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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

---------------------------

It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

---------------------------

“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #enemies to friends to lovers #blunt teeth sharp tongue #got some fun banter in this one!#followed immediately by heartbreak #they want to be soft so bad #but they do not know how #i promise they will eventually be soft #you have to remember that this is still less than 24 hours after part 1 #the reader is traumatized

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

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To give without knowing (12/?)

word count: ~10k

read on AO3

previous / next / masterpost

content warning: self-deprication, fear of abandonment

The tap room was smaller and quieter than the average one Geralt encountered on the Path. It was a nice change. People enjoying their quiet meant that Jaskier didn’t leave Geralt’s side too often to play and when he did, he was not once met with angry criticism or things being thrown at him.

Right now, Geralt was leaning back on the bench at the edge of the room, watching Jaskier perform with a quiet smile that no one but Jaskier would notice.

Jaskier was sitting perched on top of a table with some sailors banging on the surface in rhythm of the sea shanty they had requested. Today must be one of the rare days that they asked for more music than usual. Perhaps as a last farewell before going back to sea the next day.

Whatever the reason, Geralt didn’t complain, not when Jaskier had found such an appreciative audience.

This was so different from how Jaskier usually performed, but it was obvious that Jaskier was enjoying himself. His face was flushed and every once in a while he interrupted his singing and let one of the sailors improvise a new verse. As he sang foreign songs of sailors longing for their loves they had left behind on land, he kept glancing at Geralt.

It sent a shiver down Geralt’s spine and he couldn’t have torn his eyes away from Jaskier if he had wanted to.

Geralt wasn’t foolish enough to let himself believe that this eye contact meant anything. Jaskier just wanted to share this happy moment with his friend, nothing more. And it should have been enough, really. But there was no harm in imagining that there was more to it. If Geralt’s eyes lingered on the curve of Jaskier’s smile a little too long while he imagined what it would feel like to taste that smile, no one needed to know. Jaskier would never need to find out that for just this moment, Geralt let himself dream that maybe Jaskier wanted to kiss Geralt until his perpetual scowl turned into a smile of his own.

With the way Jaskier’s eyes were shining with joy when they found Geralt, it wasn’t hard to pretend that Jaskier didn’t want to ever look away from him.

But he did.

Vaguely, Geralt was aware of the door opening. It didn’t really matter until Jaskier’s eyes drifted to whoever had wandered in. His entire face lit up with the brightest smile and something cold settled in Geralt’s stomach. He had gotten too used to that smile being directed at only him that he had forgotten what it felt like to see Jaskier look at someone else like that.

Without meaning to, he turned to follow Jaskier’s gaze. The pit in his stomach grew when his eyes landed on the woman. There was no reason for him to scowl at her and will her to go away, but apparently the selfish part of him that wanted to keep Jaskier’s smiles to himself didn’t need a reason.

He wanted to get up, to disrupt Jaskier’s song and ask him to leave; anything to stop him from talking to her.

But as he watched the woman return Jaskier’s smile and wave at him, Geralt knew that it was already too late.

Which was fine. Geralt had no right to stop Jaskier from talking to others, especially not when the sight of them evidently made him happy.

Even in the dim light of the tap room, Geralt could see the woman’s strikingly blue eyes that were almost as bright as Jaskier’s. At least that was true for the one eye Geralt could see. The other one was hidden behind a strand of light blond hair that fell into her face. It was the sort of thing that Jaskier would be able to sing countless ballads about. The sort of thing he would take as a temptation. In his mind Geralt could already see Jaskier brushing the hair behind the woman’s ear before leaning in for a kiss.

Geralt’s insides twisted, even though he told himself that his worries were unfunded and unfair. Jaskier was just greeting her, nothing more. Even if he did kiss her, it was none of Geralt’s concern. Jaskier could kiss whomever he wanted. What was it any of Geralt’s business if that was anyone but him?

Despite his pathetic attempts to calm himself, the twist in his gut didn’t go away. His treacherous thoughts were bad enough, but the reality of the situation was so much worse.

Jaskier stopped playing mid-song. Jaskier never interrupted a performance – except, of course, for when Geralt came into a room bleeding and covered in monster innards, but that hardly counted. It wasn’t as if any attention would stay on Jaskier if Geralt appeared like that.

Now, though, Jaskier jumped from his spot on the table and left the sailors to continue the song on their own. He swung his lute onto his back and spread his arms wide as he walked towards the woman with purpose.

“A sight for sore eyes,” he declared with a grin.

Before Jaskier could reach her, she rolled her pretty eyes at him. “Don’t think you can distract me with compliments from the fact that you stopped playing as soon as I came in.” She quirked an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Scared I’d leave again if I had to listen to you sing?”

Geralt’s frown deepened with every word and he gripped the edge of the table tightly to stop himself from getting up and putting himself between Jaskier and the woman who dared to insult him like that. Jaskier could handle insults well enough on his own, but that didn’t chance the fact that Geralt’s insides twisted at her words. Just moments ago, Jaskier had been brimming with happiness. He had been so excited about learning those new songs and having appreciative company to sing with.

Geralt’s chest clenched at the thought of Jaskier’s face falling at the woman’s words.

But Jaskier’s face didn’t fall. His shoulders didn’t slump and he didn’t turn tail in dejection. Instead he threw his head back with a hearty laugh, as comfortable as if he had known the woman for years. As if her words hadn’t been insults at all but intimate teasing, not unlike the way Geralt bantered with Jaskier whenever he asked him for a review for his songs. But that was their thing.

Once Jaskier’s laughter subsided, he breached the last bit of distance between himself and the woman and pulled her into a tight hug, kissing her cheeks.

Geralt couldn’t see Jaskier’s face when he pulled back, but he was certain he knew exactly how Jaskier looked at the woman. It must be the same way he had looked at countless other pretty people. The same way that Geralt looked at Jaskier.

Except contrary to Geralt, Jaskier was allowed to admire, to touch, to kiss.

This was... This was fine. Good even. Jaskier shouldn't have to admire from afar. He deserved to be happy. And oh, he looked so happy right at this moment.

And Geralt... He was happy for Jaskier. It didn't matter that his smile had turned into a thin-lipped line or that his hands were clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his own skin painfully.

When Jaskier gestured over to him and took the woman by the hand to lead her to Geralt's table, he forced himself to relax. He didn't know what to feel. A part of him was preening with satisfaction because Jaskier had remembered him even though he had the attention of a beautiful woman on him. Another bigger part of him wished Jaskier could have forgotten about him and went somewhere else instead. He dreaded what was surely to come. It was one thing to know what Jaskier was up to while he was out of sight. It was something else entirely having to sit at the same table and bear witness to how Jaskier looked at and touched someone else into he was Geralt longed for.

An ugly green-eyed beast reared its head inside Geralt’s chest and it took all of his willpower to stop himself from scowling at the woman who sat down next to Jaskier, opposite of Geralt.

Jaskier deserves to be happy. He repeated over and over in his mind. I can't scare her off. She’ll be gone by tomorrow morning anyway.

“Geralt, this is Essi. The second-best bard on the continent,” He gave Essi a playful smirk that only got wider when she elbowed him in the ribs, “and a dear friend of mine.”

Geralt’s clenched fists relaxed and the frown slowly disappeared from his face. Of course. She was a friend. Not everyone Jaskier met was someone he’d want to kiss – Geralt was living proof of that. The hint of a real smile tugged at Geralt’s lips. It was nice to meet a friend of Jaskier’s instead of an old lover for once.

Evidently encouraged by Geralt’s smile, Jaskier added, “Maybe you’ve even heard of her before? Though probably under a different name. She goes by Little Eye, for obvious reasons. She might be the second-best bard, but alas, even I can’t pretend that she isn’t the one with the prettiest eyes.”

Geralt almost opened his mouth to protest, when he froze. It was – no. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be her.

With all his might, Geralt tried to keep the memory out of his mind, but the lines Jaskier had sung so many times, praising his beloved and longing for them – for her – came back to him unbidden.

Lines about blazing eyes that were beautiful enough that Jaskier wanted to spend all day looking into them.

How often had Geralt scoffed at those verses, not only out of jealousy? He had always thought that no pair of eyes could be remarkable enough for Jaskier to fall for them so deeply. But now here he was, attempting to make his friend blush with sweet words about her eyes.

He looked at Essi more closely, desperate to find something that would disprove his dreadful suspicion.

But Essi’s blond hair could surely be described as moonlight-strands and the way she moved was undoubtedly graceful, maybe even as deadly elegant and dancelike as Jaskier called it in his song. Jaskier’s rhymes for his beloved spoke of bravery and kindness. Certainly, no one who willingly followed Jaskier to sit at the same table as a witcher could be anything other than brave and kind.

With every second spend trying to find some flaw in Essi, some hint that she couldn’t be the one Jaskier had yearned for for who knew how long, Geralt only found more and more evidence – more and more reason for Jaskier to be fascinated by her, to adore her.

In one word, Essi was beautiful. Exactly the type of person Jaskier would fall in love with with naught but a glance. Geralt had seen such a thing happen countless times before, but foolishly he had hoped that he wouldn’t have to witness it again. Now that he knew what it felt like to fall in love, he didn’t think he would be able to bear seeing Jaskier do so again.

There had been verses about gentle and talented hands that created the most wonderful things– and what hands could be gentler than those of a bard who was able to create music out of thin air? After all, Geralt had stared at such hands before, craving their touch. Why wouldn’t Jaskier do the same?

And what better reason to come to the coast than to finally find the woman he had been singing about for months?

As if Jaskier had read Geralt’s thoughts, he said, “I’ve been meaning to visit her for ages.”

Essi lifted one perfect eyebrow in amusement. “Is that so? I was under the impression that you were avoiding me. Or rather, you were avoiding introducing me to your companion.”

Jaskier spluttered something unintelligible and rubbed the back of his neck, but he didn’t deny the accusation. Geralt’s heart dropped. He knew that Jaskier enjoyed his company, but he also had other people that were important to him. Loved ones that evidently he hadn’t been able to see in a long time because of Geralt.

Was it because despite liking spending time with Geralt, he was ashamed to be seen with him? Surely there was a difference between appearing together in towns were no one knew them personally and showing his friends who he was travelling with. Or had Jaskier hesitated to let Geralt meet his friends because he knew that Geralt would make them feel uncomfortable?

Hadn’t Geralt known that all along? That his looming presence was the thing that kept Jaskier’s beloved away from him?

Whatever the reason, Geralt had been the one who had kept Jaskier away from people that were important to Jaskier, even without meaning to.

He couldn’t ruin this for him, not again, not now, not when he had been so happy to see Essi.

Geralt couldn’t bring himself to thaw his smile, but he nodded at Essi in greeting. She didn’t seem to mind his rudeness. As if Geralt’s behaviour was perfectly normal and polite, she leaned forward and looked at him with barely concealed interest.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to meet you." Her cocked her head to the side and the strand of her fell away from her face. "You know, Jaskier normally doesn't hesitate to talk about the people he lo-"

Before she could finish that sentence, Jaskier cut in. "Ah, Essi, dear, could we maybe talk about that later?" His eyes darted between Geralt and Essi, while he tried and failed to look nonchalant. "Somewhere a little more private? Alone?"

Jaskier wasn't especially subtle in telling Geralt that he and Essi would need a room later nor was this his best attempt at flirting. If Geralt hadn't known any better, he'd even say that he wasn't flirting at all.

Except that Jaskier flirted with everyone. Almost everyone.

Perhaps he had known and courted Essi for long enough that there was no more need for subtlety. She certainly didn't seem to mind the clumsiness of it, if the widening of her grin was any indication.

"By the way, Jaskier, you're looking gorgeous today, as always." Jaskier gave her a confused look, but then he blanched and gave her the tiniest but still empathetic shake of the head that she ignored. "Wouldn't you agree, Geralt?"

Geralt's throat went dry. He couldn't - what was he supposed to say? He couldn't very well tell her the truth, that there was nothing as beautiful as when Jaskier laughed and that he didn't want to ever look away from his eyes when they sparkled with joy. He couldn't say that. Not to Jaskier and certainly not to the woman who probably got to see his smiles far more often than Geralt did.

So instead he just let out a grunt that came out more strangled than it should have. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Jaskier's shoulders fall, probably in relief that Geralt hadn't said anything incriminating.

Geralt didn't want to know how Jaskier would react if he had told him the truth.

Essi didn't seem to mind Geralt's non-answer. She was clearly having the time of her life watching Geralt squirm uncomfortably, for her attention didn't drift back to Jaskier as it should.

"So, Geralt, tell me about what it's like travelling with Jaskier. It must be wonderful to spend so much time with him. Surely something one would want to do for the rest of their life?"

It was wonderful. The best thing that had ever happened to Geralt. And lately, ever since Jaskier had started talking of how he would stay with Geralt, he has started to hope that he could have this. That he could keep Jaskier by his side for the rest of his life.

Now he wasn't so sure anymore. When Jaskier has said those things, there had been no pretty woman sitting next to him, implying that he could stay with her instead.

Geralt's jaw clenched and he did his best to ignore the sound of Jaskier drumming a nervous rhythm onto his own thigh.

He swallowed thickly and searched for what he could say that was close enough to the truth but far enough that it wouldn't make Jaskier uncomfortable in the presence of his conquest.

"It's... different. I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

How could he, when all he had known before were cold, quiet, lonely nights and sneers, shouts and stones?

Despite his best efforts to keep his tone neutral, his voice must have shown some of what he felt, for Jaskier let out a shuddering breath and Essi’s brows furrowed.

"That's it? Different?" she asked in disappointment. "But different how? What are the best parts of being with Jaskier? What do you love most about him? I'm sure there is a lot to love after all and –“

"Essi," Jaskier said quietly and his face was unreadable as he placed a hand on her arm. "Please." Something shifted in her expression. It became soft and almost protective. She put her hand on Jaskier's hand gave it a gentle squeeze as she nodded.

With seemingly no trouble at all, she steered the conversation in a different direction, but Geralt paid no attention to it. His mind was too preoccupied with the question that had sounded so innocent and that was so impossible to answer at the same time.

There was too much that he loved about Jaskier. The way he leaned against him while laughing about a particularly bad joke. The way he would quiet down when he noticed that Geralt needed it. The way he was dishevelled in the mornings, uncaring that he didn't look as perfect as he normally did. To Geralt he did then too. Maybe even more so than when he dressed up for balls or banquets. It wasn't Geralt's favourite part of travelling with Jaskier - it was impossible to pick just one - but the way Jaskier would blink up at Geralt in the mornings, maybe grumble a bit as he hid under the covers, might just be Geralt's favourite part of each day.

It made Geralt want to brush his ruffled hair out of his face and kiss him.

Gods, how Geralt wanted to kiss him. In the mornings when they were both barely awake, when his eyes shone during a performance, when it was just the two of them in a quiet forest clearing, when they were surrounded by other people and Jaskier was the only safety beside him.

It was just a fantasy - an impossible one at that, now more so than ever - but Geralt treasured it, even if all he could do was watch Jaskier and admire him from afar even as they were sat right next to each other. Even so, Geralt knew he wasn't allowed to look at Jaskier in the way he wanted to. In the way everyone else was allowed to, those people who might give Jaskier coy smiles and openly admiring glances until in return Jaskier gifted them with a kiss and his love.

Geralt wanted that. He wanted it so much it hurt.

But maybe he had something even better. Because Jaskier didn't stay with his lovers. They didn't keep his kisses and undivided attention for long.

Geralt, however, Geralt has had Jaskier by his side for years. No matter how alluring a lover was or how much they begged Jaskier to stay with them, he would always return to Geralt.

Some days, this knowledge was the only thing keeping Geralt's chest from splitting wide open when he watched Jaskier approach someone else with a smile and the clear intention to charm and fall in love. Knowing that Jaskier always came back, even though all Geralt could offer was friendship and a hard Path, might be what Geralt loved the most about Jaskier. It wasn't much but it had always been enough, just how Geralt for some inexplicable reason had always been enough for Jaskier to return to.

Except now it - he - might not be enough anymore. Jaskier obviously knew Essi, had clearly held her dear for a long while. And he had come back to her. From the way he looked at her now and joked with her easily, Geralt was sure that Jaskier would happily return to her again and again. Worse even, with his song Jaskier had unmistakably declared that he would want to stay with her forever.

Would Geralt now become one in a long line of people left behind heartbroken by Jaskier while he stayed with someone he held more dear, forgetting all about him?

Geralt had thought having to watch Jaskier fall in love would have been hard, but this was so much more painful. Jaskier was already in love. Maybe even with one who would finally drive him from Geralt's side.

Essi was stunning. She clearly was talented, if the way Jaskier had praised her before was any indication. She was someone Jaskier might just stay in love with.

Cold dread pooled in Geralt's stomach. It was just as clear that Essi loved Jaskier - and how could she not? She knew that Jaskier was beautiful, she already imagined living with him forever, just like Geralt did. Except he was sure that Jaskier wasn't imagining living with him forever, no matter what he said. With Essi however...

Geralt wanted him to stay. No matter how selfish and unfair, he wanted Jaskier to never leave him.

"And this is the first one I found after the bear broke."

Jaskier's voice tore Geralt out of his thoughts. His eyes left Jaskier's face just long enough to see that he had taken out the wooden bird Geralt had carved so many months ago. Essi's eyes widened.

"You found two of them?" she asked, her voice full of wonder. She hesitated for a heartbeat, asking Jaskier for permission with her eyes before she reverently touched the bird. Something inside Geralt grew hot and acidic at the sight. Luckily, Essi didn't notice. "They are so rare! Most people are lucky if they find one."

Jaskier's smile became smug and his lifted his chin. "Oh, my darling Essi, I have found far more than two. The others are in my room. I just like having the bird with me for good luck while I sing."

"How... Jaskier that's incredible." She took a sidelong glance at Geralt. "Is it because you're travelling together? A witcher and a bard, that must be something the fae would find interesting."

Jaskier hesitated before sharing a knowing look with Geralt, though Geralt couldn't figure out for the life of him what exactly that look was supposed to mean, what secret knowledge they were supposed to share.

"Well, I can't really tell why I'm getting all those gifts. But they appear more often when Geralt is happy. Or they seem to make him happier after I got them."

Essi's lips twitched. "Better keep him happy then."

Jaskier blushed furiously but didn't respond.

He didn't need to. Geralt spoke up before Jaskier could even think about opening his mouth.

"It's not about me. Those are for Jaskier and only him. To make him happy, not me."

Both bards looked at him dumbfounded for a second. Essi was the first to get a grip of herself, turning her attention back to the bird in Jaskier's hands. Jaskier on the other hand kept his eyes on Geralt, an unreadable expression on his face that made Geralt want to lean forward and trace the small crease between his brows with his fingers until it disappeared under his tender ministrations.

"Have you ever found any carvings, Geralt?" Essi asked him curiously.

He shook his head, grateful for the excuse to avert his eyes from Jaskier's burning gaze, though simultaneously he mourned the loss.

"I have no need for them. Witchers don't need luck. We don't get gifts." With a hint of bitterness, the next words slipped out before he could stop himself, "We don't get to have beautiful things."

He forced himself not to look at Jaskier at those last words. It didn't help that he heard his soft gasp anyway and that Jaskier's hand found his where it was balled to a fist in the table. He relaxed under the almost tender touch and it took all of his will power not to turn his hand and intertwine their fingers.

When he met Essi’s eyes, he tensed. There was something in the way she looked at him that unnerved him. Her eyes drifted to where Jaskier was touching him and then back to his face, searching. Then, her eyes widened in recognition and Geralt’s stomach dropped.

She knew. Somehow she knew what he felt for Jaskier.

Cold sweat tickled down his neck and he forced himself to pull his hand away from Jaskier’s touch despite how desperately he wanted to keep him close. With Essi watching him like a hawk, he knew he wasn’t allowed to indulge in this hopeless fantasy anymore. He wouldn’t hinder Jaskier’s happiness with Essi by making her think Jaskier would stay with someone like him. He wished Jaskier would want to. He wished Jaskier’s assurances that he did could be believed. And he had believed them. He had trusted Jaskier; he still did.

And maybe that was the problem. Jaskier had promised Geralt he’d stay by his side. Geralt didn’t doubt he had meant it. But now…either Jaskier would break his word and Geralt’s heart or he would keep his word and break his own heart.

Geralt knew which one he preferred.

When he had first heard the song about Essi, he had been torn about what he’d do if he ever met the object of Jaskier’s love. If he was being honest with himself, he still didn’t have a clear answer. A part of him still wanted to make sure Jaskier would stay with him. Another part that put a heaviness into his chest knew that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Maybe he wouldn’t be strong enough to tell Essi to confess her love to Jaskier, but he wouldn’t be able to do anything to keep them apart.

He wanted Jaskier to be with him, more than anything, but not at the cost of his happiness. Geralt couldn’t be Jaskier’s happiness. But maybe Essi could.

So Geralt plastered the hints of a smile on his face, trying desperately to ignore the way Jaskier’s face fell when Geralt pulled away from him and turned the conversation and Jaskier’s focus back to Essi where it belonged.

Too bad the only thing Geralt could think to say, was still related to his own aching heart.

“Have you ever found one of the fae-gifts?”

He cursed his own words as soon as they had left his lips. He didn’t know what answer he feared more. It was irrational and petty, but he didn’t want Essi to have one of his carvings. For years it had been none of his concern who kept hold of them, but now it seemed to be of utmost importance that Essi didn’t have one of them.

But maybe worse than that would be if she had never found any. True, Jaskier was protective of his collection, but he had given away the sheep to someone who was practically a stranger. There was no guarantee he would hesitate to give one of his animals to Essi.

Perhaps the bird, to compliment her undoubtedly beautiful singing voice. Or maybe he would give her the cat and make a play of words on a cat chasing a songbird or something of the sense. Surely not the fish, because Geralt couldn’t for the life of him figure out a way in which Jaskier could possibly give Horse to Essi without it coming across as an insult. The same was true for the snake.

Geralt’s stomach churned. He couldn’t even bring himself to think of the possibility that Jaskier might give away the wolf. The mere idea was enough for nausea to rise up in him.

So lost in his own thoughts, Geralt barely caught Essi’s reply.

“Sadly not. Not all of us can get so lucky as Jaskier.” She grinned at Geralt as if they were friends, as if she wasn’t about to take the most important person in Geralt’s life away from him. “Then again, he needs all the luck he can get and then some.”

Jaskier squawked in indignation, utterly undignified in the particular way he normally only was when Geralt complained teasingly about his music. “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?” He huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, but after a brief pause and a glance at Geralt that Geralt tried his best not to read anything into, Jaskier’s eyes softened. “I believe I can count myself very lucky. Probably the luckiest man on the continent.”

Geralt snorted before he could stop himself. The very notion of Jaskier being lucky was ridiculous. Jaskier didn’t need luck. He was charming and talented and beautiful. He had earned every single good thing that had befallen him.

Geralt on the other hand still didn’t have the slightest clue what had earned him Jaskier’s presence in his life. Out of the two of them, Geralt had no doubt that he was the lucky one.

Thankfully, before Geralt had a chance to run his mouth and voice any of his incriminating thoughts, the sailors from before called out for another song.

Jaskier looked at Geralt as if asking for permission to get up and play again. Geralt did his best to give him a look that conveyed that he was good enough and needn’t fear playing in front of Essi despite her teasing. It must have worked, for Jaskier picked up his lute again before turning to Essi.

"Will you join me?" The teasing twinkle was back in his eyes. "Play a little duet to determine once and for all which one of us is better?"

Essi snorted, her lips curling up. "I think we both know who is superior." She waved him off with a hand and a mischievous grin. "You go play first. I wouldn't want to take all the glory away from you without giving you a chance to get some applause first."

Jaskier hesitated, his eyes darting between Geralt and Essi.

"Fine," he sighed eventually when the shouts demanding another song continued. "Be nice, Essi."

"I always am."

It was strange that Jaskier didn't warn Geralt to not scare her off. Maybe he didn't think it would be of any use. After all, he had known Jaskier for long enough to know that Geralt's attempts at being nice weren't very successful most of the time.

Jaskier bit his lip for a second and looked down at the bird he had still clutched in his hand. Geralt's insides twisted. Any moment now Jaskier would hand the figure to Essi.

He didn't. Instead he held it out to Geralt, as if it was the most natural thing; as if there wasn't a pretty woman right next to him who would love to hold the figure in her hand.

Geralt's heart stuttered in his chest and he had to will it to slow back down when Jaskier gave him an indecipherable look.

"Take care of the songbird?"

Geralt enclosed the bird with both of his hands and his fingers brushed against Jaskier's as he slowly let go.

"I always do." Geralt's voice was more serious than the situation called for, but for whatever reason, Jaskier approved, for he gave Geralt one of his brilliant smiles before he left, a song already on his lips.

A lump formed in Geralt's throat as he watched Jaskier take his place in the middle of the room once more. His attention was so fixated on Jaskier that it took him embarrassingly long to notice Essi scrutinizing him curiously with her chin propped up on her hand.

When he finally noticed, she lifted an eyebrow knowingly and her lips twitched.

"Oh, don't let me stop you from watching him," she teased. "He is a bit pretty, isn't he?"

Geralt didn't reply, not knowing what kind of answer would be acceptable.

Still, something must have shown on his face, for something shifted in Essi's expression. Her gaze dropped to the songbird held carefully in Geralt's hands.

"He seems to think you need luck talking to me," she said with a nod to the bird.

Geralt's brows rose. "Do I?"

He was sure that he already knew the answer.

"That really depends."

Dread pooled in Geralt's stomach. "On what?"

"On whether or not you're planning on hurting him." Essi's eyes narrowed and the easy smile from before fell away, revealing a calm sort of sternness that would have intimidated any man who wasn't used to facing worse than an angry woman. It might even come close to the look Vesemir got before scolding the younger wolves. "Because if you do hurt him, no amount of luck in the world will keep you safe."

The words were clearly meant as a threat, but something unwound in Geralt's chest. "He's really important to you, isn't he?" he asked quietly. "You won't let anything happen to him?"

"Never," she said heatedly. "I'd fight the world before I'd let him get hurt. I'll fight you if you ever so much as think about hurting him."

"I won't," Geralt said and it felt like a confession.

He didn't have Essi's empathetic words, but he had this certainty in his chest that whatever he did, he would do everything in his power to keep Jaskier safe. Then again, travelling with Geralt was the most dangerous thing Jaskier could do. Even if Geralt would never hurt him, he couldn't promise that no harm would come to Jaskier as long as he was with Geralt.

A wry smile twisted Geralt's lips. "But I don't think you'll have to worry. We both know he won't be travelling with me for much longer."

Not if he could be with Essi instead. Geralt didn’t want to think about this possibility, but it wouldn't be fair towards Jaskier to drag him away from her. Geralt wouldn't stand in Jaskier's way, even if it led him away from Geralt.

"Why?" Essi asked with sudden urgency. "For years Jaskier had only talked about you but he refused to let me meet you. Why now? What has changed between the two of you?"

Geralt faltered at the question. His mind was racing, trying to come up with an answer, but he found none. Nothing had changed with Jaskier. He had been happy as ever.

It was true, he had sung more of those yearning love songs but that wasn't anything irregular. Nothing in his behaviour had even hinted at him wanting to leave Geralt anytime soon. If anything, he had been more adamant than ever to stay, touching him with increasing confidence and laughing with him more carefree than ever.

So if Jaskier hadn't changed that only left one conclusion. The problem wasn't Jaskier's changed feelings, it was Geralt's.

Though they hadn't exactly changed either. Geralt had just finally realised what had been there all along. He had finally found a word to the feeling that had been creeping up on him and ensnared him without him realising or resisting.

But Geralt had thought... He hadn't behaved any differently, had he? He hadn't said anything to let his secret slip and he hadn't let his eyes and hands wander to Jaskier too often. Or maybe he had?

He must have done something wrong to tip Jaskier off.

Fear's icy claws plunged into Geralt's chest. Jaskier knew. Of course he did. He sang about love and yearning constantly. If anyone were able to recognise Geralt's emotions, it would be Jaskier. Perhaps he had even known for longer but had been able and willing to ignore it as long as Geralt hadn't acted on it. But now that Geralt knew what he felt as well, maybe Jaskier was uncomfortable being around him? It was one thing being a witcher's friend, but it wasn't unlikely that even Jaskier drew the line at being loved by one.

An abyss opened up in Geralt's chest. Was this truly it? He didn't want to believe it, but it was the only explanation he could come up with that made sense.

Judging from his songs, Jaskier had been yearning for Essi for a while now. So what better excuse to get away from Geralt than to pursue his own love? If Jaskier broke Geralt's heart in the process and made sure Geralt would stay away from him because of his hurt feelings, then that was just an added bonus. Perhaps he even wanted Geralt's protection to get to the coast, a convenient way to get there safely.

Geralt couldn't imagine that was it, didn't want to imagine. Jaskier was many things, but he wasn't cruel. He was Geralt's friend and Geralt trusted him.

Or perhaps this was Jaskier's way of being kind, of letting Geralt down gently? If Jaskier showed him now whom he had to compete with - as if Geralt could ever have any hope of winning Jaskier's heart even without competition - then surely Geralt would forget about his feelings before he'd do something stupid like confess his feelings and make them both uncomfortable and miserable.

Well, if that had been Jaskier's goal, he had failed. Though not too long ago Geralt himself had thought that he would be able to get rid of this ache in his chest when he saw Jaskier with his beloved, he now knew better. He wouldn't be able to forget this feeling, whether he had his heart broken or not. And he didn't want to forget. He'd rather watch Jaskier be in love and still admire how his eyes softened when he looked at his beloved than never feel that warmth in his chest again, however painful it was. Jaskier was too important for him to just forget.

But oh, how painful it was. Right at this moment, as Jaskier sang if love and the fear of loss, his eyes drifted over to them - no, not to them, to Essi - so full of longing and aching and love.

How could Geralt not recognise the look when it was the same one he gave Jaskier when he wouldn't notice? When it was how he wished he could look at Jaskier openly? When it was how he wanted Jaskier to look at him?

But he didn't. He never would. Geralt could fantasise all he wanted that he was the one Jaskier's eyes were resting on with so much wanting, but he knew it wasn't the truth. He knew the real object of Jaskier's longing was sitting right across from Geralt, still waiting for an answer she wouldn't receive from him.

Maybe she already knew. Judging from the way she looked between him and Jaskier there was no hiding from her. It didn't matter anyway. Geralt knew he stood no chance against her. He was no threat to someone like her.

She must be aware of that too, for her eyes crinkled with a smile that unnerved Geralt more than any threat could.

“It must be the fae-gifts,” Geralt blurted out. It was an obvious and pitiful attempt to distract from what he felt, but it was better than letting the truth hang between them. It was better than giving Essi the chance to say it out loud. “He started finding them in spring. He said that those who find them will find their true love within a year.” And evidently Jaskier had known perfectly well where exactly he had to search for his love to find her.

Something shifted in Essi’s expression and for a moment she looked like she wanted to say something before her mouth snapped shut. There was a question in her eyes, then a realisation.

Geralt’s stomach sank and he was left feeling cold.

Essi hadn’t known. Somehow, through some miracle, she hadn’t known what Jaskier felt for her, even though his affection was as clear as day to anyone who bothered to look at him for longer than a second.

And now Geralt had brought forth her realisation. He didn’t know what was worse; the guilt of taking away Jaskier’s chance to confess his feelings properly or the fact that she now focussed back on Jaskier, a determined look on her face and stood up.

“Excuse me,” she said, sounding not at all apologetic, “I believe it is time for me to join Jaskier.”

Geralt didn’t protest, though his fingers twitched to hold her back. Not that it would make a difference. It was already too late for him, whether Essi joined Jaskier or not.

Still, it was a special kind of torture watching her lean in close to Jaskier and whisper something in his ear that made his eyes widen and a blush spread across his cheeks.

Geralt’s mouth went dry when Essi started playing the intro of the next song while Jaskier still stood frozen, watching her, transfixed.

It didn’t take long for Geralt to understand this reaction. It wasn’t just that Essi was good, it was that the song she was playing was the song. The one about beautiful eyes and moonlit hair. The one about her.

Jaskier threw a helpless, almost panicked look over at Geralt who offered him an encouraging and apologetic smile that hopefully didn’t look as forced as it felt.

Jaskier accepted Geralt’s smile and silent apology with a small nod. Though he didn’t appear any less anxious, his voice was clear and full of feeling when he joined in the song, harmonising perfectly with Essi.

With a sudden jolt of his heart, a calm washed over Geralt that was almost enough to push the agonising burn in his chest away.

This was what Jaskier deserved, standing on stage with another bard. Someone who could be close to him and understand him in a way Geralt would never be able to. Someone who could compliment his voice with theirs just as they could give compliments to him; words that weren’t clumsy and almost insulting even as they were meant to make him feel appreciated. This wasn’t just what Jaskier had yearned for. It was what Jaskier deserved. Essi was.

They looked beautiful together. Like they belonged together. Whereas when Geralt stood next to Jaskier, the bard’s beauty only made Geralt’s flaws all the more apparent. No one would ever look at Geralt and think that he could belong to the beautiful, brilliant bard.

Essi however…she looked gorgeous. Someone Jaskier didn’t have to be ashamed of being seen with. As long as he was with her people would throw roses instead of stones and praise instead of insults.

Geralt averted his eyes. They fell on his own twisted reflection on a dirty window.

His jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to flee. He didn’t. There was no doubt that Jaskier would notice if Geralt stormed off, even if his eyes were trained on Essi and Geralt couldn’t risk ruining this moment for him.

When the song finally ended and the two bards returned to their table, Geralt let out a relieved sigh. Not that watching them touch and smile at each other this closely was any better.

But for some reason, Jaskier didn’t stay close to Essi. Instead he slid onto the bench next to Geralt, so close that their thighs were almost touching. Geralt had to resist the urge to breach the distance. It wouldn’t do to lean into him. Especially not now that Jaskier’s love was letting herself fall into a seat opposite him. Perhaps that was the reason why Jaskier had sat down next to Geralt; not to be close to him, but so he could better look at Essi. The gods knew she was more pleasing to look at than Geralt.

Especially now that she leaned forward and brushed the strand of hair behind her ear, revealing both of her sky-blue eyes that Jaskier was so enamoured with.

“So, Geralt,” she began and tipped her head to the side, “we need you to be our unbiased judge. Which one of us it better?”

Geralt risked a glance at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks were tinged with pink and his tongue darted out to lick over his lips, undoubtedly nervous that Geralt would say something wrong.

Geralt’s jaw worked as he frantically searched for an answer that would help Jaskier with Essi, even though a small treacherous voice in the back of his mind told him that this was his chance to say something that would let him keep Jaskier.

But that would never happen. Either he would lose Jaskier to Essi or he would drive him away by keeping him from his happiness. Either way he would lose him. The only difference was whether Jaskier would remember him with affection or disdain.

His hand clenched around the bird he was still holding onto tightly, as if it would fly away if Geralt weakened his grip. As if it was the most important thing in the world to keep for as long as he was allowed to. A poor substitute for the real songbird that was slipping through his fingers at this very moment.

“I think…” he said slowly, doing his best and failing miserably to avoid Jaskier’s anxiously expectant gaze, “I think that I might be the least unbiased person in this room.”

Essi’s smile grew wider. “You really like Jaskier’s singing, don’t you?”

Yes.

But Geralt was afraid that if he said as much as that one simple word, he wouldn’t be able to keep its true meaning out of his voice.

He plastered a sarcastic smile on his face, hoping against hope that it would be enough to fool the two masters of acting. “Maybe I’ve just heard him often enough to find him boring by now.”

“Boring!” Jaskier gasped in outrage and swatted Geralt’s chest. “How dare you accuse me of such a horrible thing.”

Jaskier’s indignation was familiar. Soothing.

Geralt’s smile became more real. “I said ‘maybe’.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at him. “Nice try to save that. You still owe me a better apology.”

“Oh?” Geralt leaned closer to Jaskier. He pretended not to notice the way their shoulders brushed. “And what do you want me to do to make it up to you?”

“Oh, that’s easy, my friend. You already know what to do.” Jaskier lifted his chin, a triumphant smirk on his lips. It took all of Geralt’s strength not to let his eyes linger on his lips. “Give us an honest review. Three words or less.”

Us.

There it was again. That reminder that this wasn’t a moment Jaskier and Geralt shared. It was one that Geralt intruded on.

He drew back again, putting enough distance between himself and Jaskier so that they wouldn’t be able to touch accidentally.

“You’re good together,” he said in a hollow voice. Geralt swallowed thickly and pushed himself off the table. After a painful moment of hesitation, he let go of the songbird and put it on the table between the two bards. “So I’ll better leave you to it.”

Jaskier’s hand shot out and grabbed Geralt by the hand. “What do you – Geralt, where are you going?” Inexplicably, dejection flashed over Jaskier’s face and the fingers of his free hand started fidgeting. “I thought we wanted to go stargazing later?”

Geralt’s stomach twisted painfully as he gave Jaskier a meaningful look. “I don’t think I’m the one who wants to look at the stars with you.”

It was a lie. But Geralt had been telling a lot of them lately, whether with his words or by pretending with his actions. It was for the better. Geralt might want to spend the night with Jaskier looking at the stars and watch in wonder how Jaskier’s face shone in the pale moonlight, but Jaskier would be better off doing it with Essi who might find a way to describe to him how breath-taking he looked with the moonlight illuminating him.

Maybe when Jaskier left him, he would remember Geralt as the one who had helped him get into romantic situations with Essi. It wouldn’t have been romantic with Geralt. Jaskier wouldn’t have been as happy with him.

And perhaps there was a little pettiness involved as well as Geralt pulled his hand out of Jaskier’s grip and made his way to their room with pointed casualness.

As long as Geralt occupied their shared room, Jaskier wouldn’t bring Essi there to spend the night. It was a small consolation to know that they would go somewhere else to do what Geralt didn’t even want to imagine, but it was a consolation nonetheless.

It didn’t help keeping the images of the two bards together out of his head. All he could think about was Jaskier holding Essi in a lover’s embrace in a different room or maybe even underneath the moon. He would kiss her and whisper in her ear how beautiful she was, how perfect. Maybe he would even repeat the words of his song to her, intimately like a promise. And she would be allowed to return those words to him. She would be allowed to run her fingers down his back and pull him ever closer.

All the while Geralt would be alone in this room that was too big for one person. He stared at the bed in disdain and let himself fall onto it. It was too big. Too cold. Too empty. He should have shared it with Jaskier. They should have traded jokes and whispered stories before falling asleep within reach of each other and maybe entangling their limps as they slept.

Perhaps, if Geralt was lucky, Jaskier wouldn’t stay the night with Essi. Maybe after they were done, he would come back here and Geralt would get to hold him again, despite him smelling of Essi and the joy Geralt couldn’t give him.

It was a stupid thought. Jaskier wouldn’t return. He would spend the night with his love and in the morning he would only come to Geralt to tell him that he would stay with Essi.

It had been a while since Jaskier had last sought out company for a night. Geralt had known, of course, that it had only been a matter of time until Jaskier fell into bed with someone again. The thought hadn’t bothered him. Too much. But now, with her, it was different. From the way Jaskier had sung about her, his beloved wasn’t someone he’d forget after a night. She was someone he wanted to be with for as long as he’d allow him to.

Despite himself, despite his aching heart, Geralt hoped that Essi would keep him forever. She would keep his heart safe and if there was one person Geralt trusted to keep Jaskier happy, it was this woman who had threatened a witcher should he harm Jaskier.

A long breath that was almost a groan left Geralt and got lost in the too quiet room. He had to squeeze his eyes shut as if that could stop the pictures of Jaskier and Essi intertwined from forming in his mind.

It felt like hours of restless tossing and turning until he finally sat up. As much as he had wanted to find refuge in this room, it now felt suffocating to him.

Surely by now Jaskier and Essi won’t be downstairs anymore. They must have either found a bed to fall into or gone to the beach to look at the stars, like Geralt had planned on doing with Jaskier.

But wherever they were, there was little to no chance that Geralt would come across them. There would be no harm in going to the stables to clear his head talking to Roach. Or in trying to get drunk instead and dulling his thoughts until none of the ache and the poisonous images of Jaskier looking lovingly at Essi were left.

He shouldn’t have hoped that it would be so easy. Too lost in his own glum thoughts, Geralt didn’t notice Jaskier’s familiar heartbeat in the tap room until it was already too late.

Geralt should leave. But his body wouldn’t obey him. He stood transfixed in the shadows at the edge of the room and stared at Jaskier and Essi who sat in an even more secluded corner than before. Jaskier leaned heavily against Essi who whispered soothing nothings into his ears and petted his hair comfortingly. Lovingly.

Geralt’s stomach churned at the sight.

He knew he shouldn’t listen in. He didn’t want to.

But the look on Jaskier’s face was so strange. Geralt would call it heartbroken if he hadn’t known any better. Maybe it was just a trick of the dim light, but Geralt could have sworn that his eyes were red-rimmed. There was no reason for Jaskier to look like that. Geralt had left him alone with his love, he had made sure they could have a romantic night together. He had done all that he could. Jaskier should be happy.

Evidently, he was not.

“Thank you for listening.” Geralt had to strain his ears to hear the words Jaskier muttered into Essi’s shoulder. His voice sounded tight and choked. “I really needed this. It feels good to finally tell someone.”

“Why not tell him?”

Geralt’s breath got stuck in his throat at Essi’s words. It was the same question prodding at his own mind. Why hadn’t Jaskier come to him to talk about what bothered him so much? Geralt knew he was horrible at giving advice, but surely Jaskier knew that he cared. Surely, he knew that he could trust Geralt.

Then again, could he really? After all, wasn’t Geralt eavesdropping on him at this very moment? Hadn’t he toyed with the thought of whisking Jaskier away from his beloved?

“You know I can’t. He’s…he wouldn’t want to hear something like that.”

Geralt’s chest tightened and he had to press himself against the wall to not do something stupid like cross the room and assure Jaskier that he would listen to him, that he always would be there for him when Jaskier needed him.

“I think he’d listen to you,” Essi said softly and brushed Jaskier’s hair out of his forehead. Gently she lifted his chin so that he would look up at her. “You said you were friends, didn’t you?”

“Yes. We are,” Jaskier’s voice broke off. Their faces were so close and Jaskier looked so desperate. “But, Essi, I’m in love.”

He sounded so broken, so hopeless.

Geralt didn’t want her to say it back. He didn’t think he could bear it if she did, if he had to watch Jaskier’s face light up at her confession and kiss her.

What Essi said instead was worse.

“You always are.”

Essi smiled and Geralt’s blood turned to ice. She wasn’t taking Jaskier seriously. Yes, Geralt too had been consoling himself with the knowledge that Jaskier’s loves were fleeting more often than not, but he wasn’t the one Jaskier was in love with. If he was, he would treasure every second he was granted being loved by Jaskier, however briefly. And Essi who had Jaskier’s love, who had his trust, who had said she’d fight the world to keep him from hurting… she was breaking his heart.

“Not like this.” Jaskier looked so lost. So small. And yet, despite Essi’s dismissal, a bittersweet smile danced across his lips. “It has never been this beautiful. It had never hurt like this. Gods, it hurts. I’ve been in love for years and sometimes I think it might be requited, but then…we could be watching the stars right now. And instead I am a mess sobbing at your shoulder.” His voice became quiet enough that even Geralt could barely hear his next words. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll fall out of love again.” Words meant to soothe made Jaskier wince like they were cutting into him like a knife.

“I don’t want to.” With a jolt, Jaskier sat up straight and stared at her imploringly, begging her to understand. “This time it’s different. I want to stay and I want to love and I…I don’t want to ruin what we have. It’s too important to me.”

“You won’t ruin anything,” Essi cupped his face with her hands, stroking tenderly across his cheeks with her thumbs. “I promise you. You are one of the most amazing people I know. You are a wonderful bard and an even better friend. Anyone who wouldn’t love you back would be a fool. You know how important you are to me. I wouldn’t lie to you about this. I promise.”

Jaskier was quiet for such a long time that Geralt began to wonder whether he would speak up again at all. A hint of hope flickered across Jaskier’s face and his voice wavered when he asked, “How could I not ruin it?”

“You could just say it.”

Jaskier let out a bitter laugh and a sour grimace twisted his lips. “What, just like that? I should just say I love you?” He shook his head and his smile became softer again. Geralt couldn’t see it from where he was, but he could have sworn that Jaskier’s eyes would be full of fondness as he looked at Essi now. “That’s not enough. That doesn’t even come close to what I feel. I want to say so much more. Words aren’t enough for this.”

Essi tilted her head to the side and one of her hands wandered back to Jaskier’s hair. “Why don’t you show it then?”

Geralt couldn’t do it. He couldn’t watch this anymore. He wouldn’t be able to bear watching Jaskier follow Essi’s advice. He couldn’t watch them kiss.

For once in his life, he wished that his heart was truly as hard as people said. Then at least it couldn’t shatter as it did now.

How foolish he had been to think that the ache in his chest would ever go away. Geralt doubted he would ever be rid of it. Perhaps it would be the only thing he would get to keep of Jaskier; a painful memory of what he had lost, of what had never been his to begin with.

Without another look at Jaskier, he pushed himself off the wall and fled.

---

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gellavonhamster · 3 years

Text

cold weapons

Suicide Squad (2016) || Captain Boomerang/Katana || post-canon

ao3 link eng || this was first written and published on ao3 in Russian in 2017 but I didn't attempt to translate it into English back then.

“So, what do you think of them?” Colonel Flag asks.

Tatsu puts the folder containing the rap sheet of Waylon Jones, better known as Killer Croc, on top of three other folders.

“They’re complicated,” she replies after giving it some thought.

The materials in these folders could have formed her first impression about the members of Task Force X – or, as Lawton has aptly put it, the Suicide Squad. Could have, but did not, because they were given their first task earlier than expected. Which is why she doesn’t say “villains” or “scoundrels” or “worst team imaginable” – her first impression of them was formed in combat, and then in an empty bar in Midway City where they all drank together thinking it may be the last drink in their lives. She remembers all of this and says ‘complicated’.

“Very tactful of you,” the colonel chuckles. Then again, what kind of colonel is he now – an unwashed shirt, black circles under the eyes. Just another guy struggling with a deluge of work, a hard-hearted boss, and a troubled relationship with his girlfriend. “But yeah, they definitely aren’t simple,” continues Rick Flag, one of her few friends in the country that will never become her home, and Tatsu cannot suppress a tired smile.

“You like them.”

“They’re… tolerable,” Rick admits, and takes another sip of coffee. Lately he seems to be living only on coffee and whiskey and the verb “must” and (so Tatsu supposes, although they don’t talk about that) the hope that June Moone, who still hasn’t fully recovered from all the horrors she’s been through, will be all right – and will stop isolating herself and avoiding him. These means for not letting yourself just fall down and never get up are far from being reliable, but Tatsu herself lives mostly on revenge and duty and, for that matter, whiskey as well, to a certain degree, so it’s not for her to judge. “Most of them, at least. All of them minus the Australian.”

“At least he’s a good fighter,” Tatsu points out. This is the only good thing she can say about Captain Boomerang with full confidence.

“He’s not cut out for teamwork.”

“When we were fighting the Enchantress, it didn’t look to me like that.”

She does not put much meaning into these words. It’s just that at some point Captain Boomerang saved her, and she saved him – and good thing they’re even, because the last thing she needs is to owe a favour to someone so incompatible with the very concept of duty. She could have said much about the man who tried to escape at the very beginning of the mission and got a teammate killed (and for some reason stood up for El Diablo when Harley Quinn lashed out at him at the bar, and for some reason came back before the battle after trying to desert), but the only thing she’s sure of is that he’s a fine weapon; she can confirm that, being a weapon herself. At the end of the day, that is all that’s required from him.

At the end of the day, that is all that’s required from her, too.

***

It is possible that what she said about Digger Harkness sticks in Rick’s memory, because when the need to comb the area arises during the next mission, he sends the two of them to search through the same building.

“If he gets up to something, do whatever you want to him. No one’s gonna weep for him,” he flings off. This is in the heat of the moment, of course – Boomerang almost got into a fight with Killer Croc on the helicopter over some nonsense. Or rather, it was Croc that almost got into a fight with Boomerang after the latter provoked him. Complicated.

“You heard that, darl?” Boomerang addresses her with a smile so wide as if he hasn’t heard the last remark. “I’m all yours.”

Tatsu looks the other way and pointedly takes her sword out of its sheath – not completely, just a little. No further comments follow, and they part company – Deadshot with Croc, Flag with his team of spec ops, Tatsu with Boomerang – and go on a recce.

In the basement, they discover something that looks like a laboratory – if a place so far from being sanitary may even be called one. All their hopes to move without making a sound crumble as soon as they enter the room: the floor is covered with broken glass. Those who ran the place must have escaped in haste and couldn’t take the entire stock of the serum with them, so they opted to destroy most of it. Tatsu’s attention is immediately drawn to the object on the table in the middle of the room – a metal container with tubes going from it to several smaller vessels. She heads straight for the table, shards crunching underfoot. Boomerang follows her, apparently kicking the largest shards on purpose so that they fly in all directions.

“Looks like a hooch still,” he comments, having come closer, and gives a whistle. “Whoa, fuck, is that blood?”

Compared to the first task of their squad, this one looks almost effortless. Two gangs, the members of one of which possess the formula of the serum that grants superpowers to those who take it. A gun battle, collateral damage, the entire district on lockdown. If a few people weren’t noticed literally floating through the sky, the police would have been handling this. But this is an emergency, which is why they’re here, and the flying gangsters aren’t flying anymore, for Lawton is an exceptionally good shot.

As it turns out, the serum that sparked the conflict is based on metahuman blood – hardly donated voluntarily.

“I’ll contact Colonel Flag,” says Tatsu, eyes locked on the bloodied tubes, and then someone grabs her by the neck.

For the first time in her life, she really has to fight blindly – because her enemy is invisible.

Later, when the dead bodies gradually become visible on the floor like an eerie animated movie, it turns out there were four of them. Before that, Tatsu manages to lose her sword, recapture it, almost choke when an invisible hand squeezes her neck, slash one of the attackers in half, and plunge the blade into another’s stomach. Boomerang takes care of the other two, knocking over the container in the process.

Tatsu is listening to the silence that came after the fight, wondering if any other invisible foes are lurking around the corner, when she feels that something is wrong. Something is wrong with her – she just can't figure out what. Sometimes it happens that one feels unwell but cannot determine what exactly the problem is – she is experiencing something similar now. Until she realizes: the mask. Until she looks up and makes eye contact with Captain Boomerang, who is staring at her and grinning.

“You lost anything, doll?” Harkness inquires innocently, with an emphasis on the last word, and his smile grows even wider and cockier.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The invisible man she fought hand to hand tore off her mask, and she didn’t even notice. But her partner, blast him, did – and picked it up.

“Give it back,” Tatsu demands, hand outstretched. She feels naked. In combat, during the mission, she is Katana, a single whole with her sword. A cold weapon. No one needs to see her face. Truly, if she was wearing only the mask and nothing else, she would have felt less exposed – all right, this is an overstatement, and she doesn’t even want to imagine such a situation. Meanwhile, Boomerang is in no hurry to return the mask.

“What did ya call me when that fucker was about to stab me?” he asks. Tatsu clenches the sword hilt. There is no telling how many enemies drunk on the magic serum are hiding in this house, and he’s dawdling. “You said…”

Damn it, what did she say? She saw one of the invisibles creeping up on him while he was fighting another – a bloodstain was floating through the air. She shouted…

“I said ‘George’”. Isn’t your name George Harkness?”

“You bet it is. It’s just weird. Most people don’t call me George, y’know.”

“How do they call you then?”

“Digger. Boomerang. Boomer. That Prick. All sorts of things, but never George. But you,” he winks, “can call me whatever ya want. I liked the way you say my name.”

“Give. Me. The mask.”

“And the magic word?”

“I will chop your hand off,” as a proof of her intentions, she puts the blade against his extended hand that is holding her mask. In fact, she would face no consequences for doing so. No one’s gonna weep for him.

Harkness makes a helpless gesture and hands her the mask.

“Can’t say no to you, luv.”

The mask helps her conceal her identity, but what is more important is that it helps her conceal needless emotions. Tatsu really hopes that her facial expression isn’t giving away that she’s ill at ease now. This is a weakness; weaknesses are not to be demonstrated. She feels deeply relieved when she puts the mask back on.

“Let’s get out of here,” she commands, turns around, and heads for the exit. Harkness trails behind.

“It ain’t fair, by the way. You know my real name, but I don’t know yours,” he muses. “Care to introduce yourself, eh?”

He asks the same question at least three times more before they return to Belle Reve, and each time she ignores him.

***

A week later, he still doesn’t know her name – but he learns something else.

They do away with the last members of the recent gang on the outskirts of the city. Both wretches have overused the unfortunate serum, in keeping with the best traditions of the clichéd movies about superheroes and supervillains that Hollywood keeps producing for some reason, even though it is more and more often possible to see nearly the same thing on the news. As a result, one of them got puffed up almost to the size of the creature that Superman died fighting, and the other couldn’t control the flames bursting from his mouth. He burned half of the shopping centre with customers, retail workers, and guards. With teenagers in the bowling alley on the second floor and children in the playroom on the first.

Santana… wouldn’t have approved.

Both problems eliminated, they leave: the firefighters and the cops will take it from here. Flag’s spec ops stay behind, because officially it is their victory; the general public shouldn’t know about the existence of Task Force X. Through backyards, they retreat in the direction of the abandoned construction site on the other side of the street; a car has been sent to pick them up there.

There is a workers’ trailer still standing by the construction pit. The door is not locked, and Rick, Deadshot, Croc, and Boomerang go inside. Jones’s arm is broken: his inhuman strength notwithstanding, he still was no match for his enemy – not the fire-breather, but the other one. Tatsu leaves them to figure out how to make a temporary sling, and wanders away. Not far from the trailer, a piece of tarpaulin stretched over the fence has come off, and she can see the building across the street. Tatsu sits down on the ground, puts her arms around her knees, and stares at the dandelions growing by the fence.

In her head, flames are raging.

She doesn’t look up, neither when she hears the footsteps approaching, nor when Harkness – and it is him, no one else in the Squad reeks of the mixture of booze and cologne like that – sits down next to her and cracks open a can of beer.

“You want some?” he nudges her. What extraordinary generosity. It is, however, perfectly possible that if she says yes, he’ll reply along the lines of “Well, then go and buy yourself some.”

“No,” Tatsu replies without looking and, after a short pause, adds, “Thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

With a sigh, she accepts the can from his hands, and takes a sip.

“This is disgusting,” she whispers, and takes another.

Harkness just snorts and opens another one. For a little while, they sit side by side in silence, drinking each from their own can, and study the wall opposite through the mesh of the fence – like out of a prison window. Old advertisements that are half torn off, graffiti, a writing proclaiming that life fucks us all – plenty of things to stare at to avoid looking the person next to you in the eye.

“So what the hell happened to ya?” Boomerang asks, and suddenly she could do with some serum for invisibility or, better yet, disappearing completely. Naturally, it is a fleeting impulse; she has no right to disappear. She has obligations – towards Flag, towards Waller. Towards herself.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? You zoned out, Flag shouted himself hoarse before you heard him. Like you were someplace else. Didn’t ya?”

Why do you need to know? Tatsu thinks. If she almost rushed headlong into the fire, it’s her own business. If it only seemed to her that someone was there, it’s her own business. If she’s going to see things that aren’t there for the rest of her life, it’s her own business. He shouldn't have spoken. There is something comforting about being silent together.

“Nah, you don’t have to say if you don’t wanna,” Boomerang assents, and takes another pull on his can. “I just thought that you, well. Might wanna talk to someone.”

And they fall silent again. Yet now Tatsu feels awkward, which makes her angry at herself. She’s not obliged to pour out her heart to anyone who shows something that looks like care.

This silence doesn’t make it any easier.

“I have… bad memories,” she finally says. Now it won’t be as awkward: she answered his question. It won’t be, right? “About a fire”.

Harkness nods, looking at her attentively.

“Someone you knew died, aye?”

“My children,” she hears herself say, and wishes to disappear again.

“Fuck,” Boomerang says, embarrassed, and – unbelievable – looks like he actually feels bad about starting this conversation. “I’m sorry, I… well, uh, I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” Tatsu says mechanically. Nothing is okay: she can still see Yuki’s tear-stained face, still hear Reiko’s voice, she is still watching the flames run up the curtains that she and Maseo picked together, she is still breathing in the smoke and still cannot believe she deserves a gulp of fresh air. She should have saved them. All of them.

Boomerang looks at her incredulously but doesn’t say anything, and bit by bit, the silence that she doesn’t want to run from returns – the kind of silence in which one is not alone.

Then there are footsteps again, and Flag approaches them.

“There you are,” he says with relief as soon as he sees her. Rick does not let himself overstep the limits of formality – they’re on a mission, after all – but he has obviously been worried. At the sight of Harkness, he frowns warily. “You! Quit getting on her nerves.”

“Who’s gettin’ on her nerves, Colonel? I was just tryin’ to help,” Harkness protests. It appears Rick’s words have wounded him a little.

“He was,” Tatsu says. “It’s all under control, Colonel Flag.”

Flag shifts his gaze to her and then to Boomerang again, and nods.

“Okay. In any case… follow me. We’re leaving.”

Tatsu gives her unfinished beer to Boomerang.

“Don’t talk about this to anyone,” she tells him. This might be an order or a request; she doesn’t really know.

He nods, and she thinks absentmindedly: who would have thought this man knows how to make a solemn face.

“Thank you,” she says again, hoping that he understands that this is not just about the beer or his promise to keep his mouth shut.

***

After a few days, Tatsu comes to visit him. In prison.

Actually, she comes to visit all of them, of course. Not more than fifteen minutes alone with each of them – Waller wouldn’t allow more. This request seems to have surprised her, but Tatsu is certain that Waller is already picturing the new threads she can use to manipulate her special operations puppets. So it is possible that one day this decision will blow up in Tatsu’s face – or in the faces of all of them. But she cannot shake off the feeling that she must do this – so that someone except Rick, who is already dealing with a lot these days, would notice in time if the inmates are treated with undeserved cruelty. So that she knows what’s on their minds, because it is safer to fight side by side with the people whose line of thought she can understand at least roughly. So that there is some kind of variety in their lives between the missions.

This is why she visits all three of them. Killer Croc, who looks like he’s not surprised to see her in the slightest and doesn’t really seems to care that she came, but doesn’t have any issue with that either. Deadshot, who looks like he is surprised, but doesn’t seem to mind answering her questions when she notices a stack of letters in the corner and asks him how his daughter is doing. And Captain Boomerang, who, when she enters his cell, looks like he can’t figure out if he’s dreaming.

“Katana?” he frowns perplexedly. He’s stripped to his waist, so she can see a couple of fresh scars he brought back from the last mission, and he’s got a black eye – when Tatsu saw him last, he had not. Must have quarrelled with the guards again. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

For a moment he seems not to understand what she just said. Then he breaks into a smile – or rather a grin, wide and pleased. Very pleased.

“Aha! Knew it would end up like this,” he pronounces in triumph.

“Like this?”

“You,” he looks like he’s just proven a theorem of immense complexity, “missed me.”

“I haven’t missed you, Captain.”

A very, very pleased grin.

“And still you’re here.”

“I visited Deadshot and Killer Croc earlier,” Tatsu says, and sees his facial expression change instantly. Not for long: the grin is quick to return, and she wouldn’t be able to tell right away that he’s disappointed.

“Did ya now? And how are our fellas doing? Better than me, I reckon?”

“So it would seem. Did you fight the guards?”

“Why do you care, gorgeous?”

Indeed, why does she? Most likely, he picked a fight himself – and got his just deserts.

“Make up your mind,” Tatsu says, “if you think that I missed you or that I don’t care.”

Harkness chuckles and really seems to ponder over this for a while.

“Beats me,” he concludes at last. “Care to throw some light on it?”

No, Tatsu thinks, I don’t get it myself and I’m not sure I want to.

Instead of answering, she comes closer to him – so close that she can smell his sweat – and studies his face. She has to look up to be able to do that, which must look comical. Then again, he’s hardly stupid enough to laugh at her height or anything else about her, especially when she’s armed and he is not.

“You lost a tooth. What happened?”

“Didn’t get along with one of the Wall’s watchdogs.”

“You could have tried not to look for trouble for a change,” all of a sudden, Tatsu realizes that she’s mad. Really mad at him. They might get dragged to another mission this instant; whether they like it or not, they have to be in good enough shape to protect the society that the most of them have to atone before at least partially. They shouldn’t spend their energy and health on nonsense. Black eyes and knocked-out teeth are nothing, but it mustn’t come to any of them being out of action when all of them are needed. All their powers, all their skills. All the anger they should rather aim at something other than the people who can just press a certain button at any point – and dispose of the wilful weapon.

Boomerang bares his teeth – not like Croc, of course, but still threateningly. He looks dangerous now – big, sturdy, more than a head taller than her. But he still isn’t more dangerous than her – and both of them are aware of that.

“And they could have tried,” he speaks through his teeth, “not to talk shit about my mother for a change. They wanna talk shit about me, they can knock themselves out. I’ve heard enough ‘bout myself, I don’t give a flying fuck about what else they gonna say. But they’d better leave my mother out of it.”

So that’s what it is. They have found a quick and easy way to infuriate the man who has “MUM” tattooed on his chest. In uneven letters, like a child's handwriting. Tatsu noticed that tattoo as soon as she came in but didn’t look too closely at it. Now she feels like she has the right to look, to let her gaze slip lower, at the ridiculous writing that heaves with each furious breath of his, and then to avert her eyes at once.

“They have power, and you have nothing,” she says. “Do you enjoy being their plaything?”

“Oh, so I’m a plaything, darl? And do I have much choice who to be now? In these four walls, and,” Boomerang points at his neck, at the place where a bomb is implanted under his skin, “with this crap in my neck?”

Tatsu looks up again, right him in the eye.

“You already know who you are,” she tells him. “You’re a weapon. Broken weapons get discarded. And you’re letting them break you.”

He stays silent, just looks at her in an odd manner, as if she’s speaking another language but he has a vague understanding of what she’s saying and doesn’t like what he just heard – because it is the truth.

Tatsu still doesn’t understand why she cares, and with each passing minute she has less and less desire to learn why.

“Also,” she continues, “if you call me ‘darl’ or ‘gorgeous’ one more time, you’re going to regret opening your mouth.”

“Yeah? And how should I call ya?”

“Katana.”

“What, and that’s all? Nah, we might be weapons,” and she probably ought to remind him that there is no ‘we’, but in this particular case he’s right. Perhaps that is why Tatsu feels drawn to all of them: they’re cut from the same cloth, “but we’re alive as well. So far. Seriously, what’s yer real name? You know mine.”

“I should not disclose that.”

“Oh, come on. Listen,” he breaks into a pleased grin again. Another theorem proven. “How about a deal? You tell me yer name, and I will try to keep my temper if anyone else decides to stir me up. What do ya think?”

“As if you’re going to keep your word.”

Boomerang makes a show of putting his hand over his heart.

“For you, ma’am… anything.”

For you. All at once, she recalls Rick’s words: do whatever you want to him. How many minutes of the visit she has already spent on this predictably fruitless conversation?

“My name is Tatsu Yamashiro,” she says, tired, and then he smiles – not the way he did before, but in a calmer and more sincere manner. Gratefully.

“George Harkness,” he offers her his hand with an earnest air. “Nice to meet ya.”

Tatsu hesitantly offers him hers. Her hand looks very small and fragile against his huge paw, and he must be thinking the same because the handshake comes out very careful. He could easily break her wrist. She could easily kill him with one hand afterwards. But he holds her hand gently in his warm, pleasantly calloused palm, and Tatsu hastens to take her hand away, because this is a mistake of an even worse kind than the time he saw her without the mask.

“So you promise not to fights the guards.”

“I promise to try,” Harkness assures, but he’s keeping one hand behind his back.

“Don’t cross your fingers,” Tatsu says sternly. Real mature.

With a sigh, Boomerang repeats his promise, this time holding his hands within her view.

“But I ain’t promisin’ not to call you gorgeous,” he declares in the end.

“You know my name now.”

“But you’re still gorgeous.”

“Time’s up!” shouts the guard outside the door, and Tatsu cannot help feeling relieved that she has to go. She doesn’t regret visiting him, but all of this is too strange and awkward, and both of them might be weapons, but her position is different from his, and it is better not to forget that.

“Can I do anything for you?” she asks him on parting.

“Well,” Boomerang smirks. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“With something I would actually agree to do?”

“Come again. Will ya?” This time he isn’t flirting; this time she can feel his insecurity, even shyness. As if he doesn’t like to admit to himself that what she answers is really important to him.

“I’ll try,” she says cautiously. She’s not going to make any promises: she asked Waller about one time only. She doubts if she’ll be allowed to visit them again – to visit him again.

“Try,” Harkness repeats, as if weighing the word on his tongue. “This means no.”

“This means I’ll try,” Tatsu says firmly.

And she comes again in a week. And the week after next. And a week after that.

***

“Why didn’t you walk away in Midway City?” Tatsu asks him once. “When Rick broke the control panel. You left then; why did you return?”

A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since the time Captain Boomerang dared to smart off Amanda Waller. Several successful missions, slightly more respectful attitude on his part – and his cell already bears a passing resemblance to a place for living, even if for living quite miserably. Now there is even a table, and a chair that she gets to sit on as guest privilege. Harkness is sitting on the floor opposite her. The question seems to catch him unawares, but only for a moment.

“Huh? Why did I return? Gotta live up to my name, that’s why. Have you ever thrown a boomerang, luv?”

I’m going to throw you somewhere one day, Tatsu thinks, yet without much irritation.

“And jokes aside?”

Boomerang attempts to feign an offended sigh.

“How do ya think? Plenty of options, all right. You gonna try to guess which one?”

Tatsu frowns.

“Is this a psychoanalysis session? Were you bitten by Harley Quinn?”

“Nah, Blondie didn’t bite me, I would’ve remembered. So don’t be jealous,” his voice gets playful again, and Tatsu stifles the urge to roll her eyes. “Lookie here… suppose I suddenly realized that I can’t leave you guys! ‘Cause you’re my mates. One for all, and so on. Don’t believe me?”

“You said something about plenty of options. What are the rest of them?”

He scratches his chin thoughtfully.

“We-e-ell… the second, ‘course, is that I wanted to save the world. Not that the world smiles upon me every bloody day, but I still wanna live! And for everyone an’ their mother to know that the bastards like us can also be heroes. Don’t you like being one of the good guys, eh, Tatsu?”

“I’m not ‘one of the good guys’”, Tatsu protests. “And it’s not me that we’re talking about. Any other options?”

“There was no point in leaving. That was still gonna be the end of the world, aye? So I’d rather meet it in battle and in good company than on the run. All the same it’ll be the end. There you go.”

He stops talking, and in the silence that falls Tatsu can hear the footsteps of the guards in the corridor. Once again she wonders what the duty attendants that monitor everything through the surveillance cameras think of their conversations. They must make for the strangest and most pointless reality show ever.

“The third one,” she says.

Boomerang looks a bit disappointed.

“Why?”

“Not the first one, because none of us meant anything to you then. You had just met us. And it didn’t seem like you were upset about letting Slipknot down,” Tatsu explains. She doesn’t intend to offend him – she’s just saying the truth. Once, he claimed it himself that they understand each other – here’s some understanding, he’s welcome. “Not the second one either, because you’re not stupid – no, stop smiling. You never believed that if people like us stop the Enchantress, someone would learn about that. Only the third option remains.”

Harkness nods slowly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and his eyes turn pensive, abstracted, as if he is there again, in the night city frozen in anticipation of the apocalypse. As if he sees himself – and makes a choice once again. “And that’s what happened in the end, didn’t it?”

“So the third option, then?”

“So it is.”

But something in his face makes Tatsu think that he was hoping for a different answer.

***

Time flies; weeks and months go by. Tatsu spends them fighting, spilling someone else’s blood, occasionally drinking with Flag at a bar or in his apartment – a bachelor’s home again; reading books – most of the plots seem too naïve and unimaginative compared to what goes on in her life, and that is even for the best, and visiting the members of the Suicide Squad in Belle Reve. Some people go clubbing Friday evenings, and she goes to prison Friday afternoons.

“Don’t get attached to them,” Rick scolds her.

“That is rich coming from you,” Tatsu replies, and he has enough self-awareness not to argue. Lest he gets offended, she chooses not to tell him that sometimes she and Lawton talk a little about him good-naturedly behind his back.

During one of her visits, Harkness raises a topic she has totally forgotten about.

“Hey, come to think of it, we never had that drink,” he points out. Tatsu doesn’t understand what he’s talking about, and it must be written all over her face, because he continues. “Remember I asked you out for a drink? In Midway City, before we fought the witch.”

Tatsu has to make an effort to remember: indeed, he said something of the sort, but it never occurred to her to take those words seriously.

“We had a drink,” she counters. “When… when you shared your beer with me.”

He shakes his head, dissatisfied.

“At the construction site? That’s bollocks. I’m talking a proper bar… nah, a restaurant! With crystal glasses an’ candles an’ shit… Like normal people.”

“Candles,” Tatsu mumbles. She tries to imagine the two of them at the table at a restaurant; the picture turns out pretty absurd. On the other hand, a lot of what has happened in her life during the past few years can be deemed absurd.

“Yeah. Candles,” echoes Harkness, and continues with a crooked smile, “well, that’s me jokin’ around. In the near future,” he gestures in the direction of the small barred window of his cell, “I won’t be able to take you even to a fucking McDonald’s.”

They don’t talk about the hypothetical dinners at a restaurant anymore, but the absurd picture stays with Tatsu, who still feels somehow indebted to Boomerang – for no reason, as she keeps telling herself – for that conversation at the construction site. She doesn’t like to feel the weight of unpaid debts on her shoulders – yes, that’s what it is about.

One day, she finds a way to pay that debt back.

***

She waits for him in the car outside the prison gate. She hears him first; she cannot make out what exactly he is yelling at the guards, but that surely isn’t ‘good evening’. Then the door of the jeep is open, and someone must have kicked him in the rear because he literally falls into the car. Tatsu shrinks back on instinct.

Then Harkness looks up – and notices her.

“Katana?.. Hey, what the hell’s going on? They didn’t let me take the boomerangs, didn’t let me take anything…”

“Close the door,” Tatsu tells him, and when he, still confused, obeys, tells the driver, “Let’s go.”

The car pulls away.

“I still don’t get what’s happening,” Harkness reminds her. “Sure, I’m happy to see ya, but… you weren’t ordered to take me to the woods and finish me off under the radar, huh?”

“If Waller wanted to get rid of you, she would have had you killed in your own cell, and that’s all.”

“Wow, thanks for honesty. So where are we going?”

“To a restaurant,” Tatsu says, and turns away. Yet again it crosses her mind that it is a terrible idea.

“A restaurant?” Harkness drawls quizzically.

“As far as I recall, you said that the beer at the construction site is ‘bollocks’.”

She should turn back to him, of course. The problem is that Tatsu is ninety-nine per cent sure that if she meets his eye now, she will blush. And she is by no means going to give him any sign that might be interpreted as taking an interest… of a certain kind. She has already blundered more than a few times.

Therefore she stubbornly keeps looking out of the window. Then again, she doesn’t even need to look to picture how his facial expression is changing now; she’s seen this rakish grin enough times.

“Holy cow. Tatsu, are you serious? We’re really just going to a restaurant? We’re getting outta this shithole where they only give us porridge with rat crap to gorge ourselves on lobsters and drink wine? Oh, fuck me sideways,” in the end, she turns to him and sees him throw back his head and burst into laughter, narrowing his eyes happily. “I’ll be damned! Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. Pinch me.”

“I can assure you you’re not,” Tatsu says, and realizes that she is also starting to smile despite herself. She has visited him and the others in Belle Reve often enough to know that porridge with rat crap, unfortunately, is far from being just a figure of speech. After such a diet, a meal at a restaurant must seem like the pinnacle of happiness.

Boomerang shakes his head, apparently still unable to believe her.

“Holy fucking shit. How did you do that? How do you even do all that? I’ve told ya you’re unreal, have I?”

“Yes, you have,” Tatsu confirms patiently. And more than once – too often for her to attach great importance to it, too fervently for it not to please her at all. “Let’s put it that way: this is Waller paying me for a… favour.”

“A favour, then. I take it a lot of some poor suckers died?”

“No,” she shakes her head. And it is true – but there still was a lot of blood. Both the man Waller indicated and his bodyguards turned out to be worthy adversaries. The whole thing went not as smoothly as she wanted it to – not that she wanted to; not that she would kill another person she knows nothing about if she could help it. Nothing to assure her: this one deserves it. Everything turned out rather… nasty. She had to burn the bodies. Then she got home in a haze, tended to a couple of fresh wounds – or rather, just scratches. And then she went to the bathroom and spent a long time soaping herself, as if the invisible filth that bothered her the most could be washed off with shower gel.

Afterwards, she rummaged through her modest wardrobe and dug out the only dress she has about in America. Nothing special: wine red, below the knee length, sleeveless but with a pretty high neckline – very demure. The first and so far the last dress she bought after… after. If she and Rick didn’t have to accompany Amanda Waller to some event once, she wouldn’t have bought this one either. She put it on, combed her hair, still wet after the shower, with her fingers, looked at herself in the mirror – and flew into a rage, pulled off the dress, and could barely stop herself from tearing it to shreds. Restaurant or not, what does it matter? The last thing she needs is for him to think she dressed up for him.

So the situation might be a little less absurd than it could have been. Both of them look like they’re going on another mission with the others, only she isn’t wearing her mask – he has already seen her face anyway – and he isn’t wearing his ever-present coat. It is no wonder he wasn’t allowed to take it – Waller wasn’t going to let him out of Belle Reve armed, and to let him wear his coat would probably be as unwise as to hand him all his boomerangs. Tatsu has no doubt that everyone and their dog have already searched through the personal belongings of the Squad, but she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that somewhere in his inside pockets Harkness has as many boomerangs as he is listed as having officially. She witnessed this man produce from his bosom at least four different lighters, a massive stack of dollars, a pocket knife, small binoculars, flat-nose pliers, and a toy unicorn. She has to admit: sometimes she doesn’t understand how he even does all that either.

It appears that the thoughts of Captain Boomerang also turn to the contents of his pockets.

“Hey, how the hell are we affording this, though? Make no mistake, I’d stand treat, but my stash is in the coat, and these assholes didn’t let me take it, y’know.”

“Don’t worry about that. Waller is paying for everything,” she explains, unable to suppress a grin, because this part, possibly the most unbelievable part of the entire affair, gives her a sort of silly, spiteful joy. Task Force X is a comparatively recent project, but they’ve already cleaned up so much mess for Amanda Waller that Heracles and his labours don’t even come close. A dinner at a restaurant is the least thing she could offer them. So when Boomerang explodes with laughter and gives her a conspiratorial wink, she looks him right in the eye and smiles. Another mistake. Then again, this is not the first time they share a secret.

He puts his hand on her knee, and she shakes it off immediately; this is way too far.

“I see you took your sword with ya,” Harkness observes, not giving any sign that something didn’t go the way he wanted.

“I am to keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah. How about…” he leans in closer, and the smell of cologne blasts up Tatsu’s nose. She can only hope it is due to external use only, “we chop off his head,” he nods at the driver, “and drive the fuck away from this? Huh?”

The driver, who can definitely hear everything, doesn’t turn, but Tatsu notices him tense up.

“You’re kidding,” she says dryly. He may be, or he may be not – with Digger Harkness, one cannot always tell.

“Why kidding, doll? Zip, and done. There’s no way you enjoy working for Waller.”

“I do not. But if you pull some stunt,” Tatsu feels for the sword hilt, and Boomerang sees that – very well, it is good for him to see that, “I will chop your head off. I really hope it won’t come to that.”

“And what’s it to you? Scared of me? But I’m unarmed,” he claps himself on the chest demonstratively, implying that he has no weapons on him. “Why do you care if it does?”

“I just wouldn’t like to do that,” she says firmly, and it’s true. It works well; he doesn’t even mention running away for the remainder of the day.

This might be the strangest evening in her life.

Waller’s man drives them to a French restaurant whose name she cannot read but is almost sure that the phrase was chosen solely because it sounds impressive. They are let in through the back door, so no one among the other guests, who are sporting evening dresses and suits, pays any attention to her crop top and sword or to his… appearance in general. Their table is one of those located in alcoves, away from prying eyes, but Tatsu feels they are being watched. Which means Waller doesn’t trust her too much – well, she can understand that. She is part of a special team composed of deranged madmen, and she must admit she likes these deranged madmen more than she likes certain normal people known to her. Of course, she is Flag’s right-hand woman, but it is most likely that Waller doesn’t trust Flag either. It is doubtful whether there are any people in this world that she trusts at all.

Waller is rich. Their little feast will not shatter her wealth, all the more so since the restaurant she sent them to is not the most luxurious. But they still have a field day ordering loads of food and a bottle of the most expensive wine on the menu.

“To honour among thieves?” she suggests, when they raise their glasses for the first time.

“Didn’t ya say yer not a thief?”

“That is true,” she admits, and adds inwardly, I’m a killer.

In the end, they drink to the Suicide Squad. Then to Lawton and Jones, currently languishing in their cells. Then to Zoe Lawton, who is acting in a school play next week. To a lot of things. He asks her about her life here, in America. At some point she finds herself trying to explain to him what taiyaki is, and him telling her about banana sandwiches, and she can’t remember why they started talking about this at all. The bottle becomes empty, and another appears as if by itself.

They don’t talk about the past. They don’t talk about the future, because there might be no future at all – they can’t know for sure, what with their way of life. That evening, Tatsu laughs and thinks: good thing I’m drunk – it almost gets easier for a while.

When it’s time to leave, Harkness gets pig-headed.

“Whoa, no, no, no. Already? It’s too early, are you kiddin’ me?” he booms out when they exit the restaurant. He protests, but she drags him by the hand and he stumbles along after all, treading heavily like a dancing bear. “Let’s go someplace else, luv. Look at the pretty stars.”

“We are already late. And you… you have to go back to jail,” Tatsu tells him. The stars are pretty indeed, but she regrets looking up at them, because her head begins to spin. Thankfully, she isn’t wearing high heels. Thankfully, she doesn’t have any high-heeled shoes at all, or she could have been possessed to wear them. “Sorry,” she adds when they get into the car and set off. “There is no other way.”

“Back to jail,” Boomerang repeats with disgust. Sprawling on the seat, he unzips his hoodie, and Tatsu is swept over by the smell of cologne again. Weirdly, it doesn’t annoy her as much as at the beginning of the evening. “I’m a fucking Cinderella. I’m not back by midnight, they turn me into a pumpkin.”

“Cinderella,” Tatsu echoes, and giggles: everything is way funnier now. The driver makes a sudden turn, and she is literally thrown at Boomerang. Her cheek presses to his chest – and stays there. Tatsu feels drunk and sated and drunk again, and sleepy too, and he makes for a decent pillow, and she can’t make herself move away.

“Oh, you think it’s funny,” Harkness mutters with mock offence in his voice. It seems he’s about to fall asleep too. “Well, go on, laugh.”

They drive back in silence, and through the drowse Tatsu feels the warm arm around her waist and thinks: good thing I’m drunk, I can pretend I’m asleep.

The road to Belle Reve is long, but it still feels like they reach it too quickly.

“Inmate,” calls one of the guards, “get out.”

Harkness, his eyes still closed, moans with discontent.

“Captain Boomerang,” Tatsu says softly, freeing herself from his embrace. “It’s time.”

There is nothing to be done. He’s already about to step out of the jeep, when he suddenly moves closer to her again.

“Hey, darlin’,” he says, looking her right in the eye. “Aren’t ya forgetting something?”

It takes her some time to realize what he means: he must be expecting her to kiss him. All at once she remembers everything that has happened this evening, and awful shame washes over her: it is no wonder he’s expecting that to happen.

“Inmate, get out!”

She shrinks back.

“Good night, Captain,” she tells him as dryly as she can. He looks wounded but says nothing, and almost obediently lets the guards escort him back to his cell. Tatsu closes her eyes and rubs her temples wearily. Tomorrow she is going to regret drinking so much. She already does – and that’s not the only thing she regrets.

She has to stop seeing him.

***

At first, she even succeeds. Next Friday Tatsu, as always, goes to Belle Reve to see the Squad – all of them save for Harkness. She feels sick at heart because if she did promise him anything, it was to visit him, and now she’s going back on her word because of her own stupid weakness. But there is no other way.

“He asked about you,” Waylon tells her a week later, when she brings him the latest issue of Playboy. Tatsu almost doesn’t feel weird anymore when buying it, and doesn’t try to imagine anymore what the news stand clerks think when she pays them for it. Such periodicals cause her a feeling of light disgust, but Croc, who gets let out of jail only to be thrown into another trouble spot, deserves at least some small joys.

“Who?”

Waylon, no doubt observant like all the quiet ones tend to be, bares his impressive teeth.

“You know who.”

It seems a logical solution to give up on these visits at all – but in that case she would betray all of them. Perhaps this little tradition is much more important to her than it is to the prisoners, but Tatsu is almost sure that it means something to them as well. She has no right to deprive the rest of them of this bit of understanding, companionship, normalcy because she wasn’t smart enough to stop the game she and Boomerang started before it became too late.

At home – not that the apartment she’s renting here deserves to be called ‘home’ – she, unable to fall asleep, unsheathes the sword and runs the tips of her fingers along the cool blade. A tender, habitual movement – like touching the cheek of a loved one.

“I’ve lost my way, Maseo,” whispers Tatsu. The place where the souls of the people struck down by this blade are trapped is still a mystery to her, but she knows that Maseo will come as soon as she calls him – as a voice from afar, as nebulous shapes in the swirls of smoke, as the peace and safety granted by the presence of someone dear. “I’m afraid of my own heart.”

I know your heart, Tatsu. You have nothing to be afraid of.

“It makes me act rashly. Makes me succumb to false feelings.”

I know your heart, Tatsu, and it incapable of falsehood.

Only the ones that are already far away can speak so vaguely and with such unrelenting honesty at the same time.

“I will always love you,” she whispers ardently. Not because she doesn’t want him to think it is not so; not because she herself feels like it is not so anymore either. She knows for sure that she is always going to love him, for she loved him as a lover, as a husband, as the father of her children, as the only thing she had left after all her life fell apart, burned in that damned fire. He will stay in her heart until her last breath – even if she has to close her heart to the rest of the world. Once she used to think that after all she’s been through, it isn’t going to be an issue.

And I will always love you, her husband replies, and Tatsu blinks back tears with a deep sigh.

“I just wish you were alive,” she tells him for what must be the hundredth, or maybe a thousandth time.

If he was with her – not as smoke or a voice, but as flesh and blood – he probably would have kissed her gently on the nape of her neck, as he often used to do.

I just wish, says her husband – no, the soul of her husband, which is already rushing away, deep into the world she shouldn’t hurry to go to if she doesn’t want this sword to fall into wrong hands, that you were happy.

***

Literally the next day there is a message from Metropolis that some giant snake-like beast is terrorizing the city and devouring people. The monster was last seen crawling into the building of the opera – which is where their squad heads to after reaching the city.

“Look at that freak,” Harkness comments in a low voice. The creature is curled up slumbering on stage, and they are watching it from the catwalks above. “Not a family of yours by any chance, eh, ‘gator?’

Waylon steps towards him, and the planks creak under his feet, threatening to break.

“Say that again,” he growls.

Tatsu bares her sword and wedges herself between them. Waylon backs off reluctantly.

“Knock it off,” she tells Boomerang. It feels like everything has come full circle – the day Harkness picked up her mask, he also had a run-in with Jones. The day they were sent to fight the Enchantress, she also put the blade of her sword under his chin. Why did she even think something would change?

“Oh, so you’re talking to me after all?”

“Enough,” Tatsu hisses. She really wants to try to explain everything to him. Maybe if she tries to put her feelings into words, many things will become clear to her, too. But if he thinks they are going to discuss this now, he is mistaken.

On the neighbouring catwalk, Rick is looking at them in a rage, gesturing both of them to shut up. Harkness steps closer; now the blade of the Soultaker is within a hair’s breadth away from his neck. A single careless movement, and blood will be spilled. A wild idea crosses her mind: it looks as if he’s into this. Tatsu licks her lips.

“Y’know,” Boomerang begins, lowering his head a little so that it is easier for him to look her in the eye, “I think you’re scared of me. Or of yourself, hell if I know. Am I right?”

A loud rustle comes from beneath, and the next instant the monster bites through the middle of the catwalk they’re standing on, and both of them are falling down. Tatsu manages to grab some rope, but when she tries to climb it, her hands slip, and she comes tumbling down.

The fall is far from being soft, even though she falls on the tatters of the curtain, which the snake must have torn earlier. She is lucky not to hurt her head, but her left leg and hip are aching. Only the awareness that there is no time to lie around makes her summon up all her strength and get up. Her sword is nowhere to be seen, and Tatsu is overwhelmed by fury: now she is useless.

The snake roars and shakes its head, trying to shake off Croc, who is trying to bite through its scales. Rick is shooting at the monster from above, and Deadshot, who is already on stage somehow, is doing the same from below, dodging the blows of its tail. Tatsu sweeps her eyes weakly over the stage and suddenly notices a hole broken in it. At the very edge of the hole, the hilt of her sword is sticking out of the floor. Moving as quickly as it is possible to do that with a limp, Tatsu hurries there.

The moment she pulls the sword out of the stage, Harkness’s head pokes out of the hole. Not waiting for him to ask for help, Tatsu helps him get out.

“Are you…” both of them begin in unison and drop it immediately, because the snake has managed to shake off the bothersome little crocodile – who is hopefully just somewhere on the floor and not in its belly – and is moving towards them, slower than before but still pretty speedily. They scatter, and Tatsu charges at the monster with her sword drawn. Harkness throws a boomerang at the creature, aiming at its eye, but it dodges at the last second.

Eventually, with joint forces they manage to kill the beast. To be on the safe side, Lawton fires a round into its open jaws. The long body shudders one last time and falls still. For some time, the five of them stand there looking at it.

“Where could this thing even come from?” Rick mutters.

“Remember what the Wicked Witch of the West said when she tried to get us to join her? The world is changing, the time of magic has come, blah, blah, blah,” Lawton reminds him. Rick nods absentmindedly; these are not happy memories.

Jones kicks the dead snake.

“Maybe it meant no harm,” he points out in his deep voice.

“Croc,” Rick says wearily, “it ate people.”

“So did I.”

“But at least you didn’t chew the curtain at the opera like a disgraced diva?” Lawton asks, struggling not to grin.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Well, then it’s okay.”

Rick titters nervously, and the next instant all of them are shaking with laughter.

Tatsu is drinking water straight from the tap in the restroom, when Harkness comes in.

“This is a ladies’ room,” she says reflexively.

“Hey, I just wanna wash my face, is all.”

Without waiting for her to answer, he comes closer and starts washing at the neighbouring sink. Tatsu casts a sidelong look at him and notices that the water is turning red.

“Show me your face,” she orders.

“It’s not a bad face, what’s yer problem?”

“I’m serious.”

He rolls his eyes, but stands still while she examines his face, only wincing when she dabs at the cut on his forehead with a paper towel.

“Just a scratch,” he assures at once.

“Just a scratch,” Tatsu agrees. She scrunches up the towel and throws it into the sink. She would like to keep her hand on his face, pretending that she’s still wiping off the blood, but she’s done pretending.

“How about you?” Boomerang asks quietly.

“Fine. A couple of bruises. You were lucky today,” she says just as quietly, and takes off her mask. Tomorrow they might not be as lucky. “I’m happy for you.”

“And I’m happy you got out alive… darl.”

For a moment she wants him to ruin everything. To reply with a jibe, to crack another dirty joke, to try to grab and kiss her only to get smacked. Not to stand motionless in front of her like he’s afraid to scare her off. It occurred to her once that from the outside their relationship might look like an attempt to tame a wild animal. Perhaps this is a mutual process.

Do whatever you want to him.

She stands up on tiptoes and kisses him.

For an instant, Harkness freezes – possibly trying to figure out again if he’s dreaming – and then pulls her closer and kisses back. Drinks her hungrily, like this is both the first time and the last. Bearing in mind what their lives are like, it really might be the last.

Tatsu doesn’t immediately realize why she suddenly doesn’t need to stand on tiptoes anymore.

“Put me down–” she starts, but gives up and wraps her legs around his waist. Boomerang grunts with satisfaction and switches from her lips to her neck. His beard, fortunately, is softer than could have been expected.

“Stop drinking so much,” Tatsu breathes out, now that no one is trying to shut her mouth. “You taste like…” all English words slip her mind, “like… a beer cask.”

It tickles her when he laughs into her neck.

Someone simply must enter now – Rick, Floyd, Amanda Waller, the president of the United States, but no, no one is trying to stop him from squeezing her hips, to stop her from running her fingers through his hair. Weapon to weapon, blade to blade. Red-hot metal to red-hot metal. Melting until something new is forged – without fear, without regret, without the past, without the future.

Clearly, Maseo wants too much: she remembers what happiness is, and she is sure she’ll never ever be happy again.

But she can take a shot at being alive.

#suicide squad #katana #captain boomerang #tatsu yamashiro #digger harkness #kaboom #captain boomerang x katana #boomerang x katana #dc #my fic #gella talks skwad #talk talk talk #my magnum opus lmao #amazed i managed to translate this. i am not a woman i'm a god indeed #once again i still know nothing about the geography of the dceu!united states #and whether a city like metropolis could have an opera house

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athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit · 3 years

Text

Of Ice and Blood

Part 3

Hey there! Thank you for taking the time to read this

There are so many left out details here that I did on purpose for future explanation within the fic for the element of mystery I'm trying to brew . Hope you don't mind! Enjoy reading❤

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

1.7k words.

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: cursing, violence, injury and fighting.

Without thinking, I drove my fist towards the voice, regretting it the instant I recognized who it was.

Tai'chi.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I found my fist encased in his hand. He seems unfazed by my reaction, seemingly expecting it.

“Oh shi— I’m so sorry!”

How the hell did he sneak up on me without making a sound??

“Feisty- I mean, I should be the one sorry, for startling you...And for following you. I just wanted to, make sure you were alright.”

I blinked. He was concerned?

He spoke up when I didn’t respond.

“So, are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine. Just, disappointed.” I breathed in and sighed as he gently let go of my fist.

Oh, and his scent helps right now. He smells so...wonderful I don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve been surrounded by disgusting odors my entire life. I swear I’ve inhaled appealing scents like lilac, sandalwood, cinnamon, even rain has its particular smell! But Tai'chi, he—he’s something else entirely.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else like, I don’t know, maybe getting lunch with some of your friends or in a classroom?” I asked. I wonder why he would even bother to be in my presence. Anyone should be creeped out by the way I spoke up earlier. I mean, who does that? Plus, I did throw a stranger down to the floor. But part of me knows he deserved that.

Definitely.

“Want to talk about it?” He ignored my question. Tai'chi was now sitting cross-legged beside me, the oak’s root in between us. His deep azure eyes studying, watching me carefully.

“What?”

“What you did back there, wasn’t something a plain, timid college girl would do.”

Wait. He knew I was pretending to be one?

“Yes, I knew.”

“You can read minds?!” I stammered out. He can read my mind this whole time?! Shit.

He held up for a second before a boisterous laugh broke out of him and echoed through the circling trees, scaring away some birds perched above. I don’t know if I should be offended or flustered by his guffaw. It was so, so deep and rich and —

What the hell Pearl? What if he's reading your mind??

Tai'chi faced me again, sighing once he calmed down.

“To answer your question, no, I can’t read minds. But like I stated before, your face gives it away. Or your brows since you’re wearing a mask, but I can imagine your expression.”

I let out an incomprehensible noise.

“How did you find out I was pretending to be…you know,” waving my hands around.

“The moment we made eye contact this morning when you entered. And the way you shifted your body at the last second to prevent yourself from plunging into the trash bin, I knew you were something more. Your eyes and your actions show your experience in combat. A skilled warrior would notice these little things right away.”

My jaw fell open, and I’m sure he knows. He left me speechless.

Should I tell him I am a trained martial artist and a weapon wielder?

But we just met like 5 hours ago!

He seems trustworthy. And he’s an orc, didn’t they have a code of honor or something?

My thoughts ran wild I swear Tai'chi could hear my mind, screaming.

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t wish to. And I must’ve sounded, creepy when I admitted I’ve been observing you. But before anything else, will you allow me to introduce myself, for real this time?”

“You mean your name isn’t Tai'chi?”

Letting out a chuckle, he replied, “I swear to you, my name is Tai'chi. What I mean is, I want you to know my full name. Do you understand what this implies, Pearl?”

I racked my brain for a moment, trying to recall what my parents said about orc traditions when my uncle, papa’s brother, married the orcess he fell in love with. Something about an orc’s real name being reserved only to those they’re close to?

“I guess so? But what exactly?”

“I want to become your friend.”

I couldn’t help the slight warmth creeping into my cheeks behind my mask. He can’t see it, can he? A friend, he says. A friend!

“Oh,” was all that came out. A pause and;

“Uh, I mean, I’d love to be your friend! I never had an actual friend before. I mean, have cousins, but we aren’t acquainted enough to consider myself their friend— I mean— uh, what should I do?” I blurted out a little rapidly.

He smiled. He actually smiled! Oh, damn, it was adorable!

Tai'chi was about to say something, but he snapped his mouth shut and grimaced. I was confused by his sudden change of mood, along with his scent.

Then it struck me.

The two of us shot up when multiple smells filled the air, making my stomach clench.

We were followed, not just one but six individuals. One of them was the pretentious human from earlier.

My day can’t get any better. And is that a baseball bat? Great. Fucking great.

I swear. I’m cursed to find trouble anywhere I go.

“Hello, freaks.” The guy in the middle began. “Whatcha doin’ out here in the forest?”

The others began spreading out and surrounded us.

“Planning something nasty I bet.” A human to my right spat.

“You will pay for what you did to me, you bitch. Just so you know, my father is the dean of this university. No one will ever hear a word of what I did here and what we will do to you.

'Dean’s son, David Silverstone, assaulted by an insane student in the woods within campus grounds. His friends graciously helping him fight off the lunatic until she passed out and was carried to an isolation chamber for monitoring, later finding out about her severe psychological disorder.’ Now wouldn’t that be a hit in the papers!” The bastard and his companions cackled and snickered, some of them stealing glances between my legs and I felt my skin crawl.

Tai'chi growled lowly, silencing them for a brief moment. He was getting mad but held his ground.

“And you,” the human pointed, “you beast. It won’t be hard antagonizing you, people will no doubt believe you were the one who violated the schoolgirl and left her in the woods to die.”

This fucking—

I felt a hand on my shoulder just as I was about to start, gently gripping, in hopes of trying to calm me down. He knows they were baiting us on making the first move. He shook his head, and an idea popped up.

Taking a deep breath, I attempted to make my voice as girly as possible, sounding so hilarious, like those overdressed, flashy high school girls with flowery perfume so strong I wrenched every time I get a whiff of it.

Provoking them would do.

“Oh, I’m so scared! Should I get on my knees and beg for mercy? Oh please, great and noble one, have mercy on my poor soul.” My voice laced with mockery and sadness, with my legs fake trembling and my arms flailing.

And did Tai'chi just snort?

“If you beg nicely, I will perhaps give you a chance to— ”

My sudden wheezing interrupted him and I laughed. Hard. I can’t believe he bought my terrible acting! I expected him to straight-up be offended rather than actually bite the false bait. He is dumber than I thought.

I was holding my middle by the time I was done. Tai'chi’s shoulders were moving slightly, probably chuckling and trying to hold back his amusement.

“Did you honestly take it seriously??? I can't— oh my God!” I choked out once more before I went on.

“There’s no chance in hell I’m gonna bow to you, not even one degree of an angle, you foolish, idiotic, spoiled, bastardized son of a bitch.”

His face was turning red out of rage and oh! Wasn’t that a sight to behold?

“You brat!” Turning his head to the others, he yelled, “What are guys standing there for?! Get them!”

Good.

Perhaps they didn’t catch my hands slipping on my beloved crimson knuckle dusters out of the bag when I was laughing then, tugging down my hoodie’s sleeve to hide it.

“Don’t move.” I told the orc, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“But—”

“Just don’t.” I said with my voice firm. I will take them on my own. I can’t have him getting in trouble and people blaming him for being an orc. Imagine that. The ones who attacked him will be viewed as victims because they were up against him, an orc. Numerous humans will jump at the chance to throw dirt at their race, a single act of self-defense treated as a one-sided assault to humans, the thought of it being enough to somehow remove all of them from the city, but everyone knows it's not that simple. Dimwits.

I strode forward without earning his response, waiting for the first person to come at me.

I took my stance, although it was more of preparing half of my body since I was still hiding both of my hands.

They all seemed confused and hesitant, which was what I was going for. To me, and those with experience in hand-to-hand combat, this is one of the most basic stances, but fundamental, nonetheless. A simple form that can determine the outcome of a fight. With my right foot forward, left foot back, both firmly planted to the ground, and my dominant hand wearing my dusters. In their eyes, it was…wrong, foreign. Some may even say it’s an open vulnerability, showing how inexperienced the opponent is, but oh, it is the exact opposite.

I didn’t see Tai'chi’s expression, though. I was on alert and getting into my zone to peer at him, one motion that can put me in a compromising position. Did he notice my brass knuckles? Likely.

“Scared to hurt a little girl like me?” I enticed.

Finally, the one beside their alleged leader charged at me.

A typical amateur approach.

The guy, about two inches taller than me, threw a right punch, which was a huge mistake.

Predictable.

I smirked under my mask and dodged it not a second before it connected. Making him falter as I grabbed his arm and brought it down to my knee, dislodging his joints.

A high-pitched scream of pain broke out of him as he dropped down on the forest ground, gripping his bent-off arm, cursing, but refused to rise and fight me again.

I gave him one last glance before I looked back at the others.

“Who’s next?”

****************************************

Those human shits just can't leave them alone! Interrupting their supposed-to-be official introduction! There's more to the orc that meets the eye *wink* Who is he exactly? Why was he so... observant?

Part 4 is actually on its third revising— and I'm still trying to come up on HOW to phrase my next words to lead to part 5. I let me brain take a break from spewing senseless words for now so I'll probably post the next part of this later or tomorrow

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! And I'd appreciate it if you have some advice for me, or just point out some mistakes I made! Thank you

Ps. This is really not perfect formal writing if you're wondering. I just type away whatever comes into my mind, and then proofread it to the best I can. And I hope you don't mind me using a lot of spaces. It... sort of makes my mind clear and continue moving forward, and it helps me when I'm reading it again, mentally taking note that with every line between spaces there's a slight pause and again, read it clearly like you were the one thinking it. I don't know how to explain how my own brain works but I guess that's that?

Tags: @kokokatsworld @crackinanutshell

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 4 years

Text

The Witcher and the Princess: Collecting Steam

Geralt of Rivia is not a babysitter, he is not a bodyguard, and he has no interest in transporting princesses across the continent. Until gold is offered and for the next 90 days he’s saddled with a chirpy, bubbly, princess, who is betrothed to the prince of Narok and has a desire to see everything before she’s trapped behind another set of walls.

A/N: All I have to say is whoo baby.

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: HORNY Witcher, angst, drunkeness, brothel, quick smut, language, talking about whores (like the profession)

They didn’t talk about it.

When she first woke her cheeks turned a bright red and then she turned away while pulling her dress back into place. And then it seemed all was forgotten. She thanked him for saving her life- a little dramatic if he did say so himself- and then insisted they keep moving. It had been two weeks since and still they didn’t talk about it.

But by god did Geralt think about it.

The feeling of skin on skin burning between them would not leave him alone. He could still feel the rhythm of her breathing against his skin, frantic fingers scrambling against his skin as she struggled to remember where she was.

It’s not that she was helping his case either.

It wasn’t that she was doing it on purpose. She didn’t mean to brush her hand against his when she took a strip of venison. She didn’t mean to look at him like that when she spoke to him. She didn’t mean to glow golden against the silvery light of freshly fallen snow and soft moonlight.

And yet, she did.

He never acted on it. He wouldn’t dare. He never caught her by the hand when she neared or brushed away the piece of hair that regularly fell out of her plaits, taunting him as it brushed her cheek. He never pulled her in by her waist or exposed soft shoulders. He never ran his hands beneath her skirt or hoisted her against a tree, legs wrapped tightly around him. He never coaxed his name from her lips amongst a thread of moans or bruised her hips with rough fingers while she rode him.

He never did any of that, but he reveled in imagining it.

“Geralt,” came the soft whisper and for a moment the fantasy was real. Then it came again, and he was abruptly ripped from his fantasy. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm,” he grunted, and she cautiously approached him, A she sat on the ground, she swept her dress out from underneath her and crossed her legs. He watched the exposed skin for a moment a cursed himself. He was acting like a little boy who had never seen a woman before.

“Are you sure? Did I do something?”

“Why would you think that?”

“You keep staring at me like you’re mad, like want to… kill something,” she whispered, and he grunted, fists clenching as she leaned closer.

“I’m fine.”

“You seem tense.”

“I’m fine.” She furrowed her brow and stared at the Witcher more intensely than he thought her capable of doing. He glanced over her shoulder to avoid her scrutinizing gaze making her huff before moving closer.

“Let me help you,” she proclaimed and twisted images of her writhing beneath him filled his head.

“No, Y/N I’m fine.”

“Would you stop pretending you’re fine. I know you don’t want to be here, but I don’t want you to be more miserable than you have to be.”

“Let’s go, we can make it to the next town before sundown if we leave now.” He brushed past her and ignored the little huff she made in his direction.

She didn’t push his mood any further as they rode closer to the town that he would have preferred not to stop at. Too many people knew him here, and too many people would take interest in his travel companion.

None of that mattered because he could protect her from all of them. It was his own intentions he wasn’t sure he could keep her safe from.

He paid for their room and turned to her, wincing at the look she was giving him.

“Get yourself some dinner and the go to bed, take a bath if you want, just don’t cause trouble,” he instructed her, ignoring her obvious roll of the eyes.

“Where are you going?”

“Whorehouse,” he grunted, and she burst into a fit of laughter, a smirk of her own taunting him.

“Of course, you are,” she said and then she slipped a few gold coins into his hand. He glanced at them; confusion written all over his face. “A tip, but only if she keeps you busy for a while.” And then with a scandalous wink she skipped off towards the bar.

The gold was heavy in his hand and he wanted nothing more than to chuck it at her before throwing her over his shoulder and showing her what it was like to be kept busy.

Instead he pocketed the gold and strode out the door towards the brothel that he frequented when fate led him to this town. They recognized him right away and a girl he never bothered to learn the name of pulled him into an unoccupied room.

“Let me take care of you,” she purred, and he silently shook his head before shoving her against the mattress. He hiked up her skirt and she struggled against the raw attack.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growled. If propriety didn’t allow him to teach his princess a lesson, he was going to teach this whore. She stilled and he smirked, imagining his keep squirming beneath him. She wouldn’t have listened he told her to keep still, she would have fought him tooth and nail. She wouldn’t have just let him in. She would have made him work for it.

She annoyed him and it seemed odd that he would even bother trying to replace the princess with this nameless woman. Her moans were high pitched, thinly veiled noises to hide the pain. It was too practiced, there was no surprise, no sign that she hadn’t been there a hundred times before.

“Fuck,” he grumbled pulling out and handing the whore what she was owed plus the coins Y/N had so graciously provided him. “The tip is to keep people out until I’m gone,” he snapped, and she nodded, shock written all over her face. The door slammed shut and he laid back on the bed, trying not to think about whatever stains were on the bedsheets.

He laid there for an hour, wasting time as she had requested. And then he wandered the streets for another, hoping she would be asleep by the time he returned to the bar. She didn’t infuriate him when she was sleeping. She was good and quiet and her eyes were closed.

She didn’t say things that made him want to throw her over his knee when she was asleep.

But it seemed luck was not on his side, because as he stepped into the pub she was doing exactly the sort of thing he wanted to punish her for.

She stood before him, on top of the bar, a drink far stronger than anything she should have been drinking in her hand. And she was leading the energetic crowd in a rousing rendition of Toss a Coin to your Witcher. A young man was holding her hand as she twirled about, though he seemed just as drunk as she was.

“Y/N,” he barked over the crowd and she turned to him with a grin.

“I told you it was about my Witcher,” she told the crowd. “Someone owes me money.”

“Get down from there,” he growled and she rolled her eyes.

“Are you going to catch me?” she slurred, pretending to fall. He jerked forward and she fell into peals of laughter. “Don’t be so uptight, I have everything under control. Don’t I, Sven?” The boy who was standing beside her nodded. “See, Sven agrees with me.”

“Get down,” he said once again but she shook her head and spoke to the crowd behind him.

“We have another song to sing, don’t we?” she asked, and they of course cheered, raising their glasses to woman standing above them. “You can join us, it’s about you after all,” she giggled, tipping a little too close to edge as she struggled to regain her balance. Geralt took the chance to grab her wrist and pull her into his arms. The crowd booed when they realized she was gone and through laughter she yelled that she would be back for an encore once he fell asleep.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled and she laughed again, wrapping an arm around his neck as he carried her to their room. Once he had her inside he set her on the bed and she smirked before skirting out of his grasp. “Go to bed,” he ordered her, trying not to think too much about the coy look she threw over her shoulder.

“I have to take a bath,” she informed him and before he could protest her clothes were merely piles on the ground. He averted his eyes until she was settled in the water. Shadows hid the soft flesh he was forced to avoid, but he could hear the water lapping against her skin, taunting him, making him wish he could join her.

“How was your whore?” she asked softly, the nonchalance in which she asked surprised him. “Did she earn the tip?”

“No.”

“I’m not surprised, from what I understand they never do.”

“And what do you know about whores, little princess?”

“Men in court never hide their conquests, even if they had to pay for them. They’re always so disappointed but I don’t why they’re surprised. I mean what does a whore have that I don’t? Nothing, it’s what I have that they lack.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, we both have a perfectly good cunt,” she announced, and he felt himself twitch beneath the tight fabric of his pants. “I can fake a moan and swoon just like every other woman, but do you want to know what I can do that they can’t?”

“Tell me,” he growled far too quickly. He had meant to sound humored, but it sounded thick and suffocated; however, she was too drunk to notice.

“Desire,” she purred, and it took everything in him not to rise, pull her from the water and into his arms. “No matter how good she fucks you’ll always know you’re paying. No matter how hard she tries to convince you she is completely devoted she never will, because the jingle of gold will always be there. I’ll mean it, or at least you’ll think I mean it because you’re not paying me. I’ve entered into your bed willingly, and by then I’ve already won.”

“What about experience?” Had she been sober she would have noticed him prying, but the alcohol kept her focuses on her rant.

“Oh please, you can’t tell me you would rather the struggle to fill some loose whore than stretch me out.”

“I don’t struggle in either case.”

“Of course, you don’t. but I know how men are. They like to own and being the first is a bit like ownership don’t you think. That’s why the preach about waiting, so your husband can own you.” He was throbbing now, aching to fill up the soft flesh she boasted so opened about. And now she was speaking of marriage, which only made him feel worse.

She was an innocent girl with a husband waiting at the end of their journey, and yet he wanted nothing more than to ruin her.

“Do you need the water?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? It’s still warm. You know someone stole my bath water once. Sold it as an elixir for eternal beauty. People bought it of course, I wasn’t one to ruin their fun.”

“Did it work?” She laughed and he was sure she was rolling her eyes.

“Don’t tell me your thick. Of course, it didn’t work. There’s no such thing as eternal beauty, everyone gets old and decrepit at one time or another. Except you of course, but you have much worse things to deal with them wrinkles, don’t you? Maybe it’s a blessing to die early?” she whispered softly, trailing off. He could feel her staring now, a soft of closed off stare that accompanied untold secrets.

“That’s awfully cynical of you, Princess.”

“I’ve been told,” she muttered darkly and then as quickly as it had come the darkness disappeared. “Would you hand me a towel?”

“Get it yourself,” he grunted, regret instantly filling his lungs.

“Suit yourself,” she laughed, climbing out of the bath, skin catching the light as she approached him. He could see every slope of flesh, every hill made for caressing, every inch of skin begging to be bruised. Her forced himself to look away, focusing on anything that wasn’t her. “So bashful,” she teased, “Weren’t you just fucking a whore?”

“You’re not a whore.”

“From you, that sounds like a compliment,” she said as she wound the towel around herself.

“Get dressed.”

“Or what?” She was testing him, and she knew it. He caught her eye and cursed beneath his breath. God, she was infuriating. He vowed to never let her drink again. It was dangerous for both of them when liquor sang rebellion to nineteen years of oppression and privilege. “What are you going to do about it, Witcher?”

“I’m getting a drink. Be dressed and in bed by the time I get back.”

“I’ll come with. I want another.”

“You’ve had enough to drink.”

“You’re not my father, nor my husband, so you can stop fucking telling me what to do,” she spat, completely unprepared for the force at which he yanked her closer.

“I dare you to say that again, because I have no problem teaching a spoiled brat a lesson.” Her hand shot out to slap him but he caught it without hesitation. Pressed against him, only a towel to cover her, he could feel her breathing. It was hot and angry, the swell of her lungs pushing her against him with each breath. She was at his mercy this way, wrists caught in his hands, naked and wet, waiting to take whatever he wanted to give her. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly it hurt to push her away. “Good. I expect you to be dressed and in bed when I get back.” He released her wrists and left the room. As he locked it he heard her scream in frustration, something heavy crashing to the floor. He turned away, ignoring the angry cries. He wanted to forget her and the painful feeling that he was losing something as he walked away.

***

Taglist: @mallorydoesstuff @facelessfiction @aphadriel-fanfic @raspberrydreamclouds @thegreattodd @saint-hardy @ravenclawsstolemybunies @queenofmankind @britty443

#geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt of rivia angst #the witcher #the witcher fluff #the witcher smut #the witcher x reader #the witcher angst #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia fanfiction

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stressisakiller · 3 years

Text

The Verdict

Bucky Barnes x Reader Soulmate AU

(Hello Sunflower Part 11)

Summary: It’s time to be judged, but like always, nothing is ever easy.

Warnings: refences to torture. Murder. and cussing

Word Count: 2k

A/N: A short chapter this time. I may end up rewriting this chapter and the last chapter, but we will see Let me know what you think and if you have any requests for future chapters! Thank yall for reading!’

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The trials began the Monday after you were saved from Hydra. All of the Avengers were being called in for questioning, which was ridiculous but sadly needed. Nat’s was the worst so far, as she always told you, she has a lot of red in her ledger but so did you. You knew that she hated all of the things she had done in the past and you knew having to answer for all of them was affecting her more than she would like to admit.

Today it was your turn, to say that you were nervous would be an understatement but you weren’t one to back down from a challenge. Walking into the courtroom, you could feel everyone’s eyes on you. You wore a nicer version of your usual attire but you were not going to try to put on a show for these people. If they were going to judge you they would be judging the real you. You knew that you were a sight, with the bruises and cuts that covered your face and arms. You stared forward as you walked towards the judge, not letting anyone see how nervous you really are.

The judge called you to the stand, you placed your hand on a bible, swearing that you would say the truth the whole truth nothing but the truth. You sat down at the stand and looked around at the people that had your future in their hands. Some of them looked nervous like they were afraid of you, but some of them looked calm, only one or two were openly glaring at you. You took that as a win. The questioning began.

“Tell the jury your name and your affiliation with Hydra.” You stared at the prosecutor for a moment before answering, why did he look familiar?

“My name is Y/N Stark,” you heard gasps from some of the people in the audience. “When I was born I was stolen from my family, they believed me dead. I was raised by one of their lead scientists. He told me that he was my father and since he was all that I knew I believed him. He worked for Hydra and raised me in and around a Hydra base. When I was ten they injected me with the super-soldier serum that they had also used on Bucky Barnes. I was brainwashed as used as their soldier.” Your voice was steady as you spoke, not allowing the nerves that you felt to be evident.

“After they brainwashed you they sent you on assignments? Mostly to assassinate people seen as threats to Hydra. Is that correct?” His voice held disdain for you and you swore you could hear a twinge of glee as he spoke. Your brow furrowed momentarily, why does his voice sound familiar. Something about him struck a chord in your memories but it was fuzzy.

“That is correct, however, due to the fact that they placed me in a machine that they affectionately and accurately called the blender, I had no control over my mind.”

“Would you please tell the jury what exactly this “blender” did?” he seemed to revel in your discomfort.

“It was a machine that you were strapped into, a rubber piece was shoved into your mouth so that you wouldn’t break your jaw, and electrical currents were forced through your head until all that was left was a terrible blankness.” your voice slowly falling as you spoke, the images of your father watching with glee as you were strapped to it several days ago.

“So they erased your mind?” he seemed incredulous at the possibility, “then how, pray tell, were they able to force you to do missions?” You stared at the man in front of you in disbelief, you had long ago learned how to read the emotions of others, he thought you were lying.

“After wiping us, they had a series of trigger words that would activate the soldier that they had programmed into us. The soldier's main purpose and mission was to serve Hydra. They would do anything to accomplish that.” the iron in your voice seemed to surprise him, he hadn’t expected you to fight back. He thought that you would just roll over and let them punish you for crimes that you had no choice in.

“You mean that they had full control over you? Please explain.” You bit back your anger, you couldn’t let this man anger you, if he succeeded then your cause was lost.

“Imagine being in a taxi,” eyebrows furrowed throughout the courtroom, that was not what they expected to fall from your lips, “you are in the backseat and there is a piece of bulletproof glass between you and the driver. Now imagine that this driver, driving like a maniac and hitting innocent people. But you, you’re stuck in the backseat, the doors are locked and no matter how hard you pound on that glass or how loudly you scream, you can’t make the driver stop. That is what it feels like for us when the soldier is in control.” the pain from your nails digging into your palms is what grounded you, the feeling in the pit of your stomach grew, something in his eyes was shifting, as if he was deciding something.

“Well then, do you remember what your trigger words are?” his eyes seemed to glint in the harsh light of the room. You simply shook your head,

“I have never known, once I hear the first one all I am able to focus on is the pain.”

“Let me remind you then…” a terrible grin took over his face as he spoke the first word. Pain. You were so fucking tired of the pain this brought and by the men that believed that you were nothing more than their tool. He spoke fast, the words rolling off his tongue in Russian and all you could do was clench your fists and wait it out.

“Ready to Comply.” The words felt natural on the soldier’s lips, always there, always ready. The weaselly man in front of you had the audacity to smirk at the soldier.

“Am I speaking to the soldier or to the girl.” his eyebrow raised as he spoke

“The soldier.” Her voice was colder than yours, emotionless.

“Good,” he clapped his hands together, his smile widening, “I have a mission for you, kill them.” Her eyes snapped to his, watching his reaction as the soldier spoke.

“There is only one mission,” her words were clipped, eyes narrowing as she spoke, “you have no control over me.” He blanched, stepping back as if struck,

“I am your master, you will listen to me.” his voice was raised as if he was trying to command her by sheer volume. The rest of the courtroom was watching the interaction in shock, no one dared move. Bucky watched in concern but knew that this was your battle and he would only intervene if absolutely necessary. You and the soldier stared at the man in front of you, seemingly calm, but there was a fire in your eyes.

“Fuck you. Did you really think that I was able to escape while Hydra was still able to control me with words?” The fire in your voice was barely contained, as you spat the words at him.

“You are my soldier and I demand that you listen to and obey me!” His face was turning red in anger, a fact that you and the soldier found funny.

“Bold of you to assume that I didn’t come to terms with my demons, I am both the soldier and the girl. I have been since the tattoo showed up, nothing that you could do to me affected me anymore except to cause me pain. Why do you think so many of your targets got away, or the fact that I never showed you any bodies? I am no longer under Hydra’s control, I have made peace with the soldier inside of me, we now have only one mission, and it has nothing to do with hydra.” your teeth were clenched as you spoke, fighting the urge to kill the man in front of you, instead you stood. “Men and women of the Jury as well as everyone else present. This man is Hydra, he wanted me to kill you, trying to use the brainwashing methods that they have used on me in the past. I am no longer the woman that I was back then. Neither is Bucky, the man who will be on trial before you tomorrow. We were forced to become soldiers and assassins. We had our memories and emotions ripped from us, in the most painful way imaginable. They placed words in us that would make us their puppets that we have only recently been able to get rid of. I was forced to cover my soul mark from fear of them using it against me. I was tortured in more ways than you can imagine I have been broken and pieced back together so many times that I no longer knew who I was until I was able to escape. I was forced to watch myself kill my parents and have no control over my body as I did. Yes, Bucky and I have committed a multitude of sins. But trust me when I saw that his 70 years and my 30 years under the thumb of Hydra, with no memories and no control, is enough atonement for those sins. But all the same, we will spend the rest of our days with the Avengers, saving as many lives as we can to pay for the ones that we were forced to take.”

The whole room was silent at your words, all of them surprised by the confidence and power that you exuded. The judge called for the man from Hydra to be taken and put into custody and then called for the Jury to go speak and decide the verdict. You were allowed to leave the stand and go sit by Bucky, reaching for his hand as soon as you sat. No one else could see how much you were shaking except the man beside you, you just wanted this day to be over. You wanted to be back in Tony’s lab eating chocolate and drinking coffee while watching him work. The Jury was gone for an hour, an hour of worry and fear. They filed back in, the lead handing their verdict to the judge. He asked for you to stand.

“In the case of Y/N vs the united states and Bucky vs the united states” your eyes widened in surprise, they weren’t supposed to decide for Bucky until tomorrow. Hearing his name Bucky calmly stood up beside you. “The jury finds the defendants innocent of all charges. Due to the evidence that the defendants were not acting according to their own will. The jury states that no more action will be necessary as long as the defendants agree to remain as part of the Avengers saving lives instead of ending them”

He read out the verdict as if he was ordering a Sunday lunch as if it were nothing to him that you were now free. You felt your legs begin to tremble, almost giving out under you before you are pulled into a crushing hug by Bucky and then Tony. You were finally free.

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sierraraeck · 3 years

Text

How to Lose Friends

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: When Aundreya’s presence is requested at the BAU, she doesn’t know what to think, and is dreading the reactions of her previous teammates. Especially that of Doctor Spencer Reid. Story sixteen.

Category: Some angst.

Warnings: Cussing. Normal CM talk. Mentions of prison.

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: I hit 100k words of fanfic I’ve written for this series in this part.

The buzz of the bell signaling a door opening jolted me awake.

What the fuck? Why is my door being opened?

The light streaming in from the hallway, invading my dark little space, was blinding. The only solace was the dark figure shielding most of the light from my eyes.

“What?” I rasped.

“Aundreya Chambers, lovely to see you again,” the voice was coated with sarcasm. While still somewhat unfamiliar to me, I knew who’s face belonged to that type of bitchy sarcasm.

“Majesty Strauss, welcome to my humble home. Would you like a tour before we begin?” I still barely had my eyes open, denying the fact that my minimal sleep was being desturbed. She moved further into the cell in order to stand right in front of me.

“Get up. Your presence has been requested at the BAU.”

“What? Why do they want me?” I finally opened my eyes enough to stare up at her stone cold bitchface. That was the last thing I was expecting this morning. “Is it so they each take their turn reminding me how much they hate me?”

“Stop whining and get up. They need your help,” she all but rolled her eyes, the sound of her heels clicking back over to my cell door.

“With what?” I insisted.

“I’ll brief you on the drive.” Strauss completely exited my box while I laid my head back against the thin as paper pillow, letting out an irritated sigh. “Are you coming?”

“Do I have a choice?” She gave the tightest lipped, most forced smile I’d seen a human give as one of the officers came to clasp the handcuffs around my wrists.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

The first half of the drive was dull. Strauss wasn’t much for small talk, especially with someone like me, and she refused to let me in on what was happening until we were only a few minutes out from headquarters.

It was Maeve. She’d had a stalker for a while, and now there was reason to believe she’s in immediate danger. That’s all she told me.

We finally arrived at Quantico, and I almost wanted to laugh. It’d been… what? Fifteen months since the last time I’d been there? The feeling of walking back in felt oddly familiar, like the first time I entered the building as a convicted criminal who was meeting the team. Despite the three years I’d spent with them, I was standing there as if nothing had changed. Actually, that’s not true. Things had changed. They’d gotten worse. Now, instead of wondering how they’d react to a somewhat normal looking girl who’d had a rough past, I knew exactly how they’d react to a psycho looking, handcuffed, last-time-I-saw-you-I-confessed-to-murder, criminal. And I didn’t want any part of it.

But if that’s how they were gonna see me, I might as well have worn it with pride. I had a reputation to uphold.

I was pushed through the glass doors into the bullpen, and everyone’s eyes snapped to me. I must’ve been quite the sight: disheveled, frizzy braids, cuts and bruises on every visible part of my body (and most non visible parts, too), my orange jumpsuit peeking through the stained, weak excuse they called sweats, not to mention the chains connecting my handcuffs to the links around my ankles. Upon entering, they removed my cuffs, but kept a watchful eye on me as I approached the door to the briefing room. The people behind there were the ones I really cared about. Or, at least, cared even a shard about in comparison to the utter indifference I felt toward everyone else.

I closed my eyes, and took a long, deep breath before forcing the door open. I had barely entered the room, barely made eye contact with Hotch standing opposite me, before both my shoulder blades were shoved against the wall behind me, long fingers wrapping around my throat.

“What is she doing here?” the hiss in Reid’s voice sounded exactly how I’d imagined it in my head, preparing myself for this encounter. He looked almost as bad as me. His curls were going in a million directions, and I could only imagine the amount of times he’d run his hands through them. His eyes were blood-shot and slightly puffy, and the dark bags underneath seemed more defined. The only thing that contrasted all of that, and let me know his head was still in it, was the darkness in them. There was nothing lighthearted or soft about them anymore, at least, not for the moment and not for me. Not to mention the rage I could see boiling at the surface. It was like looking in a funhouse mirror.

Morgan and Hotch made a move to pull him off of me, but I waved them away. I knew this was coming, and the sooner we got it over with, the sooner we could go back to our new normal. “I was invited.”

“By who?” I could hear the betrayal coating his voice before he even knew who it was.

“You didn’t tell him?” It was Rossi that spoke up.

“I was about to,” Hotch stated, “She showed up a bit earlier than I anticipated.”

Reid just stood there, orbs of fire replacing his eyes. “Let go of me,” I forced out through clenched teeth. He did as I asked, taking a staggering step back and just bore holes into me. I replied with a smirk. “So what do you need me for?”

“As Strauss should have already told you, Maeve is missing and there is reason to believe she’s in danger,” Hotch recited.

“Great. So what do you need me for?” I repeated. They were great profiles, I couldn’t see anything I’d add to the group.

“As you know, there have been people in the past that threatened her safety, and they have been people you’ve had a connection with.”

I arched an eyebrow. “So you think that the person responsible for Maeve’s disappearance is some street rat I’d know?”

“If you want to put it that way, sure,” Hotch confirmed.

“Okay, then you guys have seriously lost brain cells since I left,” I let out a bitter laugh, “There’s no way some rando on the street would care about some lame doctor.” I saw Reid’s posture tighten up, and I didn’t really fancy the idea of being slammed into the wall again, so I shot him a quick, “No offense.”

“What makes you so sure?” Morgan asked.

“Look, all I’m saying, is that I don’t see how she’d hold any value to anyone on the streets. Unless she’s all the sudden a drug lord, running a gang, or saw too much, they wouldn’t care about her. And let’s say for fun she is one of those things, and someone on the streets did take her, she’s already dead,” I pointed out. Reid flinched. “People on the streets don’t play with their food.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Reid hissed.

I shrugged. “I’m just saying. But either way, case closed or start over. Neither of which require me.”

“They might, actually,” Hotch said.

“What now?” I grumbled.

“We might still want to utilize your other skills.”

“And what are those, exactly? You can all profile just fine without me,” I scoffed. “Clearly, you’ve been doing just fine these past 15 months. Speaking of, where is my replacement?”

Looking around the room, I didn’t see Doctor Lewis.

“She’s gone for this one, so we could use another person,” Hotch acknowledged.

“Cool. So find another person.”

“Aundreya, we could use your ability to track down people. We can profile all we want, and have Garcia send us all the information she can dig up, but we need someone who can actually locate them. Someone who knows how to find people without a record or paper trail, who don’t want to be found. And based on the other working profile we have, that’s exactly the type of person we’d be tracking down.”

I let out an annoyed sigh and rolled my eyes. There was no way I was getting out of this, so I forced out, “Fine. Let’s find Reid’s girlfriend.”

The whole room of people, myself included, starting moving with a purpose toward something to do. Everyone except for Doctor Reid. He was just standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at me.

I tried so hard to ignore him, and I was about to say something when Morgan beat me to it, placing a hand on his shoulder and murmuring, “Kid, what’s going on?”

His answer was not directed at Morgan. “Nothing else? That’s it, that’s all you have to say?”

I looked up at him and even I could feel the boredom in my eyes. “What else is there to say?”

After a few deafening moments, he sternly whispered, “Was any of it real?”

I could tell by his face the deeper questions behind it. Did you ever actually care about me? Were you just manipulating and using me the whole time? Was the possibility of ‘us’ just an illusion?

“I could ask you the same question,” I snapped. It suddenly felt like he and I were the only ones in the room, like we were moving across a silver screen while the rest of the team watched from their theatre seats.

“I still wanna know why.”

“Why what? There’s a lot I’ve done, you’re gonna have to be more specific,” I deadpanned.

“All of it. Prison, letting me take the fall, Darrell-”

I stopped him right there. “Inmates kill each other all the time. It was a means of survival. I had to, I couldn’t let you die, and I couldn’t let you be the killer either, now could I? You’re not the damaged one-”

It was his turn to cut me off, and I was surprised by his words, “You're not damaged.”

“What makes you so sure?” I was quick to refute, “Only one of us should have to carry that burden around. And like you said, what’s another name to add to my list?”

“Is that what you were carrying around with you all the time?” Prentiss’s question seemed so genuine, I just answered.

“Yes, that and…” then I realized what she’d just admitted to.

“And what?” she probed.

“Wait, were you guys watching me?” I accused. The silence that followed, along with ‘oh shit’ glances were all I needed. “You were, weren't you! That whole time you just watched? And did nothing to help me!”

“What were we supposed to do?” Morgan joined in.

“Something, anything!” I looked back over to Reid, his hands in his pockets and his eyes still burning up. “Do you even want me on this case?” I was looking for any and every excuse to get out of this room, and away from these people.

“You are a big help,” Hotch intervened.

“I didn’t ask you,” I shot Hotch a glance out of the corner of my eye, then directed my attention back at Reid, enunciating each word carefully, “Do you want me on this case?”

“Why would you ask that?” he dodged.

“Because last time I checked, I was supposed to be staying out of Maeve’s life,” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“You are, but these are extenuating circumstances,” he returned my look.

“So you do want my help,” I clarified.

“I want your skills.”

I let out a disgusted chuckle, venom dripping from my words. “Oh I get it. You only want me around when it's convenient for you. Otherwise you just wanna give up on me and let me rot in there.”

Reid broke eye contact with me. “All the evidence pointed to you.”

His words sent a shiver up my spine, as the neurons in my brain started firing at rapid speed. I’d heard those words before; rather, I’d seen those words before, and I couldn’t resist reciting what followed. “But the one thing you can’t stop thinking about is what Hotch said the night we got caught?”

His eyes immediately snapped back to mine, looking astonished. “What?”

I set my jaw, and continued, “That you were manipulating me the whole time and I’d fallen into the trap of a professional criminal, even as a profiler. I don’t want to believe that, but maybe it’s true.”

Derek jumped in, “What are you talking about?”

I ignored him. “Maybe you’re the one who’s been using me this whole time. I don’t have the answers, and I don’t think I ever will. Don’t keep tabs on me. I know you have the means to, in whatever capacity, but I don’t want you tracking my life.”

“Stop, Aundreya, please,” he pleaded. If you didn’t want those words getting out, didn’t want your team to realize how vile you could be, you should have thought about that before sending me that letter.

I wasn’t gonna stop. Instead, I started pulling the paper out of my pocket. “I no longer want you to be a part of it. And stay out of Maeve’s, in case you think that’s some twisted loophole you can use. This is no longer your family.” By the end, I felt just a little moisture coming to the surface, but I choked my tears back down.

“What is she talking about?” Morgan insisted.

Reid’s mouth was slightly open, struggling to find the right words to explain this. I wasn’t going to give him the chance. I tossed his letter, folded up to fit in my pocket, on the table. It slid across and stopped right in the middle. “His letter. The piece of paper you saw me walking around with, this is it. My list on one side, his letter on the other.”

“Aundreya-” Reid attempted.

“You didn’t even sign your name,” I shook my head, “You couldn’t even sign your fucking name. It’s pathetic. And just so you know, the evidence pointed toward me because I helped it to.”

“So you did or didn’t want to go to prison?” he asked me.

“Of course I didn’t want to go, Reid,” I answered like it was the dumbest question I’d ever heard.

“Then why'd you take the fall for me?”

“Because you didn’t do it.”

“But neither did you, right?”

It sounded like more of a mockery than a question, but I answered, “Right.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Jesus Spence! I did it because I-” Oh shit.

All eyes were on me as he slowly asked, “You what?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” With that, I stormed out of the room using the back door, and made my way up to the rooftop.

The cool breeze hit me in an instant, and I relished in the fresh air. It’s crazy how easily I took that for granted the three years I was out. I leaned up against the railing as I soaked in this feeling. I wouldn’t get to keep it for long.

I heard the door creak open, and knew who it was before she could even say anything.

“You know, I understand why he’s mad. He thinks I let him sit in prison for something I did, you all do,” I quickly tacked on.

“That’s not true,” Emily’s voice could be so soft sometimes.

“It’s okay, I get why you all believe it. I would have too if I were you. I mean, my whole life has consisted of lying, manipulating, and cheating.” I looked over at her once she’d joined me at the railing. Her face was kind, as if she was inviting me to continue. “I hate everything about it.”

“Is that why your name is on the bottom of that list?”

I hadn’t even thought about them seeing that. Fuck me. “Did you know that Aundreya isn’t even my real name?” I offered instead.

“Alionth?” she guessed.

I gave a single laugh. “No. I was born Clara Spade. I was her all the way up until the Slaughterer saw me. When we went into WITSEC, my name was changed to Cassy Sae. I lived as her until our house burnt down, and I begged Gideon to help me disappear. Cassy Sae died that day with her mom and sister, and I changed my name again to Aundreya Chambers. It was Aundreya who hit the streets and joined a gang. It was Aundreya who was The Figure and moved up the ranks until she ran the joint. When the gang collapsed and I started the ring, I don’t know, I guess I just wanted a new name. A new name had marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life up until that point, why not keep the tradition, you know?” Emily nodded along to my words. “I chose Alionth because I’d already been using that as my stage name at clubs, and a lot of the people I recruited I met at clubs. I actually ran my whole operation out of one, so the name just naturally fell into place. Then I made just about the biggest mistake of my life, which landed me in prison. In prison, most people were street rats, so those who did know me, knew me as Aundreya, so I went back to being her.”

“And who are you now?” she asked me.

I sighed. “I… I have no idea. I’ve been Aundreya for the majority of my life, but I just don’t know if she’s good enough anymore.”

“It’s not about the name. I know you think it does, but the name has nothing to do with who you are.”

“I don’t know, it sure feels like that.”

“It’s not true. Falling into that trap is unwise, it’ll hurt you more than it already has,” her eyes were wide, and I could tell she was trying to read me.

“So you think I’m stupid?” I asked.

“No, the exact opposite actually. I think you are so smart and are looking so many steps ahead, that you can no longer see what’s right in front of you.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you’re afraid.” I scoffed at her, but she was completely serious.

“I am not,” I insisted.

“You are. You’ve been hurt so many times, betrayed even, and now you won’t allow anyone in.” She sounded like she was speaking from experience. The silence hung between us before she said what I’d been waiting on the whole time. “Just tell him.”

“What?” I tried to play it off.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Emily said, in that stern but caring tone she’d mastered. We both knew I knew what she was talking about, and I’d been too hopeful she’d ignore my near-confession only minutes earlier.

“I can’t,” I said, my voice dropping.

“Why not? I think he deserves to know that you lov-”

“Don’t say that,” I cut her off like my life depended on it, “Emily, I’m telling you, I can’t. I can’t do that to him,” my eyes were wide with pleading, and I’m sure I looked like a wild animal in headlights.

“Give me a good reason why.”

You say that as if I haven’t already compiled a list in my head of all the reasons we wouldn’t work over the past three years.

But I opted only for the biggest reason, the one at the very top of my list. “Because I’m terrified that it will kill us both.”

“Huh?”

“Look at us. We’re a disaster! I mean, hell knows, we’ve both already almost died for the other. I don’t want to take the chance that next time we won’t be so lucky,” I explained. And if we aren’t, at least one of us should be able to get out and that person is not me. I could tell there was something else lingering on Emily’s face, but I filled the airspace before she could. “No, I need him to hate me. It’ll be easier this way, because when this goes south, and it will go south, it makes it that much easier for him to just forget about me and move on, move on with Maeve, his great girlfriend who can actually be there for him in a way I haven’t been able to, in a way I don’t even think I’m capable of.”

“I would call going to prison for him ‘being there’ for him, even to an extreme, and I think you should let him make his own choice about how he feels about you,” she gave me a pointed look, “knowing all the facts.”

I shook my head. She just wasn’t getting this. “It’s better this way, trust me, I’ve seen it before, been there before, too many times. It’s better if he already hates me going into this. It would be unfair of me to lay that on him, knowing what I’m going to have to do.”

“And what is that?” I stared at her, open-mouthed, and once she realized I wasn’t going to answer her, she asked, “This is about more than just Maeve, isn’t it?”

Yes. There are people who are hunting me down, and I’m scared shitless that you, and Spencer, and the rest of the team will get caught in the crossfire, and yet again, it will be my fault that practically the only people on this planet I care about, who’ve actually cared about me at some point, will be dead. I wanted so badly to tell her, to get everything off my chest, but I just couldn’t. The less she, and the team, knew, the better.

“Is this about those other two names on the list?”

“You saw that, huh?”

“Yeah. Is that what this is also about? The whole ‘end of the world, protecting Reid’ vibe you have going on?”

I didn’t know how to answer, so again, I just stood there silently.

“It sounds to me like you’re giving up, expecting to die,” Emily filled in the silence.

“I am definitely expecting to die, and I’m expecting it to be nasty, and hateful, and to completely ruin me, yes. But like hell I’m giving up.” I wanted to make that perfectly clear.

“Good. So while I don’t know what else is going on, and you clearly aren’t open to telling me, I do know that Maeve needs our help. Yours specifically. And I can’t imagine how much this sucks for you, but-”

“I know,” I said, nodding, “We have a case.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

While Emily and I were out, the rest of the team had gone back to trying to put pieces together. The moment I walked in the door was the same moment Reid left. JJ walked out after him, but not before giving Emily a knowing look. It’s like they were tag teaming us or something. I tried to blow it off.

“Get anything?” I huffed.

“Maybe…” Derek trailed off.

“What does that mean?”

“We have a list of people we want you to look over,” Rossi said, handing over his tablet.

“Damn, already?” I questioned.

“Have you already forgotten how quickly I work?” Penelope looked over at me with an amused face.

“Well, time hasn’t exactly been my friend as of late so I might be a little rusty, but no, my liege, you just never cease to amaze me.” And with that, I felt some of the tension release from the room. Not much, but I’d take it. I think everyone would take it.

We worked well into the night, looking over people and sending pairs of agents out to question the promising ones, and as I expected, every single one was a dead end.

Until one of them wasn’t.

The boys had just got back from interviewing Robert Putnam’s, Maeve’s fiance, parents.

“He look good for this?” I asked as soon as Hotch stormed into the room, Rossi and Morgan right on his heels. Reid hung back, like we were repelling ends of a magnet.

“I want you on him.” Hotch had barely gotten the command out before I reached for the door handle.

“I don’t.” The words were hot and dry and coming from none other than Doctor Reid.

I stopped to face him. “Why not?”

“I don’t trust you. Who’s to say you won’t just run off? Then we’d let a high-profile criminal walk free and let Maeve…” he cut himself off, and I saw him swallow, probably choking down the tears with it.

“Reid,” Hotch barely drew his attention away from me.

“It’s okay,” I assured Hotch, “I get that you don’t trust me. None of you do. But I need you to make up your mind. Either you want me helping or you don’t.” When I got no more than a few blinks, I continued, “Look, you don’t have to trust me, okay? All you have to trust is my skills. Like you said, I’m a professional at things like this, so I can handle tracking one simple weasel. Not to mention, that if I didn’t want to be here, or I wanted to’ve escaped, I would have done it already. And if you’re worrying about my capacity to actually treat this case with some care, don’t. I already blindly tried to get myself shot for her before I even knew who she was, remember? So if you don’t wanna trust me, great. Don’t. I’m fine with that. But trust my abilities and what I know, what you know, I can do.”

I stared at him so long, that I wondered if small roots started pushing their way into the ground below me.

“Okay. Go,” was all I got, but it was all I needed.

I gave him a single nod, and headed for the door.

I got just a few feet out when Hotch’s voice caught me, “Chambers.”

I spun around to face him. Once he pulled the door shut, I asked, “What’s up?”

“He’ll come around.”

I snorted, “You’re funny, Aaron,” I spoke through laughs, “Got any other good jokes before I head out?”

“I’m serious.” I don’t know what it was in his tone, but it snapped me completely out of it.

“He won’t. I fucked up, real bad, and I broke a promise to him,” I lowered my voice so I was whisper-yelling the next part, “Hell! I killed a man in front of him!”

“We all have,” he nonchalantly stated. The disconnect I was feeling had to have been obvious, and he proceeded, “We shoot people in front of him all the time. We do it to save other people, we’ve even done it to save him a few times. How is it any different?”

My eyes went wide, and I couldn’t believe it was Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner who was saying these things to me right now. “No you don’t understand. I promised people, I promised myself, that that wasn’t who I was anymore. But that's exactly who I am. I said that I wouldn’t do things like that again, and then I did, breaking my promise and proving that I’m exactly the same as I was all those years ago. Someone you, and he, can’t trust.”

“We both know that’s not true.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he just kept going without me, “The way he reacted to you getting arrested that night is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget. He looked disgusted with me, after I aided you in your plan to get him out. He said to me, ‘You can’t do this, Hotch, you can’t let this happen!’ He was so hostile that he cussed at me and tried to hit me,” I audibly gasped at this information. I could never see Reid acting like that, but I would know just how much prison changes a person. “Morgan had to restrain him before all the work you’d just done to get him out of prison went to waste on something as stupid as him acting out.”

I didn’t know what to say, “Hotch, I…”

“I knew what you were doing, so while Morgan tried to get him to calm down, I told him that you were giving him an out. We knew that there was a very high likelihood that he was going to die in there, but we knew that you wouldn’t.” He offered a small chuckle then, which totally threw me for a loop.

“What is it, what’s funny?”

“Spencer said that we couldn’t know that, and it was Morgan who said, and I believe he used these exact words, ‘She’s strong. Plus, they’ll want her in solitary, worried that she’ll do much more damage to others than they’ll do to her.’”

Even I had to crack a smile at that. “He’s not wrong.”

“He definitely was not. I think he was still recovering from that nasty black eye you gave him.”

I offered a not-so-regretful grimace.

“One more thing,” I looked up at him as he spoke, his tone returning to that of seriousness. “It doesn’t have to be right now, or within the next couple of months even, but he deserves to know the truth.”

I don’t even know why I tried, but it was my natural reaction to deflect. “What are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t take a profiler to know that memorizing and reciting the only piece of contact you’ve had with him verbatim shows how much you care about him and what he thinks of you. And based on the sole fact that you don’t really seem to care at all what anyone thinks of you, that speaks volumes.”

I stood there blinking at him for a moment or two before having my wits come back to me. I started to shake my head, but he continued to speak.

“Do you really want to prove that you’re not like that anymore, that you’ve changed?”

He always seemed to know the right questions. I nodded my head, “Yes.”

The great Aaron Hotchner looked me straight in the eyes, “Then go catch this killer.”

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karanna1 · 4 years

Text

Supergirl and Andrea are trapped by Leviathan and thrown into a cell together. They’re doing something to suppress Acrata’s powers and Supergirl blew out hers while fighting Leviathan. So they’re not going anywhere anytime soon. What could they possibly find to talk about as a way to pass the time?

The cell was clean, for that she could be grateful, but it was still a depressing grey color and dimly lit. There was nothing in it, not even a chair or a cot. From what Kara could tell, the walls were made of various alien metal alloys. The door must be 10 inches thick, not that it mattered. She’d solar flared after facing Rhama Khan and his minion knocked her unconscious. When she woke, she was still powerless and lying in this cell with none other than her boss and Lena’s friend, Andrea Rojas. The first hour passed in silence, probably mostly due to fear on Andrea’s part. But as the wait continued, boredom set in, and for Andrea, boredom seemed to be easier to focus on than fear.

“Since we’re stuck in here, we might as well find a way to pass the time before our untimely deaths,” she said, brushing some unseen dirt from her skirt.

They were sitting directly opposite each other on the floor, their backs to the uncomfortably cool metal wall.

“We’re not going to die,” Kara reassured in her most confident and level Supergirl voice. “I have friends that will help us. I promise, I will get you out of here safely.”

“Do you make a lot of promises you can’t keep?”

“What?”

“Just trying to figure something out...” she trailed off, tilting her head at her with just a little too much scrutiny. Kara shifted uncomfortably and turned away, looking down. “Okay, I have to ask...what on Earth did you do to Lena Luthor?”

Kara snapped back up. “Excuse me?” Her voice had gone up a few octaves.

She shrugged, tilting her head back against the wall. “I have never seen her show such concentrated rage before and we’ve known each other since we were teenagers.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lena logged a lot of hours using Obsidian lenses,” she explained. “As in hundreds. Naturally, I was curious what she’d be using them for at such length. Knowing her, I guessed something to do with her experiments, running trials using VR would certainly speed up the process and take out years of work from the beginning stages. Wow, was I wrong. Every single simulation she ran was for sole purpose of hurting you.”

Kara frowned, swallowing hard.

“I mean, Lena’s incredibly creative, I always knew that, but the number of ways in which she assaulted you with such spectacular violence just blew my mind. It’s the kind of thing I’ve only seen from exes on our platform. Ex-husbands get the most horrific ones and almost always deservedly so. I have to know, Supergirl...what could you have possibly done to this Luthor, infamous for her use of icy revenge, to turn her into such a fiery ball of rage?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kara replied dully and got to her feet, arms crossed tightly.

“I’m talking about Lena spending hours upon hours violently beating the crap out of you in a myriad of different ways.”

Kara started pacing. Her jaw clenched.

“There was one where you flew her to some beautiful cliffside to show her the sunset and she kicked you in the chest so hard that you bounced off the mountain the whole way down, leaving a Supergirl shaped crater at the bottom. Another where you saved a family from a house fire, but as soon as they walked away, Lena doused you in gasoline and used a wrecking ball to knock you back into the burning building. The flames were wildly cool. But that’s how good our technology is, of course. Looks and feels like the real thing.”

“Enough!” She stopped and turned on her with a glare, nostrils flaring, made more obvious by how hard she was breathing.

But Andrea was unfazed. “Oh come on! My favorite, and seemingly a favorite of Lena’s as well with how often she ran it, is when you stop a school bus from hitting an adorable group of children. Lena drops some absolutely scathing remarks from what I can tell by your kicked puppy expression, and then she punches you in the face so hard that the force of it sends you flying backwards into the school bus, blowing it up!” She laughed. “God, that was fantastic. I was so disappointed we didn’t manage to recover the audio for any of them. Naturally, Lena customized everything and, despite her efforts to try to keep the footage private, she didn’t know about a little backdoor that we specifically coded into the software for emergency reasons so...lucky me, it’s all on our servers.”

“She...she did that?” Kara asked weakly, deflating. “For hours?”

Andrea nodded with another laugh. “Oh, it’s crazy. I’d be happy to show you them if we do get out of here alive.”

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself. But it was interesting to see how someone could get under Lena’s skin like this. Even at her most vulnerable with me, she never turned into...that. Lena shuts down, walls herself off, no emotions, no hurt, that sort of thing. With you...dear God! How did you manage to devastate her like that and yet she can’t even bring herself to hurt you in a virtual reality simulation?”

Kara’s face contorted in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? You just described a bunch of horrible ways that she...fake-killed me.”

“Well, it would have killed any human, of course. But you’re Supergirl. You’d shrug off any of those things. Everyone knows there’s only one thing on Earth that can kill a Super. Lena built each and every one of those simulations herself. She could have easily given herself a gun with Kryptonite bullets, empty the chamber into you, and watch you writhe in agony before you eventually died a horrible death. Or she could have used a sword with a Kryptonite blade and carved you up into tiny bloody pieces. Or—“

“I get it!” Kara cried, holding her hand out. “I get the point! Just stop.” She looked sick to her stomach as she leaned against the wall, head hung low.

Andrea raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you do. Look, any first year psych major could see through it. Lena had every imaginable way available to make you suffer a long, torturous death a thousand times over in the simulations, but she never did. I don’t know why she bothered with VR when she could have achieved the same thing by putting a picture of your face on a punching bag. In the simulations, you’re always Supergirl. You’re always invulnerable. No matter how terrifically violent it was, no matter how much she seemed to want to hurt you, she couldn’t even manage it in a fantasy world. So tell me...who are you to her, Supergirl? You’re not exactly what I’d call her type, but she’s never been altogether predictable...”

“You’ve got it all wrong. That’s-that’s not—“

“Oh I’m right about this and you know it. You did something absolutely devastating to her, likely betrayed her somehow, and shattered her heart. Was it an affair? Ooooh, was it Kara Danvers? That would be deliciously terrible. Lena is clearly infatuated with that woman. Frankly, I don’t even know why she’d bother with you when she’s pining for Kara.”

“You need to stop. Lena is supposed to be your friend, show her some respect.”

“Am I hurting your feelings, Girl of Steel? You don’t sound very surprised by the mention of the best friend. If you didn’t have an affair with Kara then what did you do to send poor little Lena off into the deep end?”

She glanced at her before turning away. The silence stretched on so long that Andrea was about to give up on it altogether.

“I did betray her,” Kara admitted, barely above a whisper. “I regret it so much.”

Andrea hummed and nodded. “Been there.”

“She’s never going to forgive me, is she?”

“I don’t know what you did, but in my experience, likely not.”

Kara slid to the floor again. A picture of defeat.

“She was in love with you,” Andrea said, gazing at her curiously. “Did you at least know that much?”

“It wasn’t like—“

She scoffed, cutting Kara off. “Either you’re lying to me or you’re lying to us both.”

She blew out a breath and rubbed her forehead. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because I fell in love with her when we were 15. I know all the signs. We had quite a few stops and starts, but it never really fell into place. She loved me, but it wasn’t anything close to what I felt for her. I was always gutted by that, but even then, I still ended up being the one who broke her heart. Poor Lena. She just can’t win, can she? Everyone who loves her is doomed to betray her somehow. She probably thinks she’s cursed. The one person in the world who should never have to feel pain...and it’s all she gets.”

“You sound like you still love her.”

“I do. Always will. But take it from me, Supergirl, there’s no way back. Not with Lena.”

“I just...I can’t let myself believe that. There has to be a way.”

“Then you’ll die trying and she won’t thank you for it.”

Kara eyed her for a long moment.

“What did you do to betray her?”

Andrea gave her a rueful smirk.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Kara was silent.

“Thought so.” She got to her feet and stretched. “Think your friends are going to break us out anytime soon or do I have time for a nap? Don’t want to die or be rescued with bags under my eyes.”

#supergirl #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #kara danvers #andrea rojas #lena luthor #this doesnt count as rojascorp #or maybe it does?#i dont know #dont mind me

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anomitafics · 4 years

Text

When The Heart Beats || [1]

WHEN A HEART BEATS || Levi Ackerman x Reader

CHAPTER I

Entering the Survey Corps, Levi never knew what to expect, and as soon as their squad leader had been introduced, he had never felt so insulted in his life.

"You three will be under Squad Leader (Y/N) (L/N)'s command from now on."

Smiling at the trio a woman not too far from their ages waved her hand at them.

"We'll accept orders from her?" Isabelle whispered over at the two men beside her.

"It's better that anyone here I guess, she doesn't seem to be too bossy." the blonde murmured.

The two then placed their attention to Levi who had been silent since introducing himself.

"Well what do you think bro?"

What did he thought?

He hated the fact that they will be placed under a woman. Sure was he aware of being sexist but he didn't give a damn fuck, the shitty organization should've given them a male for a commander, he's worried that he won't be able to protect both his companions at all times so he expected that once their placed under someone's command then the squad leader can help him with his job.

Yet who was he kidding, it was always them against the world.

Clicking his tongue Levi dismissed the question as they towed behind their squad leader.

A quiet "Oh" escaped from their leader's lips that made them three focus their attention to her back.

Swiftly spinning around to face them she pointed to a room not far away from them.

"You three should proceed without me, I'll just get something real quick!"

Levi once again clicked his tongue, making sure the woman in front of them heard of how unimpressed he was.

"I'll be there shortly!" the woman chanted as she flee from their sight.

Isabel plopped her arms under her head in a carefree manner as Farlan chuckled at the strawberry haired girl.

The heavy door gave of a soft creak as the trio went in, Levi giving a scoff at the pathetic excuse of a room.

"This room sure needs Levi bro's skills!" Isabel said as she heard her bro's scoff, slightly attempting to lighten up the raven's mood.

"Yeah! Now we should look for the--" as Farlan attempted to help Isabel up, the room's door swung open revealing their squad leader holding a bunch of cleaning materials.

Farlan hurriedly helped her up as Isabel stared in shock.

"Well, I better help you three clean this place, it's been awhile since someone roomed here." she explained.

"Cool! Am I living here too?" Isabel goshed, heart warming instantly at their leader.

"No young lady, boys and girls live separately, but you'll still be able to train with your friends 24/7 since you're all under me, so it doesn't really matter where you sleep right?" the you woman explained giving her a cheery smile.

Isabel was about to retort when Farlan held her back.

"Isabel...! Y-you shouldn't talk to our leader so casually."

"Oh no it's definitely alright, I never wanted to be treated differently... after all we do seem to be at the same ages. If you were here sooner, one of you might've been the squad leader rather than me." laughing it off she tried so hard to ease the tension in the air that was slowly drowning her.

"Oi." Levi didn't like how the woman was treating them so closely, who did she think she was?

Looking at the floor Levi continued, aware that all attention had been directed to him.

"You speak too much... If you can't shut the fuck out'ta your mouth then you better just leave this place all up to us, we can manage on our own..." pausing he lifted up his face looking dead straight at her [c] eyes.

"Captain." Levi spat out the title as if it were the most disgusting thing his mouth had ever made.

Eyes widened, (Y/N) had never been talked to in such insulting manner... and she wouldn't just let him slide.

'Alright then... two can play the game Ackerman. Let me show you how childish I could get.'

Saluting she straightened her body putting on her most serious and dedicated look.

"Yes Commander! This wouldn't happen again!"

Isabel bursted in to laughter as Farlan couldn't help but to let a snort escape from him.

Levi's face couldn't be painted, he almost lost his cool, but both him and the woman in front him never broke their serious faces.

Turning around (Y/N) took hold of both the heads of the laughing stocks infront of her and bump it into each other lightly making Isabel and Farlan hit their reality.

"Oi! We better be cleaning before the Commander gets mad and make us clean the stables for a week." she said saluting at the process.

Both saluted in return and hurriedly get themselves some cleaning materials but just as Farlan was going to get the broom (Y/N)'s voice boomed:

"Church! Show me your salute!"

Once again Farlan saluted almost beaming with pride. The dark eyed girl gently grab hold his fists and placed it in the right direction.

"That's it." smiling at him, Farlan felt heat travelling through his face in embarrassment.

"Now Commander, please follow me." she stated, leaving the room as she awaits the man who looks like hell had broken loose all the time.

Yet the latter never moved an inch inside the room, frowning at nothing and no one in particular he just crossed his arms.

"Levi..."

Farlan scooted over to Levi in order to get his message through him without their leader hearing.

"...what are you waiting for? Why aren't you following her?"

Levi looked at the blonde as if he had asked the most stupid question there is.

"Yeah Levi-bro! You should probably go, I mean... we could use some allies within the base couldn't we?", this time, Isabel was the one to whisper and instantly Levi looked her straight ahead, he hated her idea.

"No." was his only answer as he walked passed them and out of the room.

There he saw the [c] haired woman leaning against the wall, eyeing the dirt under her boots. She had yet to notice the figure Levi watching her in both despise and curiousity.

"Captain."

'Ah...'

Looking up to the man who had made such respected title sound awfully disgusting, she started:

"I do not wish to be called the title if it were to be said in such rude manner Commander."

"And what makes you think I like being called Commander?" he asked, testing her patience.

(Y/N) took every ounce of effort to not retort with a childish; You started it!. After all she wanted to look as professional as possible to this man.

"You see Commander, I understand why you're acting like this towards me."

Levi's furrowed brows rose up as if signalling the woman to continue.

"You're afraid a woman like me wouldn't be able protect your friends when it comes to battle... You see Commander, allot of my squad mates had also reacted like that, but trust me, I'm not one to leave a comrade behind."

"You don't expect me to suddenly change my attitude towards not only you, but also this whole shitty organization just because of your little ted talk do you?" Levi snorted, fists slightly clenching into fists.

"No." with that the [c] haired girl stood up from her slouching position on the wall.

"But I do expect you to act professionally. I don't know what you're purpose here is, but as long as you're job here isn't done, then one of your goals is to act like a part of the Survey Corps. Man up! If in the underground you were the King then it's damn different here Commander." and with that she started walking away.

Levi just stood there in shock, processing what the woman had just said to him.

'Was he really acting... childish? He'd be damned.'

Turning to a corner, (Y/N)'s legs soon gave up forcing her figure to slide down on the ground.

She did it! She really did!

'Ha!'

Closing her eyes she heaved a long sigh of contentment.

"(Y/N)!!!"

Her peaceful frame was suddenly shoved to the ground as someone had just tackled her.

"Hange!... Hi!" she breathed out as she hugged the brunette back.

"Where had you been?!!" her excited shouts were so loud that some of the recruits had rushed outside their dorms curious of the commotion.

Laughing, (Y/N) helped herself up offering her hand to the brown eyed female who was still sprawled to the ground.

"Hange... What have I told you about the volume of your voice?" the [c] haired female asked.

Grabbing her hand the brunette hoisted herself up excitedly acting as if she wasn't asked a question.

"You act like a mom all the time you know! It's annoying sometimes!" she exclaimed, mindful of her voice this time.

"But you never fail to listen to me like a child, don't you?" smirking (Y/N) placed a hand to her hips.

"So why were you looking for me?"

"Erwin asked for you!" she answered.

"He did? I wonder why." walking side by side this time Hange looked at her as if she asked a stupid question.

"YOU'RE BETROTHED TO EACH OTHER! THAT'S WHY!"

"Hange!!! Stop saying it so loud! ...but you do have a point, maybe he had finally found a way to cancel it." looking at the sky (Y/N) wished he really did.

"Why don't you want to be married to Erwin? You're great friends right?" Hange asked curiously, watching as the [c] haired female beside her looked up the sky.

"That's exactly it... We're good friends who just don't want to marry. I mean, can you imagine it?" (Y/N) laughed as she pictured how awkward the house would be if it were really to come to that point.

"Just imagine me with Erwin's eyebrows, that wouldn't turn out to be such an attractive child wouldn't it?" she stated laughing.

Blinking once, twice, Hange's mouth suddenly formed the biggest shape (Y/N) had ever seen, and soon Hange's ear drum-wrecking laugh sounded through the entire base, making both of them laugh harder, failing to notice the blonde staring at their figures shaking in laughter.

"Are you...? Are you talking about me?" his voice boomed wrecking the two females from their laughing fit, (Y/N) not failing to notice the playfulness in his low growl.

"Oh yes we were Eyebrows! We were talking about how ugly our children would be if they were to inherit that!" poking his eyebrows (Y/N) bursted once again in laughter, Hange was almost dying.

"I most certainly heard otherwise, you see eyebrows are assets." Erwin couldn't help but to let small laugh escape, just watching (Y/N) and Hange loose their breathes from laughing at something that isn't really that funny made the composed man crack up.

Moments like these made Erwin's deep and stressed thoughts temporarily gone, and he liked it.

As their laughter had finally died down, Erwin placed a hand on his temple massaging it lightly.

"Now can Hange leave us for a while? We really need to talk." Erwin asked still massaging his temple, the brunette taking this as her cue to leave.

Once left alone Erwin looked straight into her dark eyes.

"It's about those three."

END OF CHAPTER 1

ANOMITAFICS

When The Heart Beats Masterlist <----------CHAPTERS HERE!

#levi ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #erwin smith #levi x reader #attack on titan #fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction

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iloveyou3thousand · 4 years

Text

I like the way you think

Summary: Peter and Tony are in bed when Pepper comes in to show off their new toy.

Read it on AO3 here.

Warnings: PWP, sex toys, pegging, bottom Tony Stark, double (anal) penetration, belly bulging

Word count: 2555

—————————————————————————————

“I was going to say I have a present for you, but I can see you’re busy. Should I come back another time?”

Tony and Peter’s faces both turned toward where Pepper stood with a package in hand in the doorway at the same time. Peter looked embarrassed but not like he was about to move off of Tony’s back, and while Tony looked sufficiently sheepish, he didn’t make a move to push the other off either.

“No, no not at all. We’re never too busy for you, Pep,” Tony said so casually that Peter had to lift his head so that he could give him a puzzled look. What did he mean not at all? As if Peter wasn’t balls deep and Pepper had just walked in on it happening!

“Perfect,” Pepper said, and closed the bedroom door behind her on her way in.

Peter couldn’t help but hold onto Tony a little bit tighter, subsequently pushing in deeper, which had Tony making a soft, satisfied noise. If Pepper noticed, she didn’t comment on it.

Pepper put the brown package in her hands down and took the top off, and both men in the bed craned their necks to try and see what was inside.

The box itself was unmarked and didn’t give anything away, which in turn was already a hint for Tony.

Tony knew these packages. He knew what came out of them, and he knew what would follow, and just that thought alone had his cock twitch where it was trapped against the mattress.

Peter, however, had never seen them before, or heard about them, and thus was not prepared for Pepper taking out what looked to be a large dildo on first glance. Peter nearly sputtered.

“I thought you weren’t coming down from College this weekend, so I arranged for something to keep us busy,” Pepper said, other hand reaching into the box to reveal a harness, and Peter realized that it was a strap-on, which could mean one of two things. Either Pepper enjoyed something bigger every now and again… Or Tony did.

Or both, really. But if he thought about that then he might lose his cool and dump his load into Tony early, and he wasn’t planning on doing that. They had only just started.

That thought rang true more than ever when Tony suggested, oh so casually, that they demonstrate, since Peter looked as if he was about ready to burst.

“I think you’ll like it,” Tony teased him, “Look at you, you can’t even take your eyes off it. Do you want to see me take it, baby?”

Peter, knowing that it was of no use to start lying to himself and others now, nodded wordlessly instead of trying to deny himself this.

And by god was he glad that he accepted. Beside the bed, Pepper slowly undressed, looking absolutely stunning as ever. Peter’s eyes were drawn down as she picked up the harness and stepped into it, tightening it around her hips and thighs until the straps were pressed into her skin and would undoubtedly leave angry red lines once she removed them.

She disappeared into the bathroom briefly to clean the toy thoroughly before use, and when she came back she had attached it to the harness, and it swung dangerously low with the weight of it. No wonder Pepper had tightened the straps so firmly. It must have been heavy.

As if on cue, Peter crawled off Tony, and sat back on his heels to put his full, undivided attention on the woman approaching the bed. He preferred to top himself, but seeing her like that could have made him doubt everything.

Tony spread his legs wider on the bed, still face down, hole glistening and winking at them, still perfectly prepped from where Peter had previously been fucking him down into the mattress.

Pepper removed the box from the bed to give them all the space they needed, knelt down behind Tony, and started lubing up the head of the dildo.

It was large, mostly sizeable in length rather than girth, although even Peter would have felt small beside it if it had been real. It was a pale, fleshy color, and it glistened obscenely where Pepper’s slick hand moved over it.

Peter let out a shuddery breath, drawing Pepper’s attention.

“Do you like it?” She asked him softly, stroking the cock as if it were her own, as if she were trying to pleasure herself with the motion, and Peter swallowed.

“It’s really big,” he murmured in awe, and Pepper flashed him a grin and a wink.

“He’s never taken this big before.”

But Tony didn’t protest. He just arched his back a little farther, pushed out his ass a little more, and Peter watched as Pepper lined up the large head of the dildo and... Jesus. The way Tony’s body swallowed it up was just obscene. Peter reached a hand down and stroked himself slowly, just to be able to take off the edge a little, tension building.

Tony groaned as Pepper pushed in deeper, making him take inch after inch of the toy. She rocked her hips gently when Tony’s body seemed to seize, trying to pull away from the intrusion, but never actually calling for Pepper to stop.

What had to be a good eleven inches disappeared into Tony slowly but surely, with a lot of gentle coaxing and a lot of soft praise from Pepper, until the silicone balls of the toy were pressed up to Tony’s overstretched hole.

The scene from where Peter was sitting was incredible. Pepper looked beautiful, and Tony’s expressions as the toy inched deeper inside of him were forever etched into his retina, and his cock was straining so hard that if he touched himself now, he would certainly come within seconds, so he purposely kept his hand away from his crotch for now and allowed his cock to lay straining between his thighs.

“Such a good boy,” Pepper purred to Tony, lining up her chest to Tony’s back so she could kiss at his neck, at the same spots Peter had been putting his mouth on just minutes ago.

As Peter watched on, Tony shimmied a hand free from where he had them folded under his head, and he reached down. Peter assumed he was reaching for his cock but the hand came to rest low on his belly, and Tony sucked in a breath, and then moaned loudly, and Peter’s brows knitted in confusion.

“Can you feel it?” Pepper purred into Tony’s ear, and Tony nodded breathlessly. When he spoke, he sounded like he had the wind knocked out of him.

“All the way to my belly button.”

Peter, still out of the loop, watched on in confusion for a moment. Then Tony reached out, took his hand, and Peter moved closer when Tony guided it toward his abdomen. Tony sucked in a breath again, and at first Peter wasn’t sure what he was doing, what he was supposed to feel – if he was supposed to feel anything – but then Pepper pulled out a few inches and pressed back in, and Peter blurted out a moan when he felt the toy move through Tony’s skin.

“Is that—” he gasped.

Tony moaned in response.

“Oh my god…” Peter had never seen or felt anything like it before. He’d never thought that something like this could be so incredibly arousing either. But the thought of a toy deep enough inside Tony that he could feel it move through his belly… That took the cake.

Peter squeezed his thighs together, and Pepper chuckled against the back of Tony’s neck.

“I told you he was going to like it,” she hummed pleasantly, and Tony groaned in reply. “Keep your hand right there, sweetheart. Let me show you some more.”

Peter dutifully kept his hand on Tony’s skin just below his belly button, and watched as Pepper started to move in earnest now, pulling out and pushing back in with long strokes and languid rolls of her hips. Like she’d done it a thousand times before, which Peter started to realize now, she probably had.

And every time she bucked her hips, Peter could feel the toy nudge up against his fingers.

After a little while, when Tony’s once slightly pained moans turned into something softer, more relaxed, Pepper straightened up again and pet her hand through Tony’s hair, long nails scratching gently.

“Think you’re ready for a little more, Tony?” She asked. Peter narrowed his eyes. More? What on earth could she mean, more? The box was empty, and he honestly didn’t think that Tony would be able to take another couple of inches on top of what must have already thoroughly stirred his guts.

But Tony merely pressed himself back against the dildo again, and looked at Peter with a smile.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I think I’m thinking what you’re thinking. Peter?”

But Peter couldn’t for the life of him imagine what Tony and Pepper were brewing up in their shared hivemind. Only when Pepper wrapped her hand around the base of the toy and pressed her thumb gently past Tony’s already abused rim. If Peter hadn’t been sitting down his knees would have buckled seeing Tony stretched out so wide.

And Tony only moaned.

“Peter, come here,” Pepper said, and what could Peter do except obey?

She pulled out and held the toy in one hand. Tony let out a protesting groan and Peter’s mouth ran dry when Tony’s hole was gaping, clenching as it tried to close back up but to no avail. It looked so inviting. Slick down to Tony’s balls, open and waiting for him, as if he was just begging for Peter to fill him up.

“Go on,” Pepper encouraged as if she’d been reading his mind. Peter didn’t protest. He lined up and sank in with ease, marveling at how sloppy Tony was around him this time around, how loose and pliant. But not for long.

Pepper pressed up behind him, which already had Peter shiver.

She nudged Peter’s legs apart a little wider and his breath hitched when he could feel the toy in between his legs.

And then lining up along his own cock moving in and out of Tony, and—

Fuck. He knew exactly what Pepper and Tony had been thinking now.

Tony writhed helplessly beneath them as Pepper pushed the flared head of the dildo into him, his thighs trembling when his rim was forced to yield to both Peter’s cock and Pepper’s. It was a slow process, but gradually Tony’s body opened up, until it had both cocks swallowed down like it was nothing.

Peter’s hands dropped to the small of Tony’s back, and Pepper’s grabbed at the older man’s hips, and when Pepper moved, so did Peter, starting up a slow rhythm.

Peter knew he wasn’t going to last long like this. Tony had never been tighter around him, never been warmer, slicker, better, and it left him gasping mindlessly with every thrust.

Tony was a gorgeous mess beneath them. Peter couldn’t take his eyes off him. Every one of the man’s sounds went straight to Peter’s cock, and every nip of Pepper’s teeth against his neck had him shivering, until he knew he was about to reach his peak.

“I’m—” Peter managed, and Pepper nuzzled the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I know. Me too. Go on then. Give it to him. Give Tony your load.”

Peter instantly froze up as if on demand and could no longer hold back. He came to a shuddery orgasm, twitching in between Pepper and Tony, who both eased him through it with encouraging words and slow movements. He’d never been treated quite so wonderfully through the aftermath.

Pepper eased out of Tony to let Peter slink away and drop himself onto his side on the bed so that he could fling an arm around Tony’s shoulders and kiss him.

“Seems to me we made someone very happy,” Tony sounded a bit rough but wonderful, and his kisses seemed particularly sweet at that moment.

Pepper’s hand ran through his hair again and he felt like he was floating.

“Now,” Pepper hummed. Peter looked up to see Pepper sitting naked on the bed, having discarded the strap-on which was now nowhere in sight, and she was coaxing Tony onto his back, “Let’s finish this, shall we?”

She climbed into Tony’s lap and sank down on his cock with ease. There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that she was thoroughly wet and sloppy, just taking Tony down like she’d been the one speared on the toy instead of him. She wasted no time setting up a pace, rolling her hips and grinding back onto Tony’s cock.

Tony’s hands flew to Pepper’s hips and he moaned harder than Peter ever heard him moan before. Sensitive, probably. No wonder. He’d just spent half an hour with a toy larger than his own forearm moving in and out of him with not a single touch to his dick.

Pepper pinched at one of her nipples with one hand and rubbed at her clit with the other as she rode Tony hard and fast, purposeful, and while Tony was never going to last long, neither did Pepper.

Tony seized up and groaned loudly, and Pepper gasped, muscles visibly going taut, and Peter watched the display from where he lay next to Tony and committed it all to memory.

He knew that if his refractory period had been seconds quicker, he would have been hard again almost instantly.

Pepper moaned lowly when she eventually lifted her hips, Tony’s softening cock slipping out and falling limp to the man’s stomach, cum dripping from between Pepper’s folds.

Peter had to squeeze his legs together to avoid becoming hard again. With the scene playing on loop in his mind’s eye and Pepper’s cunt so sloppy and wet with Tony’s cum…

He had to at least try and think of something else. Not that that was really possible.

Pepper dropped herself to Tony’s other side and kissed him languidly on the lips before snuggling up.

The three of them were quiet as they all caught their breath, the sweat on their foreheads cooling until Peter shivered, and Tony reached an arm out to pull him closer into his side too.

Framed by the two people he loved most following a thorough fucking, this was Tony’s favorite place to be. He rarely felt luckier.

“So what do you say, Petey?” he asked eventually when the three of them lay sated and sleepy, limbs loose and eyes mostly shut, “Was that satisfying enough?”

Peter mulled it over for a second, cheeks tinging pink when an idea formed. How could it not, with everything he had just seen and experienced? It was hardly his fault.

“Maybe…” he started, although he hesitated for a moment before he continued, “Maybe we could buy another, and see how much you can really take?”

Tony and Pepper were quiet for a moment. Then Pepper pushed herself up on an elbow, and looked down at the two men in their bed with a growing smile.

“I like the way you think, Peter. Oh, I definitely do.”

#pepterony #starker #pepperony #nff #starkerpotts #my fanfic #my writing #pwp #idk what else to tag this honestly lol #tony stark #pepper potts #peter parker #marvel

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probably-not-star-lord · 4 years

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More Than a Mission: Part 1 (Steve Rogers x Reader)

A/N: I’m so excited about this series!! Prepare yourself for so much fluff and unexpected smut. Also, I really got super in-depth about the mission for this fic without knowing if any of it sounds even remotely professional. I apologize if it makes zero sense lmao.

Request: Hello, it’s me Stark again😅 I was wondering if you could do an Imagine with Steve Rogers and it’s fluff with the cliche prompt of you both have to share a bed together on a mission cause Tony “accidentally” ordered the “wrong” room for you guys on the trip everyone was going on 💛

Request: Can you write a fanfic about Steve Rogers x reader because I need it, fluff, smut and whatever you want! xx

Summary: Being an Avenger means following through with a mission no matter what the circumstances are. In this case, thanks to Tony Stark, the most ridiculous circumstance of this mission is pretending to be in love with the one and only Captain America. However, is being in love with Steve really just pretend?

Warnings: swearing, fluff, mentions of drinking

Steve Rogers is intoxicating.

Ever since the day you became an Avenger you’ve been addicted to him. You drink in every sip of his kindly attractiveness and his Captain America physique. His muscles nearly rip his shirts to shreds, his piercing blue eyes can make you shudder, and his perfect smile lights up every single room he enters. He’s an adonis. Then, of course, he has this gentlemanly charm that illuminates off of him whenever he speaks and you can never take in enough of his words. A simple interaction will lead to the man living in your thoughts and dreams for hours on end. You push your desires down, so far down that you force yourself to view Steve as nothing more than a colleague, a co-worker, your boss. Yet, no matter how hard you try, he continues to stay on your mind. He’s intruding like that.

However, your relationship with Steve has always been serious, professional. There are rare occasions where the two of you train together, sparring aggressively until he inevitably wins. He pins you down on the mat at the conclusion of each session, staring into your eyes with a dominant gaze and beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face. On the unlikely chance that you conquer the Captain during training, you’re the one pinning him to the floor. Your thighs straddle his large frame as you breathe heavily, letting yourself exhale as you accept your victory. Steve’s clear satisfaction with your win causes him to form this sweet smirk of his that makes your head dizzy. It makes working out impossible. This means you often spar with Natasha, who basically taught you everything you know anyway. She is the only person you’ve spoken to about your secret fascination with Steve, so she allows the intrusion of you begging her to spar when Captain America is filling up the gym with his utter perfection.

You try so hard to repress whatever feelings you have for Steve. When he gives orders during missions you almost always do as you’re told, attempting a thought that is anything other than Captain America in his suit commanding you in the bedroom as well as on the battlefield. If you decide to ignore his orders, the two of you will have it out with each other. Steve always remains calm with his words but can lose his temper and raise his tone of force from simply authoritative to echoing with frustration. You never fail to snap back at him, your feelings subsiding and your stubbornness taking control. There is pointing and groaning and getting into each other’s faces with a distinct tension that Natasha likes to label as sexual. You would prefer not to think of it as such.

Steve is your boss, after all, and outside of the sparring or the fighting he is nothing but sweet in a very professional manner. There has never been a hint of romance as far as you can tell, but there tends to be a sort of nervousness that finds Steve when the two of you are together. It boosts your confidence. He greets you every morning in the kitchen of Avenger’s Tower as the two of you drink coffee and eat breakfast with casual small talk. At all of Tony’s parties Steve will compliment you and offer you a drink, spending the night engaging in conversation that could only ever be between two colleagues. It’s always been that way, no matter how badly your heart wants more.

The conference room feels stuffy as your thoughts consume you. It remains a struggle to remove Steve from your brain as he currently sits beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows creased as he listens to Tony. Your dear friend speaks to all of the Avengers in the room about an upcoming mission as you clearly focus elsewhere. Yet, a compelling task with the mention of you and the man in your fantasies quickly draws your attention.

“We have to do what?”

You and Steve speak at the same time, staring dumbfounded at Tony. The idea is crass and in all honesty, it makes you uncomfortable. These concepts are reserved for your daydreams, not a very real mission.

“Come on,” Tony retorts. “All I’m asking is that the two of you pretend to be a couple. Dance. Flirt a little bit. Maybe even hold hands. It’s not that complicated.”

Steve exhales loudly and turns to you. “Y/N, are you comfortable with this?”

“I am if you are, Captain,” you respond, casually shrugging with the effort to emit no sense of shock. Steve looks to the floor and chuckles nervously. Clearly, calling Steve by his authoritative name does things to him. Things that shouldn’t be mentioned in the workplace.

“Well, then, it’s settled.” Tony claps his hands together and makes his way over to the front of the board room, furthering the meeting. “Capsicle will finally thaw out of the ice and learn how to flirt with a girl. Maybe, if we’re lucky, he’ll do more than just flirt with Y/N.”

“Tony,” Steve addresses him in his Captain America voice, a stern look on his face as his hands form fists on top of the conference table. “That isn’t exactly appropriate.”

“Who said it had to be?”

Steve furrows his eyebrows at Tony, knuckles turning white from how hard he is clenching his fists. But, his face is a deep shade of crimson and the whole room can see it. As Tony takes a step back in defense, rolling his eyes and continuing with the plan, you smile to yourself in hopes to relieve Steve’s obvious tension. He laughs quietly, calming his own nerves. It catches your attention and the two of you make eye contact, only for a mere second. The awkwardness of the entire situation forces the both of you to look away.

The meeting with everyone lasts for several hours as Tony explains the threat of the mission. This time, he has all of your attention. There is a group trying to infiltrate large, Manhattan corporations through the computer systems, attempting to steal billions of dollars and any information that could be valuable to shut those businesses down. The leader, Henry Red, used to work for Tony. He was fired for leaking crucial documents. It wasn’t discovered until later that it was on purpose. Red has always had the same plan. He wants to take down Tony and any corporations similar to Stark Industries just so his own business can thrive. Obviously, this includes Stark Industries and quite possibly SHIELD or Avengers Assemble.

Red could have easily been taken down by Tony, Bruce, and maybe even SHIELD agents who are simply just good with technology. But, he isn’t working alone. Tony goes on to disclose to everyone during the meeting that Red is much more powerful than he had previously believed. He has several police officers, detectives, and even agents within Avengers Tower all working for him. These are all people being paid off to remain loyal to him, being very discreet about their private affairs. This means you can’t trust anyone but the people confined within the conference room at this exact moment. Tony warns that his threat is not only public exposure and robbery, but Henry Red is a man who is also willing to kill, as he has done numerous times in the past. Luckily, going undercover, none of you will let that happen.

“So, where are we going, Tony? His evil lair?”

He points at you. “Now is not the time for sarcasm.”

“That’s interesting coming from you,” you acknowledge, earning a laugh from the room. “But, seriously, where the hell are we going?”

“I’m sending Romanaff, Wilson, and Barnes along with you and Cap to an event being thrown by Red himself. It won’t be as extravagant as the parties I throw, of course, but it will be busy, fancy, and crowded. You’ll be overseas and Red has never been up close and personal with any of you, so I’m hoping you’ll be unrecognizable. I want to make it believable that all of you are on Red’s side, not trying to take him down. I’ll also make sure your clothing is taken care of so you can dress up and fit in with the environment.”

“Does that mean I get to wear an expensive dress and high heels?” Tony nods at your question. Your mind fills with images of you dressed up in an elegant gown and heels standing beside Steve in an expensive suit, posing to be his lover. “Will you be paying for all of this?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Who else would be paying for it?”

“When’s this event taking place?” Nat chimes in.

Tony reviews some notes that lay on the conference table. “It looks like Red is throwing the shindig on Saturday night. However, I’m sending all of you ASAP. That way you can get some rest, settle in, and hopefully survey the area.”

“One more question,” you assert. “Will there be booze at this party?”

“Of course,” he responds. “I encourage you and Steve to drink socially, in order to appear like you belong and not draw any attention. But no getting drunk, I need you to be on high alert. I’m looking at you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You brush him off. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll make sure to keep an eye on her,” Steve assures, sending you a warm smile that makes your heart melt. Of course the golden boy himself makes a gesture of protection. You’re no damsel in distress, even Steve knows that, but having an attractive super soldier by your side can’t be all that bad.

Tony continues devising the plan. He goes on to tell you that Henry Red is currently based in Germany. He likes to hide out, get away from New York. This way he is unsuspected when his goons commit mass murders, killing those who are a threat to his heist. Wherever Henry Red is located, that’s where you and most of the team are being sent. Natasha is the lookout, lurking in places within the event to keep a close eye on any possible threats. Tony debated calling Hawkeye to help Natasha and keep her in check, but he chose to let Clint stay home with his family. Thor would be useful in this situation in case things get out of hand, but he’s currently off world. Bucky and Sam are going to watch the action of the party, posing as bodyguards and checking who goes in and who goes out. This is to keep track of those who are working for Red. Every person under his radar will be sure to make an appearance at this event. No one wants to be around when the hacking and the destroying of the companies is set to take place. That is why Tony decides Bruce and himself will keep a hold on Avengers Tower, locking in the computer system while monitoring the technology of other businesses. But, it all starts at the source. That’s where you and Steve come in.

Tony informs the two of you that you will be the only Avengers not in constant communication with the rest. It is dire for the others to always be reporting updates back to Tony and Bruce, surveying the scene and giving a run down to make sure no one is leaving the event and interrupting the process of protecting the computer system and technology. When Tony and Bruce complete the necessary arrangements to preserve the information at SHIELD, Avengers Assemble, and Stark Industries, they will have to let everyone else know right away. That’s when the cover will be blown so Nat, Bucky, and Sam can take down anyone suspected to be working with Red. Tony says that if you and Steve are always talking into the comms, suspicion will arise and the entire operation could be blown. The goal is to make sure Red is in your sight at all times, and if possible, you have to distract him from checking up on his plan. That should give Tony and Bruce enough time to protect the other systems while also hacking into his. After that is complete, you’ll have to take Red down and turn him over to the custody of the other agents that Tony will send to the event later on.

“We get in. We get Red. We get out,” Steve announces. “Got it.”

Tony sighs. “You are only allowed to get Red and get out of there on my signal. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Cap and I can handle it,” you inform him, putting him at ease.

“Make sure you’re always watching him,” Tony says seriously. Then a sly grin forms on his lips. “But have a little fun, too. Act like a real couple. Red and everyone else at the party needs to buy it.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a hard act to sell,” Sam blurts, his eyes focusing between you and Steve.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you question.

“Nothing.” Sam winks at Steve then nudges Bucky. He chuckles. Steve isn’t amused and neither are you.

“I agree,” Tony admits, ignoring your and Steve’s reactions. “But just in case the two of you pussy out of this, I need your word that you can really sell it. We can’t have all hell break loose just because the old man doesn’t know how to act around Y/N.”

“We’ll do our best, Tony,” Steve affirms, entirely dodging Tony’s insult.

You place a hand delicately on Steve’s arm, feeling him tense up a little under your kind touch. “Please, we’ve totally got this. Right, Captain?”

“Right.”

Part Two: Here

A/N: It’s been so long since I wrote this original fic that I rewrote it with some minor changes. The premise and plot is remaining the same so if you originally read this fic when I first wrote it ages ago and are wondering why I posted a new one, please stick around because I am continuing it after I update the old chapters. I kept the tag lists the same but let me know if you’d like me to update anything with the tags! I hope you all enjoy!

permanent tag list: @lolabean1998 @thisismysecrethappyplace @crazystarlady @gloomybisexualemo @yougottalovefandoms @emilymarie0422

series tag list: @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @buginkt @innerthingstudentblr @a-study-in-letters @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @thecraziestcrayon @rhiannon-the-troublemaker

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