#Let it be known that I had to take several breaks whilst drawing this to keep from exploding

[zaacoy]

Everyone's favorite gay dads, they're so soft

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

Notes: Well, over a year you've had to wait for these two to seal the deal... BUT NO LONGER. And because I'm thankful to you all for sticking with this story, I've granted you with over 16k of sinful naughtiness. I think it's safe to say this is NSFW but you guys have read my smut before, you know the drill.

Embers & Light has always very much been the alternative story to Habits, but I couldn’t help but write in some crossover moments here to highlight the differences in events--timeline is a fascinating thing! Lemme know if you spot the moments :)

Please let me know what you think :) Comment and kudos will make my day!

I won't be able to write much of August (wedding & mini-moon) but I'll be doing my best to get you guys something as soon as possible. Hopefully by the end of the month, anyways <3

Oh! And I got a bookstagram. Find me at bookships.and.fandoms (and bear with me, I cba to take pretty pics atm)

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

Cassian stared at the doorway and the staircase beyond it, his gaze fixed and unwavering. Nesta had slipped out of the living room to follow Feyre up the stairs over ten minutes ago and he was already consumed with the biting sort of worry that gnawed at your insides.

He wasn’t concerned about what Nesta might be discussing with Feyre—that was her business—but because he couldn’t help but fret when it came to Nesta’s wellbeing.

It was a myriad of concerns that trampled through his mind like a herd of cattle. Had she slept enough? Had she recovered from being caught in the crowds the day before? Was her conversation with Feyre going to have her take three steps back rather than one forward? Cassian had spied the book of fairytales she’d slipped into her bag. Had guessed what she’d intended to do with it.

And then there was the fact that Nesta had left the bed before he’d woken again. Cassian couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d not been there when he’d opened his eyes, especially after the night before.

But that was how it was with he and Nesta. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Cassian often felt as if they were on the right path; as if once the world shut its eyes, the pressure was off and their play could continue. But as soon as light bled back into the sky, things weren’t the same. They weren’t cold… but Cassian felt suspended in a limbo of flirtatious banter and respectful distance. Which was hard, when all Cassian wanted to do was be as close to her as possible: to hold her hand and wind a hand through her hair. To kiss her brow and mouth and sink his teeth into her neck—

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He wanted to do wicked things. He wanted to make her moan and shatter. Wanted to know how she felt wrapped around him. Wanted to see if she’d gasp awake as he pushed inside of her.

Their trip home was going to be a turning point. Or at the very least it would be a milestone—a hammered notch as they progressed towards something. Yet, Cassian wasn’t naive: he wasn’t expecting Nesta to fall into his arms and never leave. But he hoped that it might make Nesta see their connection—not the tie between them, but the chemistry that Cassian knew would forever exist even if the mating bond was severed.

From the very first moment his gaze had settled on the haughty, vicious sister Cassian had known. Had nearly been brought to his knees—the heart-stopping moment so powerful, it suspended time as he felt something turn inside of him, as if something that had lain dormant had finally snapped open an eye.

And because of that Cassian would willingly allow Nesta to forge the reigns when it came to whatever it was between them. He could go slow. He would take the chance that Nesta might grow to accept him, even as he was seized by the terror that she might grow bored and draw a line under things before he had the chance to prove that he was worthy.

Cassian took a deep, steadying breath that made his ribcage heave. Thought of the lullaby that sat in his room at the House. Used that to ground himself and banish the painful thoughts.

Nesta had cared enough to gift him a piece of his past that nobody else had ever gone to the effort to find for him. And that was… everything. It was everything to him.

“I can hear the worry grinding gears in your brain.”

Rhys was standing where Mor had been a few moments earlier, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his eyebrows raised. Cassian hadn’t noticed Mor slip away. Couldn’t even recall what she'd been saying to him. Had he ignored her? He didn’t know. Didn’t really care. They all knew he was head over heels when it came to Nesta anyway.

Cassian blinked. It took him a moment to process Rhys’s words, but his body finally caught up. An instinctive grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he commanded his eyes to sparkle, even though it was all fake. “I was under the impression you didn’t think I had one.”

Rhys didn’t chuckle or retort with something dry. Sometimes his brother allowed him to indulge in his self-deprecating behaviour, but it didn’t seem like today was one of those days. Instead, he cut to the chase. “They’re fine.”

Cassian bristled. Didn’t bother to pretend his mind wasn't solely on what was happening upstairs. “Feyre’s speaking with you now?”

Nesta would hate that. Would know if her sister was communicating to her mate whilst they were talking.

His brother’s laugh was as smooth as velvet. “No, she locked me out. It’s a habit she’s started recently and it’s usually coupled with the mental finger.”

This time, Cassian’s smile was genuine, as was the chuckle that chased it. “Feisty.”

“You have no idea,” Rhys responded with a wink.

Mor, who had breezed back to Cassian’s side with a new cup of coffee, rolled her eyes. “We do actually, you two are like rabbits.”

“We’re mated,” Rhys replied with a wave of his hand. “It’s to be expected.”

Mor lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Cauldron, I need to bed someone rather than hearing about my cousin’s exploits with my best friend.”

“Head to Rita’s and find yourself a pretty fae,” Cassian drawled, tugging Mor into a one armed hug.

“Mmm,” Mor hummed, but she chewed on her lip again. Glanced nervously at Azriel, who was in deep conversation with Elain. His shadows were tucked in neatly to his frame rather than trailing, ever-moving and loose around his body, but Cassian knew he could hear them.

Cassian dropped a friendly kiss to Mor’s head before he let her go. Tussled her hair, grinning mischievously when she squawked in disapproval.

As if sensing that his cousin wanted a change of subject, Rhys looked square at Cassian. “Azriel will come over later to update you on the latest movements.”

Cassian sobered as if someone had poured icy water down his back. “Not later,” Cassian corrected firmly.

Tomorrow. No the day after that. Cassian couldn’t guarantee that he’d be able to stop once he’d had his first proper taste of Nesta.

But of course they couldn’t do that—wouldn’t. The situation in Illyria was too dire for them to be so selfish as to lock themselves away for days.

It didn’t mean Cassian didn’t want to, though.

“You’ve got plans?” Rhys asked lightly and Mor froze.

You’ve got no idea, Cassian thought. But then realised his brother knew. Of course he did. Surely everyone in this room knew how desperate he was to get back to Illyria. To have Nesta in his bed again, writhing and moaning, their bodies slick with sweat as they moved in unison.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian grounded that desire between his teeth, until it was nothing but broken, delicious shards that scraped down his throat. His blood coiled. “Yes. Maybe.”

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

Biting back a sigh, Cassian nodded. “I know. Come at noon. I suppose I’ll be camped out in Illyria for the foreseeable future.” He cast a stern look at Mor. “Send me letters.”

“You have a housemate,” Rhys reminded him. “You’re not going to be entirely alone.”

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

He grunted and unable to stop himself, he voiced the fear that always niggled away at the back of his mind. “For now.”

But Rhys just loosed another manicured shrug, that was at odds with the ground-breaking revelation that followed it. “For a long while. Nesta has expressed her desire to remain in Illyria long-term despite the discontent. Assuming you don’t mind sharing your bungalow.”

It felt as if an iron band of hope was clamped around Cassian’s chest. He stared at his brother. Tried not to blink. Crossed his arms firmly over his chest, protecting his heart. “And you know this how?”

“Nesta spoke with me. We have arrived at a truce, of sorts.”

That must have been what they’d spoken about yesterday on the balcony. He wanted to know more—everything—but Cassian would not press Rhys. If Nesta wanted to tell him, she would. He had to respect that.

So, he bit back his curiosity and grumbled, “About time.”

Rhys clapped his hand on Cassian’s back, but there was something wary in his expression, as if there was something he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Finally, he said, “Patience is a virtue, brother.”

“I’m not the patient sort.”

“You are when it counts,” Rhys countered, and Cassian didn’t say anything because they both knew what he was referring to. Rhys had been the first to know. Had witnessed Cassian in a tangled web of despair and longing and unwanted visions. His brother had immediately put two and two together. Because he’d been there, too. Knew what it was to want someone you thought you couldn’t have. To hope that someone might finally grow to see you in colour rather than in black and white.

Cassian cast another look towards the empty doorway and the quiet hallway beyond it.

A shiver of anticipation ran through him. It was time for them to go home.

***

In the end, Cassian folded to his worry and had Elain fetch Nesta from upstairs. It was time to go, he’d insisted, even though there was no true reason as to why they needed to leave quite so quickly.

“No guesses required to identify why you want to head back to Illyria,” Mor muttered out the side of her mouth, as the creak of the stairs a few flights above heralded the sisters return. Cassian jabbed his elbow into his friend’s ribs and Mor yelped through her grin, even as she had to sidestep, the nudge throwing her off balance. “What? It’s all over your face. You think I can’t read you after five hundred years?”

“Don’t announce it to the room,” Cassian muttered darkly under his breath, “and you won’t find yourself torn to pieces.”

Mor briefly bumped against his arm, the jostle affectionate. Unfazed by his threat, she glanced sideways at him with rich chocolate eyes. “I won’t. We just want you to be happy, you know.”

Cassian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Now isn’t the time for a lecture about finding a more suitable mate.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t meant to voice what he’d kept inside for so long.

Mor’s eyes widened, but she wound her arms around his waist. Cassian allowed her to tuck herself under his arm. His friend scented of citrus and cinnamon. When she craned her neck to look up at him, her expression was glowing with sincerity and Cassian realised that she hadn’t been insinuating that Nesta wasn’t right for him at all. “We’re all cheering you on from the sidelines, Cass, I promise.”

The muscle in Cassian’s jaw flexed. He looked away from her, towards the doorway again, unable to help himself. “Don’t say anything.”

She tightened her grip on his waist. “I won’t. I promise.”

“She doesn’t want it.”

Mor untangled herself from him. Shook her head in disagreement. “She does. She just isn’t ready to admit it yet.”

They both fell quiet as Nesta walked through the door with Elain and Feyre. The first thing Cassian noticed was that she scented of water and salt—tears.

Heart pattering with concern, Cassian quickly scanned Nesta’s expression and body language, searching for clues. But Nesta remained close to her sisters rather than apart, her fingers snagged in Feyre’s, her expression not in tatters but smooth and calm, like still waters.

“Ready to go?” Mor chirped from beside him. “I can winnow you back when Sala arrives.”

Nesta’s grey-blue eyes slid to Mor. “I called her on my way down.”

“Then you have time to see the snowdrops you gave me before you leave,” Elain responded eagerly, tugging at Nesta’s arm. “The cuttings took well to the soil. I planted them beneath the shade of the birch trees near the river.”

Cassian watched Nesta disappear into the garden. Surveyed the way a strand of golden brown hair that had escaped her loose braid floated on the breeze, as if it was part of the element rather than separate, as Elain bent to show her the snowdrops.

Yet despite the clear ease to Nesta’s movements, Cassian couldn’t help but ask Feyre whether everything was okay when she came over to hug him goodbye.

“We’re fine,” Feyre assured him, as together they watched Mor tentatively sit beside Azriel on the couch. For once the Shadowsinger’s shadows didn’t lighten, but Azriel still turned to her, drawn by some magnetism as she began to speak with him.

Slim fingers closed around his. Squeezed. “Thank you for fetching the book of fairytales for Nesta.”

The strand of ebony hair that had wrangled free of Cassian’s hair tie tickled the side of his forehead as he inclined his head. That had been a long time ago, when Nesta was a viper that he dared to poke with a stick, just so he could get a reaction. “Of course.”

“You travelled all that way on barely healed wings just to fetch a book.”

It wasn’t just a book, but Cassian knew Feyre understood that, so he only grunted, “Az took me most of the way. He waited to winnow me back.”

But Feyre’s eyes were burnished, as she asked, “Is there anything you won’t do for my sister?”

“It depends,” Cassian replied honestly. Because although he’d rather die than see Nesta hurt, Cassian wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to her when her fire was ill-wrought. And that’s what he liked about the both of them: if he was an ass Nesta told him straight, and he did the same for her. A grin slashed across his face. “Your sister has claws and teeth when she’s angry.”

It wasn’t long before Sala landed on her four large paws in the garden, prompting goodbyes. Mor winnowed Nesta and Sala, whilst Az’s scarred hand closed around Cassian’s arm.

Together, Cassian and his brother passed through realms of shadows and light and raging wings. Then Illyria was taking shape before Cassian bit by bit: there was the sting of winter on his cheeks, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the scent of pine and untamed air. It felt like that wonderful first heave of your lungs after being starved from air. It alerted Cassian senses—woke him up.

Not bothering to say goodbye for the second time, Azriel bled straight back into shadow, but Mor raised a hand in a parting wave from where she stood beside Nesta and Sala. Her long golden hair caught on the breeze. It tussled behind her like its own puff of wind, before she vanished into nothing.

When Cassian’s eyes snapped to Nesta, he found her standing with her eyes closed, breathing in the wilderness of their surroundings. After a few beats, Sala jumped onto her hind legs, climbing up Nesta’s body with her snow-crusted paws to knock her head impatiently against Nesta’s.

A breath of laughter clouded in front of her as Nesta ruffled Sala’s ears. She murmured something Cassian couldn't identify in the manticore’s ear, before Sala dropped onto all fours and padded through the snow in the direction of the main camp.

Cassian watched the manticore go. He suspected Sala was going to seek out the widows camp and check everything was in order. It was the kind of thing Nesta would fret about—that whilst she was warm and fed, others might not be extended the same courtesy.

Or, the dark part of his mind whispered, she wants Sala out of the house.

You can fuck me wherever you like in the bungalow, Cassian.

The many needles of thrill pierced through him just as Nesta met his stare from across the snow. Suddenly, Cassian didn’t know what to say. His tongue felt swollen and thick in his mouth, words suddenly as viscous as tar. The atmosphere had altered—the aura surrounding them despite the distance suddenly heavy with promise: a change that pointed to something new.

The siphons on the back of Cassian’s hands glowed in anticipation. Nesta merely raised an eyebrow at him. Turned. Walked towards the house just as he caught the thick scent of jasmine and vanilla on the wind.

Cassian’s nostrils flared as it wound around him; invisible ropes of arousal. And then he was moving, following Nesta’s footprints.

His friends had winnowed them to the back of the house, halfway between the small stone outhouse and the backdoor. They weren’t far from the bungalow, but it felt like miles as Cassian stomped noisily after Nesta, his boots compacting the snow as if they were grinding shards of glass into powder.

When Cassian drew up behind Nesta, she already had a hand half-raised towards the door. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she was a whirlpool of warmth. It sucked him in, begging him to line his torso against her back, so when she cursed, realising she hadn’t taken her gloves off, Cassian didn’t hesitate to reach over her shoulder and rest his palm against the wood, encasing her.

The touch of his bare skin—or Nesta’s—was the key to the magical lock. A thunk sounded as the bolt released but Cassian didn’t push open the door—was too preoccupied with the female before him—who had twisted to stare up at him.

As soon as their gazes snagged, history began to knit together in a rush of thread, until it was a tangible, living thing. Because this moment had been written in the stars as soon as Cassian had seen Nesta in her amethyst dress in the human realm; her hair wielded into a mighty crown, her expression haughty and defiant, yet burning with the potential of a life not yet lived. They’d denied that history, even as it waited patiently in the wings. It had watched as they danced around each other, fumbling and snarling their way to this very moment—

They moved in unison. Cassian’s head bowing just as Nesta reached upwards; her body bowing to his, her palms sliding across his jaw until they were around his neck. Their lips met with a force that rattled Cassian’s bones. This wasn't a brush of a kiss. This was immediate and awakening: Nesta tasted like life and breath, like destiny. And yet again, Cassian knew with startling clarity that they were meant for this, he and Nesta. They were meant for each other and nobody could tell him otherwise, including her.

A soft breath whooshed out of Nesta as her back hit the door, but then Cassian was pushing it open, guiding her inside in a whirlwind of noise and wreckage.

The scrape of wood on the flagstone tiles sounded as Nesta’s back knocked against the table before Cassian turned them, his wings grazing against cupboards and the cool walls. Items clattered and shattered, but Cassian used his wings to keep a check on his surroundings, the touch guiding him to the left-hand wall where he could press her against the wall and devour.

Because Cassian could not tear his mouth from Nesta’s. Couldn’t stop tasting her. Couldn’t stop craving the roll of her tongue and the sound of her guttural moans. It fuelled a fireball inside of him; it roared into life in the centre of his heart, before spreading throughout his limbs, rushing through his body until it settled deep in his groin, aching and burning—screaming for relief.

When they finally hit the wall, the thud of their bodies shook the cabinets and the porcelain within it. Without thinking, Cassian took the brunt of it, his hand flying to cup Nesta's lower back and head to purposefully shield her from the hurt.

Because he was coarse and rippling, galloping towards a primal sort of wilderness that Cassian wasn’t sure he could control.

If Nesta was ignorant to the fact or wholly aware Cassian didn’t know. All he knew was that her hands were scrabbling at his leather like dancing flames, tugging him closer.

When he pressed his body over hers, aligning every inch of her to every inch of him, she whined.

Cassian swallowed it. Slanted his mouth across hers. Tucked his wings in tight as every muscle in him tensed in anticipation.

Nesta tasted of chai and vanilla and embers with a destiny to roar.

Another strangled noise came from her throat as Cassian sank his hands deep into the hair at her scalp, coaxing strands free from her braid as his fingers threading through her hair, just as he had done the night prior when he’d coaxed her to sleep. But this wasn’t a soothing touch. This was a touch to startle every nerve ending to life.

Time began to bleed around them, but Cassian only registered the fluidity of the frantic dance they had not learnt. The way Nesta arched into him as his palm slid back to span her waist. The pant of her breath against his skin. His heaving chest. The way his wings began to spread again of their own volition, like a fan unfolding to reveal a secret pattern—as if they were controlled by nothing but the ache of his cock as it strained against the leather of his pants.

As if in acknowledgement that his body was no longer ruled by him, his hips slanted upwards of their own accord. It was a desperate bid to relieve the ache, and his throat vibrated with a thunderous growl as Nesta dug her nails deeper into the leather of his jacket, using it for leverage as she arched into him.

Something turned further inside of Cassian, like a lock beginning to grind as a key turned. And then it felt as if he were plunging beneath water; ducking into the depths and travelling beneath an invisible barrier before emerging on the other side buoyant and surging with power.

Ruby crashed through his veins, like the walls of a dam broken free and… singing light. Magic roared so loudly in Cassian’s ears that he no longer heard the galloping beat of his heart or the sawing of their breath.

Reeling, he tore his mouth from Nesta’s. Her eyes were just as wide, puddles of startled moonlight—endless mercury—and Cassian didn’t need to look down to know that her hands were wreathed in silver.

For a moment they stared at one another. Time slowed until it was sluggish around them and then the feeling receded, as if Cassian was being carried by a wave as it was dragged unwillingly from the shore on thundering feet.

Sound bled back into Cassian’s ears, like raindrops slowly blotting paper. A moan whispered on a wind carried through him, the words fleeting—her name three times, like always—before they dispersed into nothing and ragged breathing filled the hole.

Fuck, they needed to be careful. He needed to be careful if just kissing her led to some transcendental experience. Cassian knew Nesta became open during sex—had seen tumbled images of tangled limbs and heard her moans—and he couldn’t afford to lose her when she had finally let him in. Couldn’t let her down, even though he wanted nothing more than to finally be found worthy by someone.

That twisted rope between them couldn’t widen and strengthen. Couldn’t finally open and click into place with a consensual snap.

Because Cassian had heard stories of mates who had gone to bed. Who had fleetingly accepted what they wanted in their hearts but not in their minds. And after they had both finished and life had been breathed into that bond, only death could sever their Cauldron-blessed connection.

Cassian would not have a mate with regrets, but he didn’t have the will-power to deny himself of her any longer. Not when he could scent how much Nests wanted him. When he could feel it like an unquenchable ache in his bones—an ache which made him tremble and shake. His rocky warrior exterior ground to nothing but sand.

As if Nesta could read his thoughts she tipped her head back, baring the column of her neck.

A resounding guttural sound dragged from his throat. The noise was animalistic and unchained. A booming crack ricocheted around the walls, the muscles in Cassian’s back burning as his wings snapped outward.

Something toppled from somewhere and crashed to the floor, but Cassian didn’t bother to raise his head to look at what it was.

And then time seemed to both slow and drive into a frenzy. Cassian launched at Nesta’s neck at the same time he tugged at her hair, urging her head to fall back even farther.

His lips were against the column of her throat in the blink of an eye; his teeth scraping, his mouth sucking until her blood pounded in his ears. Nesta’s knees buckled but Cassian quickly pinned her body to the wall, holding her up, his knee sliding firmly between her legs…

And… nothing. There was no panic or sensation of being trapped—no sudden fire launching him back thirty feet—but Cassian still tore his mouth from Nesta’s neck. Had to know she wasn’t panicking. “Ok?” he rasped.

A frown burrowed Nesta’s brows. Her swollen lips parted in confusion. Somehow it made her look more beautiful.

Cassian raised a shaking hand to trace it away. “Nesta. Are you ok?”

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

When Nesta spoke she was short of breath, the words an exhale. “Don’t hold back.”

Cassian practically arched into her at the words but he made himself remain still, even as his body vibrated with tension. His bones creaked but he held fast.

That stubborn, beautiful chin lifted and Nesta’s eyes glinted wicked yet pure. Always an oxymoron, his Nesta.

“Don’t hold back,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. She pushed her hips against his thigh and the friction had her lips parting, a shaky breath tumbling from her lungs. “I can take it.”

The words were like slashing knives of pleasure, severing the leash on any control Cassian thought he had.

The subsequent rush of air Cassian loosed was akin to a snorting horse.

Then he was moving and their mouths were fused together again, their tongues a delicious push and pull of control and pleasure before he yanked away.

“Thank fuck,” he gasped. His hands flew to her hips, guiding her to ride his thigh. “Thank fuck, Nesta.”

The friction had Nesta moaning, her fingernails digging so hard into the leather of his jacket Cassian was sure she had dented the material. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but the living fervour that clawed at them.

His hands were everywhere at once. Tangled in her hair. Sliding over her cheek. Cupping her ass. Attacking the buttons at the back of her dress, until they popped and scattered. Until he could pull the material down her arms, exposing tantalising creamy skin.

At the first sight of her breasts, Cassian growled. He bowed his head to capture a nipple sharply between his teeth before he laved over it with his tongue, smoothing over the wound. He relished the way Nesta cried out. Arched into him. She began to tear at his jacket. It snagged on his wings but Cassian shrugged it off until it hit the floor with a thud.

The first slide of Nesta’s palms beneath his tunic was like oil sizzling in a pan. Cassian hissed as the callouses of her palms scraped deliciously over his skin and scars and ink. Snarled as she made quick work of the stays and fastenings. Tried to focus on her other breast as she inched her hand beneath the tight leather fabric and eased him free.

Fingers wrapped sinfully around him, causing Cassian to snarl around a peaked nipple—to buck sharply—pressing them more firmly against the wall.

“Don’t bother,” Nesta moaned as Cassian wrenched desperately at the fabric of her dress, trying to coax it further down her body. She ground down onto his thigh as it to emphasise her point—her need—and the heat of her burned.

It was all Cassian needed to hear. He fumbled desperately with her skirts until a hand was under the material and sliding up her thigh. Until fabric ripped and her underwear fell away in what Cassian imagined to be a ripple of lace.

In one swift movement, Cassian lifted Nesta’s body upwards, until her legs were gripped tightly around his hips and her back was flush against the wall. Her hands flew to find purchase, grappling at the back of his neck, and when she was steady she raked her hand purposefully through the hair which had come loose from his tie. Tugged at the leather until his hair fell over his face. Whined. Tangled her fingers through the ebony strands as if they were her reigns.

Cassian splayed the hand that wasn’t supporting her body against the cold wall. Tried to catch his breath, but the position evened out the height between them. Just a slight movement would allow him to capture her lips with his, and Cassian couldn’t deny that demanding tug that drove him to devour. Nesta seemed to feel the same way. Moaned in relief as Cassian tasted her as if he couldn’t get enough, gave back as good as she got. Over and over they moved, until they were nothing but an undulating wave of tongue and teeth and groans. The pleasure was a surging, roiling entity. It was all consuming. It overtook Cassian’s body, demanding that his hand drag from her ass straight to her core.

When his fingers slid through wetness, Cassian’s groan sounded like thunderous defeat. He dropped his head to Nesta’s collarbone. Gently pressed his lips to her clavicle. To her shoulder. Tried to ground himself as he slid straight to the spot that made her keen—as pleasure ignited down the bond like a crashing wave. Brushed over it again and again and again. Relishing in the noises he coaxed from her. At the curling fists of desire that clenched agonisingly inside of him.

Cassian had to see Nesta fall. Had to look into her eyes as she broke.

But he wanted to be inside of her when it happened.

Cassian was reaching for his cock at the same time that Nesta let out a broken moan. “Do it,” she breathed. There was no bite of authority in her voice, as if all of the energy she had directed in the pursuit of pleasure had smoothed over the serrated edge of her personality he loved so much, leaving a softer version in its wake. “Please. Just—”

A satisfied snarl ripped from Cassian as he felt her want. And in that moment, Cassian knew there would be nothing gentle about how this was going to play out. It was going to be rough and frantic, riding a wave of pleasure that had been building for too long. Knew afterwards that they would sink to the cold floor in a mass of tangled limbs and mingled breath.

And Cassian wanted that. Had never wanted release so badly in his life.

Something clambered in the back of his mind. Something he needed to remember, but his limbs were moving of their own volition. He didn’t even bother to pump his cock or squeeze it to relieve the tension. Only cared about finally being inside of her.

The heat and slickness of her was sinful and divine when he lined himself up at her entrance. The hand he had braced against the wall came to span her cheek. It relied on Nesta clamping on tightly to his waist with her legs and the press of his torso against hers, but they managed it.

Shaking, Cassian raked back the hair that had fallen free from her braid back from Nesta’s face, just as she tugged him in for a bruising kiss.

There was a moment when everything paused and trembled. As Nesta pulled away and stared at him, her eyes swimming silver—glowing with it—her pupils obscured.

His magic surged at the sight of it. Crashed against his skin as if it was trying to escape. His siphons burned bloody.

“Cassian,” Nesta panted. Despite the keen desperation, there was cushion to his name. Gently, Nesta bowed her head until her forehead rested against his. The gesture was surprisingly tender. It tugged at his heartstrings, triggered his hips into movement as they finally pushed forward.

The tight heat that wrapped around him like velvet was so immediate that Cassian swore. Sweat trickled down his back and seeped into the tunic Nesta hadn’t gotten round to discarding. He trembled as Nesta’s breath stuttered and he felt the burning pain mixed with pleasure as he sunk in an inch. Felt the stretch of Nesta’s body as it strained to fit around him.

Claws dug into his back—Nesta’s nails—biting into his skin, until the metallic tang of blood infused the air.

Cassian’s body stilled before he even had a second to register that he needed to stop. That instinct buried deep to make sure she never hurt.

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

“No,” Nesta moaned. She shifted her hips and Cassian sank a little deeper. That pain flared again through the pleasure and Cassian grip on her turned vice like.

Sense stumbled into his desire addled brain, like a fawn on gangly legs.

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

He bowed to bury his face in the crook of her neck but Nesta whined. Tilted her hips again, urging him deeper. “Nesta, stop.”

“No.” Her whimper was doused in frustration, but all Cassian could feel was that sharp needle of pain.

He tried to pull back, but Nesta clamped down around him with that incredible strength of hers. The strength that only seemed to appear at times of desperation or anger.

Cassian’s jaw flexed, his features hardening. “I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Nesta countered, defiance colouring her expression.

“I am,” Cassian retorted, not allowing for a passing beat of their hearts to pass before he replied. “I’m hurting you. Don’t pretend that I’m not.”

I can feel it, Cassian wanted to explain, but didn’t. Knew somehow that if he did they might not end up joining at all.

Desire fogged Nesta’s mind and it fuelled the punch to her next words. “I don’t care.”

Ire punched through Cassian’s desire enough for him to see red. “Well, I do,” he snapped.

Nesta’s nostrils flared at his tone and her eyes burned silver. Cassian wondered how everything had gone southward so quickly—they were on a sinking ship and he needed to patch it up. Knew she felt rejected. So, he kissed her and pushed back that unquenchable ache he felt for her. Knew it hit home because she gasped softly into his mouth, her surprise tart on his tongue.

He pulled out. As soon as his cock fell free that pain throbbed and ebbed. But Nesta moaned all the same.

Moaned again as he drew his head back to stare at her.

She surprised him when her eyes remained open rather than closed off. There was no hard shield. Nothing but want and a vulnerability that made his heart squeeze.

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

He kissed her again. Trailed a thumb across her swollen lips, ignoring the desire that roared as Nesta sucked it into her mouth, her tongue darting across the top before the bit down lightly.

“This is how things are going to go,” Cassian murmured lowly, pulling his thumb out of her mouth and across her jawline, trailing the wetness all the way to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Nesta shuddered.

“I’m going to get the door and send whoever it is away,” Cassian continued. He paused to let the words sink in. Lowered his head to trace a path with his nose, up the slope of her shoulder, all the way up her neck until his lips were grazing the shell of her ear. “You will go to your bedroom. When they’re gone, I’ll find you.”

Another shiver coursed through Nesta’s body. Her fingers tightened around his neck.

When Nesta next spoke, Cassian knew he’d piqued her interest. “What then?” she demanded.

“Then I’m going to make you come until you see stars.”

Nesta’s entire body froze. For a long moment, she didn’t so much as breathe, but Cassian felt the throb of her blood and magic as it pounded against her skin.

Then, Nesta’s hands worked between them, until her small palms were splayed across his chest. She pushed firmly, indicating that she wanted to get her down. Her body slithered to the floor, her lean legs falling away from his body.

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

Nesta lifted her chin. “Hurry or I’ll start without you.”

A breath heaved at Cassian’s lungs and he felt his pupils contract, pushing out his irises until they were swallowed by black. The image of Nesta sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but skin, her legs open, a hand moving between her legs had that coil within him tightening to the point of pain.

A growl spiked through the air as another knock sounded at the door.

Nesta must have known she’d wrangled back control, because she arched a cool eyebrow at him.  “I thought you were going to answer the door?”

A dark chuckle forced its way out of his chest, but it was mechanical rather than true. Because there was nothing funny about resisting Nesta right now and his body seemed to know that.

Cassian reached for her before he knew what was happening. Rested his forehead against hers. Breathed once. Twice. “I need to calm down,” he confessed.

Nesta snickered, but the sound fell flat as her breath hitched upwards at the end. It betrayed the effect he had on her, even as she said silkily, “Did the image of me pleasuring myself get you hard?”

“I was already hard,” he growled. He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. “As you well know.”

A hand reached between them. Stroked over him—the touch feather light but tantalising enough that Cassian bucked into her touch.

And then cunning words, “Maybe I’ll let you watch.”

A string of swear words left Cassian’s mouth. He yanked back from Nesta, as if someone had tugged firmly on a leash. Tugged up his pants and jerked ruthlessly at the ties until they fastened, trapping his cock back into the leather.

With a growl, Cassian waved a hand towards the living room—to Nesta’s room to the right of it. “Leave before I fuck you against the wall, Nesta,” he barked.

Nesta’s sly laugh skittered over his skin, and without pulling her dress back up to cover herself, Nesta sashayed through the nearest arch and disappeared.

*** It had been Mas and Roksana at the door, laden with bags full of groceries and supplies from the market. With full access to the house, there was no reason why they shouldn’t have just come right in. Which meant Mas had suspected somehow, enough so that she had left the bags on the front step and remained standing with Roksana a few feet back.

“I am sorry Sinta, but the meat might spoil,” the housekeeper had apologised as soon as he’d opened the door, his hair a tangled mess from where Nesta had yanked it free of its tie. He hadn’t had the sense to recover it from the floor, but he had righted his tunic and fastened his pants.

And thank the Cauldron for that, because Roksana peeked up at Cassian with wide eyes from her position of safety behind Mas’s legs. He didn’t know when Lorrian had brought the youngling back to the camp, but Cassian guessed it hadn’t been easy on the two of them to take a little girl out of the warmth and back into the snow.

Cassian tried to soften the eyes that he knew were a little wild. He raked his hands through his hair and sent them his most disarming smile, but there was fuck all he could do about his scent. So he thanked her, trying to keep his voice light and conversational. Ordered her to take the rest of the day off.

To the housekeeper’s credit, she did not linger. Had merely nodded and rushed Roksana back into the snow, towards the main vein of the camp.

Yet, whilst the housekeeper’s interruption had been unwanted, it did grant Cassian some breathing space as he rammed perishables into the cool box. Because even though Cassian would allow Nesta to decide how this all played out, he needed to lay down a rule of his own: he could give her the space to decide what she wanted—for him to prove that he could be what she needed—but there was one thing he could not suffer through.

And if they had stormed ahead in a hurricane of lust; with Nesta’s back against the wall as Cassian pounded into her… Well, it would be too late for Cassian to lay down his one condition once they were sweaty and sated. Nesta was more likely to get up and walk away. To not look back.

Cassian found Nesta sitting at the dresser in her room re-braiding back her hair.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Cassian opened his mouth to explain who had been at the door, but an iron band closed fast around his chest, robbing him of breath.

“What are you wearing?” The words came out of him eventually, entirely uneven to the point of being choked.

Because Nesta was wearing his shirt. It was the same steel blue shirt she’d worn that first day in Illyria. The shirt that was an identical match to her eyes, purchased before Cassian had realising what his subconscious had done. A shirt he’d had to hide away in the spare room because Cassian hadn’t been able to bare seeing it in his closet—of being reminded that his mate was a ghost who had banished him away.

Go home, Cassian.

Nesta met Cassian's eyes in the mirror. Announced with cool simplicity, “You ripped my dress.”

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

An indifferent shrug. “Why wear my own clothing when I know what fate it will suffer?”

Cassian knew his nostrils billowed, but he remained propped up against the doorframe. Pretended he was stuck to it like glue because his body was trembling for him to launch across the distance and claim her mouth. Her neck. Her.

The silence seemed to unnerve Nesta. Cassian knew that from months of living with her. From months of studying her slight tells when her masks slipped.

Right on cue, Nesta reset her posture—a gesture that most people read as defiant. But Cassian knew it was also a sign of nerves. She shrugged with feigned indifference, even as her throat tightened and that damned pulse fluttered temptingly against her throat. “You liked it the last time I wore it.”

Cassian huffed a breath. He had liked it the last time she wore it, even if she’d been so gaunt that he’d worried she might wither away. But the shirt… it had put images in his mind that Cassian had long tried to store away, imprisoned in rock and flame: her in his clothing, not fucking other males but him, her lithe legs wrapping around his waist as he sank deep—

Which brought Cassian neatly to the point he needed to discuss with her…

Nesta’s eyes tracked Cassian in the mirror as he peeled himself out of the doorway and came to stand behind her. When their eyes locked into place, it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. There was something deep in Nesta’s gaze that made it feel as if he was tumbling down a rabbit hole, that magnetism between them drawing him in like gravity.

When Cassian’s fingers brushed Nesta’s neck—ran down the braid she had draped over her shoulder—Nesta shivered. “You had your hair down then,” he rasped. Didn’t wait for her to protest, as he slowly coaxed the tie free from the end of her hair.

Nesta turned preternaturally still, watched him gently part her hair in the mirror until it fell free from her plait, his calloused fingers brushing over her skin as he coaxed her hair to fall down her back.

The pulse hammering at her throat and the warmth radiating from her skin were the only indications that Nesta was alive rather than stone.

Only when Cassian had finished and lifted his hands from her neck, did Nesta come back to life.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. But she cocked her head slightly to dissect him. “It’s a nuisance like this. It gets in the way.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cassian corrected, his voice rasping, like sand scraping against skin. He ran a hand through her hair as if to emphasise his point, his fingers running down, down, down until her waist.

When Nesta stood and turned into the warmth of him, Cassian scented what she wanted. But there was something else simmering in her expression—surprise. As if she’d caught the truth in his words and hadn’t expected someone to truly think her beautiful.

She stepped closer, until the lines of her torso ghosted his. Until Cassian’s heart pounded so hard he could hear the frantic tempo of it in his ears. Nesta tilted her head back so she could stare up at him and Cassian’s hand weaved through the mane of her hair before he could stop himself.

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

But Cassian waited. Waited for Nesta to reach up on tiptoes and press her mouth to his.

The kiss was not like their bruised, desperate kisses from earlier. It was coaxing and unsure; the tentative beginning of something that was not merely fuelled by ardour. But it soon blossomed into something more, like a snowball rolling down a mountain blanketed white, gaining speed as it grew and grew—

Dragging his mouth away from hers, Cassian fought for breath. Battled to remember what he needed to do and say. But then Nesta was tugging his head back down again, her fingers tangled in his hair, the gesture indicative of an insistent need that Cassian knew would not go away.

As always, Nesta tasted divine. Addictive. He could taste the curl of her power on his tongue—silver and white, life and death—and he wondered if she could taste his. Knew his siphons were glowing scarlet—

“Nesta,” he murmured hoarsely, her name a caress against her lips. He couldn’t invoke a distance between them, couldn’t stop touching her. His nose brushed hers as her drew back an infinitesimal amount. Closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply, summoning courage. “You can dictate how this goes between us. But if we do this, I can’t—there’s no-one else. Just you and me.”

The subsequent pause was one of the worst of Cassian’s life. It was barely a breath. The blink of an eye. But it felt as if it was malleable and elastic, drawn out by the hands of fate as everything suspended in time.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, but in the end he managed it. Caught Nesta’s eyelashes flutter downwards, casting shadows on her skin. Her fists tightened in the fabric of his tunic, anchoring him to the moment.

She swallowed. Shook her head. Agreed with a conviction he had not been expecting, “No-one else.”

The relief that swooped through Cassian was so fierce it was painful. But he still didn’t dare to believe it.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger so Nesta could not look away. So he could look into the deep waters of her irises and know she was telling him the truth.

But her gaze was steady and unwavering, as he demanded, “Say it again.”

His voice cracked but Nesta didn’t appear to notice. Her grip on him tightened. “No-one else,” she repeated on an outward breath.

A low, ravaged moan sounded from Cassian’s throat. “Diyosa,” he murmured, slipping into Illyrian. Goddess.

“Bruha,” Nesta corrected. She fumbled over the pronunciation but Cassian felt as if he had been an ember that had burst into flame. Witch.

He let out a rough bark of laughter. Then he swore in a long, drawn out moan. “No Illyrian,” he ordered roughly. Pressed his mouth firmly against hers, the kiss searing. “Otherwise this will be over far too quickly.” Another kiss. “And I want to take my time.”

The smile Nesta painted against Cassian’s lips was feline. “You’ve made a lot of promises, General. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

Cassian snarled. Spun her body until her back was cradled against his chest. “I have, haven’t I?” he mused lightly, even though the hammering of his heart must have beat a betraying rhythm against her shoulder blade.

In the mirror, Nesta’s expression grew less poised and controlled. Delight mixed with anticipation clung to her features at this game they played; this tussle for control. She did not try to wrangle free from his hold or shift uncomfortably in his arms at having her back enclosed against his.

It thrilled him—that trust. Enough so that when he met her eyes in the mirror, Cassian found that his irises had been swallowed by his pupils until they were only a ring of chocolate gold.

Slowly, Cassian brushed Nesta’s hair over to one shoulder with his left hand. Traced his fingers down the arc of her neck to her collarbone. Continued a path down the centre of her chest, to the pyrite which glittered between her breasts.

When his fingers met the first button of his shirt, Cassian toyed with it. Purposefully grazed his nose against the shell of her ear. “Shall I start here?” he murmured. “Undress you in front of the mirror whilst you watch?”

Nesta suppressed a shudder, but Cassian caught it. Could swear he felt her blood boiling beneath her skin as he slipped the button free of its hole. Then another. And another. Until there were no more buttons and the material hung free.

Leaning back into his body, Nesta rested her head against his chest. Curved her back slightly so her chest thrust upwards, silently instructing him where she wanted his hands.

And Cassian couldn’t deny her. He turned his palm so it was face up and curled into a loose fist. Brushed his knuckles down her sternum all the way to her bared naval, before bringing it back up. His fingers ran up the side of the material free of buttons, until he was at her collarbone—her shoulder—leaving a litter of goosebumps in his wake.

This time, Cassian snickered when she shivered. Dropped a slow and deliberate kiss to her bare shoulder as he slowly, slowly inched the material down, down, down over her arm. Repeated the motion on the other, until the shirt pooled onto the floor, exposing her bare body to the mirror: endless creamy skin, divine curves, the luscious full weight of her bare breasts, and… lower.

Nesta’s eyes, which had been tracking the fabric as it fell away, snapped to his as a feral growl ripped from him. And she moaned at the expression on his face. Grabbed at his hands, pulling them to her body.

“Touch me,” Nesta hissed, but it came out strangled. Almost pleading. Another crack in her armour as it broke and fell away.

The sight was enough to threaten Cassian to his knees. He guided her body backwards, his hands splaying firmly across her stomach despite her whine, until his legs hit the edge of the mattress

Neither of them broke eye contact in the mirror. Not when Cassian coaxed Nesta down to sit on the bed with him. Not when he pulled her between his legs, her back firmly against his chest. Not when he bowed his head to kiss the slope between her neck and shoulder.

When Cassian finally brushed a thumb over her nipple, Nesta back bowed so fiercely Cassian was thankful he had an arm strapped across her stomach.

The small noise she loosed fuelled his fire and Cassian held on to her. Stroked over that peaked nipple again as Nesta careened into his touch. Followed it with a firmer roll with his thumb and forefinger. Used the fingertips of his other hand to draw slow, tantalising circles across the silken skin of her lower stomach, before he moved southwards…

The air around them hushed when Cassian’s fingers stilled. Anticipation built and only when it vibrated with tension did Cassian slide his hands to cradle Nesta’s hips.

A snarl of frustration, but Cassian paid the sound no heed. Only grazed his thumbs over Nesta’s hipbones. Watched her expression in the mirror—the way her face contorted as she squirmed into his touch as if she was a puppet on strings. Ground back onto him, pressing into that building ache that was bordering on painful.

Fuck, Nesta.

Cassian wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or in his head, all he knew was the blessed, fleeting relief he felt as he bucked into the small of Nesta’s back on instinct. He was rock hard and thirsting to be touched, but the thickening scent of Nesta’s arousal pulled his focus.

A groan rumbled from Cassian’s throat as Nesta’s hand darted between her legs. He caught her wrist just in the nick of time. Kissed the heart of her palm. Rumbled into her ear, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

His voice was coarse enough that Nesta shivered, the goosebumps travelling down her skin like a cresting wave. She didn’t struggle against him, nor did she move to disobey him as he dropped her wrist. Instead, she waited, trembling and shaking at every pass of his thumbs over her skin.

Cassian buried his nose behind the shell of her ear. Breathed Nesta in, steadying the drum of his pulse.

Not once did he take his eyes off of hers in the mirror, especially as he murmured, “Shall we find out if you’re wet for me?”

Nesta squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if the movement would steady her. Swallowed hard. It was so unlike her to take stock, to show any signs that she was rattled, that Cassian softened. He nuzzled at her neck, trailed a line of kisses instilled with promises. A hand flew up to tangle in Cassian’s hair, keeping him there.

“Yes.”

The word stuttered out of Nesta on several staccatos, but she forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror. Watched as he pulled her tighter against him and hooked her legs over his thighs so she was spread wide. Slipped his hand across and down…

The first ghost of a touch had Nesta panting through her nose. The second had her gritting her teeth. The third had her moaning, her back bowing so sharply as he skimmed straight over the place she wanted him the most.

Her head hit the centre of his chest with a resounding thud that had his bones creaking, but she did not look away from him. Seemed to know the game they were playing without him having to express it.

When Cassian brought his fingers lower and discovered just how wet Nesta was, he had to force his wings in tight to his back to hide his surprise. Growled, “You’re soaked.”

Pleasure and embarrassment twisted in Cassian’s stomach, and Cassian wanted to tell her that it was not something to be ashamed of, that he wanted her just as much as she clearly wanted his fingers between her legs.

Her eyes glinted steel, her stare commanding. “Make me come—“ she ordered, but Cassian chose that moment to roll his finger over that spot at the apex of her thighs.

The command bottomed out of Nesta as she inhaled sharply. Satisfaction bloomed inside of Cassian; because he may have done this countless times before but barely enough with her. And nothing seemed to matter apart from him seeking out her satisfaction. Of learning about what made her body freeze with pleasure and what made her come undone. “There?” he murmured into her ear, repeating the movement, before he passed his fingers down further. Until they were at her entrance, playing gently before he drew upwards and circled.

This time, Nesta groaned. Her hips jerked sharply beneath him, tilting, guiding him to just the right place.

Picking up on the cue, Cassian increased the tempo and friction until Nesta’s hips were rolling in a punishing rhythm against the hard length of him.

And Cassian snarled in satisfaction, his fingers tightening around her hip in a plea for her to keep moving—to not stop pushing back on him—because it was blissfully good. The rapid tightening in his groin was almost painful, the cord so tight that Cassian thought it might snap. But he couldn’t stop Nesta, not when she looked so bewitching, the arousal so stark on her face as he stroked and circled and pressed.

Burning pleasure clambered to its peak and Nesta’s eyes grew so heavy they fluttered closed. Something unintelligible left her lips, her head tipping back into the heart of his chest.

When Nesta’s arms wound around his neck, her knuckles accidentally grazing the leather of his wings, Cassian part-snarled, part-roared. Swore. Held her even tighter as his wings snapped out high and mighty behind him. They wrapped around Nesta’s body before Cassian’s pleasure-fogged mind could stop them curling towards her, starved for her touch.

Fuck, he was unhinged. So desperate for relief—in the scent and feel of his mate—that his control was barely there. Enough so that he didn’t react when Nesta reached out her hand—

Sense knocked Cassian for six only when Nesta’s fingers were millimetres from touching the membrane. He drew back his wings so fast  the air around them stormed, but he swooped in before surprise could register on Nesta’s face. Dipped his chin and coaxed her head even further back so he could claim her mouth.

The taste of her lips was as vital as breathing, the scrape of her nails on his scalp grounding. He moaned into her mouth at the same time as she whimpered. His hand was still moving between her legs, interchanging the same three patterns over and over again, mixing things up as soon as Nesta’s moans grew too untamed: he wanted to draw out her pleasure, not sate it with a few choice strokes.

Pulling away, Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. Coaxed her to dip her chin until she was looking back at their reflection in the mirror: ebony and golden brown, tan and cream.

Nesta’s irises were wisps of silver, but when he traversed past that bundle of nerves so he could slip two fingers inside of her, they flickered into living flame.

That was indication enough that she liked what he was doing. Cassian had quickly learnt that Nesta became completely readable between the sheets, that mask slowly crumbling away until she broke completely.

Curving his fingers as much as he could, Cassian pressed upwards hard—again and again— revelling in the strangled sounds Nesta made. The way she writhed but tried her best to hold his gaze.

Cassian dropped a lingering kiss to the crown of Nesta’s head. Murmured into her hair, “Is that good, sweetheart?”

The only response Cassian received was a long moan which extended into a whine as he withdrew his fingers. Then a sharp cry as he swept them upwards, swirling them in a well-practiced motion that had Nesta’s lower half seizing in pleasure.

Cassian circled again. Again. Firmer. Faster. Nesta’s cries grew louder, her breathing became more laboured. A silver wreathed hand flew to his forearm—not to stop him, but to keep him there.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” Cassian scratched out.

In vain, Nesta attempted to burrow her head into his shoulder, but Cassian’s voice dropped out of soft and into the role of general within the fraction of a heartbeat. “Eyes on the mirror, Nesta, or I’ll stop.”

It seemed to take all of Nesta’s energy to fight her leaded eyelids and meet his dark eyes in their reflection. When she did, Cassian’s magic roared and pounded beneath his skin, as if it was trying to break free and join Nesta’s. There was a pressure and power fuelling the sensation that was separate to him. It was like the magnetic force which rules the relentless ebb and flow of the tide—that desperate crash followed by a scrabbling, thundering retreat.

That twisted rope between them grew corporeal, tugging at their ribcages as if it was clambering to remind them both of its existence. Of the cost of this exchange.

Something deepened in both of their gazes, but if Nesta had felt what Cassian had, she gave no indication. She only arched her hips back into his, grinding backwards.

Cassian loosed a rough groan that skittered across the shell of her ear. Her gaze was purposeful but hooded, as if she was in a continual battle with the pleasure weighting her eyelids.

“Good girl,” he praised as Nesta’s eyelashes fluttered from the strain of maintaining eye contact. And then his fingers were everywhere at once and Nesta’s moans fell away to short gasps that rose in volume.

Nesta tightened her fingers around his neck, scrabbling for purchase, for some sort of tether as her pleasure launched high into the air. The hand that had been at her hip, steadying her, encouraging her to roll back on him moved to her breast; cupping and pinching and rolling as she stuttered pants and words that Cassian couldn’t make out.

When Cassian slid two fingers inside of her again and pressed down firmly on her clit with his palm, Nesta’s cry was wild.

“Look at me,” Cassian ordered as Nesta’s eyes flew shut. His voice was resonant—startling—even to him. It punched through the bubble that had encased them—their entwined scent—and Nesta’s eyes snapped open.

For a beat, time seemed to stand still around them. Their gaze fastened back into place and for a moment, Cassian could see a conflict of thoughts swirl in the magic of Nesta’s irises.

He froze just as anguish crashed down that bond, right into the heart of his chest.

It knocked the breath from him. Confusion rattled inside of his head but he came up empty of answers. Had he gone too far? Had he hurt her somehow?

“Sweetheart—“ he started, but stopped. Unsure of what to say because he could still smell how much she wanted this. Could feel how soaked she was. But perhaps that was what the mating bond did. Fooled reason with an overwhelming drive to pleasure and claim.

Cassian went to draw his hand away but Nesta’s hand whipped out, her fingers curling around his wrist. Desperation flooded her next words—the plea in them stark. “Don’t stop.”

As if to punctuate her point, she rolled her hips. His fingers slid over her of her own accord and she stumbled a moan. Light barrelled down the bond and Cassian’s blood spiked, thrilled as he felt the truth of her words, as she ground back into him again.

“Fuck that feels good,” Cassian grunted into her ear. His hips pushed into the small of her back, accentuating his point. It chased the delicious reprieve from the ache in his cock, even as he knew this moment wasn’t about him. As he pulled her back into the solid muscle of his chest, steadying her movements so he could pick up where he left off: so he could watch the pleasure whip away her conflicted expression until her eyes were once again blazing with the promise of flame.

Silver mist climbed from Nesta’s fingertips into the air. It crawled over the glowing ruby siphons across the backs of his hands, past the corded muscle of his forearm and the rolled up sleeves of his tunic, to his chest, his neck…

A sheen of metal shone in Cassian’s eyes, flickering across his irises so they appeared to turn a metallic gold. The lick of Nesta’s magic didn’t burn. It was a rush of heat—the tender caress of a lover’s kiss instilled into his skin over and over again, ascending Cassian to another realm of pleasure, as if he’d climbed a staircase to an entirely new place.

It felt like an extended method of foreplay Cassian had never been privy to before, lighting up every nerve ending until he was so hard he could cut stone.

Gritting his teeth through the pain-cloaked pleasure, Cassian focussed instead on Nesta’s bare skin.

The tempting fullness of her breasts. The way desire had completely rewritten her countenance. The way she whimpered and then cried out.

Cassian sped up his movements. Until his fingers were no longer teasing, but dancing over her with sure, quick movements designed to thrust her towards a crescendo.

Nesta’s magic swirled into flame, the heat of it a licking promise down Cassian’s limbs. He groaned, swore at the exquisite pain on her face as she hung at the precipice, ready to plummet into rapture.

Her climax became a tangible, living thing and Cassian wanted to see it play out for as long as he possible could. Wanted to see her break for him again and again and again.

So, he waited until she reached the summit and when she was there he slowed down his movements. Ordered through her whimpering, “Look at me Nesta.”

Metallic irises met his, and then Nesta was trembling and shaking in fits and bursts as her release ripped out of her like a taut cord cut loose. Cassian drew her orgasm out as best he could, suspending that pleasure until finally Nesta slumped against him, spineless.

She turned her head to bury it in his shoulder and Cassian let her. Stroked her hair. Pressed a kiss to her sweaty head. Murmured, “Good?”

Slowly, Nesta nodded, but for a long while, that was the only communication he received. But Cassian let her recover. Watched the way her ribcage moved as she heaved for breath. Relished the way her body was splayed out over him, her legs held wide open from where they were hooked over his thighs.

Unable to help himself, Cassian brushed over her sex. Delighted in the way Nesta shuddered rather than batted him away. Fresh desire reignited across her expression and Cassian played gently for a few minutes, revelling in the wetness that had gathered from her release.

Finally, Nesta lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” Cassian replied hoarsely, his heart squeezing at the genuine fear in her words. He let out a rough laugh, passed his fingers lightly over the knot at the apex of her legs for the last time before he withdrew them.

Nesta moaned softly, even as her brow twisted into a small frown.

“It felt good,” Cassian elaborated. He kissed her shoulder at the same time that he pushed his hips into hers as if to demonstrate just how much he’d liked her magic. “I’m being strangled to death in these pants,” he confessed.

When Nesta cocked her head, her hair moved in a golden tangle. Then she smirked. Unravelled her limbs from him and turned.

Nesta slung her legs over his waist so she was straddling him just as Cassian’s hands caught in her hair. A booming sounded as his wings snapped out and fanned behind him, settling like falling fabric.

“We can’t have that,” Nesta remarked, her breath a whisper against his skin.

“No,” Cassian agreed roughly. “It’s your favourite part.”

Nesta snorted a laugh, but it was not derisive. “Egotistical bat,” she muttered.

A slow, smug smile was Cassian’s only reply. Because he was more focussed on her mouth. With the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms as he ran them up her legs and over her rounded ass. His touch was a promise as he tugged her into his body and ground up into her core, the seam of his trousers doing nothing to relieve the damning ache in his cock.

Together they gasped, and then, as always, they moved at the same time, their mouths slanting one another within a fraction of a second.

The heat of Nesta was liquid, the touch of her smoke—feverish and everywhere all at once. It was the same heat that had roared into existence when Cassian had pinned her against the wall earlier, yet… better somehow. Passionate and awake rather than fogged with lust. Life-giving.

A shuddered groan was pulled from Cassian’s chest as Nesta’s hands slid beneath his tunic and met his burning skin. And then the tunic was on the floor—the rest of his clothing was torn from him soon after. It all happened at such speed Cassian could barely keep up, but when Nesta reached for his bare, burning skin—the tattoos on his arms and the faint scar on his stomach—her fingers were gentle.

“Battle scar,” Cassian panted in explanation, as Nesta’s fingers lingered on the silvery tissue that wound over his lower abdomen: a permanent reminder of what had happened to him during the final battle with Hybern. “The trauma was too great for Madja to heal completely.”

“I remember,” Nesta replied shortly and she looked so fierce that Cassian reached for her. Cupped her cheek with his palm.

“Still breathing, Nes.”

Nesta nodded, but when she kissed him this time there was something fierce and desperate about it, her fingers burying deeper into the mane of his hair.

And then a hand was trailing down his skin and closing around his cock. The touch was sinful and a glimpse of the heavens. When he hissed into her mouth, Nesta gripped tighter—until pain laced the pleasure—just how he liked it.

His groan was that of rumbling thunder as she began to move her hand. It was everything Cassian needed, but it was too much, too good. He scrambled to hold on to some sense of control, because he’d never been this close to losing it from just a few touches.

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

The realisation thumped through Cassian so loudly his heartbeat punched like a fist against his ribcage.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

Nesta’s eyes shot to his, but rather than looking startled she arched a challenging eyebrow.

“If you so much as try to put my cock in your mouth I’ll explode,” Cassian rasped.

Before she could protest, he was gathering her to him and had slipped a hand down between her legs.

Just the touch of his fingers had Cassian seizing back control. Nesta stilled at the sudden pleasure, as if she was trying to coax time into suspending the sensation.

“Still so wet,” Cassian purred against the tip of her ear.

Gliding his fingers over the centre of her, Cassian paused briefly at the apex of her legs, toying with her clit, before he ran them back down. When he drew his fingers back, rubbing them together and raising them to the faelight, they glittered.

Nesta’s nostrils flared as if she was an animal in heat. And Cassian knew before he spoke that his voice? would be what pushed them over the edge. But he said it anyway, his voice dropping impossibly low,  “Is this all for me?”

Nesta launched at him until their mouths collided, until they were nothing but a clash of teeth and tongues, their skin so flush they may as well have been fused together.

Burying her fingers deeper into the tangled mane of his hair, Nesta tugged sharply. Met his gaze head on. Demanded, “Fuck me.”

All it took was those two words. Cassian moved, flipping them so Nesta’s back was flush against the mattress. He covered her body with his and Nesta whined at the contact, her body bending and arching towards him as if she were a plant and he was sunlight.

Cassian ran a hand up her bare thigh to her ass, coaxing her leg to bend, but Nesta was too impatient. She broke free from the weight of his body, repositioning herself until legs were wrapped tightly around his hips.

An uneven laugh choked out of him. “So stubborn,” Cassian chided darkly, but he allowed his hips to fall into the cradle of hers. Hissed as he loosed his control and thrust so his cock could glide through her centre. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Nesta, fuck.”

Nesta’s breathy whine fuelled the sparks of pleasure that crackled through him like static energy. He kissed her hard. “There’s a high probability I won’t survive this.”

The snort Nesta loosed tried to sound unaffected, but her voice shook as she accused him, “Liar.”

But he wasn’t lying. And Nesta knew it. She had to know it because his walls were now shattered around them in splintered shards.

Yet, Cassian found himself assuring her. “Not lying," he grunted as he passed over her again. Pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth—a parting goodbye as he moved to kiss the underside of her jaw, down the column of her throat. Down further, to flick his tongue and scrape his teeth over both nipples.

He moaned when she moaned; their sounds a chorus of want until he couldn’t take it anymore. Cassian’s claws clipped around the metal of the bed frame at the same time that he pushed off of the palms that were framing her face, until he was on his knees before her.

Despite the desire coursing through him, Cassian’s head was nothing but clear as he slid his hands under Nesta’s ass and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her so that the undersides of her thighs were flush against his knees.

Nesta’s hair was tousled over the pillow, her lips swollen and parted as she surveyed him. When she tried to wrap her legs back around his hips, Cassian held firm. And despite the fact that Nesta listened to nobody, she allowed him to bend her knees and press his calloused palms to the insides of her thighs in silent instruction.

They fell open and a growl rumbled in Cassian’s throat. His hand was fisting his cock, lining it up to her entrance before he knew what was happening. But then he remembered the pain from before. And even though Nesta was more than ready for him, the thought of hurting her made him feel physically sick.

When he moved away, Nesta let out a strangled noise. A hand shot out, closing around his wrist. “You said you’d fuck me.”

Cassian wanted to explain, but that meant alluding to that tie between them, that instinct that couldn’t allow him to see her hurt. Cassian knew Nesta wasn’t ready for that. Knew that if he so much as breathed a word about it that this precious moment would fall away.

And Cassian was selfish. He had to see how this played out. Had to know if Nesta could grow to accept the bond between them—deem him worthy enough to accept something that was Cauldron blessed.

So, he only drawled, “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

One swift movement had Cassian gathering Nesta into his arms. This time, he allowed Nesta’s legs to wind around him. She gripped him like a vice and Cassian knew it wasn’t from fear of him dropping her. When he sat back against the headboard and guided her onto his lap, Cassian expected her to bite out a comment about doing all of the work, but Nesta only let out a pleased sound. Weaved a hand back into his ebony hair. Wrapped a tight fist around his length, twisting once at the tip, before she guided him to her entrance.

Cassian hissed a curse as she closed around the head. Murmured her name into her mouth. Gripped tightly at her hips when she didn’t stop sinking down on him, as he felt that pain mixed with the sweetest pleasure.

“Nesta.” The way he said her name was firm and commanding, but he still had to dig his fingers hard enough into her skin that he was sure it would leave temporary bruises. The thought made him falter, but then that sharp pain flared again as she resisted against him, and he knew that the bruises were a necessary evil. “Nesta,” he barked, “Go slowly.”

Something creaked and cracked between them. A stretching, growing pain reached its fingers down that bond, the sensation strong rather than constricted as it fought to make its way down their usually thin tie.

Nails dug into Cassian’s neck. A whimper sounded in his ears as Nesta fell forwards, burying her face into his neck. “Please,” she whined in frustration. “Cassian—”

She broke off as she clamped down around him and Cassian felt an ebb of pleasure cut through the pain—that promise of something more.

“Don’t make me hurt you, sweetheart,” Cassian pleaded and the rawness in his voice stopped her resisting against him. He eased a hand between them, touched her right where she wanted him. Allowed her to tug his face upwards so she could kiss him. It was infused with desperation and Cassian eased his hold on her hip. Allowed her to lower herself downwards until she had slid another inch deeper. Continued to stroke her until Nesta began to shake.

“I’m going to—,” Nesta gasped against his mouth. Her body trembled and Cassian’s blood roared at bringing her to the edge again so soon, despite the pain. “Cassian—”

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

Nesta’s snarl whipped around the room, but Cassian smoothed the sound away by fusing his mouth on hers. She stopped shaking but the sharp bite of Nesta’s glare pierced its teeth through his flesh in a flash of silver.

“It will be better if you wait,” Cassian gritted out in explanation when they parted. Nesta’s breath gusted against his skin. “And I don’t think I can hold on if you come so soon. You feel so good, Nesta. So tight.”

As if on cue, Nesta contracted around him and Cassian ground his teeth together so hard that the muscle in his jaw worked. But he let Nesta slide down on him another inch. Then another. And another. Until their hips were finally flush with one another and that pain had bled away until it was nothing.

The moaned words that fell from Nesta were indistinguishable, but he felt her tremor. Felt that surge inside of him as Nesta repeated herself with a whine that indicated she was toppling over the ledge of control, like a glass teetering before it fell.

And then she was moving and Cassian let her. He was unable to think or breathe. Could only focus on the feel of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian groaned. His head thunked back hard against the headboard as she ground her hips into his, testing the feel of him. “This is better than I’d dreamed.”

No soft snicker, only an untamed whine. Then teeth scraping a sinful path down his neck to his pulse.

Cassian’s hips kicked up hard as her teeth nipped.

“Sorry,” he gasped, because even though Nesta had told him not to hold back, he was still concerned about hurting her. But Nesta’s fingernails bit into his skin and her body moulded to him—a delicious second skin—as she inhaled sharply. “Again,” she demanded with a fierceness that did not allow disobedience. “Do that again—”

It didn’t take a second command for Cassian to thrust up hard. And true to her word, Nesta took him all. Did not change her mind and ask him to hold back. Instead, Cassian knew that this was exactly what she wanted—no, needed. She needed this punishing rhythm just as much as he did.

And it felt… incredible. Beyond anything Cassian had ever felt before. The blood roaring in his ears intermingled with Nesta’s cries and the slap of his hips meeting hers, was the only thing he could hear, his senses narrowed down to the sensation of her wrapped around him, so tight …

It was too good. It threatened to break him, to take everything that he was and reform it entirely, as if he was going to shatter and be pieced back together as someone else entirely. The air around them became taut with pressure, tanning leather stretched too tight over a rack, as if their joining controlled one of the essential elements.

“Cassian.” That one word threatened to break him. Not bat or it or you, only his name falling from her lips as if it was their secret. “More.”

Exhaling a curse, Cassian planted his feet firmly on the mattress and thrust up with as much vigour as he could muster. The movement had them slipping from their upright position and Cassian’s claws absent-mindedly closed around the metal bed frame, strapping them in for the ride as his body coiled and tensed as he slammed into her over and over.

Nesta cried out. Grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they moved together as if they had been made for this moment, their wild gasps melded together until they were one.

Only when release teetered too close to the edge did Cassian drop the rhythm. Cupped the breasts he had dreamed of more times than he could count. The breasts he’d had the privilege of seeing bare and glorious only twice before.

Capturing a nipple between his teeth, Cassian scraped his teeth hard enough that Nesta stopped rocking and angled her hips until he was pressing impossibly deep inside her. She whimpered. Clenched and unclenched. Throbbed in a way that told him she was as close as he was—that if he wasn’t so close himself, he could drive her over the edge with a few well-timed thrusts.

The understanding had him letting out a jagged groan. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

A whine in response, but Cassian didn’t let it go. He raked back the hair from her sweaty forehead. Pressed his lips to her swollen ones in a lingering kiss. Watched the frown that knitted her brow as she was overtaken by the feel of them.

“What do you need, Nesta. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

Nesta wound her hands around his head, buried her face into his neck. Began swaying and circling her hips in a rhythm that was dictated purely by the chase of pleasure. “Just… this,” she panted. “I just need this.”

Then it was only the licking fire of her breath against his skin. The magic that curled around them like a heated blanket and the building anticipation of both of their releases, which pulled at him like a strange sort of magnetism, begging him to fall with her in unison.

“Cassian—” Nesta began in warning, but he had already felt her begin to quake, as if the ground was moving beneath their feet—the mountains trembling.

That pull became a driving force—a cresting wave of pleasure so profound that Cassian felt that twist inside of him—that signal that he was about to join her.

He groaned, jerking his head back so it collided with wood, the pain grounding him enough that he could say, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Nesta broke, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask it of her. Her cry was muffled and Cassian wanted to tear her mouth from his neck—to hear her break for him—but then she was sinking her teeth into his skin right over his pulse.

Roaring, Cassian kicked his hips up hard on instinct as she marked him, but the shock distracted him. Clouded the desperate clamber of his release so he could hold himself back.

Cassian held tightly onto Nesta as she slumped against him. When she lifted her teeth from him, Nesta whined like an animal. Dragged her tongue over the dent she’d made in his neck—once, twice, three times.

He shuddered. Couldn’t help it. Turned his face into her hair. Breathed her in. The gesture was tender, like an animal tending to the wound of a significant other—its mate.

And wrapped in this moment, Cassian could almost believe that this was something more than sex for Nesta as her forehead came to rest on his collarbone. As she kissed the hollow of his throat. Then the knot. His lips.  

“Good?” Cassian asked softly. He lifted a hand to her face, ran a calloused thumb over her cheekbone.

Nesta made a rare, content sound that vibrated through him like a balm. She leant into his hand, her eyelashes swooping down.

When she finally pulled back to survey him, her eyes were still dark. She shifted her hips. Moaned quietly. Rasped, “You’re still hard.”

It was a miracle Cassian hadn’t followed. If it hadn’t been for her teeth in his neck, Cassian would have been wrestling with the embarrassment of finishing too soon.

“I was too preoccupied with your teeth in my neck.”

A flush crept its way up Nesta’s face, like vines reaching their wicked encroaching fingers up a wall. But she raised her chin. “You wanted me to do it.”

It was true, he had wanted her to. And he wanted to do the same to her—to mark her as his so everyone would know that she was off limits for the brief hours before her body healed.

“And what about you?”

The patter of Nesta’s heart broke into a sprint. It was the only thing that betrayed her feelings, her expression devoid of any reaction. “What do you mean?”

Cassian leant forward until their noses brushed. Lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want me to bite you, Nesta?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. If she had wings, they’d have flung wide by now. Would have collided with furniture and cut through air.

That was answer enough.

In one movement, Cassian lifted himself up and over, until Nesta was on her back and he was pressing her body into the mattress. Breath gushed out of her lungs but it was not from fear, not as Nesta turned herself out bare and tilted her chin for him—for once not in defiance but as an act of vulnerability—of complete and utter trust.

Every instinct in Cassian clambered to the surface, but he closed a fist around it until its life fluttered against the cage of his palms and fingers: his to control, rather than the other way around.

Slowly, Cassian lowered his nose to the exposed skin and breathed her in: her scent and the life that pummelled beneath her skin, the roaring of her blood as it crashed through her veins. It took everything in him not to move inside of her, to thrust up hard and feel the way her breasts would move against his chest.

“I could do it right here,” Cassian murmured, his mouth ghosting over the pale column of her neck until he came across that pulse. He brushed a tongue across it.

The movement was a mirror of what he’d done before in the human realm and Nesta knew it. But this time she did not jerk back from him demanding what he’d done. Instead, her body drew up beneath him, exposing more of her neck, begging for more.

Cassian groaned, raking his teeth over that swell at the same time that he pushed in deep. Nesta’s groan was guttural and everything. His blood turned molten, so hot that he expected his skin to melt away until he was nothing but bones.

“Please,” Nesta panted, her fingers tightening around his back.

Another flick of his tongue over her pulse. “Do you want me to bite you or fuck you?”

“Both.”

That was enough to loosen the fist on Cassian’s control. He sat back on his knees, prying her hands from his neck, coaxing her fingers until they were above her head and clasped around the railings of the headboard. Nesta’s breasts rose with the movement, her peaked nipples so tempting he bent to take one into his mouth. Then the other. Suckled until she mewled and her nipples were no longer rosy but red from his attention.

Cassian lifted his head and surveyed Nesta. Warned her, “Hold on tight.”

And then there was no thinking, no worrying or desperation to hold back. It all came as easy as breathing, their tempo,the snap of his hips and the shift of the mattress as her body shouldered the impact. At some point, Cassian’s body fell over hers, needing to feel every inch of her against him. His wild, punishing rhythm dropped into a rough rocking that was intimate at the same time it was claiming.

Nesta didn’t seem to mind—let out a pleased moan of consent, her legs clamping tighter around his hips until they were flush with hers. When he next moved she whined, and Cassian felt that change inside of her—somehow—that twisting fist of pleasure that glimmered down the bond, pushing against the walls of that thread, pushing it wider and wider, like a heart expanding.

Silver-wreathed fingers tugged his head down until Nesta could claim his mouth, fusing them together so they were complete. Cassian shuddered as her fire cascaded from her fingertips and down his body. His magic, attracted to hers, began to suck out of his pores, but it didn’t leech him of power. Instead, it was like his magic was searching for its mate, desperate to be reunited.

Then that sensation again, as if Cassian had ducked beneath something and had come up for air somewhere else.

Ruby greeted silver like a long-lost lover, blending until their magic was a metallic sheen of scarlet—a fog that misted their bodies, rubbing tantalisingly against their skin as they rocked and moaned their way to release.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta begged desperately through stuttered breaths, and Cassian wondered how many times she’d reached this pinnacle with other males only for it to be taken from her.

Cassian’s hand found its way to her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek as that coiled release twisted across her devastatingly beautiful face. “Can’t,” he panted honestly, his other hand searching for hers across the mattress until he was clasping it—holding on for dear life. “I’m so close, sweetheart. You have no idea how good you feel.”

“Come with me then,” Nesta pleaded. Her eyelashes had fluttered downwards as she took in a sharp breath of pleasure, but now they opened. Stared deep into his soul. “Come with me—”

Then her body turned both loose and taut, clamping yet completely molten as her release ripped out of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore. Invisible hands clasped around his ass, tugging him deeper—deeper. Everything in him tightened as Nesta crashed around him, and that siren called to him, singing her name, over and over as pleasure clawed at him, desperate to whip out of him.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

Cassian launched at her neck, his teeth sinking deep enough to claim as Nesta cried out, her body trembling as he continued to thrust into her, wringing out her release at the same time he desperately clambered towards his own.

He managed to pull out just in time, his teeth still deep in her neck, his release spilling hot onto her stomach in bursts of pleasure.

And even though Cassian had vowed to bite her and Nesta had already marked him, he found himself apologising at the red, angry dents in her skin. How was it that he couldn’t bare to hurt her but biting her neck was a completely different story?

“Sorry,” Cassian rasped. His mouth was as dry as a desert as he gingerly touched his fingers to the marks, but Nesta’s fingers clasped around his, halting him. Then she raised her other hand and brushed her knuckles over the identical marking on his. Reminding him that she’d done the same—had been the first to do it.

“I liked it,” Nesta admitted brazenly, but she didn’t stop him from dragging his tongue over the marks. Shivered instead. Held his head to her.

“That was intense,” Cassian rasped eventually against her ear, after the quiet had settled over them like a blanket. He nuzzled at her neck again, unable to help it—just one more precious moment like this until he had to pull away.

When Cassian pulled back to meet Nesta’s eyes, he found that the blue bled back into her irises. “It was always going to be intense,” she replied frankly.

Then Nesta looked down at her body, as if she’d only just remembered how he’d marked her in a different way. “You didn’t have to do that—pull out. I can take a tonic.”

Cassian hadn’t wanted to pull out at all—and neither had that tie which bound them together—but that wasn’t the point. “I’d rather be cautious,” he explained—a little too shortly, because Nesta bristled.

“Neither of us have had a tonic in a while,” Cassian elaborated when Nesta’s expression hardened.

He tried not to think about how his body had been desperate to spill inside of her. For him to press as deep as he possibly could until he was spent.

Climbing off of the bed, Cassian disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a wet towel.

“A while?” Nesta queried, picking up their conversation, as he began to clean her up.

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes lest she read him. His shoulders turned rigid at the thought. “Have you been sneaking people in and out of the bungalow that I’m not aware of?” he asked.

They both knew that Cassian would tear any male she brought back to the bungalow to pieces, but neither of them voiced it.

“You go back to Velaris,” Nesta accused. “You visit the other camps.”

For a moment, Cassian stared at her. Did she believe that he’d been fucking other fae? She had taunted him in Velaris the other day, but Cassian had thought that it was just their extended, agonising tussle of foreplay.

Perhaps you should go in search of some female company tonight.

Cassian managed to huff a breath, but it wasn’t one of amusement. He knew that his expression was steely as he said, “I told you that I don’t sleep with Illyrians. And I haven’t been fucking around in Velaris.”

From the way Nesta’s expression darkened, Cassian wasn't sure she believed him.

She opened her mouth to throw back a retort, but Cassian wanted the discussion to end. If she knew he’d barely touched another female since he’d met her, she’d run the other way. It was too intense a confession for someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

“It was self-inflicted,” Cassian supplied, his tone flinty enough to warn her that he wasn’t willing to discuss the subject any further.

Climbing off of the bed to further his point, Cassian extended a hand towards her. Banished any of the rigidity to his posture. “Come stand in the tub with me.”

There was a sinful promise behind the order. Already Cassian could envisage how he’d press Nesta against the tiles, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses as he kneeled before her—

Nesta must have thought similarly, because the pleasure that sparked in his stomach was not his own. But still she studied him, her head cocked as if she was trying to figure him out. Her hair was a muss of golden brown, her skin glistening with sweat that Cassian wanted to lick off.

Nesta parted her lips, taking stock, but Cassian didn’t allow her to speak. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he vowed. Meant it. Because already he was turning hard again, that desire to have her roaring.

He’d known this would happen. Knew that finally being inside of her wouldn’t sate him but stoke the embers into flames. But Cassian didn’t hide it—utterly unashamed of this need for her. From the way Nesta’s nostrils billowed, he knew she'd marked the change in his scent.

Nesta’s eyes flicked to his cock and the she-devil smirked, her lips curving in a way that had Cassian thinking about how they might wrap around him—how her tongue might feel, how warm she’d be…

In one supple movement, Nesta stood. Took his hand, her slim fingers threading around his large ones. Raised her chin and levelled him with a smoky blue gaze that promised wicked, wonderful things. “Then lead the way, general.”

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @lovelynesta @melphss @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @valkyriesupremacy @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @ellies-iced-coffee @nehemikkele @misswonderflower

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 311: Hand Gun

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “thinkin’ about dropping in some woke analogies of the very real and very presently relevant issue of racial profiling idk what do you guys think” and then shrugged and did it without waiting for an answer, and ngl it was a bit sudden, but I’m here for it. All Might was all “DEKU YOU NEED TO EAT” and Deku was all “OKAY” and took his hero bento and went to go stand dramatically on a tower in the rain whilst having some highly anticipated Vestige flashbacks. OFA II was all, “sup, I guess I’m not Kacchan... OR AM I,” and ngl I think he is?? Alternate universes anybody?? Hello??? But anyway, so OFA the First a.k.a. Yoichi was all “remember that time you guys rescued me from my evil brother and Two took my hand and we Had A Moment?”, and Two and Three were all “ahh yeah good times”, and it was very nice and very, very gay. The chapter ended with it being very unclear if Two and Three have actually lent their power to Deku yet or not lmao. Y’all need to get your shit together dudes.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “what if I gave a random bad guy a fucking tommy gun that shoots nails” and jesus christ calm down son. The Hawksquad, a.k.a. SQUAWK as per @hotchocolatier​, are all “time to drive aimlessly around town acting like Deku has a restraining order on us because that’s literally the best plan to combat the League we could come up with,” and I have no further comment. Hawks is all “idk about you guys but I want to know more about AFO and Tomura’s whole deal” and I can’t remember the last time I identified so strongly with one of these characters. All Might is all, “[EXPLODES???]”, and the chapter ends with that mysterious hot girl from the Tartarus breakout being all “HELLO I CAN TURN INTO A GUN AND I LITERALLY DON’T GIVE A FUCK” and (1) WOW, and (2) IT’S TRUE, SHE CAN, AND SHE REALLY DOESN’T. GODDAMN.

(ETA: so this wholly escaped my notice on the first go, and also has nothing to do with the chapter itself, but I only just realized that this chapter was scanlated by a new group, TCB Scans. they actually did a very good job, and I’m curious if they’ve found a new RAW provider, because the quality this week is actually crazy good in comparison to what we’ve been dealing with for the past few months. I’m gonna have to get caught up on what exactly happened here lol.)

so what will it be this week? more Vestige antics? more of Sad Nomad Deku standing on buildings and pretending like he’s some cool aloof antihero, as if he could fool us when we all know his hero backpack is secretly stuffed full with his nerd diaries and the remnants of all the hero bentos that All Might keeps giving him?? or, just putting it out there, just a crazy thought, but you don’t suppose we might actually cut back to U.A.? mmm. side-eyes emoji

maaaaaan I’m starting to get tired of this trend of beginning chapters by dropping in on random power-tripping civilians and/or Shindou lol. just once can we get a chapter that opens with someone I actually give a fuck about

oh at least Endeavor is here

A WHAT SUPPORT ITEM!??! HOLY SHIT DDLKJSLFKJL

lol somehow that’s more terrifying than bullets for me?? like I’m fully aware that bullets will fuck you up way worse and that in real life nail guns probably don’t work like this AT ALL and only have a range of like... hold up let me just google... up to 100 to 150 m/s and distances of up to 500m wait WHAT

okay wait. hold up. like I was expecting google to tell me nail guns only shoot a few feet at most, and instead the first search result is some CDC blog article that’s “dispelling” the “””myth””” -- please note my repeated sarcastic quotation marks -- that nail guns can fire 1400 feet per second, by explaining that actually they can fire anywhere from 315 ft/sec to 1,295 ft/sec, and that “it is in the pneumatic nail gun user’s best interest to handle these tools as if they were a firearm despite having a lower velocity” dlkjdslkjflkl

SO THAT SCENE IN IRON MAN 3 WHERE TONY RAIDS A HOME DEPOT AND BUYS A BUNCH OF RANDOM TOOLS AND SHIT AND GOES ON TO STAGE A ONE-MAN INVASION OF AN INTERNATIONAL TERRORIST’S FLORIDA MANSION HQ IS ACTUALLY TRUE. YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT THE FILM “HOME ALONE” IS ACTUALLY A DOCUMENTARY. “the Discovery Channel television program “Mythbusters” compared the penetration capacity of an airborne projectile shot from a pneumatic framing nail gun to that of a 9mm hand gun” HELLO YES AND A MERRY “WHAT THE FUCK” TO YOU AS WELL

anyway, so. there’s apparently a reason why the Number One hero, who can burn people with the intensity of a sun going supernova, is hiding here behind this concrete support column making frowny faces. nope. nuh uh. he ain’t about that. I don’t blame you buddy

so now he’s barrel rolling out of his hiding place and setting this dude THE FUCK ON FIRE because HELL NO. BAD ENOUGH I HAD TO WATCH THAT FUCKING MUSHROOM EPISODE LAST WEEK! YOU TAKE THAT SHIT SOMEWHERE ELSE

LOL look at his face

I know the context is actually him being all “I know I’m responsible for basically everything that happened and so that’s why I’m so grim and serious about this mission to set things right piece by piece,” but in my mind this pissed-off face is 100% all because this dude tried to shoot his eye out with a nail gun. look at that. you made him go full flame face again. beard and all. protecting his face so that it can hopefully melt any stray nails that get too close. nope nope nope

good lord. so what’s up next. let me guess the guy fighting Best Jeanist has like an atomic chainsaw or some shit

lol nope we’re just cutting back to Hawks and Jeanist chilling in the Jesla after they’ve wrapped things up

Jeanist has got some serious Groot energy you guys jesus christ he’s like 12 feet tall

oh snap someone threw a pipe at him now

today is just the chapter of Endeavor being assaulted by random DIY tools I guess

I mean, I get why they’re pissed at him obviously; I would be too lol. but tbh I also don’t really understand the “get out of here we don’t want your help” attitude that all of these people suddenly seem to have?? like it if were me, I would be fucking DEMANDING for him and the other heroes to be working round the clock to fix their stupid mess. I mean who else is gonna do it?? it’s their mess, I sure don’t want to be the one to clean it up instead. anyways but whatever lol

oh shit?

so they haven’t dropped the whole “OFA secret potentially gets revealed to the world” thing yet after all. that makes sense I suppose, it did seem like that whole thing wound up playing out a bit too easily

anyway so yeah

the locals are definitely none too happy. well at least Dabi’s got something to be cheerful about I guess

so now we’re cutting to the interior of the Jesla and they’re chitchatting about the current investigation

oh wow this actually makes a bit of sense now. so there was a reason they were keeping their distance from Deku

please note that even in this abstract Endeavor’s-Mental-Image-Of-Him panel, Deku’s eyes still don’t have the light in them anymore :( my poor son

also ftr I still think using Deku as bait in this particular sense is the shittiest idea ever ngl. like sure, let’s let the sixteen-year-old run around battling miscellaneous escaped prison convicts while we stay several kilometers away ON PURPOSE despite the fact that you’re using him as bait to draw out the Big Bad, who just a reminder can destroy anything with a mere touch and who you were all basically helpless against. what exactly are you all planning to do if Tomura or one of the other League VIPs actually shows up to retrieve him?? are you even keeping tabs on him at all in real time?? jesus

(ETA: well that escalated quickly lol.)

Horikoshi is all of a sudden dropping whole pages of exposition here and I can’t be bothered to summarize this lol so just,

a big fat YES to what Jeanist said, though. that’s why imo they would have been better off laying a trap at U.A. rather than just wandering around out in the open. I assume they’re trying to cut their potential losses because U.A. is full of students (and civilians), but those students also happen to be more capable than pretty much anyone else in the manga at this point. and tbh they’re already in life-threatening danger regardless of how things play out from here on, so they might as well at least try to use the few advantages they have right now. U.A. is almost certainly going to come under siege at some point anyway, so they might as well prepare for it

lol I don’t think I’m explaining this very well because I don’t have the patience right now to break it down point by point like it really ought to be, so for now I’ll just say that imo “U.A. siege” stands a good chance of being the eventual endgame even now, and so this whole “Deku runs around being bait” arc is really just killing time until then lol. like and subscribe for more rambling nonsensical takes such as this. maybe next time I’ll even put it all into one single sentence for maximum meandering senior citizen rant value

well it’s nice that they’re finally talking about all of this I guess

we readers have known all of this for months now but this confirms the heroes are finally caught up. ALSO, Hawks is so fucking smart, as always. kinda wonder if things would have played out differently if All Might had let him in on the secret a bit earlier. probably that’s why Horikoshi made damn sure they didn’t find out until after the War arc lol

OH MY GOD YOOOOOO HAWKS OUT HERE ASKING THE REAL QUESTIONS

“anyone else wondering why AFO bothered to raise Tomura as his fake heir for fifteen years when he was secretly planning on taking over his body the whole time” YES, [raises hand] lmao Hawks where the hell were you when I was debating this “AFO is the final villain and Tomura is just his pawn” thing on multiple occasions over the past several years lol

lmao seeing them debate the metaphysics of OFA and all of its mystical bullshit is seriously surreal you guys

JEANIST HAVE YOU CHECKED OUT MY META TAG I HAVE WRITTEN SO MANY ESSAYS. I ACTUALLY WAS PLANNING ON WRITING ANOTHER ESSAY ABOUT THE THING THAT I’M PRETTY SURE HAWKS IS ABOUT TO BRING UP, BUT I NEVER GOT AROUND TO IT WHOOPS, BUT MAYBE I WILL NOW LOL LET’S SEE HOW IT GOES

yes!!

WHICH AFO FUCKING ENSURED HE WOULD BE BY LITERALLY PLANNING OUT EVERY LAST DETAIL OF HIS FAMILY TRAGEDY, FROM SECRETLY GIVING TENKO THE QUIRK TO MAKING SURE NO CIVILIANS OR HEROES WOULD HELP HIM UNTIL AFO FINALLY STEPPED IN. I’M 1000% CONVINCED THIS IS THE CASE YOU GUYS. NOT JUST BECAUSE I’M NOT A FAN OF “THE WORLD IS A FUNDAMENTALLY SHITTY PLACE, ACTUALLY” TAKES BECAUSE MISTER ROGERS TOLD ME TO ALWAYS LOOK FOR THE HELPERS, BUT ALSO BECAUSE IT LITERALLY JUST DOESN’T MAKE A LICK OF SENSE OTHERWISE. THEIR ENTIRE HOUSE CAVED IN FFS, YOU’RE TELLING ME NONE OF THE NEIGHBORS FUCKING OVERHEARD THAT SHIT AND WENT “UMMMMMMMMM” AND WENT TO SEE WHAT WAS GOING ON?? “DIDN’T THERE USED TO BE A HOUSE HERE, AND LIKE A WHOLE FAMILY, AND SHIT?”

LIKE I’M SORRY, BUT IT’S ONE THING TO SAY IT’S REALISTIC THAT NOT A SINGLE PERSON WOULD ATTEMPT TO HELP THE WANDERING TRAUMATIZED CHILD AFTERWARDS (WHICH I DISAGREE WITH AS WELL BUT AT LEAST THAT’S MORE SUBJECTIVE), AND IT’S A WHOLE OTHER THING TO ARGUE THAT IT’S REALISTIC THAT NO ONE WOULD BE FUCKING NOSY. LIKE THAT’S A WHOLE DIFFERENT LEVEL OF “THAT’S NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WORKS” ENTIRELY LOL. anyway tl;dr AFO is a piece of shit and Tomura’s entire worldview is based on a magnificently intricate and savagely cruel lie more at 11

anyway so after all that ranting it looks like that wasn’t even what Hawks was talking about after all lol. I just went off for absolutely no reason lol oh well. instead it seems that Hawks is suggesting that Tomura’s carefully cultivated hatred might not yet have actually reached “can defeat OFA” levels even after all of that trauma. interesting!

don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here while my brain furiously scrambles to put together all the parallels between Hawks and Tomura that it never noticed before until exactly this second. like I’m not even sure that was the intent here at all (I need to check out another translation or two lol), but regardless my mind decided that now would be the perfect time to make the connection between these two twenty-somethings who both had horrific childhoods and spent years being molded by their respective manipulative guardians, and developed eerily similar “laugh at everything because what else can you do” coping mechanisms to deal with it all hmmmmm

anyway so they were talking more about their strategy, but now all of a sudden Jeanist’s phone is beeping??

AND NOW WE’RE CUTTING AWAY TO ALL MIGHT AND HIS MIGHTMOBILE DAMMIT so that means the call to Jeanist was actually something important then!! WAS IT BAKUGOU OMG. DOES YOUR INTERN WANT A WORD FFFKLFSJK please it’s been so long I just need a little crumb or two to tide me over lmao have mercy

anyway so All Might’s following the GPS tracking device he’s apparently got planted on Deku (which in my conspiracy headcanons he’s actually had for a long time now, like since before DvK2 lol because HOW ELSE WOULD HAVE HAVE KNOWN THAT THEY WERE FIGHTING EACH OTHER IN GROUND BETA, PEOPLE) and thinking angsty thoughts about Deku’s sucky life

AND NOW ALL MIGHT’S PHONE IS RINGING TOO?? BAKUGOU HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE YOU CALLING. “WHERE ARE YOU HIDING THE NERD GODDAMMIT”

OMG

lol is he under attack or is he just finally giving All Might the slip like we all know he SECRETLY PLANNED TO ALL ALONG oh my poor dumb angstmuffin

OMG AHHHHHHH WHAT

DID ALL MIGHT JUST FUCKING DIE LMAO NO OF COURSE NOT, BUT WHAT

WHAT IS HAPPENING OMG

THE FUCK IS THAT. AT LEAST IT’S NOT A NAIL

OH IT’S A SPEAKER!! OMG DID THEY TAKE ALL MIGHT HOSTAGE

“THEY’RE HERE” WELP, TIME TO SEE JUST HOW SHITTY THIS SHITTY PLAN REALLY IS LOL

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SHE!!!!

omg. AND OVERHAUL JUST CHILLING THERE IN THE BACKGROUND ALL “WHAT DO YOU EVEN WANT ME TO DO I’VE GOT NO FUCKING ARMS” YEAH GOOD RIDDANCE LOL

DOES THIS GIRL HAVE ONE GIANT LEG OR WHAT, LIKE WHAT’S THE DEAL HERE

-- HOLD UP WAIT, THE GUN IS HER ARM, HOLY SHIT SHE CAN TURN INTO A GUN -- OKAY HOLD UP BECAUSE I NEED TO SAY THAT IN BIGGER TEXT BECAUSE !!!!

YOU GUYS, THE COOL TARTARUS GIRL IS BACK AND HER QUIRK IS “CAN TURN INTO A FUCKING GUN.” THIS IS NOT A DRILL!! MY BEST GIRL MT. GUN IS FINALLY BACK ON THE SCENE WITH HER QUIRK “CAN DO ANYTHING A GUN CAN DO.” “I HEARD Y’ALL WENT AND NAMED ONE OF YOUR HEROES ‘GUNHEAD’ EVEN THOUGH HIS HEAD ISN’T EVEN A GUN, LIKE WTF IS UP WITH THAT LET ME SHOW YOU HOW IT’S DONE” DANG OKAY

lmao only fifteen pages this week, and STILL NO KACCHAN (THEN WHO WAS PHONE!!!), but man I don’t even care because finally we’ve got a cliffhanger that’s actually deserving of being a cliffhanger! hot dog. okay then

[imagine-loki]

Can you Keep A Secret

TITLE: Can you keep it a secret?  CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 3 of 4

AUTHOR: ValarieRavenhearst2 ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine working with Loki in some way but you keep your distance because you have a massive crush on him and you tend to always embarrass yourself. Alas you find yourself in need of his help as you need his magic and he’s the only one for the job.

  All the incubators in the lab make it feel like a sauna today, with so many new species needing direct heat, we’ve had to give them their own room. All my specimens look healthy and well after yesterdays’ sampling and I record their status on my iPad. After working by myself for half an hour I make the easy decision to take my jumper off before I start to sweat. As I start to wiggle out of it by easing it over my head, my shirt begins to rise with it and I make that awkward wiggle to try and magically make my shirt fall down without putting my arms back down. Whilst in the midst of my struggle I can hear the keypad being used to unlock the lab door and instinctively I throw myself to my knees to hide as my shirt has risen over my bra. Instant regret. I quickly correct myself on the ground as I hear Dr Banner and another botanist talking idly. The side of my abdomen stings viciously in warning as the material of my shirt goes back over it. I quickly flip it up again to inspect a small scratch now etched over my ribs, ending just under my bra. I hiss quietly in annoyance at my own stupidity as I stand calmly to inspect what I could have scratched myself on.   Dr Banner greets me in surprise, obviously questioning what I am doing on the ground.

“Good morning.” I give them both a greeting smile, “I just dropped my jumper.” I wave it at them as proof and they go back to their conversation whilst I look at the plant specimens in front of me. This odd, black looking orchidaceous plant looks awfully ominous with its long bristly thorns of an olive green hue. It must have been the culprit as none of its neighbours have any type of protruding bristles. With a slight panic spiking in my veins I try to examine it’s ID card but it’s information is mostly blank as it hasn’t begun rigours testing yet. Shit! What if it’s poisonous. Surely it would be in a covered incubator if it was known to be poisonous and over in lab 2 with the others.  I try not to act concerned as I question if the other two know anything about it and the other botanist, Swanson? I think. Says that the whole table is due for testing today by his team. I just nod in acknowledgment and calmly exit the lab. I mean, I feel okay, right? I don’t feel faint and or woozy.  I canter off to the bathroom after throwing my jumper over my chair; I quickly raise my shirt again in the mirror to get a better look. It’s not that bad … I suppose. The thin red slice is only about six centimetres long and it doesn’t look like there’s anything caught in the wound. Honestly, what an idiot. I can’t believe I was so reckless. If bloody Branson found out he’d have my head and he’d carry on for eternity how right he was about me. Oh the ridicule! He’d have me on desk duty till he dies. No one can know! I’m breaking every safety protocol we have but if I am to die from it so be it. I’d rather die quietly than admit my fault to that grumpy old git. After a quick rendezvous with the first-aid box I should be fine. I’ll just have to spy on the other team later to see if they come with anything concerning on the evil looking sucker. Ugh! I can’t believe I just did that.   As I exit the bathroom mumbling curses at myself, adjusting my skin tight black turtleneck, a wisp of black enters my peripheral and I know that the god of mischief has returned to the floor. His eyes find me as I cross the open bullpen to my desk and I let go of the hem of my shirt and make an effort to make the concern vanish from my face. Draped in a navy Asgardian attire, he is what my high school best friend would call a snack. I briefly notice accents of gold and olive lining the leather but I am quick to advert my eyes and look busy. I suppose he would be a nice distraction from the sting in my side but I needn’t the extra embarrassment on top of my slightly spiked anxiety. I can hear Branson’s old decrepit voice engaging with that sultry sirens call as they wander by my desk but I make myself continue typing on my computer as if my life depends on it. As soon as he’s passed me I can smell his cologne lingering to tease me. Do Asgardians even wear cologne or is that just him? I shake my head, determined not to let my thoughts distract me.   As I continue to work at my desk for the day, every time I stretch and move around I check on the other team working in the lab and notice that pointy little sucker is still out in the open so my panic levels have been low and every time I go to the bathroom I check my side; gently peeling off the large non stick plaster to inspect the fading mark. The redness has reduced so much that I have to strain myself to notice the mark.   I steal glances with the God of Mischief throughout the day as he wanders from station to station. I smile politely whenever our eyes meet and always breakaway first to continue working, which I notice earns me a sly grin after the fifth time. See, I knew that tricky bugger was up to something. I just know he purposefully loves to get under my skin. But I am not giving him the satisfaction of watching me blush today. Two can play at that game. Danny surprises me at lunch by bringing me a latte and childish teasing. He sits on the edge of my desk and immediately notices Loki working in the adjacent Lab in clear view of my desk. Trying to be noticeably subtle he continuously taps my shoulder whilst cooing in excitement like a giddy school girl. I shush him and punch him hard in the leg whilst acting like his antics haven’t phased me. I’ve been doing an amazing job of ignoring his presence all morning, he is not going to trick me into actively swooning now.

“Oh he looking.” Danny murmurs whilst turning his head away, tapping my shoulder again.

“Shut up!” I mutter back as I briefly glare at him in warning before retuning my attention to my computer screen.

“Girl he’s definitely checking you out.” He rearranges himself as he opts for standing behind me and leaning over me like he’s studying what I’m doing.

“I’m going to kill you.” I swivel in my chair so that I’m facing away from the Lab. “You’re such a trouble maker.” I hiss and jokingly shove him so not to make a big scene. “Don’t you have work of your own to do?” I question as I make an excuse to walk out of sight by taking my drink bottle to fill it up. Danny follows, chuckling evilly to himself.

“Yeah but this is more fun.” I threaten to throw water on him. “But seriously, he’s definitely watching you.” I could feel it! But I ain’t playing into Danny’s game.

“Yeah right,” I scoff as I begin back to my desk with Danny in tow, “what for? A good laugh if I stumble?” I take my seat but swivel so I’m facing Danny and away from Loki.

“Well no ‘cause I don’t think he’s ever laughed when you’ve embarrassed yourself.” Danny leans against the empty desk adjacent to mine and I gasp at him with forced hurtfulness.

“Are you saying I’m not funny?” I question mockingly and his face grimaces fiercely as he shrugs in agreement.

“Well, either he’s attracted to you or just pities you.” He deduces with his great sleuthing skills. “Which would you prefer?” I scowl so hard at him that he might burst into flames yet his shiteating grin is till carved into his face. I don’t answer, not diving into this ridiculous conversation (not to mention unsafe when he’s so close). With a steady, yet annoyed breath, I exhale loudly before turning back to my computer and turn my concentration up to a hundred and ten percent to block out Loki’s alluring figure in my peripherals.

“I have work to do and if you’ve only come to tease me you can piss off.” I purse my lips together in my best passive resting bitch face before flipping him off. Honestly what an arse – breaking basic friend 101 rules. Don’t joke about the crush in front of the crush.

“So touchy today.” He laughs and kisses me on the cheek before stepping around my desk before I can clock him one. “I’ll see you later.” He teases before leaving and I can feel myself being watched and it is so tempting to look to where that burning urge is coming from but I just know if I make eye contact I’ll blush several noticeable shades. I’ll remain strong, purely out of spite.   I finish all my paper work earlier than expected and manage to send off all my reports just has mid afternoon rolls around. Spite is a good focuser. As I’m scanning through my emails to see if I need to reply to any I get a page from Clint to say that he’s on his way up to check out his new arrow heads. I beam excitedly in remembrance, jumping up from my desk and heading over to Lab 2, where I had been storing them in the cool room at the back of the lab. I had been experimenting and developing  new knockout gasses and combustibles and I thought adapting them to Clint’s arrow heads would be a more challenging task then the standard grenades. Thus far the little project has been a success, they just haven’t had any field time yet.   I notice Loki watching me through his lashes as I swipe into the lab and punch in the code. We’ve already exchanged pleasantries for the day so there’s no need for me to make any form of acknowledgment as I enter. As I enter through the double doors he straightens himself, most likely in expectance that I had entered to speak with him since it’s only he and another botanist in the Lab. But I just walk straight through without a glance which gives me such a surge of power, knowing how  much confusion I was causing him even though his poker face is exceptional. After punching in the security code on the fridge I gently pull out the draw with the arrow tips and remove the tray, taking it with me. I have to make eye contact on my way back since focusing straight ahead would be too obvious and the key is subtlety here if I want to be one up on his intimidating behaviour. My lips curve pleasantly at him but I don’t say anything as I head back to the door. Clint is already at my desk and is glancing around for me. He waves happily when he sees me and opens the door for me so I don’t have to.

“Hey,” he smiles at me and I pass him the tray, “you sure these work?” He questions mockingly.

“Have I ever failed you before?” I coyly quirk my brows in rebuke.

“Want to test them with me?” He nods his head at the door for me to follow him and I do with a skip in my step. I did archery as a child but I got nothing on him. I take my time to relish in the fact that Loki hasn’t taken his eyes off me as I exit through the corridor and I even dare a cheeky, subtly seductive glance over my shoulder just to make sure. Oh it feels good to be bad .. no wonder he loves it.

[parvulous-writings]

Slightly Unexpected // McCree x reader

Request:  Can I make a request were McCree meets a new member of the team who happens to be a field medic with a big St. Bernard named Bosco. Everyone didn’t know that Bosco could speak except for Winston and soldier 76. And I mean he has the same intelligence as a human type. Like McCree finds out that his S/Os dog can speak during a mission when she hast to save him and drag him to a safe spot to be patched up.  i’ve been obsessing over the creek for the past week and a half and this seems like a very funny idea that’s been playing in my mind for the past few days lol

Requested by: @wolvesbrigade

Summary: The request

Warnings: Violence, mention of injuries and blood

Words: 1.2K

Notes:Did I make Bosco sassy? Maybe. My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif

Initially, the assignment for the small team you supported was going incredibly well. Almost too well. There were four of you in all- a very small team indeed, but you didn’t need to go for overkill for this. It was merely defense, and of a small area to boot. It should’ve been fairly simple.  Key words; Should have. As the battle wore on and on, you got a sinking feeling in your gut that you had severely underestimated the adversaries you were facing. How could you tell this? Well, in part because of how much you’re having to heal your teammates, but also because of how the more experienced in the team were starting to show signs of struggle. Jack Morrison- Soldier 76 to the masses- was one of the ones starting to struggle, having to slowly fall back to be able to deal with the enemy personnel safely. 

The more tank-like colleague of yours had also started to draw close to the rest of the group, raising his shield to defend both the old soldier and yourself, as one last member on your team strayed out into the field, all by himself. This rugged vigilante was the gunslinger Jesse McCree- known by most to be an outlaw, and known to you specifically to be a man who makes almost nothing but reckless decisions. You were doing your best to help the two closest to you, with the aid of your loyal companion Bosco. The St Bernard was the one who held the majority of your healing capsules- modeled partially after Ana’s which served largely the same purpose. He’d ferry them back and forth between the two allies defending the point, whilst you helped Morrison dispatch your foes with your small firearm.

You had just about managed to get your feet stuck in the ground where you were supposed to be defending, when you heard a raspy voice through your earpiece: “I need.. I need some help over here!”  It was Jesse, sounding out of breath, and in a reasonable amount of pain. You give a gentle sigh- it came as no surprise to your that it was McCree that was the first to essentially get downed. You looked to your companion, giving a low whistle to get his attention away from Reinhardt. “Bosco! Let’s get moving!” And with that, the pair of you dove into fire, taking out the lackeys that stood between you and the teammate who needed your assistance. For those you didn’t take down yourself, Bosco tackled and tore at them as they tried to take aim towards you- trying to take you out and weaken your team. 

It took you a few minutes to find Jesse, who had managed to drag himself into a small corner, where he was able to stake out and defend himself with his peacekeeper. He had a rather nasty looking wound on his leg- a large, bloody patch around a bullet hole in his trouser leg. Bosco was the first of you two to approach him, looking him over for any other sign of any other, more life threatening injuries. The hound glanced over to you, his collar- designed especially for Bosco by Winston himself, based on similar technology used for Hammond the hamster- allowed him to inform you of what was McCree’s injury as you caught up and approached them.  “Thankfully I think the bullet has missed the femoral artery.” You weren’t caught off-guard by the friendly yet oddly monotonous voice of your dog, but McCree certainly was. His jaw was almost in his lap- he had never actually been out in the field with you and Bosco, and Morrison had clearly failed to warn him of the collar and unique intelligence of your companion. 

“The- the- he can-” McCree stuttered, and had Bosco been able to, he would have rolled his eyes. “Talk, yes. Thank you for the observation, Agent McCree, I hadn’t yet noticed.” Bosco replied sarcastically. Whilst they were conversing, you pulled two bandages from the pack around your waist- one to tie at least a fairly secure tourniquet, the other to dress his wound. Bosco took a small capsule from the bag draped over his back, breaking it carefully in his jaw over the wound and letting the golden liquid drip over the bloody hole in Jesse’s thigh. McCree winced, as the wound started to heal- but it would take a few minutes to heal properly, so you still fastened a makeshift tourniquet after dressing his wound. Bosco then nuzzled himself under Jesse’s arm, trying to pull him to his feet. You started to help, taking both of the cowboy’s hands in your own. 

“You never told me the old dog could talk!” Jesse exclaimed through heavy breaths as you started to help him back towards the rest of your team.  “Not that old,” Bosco pointed out, along with a computer generated sigh.  “Ah... Sorry, Bosco.” The gunslinger replied, awkwardly.  “Didn’t really have the need to mention it... Sorry, Jesse.” You chuckled as the two beings you held dearest fully interacted for the first time. You actually thought Jesse was taking it fairly well- you had expected a much more... Dramatic display.  “Well, uh, thank you, both of you, for comin’ to fetch me...” Jesse chuckled as you finally rejoined the other half of your team. You sat the Southerner down near a piece of debris- where he could still shoot the odd enemy, but also rest his leg until a dropship arrived for you all. Bosco went and sat beside him, ready to move him should the barrier finally break and the group of you be overrun by those fighting against you. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait too long before you heard the familiar whir of an  engine as the dropship started to approach from overhead. You had defended your point for long enough, now Overwatch’s own metallic forces were able to fight back instead of their valuable living soldiers. Bosco now started to help the injured gunslinger to his feet, and you soon joined to assist him onto the dropship. The man gave you a thankful look- a rarity from someone like Jesse.  “You know... I’d like to take some tips from ya about satyin’ alive during combat... You seem to do it pretty darn well, so you seem like one of the best people to ask. Maybe we could discuss it over dinner?” He suggested, a smirk-like grin spreading over his lips.  “Are you asking me out, McCree?” You ask him with a chuckle. He shrugs and nods slightly.  “I might be... Is there any harm in that?” He asked you, a hint of sheepishness in his tone.  “Only if you try anything funny.” Bosco jumped in, which caused both you and McCree to laugh.

“Don’t worry, I won’t try anything... Jus’ want to be a gentleman...” He looked to you, “If you’ll let me, o’ course...” He chuckled, and you smiled softly, beginning to nod at his words.  “Alright... But only if neither of us are cooking.” You gestured between you and him, laughing gently as he nodded in agreement.  “I was gonna suggest the same thing, darlin’.” He told you, “So, you got a date in mind?”  “Saturday? Maybe... Half eight?” You suggested, and he nods eagerly.  “Sounds brilliant, sugar.” 

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McCree taglist: @rey-is-not-a-skywalker​

[blu-joons]

Protective Best Friend ~ Im Jaebum

You knew that it was only ever going to be a matter of time before your best friend asked to meet your boyfriend. Mingyu had always been incredibly protective of you, especially so when he found out that you were dating Jaebum, one of the most famous idols in the industry, who everyone knew.

“It’s not going to be as bad as you think,” Jaebum chuckled as you went around the apartment, tidying everything up once again. “If he’s your best friend, then he’s going to be happy for you.”

Your head shook, Jaebum really had no idea what Mingyu could be like, especially when it came to you. The two of you had been close friends since you were little, and Mingyu never let you too far out of his sight, just in case anything did happen to you.

Your relationship with Jaebum was one that you tried to keep quiet from him for a while, but Mingyu knew you well, and could tell when something was up. He pushed and he pushed until you were finally honest with him about what was going on, making sure you told him every single detail.

Which was why you now found yourself terrified as you heard a knock at the door. Jaebum waved you over, resting his hand against the small of your back. “Just breathe,” he encouraged you, allowing you to be the one to open up the door to your best friend, trying to hide your nerves.

“Hey,” Mingyu smiled, looking straight at Jaebum. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you,” Jaebum smiled, bowing in Mingyu’s direction as he stepped aside to welcome him in.

You took a step back from both as they walked straight through to the living room where a tray of drinks was already prepared, sitting down beside each other.

Your heart pounded as you soon followed behind the two of them, taking a seat on the end of the sofa beside Jaebum. You could tell by Mingyu’s eyes that he was studying him closely, looking for any sign of fault. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Mingyu suddenly spoke up.

Jaebum continued to remain calm, but by the tone of Mingyu’s voice, you could tell that he was being very serious. He’d been protective around boys you’d dated before, but even around Jaebum, he seemed more concerned than usual.

Beside you, Jaebum simply chuckled, letting Mingyu know that he hoped that you’d only shared with him the good things about him.

“If I heard anything bad, you wouldn’t be here right now,” Mingyu coldly responded.

“Oh right.”

Mingyu nodded, looking between you both. “Y/N’s had her heart broken before, so only perfection will do for her whilst I’m around.”

At last, you sensed the first bit of nerves in Jaebum, you’d warned him before that Mingyu was intimidating to start, and whilst he tried to dismiss it, now that he saw it for himself, all of your warning words made a lot of sense.

“I don’t plan on breaking her heart, I know the two of you are close,” Jaebum spoke, forcing a smile. “You don’t need to worry about me hurting her.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Mingyu replied, “I know what she likes.”

Your eyes widened, shaking your head across at Mingyu, which he quickly caught onto. You’d begged him on the phone the night before to make the effort with Jaebum, and you were desperate for him to fulfil that promise.

“Maybe the two of you can use this time to get to know each other better,” you suggested, trying to pick up the mood a little bit. “That’s the reason that you came round after all Mingyu, not to interrogate Jaebum.”

“Yeah,” he spoke up, forcing a smile to his face. “But I still just want to check that he’s good for you Y/N,” he added, reiterating his intentions yet again to Jaebum.

As hard as he tried to be fine, you could tell that Mingyu’s behaviour was bothering Jaebum. He always told you that he’d be able to handle himself around any of your protective friends, but even this was a little too much for him to deal with.

Before Jaebum had the chance to speak, Mingyu spoke up yet again. “I know you’ve obviously been very successful, and I know your group has done well. But where does Y/N fit in within your busy schedule? I mean, it’s alright now whilst your off work, but what happens when your schedule starts to pick up again.”

Your head shook as getting to know each other soon turned into yet another interrogation. “Mingyu,” you muttered under your breath.”

“It’s fine Y/N,” Jaebum grinned, taking a hold of your hand, “I’d ask the same questions if I was in his position. But that’s something Y/N and I have discussed, she’s very understanding, as I’m sure she is with your career as well.”

Mingyu nodded, somewhat pleased with the response that he got from Jaebum. “I’ve listened to a lot of boys make promises about how they’re going to look after Y/N, and they’ve not followed through, so I hope that you’re different.”

As the afternoon progressed, the two of them slowly started to engage in more friendly conversation. Mingyu still had his guard up around Jaebum, but as ever, he dealt with it well and made sure to stay calm for your sake.

It was definitely awkward for you being between the two of them, both of them were good at pushing each other’s buttons without even realising that they were doing it. But thanks to you being there, they managed to get through their first meeting reasonably unscathed.

As the evening began to draw in, Mingyu glanced out of the window before clearing his throat. “I’ve got a meeting soon, so I should probably leave you both to it.”

“Are you sure?” Jaebum asked, but you knew he was only being polite.

Mingyu nodded, standing up from the sofa, pulling you into a huge before bowing across at Jaebum. “I’m sure it won’t be too long until we see each other again, until then, please make sure that you look after her properly.”

As soon as you shut the door on Mingyu, you turned around to face Jaebum, muttering several apologies to him in embarrassment for how Mingyu had handled himself. Jaebum’s arms wrapped around you, kissing the top of your head.

“He just cares Y/N,” he chuckled gently, “even if I’ve never been questioned like that before, I don’t think he hates me. So, that’s a good start.”

“He usually hates all my boyfriends.”

“Let’s think of this as a positive then.”

Your head nodded, walking back across to the sofa to sit yourself down. “I’ve always known that he’s worried a lot for me, but that was too much. I don’t know how you managed to get through that with a smile on your face.”

His eyes glanced across at you, “I did it for you, the last thing I wanted to do was cause a scene, especially towards your best friend. If he was anyone else, I really don’t know if I would have been able to bite my tongue as well as I did just then.”

“Thank you for making such a huge effort with him,” you whispered across to him.

“Of course, I want all of this to work, for us.”

---

Masterlist

[minaslittleone]

Fission & Fusion (Part 2)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: How did the refined and proper Wilhemina Venable end up working for two coked-up tech bros out of the back of a van?

An origin story of sorts, dedicated to the amazing @lucyintheskywithxanax who has developed such a beautiful and nuanced depiction of Mina. This was inspired by her incredible story "And I failed to climb the mountain".

Word count: ~2700

The hours after that were fuzzy. After storming out of her parents house with little more than the bare essentials and no intention of returning Wilhemina didn't really have much of a plan. She had never fantasized about running away as a child, she hadn't even been brave enough to rebel vicariously and yet here she was, with no plan and no where to go. And terrified.

But Wilhemina was nothing if not practical so she sequestered all of those doubts and anxieties down into the deepest corners of her brain to be dealt with later, she told herself. Really to be dealt with never.

Practically speaking, money was her first concern. She knew that her mother's threat to cut her off had not been idle, but she also hoped that her mother would continue to underestimate her long enough that she would be able to clear the remaining funds out of her account before her mother froze it. Her pride raged against the idea of taking the idea of taking the money religiously placed into her "allowance" once a month by her father, hating how spoiled that made her sound and wanting to be free of any lingering ties to her parents. She would have gladly traded every last dime for any other monthly ritual with her father, for anything with him really. But she was a casualty of her parents' failing marriage, the only thing that they hated more than each other was the idea of acknowledging that their marriage had long since fallen apart. Her father avoided the house like the plague, and her by extension, throwing himself deeper and deeper into his professional life to mask the failure of his personal one. And so their relationship had become almost completely transactional, her father attempting to atone for his absence by providing her with everything she could ever dream of, save for the one thing she truly wanted - his affection. But as much as she hated the money and everything it represented, she really wasn't left with much of a choice.

That was how she found herself standing in front of a bank teller at 1:30pm on a Wednesday afternoon, lying through her teeth and praying that her voice wasn't shaking as much as her hands. Exactly how she had got there she wasn't sure - a bus? Surely she hadn't walked this far - she was completely focused on getting what money she could and getting out.

The process was certainly made easier by the fact that she had been coming to this branch since her father had opened the account on her sixteenth birthday. And maybe for once in her life her twisted frame would be an asset - it was difficult to forget a girl her age with flaming red hair and a cane.

So she lied. She told the teller that she was using the money to put towards a car but that her parents were unfortunately too busy to accompany her. That part wasn't even really a lie, her parents were always too busy. Either way the teller didn't seem to see anything unusual about depositing the entire $5000 balance into Wilhemina's hand, before politely wishing her a pleasant day.

She had thought she would feel safer with the money in hand, feel like she had more control over the situation. In fact all it did was make her realise how vulnerable she was. How she would never be able to defend herself if someone decided they wanted to take it from her. Maybe her mother had been right, maybe she really was too broken and useless to survive on her own.

She could feel her heart racing. She had to find somewhere to stay. Find somewhere that she could get off the street. Maybe then she would feel safer. Maybe.

Except she didn't know how long she would need to make that $5000 last. She had no job and had effectively forfeited her degree the minute she walked out her parents' front door. Any future prospects she had were tied to their connections anyway. Oh god, what was she going to do? She had no experience and no qualifications, and any jobs that would have been open to her without those were made impossible by her twisted spine. She wouldn't have been able to stand for long enough to finish a shift as a waitress, let alone carry much whilst also maneuvering her cane.

So she would have to make the money last. At least until she managed to come up with a better plan. Which is how she found herself unpacking her meagre possessions into a battered shell of a room in a run down hotel that offered rooms by the hour. As she eased herself down onto the bed, finally allowing her back some respite after hours on her feet, she reasoned that this was the best choice for now. And she would think of something, this was only temporary.

But it hurt. The adrenaline from her triumphant exit earlier that morning was long gone and now she was left with the painful reality of what life on her own would look like. At the moment it consisted of a sea of mismatched floral patterned fabrics, a green melamine kitchenette and far too many questionable stains.

She felt like she was suffocating, that the battered walls with their pealing wallpaper were steadily encroaching on her, squeezing the last ounces of calm and confidence out of her by force. She had to get out, had to keep moving, had to keep busy lest the reality of her situation catch up to her and drown her in its melancholy.

She burst from the room, shaking fingers struggling clumsily against the lock. She had to get away, to be anywhere but here. Away from the stale smelling room with the pealing wallpaper. Away from the lumpy bed swathed in garish floral covers of questionable cleanliness. Away from the suffocating reminder of how alone she was.

It shouldn't have surprised her that she would end up back in the college library, it's where she spent most of her time any way, finding any excuse she could not to go home. It was quiet and it was safe. Between the warm, dim lighting and the earthy smell of the old wooden shelves and the books themselves Wilhemina finally began to calm. She could feel the tension to funnel out of her trembling fingers, feel heart finally stop racing and draw her first real breath in hours.

She didn't know how long she sat there, not really seeing or hearing the world around her, just being, adjusting. Letting her body and mind begin to come to terms with her situation. Start to reset her parameters and realise that she wasn't going home tonight, that there wasn't a home to go anymore. Perhaps there never had been, not in the ways that mattered.

She was drawn from her haze by the gentle but insistent whispering of her name that indicated that this wasn't the first time the owner had tried to rouse her. As her vision cleared she was met with the kind, if not slightly concerned countenance of her adviser, Professor Thompson.

"Is everything alright, Wilhemina?" She could only nod dumbly in response. "I missed you in class this morning" the older woman added. "I know you said had a specialist appointment and might be late, but I got worried when you never showed up. Did everything go ok?" Wilhemina couldn't find the words to answer, couldn't find a way to explain how her life had been pulled out from under her in the preceding few hours. Her mouth guppied in response, producing several sounds that could have been the start of ideas but nothing intelligible.

Professor Thompson's brow furrowed. Over the years that she had known Wilhemina Venable she had always been impressed by her tenacity. For all this young woman had endured, she had refused to let it define her. She was always the first present in class, sitting front and centre, attention never wavering, even on the days Professor Thompson could see the tell tale signs of pain breaking through her indifferent facade. The tension in her brow and jaw, the twitch of her lips and narrowing of her eyes at each spasm, the shifting in her seat in a desperate effort to find some level of comfort. There was a hardness, a determination in the eyes of that girl which said she refused to give up which was notably absent now, replaced by a glazed, foggy expression that made Professor Thompson's heart hurt.

"Wilhemina," she tried again, "would it be easier if we discussed this in my office?" The redhead's eyes rolled up to meet hers almost drunkenly, obviously still not entirely processing the world around her. She managed a small nod, vacant eyes focusing somewhere in the middle distance. "Here, let me take your bag" she offered, hands floating just beyond Wilhemina's shoulders as the redhead hoisted herself to her feet, swaying slightly as she found some semblance of equilibrium.

Professor Thompson couldn't help but bring a hand to gently cup Wilhemina's upper arm, causing the younger woman to finally meet her gaze. Oh and didn't it just break her heart, the pleading terrified desperation she found in those deep brown eyes. "Come on, dear" she coaxed, "this way."

Wilhemina felt herself start to come back into her own body as she sat in Professor Thompson's office, old worn leather chair beneath her and warm cup of sweetened tea pressed into her trembling hands.

Professor Thompson noticed the change as well. "Easy, dear" she cautioned, as Wilhemina's shaking hands tried to raise the warm mug to her lips. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes" Wilhemina managed to rasp.

Professor Thompson reached out her hand to rest on Wilhemina's knee, rubbing slow comforting circles. "Do you think you can me what happened? Was it something at your appointment? Do you need another surgery?"

"No" Wilhemina whispered, teeth worrying her bottom lip before lifting her eyes to the older woman, who's warm gaze encouraged her to continue. "The surgeon doesn't want to do anything, doesn't think it's necessary to do anything. My mother on the other hand is not satisfied and won't be until I look *normal*"

"I'm sure she just wants the best for you" the older woman tried.

"She wants me to stop being an embarrassment. She flat out told the surgeon she doesn't care about my pain, she only wants him to fix how hideous I look." It was happening again, Wilhemina realised, the years of repressed pain and frustration spewing out of her unbidden. "The surgeon stopped recommending procedures when I was eighteen because they weren't likely to help but my mother kept insisting because I looked so hideous she couldn't stand it. She put me through years of pain because I was so ugly and she was so ashamed of me." Her voiced cracked as the tears she had tried so hard contain broke free down her cheeks.

"She was trying to do it again" Wilhemina choked. "She was trying to convince him to operate again and I finally told her no."

"And how did she take that?" Professor Thompson asked, almost fearing the answer. Wilhemina let out a self-depricating laugh through her tears, rolling her eyes. "Wilhemina," she added urgently, gently squeezing her knee to get her attention, "she didn't hurt you, did she?"

Wilhemina stopped at that. "Not physically, no." A beat of understanding passed between the two women before Wilhemina continued. "She threw me out, cut me off, told me I was completely on my own unless I agree to have the surgery. Told me I can kiss my degree goodbye." The older woman gasped. "I told her she could have it, I was done with her controlling my life."

Professor Thompson reached out to take Wilhemina's hands, squeezing them in her own. "That was so incredibly brave." Wilhemina let out a wry chuckle "You don't think I'm completely mad?" Another warm squeeze of her hands. "Absolutely not. I think you are so strong."

Wilhemina raised her eyes again to meet those of her professor, searching them for the signs of a lie. Finding none she felt her chin begin to tremble as she fought against the tears.

She lost. The tears came bubbling out of her against her will. Tears for the years of pain she had endured, both physical and emotional, at her mother's hands. Tears for the little girl who spent years in pain trying to convince her parents that it wasn't all in her head. For her childhood that had been stolen from her. For the little girl alone in a hospital, who's parents were far too busy to visit, who was left to rely on nurses for comfort and support. For the twenty four year old woman who had just lost everything.

She curled in on herself as much as her twisted spine would allow, rocking rhythmically backwards and forwards, trying in vain to offer herself some comfort. She felt the chair next to her dip and then she was being cradled in her advisors arms - how embarassing. But try as she might she couldn't quiet the hysterical sobs.

Eventually pulled herself out of the older womans arms, trying to regain some level of dignity. Professor Thompson gave her hands one last squeeze as she let her go.

"We will find a solution to all of this" she assured "but for now all of that can wait. You need to eat and you need to sleep. You must be exhausted" Wilhemina nodded, still frantically pawing at her tear-stained cheeks. There was no point hiding anymore, not after her earlier display.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Professor Thompson asked. "You're welcome to my spare room if not"

"No it's fine" Wilhemina replied, glad to avoid imposing on her professor further. "I have a hotel room."

"Ok I'll drive you" Wilhemina tried valiantly to rebuff Professor Thompson's kindness, but the older woman would not be dissuaded. And once Wilhemina realised how dark it had gotten she was secretly grateful.

As the car came to a stop in front what currently passed for Wilhemina's lodgings, Professor Thompson took her hand once more. "After work tomorrow" she pressed "I am picking you up and you are having dinner with me. It will give us a chance to come up with a plan for what happens next. I refuse to see someone as smart and driven as you are, Wilhemina, be sabotaged by negligent parenting. We will figure this out."

Wilhemina couldn't even bring herself to try and rebuff such kindness, for how her heart ached for it. Instead all she could manage was a watery "okay" and tremulous smile. As she walked back to her room she felt lighter than she had all day, tension finally beginning to drain from her body like water trickling down her arms and plummeting from her fingertips.

Exhaustion quickly rose to fill vacancy making her limbs heavy and fingers clumsy. Almost there, she told herself as she struggled with foreign keychain, not much longer. Just inside the door and then you can rest. But try as she might her exhausted mind could not make sense of the lock nor could it co-ordinate her trembling fingers well enough to keep hold of the keys which fell limply to the concrete just beyond her door.

It was as if the universe was laughing at her, she thought, as she gingerly squatted down, bending her legs to compensate for her immobilised spine. After all the humiliation she had endured today she could not be allowed to rest without at least one more reminder of her inadequacy. So fucking useless, the voice in ear chided, so fucking stupid. Hurry up and pick up the god damn keys and open the door like a normal, functional human being. Can you manage that much at least?

And maybe she could have managed it had the hand she extended to reach for her keys not been firmly crushed into the concrete and pulled away from her by a steal-capped boot, upsetting her precarious equilibrium and sending her sprawling face first into the concrete.

"Now, what's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"

A/N: Ok, so number one - I'm sorry (ducks). I promise I won't hurt her too much. This part wasn't even in my original plan but then the angsty little plot demons took over and here we are. Number two - for those of you who are interested I wrote Professor Thompson with Prof. Stromwell (Holland's character from legally blonde) in mind because I think she is exactly the type of tough but caring person that baby Mina would be drawn to. But also because I'm dying to see Sarah and Holland work on a project together, so this was my own vicarious little head cannon.

[darkenedreaper]

So Was I

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader, Avengers x reader.

Warnings: angst, strong violence, language.

Part: 5/5

A/n: I’d like to state that I made up a few lines of poetry and I’m proud of myself.

For the time you had been taken it seemed like your body had been put under severe treatment. At this point you could’ve been gone for months. You recognised the big symbol that was painted onto the wall. Hydra. They had been testing on you, testing on the Avenger. Every day you’d go through a new pain until they found the right one. From what you could catch they were planning on using you as their next super soldier. They had obviously saw the News and what had happened and who did it to you, so they took their chance and succeeded. You were laying back onto the white bed, your arc reactor now had a new red vibranium lining on the outside of it and your new suit which stood beside you, was black, with the logo on the back. You felt stronger, stronger than you would after training, stronger than you would after once pinning Steve on his back. Steve. Steve Rogers, your enemy according to Hydra. And ‘let’s not forget’ they said ‘what that Russian Widow did you to you’. They now began another experiment on you, testing a new serum.

Back at the compound and above the ground. It had been 10 months, 3 weeks, 2 days 6 hours that you had been missing for. To say they were all ashamed would be an understatement.

Steve wanted to get away from his shield, he couldn’t look at it let alone touch it. On his wardrobe floor where he had placed it 10 months ago, it had pieces of the glass from your arc reactor surrounding it. From the impact, some of the glass had melted to his shield. He didn’t want to be reminded of it, but his tears for you couldn’t help but.

Tony nearly drunk his whole cabinet if it wasn’t for Bruce dragging him back to the lab. And then went Tony was alone, the man would cry.

Bruce didn’t want to focus on the thought of you being tortured, which you were or experimented on, which you were. But he did focus on doing everything to find your arc on the map somewhere.

Thor went back to Asgard and he didn’t want back to Asgard and he spat in everyone’s face that he didn’t want to talk to them unless the found you. His mother back at home was increasing getting worried of your absence.

Clint was home aswell to his wife and kids. Laura distanced herself from him whilst he was back there as she thought of you as family. The kids just drew drawings and tried to make their Daddy and Mommy feel better.

Wanda and Vision tried to buck up the team, but they were falling apart themselves and if they didn’t have each other, they’d be lost.

Bucky spent time on his own, he would stay in your room and sit in your chair, hoping you’d walk in the door and do his hair. He felt his arm was tainted but there was nothing he could do about that, so he tried his best to find you with Steve.

Natasha. She wallowed. She was dying inside. She wondered if the heartbreak she was going through was what you felt all those months, creeping around hiding from the team. If it was what you felt when she watched the shield drive into your heart. She didn’t dare go in your room. She couldn’t. She couldn’t look at herself.

She worked night and day trying to track you down, on every mission, in every country, yet all were failures.

They barely spoke to each other now. You affected them massively and they wanted their Y/N back. Whether you hated them or tried to kill them, they’d be so joyful that you were back.

Right now you felt best coursing through your veins and the machine that was attached around your head was slowly vanishing away your memories. You could feel all your knowledge slipping away from you. Your weaknesses being taken over from the amount of power your body had. You yelled out in pain as they would boost it up, clear it was working. A huge flash of light took over the large base and you were listening for your first command. You saw your Commander walk up to your face and he saw the change in your eyes. He snapped his fingers towards the leather straps that had metal chains wrapped over them. And you broke free from them. You hadn’t gotten taller perhaps a few inches, but your muscles were evident as your suit was placed onto you.

You were supplied with 4 guns and 3 knives. Your arc reactor had layers of protective and bulletproof glass coated over it. Now you were unbreakable. You didn’t have a name. You didn’t remember. You don’t remember your friends or if you had any, or any family. All you were focused on was your mission, the Avengers. And your main targets were ‘Captain America’ and ‘Black Widow’.

When you had been brainwashed they had managed to rid of everything except the torture the Avengers put you through. The heartbreak and physical damage. You were given your own jet and a black helmet with a red H on the front and you went off to the compound in search of one of your targets. And it wouldn’t take you long to get there.

Night had fallen at the Avengers compound and they were all in the sitting room. Silently watching a movie that no one was paying attention to. Jarvis seemed upset as he wouldn’t talk to anyone anymore, unless that was because she hadn’t been looked after for months. Friday nearly disabled herself because she was so mad at her boss. If she were a human she’d be looking for you non stop as you often had conversations with the AI.

They had all dragged each other for ‘bonding time’. They were so down and ashamed that no one heard heavy footsteps. Until Bucky picked up on the reflection and he sat up a smile on his face as it could be you.

And around the corner you came, every Avenger jumping up from their seats. No one noticed the Hydra suit because they were so focused on your breathing body. Until Natashas gaze landed on your eyes. She saw it wasn’t you, well it was. But right now you were a Hydra agent trying to kill the Avengers.

“Y/N!” Tony shouted with a big grin on his face. You pulled dour your gun and shot above his head and you would’ve gotten him if it wasn’t for Bucky pulling him away as they all scattered off in all directions. Right now you were behind a man known as Hulk. You were shooting everywhere at everyone who crossed your path or came into view. You were putting multiple holes in walls at once and you put your gun back and instead ran towards the coward and grabbed him t shirt nearly picking him up off the ground. You got out a knife from your thigh pocket and nearly jabbed it into him if it wasn’t for that voice that came from behind you and him.

“Y/N.”

You recognised the voice as Black Widow and she was a main target so you flung the other man into a wall, crashing him into the next room. You ran after her and you were nearly faster than her if it wasn’t for her jumping up into a vent. So you took a gun and starting shooting holes in the vents, hearing scurries of fear through the vents. Your super soldier hearing picked up on a whisper that came from East.

It was Tony and Wanda. They thought they were hidden as Tony was crawling towards the table with his iron fist on.

With one quick shot you blew it up. Wanda tried getting into your head but she couldn’t even get past the thick line of Hydra.

“Come on Y/N I made that! It’s Tin-Man you know me!”

He kept calling out a name you didn’t know and as he hit the wall you took a look at his arc reactor and looked at yours. You saw his hand pout from his to yours.

“The same. You see. It’s Tony.”

You put your hand around his throat and lifted him up, his head hitting the ceiling, and you started punching at his bright light. Groans, pleads and yells at you to stop game from his mouth but you soon threw him to the side aswell, discarding of him while he collapsed onto the floor. Watching you walk away, walking on the glass that had fallen from his reactor.

You went in search for the girl who was trying to break into your head and instead you ran into the man with the metal arm known as the Winter Solider. He was trying to call out your name trying to talk to you but you shut him up by grabbing him arm and jamming a piece of glass into his weak spot where the arm connected to the body. Footsteps were approaching and it was the girl again. You took a knife and held it in the air to jam into ‘Buckys’ throat but your knife was thrown across the room with some sort of red magic around it. You threw the limp body of the other super soldier towards the girl and she was too slow to react as he came crashing down into her.

The compound was a mess, glass everywhere, holes everywhere, a little spark came from a wire where your bullet had hit it.

Vision had also been seen to. He just approached you and you didn’t even acknowledge him so you just drove the bottom of your gun into his temple sending him down, and kicking him out of your way.

You would finish the targets of after you’d found your other two. You went towards the hangar where their jets were stored to see no one around.

Meanwhile, Steve was on his way down to you. His shield in his hands, not strapped onto him arm.

You knew who was behind you and pointed your gun to the troubled and saddened man who stopped in his tracks.

“Y/N. I know your in there.”

You walked up to him and smashed the gun into his face, making him fall onto his side, shield still in his hands. He got up.

“You’re not a Hydra agent. Your Y/N. Our family.”

With a grunt you hit his stomach with your fist, sending him flying backwards. He got up.

“I’m sorry Y/N.”

And now you sent your boot into his chest and made him fall on his back. This time he struggled to get up.

You had punched and kicked him so far bad that you near the edge of the runway, splashed of the water hundreds of feet beneath you. He got up.

“I’m not gonna fight you.”

He tossed his shield away from him, trying to bring you back. His face was bleeding, his back was in agony and his suit was torn because of how far and harsh he skidded backwards.

“Your my friend.”

It was an odd feeling, one you hadn’t felt for months. Did you know him? Steve? No. He was your target right? And you went with your head. As soon as he saw movement from your feet dashing towards him, he didn’t move. If you were to kill him he wouldn’t envy you, he would’ve said he deserves it. His head didn’t hit the ground and he was now on the edge of the cliff with you above him, one fist balled into his suit and the other clenched.

“Your my mission.”

The first time he heard you speak in months and it was this.

After the first punch his eye had already began to close over. The second punch, his facial skin was torn. The third punch, both nostrils began to bleed. “Your.” The fourth punch his lip cut. “My.” The fifth punch, his lip bled out. “Mission!” The sixth punch sent his head lolling around.

You had to stop to consider if what you were doing was right. You knew this man. You knew them all.

“Then finish it.” His voice broke.

“Cause I’ll go with whatever your ordered.”

He even nodded confirming that it was okay for you to kill him.

He was talking about him being your target to kill. You were ready. You were so ready to throw him off the edge of it wasn’t for that voice.

Calling out a name. You turned your head and got up. The red head was standing. Arms crossed. She had fear and tears in her eyes. As soon as you stood quickly her arms unfolded like lightening.

She took a step back as you slowly approached her, getting a knife from your pocket.

“Y/N, this isn’t you. You need to listen to me. Y/N please.”

Your anger had slowly started to build again inside you.

“Stop saying that goddamn name it’s fucking pissing me off.”

Her mouth was bobbing open and closed. She wanted to sob at seeing how you were. She wanted to see those E/C eyes staring back at her instead of the blank ones that had one thing in mind.

“Do you not know me?” She was starting to walk back into the weapons room but she had no intention of doing any harm to you. And if you wanted to beat her and kill her then so be it. She’d let you. Your fist that was empty was slowly beginning to ball up but you couldn’t hit her and why? You didn’t know.

“моя любовь, пожалуйста, послушай меня.”

The Russian sentence of ‘my love please listen to me’.

It caused you to snap and you swung at her face, causing her to groan and stumble backwards.

“Do not tell me to listen to you. I’m not your fucking love.”

She wanted to cup her face as she felt the bruise appearing but that would be selfish after everything you’ve been through.

“Ты понимаешь русский мой дорогой”

‘Do you understand Russian my dear?’

You were never taught Russian at your Hydra base so why could you understand it. You took heavy breathes and you had a confused look on your face because your lip trembled and anger was painted onto your face again. You threw your fist at her again causing her head to snap backwards and blood tricked down her lip.

She was exhausted. The sleepless nights without you, the guilt drowning her. You ran towards her and she put her arms up to defend herself but you were quick to pull them down and you landed kicks to her side and plenty of hard punches to her ribs. By the time she had cornered herself she was sure a rib or two were broken. Her forehead was gashed and bleeding. Her sides hurt like hell and her neck was strained and had knots in the muscles because of how many times her head had flung back from the strength of your fists. You were still standing strong and unharmed and that was when you retrieved your knife again.

“Моя любовь, когда ты вернешься дома, только тогда я буду дышать, моя дорогая, когда ты узнаешь мое имя, только тогда я буду улыбаться. Когда ты вернешься ко мне, только тогда мое сердце поправится.” ‘My love, when you get home, only then will I breathe. My darling, when you know my name, only then will I smile. When you return to me, only then will my heart recover.’

You were lost in thought and you could hear voices just like hers whispering that into your ear late at night or when you had gotten back from a tough mission. You heard other voices. Buck? T? Banner? Wands? Vis? Stevie?

“Natasha?”

She had tears freely falling and she noticed your tight grip on your knife still. She nodded and she slowly approached you limping but smiling to herself as you didn’t tense or move backwards.

“But you hurt me.”

She nodded again as she was in front of you now, subtly slipping the knife from your hand. She took of your helmet and placed it on the floor alongside the knife. She could see it in your eyes. The good and bad memories coming back to you. But she could see hesitance.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I’m sorry. I’m sorry but please stop this. This isn’t you Y/N, it never has been and never will be.”

You took in her words and started to accept her, not yet forgiving her and the team for what they had done to you. She knew you were still going to be a super soldier and she knows her and the teams’ actions were always going to haunt you. She placed her hand on your arc reactor and it felt like home. All she could do was hope. Hope that you still had forgiveness in your heart. Time would need to be taken for you to heal. For the hydra walls to break down. But she would be there for you. She’d do whatever it would take for you to forgive her, for her to get you back.

They all would.

(My gif use as you want)

@natasha-danvers @imnotasuperhero @aaron-despair @confusinggemini612 @thewidowsghost @ecruzsalaz @fcbarcelona-and-marvel-4-life @gaytrashgoblin @capmarvelq @nat-romanoffdanvers @lesbian-x-blackwidow @emilyprentisswife @captain-josslett @fayhar @oblivious-horny-lesbian @trikruismybitch @summergeezburr @username23345 @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

[miraculous786]

Cracks Are All It Take To Shatter

All Miraculous Ladybug Works

First Ending

First Ending - Part Two

First Ending - Part Three

First Ending Art

Second Ending

Second Ending - Part Two

It all began months ago.

When Marinette Dupain-Cheng strolled through the halls of DuPont with her posture straight, her movements stiff, her eyes empty.

They were bluebell. A colour that, though is associated with clear skies, sunny weather and sweet-smelling flowers, was actually the opposite of all those implications when on the girl. Her features were always a blank slate - like a canvas waiting to be painted - contrasting her vibrant orbs and bubbly personality.

Her white cheeks, usually pale when not showing emotion, were constantly a rosy pink, with their freckles accentuated. They were sunken in and smooth, with no blemishes or bumps in sight.

The marble spanning her whole body was exactly the same.

Whenever Marinette walked, or performed something as simple as a gesture, her ligaments would let out an audible creek, reminiscent of the noise a porcelain doll would make when doing the same.

Because that was exactly what she was.

From the way her joints clicked into place with every action, or the way that her limbs could turn at any angle, she was a doll - whichever way you sliced it.

However, the one difference between herself and the toy was the gaping whole in the centre of her chest. In the place where her heart should have been.

There, at the core of her very soul, was what could best be described as an abyss. Black as night, darker than a shadow, stranger than a mystery.

The only thing 'heart-like' about it was the flapping of a butterfly's wings every second or so. It was meant to be the sound of what would usually be a beat, from whenever blood flowed through a person's veins.

With the that way Marinette had drastically changed, one would think that it was obvious. Obvious that a man who was known to manipulate emotions had too messed with hers.

But it wasn't.

No one noticed anything. No one suspected anything. No one did anything.

Since they didn't notice her new look, nor the fact that starting from her chest, cracks had started to appear, leaving behind the fractured skin of a broken doll.

She was exactly that.

Used by her classmates for tiring work, for an endless stream of commissions, for a laughing stock whenever the going got tough.

Then, thrown away by those very same people when the next big thing came, almost how toys were, as games entertained their users more than what they had abandoned.

For days, weeks, months, Marinette stalked about with her creaky joints and hollow eyes. Clacking shoes and ever-changing outfits.

Throughout the whole period, the cracks emanating from her chest expanded. They increased in number - in size. They began to stretch out until they reached to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

Every cruel comment.

Every snark.

Every trip.

Push.

Shove.

Shout.

The severity of every fracture upon her skin sped up from each and every one of the actions.

That was when fragments of her fragile skin started to fall.

The snow white chips dropped to the ground in tiny pieces, yet no one blinked. They piled up on her pillow at home, where she often had memories of the past. Flashbacks, if you will.

Though most of the time, they were nightmares.

Nightmares of ostracism, abandonment, broken hearts, and much more.

However numb Marinette became to it all, it didn't stop the splitting of the porcelain covering her whole. Nor the fact that the nightmares in her head were not, in truth, part of her imagination.

No one batted an eye when the girl halted in her claims of innocence. Tries of forgiveness. Words of encouragement. Rather, they were all the more happy with the result.

The outcome, for them, overshadowed the consequences.

Her emotionless features were ignored. Her fissured skin went forgotten. Her once bright eyes that dulled in colour with each passing day?

Swept under the rug.

The shards of skin from the broken doll were left to rot. The chippings that fell in a trail whilst she walked were blown away by the wind.

The flutter of her once lively heartbeat was left unheard.

Until, of course, the day when the cracks became too much. The day when the porcelain couldn't hold itself together.

And, just like how a certain girl's heart originally had, the illusion shattered.

~*~*~

This whole idea was by the AMAZING @hauntedwintersweets​​, who came up with the concept, story and endings! Thank you so much for giving me the honour of writing it!

Be sure to check out her Akumanette art for this story, along with the many more fantastic drawings she has on her account!

There will be two endings to this story - this post is the basis of it of it all, which includes all you need to know for the backstory along with a good ol’ cliffhanger. :)

Hope you enjoyed this! :D

This was saved as a draft, I wrote this before my little break.

@soupfilledboots​ 

[reydjarinkenobi]

Ohhhhh, I would love to see more of that Finn/Poe time-travel fanfiction! (Especially if it has Clones & Finn interactions)

Hii, so I’m actually writing again after a bit of an unscheduled break. My state went back into lockdown in Australia, so I’ve been kind of bummed about that, and just stressed in general. I’ve also just gone back to school since year 12′s are like the only thing still running. Writing might be slow going but I will try and get through a few of the built up pompts. I’m sorry to whoever sent through asks. I always forget to check them and my writing has been pretty non-existent.

----

Cody sat next to Ponds in the medbay.

 The four time travellers were occupying three of the beds. Chewbacca was reclined in one near the corner, grumbling quietly to himself whilst Commander Finn and Commander Dameron were sitting next to each other on one two lots over, their legs dangling over the edge as Kix and Helix took blood and performed various other tests on them.

 Cross-legged on the bed in the middle was Commander Rey talking amicably with Commanders Tano and Offee, who had dragged their chairs closer to her bed once her own tests had been finished. She'd elected to have the blood taken from her wrist rather than have to take off her arm bindings - even though Cody knew from experience that it was more painful - and was now idly fiddling with the end of the fabric near her wrist as she conversed with the other two girls.

 The earlier melancholy that had overtaken her at the end of their conversation was gone now and she smiled widely, providing an effective (and Cody suspected, unwitting) distraction for the two padawans, who had been annoyed at being left out of the discussion that the generals were currently engaged in. General Kenobi (or Obi-Wan, as he insisted Cody address him as when they were not on duty) had informed Cody that Rey was perhaps a year older than Padawan Offee, and no more than three years older than Commander Tano. It was good for them to interact with others around their age, especially since Rey could relate so well to their situation.

 Commanders Dameron and Finn would occasionally contribute to their conversation, though the two were mostly distracted by answering the medics' questions.

 They would all need to be vaccinated as well as go on a round of antibiotics, anti-viral and anti-contagion medication because of the disparity between bacteria and diseases between their time periods. Luckily, none of them had been carrying anything immediately deadly or damaging. 

 Ponds and Cody had silently agreed to watch over their new commanders, both to ensure their protection and to further judge their character.

 To be honest, Cody hadn't even started to process what he'd heard in the ship. He couldn't afford to think about it. He knew that he would break down as soon as he did.

 He had wanted to deny the truth that had been revealed to him; there was no way that the Vode would betray their Jedi. He couldn't be able to do that to Obi-Wan. It was impossible. But then him and Ponds had gotten their heads scanned and now he was nursing a fading headache, the point on his head where they had removed the chip not even leaving a scar behind. The only sign was the strips of hair shaved out of their heads.

 They had only done the two clone commanders so far, wanting to study the chips further and get onto a Jedi ship, where they were surrounded by only allies, before they did further operations. They didn't want to draw attention from the wrong senators.

 Cody was glad that Kix and Helix had let them sit in the chairs near the door instead of forcing them onto beds as they recovered. From here, he could pretend that there was nothing wrong, that the only reason he was sitting there beside his vod was to protect his new commanders. Well, their new commanders.

 The 212th and the 187th would be working closely together from now on which meant that, though technically each new commander only belonged to one of the battalions, they would be watched over both. There was an unspoken but clandestine agreement of that fact.

 Besides, the commanders needed to be protected, deserved to be protected, just as much as their often misunderstood generals.

 Commander Rey's story reminded Cody hauntingly of what he knew of General Skywalker's past. Though, he hadn't seen any of the bitter anger that seemed to surround General Skywalker in her. Yet. He had only known the girl for a few hours.

 And Commander Finn? Well, he was a brother. Cody and Ponds had agreed on that almost instantly. Whilst the others had potential to be accepted into the fold just as deeply as the 501st held Commander Tano, their vod'ika, Commander Finn was already one of them. He could understand them. He was one of them.

 And didn't that just make Cody feel worse? He knew that what had been done to them was awful. He hadn't always really understood. He knew that what he'd seen the long necks do to his brothers made him angry, he knew it left him with this deep seated fear that he was only just beginning to erode at, but only after finding Obi-Wan staring out one of the viewports, tears pouring down his cheeks and listened to his speech, did Cody really understand the injustice of their treatment. And to find out that it was used as inspiration to harm children made him feel infinitely worse.

 It was true that, outside of the Jedi, Cody had little love to spare for natborns, but he wouldn't wish his own child upon any innocent.

 Ponds bumped Cody's shoulder lightly and broke him out of his thoughts. Cody glanced to the side, inclining his head forward slightly in thanks, and refocused on his new charges.

 Neither Ponds or Cody had ever had a Jedi commander, and he hadn't really understood other vode when they talked about their own. But, only a few hours after getting his own, he thought he was beginning to get the feeling all the others spoke of, even if these ones were much older than the usual.

 He'd always thought that it would be just like having another general. He certainly felt protective of Obi-Wan. He wouldn't let anyone harm his general.

 However, for Commander Finn and Commander Rey it was different. It was almost… paternal?

 It was different than what he felt for Commander Tano. She was Rex's. So, he watched over like he watched over his closest vod outside his battalion, but she wasn't his commander. He didn't panic at the thought of leaving her with other people.

 Cody fought to keep his frown off his face.

 He needed to get control of himself.

 Commander Finn and Commander Rey were adults. They weren't like the usual padawans. Never mind that they were almost more vulnerable than most Jedi commanders, since they both had so little training and such traumatic childhoods. His fist tightened involuntarily.

 Ponds glanced down at the movement and then met Cody's eye.

 "I know, vod," he murmured. "They feel so… bright."

 Cody almost sighed. At least it wasn't only him.

 "We won't let them out of our sight," he whispered and Ponds nodded.

 "Deal."

 Commander Tano jumping to her feet drew Cody's attention.

 "Are they all cleared, Kix?" she asked, pushing herself up onto her toes.

 Helix glanced down at his pad whilst Regret - the 187th's head medic - bustled over.

 "I would like to get you, Commander Rey, on a vitamin plan, as you're severely deficient in many," Regret informed her. "You'll need to go on a strict meal plan as well."

 "You're not as bad, Commander Finn," Helix informed the man. "But I'll still give you some tablets with your dinner. Otherwise, you're all cleared to go. We'll have follow up shots in about a week to make sure you get full immunity and we're still waiting on a few test results, but you don't need to be while we analyse them."

 The commanders, who had both wrinkled their noses slightly (whether it was at the formalities or the medication, Cody didn't know, but he still made note to make sure they followed medic regs. Force knows he had enough practice with his own self-sacrificing battalion and general) grinned and jumped up.

 "Great!" Commander Tano exclaimed. "Then we can see you guys spar. I want to see how you're fighting is."

 Commander Finn glanced down whilst Commander Dameron grinned broadly and bumped his shoulder whilst a small blush crept onto Commander Rey's features.

 "I'm sure you'll be underwhelmed. We have virtually no training."

 "That's okay," Commander Tano assured her brightly. "It'll be good to see your instincts anyway. Skyguy is often put on missions with Master Obi-Wan since they make such a good team, and since you guys have to stick together, I'm sure I'll be training with you pretty often."

 "I'm also curious to see your fighting styles," Commander Offee stated. "And we can demonstrate our lightsaber forms for you after."

 Commander Rey grinned. "I'd love to see that."

 She glanced up at the two men that had also just stood up, who gave enthusiastic nods, before looking back at the Wookie, who was still lying down.

 "Are you coming, Chewie?"

 Chewbacca let out a roar that sounded distinctly annoyed, but he stood up.

 "What about you, commanders?" Commander Finn asked, looking at Ponds and Cody. "Are you cleared to leave."

 Both of them nodded, ignoring the indignant glares of their medics as they got out of their chairs.

 "It would be beneficial to see your base skill levels," Ponds said.

 "Great!" Commander Tano decided. "Then we'll all go."

 They mad an unusual sight, all of them strolling through the corridors, with a spherical astromech and a small one-wheeled droid doing excited circles around their group, weaving between the time travellers' legs as they chattered away in a mix of basic and binary.

 When they got there, Commander Tano gestured over to a circle that had been drawn on the ground in the centre of the large room. It had fancier obstacles and training simulations than the Jedi cruisers had, even though the only combatants it normally held were guards, and perhaps an unusually trained dignitary, but Cody supposed that in ships like this, things were there for money rather than use.

 Although, he couldn't complain about the extensive kitchen and food storage areas. He hadn't eaten this well for so many consecutive days well… ever. 

 Commander Rey and Commander Finn took up their places about ten metres away from each other after depositing their other weapons with their companions.

 "Just give me a moment," Commander Rey requested as she removed her weapon from her belt.

 When it was activated, Cody noted with some surprise that it was a double-bladed lightsaber, one with two different colours, a deep gold and a brilliant azure blue.

 "This is going to be interesting," Commander Dameron informed them quietly, as Commander Rey took a few warm up swings with her saber, slowly twirling it around her body whilst Commander Finn rolled his shoulders, his deactivated saber in his right palm.

 "Why?" Cody couldn't stop himself from asking.

 "They've never both had sabers before. They usually sparred with sticks or metal pipes. There was that one time they borrowed a few actual metal swords but they didn't like those, said the balance was different."

 "Are you saying that she's never used a double-bladed saber before?" Commander Offee asked, awe tinting her voice.

 Commander Dameron shrugged. "No, but she does prefer her spear. She said the saber never felt right."

 Before the conversation could continue, Commander Rey stopped her experimentation, holding the saber out in front of her, parallel to the ground.

 "Alright," she announced, "I'm ready."

 Commander Finn grinned and nodded, activating his own saber and holding it in a double-handed grip in front of him.

 "Okay," Commander Dameron called. "Begin."

 They both ran in to meet each other with Commander Rey immediately bracing to block Commander Finn's overhead attack, she swung the other end of her staff around in a deadly ark that Commander Finn only barely deflected, and was forced to dodge as the other end came up, dancing backwards.

 His eyes were slightly wide, and it was obvious that he'd never had to face something like this before.

 They exchanged a few more blows after that, but six months was a big difference in experience when you were talking about eight months and two months of training. And, though Commander Rey faltered somewhat with her new saber, she clearly had a solid background in similar weapons born of years of fighting whilst Commander Finn wasn't nearly as familiar with his own.

 The fight ended when they Commander Finn was knocked slightly off balance as he blocked one of Commander Rey's blows, leaving him not enough time to react as her golden blade swung around to his exposed ribs, stopping mere inches away from hitting it.

 The both tensed, breathing heavily for a few seconds before they stepped away from each other, grinning.

 "Good job," the said simultaneously and Commander Tano bounced up to them, Commander Dameron not far behind as he threw an arm over Commander Finn's shoulders.

 "You'll get her next time," the pilot assured him but Commander Finn just laughed.

 "Maybe not if she actually starts training with the staff."

 "You were very good for someone with so little experience with a lightsaber," Commander Offee commented, smiling slightly.

 Commander Finn looked down at the comment. "I have been trained extensively in other melee weapons… just not swords before."

 "Finn can absolutely obliterate me in blaster practice," Commander Rey proclaimed proudly. "In fact, he taught me pretty much everything I know about shooting one of them."

 There was a story there, but Commander Tano didn't have time to aske before the doors to the training room were opened.

 The four general walked into the room, with Gree and Rex flanking them.

 As usually, the only one clearly dispalying their emotions was General Skywalker, who was scowling thunderously.

 Cody and Ponds saluted whilst Commanders Offee and Tano bowed, with Commanders Finn and Rey following a beat after, leaving Chewbacca and Commander Dameron to nod respectfully.

 "Masters," Commander Offee greeted and the three older generals nodded in acknowledgment.

 "What's wrong?" Commander Tano asked.

 The generals exchanged glances.

 "A few of the tests returned… unexpected results," Obi-Wan admitted.

 Commander Dameron frowned. "What does that mean."

 General Windu stepped forward, looking his new padawan in the eye.

 "Rey, what do you know about your parents?"

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy Writing Challenge Day Twenty-Three: Mellow

Day Twenty-Two -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-four

“Can either of you at least tell me where we’re going?” Alphinaud asked. He didn’t complain. If his tone sounded close to it at all, it was because he was currently being led to some unknown location whilst blindfolded. Something the Warriors of Light had insisted on getting him to wear just before they’d teleported with him via aetheryte to...wherever this was. Someplace warmer than Mor Dhona, clearly.

“You’ll see when we get there!” Came Lara’s voice from somewhere to his right. 

“Just keep walking straight ahead.” Roger called out from his left.

He didn’t know why he agreed with the Warriors of Light when they’d asked him if he wanted to join them. Neither of them had given any details and he was incredibly busy. Minfilia had recently returned to take her rightful place as Antecedent of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, but there was still so much that needed doing. Forms to file, people negotiate with, supplies to wrangle, on top of the complicated matter of moving the headquarters of the Scions to Revenant’s Toll. That was all while also working on his secret project. 

And yet...from the darkness of the blindfold came the memory of Lara and Roger’s concerned faces as he insisted that he didn’t need to rest. They were nearly identical to the various worried faces that Krile would make when, back when he’d attended the Studium, Alphinaud had insisted he could work the many hours needed to complete his projects. He’d been much younger then, of course, so she had more reason to worry. But Roger and Lara were about a year older than him. Practically his age. It was stranger to see on their faces than on someone his elder.

Perhaps that had been the reason. Their worry, followed by their not-subtle-at-all invitation to go someplace else to get him to rest, had given him that momentary lapse in judgement that led him to consent to this mad outing. This was what he insisted to himself was the case when the blindfold was finally lifted from his eyes.

Roger and Lara had led him to a stretch of yellow sandy beach. A quick glance at the green cliffs around them confirmed that the three were now somewhere in La Noscea. It would take a more thorough investigation to determine exactly which part he’d been taken to, but Alphinaud had a sneaking suspicion that neither Warrior of Light were willing to let him do that. 

The sarcasm rolled out of him as easily as the waves were hitting the sand. “If only I’d known, I’d have brought a bathing suit.” Not that he would have even if he had known. There were some things he refused to let the Warriors of Light find out about. His lack of swimming skills was among them.

Rolling her eyes, Lara pointed towards him. “You’ve been working too hard lately.” 

“And the work won’t get any easier by being away from it for a short period of time.” He pointed out.

“Yeah but you’ll just push yourself too hard and then nothing will get done.” Roger folded his arms. “I’ve seen it happen.”

Alphinaud stared at the other boy. “...At the chocobo stables…?”

“Wha--okay maybe not at the stables specifically...” It looked as if Roger’s mind was about to take the tangent and run with it before he shook his head. “But that’s not the point. My good friend Walker is always running himself ragged trying to keep up with Botanist work. And after a while he gets really sick and lose a lot of time recovering and then he goes back and worries about the work again and--” His ramble was interrupted by a sharp elbow from Lara.

“We’re not saying you need to walk away from the important stuff forever.” She continued. “But it really does help if you take a break every so often. It’s not like Roger and I are always adventuring.”

The two of them shuddered almost simultaneously. 

“Man I’d hate adventuring if that’s what we had to do all the time…” Roger muttered.

“We take breaks and we visit friends and most of all…” Lara indicated the beach with both hands. “We find places to have fun at.”

Alphinaud folded his arms as he took another look around. Of note, this area was almost completely hidden away by the cliff faces around them. Behind him was an entrance that led directly between two of them, but was difficult to spot from anything other than a head on view. He couldn’t hear the typical sounds of habitation, though it could just be that the rock around the three echoed the sounds of the ocean far better than they could a city. 

There was something significantly telling about how the Warriors of Light considered such an isolated area a “place to have fun at.” He settled that observation into the back of his mind to ruminate on it later. “So for your own amusement, you two travel to a beach such as this one and…do what exactly?” Alphinaud gestured at them, trying to encompass his meaning while doing so. “Fight crabs? Consider walking into the ocean to find an underwater kingdom? Throw sand around?”

The fact that the two looked at each other with equally bewildered expressions told him he’d guessed at least one of those right. 

“W-well…” Roger scratched at the side of his face while avoiding eye contact. “Sometimes, yeah...mostly we just take off our boots, roll up our pants and go wading. Or build sand castles. Or nap.” Alphinaud must have made a face because the other boy was quickly panicking. “Not! That you need to! Uh, do any of that.”

Lara pursed her lips for a moment before she added, “Yeah, you could sit on the beach and not do anything if that’s what’s going to make you happy.” She shrugged. “We just wanted to get you out of the Rising Stones for a little bit, that’s all. Let the sun hit you and the fresh air surround you, you know?”

He didn’t, really, but he nodded anyway. “The effort is appreciated, but I’ll be taking my leave.” Alphinaud sniffed. “If you’ll allow me.”

The Warriors of Light gave each other a look before turning back to him. “Fine.” They said at the same time.

Well that was unexpected. “You’re not going to stop me?”

Roger shrugged. “If you don’t want to relax here, then it’d be rude to force you to try.” He squatted into a sitting position and started taking off his boots. 

Lara gave him a smile, but it wasn’t nearly as bright as hers usually were. “We thought that it might help you unwind to give you a surprise trip to a beach. You know, give you something different then just...work, work, work.” She shook her head. “If we can’t convince you, we can’t convince you. What can I say? Other than sorry for wasting your time.” Saying this, she also set to removing her shoes. “I’m going to go splash around, though, since we’re here.”

Alphinaud stood there, watching the Warriors of Light discard their footwear and pad towards the water. Neither of them turned to watch him leave. Instead, they chatted among themselves as if they didn’t do so on a regular basis.

Something cold came from his heart and ran through his blood, turning the warm day several degrees cooler. 

As he continued to stare he was again reminded of being at the Studium when he was younger. He normally eschewed the company of other students, but every so often he’d spy a group of them and just...observe. Alphinaud would make note of their warm smiles, their animated gestures, the open way they treated each other without being related. And, very briefly, he’d feel a pull towards that heat. As soon as any of the students saw him, however, they’d become closed off and politely greet him before walking away.

He felt that same pull now.

Just before either of them reached the water, Roger turned to him. Giving a warm smile, he gestured at Alphinaud to join them. The cold feeling was quickly chased away by a pleasant fluttery sensation. The Warriors of Light still wanted him around. That was...nice. He still felt no desire to be in the water, but he did kneel near the discarded shoes to draw pictures in the sand with a finger. It seemed to satisfy Lara and Roger's desire to see him relax, even if it wasn't directly with them.

The work would still be just as daunting as it was when he’d left. A little time to decompress wouldn’t hurt, though...

[lilsciencequeen]

Relationship: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons

Characters: Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons

Summary:  “Jemma,” he whispered when she had shown up at his apartment that night. “What happened?” “They kicked me out,” she told him, stepping over the threshold and collapsing into his embrace as her knees buckled. “They kicked me out.” Sinking to the ground with her, he let her curl against him on the floor, his back against the wall as she sobbed. He knew that she had never gotten on with her family, that despite the environment she was raised in, she never agreed with the beliefs that they had about blood purity and who should be allowed to learn the art of magic.

Additional Tags: Parents, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Angst, Minor Injuries, Blood, Hopeful Ending, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Minor Character Death. Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death

Read on AO3 or read below

Her father had never slapped her before.

He had been emotionally abusive.

He had spent years tormenting her, telling her that she would never be good enough, that she would never be like her sisters, both older and younger.

But he had never hit her.

Not once.

Not until tonight.

She hadn’t meant for Bella to find the letters. She had always made sure she hid them, locked them away so that no one would ever find them. But tonight - it had been a simple mistake, one slip up that was going to cost her everything.

She had been reading the most recent one when Bella had come barging into the room, flashing a brand new engagement ring that probably cost more than she had in her bank account at that moment in time, elated that she was now to be wed to probably one of the most powerful and influence wizard families that there was. But to Jemma, this had been a shock. Bella wasn’t supposed to be home, not this early anyway. And her door shouldn’t have been unlocked. She always kept it locked.

Always. It had been a foolish mistake, thinking that it would be safe to keep it unlocked. As when her older sister had caught sight of the letters, she went to grab them and Jemma wasn’t quick enough to get there before her. And upon seeing them, all joy from getting engaged had vanished as there was something much more interesting happening to her now.

“It’s him, isn’t it? The Mudblood ?” She was rifling through the letters, scanning them as quickly as she could and trying to take in as many words as she could. Trying to work out why her younger sister had been oh so secretive all summer. And then she saw it.

Saw his words of love.

All of his secrets.

She saw his promises that he would get her away from here, away from her family.

Somewhere where she could be happy and away from the icy grip of her father.

And now Bella had seen all of that. “You love him. That one from your year. Fitz." From the tone of her voice, she sounded shocked and disgusted, even struggling to speak Fitz’s name. "The one that you spent all that time with... So that's what you were doing with him... You had fallen in love.”  And it was in that moment that Jemma knew that she would be in so much trouble. That things in her life could go from bad to worse. Especially if...

“Father is going to be so disappointed.”

“Please,” Jemma begged, grabbing the sheets because she shouldn’t be fighting for the letters like she was a child. She was eighteen. She was an adult who had graduated a handful of months before and now she was like a scared child, worried about what her older sister would tell her father. “Don’t tell him.”

But it was no use for her sister had already taken the letters and left her room, the creaking of the stairs betraying where her sister was going.

And it was only moments later that her father was bellowing her name, demanding that she come downstairs, and slowly she dragged herself from where she had been curled up on the bed and made her way downstairs.

She had wiped the tears from her face as she had walked, as slowly as she could get away with so that when she finally arrived in the drawing-room, head bowed, she looked at least presentable. Her father was rifling through the letters, a disgusted look. “What is the meaning of this? Is this the boy? Fitz? The one who was the head boy?”

She nodded but the gesture was so subtle it would have been easy to miss. She remembered how proud her father had been when she had gotten head girl, something that was short-lived when it was discovered that Fitz was head boy.

And it was during those days that she had gotten closer to Fitz, these days that they had hidden away and wasted time with each other whenever there was time to waste. Kisses had been stolen, and late-night dates shared. He respected her need to keep their relationship private and now because of one simple mistake things were all going to fall apart.

“You love him?” he had asked her, his voice level but full of malice. “You love this boy?”

At first, she hadn’t answered, knowing that anything that she said would be the wrong thing but it seemed as though even remaining silent was the wrong thing to do. “Do you love him? Answer me!” Her father had snapped then, the last threads of his restraint breaking. And at first, she didn’t even realise he had slapped her, it was only in the moments after when she had stumbled into the china cabinet with her face on fire that she knew what had happened.

That her father had hit her.

It shocked her.

Horrified her.

That her father would ever do something like this to her.

But then as her mind cleared, as the stars floating in front of her vanished, the reality of what was happening started to dawn on her. She wasn’t part of this family, not really. Their beliefs were ones that she refused to share but with this… it would be a step too far. At least in his eyes.

He would rather her dead than marry a Muggleborn.

“Do you love him?”

And she nodded, knowing that whatever she said would be wrong, that her father would take his anger out on her once again. His eyes were cold, he was no longer her father, a man she wished she could describe as loving, but knowing if she did she would be lying to herself. No, now he was just one of the members of an ancient house, who was more worried about the purity of blood than most other things.

“You love him?”

She nodded again, and things went from bad to worse. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her in close. “You’re no daughter of mine,” he hissed the words as he pushed her back, and she stumbled once more into the china cabinet, this time hitting it in such a way that she fell to the floor. Several plates fell, shattering as they hit both the ground and Jemma. One managed to catch her hairline, the sharp shard tearing at her skin. It didn’t take long before she felt it, sticky and warm against her skin - blood was snaking down her forehead before dropping onto her mother’s vintage rug. She tried not to cry, tried not to give her father what he wanted, but the shaky sob that escaped her was the one that betrayed her.

“I want you out of here. Now.” The words from her father were a demand, and she knew that there was no use arguing.

She would never win against her father.

“If you want to be with someone like him, then you can be with someone like him.” He threw the letters into the fire, the flames eating away at the parchment. “Pack what you want, and then I never want to see you again.” Turning on his heel, he left the room without another word, and not even mourning the loss of one of his daughters. Because she was no longer his daughter, not anymore.

In desperation, she looked at her mother, and at her sister both of whom had looks, she did not want to see. Her mother looked ashamed and wouldn’t even meet her eye whilst her sister looked proud and smug as if getting her disinherited had been something that she wanted.

***

“Jemma,” he whispered when she had shown up at his apartment that night. “What happened?”

“They kicked me out,” she told him, stepping over the threshold and collapsing into his embrace as her knees buckled. “They kicked me out.”

Sinking to the ground with her, he let her curl against him on the floor, his back against the wall as she sobbed. He knew that she had never gotten on with her family, that despite the environment she was raised in, she never agreed with the beliefs that they had about blood purity and who should be allowed to learn the art of magic. He knew her father was abusive, favouring her sisters over her.

He had had a feeling that one day, potentially, a situation like this would occur. That their relationship would be known to her family. But he hadn’t expected her to show up like this, bruised and bloodied, sobbing on his floor. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her in closer, pressing gentle kisses on the top of her head, wishing that he could take the pain away. Wishing that the hurt that she was experiencing was something that could be magicked away.

But it wasn't. And all that he could do for the time being was hold her, and for how long he didn't know. He just held her as she sobbed, allowing her to get all of her emotions out. “You can stay here. You’re always welcome here.”

“But what if I… I shouldn’t Fitz. What if I put you in danger? You don’t know what they’re like. What his followers are like.” A shudder ran through her at this thought. She had had the first-hand experience. She knew just how dangerous the world was. Just how much danger they were in.

Her sister had sworn loyalty to Hive, had worked her way up through the ranks and was now one of the highest-ranking followers there was.

Her younger sister though she wasn’t one herself, had fallen for someone who was. It made her just as bad. Just as guilty.

And her parents, well they had made their views clear.

“You won’t.” He stood up, offering her a hand and after thinking for a moment, cautious about taking such a friendly gesture but she did. “Now c’mon. Let’s have something to eat and then go to bed.”

***

“I have to leave,” she told him, packing her bags. It had been a handful of months now since she had fled to Fitz’s in the dead of the night. But after what had happened earlier that day,  “I can’t stay here Fitz. I’m so so sorry.”

“But… what she did, what happened to my mother isn’t your fault.”

“My sister murdered her.” Jemma’s voice was frantic and full of sheer panic. “She killed her because she can’t get to me! The longer that I stay with you, the more danger I put you in.”

“You can’t just leave.” He reached out and took hold of her wrist as she tried to leave the bedroom. “Jemma.” He turned so they were face to face. “You are not your sister. You aren’t like your family. This isn’t your fault.”

“But if you’d never met me, you wouldn't have fallen for me and your mother would still be alive and I can’t… I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with myself, knowing that her blood is on my hands." Jemma was all but begging at this point.

But Fitz thought otherwise and wasn't going to hear a word of it. “I know what your sister is like. Just how dangerous she is and not once do I blame you. I know how she tortured you, tormented you through school and not once did you stoop to her level. Not once did you behave as she did. And your family… fuck them.”  Jemma was breathing heavy, staring up at him. “You’re not them. You will never be like them. You’re… you’re one of the best people that I know. And I can't imagine my life without you, Jemma. I don't want to imagine my life without you. Because every day that I wake up beside you, every moment that I spend with you, they're the best moments that I have. The moments that I value the most Jemma. I love you."

The three words hung between them, and though this was not the first time they had ever been said, they seemed to mean more than before.

The seconds slowly ticked by before Jemma closed the distance between them, reaching up and placing one hand on his cheek.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, he returned the kiss. One that started off tender and gentle, but soon turned rough. Passionate.

Her hand moved from his cheek, running her hands through his curls. His own were on her waist, pulling her in closer, wanting to enjoy every moment of this. Wanting it to never end. The heat between them was hotter than it had ever been, and slowly her hands worked their way down to his shirt, undoing each of the buttons.

"The bedroom," she whispered when they pulled apart for the briefest of moments to catch their breath. "Please."

"Yeah, yeah," he responded, his words hanging in the air between them, a promise of what was to come.

And thought the night was wonderful, full of fiery passion when she awoke the next morning wrapped in his embrace, the tears from the night before were still clinging to her eyelashes.

***

“So what do we do now?” she asked him, nursing their daughter in her arms. The world was still at war. And with each day that passed, there were more disappearances, more murders. It was dangerous out there, and with the crime she had committed by marrying Fitz, by starting a family with him, she knew there was a bounty on their heads.

That they were in constant danger.

She knew that things wouldn’t be easy, not until Hive was defeated and there were still days that she was adamant she had made the wrong decision by staying. There were days that she thought that she should have snuck out in the middle of the night and ran.

Ran until she couldn't go any further.

But now with the birth of their daughter, that was something that could never be done. She had responsibilities. She couldn’t run away from her problems, not anymore. She was an adult. She had to face these problems head-on, whenever they might show themselves.

Fitz remained silent for a moment, unsure of how to answer because they were in danger, each and every day. After his mother’s murder, after she had been buried, Fitz had taken the two of them back to Hogwarts and demanded some form of protection for the two of them. Saying that with everything that had happened, they were at risk each and every day. Thankfully, it didn't take much to persuade Coulson.

And now they were hiding in a cottage in the Perthshire countryside, waiting for the war to be over. Coulson had told them that it was something he was working on, that by the end of the year, it would all be over. But he refused to say more than that, refused to tell him what the plan was and how it would be done.

So they tried to live the best they could, as ghosts to the world.

“I don’t know,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he tried to close the non-existent distance between them. “But whatever comes, next we’ll face it like we’ve faced everything before.”

“Together.”

[minaslittleone]

Fission & Fusion (Part 4)

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Summary: How did the refined and proper Wilhemina Venable end up working for two coked-up tech bros out of the back of a van?

An origin story of sorts, dedicated to the amazing @lucyintheskywithxanax  who has developed such a beautiful and nuanced depiction of Mina. This was inspired by her incredible story “And I failed to climb the mountain”.

Word count: ~3300

Wilhemina woke lazily the following morning to the warmth of sunlight on her face as it peaked through delicate lace curtains. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and to identify the source of the insistent scratching which had roused her. As she rolled onto her right side towards the bedroom door she caught sight of Miko's white dipped paw batting beneath it, scrabbling and scratching at the obstacle that dared to impede his free reign. An affectionate smile pulled at her lips as she watched his antics as she sleepily scrubbed at her eyes. His scratching stilled as she let out surprised gasp as her knuckles made contact with her bruised cheekbone, which was now undoubtedly swollen and probably a fetching mottle of red and purple. Now aware that she was awake, Miko's insistent scratching was replaced by a disgruntled meow. Wilhemina tried to ignore him, not really sure if he was allowed in the bedroom to begin with, but she was powerless to resist him once his meows were replaced by what could only be described as plaintiff cries. Who could resist that?

As she eased herself to her feet the full effects of the previous two days began to make themselves known. Her back was undoubtedly stiffer than usual but whether that was the result of two nights in unfamiliar beds or from crashing face first into concrete she couldn't be sure. Likely a combination of the two. The throbbing ache in her right wrist and hand as she supported herself on her cane was definitely a result of the concrete she rued, as she transferred the loathesome object to her uninjured left hand, her back complaining instantly. Today was looking like such a promising day.

Miko continued to make his displeasure known as she slowly made her way towards the door, his cries becoming increasingly insistent now that he could hear her moving. The moment she cracked the door the slightest distance ajar a flash of grey fur shot past her, heading directly for the patch of sunlit warmth at the centre of her recently vacated bed.

She tried valiantly to keep her features schooled as she scolded the cheeky feline who was currently in the process of kneading the covers into an acceptable state of comfort.

"Are you really meant to be up there, Miko?" The grey tabby cat shot her a questioning look as if to say "really human? You're the guest in my house and you're going to question if I'm allowed on the bed" before promptly turning his back on her and curling into a ball on his appropriately fluffed portion of the quilt.

She shook her head fondly, slowly making her way back towards the now occupied bed. Miko raised his head to study her as she gingerly lowered herself back onto the mattress, easing herself forwards to retrieve her book bag from beneath the bedside table. With practiced ease she flipped the lid on the amber pill bottle, dispensed two pills and threw them back dry. Normally she would muscle through the discomfort while the pills took effect but today, she reasoned, she had nothing to do and nowhere to be so for once she could actually listen to the pleading ache in her bones. It also helped that there was no one to witness her indulgence, other than Miko who had made his way across the bed to her and was currently standing about a foot away from her with his head cocked to the side, still not entirely sure what to make of her.

As she returned the pill bottle to her book bag she noticed the glass of water, which had evidently been left for her earlier that morning, and the handwritten note peaking from beneath the coaster on which it sat. She relished the way the cold glass dulled the ache in her hand as she raised it to her lips, pointedly ignoring the way her stomach churned at the tenderness behind it. Miko seemingly sensed her unease, trotting over to her and curling into a cosy ball against the side of her thigh. Her left hand rested against his tiny head, thumb stroking absentmindedly against the side of his chin, while her right hand returned the glass to the bedside table and retrieved the hand written note. She still could not place the feeling of unease it produced in her but she was emboldened to push past it by the comforting warmth of Miko pressed against her thigh, his rhythmic purring easing her nerves.

Good morning dear, I wanted to let you know I was leaving but I didn't have the heart to wake you, you looked so peaceful. I hope you slept well, I'm sure you needed it. I should be back around 6 baring any disasters but help yourself to anything in the meantime. And don't worry about Miko, he has been fed though I'm sure he will try to convince you otherwise. My office number is by the phone if you need anything. Try to take things easy today and be kind to yourself my dear. - Elizabeth

Wilhemina silently tested the shape of her adviser's given name, lips tentatively forming around the sounds. Of course she had seen the name Professor Elizabeth Thompson written for years but the explicit use of her christian name felt scandalously personal. A voice in the back of her head chided that thought - you spent last night in her guest bedroom and you're worried about using her given name? Ridiculous. Evidently in her preoccupation her left hand had stilled for Miko let out a sleepy chirup of annoyance, drawing her attention away from the complexity of her current relationship with her Professor. Elizabeth she reminded herself.

Having already disturbed Miko she took the opportunity to reposition herself to lay back down. The grey tabby was initially unimpressed to have his pillow so rudely removed but forgave her in short order, gently clambering up onto her chest as soon as she was laid flat. Miko stretched himself languidly, face contorting in a gigantic yawn that Wilhemina couldn't help but chuckle at. His little face came to rest upon her sternum, head cocked to the side, eyes watching her intently. Gently he lifted one paw, tiny pink toes pads coming to rest against Wilhemina's unmarred cheek, tenderly inquiring "more scritches, please." She happily complied, arm draping loosely across the little ball of fur who had wormed his way into her heart and her bed. As she began to scratch affectionately under his chin Miko craned his necked back in contentment and began purring again in earnest. Wilhemina smiled to herself as she allowed her eyes to close, the warm weight of the purring feline ensconced upon her chest lulling her to sleep. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to rest, just for a little while. Besides it would be cruel to disturb Miko when he looked so comfortable.

It was several hours later when she awoke again, judging by the way the sun no longer shone directly through the bedroom but instead created a bright indirect glow from further overhead. Wilhemina's stomach let out an indignant growl at the late hour, rousing Miko in the process who glared at her from beneath half lidded eyes. She scratched behind his ears in an apology which was evidently accepted as Miko began to nuzzle into her hand in response.

As she tentatively began to lever herself from the mattress Miko jumped down onto the bed and began to stretch out the kinks from his nap. Wilhemina looked on jealously as his spine extended as she slowly convinced her own vertebrae to support her weight. As she brought herself upright for the second time that day she noted gratefully that the painkillers seemed to have worked their magic, leaving her only slight tender even after the events of the past few days.

Navigating her way down the stairs proved to be somewhat challenging not merely from coordinating her balance with her cane in her left hand but also because Miko refused to leave her side, wending his way between her legs as she focussed intently on not breaking her neck. Having successfully reached the landing she made her way into the kitchen in search of breakfast, or whatever meal this now constituted. She noted gratefully that an assortment of cereals had been left on the kitchen counter, alongside a bowl and the necessities for tea and coffee, saving her from rooting through her professor's cupboards. She set the kettle to boil before preparing herself a bowl of muesli. As she set her tea to steep she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the mug Elizabeth had selected for her which proudly displayed the figure of Little Miss Stubborn, she couldn't really argue with the assessment but for once felt like such a gesture was meant as an affectionate jibe rather than an outright condemnation.

Miko stayed pressed against her ankles throughout the entirety of breakfast and whilst she cleared her dishes afterwards. He trailed behind her as she made her way back up the stairs, intending on changing out of her loungewear and into some proper attire. And he stopped beside her as she caught sight of contents of the room beside hers peaking through the door which had been left slightly ajar. The walls were painted with the most tender depictions of rabbits, squirrels, owls and deer, each peaking from amongst a lush forestscape. She found herself magnetically drawn to the scene, fingers ghosting across the hand painted figures on the plaster. Unfazed by her exploration Miko made himself at home on one of the two child-sized beds clothed in crisp white linen. An old oak bookself sat in the far corner of the room, practically bursting. Wilhemina's eyes skipped over many of the brighter, more modern spines, instead drawn to a shelf higher up full of older, more battered volumes whose titles she recognised from her own childhood. Familiar names jumped out to her like old friends - Blyton, Potter, Milne, Dahl. Far too many hours had been spent alone save for their company, whether alone and immobilised in a hospital bed or hidden beneath her bed clothes by torch light trying to block out her parents arguing, these had been her constant companions. She tenderly retrieved Matilda from the shelf, thumbing through the well worn pages, allowing the little girl she kept so securely locked away a moment to breathe, smiling fondly at the words which had given her hope in those moments of darkness.

So Matilda’s strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships on the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: You are not alone.

She remembered vividly the delicious taste of revenge the first time she had partaken in Matilda's retribution against all those adults who had tried to squash the precocious young girl. More than once she had allowed herself to imagine what it would have felt like to exact similar vengeance against her mother. How sweet it would have felt to bleach her perfectly coiffured hair, to place newts in the punch at one of her horrendous soirees or terrorize her parents with ghostly reminders of their failings. How she longed to make her mother feel an ounce of the pain to which she herself had been subjected.

Still clutching the much loved volume she curled up next to Miko and allowed herself to retreat to a world of childhood comfort in which the underdog could triumph, in which I'm big, you're little could be usurped, in which Miss Honey might reach tenderly from the pages and adopt her too.

That was where Professor Thompson found her several hours later, relishing in the climax of the novel as Matilda vanquished Ms Trunchbull. She smiled fondly at the young woman she had always known to be so controlled and regimented curled lazily against the wall on her granddaughter's bed, Miko lounging against her thigh and contented smile playing across her lips behind a curtain of firey red hair. The floorboards creaked beneath the older woman's feet alerting Wilhemina to her presence. Her cheeks flushed furiously as she sheepishly met the older woman's gaze but found only genuine affection in her grey-blue eyes.

"Don't even think about apologising, my dear. I told you to make yourself at home and I meant it."

In spite of Elizabeth's assurances Wilhemina still felt the need to explain herself. "I didn't mean to end up in here" she began, "I saw the paintings and I only meant to look at them but then I saw the books and -"

"Wilhemina," the older woman cut her off kindly, "stop apologising. You've done nothing wrong, you needn't justify your every action. Not to me at least" she added knowingly. "My daughter will be flattered that you liked her paintings, though I really should show you photos of the masterpiece she created in the children's room back east. She works as a children's illustrator, though I think she would much prefer to do larger pieces like these if there was the work in it."

"I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful" Wilhemina whispered reverently. "Their little faces are just so sweet."

"I'll be sure to tell her you think so. Now, I should leave you to finish with Matilda, dinner should take me twenty minutes or so which, knowing the speed you read at, should be ample time."

"Oh no, it's fine" Wilhemina interjected, "I know how it ends, I've lost count of how many times I read it as a child. I should come and help you."

The older woman sighed, of course Matilda would be a favourite of hers. "Nonsense dear, finish your book. I'll call you when it's ready." And with that she was gone.

Wilhemina was indeed finished with the book when the older woman called her for dinner twenty minutes later, her voice floating up the stairs as if Wilhemina's presence at her dinner table was the most natural thing in the world. The simple meal of pasta Alfredo was passed in companionable silence between the two women, with Miko dividing his time equally between them. He remained under their feet as they cleared the dishes, with Wilhemina bracing her weight against the kitchen counter through her left hip to grant herself two free hands with which to dry the clean dishes as the older woman handed them off to her. Elizabeth shook her head fondly at the young woman's stubborness, once she set her mind to something there really was no stopping her.

Wilhemina was drying and putting away the last of the cutlery when the older woman disappeared momentarily, only to return with a manila folder which she placed atop the freshly cleaned kitchen table. Wilhemina eyed it warily. The older woman placed two cups of tea beside it and gestured for Wilhemina to join her. She did so cautiously.

"No need to look so nervous my dear, it's nothing bad. I just brought home the list of available casual positions from the careers centre on campus, I thought you might like to take a look to see if anything interested you."

Wilhemina froze. Of course it was too good to be true. Of course the kind older woman had grown sick of her already. Why wouldn't she, when she was nothing but a useless burden? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How could you think that anyone would actually put up with you?

Professor Thompson caught the way Wilhemina's shoulders stiffened and how her jaw tensed, as if preparing herself for an attack. She reached out and took the younger woman's hand in her own.

"There is no pressure dear. This is not about me getting rid of you. I simply thought you might be interested, I know you must be anxious about what comes next, you've never been one to be without a plan." Wilhemina suddenly felt very small and seen in a way she never had been before. It was simultaneously terrifying and yet so, so safe.

"It can wait as long as you like" the older woman continued, "but I'll leave it here for whenever you're ready."

"No, I mean, I'm ready now" Wilhemina blurted, "I just thought you meant-"

"I know my dear, I know" the older woman cut her off with a firm squeeze of her hand, earning her a shy smile from the younger woman. "Would you like me to stay or -"

"Stay" Wilhemina affirmed, "please?"

"Of course dear, now where do you want start?"

"Well, I suppose law or business makes the most sense" Wilhemina sighed, "at least I have some experience there."

"I didn't ask where you should start dear, I asked where you wanted to start - there's a difference. You said your parents chose law for you, what would you have chosen? If you could start over and choose for yourself what would you do?"

Wilhemina froze at that. She had accepted so long ago that she would simply follow the path her parents had set out for her that she had almost managed to convince herself that she wanted it too. It did no-one any good for her to pine after a future that could never be hers.

"I don't know" she stared at the older woman, eyes wide with the realisation.

"What do you miss from highschool then?" the older woman tried. "Is there a subject you enjoyed that you had to give up?"

She considered that for a moment. "Science, maybe?" she added shyly, "I liked that it was predictable, that I could know what to expect."

"Ok" the older woman prompted, fingers rifling through the folder, "any particular area?"

"Electronics or computers, maybe?" She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, as if waiting to be punished for daring to express her own desires.

"Ok, there are a couple here that could fit." The older woman traced her finger through the list of positions. "This one looks interesting. A couple of graduate students from the engineering faculty are looking for someone to help with data management and organisation for a start-up. They seem to be interested in bionic limb development" she added, sliding the paper towards Wilhemina, finger marking the appropriate notice.

Wilhemina scanned the brief description greedily, trying to temper her expectations. It sounded perfect but she daren't allow herself to even begin to hope that it might be possible.

"I think you would be perfect for it."

Wilhemina scoffed in response, "I don't know the first thing about robotics."

"But they aren't asking for that dear, they're asking for someone to help with organisation. They want someone who is meticulous and logical to help keep track of their data - that is you to a T. You would be brilliant at that. And it would allow you to see if it's an area that you like and maybe later you could transition into a more technical position, or go back and study more about it if you wanted."

"Look" the older woman reached out to tap the paper in front of Wilhemina, "it even says they have patents filed and a company formed. It seems to have all the makings of a long term prospect."

Wilhemina could feel her heart start to flutter at the possibility, that maybe, just maybe it wasn't too late for things to change. She scanned through the notice again, Elizabeth was right, it did sound perfect. And try as she might she couldn't help but look at the company name printed at the end of article with the hope that maybe it also inscribed her future.

Kineros Robotics

A/N: there is one more part to come after this, though I think I will likely dip back into this universe as one-shots from time to time to explore some of the key moments between here and apocalypse. If there are any particular things you would be interested to see feel free to hit me up

[angrylizardjacket]

people change {Vince Neil}

@champagneandspice asked: hey! I adore your writing!!! could u please do a one shot but in the form of an article ? you’d be writing it as if you worked for people magazine or something like that. could u pls write ab the “speculated rumors” ab vince and I dating are true?? u could insert pictures or whatever u like. thank u <3

A/N: 2065 words. I love!! This style!! Of Writing!! also probably not what you were asking for, but i had fun and i hope you do too. i really sort of like this world/reader persona i’ve built?? i even added a few pictures for effect lmao. hope it’s enjoyable. i don’t usually do tags for one-shots but @cosmicsskies and @crazylittlethingcalledobsession asked and im too giddy to refuse.

WHAT THE F*** DO YOU THINK? - Mötley Crüe singer Vince Neil and Joan Jett & The Blackhearts newest guitarist Y/N Y/L/N spotted getting cosy after Crüe’s Atlanta show last Saturday? Does this hint at a collaboration between two bands, or is this more personal than professional? [Read more on Page 10...]

“What the f*** do you think?”

If you’re a woman working in or around the rock and roll music scene in the past half a decade, you’ve probably heard these words, or some variation of them, if you’ve come within a ten foot radius of the glam metal juggernauts Mötley Crüe; Nikki Sixx, Tommy Lee, Mick Mars, and their blonde, boyish singer Vince Neil. They’re crass by reputation, however this is unsurprisingly true to life, though if you were interested in reading an expose regarding the number of gigs they’ve done while high, or how many hotel rooms they’ve set fire to, there’s innumerable gossip rags and magazines covering those particular scandals, including at least two Rolling Stone articles in the past two years, and we’re not here to retell old stories. 

When attending their concert in Atlanta last week, which I highly recommend; if given the opportunity, and you enjoy their music, see Mötley Crüe live, they give an almost unparalleled live performance, in my humble opinion as a music journalist of almost a decade, I was fortunately privy to the moment that sparked debate and controversy within the rock music gossip sphere. After the show, while I was made to wait at the stage door, their manager Doc Mcghee was kind enough to invite me to the afterparty. There, at the stage door, restless fans were held at bay, young men in black leather pants, emulating their idols, young women in barely anything at all, there to catch attention and garner the same invitation that I had received, and when the band themselves appear, it’s as if the gates of Hell had opened; the screaming I heard, ladies and gentleman.

First through the doors is Mars, already looking like he needs a shot or a nap, and he dodges more than one bra thrown his way, giving me a longsuffering look as he passes. To be that exhausted by fame is on a level I can’t even begin to comprehend. He’s on the tour bus which will take us to the hotel bar for drinks almost before anyone else is even out of the building.

Next comes what the fans have affectionately dubbed ‘The Terror Twins’, Sixx and Lee, both carrying a beer each, followed by several very pretty women who head to the bus whilst the musicians take the time to say high to their fans, signing various body parts and generally taking the time to interact with the more hardcore of their following who were waiting in the cold night air. They’re enough of a distraction that one might have missed the final band member, Vince Neil, laying uncharacteristically low, and who had actually been preceded by a surprising figure; Y/N Y/L/N, the most recent addition to Joan Jett & The Blackhearts as their rhythm guitarist. 

And this, dear readers, is the moment I decide to write the first gossip piece of my life.

As someone who regularly set fire to the copies of Hollywood Star my then-housemate had been getting delivered to our apartment back when I first began my journalistic career, the idea of writing an article based on speculation about the sexual conduct of celebrities was an idea I rejected out of hand. I’d told myself I had integrity. 

But then my proto-punk loving heart betrayed me, as I recalled Y/L/N’s lyrics from my favourite song of her’s, Sucker Punch, ‘speculate / scream my name / my heart, my love, baby it’s a game / they call me heartless, fancy-free / as if anyone’s meant something to a girl like me’. Y/L/N has been credited as the sole writer for the single, under her band at the time, Nuclear Patricide, who had garnered a cult following that has been credited as an idol for Joan Jett herself. After the Nuclear Patricide’s split in early ‘83, it’s been relative radio silence from the writer and lead guitarist until Joan Jett & The Blackhearts announce her as their newest addition, and she’s been with them for almost two years since.

[ID: Stills from Nuclear Patricide’s music video for Sucker Punch, 1980, known for the appearance of then-break out star Jamie Lee-Curtis. Editor’s Note: Y/L/N did not appear in the music video herself.]

So, upon seeing Y/L/N trying to keep a low profile whilst exiting a gig she clearly was not playing at, without any of her own bandmates to keep her company, I must confess I began to wonder, to speculate about the nature of her relationship with Mötley Crüe. She’s adamantly and publicly denounced romantic relationships in her work and in her public appearances up until her split from her original band, so has anything changed in the past few years?

Back at the hotel, I find myself weaving in amongst groupies and fanboys. My dark jeans and leather jacket act as a camouflage in this den of debauchery; I’ve worn professional clothing to this kind of thing before, and it usually doesn’t go over well; if the band sees a reporter there’s a sense of immediate hostility in what’s meant to be a safe space, relatively speaking, however, I’ve found that blending in, and making it clear I’m not on the offensive makes them drop their guard enough that they’ll give an honest interview. 

At least until a pretty girl walks past.

Neil and Y/L/N are nowhere to be spotted as I finally take a seat with a table that has neither cocaine nor a woman on it, and once I’ve ordered a drink and looked over my notes, someone actually joins me of their own accord. It’s Tommy Lee, who, to my surprise, recognises me from the last time Crüe had played in town. 

He talks about the tour, about how exciting it’s been and how he loves Atlanta, but he’s losing focus very quickly, not surprisingly since his name is being called by other tables every few moments, and there’s a faint dusting of telltale white powder around his nose. He promises ‘see you ‘round’ [sic] and then he’s off again. However, it’s as he leaves that I spot Y/N coming from a room by the back of the bar, and I make my move.

Mars has, as I’ve been told, already retired for the night, Lee is up to his eyes in cocaine, Sixx already has his dick out under his table judging by the look of him, and Neil is surprisingly MIA, so Y/L/N is easy to spot as the odd one out.

Not nearly as f***ed up or strung out as the rest of them, I watch her order a jack and coke, and down the drink mere moments after receiving it, before she turns to me. It takes her barely a second before she correctly identifies me as a reporter. I ask if she remembers meeting me, back in ‘82, she says no, but that she can pick a reporter from a mile away. 

People still fawn over her, pretty girls and pretty boys alike, her aloofness drawing them in, and I’d forgotten how overwhelming it was to be this close to her. She kicks a fanboy and a groupie who are messily groping each other out of a booth and we take their seats.

This is meant to be about Mötley Crüe, and I try to tell her as such, but she just gives me a thin smile.

“Then why did you come find me?”

And she gives me that stare, you know, the one from the cover of Nuclear Patricide’s final album, Treason Is A Girl’s Best Friend. It’s that piercing stare of hers that makes you feel like she knows everything you’ve ever done wrong in your life. 

I ask about her relationship with Mötley Crüe, and to my relief she looks away.

She’s candid about admitting she’s travelling with them, but not touring, right up until I ask her about her relationship with each member of the band specifically.

“Mick’s fun; he’s very talented and easily riled up. They’re all very talented of course, but Mick’s dynamic, [because] of his age and everything, is interesting within the group [sic] and I enjoy watching it all play out. He’s smacked Tommy a few times.” I’m assured that nine times out of ten he deserved it. 

She’s filled with glowing praise for both Sixx and Lee in turn, and even Doc Mcghee, but Neil she is oddly silent about. He’s the first of the band she’d met; he’d seen her play a few times with The Blackhearts and has admitted to enjoying her work in previous interviews when she’s been brought up, as the pair have been spotted together before. Well, she’s been spotted with the band before. Here is where she starts, to my surprise, to get antsy. So the rumours, which I had thought to be incredibly false given her history and general attitude, have more basis than she likes to let on.

And then she gets defensive.

He’s like cocaine; everyone’s doing him, it’s just the industry; no-one’s going to judge her for a fling. She does not appear to take comfort in the sentiment.

“People change.”

I ask her what she means. She refuses to clarify and leaves. Perhaps I pushed too far, but now I feel like a detective, and like I only have one more person I need to talk to. But perhaps I should have eased myself into talking about Y/L/N to Vince himself, but I’ll have to admit, between Y/L/N leaving and finding Neil, I may have done a bit of socialising with Sixx, which I recommend recreationally, and also if you have a high tolerance for most things.

“I don’t think we’re any of your f***ing business.” 

Neil does not mess around, and apparently she’d already spoken to him about our earlier meeting. I leave it be, spend the night enjoying the festivities with Sixx and Lee when I can, leaving just before the sun comes up. 

Some of you may be thinking this is dissatisfying, that you came into this article wanting me to confirm or dismiss the speculated relationship between Vince Neil and Y/N Y/L/N, but I can’t. Neither of them would speak to me, and I can only leave you with a list of things I saw that night, and you can make up your own mind.

- The room Y/L/N had exited from when I first spotted her is the same room Neil left less than five minutes later as we were talking. I went to investigate later; it’s a supply closet.

- After my encounter with Neil, and I’d stayed clear of them, whenever I would spot either of them, the other was almost always within arm’s reach. Make of that what you will.

- He definitely did a line of coke off her thigh at about three in the morning.

- I asked both Sixx and Lee about it. Lee’s response was ‘loud’ with something akin to a knowing smirk, and Sixx’s was ‘he’s a lucky bastard’ and when I ask him to clarify he just says ‘flexible’ and climbs to the next booth over where they’ve been asking him to do a line; I’m not even sure what to make of it, but personally I think it’s pretty damning.

- Readers, they were all over each other, I apologise for throwing my professionalism out the window for a moment, but if I’m being honest I couldn’t look to a secluded corner of the room without there being a 40% chance of seeing Vince and Y/N. It got worse as the night went on. Believe me.

So, while I don’t believe there is set to be a collaboration between Joan Jett and Mötley Crüe, I do come baring good news for those fans who had been speculating regarding Y/L/N’s relationship with the hair metal band’s lead singer. So are they together? Are they dating? Though neither party will publicly state anything, I’ll leave you with my thoughts, my observations, and the oft spoke words of the man himself;

What the f*** do you think?

[megalony]

Detox- Part 3

Another part to my latest Roger Taylor series which I have gained some lovely feedback for.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac

Series taglist: @killerqueenbucky @the-ridge-farm-raven

Warning: Mentions of drug use.

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Please..."

Tears began to fall from Roger's eyes as his hands trembled like someone was vigorously shaking him. Both his hands were enclosing one of Brian's that he was holding very tightly to try and get his friend to agree with him but even he knew his attempts were not going to work.

The guitarist felt tears welling in his eyes as he stared down at one of his oldest friends who was in absolute agony. They had just put Roger into a coma so he didn't go through the symptoms and effects of withdrawal from heroin and yet he looked like he was being put through those symptoms right now. He was trembling, a light coat of sweat was beginning to glisten on his exposed skin and his eyes were red-rimmed. Roger had been awake for one day and he was close to breaking. He was dangling on the edge of a cliff and if no one helped him then he was going to let go and fall into the crashing waves below.

Everyone knew that Roger was not making a threat out of pain or agony, he was making a threat that he was willing to go through with because he had been lied and ignored before. If they didn't give Roger painkillers soon or treated him for his back then he was likely to do himself in. He was in a hospital and he was a biology major. He knew the tricks of the trade and when they had him in a room with medication in every draw and a crash cart by his bed, they were leaving him in a room full of goodies just asking to be tried out.

Six months of agony had left Roger vulnerable to needing an escape as soon as one became available. Which was why he was now begging for Brian to get him drugs. The doctors weren't giving him any painkillers because they needed him clean for the tests they were running. They had taken two blood samples this morning, they had done an x-ray, MRI and CT scans of his back and spinal cords.

Roger wanted any form of drugs that he could get his hands on now, he didn't care what tests they needed to do. He couldn't stay clean, he needed to be under the influence of anything, hell he would even drown himself in alcohol if it would take the pain away.

"Rog, they'll give you something soon. You've had nearly all your tests now." Brian's words were not as soothing or calming as either of them thought they were going to be. He only told Roger that he was being denied relief by everyone around him and that hurt. Roger wanted Brian to get him something or he would just ask whoever else came through the door. The drummer would call for the media and give them a story if they gave him something for the pain.

"I- I have a stash under the bathroom sink... t-there's still some in my green jacket at the studio. Or ask Robbie... Bri, please, just something to take it away." Roger leaned his head back against the pillows that were surrounding him. He had two under his back and about three under his head to try and ease the pain but he needed meds, not feathers.

He watched Brian's jaw slack at the sudden revelations but Roger couldn't find it in himself to care. He only cared about Brian either getting a doctor to help or going and grabbing something from his stash at home and bringing it back to give to him. Roger would screw up every test they did with a small dose of heroin if Brian would give it to him because he was in that much pain. But Brian couldn't do that. He couldn't ruin Roger's health and potentially kill him, he would sit by his side and make sure he didn't do anything stupid and he would chase after the doctors to make them give him something as soon as they could. But he couldn't help or encourage Roger's drug abuse anymore.

"Robbie gives you the drugs? Fucking hell, Rog. I'll call Fred and he'll get rid of the stash in your jacket because the studio can't know about that. (Y/n) will search the house and clear it out and I'll bloody kill Robbie myself."

Robbie was one of the tour managers who helped to set up the sounds and stages when they went on tour. He also hung around the studio a lot when they were making their albums. He was a good friend up until now. Brian wouldn't have him fueling Roger's addiction because if Roger had drugs again he could kill himself without meaning to, Robbie needed to know this. He shouldn't even be dealing drugs in the first place.

"No! I told you so you could get me them! I'll call Robbie if you don't-"

"Stop it." Brian snapped. Roger should have known Brian would only raid his stashes and get rid of them, he wasn't going to play along anymore. He had watched Roger get high and drunk and be pain-free due to that for too long. He was taking a stand now. "You've detoxed. If you have one small amount of heroin your body will break down because you can't tolerate it anymore. You will overdose and I am not being at fault for that Roger."

"I wish I'd died in that coma." Roger spoke slowly, punctuating every word and syllable that passed through his chapped lips as he kept the eye contact with Brian so he knew Roger wasn't having a tantrum. He was being deadly serious which was proven by the malice in his eyes and the sudden tsunami of tears flooding his face.

If Roger had passed away he wouldn't have woken up in more agony than he had been in the car crash. He wouldn't have had to sit here for hours and have every test in the book whilst being two seconds away from wanting to kill himself. He would have been put out of his misery and not left to suffer like this because everyone had let him down at one point or another. (Y/n) and the band fueled his addiction, the doctors wouldn't give him the medication he needed for his pain management and he had reverted to drugs because of that. Miami had brought this on for Roger's own good but it wasn't doing him much good right now.

Robbie had been the only one who helped in Roger's eyes because he never gave Roger enough to overdose but he kept him in supply and never asked why. He shouldn't have been dealing drugs but he had taken Roger's pain away.

"Your life may not mean anything to you but to us, you are everything."

Brian brushed the tears out of his eyes as he left the room, begging for Roger not to do anything stupid whilst he was in there alone. He couldn't let Roger die and he couldn't have Roger thinking his life was that worthless and agonising that it needed to end. Brian needed Roger in his life, he provided that stability for Brian because he was one of Brian's rocks. His world would shift and gravity would be lost if Roger died.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I-is this the last test?" Roger spoke through gritted teeth as he tried to keep his eyes locked onto (Y/n)'s. Trying so hard to let her features captivate his attention like they normally did but the pain was overriding everything. He couldn't focus on her dazzling eyes, her button nose or her lips her even her cheekbones anymore. All he could see was the colour red swimming in front of his vision from his back.

He had a few pillows propped up behind his head as he was now laid on his side facing (Y/n). A nurse was stood behind him, peering closely as she got ready to perform a lumbar puncture. The moment she told Roger what procedure he was going to have he had wailed like a newborn. His back was shredded to pieces. His spine felt like it had been severed and dislocated in every column. His nerves were sparking like the electrical impulses were getting cut off and it was torture. Even the shredded muscles in his back felt like they were withering and dying. He could feel fragments of muscle just dropping from around his spine and withering into nothing like the fallen petal from a rose.

His back was causing him a headache and that was making him even more agitated and it was getting worse from the sobs he couldn't help but let out. They had to give him meds now or he would act out until they sedated him.

A lumbar puncture was a needle pressed straight into one of the spaces of the vertebrae in between the bones of his spine. They took the fluid in there and checked for anything abnormal or wrong but they were going straight for the affected area. They were putting a needle through the swelling skin covering his spine, straight through the bruises and into his spine that was damaged.

They'd already had to give him medication when he was in a coma and drain some of the blood that had formed beneath the skin because it could cause an infection. So his back was swollen even worse and battering away like someone was continuously hitting his spine with a baseball bat.

"I'm not sure Mr Taylor. Your doctor will be in soon to talk to you about the tests, he'll sort out your medication for you."

(Y/n) reached for Roger's hand but he batted her away, his eyes suddenly bulging from their sockets the moment he felt the tip of the needle puncture through his skin. When it hit the swelling his eyes managed to go back into their sockets so he could clamp them shut. Curling up just that little bit more as he began to shiver. When the needle pushed further, Roger groaned which ended in a choked sound as it pushed further. As soon as Roger felt the needle getting to his spine, he felt the air leaving his lungs begin to get cut up into little pieces that scratched against his already raw throat. His voicebox churned the simple air into one of the worst screams he had ever let loose which he was unsure actually tore from his own lips.

"Take it out!" Roger belted the words as if he was singing along to his favourite song in the car but his tone showed he was not singing in delight. He was screaming in torture from one of the smallest needles he had ever seen. Such a small pinprick went straight through to his spine but he would never have thought it would hurt on a level such as this.

Roger's head started to feel foggy like it was filling with water that each thought had to swim through in order to get heard. He could feel the room spinning very slowly around him in an anticlockwise direction so much so that he could almost feel the bed lifting from the floor as his head swayed.

"Take it out!" Roger repeated the words that broke off into the cry of a dying man. This shouldn't take this long, the fluid dripped straight through the needle into the vile she held and there wasn't a lot of fluid to collect. If she didn't take it out soon she would find Roger's hand reaching around to do it for her. Roger's fist bashed against the murky cream plastic of the bedframe just as the nurse started to pull the needle from his tortured skin. As soon as Roger felt the foreign instrument leaving his skin he let out the most animalistic growl that vibrated against his throat in all the wrong ways.

His hand continued to bash against the frame of the bed until his knuckles split in a feeble attempt to force his mind to focus on the fresh pain. The brain automatically focused on the newest source of pain which allowed Roger to focus on his hand instead of his back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Leaning her head back against the wall, (Y/n) glanced up to Brian and Freddie who were sharing words that her mind hadn't been interested enough to take note of. After the lumbar puncture, Roger had been sedated when he wouldn't calm down which was very understandable in his current form of pain. But something told (Y/n) that even though he was in immense agony, Roger knew that if he attacked himself like that they would have to sedate him. Either way he was only just beginning to wake up now and everyone thought it would be better to leave him be.

The doctor would be down soon enough to give Roger the results of each test he had and to finally put him on the medication he so desperately needed. But until then, (Y/n), Freddie and Brian were waiting outside so they were not at the brute end of Roger's temper.

As Brian and Freddie continued to share words that were becoming rather rowdy as if they were starting an argument, (Y/n) turned her head to the side so she wasn't watching them anymore. Her head tipping in acknowledgement as she smiled kindly at John who pointed to Roger's room before slowly heading inside. Braving the room that no one else fancied going into for the time being.

Just as Brian was about to retaliate to whatever Freddie just said, his brows furrowed as he turned to look at (Y/n).

"John?" He questioned, pointing to the room asking for confirmation that he hadn't imagined the bassist walking past them. (Y/n) nodded her head, wondering why Brian looked confused or as if he had just woken up and didn't know where he was. "What was he taking in?"

"Rog left his jacket at the studio, asked Deaky to bring it back for him. Why?" (Y/n) shrugged her shoulders as she spoke, her head pounding from lack of sleep and the trauma of the day. Roger had gone through so many tests today and each one had made him feel worse than the last. He didn't deserve any of this and yet they were putting him through it. She didn't know what any of them would do if Roger wasn't on medication by the end of the night. They would surely have to resort to desperate measures to make sure Roger wasn't tempted to do anything stupid. Especially after Brian confided in them all that Roger seemed to be feeling suicidal or on the verge of suicidal.

"Green jacket..." He muttered under his breath. He hadn't been seeing things, John had walked in there with Roger's dark green jacket which the drummer confided in Brian held some of his heroin. Roger was going to take it. 

Brian's face fell like the strings holding it together had been severed as his shoulders sank down an inch or two before he suddenly turned in the direction of Roger's room. His body suddenly beginning to run, his feet slipping on the newly polished floor as Freddie and (Y/n) scrambled to follow him. Both unsure what he was doing or what was happening.

"He's got heroin in that jacket!"

Roger was going to overdose.

[badwolf-in-the-impala]

~The Edge of Heaven~

|| Chapter One || Chapter Two ||

Edited to add new chapter/Moodboard/Faceclaim swap

So I did a new thing lol I know like I don’t have enough of those already BUT, I got this wild Gatsby themed idea while listening to some Lana Del Rey and then I got the idea for the moodboard and it just kinda snowballed from there. ANYWHO, I’ll keep this short. I hope you guys enjoy, and if you would like to be tagged, please let me know! 

Word Count: 5,184

Pairings: Thomas Shelby x OC 

Face-claims: Emily Rudd as Aurora - Paul Wesley  Luke Evans as James))

Moodboard Credit: Myself @badwolf-in-the-impala

Rating: Mature/18+

General Warnings: Spousal abuse, verbal abuse, violence, general Peaky related things...I’ll trying and tag appropriately as I go! 

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

Arrow House - Warwickshire, England - 1925.

Many years had come to pass since Aurora had been back to England; namely, the small industrial district of Small Heath. It was the place that she had called home for the first fifteen years of her life, until the untimely death of her father prior to the start of the War; by four years. But despite the fact they didn’t having much money and despite his drinking habits, her father did his best to be always be part of her life. Teaching her how to love the life she had been given, no matter how desperately her mother tried to teach her how to hate it.

And when he had finally managed at last to drink himself into an early grave; that was when her Mother took her chance. Scraping together every last bit of money she had managed to save over the years and making the decision to move them to America in hopes of giving them both a better life. But at the stubborn young age of fifteen years old, Aurora had fought tooth and nail in protest of her Mother’s idea, even going as far to try running away in an attempt to stay behind. Not wanting to leave her life or her friends. She spent three days hidden away in Ada Shelby’s room at the Shelby family home before finally being discovered and taken back to her Mother.

A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at the thought of the memory.

The Shelby’s had been like a second family from the time she was no more than a mere babe; her father having been a dear friend to the family. She remembered spending all her time as a child and young teen, running the streets of Small Heath with the Shelby siblings. Aurora, Ada, and John -- being closest in age -- were always getting up to some kind of mischief, but once Thomas was thrown into the mix? Well, let’s just say it was a miracle that Small Heath was even still standing!

Aurora and Thomas were a lot alike in many ways, especially when it came to being hardheaded. Factor in the five year age difference between the pair and suddenly everything their group did was a instant competition to see who could do it better. There were many times over the years that Arthur would joke about not knowing who was more stubborn out of the two; especially when it came to the argument of who came up with the better plans. Aurora arguing the point that it be her, given that she was a girl and her plans and ideas were always more detailed and precise than any Thomas came up with. But in the end, Arthur would just laugh and call it a draw to make things fair. Knowing it would only add more fuel to the fires of competitiveness between the two.

But one thing was always for certain back then; no one messed with the Shelby’s, nor did they mess with the Calahan girl who ran with them. All else aside, they were thick as thieves back in those days. Back when times were simpler and their biggest worry was explaining to Aunt Pol how they got picked up for fighting that time some older boy punched John when they were ten. Aurora leaping in too defend him before Thomas or Arthur even had the chance to blink. That had always been something that they admired about her; Thomas especially.

And despite how much they butted heads and bickered over the most ridiculous things on a regular basis growing up, Aurora and Thomas had always been more fond of each other than either of them would ever admit to...especially when it came time for her to leave England. Not knowing when or if she would ever return.

Aurora had been heartbroken to say the least when she had been unable to convince her mother into letting her stay behind. Especially to be leaving behind Ada who was like the sister she never had. She could still remember how much she cried as she hugged each of the siblings as they said their goodbyes; but Thomas had been the one who held onto her the longest as she cried. Their last conversation still fresh in her memories like it had happened only yesterday.

~

“I don’t want to say goodbye.” Her voice was muffled as she sobbing quietly against Tommy’s chest as the Conductor made his final announcement for the departure of her train. Her mother clearing her throat impatiently a few feet away, causing Tommy to tighten his grip on Aurora reflexively.

“Aye...then you don’t have to.” Tommy had replied softly as he pulled her away from his chest slightly to look down at her. “It’s not really goodbye anyways.” He reassured her whilst brushing a few dark curls behind her ear and away from her face. “Not forever a’least.”

“Aurora, we’re goin’ to miss our train.” Her mother sighed, tapping her foot loudly against the platform as she waited on her daughter. Making them the last two people to board before departure.

Aurora choked back on her sobs as she hugged Tommy tightly for the last time before pulling away and drying her tears. Her emerald green eyes filled with a sadness that he had never seen in her before, during all the years he had known her. A little piece of his own heart breaking as she forced a smile before addressing the siblings as a whole; though her gaze never left his.

“Till next time then…” Her voice wavered as she gave her final farewell before boarding the train alongside her mother and taking their seats. Tommy’s gaze never leaving hers, even as he held onto an inconsolable Ada as the train began to roll out of the station.

“Till next time…”

~

Aurora had kept in contact with the Shelby siblings for several years following her move to America. Faithfully writing each of the siblings letters as often as she could find the time; especially once she learned of the boys’ departure to War. She heard from Ada the most obviously, and would also receive the occasional letter from Aunt Pol. It was rare that she heard from John, or Arthur, but they tried their best. Thomas however would always write back, even while was away at War, he always made the point to write her whenever he had an available chance...and there were days where those letters she sent were all he had to hold on and look forward too.

Letters were few and far between after that as the years passed and eventually as their lives started to move in different directions; they soon ceased entirely. Though there wasn’t a day that went by that Aurora didn’t think about the Shelby family. Tommy especially. And now here she was nearly Fifteen years later, Thirty years old and married to a wealthy American businessman, about to enter the home of none other than Thomas Shelby himself.

Aurora and her husband, James, had been in England for only a few days when she finally got the chance to venture out and make a trip up into Small Heath. Visiting all her old favorite sites, her home, and checking out what was new and what had changed. She had been in the Library when she had the unexpected pleasure of running into Ada, and after a very emotional reunion, they sat and talked over tea for several hours. Catching up on what they had missed out on in each others lives since the last time they saw one another.

It was during this time that Ada invited Aurora and her husband to attend a party that was to be had that weekend in celebration of Arthur and his wife Linda’s anniversary. And while Aurora was insistent on not wanting to impose, Ada wouldn’t take no for an answer. Insisting that everyone would be more than excited to see her after all these years and reassuring that she was still more than welcome among the Shelby clan no matter the occasion.

It took a great deal of convincing on Aurora’s end of things, but she finally managed to talk her husband into attending. Insisting that it would be more than beneficial to his business dealings to befriend and get to know them. He had been less than willing to agree but eventually caved -- a rare occurrence -- when he realized she wasn’t going to give up on the subject.

“I still don’t understand what exactly so special about this family.” James griped as they pulled into the drive. Thomas’ house where the party was being held only a few miles away from their own.

“They all but run Birmingham, James.” Aurora gave a sigh as he helped her out their 1925 Bentley 3 - Liter. “If ye wan’ to make friends with anyone over ‘ere, it’s the Shelby family.”

“For your sake, Aurora, I hope that what you’re telling me is the truth.” He replied as he closed the car door behind her, grip tightening on her upper arm hard enough as he pulled her close that she knew for certain it would bruise. His breath was hot on her ear as he spoke to her in a low, menacing, tone. Making sure that his point was made clear.

“And if these people are as important as you say they are, than I expect for you to be on your best behavior tonight. Do not embarrass me. Am I Understood?” James added.

Aurora nodded stiffly in reply, breathing a quiet sigh of relief as he loosened his grip finally, allowing her to take his arm properly as they neared the main entrance to the house. Their pace slowing behind another group of couples who were entering the same time they were.

“Aurora fookin’ Calahan!”

A small squeak escaped her lips as she was suddenly swept up into a bone crushing embrace upon entering through the door, and despite not having even a second to glimpse who this person hugging her was; she would recognize that voice anywhere.

“It’s Turner now, actually.” Aurora chuckled softly as she was placed back on her feet, looking up to greet the eldest of the Shelby siblings. “And it’s very nice to see you too, Arthur.”

“My apologies.” Arthur gave a sheepish grin as he held her out at arms length, taking her in carefully with a shake of his head. “Christ, ye’ve ‘ardly changed one bit!” He added giving her one more hug before releasing her back to her husband. “This is my wife, Linda.” He proudly introduced the lovely Blonde woman standing beside him, Aurora greeting her with a warm smile.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Linda returned the gesture, giving a warm smile of her own as she shook both Aurora and her husband's hands in greeting. “I’ve heard many stories, and I’m so glad you an’ y’er husband were able to make it!”

“The pleasure is all ours.” Aurora turned to look up at her husband, who stood  beside her, waiting a little patiently for her to introduce him with a tight lipped smile. “This is my husband, James Turner. James, this is Arthur Shelby, oldest of the Shelby siblings, an’--”

“A pleasure, truly.” James cut her off as he stepped forward to shake Arthur’s hand. Arthur studying him carefully, gaze briefly falling to Aurora before speaking.

“American bloke, eh?” Arthur started to inquire, wincing as Linda jabbed him in the ribs sharply with her elbow before shooting him, ‘Don’t be rude’ look. Grinning as she caught Aurora stifling a laugh. “Wha’? I’s jus’ askin’.” Arthur grumbled.

“It’s quite alright.” James replied, his eyes dark and his tone just a little to friendly. “Any questions you have, I’m an open book.” He assured.

“Aye, see?!” Arthur gestured to him as he turned to his wife who simply rolled her eyes before apologizing for her husband's behavior, but they were soon interrupted as Aurora was suddenly blindsided by an enthusiastic Ada.

“You made it!” She exclaimed as she hugged Aurora tightly before taking a step back to look up at James. “And this must be your husband!”

“Yes, this is James.” Aurora introduced as he reached out shake Ada’s hand.

“Ada Thorne!” She introduced herself as she shook his hand with a smile. “Do you mind if I steal your wife for a few minutes?

“Oh, well, actually we were  jus’--”

“Of course not.” Aurora looked up, slightly taken aback as her husband cut her off and agreed to willingly let her go with Ada. The gesture causing a knot of anxiety to form in the pit of her stomach, but she smiled nevertheless as she reached up and kissed him quickly in return before turning to Arthur.

“Well, since tha’s settled,” She gave a soft chuckle as Ada looped her arm together with her own. “Arthur, would you mind keepin’ him company for a bit? Maybe introduce him to some people?” Aurora asked hopefully as Ada began tugging her into the crowd of people just a few feet away.

“O‘course!” Arthur hollard back as he clapped a hand on James’ back, giving Aurora a reassuring wink before he and Linda ushered him off in the opposite direction. Though Aurora could still feel her husbands stern gaze boring into her back; watching as she disappeared into the crowd alongside her friend.

~

After finding themselves each a few drinks, the two woman continued to make their way through the throng of party goers who mingled about the large home. And though it did little to quell the anxiety that twisted and tied her stomach up in knots, the Whiskey in her hand was welcome distraction as they moved towards an unknown destination that Ada was dead set on getting them too.

“Where exactly are we goin’?” Aurora questioned as they pushed through another set of doors and into yet another room that was slightly less crowded. Her question soon answered as she spotted Polly at the far end, standing alongside two youngman she didn’t recognize but was fairly confident she knew who they were.

“Christ, is tha’-- is tha’ Michael an’ Finn?!” Aurora asked in disbelief as they grew closer, Polly’s face lighting up as she turned and caught sight of her and Ada.

“Aye!” Ada nodded quickly in response before all but throwing her into Aunt Poll’s waiting embracing. The boys beside her exchanging a brief confused look amidst all the excitement of the long awaited reunion.

“God, look at you!” Polly beamed as she took Aurora’s face gently between her hands, taking her in. “Even more beautiful than the las’ time I saw you.” Aurora hugged her tightly, trying her best not to cry and ruin her makeup. “Oh how we’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too, Poll.”

“Well, don’ just stand there!” Polly turned around and waved the boys over. “Not tha’ you probably remember her, but, say hello--”

“Bloody hell, is tha’ our Rora?!”

Suddenly Aurora was being crushed into yet another bone crushing hug by one of the Shelby men as John came bursting through the crowd, all but shoving his sister and Aunt out of the way as he scooped her up and twirled her.

“I thought Ada was makin’ up shite stories -- Ow!” John yelped as Polly’s hand connected with the back of his skull, knocking his hat off in the process.

“Y’er overwhelmin’ the poor girl!” Polly scolded as she pointed her finger at John. “An’ don’t be rude, introduce your wife!” Aurora gave a laugh as she watched John turn red out of embarrassment, grumbling under his breath at Aunt Poll as he picked up his hat, putting it back on before turning and bringing a young dark haired woman forward in front of him.

“Esme, this is Aurora.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Aurora greeted and shook the hand that Esme offered. “An’ I am terribly sorry this is the one they made you marry.” She joked, earning an amused laugh from Esme and a very confused look from John as everyone else quickly dissolved into laughter along with them.

“Wha’s so fuckin’ funny?!” John demanded, still not getting the dig Aurora had just taken at him.

“Nothin’ love.” Esme chuckled as she began ushering John off in the other direction for more drinks, ignoring his protests. “Lovely ta’meet you!” She called over her shoulder to Aurora before disappearing.

“Still as dense as he was when we were children.” Aurora sighed thoughtfully with a shake of her head before turning back to the other two boys as Polly introduced them to her before allowing them to be dismissed finally.

“Some things never change.” Ada joked playfully in response. “‘Ave you seen Karl?” She asked Polly, who in returned pointed towards one of the other doors as she took a sip of her own Whiskey.

“Playin’ with the other children still, I assume.” Polly replied with a shrug, catching Aurora by the arm gently before Ada could drag her away entirely. “Come an’ find me again when she’s done draggin’ you aroun’?”

“Of course, Poll.” Aurora smiled, giving her one more hug.

“Good, we’ve got a lot to catch up on!” Polly called after her as Ada began dragging her from the room in search of her son, Karl, so she could introduce them; giving up after ten minutes of searching and coming up empty handed.

“They’re probably mucking abou’ the stables.” Ada gave a frustrated sigh as they checked the backyard, finding it absent of children. “I should go check, I’ll be right back?”

“Take y’er time!” Aurora called after her, letting out a relieved sigh once Ada was out of ear shot. Taking a moment to lean against the pillar beside her, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath as she relished in blissful silence for a moment. The knot in her stomach that had gone ignored after a few drinks, quickly returning as she realized how dark it had gotten and just how much time must have passed since their arrival. Remembering that her husband was still milling about inside somewhere, likely drunk by now and searching for her.

The thought alone was enough to make her dread going back into the party...she hadn’t meant to stay with Ada for so long, but they had gotten so wrapped up in this little reunion of sorts and conversation that she had lost all track of time. And while he would never show it in public, she knew James would be furious, especially if she didn’t go find him, and soon.

With that thought in mind, Aurora downed what was left of her Whiskey before turning to head back inside in search of her husband; her mission interrupted as she ran straight into someone else who had just come through the door behind her, causing her foot to slip off the top step. But instead of falling to the ground as she had anticipated, she was pulled backwards and away from the steps into a strong embrace that was quick to steady her.

“I am so sorry!” Aurora apologized profusely as she knelt down to pick up her clutch and the remnants of her whiskey glass that now lie shattered on the steps, but the other person beat her to it as their hand grabbed her clutch before she could. Aurora was about to apologize again as she gathered up the shards of glass when his voice stopped her.

“You’ve no need to apologize. Entirely my fault, not yours.”

Her green eyes quickly snapped up to meet his in an instant as she stood, nearly losing her balance again as she did so. The glass shards clattering back to the ground as she all but leapt into his arms, her excitement getting the better of her. A deep laugh rumbled through his chest as he hugged her back.

“It’s good to see you too, Rora.” Thomas added.

“Oh Christ, I’m sorry!” She quickly apologized for a second time as she realized just how ridiculous she was being, taking a step back and smoothing her hands over the front of her dress as she tried to compose herself. Failing, miserably, as she ended up hugging him again a second time, just a little more gently. “It’s just so wonderful to see you, Tommy.”

“You needn't worry ‘bout tha’, eh?” He assured her as he pulled away, giving her that signature half smile of his as he stared down at her, taking her appearance in carefully. Her dark curls were pinned up neatly, and she was clad in a long, elegant blue and black beaded evening gown. “I’m happy to see you too...was beginnin’ to think you were avoidin’ me, actually.” He teased.

“Of course not.” Aurora replied sheepishly. “Ada’s jus’ been a little...excited.”

“I know. I’m jus’ givin’ ye a hard time.” Thomas assured her before handing her back the clutch he realized he was still holding onto. “But speaking of our dear Ada, where’s she gone off too?”

“Out to the stables--”

“Lemme guess, lookin’ for the boys.” Thomas finished for her as he let out a sigh. Clearly this was somewhat of a regular occurance. “Suppose I should go help her…” He started down the steps, pausing when he reached the bottom and noticed she wasn’t following. “Care to join me?”

Aurora was more than reluctant at first, weighing her options as she turned to look over her shoulder at the party that was still going  full swing inside. On one hand, she really needed to be getting back to husband, but on the other she very much so wanted to spend a little time catching up with Thomas, and at most, this would only take a few minutes; returning to the party afterwards. Her lack of better judgement won out in the end as she gave him a smile and descended the steps, taking his arm as he offered it to her. Leading them down the path to the stables.

“So, how was America?” Thomas inquired curiously a few minutes into their walk, watching her closely out of the corner of his eye.

“Well…” Aurora drew in a deep breath through her nose before letting it rush out in a sigh past her lips. “Aside from Prohibition? It’s not entirely horrible…’least not all the time. It has it’s perks, jus’ like any other place.”

“Yeah? Like wha’?” Thomas teased.

“Like it doesn’ fuckin’ rain all the time.” She snorted sarcastically, earning a laugh from Thomas as he nodded at her answer.

“Mm. Suppose y’er probably right.” He chuckled as he patted her hand gently.

“Course I am. I’m always righ’.” Aurora teased back in a serious tone. “Or did ye forget tha’ while I was away?”

“Aye, well I haven’ had anyone to argue with on the subject in abou’, oh, fifteen years? So it’s quite possible.” He mused as they approached the stables, noting the dramatic eye roll she thought he hadn’t seen. “Still as stubborn as the day ye left.” Thomas shook his head lightly.

“An’ y’er still an arse...how’s tha’?” Aurora retorted as she turned up her nose, pretending to be offended by his comment.

“I’d say y’er not wrong.” He replied truthfully with a shrug of his shoulders, Aurora about to make another sarcastic comment when they heard Ada’s voice coming from inside the stables. And from the sound of it, she was fighting a losing battle. They picked up their pace a little and rounded the corner into the open archway, spotting Ada and small group of rambunctious boys who were hellbent on not listening to a word she was saying.

“Aye!” The boys stopped instantly at the sound of his voice, two in particular turning to face Thomas and whatever punishment was to be received. “Listen’ta Ada, ‘fore she tans tha’ lot of ya!” There was a chorus of ‘Yes Sir’s’ before a few of the boys started back toward the house, one boy staying behind with Ada, while another -- not much older than three or four -- came running up to Thomas with his little arms outstretched to be picked up.

“Stop givin’ y’er Aunty Ada such a hard time, eh?” Thomas stated firmly as he pressed his forehead against the little boys’, making him giggle as he nodded.

“Yes, Da.” The little boy replied quietly, the sound of his small voice making Aurora’s heart clench in her chest tightly, even though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she watched the interaction between the two. The boys curious little blue eyes soon fixed to hers as he rested his cheek against Thomas’ shoulder. “Who’s tha’?”

“That,” Thomas turned so that they were facing her. “Is my friend. Ms. Aurora.” He introduced, the little boy picking his head up to study her closely as she smiled warmly at him. “An’ this, is Charlie. My son.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Charlie.” Aurora greeted softly, smiling as the little boy looked away shyly for a moment; burying his face in the crook of Thomas’ neck.

“She’s pwetty.” Charlie mumbled quietly before stifling a yawn and closing his little eyes, making Aurora chuckle softly.

“Aye, tha’ she is.” Thomas gave a soft laugh as she shifted the boy in his arms. “But more importantly, innit past y’er bedtime?”

“It’s past both their bedtimes.” Ada chimed in with sigh as she ushered her son forward, introducing him to Aurora before suggesting they start back for the house and get the boys up to bed. Charlie struggling to keep his little eyes open as they walked along the path, pausing when they came across Linda.

“There you all are, I’ve been lookin’ everywhere!” She breathed out a sigh of relief, hand pressed to chest. “Speeches.” She pointed between Thomas and Ada before turning to take off before stopping again as she remembered something else. “Oh! An’ Aurora, y’er husband has been lookin’ for you.” Linda smiled before taking off down the path ahead of them where she disappeared from sight.

“Husband, eh?” Thomas quirked an eyebrow as he looked over at her, watching her cheeks turn pink as she nodded, fidgeting with the ring on her left hand -- that he hadn’t noticed until now --  but remained silent on the subject. Suddenly absorbed in the throws of internal worry once more as they drew closer to re-entering the house, spotting James as they rounded the corner, standing near the entrance chatting with Arthur while they had a cigar.

“He a businessman, from America.” Ada piped up in answer with an excited smile. “Seems like a nice fellow. Haven’ gotten to talk to him much yet--” She droned on, going mostly unheard as Aurora remained lost in thought and Thomas watched her closely; noting that something seemed off, all of the sudden.

“There she is!” Arthur exclaimed drunkenly, shoving James lightly as they watched the group approach the stairs. Aurora forcing a smile as she climbed the stairs quickly to take her place beside her husband, avoiding his dark gaze that hadn’t wavered from her for a second, about to kiss him when he stepped past her and approached Thomas. Aurora felt like her heart was about to leap straight out of her chest, not knowing what James’ intentions were. But she did her best to keep her composer as to not give anything away.

“You must be the infamous Thomas Shelby I’ve heard so much about.” James extended his hand out in greeting as Thomas came up the steps, shifting a now sleeping Charlie around in his arms before shaking his hand. Blue eyes drifting briefly to Aurora who was breathing a sigh of relief.

“Aye, an’ you are?” Thomas answered dryly, eyebrow raised in an unimpressed manner as he looked James up and down, taking in the almost too perfect appearance of the man that stood before him; discreetly sizing him up as Thomas turned to pass Charlie off to Ada so she could take the boys inside.

“James Turner. Aurora’s husband.” He gave a tight smile and he took a step back, snaking an arm around her waist as he pulled her possessively into his side. “Isn’t that right, Darling?” Aurora nodded with a small smile, trying to contain her embarrassment as Thomas slipped her a skeptical look, but did his best to remain civil as they talked.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Thomas replied.

“Please, the pleasure is all mine. It’s nice to finally put a face to the man my lovely wife spends so much of her time talking about.” James insisted with a grin, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he turned his attention to look down at Aurora. “It is getting rather late though. We should probably get going.” Aurora gave an obedient nod, knowing that protesting would be an unwise choice as she caught the strong whiff of the alcohol on his breath as he spoke to her.

“Of course.” She replied softly, turning to thank Thomas for his hospitality as Arthur and Ada had already disappeared back inside. “Thank you so much for having us.”

“Any time.” Thomas gave her a smile. “In fact, the two of you should come over sometime. We’ve a lot to catch up on,” His eyes fell to Aurora briefly before locking onto James. “An’ I would be very interested to ‘ear abou’ y’er business ventures over in America.” Aurora could feel James tense beside her, jaw clenching as he forced another tight lipped grin and shook Thomas’ hand one last time.

“I’ll be in touch.” James assured, not waiting for a reply as he started down the steps. “Come along, Darling.”

“Goodnight, Thomas.” Aurora spoke softly as she looked up at him, giving him one final warm smile -- the one he remembered from their childhood -- before starting down the steps after her husband, not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, though she gave one final pause. “It really was wonderful to see you again.”

Thomas watched with a heavy heart as she hurried off into the night behind her husband. Gone just a quickly as she had arrived. Fifteen years he had waited, hoping that he would see her once more; and while a lot had happened in her absence, it didn’t change the feelings that seeing her again had suddenly brought rushing back...along with good dose of jealousy at the thought of her being married to that pompous prick he had just had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting.

Letting out an irritated sigh, Thomas pulled his cigarette case from the inner pocket of his Tux and placed a cigarette between his lips. Lighting it before tucking the small tin back into its rightful place as he took a long drag, leaning his shoulder against the pillar beside him as he exhaled; watching the smoke as it trailed past his lips into the darkness of the night.

Disappearing; just like Aurora.

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Tagging anyone I think might be interested from my other Tommy Shelby fic ((which I’m hoping to get up soon...my ass is struggling.)) 

TAGLIST: @jacksonroth @liiv0urlifee @londoncharlotte88 @theworld-is-ahead @zazasblogxx @readsalot73 @ly--canthrope @harjumus @theskinofmyemotions @sympathyfortheblinderdevil @juuliaa-gooliaa @feyrearcheron44