#[ oh no wait hes too busy being trapped in amber to ]

[pennzance]

Ghostbusters: Port Huron (Epilogue)

Epilogue: Closing Shop

January 26th, 1999

Report by Amber

Wow, so… it’s been a while, huh? I haven’t written one of these since… oh, man.

Let’s see… after Ithaqua was sucked back through the gate and it closed, Governor Engler basically put Port Huron under Martial Law for about a week. It was poorly planned and a real bad time for everyone, especially us, but he’d just won re-election and I don’t think he cared that his more assholish tendencies were showing. He put every Ghostbuster he could find in prison, including Dr. Stantz! No explanation given, even. Closed what was left of our office and confiscated everything.

That lasted about three days before the home office sent some law firm to help us out. I didn’t catch their name, but they must have been good because Engler basically let us go and gave us medals the moment they showed up. Thanksgiving came and went, then Christmas and New Year’s. Now… well, it’s time to say goodbye.

I mean, not really goodbye. Bryan is going to New York to work with the home office on a new research project they have. Something about making the materials that the average Ghostbuster relies on available online? It’s something to do with the internet, that’s all I know. Jeremy is working for the Flint Branch now, under the crayon ea- the General. He seems really happy, actually they both do. Jeremy just gets to work tech as much as he wants now since the Flint Branch is staffed up. Eric ‘retired’. I don’t know what he’s going to do next, but he said he’s looking for something way quieter to do with his life. I think he may be a used car salesman.

Stanley Richardson spent some time in the hospital under observation, but he’s doing much better now. He’s back to work at the Edison Inn, and he barely remembers his time being possessed. The Detroit Branch has taken over most of our old call sheet and they seem to be doing good, too. They’ve recruited something like ten new Ghostbusters in the last few months, so business must be booming, and Jason and Kelly both transferred over there.

Mr. Kaye is closing the Port Huron branch. I’m not sure if there’s just not enough work to warrant having one there anymore. I suspect he’s going to go find something new to do with himself. He was always a bit of a mystery to me, but I’m glad he put his faith it us.

As for me, I’m moving to New Orleans with Remy. He hasn’t proposed YET, but I think he might. He wants to open a restaurant, but I think I’ll stay in the Ghostbusting business. I mean, New Orleans has to be SUPER haunted, right? If some backwoods nowhere town like Port Huron can have an Old One pop up in it, New Orleans has got to be like ghost central. It should be a blast.

I guess I’ll write my next report when I get back on the job down there. Until then!

End of Report.

ADDITIONAL:

“Why’d we come out here?”

“I guess I felt like I should mark the place I buried him.”

“Who?”

“Oh, Ben. Ben Daily.”

“Um… why are you telling me this?”

“Because I owe you the explanation, Eric. And, like I said, I should mark the place he’s buried.”

“Wait, like… his body is buried here?”

“Actually, I could never get Julius to tell me what he did with the body. But the trap I put him in is buried here.”

“I… um… why here?”

Stephen Kaye looked around. It was a barren field in the middle of nowhere. Not even grass would grow here. Wind swept some snow from one spot of desolate nothingness to another. Beneath his feet, the buried trap still flashed its indicator of ‘full’ gently.

“Seemed fitting,” he shrugged. “You know during October they do a corn maze around here?”

“Really?”

“With real ghosts, I’m told.”

“Oh, that’s got to be a fun time.”

“If you like that sort of thing.”

“I mean, I don’t LOVE being scared, but I’ll admit that after working for you for a bit my tolerance is way higher than it used to be.”

“Oh, indeed. Comes with the territory, I fear.”

“Yeah. I ain’t afraid of no ghost," Eric grinned.

Stephen Kaye rolled his eyes and sighed. “Get back in the car.”

[adiratm]

@alchemicalvariable  (  s.c.  )

      VARIAN, SON OF QUIRIN -- it’s a bit of a surprise to see him here though as far as circumstances went it numbs the shock of it because literally anything can happen when you’re seemingly pulled into a futuristic island. she won’t exactly let on that she knows who he is -- not unless he asks -- there’s plenty of information she holds from everyone. but the woman lifts her hand in gesture with the palm (  && mark  ) facing out as it’s clearly caught his eye -- she knows exactly why but, again, she won’t let on to that.

       ❝ you know, it’s rude to stare. didn’t your father ever teach you that ? ❞

[archived-kin]

kaeya isn't as smooth as anyone thinks (and that's okay)

note from kin: basically i saw the ‘kaeya is flirty and constantly flusters reader who has a giant crush on him’ trope and went ‘but what if KAEYA was the one with the giant crush’

quick background: reader is the ‘strong, silent, stoic’ type, has a cryo vision, and works alongside barbara in the church of favonius as a medic

i couldn’t think of a gender neutral way for you to be addressed that sounded natural so i just had you be called your name throughout the piece, but just know that barbara would be addressing you with older sibling honourifics and kaeya would use some sort of respectful title (but in like. a flirty way)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, kaeya, barbara, bennett

pairing(s): kaeya/reader,

warning(s): non-descriptive blood/mild injury

genre: fluff

“Master Kaeya!” Barbara exclaims as a familiar cavalry captain strides into the cathedral, dripping blood all over the freshly-polished tiles. “What happened this time?!”

“Just a run-in with some hilichurls,” He says with a nonchalant shrug, swiping away a bead of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?!” She hurriedly ushers him into the hospital wing, hands already beginning to sparkle with Hydro healing magic. “You— you’re bleeding extremely heavily! I need to get these wounds closed up as soon as possible—”

“Relax,” Kaeya placates, giving one of her pigtails a playful tug as she frantically flits about him like an agitated butterfly. “I don’t feel a thing. It’s all superficial, really…”

“Still…!” She hurries over to one of the cupboards and fumbles around for a roll of bandages. “Please sit down! This won’t take a moment...!”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” He says, holding up his hands. “Is [Name] in today?”

“Yes, they agreed to watch over Bennett while I took care of our patients…” She answers, still rummaging about feverishly, then suddenly pauses, and Kaeya grins slightly. She’s seen right through him. “Ah, wait… Master Kaeya, is this what I think it is?”

Kaeya laughs as she looks up at him with large, reproachful blue eyes, hands set firmly on her hips. Maybe he’d be intimidated if Barbara didn’t have the face of a baby lamb. It’s just kind of adorable. “Perhaps.”

She blows out a breath, cheeks puffing up, then shakes her head with a resigned sort of smile. “I don’t think [Name] will appreciate you disturbing them…”

“I won’t be disturbing anyone,” Kaeya says with a cheeky sort of grin, raising his hand as if showing off the gash in his forearm. “I’m a patient, after all. So, where will [Name] and Bennett be?”

“In the west wing,” Barbara answers, dropping her hands, though the soft blue glow remains.

“To the west wing we go, then,” He replies, and strides off with a flick of his cape. Barbara follows hurriedly, clutching the roll of bandages to her chest.

You’re sat by the window when Kaeya pokes his head in through the door, flicking through a book. The sunlight streaming in behind you seems to illuminate the pale colour of your robes to an ethereal glow, and Kaeya can’t help but silently compare the sight to the illustrations of divine celestial beings he’s seen in books. He takes a deep breath, briefly pressing his hand to his chest, then moves to greet you.

You seem to notice his presence before he can, however, raising your head from your book and practically pinning him to the spot with those clear eyes. “...Master Kaeya.”

He smiles, unable to help the slightly goofy quality of his expression. Archon knows that Lisa would never let him live it down if she saw him now. “[Name].”

“Hi, Mr Kaeya!” Bennett exclaims, attempting to raise a bandage-wrapped hand in greeting, but having to drop it as its sling goes taut. Kaeya offers a brief wave in response, but he’s far too absorbed in looking at you to say anything more.

You stare at him in silence, eyes moving down to the patches of red staining his sleeve, then back up at the scratch on his left cheek. Your expression is unmoving, cold, even, but he still has to try hard not to overheat under the sheer intensity of your gaze. Any flirty quips that he might have thought of trying on you just dry up in his mouth as soon as they come.

“What happened?” You ask finally.

“Master Kaeya says he encountered some hilichurls,” Barbara answers for him, slipping into the room and standing beside him. Bennett grins enthusiastically as soon as he sees her, and she responds with a sweet smile of her own.

You raise an eyebrow at him, and Kaeya can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. “Hilichurls?”

“They were rather... aggressive,” He answers, folding his arms and shifting his weight to his left leg. “And there were quite a lot of them as well.”

You blink slowly. “I would have thought that the Cavalry Captain would be sufficiently capable to ward them off.”

“Well, when you’re surrounded on all sides, there’s not much you can do,” Kaeya shrugs as nonchalantly as possible. He’s not going to admit that he’d stood there and allowed them to get in a few good hits just so he’d have a good reason to come by.

You sigh and close your book, setting it on the windowsill beside you. “I suppose you’ll need some healing.”

“Please,” He responds with a chuckle, inclining his head. You nod and get to your feet.

“Keep an eye on Bennett,” You instruct Barbara, who quickly moves over to take your place beside the unlucky adventurer’s bed. “I trust that he’ll be well under your care.”

“Of course!” She nods, beaming as you gently pat her on the shoulder. “You can count on me!”

You nod, the faintest of smiles crossing your face. Kaeya almost feels as if he shouldn’t be witnessing such a sight, but he can’t help but stare in subtly open-mouthed awe until the smile disappears, and you begin leading him back into the east wing.

“How deep are the wounds?” You ask monotonously as you guide him to one of the chairs. He sits down without needing to be told, obediently holding out his right arm and allowing you to unfasten the cuffs and pull back his sleeves.

“Not deep enough to be too painful,” He answers, shivering slightly as he feels your cold fingers press into the skin around the wound, carefully prodding about to see the extent of the damage. “I’m sure that you’ll make quick work of it.”

His compliment doesn’t seem to affect you in the slightest - quite frankly, it’s a little disheartening how little you seem to care. “Then why didn’t you have Barbara heal your wounds for you? Do you think she is incapable?”

“No, not at all!” Kaeya hurries to answer, unnerved by the sudden narrowing of your normally calm eyes. “I just… rather like seeing you. That’s all.”

Your hands pause for the briefest of moments before returning to their work. Is Kaeya imagining the surprise that flashes across your face? “...is that so?”

“Of course...” He tries to offer a suave sort of smile, only to grimace when he feels you pinch the raw edges of his wound together in preparation to seal it.

You’re silent for a while, though Kaeya can’t quite tell if it’s because you’re absorbed in your work or if you’re thinking about something else. He tries not to stare, he really does, but you draw his eye with such deep compulsion that he can't seem to tear his eyes away.

Finally, your stern expression softening ever so slightly, you say, “...then you are welcome to come by whenever you please, injuries or not.”

He jolts so hard that he almost rips the wound open again as soon as you’ve sealed it, feeling a hot flush rise to his face. His mouth falls open, and he aggressively snaps it shut again as you look back up at him. “I…”

“Bennett has been rather vocal about his suspicions as to the frequency of your visits,” You say steadily and factually, a ghost of a smile tugging on your mouth. “I wasn’t sure whether to believe him before, but…”

“O-oh?” Kaeya pinches subtly at his own leg in an effort to snap himself back to his senses. Where on earth has all his charm and poise gone? He feels like a young boy again, stumbling over his words as his heart hammers like a drum in his heart. “What exactly has Bennett been saying?”

“He seems to be under the impression that you’re getting yourself injured deliberately,” You answer, and Kaeya mentally slaps himself. Of course he’d been too obvious. But, really, how else is he supposed to find an excuse to see you so often when you’re otherwise always so busy with patients?

“...I suppose I’ve been caught.” He raises his free hand to rub almost bashfully at the back of his neck. “Is it such a crime to want a reason to visit?”

You look him directly in the eyes, and he has to fight the urge not to throw his arms around you right then and there. How can one’s gaze be so blank and yet so warm at the same time? “Perhaps it would be better if you weren’t injured.”

“It’s the only way to make sure you’ll see me,” He chuckles. “You hardly ever seem to leave the hospital wing.”

You pause and frown slightly, as if confused, and the sight is so endearing that Kaeya doesn’t think his heart has ever felt so full. “...I don’t think I spend all my time here…”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever even seen you out on the streets,” He continues, fighting back a grin as you bring a hand to your chin, still looking rather puzzled. He pauses, taking in a breath, then asks, “Why don’t you stop by Angel’s Share in the evening some day?”

Your frown smooths out slightly, and you cock your head to the side. “...will you be there?”

His cheeks heat up again. “Of course - if you’d like me to be.”

You nod thoughtfully, pulling back from his arm. The wound is little more than a thin scar now. “I would.”

You shake your hand out briefly, coating it once again in your special brand of healing Cryo energy, and raise your frost-covered palm to the scratch in Kaeya’s cheek, only to see that he’s already staring intently at you. It’s almost unnerving how intense the glacial blue colour of his eyes is - so deep that you could almost be frozen in them completely, like a fly trapped in amber.

He moves the hand of his uninjured arm up to your own cheek, slowly, almost as if he’s in a trance. You can’t quite read the expression on his face - the gentle slope of his brows, the soft corners of his eyes, his ever-so-slightly ajar mouth - but it’s compelling in such a way that you can’t pull your gaze from his.

Almost abruptly, he smiles bright, eyes closing, and he leans forward. You freeze in place as he throws his uninjured arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, turning to press the softest of kisses to the side of your head.

“Kaeya?” You whisper, and his grip tightens slightly. He doesn’t respond, only laughs quietly, almost giddily, a deep sound that seems to reverberate through both your body and his.

You slowly raise your own arms and wrap them around him in turn, leaning into his touch. Kaeya laughs again, and this time you can’t help but smile, pressing yourself further into his embrace.

Footsteps and voices are approaching from somewhere far in the distance, and perhaps you hear a knock on the door, but in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. For now, the patients and healing can wait.

[officialscaramouche]

Three is company— a gift for @ambers-glider ‘s fic here! I told y’all I’d get to writing today!!!!

EDIT: Tomo is the friend (Tomo is short for tomodachi which is friend in japanese)

pairing: Kazuha x Gorou x reader

tw: a couple curse words

wc: 2,178

You squatted around the fire with your colleagues, eating your food straight from the can. “[Y/N]!” You hear your squad leader call out from his tent. You turn to look at what he wanted and note him standing with a messenger from the base of operations you just left. He waved what looked like a white flag. It piqued your interest, you had to admit, stretching out your legs with your can in hand.

“Yes, sir!” You salute, slapping your ankles together in form.

Your squad leader extended his hand, exchanging an open letter with you. “A letter. From the resistance,” he says simply. “From the second in command himself.”

It didn’t take the second sentence for you to know who it was. Of course, Kokomi was the leader of your resistance— all of you worked for her. But her second in command was none other than the tricky Gorou, known for his sly and mischievous ploys. “Thank you, sir,” you salute once more before dipping to tear into the letter.

It sucked that none of your mail could go through unopened, but it made sense considering that any one of you could be shogunate spies. It was a small price to pay for your cause, even if the letter was a bit personal.

[Y/N], it read. I hope this letter finds you well. After yours and Kazuha’s leave, I dove into my work to try and distract myself from the aching in my heart. Seeing many of my comrades fall in the recent ambush made me long for you more. I cannot ignore it much longer, so I have written to both you and dearest Kazuha in hopes that we may once again be reunited. We should all be returning to base in two weeks for the monthly review. Please find me there. I look forward to seeing you. Gorou.

“Oh?” A voice came behind you. “Everyone wondered what was going on between you and the shiba boy. I guess this proves true?”

You pulled the letter to your chest, scowling at the man who sat beside you. “Do you need something, sir? Why is my business important to you?”

He smiled, throwing an arm around you. “Damn, I was just curious!” You shook his arm off of you and turned your back to him. “I’m sorry that we have to go through your letters. But I’m sure you understand.”

You frowned as your eyes scanned the letter again. “I do,” you sigh. Bringing the letter to your nose and breathing in the scent. It smelled like otogi wood. It smelled like him. “But it does suck that everyone in command knows about my affairs.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

You peer over your shoulder and glare. “I do mind you asking.” You hissed.

The two weeks went by painfully slow. Your team was sent to do reconnaissance once more after the ambush that Gorou mentioned in his letter. While it wasn’t your team that was tasked with scouting that area prior to his arrival, it was your command team that got in trouble for it. Everyone was expected to do seamless work and the weight was on your team’s shoulders.

You double checked your field of observation; replacing your traps, checking the knots, and notating all of your activities. Signing off and turning in your report, you packed all of your equipment and belongings and darted out of the camp.

It was good to finally be back on base. All you wanted to do was get into your room and hop into the shower. You weren’t about to meet your exes sweaty and covered in dirt. You step inside and stop at the front desk. “Welcome back [Y/N],” the receptionist greets. “What number did you reserve?”

“Twenty three,” you slide over the key, lugging your duffel bag onto the table. You unzip the bag and fish for your personal belongings as the receptionist grabs your locker key. “I’m returning the reconnaissance pack and some gear.”

The receptionist scratches out your name on the clipboard and pulls the bag across the desk. “I heard you’re meeting with Master Gorou and Lord Kazuha.”

You slap your forehead with a groan. “Ugh, does everyone know?”

“Not everyone. I heard from Master Gorou himself. He told me to tell you he’d be in his office.”

“He’s here already?”

“Since seven this morning. He seemed rather eager to meet you.” The receptionist hands you the forms you signed to borrow the equipment. “Sign and date, please.”

You take the pen off the desk and begin to scribble on the document when the door slides open with a ding. “Oh, [Y/N],” a calm and melodious voice says. “What great timing!”

You shudder at the voice, turning slowly to confirm your suspicions. “O-Oh, hi Lord Kazuha…I just got back.”

The samurai walks up and places a hand on the small of your back. “Is Gorou here yet?”

“Yes,” the receptionist answers, taking the clipboard back from you. “He should be waiting in his office.”

“Great,” Kazuha smiles, grabbing your belongings off the desk and ushering you away with him. “Let’s go, shall we?”

You twiddle your fingers nervously as you walk. “I haven’t showered yet, my lord.”

“Oh that’s alright. I haven’t either.”

That wasn’t the point, you thought, reaching the elevator. “Well, I was hoping I could stop at my room and shower.”

Kazuha pushed one of the buttons on the elevator panel. “We’re already here, though.” You scratch your head and frown. “It’s okay,” he continues. “Master Gorou won’t mind.”

“Why do you smell like incontinence?”

You bury your face in your palms as you listen to Gorou and Kazuha speak. “Because I’ve been hiding in the trenches,” Kazuha laughs, opening his arms for a hug.

“You know I have a strong sense of smell,” Gorou whined as he embraced the samurai. “And [Y/N],” you look from between your fingers and notice the warm smile and faint blush on Gorou’s face. “It’s so good to see you too.”

The shiba boy walks up to you and pulls you into a tight embrace, his face nuzzled into your neck. “You’re stinky too.”

“Hey!” You shout, your hands reaching to wrap around him. “Kazuha didn’t want to stop at my room.”

Gorou pulls back and gazes into your eyes, his hand coming to cup your cheek. “That’s okay. I’ve been waiting around anxiously for both of you. Come,” he gestured, extending his arm out. “Please sit with me. I’ve got cookies and tea.”

Kazuha tucked his hands into his sleeves and grinned. He knelt down on the tatami pillow, sitting down on his knees and reaching for a cookie. You followed suit next to him, sitting back on your heels and taking the teacup from Gorou after he poured some tea. It was nice and light until Kazuha took a sip from his cup. “Why did you ask us to come here?” He said with a smile.

You stiffened at the question, your hair standing on end at the suddenly uncomfortable mood. You thought it was obvious why he arranged this meeting, but you guess that Kazuha wanted to hear it from his own mouth.

Gorou rubbed the back of his neck. ���I mostly wanted to apologize,” he explained. “Whether or not you accept my apology is not my concern. But I do hope that we can agree to reconcile.”

“It’s very uncomfortable walking around after my superiors have gone through my mail,” Kazuha continued, closing his eyes as he sipped on his tea. “You could’ve at least been a bit more subtle with the delivery.”

“That was part of the problem, though.” The two of you watched and listened closely as Gorou spoke. When the three of you parted ways, it wasn’t on the best of terms. Being in each other’s presence was awkward enough as a result, but hearing him explain his side wasn't something that either you or Kazuha cared to understand. “Keeping both you and [Y/N] a secret was a problem to me. I understood that it would become a hindrance if people knew, but I couldn’t even hold your hand in public.”

Kazuha was silent as he spoke. Gorou and Kazuha had been a thing before you were introduced. But from the beginning you felt that things were tense between them. Being an outsider, the problem was more obvious than it was to them but it was something you felt they needed to work out. That’s why you left.

“And while it was okay for a bit,” Gorou continued, looking away as his words began to choke in his throat. “It was painful to love someone who didn’t even want to be called my ‘boyfriend.’ I don’t think you realize how embarrassing it is to say ‘oh, Kazuha’s my not-boyfriend because he doesn’t want to be tied down by titles.’ I understand that you don’t want a serious relationship but it felt like you didn’t care.”

“I was grieving,” Kazuha kind of snapped, his fingers curled into a fist. “Do you not understand that? My real boyfriend killed himself!”

“Am I not real to you?! Am I just your rebound to fuck and forget?! We are all grieving, Kazuha! We all loved Tomo! What about [Y/N], huh?! Is [Y/N] not real to you either?!”

Kazuha slammed his fist on the table. “Neither of you give a shit! Neither of you care about how I feel!”

Gorou stood on his feet, looking down at the man across from him. “Who was the person that begged you to stay, huh?! Throwing yourself into battle at every chance you got and then turning your back on me!! How dare you say I don’t give a shit!”

The three of you sat in uncomfortable silence after both men refused to say anything else. All you did was sit there and listen, not really feeling as if your opinion mattered. You weren’t in the relationship for very long anyway, why would you have anything to say?

Kazuha looked away from the both of you, while Gorou’s eyes focused on him. You sat with your hands in your lap, waiting for someone to say something. “What do you think, [Y/N]?” Kazuha said finally, not looking at you.

“Me?” You pointed to yourself. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Gorou said, sitting back down and reaching for your hands. “You were a part of the relationship too.”

“I’m not sure though…it didn’t feel like I was.” Kazuha looked over his shoulder, his cheeks wet from tears he had been hiding. “I wasn’t even a part of the conversation. You left—” you said, pointing to Kazuha. “—and you ignored me.” Then pointing to Gorou.

You crossed your arms with a huff. “Kazuha didn’t even try to talk it out, and Gorou wasn’t patient enough. Neither of you had any care about how I felt. I don’t even think you guys care now! All you want is for me to agree with you and argue with the other! But you’re both wrong! We all loved Tomo, Kazuha. It’s not fair that you shut all of us out. And it’s also not fair to Kazuha to try and force him to get over it so quickly! Everyone grieves at different paces. Just because you’re more used to your friends dying doesn’t mean he has to!”

They were both silent again as your words soaked in. You were right, of course. Gorou thought about the things he said and how he could’ve done it differently. How he had pushed Kazuha away instead of helping. And Kazuha thought about how selfish he was being. He wasn’t Tomo’s only friend and he wasn’t the only one who cared about him.

Then the silence was broken. “I’m sorry.”

Both of the men turned to look at you with confused expressions. “Why are you sorry?” Kazuha asked, grabbing your hands and pulling you close to him. “It’s not your fault.”

Gorou came around and joined in the hug, wrapping his arms around both of you. “Yeah, [Y/N] it’s not your fault. We’re the ones who fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Kazuha pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

“No,” Gorou shook his finger. “I said I was going to apologize first.”

“Well too bad!” Kazuha shoved a finger into Gorou’s chest. “I said it first!”

Gorou laughed, pinching Kazuha’s cheek. “No, [Y/N] said it first!”

You pushed them away from you and chuckled. “Now that you’re both feeling better, I was going to say ‘I’m sorry is what you should say to each other.’”

Kazuha tucked your hair behind your ear with a soft expression, before Gorou swooped in and peppered your cheeks with kisses. “Promise you’ll work on it?” You asked.

Gorou and Kazuha looked at each other lovingly, leaning in to kiss for the first time in a long time. “We promise.” They said at the same time.

[sohin-ace]

Dio - Stolen Dance

For immersion, listen to the Dark Waltz Music - Vampire masquerade collection on youtube. Oh boy

Especially 'Tonight Ve' Dance' that shit hits the spot for this fanfic. Trust me.

"Would you honor me with a dance, Y/N?"

'Hell no', was what you craved to answer to this charming yet cruel man. Dancing with him meant selling your very soul. You were about to dance with the Devil.

But you had no choice.

You tried to run away from him, from his toxicity, from his poison, but he always managed to get you back and trap you in his web. And now he offered his warm, destructive hand for a dance, just a single dance with him.

And you had no choice.

You could not refuse. You had no right to. It was oh-so reluctantly that you had put your trembling, cold hand over his possessive one. He pulled you towards him as the music played in the luxurious ballroom.

He laid his large hand around your corseted waist, pulling you to him and bringing your bodies a little too close for your own comfort. Way too close for a gentleman to conventionally be from a lady.

But he didn't seem to care one bit as your heart pounded heavily in your chest. He could probably feel it from this proximity. And he most definitely drowned himself in it.

You hesitantly, and regrettably put one hand over his broad shoulder in what you could only call a ghostly touch. You barely wanted to touch him and potentially show him a form of validation from his wrongdoings.

He engulfed your other hand in his own, relishing in the adorable yet terrifying size difference. If he wanted, he could just close his entire hand on yours and claim it as his. Just how he could easily close the distance between you and claim you just the same.

People were around. The ladies and gentlemen of the World. High class society, partying mondanely through the night. Couples dancing, businessmen meeting, Madames chatting.

Oh but in these decorated mansions, the families yearned to see newfound lovers, for what a sight it was.

Some were watching you in earnest and maybe even admiration, glad to see how the charming, handsome Dio Brando of the Joestar Estate was gracefully swaying in rhythm with the gentle, beautiful Y/N L/N, daughter of the Lord L/N.

Your face felt warm, burning almost and it was not a comfortable feeling. Maybe it was the close proximity between him and you, maybe it was all the unnecessary attention you were receiving, putting pressure and forcing shyness upon you.

Maybe it was the rising anxiety that built viciously within you and made yout heart pump violently in your chest, or maybe it was the pure hatred you felt towards the blonde man holding you captive within this very dance.

It didn't matter what it was, it felt horrible, suffocating. You could barely breathe, the room was spinning.

You were always taught to look at your partner in the eyes when dancing, but now your partner wasn't just anyone. It was Dio Brando. There was no way you could look up at his soul-piercing amber, no, crimson red eyes. Like gems of blood.

If you looked at them, if you even glanced at them...

"You are quite tense, dear." He released your hand briefly to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, letting cool air hitting your now more exposed cheek and temple. "Relax and follow my lead."

You wanted to scoff at his words. How could you relax when your only wish at the moment was to run away from him? Your family was nowhere to be seen, Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. No one was there and no one would help you.

"You stole this dance, Dio," You growled quietly, not wanting to gather even more attention to yourself. "But it will be the last thing that you'll steal from me. Heed my words."

You finally met his eyes to grace him with a glare and he only looked down on you with mockery and a hint of fondness. As if your anger was endearing to him. He hummed in amusement.

"Hmmm...? Do I take it that everything else will be graciously given to me...?"

Before you could even gasp at his scandalous assumptions, you missed a step and fell forward, right against his solid chest. He of course didn't waste a second in wrapping his strong arms around your small form.

You could hear the other guests whispering and chuckling, probably drinking in the sight and preaching how cute you both were. The beautiful Y/N L/N clumsily falling into the arms of the very handsome Dio Brando.

Like a princess and her prince, right from a romance story. It was really fresh to witness and people just couldn't wait to see you both engaged, you looked so perfect together. After all, in this mondane society, it was all about looks.

If only they knew the truth.

You tried to push yourself off of him as you laid your palms flat on his chest, but he held you there firmly. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and the blonde leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"Let us go somewhere more private darling. I am tired of those curious eyes."

You felt like you were about to faint and really wanted to get out of that busy room, but surely not with Dio. As you didn't have much of a say in this, you let him guide you away, to one of the many chambers in the mansion.

He opened the door wide for you and you entered the empty, cold room bathing in darkness, not sparing him a single glance and went straight ahead to the large windows that lead to a beautifully decorated balcony.

You stayed inside though, as Dio closed the door behind him and went on his way to light a gas lamp that was laid on a night stand.

You gently pushed the silky curtains aside to glance at the moon outside. You stared at her magnificent silver light, completely forgetting where you were and that Dio was still in this very room.

You sighed, comforted by the moonlight. The moon was full on this cold night, it was the end of the year and it felt like the nocturnal satellite decided to show off all of her magic tonight.

Sometimes, you envied those legendary creatures who lived solely by the moonlight. Fantastical beings who could see the moon through all her phases and for as long as they lived. Werewolves, Vampires...

"...Beautiful, isn't it?"

You gasped, startled by his sudden deep voice so close to your ear. You swiftly turned around and glared at him, offended that his appearance tore you off your pleasant rêverie.

"Oh, please do continue. The moon reflects so deliciously on your skin, it is beyond mezmerizing."

"Yo-... you're losing yourself again, Dio!" You tried to sound strong and composed, but you couldn't help the slight whimper from escaping your throat.

"Maybe..." He lifted his large arm next to your head to fully open the curtain behind you, the sudden position flustering you as you felt trapped yet again.

You looked down as you contemplated fleeing. How many attempts was it now? You stopped counting after the 20th, but you wanted to flee again.

Not bearing the sight of his broad chest in front of you, you turned slightly back to the window and side-glanced at the beautiful garden.

There was a large maze in there. The thought of maybe trying to lose Dio there was very appealing. It turned your once melancholic and lonely expression into a softer, more relaxed one.

The moonlit maze alone filling your heart with an ounce of hope, the ghost of a smile reached your lips and eyes.

"What a sweet expression you are sporting, my love." The blond devil put his large hand on your cheek and turned your head to face him as he purred. "Although I delect myself more from your despaired expression."

Disgusting. This man was disgusting. You put a hand over his large wrist as a sign to tell him to let go of you, which he patently ignored.

He leaned forward, hovering dangerously over your face as he lifted your chin up, a soft smirk stretching his lips.

"Now tell me... what could my dove possibly be thinking about to make her look so beautifully blithe?"

You looked downwards to the red brooch on his tie, the ornament suddenly more distracting than his dominating burning gaze on you.

"I was thinking of getting away from you. It gets me going." You spoke the unfiltered truth with bitter sugar dripping from your voice.

The man before you froze upon hearing those words. Were you challenging him? Him?! The Dio Brando?

You drove him so crazy. Oh you drove him to such unfathomable frustration. His blood was boiling and pumping ferociously in his veins.

His entire body cringed, his fists balling tightly. He ground his teeth as his eyes widened in pure rage. Or was it rage? No it was deeper, more twisted than that.

It was lust.

He needed to gather all his self-control to prevent himself from breaking something or rather someone right this instant.

Yes... He could break you. Oh and it would be so easy and so satisfying, too. Nothing could quench his thirst more than destroying every inch of you at that moment.

You were such a nasty pest, you were so terribly problematic, no wonder he was so infatuated with you. So obssessed with you.

You were bad, maybe as bad as him. You pushed on all his buttons like no one ever did and yet, you played the cute little perfect girl in front of everyone else.

You made him so insane, so mad. He wanted you all to himself. He yearned for you to get your revenge on him, to be infuriated with him. He craved you right here, right now. He loved that you hated him.

Swiftly, he pressed his weight against you and pushed your body flush against the window as you gasped in surprise, barely able to even react at the forceful contact.

He was quick to catch your wrist and pin it next to your head as you tried desperately to push him away, your other hand uselessly resting on his much stronger arm.

You tried to squirm away, but his body meddled with yours in an emprisonning cage. You couldn't hide your panicked pants anymore.

"You damn woman..." He breathed in a shaky hiss right next to your heating ear, his tone way darker now and his eyes half-lidded. "Do you even realize what you are doing to me?" He spat with venom but also with dripping excitement. "You are in deep trouble, darling."

He nuzzled his face in your exposed neck, drenching himself in your sweet scent and you shuddered, his hot breath on your skin making the hair at the back of your neck stand.

Your heart hammered alarmingly inside your chest as his malicious hold triggered your Fight or Flight response. This was bad. Real bad. You struggled against his grip, writhing and pushing him.

But struggling against him was futile, useless. So useless, useless, useless...

"I hate you, Dio Brando. There's not a single piece of you that is remotely redeemable!" You growled in his ears through exhausted pants. "Hear me when I say this, I despise every inch of your disgraceful being, Dio-ugh...! I hate you with all my might...!!"

"Yes!" He grunted hungrily as he put his free hand around your hips, leaving no space between your body and his, feeling all of yourself against him. "That's it, that's what I want to hear! One more time... Scream it."

"You disgusting bastard... You have no shame..." You squeezed your eyes shut, you refused to cry. Never for him. He didn't deserve it.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N... Please." He was crazed, Dio lost himself, yet again. "Sweet Y/N, let me make you mine... Be mine... I know you want this..."

Just like that, the man above you craddled your body like his most prized possession, teasing the pulsing point of your neck with his lips, tongue and teeth. He clutched your hips and wrist in a bruising grip and you knew there was nothing you could do.

"I'm going to ravish you, destroy you..."

And so he did.

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra Dimitrescu x Maiden ----Valiant pt.2

Part 1

You don’t think you could catch a wink of sleep if you tried.

Your mind is just too busy to shut down. Nerves buzz across your whole body. You feel like you’re suspended in time, trapped in a loop endlessly replaying the previous night’s events. Your mistake was getting involved in affairs that didn’t concern you. In this village, that can very well be one’s undoing. You know it. You knew it.

Yet you still intervened. 

Like a fool.

If you close your eyes, you can still see her. The brunette Dimitrescu. A living painting of a woman in a background of howls and pitch-black darkness, who spoke with a lilting voice and prettily pronounced vowels –and complete disregard over human life.

Earning her amusement was the only reason you and the shopkeeper got to see another sunrise, although you have a sneaking suspicion it will be his last. Nobody disrespects a Dimitrescu and gets away with it. It may as well be law in the village –and the sentence for breaking it is very clear.

The man doesn’t remember what he did. It may be for the better, bitter as it feels to you. Either way, you try not to stare at him too much –nor the bruise on his face in the shape of your knuckles— when you enter his shop and ask for the brunette daughter’s order. It’s under the initials C.D. No name has been given and no address. He hasn’t realized who she is. Perhaps being permanently intoxicated has to do with it.

The box you receive weighs heavy in your hands, for more than one reason. Seeing it springs forth in your senses the expensive scent of her perfume, the tickle of her hair against your nose when she leaned in. Her lips were soft as a wildflower’s petals and cold as snow.

The “Thanks, sweetheart.” she said plays on repeat in your head.  

Of course, such is your luck that you couldn’t pine over any normal girl. It’s human nature, you suppose, to desire what’s forbidden, but that’s not the only adjective that describes her;

She’s lethal.

A certain part of you was aware the moment you looked into her blueish amber eyes. Like a snake being stared down by a hawk or a deer caught in the gaze of a wolf, your place in the food chain wasn’t quite the same. Part of you was –is— attracted to her beauty. Part of you was petrified.

The stories your mother told you about her family don’t help in that department. Maidens who have been taken as maids into their castle never came back. Nobody who passed that threshold ever returned. There are rumors about dungeons filled with wailing. Warnings, to avoid bloodied steps should one come across them in the forest. To fear the mark the three daughters bear on their foreheads.

Hours pass. The sun begins its descent down the plane of the sky.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll see it rise again.

You tell your employer you aren’t feeling well and need to take the evening off. You’ve worked non-stop so many days he doesn’t get to voice anything other than a grumble of acknowledgement.

It’s… a daunting experience, being alone after sunset.

You aren’t used to it, which makes it all the more jarring when the distant howling begins. You’re sitting in your couch with the nicest button-up shirt you have on –might as well look good dying, you figure— waiting.

And waiting.

Night has completely settled in. The cold penetrates your skin. You busy yourself with lighting the fireplace, pretending not to hear the sounds from outside. The cracking of wood helps, if only for a little bit. It gets a tad warmer, though you’re still chilled to the bone.

Perhaps she won’t come. you’re beginning to think.

But then, a peculiar sound comes from the other side of your door. Like the buzzing of insects, followed by a rush of air. Followed… by a knock on the wooden surface.

Your lungs suddenly empty of oxygen. If it was possible for a heart to jump right out a person’s chest yours would be doing just that. You have to answer but you’ve lost your voice. Every instinct screams at you to stay as far away from the door as humanly possible.

“It’s me.” you hear her muffled huff.

You summon all the courage you possess to walk to the entrance –and turn the handle. The brunette Dimitrescu is standing there in all her black-clad glory, eyes gleaming in the dark like gemstones. The very edge of her lip curves up upon seeing you. You move aside to let her in and waste zero seconds in closing the door behind her.

Her hood is pushed off in one graceful motion, revealing her waterfall of rich brown hair. “It’s cold in here.” she states, then turns to you. “Aren’t you freezing?”

You are, but that’s the least of your worries. “Kind of.” you say as you hover there awkwardly.

Your breath leaves a hint of smoke behind. Hers does not. You’re moving towards the box before your nerves cause you to break down in front of her.

It’s one thing to have a pretty girl in your house for the first time.

It’s entirely another when said pretty girl can also very easily kill you.

“Eager to get rid of me, beautiful?” she asks. There is obvious teasing in her voice but also an undertone of… something else. Disappointment, maybe. Whatever it is it strikes straight at your heart.

“I—no.” you reply, quickly. “Can I offer you something to drink, uh…” you still don’t know her name.

“Cassandra.” she smirks. A name as beautiful as the rest of her.

“Can I offer you a drink, Cassandra?” The offer makes her smirk widen, almost to the point of a grin. It’s cute but you’re not sure you want to know why the question amuses her so greatly.

“Depends.” she retorts, taking off her gloves. “My choice of drink is very… singular.”

“Well, there’s wine. It’s… good.”

She eyes you for a moment. There is hunger in her gaze, something deep, as it lingers over your collarbones. Then she averts her head in favor of looking about the house. It can’t be anything like the castle she lives in, but it’s quaint, at least. Her heels click against the wooden floor. They come to a stop in front of the small table your sketchbook lies upon.

“You draw?” she questions, curious as a child.

Please, don’t look inside. you pray. The rough sketches of sheet-clad brunettes will surely give your tastes away and your heart can’t take that embarrassment on top of everything else right now.

“Landscapes and stuff. When I’m bored.” you lie to save your dignity.

“I’m a bit of an artist myself.” she grins proudly. “I paint.”

“…acrylics?” you ask.

Cassandra gives you that secretive smile again. The one that is both hot and scary at once. “You could say that, yeah.” If any of the rumors have basis in reality, you don’t want to think about what she could be painting with. Some things are best left unsaid.

“So. I got your order.” you say, taking the box in your hands.

Cassandra walks to you and takes the object between her pale fingers like it weighs nothing. You’re left staring. At her hand, then her eyes, looking into your own with that same curiosity from earlier. “I’m sure mother will like it.” Then, after a pause, “She’d like you, too.”

You’re not sure what to say to that.

“You’d look good in the castle. But then I’d have to share you and I don’t think I’d like that.” Her fingers absently toy with the hem of your shirt while she speaks. It’s terribly distracting, to the point you almost miss what she says. It’s not fair that everything about Cassandra is just so damn attractive…

You like her, you realize. You already knew that you’re weak to her looks and her grace and the way she talks, so it’s not a startling revelation. But what is surprising is the mirror of what you’re thinking in her eyes. She likes you back.

She could just turn and leave, yet she doesn’t.

Instead, she lifts her hand to your chin. Traps it between thumb and pointer… and leans in. You think she’s going to kiss you goodbye on the cheek again, like the last time. Instead, her lips find the corner of your mouth and leave you breathless.

For a heartbeat, you don’t move.

Cassandra lingers, almost unsure but unwilling to let go.

A certain part of your brain is triggered and the sense of danger and reason keeping you back evaporates. You turn your head to kiss her fully, sucking on her lower lip, running your tongue over its softness until she opens her mouth to let you in. She tastes like strawberry lipbalm and wine and oh God you’ll die right there with that little moan she gives.

You end up holding her sides and she the back of your neck until you have to pull back or you’ll melt into an aroused puddle on the floor.

She looks as dazed as you feel. Her nails dig into your skin but your warmed body only draws pleasure from the slight sting.

Cassandra’s hooded eyes drop to your throat like a woman left thirsty in the desert far too long. “…does the offer for a drink still apply?” The breathy quality her voice has taken does things to you. You can only nod and trust she won’t kill you. She did ask, so your chances are probably decent.

Brown hair tickles your nose. She’s wonderfully close, the length of her cool body pressed against yours. You can feel the swell of her breasts and the firmness of her thigh almost as if there are no clothes between you. Your body is alight, heart pounding. You want her.

“Keep still for me, beautiful.” she says with a little growl to your ear and—

Pain comes.

Sharp. Biting.

You don’t expect it. A harsh gasp leaves your throat. You can feel twin needles embedded in your skin, breaking open your vein. The corners of your eyes prickle. Something thick and wet trails down your collarbone while she swallows mouthfuls, keeping you tighter in place. It’s agonizing, at first, but the area begins to numb, then fill with a pleasant tingle.

You can’t tell when Cassandra stops drinking from you, but you feel her tongue on your neck, following the red trail down before it ruins your shirt.

Your brain can’t comprehend what just happened, yet something about it is just so raw and erotic you know you won’t be able to sleep for days without the thought of her haunting you.

“You’re delicious, darling.” she breathes, eyes brighter than before, licking her lips like a lioness.

You want to reply, but you nearly wobble on your feet. “Ugh.”

“Take it easy and dress your wound.” she smiles, fingertips tracing the slope of your jaw. “I’ll come by again, sometime.”

Your hands tighten on her sides, but she only gives a little laugh –and steps away too easily. Her hood is pulled back on. A last molten look is sent over her shoulder.

Then, your mind halts for the hundredth time that night as you watch her figure disperse into a swarm of insects and black swirls. The door closes behind Cassandra.

Your hand slowly reaches up to your neck, where the imprint of her teeth in you –her mark left on you– yet throbs.

Ko-Fi

[asset35-maya]

CALYPSO 🐚 ☕️

Part 1 & Part 2

Part 3/3:

Nines froze as the human’s body melded to his. Gavin kept his eyes shut and his lips moving. Then what he’d been bracing for finally came.

Pain.

Sweet glorious pain, blossoming everywhere Nines gripped his body. Gavin was sure that his lips would bruise under the pressure of the reciprocal kiss… that his rib cage would shatter if Nines held him any tighter… that his lungs would burst if they didn’t fill with air soon…

A wolf-whistle broke through the stunned silence in the yard.

Gavin pulled back, light-headed from the rush of oxygen and drain of adrenaline. He didn’t fall though. Didn’t even move an inch. Strong arms and a heated gaze kept him pinned.

//

\\

“Of all the things in the world… why coffee?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Gavin tucked his head into the crook of Nines’ neck, cuddling closer.

“Hmm… I think weird working hours made me actually need the caffeine… but the bean snobbery just came with the rest of my superiority complexes.”

Nines laughed. It was more of an exhale than an actual laugh, but Gavin was thankful for it nonetheless.

“And you?”

Nines kissed his forehead, prolonging his answer as much as he could before finally relenting with a sigh.

“The reason you’re asking… is because running a café is just about the last thing you’d expect an android like me to be doing. And… that’s your answer. That’s exactly why I wanted it.”

“To subvert expectations…?”

“To not be the terrible thing I was meant to be.”

Gavin’s breath hitched at the depth of emotion in Nines’ voice. He didn’t dare look up to meet his eye and settled for pressing his lips to the razor-sharp jawline.

“I dunno what kinda code runs through you, but believe me when I say you don’t have it in you to be… terrible.”

Nines scoffed at that.

“How can you say that after all the shit you’ve seen me do.”

“I can say that after all the shit I’ve seen others do. Fifteen years on the job, remember? I can vouch that righteous anger is one of the least terrible things out there.”

When Nines didn’t respond, Gavin decided to move the ship out of uncharted waters. He propped himself up on an elbow and ran a hand down the android’s smooth chest.

“In fact, I think it’s downright sexy.”

That did the trick. Nines pressed Gavin into the mattress with a low growl and rolled over him, clamping his mouth over his throat. Their hips aligned and the conversation ended.

//

\\

“Ralph tried hard but the machine is not working. Ralph is stuck.”

“Move. Let me see.”

Gavin took the filter holder and disconnected it from the espresso machine with a firm tug. He leapt away in shock as water came rushing out. That was absolutely not supposed to happen.

“Er… I’ll get a mechanic friend to take a look later. Why don’t you go check on inventory?”

Ralph shuffled away with a thoroughly sceptical look in his eye. Gavin sighed openly once the android was out of earshot.

The café was in shambles.

The vandals may have gotten as good as they gave… but they’d left their mark. Even with insurance, there was no way such a new establishment could financially recover from a setback like that.

Nines said nothing but seethed with his usual brand of silent, impotent rage.

Unable to bear the slammed car doors and dismissive grunts any longer, Gavin had taken a solo day off to come down to the Calypso and see what could be done.

Not much, without a boatload of money, it seemed.

He sat down with a sigh and Ralph brought over a cup of coffee. Black. A pour-over. He set a bowl of runny eggs and a small basket of bread down on the table too.

Gavin looked up in surprise. Ralph shrugged.

“Nines is telling Ralph that you left without breakfast. Ralph’s equipment is all broken so Ralph just made something simple.”

Touched beyond words, Gavin motioned for Ralph to sit down with him instead of scurrying off into the shadows as per his usual habit.

He took a sip of the hand-poured drip coffee and broke a piece of the bread, dragging it through the eggs, European style. It was utterly homely and reminded of him of some bygone era that he’d needlessly bypassed. He looked up and met Ralph’s mildly unsettling stare.

“So… why the name Calypso? There’s nothing beach-themed or Caribbean about the place.”

“Nines chose it. After the Greek goddess.”

“Huh. And she was the goddess of coffee? Did they even have coffee back in those Hercules Orgy Olympics days?”

“She is a sea nymph. She detained the mythic hero Odysseus on her island for seven years.”

Gavin’s brows furrowed as he swallowed a mouthful of fresh bread.

“Did you bake this?”

“Yes. Ralph is baking daily. Ralph does it first thing in the morning at five. It is very calming to knead the dough and hear the birdsong.”

“It’s phcking delicious. Leavened perfectly. Now back to the name. This goddess nymph creature. She doesn’t sound very nice. She trapped this hero dude, right? Reminds me of my ex. Why name this pretty café after her?”

“Ralph can only imagine that Nines’ fascination with Calypso is the ambiguity of her nature. She can seduce and manipulate, but she can also heal. She is neither good nor evil.”

Gavin drained his coffee and sank back in his chair contemplatively.

“What do you think she is, Ralph?”

Ralph’s LED flickered and his eyes dipped to the table. He knew what Gavin was asking.

“Calypso is immortal. Calypso cannot help but fall in love with every sailor who lands on her shores. Calypso dreams of an eternal husband but lets Odysseus go when it’s clear he wishes to return to his wife. Well, maybe only when the Gods commands her to… but she releases him without harm!”

Gavin waited. Ralph’s head snapped up and he spoke in a short burst.

“Calypso is mythical. It does not matter what she is. Nines is real. Nines is good. Very good. Honest and honourable! Ralph will do anything for Nines!”

Gavin leaned back in his chair with the satisfied smile of an experienced police negotiator who’d gotten exactly where he wanted to.

//

\\

“What the hell is this? Where did you get so much money from?”

Nines’ amber LED cycled furiously as he took in the sight of the restored café. Ralph was humming to himself as he proudly polished the knobs of their repaired espresso machine.

Gavin led Nines by the hand to look at the repainted walls… the new furniture… the new crockery replacing what had been smashed…

“How…?”

“Oh I just embodied my inner Gen Z and tapped into the power of social justice.”

Nines looked thoroughly nonplussed.

“Crowdfunding, baby. I set up a link and Ralph told everyone on Twitter what happened to him and the café. Well, showed them, more like.”

Nines looked up at the ceiling and his LED slowly returned to a calm blue as he understood… but when he looked back down, his expression wasn’t any less troubled.

“Okay I just saw it. Edited footage from his optical units and a tearful testimonial. Ethically questionable, but clever.”

“Super effective. We overshot our target by a couple hundred bucks.”

“Hmm. People are kind.”

“Yes. They’ve actually done more for you. Look. Connor gave me this earlier today.”

Gavin reached into his jacket and produced an envelope. Nines’ eyes widened as he spotted the official seals of the Mayor’s office, the Manfred Estate and New Jericho.

“Someone started a petition… to let you back behind the helm of the Calypso. It really took off. I don’t know how you didn’t hear-”

“I muted any mentions of myself and the other RKs from showing up in my newsfeed.”

“Then this makes for a good surprise.”

Gavin gently pushed the envelope into the android’s hands and watched him open it with a precise fingernail flicked under the wax. He scanned the contents of the letter in a split second and let it fall through his fingers.

Without warning, he scooped Gavin up and set him down on a polished table for a deep kiss of even deeper gratitude. Ralph turned his back on them with a bashful giggle.

//

\\

“Baby.”

Nines didn’t respond.

“Hey baby?”

“Hmm...”

There was an intensity to the grumble that had Gavin second-guessing whether to persist. Being Nines’ lover didn’t exempt him from the consequences of asking stupid questions.

“Your thoughts are fucking loud. Just say whatever you want to.”

“Oh. Um… I was actually wondering… I mean, you don’t have to tell me… but like why… um…”

“Why haven’t I turned my badge in yet?”

“Yeah…”

Nines turned on his side and brushed the back of his hand over Gavin’s cheek. The intimate gesture sent a thrill through the human despite how much more intimate they’d just been in the recent past.

“Because I haven’t decided what to do next.”

Gavin’s brows knitted together.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you going to take back your business?”

Nines’ wan smile told him all he needed to know.

“Why?”

“It’s doing really well in Ralph’s hands. He’s capable. He’s creative. And I don’t think it’s fair for me to go back and get in his way all of a sudden.”

“He needs you.”

“He absolutely doesn’t. It’s his café. You helped him get back on his feet and he’s going to be fiiiiine without me.”

“Is it because you don’t wanna be her anymore?”

Nines scrunched his nose up in confusion.

“Who?”

“Calypso. The siren who trapped the Oddball.”

That earned Gavin a heartfelt laugh.

“Odysseus, Gavin.”

“Yeah. You were like Calypso and now you’re letting go of the coffeeshop because you figured it wasn’t meant to be!”

Nines frowned and pretended to check the human for a temperature. Gavin swatted his hands away with mock petulance.

“Fine, I’m probably way off the mark. You tell me what the deal is then!”

Arms snaked around his waist and pulled him flush against the android’s defined chest. Lips brushed the shell of his ear and when Nines spoke next, it was in the huskiest of undertones.

“I’m Odysseus. Not Calypso.”

The realisation was painfully obvious in hindsight.

“I’m the one who’s stuck on an endless journey home. I’ve faced a hundred artificial trials and tribulations. I’ve been a puppet at the hands of false gods. I answer existential questions to prove my self-worth every single day.”

Nines paused to gauge Gavin’s reaction. When he received none, he pressed a brief kiss to the human’s bare shoulder before continuing.

“It’s been a long journey. But not a pointless one. Every metaphorical island I’ve visited has granted me something. From literally running into Ralph in an old building… to defending our turf from other stray androids… getting ourselves off the street… setting up a café from scratch… being arrested on opening day… ending up on the police force with you…”

Gavin recognised that as his cue to squirm around in Nines’ arms and peck him on the lips.

“So who’s Cyclops?”

“What?”

“The story’s starting to come back to me now. Your boy Oddy fought a one-eyed monster on one of the islands he went to. Who’s the Cyclops in your story?”

Nines huffed another breathy laugh.

“Markus, probably. Connor is definitely Helios.”

“Who’s your wife?”

“Definitely not you.”

Gavin elbowed him in the ribs. An action that had more repercussions on him than Nines.

“So which island are you off to next?”

“I have no idea. But it doesn’t matter. I might already be home.”

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 28)

Notes: Happy Sunday every one. Thanks for last week's comments. They were so lovely and I love to hear from you all!This chapter is the one lots of you have been waiting for... not smut, but THE conversation. I hope you enjoy it... And sorry about the typos in this chapter, I can't look at this chapter any more! I'll try and scan over it tomorrow...Lastly, just a head's up that I might not be able to post next Sunday. Work is super busy this coming week and I haven't yet started the chapter. I'll try my best, though :)

Oh, and for those of you who ask every week, I post Sunday evening UK time between 7-10PM. I will rarely change and if it’s late, it’s because I’m still working on it :)

Also, sorry, there should be italics in some places but I am done editing so Tumblr will get what copy and paste has done!

Twenty-Eight Cassian POV

Lorrian and Cassian walked silently down the hall, following the servant who was scurrying in front of them. The sound of their footsteps rang around the hallway in an echo that was almost haunting, and if it wasn't for the meeting that has just adjourned—the Rite meeting which that was whirring around in his mind—Cassian would be contemplating how quickly he could organise their departure despite the wishes of his High Lord.

As distracted as Cassian was, he had still committed every corridor to memory. Every twist and turn as the house tunnelled into mountain rock. Up the wide staircase, right, second left, first right, next left…

Deeper and deeper they moved into the mountain. No doubt to ensure that the General and Colonel felt as uneasy as possible. No Illyrian liked being unable to escape through a window and step straight into the skies, and from what Cassian could tell, there would be no windows or doors that led them straight out into the heavens. Only endless crystalline rock and shadow.

Lord Marsh’s property always had been unusual in that way. Even though it was positioned on the wide ledge of the mountain pass, suspended high in the sky above the rest of the Ironcrest camp, the house did not stop when it hit the mountain wall. Instead, it tunnelled inside of it, providing a lodgings that was a vast, confusing labyrinth that was too easy to get lost in.

It was why Cassian had been so loathe to stay the night. To stay any longer than necessary.

Cassian could only thank the Cauldron that Rhys and Feyre’s presence had not been required. Neither of them deserved to be trapped inside a mountain again. Cassian supposed he could count his lucky stars that their presence had not been necessary. Would not be able to bear their anguish, even if they did their best to conceal it.

“Your rooms,” the servant announced suddenly, with a bow that was so deep Cassian wouldn’t have been surprised if the male’s nose had scraped the floor.

They had reached the end of the hallway, and in front of them was a heavy wooden door set into an arch.

Even through rock and stone, Cassian could sense Nesta. Knew she was located somewhere to the left with Frawley, thanks to that magnetic pull which never seemed to cease, even just for a moment. That was the one thing Nesta hadn’t been able to stop. She could constrict their bond as much as she liked—could freeze him out so nothing could travel up and down their twisted tether—but it didn’t stop him from being able to sense her. It was as if he was hyper alert to where she was. His body moved when hers did. His heart did its best to beat in tandem with hers. And when they were near, everything in him had a tendency to relax, as if he no longer had to worry.

Cassian didn’t know if Nesta felt the same. Would never know, given that they did not discuss their fate at all.

Lorrian bid goodbye to the servant as Cassian stepped through the door and into a hallway that was equally as dark. Two doors flanked the short, cramped hallway and Cassian took the immediate left, pushing the door that was ajar so it creaked wide open.

Unlike the rest of Marsh’s residence, the room was cast in a light that was almost unforgiving, betraying the dark ominous furniture and the gloomy crystalline rock thanks to bobbing faelights which Frawley had magicked to illuminate the room. To his left, fire raged silently in the grate, and ahead of him, in a huge stone bay straight ahead of him, sat Nesta.

The carved out rock was fashioned as if it were a window—an irony, given how deep underground they were—and Nesta’s back rested against the far left-hand wall. Her knees were bent, and her long legs, which were hidden beneath her skirts, stretched across expanse of the ledge. She was facing Frawley, who was sitting on the huge Illyrian bed which took up most of the floor space.

Cassian just had time to catch Nesta’s unfettered expression—the tight, bracketed mouth and the downward pull of her brows— before it was wiped clean.

“What happened?” she demanded, as Cassian cast a shield which threw the whole suite into an impenetrable sound bubble.

Her eyes bore into his, and across the surface, silver roiled like liquid mercury. Despite her careful expression, he felt her worry and Cassian wondered just how much he had accidentally hurtled down their shared bond whilst he sat in that meeting to have her so concerned.

“They’ve cancelled the Blood Rite,” Lorrian announced grimly, from where he had entered the room behind Cassian.

Nesta’s eyes snapped to Lorrian. Confusion twisted across her features, but she did not say anything.

“That,” Frawley said after a moment’s pause, “is very clever.”

Begrudgingly, Cassian nodded. Because it had been clever. None of them had seen it coming. The Solstice luncheon, which invited all of the nobility across Illyria, had been enough to ward away any suspicion when it came to the lordlings presence. Rite representatives were chosen privately by each camp, so there was no way that Cassian could have known that the lordlings who had recently met with Kallon planned to fill many of the positions. Nor had it crossed Cassian’s mind that the Rite meeting might have been pulled forward only for it to be cancelled, especially given how steadfast and stubborn Illyrians were when it came to tradition.

But, even if Cassian had asked Az to find out what representatives had been chosen for the Rite that year, they never could have predicted that Kallon intended to instate a hiatus on the most important ritual in Illyria’s long history—a political manoeuvre that would make the Night Court look even worse than it already did.

“How did he get the lords to agree to it?” Frawley asked, as she watched her husband sink down into a chair that sat in the right hand corner of the room next to a dark, looming wardrobe that only served to make the room feel even more cramped. “Those princes will usually be damned if they listen to a word the other says.”

“The Rite representatives,” Cassian announced with a heavy sigh, wishing he too would give in to the temptation to sink down and sit somewhere. Next to Nesta, ideally. “All of them were lordlings who met with Kallon all those months ago. And the worst thing about it all is that Lorrian and I swayed the vote in Kallon’s favour. He played us and we walked straight into his damn den. It made us look as if we were agreeing with him for the sake of politics, rather than because we thought it ourselves.”

Which was the irony of the situation, Cassian thought to himself grimly. Cassian had been worried for a long time about the unnecessary loss of further lives due to the Blood Rite. Had been losing sleep over it, just as his nightmares continued to plague him whenever he did succumb to the clutches of the unconscious. There was already so much ash of flesh and bone on Cassian’s hands from when he had deserted his legion for desperate screams. And now… he was existing on stolen time—a time which had been bought by a female who at the end of it all, had not accepted his heart.

“Every word of Kallon’s appeal resonated with the Lords,” Lorrian told Nesta and Frawley as he ran his hands over his face… over his dark, close-cropped hair and the nicked scars on his scalp. “He played upon the sentiment that is already festering inside so many of the Fae in Illyria. That the Night Court uses our warriors for their own gain in war but does not care about them in the interim.”

“And then Kallon presented them with the damn sword,” Cassian growled, clenching his fists at the memory.

Frawley’s eyes gleamed so brightly her irises turned glacial blue and amber. “You saw it up close?” she asked, leaning forward so eagerly from where she was sitting on the mattress that she near folded in half. “And what did you feel?”

“Ancient magic,” Lorrian replied grimly, even as his wife continue to stare at Cassian. “My own magic spiked at the sight of it. It was…” he broke off and shook his head, “It was odd. All of the lords could feel it, I am sure of it. Not one of them disputed that it was Enalius’s.”

Cassian remembered the way his siphons had throbbed and the ruby star over his chest had pulsed so fiercely it felt like a second heart—as if it were answering a silent call that even he couldn't hear. Only Nesta’s power had made Cassian feel like that before. It didn’t matter if it was silver fire or healing light, Nesta’s magic called to him, chanting and moaning until he thought he might combust from it.

But Cassian did not say any of that. Had barely dared to admit it to himself, let alone voice it out loud. So, instead, he flared his siphons and rummaged through the travel bag which appeared on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.

His fingers found the book without having to search for it, his callouses brushing against soft brown leather. He pulled out Heroicis, the gold-lettering on the cover shimmering as he flipped it open to peel back the delicate pages.

It was easy to find the illustration of the sword. Cassian had stared at the drawing so many times the book wanted to be opened to that page.

He placed the book down on the vanity.  “It looked exactly like that,” he announced wearily, waving a hand to the illustration. “Except the jewel is missing.”

The rustle of clothing sounded as three Fae moved towards him. Cassian did not turn but he scented all three of them. Lorrian’s gentle rush of heat and sandalwood. Frawley’s damp forest earth after rain and air streaked with fire smoke. And then Nesta. She had drawn up to his left, but he would have known where she was in a room without scent or sight. Yet, he allowed himself the privilege of scenting her all the same, as that rush of her became sharper and more focussed, like a blade narrowing to an essential point: jasmine and vanilla and Nesta.

Rivalling most Fae in height, Nesta’s head barely reached his shoulder. Cassian desperately wanted to wind his arm around her and pull her close, but out of the public eye they were no longer pretending. He didn’t want to push the boundaries that were already so brittle. Would not disrespect Nesta by overstepping the mark. Not unless she indicated she wanted it otherwise.

So, Cassian pushed away the stark vision of him moulding her to his body, or the way he had bowed earlier to press his lips to her knuckles. Tried not to ponder over the temptation of brushing his lips over her cheek by the end of their visit…

“I did not expect a General to carry epic poetry,” Frawley drawled in amusement, but there was an edge to her voice that told Cassian she was holding something back.

Lorrian snickered at his wife and did what Cassian had yearned to do to Nesta—he dropped a kiss to the top of her white head. The Colonel had used his siphons to peel back his armour as soon as the door had closed behind them. With it, his arm had disappeared, and the Colonel looked more like himself.

“Well, witch,” Cassian demanded with forced lightness, “is this an accurate depiction?”

“It is the only illustration I have ever seen that is correct,” Frawley said simply, her head cocked to the side so the white of her hair fell in an impossibly straight stream. The strands shimmered pearlescent in the light. The colour was almost otherworldly.

“Did you find anything out from the females?” Lorrian asked. He was rubbing over the stub of his limp, as if it was causing him phantom pain, his expression drawn tight.

The change of subject wasn’t as abrupt as it seemed. Cassian knew why Lorrian was asking. If they found anything incriminating against Kallon or the Ironcrest clan, it would aid them in stifling the rebellion that at this point seemed inevitable.

A fierce flare of pain wrangled through Cassian’s gut and his head snapped to Nesta, but she was staring fixedly at the book.

Lorrian had also turned sharply to Nesta, his eyes wide. His hand dropped from where he had been trying to ease the pain from his arm and his expression, although surprised, was free of any discomfort.

“Thank you,” Lorrian said quietly.

There was a pause that stretched out too long. All of them were silent, but Nesta dipped her chin without turning her head.

“The females didn’t speak beyond polite conversation,” Frawley began, steering all of their attention from Nesta. “But I did mention the kerit attacks on the widows camps.”

“Did you pick up any emotion?” Cassian asked Nesta.

“Yes,” Nesta replied, but her shrug dismissed the notion that she may have felt anything prominent. “Fear, disgust, anger towards the attacks. Most of it low level.”

Cassian frowned. “I suppose the attacks have not hit Ironcrest. They have not experienced the damage first hand.”

“There was a spike of horror and despair,” Nesta told him. “From someone. But I couldn't place it. It came from behind me and by the time I had turned the emotion had gone.”

Cassian stared down at Nesta. “Did you scent it? The insignia behind the emotion?”

Nesta shook her head. “All of the scents were jumbled. I got a flash of something, but I couldn’t—” Nesta stopped abruptly and her beautiful face twisted into a dissatisfied grimace. “If I sensed it again, I might recognise it, but—”

Already Cassian knew she was punishing herself. He refrained from putting a hand on her shoulder in silent reassurance.

“Even a Fae with years of practice would find it difficult to associate the source of an emotion in a crowded room,” Frawley said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if she too knew that Nesta would not stop the self-blame. That it would rage internally until it consumed her. “You do not have eyes in the back of your head.”

“And from Kallon?” Cassian asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer, and that he wasn’t going to like it.

They all watched Nesta’s lips tighten into a thin line. Eventually, she said, “He likes my power.”

Cassian knew that expression. Knew from the way everything had gone very quiet that she had frozen him out so he would not know how the promise in those yellow eyes had turned triggered Nesta’s trauma.

But the problem was that Cassian had learnt to notice the slightest change in Nesta’s expression. Had catalogued every movement in the four months they had lived together, even when he didn’t know what it meant.

Frawley’s brown eye flicked to Cassian. Even behind the brisk facade, Cassian could tell she was worried about Nesta. Cassian wondered what they had spoken about whilst he and Lorrian had been gone. “What time is this dreaded dinner?” she asked.

“In an hour,” Cassian grimaced.

“And do you think the princeling will be carrying the sword with him, now he has confirmed the rumours?”

Lorrian grunted a laugh. Cassian wondered if he, too, was thinking of the way Kallon’s eyes had gleamed triumphant. How tempting it had been to smack the princeling around the face. “I think we can count on it.”

 *** 

An hour later, the same servant escorted the four of them down the warren corridors to dinner.

Both Lorrian and Cassian had discarded their full-scaled armour for tunics layered with a stainless steel cuirass over the top. That, coupled with plates and fingerless leather gauntlets on both of their hands, allowed Cassian and Lorrian to showcase their siphons. The light-weight pieces of armour were made of the usual Illyrian scales, and whilst the armour was more ornamental than for the purpose of fighting, Rhys had worked his magic so it was as indestructible as carbon steel, if not more.

Lorrian’s right arm was back and glowing. Cassian understood why his friend wanted to face the vultures with all of his limbs, but he wished he could take Lorrian’s shame away. He supposed there was nothing to be done but to hope that time led to acceptance. Already Lorrian had come a long way. Had even started training with Cassian without his arm, learning to wield a sword with his left-hand should the occasion every call for it.

It was that willingness to adapt that reminded Cassian why Lorrian was an exceptional warrior. Why he would conquer where others would fail. The Colonel would be prepared for every scenario. Would know how to balance his body with and without a limb.

Opponents would not expect it. It would give Lorrian the upper hand in battle, rather than showcasing a weakness that anyone who knew about his limb would expect.

It meant that if Lorrian’s siphons ever became drained, that he could still fight.

Nesta and Frawley had also changed for dinner, even though the witch had grumbled at having to dress up for company she would rather obliterate from Prythian. Unsurprisingly, Nesta had only grown more divine with a change of clothes, but she had barely spared him a glance as she looped her hand through his arm.

Which, Cassian thought, had been just as well, because he had not been able to stop his eyes from darkening and his wings from rustling at the sheer sight of her.

Now, Nesta held onto him as they followed the backs of Lorrian and Frawley from where they walked in front of them. The two of them had fallen slightly behind, most likely because of their hesitancy to fling themselves back in the path of the vultures that were Marsh and Kallon.

And, Cassian admitted, because he had purposefully shortened his stride so he could glance surreptitiously at Nesta—at the dark, deep forest green of her long-sleeved dress, which had actually stopped Cassian’s heart and made his breath catch in his throat. Something which he knew Lorrian had clocked but had decided not to mention— thank the Cauldron.

The top half of the velvet material wrapped around Nesta’s every curve, before it billowed out softly at the hips into an A-line skirt. At her chest—which was bared rather than hidden away—the silver chain of the pyrite necklace fell tauntingly below the v-neckline.

Cassian thanked his lucky stars and the Gods combined that he could not glimpse her cleavage.

“Want to go home yet?” Cassian murmured, breaking their silence.

They had barely spoken since the luncheon and certainly not alone. Nesta had not commented when she had emerged from their bedroom. Had not mentioned the single bed that had taunted him when he had first entered to change.

Cassian had ensured they were not in the room at the same time. Was actually terrified to close himself into such a small and cramped space with her.

The way in which Nesta did not look up at him as he spoke told Cassian that she was very far away. Her huffed breath was practically inaudible, and she had an almost unreachable air about her that told him that for some reason, her trauma had caught up with her.

So, Cassian did what he did best. He decided to rile her.

“You’re going to have to lower your shields,” he warned her.

The slightest of frowns graced Nesta’s expression as they came to the end of a corridor and entered the vast landing that graced the first floor. Here, the flagstone floor was layered with a carpet runner that was dappled in brown and white, like the feathers of a hawk-crested eagle. “I’m aware,” Nesta clipped, that chin of hers raising as her back straightened.

Cassian brought a hand up to cover hers. Anything to get her to look at him. “You can stay in the room if you’d prefer,” he said quietly.

Those tempting lips thinned into a straight line. She turned her head away from him, so he could only see the intricate braid that weaved a halo around her head. “No, I can’t,” Nesta replied shortly.

She was not wrong. Cassian would not leave her deep in the mountain where he could not protect her. Even if that meant taking her to a place where her trauma would intensify.

He hated himself for it.

“I won’t let him harm you. I won’t let them touch you.” The words came out fiercer than he had intended, even if his voice was a low rumble.

There must have been enough urgency in his voice, because finally Nesta twisted her head to look up at him. Those eyes were a little less hollow. “I know,” she replied simply. Her eyes slid to a spot past his head. “I might harm them, though.”

A dark, please laugh issued from his throat, even as he wished that mercury would slide over the frosty blue of her irises. Nesta had issues summoning her magic when she succumbed to the numbness, and Cassian did not want her in this Gods damned awful place without her power at her disposable.

“I look forward to seeing it,” he responded smoothly, but his heart fell as she turned away from him again.

Desperation clawed at his insides—at the bond which was constricted by ice—that the next words left him without contemplating the gravity of them. “Are you wearing that dress to taunt me, Nesta?”

Nesta’s eyes snapped to his so quickly that everything in him jolted. A dim light throbbed in the depth of her gaze. “Excuse me?”

“This dress,” he said in a low confession, “has become my favourite thing.”

An unamused snort, even as a glimmer of embarrassment forced its way down their bond. It was fleeting and barely there, but Cassian felt it. Grasped for it. “Your favourite thing is chocolate.”

“My favourite thing is you,” he corrected, scarcely believing his loose tongue. He made his eyes glint playfully. “Chocolate is a close second.”

“In fact,” he mused after a moment’s pause. “The two together—”

“In your dreams,” Nesta snapped, her words coming out so sharply and with such aggression that both Frawley and Lorrian’s heads whipped round to stare at them.

Cassian grinned wolfishly, watching Lorrian shake his head at the obvious fire in Nesta’s eyes. The fire that Cassian was doing everything to rally.

Both of his friends had noticed Nesta turn silent in the hour before dinner, but neither of them had uttered a word. They understood the peaks and troughs—the challenges of life when things became too hard.

“That comeback again, sweetheart? I’d have thought you’d have something more original by now.”

“You are insufferable,” Nesta clipped. And at her hands… a wisp of that mist.

“Do you not like being complimented” Cassian taunted, stifling the way his blood soared at the faint pink that stained her cheeks—another blessed reaction.

Together they descended the elaborately wide staircase, moving slowly to accommodate for Nesta’s skirts. Usually, Cassian had no time for impractical attire, but he had long learnt that Nesta could wear whatever she liked and he would accommodate it, no matter how ill-thought-out. 

Nesta’s grip on his arm tightened into a death grip.

She was not looking at him again. Deliberately avoiding his gaze, even as his eyes did not once stray from her face, his legs carrying him blindly as he furiously scanned her for expression.

Finally, Nesta said with a quiet that did not lack in intensity, “A compliment isn’t true if it’s designed to be a distraction.”

Cassian huffed a breath of laughter. Of course, she had seen right through him. Yet…

He dared to lean towards her, to close the distance between them so he could murmur into her elegantly tipped ear. “It was a distraction,” he confessed honestly as they turned down the corridor that led off to the right-hand side of the foyer, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, does it?”

Blue, smoky eyes latched onto his, Nesta’s chin tilting upwards to meet his gaze. It was a torturous form of bliss, the movement bringing her face far too close to his. She stared at him and he stared right back, even as his heart thumped hard against his ribcage.

He lowered his head further. Watched Nesta’s eyes widen ever so slightly as he closed the distance between them. She had stilled completely, halting them just outside of the dining room.

This time he allowed his lips to ghost her ear. Let the Illyrian roll of his tongue and savoured her suppressed shiver. The spark of something which wound itself around his ribcage. “After you, amore.”

Cassian made himself wink as he straightened up, as if he were entirely unaffected by her proximity.

And then he steered her into the dining room.

 ***

Dinner was worse than Cassian had anticipated, and by the time the four of them arrived back at their suite, none of them were bothering to hide their exhaustion. The door had barely shut behind them when Frawley brusquely announced that the sword which had been showcased at the dinner was undoubtedly Enalius’s, before she disappeared into her room with Lorrian following closely behind.

The first thing Cassian had done upon entering he and Nesta’s shared room was to flop onto the bed. Dealing with Lord Marsh was trying at the best of times, but tackling Lord Marsh, Kallon and the other arrogant lords, as well as the drama that came with it… Cassian had been fighting a headache all day and the pressure was now a keen, insistent throb behind his eyes.

That, coupled with a tense dinner that had slowly chipped away at his pain threshold, had Cassian desperately wanting to slide beneath the sheets and succumb to sleep.

To Cassian’s surprise, Marsh had not been present at dinner, and from the way that Kallon sat unfazed at the head of the table, Cassian gathered that it was not an unusual occurrence.

Kallon had held audience with an ease that had rivalled Rhys when he was playing cruel High Lord during a visit to the Hewn City, and apart from the shadows of servants lining the walls, no other lords and ladies had been present at dinner. It had been a surprising move. Cassian had expected Kallon to parade and taunt in front of the watchful eyes of the Illyrian nobility, who would no doubt disappear later to whisper into others ears…

But, instead, it had only been the five of them. That had been enough to tell Cassian that whilst Kallon might have no qualms in wielding words as vicious as Nesta’s, he also did not believe he could control the tongues of those he was dining with. That he knew that despite the sword that lay gleaming on the gilded cushion further down the table, that they his company had the capability of maiming him if they saw fit. Something which Kallon could not afford given his victory earlier that afternoon.

This fear came to a conclusion halfway through their main course, when Kallon deigned to insinuate that females were not designed to wield a sword.

“Are you saying,” Nesta asked with a deathly sort of calm that had Cassian tensing, “that you do not deem females worthy of protecting themselves?”

“I think that the Night Court should protect the entirety of its court so the females don’t have to worry about protecting themselves,” Kallon had responded swiftly, his sharp knife slicing into his bloody steak as if it were nothing but butter.

“What you are saying,” Frawley corrected, her voice brusque and hard, “is that you do not  see females as having any other purpose than bearing younglings.”

“Is that not their purpose?” Kallon had challenged. He paused, surveying all of their faces with a grim sort of satisfaction, before he had pressed on, “Is that not what is needed for a race who has lost more males in this war than it has seen in hundreds of years?”

“A female’s worth is not found in their ability to reproduce,” Nesta had responded coolly. Her voice, Cassian had noticed, had dipped into the deathly sort of calm that usually preceded an outburst of flame. “In fact, I have not met one male in Illyria who is more worthy of learning how to wield a weapon than the females in Illyria’s camps.”

“And does that sense of worth extend to the males around this table?” Kallon had replied, his yellow eyes gleaming at a sudden opportunity. Like the rest of the residence, the dining room had been dimly lit, illuminated by faint faelight and the fire that raged in the hearth. It meant that shadows had crept across the walls and table as Kallon leant forward to where Nesta was sitting at his right. “I assume not, given your tendency to fuck anything that moves.”

The sentence was as abrupt as a slap to the face, but Nesta did not move. Did not give any indication that the princeling’s words had hit home, even as Cassian’s gut had wrenched.

“It is funny,” Nesta had mused icily, her voice as cold as the fiercest Illyrian winter, “that you should try to shame me, especially given that if I was a male, I am sure you would be praising me for such a consistent pursuit of pleasure.”

Carefully, Nesta had set down her goblet, her eyes boring into the princeling’s with such intensity that Cassian had been surprised that the male hadn’t burst into flame.

Other than Frawley’s snort of agreement, nobody had dared to move. Time had passed. Time in which Cassian vowed to remain steadfast to his silent promise that he should not interference unless it was absolutely necessary. Even as Kallon did not back down.

Together, they had all watched the princeling settle back into his chair with the relaxed sort of ease that had Cassian wanting to castrate him. “Perhaps then, I should surprise you by showing you my room in case you fancy pursuing some real pleasure later—”

“That is —” Cassian had started to snarled, banging a fist on the table just as Lorrian had growled, the sound a low, deep warning—

And that was when the entire room had glowed silver, the magic snapping around the room with such ferocity that it was like a whip cracking against bare skin.

When Nesta’s magic dropped—when Cassian’s blood had reduced to a simmer rather than boiling—Cassian realised that exercising her magic had been the perfect excuse for Nesta to silence the fire that had been crackling fiercely in the grate behind them. The fire from which Cassian had spent the entirety of the meal trying to shield her from as best as possible, his wing curled protectively around the back of her chair.

Even so, the showcase of Nesta’s power had been startling and undeniably effective. As Nesta’s temper had flared, that silver fire had ignited in the grate, swallowing the orange flames as mist wreathed up her arms, eddying around her at such speed that it began to seep across the table towards Kallon.

And the whole time Kallon’s eyes had gleamed. Not with fear, but with the kind of awe that Cassian felt when he’d first witnessed how magnificent Nesta was.

It had taken everything in Cassian not to leap across the table and rip the princeling’s head from his body. From the way Frawley was gripping Lorrian, it had seemed as if his friend felt the exact same way.

But to Cassian’s surprise, Nesta had only let out a low, cruel laugh which had sliced through any of Cassian’s intention to intervene.

Instead, he had watched, riveted as those eyes of pure mercury raked up and down Kallon’s body with a look of unbridled disgust. And when Nesta had spoken, her voice was as terrifying as the promise of death, “I would never deign to lower myself by sharing a bed with you,” she told Kallon, “and I certainly hope that no other female has been forced to endure it.”

Infuriatingly, Kallon had only let out a musical laugh rather than a snarled retort. “And I suppose you would rather pair yourself with a male who has nothing to give you—not a title or a name, only the promise of a cheap necklace. Perhaps that is why you seem to have no true inclination to secure your future with him.”

Then, Kallon had slowly dragged his eyes to Cassian. “I would have thought your role in leading the Night Court’s armies would pay better than that, General. But I suppose you can’t take the bastard out of the slums.”

It had been at that point that Nesta had found Cassian’s hand under the table. It had been the most careful of movements—unnoticeable to anybody but them. The clasp of her fingers around his and the easing of the pain and fury in his gut had been the only thing that had stopped him from either beating Kallon to a pulp or leaving the meal in a rage.

Both of which would only have allowed Kallon to emerge triumphant… So, they had eaten in the sort of tense silence, speared sporadically with the odd ferocious comment. And at the end of the table, that damned sword had lain on the gilded cushion, gleaming magnificently in the firelight, calling to Cassian’s power in a way that pulled at his skin…

Now, recollecting the monstrosity of the evening, Cassian wanted to ward away the feeling of unworthiness that still lay bitter on his tongue. There was also a sense of foreboding that he could not shake. A terrible knowledge that whatever he and Nesta had  constructed between them was something false rather than true.

There were so many cracks they had hastily tried to ignore. So many past actions that had been pushed to the background rather than being acknowledged.

Cassian didn’t know what would happen if they were addressed. If it would fling the two of them so far back into the past that it would shatter the present.

Yet… it seemed inevitable. A hulking, looming presence that clung to them like a shadow.

But for now… Cassian wanted lightness. He wanted to know that he and Nesta were ok. So he waved a hand tiredly at the room, and said, “Sorry we have to share.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta replied finally, as if she had been so far away it had taken her a while to rope herself back to reality.

Cracking open an eye, Cassian watched her close the bedroom door behind her. She had closed their bond as soon as they had left the dinner table. Cassian did not know if it was a deliberate move to shut him out, or just an attempt to sever any emotion. He knew she must be feeling raw. Lowering one’s shields did that, especially for Nesta, who felt more than everyone else. Azriel had warned him of that. Had confirmed what Cassian and Feyre had always thought. That Nesta’s gift expanded outside of the power she had clawed from the Cauldron. Something which had always existed inside of her but which had been magnified further when she was Made.

“I wouldn’t want my own room here,” Nesta elaborated when she caught him studying her.

Cassian watched Nesta’s ever perceptive eyes scan the room: the simple, whitewashed walls and the pine furniture. The room was of moderate size, although Cassian would wager that it wasn’t Lord Marsh’s biggest guest room. That silent rebuff hadn't gone unnoticed — not that Cassian cared. He had endured far worse conditions, after all.

Most of the floor space was taken up by the Illyrian bed, which was big enough for two sets of wings. Now, Nesta hovered beside it as if she were unsure what to do next. It was the most awkward he had ever seen her.

“By all means,” he drawled tiredly, waving to the other side of the mattress. He folded the wing that he had spread onto the other side—her side—of the bed, “I can sleep on the floor. Just...give me a moment.”

Ignoring his invitation, Nesta floated over to the dressing table instead. Propping his head under a bent arm, Cassian watched her as she started to slowly take the pins out of her hair.

For a long while, the clink of metal on wood was the only noise that filled the room, and Cassian was just about to ask Nesta how many gods damned pins she used, when she started to slowly unspool the hair from the top of her head. Jaw slightly slack, Cassian watched in awe as Nesta parted the thick strands of the braid with well-practiced hands. When she was finished, she began to brush it out, until the light brown strands shimmered gold in the faelight and the teeth no longer snagged on knows.

Cassian wondered if any male had ever seen her do this: the simple act of getting ready for bed. He hoped not. There was something intimate about watching Nesta let her hair down, as if every pin that came out of her head removed a little bit of that mask, revealing a younger, softer version of the hot-headed hellcat he usually had to contend with.

“You’re staring.”

The words clipped through the silence, as sharp as a cutting knife.

Well, perhaps she wasn’t a softer version, after all.

Cassian’s eyes slid to Nesta’s in the mirror. In the dim faelight, the blue of her irises had given way to a stormy, mesmerising grey. He made his lips pout, even as he imagined running his fingers through the soft strands. “Your hair looks prettier than mine.”

The faintest of smiles tugged at Nesta’s lips. It was slightly wicked, the only warning she gave him before she tossed him the ivory-handled brush.

Cassian’s hand snapped up, catching the brush inches from his face, his eyes never straying from hers.

His grin was triumphant and when Nesta rolled her eyes at him, the gesture so uncharacteristically playful, satisfaction burned through every pore, every fibre of his being.

How far they had come.

“Then brush it, you stupid brute. I won’t deny that it needs it.”

Cassian laughed throatily—the first true laugh he had let loose that day. “I thought you liked my rugged looks?”

A soft, unimpressed snort. “A wholly made up notion.”

He watched Nesta rummage through her travel bag and pull out a white cotton nightdress and some toiletries, before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. He brushed his hair whilst the water ran and then peeled off his clothes, baring his skin to the chill air.

The glare Nesta sent him when she reemerged would have sent a lesser male scarpering. It made him wonder how any of the males she had bedded had even made it home with her in the first place. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, which only emphasised the swell of her breasts beneath the cotton. She was still wearing the pyrite, and the metal shone mockingly against her creamy skin—silver flecked with gold.

The sight of it so close to her cleavage had him biting back a groan.

Mother Above, he had to get a grip if they were going to sharing a room all night.

“You can’t wear night clothes like a normal person?” Nesta hissed at him.

With a taunting grin, Cassian rested a hand on a hip, highlighting his tight undershorts. He refrained from flaring his wings—largely because the space did not accommodate for it. “I usually sleep nude sweetheart, which would you prefer?”

And then, not waiting for her to start on him, he headed straight for the bathroom, making sure their skin brushed as he passed.

To his delight, Nesta’s angry snarl chased him until he closed the bathroom door firmly behind him.

When he reappeared five minutes later, Nesta was already under the covers with her nose buried in a book. Silent, silver flames licking fiercely up the chimney from the open fire grate. The heat was fiercely warm and very welcome, especially given that this deep underground, there was little warmth to be found. The heat sunk deliciously into his skin, and Cassian flared his wings slightly to fight the goosebumps that were scattered across the sensitive membrane.

Since Nesta had lit the torch at the widows funeral, she had taken to lighting the fires throughout the house, and Cassian had become so used to the glow of silver flames in every fire grate around the house that he barely bat an eyelid.

It warmed him, though, to see the house alight with silver and warmth. To see Nesta unafraid and relaxed. To see her sit near the fire, rather than as far away from it as possible.

“I didn’t see you sneak a book into the bag,” Cassian commented, as he pulled a blanket from the wardrobe and pulled on some loose pants. He had been teasing her before about sleeping in his undershorts. He’d mainly wanted to pull a reaction from her, to see how she would respond to his bare skin.

Her hiss had been satisfying enough. Not that Cassian hadn’t hoped for more. A too long glance, or even better, a blush.

Nesta didn’t glance up at Cassian as she turned the page. “You should know better than to think I’d travel without a book.”

He watched her eyes move across the page, utterly absorbed. Her long hair fell over her face and unconsciously she tucked the strand behind an elegantly arched ear. A signature move of hers, however unconscious, that he had yet to name. It was fast becoming one of his favourites.

Nodding, Cassian reached for the pillows on his side of the bed to distract himself from looking at her. Her next words made him pause.

“Just stick to your side.”

Nesta did not look up. She gave none of her focus to him yet she must have been watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“I don’t mind,” he reassured her after a moment.

A flip of a page. “There’s no room for your wings down there.”

She was right. It was a tight enough squeeze for his body let alone the wings on his back, and the blanket would do little to protect him from the cold flagstone floor. Cassian had endured far worse of course, but the thought of tucking his wings in that tight all night... well, he’d suffer for it tomorrow. And even though he knew sleeping an arms length away from her would be torture of a different kind...

“Thank you,” he conceded softly.

No acknowledgement, yet… this was progress. Only months ago, Nesta would have made him sleep on the cold just to watch him suffer.

A contented groan escaped him as the mattress moulded to his sore back. He rolled onto his side, flaring his wings to settle behind him and examined her.

The faded paperback Nesta was reading was well-worn. Many of the pages were dog-eared and Cassian knew that he’d seen her curled up with it before. He craned his neck in an attempt to try and read the title on the spine. He would bet good money it was a love story. No, he would bet his entire wealth that it was a love story.

It was quick, but he caught Nesta’s darting glance. It was enough for him to break the silence.

“Why do you read romance novels?”

A burning question Cassian had wanted to ask her more times than he could count. On both hands.

Not that he didn’t have his own theory on that.

“Why do you read books about war?” Nesta countered.

A slow, taunting smile. “I asked you first, sweetheart.”

Nesta rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Why can’t I read them?”

Cassian bit back a growl of frustration. “You can read whatever you like. What I mean is why do you enjoy reading romance novels so much?”

Nesta bookmarked her page with a scarlet ribbon—a gesture at odds with the earmarked pages—and placed it on the nightstand with a sigh. “I revoke my offer, you can sleep on the floor.”

“But what about my poor wings,” he whined.

“Feyre’s right, you really are Illyrian babies.”

Cassian scowled. “I’m full of testosterone, thank you very much.”

Nesta snorted. “Rumour has it that Azriel has the largest wingspan.”

The soft snarl that tore out of Cassian’s mouth surprised even him. He hadn’t made the noise deliberately, it had been completely unconscious, just as much as the next words out of his mouth. “Would you like me to prove you wrong, Nesta?”

His voice had turned low and husky without his bidding, as if it had done so purely on instinct. Maybe allowing himself to get in the same bed as Nesta had been a mistake. The scent of her was enough to cloud his judgement and this close... He could have his mouth on hers in seconds.

“I’d like anything but, actually,” Nesta clipped, completely unfazed by his act of dominance. “Besides, males seem to forget that it’s style over substance.”

Propping himself up on an elbow, Cassian leant towards her. He arched an eyebrow at her, his expression cocksure. Somehow, his headache had completely vanished. “Lucky for you, I have both.”

Nesta’s groan was one of long suffering. She reached to undo the clasp of the chain around her neck.

“Don’t take it off.”

Nesta’s head snapped round to his, his sudden command at odds with their banter. He held up his hands, the two ruby siphons glinting from where they sat firmly on the leather straps.

“We’re in that much danger?” she asked.

Cassian sunk back down onto his side, “I’m not taking any chances, and... I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re not wearing it.”

Nesta’s lips parted slightly but her hands slowly withdrew from her neck. The stone glinted briefly against Nesta’s skin and then she extinguished the lights.

The soft flicker of silver that glowed from the hearth was the only reprieve from the darkness that fell across the room. Cassian wondered if flames would go out when Nesta fell asleep or if they would keep on burning.

The sheets rustled as Nesta got comfortable. In the following silence, Cassian could make out the reassuring thump of her heart. It wrapped around his own, the feeling a comfort until his breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed.

“He’s horrible,” Nesta said suddenly into the darkness.

“Marsh?” Cassian asked, but he knew who she meant. Wasn’t sure why he didn’t say it out loud.

“Him too, but I meant Kallon.”

Cassian grunted in agreement. Then, he dared to say, “He’s taken a liking to you.”

Revulsion forced its way down their constricted bond and into his gut.

Cassian didn’t need to look at Nesta to know her expression was hard. “He’s a pig-headed Illyrian brute.”

A flicker of a smile tugged at Cassian’s mouth, despite the subject. “I thought I was a pig-headed Illyrian brute?”

“Then I’ll have to rework my insults for you in light of recent events.”

Cassian barked another true laugh. Would Nesta ever stop surprising him? He suspected that if they were to spend a lifetime together, he would never grow bored. Would never be tempted to look in another female’s direction.

“I feel both triumphant and expectant,” he confided, before he sobered. “You didn’t have to defend me, earlier. I’m used to the comments. It doesn’t matter what I do, but my race will always see me as a bastard first and a General second. Being coupled with you is not something they will ever believe I deserve.”

More rustling of the sheets as Nesta turned onto her side to face him. Through the shadows, Cassian’s Fae eyesight could make out Nesta’s eyes staring directly at him. Even in the muted light, they were mesmerising. “I had a pretence to upkeep,” she replied shortly, as if that explained everything. But then her voice became so quiet that his ears strained to hear her. “You’re worth more than them.”

Usually, Cassian would have teased Nesta for voicing something so groundbreaking, but in this room—in this shared bed—the words dissolved on his tongue. He was momentarily speechless, so much so that the silence became awkward and weighted. His family had attempted to address his insecurities before, but it had never been enough to quash the beliefs that had been drummed into him from a young age. Cassian, too proud to succumb to the seriousness of the conversation, had brushed his family off until they left him well alone.

Azriel was the only one who truly understood; it was why he had never seen himself worthy enough to pursue Mor.

By the time Cassian summoned the courage to open his mouth, Nesta was already speaking, “How do they know about the war?”

The question made his heart stop. Not just because Nesta had mentioned a subject they usually stayed well clear of, but because, for the first time, she was addressing what had happened between them on the battlefield.

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly, ignoring the way his heart had begun to hammer in his chest. “By the time the healer had mended my wings everyone was talking about it. I think a conversation must have been overhead by a healer.” He paused, hoping Nesta might speak again. When she didn't, he added, “I was… very angry when I found out.” He palmed a hand over his face to try and soothe away the nerves that were humming agitatedly inside of him. He had done his best to ignore the whisperings behind his back.

It hadn’t been hard at first. The aftermath of the war had taken all of his attention. He had barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone digest the gravity of what others had found out. Not that he had gotten the gist of it in drabs: the entirety of the Night Court knew of how they had defended one another; how Nesta had been willing to die with Cassian when she could have run.

They did not know what he had promised. That he had kissed her, even though they were calling it the greatest love story in centuries. Cassian would never forget how Nesta had lain over him when she’d had the chance to run, and the urgency to her voice—the way it had cracked—as she had said; I can’t.

It was those two words which hounded Cassian the most, because even now, he did not know whether Nesta had said that because she hadn’t wanted to leave him, or because she had no choice.

“I assumed it was my sister and her loose mouth.”

Nesta’s words startled Cassian, bringing him back to the dark room rather than the muddy battlefield where his body was broken but his heart was full and aching. And in truth, Cassian had expected Nesta to draw a line under the conversation by ignoring him and feigning sleep, the next morning a fresh page where they need not bring up the previous night’s discussion.

Despite the dark, Cassian nodded, even though he was unsure as to whether Nesta could see it.

He had considered the same about Feyre. Not on purpose, of course, but by mistake. Feyre had been a witness. The original witness. “One thing I’ve learnt growing up Fae is that there are eyes and ears everywhere,” Cassian said eventually. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t prefer having my business kept to myself.”

Cassian knew Nesta was fiercely private, far more than him. Was it that invasion coupled with the monumental pressure that came with being spoken about by Fae and humans alike, as they whispered about the greatest love story in Prythian—the lowly bastard and the human Made Fae—that had been the final straw for her? Or had it been the death and destruction which had slammed the door shut on something as naive and fanciful as love?

The desperation to know—to understand—was so fierce that Cassian could not stop himself from asking what he had never dared, “Is that why you wanted nothing to do with me?”

A long, stony silence that eventually began to simmer with anger. Cassian did not know if it was the audacity of him having asked or for bringing unwanted memories to the surface.

Finally, Nesta clipped, “I wanted nothing to do with someone who treated me as second best.”

The icy dismissal in Nesta’s tone had goosebumps rising on Cassian’s bare arms. Recently their conversations had been a torturous, delicious heat rather than frosty, but this delivery… it made Cassian feel as if he had stepped back into the past.

They were going there then. A conversation Cassian never dreamed they would have. Yet here they were... and suddenly he was so terrified it would ruin everything he wished it would stop, even as he asked in a low voice, “In what capacity?”

Snapped words like the crack of a whip. “In every capacity. Let me go to sleep.”

“Nesta,” Cassian pressed, not caring that it was dangerous. Desperate to try and understand why they were not together when his entire body was begging him to close the distance. He knew she must feel it too. Hoped that she did. That it was not just a wishful fantasy on his part. Cassian had always thought their chemistry undeniable. It was what scared him.

It never went away, the wanting.

“What do you mean second best?” he urged.

“The fact that you do not know shows how stupid you are,” Nesta replied coldly, turning away from him, signalling that the conversation was over. Through the shadowy dark, Cassian could make out the slope of her shoulder and the outline of her curvaceous side. The spill of her hair, a tempting drape across the pillow.

He curbed most of the desperation that wanted to creep into his voice. “You are speaking of Mor.”

An abrupt snort of confirmation.

“Mor is my family,” Cassian said carefully, even though he knew his words would not convince Nesta.

“Your dynamic is not familial.”

“Not at the start, no,” Cassian admitted, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. To give himself distance. Because he could not bear to stare at her turned back as she tried to shut him out. “We slept together once when we were very young. It has never been repeated.” He blew out a long breath as he ran a hand over his face, trying to smooth over his pained expression. “She used me to lose her maidenhead. I don’t know how much you know, but Mor was mutilated by her family for it—she was dumped in the Autumn court with a note nailed to her womb for her betrothed to find her. It collapsed her marriage proposal and I have been responsible for that mutilation every day since, not least for driving a wedge between me and my brother.”

As he trailed off, the blankets moved and to his surprise, Nesta’s shoulder dipped slightly towards him. He’d clearly piqued her interest. “You mean Azriel.”

“Yes,” Cassian admitted bitterly. “I slept with Mor because I was a jealous prick and Az was besotted with her. His diverted attention made me feel like I had lost my brother and I thought it would make him move on.” Loosing another sigh, Cassian rubbed his tired eyes with the heel of his palms. “I grew up alone, so when I moved in with Rhysand’s mother and Azriel joined us… he and Rhys were the closest I had ever had to a real family. When we were a three, it was the first time I remembered being truly happy. Mor threatened that, so I did what I thought would remedy it. I was a naive, arrogant prick and bedding Mor is a regret that I have lived with ever since.”

Pausing, Cassian took in a deep breath. He’d never voiced any of this out loud before. It had always been something he and his family did not discuss out in the open, not until recently with Mor, anyway. And he had not gone into so much depth.

He hoped that Nesta understood what it had meant for him to be happy for the first time, when before that he had been miserable and alone. Nesta herself had confessed to Frawley that she did not know when she had last felt joy, but then Cassian had felt it the other day, the sensation so wonderful in her stomach he felt as if he had been knocked of breath. He had flown to find her, followed that tether between them that was more visceral than he had ever felt it, before he realised that this was not his moment to experience. So he had turned around in the skies, headed back home, waited to see Nesta later. Her face had been flushed and she was dirty from a day of helping in the widows camp… but her face, it was free of that mask. With it, her expression was less severe and the light in her eyes made her irises a shade lighter. It was the most beautiful thing Cassian had ever seen. And when she had seen him, she had smiled without thinking. As if he, too, brought her joy.

It had been a quiet smile. Secret. His.

But where could Cassian even start to begin explaining the mess of the love triangle between Mor, Az and himself? Of the guilt he felt for a few minutes of pleasure which nearly costed Mor her life.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “I felt so much guilt over what I had done—over what happened to Mor and for betraying Azriel like that—I spent the next five hundred years doing everything I could to make things easier between them. Azriel doesn’t think he is worthy of Mor and Mor isn’t interested. So I stepped in when I could… I eased the tension. I let Mor use me as a buffer and it just… it became a bad habit. We fell into an unusual friendship. Mor can be very protective of me.” He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I can see how things were misconstrued. I think about it a lot, Nesta. I think about it all the time.”

Only silence met his confession.

“Things won’t be like that anymore,” he pressed on. Because he needed Nesta to understand that Mor was not in the equation—that she never had been—even though he was sure he and Nesta would never be anything but two Fae forced into close quarters. “Mor has finally been honest with Azriel.”

No reply. Nesta had turned preternaturally still again, as if she weren’t breathing.

“Nesta?"

“What.”

It was only one word but it was more vicious than anything she had said to him in months.

He felt his blood heat as he propped himself up onto an elbow. “Are you going to say anything or are you going to ignore me and pretend this conversation never happened?”

Nesta’s body moved slightly beneath the sheets as her muscles seized up. “I don’t think any of it matters now, so it’s not relevant.”

“It has always been relevant to me.” Cassian’s voice came out as a low hiss, his self-control snapping as his vulnerability became too much to bear. He threw a protective bubble around the room, sound proofing them inside. For the sake of their pretence, he couldn't have Fae ears overhearing their conversation. And… he could not bear Lorrian and Frawley overhearing something so painful. “You terrify me, Nesta, because I have never been so fucking captivated by anyone in the whole five hundred years I have been alive. From the very start you were different and it scared the shit out of me. My entire family knew it, too. I’m not a fan of everyone knowing my business, either, believe it or not, and they witnessed you putting me down at every step.”

Nesta’s snort was so cold that his entire blood heated fire. He was thankful for the dark to conceal how red his face has turned. He wanted to throttle her at the same time as he wanted to press her into the mattress and slant his mouth on hers. To show her that even now he only wanted her. That Mor meant nothing. Hadn’t for centuries. That he’d royally fucked up in so many ways that he didn’t even know how to start apologising.

“If you cared so much, perhaps you would not drop my hand when your friend enters the scene or gift her lingerie whilst I am in the same room. You are disgusting,” she spat. 

Then, Nesta was facing him again with such sudden speed that Cassian braced himself for an attack, but Nesta only propped herself up onto an elbow. Her hair fell like a curtain over her shoulder, the flare of silver from her fingertips lighting the room with a sudden brightness.

“You asked why I read romance novels,” Nesta said, her voice having dropped suddenly into a quiet fervour that was no less chilling. “I read them because I was engaged to a boy who turned out to be cruel and I have watched a five hundred year old male discard and ignore me as he pleased. I would rather read about love than be in it. After all, I recall you saying that I was not worthy of love.”

“Sweetheart—” Cassian croaked. The blood had drained from his face and he knew that if he were to look in the mirror all he would see was a haunted ghost of himself. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to say that. You were so empty. I couldn’t reach you and so I lied. I thought you’d get angry at me, but instead you just walked away.”

“You are not unloveable,” he told her fiercely, when she remained silent and so fiercely sad his heart clenched. He had not known that she was engaged to that human filth. “You are the exact opposite. If anything—”

He stopped abruptly. Took stock. Her light was still glowing around them, illuminating the room in an ethereal mist which he would have considered beautiful if the two of them hadn’t been consumed by such agony.

“You’re not unloveable,” he insisted vehemently, after a moment’s pause. “And love doesn’t work like that. You can’t choose not to love, sweetheart. You know—”

“We decide how we act on it, that’s what matters,” Nesta interrupted, that mist sparking momentarily into flame before it was eaten by shadow.

And that was the crux of it. The truth behind the words—the calculated response that told Cassian that Nesta had thought of this over and over again. He would not change her mind when it came to him, because it all boiled down to her ability to choose. And he was not a choice. He had been thrust upon her. They were history rather than present. Would always be that way, it seemed.

Cassian fell onto his back as the gravity of the realisation crushed him with such force that for a moment, he felt as if he was choking.

“It was wrong of me to do those things,” Cassian said quietly, forcing out the hoarse words through the tightness in his windpipes as a result of the crushing disappointment. “All of it was wrong of me. I know that, Nesta. You may think I’m old but around you I find myself a teenager.  On Solstice last year I didn’t know how to deal with the situation so I ignored you before you could do it to me and then regretted it later. I hoped you would speak to me. I hoped—”

That you would change your mind. That you would want to be with me. That you would stop fucking all those males. That you would forgive me.

But Cassian did not say those things. Instead, he said, “Look, we just need to pretend to be together for one more day and then you don’t have to think about being tied to anyone ever again.”

Silence.

That as all he needed to move. Logic told him that he should stay put—that he should remain calm and rational rather than affected—but the pain was too much and he found himself sitting up and pushing off the covers. He needed distance. In this room all he could scent was her—jasmine and vanilla—and it hurt, to be so close and know that he could not comfort her without the knowledge that she’d set him alight.

Cassian had thought he’d drawn a line under it all. Thought he’d accepted that he was content to co-habit with her and resist the undeniable pull between them for the rest of his days. But they had taken such big steps forward recently. Had thought things had continually shifted until all it boiled down to was their connection, which ran far deeper than twists of rope and a damn Cauldron.

At times, Cassian had even thought Nesta had wanted him to touch her. Had almost leant in to him. Walked close, stayed close.

Snorting, he discarded the memories, angry at himself for having wished for something that he had tried to put to rest.

“Where are you going?” Nesta’s words were sharp. The fanciful part of him detected alarm, but Cassian pushed it away. He knew better.

“To sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Again, Nesta moved with that extraordinary speed that Cassian should have accounted for. He had seen her in the sparring ring, had witnessed her move so fast that she was almost a blur. Only he could move that fast.

A mist-wreathed hand closed around his wrist with a strength that had his heart beating in his mouth and his siphons flaring. “Stay.”

Cassian ran a shaking palm over his face, pressing the heel of it to his eyes, hoping the pain of it would ground him. “I can’t,” he lied.

“You can,” Nesta said shortly, but there was a quiet plea lacing her voice. “You will.”

When Cassian didn’t move, Nesta tugged on his arm, urging him to join her back on the mattress. “Please,” she breathed, and this time Cassian did detect panic, as if Nesta had not bothered to conceal it. “I don’t want to fight with you. You’re the only—”

To Cassian’s dismay, Nesta broke off as her eyes filled with tears. When she spoke, her words were barely audible—small, “I like my life at the moment. I’ve never liked it before.”

Something cracked inside of Cassian, the sound internal and akin to the smashing of china.

“I don’t want anything to change,” Nesta continued. “I don’t want to have to move back to Velaris. I want to stay with you where I feel safe.”

Her expression cracked. The tight line to her mouth trembled and a frown twisted across her features. A tear slid down her cheek. “I said awful things to you,” she admitted.

“Yes,” Cassian conceded with a sad, tremulous smile, because even now he did not want her to hurt. “And I said awful things to you.”

“I wanted you to leave me alone. You scared me.”

“I know,” he replied. Because he understood what she meant. How even though his blood sang when she was near, he was equal parts terrified. “You scared me, too.”

“I needed to make you leave.”

“I know,” he repeated again. Because he knew that, too. Knew she had purposefully driven him away. She had wanted to hurt and be consumed with trauma. To finally feel nothing. To make sure the those she cared for were safe from her.

A broken sob had Cassian cupping Nesta’s face before he could help himself. Her skin was unbelievably soft against his calloused palms. He brushed a thumb over the arch of her cheekbone. “Nesta,” he breathed, waiting until she looked at him, until blue and hazel clicked into place. “I want you to stay with me. You never have to move back to Velaris, not if you don’t want to.”

Nesta did not reply. Did not move away. He bowed his head until his forehead was resting against hers, wanting her to know that he was sincere. That he wanted her to stay not because that’s what she needed to hear, but because he didn’t know what life would be like without her in it.

“I like living with you,” he told her again, because he knew somehow that she didn’t believe it. “I don’t want you to leave, either.”

Then he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist, her body pliant as he wrapped his arms around her. Cassian could feel Nesta’s heart, the sound pattering to meet his, as she wound her arms around his bare waist.

Her furled fists rested lightly against his skin, the pressure welcome and wonderful as she finally held him back.

“So, you won’t sleep on the floor?”

Such a small voice. Vulnerable and trusting. A voice she didn’t use with anyone but him.

“No,” Cassian assured her, knowing that staying was something he would never refuse. Something he couldn’t. “I won’t sleep on the floor.”

When he lay on the edge of his pillow closest to hers, Nesta settled beside him. She found his hand beneath the blankets, her fingers threading through his.

The initiated contact had his blood thrumming and he resisted the urge to pull Nesta back to him and wrap her in his arms.

An indeterminate amount of time passed.

Cassian listened to Nesta’s breathing as it became even; the slow, relaxed beat of her heart. The sound of his, thumping in tandem. Watched her eyelids flutter shut and her features soften. Felt how her fingers remained entwined with his.

“We would have crashed and burned. I would have dragged you down.”

Quiet, sleepy words. A confession, really, and Cassian stilled in surprise at the honesty that was not spat or wringing with deadly venom, but level. And if Cassian allowed himself to be rational, he knew that Nesta was right. Despite the thorny, overgrown path they were trampling down, it had all been necessary. Trauma, internal conflicts, self-doubt, complicated relationships… there were so many things that the both of them had needed to face before they could be truly content. What was it Cassian had said to Rhys when his brother had asked about his happiness? I’m working on it. He still was, but with Nesta beside him, still holding tight to his hand, Cassian found the world a little brighter, despite the shadowy future that lay ahead of them—a shape that had not yet taken form.

So, Cassian allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. “Maybe I’d like to be set alight.”

A soft snort. “That doesn’t mean you should.”

Then, Nesta’s fingers squeezed his. Soft breath travelled across the pillow to caress his cheek. “Goodnight, Cassian.”

He wondered how many times Nesta had actually said his name without being in mortal danger or when she had needed to get his attention. His name sounded intimate on her lips, a whisper of a prayer across the void that he hoped was narrowing between them.

In his mind, Cassian raised her hand again to press a kiss to her knuckles, even as he merely tightened his hold on hers.

It was in that moment of calm that Cassian vowed that he would change Nesta’s mind. That he would spend this gifted time showing Nesta that they might be strung together but that he had chosen her, if she would have him.

In the flickering silver light, Cassian felt Nesta began to slip into unconscious. Felt her fingers loosen their grip on his, but he held on tight, and said, “Goodnight, Nesta.”

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775  @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @san-y-a-blog 

[m3kuroshirt]

House of Assassins Part Four

links to Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Word count: 1944

warnings: none

The kitchen was warm and inviting, especially so cold and late (early?). Ichigo seated himself at the table, and Grimmjow busied himself with the kettle. As he waited, Ichigo could feel tiredness seeping into his bones, but he knew that if he went home all he would do was stare up at the darkened ceiling, a restlessness running rampant in his mind.

Finally, Grimmjow sat himself down with two mugs of tea. He slid one to Ichigo, and took a sip from the other. “So,” he started. Ichigo bit the inside of his lip as he wrapped both hands around the warm mug. “What’s on your mind? The stuff you can talk about, anyway.” His voice was gruff and tired, but there was no impatience in it. Ichigo took a sip of his tea. It burned the tongue a little, and washed a path of heat all the way down to his gut.

“…I…does it sound stupid if I say ‘I don’t know’?” he mumbled, running his thumb over the smooth ceramic of the mug. Grimmjow shrugged. He ran a hand through his bright blue hair.

“I don’t think so.”

Ichigo gave him a small smile. “Thanks.” He sighed and leaned on the table with his elbows. “I guess…I’m just conflicted. The guy I was talking to…he’s an old family friend. Or rather, an ex-family-friend. But I’m going to be helping him out for a bit. Just…have some mixed emotions about it, I guess,” Ichigo admitted. He took another sip of tea.

“Fair enough. You seem pretty close to your family, it would be weird to work with someone they don’t like,” Grimmjow replied. Ichigo shrugged.

“I guess. We all have varying degrees of…dislike…for him. Rukia doesn’t really mind him, but then her brother works closely with him. And Orihime couldn’t hold a grudge against anyone, even if they tried to kill her.” Ichigo stretched his arms over his head. Grimmjow frowned.

“Hold on…wouldn’t Rukia’s brother also be your brother?” he asked, head tilted to the side and an adorable confused frown on his face.

“Hmm? No. He adopted her. So like, he married her older sister, right? But Rukia and her sister were separated in the foster system early on and never reunited. So Rukia grew up with us instead. But apparently her sister was trying to find her. She married Byakuya and died before she could find Rukia, but Byakuya kept looking. And when he found her, he offered her to be a part of his family. She only agreed as long as he let her stay with us, though.” Ichigo yawned as he finished talking. He rubbed his temples and drank the rest of his tea. “We’re pretty mis-matched for a family.”

“Gotcha.” Grimmjow finished his tea as well, then picked up the mugs to refill them. “So, what did that guy do then? Is that something you can talk about?”

Ichigo stretched his neck from side to side, and definitely snuck a glance at Grimmjow’s backside. He only answered when the other man set both their mugs back on the table. “I…guess, a little. Basically, he tried to get me to work for him. Without really disclosing all the details of the job or how dangerous it was. Kisuke was pissed when he found out.” He rolled his shoulders. “Really, I was fifteen and stupid and eager to make a buck. I took a job, because I figured Kisuke was overreacting, I figured I was fine. Shunsui didn’t do much for teaching me, he figured I should be able to do most of it because I was learning with Kisuke, and I was too naïve to actually realize that I didn’t know everything. I ended up in a coma in the hospital for four months.”

“Fuck. That’s awful,” Grimmjow murmured as Ichigo paused to drink some more. Ichigo nodded.

“Yeah…I wasn’t there when Kisuke confronted him, of course, but I heard he almost killed him.” He ran a hand through his orange hair and scratched his scalp a little. “And that pretty much ended all our contact with Shunsui up until recently.”

Grimmjow leveled him with a look. “And you think it’s a good idea now to do work for him? What changed?”

Ichigo sighed. “It’s not so much that it’s a ‘good idea’, as it is necessary. I’m older now, I’ve got the skillset and the proper teaching. And I’m the only one he can ask to help. It’s not so much for him as it is for Aunty Retsu, anyway.” Ichigo made sure to use her casual name rather than ‘Unohana’. Grimmjow seemed like a nice guy, but he could never be certain what would come up in conversations others had, and he really, really didn’t need his target getting any wind of the job.

“She his wife?”

Ichigo was in the middle of drinking his tea when Grimmjow dropped that question. He coughed and spluttered a laugh. “Oh fuck no!” he gasped, setting his mug on the table. “I mean, she’d keep him in fucking line if she was, but no…no, ew, that would…ugh. No. She’s another friend of Kisuke’s.”

“Hm.” Grimmjow sipped his tea again. Ichigo propped his face up with his palm, leaning more onto the table. He kept his eyes glued to the amber liquid in his cup, since Grimmjow’s piercing gaze felt as though the other man could see every secret if he kept looking in his eyes. “This job is dangerous then?”

“Yeah.” Ichigo didn’t dare lie about that part. Besides, it’s not like his was the only job in the world with risks.

“…be safe, then…” The words were quiet, barely there. But Ichigo heard them. He looked up and met the other’s serious stare.

Ichigo smirked. “Aw, worried about me?”

“Of course I am, idiot. You’re the first friend I’ve made here. Actually, first one I’ve made in years,” Grimmjow muttered into his cup as he turned his face away. He took a long sip, cheeks burning pink.

Friend. The word tugged at Ichigo’s heart, unleashing a barrel of mixed emotions. On the one hand, a warm feeling, recognition that Grimmjow thought of him as more than just ‘a neighbour’, the comfort of having someone he could go to and hang out with outside the little family he’d found himself. On the other, a brief but sharp sting, the worry that this might be all there ever is, that maybe ‘friend’ is all that Grimmjow would ever be willing to associate with him. Ichigo shoved those worries down. I should be grateful he thinks of me as a friend. Especially when I’m keeping so many secrets from him, and he knows I am. He closed his eyes and let the warm scent of the tea seep into his body, surrounding him and bringing him comfort. “Friends, huh?” he murmured. “Friends are good.” It was more to convince himself than anything, but Grimmjow overheard.

“Yeah. I mean, I guess? Like I said, haven’t had many,” he replied in a nonchalant voice. Ichigo gave a non-committal hum.

“They are. Especially nice when it’s someone outside your family, someone you can talk to,” he replied, opening his eyes. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, though, and he had to blink a few times before his eyes would focus on the man in front of him.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Grimmjow raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. “You’re looking pretty played out…are you sure you’re good to go home?”

“Hmm? It’s right next door,” Ichigo mumbled, moving to stand. He managed to get upright, but then swayed and stumbled back onto the chair. “Oh damn. More tired’n’I thought.” Grimmjow’s expression morphed from amusement to concern.

“Shit. Don’t try and walk home, ok? You can crash here on the couch if you want, alright?” He stood up and helped Ichigo stand again. “I’ll help you there. Come on.” Ichigo steadied himself on Grimmjow as they walked into the living room. The couch looked incredibly inviting and soft.

Laying on the couch was like sinking into a deep dark warmth. He thought he heard a distant yelp and someone saying ‘wait let go’, but that had to be someone else’s problem. He was tired, too tired to do much of anything let alone help. The inky darkness surrounded him, caressed him, and enveloped him in a gentle warmth and firm embrace. Ichigo gladly let it carry him off to sleep.

***

Grimmjow helped Ichigo to the couch. It wasn’t overly big, and didn’t really look all that comfortable, compared to a bed, but it would do. He eased his friend onto the cushions, then made to move away. But the arms that had been using him as a stabilizer tightened around him and dragged him down. Grimmjow yelped.

“Wait! Let go!” he hissed, but Ichigo didn’t seem to hear him. Grimmjow hesitated to be any louder, lest he wake Nel. Not that she would be angry. But he would never live down the teasing if she saw him like this with their neighbour, especially since she knew all about his crush. His only hope was to extract himself carefully…

…he hadn’t counted on Ichigo being quite so strong. Like, he knew the other man could lift his fair share, had seen him carry things most people would need a partner to handle, but overpowering Grimmjow and trapping him in a hug? In his sleep, of all things? Grimmjow grumbled under his breath as all his attempts to wriggle away were thwarted by a completely oblivious, sleeping, handsome idiot. With all his efforts proving futile, Grimmjow gave in and opted to simply lie there, held firmly on top of Ichigo. He couldn’t see the other man’s face, as his own face was turned to the back of the couch, head resting on Ichigo’s chest, listening to his rhythmic breathing and the gentle thumping of his heart. Their legs were entangled, and Grimmjow tried not to dwell too much on that fact, his face burning. He clenched and unclenched his hands before softly, hesitantly, moving them upward, behind Ichigo, wrapping around his torso slightly.

Why did I call him a ‘friend’? This isn’t how friends react, Grimmjow thought to himself. He was wide awake, and with no reprieve in sight, his mind decided to wander down what had become now an all-too-familiar path over the past couple of months. Dammit. Why can’t I just make the words come out right?

Ichigo’s arms tightened around him briefly, then relaxed slightly, but not enough to let Grimmjow actually worm his way out. Are you even sure he likes you, though? The thought crept into his mind unbidden, for what had to be the millionth time that week. Are you sure Jinta wasn’t lying? Are you sure anyone at all would like you?

Grimmjow grit his teeth and unconsciously tightened his grip on the other man. He only realized how tense he was when he heard a sleepy “…’s tight,” mumbled above him. He relaxed instantly, fear catching in his heart, convinced Ichigo would wake up that instant, throw him off of him, call him a freak, and storm out of the house. He waited for his inevitable fate…one…two…three…

…and nothing happened. There was a soft sigh, and Ichigo’s breathing resumed its steady rate. He hadn’t been fully awake, then. Grimmjow couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. He sighed and resigned himself to being stuck there for now. He might as well try and get some rest if he was going to have to face the rude awakening of the morning. So he closed his eyes and drifted off.

[vagrantblvrd]

thinking bout your were-cat aus and wondering bout werecat dinlukeXD

Haha, omg, yessss.

Modern AU or some such where Din helps out what he thinks is a normal stray cat and gets bitten for his trouble? Doesn’t think too much of it aside from getting the bite looked at because cat bites, right?

And then a few weeks later around the time of the full moon he wakes up somewhere he doesn’t recognize without any memory of how he got there and it’s like. Not unusual in his younger years because ~youthful shenanigans, but now, okay.

He’s a responsible (mostly???) adult with a job and bills and a kid - and thanks God Cara was watching Grogu for him, but she’s got to be worried/pissed by now, and anyway.

Last thing he remembers was going to see Boba about something and then he woke up wherever he is, so like. Not too far a stretch to think the two are connected.

(Wouldn’t be the first time, anyway.)

So he goes to get his kid and make his excuses to Cara who doesn’t buy it - Din looks too confused about things - trying to figure out what the hell happened - for it to be another Boba-related thing, but whatever. He seems okay and she’s running late for something so she’ll get the real story out of him later, right?

Meanwhile Din is telling himself this weirdness won’t happen again - can’t afford to let it, you know, because Grogu and all.

But it does.

Another month later and this time Din remembers bits and pieces of it - which don’t make sense because werecat and new instincts and such?

Also the bit before the Confusion of waking up in a weird place again where he can see better in the dark now and his senses are sharper and also he’s started making these weird noises when he’s super content???

Grogu sitting in his lap telling him about his day at school or whatever and just, yes.

Anyway.

He wakes up in a strange place and goes to talk to Boba about it, which gets him a weird look and then a concerned look and Boba looking into it for Din.

Doesn’t find a lot, but promises him he’ll keep looking and in the meantime Din has other worries to deal with between one thing and another, and before he knows it another month goes by and the full moon comes around.

He wakes up in a weird place, but it’s not the only weird thing to happen because he’s a cat???

Big thing, long dark fur and confused eyes staring back at him from the first reflective surface he can find and what the hell is going on?

And then shenanigans because he’s in a weird part of town and there are suddenly dogs chasing him and he’s a big cat, sure, but no match for the dogs, so ALL the running.

And while he’s running noise and light or something catch his eye and he looks up in this alley he’s running through, sees an open window up a few floors, handy fire escape and is like safety???

The dogs are big clumsy bastards, might be able to follow him up the fire escape but won’t fit through the window.

Might be going into a worse situation there, but better than letting the dogs catch him and anyway, too late now.

Din darting through the open window and startling the apartment’s occupant - feels a little bad about that, but more concerned about the dogs. One or two managed to follow him up the fire escape but like he’d hoped they can’t get through the window, cracked open just enough for him to get in, and anyway.

“Oh, wow,” Din hears, and turns to see the apartment’s occupant staring at the widow and the dogs who eventually give up and bumble their way down to the ground below and the rest of their little pack. “Wasn’t expecting that today.”

Which, you know, who would, is the thing?

But also new potential danger in this person who is now staring at the sudden cat in their apartment and really, not a great day for Din.

And Luke - because of course it’s Luke - is just confused and a little amused at the sudden cat-thing, but weirder things have happened to him.

Which he says to Din as he gets a little bowl and fills it with water that he sets down for Din not knowing how long he’s going to stick around, but water’s good, right? Everyone needs water and he’s probably thirsty after that chase, and anyway, don’t mind him.

Din is like ??? but Luke’s right about him being thirsty and he doesn’t seem bothered by Din’s sudden appearance, and anyway.

He drinks some water - makes a mess of it before he figures it out, and gives Luke this unimpressed look when the man has the gall to laugh at him.

And then take pictures of Din, water down his face and chest and pretty much a disaster.

“In case someone’s looking for you,” Luke says, although he’s still laughing and clearly not as nice as he seems, and anyway.

That reminds Din that oh, hey, he’s apparently a cat now and what is he going to do about it and Grogu now?

The window’s still open so he runs right on out and decides Boba is his best bet for help right now.

Not like he expects the man to know what to do, but Boba, you know? Someone Din trusts not to freak out about the whole suddenly a cat thing and might know something about it.

Bob is like, “Well, this is different,” but not in a bad way and Din gives him one of those unimpressed looks because not helpful?

But Boba is less worried about Din now that they have an explanation for the weirdness going on with him other than who the hell even knows, Djarin, you get in the weirdest situations, right?

Din turns back into a human in the mornig and Boba gives him this look, like see? weird situation, Djarin, and tells him he might know some people who can help, but for now go home and look after your kid, which Din does.

Din goes back to Boba’s the next day and meets one of his business associates, a woman by the name of Fennec Shand, and while Din is glad to meet her and all he doesn’t see what it has to do with his situation?

And then suddenly there’s a cat.

Sleek black-furred thing with bright amber eyes and oh, Din thinks, oh shit.

The cat looks a sight better than the last time he saw it - her - back in that alley caught up in a nasty little trap he helped her out of and got bitten for his trouble.

This whole thing where Fennec thanks him for his help and apologizes for biting him - “It wasn’t my best day,” she says with a little shrug, and anyway, welcome to the wonderful world of being a werecat, Djarin.

She offers to help him figure the whole thing out, teaches him what he needs to know - “Wait, so I can change when it’s not the full moon?” - and so on, and Din, okay.

Not sure he wants any part of being a werecat but left with precious little choice, and anyway, at least he knows what the hell is going on with him, you know?

Din pays close attention to what Fennec tells him, teaches him. Sighs at the fact things are going to be a little...weird through the first few full moons, but it’ll level off once he gets a hold on the whole werecat business.

And it’s like.

Weird as hell, but still not the weirdest thing to happen to him so he just. Deals with it.

Sometimes that means he ends up wandering around the part of town where he sought refuge in that one guy’s apartment, but it’s not like he plans to, okay?

And if the way Luke is like :DDDD at seeing him again means Din intentionally wanders that direction it’s no one’s business but his own, okay?

But also the thing where Din goes to see Boba one day as normal human person and there’s Luke staring Boba down and Din is like !!! and ??? 

Because rather than kicking Luke out of his place Boba is amused by the whole thing and it turns out he knows Luke from way back. And while the two of them aren’t going to be BFFs they are friends of a sort and anyway, Luke has some kind of problem and Boba catches Din’s eye and is like “I know just the man to help you out, Skywalker.”

Adventures in which Din is thrown together with Luke because reasons and Flirting happens.

Some baddies get the jump on them and Din lugs an injured Luke back to Luke’s apartment to get him patched up and gets all shifty-eyed when Luke asks how Din knew where he lived???

“Boba,” Din blurts, lets Luke assume Boba gave him intel on Luke or whatever after sticking the two of them together, and anyway.

Din tenderly patching Luke up and quiet confessions from Luke about not knowing what he’s even doing with his life at this point - mired in Danger and Adventure and almost, almost missing the days when he was a nobody from a backwater town.

“But then I never would have met Leia or Han and the others,” he says, this odd little smile on his face, “so, you know.”

Din does, because he got Grogu in the end, and more besides in Cara and Grief and Boba and the rest.

More shenanigans in which Luke finds out Din’s a werecat - “Huh,” and “This makes no sense, but nothing in my life does anyway,” and also “Oh,” because of course he recognizes Din’s werecat form, which.

A little embarrassing for Din afterwards when he and Luke are totally Flirting and heading towards a ~relationship and Luke gives him endless grief for Din visiting him as a cat, and anyway, yes.

Also, also, Luke giving Din the best scritches when he’s a cat, and Luke telling people he has a part-time cat - “What doe that even mean, Luke?” - to explain the fur on his clothes and other such shenanigans???

Plus cuddling, and Din whacking Luke in the face with his tail when Luke teases him or whatever and just, yes.

[redqueen-hypothesis]

sweeter than sherry ➳ victor (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x victor li (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 2070

➳ GENRE: fluff, suggestive

➳ SYNOPSIS: alcohol is known as liquid courage for a reason.

"Why do people like alcohol? It’s just... rotten fruit juice. Overpriced rotten fruit juice. I could buy a juice box for a tenth of the price.” You slur, legs drawn up to your chest as you swirl the wine glass dangerously in your hand. “What’s this one called? ”

“Moscato d'Asti,” Victor sighs from opposite the small ornate table the two of you are sitting at, his chin resting on his upturned palm and steel grey eyes taking in your reddened cheeks. “And wine isn’t rotten fruit juice, although it’s clear a dummy like you wouldn’t have the taste to know otherwise. Don’t hold the glass like that, or else the heat from your palm will ruin the taste of the wine.”

You pout at the clearly jibing tone in his voice but move your hand to the delicate wine stem before taking another deep gulp of the wine. The sweet, lingering taste of alcohol helps to ease the nerves that you’d previously had in the domineering CEO’s presence. Victor’s eyes flicker with some hint of consternation, although he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t say a word. “Sorry, Mr CEO, but not all of us mere mortals have entire wineries that we can access whenever we feel like it.”

He raises a dark eyebrow slowly as he takes a sip of his own wine. The smooth liquid stains his lips a shade of carmine red, and you find your eyes fixated on them. Would they taste better than the expensive wine that you’re drinking right now? “Why does it sound like such an impertinent comment? Would you rather I not have a winery to graciously lend you for the filming your next series?”

Grumbling and unable to find a suitable retort with your wine addled mind, you fall silent at the comment, pressing your cheek against the wine glass. It’s wonderfully cool against the intoxicated heat of your skin, and you let out a little appreciative groan. “That feels good...”

Victor chokes on a swallow, hiding his mouth behind his palm, but you don’t notice, still rubbing your cheek against the wine glass like an overgrown cat. Coughing, the man rises to his feet and plucks the wine glass out of your hand, trying to maintain a stern facade when you whine and reach for it with those alluring, vulnerable eyes. As strong as the desire is to take, to ruin, the need to protect something so precious to him wins out easily. “That’s quite enough for today, dummy. Let’s get you home.”

“But we haven’t tried all the wines. I need to know which wines to choose for the show.” You protest, the high flush on your cheeks lingering in his eyes, refusing to leave his mind. He should bid you leave as fast as possible before he does something he regrets, and yet he finds himself letting out an exasperated sigh more steady than he feels, reaching for the last bottle they have yet to try. “This is the last one, and then you’re going straight home. Got it?”

You puff out your cheeks, looking obviously unhappy at the idea, but nod anyway. “Fine, fine, you’re such a dictator.” Why do you wear that expression on your face? You’re making things difficult for me, just as you do all the time, you brazen little dummy.

“This is a bottle of Pedro Ximénez sherry. It’s a dessert wine, very sweet and meant to accompany desserts, like pudding.” Victor informs you as he rolls up his sleeves to open the bottle, and heat dances along your cheeks. You duck away, playing with the intricate carvings along the rim of the table, suddenly oddly aware of how it’s just the two of you in the entire winery so late at night. In a bid to calm yourself, you joke lightly. “Too bad there isn’t a kitchen here so that you can make pudding to go with it.”

He casts a look over his shoulder, and you catch sight of crimson streaming into the glass in his hand. They glow like liquid rubies under the dim light of the chandelier hanging overhead, a clear red you have to stop yourself from being lost in. “How many times have I told you that too much pudding is unhealthy for you?” With a chide, he passes the glass over and you hum contentedly, pressing the rim to your nose to inhale its scent. Instantly, fruity notes of raisins, figs and dates ensnare your senses, a hint of honey dancing along just out of reach.

“It smells wonderful!” You exclaim in amazement, and the line of Victor’s mouth softens ever so slightly. “I bet it tastes really sweet!”

“It’s supposed to be the sweetest wine in the world, but it’s also pretty strong. Wait, don’t drink to much at once-” Victor begins, but you’ve already downed your entire glass, eyes sparkling under the crystal light. “... or you’ll get drunk fast.”

“I’m not such a lightweight!” You declare crossly, holding out your glass to him. A demand. “Another drink!”

Victor takes a moment to stare at the hazy look in your eyes, the heated red of your cheeks and exhales, rubbing his temples with one hand. “Haah... and you call me the dictator.” Relenting, he finds himself indulging you once more, wondering if he is the one indulging himself here as he pours you another drink.

When he settles into the chair opposite you, watching as you steadily work your way through your second glass of sherry, there’s a warm feeling of content there that he tries to ignore. Victor blames it on the wine, knows that this much isn’t enough to get him even tipsy, but he’s a grown man. He can make all the excuses he wants, especially to himself.

So he watches and watches, unaware of the fond smile forming on his lips, tugged loose from the confines of propriety by the comfortable atmosphere and the sweet smell of wine in the air. It’s only when the glass in your hand starts tilting dangerously that he reluctantly allows himself to rise to his feet, moving over to pluck the drink from your grasp. “That’s more than enough for now."

“But I haven’t drunk enough!” You protest childishly, and Victor fights to keep the side of his mouth from tilting up in amused laughter. When he moves to clear the glasses, he’s surprised to feel fingers wrapped tightly around the hem of his button down shirt. Turning around, he sees you hesitantly clinging on to him, the dark red flush on your cheeks too deep to be just the wine. “I don’t want to stop drinking yet...” you mumble, almost too soft for him to hear and not quite meeting his eyes. “I just want to... spend more time with you. I like spending time with you.”

All of a sudden, your eyes are too close to his, vulnerable and melting and oh so trusting that something in Victor’s chest flutters treacherously. He pulls his shirt away from your grip with gentle hands, sitting himself back in his chair, desperate to put some distance between you. “You’re drunk, idiot,” he reminds you, reminds himself, and shakes his head in fond exasperation to cool the heat that burns beneath his skin. “Let me clean up and then I’ll take you home. You’ll have a raging headache tomorrow, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not drunk!” You argue petulantly, and Victor hums in absentminded acknowledgement as he reaches for the cork to seal the bottle. “Hey! I’m really not drunk right now!”

“I know,” he replies to appease you, still not looking up, when suddenly there’s the sound of something clattering to the ground. Worried that you might have hurt yourself, he looks up in alarm... only to have his breath caught in the back of his throat at the sight that greets him.

You’ve climbed onto the table between the two of you, cat like, on your hands and knees, dark eyes full of molten temptation fixed solely on his heated gaze. You’re moving closer, so close that he can smell the faint scent of your perfume along your neck like a siren’s call, so close that he can practically taste the wine staining your lips. His heart beats a ragged rhythm in his chest, breath lodged in his lungs, barely daring to move. It’s as if you’ve used his own EVOL against him and he’s nothing but a fly trapped in amber, willingly trapped in this moment for all infinity.

There’s a soft clink that pulls him from this dreamy hypnosis, and the both of you look down to see Victor’s forgotten glass of sherry spilled over your hand. Sucking in a breath, Victor makes to rise from his seat to escape the burning heat in his veins, heart hammering away wildly. Fucking temptress, that’s what she is. “Dummy, I’ll get a cloth-”

“No need, I got it.” Before he can even leave the chair, you raise the hands dripping with wine to your lips - he can’t tear his eyes away - and he watches in stunned silence as you lick the crimson drops off each finger, every stroke of your tongue sending liquid fire coursing through his body. Fuck, how would it feel if it were that tongue on his body instead, if he could just-

You’re moving again before he can find his mind, clambering closer and closer until your bare feet are on either side of his long legs. He barely has time to swallow the dryness in his mouth when you pull yourself into his lap, one hand coming up to grip the back of the chair behind him and the other resting on his shoulder, still sticky with wine. “See, I got it.”

It had to refer to him. You have him, pinned under you, his body and soul yours.

“Oh, I got some wine on your neck. Give me a second,” Victor’s protest is cut off into a sharp exhale when your head moves down to his shoulder, and your tongue, hot and wet, laps up a drop of wine there. His hands come up to grip your hips, and it takes all the self control in him not to leave bruises there to mark you as his. Your breath burns against his bare skin. “Tastes sweet.”

Victor has always been a man who’s prided himself on self control, on his restraint. Both traits are necessary in the world of business, where cold hard reasoning and and a mask of indifference have become his constant companions. But tonight he can feel the weak threads of them unraveling like spun gossamer, one by one, self control be damned.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Your voice is a hazy whisper in his ear as you draw yourself up to look into his eyes, so close that your noses are touching. Victor doesn’t remember what breathing is supposed to be like. “I’m not drunk...”

With that final word, you slump against his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as you snore softly there. For a second, Victor simply sits there, mind frazzled as he attempts to gather the wits that seem to have abandoned him completely, the warm weight of you in his lap running off with his good senses and dragging him along for the ride.

Heat still smolders under his skin, but one glance at the vulnerable girl lying in his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck and her head resting on his chest brings him back to where he is, who he has in his arms. Someone who has trusted him enough to drink with him alone, a silly fool too giving with your affection and love. Someone whom he needs to protect, even if it is from himself.

Especially from himself.

Victor allows himself to stare at you for a moment longer, taking in the soft blush of your cheeks, the way your eyelashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly in your sleep. Then he sighs, hooks a hand under your knees and lifts you gently into his arms, shaking his head with an exasperated groan to hide the gentle twisting in his chest.

“So troublesome.” He says out loud to no one. Amusing himself with the thoughts of how much you’ll regret everything that you’ve done tonight once you’re sober tomorrow and wondering how much of it’ll you actually remember, a smile curls one corner of his mouth, and he ponders for a second if he should tease you for it, a little revenge for how you’ve done the same to him tonight.

When you wake the next morning, he’ll definitely have to warn you not to drink with any other man again... except for him.

[auroras-blend]

The Enemy of My Enemy

Summary: Vittoria meets the one, the only, the woman who convicted her father, the ex-wife of her arch-nemesis, a dynamite lawyer: Marie Thibodeaux!

Notes: Told in Vittoria's POV. Marie is only a cameo 😢

A myriad of blue and purple puzzle pieces surrounded her skirt. Well, how am I supposed to do this in just an hour? Vittoria was more or less sour that her father left her with Sawyer in his office as he ran errands, because 1) she was with Sawyer and 2) she was bored out of her mind. When the door had shut, Sawyer had barked at her to be quiet and quite literally threw the puzzle box in her face and told her to play with it. It was brand new and she could only assume it was to go to one of the grandchildren he’d never seen. He barely has any photos of his family! There was a picture of him, his first wife, and two sons on his desk and another photo of his daughter to the side that both looked to be taken decades before she was born. I’d be sad if he were my father.

Sawyer was busy writing aggressively, his tone sharp and bitter as he was on the phone with someone. I should scream he’s killing me...that’d be funny. She giggled at the thought and earned herself a nasty scowl from the man himself. What was lovely about Sawyer was that he would swear around her because he knew damn well her mother did and he really seemed to be the only person who understood there was no more protecting her poor little ears, that he says stick out worse than Mickeys. They do not!

With a little huff, she began to assemble the puzzle of the sea, or at least that's what it said it’d be according to the box. And in her opinion, she was doing extremely well! “Look!” she pointed gleefully, “I’m almost done!”

“Wooooow,” Sawyer murmured, his eyes glued to his paper, “We should have you tested to see if you’re gifted…”

Vittoria pouted. “This is why you’re not married anymore.”

That little jab may have hit too close to home because he flung a paperweight at her that hit her in the face again. It wasn’t too heavy and it most certainly didn’t break anything, but the hate and suddenness of it made her start crying. “Keep your trap shut,” he growled.

It seemed he was even crueler today and of course she was his victim. Her little hands gripped the smooth glossy paperweight and threw it back, but it couldn’t go much farther than to bounce against the top of his desk. Her strength didn’t match his and she started bawling, “Pathetic weak little thing…”

“You’re so mean to me! I hate you and-,”

“WHERE IS THAT COCKSUCKING MORALLESS CLOWN-,” boomed a voice that made Sawyer go white as a sheet of paper.

The whites of his eyes were on display as he sprung out of his chair and shut the blinds. He ripped her off the ground and put a finger to her lips, “Shut up,” he whispered, “Shut up right now.”

Sobs still heaved from her body, the sounds being drowned out by the woman outside. “I-I can’t! You hurt me!”

“Fuck,” he cursed, “I’ll give you...two dollars! Two dollars if you’re quiet right now!”

Her cries quieted down, but not completely. Sawyer was close to trembling, his grip on her shoulders and the look in his eyes were pleading. Huh, he’s desperate… “Five,” she said.

Might as well...He grit his teeth and growled, “Fine. Now shut up.”

Vittoria nodded and retreated into the corner. “Ma’am, you can’t go in there-,” screamed the secretary.

Right as Sawyer was about to turn out the light, the door slammed open and smashed his hand against the wall. “Fuck!” he screamed in pain, pulling it close to him as he scrambled away.

The lighting fixtures flickered but remained on as who Vittoria imagined being the goddess Nemesis stood between the doorway to the firm and to Sawyer’s former safe haven. The woman was dressed in a dark navy blazer and skirt with a white undershirt. Circular glasses were falling down the bridge of her nose as her hateful gaze met Sawyer’s beady one. She had a straight-cut bob that fell beneath her chin, her hair grey in a way that demonstrated that too many people annoyed her in her lifetime. For a moment, her heart sank because that's what she could imagine her Mama to look like if she had lived that long. “You motherfucking son of a bitch!”

She even curses like Mama, well she has an accent. It sounded southern to her but with an air that she couldn't quite place. Despite being more or less terrified of everyone around her, she was unafraid of the woman. And she’s right. “Marie, you psychotic cunt, get the fuck out!”

The woman stormed right up to him and put her finger in her face. “HOW DARE YOU?! BRINGING HIM BACK!”

“It’s none of your business anymore, now get out! Call security!” he shouted at his poor shaking assistant.

“This entire case is my business! How much did it cost you to sell what you pass off as a soul?”

Vittoria giggled and right when she did, she clapped her hands to her mouth. The red-eyed gazes shifted to her, puffs of air coming out from their noses and mouths. “Oh...another one of your spawn’s spawn?” she sneered.

“No!” Vittoria protested, “I’m not related to him!”

The thought of being related to Sawyer revolted her to her core. “How fortunate for you.”

“I think so,” she smiled.

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet? You lost that five bucks,” he seethed.

Damn.

“Who’s the kid?”

“I’ve been kidnapped!” she cried dramatically, wiping the remaining wetness from her eyes, “He’s a predator!”

Sawyer jumped, “No, she’s not! I did not!”

Her words seemed to be more terrifying than what the woman, Marie, threw at him. “You sick son of a-are you prostituting kids now?”

“ENOUGH!” he shouted, “Where’s that damn security?!”

“Because that’s the only way you can get rid of me, huh? Not in court but by men bigger than you to do your dirty work. Hell, you’re not even the boss. You don’t call the shots! You worthless piece of shit! How can you stand to look at yourself?”

“I ask him the same thing every day,” Vittoria shook her head sorrowfully.

“I’m this close,” he pinched his fingers and left a barely visible space between them, “To cutting out your tongue.”

Vittoria stepped back in fear. “Threatening bodily harm to a six-year-old? You really are a jack shit lawyer-”

“I’m nine actually. I’m just small,” Vittoria added. That information wasn't relevant but Vittoria thought it was.

“He also threw a paperweight at me,” she said pointing to the ball that stood still on the floor, “It hurt.”

“Oh...and assault. You really can’t get any lower,” Marie hissed, “I hope you can afford a good lawyer. I’d offer, but I despise you and I hate to take lost causes.”

Shivers rolled down her spine as she heard Sawyer grind his teeth. “Go back to the pits of hell where you belong, or whatever they’re calling Chicago these days, and maybe I won’t charge you for trespassing,” he snapped at the woman.

Marie scoffed, “You were so close to being free of him. And you brought him back, you pathetic worm.”

She could tell that dug into Sawyer deep. “He’s been a-,” he began to defend before eyeing Vittoria, “No. Just get out. I’ve got work to do.”

He retreated back to his seat and stepped on the puzzle she had been working on. No… Marie scowled at him, “You’re gonna end up dead one day.”

“We all do,” Sawyer sighed.

Anger rolled off Marie before her eyes met Vittoria’s. “Are you really okay, kid? You need any help?”

“I’ll survive,” she said politely.

Marie nodded. “If you ever need a good lawyer, don’t call him. He’s terrible, I should know, I was married to him,” she smirked, her eyes glowing with vindication at Sawyer whose own hazel eyes were full of hostility, “And I also beat his ass in court.”

Vittoria gasped. She was starry-eyed and already adored her, unknowing that this was the woman who convicted her father. Sawyer was glowering at her over papers, “ I’m meeting one of his ex-wives! “You poor woman. I’m so sorry,” she said with true genuineness, before clarifying her statement, “For being married to him. Not for beating him.”

Vittoria giggled at the last part. I love her. She’s mean to Sawyer. I’d do anything for her. She reminds me so much of Mama. With a last smile, she pushed by the security guards who finally arrived. Ooooh, Sawyer’s gonna fire them. Part of her was sad to see her go, knowing that Sawyer would wring her neck soon. For a moment, she had been transported back to how it was with her mother. It was probably a good thing Marie didn’t stay, otherwise, Vittoria most certainly would’ve imprinted on her and followed her around like a little duckling. “Can I be her?” she asked dreamily.

“No,” Sawyer said in a cold tone, “Come sit here.”

Vittoria obeyed and climbed into the large leather seat across from him, letting her legs swing back and forth as they couldn’t touch the ground. Wow, I feel like a grown-up. Sawyer put down his pen and looked at her. He wasn’t angry, just thoughtful and that confused her. He sighed and got up to open a globe in the corner of the room, “Whoa!”

Inside was an assortment of drinks and liquors that were half-empty. Beautiful amber-brown liquids filled the crystal cruet set, and Sawyer took the liberty to pour himself a drink. Sawyer closed the globe and gripped his glass and another empty one. Sawyer paused in front of a cabinet before opening the bottom door that revealed a mini-fridge. The cold air whooshed out when he pulled the door open, featuring rows of sodas, sparkling in their cans. “Rootbeer, black cherry, or strawberry?”

“What?” she whispered.

“Which one?” he asked again, gesturing to the sodas.

“Papa...Papa won’t let me. He won’t even let me have juice,” she frowned.

Sawyer shrugged, “Fine then…”

“Wait!” she called out before he closed the door.

She bit her lip. This is wrong. Maybe he’s doing this as a trap...but I’ve never had soda before. What if we get in a car crash on our way home and I die never having a soda?! No...Papa won’t let me and I have to be good for him, so no...I can’t have soda. And that’s that. “I’ll have the strawberry one please,” she said aloud and watched him pour the brown fizzing drink into a glass and hand it to her.

I can hear the bubbles! Vittoria felt giddy, excited to have something forbidden and sweet. Something she’d always wanted to try! A smile spread across her face as she put it up to her mouth, the foam and bubbles tickling her nose and causing her to sneeze. “Achoo!”

She wrinkled her nose to get rid of the itch as she pressed the thick crystal rim to her lips and tilted the glass back, allowing the sweet bubbly drink to drip into her mouth and leave a burning sensation down her throat. Vittoria coughed, “It burns!”

“That’s the carbonation,” Sawyer said plainly as he sat down again, “Vittoria...you know how we hate each other?”

She blinked, surprised at how honest he was being. “Yes…”

“Hm, well you know how we both love your father very much? And want him to be happy and safe?”

“Yes,” she said again, her voice worried.

“That woman who came in, my ex-wife, she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want your father to be happy and she’s one of the people who believe lies about him. In fact, Marie is one of the people who spread those lies,” he scowled.

It was the first time she ever believed something Sawyer said. It was said with such a raw intensity that he couldn’t be lying to her, or at least lying to her entirely. “What?” she whispered.

“Vittoria, she’s not our friend. You can’t trust her and the moment she finds out you’re his daughter, she’ll want to exploit that, you. Marie will stop at nothing and will use you to take him down, which is why you can never tell her anything. Please, never talk to her again,” he said seriously.

“But...but she was nice,” she mumbled, to me.

Sawyer rolled his eyes, “Well this isn’t about us. It’s about protecting your father. So can you put our differences aside and treat her as what she is? A threat to our family?”

An alliance with Sawyer? She never wanted to agree with him on anything, but the way he was speaking set her nerves on alert. He means it...he’s serious. “Yes,” she agreed, “Anything for Papa. I-I don’t want to see him get hurt…”

“Good,” Sawyer nodded, “Then it’s agreed. You won’t speak to Marie or about her, ever again.”

“Agreed.”

“You are a smart girl, then,” he grinned, “One more thing, let me tell your father everything.”

“I’ll let you if you give me back my five dollars.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll go home and say it anyway,” she reasoned.

“Two dollars.”

“Three.”

“Two and a strawberry tab.”

“Three,” she insisted.

He narrowed his eyes, “Fine.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sawyer,” she said pleasantly.

Sawyer smiled greasily and leaned forward against his desk, holding out his drink. Vittoria took her cue and tapped her glass against his, a sweet clink, sounding out as they toasted. As she took a sip of her soda, she couldn’t help feeling like she made a deal with the devil.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Ninety-Three [PT.2]

Words: 4.2k

Warning(s): explicit language, violence, mentions of drug abuse

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It's incredibly quiet and filled with tension as Amber looks at Nikki and I, curiously. 

We haven't been to therapy in over a week. 

Nikki hasn't come back to fucking rehab until yesterday and it took me threatening divorce again. 

"Well," Amber starts, smiling at us. "How was your time together?" 

"Good." We both lie simultaneously and Amber raises her brows. 

"Really?" 

"Yep." Nikki says, flatly. 

"Like we're dating for the first time all over again." I add, unenthusiastically. "Exactly how it was when we first started dating. Just minus the sex." 

Nikki huffs out a breath. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Vivian--"

"--Don't bring Jesus into this. Jesus isn't anywhere to be found in this situation."

"It was one night, Viv, cut me a goddamn break." 

"I've been cutting you a break for the last six years, Nikki, I'm done cutting people breaks. You need to cut me some respect--"

"--Some respect? After the shit you pulled, are you fucking me right now?" 

"No, I'm not fucking you right now, no more than you've fucked me the entire time you've been home." 

"Oh, my God."

I slowly start being pulled from my sleep when I feel a tickle up the side of my foot, my ankle, up the back of my calf then my thigh, my hip, up my spine...I feel my body jolt awake only to be trapped under someone for a moment. 

"Shh, shh, it's just me." Nikki assures me in a whisper, looming over me. 

"Oh," I mumble, sighing when he kisses my shoulder blade. 

I try to go back to sleep but my eyes force themselves open, and I look over my shoulder. 

"Why the hell aren't you in rehab, Nikki?!" I ask him, sharply, confused. "How the fuck did you even get in here?! How did you even know where I live?!" 

"I checked out for a few days so I could see you." He explains. "And Sharise let me borrow her key and gave me directions. I wanted to surprise you."

"You what?!" 

"Wanted to surprise you?" 

I sit up and he falls beside me, stretching out over the bed. 

"You checked out of rehab?!" 

"I missed you and Tommy and Vince missed their girls so we just decided to check out for a few days and visit and then we're going back Monday...like a four month long weekend." He explains. 

"You can't do that!" 

"It was highly advised against it by our counselors but let us leave." He shrugs. "And you know what? I've been back in L.A. for an hour and I don't feel the itch to go party like I used to. I think rehab's working." He tells me. 

"...You checked out of rehab…to come home...and you're going back?" 

"Yep."

"Just like that?" 

"Just like that." 

"Like you won't be tempted to do anything you're not supposed to do?" 

"I won't be because I'm gonna be with you the whole time." He shrugs. 

"You do realize how arrogant you sound right now, right?" 

"I'm not interested in drugs or anything anymore, Viv. I've gotten past that." He states. 

"Nikki," I start. 

"Don't say it like that." 

"How else am I suppose to say it?" I ask, raising my brows, looking at him, pointedly. 

He just rubs his lips together and smirks. 

"I know a few ways you can say it." He runs his hand up and down the side of my leg and I raise a brow. 

"You left rehab to get your dick wet." I tell him, knocking his hand off of me, laying back down. 

"No, I didn't." He denies. 

"Okay, then go sleep on the couch." I suggest. 

"No." He argues. "I wanna hold you." 

"Oh, please, Nikki, we both know what that turns into." 

"What does it turn into?" He asks, knowingly. 

"You know what it's gonna turn into." I state. 

"Vivian, baby," he slides his hand over my hip bone, squeezing it for a second, making my skin prickle and heat up. 

"Don't, 'baby,' me." I can't bring myself to push his hand away this time, I just turn my back to him. 

It's quiet for a moment and I feel him shift beside me, before his lips press to my bare shoulder, then my jaw, then my temple, and I'm rolling to my back, my lips brushing against his, my fingers going to his soft hair, a smile coming to my lips as I say, "couch," and push him away from me, turning back over to face away from him and snuggling into my covers. 

He mumbles under his breath and grabs the pillow from that side of the bed, leaving me alone. 

After a moment of trying to go to sleep, I can't bring myself to. 

I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. 

I pull my blankets off and drag a throw with me as I go to the living room. 

He's taking up the entire couch, and his eyes are closed but I know he's not asleep. 

I crawl on him and he groans, looking at me with furrowed brows.

"Your knee is in my thigh." He grumbles as I try to pull my blanket around myself. 

I just blink down at him. 

"Fine." He winces, sitting up as best as he can, helping me pull the blanket up around my shoulders before he's sliding his hands to my waist and we both lay down. 

I lay my head on his chest and he rubs at my scalp with his fingers. 

"I've missed you, too." I say to him quietly. 

"I know." He replies. "The Sixxter tends to have that effect on chick--ow!" He hisses, tensing up. 

"Oh, sorry, didn't realize your junk was there." I lie, playing off me digging my nails into his crotch was an accident. 

I knew him leaving rehab, even for a few days, posed a threat to his road to recovery. My biggest fear was his dealers hearing he was back. They'd sniff him out and lure him in and I'd lose him again. I couldn't let that happen, and it terrified me to think that it could. But it also made me feel better to see him in a setting that didn't involve stail coffee, therapists, and other recovery patients near by. There wasn't any privacy in rehab--not that we really needed any.

The next morning I'm waking up to the smell of food, good food. Being that I burn most anything I try to cook now (I blame my pregnancy brain), it's nice to be able to smell breakfast without the heavy blanket of charr attached to it. 

I stretch where I've been left on the couch under the fluffy blanket I brought in last night, sitting up and pulling it off of me before going to the bathroom and making myself look somewhat presentable with a toothbrush and a hair brush, hoping and praying that whatever he's cooking up doesn't make me sick. 

I get in the kitchen and see him in front of the stove, and I wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder blade, and I feel him rub at my arms that are tightly around him, chuckling. 

"Good morning," he says, looking at me over his shoulder. 

I stand on my toes and kiss his cheek. 

"Good morning." I reply, pulling away, grabbing a glass and getting some water. 

I take advantage of him not paying attention to examine any changes. 

I noticed the other day he'd been working out. I see now exactly how much alcohol bloat he's lost, and how much muscle he's built back up. 

His hair and skin even looks healthier, he's gotten his "glow" back to his once pale, sallow looking appearance. 

I reign in my hormones, chugging my water and getting another glass full. 

When he turns around to get the sausage out of the pan and onto a plate, I eye his crotch area, seeing that he's obviously not wearing underwear under his shorts and I'd be lying if I said I don't stare.

"I hope you still like sausage." He comments, oblivious to my eyes on his goods, not even looking in my direction, too busy with trying to get breakfast done. 

"Oh, I do." I comment, taking another few gulps of water, letting my eyes trail down his thighs for a moment. 

Sweet Jesus. 

He is certainly fearfully and wonderfully made. 

"Ahem," he clears his throat and I flick my gaze to his face. 

I've been caught. 

"Whatcha looking at?" He asks me and I shake my head a little. 

"I like those shorts." I lie, shrugging it off. 

"Mmhmm." He doesn't buy it for a second. 

"I do!" I defend myself. 

"I'm sure it's the shorts you like." He comments. 

"Well...I like what's inside the shorts." I blatantly correct myself and he squeezes his eyes closed and laughs. 

"Welcome home, Nikki." He says to himself and I finish my water as he turns the stove off. "It's ready if you wanna make a plate." He offers. 

"Maybe we should give it a few minutes to cool off." I suggest, slowly getting closer to him. 

"Um, I think it's okay." He brushes it off, shrugging, not paying attention. 

"I think we should let it cool off." I state again, my fingers teasing at the top of his shorts, and he looks at me. 

"Get away from me, you freak." He laughs out, shooing my hands off of him.

"Oh, I'm the freak?" 

"You were trying to blow me before therapy the other day and now you're trying to get it in while I'm trying to eat." He points out, still laughing. "I know I'm a lot to handle but just chill out." He smiles, raising his brows. 

"I don't know if you're being serious right now or not." 

"I'm being serious." He points at me. "Now get a plate and let's eat." He adds. 

"You don't want to mess around?" 

"I didn't say that." He states.

"Okay, then food can wait, c'mon," I grab his hand and try to tug him out of the kitchen.  

"Viv," he says as I plant my feet on the floor and use both hands to try to tug at him, my socks sliding against the tile but I try my hardest to get him to move. 

He waits patiently before I'm falling on my ass after slipping, still holding his hand, letting out a breath. 

I let his hand go and lay on the floor, groaning. 

"Are you done?" He asks me, raising a brow. 

"I'm horny." I say it flatly, staring at the ceiling. 

"I can see that." He says, looking between my legs where I feel a wet spot in my panties. 

Great. 

"Nikki, you're being difficult." 

"How?" 

"I wanna fool around, you wanna fool around, we should just fool around. But you don't want to, even though you just said you do." 

"Viv--"

"I haven't gotten thrown around and fucked into a coma in over six months." I blurt, crossing my arms, looking up at him from my place on the floor. 

"...He couldn't scratch that itch after all, huh?" He asks, amused, smirking, and I cut my eyes at him. 

"Because he has morals." I reply. 

"Interesting." He replies. 

We sit in silence for a second, and he nudges me with his foot. 

"Are you gonna survive without jumping my bones?" He asks and I sigh, sitting up. 

"I guess." 

He helps me up and we get our food and sit on the couch while we watch cartoons and eat. 

I notice him staring at me every once in awhile, but I don't pay any attention to him. 

My feelings are hurt, as childish as that sounds. 

It usually doesn't take much to get Nikki into bed, and he's always been up for it whenever I hinted at anything...or blatantly told him I was horny. 

But now things are different. 

A part of me thinks its because he sat down and really thought about the fact I cheated on him.

Maybe that makes me disgusting in his eyes. 

Maybe it's because I'm pregnant--even though I'm only starting to show. 

Maybe it's because I'm pregnant with the dude's baby that I cheated on him with. 

I can see that ruining his libido. 

I just try not to pay much attention to it, but it's nagging me slowly. 

After I finish eating I'm taking my empty plate to the kitchen and heading to my bedroom. 

"Where you going?" He asks me as he puts his plate in the sink, too. 

"Back to bed." I tell him. "I'm really sleepy." 

"Oh," He replies, not looking all that convinced.

"See you when I wake up." I add.

"Yeah, I'll see you then." He says back. 

I shut the door and crawl into bed, wiping the growing tears from my eyes before they even hit my cheeks. 

I wake up a little later and stretch out, hearing the shower running in my bathroom. 

I just lay in bed for a few minutes until I hear it turn off and in a couple minutes, he's coming in the room with a towel wrapped around him, his hair wet.  

He notices I'm awake and grins, coming over to the bed. 

"Hey," he leans over me, pecking me on the lips. 

"Hey." I reply, my voice still tired, his hand running over my side. "What time is it?" 

"Like, one o'clock, maybe," he replies, about to move away from me. 

"Wait, c'mere," I grab his hand and he furrows his brows. 

"What is it?" He asks me.

I don't say anything, just looking at him, and he chuckles. 

He reads my mind and leans down, lips catching mine before his tongue slips into my mouth. 

I softly hum, my hand going to his hair, his hand fumbling through the covers to find my hip and dig his fingers into it. 

My hands soon go to his towel, about to tug it off but he pulls away and catches his breath. 

"I'm gonna go get some clothes on and head to the store to get some things for dinner tonight...you want anything?"  

Yeah. Sex with my husband. 

"No, thanks." I reply, calmly. 

"Alright, I'll see you later." He kisses me one last time and leaves the room and I rub my hands over my face.

"There's nothing to get so pissed off about, Vivian, it's not a big deal." 

"For once in his life Nikki Sixx doesn't want to hump something, even when his own wife tries to start something, so yeah, to me it is a big deal." I argue. 

"No, it's not, it's not that serious." 

"Do you not understand what it's like to be pregnant and hormonal and just wanting to have a good time with the person you love and they don't want anything to do with it?"

"Oh, c'mon, Vivian. Me not wanting to have sex with you doesn't have anything to do with you in particular." 

"Pretty sure it does since you've had no problem screwing other women behind my back when I couldn't do a good enough job." I throw at him. 

"Woah, woah, woah, that was fucking months ago, Vivian, and I was fucked up and sick." He snaps. "And it wasn't because you couldn't do a good enough job, it was because you wouldn't even try to do a job at all. You'd just lay there and be uninterested, like you were just waiting for me to get the fuck off of you. Matter of fact, I distinctly remember you actually saying, 'are you finished yet? I'm getting sleepy.' And I get that you were depressed and in a funk but shit like that happened multiple times, sometimes for weeks, over the course of our marriage. You know how that made me feel, thinking I couldn't even please my own wife?" 

"Oh, God, Nikki, I can't even imagine that pain. Thinking, 'why am I not good enough? Why am I not attractive to my spouse? Why am I not still desired'," I start, sarcastically. "Oh, shit, actually, yeah. Yeah, I fucking can imagine it because I tortured myself with the same questions anytime you chose going out with your buddies over a night in with me, anytime you chose hiding in your closet with drugs over coming to bed, and not to mention the time, gee, I don't know--I found out you had a mistress, who I was friends with, that you would fuck in our house!" 

"Think you got pretty even with me on that being that I found a couple used condoms  that didn't belong to me, under our bed!"

"That can't possibly be my fault being that me and him never used condoms!" 

"You don't fucking say!" He motions to my stomach.

"Fuck this." I state, harshly, standing up and grabbing my purse. 

"Vivian," Amber starts. 

"No. No. No. Fuck you, fuck him, fuck this. I'm fucking done. We tried rehab, we tried therapy, obviously it's not working or he wouldn't have come home and fallen off the wagon!" 

"Ever considered maybe I fell off the wagon so early on because you kept nagging me for days on end?!" He stands up. 

"You didn't want anything to do with me fucking sober, but as soon as you were under the influence of something, I'm suddenly so fucking beautiful and you're wanting to 'fuck the shit outta me'?! Do you not realize how fucked it is that you only want me when you're fucking on something?!"

The next few days consists of me being unable to keep my...urges...barely at bay, all while Nikki has no problem ignoring my hints--more so blunt statements at times--that I'm in the mood. 

He just laughs it off or teases me about it or pretends he doesn't know altogether. 

I just do what I've been doing: being my own lover. 

But there's just some things he can do to me that I can't and it's hard to accept that reality. 

I raise my brows when I peek my head into my bathroom, seeing Nikki fixing his hair, only wearing boxers. 

"Where you getting dolled up to go?" I ask, crossing my arms. 

"Me and Tommy are going out." He tells me and I raise my brows. 

"Oh." I reply, rubbing my lips together. 

I don't know how to tell him I'm having my surgery tomorrow to have my uterine abnormality taken care of...I've been meaning to tell him but just can't. 

I was hoping he'd still be in rehab and wouldn't even really have to know I got it done until later. 

I don't want him to worry. 

"You wanna come with us?" He asks next, grinning at me in the mirror. 

I don't know if that's a good idea." I mumble, that article written about that open letter from those anonymous roadies flashing through my mind. 

"C'mon, baby, it'll be fun."

"I don't feel good enough to go out on the town right now." I admit. "What are you guys gonna do while you're out?" 

"Probably go to the Tropicana or something." He shrugs and I raise my brows. 

"...Oh." 

"Like I said, Viv, you can come with us." He turns and looks down at me and I just smile as best as I can and shake my head. 

"No, I'm okay." I assure him. 

He looks a little disappointed but brushes it off, leaning down and kissing me, wrapping his arms around my waist, his hands smoothing over my ass, and I giggle as he pulls me up to snake my legs around him, kissing my cheek and my neck before hugging me to him, making me squeeze him to me tightly. 

"I love you, Nikki." I tell him, closing my eyes. "I really do."

"I know, Viv." He says back. "I love you more."

"And like always, it's Vivian's fault Nikki's a fucking addict! It's Vivian's fault Nikki's drinking so much! It's Vivian's fault Nikki's so unbearable to be around! It's all that slut's fault because she's a fucking crazy snake-cunt, she-satan that steals, kills, and destroys, and he's left with no choice but to try to numb himself to get outta her grasp!  It's all her fucking fault, even when she's pregnant!" 

I storm out and slam the door behind me, stomping down the hall. 

"Vivian Sixx, don't you fucking walk away from me!" He shouts after me, following me. 

"Vivian Kinston! I don't wanna be a fucking Sixx anymore--I don't wanna be associated with you, you fucked up prick!" I scream back. "Matter of fact, I'm glad I didn't have any of those goddamn kids of your's or else I'd be fucking answering to you the rest of my fucking life!" 

I wake up when I hear the front door open, my eyes shifting to my clock. 

2:00a.m. 

"Fuck," I hear him whisper to himself, dragging his feet to the kitchen…

The sink turns on, a cabinet slams open, a glass shatters on the floor. 

"Fuck." He repeats, cutting the sink off. 

I furrow my brows and sit up in the bed, slowly slipping off the mattress, tip-toeing out to see what he's up to.

"Nikki?" 

"Do you--do you have a broom?" He asks in a slur, motioning to the broken glass on the floor. 

"Yeah, I do." I tell him. 

"Okay, I um, I…" he trails off, eyes on me, drifting down my bare legs, holding his gaze on my lace panties. "...I need it." He finishes, hand reaching down to readjust himself. 

"Have you been drinking?" I ask him, leaning against the doorway.

"A couple shots, nothing I couldn't handle." He replies, walking closer to me. "Something else I can handle, too." He says more so to himself and I take in a breath when his hands grasp at my hips. 

"You smell like tequila." I tell him. 

"It was just a couple drinks." He insists, leaning down, pressing his lips to mine. 

"Just a couple?" I ask when I pull away, and he nods, pulling me back to him, kissing me again, our tongues meeting. 

His hands are tugging at my tank top, pulling it over my head. 

"You're so beautiful." He tells me, licking up my neck and I let out a soft sigh, running my hands down his back, tears in my eyes…

I close my eyes and my mind flashes back. All those times he'd come in drunk or high or both...either telling me how wonderful I am, or wanting to fight…

"Nikki, wait," I force myself to pull away from him as he trails kisses over my breast. 

"What is it?" He asks me, trying to get me close again. 

"You're drunk, Nikki, alright? I don't want to do anything while you're like this." I admit and he just stares at me. 

"Excuse me?" 

"You're drunk. I don't want you to--"

"--You bitch at me all fucking week about your fucking sexual frustration but as soon as I wanna piece of ass you're suddenly too good for me?" 

"Nikki, you're drunk." I state. "I'm not too good for you, but I'm not just gonna be the cumrag you get off on and pass out in a drunken stupor." 

"You never complained about it before." He states. "All the other times you were on your knees with your mouth wide open begging me for it like a cock-starved whore." He adds. 

"That was before. You aren't even supposed to be drunk, Nikki." I sneer. 

"Well, I am,Vivian, you wanna fucking crucify me over it? Huh?!" 

"All of your hard work the past weeks...gone." I remind him. 

"Fuck off." He shoves past me. "If you're not gonna give me any pussy--"

"--Maybe I would if you were sober, asshole, ever consider that?" I snap. 

"I wanna fuck the shit out of you, I've considered that." He states and I feel my face heat up. 

"You're being a pig, right now." I ignore him, turning to go back to bed, pissed and tired. 

"C'mon, baby," he complains from outside my locked door and I roll my eyes. "Baby, seriously, can't we talk about this?" He asks next. "Baby!" He calls. 

I open the door and bitterly mock his voice, "'oh, baby, I'm so sorry, oh, baby, you're so beautiful, oh, baby, just gimme a blow job and it'll completely wipe away the fact that I'm a fucking drunk, ridiculous, asshole, oh, baby, baby, baby, baby'!" I slam the door back in his face. 

"...Well, I never said I was fucking sorry!" He says next. 

"Fuck off, Nikki!"

He snatches me by my wrist, and I see him raise his fist from the corner of my eye as I turn to face him, and I tense up and expect him to hit me but his fist collides with the wall by my head, my hand coming up to my mouth to keep from being too loud in my hysteria, tears rolling down my cheeks as he gives three solid punches to the painted cement bricks. 

He's crying, too, and his hand loosening around my wrist, his face red, his body shaking as he lets out a pained noise and heaves out breaths, his eyes closed.

[signaturedish]

What was OP thinking when Harry asked him to rename him? And then his happy dancing? Bc tbh that was cute as hell and OP just—fritzing was also funny

Aww thanks, I had a lot of fun writing such an adorable scene!

Sorry about the wait, I got a weirdly intense influx of business. Idk why every third family in my area had to vacation right now.

I’m just gonna jump right into it, since I really did love that scene and would be happy to expand on it a little further.

At first he was completely shocked. He really thought it was gonna be Ratchet who named him if Harry was gonna pick a new name at all, so that came right out of nowhere. 

And then when Harry asks about shooting him down, some jaded part of Optimus wonders if Harry simply doesn’t want a new name and is using Optimus’ comparatively calmer presence to come to terms with that.

He was glad to provide security, it was his duty, but it would be unwise to hope for more.

As a Prime and then, later, as the Prime who banished the Allspark, he hadn’t ever thought he’d have the opportunity to name a sparkling. He hadn’t even considered it, the notion was so far past what he felt could he had the right to expect.

Still, on the off-chance Harry was being sincere, no matter how unlikely, he would give Harry the one and only name Prime would ever give another being.

He spent the entire night silent and apart from the others, contemplating all he knew of Harry. They hadn’t interacted directly very often, but Prime was always watching, always checking on the physical and spiritual wellbeing of their youngest charge.

It was a difficult decision.

What he’d seen, since their very first day at the base, was humbling. Harry was a gentle creature, naturally empathetic with a strong sense of justice. Genuinely good sparks like that were rare to the point of nonexistence now, an age of battle and death had tarnished even the most honorable of Autobots by the end. 

Besides that, how could Prime concisely summarise even a vague approximation of the hopes and wishes pinned on Harry at this very moment? The first child in a millennia, holder of the Allspark, alien-born, so much of him was new and stunningly bright in their darkest hour.

When Harry finally reconvenes with him the following morning, Prime awaits his decision. He’ll make his peace with whatever Harry decides, whether it be to ignore him completely, contemplate the matter further, or demand his answer as soon as they come to a halt out beyond the base.

It was then, when Harry did ask for a name, that he understood his own caution to be a complete lie. He hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d invested in this endeavor, how unfathomably precious this moment would be to him, until Harry peered up at him oh so shyly, and requested Prime’s designation.

This wasn’t a duty, Prime realized past the searing ache of his own spark expanding far past the limits of its casing, it was a gift in every meaning of the word. And he had been desperate to recieve it.

It was all he could do to croak out his heartfelt gratitude. Wonder was such a rare thing to feel, and yet Prime felt fit to bursting. He had inspired within the last sparkling enough trust and affection to allow him a lifelong connection, and he wasn’t terribly certain how to exist in a world wondrous enough for that to occur.

He can see it the moment Harry accepts, the flurry of coding burrowing it into the deepest recesses of Harry’s processors, overwriting and overruling until it is Silverline who looks back at him. 

And Prime...soaks it in. Like a flower towards the sun, he is enraptured. For once, he is not a Prime staring down at his charge, that is much too plain for what he’s feeling. Formalities and obligations withered and died in the intensity of his own vulnerability. Here, he is simply Optimus, watching over his child. 

Silverline warbles a simple thanks over his com, as if he hadn’t given him the greatest blessing Prime could dream of, as if Prime could part with any of his own gratitude and share it with the sparkling. He is helpless to communicate this, though. The appropriate words too grand and complicated to fit past the lump in his throat.

Silverline’s expressive optics shimmer with gentle care, his posture is open and utterly relaxed, and his charming little wings pluck and pull at his heartstrings with every swoop.

Optimus doesn’t dare reach out and interrupt the sparkling, he’s never had the privilege of being so close to Silverline without a pall snuffing out any of his natural light and he couldn’t bear to ruin this moment stumbling through affection. Silverline’s happiness was dazzling at it’s brightest, it was easy to see how his troops might become possessive over this feeling.

Then, the world melts.

A syrupy, honey-sweet haze slogs Optimus’ processors to a crawl. His spark skips. splutters, and dies right in his chest and Optimus can only watch as overheating warnings and system failures roll in.

Muddled and confused, Optimus waits for the burning fire in his fuel pump to ease and for death to take him.

Except, he doesn’t die? It feels like he should be dead by now, he has most certainly ceased functioning. But as one second, two seconds, fifteen seconds carries on without him, he remains trapped in place.

True awareness swam just before him, elusive, but close enough to that snippets of stimuli brushed him. It was overwhelming, a tidal wave of excruciating emotions, none of which were upsetting, but that only made them more confusing.

His feeble matrix buzzed and whirred with the effort to drag him to the forefront of himself, and he is forced to process the audio data first. It is a purring hum, low and easy. It is a single note that snatches him up by his very core and yanks him out of his daze.

It is an optimal status alert, and it is directed solely at him.

If there were air left in his vents, Optimus might’ve choked. He was left reeling, the burning in his fuel pump ticking higher and higher as what he understood that it must be elation scorching through him. Satisfaction, praise at its highest, acceptance at it’s deepest, a bot wasn’t built to withstand such a brutal onslaught of unrefined joy.

His visual data was processed next, unrelenting, and the sweet haze gumming up his processors doubled its efforts.

Silverline was killing him, Optimus was sure. It was the most deadly, precious attack he’d ever witnessed.

Silverline was dancing. His paper thin wings fluttering wide and trusting, his optics huge and bright and focused right on Optimus. His steps were spiraling, childish, shrouded in Optimus’ shadow as Silverline danced mere inches from him. The optimal status alert hikes higher in volume with each almost-brush of armor, and Optimus couldn’t have torn himself away for all the galaxy.

I trust you, Silverline said in so much more than words, I love you. Stay with me and love me too.

It was a moment of intimacy that would only feel like hello in hindsight. Like they were finally reaching each other, like a bond could be forged. Whatever struggles cluttered their path were at once, easily defeated so long as they stayed together.

Optimus drifted in the euphoria of that connection. In so fiercely loving and being loved in return that he was rooted in place like an insect in warm amber. He could’ve stayed like that for eons, or until Silverline did something else so unreasonably dear that he really did crash.

Thankfully, although he did not feel very charitably toward Bumblebee in that moment, the scout shattered his amber with a loud radio clip and ushered Silverline back to their human charges with a teasing whistle.

Creaking, aged and wizened beyond his admittedly formidable years, Prime straightens and tries to look less wrecked. From the aura of smugness permeating the air, he isn’t succeeding.

-Ventilate, Prime- Bumblebee eventually suggests, and it is only then that it occurs to him that he should do something about the overheating problem reaching critical temperatures in his systems.

He ventilates.

[witchiswriting]

A Not So Merry Christmas Chapter 5

Summary: Negan and Lilith meet with an unexpected face from the past.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of violence, Mentions of panic attack.

Characters: Negan x Lilith (OC)

Author’s Note: Wow! We’re so close to the end. I feel bittersweet since it’s my Negan fic ever, saying goodbye to those characters are harder than I thought. Don’t worry though. There’s going to be a sequel, I just don’t know when it’s gonna be ready to posted.

It’s been a month and a half since Negan had started to live in this hell called The Sanctuary. He’d accepted the fact that he’s never going back to the life he once had. The only person he knew from his life before, his best friend or more like ex best friend was now his enemy. Rick Grimes, he was one of the residents of Sanctuary; he didn’t have a room like ordinary workers or saviours. No, he was staying in a cell and lost his hands in a brutal way. He had watched all his family getting slaughtered by Negan.

When Simon led Negan to the cells that day, he found out about the murders he’s caused, and they were a lot. When they came across Rick’s group Negan ordered them to give their half of shit to him. Threatened that otherwise he’d kill them. After particular events, a war took place between the groups Negan terrorised. They came together against Negan, but they still hadn’t the enough numbers to defeat Negan’s kingdom. So, Negan beat them down in a very brutal way.

Rick Grimes was the person who killed Lilith. In a crossfire he shot her in the chest. Although, Negan was the one to blame since he was the reason that Lilith had been here that day.

If he wouldn’t had been this stupid. Cheating on her in another world too.

In that very morning, Lilith walked in on him fucking Amber, at least that’s what Negan thinks her name is. He doesn’t remember anything, doesn’t know anything. He even made Simon tell him how Lilith died. So, that was it. Shocked and very much hurt Lilith left The Sanctuary, and she was too lost in her own mind to notice the trap the Alexandrians had set up.

First, she was captured by Rick. He had no intention to hurt her. She was just another victim to Negan after all but when the saviours came guns blazing Lilith got scared and tried to find a way to escape. She found it but when she threw herself, she felt the heavy bullet ripping through her chest. That’s how she died in arms of Negan.

When Negan stood in front of his ex-friend now enemy’s cell, he felt completely numb. Nothing came out of his mouth. The only voice echoing through the cold walls were Rick’s hatred, accusations, and threats. Negan waited with a stone-cold face. He was too busy to comprehend the situation. After 10 minutes he walked back to his room and refused to come out since then.

Negan sighed, taking a sip from his whiskey. He let a tear fall on his cheek. It’s been too long, and he was now sure that there’s no going back and there’s no Lilith. He’s the man with everything yet nothing.

For the first couple of weeks Negan always slept, thinking that might be the only way to go back to his old life but, of course, it didn’t work. Instead, he woke up to a bloody Lilith standing in front of him and accusing him of letting her die. His nightmares were another thing. There were too real that Negan couldn’t bear to live this agony repeatedly. So, he drowned himself and his sorrows in alcohol. Hoping to numb himself and he almost made it.

Until one night.

He was laying on his stomach in his bed and crying silently. Wishing he had at least one photograph of Lilith though he didn’t know if he could take looking at her beautiful face again. Trying to get some sleep, he closed his already tired eyes. He heard some noise in his bathroom but didn’t care. Probably he was too drunk, and his mind was making up things to torture him more.

He turned on his back and closed his eyes tightly. Wishing dive into deep slumbers of sleep in a few minutes however, the faith had other plans.

A light breeze brushed his beautiful face, slightly waking him up from his semi sleeping state.

There she was, standing in the same sun dress, watching him with an angry expression. Her dark curls were moving lightly in the wind.

He jolted up from the bed. He must have been dreaming or was too drunk again and seeing a hallucination.

Lucille, she was standing all in her glory.

‘’ You really don’t get the concept of second chances, do you Negan?’’ She asked with a sassy tone. It was apparent that she wasn’t pleased with him.

‘’W-what? I’m too drunk and seeing things. Fuck. Lucille.’’ Negan was rubbing his eyes.

‘’Wake up asshole, it’s not a hallucination. I’m here. Again. To fucking help.’’ She gritted her teeth.

‘’ But why?’’ Negan was confused. He knew he had no right to seek for help nor he deserved it.

‘’ I’m not doing this for you.’’ Lucille shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

‘’ Then for who? ‘’ It was getting more and more complex for Negan to figure out in his drunken state.

‘’ I mean you’ve always had a fucked-up mind, but you were also sharp. So, you tell me Negan.’’ She took a step toward him.

‘’ I’d say Lilith but, well… she’s gone.’’ Negan swallowed hardly. The gulp in his throat was getting bigger.

‘’ So, you say?’’ Lucille smirked knowingly.

‘’ IS SHE ALIVE? PLEASE TELL ME!’’ Negan got up from the bed and kneeled in front of Lucille.

‘’ Isn’t it funny that fears become wishes, Negan?’’ Lucille mocked his ex-husband. She’s not used to see him in such a pathetic state. She mumbled ‘good’ under her breath. ‘’ When you left Lilith, the last thing you wanted was to see her again. What has changed?’ She smirked but the sign of sympathy didn’t appear on her beautiful features, instead her face was full of ferocity.

Negan couldn’t keep his tears at bay anymore, at this point he’s crying like a pathetic dog. Yes, the woman he’d loved once was being extremely hard on him but his pain didn’t matter shit to him. All he wanted was Lilith to be alive, even if it’s without him.’ Please tell me she’s alive. Please, I beg you.’’ He started sobbing violently.

‘’ It depends. You’re probably going to treat her as badly as the last time.’’ Lucille shrugged her shoulders in a careless manner.

He started to hyperventilate. ‘’ I fucking promise I will never hurt her ever again. If she’s alive and ready to accept me, I’ll do my fucking best to make it up to her. Just please fucking tell me if she’s alive.’’

Lucille took a deep breath. Her eyes were shining mischievously. ‘’ Well then.’’ She bit her lower lip. ‘’ Yes, she’s alive Negan but she’s not doing very well as you can guess.’’

‘’I-I-I’d do everything for her to be happy… and if she doesn’t want me then I’ll go my own way. I just want the best for her.’’ Tears were running down on his face violently. His eyes were blood shot and puffy, his nose was running down but he couldn’t care less. This a month and a half has been the worst he’s ever experienced. He thought nothing could beat the day Lucille died but he was wrong.

Negan struggled at controlling his shaking hands. The balloon growing inside him was pressing into his chest. His breath got caught in his throat and he couldn’t mutter a word, just a chocked sob came out. The last time he had a panic attack was when he found out Lucille has cancer.

Watching the miserable man before her, Lucille put her delicate hand on his shoulder in a supporting manner. ‘’ Stand up and go to sleep. Maybe you’ll wake up to your old life next morning. Who knows?’’ She purred.

He stood up like an obedient child, but he had one question in his mind. ‘’Lucille, why are you being this good to me?’’

Lucille laughed. ‘’Oh dear, I’m not being good to you, now go back to sleep. If you’re lucky maybe you’d see her in your dream tonight.’’ And with that she disappeared.

Lilith was dancing slowly in her room. That was her coping mechanism. Whenever a bad thing happens, she tries to get over it with dancing and most of the time it helps but this time she felt like there’s nothing that could soothe her pain.

It’s been two weeks and the pain had started to annoy her, since childhood she hadn’t been good with dealing her negative emotions and the last one was the biggest blow. Feeling sad and in pain drove her crazy. Now, she’s mad at his asshole ex-fiancé also herself. She didn’t know when she’d fallen that deep for the man who ruined her life in a single night. Before, she didn’t realize how much he meant to her and it hurt more knowing that he was probably the only one for her.

Five days ago, she went back to Negan’s place to gather her things, but nobody was at home and there was no sign of Negan had been there for a long time. His car and motorbike were in the garage, but his clothes were absent in his wardrobe. Who knows, maybe he’d already found a lover. Thinking of that possibility hurt Lilith in the ways she could’ve never guessed before.

Rubbing her eyes, she took a deep breath and stared herself at mirror. The song was over, and she was a little bit tired. She watched herself for a few minutes. Her bright blue eyes were slightly red and swollen just like her plump lips. Her nose was running down, and the tip was a deep shade of red.

Suddenly, she heard a melody playing. She didn’t recognize it immediately, but she knew she heard it before, just couldn’t quite place when she listened to the song.

She must be forgetting things after all the crying; her head wasn’t in the right place. She unplugged the player and threw herself on bed.

When she felt a soft fingertip on her bare shoulder it’s been almost 10 minutes letting herself into the arms of slumber. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, Lilith slightly opened them.

She couldn’t help the gape that formed on her mouth when she saw the woman who she’d only knew from photographs standing before her.

It was an interesting night to begin with.

@buttercandy16​ @negans-network​

[albino-whumpee]

Demon Angel AU: Looming

This is mostly fluff with a twist at the end. The next part should be Whumpier, but for now, timeline is set right before the Circus! Hope you like it!

Taglist:

@as-a-matter-of-whump @orchidscript @haro-whumps @giggly-evil-puppy @grizzlie70 @rosesareviolentlyread

CW// Some angst, implied past dubcon, implied Pet whump, recovery whump, mention of branding, self blaming, implied torture, non human whumpees, demon whump, accidental whump, blood, non sexual nudity and mind control. Ask to tag!

In a few weeks, the angel had learnt exactly how to start up a fire and cook his own meat, set up his own camp and how to set up a trap for small animals. It was small progress made while the demon kept an eye on the direction of the grasslands they had fallen the day of the ceremony.

The soldiers should have already seen through his spell and were already turning on their heels to find them. They were moving, but the demon knew they were at least two steps ahead. Despite the constant agitation in his mind, wondering what could happen if they were found by humans, Albus indulged Sann on his morning strolls.

It was a deal they made after Albus began slurring words and dark bags sprouted under his eyes. Sann would mount guard a few hours before sunrise so the demon could catch up some sleep.

Albus quickly understood it wasn´t just simple generosity on the seraphim´s behalf, which he perfectly knew was the angel´s nature, but it was too, an excuse to soar the sky and perch up on trees to watch the sunrise on a place that was so vastly different from home.

Like a kid learning there was far more than the town they grew up in, a sense of wonder permeated Sann´s every action. And just like a kid, there would be accidents.

It was basically routine now how Albus jumped completely awake a few minutes before sunrise. When he heard a dry thud right outside of the hollow tree trunk covered in a thick layer of leafs and tall grass to find Sann lifting himself off the floor covered in twigs.

The angel would have the nerve to smile shyly at him and ask for help to pull out a stick from under the mess of feathers that was his back. There was something in the way his cheeks dimpled that compelled him to always say yes.

“How do you even-?” Albus started pulling away a twig coiled right between the middle and third wings. Noticing now how the third pair was smaller, and so, far more knitted up and hard to pull things out from “How do you manage to get twigs this large stuck in there? Do you fly directly into trees or what?” he groaned pulling with both hands now.

“I can’t help it! I didn’t have to worry about trees up there! I don’t see- OUCH! WAIT! STOP, STOP!” Sann screamed an involuntary flap slapping Albus square in the face. Sann whipped his head back to find an Albus with his face red, his nose wrikling in annoyance, before a drop of black scurried down to his lip. The smile forming on his lips dropped as he jumped to stand “Oh gods, I´m sorry! I didn´t mean-”

“DON´T” he cut him off with palatable irritation in his voice, lifting his hand to stop the angel’s and wiping it off with the back of his hand “Don’t touch it” the demon whispered looking around for something to stop the bleeding.

He found the angel ripping off the side of his skirt and cautiously, Sann began to wipe his face clean “I’m sorry, that must have hurt” he said, settling a hand on his jaw to have a better grip while rubbing with a light touch.

The demon found himself lost in the touch. So warm and gentle, he didn’t notice how he leaned into his hand with eyes closed. Shooting them wide open and stepping back when he heard a breathy giggle. Embarrassment completely turning his face red as he saw the angel hood his wrist and clean the back of his hand too before, folding the piece of cloth and turn.

“Your turn” he said lifting his wings just so, giving way to reach the twig, still trapped between the joints of his wings. The demon watched him for a second and swooshed his tail before grabbing it in one hand. The other softly controlling the wing’s movement so it wouldn’t pull his feathers.

“Move the third pair down and the second up” Albus said, hearing the slight scratch on the floor when they touched the ground. Albus finally could see the shape of the twig and pulled it sideways, throwing it away in a sigh. “There, how do you feel?” The demon asked still a hand over the seraphim’s feathery back. The smallest, softest ones covering the sides of his spine. Moving along the wings, lifting and puffing up, sensing under his finger tips how the muscles on his back allowed them to stretch.

An indescribable feeling ran through the demon then, birthed by wondering how strong they had to be to not only lift Sann off the ground, but also carry both of them. An extension of his body he betrayed his homeland to keep. That he broke in order to save him.

“Much better! Thank you, Al. Sorry for slapping you” he giggled, the weight of his hand still on his back making him turn to see his face, solemn and quiet, before he looked away. “Al?”

“Thank you, angel” the words rolled out of his tongue with ease. Puzzling Sann before the seraphim caught a glimpse of bright red snaking down his neck. Smiling to himself when he saw his tail swoosh behind him while lifting up their camp “Nothing suspicious around?”

“Nope” Sann replied popping the sound at the end with a grin.

“We should get moving. We have stayed here for too long”

“Nobody’s on our backs tho’” the angel said noticing the funky smell coming out of his garbs, now gray and green at parts because of his unfortunate, sudden encounters with trees. Remembering the place that distracted him in the first place and watching the poor state of Albus’ own clothes “I know a place…”

—-

That same night, having moved to the other side of the mountain, Sann was sitting on the edge of the natural spring, running a hand through his wet hair and covering his naked body from the other with his wings. Watching the demon basically melting inside the water, full bliss on his face making a deep contrast to the frown he always wore.

“You should take off your clothes when you bathe in springs you know?” Sann said putting his head on his knees while watching the demon slowly open his eyes and lift himself up just enough to take the dirty black top over his head. Getting slightly thrown off by his carelessness, Sann tried to look away, but before he could, his eye caught a glimpse of something he didn’t expect “What’s that on your chest?”

“Hm?” The demon turned, cheeks red from the heat before his eyes found the same thing Sann’s eyes were locked on “Oh, it’s a sigil” the demon’s fingers hovered over it “I have it since I was born”

“That’s a very old spell then”

The demon bit a laugh “How old do you think I am?”

The angel looked at him for a moment, scanning his features and taking his chin in one hand, reflecting “Demons age slower than humans, but faster than us, so I would say…40?”

“Not even close” Sann clicked his tongue.

“Well, how old do you think I am?” Sann exclaimed a smugness in his face that tried to fight the unamused face of the demon.

“60” He simply said and grinned when Sann widened his eyes “Ah, I got it right? Lucky guess~” 

The angel burst into laughing then.

“No!”

“no? then...120?” the angel laughed even harder.

“Can´t be colder!”

“200? 444? 800?” With each new random number the demon tried. 

“You´re gonna get to the thousands that way”

“Well, tell me how old are you”

“And you will tell me how old you are”

The demon dramatically looked to a side, as if considering. 

“Alright, I´m 23. Your turn”

The angel giggled ″I don´t really know”

The demon stared at him for a second, before sighing “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, time and age hardly matters to an angel that is born looking like...” he vaguely pointed at his body “And we hardly get a gray hair after centuries, so your guesses are just as good as mine”

The demon reclined his back on the mushy rock behind him, with an scowl that quickly softened. 

“What you said was right tho” the angel flapped his wings as he tilted his head curiously “That demons age quicker than you. But it would only apply to me, if I was a normal demon. But this thing here makes it closer to a human’s” he said tapping on the mark above his heart.

Sann looked at it, trying to decipher the sigil to no avail, he had never seen that symbol. Not even in his God’s extensive personal library he was allowed to after exceptional good behavior, or the books his god would read on bed while running his fingers through his hair, faking being asleep so he could peak on it.

“What does it do?”

Give me another chance to live, Albus thought to himself.

Sann looked at him and caught a vague melancholy on his eyes before he smiled at him again “Its a brand. For demon’s like me, only that this one does give me more powers rather than just being decorative” he laughed grimly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t heal it” Sann said burying half of his face on his arms, sinking on himself, stopping Albus laughter dead on its tracks.

“It’s…it’s alright. Don’t worry about it” Albus tried, voice low, rubbing the dark, sleeveless top under the water in hopes of cleaning it like he had with Sann’s robes when they got to the springs. Or maybe just to have something to keep his hands busy. His voice was sincere when he talked again “Thank you for trying anyways”

“It’s not enough” he replied instantly.

“It is more than what I thought an Angel would ever do for me” the demon shrugged, locking amber on gray and filling with a fuzziness when the Seraphim’s knitted brow relaxed. “I’m not looking to get another any time soon, so you don’t have to worry, alright?”

There was a silence of a few seconds before Sann talked again.

“If they…capture us, if they get us, another brand would just be the start” Sann said barely above a whisper, wings flapping behind him, tightening around him searching for protection. “They should have seen through your spell already”

Albus took a deep breath before replying, “Most likely”

“Can…Can we really hide from them? Are we really…safe?” Sann asked eyes so packed with fear, Albus felt a knot form on his stomach at the display of vulnerability. He licked his lips before answering.

“To be honest, I’m not sure” Sann’s heart skipped a beat “But there are places they can’t reach or will find it really hard to break into, that we can go hide on. Like my Anshe’s woods or the underworld…” Albus ears perked up and he whipped his head in the woods direction, listening attentively to an specific sound that had been following them for a while already. Always there in the back, only gone when they flied.

After a moment it disappeared and he visibly relaxed.

“Al? Something wrong?” The angel asked with a new layer of worry on his face as he looked on the direction Albus was looking before, seeing nothing but the calm woods.

“Everything alright” The demon incorporated, swinging the soaked top over his shoulder as he stepped out of the water, pulling his hair back and watching the night sky, while muttering a warning spell under his breath. Albus put the top to dry over a rock and loooked at Sann again with a calm face. “Would you come with me to my Anshe’s woods?

Sann was thrown off by the question, blinking at the demon for a long moment “But I’m a Seraphim…”

“No worries, she’s far older than any god you know. She calls the war between our worlds an “unnecessary child fight” and I’m pretty sure she has the power to end it. She just won’t because she would die of boredom otherwise. She’s safe” Albus told him, but Sann didn’t seem convinced “Theres that, but I also…have to go meet her before winter comes. Her domain are the woods before the desert, right before crossing into to the underworld” Albus jaw worked when he settled next to Sann “It’s something I have to do, no matter what”

Sann stared at him for a moment before breathing out “and what about the underworld? I’m sure I would get burnt just by stepping in…”

“I wouldn’t allow that” he interrupted him, voice so firm, Sann puffed up “We will figure it out, but I promise you, nothing on the underworld will hurt you”

Sann’s anxiety was palpable. 

“If it doesn´t work, we can find another place. The human world is vast and some of it is unexplored. You could even name an island after you if we found one” The angel didn´t laugh at the joke. “I will protect you. No matter what” The demon said, cheeks burning.

“Alright” the angel whispered, feeling a warmth creep on the tip of his ears.

“Alright” he repeated slowly, “We just have to get there unharmed, avoiding humans if possible”

“How?”

“Well first things first, stop diving into trees when patrolling” Albus said, receiving a soft smack on his ribs and ripping out a smile out of the Seraphim, dimpling his cheeks with a smile that made him warm inside. “But secondly” Albus started eyeing the direction of the odd sound, hoping he was just being overly cautious “If you let me, I can make you understand their language”

Sann blinked at that, up finally unfolding himself in his surprise “You can do that?”

“Yep. That’s why I understand what you say. My spells work with speech, and so if I say Sann,” The Seraphim noticed the switch of his voice, turned into a chorus of deep and low and high and childish voices, a whispered cacophony that set his feathers on edge “born on the god’s sacred ground above the clouds, I grant you your wish to understand the tongue of those who walk and rule the land you’re sitting on” Sann felt a sting of frozen cold on the back of his throat, that disappeared as it came, a flash of pain and then nothing, as if it never happened “it will be done!” He said with a smile that showed his fangs.

Both of them looked at each other until the smile on the demon’s face came down just like his ears. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Sann simply shivered and passed his hand over his wings, soothing his feathers back on place. Letting the fire of their bonfire, dry them fully before tapping Al on the head with his wing.

“Don´t ever do that again without asking me first” Sann demanded. Albus´ ears went down colored a bright red. 

“I´m sorry, I won´t do it again” 

Sann looked him up and down before scooting closer “Are the voices creepy on purpose?” He asked, curving his lips into a playful smile at the way Al’s tail began thumping on the floor.

“…maybe”

The night carried on with laughter and low conversation, however in the middle of the night when Albus was on guard, a heavy rain dropped. Forcing them to move under the cover of a tree. The space safe from the rain completely occupied by Sann on his wing cocoon. Unexpectedly, When Sann opened it to let him in and wrapped him around it to soak him in his own warmth and keep him dry, Albus allowed himself to curl closer. Chest to chest. Falling asleep immediately with the rain as lullaby and exhaustion, drifting him into a heavy sleep that didn’t alert him of the things waiting exactly for this moment.

With the demons finally asleep, the human hunters that had stalked them for weeks, came out to get their prey.