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sugarakis-p2 · 3 years

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Big Shiggy Daddy

50 first followers special! To all my other followers you are special too. Thank you so much for reading!

Moth Shigaraki is such a good daddy, but a mean yandere, even though you are his favorite darling.

This is meant as a sequel to premonitions. However it's not necessary to read premonitions to get the gist.

Warning: non/con, sleep paralysis, death threats, kidnapping, breeding, knotting

Chapter 1

Shigaraki had fallen deeply in love with you, watching you from afar.

For years he stalked outside your house. Tortured in knowing now was not the time to reach out to you. He doesn't even know your name, but he wants all of you. It was worse when he knew that the more he came around, the more bad things would befall you. He often fapped to the one night he had you to himself. Remembering the sweet way your squeezing cunt felt wrapped around his cock and knot.

He stayed away for a long as he could manage. He loves you but does not like how poorly you treat their daughter. He understands most of it comes from ignorance of his species, but he wonders if he did not intervene if Chouka would still be alive.

He didn't care much about the child at first. She was a tether to keep your future tied to him. It was easier for him to stay away in those days. Your belly swelled. You excitably made a nursey. Threw yourself a baby shower. Insanely happy to bring a baby girl home with antennae and nubs where her wings will grow. He came in the night to inspect his offspring. She did not seem remarkable.

About the time she started walking with a lush ruff growing on her neck is when he decided to play with her in the night. Her sharp teeth were forcing you to switch to bottle feeding. She looked so much like him when he was a little larva. Soon she will need to cocoon and need more protein than you could provide with your milk. He would find healthy drunk fools and rip them apart. Pre-chewing the rump, which seemed to be Chouka's favorite meat, humming to her while she suckled the blood off his claws. Stuffing her until she was nice and plump. He looked into her wide wonderous eyes and couldn't pull his heart away from the gaze. Chouka had trapped him, pinning his love down to her.

He had to stay away while you took her to a series of doctors for years. His heart fluttered the first time her eyes lit up, and she called him daddy. The minute Chouka started talking, you started becoming a heavy drinker. You attempted to shove her into the school system during daylight hours. It was pure torture for Chouka; she began scratching around her eyes. It was concerning to the point he had to stalk the doctors and give them dreams with a few answers. He fed them information that seemed natural for your world. She has allergies to sunlight. She has a heteromorph quirk and a foresight quirk.

The high-protein diet was a massive shock to you. He did not know you were a vegetarian. A part of him found this incredibly amusing. Until he noticed you were not giving her enough meat. Shigaraki kept feeding his sweet little butterfly. Visiting at night while you worked downstairs, having finally adjusted to Chouka's sleep schedule. She taught him your language. He taught her the ways of his people, how to lie to you, to endure until this day came, when he could whisk you both away to your new home.

Years have passed, and he is thrilled about tonight; it is time. Shigaraki promised to bring Chouka to her real home when she turned eight. It was the time his premonition told him would be best for all. He had been working on your new home since the first night he knotted you. He knows Chouka will love it. She has been dreaming of this day since Daddy had promised her.

He taps on her window, and she opens it with a delighted squeal. Her underdeveloped wings flutter.

"Daddy! I missed you! Is today the day?" she jumps into his arms and kisses his face. He chirps and coos to her.

"Yes, my little butterfly. Did you put the powder in her drink?"

"Coffee, daddy. Coffeeeee."

"In her coffee?"

"Uh-huh, and I'm all packed. But daddy, I feel bad. Mommy will be scared and mad," Chouka says. Chouka had developed premonition early and is more potent at it than himself. If she says mommy will be mad and scared, then it's true. Her antennae droop, her eyes downcast and guilty. With a claw, he gently makes her look at him.

"At first, but she will get used to it. Mommy will come to understand you, and your happiness is more important. When she is pregnant with your sibling, she will be a good mommy. Don't you want to be a big sister?" He hugs her. She is abuzz with excitement.

"Yes, yes, yes. Will I have friends and lots to eat?"

"Yes, you will be treated like a princess. Three members of my flock have children close to your age. We usually gather a few times a year, but I have told them about you, and they will make an exception. I already have a special feast waiting for you, birthday girl. Go check to see if mommy is asleep."

She scampers off while he gathers her things. Nonsense things that are unnecessary but their novelty will help her make friends and comfort her on the few occasions she does miss this place.

"Mommy is in a deep sleep. I even dusted her, as you showed me, just to be sure."

"Good girl. Now gather mommy's things. It's a long trip, and we won't be coming back."

Shigaraki makes his way downstairs, tossing the living room clear. He needed a lot of space to paint the pentagram. After that is done, he places you gently in the middle, surrounded by the things Chouka decided were essential to the both of you. The finishing touch is turning on the stove and blowing out the pilot light. There will be nothing for you to come back to.

Chouka runs up to hold his hand as he activates the pentagram and ends up in your new home. He usually would be nesting in a tree, but Chouka said humans need more room with a highly secure ground. He had found the perfect cave and expanded it. He left your unconscious form to show Chouka her new room and fill it with her things. She was excited to see the new nest he had made special for her, using his ruff to soften it. He showed her the feast he made, and she made a high-pitched squeal and chittered. He left her to gorge herself as he moved you to the nest you will be sharing with him sooner or later. Sooner than you think, however.

It had been so long since he had been able to touch you. It was only for one night, and you were asleep like this. He bites his lip in desire. You are right here in front of him, and it would be so simple to feel all of you again. But he's a father now. Chouka could run in and catch him violating her mother. She is a female, and if he had caught anyone violating his daughter, he would rip them to bits. Still…. He used his dust to give him a vision. Fates and futures are not set in stone. They branch like the roots of a tree that grows into the branches of infinity. He's annoyed that fate tells him that it would end badly if he had his way like this.

Growling, he lets you rest to greet Toga and Twice with their brood. The people he finds most annoying in his flock. They are insatiable vampires with three children around Chouka's age and a teenage girl they feed off of. Chouka didn't have a traditional human celebration. She had no friends and a drunken mother who couldn't help herself, much less her daughter.

Toga insisted that a child raised as a human should have some customary things. Twice and a couple of his doubles were carrying a giant cake and several brightly colored packages. Three rowdy boys are being wrangled by the donor girl. There is a ten-year-old redhead boy he has never seen before. He looks bored with everything and can't be bothered to introduce himself.

"We didn't know if she liked vanilla, strawberry, or chocolate. So, I brought a two-tier cake with strawberry filling, the big one is a chocolate sponge, and the smaller is a vanilla sponge. Where is the birthday girl?"

"In the dining hall eating," he rasps. Staring at the new boy, not liking the look of him. Toga tsks at him.

"You're supposed to wait until all the guests arrive, Tomura," she scoffs. Shigaraki shrugs, never bothering to take his eyes off the boy. The boy is now staring back, narrowing his red-yellow eyes at him. Toga notices. "That's Haco, Dabi's apprentice. Dabi said he couldn't make it. Viv take everyone to the dining hall to meet Chouka. Twice you follow them."

"Yes, wifey," Twice says.

"Do you have any games for the kids?" She asks.

"No, I have no idea about parties. Couldn't you have at least kidnapped a girl? Where's MoonFish? Doesn't he have two girls? This is turning into a real sausage fest around my daughter," he hisses.

"Perverts tend to snatch up all the little girls. Trust me, I would love to have a little girl. MoonFish's kids are three years old. Frankly, I'm shocked he hasn't eaten them yet. Mr. Compress has a daughter. She's eleven and won't be here until later. Mr. Compress and the mother don't get along. Hey, I brought cake, presents, and games. Thank you, Toga," she snarks to him, walking away.

Chouka is a little social butterfly talking to all her new friends. The Haco boy has jagged fangs and is smiling down at Chouka. Shigaraki likes him even less. Toga is making a high-pitched squeal.

"She's a cuter little you! Her hair is black, but she is a mini Tomura! Look at her little clothes! Little human clothes!"

"I'm cute," Shigaraki huffs. Toga has already left to fuss over Chouka, who seems to love all the attention. Her tiny wings are excitably flapping. They are solid gray and will gain her color and patterns in her teens. That is when his colors changed. Mr. Compress finally shows up with his girl. She likes to steal things, but Chouka doesn't care. She is delighted to have anyone play with her. Shigaraki was already having a hard time staying away from the flames of the candles. Now they had to sing a song, he refused. The party is in full swing, singing happy birthday and waiting for Chouka to blow out the candles when you stumble in.

"Mommy, look! I have friends! Daddy threw me a party!" Chouka screams excited while the adults exchange a look. A wide-eyed look of horror and confusion twists your features. The worst is a pale, tall insect man Chouka is calling Daddy. It's very possible by his appearance. You wonder if you are going insane. You feel lightheaded, your head in a fog as you stumble towards Chouka.

"Chouka, get away from him," you mumble. Shigaraki turns to Mr. Compress as he sets down Chouka. They circle you like predators.

"It's going to be ok. I'm going to help you get out of here. The friendly-looking man in the yellow jacket says to you.

"Hell no, stay away from me!" you say as your black stars burst into your vision. Compress catches you and turns you into a marble. Shigaraki looks at Twice who shrugs, clearly fuller. Twice is an emotional vampire and drained you until you passed out.

"No worries, Twice. You did good. Alright, Chouka, it's time to make a wish," he says with a plastered smile.

"Is mommy ok," she asks with large gray eyes.

"Of course. I need to talk to mommy alone first. Come on, blow out those candles before daddy jumps into the cake," he says, lifting Chouka to blow them out on top of the cake.

You wake up with a jolt. Unable to move your limbs. Ever since you had discovered you were raped, you have been haunted by sleep paralysis. You're able to move your eyes and scream but not much else until it passes. Any time but now, your mind screams.

"Chouka!" you shout. The strange insect man is there sitting on the edge of a giant nest, looking down at you.

"Well, you are concerned for her first. That is something," he rasps. His voice sounds as if he has a two-pack-a-day habit. You sweep your eyes over him. He is a pale version of Chouka. This is must be the man who raped you all those years ago.

"Go to hell. Where is she?" you snarl at him. He cocks his head at you. The antennae on his head are vibrating with curiosity, the same way Chouka does.

"Asleep, she had a big day. I have never seen her so happy. I doubt you have ever seen her that happy," He says. Stretching out a foot to give you a tentative shove.

"Don't touch me!" you screech at him. His head cocks to the other side. A wicked grin spreads across his face.

"Try and stop me," he jeers. "What is this now?" He asks himself aloud as he rises to loom over your frozen form. You whimper in fear. Standing over, you can see just how strong he is. He's covered in lean muscles and scars. There are all around his eyes, again so much like Chouka. What is making your adrenaline pump are the teeth and bullet wounds? Somebody at some point had tried very hard to kill him and clearly failed. What hope do you have not able to move? He is pale with long platinum hair, which brushes your face as he leans down to touch you with his feelers. You try to bite at him, and he laughs. His ruff is as white as white and fluffy as the hair on his head and groin. His genitals must be internal because he is nude.

His crimson eyes rack over you, he runs his long tongue over his row of sharp fangs like he just saw something delicious.

"I like you like this. You're so cute and vulnerable," He straddles you and grabs your tits roughly. You scream as he throws his head back and laughs. His wings open and shake with excitement. They are so blue they look black. Beautiful patterns of white flash in your vision. He looks back at you and hisses.

"I wasn't able to do this last time. Oh, you filled out a bit more. It's nice being able to touch as much as I want. Do you like my wings? Do you think they are pretty? I always wondered what you would think of them."

"Stay away from me!" you growl as he continues to grope you. His long fingers, ending in jagged broken claws, are kneading your chest like a drunken teen during homecoming. Sloppy, enthusiastic, and inexperienced. He looks down at you with a severe expression. His hair creates a curtain blocking your view of anything else but his face.

"Stay away? Stay away? I tried so hard to stay away, but I couldn't. My premonition is the extremely accurate, perfect record until you survived. I was so good. You should be proud of how I stayed away and watched. I knew I would get one perfect night, and I took it. I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry for anything I'm going to do to you," he snarls, ripping open your clothes. Screaming at him, you babble and beg.

"You can't. Chouka will see. Please don't!" He hesitates at the mention of Chouka.

"Hmmm. Doubt she will. She played and ran around so much she fell asleep during some kind of drawing game. Practically tipping over on her feet. It can't hurt making sure." He straightens and shakes dust from his wings on himself. It causes a haloing effect before his head violently jerks back. His entire body is vibrating and shaking so fast you wonder if he's having a seizure. Chouka does this. Then after, she would tell you horrible things. Always what horrible thing is to come. You felt like you were going insane. Unable to help your ill child and deal with the chaos by yourself. After she had said, one of her teachers would die. You had put her on several different meds for seizures, doctor after doctor, until one told you she wasn't having seizures. She has a quirk that seems to have nothing to do with her physical appearance. Proven when the teacher died the exact way she predicted.

You had forbidden her from ever using her quirk again. A thing this foul man has no problem doing. From the moment you woke, you have been trying to move. With all your concentration, you managed to twitch your pinky. You scream, startled when his hand darts out and wraps around your throat. He squeezes harshly.

"Don't you even fucking think about it! You try what you're planning. I'll rip you to pieces and feed you to Chouka for breakfast. Trust me when I say she will sleep through your screams. I don't care how much I love you; you will never take Chouka from me. She needs me. She doesn't need you," he hisses in your ear before he lets you breathe. Coughing, you struggle for air. You want to be able to move again.

"You're wrong. She needs me. I'm her mother. I raised her by myself."

"Not exactly. If it wasn't for me, Chouka might still be tortured by her drunk mother. She might not even survive you. If you weren't so pretty. If I didn't love the feel of that tight cunt. If I didn't have hope, you will be a good mommy. I would have stolen her long ago." He starts tearing your clothes off roughly. Shredding them off you with sharp claws. If he wanted to tear you to pieces, it would be easy. He must be lying about everything else. He's mentally fucking you before he physically violates you.

"I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me," you sob. He stops. Watching you with suspicion. After a few moments, a smile spreads on his face again. It makes him look evil and ghoulish as he feeds off your misery.

"That's better. I prefer that look of fear and submission. You'll see it's not so bad here. I want you to know there is nothing for you to go back to. I destroyed your home. You are in my world. Be good for me, and I'll be gentle like the first time. You loved it. Milked my knot dry."

“K-k-k-knot?” you stammer. His grin returns as he smoothly removes one shoe and sock. He kisses each toe.

"I promised Chouka a sibling. I know you may not like it at first. But once you see how Chouka thrives. How hopeless it is to leave. You will come around." He removes your other shoe and sock. He kisses each toe with reverence. Your clothes are torn apart, but he takes care to remove the rest. Kissing and licking his way up your legs. When he reaches the sacred space between your legs, he coos. He paused briefly before continuing up your body. He stops to suck and pinch your nipples, you moan. You can't stop him, and pleading won't contain him. He probably gets off on it and would continue. Your body is betraying you. Rolling your nipples between his fingers to make them stiff. He greedily sucks on one. His tongue is lapping lustfully before moving to another. The cold air is puckering your flesh.

He trails his tongue up, sucking and kissing your neck. Nipping at your jawline and chin. Forcing you to meet his eyes, he pants and grinds his heavy cock against your hip. You can feel the warmth of his leaking precum as he rubs himself on you.

"Kiss me like a lover. Kiss me like you want this, and I'll get you ready to take me. I'll go slow and sweet the way you like. Make you wet and slick," he pants.

"Can't we get to know each other more first? Fool around. Half the fun is exploring. Wait until I can move again, then it won't be so one-sided," you reason.

"Don't try to talk your way out of this. I've waited for long enough and too long. I want us to be normal for Chouka, but if you want to be a brat, we can do this the rough way," he snarls.

"No, no! I want to kiss you. You are so handsome. Your wings are so pretty. I just thought we could have a little more fun, is all. Take our time. I have so many questions," you say quickly.

"I can see the many possible outcomes of our future. I promised Chouka a sibling. I know it will be harder for you to run with child. Don't think you can bullshit me. Give in to me or not, but this is happening now," his glare is harsh, and his tone is cruel.

"Wait. I'm sorry. I'll kiss like a lover."

"If you bite, I'll bite something off."

"I know. I'll be nice if you will. Make me ready, please. I want this," your voice cracks at the end. Shigaraki is on you, his rough lips sealed over yours. They are chapped and scrap as his tongue entwined with yours. You kiss him back as best you can, and he moans in pleasure at your efforts. He pulls away visibly softer. Moving lower to kiss the top of your thighs before he parts your legs. He pulls you up so you can see what he's doing. Your eyes meet.

"My name is Shigaraki. Say it when I make you cum," he says confidently. Kissing your lips, he lightly pushes his tongue between your moist folds. Using his claws to separate your lips and kiss your clit. The kiss becomes passionate as he starts to suckle and hum. Plunging his tongue deep in you, making you groan. You can't bear to look at him. Already you feel shame in how good it feels. How good he feels. Fuck, it had been forever.

A couple of one-night stands since Chouka was born. They were not anywhere nearly as decent as this monster. He slurps. Gasping for air, he sweet talks you.

"Sweet like honey. I could live off you. I could spend hours every day drinking your nectar. Mmmm, so good. Look at me," he orders. You force your eyes open and look onto his. They are heavy-lidded with love as he licks harder. Making his way deeper as he happily eats your pussy. You don't want to. You whimper and scream as shutting your eyes. Wishing you could writhe away from the intense sensation of climaxing on his dipping tongue. His moans and hums are loud over the flapping sound of his wings.

He doesn't wipe his mouth off as he sets you down to line himself up. His lips are back on yours, making you taste yourself. His hand knits in your hair and pulls your head to the side to whisper in your ear. Whisper and mark your neck. Leaving you breathless with his raging passion.

"Bad girl. I told you to say my name. I wanted to look in your eyes and hear my name. Bad girl. It's ok. I'll give you another chance." He sucks and bites your earlobe. "I know what you like. This time when you cum you cry Shigaraki. Say it now," he commands.

"Shig-Shigaraki," you manage. His wings tremble at your voice.

"Like music," he groans. Hot and flushed as you feel the fat head of his cock demand entrance. Growling as he sinks slowly into you. Eyes rolling as he bottoms out. You never got to see what is abusing you so thoroughly. But you can tell he's huge. Creating a needy throb in the center of your being.

"It's been too long. I've needed you for too long. Be nice and take my knot," Shigaraki says as he thrusts. He kept his word. Grinding slow and deep. You begin to wonder what's wrong with you. Enjoying this sick freak. If what he says is true, he's been your stalker and rapist for a long time. You've never been frozen for this long. It's too hard to concentrate while Shigaraki sends shudders of pleasure through you with every glide along your hot walls. His dick is so large the delicious friction feels like he's starting a fire in you. Burning with lust as you blaze with him in you. Shigaraki starts laughing.

"You're body is moving. Arching into me. Gripping at my cock. You've been singing a pretty tune for me the second we started. You were so honest the first time too. I can feel it. I can feel you are about ready to cum on me. Be a good girl. Be a nice good girl and say my name. You be good, and I'll be nice." His tongue invades your mouth, causing you to moan into his mouth with each roll of his hips. You can be stubborn or give in. Remembering his cruel face when he choked you, the decision is easy. Whimpering, you sob and moan his name. Digging your nails in as he made you orgasm harder than anyone has. You cling to him as you explode in pleasure.

"Good girl. Good girl," he mutters as he humps harder and faster. Encaging you in his arms to keep you in one place as he fucks you with abandon. Growling as he lightly bites your neck. Both scream as a sudden burst of pain makes you writhe and cry under him. You don't care, the stretch you feel between your legs. You try to push him off, but it feels like your insides will go with him when he moves. You pull him back to you, digging your nails in and telling him not to move. He's hovering above you, gasping for air through his nose like an angry bull.

His wings vibrate. You can feel it in your middle. Making you writhe in pain and pleasure. Arching, you're back, striving to breathe as you painfully cum again. Scratching him as he laughs. Blood strains under your nails. He grunts, pleased with you.

"Your body is so honest. Look at you wrapped around me. Holding me tight. We really should get some sleep. Chouka wants to teach me how to make pancakes when she wakes up. It won't be so bad here," he rasps. Kissing you lightly.

Chapter 2

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seaweedbraens · 2 years

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hi Vani

saw the update notif at 9 pm when i was out with a few friends, i then proceed to become supremely uninterested in whatever was going on because i was EXCITED AS FUCK to read the new update, reached home and read the whole thing in the next 2 hours like a lunatic even though i had to be up super early today fuck u i love u

the update was absolutely brilliant as always! i didn't see Nico coming!!! I'm so glad you wrote Nico meeting Jason because they both just need someone cos they're so lonely and I'm glad it's them ❤️ reading about this anguished and angry Leo feels so different because that's not how he acts at all- but it's 100% called for and i love seeing the angry reactions from him and Piper because they're right to be Angry and i would've been mad if you would've just written them to be sad

LOVING THE PERCABETH TENSION !!!!!!!!!!!!! have a bone to pick with you- WHY DIDNT YOU MAKE THEM KISS BEFORE THE EXPLOSION I WAS WAITING FOR IT !!!!!!

also this is not me criticising you, but a genuine question because I noticed you rushed through the whole Calypso part, and Annabeth even said that she didn't believe percy was dead- why did you write it that way

also Hahahahaha Frank's reaction to Hazel not saying it back was so funny ("so That you love") i actually cackled

I'm super super excited for Rachel and percabeth for the next part !!! and also about Jason and Nico

i can't wait to see how percy accepts the prophecy à la titans curse (i think?), and i have a feeling it'll be to protect Nico

thank u once again for an excellent update! can't wait for you to update Wreck my plans now! (i think you said earlier that you're updating them alternately) All the love xx

answering this publicly bwcause you bring up some good feedback and issues w the fic that i wanted to talk about

FR THO PLS YOU FLATTER ME

also YES. nico and jason as two lost souls - one leaving home and one wanting home so badly - GIMME THAT GOOD SHIT. i hope i did their dialogue right and nico coming out too because I WAS TERRIFIED FOR THAT SHIT

leo and piper deserve to be angry, especially since theyre all best friends and tell each other everything. i think they both see jason's departure as a sign that he didnt trust them, ehoch hurts just as much as him leaving does. also, leo's guilt is also very important here - the fact that he says that he was too scared to die for his friends is something to be noted. i guess thats a spoiler?

i wanted to make percabeth kiss SO FUCKIN BADLY but i figured that i their kiss in chapter 5 to be that much more full of emotion because itll be their first kiss PLS HOLD ON WE'LL GET THERE. EVENTUALLY

yIKES i was hoping the calypso part didnt come off as too rushed but i guess it cant be helped! essentially i did that bit for percy to choose life over death and more specifically choose life because of his concern for annabeth. i want to tie this into her being his mortal tether, which will be brought back up again in chapter 5 for reasons im sure youve guessed by now :)

on that same vein, annabeth innately knows percy is alive because of this connection, even though they dont know of it yet. but she needed to have that fear of him being gone and so much being unresolved between them still for her to be able to open up to piper and even entertain the idea of loving percy - in a different way from luke. but thats something she needs to figure out for herself.

im so glad you liked this update!!!! also feel FREE to criticise me or ask me things, i love hearing people talk about the fic and believe me im always so eager to share my thought process.

wreck my plan ch2 is in the works! i literally just started chapter 4 part 2 today, so maybe we'll get that soon, too!!

tysm for all the love i will NEVER deserve you <3

#i am crying #ilysm #onlyhereforpercabeth #asks etc #fic talk: wcwsthwas

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

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Satisfied | Andy Barber x reader (chapter 1)

summary: you’re the only lawyer in Boston who can get under Andy Barber’s skin, but you didn’t realise that he was trying to get under your clothes. as is the nature of law, it’s only a matter of time before the truth is discovered.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut, semi-public sex, terrible courtroom decorum, two lawyers with 0 (zero) brain cells

You were early. You were always early. Being so early gave you time to prepare but more importantly, it gave you time to warm up. You had time to go over your notes and to read about the prosecution expert, Lieutenant Burns, of the fire department, and find out who the opposing counsel was.

You got an email first thing in the morning saying that there was a change as the original state representation was unwell. It annoyed you, but there was no prosecutor in the state that you did not know, so it couldn’t be a complete surprise. That was the smallest relief you were granted.

Your coffee burnt your hand as the flimsy paper cup did little to insulate your skin from the scalding liquid. It was a bad start to your day. That paired with an unknown prosecutor made your mood more sour than usual.

You thought that it could not get any worse. You were wrong. It was as if your worst nightmares had all rolled into one when he walked towards your courtroom. Glancing down, you hoped that he had not noticed you.

It was when he stood outside of your courtroom that you realised he was your prosecutor. Just your luck. Why did it seem like you ended up with him more than anyone else, when it was allegedly random chance?

The good news was, you were the lawyer who could handle him best. Didn’t mean you liked to, but still. At least you could play with your food a little bit before you ate it. “Andy Barber…” your voice trailed off when he turned to you. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you actually had to pass the bar to go in and represent someone...or something.”

Andy sighed and rubbed his temple. “Do we have to start this shit now?” he glanced down at his watch, “it’s half-past eight in the morning.”

“Start what? I’m not starting anything, I just wanted to remind you that you must be qualified to be here.” You took a swig of coffee and let the words settle in, “I hope you were up all night googling what a deposition is.”

“It’s too fucking early for this. I refuse to deal with it. I refuse to deal with you.” Andy put emphasis on the last word to try to get through to you. “I just got this case this morning and I can’t… I just can’t, right now.”

“Giving up so soon? I thought you were Andy ‘nobody-can-fucking-faze-me’ Barber,” your tone was mocking but it was ambiguous as to who you were actually mocking. Was it yourself? Was it Andy? You hoped that it was Andy. “And remember, there’s no judge today so you’re going to have to ‘deal with me’ all by yourself.”

“I swear, if you act this way during the deposition...” Andy was livid, his grip on his coffee and pastry was white-knuckle tight. The vein in his neck was bulging over the top of his collar. “Can you just be a fucking adult for once in your life?”

“What have I done for you to be in such a fucking sour mood? It’s as if you want to wind me up.” You threw your arms in the air as Andy walked off. In your mind, you were unsure as to whether it was actually a victory or not.

---

“Thank you for joining us today, Lieutenant Burns. Please could you please state your name and occupation for the court.”

“Your name is Lieutenant Burns?” you interrupted the deposition causing Andy to look over at you in annoyance. A small giggle erupts from your lips as you try to compose yourself.

“Yes, my name is Cole Burns, and I’m a lieutenant firefighter at the Suffolk County Fire Station No. 7.”

“Wait,” you, once again, interrupted the deposition, trying to hold in your laughter, “your name is really Cole Burns? Like ‘coal burns’? And you’re a firefighter? This can’t be real.”

“Didn’t you read the report?” Andy asked incredulously.

“I did, but I assumed that you changed the names just to mess with me,” you shrugged and sat down.

“This is what is going to happen now, you’re going to be good, shut up, and sit down so that I can ask my questions. The sooner you do that, the sooner we can get away from each other.”

You shook your head in response and Andy ignored you. He went back to questioning his witness as you watched.

“Was it true that there was accelerant found at the site of the fire which was not found in the building prior to the fire?”

“Objection-- that’s a leading question.” You raised your hand briefly in the air to signify both verbally and physically that you objected. Andy turned and glared at you not hiding his displeasure. The poor witness looked around the room and waited patiently for you to stop arguing. “Lieutenant Burns, please do not answer that question.”

“Okay. Are you going to let me examine the witness now--” Andy already sounded exasperated. You knew that it would be a long day with him and he knew that too. The premise of the deposition was easy but Andy Barber made everything difficult.

“No, but--” You raised your finger and tried to finish your sentence. You blinked for a few seconds in surprise that he actually had the audacity to cut you off again.

“--or are you just going to--” he continued, speaking over you again. Andy rubbed his hand over his beard in frustration. If he had just let you speak, the deposition would have been far easier. You clenched your jaw as he spoke. Had he no manners?

“What I’m going to do is try to be as big an asshole as you are, Andy, and I’m going to object whenever I need to,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest and grinned at him smugly with your head cocked to one side. ‘Whether you like it or not.”

“Okay. That was a bad word you just used.” He cocked his eyebrow at you and tutted. You breathed out, nose flaring and sighed. The sooner the day was over with, the sooner you were able to get away from Andy.

“Really? You recognize that word.” You gasped and pretended to be surprised by the announcement. Your voice dripped with sarcasm. It was lucky that there was no judge present as there was a high chance both you and Andy would be disbarred for your behaviour.

“Yeah,” Andy deadpanned. You glanced around at the room and saw both your client and the expert witness shift in his chairs uncomfortably. The air was tense whenever you and Andy were in a room together and today was no different.

“Do you?” You tried to wind him up even further. You wanted to push him as far as you could. The tension made the rest of the courtroom uncomfortable and the stenographer looked to you multiple times to see if she should continue noting down the argument.

“Yeah.” You could tell that Andy had reached the end of his tether. “Is that so much of a surprise for you?”

“Well, good. You want me to write it out for you? I can make it an exhibit for you, if you’d like. Alright?” You grabbed a pen and started to write the word on a piece of paper on your desk. It was littered with exhibits and documents. So much so that you were surprised that you were able to find a scrap of unused paper.

“Why don’t we keep our language appropriate, okay?” His tone was condescending and he threw you a tight-lipped smile before snatching the new ‘exhibit’ from your hand. You fake gasped when Andy threw the paper away and Andy skimmed through a document in his hand ignoring you. If he was not an attorney, Andy would have made a good teacher with the tone he always used on you. Patronising.

“Well, why don’t you ask questions, and I’ll worry about what I’m doing.” Andy continued his questioning of his witness before it was your turn to question him. “Lieutenant Burns, please could you give us your expert opinion on what you saw at the scene of the fire?”

“The fire did not start from an electrical device nor did it come from the kitchen. This meant that there was already a greater suspicion of arson--”

You tapped your pen against the table as the Lieutenant spoke. “I’m sorry to stop you, Lieutenant,” Andy turned to you with a tight jaw, “can you stop, please?”

“What am I doing? I’m letting you ask all of your important questions.”

“You’re tapping the pen.”

“Is that what I was doing?” you feigned innocence as the poor stenographer typed away at the argument.

“You know that’s what you were doing.” Andy turned back to his witness, “I apologise, Lieutenant, please could you continue what you were saying.”

“Thank you, ADA Barber,” the Lieutenant looked uncomfortable, ‘I was speaking about why we suspected the fire to be arson. The burn patterns indicated that there was an accelerant used.”

Andy pulled out a picture and walked towards the witness, “Lieutenant Burns, are these the burn patterns you were referring to? Please note for the record that the prosecution is showing the witness exhibit 12.”

“Yes, that is the pattern.” Andy retrieved the exhibit from the witness and thanked him for his time. It was your turn to question the witness.

“Lieutenant Burns, in your professional opinion, is there any other reason that could have caused the fire?” you hoped that Andy had not had the time to completely look through the disclosure yet and would not have seen the exhibit you would rely on.

“It is highly unlikely due to the amount of accelerant found at the scene,” the firefighter shifted in his chair.

“Is it not possible that the accelerant found its way into the building without a person?” you picked out an exhibit and handed it to him, “please note that defence is giving the witness exhibit 52.”

It was a report on the building’s previous use as an oil storage unit. It was evident from the state of disrepair that the building had been fairly dangerous and the previous owners had not cleaned off any oil spills.

“Please could you read out the report, Lieutenant Burns.” you had a smug smile on your lips that you tried your hardest to suppress. Andy’s hands were clenched into fists as he watched it all unfold in front of him.

“After an inspection of the property, Unit 42, it was found that the building was unsafe to be in and should be foreclosed immediately.” the Lieutenant looked at you and you nodded for him to continue reading it. “There was evident oil spillage on multiple surfaces of the building including but not exclusive to the floor, walls, and ceiling.”

“Please could you read out the author of the report, and when it was written.”

“Lieutenant Cole Burns, dated 24th April 2020.”

“Would it be possible for a fire to have started without the presence of a person, Lieutenant?” you raised your eyebrow and turned to give Andy a victorious smile.

“In certain cases...there could be a chemical reaction that would cause a fire,” the Lieutenant shifted in his seat under your intense gaze, “it would be possible.”

“And as such, in a building that is known to have been unsafe due to a mixture of chemical spillages and one with oil, could that cause a fire?”

“Yes. The oil would act as an accelerant.”

“Counsel, would you still like to try and get your boy to take the stand?” the smug grin on your face was now undeniable.

“Objection, form.” Andy rose from his seat and you turned back to glare at him. There was nothing wrong with your line of questioning, nor was there anything wrong with your phrasing of it.

“I’ll object--” You cut Andy off once more and roll your eyes.

“Your boy, over there,” you pointed at the witness, “has-”

“I’ll object to your blatant sidebar there,” Andy grew tense and you knew that you were getting under his skin, “furthermore, Counsel, my witness is a decorated firefighter. He is a Lieutenant. Show him some respect.”

There was then a short break. You stormed out of the courtroom to get a cup of coffee and to get away from Andy. The man infuriated you. But it brought you so much delight to wind him up.

---

You checked your phone to find a text from your friend: 1 Attachment Image. Just as you were about to open it, another popped up. Check out who’s alone and getting wasted at O’Leary’s.

You opened the conversation to find a picture of Andy Barber, mid-gulp of a boilermaker at the bar.

Seriously? With the deposition continuing tomorrow? you typed quickly in reply, and sent it.

You must have seriously gotten to him, she answered with a shrugging emoji.

You erased your apartment from the map destination on your phone and put in O’Leary’s Pub instead. Maybe a drink would do you good. Or so you thought.

“Well well well,” you greeted with a grin as you stepped up to the bar, lavishing in the way his face dropped when he saw you, “look who’s drinkin’ away the loser blues.”

“I haven’t lost,” he frowned and sighed. It was heavy and resignatory. He was tired of you. That much was clear.

“Yet,” you added with a wink. “Tell me something, Barber. How is it that you manage to convince everyone you’re a perfect angel, in spite of everything you’ve done? I swear, if I had stolen the valedictorian title from you, everyone would’ve called me a bitch.”

“Oh, people still call you a bitch,” he reassured, casually lifting his beer to go for another gulp.

You slapped the glass out of his hand and watched it crash onto the floor. He looked at the foamy mess on the ground before turning to you.

“Fucking seriously?!” he exclaimed as you tried to stifle both a laugh and a scream.

You looked up instinctively at the sound of the door opening, only to see Andy in the reflection behind you.

“This is the women’s washroom-- can’t you read?” you quipped before looking at your own reflection again. As best as you tried to avoid Andy, his presence was undeniable. There was a blatant shift in any room he entered.

He said nothing, shutting the door behind him and stepping up to you. You continued washing your hands as if you weren’t suddenly feeling dizzy and your heart wasn’t racing. Andy, however, could see through your faux-composed demeanour.

As you dried your hands, you felt him right behind you, nearly pressing against you, the smell of alcohol and cologne drifting towards you while you threw the paper towel away.

You turned to leave but he was still standing there, caging you in. Something in his eyes was fiery, more aggressive than you’d seen in him before. Just as you began to side step to get away, he grabbed the sink with both hands from either side and you were trapped.

“Mr. Barber,” you began, your voice coming out much weaker and breathier than it had sounded in your head, “what… what are you doing?”

He leaned in and his breath tickled your ear and neck. “You,” he whispered, ignoring your question, “are impossible.” The smell of alcohol was equal parts strong and alluring.

“I’m just trying to throw you off, Andy,” you shrugged, “I know you can handle it. Or, I thought you could. You need to learn to ignore me.”

His hand moved from the sink to your arm, holding you down tightly.

“I can’t,” he growled. “I can’t ignore you. Since that first day at Harvard, you have been… my kryptonite.”

“You’re Superman in this example?” you chuckled trying to break some of the tension.

And that was it. He grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you with an erratic neediness. You surprised even yourself by reciprocating instantly, reaching up to grab at his shirt. He slid his hands down to grab at the back of your thighs, lifting you up onto the faux-marble countertop.

“Fuck,” you mumbled as his hands reached up your skirt, pushing it up from the inside. Goosebumps rose all over your body as it was exposed to the air.

“God, I hate you,” he growled as he pulled you closer to him, pushing his clothed erection against your panties. You whimpered at the feeling as he rolled his hips and you could feel every detail of his cock through the trousers.

You didn’t reply, instead slipping your hands between your bodies to start working open his belt and pants. You fumbled with them unsure if it was the alcohol or the anticipation that rendered you useless. He kissed you again, his tongue aggressively sliding into your mouth as one of his hands still held your face with a possessive grip.

Didn’t take long for you to get his cock out and instantly start stroking it, gasping at how hot and hard it felt in your palm. He barely managed to get your hand off him before he was pulling your underwear aside and lining up with your entrance.

“Somebody could walk in,” you warned him.

“Should’ve thought of that before you let me get this far,” he hissed in reply.

And then he pushed into you all at once, slamming his hips into yours.

“Fuck!” you yelped. Before you could even process it he was moving again, thrusting into you quickly, ruthlessly.

He pulled back and reached up to your blazer, pushing it aside so he could unceremoniously rip your shirt open, sending some buttons popping off and flying into unknown corners. He leaned down and left wet kisses down your chest and between your breasts, pushing them together against his face before pulling one out of your bra to suck on your nipple.

You looked down at him-- brown hair falling out of its meticulously styled shape, cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol, eyes shut as he diligently focused on tasting you, lips open to take your skin into his mouth-- and wondered how the fuck you were doing this with Andy fucking Barber.

His teeth grazed your nipple and a surge of wetness seeped from your walls around his cock. Both of you moaned.

He stood up suddenly and pulled out of you, manhandling you until you were turned around and bent over the countertop. He took a moment to pull down your underwear and get a good look at your ass before slamming into you again; you had to put your hand on the mirror to keep from being thrown forward by his brutal thrusts.

He held your hips in place as he fucked you, his head falling back a little when he bit his lip. A low moan escaped his lips as he felt your walls snug around him.

“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned as he buried himself in you as deep as possible with each movement.

Your eyes fluttered shut but suddenly he grabbed you by the hair and pulled you up, wrapping his other arm around your waist. “Open your eyes,” he demanded, and you did. “Look at yourself.”

You looked pretty fucking wasted, honestly. Shirt torn open, bra half pulled-down underneath it, skirt hiked up to your waist and below it all, his annoyingly-perfect cock sliding into you, slick with the undeniable evidence of your arousal.

“I can tell you’re gonna come,” he grinned, biting down on your earlobe teasingly. “You’re squeezing me. You love this.”

You didn’t even have the heart to deny it, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder and moaning louder.

“Gonna come getting fucked in a dirty pub bathroom? God, you’re filthy,” he hissed. “My little fuckdoll. Say that you’re my dirty little fuckdoll.”

You gasped and reached back to grab the back of his neck, pulling him into another kiss. He obliged, running his hand up to palm at your breast. Unable to speak, Andy gripped your jaw until you stuttered it out between moans. “Yours,” you whimpered, “I’m your little-- fuck-- your fuckdoll, Andy.”

He hissed and sped up his thrusts, and you were sure your knees would buckle. Pleasure was burning through you and making everything feel hot and tingly and numb. You just accepted it when he pushed you back and held you down by the back of your neck as he fucked you harder and faster than ever.

“Fucking say my name when you come,” he demanded. “Don’t forget who’s fucking you like this.”

You were afraid you’d scream it and get you both caught, but you couldn’t stop yourself. “Oh god, Andy, oh my god, don’t stop!” you begged.

He did anything but stop, just groaning as he moved faster until you were a complete mess, your walls rippling at the same time as your mouth opened into a silent scream while you came.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpered at the feeling of your orgasm, quickly spiralling into his own. He growled one last time as he pushed into you and painted your insides with his seed. “Fuuuuck yes,” he groaned as he pulled out. You tried to get up but he kept holding you down so he could watch his come spill out of you and drip down your legs.

“Better clean up before somebody comes in,” he smiled as he zipped up his pants, slapped your ass, and started to walk away.

“Been a pleasure as always, Mr. Barber,” you frowned, pulling your blazer back on and buttoning it to cover where your shirt couldn’t.

“I could tell,” he winked. “You’re as tight as you were in college. You need to get laid more often.”

(next chapter)

#andy barber x reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans #andy barber #andy barber x y/n #chris evans x y/n #defending jacob fanfiction #andy barber smut #chris evans smut

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samwilsonshandsandass · 4 years

Text

Somewhere Safe Chapter 2

Pairing: soft!dark!Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You wake up somewhere you don’t know and there’s someone in the room with you, who you don’t know. What will happen?

Series and chapter warnings: Non-sexual dubcon/noncon, kidnapping, abduction, ddlg undertones, Stockholm syndrome

Word count: ~ 1700

This was how it went for the next days. Bucky came in at 7am, fed you breakfast and went away without speaking a word except for “Good morning”. He came back at the times he mentioned with water, then at 12am with lunch, then again with the water and snacks in the afternoon and dinner at 7pm. He put you to bed at 9am. All this without speaking a word except “Good morning” and “Good night, sweet dreams” plus your bedtime story and a glass of warm milk with honey.

Not that you had a good morning, or sweet dreams. Calling your sleep after that first night a ‘good night’ was a vast exaggeration. Yes, you slept through the nights but feeling fully refreshed after a good nights’ sleep had to be something different.

The structure imposed by Bucky helped you stay sane, but counting the glasses of water you drank helped even more. You didn’t know if Bucky knew about this.

Each day, you started counting a-new. Your grasp of time was determined by counting the glasses of water you drank. That had two positives to it. You had to grasp at anything positive you could in your situation, right? One: You tethered yourself to something. Two: You drank enough.

Because if you didn’t, Bucky would come in like he normally did with a glass of water, look at the not-empty glass, make a disappointed sound and leave. And that would set you back in tethering yourself to something. And if it was just the number of glasses you emptied.

Day after day after day.

There still weren’t any things in the wardrobe or on the shelves so you grew more bored and bored. Trying, failing and rarely succeeding with your attempts at meditation on the bed could only pass so much time.

And day after day, he only gave you enough sanitary products to clean your face and some deodorant.

On day X, when Bucky came in to bring you breakfast, you could spy something that looked like shampoo and body wash on the tray he used to bring you food.

“Eat. Then I’ll bath you.”

You didn’t give any reaction, just started letting yourself be fed but eating slowly to prolong the inevitable. But the food was gone after some time. Of course, it was.

Bucky hadn’t said anything while you ate, sipping his coffee.

He smiled. “All done?”

You nodded timidly. You knew what would come now and you had dreaded the prospect of it since he first told you about it. You scooted back, until you felt the bed at the back of your legs and, once on the bed, you pressed yourself to the headboard, knees to the chest.

“Doll, don’t make this harder than it has to be” Bucky sighed.

You shook your head no. No matter how nice he had been to you after your abduction, how he had given you food and water and didn’t touch you without your consent, he had still abducted you and now he’d touch you everywhere!

“Remember how you said you wouldn’t eat anything while being here? This’ll be just the same. The first time will be weird and then it’ll become more normal” He coaxed you.

Still, you didn’t move.

Bucky sighed and got up. Before you had time to react, to roll away or do something else, he had snatched you in his arms and carried you to the bathroom.

“No. Don’t…” You whimpered while he undressed you.

You tried to cover yourself and he let you while he checked the water and put bubble bath in.

“Look, bubbles!” He said cheerfully.

You had no idea if he was trying to lighten the mood (not that it worked) or if he was actually excited by the bubbles forming.

“Yay, bubbles” You mumbled tonelessly.

“Don’t get smart with me now” Came a warning.

You didn’t say anything, you just wordlessly got into the bathtub when Bucky motioned you to do so.

The water was nice, warm. And still, you sat in it, body tense, arms pressed at your sides and legs clamped together.

You jerked forward when you felt a loofah at your back.

“Shhh, try to relax” Bucky whispered.

The loofah went in circles from your left shoulder to your right shoulder and then went down over your spine. As the loofah went from the base of your spine up your sides, you jerked away from it.

“Tickles” You mumbled, head down.

You heard a light chuckle from behind you but the pressure of the loofah intensified and the tickling stopped.

Now, the loofah went down your arms and you could see Bucky moving out of the corner of your eye, to get your arms better. He moved slowly, as if he didn’t want to scare you.

“Lift your arms, please.”

You did, and having your arm pits cleaned with water and body wash felt more heavenly than it should.

Your armpits were the second last thing to be cleaned that wasn’t your front. He stroked down your arms with the loofah and stopped at your wrists.

Bucky moved to the side of the tub and soaked the loofah in more body wash.

“Just… try to relax” Bucky said.

You stayed still. You didn’t move when he washed your collarbones or anywhere over the cleft of your breasts. You expected him to just move on to your breasts, but he didn’t. Instead, he cleaned your tummy and spared your sides.

You clenched your legs even closer together than they already were. Bucky softly took your right leg in his hand and cleaned it, doing the same with your left leg but each time stopped at your mid-thigh.

“You know it has to be done.”

You shook your head.

“Doll…”

Did he sound sad? And if yes, why?

You didn’t move and Bucky sighed.

“Well, then.”

He moved the loofah to your breasts and started washing them softly. If you could tense your breasts, you would have done that.

Bucky went away for a second and returned with a wash cloth. He looked up at you and when you just stared ahead, he pried open your legs and washed your intimate parts. Your thighs were as tense as they could be.

Afterwards, he let you soak up the warmth some more until he helped you stand up and step out of the tub.

“I’ll put some lotion on you now, okay?”

You nodded.

The pressure of his hands spreading the lotion would have been nice, if you could just relax your muscles. The entire time Bucky didn’t make a sound or look you in the eyes. Sometimes he would look up to your face.

After helping you dress, he took you back to your room. That was the closest to what you would call it. It wasn’t your bedroom, because a bedroom would mean you’d have other rooms to use except for the adjoined bathroom. And the term living room didn’t fit either. Existing, yes. Living, no.

When you sat on the bed again, Bucky gave you a chocolate bar.

“I’m proud of you. You did so well.”

“Thank you” You mumbled.

“’Thank you’ what?” His voice was stern.

You lowered the chocolate bar. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

And with that he left.

---

Over the next days, and most likely weeks, slowly you stopped counting the glasses of water you drank. It started with missing one and recounting for the day. It continued with a few days going back to normal but then you missed one glass. And then two. After some time you stopped counting altogether.

Now, Bucky would bring you a chocolate bar at bed time when you had “been good” that day, according to him. You couldn’t discern what made you a “Good girl” and what didn’t, because you got chocolate bars on days he bathed you and you didn’t make a fuss but also on days when nothing happened except him coming in, feeding you and leaving again plus the bedtime routine of a story, warm milk with honey and now, something sweet as well.

---

One day, Bucky came in as usual and went to the wardrobe. It was still empty, after all this time. When he wanted to dress you, he came with the clothes already with him and went with the worn ones.

You sat on the bed and craned your neck to see what he had there. You knew he didn’t want you sneaking up on him but you were just curious as to what he did there.

Bucky turned around and you saw what he held in his hands. He held a petticoat dress and thigh high stockings up. Both weren’t exactly what you’d wear normally but they weren’t ugly or despicable.

“I’d like you to wear this today, doll.”

“Is there something special happening today, Sir?” You wondered.

“Does there need to be something special happening for me to get you something?” Bucky smiled.

“Uhm… no?”

“Exactly. But, matter of fact, there is something. You’ve been good and that’s why I decided to give you some more freedom. From now on, you’ll be allowed to choose your own clothes from the wardrobe.”

Your mouth fell open.

“Th- thank you, Sir!”

Bucky pet your head. “You’ll wear this?”

You nodded.

---

It was nice, having some control back over yourself. But one thing was lacking and now you really felt it. Bucky didn’t really touch you.

Not when he fed you. When he bathed you, he used a loofah. When he put lotion on you, he did put pressure on your skin in a nice way but that was it. When he dressed you, he held the clothing and that was it. During bedtime routine, he did hold you between his legs until you fell asleep but each morning you woke up, he wasn’t there.

---

One day, after breakfast, Bucky was cleaning away like usual when you spoke up: “Uhm, Sir? Why don’t you ever touch me? Not sexually, just in general.”

“I don’t want to presume anything. And I don’t want you to feel any pressure.”

“But if I asked you, you would. Touch me, I mean” Your voice was timid.

“Yes.”

“Could you… could you stay?”

“Yes, gladly.”

And with that, Bucky put away the dishes, laid down on the bed and enveloped you in his arms.

#my things #somewhere safe #my writing #fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #dark!bucky fanfiction

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duskandstarlight · 4 years

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 27, Nessian multi-chapter)

Notes: Hello lovely readers! I am so sorry for the day's delay in posting this chapter. I was really poorly last week (and I'm still recovering) so I wasn't able to keep on top of my writing in order to bring you a chapter yesterday. That is not only because I found this very difficult to write, but because this is a LONG chapter. 14k words. There was so much to pack in, and as you all know, I am not one to gloss over certain elements, especially not Nessian goodness. Thank you to everyone who has sent me will-wishes this week and last. You are all lovely people and it's very much appreciated. Let me know what you think, as always. And apologies for any typos and inconsistencies—as I said, I've not been well so my brain has not been functioning like it usually does!

Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

Chapter Twenty-Seven Cassian

Frawley and Lorrian were all ready to go when Nesta came downstairs. Those ever-perceptive eyes—ice blue and brown—fell immediately to Nesta’s chest as she stepped into the hallway. But to Cassian’s relief, the witch remained relatively silent, mounting Caerleon and casting into the sky with her husband close behind her in a glow of emerald without more than a few crisp, comments.

Nesta flew on Sala. Despite knowing that she had trained on Caerleon enough the previous week to know what to expect, Cassian could not help the fear that wound its way into his mouth as beast and Fae left the ground. He needn’t have worried. Sala’s gait seemed as natural to Nesta as breathing; her legs tucked into the manticore’s flank just before the beast’s wings with a confident, determined grip and her fingers were secure in Sala’s ruff. Cassian had launched himself into the skies straight after her, watching Nesta as if he were a hawk. He knew the magic binding Nesta and Sala would keep Nesta seated despite the battering winds and any notion of gravity, but that didn’t stop him from flying a few feet below her for the first couple of miles, ready to throw himself into a nose dive should she fall.

But later, when he realised that Nesta was perfectly at home on top of her manticore, Cassian had risen to fly beside her. And when he had winked at her, his broad wings flapping to match her furious pace, the smile she had sent back had been genuine enough for Cassian to know that if he died that day, he would die happy. That he had seen Nesta offer him a true smile without any thought of stifling it, and it was beautiful.

A few miles from the camp, the four of them landed to leave the manticores in a thicket of pine trees. Cassian watched Nesta bury her face into the manticore’s neck and whisper in the beast’s ear before she wordlessly strode over to him.

They had decided the night prior that Frawley and Nesta would leave their manticores behind. It was an idea that had been met with great protest by Frawley, but in the end, Cassian and Lorrian had talked her round. They were both of the same opinion; bringing the manticores to the Solstice luncheon would probably push the already hostile Illyrian lords to self-combust. So the manticores would remain on stand-by, out of sight but near enough to the camp to intervene if necessary.

“Ready to go for a ride, sweetheart?” Cassian teased Nesta as she walked towards him.

Cassian had expected things to be strained between them since he had given Nesta the necklace. There was also the small matter that they would be publicly declaring themselves together today, but Nesta appeared wholly unfazed. If anything, she looked happy, despite the sexual innuendo which usually had her dropping swiftly into irritation. Her cheeks were stung pink from the cold air, giving her a healthy glow, and her eyes were impossibly bright in a way that made his own heart ache.

Her lack of reaction didn’t help Cassian to stop thinking about Nesta in a sexual capacity. And the thought of Nesta actually riding him… He had dreamt of her so many times now that their imagined actions had become a well-rehearsed dance. He knew what it felt like for her to straddle his hips. Knew what she sounded like when she sighed and sank down onto the length of him, his lips attacking the column of her neck. Of how he groaned so deeply that everything in him shook. Nesta’s phantom hands always weaved through his hair at the sound, and when she bent to kiss him, she tasted entirely right...

“I suppose I’ll have to make do with you,” Nesta struck back, pulling Cassian out of his salacious thoughts with a jolt. Her tone was playful, but there was an underlying edge of disappointment that told him she was fed up of being carried around.

Even though it hurt, Cassian understood. He wouldn’t want to be carted around the skies when he could fly through them. So, he only cast a new protective shield over them, knowing that Nesta would spit blue murder if he ruined her hair. He also knew that he should look presentable for once, rather than turning up in blood-stained armour and hair so wind-snarled that running a brush through it threatened to break it more than it promised to ease out the knots.

Cassian might be the Night Court’s general, but that didn’t mean it was beneath him to look presentable.

For a long, the two of them travelled in silence. To his surprise, Nesta had curled her fingers into his chest, an action which had been lost long ago with her fear of flying. The action was absent-minded enough to tell him her thoughts were elsewhere. Indeed, when he glanced down at her she looked far away.

Cassian was just about to ask if she was all right, when Nesta asked, “Sala will be ok in the forest?”

He bit back a smile at her concern. Somehow, he knew that would upset her.

“Yes, she’ll be fine,” Cassian replied sincerely. “She’s an alpha predator and she’s with Caer.”

Darting another glance downwards, he found Nesta chewing on her lip. The action made her appear even more beautiful. Cassian didn’t know how Nesta always managed to look so arresting. Sometimes, he thought it was because he saw her through rose-tinted lenses, but then someone else would make a comment, like Lorrian yesterday, and he’d know it wasn’t in his imagination at all.

“If you need her, she’ll come,” Cassian assured Nesta, locking his eyes with hers so his words held weight. “Sala is bound to your magic, just will her presence and she will find you.”

Slowly, Nesta nodded. When she unclenched her teeth, her bottom lip was swollen and flushed. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her when they weren’t dying. Whether she’d let him. Sometimes—only rarely—Cassian thought she might. Like earlier, when he had given her the necklace and she had twisted to look up at him. It would have been so easy to cup her cheek and bow his head that little bit further. And for a second, he’d thought that was what she had wanted. Her eyes had darted to his lips, but rather than satisfaction Cassian had felt a stab of mutual fear. Because they both knew that if Cassian was to give in to temptation—if she let him and wanted it—they would not stop until their skin was bare and their bodies were moulded into the other.

Cassian fortified his ring of fire at the thought. Made it even tighter and more formidable. Blocked out the thought of Nesta’s endless skin and her unforgiving curves. Since the kerits attack on Windhaven, Cassian felt more of Nesta down that shared tether. It was still constricted, but it was enough to get hits of emotion more frequently than before. And even though Cassian was desperate to, he hadn’t dared to reach out and touch that twisted rope again.

It hurt to deny himself the pleasure of brushing against it. The urge pulsed beneath his skin, whispering her name over and over: Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

“You’re ok with today’s plan?” Cassian asked Nesta, because he needed to say something that didn’t make him think about how they would be sharing a bed later. How he would be so consumed by her scent it would be hard to breathe, let alone think. Needed to focus on the fact that today could be very dangerous and that he was willingly carrying her right into it.

It would not be like last time when she had been suffering from nightmares. This time she would be lucid. He would not be able to arch a protective wing over her and ghost his body alongside hers. It was going to be necessary torture and he had no idea whether she had yet pieced together that they would not have separate sleeping arrangements. Nesta was usually so quick to put two and two together, but she had not truly snapped or refused point blank to be anywhere near him, which made him suspect that it hadn’t yet clicked.

“Aside from being promised to you?” Nesta asked, a slight crease appearing between her brows.

The words were not vicious, but Cassian still had to snicker away the hurt. “Aside from that.”

“Yes, I’m ok with the plan,” she replied. She craned her neck up to look at him. “You’re worried.”

Cassian could not help but press his lips tightly together. He thought about denying it, but somehow he knew that she could read his expression too adeptly.

“I’m always wary before I meet with the war-lords. I’m even more wary when a meeting has been brought forward,” Cassian admitted. He cast his gaze forward to the skies, to Lorrian and Frawley who were flying ahead of them. Lorrian’s natural gait had always been faster than Cassian’s. Whilst Cassian’s wings were bigger, Lorrian’s build was made for speed. “I’ve got a bad feeling about it,” he admitted. “Marsh is a notoriously harsh war-lord, but he’s been unwell in recent years. Usually, a war-lord would not think twice to rid himself of a son who would pose as a threat. Kallon has openly claimed to have Enalius’s sword and his father has not made a single move against him, even though it threatens his position.”

“You think Marsh would kill his own son?”

Cassian snorted. “It has happened before. That, or a son would be cast out of the camp and stripped of his entitlement.”

Nesta frowned. “So, what you are saying is that you do not think that Marsh has long left to live and he is allowing Kallon to rule in his stead?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I think,” Cassian replied seriously, not at all surprised at Nesta’s intelligence. “And that means Kallon could soon be in a position of great power and influence, especially if he claims to have been chosen by Enalius to unite the Illyrians.”

They flew in silence for a few minutes. Cassian could almost hear the cogs turning in Nesta’s mind, as she digested the information he had just given her. But when she finally spoke, it was not about Kallon or the rising discontent. “I won’t be subservient.”

Cassian looked down at her in surprise. Did she mean today? “I don’t want you to be,” he said carefully. Honestly.

“Aren’t you going to remind me of the Illyrian customs and how I shouldn’t behave considering I’m a female?” Nesta asked stiffly.

Cassian frowned. Maybe things weren’t fine between them, after all. There was a sudden edge to her voice that he had heard when he had first shown her the necklace. That sharp, brittle parry that had almost seemed like she was purposefully attempting to put distance between them. He had felt her panic. She hadn’t been able to stifle that emotion before it flew down their tether. Nor had she been able to disguise the beating of her heart, which pattered at such a rate that it had melded with his own terrified rhythm.

Nesta knew what the necklace was, Cassian was sure of it. Knew by now that he had dived back into the Sidra to retrieve the gift she had refused, just as she had rejected him.

Now Cassian was no longer clouded by the fierce grip of rejection, he could not entirely blame Nesta for turning him away on Solstice. She had spent the evening sitting as far away from the fire as possible during a visit against her will. And not only had she had to fight battle trauma, but she had been forced to endure how they were all moving on without her. It was what Nesta had insisted upon, but Cassian was not stupid enough to think that it hadn’t hurt, especially when he had opened Mor’s gift and laughed along with everyone, pretending everything was fine when it most certainly was not. When it had felt as if someone had already thrust a hand into his chest and thrown out his bloody, bleeding heart for everyone to see.

To see the world through a pair of dusky blue eyes rather than hazel had everything tilted sideways, but it was necessary, he knew that now.

“No,” Cassian replied shortly, and meant it. Nesta was wild and he hungered for it. To see her chained and timid went against every fibre of his being.

“Is that not what is expected of the females here?” Nesta questioned, her voice that little more pointed.

Cassian frowned again. “It is, but I like you just the way you are,” he confessed slowly. “It is not what I would ever expect of you.”

Then, he barked a laugh, missing the sudden change in Nesta’s expression. “And you’ll find your defiance is in good company. You and Frawley are going to make a formidable pair.”

A soft snort. It was as close to a laugh as Cassian was going to get, but he would settle for it, even if it was nothing on the joy that had hit him square in the stomach a few weeks prior. He had been eating breakfast in the kitchen when he had felt it: pure, radiating laughter that had somehow ghosted into his ears and wound itself around his most vital organs. He had been out of his seat and in the skies before he had a moment to catch himself, following that tether between them that was more defined than ever before. But the cold, bracing air had done him good, and Cassian had turned sharply around, suddenly understanding that it was not his moment to share. That it was something Nesta needed to experience independently from him.

So, Cassian had waited at the bungalow for Nesta to return, every second a new form of torture. And from the moment she stepped through the front door, he had known they had reached a turning point. There was a lightness to her features that he had not seen before. As if the laughter had broken through that expressionless mask and rendered her new.

Cassian had expected to have to wait for a glowing retelling from Mas the day after, but Nesta had told him herself, a ghost of a smile on her lips as he made her breakfast and a mug of chai, listening to her talk and talk and talk.

He would have sold his soul in that moment. Would have done anything for her. But he had only sat opposite with a cup of steaming coffee and watched her eat as if she hadn’t for days. And when he had asked if she wanted to come with him to oversee his camp duties, she had nodded without hesitation, telling him she had a few hours before she was due to show Feyre around the camps with Mas.

“I should warn you that they’ll be interested in you,” Cassian told Nesta after a moment.

Nesta’s body turned stiff in his arms. “What do you mean?”

“Word has spread amongst the camps about what you did,” Cassian explained.

Mas had encouraged the widows to do as much. The monthly market set deep in the mist-shrouded valley of Empyr, was the perfect opportunity for those that could fly to spread word, just as Kallon’s recruits spread vicious discourse about the Night Court. The valley was flanked by lush forest green and cascading waterfalls, and Illyrians flew from all over the mountains to stock up on essentials, from grains and spices, to weaponry and healing medicines. It was also the location of the Illyrian festival Kharon, where once a year, Illyrians congregated to sail souls to rest down the River Styx.

Cassian couldn’t wait to take Nesta there. Was waiting for the perfect moment.

“Feyre was there, too,” Nesta reminded him, but Cassian only shook his head.

“You brought Mas back to life. A lowly widow in the eyes of the average Illyrian. You gave someone worth who was deemed as having none, Nesta. You sparked an oppressed female to lead others and finally stand up against cultural traditions that have been engrained for centuries—”

“But the males don’t see it that way?” Nesta guessed, cutting him off. Her expression did not give any indication that his praise had either pleased or irritated her.

Cassian tilted his head in a shrug, but he did not stop staring into her eyes—into the smoky blue that mesmerised him even now. “Should the dissent continue to rise, we might be forced to invoke a referendum about whether Illyria should become an independent nation,” Cassian explained. “Females have the right to vote. Rhys instated the law many years ago, much to the chagrin of the Illyrian males. I think that’s why Kallon has been targeting the females who lost their husbands and sons in the war—in the hope that their support would swing the cause in his favour.”

“But if he is behind the orchestrated attacks, then we could stop a divided nation?” Nesta asked, finishing his strain of thought.

Cassian’s smile was grim. “Exactly.”

“You think he did it?”

Cassian shrugged. “I keep thinking about those bastards who have disappeared. I would not be surprised if their allegiance had been bought by the rebellion. I’m sure they have been promised a station above the lowest ranking foot soldier. You heard Devlon, they are all exceptional in the skies, but they aren’t recognised for their talents. They have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

“What would happen if you captured them?” Nesta asked quietly.

Cassian looked into the distance—at the pine-capped mountains and the craggy mountain stone. He didn’t want to think about what would befall those males. He knew them. They were good soldiers with no sense of self-worth.

Nesta touched Cassian’s shoulder. “Maybe it won’t come to that,” she said.

“Maybe,” Cassian replied, but he knew he didn’t sound convinced.

Lord Marsh’s residence was a too-large stone building set deep into the forested mountain ledge that overhung the rest of the mountain pass. Flags bearing the Ironcrest insignia—a crested hawk eagle with its wings spread wide—rippled in the breeze, and Fae males armed with spears flanked the huge double-doors, which were made of heavy pine and punctured with black iron studs and heavy handles in the shape of Illyrian wings. The guards iron helmets were plumed with pointed black feathers tipped with white, just like the hawk that had given Ironcrest the latter part of its name.

Carefully, Cassian touched down onto the stone a careful distance from both the entrance and Lorrian and Frawley. He did not give Nesta the opportunity to step away. Instead, he tightened the arm that was still wound around her waist and curled a wing around them like a shield.

Already he felt territorial. Already he did not want to let her go.

“You stay with me tonight.”

Nesta’s head whipped up at the dead seriousness of his tone. His words were not up for debate but to his surprise, she did not hiss ‘no’ and he did not feel that silver power push against her skin. Cassian suspected that Nesta’s nerves had started to fray at the prospect of being somewhere that was not the bungalow or Lorrian and Frawley’s cottage.

He touched her hand to bring her back. Nesta stared down at the fingers that clasped hers as if she did not understand how they had got there, before she tightened her grip and turned to face him. As she met his gaze, that smoky blue latched onto him and he felt as if he was a predator who had crawled into the palm of her hand and rolled over in surrender.

“If you need to get my attention when we are inside then send me a subtle signal,” Cassian told Nesta in a quiet voice. Already there would be too many prying eyes and ears. He could already feel Fae watching him from the crown glass windows, their faces distorted by both the plain whorled glass and the stained colours of the insignia set into their middle.

Nesta frowned. “How—”

Cassian pressed his fingers gently against Nesta’s stomach. He felt the wings of her ribs and the muscles of her core. “Here,” he said softly, his heart battering against his chest. “Like you did the other day at Kanaman.”

This close up Cassian could taste the sweetness of Nesta’s breath. Could see every single one of her eyelashes and the black-blue kohl that rimmed the upper lids. Nesta was not usually one for enhancing the features she already had. She did not need to. Staring at Nesta as a human had been enough for Cassian’s breath to catch in his throat, but as Fae… she was devastating. And whilst Cassian preferred Nesta windswept in leathers and a simple braid, he could not deny that when he had found her that morning to give her the necklace, his knees had gone weak.

Yet, there was something about Nesta being dressed up which made Cassian feel as if he were at a distance from her. As if the formal garments and the tight, intricate arrangement of her braid slammed a partition between them, highlighting how he was only a lowly bastard and she was too good for him. It was why he had often kept his distance before, too fearful to speak with her in front of his friends in case she were to shoot him down publicly. And the truth of it was that Nesta made him feel like he was young again. He had played games without realising it. Ignoring her to feign indifference, hoping to hide just how affected he was by her mere presence in a room. How scared he was to let his friends see just how much his wild and vulnerable heart had been flung out before this bewitching female for the first time in centuries. Because Nesta was not like anyone else he had ever met. He had never felt like this. Not just an undeniable pull of attraction, but something deeper than lust or fancy. Something more.

It was only when Cassian spied the pyrite laying below her collarbone did he relax a little. Perhaps it was too simple for someone as arresting as Nesta, but she hadn’t rejected it. Had let him put it on her and she had not taken it off, not even when she had realised what it was. How it highlighted that painful memory that was strung between them.

She had called the necklace beautiful. Had meant it.

“What—” Nesta started, but she broke off suddenly, a flicker of recognition dawning on her face. Absent-mindedly her fingers closed around the pyrite, as if touching it allowed her to understand—to tap into his mind and read his thoughts.

For a moment, they stared at one another. Both of their hearts thumping even as their expressions remained impassive. If not for the slight stain on Nesta’s cheeks Cassian would not have known she was affected at all.

It amused him that she had thought she had gotten away with sending an emotion back without him noticing. It was the first he had felt something gentle from her, rather than a blast of emotion. And whilst the sensation had still been stifled down that constricted tether, it had touched him in a way he could not explain. That she had cared enough to soothe his torment.

In that moment, Cassian had felt wholly connected to her, but Nesta hadn't even glanced his way.

Outside of their cocoon, Cassian heard approaching voices and the clink of armour. Even still, he found himself hesitating, wanting a private moment with Nesta for a little longer before they were thrown to the vultures.

So, Cassian surprised her, raising her knuckles to his lips. Her skin tasted so intoxicating the primal part of him internally growled, but he only looked at her with dark eyes as he slowly retracted his wing — at the smoky silver that slid behind her irises, and unable to help it, breathed softly, “Pulchra.”

His lips quirked against her skin when her breath hitched. Then, slowly, he dropped her hand and offered her his arm with a smile that for once he did not have to catch and shape into something else. “After you, amore,” he said.

Nesta studied him for a moment. He watched her eyes slide past him to the stone building—to the window and the faces that he knew were staring, prying and scheming. Saw the understanding dawn on Nesta’s face that told him she had believed the kiss for show, when really it had been nothing but a perfect excuse.

And then she took his arm.

Warriors on duty armed only in fighting leathers and what Cassian suspected was a number of well-hidden knives led them to the drawing room. Stone walls lit by bobbing faelights cast dark, long shadows in the hallways and onto the faded rugs. As they turned a corner, female servants came into view laden with silver plates piled high with food. In the near distance, a wide doorframe gleamed, light spilling into the corridor and with it, the rumble of forced conversation and the clink of glasses.

One step into the bright room had Cassian on high alert and scanning for every possible exit point. As usual, the Solstice Luncheon did nothing to bring the Illyrians together. Instead, the clans remained steadfast in their own groups of lords and ladies, save for the odd stiff conversation between camps with long-formed alliances. Cassian spied Lord Condor from Forktail speaking stiffly with Devlon, and Cassian immediately thought of Lorrian. How would he fare coming face-to-face with his younger brother today? Notoriously they did not get on. Rumour had it that Lord Icor Condor had not been happy that Lorrian had been promoted from outcast to Colonel. Cassian had received a hate letter for it, not that he cared. Everyone knew Lorrian was the best equipped Illyrian to get their warriors back to a high-level of skill in the skies.

It did not take Cassian long to locate Ironcrest’s war-lord. He was sitting at a large pine table laden with Illyrian cuisine in front of the right-hand bay window. In front of him, a large silver goblet was full to the brim with red wine, as well as a plate piled high with untouched food.

Lord Anguis Marsh had always been a broad shouldered male who was unusually well-kept for a warrior. His dark hair was slicked back to feather at the nape of his neck, and he sported a hooked, crooked nose and an ugly scar which effectively splitting through his upper lip. When Marsh had been in good health, he had been known for his alarming speed on the battlefield and the vicious nature with which he gutted his opponents. Now, Cassian could not find that male in front of him.

Marsh was the eldest of the war-lords—a few millennia old, perhaps—and as Azriel had reported, his health was not what it was. The lord—or prince, as all the top ranking war-lords were referred to (with Enalius being viewed as their God and King)—had not been able to fight in the most recent war, nor had he made a point of sitting in on the War Counsel. Kallon, who was Marsh’s only princeling and son, had been denied a place on the Counsel in his stead, with Cassian arguing that it was not only because Kallon was unseasoned, but because he wasn’t intending to fight against Hybern himself. It had been a decision that Cassian knew had not been taken lightly, and he did not delude himself to think that the repercussions weren’t now stacked against him.

The prince’s declining health was far worse than when Cassian had last seen Marsh. That much was evident from where he remained seated at the thick pine table rather than standing with the majority of his guests. Although, Cassian mused, he would not put it past any Illyrian war-lord to feel so superior that they remained seated at their house table as if it were a throne.

Steering Nesta over the table to get the formalities over and done with, Cassian deliberately shortened his strides to match hers. As he did so, he tracked Marsh reaching stiffly for his goblet to take a deep drink. It did little to disguise the unmistakable tremble of his hand. Only the war-lord’s eyes remained the same as Cassian remembered; small, yellow and beady — alert and vigilant in the way that only a true Illyrian warrior was. They slid from Cassian to Nesta, before moving on to Lorrian and Frawley behind them.

“General.” A deep, drawl laced with the faintest rasp. Not as fierce as it used to be, that was for certain.

Yet, the sneer that twisted the male’s tan face as they came to a stop a few feet from the table undoubtedly belonged to Marsh. The movement highlighted the scar on Marsh’s lip, the skin crumpling as the split caused it to curl in the wrong way. “I see you brought company, bastard, when usually you do not grace us with your presence at all.”

Cassian did not let a flicker of expression taint his blank canvas. He had sent word of their intended stay well ahead of time, but Cassian knew that Marsh would feign ignorance just for the spite of it. “Yes,” he replied. “As I am sure you are already aware, Colonel Lorrian has been reappointed and is overseeing the armies aerial fleet. Neither of us would miss the Rite counsel.”

It was true, Cassian would not miss the Rite counsel that would take place later that afternoon. It was unusual that it had been moved. Usually it took place mid-January, but seeing that it was Ironcrest who was due to hold the ceremony that year, combining the Solstice luncheon and the Rite counsel made sense. It didn’t stop Cassian from being suspicious. Any deviation from the Illyrian’s deepest traditions always had Cassian’s hackles raised, not because he did not appreciate progress or the ability to adapt, but because it was not the Illyrians usual way, especially when it came from one of the oldest Illyrian war-lords.

Marsh did not acknowledge Cassian’s comment regarding the Rite. Instead, he said maliciously, “I didn’t believe there was an aerial fleet left.”

Cassian did not allow his body to stiffen. Did not allow to show how they affected him, even now. He could beat them all to a pulp if he wanted, Cassian reminded himself. He had more siphons than all of them. More Killing Power. He may be a bastard but he was a worthy warrior and better suited to lead the armies than any one of them.

So, he dropped into a voice that he saved for occasions like this. A voice which promised death and destruction and was not to be disputed. “Colonel Lorrian will oversee the training of your aerial warriors tomorrow morning,” Cassian clipped coldly, as if he had not heard the rebuttal. “And we will see how much of that rings true. I am sure Ironcrest would not have allowed their warriors to sink in standard.”

Another curl of the lip as Marsh sneered. Without looking behind him, Marsh raised his goblet with a shaking hand. A female servant rushed forward with a tall, heavy pitcher of wine. When his goblet was refilled, Marsh did not shift his yellow, beady eyes from Cassian as he lifted the goblet to his lips. His hand shook with enough effort that the contents spilled over the lip and onto his arm.

A snarl unleashed itself from Marsh’s throat, the sound not unlike a whip hitting home. The goblet thunked onto the pine table, wine sloshing over the surface. “Maya, you useless female,” Marsh chastised the female servant, whose eyes had widened with fear. “You jostled me. Get me a napkin at once or I will banish you to the widows camp and be done with you.”

The hand that was still looped through Cassian’s arm tightened slightly, and Cassian felt the threat of Nesta’s magic push beneath her skin. Training regularly with Nesta had allowed Cassian to become used to the seal of her magic. It was something which had become as naturally as breathing to him since that day at Spearhead, when they had first trained with his siphon. It was almost as if Nesta’s magic had imprinted onto his very being. When it moved, he felt it. When it blazed, he burned without fire.

As if it were the most natural gesture in the world, Cassian brought a hand to cup Nesta’s where it lay on her arm. It was a reminder to stay calm. Nesta’s job was to scout out the emotions in the room, not set it aflame.

“Father,” a male voice announced.

Cassian turned to see a male standing a few feet from them. Kallon was the imitation of his father when he had been in good health: impossibly dark hair scraped back to the nape of his neck; yellow eyes; a chiselled jaw; and sharp cheekbones. He was handsome in the way that most Fae were, and his skin betrayed his youth; the majority of brown unmarred, save for a vicious looking scar on his arm and half of a missing index finger on his left hand, which left the digit intact only to the knuckle. Kallon did not have Illyrian tattoos yet—had not seen war to earn them—and on the backs of his hands lay no siphons.

Given the steadfast rule at all gatherings for the war-lord, Cassian was not surprised to see that no sword lay either in a scabbard by Kallon’s side, or strapped down his spine, as was Illyrian custom.

“My son, Kallon,” Marsh announced with the stiff flick of a trembling hand, “who I presume you have met before.”

Cassian did not bow his head. “I don’t believe we have met in a number of years.”

Piercing yellow eyes studied Cassian. “I don’t believe I would have had cause to, considering our General does not visit Ironcrest often, and given that I was not permitted a place on your war counsel.”

An insult already and one that was not entirely true. Cassian had visited Ironcrest a fair few times over the last four months, but Kallon had never been in the training ring or with his father at the same time.

Kallon’s luminescent yellow eyes moved from Cassian’s to the female beside him. They stilled and then, painstakingly slowly, they deliberately raked a path over every inch of Nesta’s body. The movement was purposefully claiming, and Cassian suppressed the growl that came roaring to the forefront as Kallon dared to flex the claws on his wings. “And who is this bewitching female?” he asked.

Nesta had turned preternaturally still, and not one part of her body moved save for her eyes, which slid to the talons at the apex of the princeling’s wings. In fact, Cassian noted, Nesta’s posture had not changed since she had entered the house; her spine stacked tall, her chin slightly raised, those beautiful eyes lined with silver shimmering mercury blue. But there was something in her stillness that made Cassian wonder if Nesta, too, had dissected that Kallon’s good looks had a cold and unreachable quality that hinted at something far sinister. As if he used them as a way of luring in victims, much like sirens tempted sailors to the rocks at sea.

Nesta would have felt distant and otherworldly if she had not been holding his arm. If he could not feel her, ever so slightly, down that bond thanks to her lowered walls.

“This is Lady Nesta Archeron,” Cassian replied, forcing all malice from his voice.

“Oh, yes,” Kallon mused smoothly, his irises flaring as if they were an extension of his nostrils. No doubt trying to scent whether Cassian had claimed her. “I have heard of you. I can feel your power. I’ve heard others call you a witch, but I have also heard that you have taken a power that is ancient beyond reckoning. Something that is not yours.”

The princeling’s voice had dropped into a purr and a snarl roared inside of Cassian as Kallon closed the distance between them to take Nesta’s hand. His signet ring flashed in the faelight as he placed a slow, deliberate kiss to Nesta’s knuckles—the exact same spot atop Nesta’s ring finger that Cassian had kissed moments earlier.

“Such a touching story,” Kallon continued, his voice unbelievably even as he looked up at her, “about how you defended one another on the battlefield.” His gaze intensified and sharpened on Nesta as he lowered her hand from his mouth. “Rumour has it that your dedication did not last long, but who can blame you for deciding not to settle for a lowly bastard?”

The way in which Kallon straightened was slow and deliberate. He did not let go of Nesta’s hand, his yellow eyes continuing to stare pointedly at the female before him, as if he had been privy to every night she had fucked someone else and Cassian had perched outside on the rooftop.

Hot and cold washed over Cassian’s body with such ferocity it felt as if he had jumped into both ice and fire. Rage and humiliation battered against his shields, but he did not lower them. Would not allow Nesta or anyone else in the room know how much those words affected him.

But then he felt Nesta’s anger fling itself hard down their tether, the sensation not akin to a blow to the stomach. It pierced through his fire, his heart, and for a moment he felt as if he had been set aflame. He knew she had lowered her shields so she could sense others' emotions in the room, but to be reminded how much she truly felt when she let every barrier fell away was astounding.

Even so, when Nesta spoke, her voice was icy and level beyond reckoning. “Evidently that is not true, otherwise I would not be here.”

She retracted her mist-wrapped hand from Kallon with such care Cassian knew that she was considering smacking him round the face.

A low, sensual laugh that was more fitting for jovial conversation than it was here. “Do not try to convince me that you, a High Fae, has settled for the lowest born faerie? Just how poor was the offering back in Velaris? I hear there was no shortage of males in your bed…”

Cassian had stopped breathing for fear that if he did he would launch towards Kallon and use his fists to beat him bloody and blue. His shield had faltered, the fire sputtering as the words hit home like a spear to the heart.

Nesta did not rise to the bait. She only clipped, “It turns out that the only male I found to be worthy was an Illyrian bastard, so that is no longer relevant.” That chin of Nesta’s rose defiant, and with it, she grew even taller; a vengeful mighty queen looking down on her subjects with pure loathing. “And I may have been Made High Fae against my will, but I am human at heart. I believe you think them to be at the bottom of the chain, so perhaps that will help you sleep easier at night.”

Kallon blinked at Nesta, momentarily stunned. His gaze slid to her fingers, where mist was still seeping from them, curling around Cassian’s bicep. The heat was a welcoming lick rather than hot enough to burn, but the way her fire started to take form, the mist turning into a rope which blazed in coils around her forearm was enough to insinuate otherwise. And there was the fact that Nesta could will it to burn hotter if she liked. Cassian did not doubt that she could incinerate the room with a mere flick of her fingers.

The thought thrilled him. Stacked up the fire inside of his own body, his internal shields answering to hers as his flames licked higher.

Kallon did not step back, although Cassian saw the muscles in his body tense as if to fling himself out of range. He cocked his head to the side, contemplative, as if Nesta were a puzzle he wanted to figure out. And then, he slipped. For a fraction of a second his right hand fell to his hip, where a sword or knife usually hung from his weapon’s belt. But the way his fingers remained there, lingering… it was enough to tell Cassian that he was hiding something. That he was armed, even though he was not supposed to be.

And the knowledge clearly gave him courage, because he stepped towards Nesta, his eyes gleaming—

Nesta snarled, her whip uncoiling itself, the tip lashing out across the clearing with such speed Kallon recoiled.

“It’s true then,” Kallon said, his eyes bright as he took a step backwards. “Silver flames—”

But his father interjected, as if he had endured enough of his son’s games. “I do not remember inviting two witches and an Incomplete to this luncheon,” Marsh snapped.

“Scared of what we’re capable of?” Frawley asked, speaking up for the first time since they had stepped into the room. Her voice was quiet but chilling, and her ice-blue eye levelled Marsh with such a glare that Cassian found himself tensing. Frawley was not irresponsible enough to start a fight, but she had been known to provoke the war-lords when she saw fit. Usually when they insulted her husband.

“To think that you would be in the company of two females more powerful than you,” Frawley mused with the deathly sort of calm that Cassian usually harboured for himself during battle. “And that’s not to mention that one of us beheaded the King of Hybern.”

That lip twisted and contorted, but Kallon spoke before his father had the opportunity to do it himself. “I do not think that we need to thank a witch for ending a war where Illyrians were treated as disposable,” Kallon said.

A murmur went through the crowd. But that did not deter Nesta, who levelled Kallon with a gaze which had him stilling as a slow, cruel smile crept across her face. “I’m not a witch,” she vowed. “I’m something much worse.”

True silence. So quiet that Cassian could have heard a pin drop.

And that was when, without waiting to be dismissed, Cassian chose to steer Nesta away from the war-lord’s table and into the watching crowds.

Nesta moved beside him as if she were floating, as if gravity did not apply to her. Cassian challenged every stare and every curling lip they passed. When they reached the large windows farther down the room where it was less crowded, he drew them to a halt.

Begrudgingly, he dropped his arm, but then he felt couldn’t resist the temptation this partnership had granted him, so he dared to raise a hand to touch his fingers to the nape of Nesta’s neck. As well as being self-indulgent, it was also a gesture of intimacy that he thought would make Nesta least uncomfortable. It was a self-indulgent move, something that sung intimacy and was designed to stake a claim. Because he had seen the way in which Kallon had stared at Nesta. The way he had tried to scent for a bond or claim on her. The gleam in Kallon’s eyes had told Cassian he was not wholly convinced about their claim of being partners, enough for him to prod and poke about Cassian’s bastard status and Nesta’s bedding habits. To see what they said and how they behaved.

And whilst Illyrian males were not overly affectionate with their partners in public, Cassian never intended to take a wife who he did not openly cherish.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked softly.

To his surprise, Nesta did not flinch. Instead, she turned into his touch, lifting those smoky blue eyes to his as if this impromptu dance they were orchestrating was as natural as breathing. That she hadn’t just been called out on her promiscuous behaviour and her continual rejection of him.

She gave a short nod. “Please.”

Her expression, Cassian noted, might be carefully blank, but her eyes were readable to him. He had spent four months living with her. Had learnt to dissect every hollowed out stare and every dulled light whenever she was unguarded enough to let him. And whilst Cassian had expected Nesta to wear the mask she so habitually wore, her eyes were open enough for him to know that she was still angry.

Sweeping up four goblets of wine from the closest servant, Cassian tried not to mourn the loss of Nesta’s skin beneath his fingertips. Frawley flicked her hands casually at both Lorrian’s and Nesta’s drinks, turning the wine to juice before either of them had a moment to comment.

“I could do with some wine,” Lorrian confessed to Cassian in a low, bitter tone as Nesta turned to respond to something Frawley had just said. His friend’s face was wholly impassive to the outsider, but Cassian knew Lorrian well enough to catch the slightly mournful look in the Lorrian’s eyes as he glanced down into the depths of his goblet. “I give it five minutes until I have a war-lord upon me demanding for an update on the state of the aerial fleet.” He cast a slow, hard look around the room. It was a look that Cassian had honed himself over centuries of learning how to assert authority. “That being said,” Lorrian continued, “I think that could have gone a lot worse.”

Cassian grunted, the sensation making his chest jolt and his armour clink. “Speak for yourself.”

Lorrian shot Cassian an apologetic look. He watched Cassian take a deep sip from his goblet. At least the wine was good, Cassian thought bitterly, as if the silver lining would smooth over the battering he’d just received.

“If it’s any consolation, my brother has been sneering at me since we set foot in the room,” Lorrian admitted to Cassian, as if he knew what Cassian was thinking. “I’d sell my other arm in a wager that he’ll have strut over here by the end of this damn luncheon to give me hell.”

It was intended to be a joke but Cassian knew how sensitive Lorrian was about his missing limb. And understandably so. Illyrians were cruel at the best of times, but to have already been referred to as an Incomplete was enough to have a traumatised warrior drowning in a sense of underserved dishonour.

Like Cassian, Lorrian was resplendent today in his black scaled armour, and his right arm glowed a soft emerald from where he had used his magic to temporarily reinstate his limb. “At least we took Frawley’s poison blocker before we left,” Lorrian continued to mutter under his breath. “I bet the majority of this room would take great joy in our deaths.”

Another grunt from Cassian—this time one of agreement. He glanced down into his goblet which was now empty. It was not like him to drink so quickly in the company of the lords, but Kallon had Cassian’s anger pushing at his skin, ready to jump to the forefront with one sneering look.

He lifted his eyes to search for another servant, but the same female Marsh had snapped at earlier—Maya—appeared at his left-hand side with a silver pitcher of wine as if she had been watching him.

The first thing Cassian noticed about the widow was that she had large, almond shaped hazel eyes that were so light, they were almost amber. Her long, ebony hair was fashioned into a double bun at the nape of her neck—a style at odds with her servant status—and on the inside of her wrist, as she lifted her arm to pour him a drink, Cassian spied a tattoo of a sun and moon.

A twin.

Cassian was so distracted by the ink that he didn’t realise he had moved his goblet away until it was too late. The wine spilled over the rim of the cup and onto the flagstone floor, the red liquid splattering over his leg and onto the back of Nesta’s dress.

Maya’s eyes went as round as saucers and he saw the panic flood her expression in a way that told Cassian she was not treated well in the Marsh residence. Nesta turned around sharply, most presumably, from feeling the females terror with her magic.

“I—I am so sorry, my lord,” Maya stammered. Her eyes, which had been dutifully downcast, had snapped up in alarm to connect with his. “Please, let me clean this up. I—”

But Cassian only shook his head, wordlessly taking the handkerchief Lorrian passed to him and took a deliberate step backwards so Maya was deliberately placed in front of him. “I think you will find that it is me who should be apologising,” Cassian corrected kindly. “I moved my goblet.”

He turned to Nesta. “Are you wet?” he asked, holding out the handkerchief to her before even thinking about drying off his wine-covered hand.

“I’m fine,” Nesta replied, shaking her head. She had not made any movements to draw attention to herself like many other females would have done. It was as if she, too, had deduced that if Marsh was to catch wind of the incident, Maya would be cast out into the cold. “It’s only a little on the bottom of my skirts. It will soon dry.”

Maya’s eyes slowly fell to the floor at Nesta’s words. They widened in horror at the spatters of red that had already seeped into the light fabric.

“I am not wed to this dress,” Nesta assured Maya. Her usually clipped manner had fallen into something softer and more sincere. It was a voice she used with a fair few: Elain, Roksana and Mas. Sometimes him.

Sometimes.

Cassian pressed his lips together to stop himself from protesting. Because whilst Nesta might claim not be wedded to her dress, he certainly was. The floating material was the colour of dusky cornflower, a shade which made Nesta’s irises so light they shimmered ice blue. The effect was so startling Cassian’s heart had stopped when she’d opened her bedroom door that morning. If he hadn’t been so nervous he would have probably gone to hell with it all and bent his head to press his lips with hers. Instead, he had stared into those mesmerising eyes and, for a moment, forgotten the silver chain that was burning into his fist.

Avoiding the puddle of wine, Nesta stepped deliberately closer to Cassian, using their bodies to shield the spillage from the war-lord’s table. She touched his arm with her fingertips and looked up at him. “It’s nothing our housekeeper can’t fix. Isn’t that right, amore?”

For a moment, Cassian stared at Nesta, unable to process that she had not only spoke a word of Illyrian, but the term of endearment he had used earlier. Her voice was matter-of-fact, but there was something lacing the words that made him, for a stupid second, believe she meant it.

“Our housekeeper is very skilled,” Cassian assured Maya, allowing a rare smile to slip across his expression. “It won’t be an issue.”

But Maya was still pale. Her eyes slid past them, to the war-lord sat at the far end of the room.

“He can’t see you, Maya,” Cassian assured the servant evenly, as he finished wiping the wine away from his arm and sleeve. When he was finished, he wound an arm around Nesta’s waist, intending to pull her closer to his body, but she moved for him, moulding her curves against his hard lines, blocking Marsh completely from view. Jasmine and vanilla washed over him, the scent a relief. He rubbed a thumb over the fabric of her dress in thanks for playing along. For the blessing of having her pressed up against him.

“I can take care of it.” Frawley took a small step forward to close their circle.

She held out her goblet purposefully outwards, as if she were in need of a refill, and Maya tentatively topped up her a drink as Frawley subtly flicked her fingers. The puddle of wine and the stain on Nesta’s dress vanished.

Again, Maya’s eyes widened, but she was clever enough not to make any kind of movement to attract attention.

“Th-Thank you, my lord. My ladies,” Maya said gratefully, the clear relief in her voice enough to make Cassian angry. When would the injustices inflicted on Illyrians by Illyrians stop? Cassian had no doubt Maya had been mistreated, despite the fact that her twin status must provide her with a certain amount of protection. Illyrians were a superstitious race and would not risk the wrath of the Gods for casting a twin out into the cold.

In fact, Cassian was surprised that Marsh dared to keep her as a servant at all. Usually twins were the only low-born Illyrians that were established into civil society. And they were always low-born and always unbelievably rare. More often than not they were the product of lords unable to keep their cocks in their pants outside of their marriage bed.

Holding back a grimace, Cassian made himself nod at Maya as she bobbed a perfect curtsey to each of them, her golden eyes downcast and submissive, before she took leave.

Curiously, Cassian cocked his head at the widow as she quickly disappeared into the crowds, no doubt to find solace in the kitchens for a moments reprieve.

“Do you know who that was?”

Lorrian’s voice brought Cassian out of his thoughts, and he dragged his eyes away from Maya’s retreating figure to look at his friend. He continued to slowly rub his thumb over Nesta’s ribcage, the curve of her bone beneath the his skin a comfort, somehow.

“No,” he admitted to Lorrian, because he didn’t.

“That’s the widow of Halias Marsh.”

Cassian caught the eyebrows that wanted to disappear into his hairline just in time. “Marsh’s younger brother?”

Halias had not been alive in Cassian’s lifetime, but he knew that he had been a cruel male who had made Anguis Marsh look positively sweet in comparison. Whilst Anguis was known for his sharp, cunning intellect, Halias had been made of a brute strength which had led to an arrogance and dominance both inside and outside the sparring ring. It had been no secret that the brothers had an ongoing rivalry, with Halias believing he was best suited to the role of prince. When Halias had died in a fire, there had been rumours that Marsh had orchestrated his brother’s death, but those sorts of whisperings weren’t uncommon amongst the Illyrian camps, where everyone was out for glory at the expense of others.

“Yes,” Lorrian confirmed in a low voice.

“What happened to her twin?” Cassian asked with a frown.

As Cassian and Azriel’s self-appointed guardian, Rhys’s mother had done her best to teach them the history of the Illyrian camps and the war-lords family trees. They had been lessons which Cassian had found inanely dull at the time, usually because he had been exhausted from a rigorous day of training. But he did remember learning that the Ironcrest brothers had secured twins for brides. He also recalled that it had caused uproar amongst the clans at the time. Twins were rare in Prythian and a symbol of fertility, power and good luck. As was usual for twins, they weren’t of high status, but had been plucked from the mud and inserted into elevated society from birth—reared for the two princelings for when they came of age.

The tattoo Cassian had spied on Maya’s wrist was a part of Illyrian culture. When twins were born, they were marked with the tattoo of a sun and moon: separate yet integral to one another, forever entwined. They were said to be a gift from the Gods: fertile and harbouring power beyond reckoning which would be passed down to their offspring. Their wings were cut at birth. Twins were too precious to risk flying away when they could produce offspring with hearty Killing Power.

“Her twin died in the fire with Halias. I believe she was called Lyanne.”

It was Frawley who had spoken and Cassian looked at her with a frown on his face. “With her twin’s husband?”

“It was quite the scandal at the time,” Frawley said in low tones. “Her twin sister was married to Marsh but sleeping with his brother. I’m surprised you have not heard of it before.”

“Marsh loved his first wife.” It was Nesta who had spoken, and Cassian instinctively tightened his arm around her. “I felt his pain when he looked at Maya. It ran deep, as if he could not bare to look at her.”

That would explain why Marsh had not taken Maya as his wife, Cassian thought. To be wed to a replica but know that they were not the Fae you loved… The heartache would be too much, especially if the female you had given your heart to had bedded his brother, and whilst Marsh was cold beyond reckoning, it was interesting to know there was a side of him that was warm-blooded.

“I bet there’s a reason she’s not in the widows camp,” Lorrian said quietly, and Cassian’s eyes snapped to his friends so quickly his neck cricked.

His neck burned but he was too busy processing what Lorrian was saying. To think that Marsh had kept his wife’s sister in his residence so she could warm his bed when he willed it… the hairs on his arm stood up and something inside of him recoiled, even as he knew that it was incredibly likely. It would explain how well-kept Maya was. How, like Lorrian had said, she had not been turned out into the widows camp and into the cold.

“How long have you known that?” Cassian demanded quietly.

Beside him, Nesta had turned rigid. He didn’t have to look at her to know her skin had turned pale. And despite their constricted bond he felt an unfathomable icy rage force its way down the tether of twisted rope to meet his own.

He did not look at Nesta as he sent an emotion to soothe. A heat to lick against their anger until it had thawed.

He dragged his thumb across her rib cage in a slow, deliberate motion. He felt her let out a long, measure breath.

“I don’t know it,” Lorrian corrected Cassian smoothly, as if he were discussing the weather, not wanting to raise his voice so others could hear. His eyes burned when they connected wth Cassian’s. “But it would be interesting to find out, wouldn’t it?”

By the time Cassian and Lorrian headed into the Rite meeting, Cassian wanted to leave Ironcrest so fiercely that he had almost refused to leave Nesta behind. As usual, as the lords consumed more wine throughout the luncheon, they seemed to overcome their disdain at approaching rival clans. It result in the pursuit of a kind of hostile, verbal swordplay that reaffirmed why no-one had been permitted to enter the residence with a weapon.

Not, Cassian thought grimly, that it would stop any of them from magicking one with their siphons anyway.

Icor Condor—Lorrian’s brother—had been the first to stride over to them and interrupt their conversation to publicly sneer at his sibling

Despite being the eldest of the two, Lorrian had lost his right as princeling heir when he had left the camp for Frawley’s heart. When their late father had died, his brother Icor had inherited the status of war-lord, much to his pleasure and Lorrian’s disgust.

Icor was Lorrian’s sole sibling, and at a first glance, the two of them were almost identical in looks. It was only on closer inspection that one noticed the unrelenting hardness to Icor’s dark features—something that was due to the constant state of stark displeasure that hung across his expression. He was also slightly broader in build, the twisted cords of his muscles pushing against what Cassian suspected was too-small armour, and whilst Icor’s eyes were technically hazel, the majority of the time they were a light, unnerving jade.

To the untrained eye, it was Icor who appeared more formidable. But outcast or no outcast, Lorrian was the finest cut of Forktail princeling, made for the skies in a way his brother was not. And whilst Icor was undeniably an exceptional warrior—his primary skill was with the spear—Forktail’s ancestry boasted formidable warriors from the skies, and Icor had been loath to forget it.

To his credit, Lorrian had appeared completely unaffected as his brother barrelled insult after insult his way, but when Frawley’s ice eye had glowed brightly with threat, Icor had taken sudden leave, claiming that he couldn’t stand to breathe the air of someone who was not only Incomplete but a defector of his race, as well.

Nesta had dug her fingers so hard into Cassian’s armour at that point that Cassian had thought her fire might beat Frawley’s own magic to throwing itself across the room and hitting Icor square in the chest.

Now, Lorrian and Cassian followed the rest of the war-lords as they made their way to the war-room, which was situated in the right-hand wing of the residence.

They had barely had time to say goodbye as Frawley and Nesta were ushered into the parlour with the war-lords and Rite representatives partners. Frawley’s eyes had gleamed as she and Nesta floated from the room, and Cassian knew that the witch hoped to wheedle out some information from the females whilst their husbands weren’t by their sides.

The issue of oppressing others, Frawley had said the evening prior, when they were hashing out their plans, was that oppressors had a tendency to become over-confident and over-trusting in their tyranny; so sure of their unwavering power over others that their mouths became loose. And if the females did prefer to keep quiet due to fear of being found out by their husbands, Nesta would sense it.

It was, Frawley had insisted, a win-win situation, and Cassian would have been inclined to agree, if the Illyrians didn't harbour such a fear of outsiders, especially those that were not only powerful but looked terrifying, as well.

Lorrian, Cassian had noticed, hadn’t pointed that out to his wife. Nor had he reminded her that her independently moving eyes had a tendency to put Fae on edge rather than at ease.

Which, Cassian thought with a near huff of laughter, probably made Nesta the most approachable out of the two of them.

That knowledge grew inside of his mind until he wanted to howl, and he clamped his lips tightly together to stop a sound from escaping.

He supposed it was a good sign that he could still find humour in things, especially when he had a looming sense of dread that everything was about to go southward.

“She will be fine,” Lorrian told Cassian, frowning at his friend as they walked through the dimly lit corridors which were darkened all the more by heavy tapestries. “Nesta is more than capable of looking after herself, and she has Frawley with her. They are probably safest with the females, anyway.”

Cassian didn’t want to explain the reason for his expression, so he just nodded. It wasn’t as if he liked being separated from Nesta. The more time they spent together, the more he dreaded their time apart. It was a constant sort of worry that gnawed at his insides and made him feel as if someone had ripped a limb clean off his body. And since Nesta had nearly died healing Mas, Cassian had started to experience incandescent, sporadic flashes of panic that Nesta was dying and he did not know. That she was suffering and he was not there to ease it, even as reason told him that anything that urgent would fly down their shared tether.

“That’s what it was like with Frawley,” Lorrian added to Cassian, his hazel eyes discerning as they followed the hulking, retreating backs of the other war-lords.

“What it was like?” Cassian repeated, feigning confusion. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to partake in the discussion.

But Lorrian only dipped his chin. “It’s when I knew we would be chroí . After we were joined, it felt like the greatest relief, as if a spool of yarn had been pulled tight between us but now it could just… exist. Relax a little.”

Cassian thought of the constricted tether between them and the way his light was desperate to push against the inner walls, until that rope had widened into a tunnel clear of brambles.

Not once had Cassian spoken with Lorrian or Frawley about Nesta. About how he was in so deep that sometimes he thought that if she were ever to reject him again he wouldn't be able to climb out of the pit he had fallen into. Both of his friends were sharp enough to have dissected his feelings, he wasn’t naive enough to pretend otherwise. He had never introduced them to a female before, had never allowed them to get to know someone so intimately that was clearly not a friend.

Not that Cassian knew what he and Nesta were. Wouldn’t dare to ask for fear of ruining it all.

And his friends had not pressed him for more information or, to his knowledge, asked Nesta about the two of them. The latter of which he was immensely thankful for.

Yet, that didn’t mean that Cassian hadn’t felt Frawley’s ice blue eye swivel carefully between the two of them, or Lorrian’s knowing smile as Nesta joined in with his friend to torment him.

In fact, the only thing Frawley had commented on was her fondness for Nesta.

“I hope we get to keep her, Cassian,” the witch had said sternly when he had arrived at the cottage earlier that week, as if, ironically, the decision was up to him. Then, without commenting on how premature his arrival was, Frawley had waved impatiently to the back door, “She’s training with Lorrian.”

Having been thoroughly dismissed, Cassian had headed into the backyard to find the paddock to the left of the barn had been cleared of its usual horses. Instead, Nesta stood at a shooting line that Cassian suspected had been made by Lorrian dragging the toe of his boot through the mud. At the far end of the ring —20 metres or so away—stood an archery target.

His friend had not turned as Cassian drew up beside him. Instead, they had both watched in silence as Nesta pulled back the bow string with a strength that no other Illyrian female possessed before releasing it.

Together, they watched an arrow fly across the clearing and hit clean into the outer yellow ring of the target. Lorrian had still not looked at Cassian, had only kept his arms crossed firmly over his chest as they watched Nesta stride over to the target on her long legs to collect her arrows.

“You’ve met your match,” was all Lorrian eventually said, shaking his head in disbelief, before he went over to correct Nesta on her stance.

Now, Cassian glanced sideways at his friend. Lorrian’s eyes were full of a shared understanding that Cassian could not bear. So he looked away, and before he could stop the words, he admitted tightly—quietly, “It’s going to be the death of me.”

Ahead of them, the heavy double doors of the war-room came looming into view, and with it, another layer of dread. Cassian flared his siphons, breaking the sound bubble Lorrian had encased them in, and stalked into the room.

Marsh was already seated at the long, wooden table. He had left the drawing room well before the rest of them, no doubt to hide the extent of his illness, but Cassian could almost taste death on the war-lord.

The others could, too. Those sharp, beady eyes never missed a thing. And if they had not gleaned it for themselves, the way in which Kallon seated himself beside his father was enough of an indication of who was truly intending to run the meeting.

There was a growing expectancy in the air. The deafening kind that was almost like a ringing silence, even as chairs scraped against flagstones and war-lords muttered to their Rite representatives, who took a seat beside them.

It did not escape Cassian that one of Ragar’s friends was seated beside Devlon. That beside the other war-lords, Cassian recognised lordlings who had been reported to have met with Kallon all those weeks ago.

That sense of apprehension intensified, but Cassian settled his wings over his chair and waited for the first war-lord to break the silence. Even as his mind worked at a hundred miles per minute, trying to piece together what he was clearly not seeing.

Unsurprisingly, it was Icor who finally broke the silence. “A representative can’t take place in the Rite,” Lorrian’s brother sneered from where he sat opposite Cassian and Lorrian, his lip already curled as he narrowed his eyes at Kallon.

The princeling did not rise to the barb. He only settled back into his chair with an unrivalled arrogance and smoothness that made Cassian want to smack him in the face. It was an action that almost reminded Cassian of Rhys when he was playing wicked, but there was something impossibly cold and threatening beneath the movement which set Kallon apart from his brother. It made Cassian want to sit up straighter, but he did not allow himself to do it. To let others know that Kallon held his attention so fiercely.

“I am aware of that, Icor,” Kallon replied, once he had taken his time getting comfortable. “I do not intend to partake in the Rite this year.”

Not a murmur ran down the table, but the air became tight and pregnant again. Expectant. It was almost unheard of for a princeling not to partake in the Rite past a certain age, and Kallon was near twenty-five.

It meant that he would not earn siphons of his own for another year.

It was an unusual move, especially given that Kallon was trying to stake authority amongst the Illyrians. Siphons were the quickest way to earn respect amongst Cassian’s race. It was why they begrudgingly accepted Cassian.

Kallon’s birth as a princeling meant that he was born with a natural amount of Killing Power that superseded low-born foot soldiers. Azriel’s information had detailed that Kallon usually trained with three siphons in the sparring ring. That although he was green, he was better than most with the Illyrian saber. That since he had been training with the sword he claimed to be Enalius’s, he had taken to using a fourth siphon to contain the Killing Power that seemed to still be growing within him.

That, in itself, was a worry. Cassian’s Killing Power had reached its maturity at the age of twenty-five, training with seven borrowed siphons in the sparring ring until he finally earned his jewels after the Blood Rite.

The Siphon Master had not hesitated in giving Cassian siphons the colour of blood.

For the blood glory you will earn in battle, ratnik, the Siphon Master had said at the Rite ceremony, as he placed red siphons atop Cassian’s hands, on his knee caps, his upper arms… And across his heart, a flawless star ruby. Even now, Cassian remembered how the jewel had beat a deep, dark red that took on a blueish hue, as if it were kicking into life for the first time. Cassian remembered the gratification that had flickered over the Siphon Master’s face as the ruby did not shatter but became an additional heart, pulsing gently in the spring light.

“Shall we begin, Father?”

This time, every war-lord bristled as Kallon spoke. Somehow, the air became even thicker. A princeling did not order a prince. Yet, Marsh only raked his shrewd eyes over every single male in challenge, before he waved a trembling hand at his son, commanding him to start.

Kallon stood with a confidence that superseded his age; as if he were a messenger sent by the Gods and had the intention of delivering a fucking sermon. Cassian’s stomach dropped leaden to his toes at the same time that his blood began to boil beneath his skin.

Beside him, Lorrian stiffened, as if he too knew that they had been foiled, even though neither of them had yet learnt why.

“Many of you are probably wondering why my father and I have called this meeting early,” Kallon started. The princeling stood tall, his feet slightly apart, his shoulders squared, his wings held up high… A warrior’s stance. But there was something infuriatingly relaxed about his posture, as if commanding an audience was all completely natural to him.

“Tradition states that the first Rite counsel is not held until the new year, but given that Ironcrest is hosting the ceremony this year, we thought it made sense to arrange for this meeting to coincide with the Solstice luncheon.”

There was a pause in which Kallon looked around the room. His voice was too cordial for an Illyrian, especially a princeling, and if it were not for that unfathomable chill to his voice—a carved out emptiness—Cassian would have been willing to bet that he would have been sneered back into his seat. And of course, there was arrogance, too. An entitlement that came with those born into wealth.

“Since Enalius gifted our ancestors with a drop of his power and we were able to mine siphons, the Blood Rite has become the most important tradition in our culture,” Kallon continued. “Illyrians produce the best warriors Prythian has ever seen. Our bloody history shows that whilst we are perceived by High Fae and many others of our kind to be the lowest of faeries, we are triumphant in battle and far supersede not only the Night Courts forces, but the forces in every other court. We Illyrians are relied upon for our gifts, but we are treated as disposable when our talents are not required. The recent kerit attacks on our camps has highlighted what we have known for centuries; that the Night Court does not care about our race to provide sufficient protection.”

Another cessation of speech for what Cassian expected was not for Kallon to catch his breath, but to allow his words to settle. All of the war-lords and representatives remained eerily silent, and whilst they had originally sat forward as if they were waiting to jump in and protest, they were now stock still, drawn in by the words that they all already believed to be true.

“We suffered many losses in the war against Hybern,” Kallon pushed on. “Forces across all of our camps are drained and depleted. Whilst the Rite is an important part of who we are, the loss of more Illyrian lives would be the greatest sin. Enalius gifted all of our families with a drop of his blood so we could ensure that the Illyrian lines did not die out. That we could continue to perform our duty to honour and protect. My father and I have called you here today to consider a hiatus on the Blood Rite. To focus instead on strengthening our troops rather than inflicting more bloodshed upon our kind.”

Silence fell again as Kallon stopped talking. As, with a sweeping look around the table, the princeling sat back down and leant back into his chair with a superior expression on his face. No doubt a sense of achievement that he had captivated the hostile war-lords for enough time to say exactly what he intended. To plant the seeds in the minds of those who already did not look favourably towards their High Lord’s rule.

Lord Alcathoe was the first to snap. The war-lord from Swallow’s Ridge leant forward, his expression dark and openly aggressive. “The Blood Rite has been performed every year without fail. What claim do you have to suggest a hiatus?”

“We have not ceased the Rite in the aftermath of war before,” Lord Hamel added. Hamel’s voice was monotone and bored, but Cassian had learnt from his many visits to Craggs Peak that the war-lord was as vicious as any of the other males around the table—worse than some, actually. One misplaced word and the war-lord was known to explode.

Cassian thought it only a matter of time until everyone at the table witnessed it.

“I don’t think a young whelp who has not fought in a war or earned his own siphons should be leading a discussion in which he has no place.”

“Watch your mouth, Hamel,” Marsh snarled in warning. “My son is smarter than all of your offspring, both the bastards and your true heirs. If you have any true heirs, that is.”

Hamel’s answering snarl had him rising out of his seat. The war-lord’s face had turned purple with rage and his teeth were bared. Spittle flew across the wooden surface of the strategy table. “If you weren’t already on your death bed, Marsh, I’d—”

“It is true that I do not yet own my own siphons and that I have not yet fought in a war,” Kallon interrupted, standing again with a flare of his wings. The sound snapped around the room, like a nine-tail whip cracking against skin. “But I see what our race has suffered at the hands of the Night Court. We are treated as expendable and as bodies rather than being valued for who we are and what we stand for. To put a hiatus on the Blood Rite will allow us to become stronger. It will allow our warriors to become proficient in the art of battle and for our numbers to rise. We cannot afford to lose any more warriors.”

The blood in Hamel’s face was slowly draining from purple to red. Still angry, but not as if he was going to self-combust. The war-lord had sunk back down into his seat, and it was clear that an internal conflict was going on in his mind; as he decided what held greater importance, his hatred of Anguis Marsh and his son, or his opinions on Night Court affairs.

And the issue was that whilst there were statements of Kallon’s that were wrong—namely that the war was not an Illyrian cause and that Rhys saw the Illyrians as disposable— the princeling was also right. The Illyrians could not afford to lose any more warrior blood in the upcoming Rite. It was an issue Cassian had deliberated over repeatedly. One he had brought up with Rhys and Azriel. A problem they had decided not to interfere with for fear that it would set the Illyrians against them even further.

But what Kallon was doing… it was clever. It played on the Illyrians sensibilities and the ever-growing notion that they should not be ruled by Rhys’s hand. And if Kallon could get the war-lords to agree… he would be seen as a martyr, whilst the Night Court would be viewed as complacent in further deaths of the Illyrian race.

It would gain him support amongst the most influential of the Illyrians. It would strengthen the dissent. And if the war-lords made it clear that they were openly opposing Rhys’s rule, then many more Illyrians would follow their example.

As if Kallon knew he was triumphant, he pinned Cassian with a stare. “Do you not agree, General? We have suffered the death of an entire aerial legion, plus many of our strongest warriors against Hybern. Surely you cannot argue that we should go ahead with the Blood Rite rather than strengthen our forces before we allow ourselves to suffer any more losses?”

Cassian and Lorrian were rabbits caught in a hunters snare and Kallon knew it.

“The Night Court agrees that we cannot afford to lose any more males in the Blood Rite,” Cassian replied, his voice so deep and commanding that he did not recognise his true self—the part of him that was not General but Fae. “Should another war come to Illyria, we need to ensure we can protect our kind and those throughout our court. A reprieve from the Blood Rite is the best way to prevent further bloodshed.”

A growl sounded from Icor. It was an abrupt, guttural sound that sounded too much like a temper tantrum. He had no doubt been expecting Cassian to side with him. “You have not answered the question, princeling. What right do you have to suggest a hiatus?”

Across his cruel face, Icor looked briefly triumphant. A petulant child believing he’d won a game rather than contemplating the life or death of his best warriors. “So tell me, what right do we have to interfere with the will of our warrior Gods?”

“My son has been chosen by the Gods. By Enalius himself.” Marsh’s grating voice was deep and commanding. Forceful.

A dismissive snort. “I do not think—” Icor started, but Marsh dismissed Forktail’s war-lord entirely, and looked towards his son. His heir.

“Show them,” Marsh ordered Kallon with a wave of his hand.

The princeling turned his head in a way that was more automaton than Fae. He looked towards the doors, where a male steward wearing Ironcrest colours stepped out of the shadows.

In that moment, Cassian wished Nesta was in the room with them, if only to sense the emotions of every single war-lord as their lofty expressions turned carefully blank. As their eyes fell to the sword laying atop a velvet-crushed cushion the colour of mustard.

Enalius’s sword. Or at least, a sword with ancient magical properties.

Cassian could feel the hum of it in his blood—his magic—turning over inside of him, pressing against his skin as if it was trying to leap from his body and join with the steel. His siphons pulsed, his star ruby beating like a star-blessed heart. And from the look on every other males face, they could sense the magic of it, too.

The sword looked exactly as it did in the drawing printed in Heroicis. The sword Cassian had committed to memory as a youngling, as he stared at that inked drawing—the only thing he could understand as an illiterate bastard trying to make sense of a book full of words. The blade was arced, the steel etched with the Illyrian marks of glory that each of the war-lords wore on their own skin. The curved bone pommel gleamed as if it had been recently polished, even though the handle looked well-worn and cracked.

Just as Frawley had reported, the oval jewel was missing from where it should sit on the wide guard.

Cassian knew without Frawley having to confirm it—with a certainty that was completely devoid of doubt—that Kallon was presenting them with Enalius’s sword.

And worse, that the princeling would gain the begrudging respect of the males around this table for it.

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

#embersandlightfic #embers and light #nessianfic #nessian #nesta x cassian #acotarfanfiction #acotar #acofas #acosf #cassianfic #cassian #nestaarcheron #nestafic

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jikooksgirl19 · 4 years

Text

My Soulmates I 2

Genre: Soulmate AU, fluff,angst,eventual smut

Pairing: Idol Jimin x Lawyer Reader x Idol Jungkook

Warnings: mentions of death and abortion

AN: Thank you for your patience with this chapter. Not only did I delete it prior not once but twice, I had a personal loss happen that caused me to take some time away from writing. But I’m back on track and writing this story again. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It’s short but I have some big stuff coming in chapter 3. Please let me know your thoughts and give feedback. I love talking to y’all.

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The three of you found yourself on the Top floor in Bang SiHyuks office. He sat across from you, hands clasped tightly just staring at you all. He hadn’t said anything in the last 15 minutes after you and the boys explained what happened, except to call on his personal secretary. The silence was deafening and you were so so tempted to tell a joke just to break the silence. Just as you were about to open your mouth his secretary Kim Hyunjae came into to office with a stack of papers with all the information about poly soulmates. He began to explain in detail about how the bond between you three is deeper than a normal soulmates, and it plays a huge part in the emotional side of things. Not only do multiple partners have a stronger connection to each other but their emotions, feelings, even moods can be affected by the other people in the relationship. It had been documented that on some occasions each party could physically feel what his or her mates were going through during moments of heightened situations. For example if one party had a headache or got hurt or even was sexually active the others could feel this both physically and emotionally. They also could not be parted from each other for long periods of time without it causing harm to themselves. Though extremely rare the pull of the bond would act as a tether and bring all participants back to each other, or risk crippling illness and the eventual death from the one that left or was left in the relationship. Unlike a normal Soulmate bond it could not be broken except through death as the universe had decided that these were the most sacred of bonded mates hence why they were so rare.

Only one case with no death of the separated mate has ever been documented, and that is in the case of Korean Soulmates Song Jungman, Jong Ara, and Im Jinna . The group had decided they wanted children so both Jong Ara and Im Jinna had tried to conceive but only Ara was able to do so. In a jealous fit Jinna claimed that Ara somehow caused her infertility and wanted to break the three apart. She played the victim so well and convinced Song Jungmin to leave Ara. Together they would start a new life with just the two of them leaving Ara behind. Ara was devistated as she was expecting their child and knew if they left her with the intention to not come back she could get sick, lose their child or even die. She pleaded with them both claiming her innocence but unfortunately Jungmin did not believe her and they left her to move to Japan. Ara waited to fall ill knowing that the separation would be too much but her overwhelming love for her child triggered a new bond that allowed her to survive the loss of both soulmates. After several years it was discovered by Jungmin that Jinna had once had an abortion before meeting her soulmates and as a result she became infertile. He was destroyed by this information because he didn’t try to listen to Ara and wholeheartedly believed only Jinna. He threw away part of his heart because he believed the other so willingly knowing that it would lead to the death of Ara. He believed Ara to have passed away after they abandoned her all those years ago. He left Jinna to go home to Korea and accept his fate wishing to be buried next to Ara and their unborn child only to discover that Ara not only survived but had twins, a son and daughter and was married to a man that had lost his soulmate years earlier. Though he tried to make amends with Ara it was difficult for her to forgive him as their bond had been broken beyond repair. They were both still connected but since they had been separated for over fifteen years it wasn’t as strong, in fact it was like meeting an old acquaintance instead of a lover. Unfortunately his separation from Jinna became too much and he succumbed to debilitating illness and died only three months after reconnecting with Ara and his children. It was later found out that Jinna died the same day in a hospital in Japan. Ara was of course sad at this news, but the love of her children allowed her to continue living and she was able to find peace.

You had tears in your eyes and noticed that you were holding on to both Jimin and Jungkooks hands during the story. You were so wrapped up in this that you didn’t even realize you three had unknowingly gravitated towards each other for comfort. They were both choked up as well. Someone cleared their throat causing you to refocus on the gentlemen in front of you. You sat up straight and decided to get straight to the point.

“So where do we go from here? I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be feeling at the moment, and now you’re telling me I have this life altering, can’t change a thing, you now have not one but TWO soulmates, and oh yeah, you will feel all their emotions and feelings and you can’t even be away from them for too long or you might just up and kick the freaking bucket situation going on...this is what you are saying to us right now?” You couldn’t help the panic rising in your voice. Your professionalism was flying right out of the proverbial window. Jungkook just looked at you, and then Bang PD and said “What she said.” You couldn’t help it you started to giggle at his brief statement then the boys started giggling with you.

Bang SiHyuk cleared his throat and got right to the point. “First we get you moved into the boys complex. You will have an apartment on the floor below the dorm along next to Jins soulmate Yuna. This will allow visits between you three without risk for now. Only essential staff will be told about this arrangement. Y/N you will be hired on as a permanent staff member within our own legal team. Also because you are also multilingual you will assist with our translation team while the boys are traveling, as well as help teach English to to boys. This will help with the questions the public might have about you being around the boys all the time. This is going to take some preparation before we can put this information out to the public. We are also going to have to get you started on the path to Citizenship here in Korea.” Said Bang SiHyuk loudly while clapping his hands together as though he just solved all the problems in front of him. “Now I suggest that you three get to know each other and settle anything else you might need to attend to quickly. Y/N I will have your apartment ready in two days. Is that enough time to get you packed up and ready to move?”

You sat there with your mouth open like a fish trying to digest everything that was being said. This was going too fast and you needed to pump the brakes on whatever this was that was happening. Realizing you needed to answer you opened your mouth to vehemently deny any of his requests and spoke up with a resounding. “Yes Sir.” It came out of your mouth like it was nothing. You immediately slapped your hand over your mouth and thought what on Gods green earth is wrong with me? I have lost my ever loving mind. While you and your inner bitch-demon continued to argue in your mind, the others started making arrangements for you.

You noticed that Kim Hyunjae didn’t seem as though he was fond of you or this situation you had found yourself in. He didn’t out and out say anything rude or with tone but your gut told you he was not happy with this relationship between you, Jimin and Jungkook. You chalked it up to the amount of paperwork this was going to cause him so you tried your best to let him know you would be as much help as you could and you would do your best for the boys and the company. At this point you were giving Jimin and Jungkook your current address and contact information so you could meet tomorrow morning for a “ Get to know you meal”. You excused yourself and prepared to go home when Jungkook caught up to you. “ I know this is a lot Noona and we are all a bit overwhelmed and know absolutely nothing about each other, but please know that I am so blessed to call you my soulmate. You seem very kind and you are beautiful and smart and amazingly funny even when you don’t mean to be.” He smiled at you and your heartstrings tugged in the most peculiar way. You were already becoming attached as you could feel a pull towards the younger man. He took your hand and shook it in a very businesslike manner and said “Till tomorrow malady” and bowed in a funny way causing you to laugh again. Jimin came out and grabbed your other hand and said he was looking forward to breakfast and getting to know more about you as well. You said your goodbyes and turned and left the building hailing a cab to take you home so you could process the events of today. You had not been prepared for the absolute crazy that happened today but deep down you were getting excited at the prospect of having and loving two adorable soulmates.

As Jungkook and Jimin were getting ready to leave Jungkook looked at Jimin and asked “What are you going to tell Somi?” Jimin just looked back at Jungkook with sadness in his eyes and shrugged his shoulders and replied “I have no idea.”

To Be Continued...

Taglist: @mrcleanheichou @itsminniekat @dreamescapeswriting @seaoffangirling @4evahevah @sonderkook @bisexualmess007 @chxustuff @aviwasabi21 @skyys-universe @ally22042000 @ramblingsofawolfgirl @eunoiavante @angelic-lawyer @purpleheartsfortae @the-obsessive-fangirl

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light: Ch. 21

Hello, here is my ‘I didn’t plan for updates to take two weeks, but it always works out to two weeks’ post, right on time. Almost finished with this journey, thank you for sticking around <3

As Mulder helps care for his ill partner and her child, he enlists the Lone Gunmen to investigate the circumstances surrounding Scully's diagnosis. He and Melissa pay a visit to the three men, then Mulder gets an unwanted surprise back at apartment 42.

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As Scully’s world has shrunk, the amount of love in it has grown. This is small consolation for the hell she’s enduring, but it is the only antidote. She realizes this now that she’s staring down the abyss: all the knowledge in the world won’t save you, and wealth is nothing but a false comfort. What will live on are the parts of herself she’s left with others. Her goal for her remaining time, however long that may be, is to hold tight to those she loves...not to slip away until her heart stops beating.

This is hard when she already feels like less of herself. She’s doing chemo twice a week at Georgetown, and it’s brutal. She knew it would be...her only other choice is to get that gravestone of hers re-engraved.

Meanwhile, Mulder pushed all other work aside to get in contact with the Mufon women. It only took him one day to do so, but Scully doesn’t know that, and for now, she doesn’t need to know. He’s keeping what he’s learned so far to himself...Betsy Hagopian is dead and has been since shortly after Scully saw her. Penny Northern is sick and not responding to treatment. A handful of other women, abductees like Scully, have developed rare cancers too.

It’s not something he knows how to talk about, such despondency. His world has always hinged on hope. That’s what his work on the X-Files is to him, one big leap of faith toward his sister. Or was, before Scully came along. It’s not that she diverted him from Samantha...no, she turned a very personal quest into something larger than him. Or her, or any one person they worked with. She pared it down to its core value, its overarching mission: the truth. Because the truth may hurt at first, but given time, it heals. And it is the only path to healing. This is what he’s learned from her. And now, he’s got to do everything he can to pass the revitalized world she’s shown him onto her.

The arrangement falls into place without any friction: Missy handles the chemo run on Monday mornings, and Mulder leaves work early on Thursdays. Emily spends Mondays with her grandma, and Thursdays too when Missy works the night shift.

Thursdays become something of a spiritual day for Mulder. The hours of approximately 3-10pm are spent doting on his partner--in her apartment, and then his car, then the hospital and his car again, and finally, back to her apartment. Mama Scully brings Emily back around eight, and if Missy’s not home, Mulder gets the honor of the bedtime ritual. The domesticity of it all tethers him to reality, maybe for the first time in his life. He’d give anything to change the circumstances, but it’s humbling to feel--for once--that he belongs on Earth.

It is on one of these Thursday evenings that Mulder could swear he feels his whole life trailing behind him, leading him to the present. The end of the year is creeping up in its usual fashion, which means the outside world is a blanket of darkness before the stoves of countless suburban homes have even been started. Having settled her comfortably into bed with a pile of pillows, Mulder carries his partner a glass of water and pulls the wastebasket to her side; this is their routine now.

“You doing okay?” he asks, lingering as she takes a sip of water. It will soon be time to make himself scarce so she can sleep.

She nods, gurgles a garbled affirmation. Mulder turns to go, and her heart leaps to her throat. “Will you stay?” she spews, embarrassed by her need.

“Of course.” She’s unaware, apparently, that when he leaves it’s for her, not him. He approaches her bedside, lowers himself carefully beside her knees. “Any particular reason?” he murmurs, examining the sunken spaces beneath her eyes.

“I just...wanted to talk to you,” she says, and Mulder thinks there might be a bit more color in her cheeks than there was yesterday.

“Okay.” He leans in and sweeps a strand of hair off her forehead so lightly that Scully doesn’t even feel it. She’s apprehensive about being touched these days, and he has taken this knowledge to heart. She is grateful, and to show the extent of this feeling, she strokes his hand, allows him to take hers in his. He runs his thumb over each finger as they continue.

He wants to ask what she’s thinking about, what it is that has so graciously extended his stay in this room. But he knows that she’ll get to it, that she has nothing to keep from him now.

There’s a sincere serenity on her face that he’s never seen. And after a minute or two, she begins. “I didn’t think it could happen--and it certainly doesn’t make much sense-- but right now, I am happier than I have ever been.”

A string on Mulder’s heart, tightened to its prime, bursts without warning.

She caresses the back of his head. “It’s so trivial, Mulder. So much of what we call life isn’t living at all. Or at least not the important kind.”

He lifts his gaze, eye contact conveying more than he could with words.

“But I’ve thought about the parts of my life that are living, and all of them, in some way, come back to you.”

Mulder shakes his head, feeling too flattered. “That’s not true…”

“You can believe whatever you need to,” she whispers, “but it is the truth, and I am eternally grateful that you happened to me.”

He tries to cough away some tears, which works about a quarter as well as he hoped it would. “Hold on, little lady.” He pats her hand in response to her smile. “I think you happened to me.”

Scully’s chest flutters in laughter. “Did I?” These subtle things have always been so important to them.

“You walked into my office, remember.”

“Well, I guess it would depend on who changed the most due to the other’s influence then,” she reasons.

Mulder just gives her a look.

She smirks. “Okay, so maybe I happened to you, but you…” she chews her lip, and this could be any other day of any other year if she weren’t bedridden. She picks out her words-- “You completed me.”

Mulder spills forward, finding his footing and spinning into the middle of the room. “Holy fuck Scully, are you trying to kill me?”

“We’ve been searching for the truth. That’s the truth, Mulder. I wanted you to know.”

He sets his jaw. He won’t burst into tears in front of her, not when she has all the reason to cry and yet has been so strong.

“You should get some sleep,” he tells her, hoping to expedite his exit from the room.

“I will. And it’s okay to be sad, but not for me. My life is as whole as ever.”

He nods, though he doesn’t agree (what’s new?). He knew Samantha for eight years and has been sad for twenty. He’s known Scully for half that--so he gets at least a decade of mourning.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, resting his hands on the door frame. “I’ll bring Emily in when she gets here.”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes, smiles. “Love you.”

“Love you too, DKS.” He blows a kiss and slips out, heat flooding to his face. This is the first time she’s said that unprompted, and is that what the threat of imminent death does to you? Pries you open?

He wonders. Whose love is saving who?

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The primetime line-up is flickering over the television when Mama Scully arrives with Emily, passing her granddaughter to Mulder like the family heirloom she is. They exchange a few words in short breaths, reserving the air supply for their dear Dana. Mama Scully agrees to come see her daughter this weekend rather than interrupt her much-needed rest now, and Mulder is suddenly single parent-slash-babysitter; the specifics elude him.

Perfumed with baby powder from her grandmother’s overly enthusiastic hand, Mulder concludes that Em needs neither bathing nor changing. She doesn’t seem very keen on sleep either, seeing as how her little voice keeps calling out Moldy! and her little fists clobber his shoulders. Still, he will keep his promise. He carries her into the room she shares with her mother, stepping lightly lest the floorboards creak.

As he circles the bed to lay the child beside her sleeping mother, he winces at the mess in the trash can. Good thing he moved it into place though Scully had seemed okay. He hadn’t heard any retching, and it saddens him that he wasn’t there to hold her hair back. He settles Em into place, makes a mental note to rinse the can on his way out.

Her characteristically light sleep lightened further by her illness, Scully stirs from the shift of Emily’s weight against the mattress. She rolls toward the free side and flutters her eyelids open. Her smile is reflexive.

“Hello baby girl,” she purrs. She lays a hand against her daughter’s polka-dotted onesie. “Did you have a good day with Grandma?”

Emily answers with some fluttery babbling and gropes for her mother’s nose.

“I don’t think she’s very tired,” Mulder remarks, hands in his pockets. He smirks. “We should really find out what your mother feeds her.”

Scully pulls her lips into a grin, exhibiting a great deal more effort than she did just moments before. She blinks, rubs her eyes, and seems to go out of the world for a second. Then she sets her gaze on Mulder and speaks dreamily--”Will you tell us a bedtime story?”

“Oh!” Mulder scratches his chin, having expected his dismissal. “Do you think that would help…?”

Scully presses her head into the pillow. “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep until she does.”

That is a yes, served with some condescension.

“Okay, well, let me think.” He perches on the side of the bed. “Regrettably, I did not get my degree in bedtime stories.”

“Just say what you know,” Scully mumbles. “We’re the only ones listening, and the goal is to put us to sleep.”

“I hope that’s not a comment on my conversational skills,” he teases, smoothing the sheets.

Again, there’s a look of otherworldliness from his partner. She is somewhere else.

“Go on, tell us a story,” she hums, her surprising lack of impatience attributable to an equal lack of wakefulness.

“Let’s see…” He stretches out, perching on his elbow by Scully’s feet like she did in the first motel they ever stayed in. Emily sits herself up and grasps for him. He laughs, lets her latch onto his fingers.

“There once was a little girl who loved horses and bugging her brother,” he begins. “Now, I’m sure she sounds like just about any little girl out there, but I promise, she was as unique as they come.”

Scully closes her eyes and tilts her head back to listen.

“She always said she wanted to be a butterfly when she grew up so she could spread her wings and fly. And her parents would scoff and tell her that would never be possible, but she believed. She believed it would happen.”

Emily babbles along, adding her own colorful commentary.

“I know, I know right?” Mulder muses to the little girl. “The parents were such jerks.”

He tickles Em’s stomach, then remembers that he’s supposed to be helping her go to sleep. He kisses her temple and begins stroking her knee, hoping to achieve a hypnotic rhythm.

“And so one day, this little girl...well, this little girl got to go on an adventure. She left behind her house and her family, and she got to go up to the sky and see the stars, and it was everything she wished for.”

Scully opens her eyes slowly. Mulder’s focus is centered on Emily, who stares up at him with the awe of a museum-goer seeing the Starry Night. It is as if they are the only two in the room, and this gives Scully great comfort, for she can imagine them having a life after she is gone.

“The girl’s family was sad because they didn’t know where she went. The girl’s brother missed her the most, but it was okay because the girl was happy. She got to fly through the sky like a bird or a plane, and she achieved the dream that her parents thought would never come true.”

Em’s breathing begins to slow into sleep. And thank god, cause he’s running out of story to tell.

“Lay down, little girl.” He guides her onto her back so she can drift off without difficulty, then clears his throat softly.

“Some say that if you see a light in the night sky, that’s this little girl, floating among the stars, living her dream. And her brother, well, he’s pretty fond of that thought. He just wants her to be happy.”

Silence falls over the room like a throbbing sensation of unknown origin. Emily’s eyelids struggle between open and closed, and Mulder knows she will soon be out. Scully’s baby blues, meanwhile, peer at him with such unflinching intensity that he suspects she has fallen asleep like that. It is haunting, but it becomes much less so when she blinks and he realizes that she’s looking at him, that she heard the whole story.

“Is that what you wanted?” he whispers, half expecting her not to answer.

“It was beautiful, Mulder. Samantha lives on.”

He smiles from his eyes...oh, of course it was obvious, his little tribute to his sister. Scully said to work from what he knew, and this myth is something he’s used to keep himself going since his family realized that there would be no happy reunion with Sam. He’s happy to share his fantasy; such escapes are needed now.

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Melissa’s heart leaps when she opens the apartment door to an empty living room. The TV drones out its slapstick laugh track, contributing to the ominous atmosphere. She’d expect to see Mulder taking up a restless refuge on the couch, or maybe sneaking a late night snack to Em. Her sister should be fast asleep by now, her little world able to slacken its hold on her. Unless she is no longer afforded such luxury…

Missy rushes toward Dana’s bedroom, her purse still on her shoulder. In the doorway she slows as her eyes adjust to the lack of light. And thank goodness because three silhouettes catch her eye; a medium one buried under the covers, a large one strewn diagonally across the bed, and a small bump barely visible on the far side. A snore of unidentifiable origin is the only disturbance. Missy smiles to herself. All the missing persons are accounted for and well. She can continue with the blissfully bland routine of her night.

She washes her face and brews some chamomile before settling on the couch with the week’s issues of Mad Magazine and Vogue. Yes, she contains multitudes. She’s up to the Spy vs. Spy comic when Mulder strolls in, yawning.

“I guess my bedtime story was effective.”

“Mmm.” Missy scoots her mug over so he can prop his feet up. Dana hates feet on furniture, but she’s got a child in the house now, so she’ll have to let go of those judgments. “How is she?”

“Oh shit.” She’s jogged something in his memory. “I meant to grab the trash can on the way out.”

Missy knows what this means. “I’ll get it in a second.”

Mulder nods in silent gratitude, relaxes back into his spot. “She seemed livelier than usual when we got home.”

It hits him that he said home, not back. And well, it is Scully’s home. What about him? He sleeps on the couch and he doesn’t pay rent...that’s how he lived at Oxford, though he gets the feeling that it’s not as evergreen at thirty-three years old.

These days, he only goes to his place on Sunday nights to get (what he considers) a week’s worth of clothing--two work outfits (hey, he never really sees anyone but Scully anyway) and one casual outfit that doubles as pajamas. He bought a bunch of fish feeding tablets so all he has to do is drop a few in on Sunday and the fish are set for the week. As far as he can tell, at least. None of them have floated to the top of the tank yet.

“And Em is all good?” Missy confirms.

Mulder nods. “Your mom takes good care of her.”

“I think I know the answer to this, but do you want some tea?” Missy asks, flashing her mug.

“No, no, save it for yourself.”

“Alright.” She flips a page in her magazine. “Just let me know when you’re ready to kick me out. Since I’m kind of in your bed and all.”

“I should be telling you that,” Mulder counters. “You don’t mind me staying here, do you?”

“Not at all.” Missy lays the magazine on the table. “It’s important that you’re around.”

“Really?...For what?”

“For who,” Missy corrects. “Emily needs you to give her balance, and Dana...she just needs you. You’re the safety net under her tightrope.”

“Oh.” This metaphor grounds Mulder better than gravity ever has.

Missy seems to sense this and takes the opportunity to profit off his vulnerability. “So what’s gone on between you?” she asks, an eyebrow arched.

Mulder squints at her. “Huh?”

“I keep waiting for Dana to kick you out or get irritated about you being around all the time,” Missy says with honest simplicity. “But instead, she lets you take her to chemo and fall asleep in her bed…”

“Well, I think the former is more ideal than the alternative, which is that I watch her child,” Mulder replies. “And I fell asleep on the bed, not in it.”

“Okay.” Missy sips her tea, keeps her eyes on him.

It’s pointless for Mulder to try to keep secrets anymore. He wrings out his hands. “If you must know, when you dropped her off at my apartment after her appointment, we... came to a mutual understanding.”

“Ah.” Missy is not surprised by any of it. Of course it happened. Of course her sister hasn’t mentioned it.

“Why are you just asking about this now?”

“Cause I expected my suspicions to be proven wrong, and that hasn’t happened.”

Mulder nods, taps absentmindedly on his knee. “Actually, I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” She’s intrigued. The enigmatic Fox Mulder, divulging on his own accord.

“Don’t get excited, it’s not good.”

Damn. Missy reels herself in. “About Dana?”

“About what happened to her or...what is happening to her. It’s about the Mufon women.”

Missy curls her legs beneath herself. “You reached them?”

He nods. “Well, Penny Northern’s hospice nurse picked up when I called. She’s got stage four tumors throughout her body that migrated from her nasopharynx.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Apparently most of the other abductees have cancer too. And Betsy Hagopian--the woman who Scully saw in the hospital last spring--is dead.”

Missy’s gaze drops to the floor. “So the invasive procedures that the abductors did are killing these women.”

“One doctor’s treating them all--he’s supposed to be a specialist--but it doesn’t look like he’s having much success.” Mulder pauses, his mouth partially open.

“What?” Missy presses.

“The Lone Gunmen and I have been looking into him, and we think that he might have been involved in the abductions.”

Missy barrels forward. “You think he did this to them on purpose and now he’s letting them die?”

Mulder nods solemnly.

“Well, we have to stop him. We can’t let any more patients go to him, especially Dana…”

“I know. I’m going down to see the Lone Gunmen tomorrow after work if you want to join me.”

Missy contemplates. “I have the lunch shift tomorrow, so I could. What would we tell Dana?”

“I’ll say that Skinner is keeping me late to go over some paperwork. You could say whatever, she’s not going to question you.”

“I hate to leave her alone for so long, but...yeah, we have to do this.” She leans back, takes another look at Mulder. “You might just save a lot of women, you know.”

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

Missy feels unseen eyes bore into her as she and Mulder approach the basement entrance of a helter-skelter building. She doesn’t recognize the part of town they’re in, and she doesn’t ask.

Mulder hits the button on a call box beside the door. Before he can speak, a voice leaps out at them.

“Howdy Mulderoony.” Mulder recognizes it as Frohike’s voice. “Glad to see you made it safely.”

A variety of locks and chains are undone, the door pulled open.

“Join our ménage a trois,” Frohike says, ushering them in.

“We can’t stay long,” Mulder tells them, squinting as he adjusts to the darkness of their realm. “You guys forget to pay the electric bill or something?”

“We’re conserving electricity,” Byers says, a shadow in the corner of the room. “It’s good for the environment.”

“I didn’t realize the environment was on your list of concerns.”

“It should be on everyone’s list of concerns,” Byers throws back matter-of-factly.

Mulder slides his hands into his pockets. “Touché.”

Ringo comes forward from the darkness, his hair as tressed and greasy as ever. “Well lookie here. Dana Scully in the flesh.”

Frohike inserts himself between them. “You can’t be serious, pool boy. That’s not her, I’d know her anywhere. It is, however, an equally lovely woman.” He takes Missy’s hand and kisses it. “My lady.”

Missy participates with amusement until Mulder brushes Frohike aside.

“Okay boys, lay off. This is Scully’s sister Melissa. And I believe she’s taken.”

Frohike bows. “A lucky man.”

“Woman,” Missy corrects.

“Oh. Excusez-moi."

Tucked in the darkness, Byers scoffs at the childish antics. “Come on, let’s cut to the chase. Lives are at stake.”

“I’m glad to see someone has a brain around here,” Mulder quips.

Ringo pats Mulder’s shoulder. “Not all of us got a full-ride to Oxford, but hey, I’d say we’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

“Calm down, Ringo. You’d still be the smartest member of the Ramones.”

Like an unleashed dog, Ringo lunges forward, and Byers and Frohike pull him back. They are quite used to this.

“You can insult me, but never speak ill of the Ramones!” Ringo growls.

Mulder puts his hands up, smirks at the permission he’s been given. “Happily.”

Missy clears her throat, her amusement wearing thin. She’s like her sister in this way.

Mulder gets the memo. “Right. Can the trash talk, we’re here to catch a criminal.”

“If he is, in fact, a criminal,” Byers remarks.

Missy frowns. “Haven’t you proved that?”

“We’re connecting the dots, but we haven’t completed the picture yet,” Byers replies.

Mulder circles around to Byers’ monitor. “What have you got?”

“This doctor, Scanlon, isn’t just an oncologist,” Ringo begins, as if Mulder asked him. “His name is associated with the Lombard Research Facility.”

Mulder and Missy both give him a look. More, more!

“A high security medical research center in Allentown,” he clarifies.

“We’ve hacked into some of the security cameras,” Frohike tells them. “We’d have to get in to see for ourselves, but the activity is rather suspicious. The same men, in and out, at odd times. Whatever they’re storing in there, it’s significant.”

“Then let’s get in,” Mulder emphasizes. “You be the eyes and ears, I’ll be the legs.”

Ringo nods. “We’re working on it.”

“We need to observe their weekend patterns before we make any moves,” Byers insists. “We don’t set up our missions to fail.”

“Fine, but as soon as you’ve reached your confidence threshold--”

“We’ll call you,” Ringo promises.

“What are you expecting to find?” Missy asks, frenzied. “Will it help Dana?”

Frohike drums his fingers on the desk. “That’s the plan.”

Byers nods. “We can’t be sure exactly what we’ll find, but the connection is clear: Scanlon was involved with the abductions, and he’s exploiting these women for his own benefit.”

Melissa shivers involuntarily. “It’s amazing that you’ve figured this out.”

Ringo twirls a pencil through his hair. “We have a lot of free time on our hands.”

Mulder takes a shot at the mini-basketball hoop they have, misses. “And you’d better use it all to implicate Dr. Scanlon’s ass.”

Frohike does a two-finger salute. “Aye aye captain.”

Mulder thumbs toward the door. “Now we’ve gotta get out of here before the smell sticks to us. Scully will know exactly where we’ve been,” he smirks.

“Can’t argue with that.” Frohike shows them to the door. “Give the lady my regards.”

“Will do.” He turns back, exchanges a serious glance with each man. “Sort this out, boys.”

Just as quickly as they came, he and Melissa step out of the chambers and ascend back into the sun’s dominion. Entrusting those three with the well-being of a woman they love so much is far from ideal, and yet, they’re throwing all their faith into it.

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

Mulder slides his key into the door of apartment 42 shortly after seven on Sunday evening. He hasn’t been in for a week, and yet a vivid scent of...smoke sticks about the place. And a wrinkled mess of a man to go with it.

The old man lifts his chin. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Mulder is no longer naïve enough to be taken aback by Cancer Man’s ambush. He shrugs and slides his coat off. “Well, you are in my apartment.”

“I’ve heard that your partner is very sick,” CSM says, his steps so clunky that Mulder wonders whether the downstairs tenants will complain.

“What grapevine did you get that from?...Or are you the one growing the grapes?”

“It saddened me to hear. Agent Scully is a valuable member of the Bureau.”

Mulder nods. “You here to pass on your condolences? Cause I’m pretty sure you could just send a card.”

“I’m here to propose a solution...The doctors say your partner’s sickness is incurable. This is not true.”

“Smarter than the doctors, are you?”

“In this case I am.”

A bitter laugh rises from Mulder. “So I’m supposed to believe that you were involved in sickening Scully, yet you want to save her?”

“We all have our regrets.”

“And I have no reason to trust you.”

“Upon learning about her child, I feel a deep need to intervene.”

“Mmm.” Mulder begins to pace. “And by learning about her child, do you mean when Scully’s ova were removed and fertilized without her knowledge? Because I have a hard time believing that you didn’t know a thing about Emily until Scully got custody.”

“Certainly I did not foresee Emily ending up in her mother’s custody.”

“What was the purpose then, of Emily? To terrorize a woman by taking away her bodily autonomy?”

CSM shrugs. “That’s not my area.”

Mulder scoffs. “Okay you old freak. Tell me how to save Scully’s life or get the hell out of here.”

The wrinkled man folds his hands. “She had a silicone implant removed from her neck. Put it back in.”

Mulder freezes. “Are you serious? That’s your miracle cure?”

CSM nods. “It is the only way to save her life. Removing the implant is what caused the cancer in the first place.”

Mulder steps forward, getting in the old man’s face like a middle-school bully. He’s ready to throw a punch--honestly, ready to kill the man--if need be. He could do it. Easily. He could.

“What does the implant do, Cancer Man?”

“Believe it or not, it is meant as a sort of inoculation. It offsets the negative effects of any tests performed during the...time away.”

“Uh-huh, and what do you get from it?”

“Who says I get anything from it?”

“How else would you know that she had it removed?”

“I am everywhere, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder loses his thinly-veiled calm, wraps his hand around the man’s saggy neck. “You fucking pervert, I’ll kill you! I’ve killed a man before just like this. Tell me the truth.”

“This is the truth,” CSM wheezes, not intimidated by his rapidly deteriorating air flow. His cold, hard eyes stare into Mulder’s. “You wouldn’t kill a man over nothing, would you?”

Mulder squeezes harder, his fingers gripping the man’s pulse. He watches the light drain from his victim’s eyes. All the old bastard does is smirk at him.

Angered by this more than anything, Mulder releases the man so suddenly that his bony body is thrown into the wall. He keeps his footing, stumbles forward.

“Get out,” Mulder growls. When he doesn’t respond, Mulder pokes his finger at the door. “Get out now!”

CSM dusts himself off and walks out, the pompous smirk never leaving his face. Mulder slams the door shut behind him.

There are certain truths he cannot escape. If Scully has made him believe in Heaven, CSM has made him believe in Hell.

#sincerely hope i did the lone gunmen justice lol #also i feel like this chapter is...a normal episode amount of angsty instead of the slow paper cut of the last chapter #the x-files #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine #eww this looks weird w/the tumblr update!!#read it on ao3 lol

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nanoland · 3 years

Text

new chapter (supernatural fic)

(Also on AO3.)

Clean Hands, part 5

Crowley/Dean Winchester/Castiel

Warning: SPACE GORE

“I understand you and Dean have fallen out,” said Castiel. “Again. But this is important. The Winchesters are in danger, Crowley. They badly need our help.”

Ten thick leashes in hand, Crowley walked on nothing, his Armani coat billowing in a non-existent breeze for stylistic purposes. Ordinarily, he was loathe to keep the hounds in check via such brutal methods – his clever, clever darlings were the best-behaved babies in the world, always attentive and alert, instantly responding to his every whistle and command. Leashes, he felt, insulted them.

But today, to his sorrow, it was necessary. Brilliant, gorgeous beasts that they were, they weren’t accustomed to hunting the damned in zero gravity. If he didn’t keep them tethered, they were inclined to float away.

“What’s in it for me?” Crowley asked, without deigning to glance in Castiel’s direction.

Unlike him, Castiel had left his meat suit on Earth. Crowley wasn’t sure why. Keeping them operational in the freezing vacuum of space took a bit of work, a bit of concentration, but should hardly tax an angel’s resources.

Maybe he’d just wanted an excuse to stretch his wings.

And oh, how they stretched.

‘Wings’ was a barely accurate description. They were to wings what the Carina Nebula was to a puff of cigarette smoke.

Crowley felt that if the lens through which he viewed angels hadn’t been hammered into shape by early modern European Christianity, he’d sooner have thought ‘frills’ – like Jurassic Park’s inaccurate take on a Dilophosaurus, the nasty bugger that had spat acid in the fat bloke’s eyes. Huge sheets of brightly coloured whatever-material-they-made-dinosaur-puppets-from exploding out of its neck, reminiscent of an opening umbrella. That was far closer to what Crowley could see of Castiel without getting a headache than ‘wings’.

Of course, in order for the comparison to be even remotely accurate, the puppet would need to have been a mile long and accidentally warping the space-time continuum with its very presence. A meteor innocently rolled by; when it came within twenty metres of Castiel’s trunk, it flickered in and out of existence, turned to ice, turned to magma, and then reappeared on the other side of Castiel, continuing on its way as if nothing had happened.

“Crowley,” Castiel huffed, “I don’t have time to banter or bargain with you. Not today. What’s ‘in it for you’ is Dean and Sam’s continued existence – and gratitude.”

Crowley laughed.

“And my gratitude,” Castiel amended. “I will be in your debt. Not that I believe that’s even necessary. I’m quite certain you’ve already made up your mind to help. But if it makes you feel better or appeases your vanity, you can pretend you’re doing it because it will give you leverage.”

“You think a favour from you counts as ‘leverage’, kitten? The last favour you did me ended with you ascending to godhood while I hid in a methhead’s trailer listening to Nancy Sinatra for three days. You, my fine feathered friend, are a celestial fucking monkey’s paw.”

They were now close enough to the wreckage that the hounds were beginning to whine with excitement. Crowley requested patience with a click of his tongue.

“You’re absorbing too much radiation,” Castiel muttered.

“Sort it out, then.”

If Castiel had been wearing Jimmy Novak, he’d doubtless have donned that delightful scowl – maybe even graced Crowley with a pout. As it was, he merely rearranged his wings so that Crowley was shielded from the worst of the cosmic poison.

Juliet misinterpreted the movement and started growling.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart,” Crowley cooed, stroking her scales. “Daddy’s not in any danger from silly old Uncle Castiel.”

Castiel growled back at her. Sound, of course, did not carry in space, for which reason they’d been communicating telepathically; if it had, he’d have blown eardrums back at the ISS. As it was, the only result was that the mangled spacecraft tumbling through Mars’ orbit a short distance away threw off sparks.

Whimpering, Juliet tried to hide behind Crowley’s legs.

“Stop bullying her, you arse. She’s a guard dog. She’s doing her job,” he snapped, untangling the leash.

“I don’t like your pets.”

“I don’t like yours, but you’re still here, asking me to stick my neck out for them. By the way, is there a reason they haven’t summoned me themselves?”

“I…”

“Do they even know about this? Ooh – Cas, are you being naughty? Mm? Sneaking around behind their backs, again?”

Castiel reared up, a thousand luminous antennae bristling, and boomed, “Demon, I have overseen a war in Heaven. I have lead divine squadrons into Hell. I am a veteran and a commander and I am not obliged to beg permission from Dean or Sam before approaching you or any of our other allies. I – why are you aroused? This is not arousing! Stop it!”

“Make me, big boy,” Crowley husked, rapidly reviewing the logistics of getting rage-fucked by an oil-tanker-sized pillar of light and strange matter.

Juliet gave her signature ‘target locked’ bark and Crowley was forced to return his attention to the task at hand.

A figure in an untethered spacesuit had drifted from the wreckage. Still alive, Crowley could smell that much, but panicking; probably only had a few minutes of oxygen left.

He wouldn’t be needing them. Crowley snapped his fingers and let go of the leashes.

“And that,” he said, smugly, watching Juliet crack open the helmet with one bite, “is what happens to people who don’t hold up their end of the bargain.”

In zero gravity, guts didn’t so much spill from a man’s ruptured stomach as they did soar. It was really rather beautiful to watch.

“Untrue. I didn’t hold up my end of our bargain and I never faced any such consequences,” observed Castiel.

“Yes, you did. I’ve ruined you, Cassie. Haven’t you noticed? Over a hundred times now I’ve had you in my bed, arse up or legs wrapped around my shoulders, befouling that sparkling grace of yours. Dirtying you up. All day long, I catch other demons sniffing the air in my presence and I know what they’re sniffing for are the traces you leave on me. All Hell knows what we get up to, every monster and magistrate. So that’s your reputation gone as well, I’m afraid. Consequences, ducky.”

Castiel said nothing until the hounds had finished their meal and what remained of Hell’s wayward client were but a few red droplets dancing through the total blackness.

Then, slowly, in his older-than-hydrogen voice, he said, “You are… you are actually trying to tell me that all the times you’ve pleasured me – all the times I’ve pleasured you – all the times you’ve spent hours reverently touching my penis and buttocks – all the times I’ve made you orgasm so hard you start speaking Gaelic – all that was just part of your cunning plan to take revenge by corrupting me? That’s your claim? That’s the best ruse you can come up with? Ah-hah. Hah. Hah! Hahahahahahaha-…”

Angels shimmered when they laughed. Crowley suspected he was one of the only non-angels in existence who knew that. Even Dean probably didn’t.

“Piss off,” Crowley grumbled, adamantly refusing to allow his meat suit’s cheeks to redden. He clicked his tongue again and the hounds returned to his side, happy and sated.

“When you offer the Winchesters your aid, please don’t tell them I spoke to you first,” said Castiel after he’d calmed down. “It would… complicate things. Say you heard about their dilemma from some other source.”

“Oh, good. So now I can look forward to Dean getting up on his high horse and accusing me of spying on them. Thanks.”

“Crowley, you do spy on them. We both do. Constantly. The only people we spy on more frequently are one another. It – hmm. Your dog is urinating on my thorax.”

“Juliet! Naughty girl.”

#supernatural #crowstiel #castiel #crowley #dean winchester #drowley #drowstiel #fanfic #my fic

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thirstyforcharacters · 4 years

Text

2. The Blizzard Hits

Part 2 of 4 of the Winter Storm Warning Series

Summary: You and Poe have been captured by First Order forces. You both have to come to terms with what that means.

Notes: Hello! Here's the second chapter in this little series. I have officially decided that this is going to be four chapters long, so we're halfway done already! I’m not really expecting too many people to read this series until the smut in the fourth chapter lol, but I still think that the buildup is very important! There is an interrogation scene in this one, but I don't think it's overly graphic or anything, so hopefully it should be okay! Hope you enjoy! You can read the first chapter of this series here, the third here, and the fourth here. (use of she/her pronouns in future chapters, no y/n)

Warnings: angst, interrogation with a broken nose, a little blood

WC: 2k

There were three you realized when you came to.

The first was that it was almost completely dark.

The room these troopers chose to keep you in had no windows. The door blocked out most of the light, except for a small sliver at the very bottom. If you had to guess, this room was most likely a storage closet of some kind while the base was in use.

The second was that you were freezing.

This wasn’t too unbelievable given that you were on Hoth, but you would think that if you were inside, there would be some kind of heating system. Perhaps it was broken. Or maybe the troopers were just too dumb to figure it out.

The third is that you were chained to the wall.

The cold metal was clasped around your ankle, tethering you in place. You didn’t like that very much, of course. You wanted to at least be able to inspect the room that you were in. And since your wrists were chained together, it would be difficult for you to break free. You wouldn’t think that the rebels of old were cruel enough to chain their prisoners to the wall, so the troopers probably brought them in here just for you. How special.

Though you couldn’t see him, you assumed that you were being held in the same room as Poe. When you listened harder, you could barely make out the sounds of his breathing. Judging by how quiet it was, you guessed that he was still knocked out. Worry coursed through your veins. You didn’t know how long you were in here, but you knew it had to have been at least half an hour. That’s an awfully long time to be passed out. But your worry soon dissipated when you heard him groan.

“What the hell?” he muttered, and you heard his chains rattle, presumably to rub at his eyes, “where are we?”

“I don’t know. It’s too dark to see anything. But I assume that we’re in some sort of old storage closet,” you replied.

You heard him try to get up and curse when he realized that he couldn’t, “Well, this isn’t ideal.”

All at once, you remembered the chain of events that had landed you here. His recklessness and inability to listen had landed you both here. Despite that pitch blackness before your eyes, you were seeing red.

“Clearly,” you scoffed, “and this situation could’ve been avoided.”

“No, it couldn’t,” he argued, “no matter what, we would’ve been running into this many people.”

“Yes, it could’ve,” you growled, knowing that you were right, “if we had formulated a plan, we could’ve taken them out. The two of us together would’ve been more than skilled enough to pull it off. But of course, you just had to be reckless. You’re so fucking headstrong, even when it’s at your detriment. Maybe in the past, you’ve just made up your plans on the fly, but that doesn’t work in situations like this. You’d think as a commander, you’d know that. This was your fault, Dameron. You’re the reason that we’re stuck here with no way out. So stop trying to deflect responsibility. We both know this could’ve been prevented.”

He fell silent then, and you smirked to yourself. His lack of response meant he knew he was in the wrong. For once in your lives, he acknowledged that you were right. You figured that he’d never admit it out loud, so his silence was good enough for you.

“At any rate,” you began again, “we need to figure out how to get out of here and take these guys out before this base is operational.”

He nodded, “Yeah, we do. There’s no window, and I would assume that the door is guarded, so that’s our first problem.”

“Even if they have weapons, I think we’re both good enough to take them out. We just need to break these chains and somehow get the door open,” you replied.

“If this is just a storage closet, like you think, we’d just have to find something to pick the lock with. Shouldn’t be too difficult,” said Poe.

You agreed, and you were about to tell him so when the lock clicked and the door swung open. The light spilling in from the hallway was a shock to your senses, and your eyes fluttered shut from the intrusion. Once you opened them again, you saw that four figures had walked in. Three were just regular troopers, but one was wearing one of the black officer outfits. She looked you both over, and there was a smirk painted across her face.

“So,” she stated, “I didn’t know we had one of General Organa’s most prized admirals and the best pilot in the Resistance in our presence. I feel honored.”

“You should,” quipped Poe.

You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Now was not the time for this!

The officer chuckled darkly, “You’re lucky I’m not after you today. Bring the admiral to her feet. I have some questions for her.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Getting interrogated was not on your agenda today. One of the troopers stepped forward to unlock the chains around your ankles, and you both took a sharp intake of breath when you were roughly hauled to your feet and shoved out the door. The last thing you saw before leaving was the guilt in Poe’s eyes. Good. This was his fault, after all. Though, you supposed only the getting captured thing was his fault. Not everything that happened after. That could only be blamed on the First Order.

You were dragged through the halls until you were brought out to their main hub of operations, which was the large hangar near the front of the base. You counted about 20 stormtroopers total; two were guarding your door, four were the ones leading you through the halls, three walking through the halls, and the final eleven in the main hangar. You figured that that would be easy enough once you and Poe got ahold of weapons. There was only one other officer, which was good news for you two. You were taken out of your thoughts by being unceremoniously thrown to the ground. The officer and the three troopers who escorted you towered over your kneeling figure.

“So, Admiral,” the officer started, “there are a few things that I really need to know. And you’re going to tell them to me.”

“Like hell I am,” you spat back.

“We’ll see. The first thing that I’d like to know is how you knew we were here.”

You stayed silent.

“Come on now, Admiral, I asked nicely. I won’t do that too many more times,” she coaxed.

“I don’t know,” you told her, almost nonchalantly.

Technically, it wasn’t a total lie. Though you knew that Finn had gotten the information from a traitor, truth be told, you didn’t know exactly who it was. No one did, seeing as they went by a codename. And even if you did know, you wouldn’t throw Finn under the bus, or reveal your source of information.

“Liar!” she barked, raising the butt of her rifle and striking you in the face with it.

You cried out in pain as you felt blood pour from your nose. It was definitely broken. This is why you preferred being in the air; there was much less risk of breaking your bones. You attempted to raise your hands to your nose to help staunch the blood flow, but the cuffs around your wrists prevented you from doing so effectively.

“That’s not the worst you’ll get if you don’t tell me where you got your information from now,” the officer growled.

“Never,” you said through gritted teeth.

She flipped her rifle around so the front was facing you and pressed it against your forehead.

“I don’t have to kill you. But if you don’t tell me, I have no problem disposing of you and moving on to the pilot. So I think you should just let me know who gave you that intel,” she pressed.

“Neither of us will, so stop trying,” you snapped back, “you might as well just kill me now and stop wasting our time.”

“If you say so,” she said, cocking her rifle.

“Not if I can help it,” came a voice from one of the entrances in the hangar.

You all turned to the doorway and there was Poe, with a blaster in each hand. He swiftly shot the officer in front of you. She crumpled to the ground, and you grabbed the rifle from her body. While most of the troopers were distracted with Poe in the doorway, you took out the three troopers near you (which was certainly a struggle with cuffed hands, but you managed). You found a pin on the floor, and used it to pick the cuffs open. With you new blaster rifle, you joined Poe in the scuffle, working in tandem to take out the troopers holding you captive.

When the adrenaline from the fight wore off, the throbbing pain in your nose came back full force, and the blood loss was starting to make you woozy. You sank to the ground against the wall, pinching your nose to try and stop the blood flow. The front of your shirt was starting to stain with red. You’d definitely need to scrub that out later.

“Oh shit, you’re still bleeding! Let me find a med kit,” Poe exclaimed, rushing around the room until he located the medical supplies and sat in front of you.

Poe worked in silence. He did his best to fix the injury, and you think he did pretty well, given that he wasn’t a professional. You’d probably get a healer to look at it once you returned to base, but he stopped the blood flow, which was the most important part.

“Is that better?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, thanks,” you replied.

He shook his head, and the guilt that was in his expression earlier returned, “Don’t thank me. It’s my fault it happened in the first place.”

“That was the First Order’s fault, not yours,” you contested.

“Yes, it was,” he argued, “all of this was my fault. They wouldn’t have hurt you if we hadn’t gotten captured, and that was because of me. I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you. I shouldn’t have rushed in. It was incredibly reckless, and you suffered because of it. I’m sorry, Admiral. Promise I won’t do that again.”

You were stunned. You didn’t even think he’d admit that this was his fault, let alone apologize for it. And he seemed upset that you were hurt. You honestly didn’t think he’d care. And you also didn’t expect yourself to forgive him so quickly. But you couldn’t help it. The guilt and regret in his eyes told you that he truly was sorry.

“It’s okay. We got out of it, and that’s what matters. One of us should probably contact the general and tell her that we finished the job and that we’re on our way.”

“I will,” he replied, “you rest. You lost a decent bit of blood.”

You nodded, laying your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. You heard him walk away and start talking to Leia, telling her the events that transpired. She congratulated both of you on a job well done, but still told Poe off a little bit for his actions.

You didn’t even realize that you had fallen asleep, but before you knew it, you were gently shaken awake by Poe.

“Sorry to wake you, but I’ve got bad news.”

“W-what is it?” you questioned, stifling a yawn.”

He winced, “The snow storm outside is in full force. The conditions are too bad for either of us to fly in, or even walk out to the ship in. We’ll have to stay here for the night.”

You sighed softly. Even though you wouldn’t say you hated Poe anymore (which was big for you), you still weren’t his biggest fan. So staying alone with him in the base wasn’t the most appealing to you. But going out in that blizzard was a death wish, so stay here you would. This was going to be a long night.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron angst #star wars #x reader #x reader angst #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfiction #x reader fic #x reader fanfiction #star wars sequel trilogy #sequel trilogy #fluff and smut in future chapters

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alias-b · 4 years

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sins of my youth. 017

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: New chapter! Sorry, it's late! Took a while to edit this one. Evie's birthday bash comes with a flood of feelings and heavy smut! Billy struggles with his heart when emotions get too real. xoxo

Ask box & Tag list are both open!! Come and chat with me after! :)

Chapter 17: Heart-Shaped Shadow Box

Monday was strange. News spread like wildfire. Carol Perkins and Evie Fenny had a civil interaction. See it and be amazed. All’s well in the animal kingdom again.

Order restored. Clouds opening. Roll on snare drum followed by velvet curtains.

Even the snow was thawing to wet slush.

It all happened at Tommy’s dented locker near the English hallway’s corner. Evie stopped. Hit her mark flawlessly. Found the light. Flashed a pleasant smile which earned Carol’s lip twitching in response.

And the crowd went wild.

“Tommy and I are sitting with you. At lunch. Might want to warn Steve and Heather to put the claws away. We’ll come bearing gifts even. Well...promises of gifts we'll deliver on later. Not school-friendly.” Carol fished for a pack of mints in Tommy’s pocket. This was clearly not up for debate.

“Consider it an early promise for your birthday.” Tommy had added with a beam of teeth.

“Sure. Cool. See you guys.” Evie held a book to her chest and continued to her locker. Switching items around before she went back to meet Billy at his. Spotted the faded leather of his jacket and ducked a little to sneak upon him.

A feline on the prowl ready to overtake the dominant male lion.

"Did you know you're the only girl around here who doesn't cover herself in that Love's Baby Soft crap? The grown woman perfume gives you away, chica." Billy spoke without turning. Evie's made an annoyed sound and dropped her shoulders, inches behind him. "Not a complaint. I like the thrill of it."

Blue eyes peered to see her there and Evie got the urge to stick her tongue out as a child would. Didn't want to tempt Billy though. Or did she?

"Yeah, yeah." Air blew a curl from her face. One shoulder nestled into the locker next to him. “Feels weird today.”

“You’re not getting into a fight for once.” He remarked, smacking metal shut to lean back against it while the student body bustled along. Eyes slipped down and Evie pouted, straightening.

"My eyes are up here, Hargrove." Two fingers rose to gesture at them.

Little extra work put into her eyeshadow and lipstick today. Little extra time picking out outfits that weren't for Fredrick. Can't go wrong with a loud print that looked like it was out of a creepy hotel's carpet. Or a short skirt with her tights. Evie felt especially positive about her body today.

She didn't eat anything bad this morning. See. She was getting better. She was stopping because she was in control and could stop this sickness at any time she wanted.

"Sure. I'll get there." Gorgeous lashes batted to knock the wind out of her, but Evie puffed. Billy's gaze lifted, flicking with amusement because she was too easy to rile up. Too easy to get blushing. "Must feel weird," he'd repeated, "no battle."

“That could be. Farewell badass reputation. I knew you all of two days.” She sighed for dramatic effect and he actually smiled, head shaking before an arm swept around Evie’s shoulders. Pulled her taut and flush into his fire.

For once, she didn’t look at anyone else.

Leaned into Billy and walked along as if she was meant to be there.

As if they didn’t look funny together.

That was a beautiful thing this morning. Something that made her feel full and in control.

“Weirded me out when Mona let me in to collect Max and you three were snoring on the pull-out.”

“Sweet that you carried Max home.” Evie teased. “What a good big brother you are.”

“Yeah, just when I warm up, she edges off me.”

“How’s that?” Evie peered up at his face.

“Don’t know, she hasn’t been her annoying self. Growing up or whatever. Might be all her friends.” Billy only shrugged. “Snappier at me. Quieter. Guess I deserve it. She stays out of dad's way, but he has an opinion on everything she does.”

“She’s a teenage girl. We all have our moments. I'm sure it's not easy for either of you.” They turned down another hallway. Billy stiffened so she allowed him to change the subject.

“I did have good luck on my Saturday quest.” He sounded genuinely triumphant. Lips turned into her curls to mutter. "Small victories."

Around them, lockers shuffled and smacked about. Chattering students moved to let them pass. Evie Fenny on the arm of his royal highness, Billy Hargrove. King. What a lucky girl she was.

If they held her echoing heart to their ears, they'd probably hear rich ocean waves. Evie wondered if Billy had reached deep within in, if he'd find twinkling sea glass and opalescent shells

“Yeah, you were gone the entire day, where’d you go?” Evie had laughed and he stunned her with the flippant reply.

“Got your birthday present.”

Evie came to a halt at the corner. Spinning to see him. Billy batted his lashes again, smirking.

“What? It is the 27th, right? Wednesday?” He winced like perhaps he’d been wrong.

“How and where did you get that info? And you remembered it?”

“I have my ways, Evie.” He bit his lip. Scanned her. “Surprised I got you something?”

A blush damned her to hell.

“No, I just… A little.” Evie looked away at the trophy case. Saw them reflected and straightened up. Shuffling back. One hand rubbed at her collar. Illusions faded like dying lights. Too easily.

"Well, believe it, I'm full of surprises."

“My mom is doing something small at the salon that she thinks I don’t know about and then I’m going to Heather's. Party on a school night. Her parents are out this week so free reign in the mansion.”

“I might have heard something about that.” Billy shrugged, peering away so she could take him in.

Freckles stunning and sparkling crystals for eyes. Endless ocean waves under a balmy sun. Evie wondered for a moment if perhaps he was oblivious to how candidly beautiful he was some days.

She inched toward him. Forgot their reflection. Forgot the students with eyes that burned. Saw Billy glanced back and froze. Caught.

“You ever think…?” Billy gave this squint to study her there. Thought he saw flecks of gold within her eyes. Sparking at him. Drawing a charge. New stars giving birth he might be able to count if he looked deeper.

“Yes...?” Evie hushed, just barely edged up on her toes. Billy never finished it. "I do."

"Do? Do what?" He flushed there. Sounding vaguely drunk. Inch back toward her.

Two magnets pining from a distance. Drawing ever nearer.

"Think. Long and hard." It came out a saccharine whisper. “I think too much in fact.”

He gave this dumb, little chuckle. Unable to grasp his thoughts. Unable to share them.

“I think about things I can’t control and I get so mad.” Evie scoffed. Thought her eyes watered due to the intensity. “I can’t stop even though there’s very little I can control. It's like time and space. I can't... But, I know that, Billy, and I can't seem to stop.”

Abrupt, she pushed up to her toes. Captured his lips. Just hard enough to make her point explicit. Hard enough to send him all aflutter. Bursting to pieces from every vein. A might wave crashed into them both. Swept them away. She stayed close enough to finish the thought. Made him drink it down.

"And I think you're made of that same stardust." Evie swooped around him. Left Billy dizzy as the bell rang. She didn’t look back at him. Only smiled to herself and let curls bounce as she slipped off.

Billy spun on his heel to see her. Left drunk in a billow of honey amber. A smile overtaking his expression. A warm tint in his freckles.

He could have blamed her eyes with their hold. Could have blamed her hair and the way the light illuminated it just so. Hell, he could have blamed that damn perfume. The concoction of oils and lotions you'd find listed in an old witch's spell. Although, she was from New Orleans, so perhaps voodoo. He tried to rationalize it. Make it purely sexual. Make it rough and tumble.

Either way, too much became clear. Evangeline Fenny was beautiful and she was going to ruin him. And Billy was going to let her do it. Any number of heartbeats it would take, he was going to succumb. This sin he'd be begging for again and again. This lovely sin that filled his soul until it burst.

A red hot ribbon would noose his heart and twist out to Evie's own. They could sink and float and be just fine. The thought of being tethered to something tangible didn't have to feel like a cage and muzzle. It could be freeing too. Sprinkled in their signature stardust that gave it an ethereal filter. An iridescent shimmer.

Even if it terrified him to the core.

** ** **

Evie didn’t need to prep Steve and Heather for Carol and Tommy’s impending infiltration of their lunch table. More news in the animal kingdom.

Princess Heather and Duchess Carol caught whispering at Heather’s locker between second and third.

Truly fascinating. Pan in close for a better look.

Evie passed them and could only blink. Almost running into Robin on her way to Yearbook.

Heather and Carol standing close to each other as if they hadn’t been in a nasty fight the week before. Giggling and hushing tones. Carol traded a bobby pin from her hair for an elastic Heather had tucked into a coin purse shaped like a pair of cherries.

That was a serious transaction in girl world.

Carol tugged playfully at Heather's tee, hand poised to her lips to whisper before the other girl was nodding. Evie had a thousand questions but decided not to bother. Red hair swept to flick as Carol turned to go. Following Evie because they were in Yearbook together with Nancy and Jonathan.

Usually, they sat across the room in opposite corners. Today, they shared a table.

“Heard the bio classes moved the dissections this year up to March.” Carol made a face and sorted through science club photos. Seated across from Evie to work on some new pages.

“I always skip school those days and do some make-up work later. I’ll take the grade hit.” Evie grimaced.

“I just partner with Tommy, make him do it, and he’ll get us a solid C plus.” A shrug. Their teacher flicked on some hippy music they liked to pass the time. Lazy class. “Do a bunch of shots after.”

“Yeah, I can’t even handle being in the room.” Evie stacked some finished sections aside. “How are things between you and Tommy?”

Carol peered up briefly between making little notes. Blew a pink bubble and popped it.

“He’s still my number one slice. I don’t know, I thought he’d get weird about the whole thing. Kinda shocked me.” She mused, shifting pictures about. “I did say he’s gonna marry me one day. Pretty sure. I mean we’re plenty stupid and we fight. But, we’re allowed.”

“Good, that’s...good.” Evie felt eyes blaring holes. Stared at the page she was reworking.

“Feels like you got another question in there, Fen.”

“I don’t know.” Shoulders hitched higher. Evie tucked some curls back and smacked her mauve lips.

They sat in silence under dim fluorescent lights for a few minutes. Carol paused to apply a fresh layer of gloss in her tiny compact. Flashed the mirror at Evie’s eyes to bug her.

“Hey.” One hand swatted aimlessly when she was blinded. Carol snickered, slapping the mirror shut.

“You’re really into him aren’t you?” A head tilt. “Billy.”

“Things...shifted after the dance. He asked me out. Then, I asked him out. We sorta went out together. Nothing official. I don't know what's a date and what isn't with him. I don’t. As I said, I don’t think he does girlfriends. I don’t think I'd make a very good girlfriend either.”

“Not with that attitude." A scoff. "Have you asked?”

“...No.”

“You’re overcomplicating it because you have major, major trust issues, Evie.” Carol deduced easily. Too easily. Evie sat back. Opened her mouth to protest and shut it. “Billy might have issues too. But, if a guy screws up and spends two months following you around trying to make it right. Not really sleeping around. Obviously it’s crossed his mind. Just quit dragging and ask him. You might like the answer.”

“I don’t know, sometimes I think it’s supposed to be like a fairy tale. Without all the...ugh.” Evie cringed at herself. Nails tapping the rhythm of a new song she was working on at home.

“Make the fairy tale happen. Be like Cinder-fucking-ella. Cinder-Evie.” Carol leaned in to roll her eyes. “Evie Fenny wants romance in Hawkins. Some of us can’t even get cable, you know.”

Evie snorted. Peered up so both of them laughed. Tension fluttered.

“Just slam him into a wall and ask. Billy will respond to that." A wink before she got sultry. "Lick his balls or something. He’ll probably get the hint. Boys aren't complicated.”

“Oh, god.” Evie was still giggling silently. Tried to keep it down under the music playing as students went to go develop some photos. Nancy and Jonathan saw the two and couldn’t help whispering. Odd sight. “I kinda have already.”

“No, shit?” Carol bit her lip. "Evangeline, you absolute harlot."

“I mean,” Evie blushed, “we’ve done stuff. Just not gone all the way.”

“Look at you. Ugh, I know he’s good in the sack. I just do. Tommy and I even talked about it cause we’re like that. We hinted inviting him in once at a party and he was too busy mooning over you at that time.” Carol fiddled with a purple gel pen. Played coy. Tongue in cheek. “Tommy’s not bad, we get a lot of practice in though.”

“Billy...he puts cologne or something...down there. Makes the taste weird.”

“Uh.” Carol groaned. “You know, I bet Tommy picked up that trick from him cause he started doing it after Billy rolled in. I fucking knew that Cali boy would be a bad influence.” A sly look followed. “Evie Fenny is getting it. And she could be actually getting it if she weren’t a damn coward.”

"I am." Evie covered her face.

"Just..." Carol shrugged and tugged one of Evie's hands down by the wrist. Voice low. "Just think about how good it'll be when he's undressing you. Kissing your neck. And those hands. The thing he might whisper in your ear... Look at you blush."

She released Evie with a light laugh, continuing.

"Don't make it rocket science. Ask him. Get the orgasm you deserve, Evie. That's my motto."

“Not terrible... We get heated and during times I’m actually about to tear his clothes off, we keep getting interrupted. It’s like some evil force is against us. I don't know, I still get weird when he touches my body and I'm trying to stop.”

Carol only flashed her teeth.

“Maybe your luck will improve. Burn some more incense.”

Evie only hummed in response. They mulled over pages again. Traded images to find the perfect shots.

“Gonna ask you something, you don’t have to answer because it’s stupid.” Carol’s voice dimmed. Eyes unable to raise for the first time as she tapped her nail. “Do you, like, miss him at all? You know who.”

Evie blinked at her.

“That’s not stupid... Ah, sometimes. I don’t think it’s exactly him I miss. Maybe just the good times we did have. Talking. Feeling important and indispensable to someone. The times he held me or gave me things or included me in his life as if I could actually fit. Maybe it was wrong and fake, but he saw something in me and he wanted that to love him back. I’ll bet it did if anything.”

“Oh.” Was all Carol said, nodding. “Did he put those bruises on you last week? Tommy saw you.”

“Yeah,” Evie cleared her throat, “and Billy found out. He’d picked up some stuff beforehand. I tried to end it and Fredrick didn’t want to and then he got scared. Tried to scare me which got violent. But, Billy, ah...beat the shit out of him.”

“I think Tommy would have done the same...if he had a chance. He talked about it. Jumped right into macho man talk when I...when I told him. Looked like he might cry when I told him how long it really went on. He believed me and my own mother didn't.” Carol exhaled a sharper breath.

"She didn't want to hold the blame," Evie piped up. As if she knew the horrible truth of motherhood and life and what colors should never go together. How some women weren't meant to be mothers and some women weren't meant to be daughters either. "Some mothers...they can't handle the fact that maybe they brought the monsters home. They were blind. Not all of them manifest under our beds, they get put there by people we trust."

"Miss Mona have bad boy luck?"

Evie peered aside.

"You could say that." She paused and had this brief moment of repetition and ferocity. Repeat something. Believe it. Harder each time. "My father though, he loves me. More than anything. He'd be here right now if he could. He would. I made him so happy." This almost manic smile tugged her lips desperately. Carol saw a flash that resonated, but Evie snuffed it. "I bet Tommy is doing what he can to support you, even if he's a little lost about it."

“These boys. Acting like they can chase all our demons away or something. Scared when we try to do the same for them.”

“Right. Our demons aren’t remotely tackled, they’re mildly concussed.” Evie agreed. Softer eyes lifting again to meet Carol’s across the way. “I guess trying is what matters most though.”

They both seemed to accept that gentle sentiment.

** ** **

Mona Fenny was terrible with surprises. Always giddy and singing along to music to drown that out. Bopping against the wheel as she drove Evie into the salon. Parked around back, smiling bright.

“You go on first, baby. I gotta get some bags out of the truck.”

“Oh, boy.” Evie pushed out. Mona plucked her from school early that Wednesday. Made her gussy up a little extra. Red sweater dress with a black belt. Gold glitter over her smoked eyes. Red lip to match. Pretty patterned lace tights and boots. Green bomber pulled close, she trudged inside. Through the backroom and out into darkness.

Lights flicked to blind her. Spots dancing.

“Surprise!” A chorus of sing songs. Music picked up. Dolly Parton of course.

Evie plastered a smile and gawked as if she hadn’t expected it. All the salon ladies. Heather. Susan and Max. Claudia offering a cake decorated with pink and periwinkle buttercream flowers. Candles dancing.

Evie closed her eyes and made a wish she held close to her heart before blowing them all out in one go. This one would come true.

“Thank you, ladies.” Evie peered around at the salon decorated in gold streamers.

“Lets get some cake passed around now. I’m sure these girls have some excitement planned.” Mona clapped her hands and ladies dispersed. “We’ll do gifts and our dinner this weekend. You’re eighteen and you don’t want to spend the night at your mother’s salon.”

She kissed Evie’s cheek and licked her thumb to wipe the pink print aside.

“Thank you, mom,” Evie felt something heavy in her gut, “I love you.” Mona was trying so hard to make this nice for her. One day. Then she'd disappear back into her slinky dresses. Into her work. Into those adult parties. Into another man's arms. Away from Evie and whatever glimmer in her daughter's soul was so frightening.

“I love you. Go sit. We’ll bring the cake over.”

Evie crossed to Heather.

“You pack a bag? We’ll take you to school tomorrow.” She bounced in a seat when Evie nodded. “Sure you don’t want to do anything else tonight? We could see a movie.”

“Nah, a bonfire. Roasting marshmallows. Chinese take out and wine. I just wanna hang out with my friends. Plus, it’s a school night.”

“Ah, let loose a little. For your birthday.” Heather shrugged as slices of cake were sorted around. Max sat alone in the corner, picking at her piece when Susan left to go to Mona and chat.

"One sec, Heath," Evie went to Max and sat down. Slow as if she'd scare the younger girl off. “Hey.”

“Hi. Uh, thanks for having us. My mom keeps telling Mona you guys have made us feel welcome here and all.” She pulled the sleeves of her grey hoodie lower. “She gave Mona some gifts for you to unwrap later. I hope you like them.”

“Yeah? I'm sure I will. We like you. Can’t wait to open those also.” Evie scanned her. “I had fun, you know, at the sleepover. We should have more.”

“You don’t think I’m a dumb little girl?” Max peered up. Finally took a bite. Odd to see a growing teenage girl so disinterested in a heavily frosted cake.

“No, you’re smarter than most of the kids at school.” Evie wondered briefly who could have put that thought in her head and made it stick. Didn’t take long to figure out who. Mad Max was being slowly worn down.

And she was so small here. So fragile and thin. Evie couldn't help picturing a shadow looming over Max's red hair. The tiny amount of force it'd take to knock her off her feet. Neil in a drunken stupor gunning slowly for the other fresh target in his house.

“You can come over any time. I have a lot of movies and Blue likes the attention. She's a needy little thing.”

Max pressed her lips. Gave this small half-smile.

“Thank you. I'd like to hang out more. I'm only friends with one girl around here and she's being homeschooled until next year."

“Can I hug you, just as a thank you for being one of the coolest girls I know?”

Surprise etched.

“Okay.” Max practically threw herself into Evie’s arms the moment they set the cake aside. Thin fingers bunched up the fabric of Evie’s dress so she cupped the back of Max’s head and held her.

“It’d be cool to have you as a sister. We could team up on Billy. My skateboard and your roller skates. I saw a pair hung up in your room.”

“I mean, we could still do that now.” Evie laughed. Tipped Max’s chin up. “You’re gonna be okay.”

It seemed to resonate. Heather joined them as they ate their fill of cake. Evie unwrapped a couple small gifts. Jewelry and craft supplies. Fabrics she’d wanted and makeup.

Heather whisked her away to Loch Nora after some farewells. They practically bounced into the big house. Ordered a ton of food before they got the fancy fire pit out back started so it’d be ready later.

The doorbell rang.

“Steve!” Evie perked after answering. Let him squeeze her in a hug. Practically plucked her from the floor which earned a surprised giggle.

“Got you something, it’s small.” He smiled sheepishly and offered a little box. “You’re a tough girl to buy jewelry for even if you wear a bunch. You know that, Eves?”

“No, I’ll wear just about anything.” Playing coy, Evie gave an endearing sway.

“You hardly take the music note necklace off and I’ll never find earrings better than the ones you make.” He swept a hand through gorgeously styled locks. Cracked a pleased grin. "I notice things."

“Ah. Fair.” Evie poked his chest. Heather waved when she came in from the back. “My dad got me this necklace from one of his trips. Sometimes, I’ll change it or wear something with it.” She touched the gold chain.

“I found this at a fancy vintage joint,” Steve explained as she opened it. An ornate brooch. Stunning sun and moon. Soft expressions attached with two looping chains. Decorated in shimmering opals.

Evie stared at it. Had this panicked thought about the one Fredrick gave her. The glittering ladybug.

The one she swallowed that had not come out yet.

“Do you like it?” Steve broke into her thoughts. Evie blinked and shook her head to smile.

“It’s beautiful, thank you. I’ll pin it on my coat now.” Evie kissed his cheek and bounded off. Left Steve there to blush a sweet, dewy pink.

More doorbells. Clicking incessantly until Steve groaned and opened it. Billy followed by Tommy and Carol coming up the path from another car.

“Password?” Steve played his bratty self.

Billy cocked his head and charged in to put Steve in a headlock. Messed his hair up while he got slapped at as Tommy cackled on the way in.

“Jesus, Holloway, I forgot about your digs here. Bigger than Harrington's place. No offense.” He waltzed by with Carol on his arm. Left Steve and Billy to wrestle.

“Hey, boys! Not on her birthday.” Heather got between them. "I agreed to this very strange joining of two groups out of love and friendship. We're all cutting the shit now."

“He started it.” Steve shoved off and reached to ruffle Billy’s curls. Got a hard swat for it. "We're still burying the hatchet." Beating up creepy teachers brings boys together, he figured.

Evie liked all of them, that was good enough for Heather.

"Dick." Billy jabbed back.

Tommy peered back at Steve. Old times. New surroundings. New mindset. The other boy shrugged at him, lighthearted.

Evie poked her head around the corner. Blinked in surprise.

“Hey, all… No wonder Heath ordered the entire menu.”

“We come in peace, Fen.” Carol removed her coat and Tommy presented a couple of bags.

“Also, we brought the wine and weed. As promised at that first lunch.”

“I just said to get wine...but, I won’t complain. We can only smoke it outside. The smell will linger and my dad won’t like it.” Heather winked, coming to take the items. “Thank you, guys. We have food coming. Movies. S’mores for the fire pit.”

“Look who's trying to behave on her eighteenth.” Carol winked. She shared this look with Heather that Evie didn’t notice. Billy stared at her. Watched nervous hands smooth out her dress. “Hargrove, didn’t you bring the lucky lady a gift? Be a gentleman and present it.”

“Left it in the car.” He cocked his head, signaling for Evie to fall in stride next to him. Without her coat, she clasped her hands behind her back and followed him back outside. Down the stone steps.

"Still weird?" Tommy came to Steve, hands in his back pockets.

"Honestly, yeah." He nodded as Carol went after Heather out back. Both of them plotting.

"Does suck about the princess. We know you liked her and all."

"Ah, she's happier with Byers. Things happen. Guess it's part of growing up."

"How about we drink a bunch tonight and start some shit over?" Tommy clapped Steve's arm, earning a cracked smile.

"I'd like that."

Outside, Billy and Evie crossed to his Camaro.

“Glad you guys came. Might be boring, I said nothing too exciting.” She puffed cold air. Billy opened his trunk and fished for something wrapped in newspaper.

“We...didn’t have fancy wrap so I used the Sunday cartoons. Only part of the paper I can get my dad to let go.” He winced, handing it to her.

“No, I love the funnies.” Teeth etched at her lip. Evie met his eyes to open it.

“It’s a little fragile.” He warned. Evie peeled the paper away and blinked a couple times.

A thin shadow box with a tarnished black frame. Inside pinned was a luna moth. Dainty specimen all glowy in moonlight.

“Whoa. How-?”

“I found it in this old antique shop up in the city. Hidden way in the back. They had a bunch of them, different bugs. I don’t know, it made me think of you.” He explained. Too delicate like he might shatter. Evie ran her fingers along the frame. An object of wonder and curiosity. “Kinda strange and pretty...and you’re damn strange and pretty.”

She gave this breathless snort. Snapped out of it. Looked up at Billy’s eyes with this vulnerable sort of expression crossing.

“I really love it. Thank you.” Evie took his chin and kissed him. Felt that same sensation whirl that made them both dizzy.

Billy pushed his forehead into hers. Brushed their noses and dropped aside. Let his head rest on her shoulder. She smelt the blond hair and felt it tickle her neck. One breath hitched.

“Let’s get back. I’ll put this in my bag so I can hang it up at home.”

Evie held it close as they walked along. Not looking at each other or touching. They wouldn’t be able to handle it. She figured this gift is what her heart had always looked like. A deep, dark shadow box with a pretty moth fluttering inside behind glass. Waiting to be seen and admired. Waiting to flit out and feel the wind and sun.

Going inside, she wondered if Billy had known that. If he placed their stars just so because he knew how they fit together.

Tension sprang through laughter over take-out boxes. Trading and gorging on food while a horror flick played before them. The Funhouse. Seated on the floor around the coffee table against the sofas and chairs. Odd gathering of souls.

Tommy was a squirmer. Kept hiding in Carol's shoulder. Steve felt himself looking around. He had his friends back and more. This could be nice again. He hadn't been social since everything fell apart with Nancy. Befriending Heather and Evie was a good start.

Billy’s leg bumped Evie’s and she gave this blush like someone caught them being obscene. Settled into him for the last half of the movie when they were full and the night rose outside. Billy felt a spark as Evie hid in his chest at a jump scare. Chuckled to himself to play it off.

Evie Fenny watched horror movies for a living, she just needed a reason to play dumb and get close to him. But, she wasn't gonna admit that. Being tucked under his bicep was too good.

“Psst, hey.” Evie said in his ear. Billy slid his eyes to see the TV light play on her expression.

On the expensive screen, a rat-like vampire snarled. Mutated and warped with saliva on his fangs.

“Hm?”

“That’s you.” She hitched a squeal when he pinched her side. Pulled in closer by his arm.

Carol and Heather were still shooting each other looks. Mugs of cheap red wine got passed around. Bloomed cherries in everyone’s cheeks and mouths.

They gathered around the fire outside. Roasted marshmallows and lit up joints. Heather’s family had a fancy pit built into the ground and a stone seating circling it. With most of the snow gone, they all bundled up. Carol draped into Tommy as they shared a smoke.

“Steve, eat this one. I made it special.” Evie flashed a crooked, devious smile. "For you."

“I don’t trust you.” He laughed, opening his mouth before she stuffed it in. Marshmallow fluff covered his lips until they cackled. Steve pushed a fresh one back at her that melted chocolate over her mouth. Evie giggled and caught Billy staring as she licked her lips. Wanting to lap it up himself.

"Did I get it all?" Evie faced him, breaking the moment. Billy reached up with his thumb and swept it under her bottom lip. Saw her tongue shift like it might jet out before he pulled away and licked the pad.

"Now, you did," he winked.

At that point, Tommy and Steve caught on to Heather and Carol's little knowing looks. Took some eye-fucking to get there but they made it.

Heather was pleasantly blazed. Leaning back with her feet up on the stone. Sighing. Evie puffed and passed a smoke back to her. Started to blow out before Billy angled her face at him. Inhaled some of the pot to enjoy it.

"Tommy, who supplies your shit?" He hummed.

"Hill Valley, they supply all the locals. Stoner who gave it to me swore it made you fucking time travel, I think he was right."

"Go back in time and stop this asshole from beating my keg record." Steve snatched the joint next, gesturing to Billy. Only got a rough laugh in response.

“So, we’re all fucked. But, I have rooms. Lots and lots of guest rooms.” Heather mused. “I’m so rich and popular, guys.”

“We had no idea.” Carol faked a gasp. “Prissy drunk.”

“This is so weird.” Evie rubbed her cheek, lulled into Steve so he put the smoke between her lips with two fingers. Let her inhale it before she puffed out. “All of us, I mean. It’s weird. Life sucks and we’re just like...friends now.”

“It’s like we wasted all that time on stupid shit when we could have been doing this.” Carol decided with red eyes. Everyone nodded in response.

Evie fell the other way and put her head on Billy’s shoulder. Slowing, they stared at the flickering fire. Smoke rising to purge whatever was here before.

"We still gonna share a lunch table after this? Acknowledge each other?" It was Steve who spoke up.

"Nowhere else to go." Billy reached out to take the joint from him and finish it. That was agreed upon too. Wasn't the worst sentiment at this hour.

They came down from the wine and pot. Simmered. Put the fire out and trailed back into the house. Watched half of another movie before they started to split off.

Steve passed out on the biggest couch so Evie covered him in a blanket. Stopped Billy and Tommy from drawing on his poor, sweet face. Gave him a kiss on the temple for good measure.

“Think it’s time. Midnight. Happy Birthday, Evie.” Heather mashed her into a tight hug. They all left Steve to snore and wandered upstairs. Changed and washed up.

Billy disappeared down the hall to one of the bathrooms. Evie emerged a bit later from Heather's room rubbing her nose.

“Tommy and Carol can use this room." Heather was in the hallway gesturing. "Steve’s on the couch. Hey, Eve, you want to use the third floor? Sheets are fresh. The birthday girl should get the best and biggest guest room. Right, Carol?”

"I couldn't agree more, Heather. We left you something special on the bed. It was too big to wrap."

Snickering followed.

“Sure...sure…” Evie ruffled her hair out, not listening. "Night."

“Enjoy your present,” Carol gave this little sing-song. Arms crossing as she watched Evie climb the steps. Waited until she was gone to plant a slick high-five on Heather. “Idiots.”

“Totally.” Heather went off to bed.

Evie pushed the door open and jumped a mile at the same time Billy spun, dropping his shirt.

“Oh, sorry, they said…” It dawned that Evie had just been tricked. “They told you to sleep here?”

“Yeah, Heather said...oh.” He clicked his tongue and smiled, head shaking because he had to look away. It was all too good.

Evie pressed the door shut and planted herself against it. Locked it idly. The snap sparked Billy to attention.

“I’ll be having a little chat with them about this. It's...um...” She scanned him in his jeans. Saw muscles twitching under flesh. Wet her lips.

“Yeah, I’ll be getting down on my knees to fucking thank her.” He marched over. Kissed Evie hard against the doorway then brought her flush into his frame. Hands trailing down the curve of her back.

She hitched a gasp and got one arm around his neck. Felt about to turn the lights down. Moonlight spilled in. Full and bright.

Billy’s hands were under her shirt. Bunching it up. Palming her bottom. Tracing the lace edge of her underwear to playfully snap it. They stumbled around toward the bed. Evie on her toes pulled him down for more kisses. Felt like no amount would be enough.

“Not a motel, but I think we can make this work.” Billy got pushed into the plush covers. Sat up to let Evie climb into his lap. They looked at each other. Stilling.

"Is this okay?" She mumbled and he only nodded.

Breathing deep until hearts pounded in perfect sync. Evie cupped his face. Opened her lips against his until Billy gave this visceral moan.

Fingers slipped under the tee again. Squeezed her breasts. Hurried the fabric up so he could taste her skin. Evie shuddered and tipped her head back. Grinding into him. Pulling his hair because he was ruining her already.

Because Billy Hargrove was about to be her beginning and end.

Because she was fine with that.

“Evie...” Billy groaned. Fingers pushing into her flesh. He sucked little flower petals into her chest. Tongued her nipples to hard, rosy buds. Evie felt one hand wander down into her panties. Cried out at the two digits that slipped against her experimentally. "Yeah?"

“Y-Yes. Like that. You feel so good, Billy.” She attacked his neck. Kissing and nipping until his legs shook. She would ruin him just as well and he'd already tried to make peace with it.

Billy brought his fingers up to suckle them. Shifted to wet her nipple and lick the arousal off. Two strong hands, turned them to throw her into the mattress. God, his muscles. Evie felt him crawl up her body. Hovering to just look at her with spun gold spilling around his neck and crown.

Felt more intimate than anything they’d done. Just looking. Taking a body and soul in.

Billy started pulling her shirt off. Going for her panties to toss the flimsy fabric aside. No resistance followed. She wanted him to look. Wanted to be seen. Maybe it shouldn't have felt so incredible.

Eyes watched her surrender there bathed in the moon. Evie rubbed her thighs together. Covered her breasts with her arms. Billy’s chest heaved. Mouth sweeping down to kiss her until the resolve melted. He pinned her wrists playfully and kissed down her neck, stopping to inhale that perfume.

"You're pretty." Lips nudged her insecurities up and away. "So pretty."

Billy brushed dark curls from her shoulders and cheeks. Began to peck soft kisses everywhere he could. Mapping her face out. Every so often she found his lips to steal one back. A soft breath grazed her ear.

“Lemme see you, too.” Evie got a hand free and cupped him boldly. Billy jolted into her palm. Moaned. Beautiful beyond words. He let her push his pants down and stroke him. Gazes melted together and he stopped her only to toss his jeans aside, up on his knees to breathe even.

Evie pushed up only to marvel at him. Reluctant hands lifted. Smoothing down the hard contour of his chest. The line of those hips. She wanted to map him out as well.

"You're beautiful." She brushed her mouth against his hip. A true Eros.

Billy combed his fingers into Evie's hair, tilting her face up so he could curve over for a lengthy kiss. Moaning when she praised him. Wordless with her simple touch. Explored all the exposed honey skin. Counting little freckles. Billy nuzzled his nose into Evie’s, pressed their heads together, and breathed her in. All of her.

“Gonna eat you out.” He nipped down her chest, pushing her back into the bed. Evie tensed on instinct but nodded. Wanting it. Saw those lashes flutter before he buried his mouth into her mound.

She cried out into her palm. Spine arching so his taut arms wound under soft thighs. Held her hips to adjust. Spread her open for his tongue. Devoured her shamelessly. Pornographically.

Billy liked to make noise. Like to force it out of her too. He flicked his tongue inside. Lapped up toward her bundle to tease and cradle it. Slight stubble made red swatches on her tender skin.

What did she like? What made her pray for mercy?

It left Evie to twist around. Hands grasped for the sheets. She gave him her voice willingly. Gave him every beat and sigh and pulse. Billy made this obscene suckle against her. Crawled up with slick lips so Evie pulled him into her frame. Kissed those pink lips. Licked into his mouth. Tugged at gold locks and ran her hands along his back.

Billy was nudging between her legs before Evie shifted so they were on their sides. Shocked him with a murmur.

“I want to be on top first.”

“What?” He actually laughed lightly. Pecked her mouth. “No, no, sweetheart. I’m on top.”

“I called it first and I'm the birthday girl.” Evie pouted. Pushing him on his back playfully. Billy came up on his elbows. Brow furrowed.

“You’re serious. But…” He sounded breathless when her hand smoothed down to stroke him. Persuading. “But, I’m the man. It’s our first time. The man’s supposed to be on top the first time.”

“Says who? You’re so cute when you say dumb things, Billy.” Evie taunted, kissing his cheek. “There’s no rule. Maybe I wanna be the man...if you really wanna put it that way. You’ll get a turn. Maybe. You might convince me.”

He smiled when she winked at him. Evie kept up her persuasion. Swung her leg over his hips. Kissed up his neck because she knew it would make him into putty. Billy could only shudder.

Evie let her weight rest against his frame. Snuffed out every voice that told her she couldn't be desired and sexy. Billy moaned at the feel of her too. All of her. Grasped fleshy hips and ran his hands up sloping curves. Evie pressed into his chest, curls spilled over her shoulders.

“I might really die if I don't feel you soon.” Billy just marveled up at her. Cupped her breasts until Evie sighed into his touch. A blush spread over her cheeks. She captured his mouth in response.

Eyes met and she gave this little nod so he followed it. Muscles tensing.

“I want to feel you, too.” Evie licked her lips so they adjusted a bit together. She came up and gave him a few slow pumps. "Do you really wanna feel me, Billy?" His shaft pressed flush into her folds. Hips rocked slow. Torturing.

Looking clouded, he nodded and tried to find some words.

"Fucking, please. Evie." He tilted his head back. Chest heaving. “You, uh, took your pill?”

“Like clockwork.” Evie shuddered. "I want this. You."

Billy looked down and gave her thigh an encouraging squeeze, biting his lip as she positioned him. Starting to sink down. They both cursed aloud. Went tight after a shared quake. Evie mounted him. Let him fill her all the way up with her hands flat against his chest.

“That’s it. Fucking perfect.” He was muttering while she whimpered quietly. Massaging her hips so she’d relax. “You don’t have to move yet. Feel so fucking good. Look at me, Evie.”

She did. Darkening eyes peeking through a curtain of curls he moved aside.

“I got you, Angel. I got you.” Billy lifted for a kiss. Bucked slightly inside her so she gave this experimental rock into him. Mouths brushed together and he whispered. “Fuck me.”

He begged that. Begged for her. Only her. Evie pressed him back down. Tilted her head aside at the feel of him pulsing. Started to move with some fervor.

Fingers squeezed her hips. Left marks guiding her into his thrusts. Both of them sinking fast.

“Mm, Billy.” Evie arched there against the moon and stars. Let them fill the room with her voice. She hitched a cry when he gave her ass a playful swat. Urged her to go faster. Billy wiggled and came up a bit. Pulled Evie all the way down and drank her moan into his lips.

He held her there, biceps flexing when his hands went around her back so he sat up fully. Teeth nipped at her chest and he undulated up inside her. Took some control back.

"H-Hey..." Evie was slipping fast. Mouth parting while she clung to his shoulders. "I'm the man."

"It's your birthday," Billy mumbled into her throat. "Little worship is what a pretty girl deserves on her birthday. Don't you think so?"

Fingers pushed between her spread legs. Worked her until a cry muffled into the crook of his neck. Evie curved into him. Clung. Rode him harder.

“So good.” Billy managed again. “Pretty, pretty, pretty.” He pulled her hair. Exposed that creamy throat to his mouth once more. Tormented her until Evie’s resolve melted so he could flip them over. Another cry echoed. Hips pushing with force deep into her. She gripped his shoulders, legs curling around his hips.

“Billy, please…” Evie mewled under him. “More.” She tucked some blond hair aside sweetly. Both of them slicked and wanting. Connected utterly.

Billy was so ample with her body, chasing her fears away with his hot touch and lovely kisses. He hovered over Evie. Pulled out and looked down to where their bodies met. Loved the sight of himself disappearing inside. One hand brought her thigh higher for a better look.

"Flexible girl. I'll keep that in mind."

Evie fluttered around him. Reached down and touched their mixed arousal. Played with herself while he watched and started to find his pace. She licked her digits of their slick. Let him have a taste after. Billy laced their fingers and came down to watch her eyes.

Panting. He really began to pound into her until the bed was rocking with them. A filthy sound of skin slapping together with each thrust joined their gasps. He didn't care if this whole damn neighborhood could hear them.

“Love the way you squeeze me.” Billy’s thumb was back against her. Tormenting perfect little circles that had her whining. Evie had this out of body moment like she was watching herself writhe on the bed. Billy Hargrove fucking her stupid. Praising her. Touching her. Uttering nasty things about how she was all his now and he could spend forever making her feel so good. “Gonna come inside this sweet, little pussy after I make you quake. You wanna come for me, Evie? That’s my fucking girl.”

“Oh, fuck...fuck, I can’t stand you.” She tightened around him. Eyes rolling back. Relishing his touch so he sped up. “I’m right fucking there, Billy, don’t stop. Stay with me. Stay…” She cupped his face. Found those drunken lips.

“Don’t have to stand, I,” he shuddered, “I got a perfectly good face you’ll be sitting on later.”

Cheeky little shit.

Evie actually laughed. Thrilled. Pulled him all the way against her body, arms under his and around his taut back. Billy stopped all the dirty talk to whimper.

She felt so good. He didn't know it could feel this good.

“I’m yours, Billy,” Evie decided at last with a flutter of glowing moths escaping the heart-shaped shadow box carved into her chest. Happy. She so wanted to be his. Mouth against the shell of his ear. “All yours.” Her thighs shuddered and he felt her entire body lock. A graceful arch went through it. “I’m c-coming.” Evie managed so he stroked harder. Made her gush around his cock with the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Kept thrusting to draw it out as she squeezed him too tight. Chanting cries of curses mingling with his name. All sin.

All his.

Billy couldn’t even warn her. He held out as long as he could and began to fuck release inside her. Both of them wrapping tighter around each other. Still trying to rock through it like they were lying on a warm beach being caressed by sweet ocean waves. Evie sagged, out of breath as he collapsed against her body. Still rutting like an animal to finish himself.

Gasping, Billy came up to pull out. Watched his own release sink out of her. So fucking hot, he couldn't help pushing it back in. Evie tensed. Overstimulated when he pressed dainty kisses to her tummy and chest.

Blue eyes came up to meet her brown ones and something broke. Shattered. Flooded out. They both locked in to feel it. Billy looked at her and the sensation consumed him utterly. Betrayed him. He stared and couldn’t look away. Frozen. Ruined. Evie blinked up at him. Spread open and hair splayed. Reached up to caress his jaw with her brow furrowing.

“Billy, you’re shaking.” She swallowed to catch her breath. Eyes searching him. She tipped his head forward to kiss his warm temple. Lingered with sweet promises. Both of them on fire and slicked in glowy dew. “I got you.”

He still trembled so hard. Unable to stop. Let Evie bring his head to her collar so she could pepper more kisses into his hair and comfort him.

Billy stared out at nothing. Floated in this sort of subspace while Evie brought him back down to touch the Earth. Gentle as she could. They held each other there. Evie still kissing him. Petting him delicately and humming in his ear. Idly, he let his fingers whirl into her curls.

“Are you alright? Billy?” She tried again. Massaging his shoulders while he listened to her beating heart. Something wet splashed against her neck as he shuddered. Sniffling once.

“I just…” He came up. Let awareness flit back. Got near silent. I think I’m happy. "I'm fine." The feeling spread a cold under his bones. "You?"

Billy cupped her head for a lazy kiss. She smiled up at him.

“I'm okay. Better than okay.” She soothed again. “I got you.” Naked, they wound around each other. Got under the covers and laid twisted together.

“Evie.” Billy choked on air. Chest sinking. He had to let one truth out. Just one, he owed her that much. And it ached. “Gotta tell you something.”

“Yeah?” She sunk into his chest. Held. Evie braced like it might hurt her too.

“You know you're... You're the best thing about this place.” Billy squeezed his eyes shut. Let her hold him tighter in response. Let Evie give up some of her warmth to him because he needed it and she just liked to see him happy and safe.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that.” She began, fingers making shapes into his chest. Evie opened her heart. Let him admire it. "Billy, I want to be more with you. Like...Like a girlfriend. This sounds silly. You don't have to say anything. I just...I don't want to run from you because you make me happy. I think I might make you happy too. We're... You were right about a lot. The stars and all. Despite everything, I think we were supposed to find each other and it feels good. I want to be yours-"

Billy tilted Evie's chin up. Hushed the truths with his lips. Nuzzled her so she'd relax back into him. He couldn't reply. The syllables wrapped around his throat and choked him. And Evie trusted him. So, she didn't ask for them. That made it ache more.

Placing her head upon his chest when they shifted again. Billy went very still. Stared at the ceiling and wiped his eyes as she dozed. Fingers combed into her hair to coax her off to an easier slumber.

Billy just laid there. Felt numb. Felt too much. Couldn’t look down at Evie nestled into his body.

He stayed there two hours. So still. So lost. So found.

These sensations that tried to drown him. They were creeping like dark gossamer veils over his eyes. Unable to be near Evie, he eased out from under her. Rubbed his eyes. Felt like she seared his skin down to bone and marrow.

He knew it was wrong. Knew it might hurt her. Would hurt her.

She let him into her heart and he was running. Eros fleeing Psyche the moment she held that candle to his being and saw him for what he was. One speck of wax dripping hot upon his flesh. Blinded by that light, he probably didn't see her crying there after him. Selfish boy.

Billy thought he would be sick. Tremored there. He just couldn't stop it. Couldn't explain it either.

And he just couldn’t be near her anymore. Fuck.

But, he promised. He promised her. He wanted to keep it and instead scrambled to dress. Empty eyes still staring at nothing. Billy finally peered back. Scanned Evie comfortable on the bed. He could have gotten back in. Woken her and told her that he wanted to be all hers too.

“I’m sorry.” He whimpered.

It hurt. It hurt too much. Billy actually had to rub his chest. Tried to numb. Tried. All this time they spent together and now he just couldn’t be near her. She broke him. Billy felt himself climbing too high. Up toward the stars. Falling to pieces.

Aimless steps brought him outside. Into the freezing cold. Away from Evie’s touch and amber perfume. Away from this girl who gave him exactly what he wanted and it was just too much. He couldn’t hold it. Didn’t want to see it shatter before him.

So, Billy got into his Camaro and drove off. Far away as he could to the edge of Lover’s Lake. Up a hill so he could see the quiet city before him. Evie would wake up. Feel the change that he promised he wouldn’t give her.

Fuck.

“Fuck!” Billy crumbled aloud. One fist pushed into his teeth. Quivering until the tears fell hot. Huge and wet down his flushed cheeks. Unable to stop the flow, Billy dropped his head. Began to sob louder than he ever had in his life.

Because this would break her in turn. Validate everything horrid she thought about Billy Hargrove. Because he should have stayed in that bed mapping more kisses down her spine. Instead, he convinced himself that they weren't made of the same stardust. They couldn't be.

Evie's heart-shaped shadow box was hung too far from reach amid untold galaxies and when Billy rose to admire it, his wings melted like Icarus before him because that's what he deserved. That was always what he knew he deserved.

All he could think about was his mother in that tub. Neil's boot squelching his back and the meaty wack of a belt. It wasn't possible for him to be something that could be tangible and loved. Evie had been right. Stars were placed in a certain order and that couldn't change. He'd been stupid. Hopeful.

He was the coward. This got too real and he couldn't just let himself have it.

And what made it heavier was the pure thought of Evie waking alone to confirm her biggest fear.

"I'm sorry." Billy kept chanting these words that were so often too difficult for him. They wouldn't stop this time. "I'm sorry..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Local boy crushed under the weight of his own emotions. Eeeep, I finally let them do the deed. Someone make them a 'congrats on your sex' cake. Please if you enjoyed leave words below or chat with me in my ask!! Thank you all so much!!

TAGGED:: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @10blurredsmoke10 @charmed-asylum @unmistakablyunknown @lukespatterson

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #Billy Hargrove smut #billy hargrove fanfiction #Billy hargrove x plus size oc #mine #SOMY #writing #Billy x Angel #Angel Fenny

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mageicalwishes · 4 years

Text

Read on AO3: Here

Rating: Teen & Up

Chapter: 1/? (More chapters to come a little later in Dec + Early Jan!)

Summary: A loose crossover between Carry On and parts of I'll Give You The Sun. "He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured."

Carry On Countdown, Day 10 - Crossover @carryon-countdown

Tags: Fluff, Getting Together, Meet-Cute, Social Anxiety, Crossover, Pining Baz, Artist Baz, Space Enthusiast Simon, Star Gazing, Anxious Thoughts, Carry On Countdown 2020 Day 10

Words: 2,145

Baz

I need to stop thinking about grey, slippery roads and black shrouds. About the purple under my Father’s dull eyes, and the red of my Aunt’s anger. I need to stop thinking about me - About my life. My head is too loud. Too noxious. I need someone else to take my mind for a while. I need to see. To paint. And so, I search for a subject.

Dragging my binoculars across the bleak, colourless houses, I search, desperately, for even a glimpse of a hue. But the colours are slipping from the world again. They always do when I’m trapped in my head.

And then I see them - The movers - so far from colourless that I’m dizzied. They’re great work horses, both of them - One chestnut, and one palomino - Hulking a grandfather clock up the house-next-door’s stairs. I’m zooming in, before I have time to reconsider - Into the stretch of navy against the flex of their arms, the rose flush of their foreheads, the tan swath of smooth stomach revealed each time they lift their arms. And then ... Shit.

I drop the binoculars onto the floor, my body following swiftly behind them. Because, on the roof of the house, there’s a boy pointing a telescope directly at me. Fucking Hell. How long has he even been there?

I risk a glance over the top of my windowsill. He’s wearing a tatty purple jumper, and there’s a mess of bronze curls tangled atop his head. Even without the binoculars, I can see that he’s grinning at me. Is he laughing at me, already? Does he know what I was doing? That I was watching the movers? Does he think that I’m ...? He must. Why else would I be ogling them. God. I feel the dread pinching at my throat, and try to tether my mind, so that it doesn’t get away from me again. Maybe he’s just a smiley person. Maybe he thinks I was looking at his clock. That’s equally as plausible, surely? And, I mean, he has a telescope. Dickheads don’t tend to have telescopes, do they?

Tugging at the ends of my hair, I stand. When he sees me he waves, but before I have a chance to reciprocate, he’s reaching into his pocket, drawing his arms backwards, and lobbing something straight at me. (Maybe he is a dickhead, after all).

On reflex, I stick out my hand. The unknown object slapping hard against my skin, as I close my fingers around it.

“Nice catch!” He yells. His voice deep and bright, with a definite Northern tinge. I decide that I like it. It suits him.

But, I don’t know what to say back. So, I don’t. Instead, I examine his potentially dangerous ‘gift’ - Spinning the rock around in the palm of my hand. It’s small (About the size of a pound coin) and covered in irregular lightening-like cracks. What am I supposed to do with it? Do I throw it back? Why did he even throw it at me, in the first place? I don’t know, but I slip it into my back pocket for safe-keeping, anyway.

When I look back at him, hoping for some kind of explanation, he’s turned himself back towards the sky. Too focused on looking through his telescope to notice me. Which, to be honest, is odd. I mean, it’s daytime. What could he possibly be looking at?

Even though I’m curious, I don’t stick around to find out. I’m worryingly off-kilter, and I need to rebalance. I hadn’t prepared myself for meeting a new person. I wasn’t ready. And so, I run to the place that I know best, to recuperate - The Art Institute. Where I can carry out further recon on the studio.

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

It was a good, productive sketch session. Nobody caught me peeping through the window, and I was able to get a few decent body references down. But … I don’t feel my usual post-art calm. My mind is still racing (Although, with a different genre of thought than earlier).

Every over time I have visited, the models have been women. Posing demurely, with a bowl of fruit or silks. Arms placed, to partially protect their modesty. I’m used to that. I’m prepared for that. But today … it was a bloke.

I don’t have a problem with that (Not really). There’s nothing wrong with blokes. And there’s nothing wrong with naked blokes, either. I’m mature enough to handle that. A body is a body. A sketch is a sketch. And I’m an artist first, queer person second. I just … hadn’t expected it. And I don’t like to be caught off guard. So, I’m feeling slightly rattled. I just need to get home, and get back to normality. To safe things - Like a beach scene, or a self-portrait. Familiar things. No more surprises.

And yet, a few steps into my walk back home, I see the guy from the roof leaning against a nearby tree, the same lopsided-grin aimed over at me. I blink, confirming his existence, and then he’s talking. Stood, barely 3 metres in front of me, in the dirt.

“How was class?”

He says it like it isn’t the strangest thing in the world that he’s here, with me, where he really has no reason to be. Like it isn’t only just slightly beaten in its absurdity by me, sketching propped-up on a wall outside, rather than inside, the studio. Like we aren’t complete strangers (Because, no matter how much he may be smiling at me, we don’t even know each other's names yet).

‘Yeah, sorry, I kinda’ followed you. I wanted to check out the woods, but I wasn’t sure of the way. So … I just tagged along. Figured you wouldn’t mind. Don’t worry though, I wasn’t watching you the whole time. I was busy with my own stuff.”

He points to an open suitcase filled to the brim with ... rocks? As if that’s normal.

“My meteorite bag’s all packed.”

I nod like that explains something, but it really doesn’t. Meteorites? I thought those were in the sky, not on the ground. And what does that even mean? He just carries around pieces of infinity. For what?

I look at him more closely, studying his face for any sign of disingenuity. For any sign that he’s just having me on. But I find nothing. Nothing … bad, anyway. Just a deep dimple accompanying his crooked smile, and miles of tawny skin, speckled with moles. He exists in shades of orange and gold. He’s the sun. And I can’t look away.

“Stare much?”

I drop my gaze, embarrassed - Staring down at his scuffed Nikes, as my neck prickles with heat. I don’t talk. What am I even supposed to say to that? Yes?

“Well ... you’re probably just used to it from staring at that bloke for so long. You know … for your drawing.” I look up - Grey meeting blue. He’s eyeing my pad curiously. “He was naked?” He breathes in as he says it, like the words stole his oxygen. It makes my stomach plummet, but I try to keep my face calm. I think about him watching me, watching the movers. How he watched me, watching the model. He must know. And ... I don’t know how I feel about that, just yet.

He looks down at my pad again. I don’t understand why. Does he want me to show him the drawings of the model bloke? It seems like he does. And some disturbed part of me wants to. But I doubt it. ‘Hey stranger, wanna’ see how I draw dicks?’ said no sane person ever. My stomach twists tight, and I’m out of control - My brain hazy amongst the moment’s tension.

“Look, man,” he sighs, half-smiling as he scrubs at the back of his neck. “I legit’ have no idea how to get home. I tried, but I just ended up back here. I’ve been waiting for you to lead the way. You don’t mind do you?”

I don’t think I mind. Do I? I don’t know. I shake my head, anyway, and point him in the right direction.

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

It’s a long way home, and we walk the majority of it in silence (Well, near-silence. The bumping of his suitcase creating a constant accompaniment to our steps). I try and resist the urge to look back at him. The urge to ask him all of my ‘Why?’s - Why did you follow me? Why are you still following me? Why are you collecting meteorites? Why were you looking at the stars in daylight? Why were you looking at me in the daylight? It would only make me more muddled. So, rather than relent, I take out my invisible brushes and start to paint behind my eyes.

And, after a while, I feel myself settling back into my skin. The dancing trees and setting sun relaxing me, in spite of the moment’s unsteadiness. Or ... maybe it was him. He’s an alarmingly relaxed person (I mean, I don’t know anybody else who would just follow a stranger around, with zero self-consciousness), so it wouldn’t surprise me if he had some sort of ‘Realm of Calm’ thing going on around him.

When we emerge from the woods, returning to our familiar concrete-laden pavements, he spins around and jumps in front of me. Ecstatic.

“Holy shit! That is like ... the longest I’ve ever gone without talking in my life! I was holding my breath just trying to keep the words in. How do you even do that? Are you always like this?”

He’s a mile a minute, and I’m lagging behind.

“Like what?”

And then he’s laughing at me. I can tell that he’s a person who laughs a lot, from the way he lets it take him over so easily - His whole being lightening up, as the sides of his eyes crinkle, joyfully. But it’s alright, I don’t mind. It’s not a mean laugh. It just makes me feel a little bit fizzy inside (In a good way. I think).

“Dude! Are you kidding? You do know those are the first words you’ve said all day, right?”

I didn’t, actually. But I don’t tell him that. He’d probably just think that I’m more strange than he, no doubt, already does.

He’s properly cracking up now (Although, I don’t know what, exactly, I did that was quite so funny). “And then you’re all just like ‘What?’”. </p>

He makes an absolutely atrocious attempt at imitating my accent (Which leaves him sounding like some kind of drunken Prince Charles impersonator), and before I can stop it, I’m laughing outright, alongside him. Both of us hunched-over cackling, wholeheartedly, probably looking more than a little mad.

Once we’ve calmed down, he starts staring at my pad again. Jesus Christ. I really wish he wouldn’t. I’m not going to show him my sketches. Not even if he begs. I’d never survive the embarrassment.

“So ... lemme’ guess. You do most of your talking in there?” He points down at my pad, and I feel the tips of my ears flood scarlet.

“Yeah. Something like that.” My voice comes out mumbled and gruff. I didn’t mean for it to. He probably thinks I did it on purpose, though.

He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured.

“I paint in my head sometimes,” I blurt. Dumb. So unbelievably dumb. “That’s why I was so quiet, I was painting.”

“Oh that’s cool. Saves paper, I suppose. Better for the trees, and that.” Stalling. He’s stalling. I’ve made it weird. I always make it weird. “So ... were you painting anything specific?”

“You.” Oh, fucking hell! I’ve ruined it - I’ve smeared on that last glob of un-erasable acrylic and ruined the painting. I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t even mean to say it, it just ... popped out. And now he’s stood, gawping, eyes wide and face flushed. I’ve embarrassed him. I’ve gone and dumped all my greedy keenness on him, completely uninvited, and now he’s drowning in it.

Everything feels tight. The air, suddenly too humid to swallow. I’m gasping - Waves of breath crashing, loudly, in my ears. Panic. I’m panicking. I need to - I have to go.

So, for the second time today, I run. Spinning on my heels and darting back towards my house, without as much as a ‘Goodbye”. Away from him. Away from humiliation. Back to my room, where I pull the blinds shut and open up my pad - Briskly skipping over today’s work. A blank page. A fresh start. I really am no good at talking the normal way.

#carry on #carry on countdown #coc 2020 #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #my fic #my writing

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bladekindeyewear · 4 years

Text

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-08-23

More homestuuuuuck

I’m a little tired today so I don’t expect much intelligent analysis out of myself, but if anything classpecty happens I doubt I’ll be able to help myself regardless.

oh, always

(EDITS: added note on horn colors, link to ask on potential Blood powers reference)

> CHAPTER 12. Really Convoluted Metaphorical Horseshit

cuuute

In the bowels of a different ship, at a moment in time that is not pinpointable in either direction from the previous interaction, another Dave raps quietly to himself.

another dave raps quietly to himself. i am glad that phrase exists it brings me joy

(LATER EDIT: A friend on Discord pointed out that throughout this entire update, Karkat's horns are #FF0000 red. They were normal candy-corn colors in previous glimpses at the ship crew, though they used a dark single-color shortcut typical of old Homestuck at one point... but THIS time it stays STARK red even when we zoom in close later. Is this just artistic liberty? Did Karkat color his horns for fashion? Does this happen to red-bloods like the Sufferer after a certain age? Just how much time has actually passed, here? We might have to wait for the commentary for this one.)

KARKAT: I WAS SAYING I THOUGHT WE MIGHT GO, I DUNNO, ANYWHERE ELSE ON THE ENTIRE SHIP WHILE THE CLOTHES WERE WASHING. KARKAT: SEEING AS THIS DECREPIT MACHINE WE WERE SO BLESSEDLY PROVIDED WITH MAKES A WHIRRING SOUND SO PANCHAFINGLY ARHYTHMIC THAT IT THREATENS TO ERADICATE THE ENTIRE CONCEPT OF TEMPO FROM THE UNIVERSE.

Karkat really has chilled out hasnt he? like this is surprisingly level for him, and that fact is hilarious.

KARKAT: AND YET SOMEHOW BASICALLY ALL THAT HAS HAPPENED SINCE WE STARTED THE LOAD IS THAT YOU’VE BEEN USING IT AS A FUCKED UP BEAT TO WHISPER TO YOURSELF ABOUT FLOWERS TO.

oh gosh that’s why he’s rapping

> ==>

DAVE: kanaya was telling me this kids story the other day about this dude who didnt cherish a flower enough until it peaced out to do flower stuff idk its not pertinent to the story DAVE: except the flower was a person DAVE: because it was a metaphor

Oh right, coming back to the Little Prince stuff I was too lazy to metaphor-deep-dive into, and literally asking the same questions we were asking about who the Little Prince’s story applies to mapped here if anyone at all, like Dirk and such, or what biases were in the retelling of it and the way Kanaya phrased it. So now we’re practically mocking it by deep diving it here, hence the last page’s “DAVE: i was just thinking through some really convoluted metaphorical horseshit”, which means we’re both about to further explore AND shit all over the existence of this story metaphor until it doesn’t mean anything and most of the meaning we drew from it earlier is made a joke~

well, not “we”, cause I was too lazy, so... y’all

DAVE: anyway what goes down in the story is that once the flower lady is out of the picture DAVE: the main character goes around making all these connections between her and everything else in the universe until every damn thing feels like a symbol for how much he fucked up and how much he will never see her again KARKAT: THIS SEEMS PRETTY FUCKING INTENSE FOR A KID'S STORY DAVE: yea thats pretty much what i said

Oh holy shit. That’s yet another way to put it. Are we doing a whole moral takedown of the Light aspect today? cause it sounds like we’re taking a dump on the Light aspect and RoboRose getting too obsessed and immersed in it, which would be excellent

DAVE: but i guess its not so much what the story was technically textually about but more like the version of it kanaya internalized and then told me when we were talkin about how she misses rose

exactly

DAVE: so like now im taking the story she told me she was projecting her feelings onto and projecting my feelings on top of that

yes absolutely, you just rephrased it a different way with that exact same bias

DAVE: this is just one big game of emotional projection telephone so feel free to go paraphrase it to roxy later and make it about whatever fuckin thing youre currently missing

perfect. i need an emoji for that Italian thing for when you pinch your thumb and forefinger together and kiss it

ah this’ll do:

its like the expression “choice” but in nonverbal form

[...] whatever fuckin thing youre currently missing KARKAT: YOUR ABILITY TO GET TO THE POINT DAVE: gotem DAVE: anyway you’re not gonna have to miss that skill of mine for long DAVE: get ready for this shit because i am about to slap you with the point so hard youll fall ass first into the washer DAVE: just scrambling around in there getting all sudsy DAVE: but your brain is gonna be so blasted from the mindfreak of a point im about to make that there wont be anything left to clean

Anytime dave is told to get to the point he is contractually obligated to spend at least 20 seconds talking about how he’ll get to the point in a way that is not getting to the point

DAVE: so its genuinely cool that kanaya can go around creating meaning that may or may not be actually present in every little thing DAVE: connecting every feeling she has to the idea of her wife existing out there DAVE: so i told her she should keep that shit up DAVE: but im having the opposite issue where im struggling to find anything to be that kind of tether because every single thing i could possibly consider about what it is were doing just reminds me of yet another thing to be afraid about

Great examples of Light being good and bad! Attaching strands of connective meaning to everything. --though, in Dave’s case AND Kanaya’s case you could argue it’s both bad in terms of effects. That it’s great for Kanaya to care, but that she should be able to divest herself and live on her own terms without idealizing Rose literally everywhere she looks, personal growth which would be useful in helping bring Rose back to her in the first place. The struggle they’re looking forward to is largely philosophical, not just physical, and until Rosebot acknowledges that she was wrong it’s not over.

DAVE: everything fuckin sucks huge cosmic donkey sack and im terrified KARKAT: OK, SO I FEEL LIKE YOU SKIPPED A COUPLE NECESSARY STEPS IN YOUR POINT CLARIFICATION PROCESS.

Pretty sure Dave was on the same page as most Epilogue and start-of-HS2 readers. This situation is pretty bleak to dump our heroes into, no matter how much we believe will be resolved in the long run.

DAVE: ok but were you going with sweet or savory please give me that much at least KARKAT: YEAH IT WAS GOING TO BE SUNDAE-BASED. DAVE: nice KARKAT: YEAH. KARKAT: DO YOU WANNA WATCH MORE GBBO AFTER THIS? DAVE: absolutely

--ah, Great British Bake-Off, can’t say I’ve indulged

do they still have that?? did they save it from old Earth? or did they go where unflooded Britain used to be and say hey, new show reboot

KARKAT: GREAT. ANYWAY, LIKE I WAS SAYING, FOR THE LOVE OF SWEET HUMAN CHRIST, PLEASE BACK UP TO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU’RE ACTUALLY SCARED OF. KARKAT: ALSO COME HERE, IDIOT.

That last line is like, exactly as fucking sweet and awesome as we imagined their relationship to be. :)

> ==>

OH MY GOD THAT’S ADORABLE

DAVE: ok yeah this is a better position to unleash all my inner fears n anxieties from

indisputably.

DAVE: those times its like my mouth was saying words about the situation wherein our friends are AWOL and maybe dead but my brain wasnt fully letting me experience the emotion that goes along with them DAVE: man its like i cant even start genuinely thinking about how afraid i actually am for rose and john without my brain flippin its wad and whiting out DAVE: like haha fuck i hope theyre ok DAVE: now i better make a fuckin joke before i succumb to the gaping mouth of despair waiting for me to fall in it as soon as i look down and acknowledge that its there ogling how juicy my ass looks as it trembles with terror

I really hope that the writers of HS2 know full well that this feeling? the one Dave is describing here? is what many of us who got way overinvested in the well-being of Homestuck’s surviving characters felt reading the Epilogues and Homestuck^2. So I really hope they’re working through it in a way that will result in a preponderance of GOOD THINGS happening and hope-filled situations. Cause that “can’t even think about X” feeling is too familiar, and if they understand it as well as it LOOKS like they’re getting to, I’d really like them to give us a helping hand healing.

I think that’s what they’re going for? Seems hopeful for me to think so, but they HAVE been doing better as HS2 has been going forward, from an emotional standpoint anyway; definitely better than the Epilogues. And I’ve worked through some of that stuff with the help of that, because it’s MUCH easier nowadays to think about Homestuck without my gut clenching.

DAVE: i guess im just fucked up about how to worry about dirk and be angry at him at the same time DAVE: because if i get as unholy pissed at him as i sometimes wanna be i also gotta admit to myself that maybe i coulda done something different there

Mhmm, Karkat’s potentially a pretty good person to speak with here since he’s done so much work trying not to feel responsible for everything that’s ever gone wrong.

DAVE: also like DAVE: and this by the way adds a whole other layer of guilt on there that i dont really know how to fuckin reckon with but DAVE: even with all the shit hes pulled and the fact that we are more or less heading toward having to take him down DAVE: whatever that is gonna mean and whether or not he planned it like that DAVE: i just DAVE: me and him had come so far with each other and it was really cool for a while to have him and i DAVE: ugh DAVE: i dont WANT to hate him

Yeah, Dirk and Jane’s heel-turns were really shitty for anyone who was a fan of them in the fanbase, as well.

KARKAT: WELL THEN QUIT FUCKING PICKING AT THE SEAM ON MY SHORTS AND SPIT IT OUT. THEY'RE BARELY HANGING ON TO THE DEFINITION OF "SHORTS" AS IT IS.

That is an adorably real boyfriend-laying-in-boyfriend’s-lap thing to do

DAVE: the part i mentioned before about how we really have no goddamn clue how long this trip is even gonna take DAVE: i cant help but feel like its barely getting revved up DAVE: and for me and roxy and jade and callie and kan thats normal shit at best and boring at worst but we all have our immortality to thank for that DAVE: we can just dick around in space for near-eternity waiting to catch up to our friends who may or may not be our enemies now and itll be fine DAVE: i mean no itll be categorically miserable DAVE: but well survive it KARKAT: HOLD THE FUCK ON. DAVE: but you KARKAT: DAVE. DAVE: no lemme say this

Oh god damnit. Karkat’s limited lifespan. As if we hadn’t ALREADY covered a nauseatingly extensive gamut of disheartening topics of conversation. We really have to confront every shred of misery in their past, present and future one after the other after the other in the Epilogues and HS2, don’t we? >:(

I guess it had to be discussed, though.

DAVE: we dont talk about it much and i got shit to say about it DAVE: its not like i never thought about how youre mortal before but i just thought wed be able to figure it out before it mattered DAVE: come up with some kind of plan DAVE: i was just distracted being happy with you i fucking guess and so i didnt think up a way to fix it DAVE: and now thanks to dirk we have to work it out right the fuck now DAVE: because i cant spend this trip just sitting around watching you get old and die

Jesus. I mean, WE know(?) that it’s not gonna be THAT many years, but THEY don’t know that.

Unless it really IS going to be that many years and HS2 is going to shamelessly take a fucking sledgehammer to our feelings for no goddamn good reason. Which it won’t! Right??? >:T

> ==>

Dishwasher ding

> Dave: Grapple with the clean, soggy consequences of the passage of time.

Hey, don’t make it a metaphor here. --though, fuck. I suppose we are dealing with everyones dirty laundry. God damnit. SURE, deal with it all story but then GET IT OUT OF THE WAY AND PUT SOME SERIOUS FUN AND LAUGHS IN HERE so we don’t feel like we’re wading through an entire garbage dump!!! *click*

Karkat’s eyebrows-only mouthless frown is really cute.

> ==>

okay Karkat explain the nope you’re lodging

> ==>

*put*

> ==>

*foot*

> ==>

DAVE: ok go on

I mean I at least appreciate the time investment in adorable boyfriends. That’s definitely something of SOME good value they’re giving us in exchange for this misery

> ==>

That Karkat image makes me wanna do that red-shaky-gif-thing with it

KARKAT: IT'S NOT LIKE I'M NEW TO THE PARTICULAR MOOBEAST WRANGLING EVENT OF SOMEONE I PREVIOUSLY LOVED BRUTALLY TURNING ON ME AND LEAVING ME TO TRY AND CRAM MY FEELINGS ABOUT THE SITUATION BACK TOGETHER ALL ON MY OWN.

True

KARKAT: HE DID THAT ON HIS OWN. AND WE MADE THE CHOICE TO GO AFTER HIM ON OUR OWN.

Yes, and you’ll possibly convince him more of that over time, though not in this short conversation

KARKAT: I WAS FOLLOWING YOUR LITTLE TRAIL OF COOKIE CRUMB FEARS UNTIL IT LEAD TO THE BIG SNACK FINALE OF WORRY ABOUT MY FRAGILE MORTAL MEATSACK. KARKAT: IF I HAVE SOMEHOW NOT BEEN CLEAR ABOUT THIS WITH YOU YET, LET ME GO AHEAD AND RECTIFY THE SITUATION RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. KARKAT: HANGING OUT WITH YOU ON THIS LONG TRIP TO WHO THE SHITTING FUCK KNOWS WHERE IS QUITE LITERALLY THE HAPPIEST I HAVE EVER BEEN IN MY ENTIRE MEAGER EXISTENCE. KARKAT: I'M SO ABSOLUTELY BLISSED THE FUCK OUT OF MY MIND TO BE ABLE TO LOOK AT YOUR STUPID IMMORTALLY SMOOTH HUMAN FACE SKIN EVERY DAY AND NOT HAVE A COMPLEX ABOUT IT.

D’AWWW

And with that darkly angry expression too, that’s PERFECT

I mean it’s true. What exactly would they be doing DIFFERENTLY on Earth C other than enjoying each other like this? It’s pretty fucking great.

...hm. Isn’t this journey-not-the-destination stuff pretty Breathy? Karkat’s proving more balanced by the moment.

KARKAT: AND I'LL BE STRAIGHT WITH YOU. IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVEN'T BEEN EXPERIENCING SOME COMPLICATED GUILT, MYSELF. KARKAT: THE FACT THAT I'M HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE JUST FUCKING CHILLAXING AND BEING IN LOVE IN SPACE IS A CLEARLY INCONGRUOUS WITH THE REASON I'M ACTUALLY HERE CHILLAXING TO BEGIN WITH, AND I'M NOT LETTING MYSELF FORGET THAT, EITHER.

Pff. He feels guilty for ENJOYING IT so much. <3

KARKAT: BUT I RESENT THE IMPLICATION THAT MY HAPPINESS IS REGISTERING FOR YOU AS YOU HAVING TO JUST "SIT AROUND AND WATCH ME GET OLD," BECAUSE I KNOW YOU KNOW IT'S MORE THAN THAT.

I’m glad Karkat knows that DAVE knows somewhere in him that it’s more than that, because yeah, if Karkat thought he DIDN’T know that at some level that’d be a reason to take MUCH MORE SERIOUS offense.

KARKAT: LIKE, JESUS, DAVE. YOU KNOW I'M AFRAID FOR YOU, TOO, RIGHT? KARKAT: OR DID YOU FORGET THE WHOLE HEROIC DEATH THING? KARKAT: I WORRY ABOUT LOSING YOU FAIRLY FUCKING REGULARLY.

Hah!!! Point taken. Karkat must view Dave as practically more fragile than HIM.

KARKAT: ONE: WE'VE BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH HELLACIOUS PANWARPING TRAUMA THAT I REFUSE TO NOT ENJOY THIS SHIT WHEN I FINALLY FUCKING GET IT, NO MATTER HOW LONG IT MAY OR MAY NOT LAST. KARKAT: TWO: IT'S NOT LIKE WE'RE DOING NOTHING. WE’RE MOVING. WE’RE WORKING. WE’RE HEADED SPECIFICALLY TO A PLACE WHERE WE WILL UNDOUBTLEDLY ENDURE YET MORE FUCKING HELLACIOUS PANWARPING TRAUMA. KARKAT: AND THREE: WE'RE DOING THAT BECAUSE WE HAVE FRIENDS WHO WE CARE ABOUT THAT NEED US. THAT IS OUR FOCUS, HERE. NOT OUR FEAR. IT'S ABOUT THE PEOPLE WE HAVE TO SAVE. KARKAT: SO DON'T FUCKING WORRY ABOUT ME, DAVE. I'M FINE.

Okay, this is great and wholesome. I am now retroactively GLAD that this topic got brought up. :)

> ==>

Dave is still afraid. There is a part of him that will always be, he thinks. He has accepted this about himself. There is another feeling coursing through him too, though. It’s something he's felt before, though never quite so intensely. He looks up at Karkat and understands, viscerally, the simple power his words have. They pump through Dave’s own body, alive and warm and true.

He wonders if Karkat realizes it, or if he’s just, as always, saying what he feels as he feels it. Dave doesn’t attempt to dissect it further. There will be time for that later.

Every really loving moment like this is sort of undercut by the fact that it’s also, in some senses, part of alt!Calliope’s narration and, by extension, her fanfiction.

EDIT 2: There's also either a hint to potential Blood powers or even an explicit Blood power use here that I didn't recognize. I'm leaning towards it's-laying-the-groundwork-for-future-use-of-Blood-powers-but-isnt-magical-in-this-case.

> ==>

Smooooch!

That was nice. Still gonna wait on doing any commentary til next time or a Bonus update or two, cause I’m beat. See y’all next time!

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #Homestuck^2 #spoiler #spoilers #Breath and Blood #Light and Void

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chasingrobbie · 4 years

Text

The Doctor Is In: Chapter 1 - Part 1 (Open Heart Book 1)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Harper Dorian)

Word count: 2000

Warning: None

Author’s Note: I’ve decided to take the plunge and have a go at publishing a bit of a series. As I’ve been replaying Book 1 I’ve just wanted to explore Ethan’s character more, so I started writing entirely from his perspective.

This ‘series’ (hopefully I don’t get frustrated with myself and stop) takes the events from Book 1 as they are and then I have added my own stuff. I’d love feedback from anyone who give this a read.

Yes, my MC has the same name and Harper Emery but that’s what it’s always been so yeah. I’ll make a joke out of it somewhere I’m sure.

Aaaand if you want to be tagged in future parts, let me know :)

Ethan’s well-worn running shoes hit the pavement with force as he lengthened his stride. The air was crisp and clean, the kind of air that stung the lungs, the kind of morning that he treasured; he inhaled deeply, desperate to drink in the solitude. This time to himself was never enough to satisfy the drain from the myriad of inane questions that awaited him each day at the hospital. Though today was different. Ethan knew that. The new interns were starting today. Nervous energy would flitter through the wards, trepidation and generally misplaced confidence would permeate the halls. Some of the best young new medical minds in the country had been hand selected by Ethan and the other notable staff of Edenbrook. God, all he could hope was that they didn’t cost him too many patients.

As usual, Ethan arrived at Edenbrook early to seek further sanctuary in the walls of his office. He poured through his current patients charts that had been updated in the short time he had been away from the hospital. It was becoming increasingly commonplace for him to fall asleep on the couch in his office. Jenner was really the only thing that pulled him back to his apartment with much regularity.

Slowly, the morning approached 8:30 and he knew that the interns would be gathering soon for their opening address from Harper. How far she had come still managed to shock Ethan at times. She had always been a formidable woman; it was one of the many reasons he had been attracted to her. But it was different now. She was different now. Ethan drank deeply from his coffee mug, the rich warmth spreading through his chest as he closed his eyes. A languid and purposeful inhalation filled his lungs as the familiar beep of his pager pulled him from his reverie. Naveen wanted to see him. Quickly, Ethan slugged back the last of his coffee, slipped on his white coat and left the privacy of his office.

Making his way through the hospital was always a task, so many people wanted pieces of his time. Though Ethan had not anticipated what was about to quite literally crash into his morning. Into his life. He was discussing one of his patients with a nurse when a commotion could be heard from the waiting area. Without hesitation he moved to help.

“Everybody, step back! I’m a doctor.” A voice cut through the confusion and concern of the onlookers. Ethan had been too far away to see who had spoken but judging by the ridiculousness of the declaration, that they are in fact a doctor in a hospital, he assumed it was an intern. And he wasn’t wrong, he’s never wrong. Quickly, he knelt down by the woman’s side. Adrenaline never took long to flood his veins. There was a time when his breathing would have been erratic because of it but now it fuelled him.

“Pulse is weak. She’s unresponsive.” Ethan stated without incident. It was then that he glanced around him and saw the intern he supposed had called for everyone to clear the area. The juxtaposition smeared across her face was all too familiar – total fear clashing against abject excitement. He remembered the feeling all too well. Their eyes met and Ethan noticed something else etched in the intern’s warm green eyes. It took him a moment to place what it was. It looked like resolve, which in the eyes of an intern was a rarity.

“You. Rookie. Get in here.” Ethan’s tone was clear and direct, as always.

“Coming!” The intern shouted without an ounce of hesitation. Ethan eased the patient into his arms and onto a nearby gurney. Before he could register it, the intern was at his side. Ethan could feel the heat rolling from her body. He needed to be careful, there was every chance she could be overtaken by the fire to help and make a costly error. He needed to help her focus, just as he had learnt to do.

“What was she coming in for? Did she fill out a form yet?” Ethan quickly asked one of the nurses, Danny nearby.

“No, she’d just walked in,” Danny said dejectedly, his shoulders falling, knowing this could likely mean her death.

“If we don’t figure out what’s wrong with her fast, she’s gonna die on this table,” frustration was building in Ethan. Knots formed in his chest, the warmth and relief of his morning coffee replaced with thundering torrents of fear. He took in a languid and purposeful inhalation to steady himself.

“Rookie, check her B.P.” Ethan met the intern’s eyes for a second time, streaks of desperation had replaced her excitement.

“It’s plummeting. She’s hypotensive. We’ve gotta get fluids in her,” the intern voice was accelerated but the tone was steady. She was doing well. Ethan was impressed. Almost instantly, Danny placed the I.V and the patient weakly clutched at the young intern’s hand.

“Doctor, look at this bruise. It wasn’t there before,” the urgency in the intern’s voice was evident. Ethan’s attention shifted to the deep bruise the was blooming on the patient’s arm.

“That’s the elbow she landed on when she fell. A bruise forming that fast would suggest that this woman is a haemophiliac. Good catch.” Ethan was further impressed. If the patient’s life didn’t hang in the balance, he may have even smiled.

“Also see her fingertips? Low oxygen saturation in her blood. Take a closer listen to her lungs. Hurry.”

“I can’t hear anything on her left side! And her right lung is struggling! Doctor, she’s going to suffocate!” The intern was frantic, but Ethan could still make out the resolve in her eyes. He hadn’t lost her yet.

“Nurse, we’ve got a code blue.” The words left Ethan’s mouth in cool trail. He’d done this enough to breathe through the chaos and the looming vultures, but he could tell that the intern was astonished and impressed by his calm exterior. He took the bag mask from the nurse and gently pumped air into the woman’s lungs. His hands moved with precision and practiced rhythm. The intern’s eyes raked over him and he was acutely aware of her eyes resting on him. Strangely, he liked it.

“What do we do, Doctor? What’s happening to her?” Fear had continued to strangle the intern’s voice, Ethan knew if he didn’t pull her back from the precipice, she’d be overcome with it. Slowly, deliberately he uttered words of reassurance to tether her to him in this shared moment of crisis.

“Consider all the clues. It’s all there. You know this, Rookie.”

“It’s…it’s, uh…” Ethan watched entranced as she closed her eyes and took the same languid and purposeful inhalation he had taken earlier. Her eyes fell open and Ethan knew she had it.

“It’s a hemothorax!” Relief swum across her features.

“Precisely. A blood vessel ruptured and is filling her pleural cavity…”

“…blocking her lungs from expanding! That’s why she can’t breathe! But we can’t repair the blood vessel here!” The intern finished Ethan’s explanation and quickly reached the conclusion he had come to about a minute earlier. Again, a juxtaposition of emotions was spread across her face; satisfaction, dread and panic.

“We’ll have to do an emergency thoracotomy to drain the cavity instead. Nurse!” The nurse gave the scalpel and chest tube to the intern who had to quite visibly gulp down her clots of fear. Ethan lifted the patient’s shirt to expose the side of her rib cage. The flesh is too hot beneath his fingertips.

“We need a local anesthetic—” The intern’s fear was running away from her. Her voice trailed, lost amongst the temper of the moment. Ethan set his features into a firm and unforgiving line.

“We’re outta time! Do it now, or this woman’s life is on you!” Ethan’s voice was emphatic and authoritative as it rang clear through the throng of anxious onlookers. The intern’s eyes shifted, followed by a sharp intake of air. Ethan could hear her muttering the steps under her breath.

“Incision at the fifth intercostal space…anterior…to the mid axillary line…” Her hand was quivering. Almost instinctively Ethan reached out and took her trembling fingers in his own to steady them. Her skin was ablaze, tension radiated from it but he felt her relax into him. He found her eyes, his gaze softening as he took them in. The green edges of her irises were mottled with a golden hue. He’d never seen anything like them before.

“Hey…you can do this.” Ethan breathed the words out and the room had melted away. The onlookers, the nursing staff, no one else was there but them. She nodded and focused on her unsteady hand. Ethan still had her hand enshrouded in his own but now he could feel the trembling subside. Tension was replaced with resolve.

“There you go. Nice and easy.” Ethan voice cuts the air once more. Time had been suspended but the incision of the scalpel brought the rest of the world back into clear focus.

“Now the tube.” Hands still connected; they push the tube into the woman’s chest. Warm, crimson blood spurts from her side but quickly the blood begins to drain. The woman takes in a sharp breath. The intern is visibly elated. Fear and resolve are replaced with genuine delight and a little disbelief.

“We…we did it!” Ethan still has her hand in his, he squeezes it reassuringly. For a moment, Ethan thought she was going to attempt to hug him. Maybe she was.

“She’s stable. Get her into surgery…She’s gonna make it.” Applause erupts around them. For the first time in minutes, Ethan is reminded of the crowd gathered in the waiting room. The patient is wheeled away, the familiar wave of relief washes over Ethan. These moments. These victories. They are what give him the strength to continue through the tedium of his days, the times when he doesn’t succeed, when he can’t help.

“Doctor…that was…absolutely amazing!” The young intern turned to Ethan; she was still obviously riding the high of this first real-world victory. Ethan knew what he had to do. She had shown so much promise. He needed to push her.

“You’re right. It’s pretty amazing you didn’t get her killed.” The words fell from Ethan’s mouth in a cold tumble, heavy and loaded. He watched the joy crumble and confusion stretch its away across her face before she even spoken.

“Wait, what?” Her voice was smaller now. Ethan had to be pedantic, he needed her to walk away from this questioning what she could have done any better. The endless pursuit of perfection is what every doctor needed.

Ethan continued, matter of fact and critical. “Your examination was slow and superficial. Your scalpel technique, amateur at best…”

“Amateur?” She cut him off before he could continue. The edge to her voice was hostile not apologetic. She wasn’t upset, she was frustrated. He liked that. A glimmer sparked in her eyes.

“Maybe you could give me private lessons.” She smirked at him coyly.

“Ha! I just might, Doctor…” Ethan couldn’t help but smile. Her confidence took him aback. He grabbed the ID card hanging from her lanyard and inspected it closely. A realisation dawned on him; he knew who she is. Ethan recovered his composure in the split second.

“…Dorian. But I sincerely doubt you could afford my salary.”

Ethan turned to leave, smiling to himself, and continued making his way to Naveen’s office. He could hear the murmurs of the onlookers as he departed. Yet, Ethan could only think about the intern. She was the one he had selected. She truly lived up to her application and test scores. Few interns could do what she just did on their first day. But there was something else. Ethan ruminated on it for a moment before her eyes seeped into his consciousness again. And that was where he left them as he continued down the hall.

The eyes of the intern remained fixed on Ethan as he walked away.

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Soooooo yeah let me know what you think about if you’d be interested in reading Part 2 of Chapter 1.

Thanks for reading!

Adding a tag for @choicesficwriterscreations 😘

#open heart #ethan x mc #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #choices #open heart fanfic #choices open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #choices: stories you play #open heart book 1

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liliesoftherain · 5 years

Text

A Knight’s Honor

Ch 1 - Hold a Star

Masterlist

Summary: You are a female squire, who is not willing to give up your dreams of Knighthood to become a slave to society to save face.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SLOWBURN

A/N: Here is the first chapter! It’s like 2am but I couldn’t get it out of my head so I started writing and realized the direction I want this to go is going to cause it to be a bit lengthy. SO I’m not sure if this will really count as a full on slow burn but I’m going to try my best! Thanks for reading!

The sky was a hushed dark, the only present source of light was the wisps of the sunbeams that peaked out from over the hills towards the east. Allowing light orange and pink tones to spread and fade into the midnight blues. The stars were also taking it upon themselves to disappear, leaving a blank canvas that was ready to painted on. You knew it wouldn’t be long before the new brilliant baby blue and feathery whites of clouds took over and spread out as far as the eye could see. It was always a breathtaking sight to see the dawn of a new day, a gentle reminder of knowing you were alive and living your dream.

“Keep movin’ lassie, ‘therwise yoo’ll be missin’ yer breakfest an’ ye dinnae want ‘at.”

Well, almost living your dream.

“Yes Sir.”

You continued to scoop the horse dung, going almost nose blind to the smell as you have been at it for a good 20 minuets already. It was thankfully the last chore of your morning duties for today and you could go straight to breakfast after this. Lazily you look back towards the sky, a small sigh escaping your lips as you continued with you work.

It was, and would always be, a dreadful chore to complete before you were able to partake in breakfast. Even though you only had to worry about it once per week, it was still disgusting to have to do when all you wanted was the smell of bread in your nose, not the smell of dung.

Yet you managed, quickly growing used to the idea and trying not to let it both you as you scarfed down whatever the lovely kitchen hands whipped up. You could not afford to to be hungry for the rest of the day, breakfast was always too early and lunch so far afterwards. If you could call it lunch. It was mostly a quick snack you were able to have for a few moments before being pulled into even more duties your Knight deemed of needing completion, duties that were a must to get done before you could even think about dinner.

Being a Knight’s Squire was all around exhausting and not what you once thought it was when you were a child. Sure, you were able to do extraordinary tasks that you only once dreamed about, such as overnight ventures to different kingdoms and quests galore. However, with your great Kingdom at peace, there were plenty of thrilling tasks that weren’t needed, like following your Knight onto the battlefield and helping to protect your home. Yes, you were greatly blessed to be born into these peaceful times, not have the displeasure of the blood and sacrifice of war, so you often scolded yourself when you found your thoughts drifting to battles and missions alike.

No, instead of dealing with disastrous enemies of front lines, you found your action of the practice field, and Lord knows you’ve seen that all too many times.

You often times loved the feeling training provided you, yet you were always disgruntled when you were frowned upon due to your gender. Not by many, in fact there were many more who believed you had every right to be here, but others tended to disagree. It was hard to force someone out of their backwater ways, and it wasn’t even just the elders who held onto this ideal, it was from your own peers as well. One peer in particular really, and it hurt you to a point to think someone you have known for most of your life could come to loath you so.

To this day you still had no idea as to why.

As a child, you had always pictured yourself as a Knight. Dreaming of the day you were able to attend wild adventures and the freedoms it would bring. Your mother, who had wanted nothing more than to groom you into the finer life, was always displeased at your father who gave you the encouragement to follow your heart. He was a giant of a man, towering over most, feared and respected among his peers. Yet he was always so loving and kind to you, and threw memories of him always stayed no matter how much time as passed since he has moved on from this world. He wanted you to understand the importance of knowing when to rely on someone, and when to rely on yourself. Your mother thought it absurd for you to know such things, saying how once you became of age, old enough to wed, you would be tethered to a man who could protect you better than you could ever protect yourself.

Which was completely and utterly injudicious.

You were most definitely able to take care of yourself, and you found no need for a man to constrain you into a submissive lifestyle that would no doubt lead you to dread the mornings you were so fond of. All because that would mean if you were awake, you would still be in the nightmare of a domesticated life.

You wanted an eternity of freedom, not a lifetime in a prison cell disguised as your home.

“Thenk ye again lassie, ye wark strong. Jist need tae quit starin’ at th’ sky.” The man chuckled, patting your head roughly with his large hand.

This man, Sir Campbell, was a Knight you helped during this particular morning chore. He was one of few to come and serve the Kingdom from a foreign land, causing his differences in tongue and spirit. While this was and always will be you’re home, the feeling of some kind of sturdy connection was formed.

He was different from his peers as were you.

It was the similarities of the differences you carried that had brought you together, you thought of him family as he did you.

“The sky is an endless adventure, Sir. Can you imagine if we were able to explore the noble skies as we did the rolling plains of foreign lands?”

He grinned at your words, an own thoughtful expression pulling on his thinned lips as he held his bearded chin in mock thought.

“Lass, ye hink tae much. ‘en again that’s whit makes ye sae sharp-witted isnae it?”

You smiled back, eyes shining with mirth at knowing you once again thought of something your elder had not.

“I’d like to think so Sir, although I get my wonder from you, as you do not think of such things on your own.”

He barked out a laugh, horses whining at the sudden noise that had caught them off guard, and echoed around them.

“Ye will be th’ death ay me yit!”

“I hope that is a day that will never come to pass Sir, not until the stars have been held in our own bare hands.”

“Ah pray ‘at day come tae pass, lassie. noo rin alang, gang enjoy yer weel deserved breakfest. Duty will be ringin;’ shortly.”

“More like screaming.”

“Aye, ‘at Sir Hizashi surly can yeel i’s true. Rin alang noo!”

You bowed your head respectfully before taking your leave once you finished putting the shovel away in its rightful spot. His laughter still ringing in your ears, causing your mood to uplift as if following suit with the edges of your mouth.

You made your way to the water spicket that was as tall as your breasts, and lifted your arms to pump the bar till water flowed from the spout. Using it to rinse your hands and face clean of a hard morning, you then dried them on your tunic, which you wore over your chain mail.

You of course wore a protective layer under the chain mail. No matter how much heat you could withstand due to your ability, you were not immune to the burns and irritations it could leave if it was placed directly on unclothed skin. You wore somewhat lose trousers, but it was only baggy enough to not be mistaken for tight undergarments, as your tunic fell down to your mid thighs. A belt holding your sword was wrapped securely around your waste, the simple leather having immense strength to hold up not only you sheath and blade, but other necessities you found yourself carrying in pouches which were also strapped on.

A simple look, but the look of a squire indeed. Not one of a high Lady of the Court.

Your feet carried you to one of your most favorite spots, the place by the kitchens. It’s were the meals were held, meals of those who lived in the castle walls yet were unable to sit at the table that was intended for those of higher status. It was an austere little place, but that did not mean it wasn’t full of life. Few rows of benches were pushed together right near a door that led into the kitchens themselves, lanterns placed along the wall behind them. It was a place that was never overcrowded, but quaint enough to be able to sit together and laugh and talk about the hardship of the days like it wasn’t a problem at all.

You spotted a man you knew very well already sitting at the only available table, and gladly quicken your pace to reach your destination faster than your fatigued body would have liked. You snatched a roll from his plate once your were close enough, taking a bite from the delicious bread as you sat to his right. He barley glanced your way before reaching out to grab another roll from the basket to his left, letting out a sigh while he did.

“Tis too early to be dealing with you.”

“Ah, you flatter me kindly Shinsou.” You laughed.

“Anything but I assure you, (l/n).” Even with his exasperated tone seeping into his guttural voice, he threw you a small smile in welcome.

He enjoyed your presence and often did seek you out for it, ignoring the few who once scolded him for it years prior. He did not care you were a woman, woman or not you could kick anyone’s behind if you saw fit. You were here, just like everyone else, training to become a Knight. While many would complain, he knew you had the most reason to. Yet you never once spoke of the hardships of training. You bared through it, proving time and time again that you wanted to be here and you deserved to be as well.

“I say, you become Sir Aizawa more and more with every passing day, tis almost disturbingly so how you two are alike in manners.” You shook your head, grinning as you grab a bowl and began to fill it with warm porridge that was present on your right. That was one of the perks of finishing earlier than expected, besides having more down time, the food was still warm.

“If I am becoming my mentor than you must know you are surely becoming yours.”

“I am not as boisterous as you believe, Sir Hizashi is a man whose energy knows no bounds. No one can thinking of beating him in such a game.” You rolled your eyes, already picturing the assault your ears were to be faced with today as soon as you went to report. Sir Hizashi was a pleasant Knight and wondrous mentor, with many talents and a vast knowledge no one gave him enough credit for. Yet, he was always so terribly loud, often forgetting his surroundings and letting loose with wild battle cries and deafening laughs that stayed echoing through the valleys for months.

“You cannot play me for a fool, (l/n). I see it grow in you each day.”

“If you see me as Sir Hizashi then you must realize you will never be able to rid yourself of me.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow, a wooden cup up to his parted lips to drink the lukewarm liquid, “what is it that makes you believe such a tale?”

“Our mentors are both kindred spirits of course, they have known one another since childhood and they continue to be in each other’s life to this very day.” You beamed, a such intense look of happiness on your face Shinsou could not find it in him to pull away from it.

“How joyous,” his hand came to pinch the bridge of his nose as your dazzling look became devilish with the smug smile that taunted him so, “ you will only serve to deepen my scars of sleepless nights.”

“Oh Shinsou, I am afraid my presence can do nothing more to what is already permanently etched into your skin. Not even help it I’m afraid.”

“You may bet right.” He chuckled, looking down at you and plucking the apple from your hand that you had just picked up not a second prior.

“Oi-” He cut you off with a loud crunch of a now ruined apple, his chewing only serving to fuel your anger.

“You sly fox what was that for?”

“You always pick the most juiciest apples from the bunch, tis only natural I may want a taste for myself.” He used the red fruit to hide the twitch of his lips at your bewildered expression.

Your reactions were always the best to witness, always making an exaggerated face for no reason other than you could, or perhaps it was just because you never realized how much emotion you actually shown to others.

“I pick the tastiest apples for myself, not to share! You gluttonous cutpurse!”

The sound of loud footsteps heading in your direction caused the pair of you to halt your conversation and glance up, seeing a pair of Squires making their way to your table. You sent out a quick huff of breath, unsure if you were willing to deal with his attitude so early in the morning. Shinosu kept his mouth shut, unwilling to express his distaste as verbally as you, but still felt it nonetheless.

“Ah Shinsou! (l/n)! Tis good to see you both in high health this fine morning!” One smiled, taking a seat in front of you while the other boy took a spot to the left of him, diagonally from you.

“Kirishima.” Shinsou let out a curt nod, having no will ill towards this gentleman at all. Only confusion, if not pity, for how he has to put up with the child next to him.

“Good to see you in such high spirits as always Kirishima.” You gave a polite smile, quickly snatching your apple back from Shinsou’s unsuspecting hand.

You innocently smiled at the red head in front of you as if you did nothing wrong, ignore the glaring and grumbling from the boy beside you.

“You two are the ones in high spirits it seems!” Kirishima laughed as the exchange, seeing your pleased expression and Shinsou’s exasperated one.

“Tch.”

The noise caused a flutter of irritation to pass through you, but you ignored it and glanced at the blond who had not spoke a word yet. Focusing on filling his bowl with breakfast instead of pleasantries. He bit harshly into a roll, setting the ladled down once he finished scooping the now cooling porridge.

“Good morning Bakugou.” You spoke shortly, not wanting to be rude to the other member of the table.

“Shove off.”

You clicked your tongue, not knowing why you bothered in the first place as you knew that would be his response. Kirishima gave you an apologetic smile, changing the subject to ask about future events the current day will hold for the lot of you. He was always able to lift the mood so easily, no matter the circumstances.

It was an enjoyable breakfast while it lasted, save for the brooding boy who only chimed in with insults or annoyed grunts of disagreement.

“As lovely as this has been, I must be off now. I am assisting Sir Aizawa in his visit of a neighboring kingdom. We are simple escorts of the Chamberlain and his youngest brother. “ Shinsou sighed.

The sun was more visible in the changing sky, almost fully so. Only a sliver of it hidden from view as the sky lightened because of it, allowing the dim lanterns to be shut off and replaced by a brighter source.

“Oh,” You frowned, “I assume you will be gone for a few days then?”

“Three at most, if it can be helped.” He mirrored your reaction.

He never liked leaving you alone. He never has doubted your ability to take care of yourself, that wasn’t the issue. More so it had to do with the glaring boy sitting a few feet away, sharp crimson glaring daggers into warm violet. Bakugou was by no means the kindest man to his peers around him, but he seemed to have an extra special case of bitter anger for you that exceeded his normal gruffness by tenfold. Shinsou knew it weighed heavily on you, once friend turned foe all because of a dream. Yet you always pushed through, it was one of your most admirable traits in his opinion.

Your unwavering ability to overcome anything.

“Worried your protection will not be around to save you, (y/n)?” Bakugou sneered, his gaze never leaving Shinsou’s.

“You assume false, Katsuki. I have no need for anyone’s protection but my own.” You spat back, hating how the bastard wouldn’t even look at you.

As if he seen you as something less than a person, something that didn’t even deserve his time of day.

“Come now you two, please no fighting so early! Let’s end this breakfast in good spirits and go on with our day.” Kirishima pleaded, always being the mediator, bless his soul.

“A day is only so lovely when the face of that wench is not in my sights.” Bakugou hissed, clenching his teeth as he felt the anger rise in him as Shinsou stood and grabbed your arm.

You were half tempted to lunge at the foul-mouth boy, but Shinsou’s strong hand on your upper arm held you back.

“Leave the man-child be, let us be on our way. I bid thee good day gentlemen.” Shinsou spoke, cold eyes turning away from Bakugou to address Kirishima, the only person his goodbye was intended for.

“Enjoy your day, may it go by swiftly for you,” You spoke to Kirishima who just gave a wavering grin, uneasy at the tension that had grown. You faced Bakugou who finally had the decency to look at you, and you could see the vexation boiling in his eyes, “you hog-hearted knave.”

You left your farewell at that, ignoring the shouts he threw as you and Shinsou as you grabbed your dishes, bringing them over to be rinsed and then set inside the kitchens for proper cleaning from the kitchen hands later.

You glanced back at the table to see them both barley rising to follow what you two have just done, before turning back to your friend with a displeased frown.

“I wish you were not my voice of reason.”

“You would be damned if I were not.” He pointed out, turning to walk away.

“You are right, of course. Yet that does not mean I like it.” Your frown lifted into a tender smile as you reached out to stop him from walking off, knowing you going to have to bid your best friend farewell.

“Like it or not, I will always be.” He turned back to face you, saying those words on purpose. Understanding the weight of them. While the kingdom was at peace, that did not mean all danger was vanquished.

It was simply hidden better.

“Aw, so you do agree that we are kindred spirits? Shinsou you sappy sack of flour!”

“Hush your tongue, wretched girl,” He grinned, “You best behave while I am gone, understand?”

“Yes yes, I am able to to take care of myself and be without problems for a measly two days.” You rolled your eyes, mischief all over your face though the words you spoken were intended for innocence.

“I am serious.” He deadpanned, noticing the look that only grew at his words.

“And so am I.”

“I do not believe it.”

“You are right to do so.”

He groaned as you laughed, shaking his head at you in mock disappointment. His look then hardened and he took your hand in his, as if he were about to shake it.

“In three days.” Seriousness in his eyes as he whispered.

This was an unspoken tradition between the both of you. A silent promise to return, return alive, in the allotted time given.

“In three days.” You repeated, your grip on his hand tightening before releasing altogether.

A smile crossed you both before you took off down separate paths, you glancing up at the sky wishing to see the stars once more without having to look back at the boy walking away. Because you knew, Shinsou was the closest thing you would get to accomplish your wild dream of holding a star. It may be silly, but if it would be anyone, it would be him: a shining star who had the world beneath his feat and the endless sky around him.

However, unknown to you, a different kind of star was staring into your back as you left. This star was as big and bright as millions of stars together and was known as the sun. And be damned if the sun was out shined by a measly twinkle in the sky he owned.

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