pager once you got to your designated table. No messages.

“Hey,” Shane’s hands came down on your bare shoulders and you fought off a frown, of all the people to get stuck with while Aiden was in the lobby being a douche with his friends.

“Hey Shane,” you pulled away from him and stood up, crossing your arms. Your lavender colored dress was partially an ode to Footloose and the excitement you’d had when you first bought it was worn down to nothing now. “Where’s your date?”

“Dancing with friends.” He shrugged, “you look great.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, listen-” just as he started to talk you caught sight of Aiden coming into the hall.

“Oh, sorry Shane. I have to go.” You hurried passed him and linked your arm with Aiden’s, fake smile falling into place, “do you wanna dance?”

“Sure babe.”

You danced with Aiden on and off, trying to stay close to him to avoid Shane. You smiled through a painful hour and a half of pretending to have a good time. When Aiden finally headed for the table you used it as an out, excusing yourself to the bathroom. A few other girls were in there, whispering to each other as you entered and sequestered yourself in the handicap stall. You checked your pager again, hoping that someone might have messaged you but no one had.

You didn’t want to go back out there with Aiden and his friends but you knew that your mom would be furious if you came home now. She had put so much time and work into the dance and the decorations and the PTA that leaving would be like telling her you hated it all. Not a rational thought but your mother was never known for rationality. There was a payphone in the vestibule of the banquet hall that you had passed on the way inside and some coins at the bottom of your purse so you called for a ride home, knowing your mom wouldn’t find out as long as Aiden didn’t see you leave.

The familiar black pickup pulled up in front of the banquet hall that you were standing outside of, braving the cold so you didn’t have to go back inside. He’d barely ghosted to a stop when you opened the door and climbed inside.

“Sorry,” you immediately apologized as you pulled yourself up into Daryl’s truck. There was a forgotten sweatshirt on the floor that you pulled onto your lap and slipped your arms through in an attempt to get warm. “I didn’t meant to make you come out I just wasn’t sure who else to call.”

You could’ve probably called Glenn or Tara but then you wouldn’t get to see Daryl looking somewhat like he had just rolled out of bed.

“It’s fine.” He shrugged, “ya weren’t having fun?”

“No. Aiden is a douche, I can’t stand him. My. mom was happy I was going with him ya know, cause his mom is the mayor but I can’t stand him!”

“So ya said.”

“Sorry, it was just a shitty night. I was only looking forward to it because Maggie and Glenn were going to be there but-”

“Maggie’s grounded.” Daryl supplied.

“Yeah.” You nodded and smiled. “I didn’t mean to drag you out of whatever you were doing.”

“Wasn’t doing anything.” He replied, pulling the truck out of the parking lot and heading back toward King County. “Am I supposed to take ya home or ya got somewhere else to go?”

“What time is it? If I leave before the dance is all done my mom will definitely know. She has to come clean up though so if I time it right-”

“I’ll just take ya back to mine.” Daryl cut in, “got something ya can change into.”

“Thank you.”

“Ya look nice, by the way.” He was glad that it was dark in the truck because he could feel how warm his cheeks and ears were getting. He felt stupid for saying anything but he couldn’t help himself. You looked beautiful in your formal dress and it all felt a little surreal, even at 22, that he would be driving a girl home from her prom. Daryl was not the kind of guy that had ever gone to prom or even gone on a date before.

“Thanks,” you nestled further into his sweatshirt as he drove you back to his house.

He pulled in behind the Jeep, covered by a tarp so no one would notice it in his driveway. His dad’s car wasn’t out front so he led you inside the house first, offering up his old room so you could change. Whatever kind of kid Daryl had been you weren’t entirely sure but there was some evidence in his old bedroom. A single bed with plaid covers, stacks of magazines about cars and hunting, old scraps of metal and tools that he had probably used or still did. A far cry from the peach walls and stacks of books and Emory college memorabilia that covered the walls.

“Your room is nice.”

“Ya really like ta bullshit don’t ya?” Daryl called from the living room.

“I’m not bullshitting.” You slipped out of your dress and changed into the sweatpants and King County middle school field day shirt that Daryl had found in the bottom of his dresser. He’d even given up a clean pair of socks for you to wear. You came back out with your dress folded up in your arms. Daryl was sitting on the couch, watching some infomercial on TV. “Thanks for the clothes.”

“Figured ya still owe me a jacket so I’ll just add it ta yer tab.” He replied, shrugging.

“You said ‘keep it’ when I offered to give the jacket back.” You said, trying to imitate his drawl.

“Yeah not for two months.”

“It’s not been two months,” you dropped onto the couch beside him, “it’s like, the second week of December.”

The trouble with having work on Saturday was that anytime you went out on a Friday night you struggled to get yourself out of bed when the alarm went off. But, usually, the alarm went off and you rolled yourself out of bed against your will and you got to work. A routine that wasn’t your favorite but wasn’t entirely unusual. What was unusual was your pager going off instead of your alarm.

And something moving underneath you.

You opened your eyes as you felt your body being shifted around again and only then did you become fully aware of your surroundings. You weren’t home. You weren’t tucked in bed after the dance, waiting for a cursed alarm to remind you that you had agreed to take a shift at 7am. Instead you were on a couch. Or more accurately, on Daryl, on a couch, in his house.

“Shit.” You cursed, sitting up and grabbing your purse off the ground. The pager flashed a call me message from Patricia and you groaned, climbing off the couch and a just waking Daryl to call her back on the phone in his kitchen.

“Patricia’s Diner-”

“Patty, hi.”

“Oh my gosh, sweetie, there you are. I was just about to call your mom!” Patricia shrieked over the phone. “I was so worried about you! Where are you? Your shift started 30 minutes ago.”

“I’m so sorry, I spent the night at a friend’s house after the dance, I’ll be there in like ten minutes.” You promised.

“Are you alright? You aren’t in trouble?”

“No, Patty I swear I’m fine. I will see you in like ten minutes.” You rushed her through the phone call, promising to see her once more before you hung up. Daryl was still laying on the couch, arm slung over his face. You ran back into the living room and nudged him, “Daryl, wake up.”

“Shit,” Daryl grumbled and rolled away from you.

“Daryl, please.”

“Go away,” his words were half obscured by the couch cushions.

“Fine, I’ll walk home barefoot in December back to my house, freezing cold-”

“I’m gettting up.” Daryl rolled back over onto his back and looked up at you the slightest grin on his face as he came further out of his haze.

“Will you drive me home to change and possibly to work?” You asked.

“Didn’t know fixing yer jeep meant I was your chauffer too.” He said, getting up and heading into the bathroom.

“Thank you!”

Daryl did exactly what you asked, driving you first to your house to change out of the sweatpants and t-shirt that he had lent you and then driving you to the diner for work. Neither of you mentioned the position you had woken up in. The ride was usually quiet in fact; even when he dropped you off at the diner you had said a quick goodbye and then gotten out of the truck.

The pager had set you off so much that you hadn’t really gotten a chance to think about the way it felt waking up on the couch with Daryl, tucked in between him the cushions. Your head had been on his chest and the more you thought about it the more your heart raced at the way he had tightened his grip on you just the slightest as you slipped out of his arms to use the phone. While you wished you could’ve stayed there longer you were almost grateful to patty for calling you. At least it gave both of you a quick out so that you didn’t have to embarrass yourself in front of him.

The last thing you needed was to embarrass yourself in front of Daryl.

Taglist: @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap @of-storms-and-sadness @twdeadfanfic @alwaysadreamingoptimist @mainokutan @sabertooth-potato @qrangr @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare @gigilame @enrapturedbythemoon��@harpersmariano @cathwritestragediesnotsins @siren-queen03

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hex6rcist · 4 years

Note

I would like to second your sentiment about the confession bit for Kenpachi's fluff alphabet needing it's own fic~ it's so cute 💞💞💞 Consider it requested in whatever capacity you'd like to write it! The thought of Ukitake and Shunsui helping him parse out his feelings is so delightful!

Wow this was super fun to write but it got pretty long so I threw in a read more. I hope you like it! I used fem pronouns because I noticed that's your preference. I hope that's okay.

Kenpachi Love Confession

She was feisty that one. It was exactly why she’d caught his eye. It was rare to find firecrackers like y/n in the 2nd division. Sui-Feng expected her inferiors to be the pinnacle of grace and restraint. That’s what brought her around to the 11th so frequently. For a short amount of time Kenpachi had considered trying to snake her away from the 2nd and bring her under his command. However he scrapped the idea. He wanted something more than a captain/subordinate dynamic. It would feel a bit creepy to him his he got her to join his division and then tried to pursue her. So he let himself be happy with her just hanging around for training sessions.

Watching y/n take down his men was a thrill to him. But it couldn’t compare to the feeling of when they went toe to toe. She fought like she was dancing, lithe and graceful, no doubt due to her training under Sui-Feng. It was in staggering opposition to his own brash fighting style. She’d cavort out of the way of his blade with a gleeful laugh that lit his skin on fire. She always threw him off his game just a little. Kenpachi was pretty sure she’d landed more hits on him than any of his men ever had. Every little graze she left on his body he’d admire later. Firm, large fingers would trace over the feint scar as he laid in bed. Sometimes he’d find his eyes drifting shut and in a brief moment he’d imagine it was y/n’s fingers insteaed. Kenpachi’s eyes snapped open and he stared up at the ceiling. He was hit pretty hard and he knew it. The feared Kenpachi Zaraki fawning over a beautiful girl. It was almost laughable. He had to do something about this.

He spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to pull this off. He’s not a big romantic gestures kind of guy. But would y/n even want that? Would she even want him? Sure he was muscular and tough but was he... Attractive? Kenpachi had never even considered the thought. His life in the Rukongai was harsh, leaving was no time for courting or romance. as embarrassing as it was he was kind of inexperienced in this matter. That’s when he finally got an idea. Though he’d really have to swallow his pride on this one. This was how he found himself sitting on Shunsui Kyoraku’s veranda next to Jushiro Ukitake.

The two men sipped on their tea while Kenpachi looked down at his with mild distaste. He still took small samples from his cup as to not be rude. He had learned some manners after all and he was here for help. Jushrio’s smile was genuine and soft, he was pleasantly surprised by Kenpachi’s request for advice. Shunsui however had a big shit eating grin. “So y/n huh?” He chuckled softly. “She is something.” Jushiro odded in agreement, “A lovely young lady.” “Very lovely.” Shunsui swooned playfully. Kenpachi was beginning to worry he might of made a mistake, but before he can back out Jushiro fixed him with a serious look. “We’re more than happy to help you out in this matter and we’re glad you came to us for advice.” “You know I think This is a conversation that calls for sake.” Shunsui stood up and moved to retrieve a bottle. Finally one of them was speaking his language. Kepachi set his tea aside. “So Kenpachi, did you have any ideas on how to approach y/n with your feelings?” The large man pinched the bridge of his nose. _‘Don’t be rude. They’re trying to help.’ _“Can’t say I do. I’m not even sure how she’d react. I’m not the most,” he cleared his throat “eligible guy around.” Shunsui returned with 2 cups of sake and some more tea for Jushiro. “Nonsense, don’t be hard on yourself. Y/n Isn’t the average lady who’d be intimidated by you. She’s tough and already comfortable around you. I don’t think you have to worry about intimidating her.” He handed a cup to Kenpachi and he gladly accepted it, drinking deeply. “I guess that’s true...” Jushiro held up a finger, signaling that he’d thought of an idea. “The Sakura Festival is coming up next week, perhaps you can invite y/n to come with you. It’s a relaxed event so you won’t feel uncomfortable and y/n won’t think anything of you asking her to go because everyone attends.” Shunsui hummed mulling over his friend’s suggestion. “That might be a little too, uh, what’s the word...” “Flowery.” Kenpachi interjected. The 1st Division captain nodded in agreement. “Yeah, flowery.” A small silence fell amongst the men as they pondered other options. “Well what do you and y/n usually do in the time you spent together?” Shunsui inquired. “Fight. Drink. Talk.” The men nodded. “Talk about what exactly?” Jushiro chimed in. “Stuff...” The elder captains sighed in unison. He wasn’t making this easy was he? Kenpachi took another long drink to gather up the nerve to elaborate. He really wasn’t too good with this whole sharing his feelings thing. But if he wanted to pursue a relationship he had to get used to it. “We swap stories... Some about her time in academy or my time in Rukongai**.” **They were finally getting somewhere. “Well then maybe that’s what you should do then.” The Sotaicho smiled at Kenpachi. “It might not be the most romantic thing in the world but it would be the most genuine.” He held up his cup of sake. “A nice drink and when you’re sharing stories just tell her how you feel.” Jushiro nodded in agreement a smile blooming on his face as well. It sounded simple enough. Kenpachi downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp. “Just tell her huh? Yeah. I can do that.”

The next day when Kenpachi woke up late into the afternoon and his head was pounding. He’d stayed at Shusui’s well into the night going drink for drink with him. He ran a large hand down his face before dressing and emerging from his quarters. He could already hear a ruckus going on in the direction of the training grounds. Walking out onto the engawa he saw y/n was already here. She was covers in a thin sheen of sweat, her shihakusho clung to her body and her jewel like eyes shoe with glee as her opponent fell. She gestured for him to be removed from her sight before her predatory gaze latched onto the 11th Division’s groggy captain. With the crook of her finger he was summoned before her to fight. The hairs on his neck were already standing on end. He really was a slave to her beck and call and he had a suspicion that she maybe knew.

Dusk had come before either of them knew it. They often lost track of time while locked in combat. Too caught up in the thrill of it all. By now the cool wind had dried the sweat on their skin leaving them cold and uncomfortable. Most of the division gave up on getting their training in and went about business as usual. Y/n and Kenpachi’s Zanpakuto were locked together in a stalemate. Their eyes burned into each other. Finally he used the last of his strength to push and y/n fell. She laughed giddily and stared up at the darkened sky, trying to catch her breath. The captain entered her line of sight and offered a hand to pull her to her feet. She gladly accepted and bowed to the winner who in turn bowed back. “You know you’re better than most of my men right?” She let out a loud laugh. “I’ve noticed.”

The two had settled on the engawa side by side. Kenpachi had brought out a bottle of sake to share. Y/n was leaning back on her banged up elbows, one knee bent and the other hanging lazily off the edge of the platform. Even caked in dirt and blood she was beautiful. Scratch that it was when she was the most beautiful. He handed her off a choko full of alcohol and she drank from it greedily. His eyes lingered on her neck, watching as she swallowed. He licked his lips and tore his gaze away. The night was moving far faster then Kenpachi would have liked. His Division was slowly falling quiet and soon it felt like they were the only two still up in the whole Seireitei. At some point she’d gotten cold and inched closer to his side. He could feel her warmth through his clothing and he was sure she could feel his as well. They talked, and laughed, and drank like they would any other night. Only Kenpachi knew this one would be different.

“Y/n, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” Clear eyes turned to look up at the captain but he couldn’t meet her gaze. “What have we been doing?.” He shook his head, eyes fixed in the sky above them. “About something specific.” It was time to rip the bandaid off. He knew the worst she could say was no, but it was going to sting more than the slice of her blade. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you.” He peeked over to see her cheeks had flushed a light pink. He figured that had to be a good sign. Right? They finally locked eyes. “And what do you think of me?” She leaned in involuntarily. Here goes nothing. “That I like you... A lot.” He wanted to punch himself. Kenpachi felt like a child with a schoolyard crush saying it like that. He really should have- His train of thought was derailed by a quiet chuckle. Y/n got up on her knees and leaned into him. “I like you too.” A little smirk crossed her lips. She was going to say more but her words were cut off. A large hand had found the back of her head and pulled y/n into a deep kiss that made her head spin. Her hands clutched onto the front of his haori and his hands slowly found their way down to her hips, pulling the smaller girl into his lap. His kiss was full of passion and longing that she’d never known before. It made her let out a tiny moan. The sound shot a bolt of lightning though his whole body. When they parted they were both gasping for air. She licked her lips and smirked softly. “A lot.”

#kenpachi zaraki #kenpachi #kenpachi x reader #bleach imagines #bleach scenarios

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incorrectbatfam · 4 years

Note

For the vampier au: how do they each get turned?

The year is 1000 BCE. Ra’s and Talia Al Ghul rule the Persian empires as two of the first vampires in existence, existing largely in secret. They make it their goal to turn as many people over to their side as possible, whether by battle or biting. Biologically, Damian was born a vampire and they utilize some arcane magic to make him appear as a child forever, because even back then people knew that children were far better at getting their way than adults. Honed as a weapon for literally millenia, Damian Al Ghul practically becomes a cryptid in his own right. Villagers shared stories of people who saw the child and never being the same—or worse, never returning. The Al Ghuls were responsible for the most well-known vampires in history, including the famous Count Dracula.

The year is 800 BCE. At 200 years old, Damian was still considered very young for a vampire. He is sent on a mission to turn to their side a young lady who was practically viewed as a goddess by other women, and who aspired to become one of the greatest poets of all time. Talia dropped Damian off on the island of Lesbos. Faster than lightning, the child warrior swooped down and bit the legendary Sappho. Now an immortal, Sappho dedicated her eternity of free time to her passion for writing, where she composed her famous Ode To Aphrodite. Eventually she got bored of Greece, so she changed her appearance and set off exploring the greater Asian continent.

The year is 1206. Genghis Khan had conquered much of the world. Under the Mongol empire, it was as common for women to serve in army as men. One of Khan’s most distinguished fighters came from the Manchuria region. She was a mercenary for the army, a lone wolf. And though she found thrill in battle, she was lonely. And, as fate may have it, so was Sappho. They met in a village where the army was stationed and forged a tight-knit partnership. They laughed together, they fought together. And the thought of being separated was unimaginable. So when Sappho revealed herself to be a vampire, the Mongol warrior jumped at the chance to become one too. And so she was transformed with consent, and together they roamed the world in search for adventure.

The year is 1775. The two girls had heard of this supposed New World and the colonies Britain established. They wanted to see it for themselves. Changing their names and appearances to something more Anglican, Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain boarded a ship set for what would become modern-day New Jersey. Immediately they found a stark lack of immortals there and they didn’t want to be the only ones, so they set off on a biting spree, turning men, women, children, and even a few farm animals (two dogs, a cat, a cow, and a turkey) without care. One of these victims was an elderly English nobleman named Alfred Pennyworth. Cassandra took the animals under her wing, while Stephanie felt bad for Alfred because he seemed to have nobody around. So the girls “adopted” Alfred as their grandfather so he wouldn’t be lonely either.

The year is 1871. Haly’s Circus was the most popular traveling show during Europe’s Industrial Age. Disguised as mother and child laborers working behind the scenes, Damian and Talia were on the lookout for new potential soldiers. And who would make a more perfect killer than the swift, agile Flying Graysons? Talia tried persuading John and Mary nicely, using Damian’s adorable boyish face, and they did give in. At least, at first. But within a few months of John, Mary, and Richard being turned, the parents changed their mind. They wanted nothing to do with Ra’s Al Ghul’s agenda and threatened to expose the vampires to the world. Talia had no choice but to get rid of them. She paid a lower-level mortal criminal to rig the ropes and douse the trapezes in holy water, which would lead to the downfall of John and Mary. The press reported it as a tragic accident. Alfred, who was at the circus during his holiday when it happened, couldn’t help but notice the burn marks on their hands. He chalked it up to coincidence or a prior unrelated injury in the end

The year is 1920. All that the grieving Richard Grayson wanted was to get away from the ghost of his past. He traveled to America, settling in the subpar city of Gotham, New Jersey. As much as he wanted to drink his troubles away, it was just his luck that he arrived at the beginning of Prohibition. His apartment was near a speakeasy, though, so he frequented that. The underground bar itself was owned by mob boss Jason Todd, who was notorious for brandishing guns and picking drunken fights—and winning all of them. But his streak would end when he had one too many glasses of moonshine and challenged an unwilling Richard Grayson to a fistfight. “What, you gonna back out, ya little dick?” Jason taunted. The former Flying Grayson himself wasn’t in the most sober state ever, so after some convincing and people placing betting money on the table, they took up the challenge. It was the roughest fight that bar had ever seen, and in a final act of self-defense, Richard bit Jason. (Granted, it wasn’t in the neck, but a bite was a bite). Jason becoming vampire wasn’t the worst consequence. No, it the older one being stuck with a terrible nickname: Dick.

The year was 1965. One of Ra’s fortune tellers predicted an influx of young soldiers arriving in Vietnam before war was even declared, and Ra’s sent his grandson to a rural village in the country undercover to find more recruits as the League of Assassins’ influence was diminishing. The environment of thick, bushy jungles worked in Damian’s favor as he was able to hide and strike on French and U.S. soldiers. He even managed to turn all but two members of a New Jersey infantry. Later on, the government reported one of the drafted soldiers, Duke Thomas, as missing, but in reality the young man went into hiding with two other vampire soldiers on his squad. And it was a reasonable move—mass media was on the rise and the last thing anyone needed was vampires being exposed as real to the public. Not only that, but Duke displayed abilities that the other two didn’t have, likely attributed to the combined effects of vampire magic and chemical agents like Napalm used at the time, and neither General Grayson nor Lieutenant Todd knew what to make of it.

The year was 1999. A teenage Tim Drake was out on a late-night grocery run to get more supplies, because 2000 was in just a few months and everyone was preparing for the supposed end of the world. He made the grave mistake of taking a shortcut through Crime Alley in an effort to get home on time, and was bitten in the leg by a “homeless” kid who seemed to appear out of nowhere before scurrying off. He didn’t experience anything strange for the next few years. He got plenty of sunburns, but he burned easily even before the incident. He kept his bedroom dark and stayed awake all night, but so did a lot of teenagers during that grunge/post-punk era. Silver felt weird, which he brushed off as an allergy. He avoided churches but that was because religion was never his thing. He craved red meat and avoided garlic, but hey, people had their likes and dislikes. It wasn’t until about five years later, when Tim realized he hadn’t aged a day, that he considered doing some research.

The year was 2019. Bruce Wayne was at one of his famous Wayne Enterprises gala on New Year’s when he met a stunningly beautiful woman named Talia. She slipped a little something into his drink when he wasn’t looking. Bruce couldn’t remember what happened after that, only waking up with a killer hangover and strange hickey on his neck. He had been Batman for a while now, and when he started experiencing unexplainable things he sought the help of the magician Zatanna, who found out that somebody turned him into a vampire. If he wasn’t brooding before, he definitely was now, and it didn’t help that the butler was a smartass. Alfred revealed to Bruce that he had been a vampire the whole time, looking over the Wayne family since Thomas’s father’s father, because the wealthy Waynes made easy targets for the supernatural. In an attempt to make Bruce feel less alone, Alfred invited Stephanie and Cassandra over for dinner (“Alfred, great to see you again! It’s been, like, a hundred years!”). It was over dinner that Bruce asked questions and the older vampires told their stories, and Alfred offhandedly mentioned something about Haly’s Circus that caught Bruce’s attention. Fresh burn marks from touching a trapeze? Something didn’t seem right. Though the case was over a century old, Bruce did some searching on the Batcomputer and found too many discrepancies in the Flying Grayson case for it to be just a regular accident. With Stephanie and Cassandra’s help, Bruce traced the parents’ deaths back to the League of Assassins. But one new questioned surfaced after all this: what happened to Richard? That question would be answered a few weeks later when Bruce dug up another cold case: a file about an MIA Vietnam War soldier from Gotham, Duke Thomas. He tracked down Duke’s whereabouts, and it turned out he was hiding from the League of Assassins with two other missing people from history: the circus performer Richard Grayson and mobster Jason Todd. Bruce offered him the best damn thing in their eyes: sanctuary. He took all three of them under his bat wing and they joined his immortal crusade against Gotham crime. Some time later, Talia introduced Damian to Bruce under the guise that Damian was Bruce’s son, citing the night she met Bruce at the party. Damian only agreed to Talia’s infiltration plan because he was sick of how Ra’s treated him, like an object rather than a being. So although the paternity test came out negative, Bruce still insisted that Damian was his son and kept him. As for Tim Drake? His story is pretty much the same: deducing Batman and Nightwing’s identities and demanding to join them—classic Timmers move

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astralaffairs · 4 years

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Hey! I was wondering, is you're still doing asks, if you could do, "What would everyone say if they saw us together right now?" with our man T-Jeffs? Thank you!

I couldn't help but set this in the fotp universe 👀 enjoy the teaser loves !!! perhaps spoilers ahead ;)

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The world from out the wide penthouse window felt small, detached from where you sat on the couch that wasn't yours. The twinkling lights of the city reflected back at you on the Potomac, and you just stayed, sipping your coffee, allowing yourself to get lost in the mirage of the life you didn't have.

The living room around you smelled of the coffee you had (shouldn't have) just brewed as a late night indulgence -- you'd get no more sleep that night, but that'd been true long before you had the first sip. The warm coffee tasted of bitter comfort, soft and sweet in the hazy penthouse, but harsher than the oversized tee shirt you'd cuddled into the earlier evening, harsher than the plush couch you'd sank into when you couldn't sleep. You'd stay like this for eternity if you could.

"Hey, sweetheart." A groggy voice came from the hallway behind you, and while a soft smile settled onto your lips, you didn't turn around.

"Hi, T." The ghost of lost sleep was hardly audible in your tone, light and sweet as you glanced to your right toward where you could hear his footsteps approaching.

"What're you doin' up?" He sniffed, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes as he leaned against the cool kitchen counter. You shrugged, bit your lip.

"I couldn't sleep." Finally, you glanced to him. "What about you?"

A noncommittal hum left his lips, and he gave a sleepy smile as he made to join you where you sat cross-legged on the couch. The tall windows of his penthouse stretched out before you, city lights twinkling like stars, but your tired gazes still fell to one another. He took a seat to your right.

"Woke up and saw you weren't there," he admitted with a shrug and a small smile. "Had me worried." His morning voice was still gruff as you raised an eyebrow, though his eyes had brightened since seeing you.

"Oh yeah?"

He hummed his assent as he leaned in to kiss you, fingers hooked under your chin, and you smiled against his lips. The kiss was short, chaste, but sweet -- there was no implicit question behind it, no desire for anything more. When you pulled away, his hand still rested at your jaw, thumb atop the slope of your bottom lip while your foreheads lay pressed together, leaning into each other, soft gazes still locked together under the soft city lights in his dark living room.

"I can take care of myself, T," you murmured gently, lips twitching at the corners as you fought a smile. "'M a big girl." He grinned.

"I know you are," he said, watching you with fondness in his eyes as you turned back to where you sat, facing the skyline yet still fixated on him. His arms enveloped your waist, pulling you into him as he shifted toward you in his seat, and you let out a soft hum of approval, closing your eyes and leaning back into his chest, savoring the warmth of his body. "Just don't like not knowin' where you are. Makes it harder to keep you in check."

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself as you glanced back at him, indignant. "So what, this is just babysitting to you?"

"Aw, 'course not, sweetheart." He leaned down with a chuckle to kiss the crown of your head. "If it was, I'd at least be gettin' paid."

You scoffed, turning back away from him, and his arms only tightened around your waist, pulled you closer still. Your eyes began to flutter shut as he traced patterns into the skin of your hip, riding up the hem of your (his) t-shirt, but you didn't doze off, more than content just to be where you were.

An intimate silence fell over you as Thomas's gaze drifted to the city below. While the buildings, streets and people all felt so distant, to him, they only served as a reminder of the lives you had beyond the walls of his home, the diametrically opposed roles you'd continue to find yourselves playing, and he pursed his lips. This kind of quiet was rare.

As though reading his mind, or perhaps also mourning what might have been, you sighed. "What would everyone say if they saw us together right now?"

As you spoke, Thomas forced himself to swallow the lump growing in his throat. He gave a soft smile. "Well, sweetheart, 'depends on who you consider 'everyone'."

You hummed, entertained by the thought. "Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely." His smile grew to a grin as he nuzzled his chin into the crook of your neck. "Like dear, sweet Alexander," --She rolled her eyes-- "He'd have a bounty on my head in minutes." At that, however, you chuckled.

"Then again, James would be out for blood since I'd suddenly found a new way to ruin your political career."

Thomas scoffed. "I don't wanna hear it. James loves you."

"For now."

He rolled his eyes. "What about that roommate of yours, hm? And your family?"

You couldn't help but groan, your head at once falling back onto his shoulder. "God, would my family be thrilled. 'M pretty sure they like you more than I do."

"Aw, really now?" He huffed, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Hey, that was a compliment!" You glanced back to meet his un-entertained gaze with a smile. "My roommate might slash your tires, though." He let out a huff of laughter, and you continued, leaning back once again as your gaze fell to the city, "What about Lafayette?"

There was a skip; you could feel him tense behind you. "What about Lafayette?"

You grinned. "I have a feeling he'd be annoyed that neither of us told him." His muscles eased beneath you, and he exhaled heavily, warm breath brushing across the back of your neck.

"Please. You really don't think he already knows?"

You whirled around instantaneously. "He does?"

Thomas stared at you for a moment, unsure whether you were being serious. "You really haven't picked up every time he's made some joke about it?" Your stare was blank, and he chuckled, kissing your temple. "That's adorable."

You scowled as he began to softly kiss down your jawline, the side of your neck. "Thomas, I just..." He paused as you trailed off. "What if he tells someone?"

He stilled, slowly taking your hands in his as he pulled back, and he knit his brow. "Why would he?"

"Why wouldn't he?" You huffed, unable to meet his eyes even as he shifted to look down at you, not wanting to face him. You suddenly felt uncomfortable in your own skin; your pulse was jumping."If Lafayette knows, it's only a matter of time before Alex finds out--they're too close of friends for Lafayette to be able to keep that under wraps, and then if Alex knows, he tells Angelica and Eliza, and then they all start hunting you for sport, and if all my friends know, it'll eventually get back to James and Dolley when Angelica is chewing you out for... God knows what, but--"

"Hey, sweetheart." He brushed a hair from your forehead as he cut off your anxious rambling, cupping your face in his hand as he looked down at you, his gaze soft. You swallowed. "It's gonna be fine; I promise. Lafayette isn't gonna snitch, and we're gonna be just fine, okay?"

You sighed, leaning against his chest as he held you close. "And if we aren't?"

He chuckled. "Well, on the bright side, if he did slip up and tell someone," --you raised an eyebrow, unsure where the sentence was going as he looked down at you with sparkling eyes, an ever-growing grin-- "Your parents would be thrilled."

You promptly whacked his chest with a groan.

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chikkou · 4 years

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It always confused me why Buzzo said Lisa would love Olathe because like..... a bunch of murderous men running around trying to rape any girl they can get their hands on doesn’t rlly seem up her alley, but I was thinking abt ur response to why Lisa is the so called “worst” person and honestly like. Yeah. If she could like look down and see a world where all the women had died semi-peacefully (especially considering she opted to take her own life to escape abuse and considered death to be the better option) and men (especially the men who had “failed” her) were in a nasty hellscape murdering each other and tormenting each other and ODing and transforming into the literal monsters she saw Marty as- I feel like she would be pretty cool with it. Like I imagine she’d feel for Buddy but part of it seems like “oh men wanna act like a bunch of monsters? BET” like of the 3 men in Lisa’s life, Marty was obviously evil, brad clearly let her down in some significant way in the father epilogue, and bernard i dont think made a huge moral failing but he didn’t succeed in saving her from Marty, and I think she wouldn’t be mad that they’re all tormenting each other for her.

im honestly in complete agreement, and id actually take it further and say that lisa was so neglected by everyone in her life (again, except buzzo) that i think she would be over the moon knowing that her death directly led to the creation of what is essentially hell on earth, but only for the awful men that would victimize and harm women (hell, even the relatively harmless character nern spends his entire intro shit talking his fucking dead wife), and that to this day they still fight over her and blame themselves for what happened to her, because especially in brad and martys case, it really IS their fault (though obviously way more marty than brad)

and i definitely find it noteworthy that resort island (which i know is a kickstarter side area, but still) is pretty much identical to the bile-filled area in lisa the first, and even includes a bunch of the marty mutants from that game worshipping a golden idol (though in this case its a fucked up version of yados trumpet instead of a cross) and the tv marty as well. ive heard theories that perhaps lisa was somehow involved in the making of olathe and/or saw some of the proto-mutants before she died, thus how they made it into her dreamscape, but personally i think of it as the opposite, that maybe she told buzzo about those thoughts/dreams and he got yado to incorporate it into an area to sort of memorialize her. just a thought!

and as for the father epilogue, yeah i definitely agree about your interpretation of it. its hard for me to completely blame brad since he was a kid for most of the abuse (and definitely was underage during the father epilogue), but there was clearly a significant age gap between him and lisa that i guesstimate to be around 7-10 years of difference, meaning he could have absolutely fought to take lisa with him when he left and didnt. the fact that he chose to leave her with marty may be one of the things he is most regretful about and one of the things lisa resented him the most for, and it explains why buzzo was so quiet in his karate class. i dont think brad even knew that he and lisa were friends, given that he asks buzzo if everything is alright at home and doesnt seem to realize that buzzo is upset about whats going on with lisa

ok one last thing thats slightly related, but i really do enjoy that the painful made it a point to have some tranquil areas to show that humanity didnt completely go off its rocker. the beehive is my favorite example of this, and not just because it has queen roger (who is a surprisingly good depiction of a drag queen that doesnt feel transmisogynist) - the lgbt community, or what was left of it, found a place to be safe and be themselves, and no one bothers them. if someone tries to start shit, they are swiftly dealt with, but its a pure case of “dont start none, wont be none” - brad doesnt cause any problems with them, so they are completely harmless, and everyone benefits. the beehive really sends the message that people who do wrong in olathe get punished pretty quickly, but the people who truly just want to live their lives and not hurt anyone else can live in relative safety. its actually kind of a sweet message dshkfds

#anya's anons #ironically thats one thing buddy fucks up in the joyful by killing mr. beautiful #1 11111 111 11 #2222222 222 2222 #33 33333333 #rape mention #abuse mention #drug mention #lisa

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featherymalignancy · 5 years

Photo

CHAPTER THREE—In Vino Veritas: A Nessian Story

“In wine lies the truth”

Summary: Nesta Archeron is convinced she has everything she wants: a law degree from an ivy, a prestigious job, a gorgeous boyfriend, and excellent taste in wine. However, when she wanders into her local wine vendor and meets a handsome stranger unafraid to play her quick-witted games, she begins to wonder if the life she’s built is really the one she wants.

Cash Kahukore worked his entire adolescent life to become a sommelier, ignoring the slurs his mixed heritage have always earned him as he fought his way to the top. However, after five years abroad buying for Michelin star restaurants and dealing with rich white assholes, he’s grown bored with his life. When a gorgeous lawyer comes in to his uncle’s shop one afternoon, he immediately recognizes a worthy opponent in her. Undaunted by her sharp tongue and possessive boyfriend, he’s determined to be her friend, and—as time goes on and their circumstances change—possibly something more.

This a prequel to Navy Suits and Chelsea Boots that takes place three years before. If you love Elriel (and don’t mind finding out how this story ends) check it now.

Check out the masterlist for In Vino Veritas here!

Chapter Three: Bollinger

This time, Nesta didn’t bother lying to herself; she’d made the trip to Merchant because she wanted to see Cash.

It was perfectly innocent, though. She’d had a good day was all, and the truth was she didn’t have an over-abundance of friends in San Francisco. It would just be nice to see a familiar face. Besides, Tomás was out of town, which made this...easier than it might have ordinarily been.

The old bell chimed as she strode in, and Cash—who’d be pouring over what looked like an inventory report behind the bar—grinned when he saw her, eyes glittering. His hair was tied up in its usual style at its crown, but today he also wore a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that made him look more distinguished, if no less roguish. She found it vaguely irritating that he seemed to get more handsome every time she saw him.

“Let me guess,” he said in greeting. “Another dinner party.”

“No,” she said primly, setting her bag down and perching on a stool. “Today we’re celebrating.”

He grinned, teeth bright against his bronze skin.

“Are we?”

“We are,” she said. “I just won a huge case.”

“Congratulations. Unless—” he narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t defending a murderer, were you? Tell me he didn’t do it.”

“It was a civil case. Police brutality.”

Cash’s eyes softened.

“Not just a supermodel, then. A superhero, too.”

Nesta let the comment glance off of her, unsure the sort of damage it could do her if she let it sink in. Instead she pursed her lips.

“The officer broke my client’s back during a rough ride. A man who’d done so little wrong that he was never even charged for the supposed crime he was arrested for. He was only in police custody so long because he ended up in surgery.” She shook her head. “Fifteen hours on the table, and he’ll still never walk again. I pushed for criminal charges but couldn’t get the government to prosecute, so I took the case to civil court instead.”

She flashed a dour smile.

“I made sure there wasn’t a cent left on the table.”

Cash let out a low whistle.

“You sort of scare me, you know?”

Nesta shrugged, feeling oddly pleased by this observation.

“Normally I only take on criminal defense cases pro-bono, but this wasn’t one I was going to let slide.”

“You fascinate me,” Cash admitted, and Nesta huffed, not wanting to let that sink in, either.

Unfortunately, it was harder to ignore, and Nesta felt her cheeks warming.

“Maybe you just need to get out more.”

Cash laughed, eyes glittering from behind his frames.

“I’ve been out plenty, trust me.”

“Gross,” she sniped, and he laughed again.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just determined to make me a philanderer, aren’t you?”

She glanced at her watch to give herself something to do.

“You’ve yet to prove you aren’t one.”

“I can’t prove a lack of something. As for proving the opposite—“ he shrugged. “Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“I don’t care for surprises,” she said, needing to change the subject.

It felt too much like they were flirting again, and it was a line she knew she couldn’t cross. Tomás would be beside himself if he ever found out.

“Alright,” Cash said, seeming to read her body language. “Enough witty banter. What kind of champagne do you like?”

“Bollinger,” she said. “If you have it.”

Cash grinned, the gold in his ears winking at her as he propped his chin on a fist.

“Are you sure you’re not a international super spy? That’s James Bond’s favorite, too.”

She couldn’t stifle a short laugh.

“How do you even know that?”

“When are you going to accept that when it comes to wine, there’s nothing I don’t know?”

“Never,” she said in challenge. “Because someday you’re going to make a mistake, and I vow to be there to roast you for it when you do.”

Cash raised his eyebrows, leaning in slightly.

“Then I’ll be sure to make said mistake in the shower.”

“Cash,” she warned, even as she fended off another laugh.

“You’re the one making threats!” He said, holding up his hands. “I can’t help it if you occasionally fall victim to your own hubris.”

“I—“ she began, still trying to avoid imagining what Cash looked like in the shower. His thick hair slicked back, skin glistening as water ran down the arched grooves of his Adonis belt towards his thick—

She cleared her throat.

“Fine. You win this round.”

“Part of me is afraid that you’re only giving ground as some sort of tactic, but I’ll take my wins where I can get them.”

“Then I have you just where I want you,” she said, glad to have made her way back to more familiar terrority.

He laughed, going to get the champagne.

“You can have me wherever you want, Archeron,” he called, but before she could censure him for it, he’d disappeared into the back.

He came back carrying the Bollinger and two antique glasses that reminded her of Downton Abbey.

“Nice touch,” she said, gesturing to them.

Cash flashed a self-satisfied smirk.

“Thought you’d like these. Be gentle with them, these are Dev’s babies.”

He popped the bottle with a expert kiss of sound before pouring a measure for each of them and pushing one of the glasses to her.

He held his up to her.

“To the justice we can get.”

She raised hers in answer.

“Even if it isn’t the justice that’s deserved.”

Their glasses sang as they touched, and Nesta paused before taking a sip so she could watch him take his. As always, his reaction didn’t disappoint.

His brows drew together as he gave a hum of appreciation, biting his lip as he let the flavor linger. She hurriedly took a sip herself, not wanting to get caught admiring him. She could feel him studying her in return as she did.

She let her eyes flutter shut as the satiny bubbles caressed her tongue.

“What do you taste?”

Her eyes snapped open to find he was still watching her, head cocked slightly to the side.

“You’re the expert,” she said archly. “You tell me.”

He laughed.

“I already know the profile. I want to hear what you think.”

“Is this your way of putting me in my place after all my dress-downs?”

His grin faded, something she couldn’t quite name softening his hazel eyes.

“Never. I just—“ some of the tension melted from his shoulder as he gave a laugh that didn’t feel entirely genuine. “You obviously have a great palette. I just want to know what it is you like about this vintage in particular. Think of it as—market research, if you want.”

She considered this, and him, because taking another sip.

“I’d know it was champagnois even if I’d never had it before. It’s nuttier than a Prosecco or a Cava. Not as finely-edged. And the fruit in it is lightly spiced. Apple, definitely. And...pear, maybe? It reminds me of Christmas.”

She glanced up to find him looking at her.

“Well?” she said, feeling oddly embarrassed. “How did I do?”

“Spot on,” he said. “Though no surprises there. You would have made a great sommelier. A big part of the job is painting a picture that makes people fall in love with the wine. That description was painfully charming.”

“Don’t be obsequious,” she warned, even as she felt herself preening a little from the compliment.

“No idea what that means,” he said with a grin. “But I will do my best. How did things turn out with your sister and the Riesling?”

Nesta flashed a feline smirk, one she knew sent most men running for the hills.

“Better than I could have hoped,” she said “Graysen’s mother wouldn’t stop raving about it. Her new favorite, she said. Even better than the bottle Graysen got here for her birthday last year.”

Her smirk widened as he shook his head, laughing.

“You’re gonna put this poor kid in therapy.”

Nesta sniffed, taking another sip.

“He’s made Ellie cry more than once; he can burn in Hell for all I care. Besides, he couldn’t be less worthy of her if he were were a clown car mechanic. I’m going to throw a gala they day they break up for good.”

“If you could invent a perfect man for Elain, what would he be like?”

“Quiet,” Nesta said immediately, and when Cash laughed, she added, “I’m serious! Graysen is constantly talking, and she can never get a word in when they’re together. She has so many interesting things to say; she deserves a guy who wants nothing more than to listen to her all day.”

“A wallflower, roger that. What else?”

Nesta considered.

“Someone who does sweet things for her. Elain’s love language is acts of service. Men always want to buy her expensive things or spouts odes to her beauty. What she really wants is someone who will pack her a sack lunch or get her car washed. Also dark-haired. Grown men shouldn’t be blonde.”

Cash grinned, eyes slight.

“He sounds like a dreamboat. Maybe I should let you find me someone, too.”

Nesta was surprised at how much the comment ached. Not that she begrudged Cash meeting a woman; he certainly deserved it. She just—didn’t want to have to imagine it.

“I don’t know you well enough to make an accurate assessment,” she sniffed, trying not to seem too desperate as she poured herself more champagne.

Cash opened his arms in invitation.

“What would you like to know?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes as she considered.

“How do you feel about Beyoncé?”

Cash laughed.

“Is this a trick?”

“Answer the question, please.”

“The Lemonade album deserves a permanent exhibit at the Smithsonian as a pillar of human achievement.”

She nodded in approval.

“Good. At least I know I can trust you now.”

“That’s your litmus rest?” He laughed. “What were you going to say if I say no?”

“Leave and never come back, obviously,” she said.

“Fair enough,” Cash allowed. “What else?”

“Best Hogwarts house?”

“Alright, this one is too easy. Gryffindor.”

Nesta feigned a gag.

“That is the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Daring and chivalrous! Those aren’t favorable traits to you?”

Nesta sniffed imperiously.

“Self-important and braggadocious, you mean. Besides, there’s nothing more dangerous that a person who’s convinced they’re right.”

He shook his head, chuckling.

“I feel so foolish. Everything about you screams Slytherin; I should have seen that question for the trap is was.”

“You know why I’ve been so successful in the courtroom?”

“Because you’re brilliant?”

She dismissed the compliment with a flick, even as it warmed her from the inside out.

“Because most of the time I’m going up against self-righteous prosecutors who’d rather waste their time beating their chest and waxing dramatically to the jury about my client’s character, instead of arguing the facts. It makes mounting a defense and tearing them to ribbons almost comically easy.”

“Like I said,” Cash offered, studying her with unchecked appreciation. “Fascinating.”

“I’ll change your mind before this is all over,” she said. “Mark my words.”

He leaned in slightly, enough that she could smell his clean scent again.

“Looking forward to it.”

They studied each other for a moment, and this time it was Cash who looked away, chuckling quietly to himself.

“What else?”

“Tell me secret. Something no one else knows about you.”

He considered this before turning over his forearms to show her his tattoos.

“I cried like a baby when I got these.”

She put her chin in her hand, if only to resist the urge to trace the slightly-ridged ribbons of ink. The designs were exquisitely tendered; whoever the artist was, they’d known what they were doing.

“Why?” she asked finally.

He laughed.

“Because they fucking hurt!”

She pursed her lips to indicate she wasn’t buying it, and he laughed again, glancing down at his forearms.

“Growing up, I just always felt like—I don’t know—a mongrel. When you’re a kid all you want to do is fit in, and being mixed, I never really felt like I did. I was—weirdly resentful I couldn’t just be like everyone else. I had my gran in my ear always spouting all this Māori stuff, but I just wanted to be Hawaiian. It wasn’t until she took me back to Waitomo when I was in high school that I got to see my culture for what it was—mine. I wanted to wear that pride on my skin.”

“So when you got the tattoos...”

He nodded.

“When I got the tattoos, I felt like I was reclaiming something I’d lost. Not just a sense of belonging, but a connection to my dad, who I never got to meet. It was—really emotional.”

“Did you take anyone with you?”

“My friend Ro. He was the only other Māori kid in my neighborhood growing up, so our families were always close.”

Cash laughed, adjusting his glasses.

“You should see him. His tats cover almost the whole left side of his damn body. If he hadn’t wanted to be a cop, I’m pretty sure he’d have gotten them on his face. We had to convince him to stop mid-neck.”

Cash glanced down at his own again, and Nesta couldn’t resist. Gingerly she reached out to follow the band on diamonds that studded along his wrist. She watched his skin pebble under her touch, and she pulled her hand back, knowing she was being unfair.

“That sounds—intimidating,” she said instead, trying to shift the conversation back.

Cash shrugged.

“He’s a sweet dude underneath all the gruffness, but yeah, he’s pretty terrifying with all that ink. I suppose it doesn’t help that he’s also 6’6 and looks like a jacked Anderson Cooper.”

She had to laugh.

“What does that even mean?”

“He started going grey when we were still in high school, and now he’s completely silver. It’s annoyingly dashing.“

Nesta snorted.

“The silver fox trope is such a double standard. If I was completely gray, no one would be gushing over it.”

Cash considered.

“I feel like you would be very striking as a silver vixen. Besides, I thought women dying their hair gray was a thing now?”

“How do you even know that?”

Cash laughed.

“My friend Rhys is a...great lover of females.He loves to opine on all the various trends.”

“Is that your polite way of saying he’s a playboy?”

Cash shrugged.

“His dad’s a billionaire. Az and I think he didn’t hear the word ‘no’ enough as a kid, and it’s made him restless and hedonistic. When he meets the right girl, though, it’s going to be game-set-match. I know it.”

“Thats...charming, I suppose.”

“You’d like him,” Cash said before pausing to laugh. “...I think. His cousin I think you’d definitely like. In fact, I’m having a friend from Paris in next week to host a tasting, and Mor will be there. You should come and meet her.”

Nesta’s heart leapt at the opportunity. She loved getting dressed and going out, and she was in rather desperate need of female friends. Still, there was Tomás to consider.

“I know that look,” Cash said. “So let me beat you to the punch: you can bring your boyfriend, and whoever else you want.”

“Elain would love it,” Nesta said, not wanting to admit that Tomás wouldn’t, especially when he saw Cash.

Still, she was reasonably confident she could convince him.

“Maybe I’ll tell her to bring Graysen, and your friend can embarrass him in front of everyone.”

Cash shook his head, giving a resigned chuckle.

“You are terrible.”

Nesta admired her long nails self-importantly.

“Please, you love it.”

She immediately regretted saying it. She wasn’t oblivious to the way Cash sometimes looked at her, and she didn’t want to blur any lines by being over-flirtatious. It wasn’t fair to him, and it definitely wasn’t fair to Tomás. And if he ever found out she’d been saying things like that to another guy behind his back, he’d never let her step foot in the Merchant again.

“I admit I’m morbidly curious about this guy,” Cash admitted. “Though I don’t want your sister to hate me for humiliating her boyfriend.”

“She’ll love you,” Nesta blurted, and realizing her misstep, forced herself to add, “maybe I’ll set you two up once she gives Graysen the boot.”

The idea made her stomach roil, especially when Cash smirked.

“First you accuse me of philandering, and now you want to set me up with your precious baby sitter? Pick a lane, Archeron.”

Nesta shrugged mechanically.

“At least I’d know she was being treated the way she deserves.”

Cash laughed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on the bar.

“I don’t want to date your sister, Nes.”

Nesta ignored the way something in her black heart fluttered at the declaration, pursing her lips in feigned annoyance instead.

“Why not? Gorgeous and brilliant aren’t your type?”

Cash laughed.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that gorgeous and brilliant are every guy’s type.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Nesta had no idea why she was pushing the issue. She had less than zero desire to see Cash pursue Elain.

Cash only laughed again, an edge of exasperation souring the otherwise rich sound.

“Maybe I’m too afraid of you. I can only imagine what kind of cruel and unusual torture you’d cook up for me if things didn’t work out.”

“I’d flay and barbecue you at a low heat,” Nesta affirmed, and Cash grinned, his expression easing slightly.

“Exactly. Besides,” he paused, eyes glittering from behind his frames as he studied her again. “I wouldn’t want to risking messing up our friendship.”

She sniffed to disguise the way that touched her.

“Bold of you to assume we’re friends. We hardly know each other.”

“I know you better than you think, my thorny Slytherin queen. And we are friends, so don’t be like that.”

“Fine,” she said. “I admit I find your company enjoyable in an...annoying sort of way.”

“Please,” Cash said, grinning. “You love it.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned, and he only grinned wider.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. So about next weekend: are you in? I’m trying to firm up the guest list for my friend Hélion.”

Nesta felt her cheeks warming as she admitted, “I...have to discuss it with Tomás. He’s been out of town.”

Cash looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he said, “Well if you do decide to come, I have only one request—“

“That I don’t bring my friend Claire,” Nesta finished for him, and he laughed.

“She was in again last week and left me her number on a receipt. I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Call her?” Nesta made herself suggest.

Cash frowned.

“I told you: not my type. Everything I said, she agreed with. I don’t want a woman who only ever tells me what she thinks I want to hear.”

Nesta couldn’t help herself.

“What do you want, then?”

Cash sank his teeth into his plush lower lip as if he were trying to suppress a smile before finally glancing at her.

“Someone who’s quick on the draw, and who isn’t afraid to dish it back. I don’t want a admirer; I want an equal. Besides,” he paused, biting his lip again. “I prefer brunettes.”

Nesta felt her heart beating in her throat as he studied her—her dark hair—before meeting her gaze again.

“If you know anyone like that, then...”

“I don’t,” Nesta said automatically before adding, “sorry.”

Cash continued watching her for a second before shrugging.

“Being single isn’t all bad.”

“I wouldn’t really know,” Nesta admitted in a soft voice. “It’s been a while.”

Cash nodded, adjusting his frames as he looked down into his glass.

“How long have you two been together?”

“Six years.”

“That’s—a long time.”

“It is,” she agreed, wishing they could change the subject.

“No ring yet?”

Her eyes snapped up, he shook his head.

“Sorry. None of my business.”

She thought about biting out that no, it most certainly wasn’t, before realizing she didn’t want to sour things with an unduly harsh retort. Instead she shrugged.

“If he had his way, we’d be married already. I’m the one who’s insisted on waiting.”

“Why?”

She didn’t know why she answered. She knew she really shouldn’t, but somehow she couldn’t help herself. Cash was so easy to talk to, and the fact he didn’t know Tomás personally somehow made it feel like less of a violation of their privacy.

“We’ve been through a lot together, but I don’t know—I’m not ready. I guess I’m just waiting for a sign to show me that I am.”

“Didn’t have you down as a person who believed in signs,” Cash admitted.

Nesta fidgeted in her seat, looking down at her bare left hand.

“I’m not usually. But this is...too important not to be completely sure.”

Cash nodded but didn’t push for clarification, even though she could tell he wanted to.

“I’m happy, though,” Nesta added, needing to hear herself say it out loud. “He makes me very happy.”

Cash gave her a smile that was warm, even if it didn’t quite touch his eyes.

“You deserve that,” he said.

“How would you know?”

At this Cash’s smile widened to show pearly teeth.

“Because I’m an excellent judge of character. Besides, doesn’t everyone deserve that? Someone who makes them happy?”

“You do,” she blurted, and her cheeks caught fire as she realized she’d said it out loud.

She’d clearly drank more champagne than she’d thought; she was being embarrassingly loosed-lipped. Cash only smiled again, politely ignoring her insidious blush.

“You think?”

“Per your logic, everyone does,” she pointed out, drumming her nails on the oak bar top. When he dimmed a bit, she softened.

“But yes, I think you deserve it more than most.”

Cash gave a sheepish laugh as he looked down at the scuffed chukka boots her wore, and Nesta found herself adding, “She’s a lucky girl, Cash. The woman you end up with.”

It was truer than he even knew, and harder to bear than she’d expected. She had a sudden image of Cash in the arms of some unknown brunette beauty, and she felt her hands curling to fists.

She was on dangerous ground, and she knew it. She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why she hadn’t retreated to safer territory yet.

“I should get home,” she said, draining her glass. “Thank you for celebrating with me.”

He grinned.

“Thank you for an excuse to drink champagne on a Tuesday. And before you embarrass us both by trying to pay for this bottle, let me make a proposition instead.”

Nesta huffed and made to protest, but he cut her off.

“You know it’s nothing like that, so don’t get shirty with me. Just—come next Saturday. Tastings go much easier when there are people there who know what they’re looking for in a good wine, and I promised Leo I would give him something to work with. He’s French, so he gets fussy like that. And if you come, I can just put the bottle on his company’s tab. He works for one of the biggest distributors in France, so they won’t mind.”

“How long have you been cooking this scheme up?” She asked, and he grinned.

“Since about the word ‘celebrating’. Do we have a deal?”

He even extended a hand, and she bit her lip as she considered.

“I still have to talk it over with Tomás. But yes, I will—tentatively be there.”

She slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed gently as his smile returned.

“But you have to let me pay for the bottle if I don’t end up making it.”

Cash rolled his eyes.

“I’ll add it to your tab, I promise.”

“Fair enough,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ll will let you know on Tuesday when Tomás gets back into town.”

Cash laughed, though the sound was a bit hollow.

“How? You don’t have my number.”

Nesta bit her lip, resisting the urge to shift on her feet. She and Tomás had given each other permission into their respective phones, and though it wasn’t a privilege he often exercised, she knew that if he did and saw Cash’s number, he’d freak. It would certainly be the end to their coming to the tasting.

“I’ll—call the shop.”

All the playfulness melted from Cash’s expression as his mouth tightened.

“Are you serious, Nes?”

“What does it matter?” She shot back, needing to go on the defensive. “You’re always here anyways.”

“That’s not what concerns me.”

“I don’t know what you’re even talking about.”

He crossed his bruising arms across his chest, his tone brittle in a way that belied he usual ease.

“Oh really? Then look me in the eye and tell me that—as your friend—I have nothing to be concerned about.”

“Goodbye, Cassian,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

She turned to the door and heard him swear under his breath.

“Nesta.“

She tightened her grip on the leather strap of her handbag, fighting the urge to turn back to him as she left the shop.

————————————————-

“What’s going on with you?” Hélion asked from where he lounged on the sofa, watching as Cash straightened the collar of a fresh button-down in the mirror.

They were currently in in the apartment above the shop, which Devlon had bought when such things were still possible to afford in North Beach. He’d agreed to let Cash stay there while he was in Hawaii, provided Cash didn’t change anything.

So far, he’d had the place painted, replaced the dated backsplash in the kitchen, and bought a new couch. A contractor was coming the following week to talk about taking down a wall in the living room and gutting the master bath.

“What do you mean?” Cash said, shrugging into the burgundy blazer slung over a nearby armchair.

Hélion eyed him critically for another moment.

“That’s the third time you’ve changed your shirt.”

Hélion continued his brazen assessment before snapping his fingers in realization.

“There’s someone coming you want to impress. Who is it? Investor for your mythical vineyard?”

Cash cleared his throat.

“No, I’m—still working on that.”

Hélion smirked.

“Ah, okay. Who is she, then?”

Cash fought not to tense. This wasn’t a conversation he really wanted to have right now. Despite the voicemail he’d gotten from Nesta on Thursday at the shop informing him she’d be coming with two guests, he was terrified to get his hopes up knowing it was still entirely possible she wouldn’t show.

“Who is who?”

Hélion rolled his eyes.

“The woman you’re clearly trying to impress. And if you don’t tell me, know that I can get it out of Mor when she arrives.”

Cash felt his palms beginning to sweat.

“It’s—not like that.”

Hélion smirked.

“No? Certainly seems like ‘that’ to me.”

“She’s got a serious boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend isn’t a husband, Cashish,” Hélion said in a coo. “Besides, who could resist all this devilish charm?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Cash warned.

“Me?” Hélion said in mock offront. “Never! Come on, tell me more about her. She must be something if she’s caught your picky eye.”

“I’m not—“ Cash shook his head. “We’re just friends.”

“Non,” Hélion said. “You like her. You’re smitten, I can tell. What’s her name?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“What? Why not? I only want to know who I need to charm tonight. I will help make her yours.”

“For fuck’s sake, Leo,” Cash said, unsure whether to be exasperated or warmed by his friend’s meddling. “She’s bringing her boyfriend.”

Hélion bubbled his lips and gave a dismissive flick of his wrist.

“I hate him already. He’s a swine! A wretch! Totally unworthy of her!”

“I actually think he might be,” Cash admitted, and at his tone Hélion straightened, setting down his glass.

“What do you mean?”

Cash blew out a breath, trying to keep his anger in check as he remembered the look on Nesta’s face when he’d suggested she take his number. Normally he might have taken it as a sign that she was more interested in him than she let on, but it hadn’t been guilt he’d seen in her eyes; it’d been fear.

“Allô!” Hélion said, snapping his fingers to get Cash’s attention again. “What does that mean?”

“He’s totally controlling; demanding to know where she is all the time, I think going through her phone—I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“Have you met him?”

“No,” Cash admitted. “But Dev has, and he said the same. He said that he’s very territorial over Nesta, and that I should keep my distance.”

“Nesta,” Hélion said with a satisfied smirk. “That’s very pretty.”

Cash flipped him a foul hand gesture before turning back to the mirror. He sighed before continuing.

“I don’t know what it is about her, but I can’t get her out of my head. And it would be bad enough knowing she’s got a boyfriend, but this prick—“ Cash shook his head. “I hate thinking of her in a bad relationship.”

“Maybe she just needs someone to show her there’s a better way,” Hélion said, and Cash huffed.

“Don’t tease me. This sucks enough as-is.”

“Non,” Hélion said. “No teasing. She clearly likes you, Cash, or else she wouldn’t be coming tonight.”

“She’s coming with him.”

“Then she must like you very much, to risk upsetting him just to see you.”

“I don’t want to put her in a bad spot.”

“But...?” Hélion prompted.

“But what?”

“But you do want her.”

Cash groaned, slumping down on the arm of the sofa.

“How could I not? She’s brilliant, and thoughtful, and witty. And God—so fucking gorgeous. She might honestly be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Hélion gave an amused snort.

“The man’s in love.”

“I’m not in love,” Cash protested before pausing. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway. She’s got her sod of a boyfriend, and I just got her to admit we’re friends; I can’t mess things up.”

“Okay,” Hélion said, holding up his hands in submission. “I won’t say anything to her.”

Cash let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Thank you.”

“But say the word, and I will seduce the boyfriend and clear the path for you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Cash muttered, and Hélion smirked.

“So far as I know, you’re the only man who’s been able to successfully to resist me, straight or otherwise.”

“Az,” Cash pointed out, turning to the mirror to pull his hair back.

Hélion rolled his eyes.

“He’s just being obstinate to spite me.”

“I’ll let him know you’re onto him.”

Hélion smirked and settled back into his seat.

“Can you imagine what he must look like naked?”

“As his friend, I try not to. Shall we?”

Hélion rose, straightening his immaculate heather gray slacks as he did. Cash shook his head.

“I don’t know how you’re wearing that sweater. It’s bloody August.”

Hélion straightened the collar of the turtleneck self-importantly.

“I’m French,” Hélion sniffed. “The laws of nature don’t apply to me.”

“That’s not at all how that works,” Cash pointed out. “But suit yourself.”

They descended the stairs to find the servers Cash had hired readying the place at Mor’s direction. The dining table had been set with the appropriate glasses, and flutes were arranged neatly on trays, waiting for champagne.

“Looks good,” Cash told her in greeting, coming over to kiss her cheek. “Almost good enough to justify flying you all the way out here from London.”

“Please,” Mor said, batting his cheek. “I flew myself out here, you ungrateful plant pot.” She spotted Hélion and shoved Cash back. “Leo, there you are! Come give me a kiss.”

Cash only barely managed to get out of the way as Hélion slid a hand around Mor’s waist and pulled her to him. She draped her arms over his shoulders and pecked him on the lips. Cash only barely managed to fend off a groan of disgust, and Mor only flashed him a quick hand gesture before her eyes settled back into Hélion, who still had a possessive hand pressed to her low back.

“How are you, mon cœur?” She purred, and Hélion gave her an appreciative up-down.

“Better, now you’re here. Oh, and Cash has a woman coming tonight.”

Cash snarled.

“What part of ‘be cool’ did you not understand?”

“You are?” Mor demanded, turning to punch him in the arm. “Who?”

“She’s got a boyfriend,” Cash said, feeling sour for having to repeat it out loud.

“So? Never seen a defender you couldn’t score on. What’s her name?”

“None of your—“

“Nesta.”

Cash screwed his eyes up, rubbing his temple.

“Leo, for fuck’s sake.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mor asked. “This is so exciting! I haven’t seen you interested in someone in—“ she paused to think. “I honestly can’t remember the last time.”

“She’s got a serious boyfriend,” Cash said, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “And she’s my friend, so please don’t scare her off with your meddling.”

Mor toss her blonde waves off her shoulder.

“I don’t meddle.”

Cash pursed his lips.

“Tell that to Az’s love life.”

“That’s different. Without my help, poor lamb’s going to die alone.”

“I can think of someone I know who could make him feel properly loved up,” Hélion said with a smirk, and Cash rolled his eyes.

“Leave him alone, both of you. Leo, if you want someone to flirt with, go back to London and bother Rhys. He’ll be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Tempting,” Hélion admitted. “But he’ll flirt with anyone. Besides, there’s just something about that pouty mouth of Azriel’s that drives me crazy.”

“Let’s just get the champagne opened,” Cash said, not wanting to discuss his friends’ love lives anymore.

He gestured to the servers, and Hélion glanced at the label of the nearest bottle and frowned.

“Bollinger? I thought we’d agreed on Moët.”

Cash shrugged.

“I changed my mind.”

Hélion narrowed his eyes.

“Fine,” Hélion sniffed. “But no more changes. I made these selections for a reason.”

Cash grinned.

“You’re afraid I’ll pull something something you don’t know, you mean.”

Hélion gave him a dirty look, and Cash laughed.

“I haven’t changed anything else,” he promised.

At this the door chimed, and Cash’s heart rate picked up. Forcing himself not the react in a way his friends might notice, he nodded towards the door.

“Go, minions. Be charming, make people feel welcome.” He grabbed Hélion by the elbow as he made to strut off.

“Not too friendly. This is an elegant tasting, not a live sex show.”

Helion grinned, teeth bright against his dark skin.

“Afraid I’ll meet your Nesta and win her away from you?”

“No, because you lay even one line on her and she’s probably punch your lights out. Get out of here.”

Hélion laughed, clapping Cash in the shoulder even as his eye snagged on fetching red head who was already smiling at him.

Cash found as people trickled in that he was too wound up to mingle, so he busied himself in the back instead, helping pull bottles and making sure the hor d’euorvers looked the way he wanted.

When his phone buzzed, he pulled it out to find a text from Hélion.

Come to the front.

Swearing under his breath, Cash did as a instructed to find Hélion waiting for him at the bar.

“What is it?”

Hélion shrugged.

“Nothing. But you need to be out here. It’s strange for your to lurk in the back like the hunchback in his tower. Have a glass of champagne and relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“That’s exactly what a tense person would say,” Hélion said. “Go talk to people.”

“I will as soon as—“

He broke off as he watched Hélion eyes skate over his shoulder and light up.

“What?” he demanded.

Helion smiled, eyes flicking back to Cash.

“I think your Nesta just walked in.”

Cash’s throat went dry. His first instinct was to whip around, and he forced himself to relax his posture.

“Merde, you weren’t joking,” Hélion said, gaze going over Cash’s shoulder. “She’s—fetching. Who’s the woman with her?”

“Her younger sister, I think.”

Hélion’s grin grew sleepy and slightly wicked, and Cash shook his head.

“Nesta will flay you alive.”

Hélion only shrugged before looking back and cocking his head slightly.

“C'est intéressant...” he mused, tapping his fingers against his lips in mock bemusement.

Cash grit his teeth.

“What’s interesting?”

Hélion’s smile was a feral thing, one that reminded Cash of a fox.

“I don’t see a gentleman with her,” Hélion finished.

Unable to resist any longer, Cash turned, his pulse drumming a lulling beat in his belly as he drank Nesta in.

She was dressed more provocatively then he’d ever seen her, and it made his mouth dry as he took her in. The slinky navy cocktail dress she wore hung off her body as if it had been made for her, highlighting her gorgeous small breasts and lean legs.

She’s yet to see him, but his heart sped up as the woman next to her, who was undoubtedly Elain, turned her head in his direction. Elain gave him a delightfully unsubtle up-down before she leaned over to whisper in her sister’s ear.

Something warm began to pool in Cash stomach as Nesta’s gaze snapped to him and she flushed.

He smiled in greeting, feeling pleased when she took Elain’s hand and started towards him.

“Go away,” Cash hissed to Hélion.

“But—“

“I’ll introduce you later. Buzz off.”

Hélion huffed before retreating, and Cash fought not to fidget or look too eager as Nesta approached. She dark hair fell in a satiny curtain down her back, and he imagined bunching it is hands as he kissed her neck, peeling off that dress so he could...

“Cash, hi.”

He flashed what he hoped as an easy smile. He wanted to kiss her cheek the way he might have with someone like Mor, but given everything, he doubted she’d appreciate it.

“Nesta,” he said, taking in the hint of her cool, sharp perfume as she came closer. “Glad you could make it.”

She smiled, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. He admired the elegant line of her wrist as she did, marveling that wrists could even be attractive. Hers were, though. They were gorgeous.

“Thank you for inviting us.”

At this she put a hand on her sister’s back.

“This is my sister, Elain. Ellie, this is my friend Cassian.”

Hearing her said the word “friend” had giddy delight crashing through him, and he forced himself to look at Elain instead.

She gave him a bright, easy smile, and he immediately liked her.

“Lovely to finally meet you, Cassian,” she said as they shook hands

“Cash, please. Honestly, I feel like I know you already. Nesta’s always bragging about you.”

Elain gave a sheepish laugh, doe brown eyes sparkling. Like her sister, Elain was beautiful, though hers was a much softer, more angelic thing: the fresh-faced Disney heroine to Nesta sultry villainess. She was of a curvier build as well, her figure voluptuous where Nesta’s was willowy.

If Az was here, he’d be drooling all over the floor. He was a sucker for big tits and brown eyes, even if he was too much of a gentleman to ever admit as much out loud.

“Well that’s embarrassing,” Elain said. “It’s not like I’m going to cure cancer or something.”

“No it’s not,” Nesta said. “You deserve it. You’re brilliant, El.”

Elain blushed before turning back to Cash.

“I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you, too.” Elain continued. “It’s good to put a name to the face.”

Cash grinned at Nesta, whose mouth has pinched into a pert frown.

“You been bragging about me too, Archeron?”

Nesta sniffed in a way Cash now knew signified she’d been caught off balance.

“Hardly. It’s Claire who can’t shut up about you.”

Elain gave a delicate laugh.

“It’s true,” she admitted. “I think she’s got a crush on you. She still hasn’t stopped talking about that red Nesta served at her dinner party. No one could; did Nes tell you?”

Cash laughed when Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Your sister isn’t in the habit of giving me compliments, unfortunately. But thank you, it’s nice to know you liked it.”

“I loved it,”Elain corrected. “You should come to the next party and listen to everyone fawn yourself.”

Cash glanced to Nesta to gauge her reaction, afraid to find her expression disapproving. She wore a sardonic smile instead.

“Before you say yes, please keep in mind that Claire will be there, and there won’t be a bar or a stock room to shield you from her attentions.”

Cash grinned.

“You’re not going to protect my virtue?”

Nesta pursed her lips to hide a smirk.

“As if there’s any left to protect.”

“I will,” Elain assured him, grinning as she touched his arm. “We’ve known Claire for ages, but she can get a little—predatory.”

“Yes, a scrawny thing like you, who knows what she might do if she caught you alone,” Nesta added dryly.

Cash laughed, and unable to resist showing off a little, he crossed his arms across his chest and said, “Archeron, I’m pretty sure I could bench your weight about five times over.”

“Doubtful,” Nesta shot back, eyes glittering with the challenge. “I weigh over 300 pounds.”

“What a coincidence; I bench 1,500.”

“Well congratulations on setting a world record, then. The last I heard, it was 1,075.”

Elain watched them, a grin on her face before she cut in, “Will you excuse me? I have to use the restroom.”

“I’ll come with you,” Nesta said immediately, and Elain gave her a hard look.

“Don’t need any help, thanks.” She brushed a friendly hand down Cash’s arm. “Nice to meet you again.”

With that she slipped away, leaving them alone.

“She’s cute,” Cash said when she’d gone.

Nesta smiled, eyes softening in a way they only ever did for her sisters.

“Isn’t she?”

They watched in silence as Elain sauntered off before Nesta turned to give him a thorough once-over.

“You look—nice.”

Cash laughed, basking under her careful attention as her eyes swept from his blazer to his caramel dress shoes.

“Do I not usually?”

She flushed before pursing her lips.

“The joggers certainly gave me pause.”

He grinned, wanting to see if he could make her blush again.

“I try to avoid them in mixed company. It’s unfair to the women present. Too distracting.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I managed them just fine.”

“Or so you claim. But you easily could have been checking me out when my back was turned.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Get over yourself. Your ass is not as cute as you clearly think it is.”

He flashed her a smirk, seeing the opportunity her comment presented and finding himself unable to resist.

“And how would you know?”

She flushed, and he felt his belly tighten, even as he grinned.

“Gotcha.”

She rolled her eyes again but didn’t offer a retort, and the realization she had been checking him left him feeling giddy. That was, until he remembered who’d she was supposed to have with her that evening.

“So,” he said. “No Tomás?”

He tried to keep the hopefulness from his tone, unsure if he’d succeeded as Nesta straightened.

“He’s running late. But he’ll be here, don’t worry.”

Cash felt his heart sink.

“I can’t say that I was,” he admitted quietly.

“Was what?” She said, tone flatter than before.

“Worried he’d be here.”

He hated the way her face pinched at that, the light in hey eyes dimming.

“Don’t start, Cash.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Her expression darkened.

“You didn’t have to. Please, promise me you’ll play nice. I think you two might really hit it off.”

Cash knew he would never like this prick and that the feeling was certain to be mutual, but afraid of pushing her away, he only smiled.

“I’m sure we will. You look lovely, by the way.”

Nesta looked down under the guise of smoothing her skirt, but he suspected it was really to hide another blush. God, she was killing him tonight. He wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt.

“Thank you,” she said finally. “It’s new. I don’t usually like this color, but—“

“It suits you,” he said, and though he wanted to push the issue, he knew he’d gone as far as he’d dared.

Reaching behind her, he grabbed a forgotten tray of champagne, passing her a flute and taking one for himself.

They were silent a moment as they both took a sip, and Nesta nodded in approval.

“Bollinger,” she said. “Should I be flattered?”

He shrugged, sure she was seeing through him.

“I’d forgotten just how good it was until you reminded me. I figured I’d help remind everyone else, too.”

“Good,” she said with a small smile. “I would hate to think you were just trying to impress me again; you know I’m immune to your charm.”

“But you do admit I’m charming,” he said with a grin. “I’ll take it.”

She considered this, eyes sparkling.

“I admit nothing,” she sniffed, taking another sip.

He laughed.

“Of course you don’t. It’s fine, my ego can take it.”

She snorted.

“That I don’t doubt.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence as Nesta turned to survey the room. Cash watched her in profile, admiring the narrow bridge of her nose and the dusting of freckles she’d clearly tried to conceal under her makeup. She was so lovely it made his chest ache.

Knowing he had to stop staring before she caught him, Cash turned to watch the crowd milling around instead.

“So no Graysen either, huh? I’m oddly disappointed.”

Nesta huffed.

“Elain was going to bring him, but they got in a tiff earlier and now they aren’t speaking.”

“Why don’t you seem happier about that?”

“Because this happens all the time. I can’t emotionally invest in the hope they’re actually break up; the disappointment is too bitter. Please just tell me there’s someone here to distract her. What about your friend Azriel? Vanity Fair seems to think he’s single.”

Cash laughed.

“Az is still in LA; he generally avoids mingling with strangers, even for my sake. And my friend Leo was practically foaming at the mouth when she walked in, but I don’t think he’s the kind of guy you want dating your baby sister. He’s something of a...philanderer.”

“I’m not concerned,” Nesta said. “One thing I will say for Elain: she’s not easily wooed. I think she honestly gets hit on so much it doesn’t phase her anymore. Besides, she’s annoyingly loyal to Graysen. Tell your friend to do his worst; he’s not going to win her over.”

“Why do I get the sense that pleases you?”

She flashed him her Disney Villainess smirk again, and he felt his skin prickle in arousal.

“Because it makes me feel like I raised her right; weird blind spot for Graysen aside, Elain knows who she is, and doesn’t let others try and tell her different—especially men.”

“What about Feyre?”

Nesta expression grew more devilish.

“Fey’s more like me. She didn’t need to be taught how to shred men to ribbons. It’s instinct for her, and she’s damn good at it.” Nesta pursed her lips. “I just wish she’d use it a bit more often.”

“She’ll get tired of kissing frogs eventually,” Cash offered. “You remember what it was like at 19.”

“I didn’t date until I was 19.”

Cash smiled.

“What was your first boyfriend like? I’m imagining either a geeky engineering major or an uptight Shakespeare nerd.”

“Neither,” she said, taking another sip of champagne. “He was a gorgeous Portuguese exchange student.”

He chuckled, even if some of his amusement had soured.

“You really have a type, don’t you?”

When she gave him a pointed look, he felt his heart sink.

“Tomás was your first boyfriend?”

It explained a lot. The blind loyalty, the way she seemed to capitulate to him when she didn’t for others.

“Some people are just lucky, I guess.”

“In what way?”

She shrugged.

“To get it right on the first try.”

It hurt—physically hurt—to hear her say it, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting something petulant. Instead he forced himself to shrug.

“I guess I wouldn’t know. My first girlfriend’s name was Becky, and she was the actual worst.”

“The fact she chose to go by Becky didn’t tip you off?”

“Looking back, it was the first of many warning signs.”

Nesta laughed, and Cash felt some of his bitterness fading. They were friends, he reminded himself. She’d claimed him as her friend, and as far as he was concerned, that made him the luckiest guy in the world. Her relationship with Tomás wasn’t any of his business. If she was happy, he’d be happy for her.

Over Nesta’s shoulder, Cash spotted Hélion trying to get his attention by tapping his watch.

“I should probably start getting people settled,” he said. “Do you want us to wait for Tomás?”

Nesta bit her lip. He knew she hated when people did her favors, and he suspected she was embarrassed that it was her boyfriend holding things up.

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “I’m sure he’ll be here soo—“

The doorbell chimed, and Cash didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He fought down a searing stab of annoyance as Nesta raised her hand in greeting, choosing to glance at his own watch instead.

“Querida,” a smooth voice called. “There you are.”

Cash thought about trying to use the opportunity to make his escape, but he knew Nesta would see that for the cowardice it was and be annoyed he wasn’t playing nice like he’d promised.

Instead he turned, watching the well-dressed man making his way towards them. He was of rather average height and build, Cash noticed with satisfaction, though his face was classically handsome. Between the way his dark hair was pomaded away from his face and the fact he wore no socks in his Armani loafers—despite being dressed in slacks and a blazer—Cash thought he probably worked at a hedge fund.

Of course he did, the little prick.

The minute he was close enough, Tomás caught Nesta by the elbow and hugged her into him for a wanton kiss.

Cash bristled at seeing Nesta stiffen, clearly embarrassed. She should be, he thought sourly. It was like the beginning of a bad porno.

After a second Nesta pulled away, flushing a little as she dabbed at her lips. Tomás kept a proprietary hand on her low back.

“Where’s your phone?” Tomás said in Portuguese, ignoring Cash entirely. “I called you twice.”

“It’s on silent,” Nesta said. “I’m sorry.”

Tomás pursed his lips in unveiled irritation before finally seeming to take note they weren’t alone. Cash felt a grim satisfaction when Tomás had to tilt his chin up to meet Cash’s eye.

“Tomás, this is Cassian. He owns the shop.”

Not friends anymore, Cash noted with disappointment. Acquaintances, if best. The fact she wasn’t willing to admit to any degree of familiarity in front of Tomás was monstrously telling, and it made him hate the asshole even more.

Tomás tossed a casual glance in Cash’s direction, and though his smile was placid, his gaze was cold.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, shifting Nesta in his arms so he could extend a hand.

Cash could tell she was uncomfortable that he hadn’t released her, and he fought the urge to break Tomás’s fingers as they shook hands.

“I suppose I have you to thank for all the exquisite wine I’ve been drinking lately,” Tomás said, smiling down at Nesta before letting his eyes drift back to Cash.

Cash shrugged. If Nesta wanted or needed to downplay their interaction for the sake of her relationship then he’d oblige her.

“I guess. Though Nesta’s got great taste on her own. She doesn’t need my help.”

“She doesn’t need anyone’s help. Right, querida?”

Nesta’s laugh was tinny and hollow as she finally extricated herself from Tomas’s grip until the pretense of looking around.

“I’m going to go find Elain,” she said, leaning over to peck Tomás again. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Tomás said, and Cash wanted to punch him for the tone he used, as if he were granting her permission. “Come right back.”

Nesta nodded her agreement and headed off, and though Cash expected Tomás to follow, he stayed, flashing a much cooler look as he took Nesta’s abandoned glass from the bar.

He raised it, and when Cash raised his, Tomás said in Portuguese, his tone light as if he were making an actual toast, “I don’t like you.”

Fucking coward.

Cash only flashed a grim smile, clinking his glass to Tomás’s and replying in English, “I don’t really give a shit.”

Tomás’s oily, self-satisfied smirk curled into a sneer, and Cash found himself bracing his feet a little farther apart on the floor. He guessed they were really doing this, then.

“Stay away from Nesta,” Tomás spit out. “She’s none of your concern.”

“And she’s not your property,” Cash shot back. “So why don’t you try treating her with a little respect?”

“Fuck you.”

Cash let out a bitter laugh.

“Did I strike a nerve?”

“Stay out of our business, bugre.”

Cash took a step in Tomás’s direction, teeth bared.

“What did you just call me?”

It was a slur Cash hadn’t heard since he’d left Brazil, but it wasn’t one he could ever forget. It had gotten him into more than one fight growing up, and even now, it still made some part of him burn.

Tomás had the good sense to take a step back, even as he bared his own teeth.

“Stay away from Nesta,” he said again. “Or I will make you very sorry.”

Cash snarled.

“First you insult me, and now you’re threatening me? Tread lightly, caralho. You don’t want to fuck with me.”

“What’s going on?”

Both men looked up to see Nesta approaching, brows drawn.

“We’re leaving,” Tomás said, reaching for her hand. “Let’s go.”

“Leave? You just got here.”

Nesta spared Cash the briefest glance as Tomás tried to pull her along behind him.

“I have a headache,” Tomás said curtly. “Get your things.”

“I have Elain with me—“

“Give her your keys; she can bring your car home.”

People had begun looking now, and Nesta tugged her hand from Tomás’s, flushing.

“You’re embarrassing me,” she said quietly.

“I have a headache,” he said more forcefully. “Are you expecting me sit here and suffer?”

“No, but—“

“Good, then let’s go.”

Unable to stand by any longer, Cash intervened.

“Nesta—“

“Stay out of this,” Tomás snarled. He turned to Nesta. “Let’s go. Now, please.”

Nesta looked rather helplessly towards Elain, who was trying to make her way over to them.

“I need to—“ she gestured to her sister, and Tomás mouth tightened.

“Do what you need to and let’s go. I’ll be waiting in the car. Two minutes, querida.”

With a final sour look he stormed off, slamming the door as he left.

“Prick,” Cash muttered, and Nesta whirled on him.

He expected her to snap at him, but instead she pursed her lips, looking down at her feet for a moment before glancing back up at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said tightly, and he realized what he’d been interpreting as annoyance was actually her attempting not to cry. “I have to go.”

“No,” Cash said, touching her chin gently to win her gaze back from the floor. “You don’t.”

She brushed him off immediately.

“Yes, I do. Have a nice evening, and please make sure my sister gets home safe.”

“Nesta—“

By now Elain has arrived beside them, and Nesta pulled out her keys and stuffed them into her sister’s hand.

“Don’t drive if you feel like you’ve had to much to drink. I can come get the car tomorrow if need be.”

“I’ll come with you,” Elain offered, but Nesta was already shaking her head.

“No, you stay. Tomás just isn’t feeling well, so I’m going to take him home.”

“For fuck’s said, Nes. You don’t have to do this!”

Nesta flashed Cash a searing look.

“Please don’t make this worse. Ellie, I’ll see you back at the house. Have a good time.”

She brushed a hurried kiss to Elain’s cheek, and before Cash could protest again, she was striding for the door.

“I’m sorry,” he called, and she only raised a hand in salutation before disappearing.

“It’s not your fault,” Elain said from his side. Her voice was quiet but bitter. “It’s always like this. I’m going to try and smooth things over. He’s—less harsh when I’m there.”

Cash could hear his heart beating in his ears, every instinct roaring at him to go to the parking lot and beat Tomás bloody. Nesta might hate him for it, but at least then he’d know she’d be safe.

“Is she going to be alright with him?” He asked Elain, and she pursed her lips.

She knew what he was asking, and she nodded.

“I’ll make sure she is.”

“Will you call me?” He asked, knowing he sounded desperate and not caring. “And let me know everything’s—okay?”

She nodded, handing her his phone so he could enter his number. When he handed it back, she gave her another soft smile, this one edged in a sadness and regret and broke his heart.

“It really was nice meeting you, Cassian. I hope I—see you again sometime. ”

She patted his arm before she too was leaving.

He swore until his breath when they’d both gone, furious and terrified in equal measure. Furious at Tomás for the slur, and for dragging Nesta out like a rag doll, and terrified that despite Elain’s reassurance, something bad might happen to her because of him.

More selfishly than that, he was terrified that he’d never see her again. She’d been lying to Tomás about coming to the Merchant before he even knew Cash existed. Now he’d be watching her even more closely. The thought made him sick, as did his powerlessness to help her.

“What the hell was that?”

Cash turned to find Mor behind him, brows drawn. Hélion, he noted gratefully, had corralled the other attendees and was beginning a speech about the history of the Bollinger and it’s flavor profile.

“Her boyfriend is an abusive prick,” Cash grit out. “And I just lost my cool.”

“Why didn’t you go after her?”

“And make things worse? I’m sure sure she hates me enough already.”

“Are you worried about her? Maybe you should call Ro, have him send over some unis for a wellness check?”

“I thought about it, but her sister said she’d call me. If I don’t hear from her in the next fifteen minutes, I will.”

His and Nesta’s friendship, he feared, was already destroyed. The least he could do now was make sure she’s alright.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Mor breathed, lacing her fingers through his and resting her head on his shoulder. “I can tell you really like her. If it helps, she likes you, too. That’s why her boyfriend hated you so much.”

“It doesn’t. And I don’t think it matters, anyway. I doubt she’ll be back after that.”

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out.

Hi, it’s Elain Archeron. I just got to Nesta’s, and Tomás is gone already. Guess his “headache” worse than we thought.

Cash let out a breath.

I’m glad. Please tell her—

He paused. Tell her what? That despite the fact he hardly knew her, he couldn’t stop thinking about her? That hearing her laugh was like hearing the voice of God, and seeing her with Tomás had been like a knife to the gut?

He backspaced before trying again.

Thanks for letting me know. xx

Elain’s response came at once.

Thank you for caring about her. She deserves that. ❤️

Cash blew out a breath as he read it, something tightening in his chest.

“How can I help?” Mor asked.

Cash straightened his blazer, forcing a broad smile as Hélion introduced him and he waved.

“Scout the talent,” he said, scanning the bevy of beautiful, eligible women who were now smiling in his direction. “I need someone to make me forget, at least for tonight.”

“Forget what? Her, or the fight?”

Cash sighed.

“All of it.”

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