Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

The stroke of the delicate brush on his skin tingled, sending a shiver down his spine. Or maybe that was for another reason entirely.

Psy watched Constance through heavy-lidded eyes as she bent over him, displaying her generous cleavage, and painted runes on his throat. Her nose was crinkling, eyebrows furrowed in concentration like they always were when she was absorbed in her studies.

The part of him that had still been in love with her yesterday longed to lean forward and capture her pursed lips with his.

Then she reached out and gently pushed down his shirt, pulling the bra strap over his shoulder so she could have better access to Caroline’s mark. Suddenly, she stopped, and gave him a long look. Psy realized he was breathing a little heavily so he made himself stop, doing his best to look utterly innocent.

But of course the image of Constance undressing Caroline was now firmly lodged in his head.

One would think he’d stop thinking with his dick when he didn’t have one, but his clit was picking up the slack. At least nobody would be able to tell he was soaking his cotton panties. The skill of stealth arousal was now his to command.

Constance went back to work, an intricate arcane circle drawn in black ink now covering half his throat.

And that was just the diagnostic spell.

She blew on the ink to dry it, her breath on his skin, and his knuckles turned white on the edges of her office chair. They were using a faculty room she had led him to.

The runes lit up, and he squirmed at the heat. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Constance cocked her head at him, looking thoughtful.

“There’s a powerful tracking spell on this.”

There was? If Caroline knew about that, then that would explain why she didn’t dare run away despite her powers being perfectly suited for disappearing without a trace.

“Can you remove it?”

“Of course,” Constance said dismissively. “How did you know I am related to Cinder Snow?”

“Because I saw the bond between you two.”

Wait.

He had not meant to say that.

Constance’s eyes were narrowed.

“And when was that?”

“Three years ago.” The words left his lips against his will. His hand snapped up and he clawed at the runes, trying to get them off.

“Don’t bother. They won’t fade until you’ve answered all my questions truthfully.”

Betrayal.

Again.

“…I trusted you.”

She sighed and leaned against the table, crossing her arms. “If you’re not prepared to tell the truth, you can leave. Don’t look so hurt, assassin, I’m just making sure you are sincere in what you say. I would just hate to suddenly find a knife at my throat.” And the smooth threat in her voice implied that she would make him hate it, too.

Psy ground his teeth and said nothing.

After a tense moment where she gave him opportunity to walk out, she resumed her questions.

“Do you mean me harm?”

“No.”

“Will I come to harm anyway if I help you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you want to leave the Order?”

“I… yes.”

“Why the hesitation?”

“I was never in the Order.”

She frowned, her gaze lingering on his throat.

“Then why do you carry their signature?”

“…this body isn’t mine. She’s the assassin, not me. I’m a hero.”

He blinked as that last sentence slipped from his lips so easily, like it belonged with the other truths.

Constance’s gaze softened, as did her voice.

“So you’re trapped.”

It wasn’t a question. But he answered anyway.

“No, I’ll have my body back soon. I hope. …this is a gift. For her.”

Constance said nothing and then moved to sit beside him. Her fingertips brushed the glowing runes and they faded, as did the compulsion for truth. He exhaled in relief, thankful she had not asked the question he’d dreaded the most.

“This is powerful magic,” she murmured, her thumb on the tattoo. He leaned away from her touch, reminded that she truly was Cinder Snow’s sister, even if her ruthlessness lacked the cruelty. “I will need a few artifacts for this.”

She gave him a long, searching look. There was something in her eyes he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“You’ll keep anything you see in my home confidential, won’t you, hero?”

He gave a sharp nod and looked away.

Her hand slashed through the air, drawing a rune with the glowing tip of her finger, and a portal opened behind her.


***


Constance’s home was littered with all manner of magical artifacts. He was lying on her bed, clutching her sheets and staring hard at a multihued crystal as she burned away his skin. He gritted his teeth.

Having known the agony of Purpose, biting back a scream was easy.


***


Psy groaned in misery.

Having malignant black magic torn out of one’s skin felt a lot like… exactly what it sounded like. Deeply unpleasant. He wondered if it had burned this badly when it had first taken root.

Constance had stepped out to, in her words, “retroactively reroute the tracking spell to a remote arcane gateway” so that anyone attempting to find its last known location would be eaten by an interdimensional grue or some such. Pulling a few temporal strings, the location spell would show that Radiance had never even been in Paragon over the last few days, let alone in Constance’s home.

He crawled out of the bed, picking up the glass of water she had left him and then went in search of a mirror.

Psy found one in what passed for Constance’s living room, which, despite being quite spacious, felt tiny and cramped because half of it was gone. The broken walls revealed an endless expanse that had very little respect for gravity. He paused to watch a rock float by, and then made sure to tiptoe along the edge where physics still made sense.

There was a red gash on his throat, but he had little doubt that Diane would heal it for him. And now Caroline was one step closer to freedom. He smiled at his reflection. Then his gaze slid away from the mirror, drawn to a few framed pictures hanging on the wall.

He hissed in a breath when he saw that the most prominent one was of him.

His arms were wrapped around Constance’s waist and she was leaning back into him with a grin. Psy remembered the day this was taken; it had been early in their relationship and Constance had demanded that they do “whatever it is couples do”. So he’d taken her on the most stereotypical date he could think of, flowers and cheesy photographs included.

Stephen reached out and traced the frame with a faint smile.

“You never forget your first love, you know.”

He dropped his hand and turned around, trying to force his face into a bland and neutral expression. Constance was slowly walking toward him, and he had turned just in time to see the portal close behind her.

“Oh?” He tried to sound disinterested and failed utterly.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Did you…” He cleared his throat. “Did you care for him a lot?”

“I loved him.” Such a simple statement to hurt this much. He did not miss the use of the past tense.

She was looking at him expectantly.

“…I’m sure he loved you, too.”

“No. He hates me.” Her voice was dull and without inflection, as if she was stating an obvious fact that barely merited mentioning. He hates me. Also, the sky is blue.

“That’s not…” He cut his objection off and looked away.

She tilted her head, and her eyes were shining. “Doesn’t he? I gave him good reason to.”

Stephen said nothing, and she sighed, looking away. She was blinking rapidly.

“You never forget your first love,” she repeated, even more softly. “And you would recognize them anywhere, too.”

He swallowed the painful lump in his throat.

“Even when they’re avoiding you and only come to you for favors.”

“Constance,” he rasped.

She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

“Stephen.”

He closed the distance between them in a blink, light swirling, and his hands were on her hips before he quite knew what happened. He had to slightly tilt his head up, which was a new experience. She was taller than Caroline, although still smaller than his real self.

“You’re back,” she whispered and buried her face in his neck, nuzzling his pale skin.

He nipped at her earlobe, not quite able to help himself. For one moment, it was like three years of rage and humiliation had never happened.

But they had.

“I tried to save you.” Her voice broke. “So many times.”

“Did you?” He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, and then trailed his mouth up her neck to her chin, coming precariously close to her lips. She was pressing herself so close to him, and smelled so nice, and this would have been the point he would already have been well on his way to being hard for her, but he wasn’t. And not just because he didn’t have his cock.

Wrong time.

Wrong girl.

Some things were simply lost forever, and could never go back to what they had once been.

She felt it, too, because she turned her lips from his.

“Are you happy?”

Such desperation in that question.

“Not yet. But I’m working on it. Are you?”

A flash of guilt in her eyes that told him, yes, she was.

Three years was a long time. It was only to be expected that eventually people moved on. And for all that had happened between them, he did not want her to be miserable forever.

He smiled kindly.

She had not forgotten him.

He had been mourned.

And somehow he found that his anger was slipping through his fingers.

“Then I’m happy for you.”

---

Author's Note: Fanarts!