#.vega would legit rather chew glass

[sansloii]

‘☻’ - regular verse Vega to Astra :) (fatestouch)

“He lets his emotions get the better of him time and time again. He complains up and down about how I'm stubborn or how I don't listen... but he is also stubborn in the must infuriating of ways.” he grumbles, “Everything I do is a slight against him and disagreeing with him is tantamount to insulting him more oft than not. He wonders why I question his judgement even as given me countless reasons to question it.”

free compliments | @fatestouch

[goldenraeofsun]

just say yes

The latest installment of this verse... or 5 times Dean tries to propose to Cas.

Dean bites his lip as he scans the menu. What the hell is branzino, and where the fuck are the prices? He flips the flimsy piece of cream-colored paper over, but no dice. 

Thank god there’s a steak listed among the five lone entrees. It’s probably five times his normal dinner price tag, but Dean already made peace with putting off buying that 30 year anniversary Rush album. It’ll still be there after his next pay check. 

Cas eyes him over the top of his own menu. “What are you thinking?”

Marry me.

Dean doesn’t say that, though. He has plans. Keep his trap shut until dessert. Tell Cas he’s going to hit the head. Pull a waiter aside and ask for two glasses of champagne. Return to Cas. Hopefully not shit his pants as he proposes. Drink champagne. Go home and have fantastic engaged sex.

Dean has high hopes for the last part of the plan.

“Dean?”

Belatedly, he says, “The steak.”

Cas hums. “That does look good.” He ducks back behind his menu. “I was thinking of getting that too. But maybe not.”

Dean takes a hasty sip of water. “Get the steak if you want it, man. We don’t go to places like this often.”

“I think I’ll get the honey glazed salmon.”

“Sounds good,” Dean says lamely. He drinks more water. At this rate, he won’t have to fake the bathroom run.

Aren’t they supposed to have alcohol by this point? They’ve been sitting at their fancy-ass table in this fancy-ass restaurant for nearly fifteen minutes.

Maybe he shouldn’t have picked the newest five-star restaurant to propose to Cas. He’s already on edge from the pressure, and the pristine white tablecloth isn’t helping. He can already see five ways he’s gonna stain it. There are several forks in front of him. For fuck’s sake, this place has an actual chandelier. Dean hadn’t honestly thought they existed outside of billionaire mansions and Disney movies.

The live music is nice, though. A sedate piano tinkles in the background, barely audible over the buzz of polite dinner conversation.

Dean catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the dark windows to the street. He looks a little sweaty, but not as nervous as he feels, thank god.

This is stupid. He shouldn’t even be nervous.

They’ve talked about marriage before. They’re adults in an adult relationship, so popping the question out of the blue would go down like the time Dean swept Cas away for a surprise camping trip. Turns out, Cas did not like camping. Which Dean would have known if he had asked anytime in the past four years.

But… that marriage conversation was two years ago. Dean wasn’t ready then; they both weren’t. Cas was still in a bad place with Jimmy and Claire, and Bobby had just died, so they weren’t about to roadtrip to Vegas anytime soon.

Now, Claire can have a civil dinner with her parents, and the hole Bobby left in Dean’s life can go unnoticed some days.

The deal is, Dean can’t chicken out tonight. He already told Claire to make herself scarce. She can sleep at her parents’ or at Krissy’s, Dean doesn’t care, as long as she is not crashing on their sofa when they get back from dinner.

Dean would rather read a hundred plagarized student essays on The Very Hungry Caterpillar than admit to Claire he failed to ask Cas to marry him. 

So, proposal time.

The waiter comes by with their drinks and takes their orders. Conversation is a little stilted, but hopefully Cas chalks it up to Dean being outside his comfort zone in this fancy-ass place. There’s no steady thunk of darts hitting a board or clack of pool balls in the background to put him at ease. Just that lame piano.

Cas makes porn noises over his salmon at first bite, which Dean totally doesn’t get. It’s fish.

“How’s your steak?” Cas asks as he surfaces and dabs his mouth with his cloth napkin.

Dean belatedly slices off a piece of his meal and pops it in his mouth. A generically bland compliment dies on his tongue. Jesus Christ - that’s some good cow. It practically disintegrates before he can chew. “Great,” he tells Cas honestly.

Cas hums in contentment.

“And since you’re practically at third base with that salmon,” Dean starts, “I take it-”

“Oh my god!” a woman’s voice squeals behind them.

Dean reflexively turns his head in the direction of the commotion. A few tables over, near the center of the restaurant, a man is down on one knee, and - son of a bitch.

Dean watches, his mouth hanging open, as the woman shouts, “Yes, of course, yes!” Waiters walk past their table with a whole fucking bottle of champagne. People at nearby tables fucking clap.

Dean resolutely turns back around to face Cas, at a loss for words that aren’t extremely loud swears.

“Isn’t that nice?” Cas says mildly.

“Yeah, very nice for them,” Dean says through gritted teeth. 

Of all the goddamn nights. Of all the goddamn restaurants. What are the goddamn chances?

Dean slices into his steak with extreme prejudice. If he could murder the happy couple, he would. With zero regrets.

Fuck it all, Claire’s gonna be insufferable.

  A CHARMING B&B IN VERMONT

Dean wakes up delightfully cozy with Cas spooning him from behind. No memory foam, but the bed is delightfully springy anyway. It was definitely what they needed after a full school day and a nine-hour road trip. Luckily, the owner of the bed and breakfast, a charming older woman actually named Mrs. Butters, was happy to wait up for their late check-in last night. She even had hot cocoa waiting.

Dean had held out a slight hope they could christen their room before they turned in for the night, but Cas passed right out before Dean turned on the lights. Poor guy had to deal with three sets of angry parents, and it was only the second week of school. Something about how their supposed-genius kids should be in AP Latin instead of the Fun Latin class - aka the one for dumbass seniors.

The mid-morning sunlight filtering in from behind the plaid curtains casts everything in a warm glow. The room itself is beyond charming. There’s a legit fireplace next to the bed, and they’re currently nestled under a patchwork quilt. The wood panelled walls give a distinctly rustic feel to the place, despite the reasonably sized television screen mounted on the far wall.

Dean turns over in bed so he’s facing Cas instead of the door. He resists the urge to poke him awake, and instead prods with a gentle, “Cas.”

Cas grumbles wordlessly. Fucker doesn’t even open his eyes, although Dean can tell from how his breathing changes that he’s awake.

“Cas.”

Cas wrinkles his nose and shoves his face into the pillow. “What, Dean?”

Dean can barely make out the words, but he gets the gist from the million times Cas has done the exact same thing. “I smell bacon.”

Cas’s eyes slit open. “So?”

“Don’t you want bacon?”

Cas huffs, and Dean can tell the exact moment he resigns to waking up. “Then go get the bacon. Nobody’s stopping you, Meat Man.”

Dean wiggles in bed, jostling the whole mattress. “Come on, babe.”

“I was sleeping.” Cas raises his head to look squint out the window. “It has to be before ten am. Since when are you a morning person?”

Since today is the day Dean is going to propose.

Instead, Dean reminds him pointedly, “Bacon.”

“Ugh,” Cas groans as he sits up. “I expect at least a blow job after breakfast if we’re leaving bed this early.”

Dean slaps his ass and jumps out of bed before Cas can retaliate. “Up and at ‘em!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Cas.”

* * *

Claire 11:02 Did you ask him yet? If he said no I’ve got chunky monkey waiting

Claire 11:31 That was a joke Uncle Cas will say yes Theres no way he wont

Claire 11:40 If you’re not answering because of sex don’t tell me

Dean sighs as his phone lights up with Claire’s latest text. In the bathroom, Cas hurls again. 

Dean 11:41 No proposal

The bubbles showing Claire’s typing start almost immediately.

Claire 11:41 Are you serious? He’s not goin to turn you down!!!

Dean 11:41 Food poisoning

Claire 11:42 HAHAHAHA

Dean scowls at his phone.

Dean 11:44 Not now, Claire.

Claire 11:44 Wait Seriously?

Dean 11:44 We think it was something he ate at breakfast

Claire 11:44 Oh fuck I’m sorry for laughing

Dean rereads her text. He hasn’t ever received a straight-up apology from Claire before. Unsure of how to respond, he sets down his phone and gently pushes open the bathroom door. “How’re you doing, babe?”

Cas, slumped over the toilet and looking like death warmed over, raises his head an inch. “It seems to be easing up.”

“Really?”

Cas vomits into the toilet again. He groans.

“Shit,” Dean mutters as he crouches next to Cas. He rubs his back with one hand. “Do you think you can get some water down?”

Cas nods, so Dean straightens and fills a glass next to the sink.

As Cas drinks, Dean runs a hand through Cas’s sweaty hair. His forehead has a sickly sheen to it, and the back of his neck feels hot.

“Dean -” Cas breaks off to cough the water right back up into the toilet. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Dean says quickly as he refills the glass. “Don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

“But you had all these plans,” Cas moans as he takes the water to try again.

“We’ll do ‘em some other time.” He wets a washcloth and wipes down Cas’s forehead.

“Before Thanksgiving,” Cas rasps, “we’ll come back. I don’t want to miss the leaves changing.”

“Of course,” Dean says soothingly. He moves the washcloth to the nape of Cas’s neck. “On the bright side, you’ve been puking for, like, an hour. There can’t be much left.”

Cas, the dramatic bastard, nearly brains himself on the toilet seat with the force of his next hurl.

  HOMEMADE DINNER

After the disastrous fancy restaurant and B&B, a homemade dinner has to be the way to go. They’ll be in their own goddamn house - that has to cut down on the number of things that can go wrong.

Dean spends a whole week deliberating on what to make. He could do his usual burgers and fries routine, Cas’s favorite, but it should be special.

He settles on beef wellington. Pie for beef!

It’s a bitch to make - both because puff pastry from scratch is no joke, and hiding his first experiments from Cas means inventing increasingly convoluted reasons to get him out of the house. And, sure, every Youtube chef and Great British Bake off contestant has said store-bought puff pastry is fine, but Dean doesn’t want fine, he needs perfect. 

Dean picks a day when Cas has Model UN afterschool. It’s in the middle of the week, but at least Cas is guaranteed out of the house until six at night.

By 5:58, Dean is ready. The Wellington is cooling on the counter; the red wine has been breathing (whatever the hell that does) for the better part of an hour; and he’s showered and made himself presentable.

His phone pings at six pm on the dot. 

Heart sinking with foreboding, Dean taps the screen.

Cas 6:00 I’m going to be late for dinner. There was an accident with chemistry club a few minutes ago. The building had to be evacuated.

Dean 6:00 Are you OK?

Dean takes a moment to hammer the heel of his hand against his forehead. One fucking break. That’s all he’s asking for. One goddamn evening to go right.

Cas 6:00 Yes, and the kids are too. They’re airing out the halls now, but we won’t be let in for another half hour.

Dean picks up the wine with the hand not holding his phone. 

Dean 6:01 What time do you think you’ll be home?

Cas 6:01 7:30 maybe? I’ll keep you updated.

Dean swigs back a gulp straight from the bottle before he can answer. Fuck this.

Dean 6:02 Great! I’ll order pizza when you’re on your way back

Cas 6:02 Meatlovers?

Dean 6:02 Unless you’d like something else

Cas 6:02 No thank you :)

Dean flips on a recorded Jeopardy! episode as he cleans up the kitchen and texts Charlie. He has a free dinner waiting for her if she can hightail it to his place in the next hour and never speak of it again.

  HOMEMADE DINNER #2

If Dean is anything, he’s stubborn. John Winchester raised no quitter. Try, try, and try again. And try a fourth time, when the first three go sideways.

Burgers, this time. They don’t need a days’ worth of prep. And they’ll go over well.

“Dig in,” Dean says as he sets the plate down in front of Cas.

“This looks delicious, Dean,” Cas says sincerely as he picks up his burger.

Dean waits, and he can see the moment Cas tastes the molten cheese stuffed in the middle of the patty. His eyes go wide with surprise.

“Like it?”

Cas nods vigorously and inhales the rest of his burger in record time.

“There’s enough for us to have thirds,” Dean says smugly. 

Cas smears ketchup all over patty number two, and beams at him. “These make me very happy.”

Dean laughs. “That’s the goal-”

Cas’s phone rings.

Dean falters.

Cas stares at him expectantly, waiting for Dean to continue.

“You should get that,” Dean says, his shoulders slumping as he sets his burger down. It’s probably a bad sign he was already half-expecting things to go south. “It’s probably important, or whoever it is would’ve texted.”

“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Cas protests even as he reaches in his pocket to pull his phone out. “It’s Claire,” he says, baffled, before he picks up. “Hello?”

Cas sets down his half-eaten burger. He listens, his brows slamming down forbiddingly as Claire’s voice gets louder and louder, but still not loud enough for Dean to make out actual words. Silently, Cas takes his napkin off his lap and pushes his half-empty beer in Dean’s direction. Finally Cas says, “Yes, of course, Claire.”

Dean frowns as Cas lifts his gaze up to meet his. “Jimmy and Amelia?” he mouths.

Cas shakes his head, speaking into his phone,  “Does Kaia need a pick up from the hospital?”

Dean goes cold. Kaia was actually one of his favorite students. While she was in his class, she won a Scholastic Gold Key and honorable mention for two of her horror novellas and always did the reading. But Dean and Cas haven’t seen her since she broke up with Claire the summer before college.

“Is she okay?” Dean asks quietly.

Cas’s mouth thins. He gives a short nod.

Dean sighs and picks up the plate uneaten burgers. He can probably reheat the patties. The fries won’t keep, though, so he leaves the plate in front of Cas. He shoves a few in his mouth and gets to his feet.

He’s halfway through cleaning the frying pan when Cas gets off the phone with Claire.

“Are you heading out?” Dean asks gruffly while he gives the iron a particularly hard scrub.

“Yes,” Cas rumbles as he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist. “I’m sorry to cut dinner short.”

“Hey, it’s Kaia. ’Course we gotta help.” Dean forces an understanding smile on his face. “I’ll make up the couch while you pick her up?”

Cas squeezes him gently before moving away. “Thank you.”

“You got time for the cliff notes on what happened? Why’d you get the call?”

Cas leans against the counter next to the sink. “Kaia was in a car accident. She’s a little banged up, but mostly fine. A few bruised ribs and a possible concussion.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “You know Kaia was never especially close with her foster family, so Claire got the emergency call.”

“Huh.” Dean grabs a plate to clean. “It’s been two years since the split.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure what their situation is. I know Claire was surprised. She’s already in her car, and she should be here by midnight. Hopefully she recognizes Kaia’s injuries,” he frowns, “and they won’t try any… any ‘hanky panky’ tonight.”

Dean laughs, and if it’s slightly higher than normal, Cas doesn’t seem to pick up on it. He grabs Cas and kisses him square on the mouth. “You are ridiculous. Nobody says hanky panky. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Cas scowls. “They have to be well past kissing at this point.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Yeah, that ship has long sailed, dude.”

Cas throws his hands in the air. “We don’t have enough sleeping surfaces to separate them.”

Dean sets the dirty plate down to face Cas fully. “Do you really think they’ll get back together? Kaia broke Claire’s heart not too long ago.”

Cas throws him a look like he wonders where the hell Dean’s logical brain has flown to. “Are you asking if I think couples can get back together after a harrowing break up?”

“… no.”

Cas shakes his head ruefully. “You’re more like Claire than I ever was, and you took me back.”

“Huh,” Dean wipes his hands off on a dishtowel, “you might have something there.”

“You do call me the smart one,” Cas says as he pushes off the counter and heads to the doorway. “It has been known to happen.”

“Smartass,” Dean corrects loudly as Cas grabs his coat and keys.

“Semantics.” Cas doubles back to kiss Dean a proper goodbye, and it’s just as electric as it was when they were seventeen. Cas tastes like Dean’s cooking, and he’s been letting his stubble grow out, the short hairs rasping against Dean’s palm as he cups Cas’s cheek.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas says as he draws away.

Dean grins. “I know.”

Cas huffs an almost-laugh as he heads back towards the door. “Now who’s the smartass?”

  IN BED

Cas, the son of a bitch, falls asleep before Dean can wring out a second orgasm out of him. Such a godamn shame. Just goes to show, they really aren’t teenagers anymore. At least Dean got to use the new vibrator he bought for the occasion and the edible panties. 

Dean flops back in bed. Maybe he should put the proposals on pause. Clearly, marriage isn’t in the cards. He can be a bit dense when it comes to Cas and him, but there’s dense and there’s denial.

It’s been two and a half months. Five proposal attempts. They’re nearly halfway through October, and he’s no closer to getting a ring on Cas’s finger than he was in late August, sweating bullets in that stupid fancy restaurant.

He can’t keep planning and failing to propose to Cas every other week. One, he can’t handle the stress and constant brainstorming. And B, he’s way behind in writing college recommendations and grading his freshman’s essays on Animal Farm. 

Cas isn’t going anywhere. Dean isn’t going anywhere. So Dean can cool the proposals for now and start fresh in January.

  SCHOOL ASSEMBLY

“I hate these,” Dean mutters to Benny. He frowns across the top rows of the bleachers where the seniors are supposed to sit. There are a few notable faces missing, but nobody that belongs to Dean’s homeroom, so he couldn’t give less of a shit. Below them, sit most of the juniors, and pretty much all of the sophomores and freshmen.

“It’s thirty minutes, brother,” Benny says, patting his arm. “You’ll live.”

“Shows what you know,” Dean grumbles back as Jody strides to the middle of the gym, microphone in hand. He asks Benny, “Do you know what this one’s about? Bullying? Cliques? Hugs not drugs?”

Benny shakes his head.

Jody sighs loudly into the mike. Clearly, she wants to be here just as much as he does. “Thank you all for coming,” she starts like any of them had a real choice. “First things first, Halloween is in two days, and while costumes are allowed and encouraged, don’t be racist.” She grimaces. “God help me, I don’t know why I still have to say that. If you are unsure if your costume is racist, it probably is. Wear something else. Secondly…”

Dean tunes her out. Instead, he scans the bleachers again, this time looking for Cas. He should be with the other sophomore homeroom teachers, but there’s no sign of him. Dean frowns. He can’t remember the last time Cas played hooky. And never without Dean. Dick move, Cas.

Movement at the edge of the gym catches Dean’s eye, and he watches, puzzled, as two students roll out one of the old projectors. The overhead lights turn off.

Is Jody seriously going to make him sit through a slide show? They’re wasting a prefectly good Friday morning on a goddamn PowerPoint?

The projector flips on, and the first photo is… of Dean. 

What the fuck? His mouth drops open in horror. In the picture, he’s in his junior year of high school - he can tell from the hair - with a bunch of people he hasn’t seen in fifteen years. Plus Cas, who’s at the next table over in the cafeteria, head bowed over a book and slightly out of focus.

There’s a click, and text scrawls along the bottom of the screen, Destiel Met in Edlund High School Fifteen Years Ago! 

The projector flips to the next photo, this time showing Dean’s senior yearbook picture.

More than a handful of students peer excitedly in his direction, undoubtedly hoping for a reaction.

Scowling, Dean cranes his neck to search the crowd for Charlie’s flaming red hair. She’s the only one who refers to the two of them as “Destiel”. Everyone else uses their names like sane people.

But the projector clicks to a photo of Cas, and Dean can’t help getting distracted. In the picture, Cas is alone at a table in the library. God, he was cute back then. His cheeks were a little fuller, and his hair was curlier. He still had the same intense blue-eyed stare, though. Patented Cas.

It all started with a tutoring session. Young Mr. W needed help in Latin, and our future Latin teacher, Mr. N, was up to the task!

Dean is going to kill Charlie. He tries to get to his feet - maybe she’s hiding behind Jo or something. But Benny’s hand grips his upper arm, holding him in place. “Don’t,” Benny says softly.

“What?” Dean demands as he tries to shake Benny off and fails. “Do you know what the hell is going on?”

“Stay.” The corners of Benny’s mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Watch.”

Dean huffs a breath and turns back around. If it was anyone else, Jo or Charlie, he wouldn’t trust a word out of their mouths. Benny, though, he’s not the type to make Dean sit through this without a good reason.

But that’s all ancient history. Destiel really got started five years ago, in this very gym.

The projector shows a picture of their class reunion, when Dean met Cas after ten years of no contact. They’re standing pretty close together (but that doesn’t mean much with Castiel What-Is-Personal-Space Novak), and they appear deep in conversation.

Since then, they have been inseparable.

Dean and Cas at a softball game. Dean and Cas at homecoming. Dean and Cas at GSA’s pride party.

Here’s to fifteen more years of Destiel!

The students clap and cheer with more than a few laughs.

Musical Interlude! flashes in front of a picture of Dean playing guitar to a group of pajama-clad students at last year’s Senior Lock-In.

The lights flip back on, and Dean blinks as his eyes adjust. By the time the spots have cleared from his vision, the projector has been wheeled away, leaving the main floor of the gym empty.

A staticky crackle echoes around the gym. And - is that Def Leppard playing on the speakers?

As the intro to Rock of Ages plays, the cheerleading team troops out from the locker rooms. 

They start a routine Dean’s never seen before. To Rock of fucking Ages.

The cheerleaders sings along with Joe Elliot, “What do you want?”

Dean’s mouth falls open as the entire high school chants back, “I want rock and roll. Long live rock and roll!”

By the time they get to the “Rock of Ages” chant, all the students are on their feet, clapping along with the beat and cheering.

The song dies down soon after, and Dean, a broad smile on his face, turns to Benny. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I dig it.”

Benny laughs. “Good. He’ll be pleased.”

Dean’s just about to ask who he is (he’s 99% he knows), when Cas walks out from behind the bleachers. 

Cas takes the microphone from Jody. He coughs nervously, waiting for the students to settle back down. “Thank you,” he says to the cheerleading team. “That was... awesome.” He glances up at the assembled students and teachers. “Dean-” he pauses as the cheers and clapping start up in earnest “-can you please come down here?”

But Dean’s frozen to the spot.

Benny gives him a not-so-light jab with his elbow. “Go on.”

Dean shakily gets to his feet and makes his way to the gym floor, and he swears his legs are about to give out from under him.

“Alright, you got my attention,” Dean says with forced bravado. “What’s up, Cas?”

The students hoot and holler.

Cas reddens as they die down again. Clutching the microphone in a death grip, he says, “Dean, we have been together for a number of years.”

Dean grins, a wonderful, all-consuming giddiness filling him the longer he stands in front of Cas. “I know, dude. I was there.”

The students laugh and someone, probably Jo, wolf whistles.

Cas swallows. “I wanted to do this here, where we first met, where you first asked me out on a date, where we had our first kiss.”

“Don’t tell ‘em about all our firsts on school property,” Dean says in a stage-whisper, “or Jody’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

Over a fresh round of student laughter, Jody puts her head in her hands. Donna, the school guidance counselor, pats her a few times on the back.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas says, and, shit, his hands are shaking. “I have loved you for more than half my life, and I look forward to far more than fifteen years by your side. Will you marry me?’

Dean’s not stupid. He had a strong hunch, ever since Rock of Ages played - aka the cassette he put in the Impala the first time he took Cas for a drive fifteen years and a lifetime ago - that this was what Cas was leading up to. 

He’s mostly surprised Cas had the guts to pop the question this way. There was a reason Dean tried to keep his proposal plans mostly to the two of them. One of them is practically a social hermit, and it’s sure as shit not Dean.

“Just say yes, jerk!”

Dean spins around, nearly tripping over his own feet in surprise. Fuck, that’s Sam. His giant of a brother is hovering right outside the gym’s double doors, beaming at the pair of them. Claire gives a little wave from where she’s half-hiding behind him.

Dean turns back to Cas. He can’t think about Sam right now. Or Claire. Or the five hundred students with their eyes on them. 

Only Cas.

“Cas,” he says, and it feels like the whole room is holding their collective breath, none more so than Cas, who looks like he’s about to pass out. “Man, I’ve loved you since I was seventeen. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Cas lets out a shaky exhale of relief, and Dean laughs. He takes the microphone from Cas’s now slack grip, steps all the way into Cas’s personal space, and kisses him.

The cheers from the assembled students are nearly deafening.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 9: The Invitation

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Everything is fine. Sure, her old room mate is a homeless vampire on the streets and her new one is a 2,000 year old babe who won't give her the time of day... but it's fine. Totally fine.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Turns out this isn’t a space for guests at Ahmanet but rather Kamilah’s personal and private accommodations. In retrospect it makes sense since she’d have to be a fool to leave all this priceless art where anyone could take it, but she’d really like to see what Kamilah does to anyone who even considers calling her a fool.

It also turns out that despite having a personal butler the vampire is pretty low maintenance. Gerard is an old, withered man and the exact opposite of the type of butler Nadya would expect Kamilah to hire.

When she first came across him the night before, Gerard was busy stocking the kitchen with snacks that would make Lily get down on one knee and propose. Definitely not for Kamilah, then. And since she’s never had a situation that required, well, being buttled after, she just does what she does best. She talks to him.

“Your accent—Northern, right?”

Gerard had grinned in reply. “Aye, quite an ear you have there.”

“I did a semester abroad in York,” Nadya explained, sheepish. Trying not to sound desperately pretentious. “If you don’t mind my saying though, you’re a bit easier to understand.”

He was apparently glad for someone to talk to, because boy did Gerard talk. He explained how it was originally his grandfather who came from a small town outside of Manchester and was employed into Kamilah’s — “Lady Kamilah” he calls her — service straight off the boat at Ellis Island. “Found himself a nice wife here; a London lass fleeing the war just as well.” He had a daughter, Gerard’s mother, whose first and only place of employment was also working for Kamilah.

“So when she had you…”

“Just seemed natural at that point. Three generations. ‘Course, I don’t have any myself — never saw the allure. It’s just been Lady Kamilah and I since my mam retired oh… right about when they knocked down the Wall.”

When Kamilah ‘checked on her’ after her business hours Nadya paid close attention to their interaction — and she was amazed at how kind and considerate Kamilah was to the gentleman. Despite being paid to look after her needs Nadya watched as Kamilah helped Gerard’s trembling hands hold the coffee grounds steady.

It was… sweet.

Adrian’s trip takes him a day longer than they thought. Whenever Nadya tries to pry information out of her vampire host the woman goes tight-lipped. And she just doesn’t seem the type to be easily worn-down by an old-fashioned begging episode. She just has to trust that if anything were to happen… Kamilah would tell her.

When he’s back in the city, Adrian’s first stop is at Ahmanet.

Nadya’s gotten so used to the comings and goings of Gerard that she doesn’t even look up at the sound of the front door. Just continues enjoying her butter pecan scone while Kamilah peruses the evening paper with her coffee in hand. They’ve gotten pretty domestic.

“I trust everything went smoothly?” Kamilah asks; doesn’t even look up from the article she’s devouring in the financial section.

Nadya looks around, confused, and chokes on her half-chewed bite when Adrian suddenly appears in the doorway as if by magic.

Stupid vampire hearing.

“Are things ever that easy?” On his way to the coffee pot Adrian stops and squeezes Nadya’s shoulder in comfort. Of course she’s still mad at him for saying one thing and doing another — but the threat Vega poses sort of eclipses her immediate annoyance. And a familiar face helps way more than she thought.

Kamilah sets down the paper. Looks at Adrian with a hard eye.

“Did you hold up our end of the bargain or not?”

“I found us a middle ground.”

“That wasn’t what we agreed upon.”

“We’ll discuss this later, Kamilah.”

Nadya snorts — still a little salty about the last discussion he had around her. “Don’t hold back on my account.” She realizes this was a mistake when, even without looking up from her phone, she feels two pairs of eyes boring into her.

Behind her there’s a deep sigh, then Adrian joins them at the small kitchen table with a mug in hand. Turns his attention to Nadya. “How are you feeling?”

Well that’s just a very good question now isn’t it? Too bad she doesn’t have an answer. “Okay. Kamilah’s been a great host.”

“She has?”

“Why the tone of surprise?” The older vampire asks — but it doesn’t look like she’s taken real offense.

“I just —”

“Yes?” She looks at Adrian expectantly and Nadya can’t help but get a kick out of how he looks like a scolded child. When he can’t come up with an answer Kamilah nods in fitful victory. “I thought so.”

There’s a brief and uncomfortable silence while Adrian sips his coffee. Finally Nadya just can’t take it anymore.

“So what are we gonna do about Vega?” She looks between them. “Or any other vampire who wants to squat in my place, for that matter?”

They exchange grim glances. Nadya recognizes the look; the one that trades silent debate on who gets to be the bearer of bad news. Without a word between them — though, really, who needs words when Adrian’s eyebrows are that expressive — they battle it out. Adrian puffs out his chest and moves to place his hand over Nadya’s. She pulls away — catching him by surprise — but he shakes it off quickly.

“If it were that simple we wouldn’t have taken the measures we have. It’s best you stay here until all this blows over.”

Nadya scowls. “Just because he’s a Senator?”

“No,” replies Kamilah curtly, “Adam is more than a Senator, he is a distinguished member of the Council and a Clan Leader, too. Aside from the fact that attempting to chastise him with any sort of publicity would be tantamount to declaring civil war among our ranks, we must continue on as we have to gain the upper hand.”

“What upper hand?”

“Calling Vega out shows weakness. It shows that his attempts to rile you up — to rile me up — worked.” Adrian sips his coffee. “We can’t let him think he’s in a position of power.”

The scones churn in her stomach. It sounds an awful lot like Vega’s getting away with something just because of his status and everything in her bones screams injustice.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s frustrating, and I’m sorry.” Their eyes meet — with a shoulder-slumping sigh Nadya forgives him with a nod and half a smile. Across the table Kamilah rolls her eyes.

“There is a silver lining, however thin, when one takes into account why Adam felt compelled to act as he did. I assure you — his time is spent far better elsewhere.”

“Er — thanks, I think?” She doesn’t know whether or not to feel insulted so she lets Kamilah continue.

“He was the first to speak against the Baron at the Summons. Yet no other has been more outspoken in eradicating the Feral infestation before it overruns us. Curious, Adrian, no?”

He nods. “Yeah, I noticed that too. But he cleared the background check.”

“And if you and I have means to conduct such an investigation without the Council knowing then I’m sure Adam has the means to conceal his machinations just the same.”

“Wait wait—just wait,” Nadya holds up her hands as if to literally pause the conversation, “so now a legit Senator is behind the Turnings and the Ferals?”

“Nothing is certain. And nothing will come of speculations without evidence. Until we get some…” Kamilah stands and tucks her folded paper under her arm. “Some of us have companies to run.” She gives Adrian a pointed look before leaving them alone.

Though it could hardly be called a routine Nadya stands and starts clearing up the table; grabs Kamilah’s empty cup and saucer to do the dishes and opens several cabinets before finding the desired tupperware for her scones.

Adrian loosens the knot against his throat; leans back into the chair with the air of a man finally allowing himself to relax.

“Are you feeling up to returning to work?”

“Depends on the work.” Nadya lies. She’s itching to go out, to do something other than pacing the apartment.

“Well the Volenti writeups could use your color-coded touch…”

Before she can place the lid on the container there’s a blur out of the corner of her eye. And one less scone in the box. She rounds on Adrian as he nibbles the pastry gratefully. “Hey! Nu-uh, scone-thieves don’t get the luxury of color coordination!”

He grins around his bite, and Nadya hates herself for it but she smiles back only because it’s an infectious ease; the lightest she’s felt since the panic of finding Vega in her space.

“Alright, alright…” Sucking up her pride and relenting; “lemme go change. And, hey, make yourself useful and grab me a coffee to go while I do?”

She’s already around the corner as Adrian scoffs, “Make myself useful?”

“You heard me, Raines!”

Nadya doesn’t exactly know when it happens but the how she has down-pat. Kamilah’s been doing this—life, living, the pursuit of continued immortality—a lot longer than Adrian. She’s got a mind for business and doesn’t need to be bothered with the extra labor of a personal assistant of her own. But when she leaves her day planner open on the ornate glass coffee table and Nadya has to witness the injustice of hasty scrawl and dog-eared sticky notes, some no longer relevant, it becomes less of a bother and more of a matter of pride.

Kamilah doesn’t knock on her bedroom door. It’s her penthouse after all.

“What is this?”

She brandishes the newly-corrected day planner with frustration. Nadya grins and leaps to the rescue; explains the new organization method and what the different symbols and colors mean for her hectic schedule.

At the end of it Kamilah surprises her by looking more irritated than usual. Here Adrian had found her penchant for organization to be a godsend.

“Did I ask you to do such a thing?”

Nadya pushes up her glasses, falters. “Well, no, but —”

“Then please refrain from going out of your way.” And already Kamilah is tearing out pages, moving notes; basically giving Nadya a heart attack on the spot. “I am not Adrian — I am a big girl and do not need someone else to handle my affairs.”

So it takes her a hard day’s not-working at Raines Corp. to hunt down the exact same planner online (not to mention an advance on her paycheck for reasons she refuses to tell Adrian) with rush shipping. Rather than apologize in person Nadya decides to take Kamilah’s way of doing things to heart and she simply leaves it all shiny and new on the coffee table.

Kamilah doesn’t say anything about it but, well, it’s gone when she heads to meet Adrian downstairs. So that’s something.

Living with a two thousand year old vampire actually isn’t that bad. Especially when Nadya learns she spends her weekends out of the pantsuit and yes, there is a satin nightgown involved.

The first springtime storm makes New York sigh in relief. Everything is damp and muggy but the rain washes away the last of the snow piled up in alleys and corners, and even Kamilah comments on the lack of road-salt stains on her good shoes.

During the days when it feels like the heavens are weeping onto her directly Nadya sits under an awning at the penthouse rooftop pool. Holds a steaming cup of tea in her hands and watches the cityscape underneath her. When the sun sets and the city grows bright with its own light she tries to pick out Lily among the thousands of dark dots moving through the streets.

The number for Mari’s burner no longer accepts messages. Nadya can’t tell if that’s a good or bad sign. She’s answered probably a hundred solicitation calls in the last month hoping they’re her new number… but they disappoint her every time.

Things settle down. Adrian and Kamilah tell her about Council business if she asks but she gets the feeling she really shouldn’t ask often. Gerard teaches her how to make the perfect cup of tea. She even manages to get Kamilah to join her for one episode of AME and may have written about it in her diary as their first date.

People still go missing or turn up dead on the news. She’ll forward Adrian an article and get a simple one word reply. There are far more “yes” answers than “no” and either of them want to stomach it so they don’t talk about it unless they have to.

Everything goes a bit weird when the elevator doors open Wednesday evening and Marie Antoinette is standing in front of Nadya’s desk.

“Well, actually,” Adrian leans in to correct her, “if you look closely her patterning is a little more subtle and the lacework isn’t as extensive.”

“And?” Nadya hisses through her forced smile.

“Marie Antoinette was 18th century is all I’m saying. This woman is obviously 17th judging by how her costume isn’t as decorated yet.” Obviously, he says, as though he didn’t just blow her mind in displaying his (apparently extensive) knowledge of French historical fashion.

The woman stands and gives a sweeping curtsy with her skirts. Nadya finds herself fixated on the height of her wig and how in the world she must be keeping it on her head.

“Mademoiselle et monsieur, bonsoir.” She lays on the accent thick. The secondhand embarrassment she’s feeling for the woman is all too real.

“Bonsoir,” replies Adrian with a slight bow. He gives Nadya a look as if to say ‘go along with it’ she she struggles through curtsying in a pencil skirt.

Luckily the woman doesn’t stay long — Adrian doesn’t even invite her into his office. She offers him a small envelope made of a thick textured paper, his name scrawled in beautiful calligraphy on the front, and bids them both good day on her way back to the elevator.

“Isn’t anyone gonna question that?” Nadya watches the doors close on her while Adrian continues into his office proper.

“Question what?” With considerable care for the craft of the envelope he slides his letter opener along the seam and unfurls the gift within.

“You know, nevermind.”

The letter is an invitation — she can tell that much from afar. But no matter how many questions she pesters him with Adrian refuses to budge. “We’ll discuss it later, with Kamilah,” he says, “I promise.” But he does make her schedule him as ‘Out of the Office’ for a long weekend. Curiouser and curiouser.

The apartment is swathed in the aromatic fragrance of Gerard’s butter chicken and curry when they finally arrive near dawn. Nadya’s fully embraced nocturnal life and so has her stomach; which rumbles petulantly when she passes the kitchen to change out of her work clothes.

Only the living room — or whatever Kamilah wants to call it, parlor or whatever — has had a bit of a change since she left that evening. Namely the half dozen headless mannequins miraculously scattered around the now empty space. Each wearing something beautiful; divine. Each more so than the last.

And Kamilah on the couch eying them body-by-body with nothing less than frustration.

“Do they have to be headless?” Nadya asks with a slight whine. Then again at least it doesn’t look like they’re staring into her soul this way.

Adrian, behind her, gives a half-snort of amusement.

“Well that answers that question.”

Kamilah looks at them abruptly as though they take her by surprise. “Is knocking a lost art?”

I live here, Nadya wants to say but doesn’t push her luck. “Sorry Kamilah. We just weren’t expecting…”

“You’ve accepted Marcel’s invitation, then?” Adrian sits beside his old friend and gazes at each mannequin with scrutiny. “I was hoping we’d discuss it first.”

“What’s there to discuss? We attend the Awakening Ball every decade without fail. Why would this one be any different?”

“The last Ball he threw there wasn’t a statewide Feral panic.”

“Oh do cut the dramatics, Adrian. It isn’t statewide. And Nadya, dearest, please do not touch. These aren’t replicas but irreplaceable originals.”

Nadya jumps back like the fabric has teeth, both sheepish and filled with awe. One of the dresses is obviously Egyptian in origin but the vibrant colors and jewels look more like something made within the last week than however many centuries ago.

“So you—I mean this was yours?”

Kamilah rolls her eyes like answering the question is tiresome enough on its own, but Nadya’s lived in close quarters with her long enough to see a hint of pride in the gleam of her eyes.

“It is mine. But I understand your meaning and, yes, I wore it during my days in Cleopatra’s inner circle.”

Nadya looks to Adrian as if for confirmation; he shrugs lazily. Still intent to focus on whatever they were both invited to.

He leans forward with an elbow on his knee in the same way he does while discussing important company business. “Still, that many vampires in one place —”

“Are you insinuating that petit bébé is behind such madness?” There’s an air of possessiveness in Kamilah’s accusation.

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then you will go and you will like it. Traditions like these are just what we need in times of chaos and fear.”

If Adrian thinks about arguing with her it doesn’t last long. He sighs and slumps his shoulders with a resigning nod of his head. “I suppose it would be a good chance to get the Council together without force.”

“Now you’re thinking about the bigger picture.” Kamilah pats his knee affectionately. Turns to watch the next dress Nadya has fixated on with appraisal.

“That was my second choice, behind simply forgoing Marcel’s theatrics entirely, but I doubt he’d forgive me for a century or two if I refused to participate.”

Nadya lets her fingers hover just a hair’s breadth away from the dark red silk. The color of blood — obviously and on purpose. She wistfully thinks of how dead Lily would be over a real, authentic Medieval corset and smiles to herself. Tragic wording aside.

Then she feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand and Kamilah’s not on the couch anymore. She can smell the cinnamon and heavy wildflowers of her perfume — oh god she’s right behind me.

Kamilah’s voice comes lowered, almost sultry, and Nadya watches like a statue as her delicate hand comes up to gently coax Nadya’s fingers to sample the texture of the silk.

“Difficult to move in — all women’s clothing back then was.” She traces their joined hands over the straps of the bodice with something akin to sentiment. “But it never failed to accentuate my… assets.” They stop at the curve of whalebone. Nadya’s having a really really hard time breathing suddenly as she imagines exactly what kind of assets would be settled there. Warm and soft, snugly pressed together, rising and falling with every breath…

“Will you be joining us tonight, Mister Raines?” Gerard’s voice cuts through the hazy lace-trimmed fog of Nadya’s mind. She looks to see him in his usual black apron with a stack of plates in hand.

There’s a small brush of air and she knows Kamilah’s no longer within arms reach.

Adrian stands and tucks his coat over his arm; gives Gerard a fond smile and pat on the shoulder. “Not this morning, I’m afraid. I have an appointment back at the office.”

That takes her by surprise.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He clears his throat and looks aside. Suddenly unable to meet Nadya’s eyes. “It’s a personal matter.”

“And?”

He tilts his head upwards and there’s no mistake at the look in his ruby eyes. Hunger. Yet he keeps his lips sealed and appears to shift in his own skin.

“Got it. Well…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Nadya.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

She wants to call out to him before he goes. Wants to tell him that, like with all things, he can trust her with that side of him, too. But then she realizes she’s never actually seen him feed — Kamilah either. Was it something they were keeping from her? Some innocence left they were trying to maintain before an inevitable fall from grace?

Gerard and Nadya eat alone. When the dishes are done and Nadya feels like she’s helped all she can she returns to the living room to find the mannequins gone — as if they were never there at all — and Kamilah’s bedroom door closed.

She stays up long enough to see the sun rise from the roof of the building. When she’s sure it’ll keep going without her she tucks into bed. Her dreams wrap her in a cocoon of dark red silk and the smell of burning cinnamon.