#also me: *twirls hair* so I think this fic will be about 5 chapters

[youichi-kuramochi]

FIC: aftershocks — ch. 1/5

by viverella / @youichi-kuramochi Fandom: Genshin Impact Relationship: Zhongli/Xiao Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Word count: approx. 5.1k (this chapter) Summary: Soon after Rex Lapis dies, Xiao coughs up a mouthful of glaze lily petals, and it’s in this moment that he realizes the depth of all the truths he’s kept so carefully hidden within himself for millennia.

written for zhongxiao week on twt for day 2 — mutual pining / hanahaki!

READ CHAPTER 1 @ AO3

[campbyler]

may i be the first person to offer up a song that i think fits the new chapter? :) (it came on shuffle while i was reading and listening to the playlist) i am OBSESSED with the acswy playlist btw. i love how much i can feel the exact line between the end of ch4 - to the start of ch5 just from swoon and talk too much back to back. everything about the playlist is so articulated!! i haven't even finished reading the chapter yet since i'm a slow reader but i see you guys gush about song contributions for this fic a lot so i figured i'd rush in and give mine :)

ok ONE: sorry about answering this literally two weeks late. i did in fact forget that our inbox is literally overflowing . and TWO: i'm currently on my lunch at work and my phone and headphones died and my coworker is also on lunch so i'm waiting for him to get back so i can beg a charger off him. all this to say that i am listening to this song at my desk w my speaker on 5% and my ear pressed to it. #dedication. and THREE: you're SOOOOO SOO SO RIGHT! "what is it that keeps me from letting you go" if anyone even CARES. thank you sm for this rec!! also EXTRA thank you for noticing the swoon -> talk too much transition because we were so proud of that! the ch05 playlist is my pride and joy and i think maybe my greatest contribution to this fic is the talk too much -> summerboy transition soooo twirls hair thank you! if you've finished reading by now i hope you enjoyed!

[aidanchaser]

Song fic based around The Butterfly Effect by FJØRA

Read on Ao3

Read Chapter One: Verse One on tumblr here. Read Chapter Two: Chorus on tumblr here. Read Chapter Three: Chorus (2) on tumblr here. Read Chapter 4: Verse 2 on tumblr here Read Chapter 5: Chorus (3) on tumblr here Read Chapter 6: Chorus (4) on tumblr here

Chapter 7: creature of the new below the cut

When Adrien wakes, the first thing he thinks is that it doesn’t hurt to move.

you’re free now you The dream is already fading. Rapidly, the memory of his body falling apart under the weight broken magic and his mother’s edge-of-death state become nebulous and impossible to articulate. He thinks perhaps he ought to write the dream down to try to make sense of it, but even that thought evaporates as he tugs on his shoes. The things that linger are his memory of pain with every step, even if he quickly forgets why, and of a young woman who he was wholly in love with, even if he can’t quite remember her name.

His father’s voice calls from the kitchen a loud warning that he’s nearly late for school and Adrien hurries down stairs.

As he hurries into the kitchen where his parents are, the grief from his dream rears its head in his chest. He smiles at them, unsure how to put into words how glad he is to see them when he doesn’t quite have words to explain why.

“You know,” his mother says, “you don’t have to go to school. You’re already very nearly late. Just stay home with me today.”

But Adrien does have to go to school. Nathalie had fought hard for him to be granted this freedom. Almost as hard as she had fought against the sickness that had slowly overtaken her.

He goes to school for himself, but to honor Nathalie, in a way. She’d always been the person holding the gate to freedom open whenever his parents tried to keep him close. He’d never quite appreciated just how much she had done for him until she was gone.

Adrien shovels a stack of pancakes into his mouth as his mother tuts at his manners. His father warns him that he’s about to drip syrup on his shirt—heaven forbid he stain his father’s brand—and hastily wipes Adrien’s chin with a napkin, like he’s a toddler who can’t keep his own nose clean.

Adrien can’t get out of the house fast enough. He loves them, truly, and in a way he’s grateful for his terrible dream to remind him how much they matter to him, but he also needs his own space.

He grabs his schoolbag and kisses his parents goodbye. He notices, as he turns to go, their hands curled around their coffee mugs and their wedding rings glinting in the morning sunlight.

But he can’t remember why that’s so important.

you shed the old the empty When Adrien arrives at school, he hurries into the courtyard in search of the girl from his dream. He doesn’t even know if he’ll recognize her, but he hopes he will. Surely she’s real if she appeared in his dream.

His eyes linger on a girl with long dark hair, but as she turns, he sees the purple streak and recognizes Juleka. She’s too tall anyway; the girl in his dream was shorter.

He’s so intent on his search, he doesn’t even see Chloé until it’s too late. She has her arms around his shoulders and is planting a kiss on each cheek before he has time to steady himself.

“Good morning to you too,” he says.

“You were almost late today,” she says.

“Sorry—got stuck in a weird dream and couldn’t wake up for a minute.” He remembers, quite suddenly, and automatically says aloud, “You were the black cat superhero in my dream.”

Chloé tips her head back and laughs. “Was I a very sexy cat superhero?” She purses her lips and twirls a finger through his hair.

He pulls away and starts to climb the stairs to their class. “I can’t really remember,” he says. Because he doesn’t remember any other details about Chloé, but he remembers quite suddenly that the girl he loved in his dream was also the ladybug superhero.

He holds the door to their class open for Chloé and takes his usual seat next to Nino. Nino lifts his fist in greeting, but doesn’t take his eyes off of the back of the head in front of him—Alya Césaire.

“Are you going to talk to her today?” Adrien asks, and grins as Nino’s ears darken.

“Shut up, dude,” Nino grumbles and pulls out his notes. He tears his eyes away from Alya and glances at Adrien, who is entering “Ladybug superhero” into a search engine. “Are you into Scarabella now?”

But Adrien’s heart sinks as he skims through the pictures of Scarabella. She isn’t the hero from his dream, and he doesn’t see anything about a superhero named Ladybug. Was she really just from his imagination? Created from some sort of longing or pining he wasn’t even aware of in his waking life?

“I had a dream that Chloé had the Black Cat miraculous,” Adrien says, and Nino chokes.

“Chloé as a superhero? That sounds more like a nightmare.”

And Nino’s not wrong; there were a lot of parts of his dream that were more nightmarish than dream, but being in love had felt so real and so wonderful. He wants to believe that the girl in his dream is a real person, that something in his dream mattered.

But no one in their class makes him feel the way Nino must as he stares at Alya’s red curls and fidgets with the ring on his finger.

Adrien sighs and takes out his own notes as Mme Bustier begins class. The seat beside Alya’s remains empty, and Adrien can’t explain why that hurts.

you know what to do Nino snatches his tablet on their way to lunch before Adrien can put it into his bag. He grins as he runs out of the classroom, forcing Adrien to chase him.

It feels good to run. Adrien doesn’t know why it feels so good, like he hasn’t done it in years, but he laughs as he chases Nino down the stairs, apologizing as he slides past Alya, who rolls her eyes. He thinks he hears her mutter, “Boys,” under her breath.

He follows Nino down the street and is surprised when Nino turns a different corner, away from Adrien’s house. If they don’t take lunch in the cafeteria, they’ll usually go to Adrien’s place—his parents prefer him to take lunch at home as often as possible—so this break from routine surprises Adrien.

“Where are we going?”

“I heard Alya talking about this bakery with Mylene,” Nino says, slowing down to a walk. “I want to try it.”

Adrien snatches his tablet from Nino’s hand as they cross the street and the gold lettering of the boulangerie and patisserie on the corner comes into view. Adrien’s heart pound. Anticipation builds in his chest like his body knows something is about to happen even if his mind doesn’t.

Nino pushes open the door and the shop bell jingles.

Adrien sees the girl behind the counter and his heart stops.

you creature of the new She glances up as the bell rings and hastily closes her phone, but not before Adrien sees what was on her screen.

She was looking up pictures of him.

Nino is already perusing the display, but Adrien and the girl at the counter are still staring at each other, and Adrien’s dream spirals out before him. He remembers all of it. He remembers the pain in his body, the desperation as he used and abused a pair of magical gifts, and he remembers how much he loved Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He shakes his head as he approaches. Surely he didn’t just psychically link to this girl in his dreams last night. Perhaps he had filled her name into his memory after seeing it on her name tag just now, and he had used the shop name to guess her last name. He’s rewriting his dream as he goes about his day; his dream couldn’t have had any basis in reality.

But he does notice, since her hair is pulled back into a bun, that her ears are pierced.

“Hi,” he says as he approaches the counter.

Her cheeks are bright pink and she stammers, “H-help—I mean—Hello! What can you do for me—I mean—How can I help you?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he wants to prove his dream true or false. If something in it was real, if everything about this girl is what he dreamed, does that mean the nightmarish parts are true, too?

“Could I have a pastry?” he asks, failing to put anything in his head into real words.

“Of course,” she says, and blinks at him. “Um—what kind of pastry?”

Adrien doesn’t know. Can’t think of a single name of any pastry ever created. Instead, he blurts out, perhaps desperate to be denied, “Did you design the bakery uniforms?”

She looks down at the pink apron she’s wearing, with the ruffles on the sleeves, the neat bow on the waist, and the intertwined “T” and “S” in gold lettering, surrounded by wheat leaves.

“Oh—It’s just a hobby,” she says. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what your father does—I mean—You—You are Adrien Agreste, right?”

He swallows and nods. “And you’re… Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” He flinches even as he asks it, realizing suddenly that his name is famous; hers isn’t. “I just—your nametag—and the shop name—I thought—”

She swallows and her voice is a little breathless. “Yes, that’s my name.”

There’s an awkward silence between them until Nino interrupts to order a small assortment of macarons and a couple of savory stuffed croissants. It’s a small lunch, but it’s something.

As Marinette bags their order, Adrien asks, “Do you… go to school?”

She shakes her head. “No; ever since Maman passed, I’ve been helping Papa at the bakery.”

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay, really. Working here helps her feel close,” and she smiles.

Adrien blinks and bites his tongue to hold back his next question, but it bursts out of his chest anyway. “And—you’re really happy?”

She frowns, and he knows the question is an overstep, but he has to know. Because he remembers the end of his dream, when Marinette promised that she would set his life right. And things in his life seem okay. But if it cost her happiness…

“Sure,” she says, but he doesn’t know that it’s true. What else is she supposed to say to a stranger who just appeared in her bakery to ask invasive questions about her personal life.

And Adrien decides to let the matter drop. It was just a dream. He’s being ridiculous.

But as he and Nino thank her and turn to go, she asks, “And—are you happy?”

He stops and turns. “Me?”

“Do you… do you have everything that you want?”

of the new

[danhoemei]

@carmine-sunlight <33

ok firstly tyk

10. tyk - double wkx

saw this post that some peeple didn't know that wkx is the valley master in woh although his face was shown early, and someone thought that maybe it's an evil twin situation lmao. So I had an idea to write a short thing with two wkx's, the evil valley master and the wkx we know, ofc both into zzs and fighting over him while zzs is ?? Kind of like the bingge vs bingmei extra in svsss lmao

11. tyk - reincarnation au

my fic that i have Big Plans for but somehow got blocked and it's on hold for now. It's an au where wenzhou die and enter reincarnation cycle but keep missing each other (or meet, but too late) due to different reasons, until we arrive in modern times and I finally let them meet properly and fall in love and uncover their past 👀 the main story happens in modern times but there are flashbacks to the past. I also had ideas for extras with their other reincarnations, so I could have fun with fem!wenzhou or enby!wkx x transmasc!zzs or some tragedies like mafia wenzhou that killed each other or they missed their ages completely and grandpa wkx dies just after meeting a kid zzs after searching for him half his life :')

I started writing it inspired by art, so each chapter has art attached (with permission) <3 it's also a mishmash of tropes because it was just a fun project where I kept throwing ideas and writing whatever came to my mind. Some chapters are posted on ao3 here, some more content is here under tag #tyk reincarnation au. I think I got stumped at the point where I need to sit down and actually plan some things instead of writing whatever, and wanted to discuss with someone but didn't want to push myself onto others, so here I am xd

12. tyk - scorpion encounter recreation

so uh 💦 it's um. an explicit fic 😳 where. what if wenzhou actually recreated the stick-porn that zzs drew for the scorpion king lmao

i remembered that i posted some first bits here and here, it's just a comedic slice of life with chengling who needs to bear with wenzhou's bickering. Later parts would go into the hot territory

have a snippet:

Wen Kexing was silent. More like, had been silent for a long time already, while usually his nagging voice seemed to never shut up for more than 5 minutes.

Zhou Zishu’s eyes narrowed, and he turned his head slightly to the side to evaluate the situation. Wen Kexing seemed completely lost in thoughts, his eyes looking straight ahead with a distant look to them. The only movement was his hand which repeatedly rose with Zhou Zishu’s silky hair being run through his fingers until the strands slipped and fell softly onto his lap. Almost without stopping, the hand reached down again to grab a handful of hair and twirl it between the fingers as the slow combing ascend began all over again.

Could he have fallen back into bad memories or unnecessary thoughts all on his own after being left alone for a mere hour or so? Zhou Zishu sighed and decided to magnanimously pull him out from them.

“Lao-“

“Do you ever think about that porn you drew for the Scorpion King?”

Zhou Zishu’s concern died on the spot, and he closed the book with a loud bang.

“No.”

They're idiots but they deserve each other 😌

13. tyk - walnut comic (both writing and comic)

Basically this, i wanted to either make a small comic or write it properly but both are still just sketches, so only the meme conversation stayed xd

2. gentlebeard

just their reunion haha

"I wish I could say I never left. But I did. I admit it because I don’t want to hold anything back anymore."

with a note at the top of the doc file: "when you think it's already only fluff i'm waiting behind you to slap you with angst" buahahahaha

3. tgcf - pick up gege (comic)

this LMAO (hua cheng with a shirt "your son calls me daddy too" comes to pick up gege from jun wu)

Reveal your WIP folder

rules: post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous

let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

Tagged by @punk-weiwuxian THIS IS SUCH A COOL TAG THANK YOU also it made me revisit all the wips I have and I'm partly 😭 but also partly 💚

Writing:

dream - demons

gentlebeard

Hannigram's fall

nandermo - turning

prisoner - a dream

prompts - Minor villain

rpgs - kraken lmfao

shen yuan transmigrates into lbh’s body

tgcf - fengqing

tyk - double wkx

tyk - reincarnation au

tyk - scorpion encounter recreation

tyk - walnut comic

text note 14/05

text note 23/04

text note 07/04

text note 18/02

there're more, scattered in different apps as drafts but I won't dig further xd

Comics/art:

leili training

open the door

tgcf - pick up gege

trzęsawisko doodles

tyk - walnut comic

Tagging @evugh-draws @blackwatervial @snarkspawn @crisdrawsandcries @ohohsomething @thediktatortot @theyilinglaozus @antique-forvalaka @lenateliier

[just-call-me-angel]

Little Miss Loser

Chapter 3 - 101 Reasons To Worry

Warnings: none

Author's Note: Honestly, this was meant to be a self-indulgent fic for me so I can sit alone on the couch and twirl my hair and giggle while imagining being Dwayne's girlfriend. But I'm thrilled that you guys are enjoying it as much as I am enjoying writing it!

Summary: Dwayne makes a list of all the reasons why he should be worried about his best friend joining his family road trip.

Ao3

Chapters: || 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7

Dwayne looked down at you as you curled closer to him, mumbling softly in your sleep, blissfully unaware of the way you were making him feel. It was so stupid and cliche, realizing he had a crush on his best friend. In truth, he had known for some time that he was starting to feel differently towards you, but it had been different before. Now he was stuck on a stupid family trip with you where any number of things could go wrong and it terrified him.

So he did what he usually did when things made him anxious. He made a list of all the reasons why he should be worried and all the reasons he should have never agreed to go on the trip in the first place.

Number 1: He has to confront the feelings he has for his best friend

He had to ignore the feelings for months, even going as far as avoiding you for a few days earlier on in the summer. He had failed miserably of course, as soon as you stopped him in the halls at school to ask why he had been avoiding you he was putty in your hands. It was sort of pathetic actually, how easily any resolve he had would crumble just from looking at you. He wondered if his mother had ever felt like that with Richard or with his own father.

Number 2: His best friend finds out about how he feels

He knew you would find out eventually and it would be a wonder if he could manage to keep it to himself for the entire trip. At least with his vow of silence, it wouldn’t seem odd for him not to talk as much around you. Then again you always seemed to have a way of seeing straight through him and knowing exactly what he was thinking about. It honestly terrified him sometimes how easily you could read him. He prided himself on being hard to get to know and yet you managed to figure him out with a simple glance in his direction.

Number 3: He loses his best (and only) friend all because he decided to start falling for her

He highlighted the reason in bold letters in his mind. That was the most terrifying part of the whole ordeal he had found himself in. Despite all his blunder about preferring solitude, he’d be lost without you. He needed you in a way he had never anticipated needing anyone. He needed you to be there to fill the silence when he couldn’t. He needed your terrible doodles in his notebooks constantly making him laugh. He needed your laughter and your smile.

Dwayne looked down at you again, carefully brushing a strand of hair from your face, smiling a bit when you pressed your face into his shoulder. Before meeting you he would never have allowed so much physical contact, but you had a way of making him like things he normally hated. It was like you had hacked into his programming and flicked a couple of switches that made hating things around you damn near impossible. He couldn’t even confidently say he hated life if he had you next to him.

Number 4: He falls even harder for his best friend

He was already proving that line of thought to be warranted just by looking at you now. It was a wonder he hadn’t realized sooner that his feelings were beyond friendship. You were pretty and smart and you never failed to make him laugh, even when he tried desperately not to. You were loud and wild but you were also terrified of being too much for people, especially him. He hoped he never made you feel like that like you needed to make yourself smaller for him. He wanted you just the way you were. He wanted you wild. He wanted you free. He wanted you even when you annoyed the ever-living fuck out of him. Every moment with you was another moment he spent falling for you.

Number 5: He hurts her without meaning to

Dwayne was a pessimist first and a romantic last. As much as he would love to believe that nothing bad could ever happen to you if he loved you hard enough he had seen that love could fizzle out just as quickly as it came. He had seen it with his mom and dad and he was already seeing it again with his mom and Richard. Hell, he had spent enough nights holding you while you cried after sneaking out of the house to get away from your own parents' messy divorce. He wondered if maybe that's why he was so scared to love you. Maybe he was selfish for wanting to preserve what you already had, even if it meant you’d never know how much he loved you.

The list grew with every passing second and with each addition, there were two more reasons to worry that followed. He shifted slightly, holding his breath when he felt you stir next to him as if waking, only to quickly settle back against him with a sleepy mumble. For a moment he found peace, just taking the sight of you in. He smiled at the shirt you were wearing, were you anyone else he would have demanded you give the shirt back. But you weren’t anyone else, you were his best friend, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like seeing you wear his clothes.

It reminded him of all the girls at school who would wear their boyfriend’s jackets. He wondered if you had realized how wearing his shirt might be interpreted. He wondered if you cared. Most of all he wondered if you liked people thinking you were dating. You had on more than one occasion had to deflect Olive’s questions asking if you were his girlfriend. You never seemed to dissuade Olive or anyone else from believing the two of you were dating. You would simply smile and explain to Olive that you were his best friend, laughing when Olive eventually grew bored with the conversation and ran off to practice her routine.

He had noticed more than once how your cheeks would flush almost as red as his own. And he had also noticed the way you would sneak glances at him as if gauging his reaction any time someone questioned your relationship. Sometimes he fooled himself into thinking maybe you liked him back. He figured you simply wanted to make sure you were on the same page or maybe you were checking to make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea. Oh god. What if you knew he liked you and just didn’t want to say anything?

“You alright Dwayne?” a voice called out, bringing his focus forward to meet his Uncles gaze. He stared for a moment, a bit caught off guard by having been pulled from his thoughts so suddenly. Frank raised a brow at him and repeated his question. Dwayne glanced back at you for a moment, to make sure you were still asleep, before offering his uncle a shrug.

Frank nodded, looking between you and Dwayne, smiling a bit when you stirred slightly and sleepily tugged Dwayne closer to you. Dwayne froze, worried if he moved even a little he might wake you and Frank chuckled.

“You seem comfortable.” Frank teased, a knowing smile crossing his lips as if he was reading Dwayne’s mind. Dwayne clenched his jaw, looking quickly to the side to avoid looking his uncle in the eyes as his cheeks began to burn.

Number 27: His family was going to realize he liked you and they would make his life hell for it

Frank shook his head, still chuckling to himself as he turned back to sit correctly in his seat. Dwayne could swear he could still see Frank grinning to himself like he knew something no one else did. Dwayne huffed, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched the world go by outside the window, while you remained blissfully unaware of his thoughts running wild.

It felt like it took hours for the bus to come to a stop again and by then Dwayne had at least 20 more reasons on his list. He tried to wake you gently, brushing a hand through your hair and nudging your arm softly.

“Alright, everyone! Lunchtime!” Richard shouted from the front seat, completely ignorant of the sleeping girl in the back seat, “Let’s go people, I wanna be back on the road quickly.”

“Richard please.” Sheryl exhaled, shoving the passenger door open. Richard deflated almost instantly, suddenly going quiet as he shuffled out of the car.

Dwayne glared for a moment at his stepfather before turning back to tug on your arm gently. You grumbled a bit but soon you were staring sleepily up at him. He smiled and made a motion to mimic eating, and then pointed out the window at the little roadside diner they had parked in front of.

You blinked for a moment, rubbing sleep from your eyes, “Lunch?” you mumbled sleepily. Dwayne nodded quietly, moving carefully to pull you with him as he shuffled out of the backseat. You gave him the sweetest little smile as he helped you out of the car, hand resting on your lower back to keep you steady and suddenly all his anxieties were momentarily forgotten.

That was another thing you were good at. All it took was a smile from you for him to feel more sure of himself, even when he felt his worst. You convinced him that everything would be alright without even having to say a word.

He smiled back, guiding you alongside him to follow his family into the restaurant. You were quick to press into his side, bringing his arm over your shoulder while yours rested on his hip. Olive came skipping up to walk on the other side of you, tugging your free hand to hold hers. It didn’t take much for Olive to drag you along with her, leaving Dwayne to follow after you with a small smile playing on his lips as you grinned back at him, mouthing an apology. He shook his head and followed behind you, watching as you and Olive skipped ahead of him, giggling and chattering to one another. He decided then that he wouldn’t let anything tear you apart, even if it meant he could never tell you how he felt. It’s enough to have her like this. It has to be.

[levi-my-beloved]

Birds of a Feather

Chapter 4

Parings: Canon!Levi x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Violence, torture, this one gets a little spicy y’all, descriptions of sexual acts, hints of abuse (please let me know if i’ve missed any)

Word Count: 14.8K

Summary: You were the most notorious criminal in The Underground City. With your organisation of highly skilled professionals, only one man could take you down. He also happened be be Humanity’s Strongest... and your ex.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

A/N: well, you guys wanted it all in one post! this is by far the longest chapter, yet, and possibly the longest chapter in the entire fic maybe? i’ve caught myself up now with the progress of writing, since i’ve only completed one part of the next chapter so chapter 5 won’t be out within the next three days like these last four have been. i’m thinking i’ll need maybe a week? not sure, but the next part has a little flashback section which i hope you’ll all enjoy!

god these a/n’s are really long aren’t they? asdfghjkl sorry i’ll make the cut off now. hope you enjoy!!!

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

Whether it had been thirty minutes or thirty years, you couldn’t tell. Struggling to stay conscious as the four soldiers brought your limp body back to your cell. Your legs no longer work, gathering dust as they drag across the ground. Your abdomen and back were on fire. You were convinced. They had simply thrown you into hell to cook for a bit before dragging you back out. There was no other explanation. Other than the countless, seemingly endless beatings you had just taken. Whether your legs were tired or if your spine was broken, you couldn’t tell as they tossed you back behind bars, removing the rope around your wrists. You didn’t have the strength to fight back. Didn’t have the strength to even raise your head as they left.

Broken, split ribs sent agonising jolts of pain as you shifted in a lame attempt to curl up into a ball. You hadn’t cracked like they’d wanted you to. You hadn’t screamed, cried, begged them to stop. And you wouldn’t. When they came back for you, you would hold your tongue once again. You had never broken in the past. Whether you’d been compromised during an assault on a rival gang, or whether it was one of your mentor’s training exercises to get you used to torture. You had never broken.

You weren’t about to start now.

Still, the throbbing in your body prevented you from sleeping. You didn’t know what time it was. Time had escaped you during that ordeal. You didn’t even know what time of day it was, pretty sure it was night when they had come for you.

Fuck, your body ached. But you knew comfort was a long way from here. It always seemed so far away from where you were. Did you ever have comfort?

You lay there for god knows how long, seconds turning to minutes, minutes to hours. Hours could have turned to days for all you knew.

When the now familiar echo of footsteps reached your ears, you didn’t move. You didn’t care. Whoever it was could rot in hell for all you cared. Wishing death upon these fucking soldiers was the only thing keeping you from giving up right now.

“The bed not good enough or something?” Levi. Shit. The one person you didn’t want to see you like this.

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to try and count as many marks on the wall as you could. It helped to keep your focus off the dull throbbing coursing through your body.

“Oi, ‘you seriously still asleep? It's almost midday,” the singing of metal caused you to wince slightly as he rapped on the bars in an attempt to wake you from a sleep you weren’t in.

“Get the fuck u—” You had a vague idea what caused him to stop his impending barrage of insults you knew were about to flutter effortlessly from his mouth, and you couldn’t tell if you were thankful or not. On the upside, you didn’t have to hear whatever colourful language he was about to spew. On the downside…

“What happened to you…?” it was the second time he’d asked that question, but from the tone of his voice, you could tell this was less a passing thought and more of a question prompted by horror.

Levi froze. His breath caught in his throat. He had expected you to be awake by now. To be up, with that crooked, cocky smile on your face. In fact, he’d half expected you to be leaning against the wall, the door flung wide open as you twirled the keychain around your finger, simply begging him to ask you how you’d done it.

The last thing he expected to see was you, on the floor, curled into a ball. The shirt on your lower back riding up enough for him to see violent, deep purple bruises, blood steadily streaming from your spine and lower back.

Still you refused to answer, or even move. Filthy fucking soldiers, you fucking hated every last one of them. How fucking dare they? How dare they string you up like a piece of drying meat. They had no idea what you’d been through. What you’d had to do to survive. How dare they assume.

And yet,

And yet there was still that little voice in your head. That little kernel of doubt, convincing you that you deserved this. You had killed so many. So much blood was on your hands.

You deserved this.

You didn’t even notice Levi had entered your cell until a hand rested upon your shoulder.

“(Y/N)—”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” your reaction was instant. Instinctual. Immediately wrenching out of his hand, throwing yourself forward. A yelp escaped your mouth without your permission, fire igniting in your body as you moved so suddenly. It caused you to falter in your movements, landing harshly on your side. “Shit!” your voice broke as you yelped, agony flaring in your entire midsection, hand flying to clutch your side as you backed up against the wall. “Don’t fucking touch me,” there was no conviction in your voice. It was more of a plea than anything. If you had raised your head to look at him, maybe you would have laughed at his expression of twisted shock.

But instead you let your hair fall in front of your face, masking your own expression. Teeth grit in silent pain, eyes screwed shut.

Levi’s worry turned to outright unsettling fear. Over the last two days, he’s witnessed you more broken than he’s ever seen you before. He remembered sitting up with you after you’d woken from one of your nightmares. The two of you sitting on the floor against the wall, sharing a cup of tea to not waste resources. He’d seen you angry. He’d seen you upset. But he’d never seen you shattered.

“(Y/N)...” you’d forgotten how soft his usual bored voice could sound. Even after yesterday, you hadn’t heard that tone from him in years. It was borderline unnatural.

It prompted you to raise your head ever so slightly, glaring at him through thick, matted (H/C) strands. You refused to let your guard down, even though the sight of him squatting before you, eyebrows gently creased with suppressed worry almost made you relax. But you weren’t about to be taken away and tortured again.

Any scrap of trust that may have manifested yesterday during the carriage ride and your conversation had been crushed.

“Get away from me,” you looked feral, bearing your teeth animalistically as you snarled. Though it didn’t seem to deter him. He knew a dog only bared its teeth when it was wounded, fearing to be hurt further.

Levi sighed through his nose as he stood. You flinched at his movement and watched as he made more of a conscious effort not to startle you. Your eyes squinted in suspicious confusion as he took a small cloth from his pocket and started running it under the tap.

It seemed the faucet did work. Good to know.

Returning to squat in front of you, his eyes flickered from your face to your abdomen.

“Show me,” he instructed gently, and you almost obeyed him. Almost.

“Go fuck yourself,” you spat instead, bringing your knees closer to your aching body. If you hadn’t been trained to withstand pain, you would have cried out as your abdomen begged you to stop constricting your muscles.

“I’m trying to help,” your ears caught the slight irritation in his tone, but you didn’t care. He could kick you for all you care.

Actually, you really didn’t want him to do that.

“I don’t want your help,”

“You need it.”

“Burn in hell, Levi,” it was the first time you’d actually used his name since you said it back when they first apprehended you, and Levi couldn’t deny that it cut deep. A sentiment he masked with a frustrated exhale. Clearly he’d expected resistance. Either that or he was just as tenacious as he used to be.

“Well, I'm definitely not going up,” he responded, that same softness in his tone and despite your situation, you couldn’t help the slight huff of amusement. It seemed to put him at ease too, content you weren’t about to lunge for his throat.

Slowly, you uncurled from your position, visibly wincing as your torn, beaten muscles relaxed. Levi took this as permission to inch closer and you felt a small appreciation for his trepidation.

Still, you couldn’t help but flinch every time he moved too fast. A simple reflex stemming from your training. It wasn’t really something you thought about, but it prompted the raven haired man to freeze every time you moved.

You refused to meet his eyes as he gently lifted the fabric of your shirt, hearing his breath hitch slightly.

“Holy shit…” He breathed. You hadn’t seen how bad your body was damaged, but judging by his reaction;

It sure as hell wasn’t good.

Levi felt he could kill someone. Actually, a lot of someones. Shit, when he finds out who was responsible for this he would make sure they wished they were never born. The same rage he felt when seeing you flinch for the first time once again coursed through his veins, and this time, he didn’t think he could just let it simmer.

“Who did this to you?” you blinked, his question caught you off guard. Didn’t he know? How didn’t he know? Surely every soldier in the damn military would revel in the idea of you being tortured all night. You clenched your jaw, refusing to respond. You didn’t know why you were being so stubborn. Maybe it was the sheer principle of not wanting to show any sort of weakness in front of him.

In fact, now you thought about it, it was definitely that. Whether Levi sensed it or not, he chose not to press you for an answer. Perhaps he did already know.

You hissed as the cold, damp cloth gently soothed your inflamed skin, glancing back to his face. You hated the way his focussed expression calmed your heart. Loathed how that crease in his eyebrows eased your whirling thoughts. Despised how, from this angle, you could see just how annoyingly attractive he had become.

“Can you move?” he asked, silver eyes rising up to meet your own. The low torchlight highlighted the heus of deep blue you knew he had hidden away. You pretended you looked away because you couldn’t stand the sight of his face, rather than the reality.

You were far too tempted to lean up and capture his lips.

“Yes,” Levi couldn’t tell if you were lying, shifting slightly to help you move but stopping immediately when you flinched away.

“Lie on the bed,” for the first time in ten years, you were compelled to follow an order. You weren’t even obedient towards Viper most of the time. But nonetheless, you found yourself struggling to your feet, an arm braced on the wall behind you.

Clearly respecting your independence, Levi took a step back, allowing you to find your own way. If you weren’t slightly delirious from the pain, you would have missed a kernel of respect flashing in his expression, before he swiftly turned away, washing the cloth again as you collapsed onto the so-called ‘mattress’ with a hiss.

Levi rung the small cloth out onto the floor, focussing on the way the droplets collided with the stone, rather than the way every movement you made caused you obvious pain. Once again, every fibre of his being was screaming at him to cradle you in his arms and whisper soft nothings into your ear. He wanted you to fall asleep next to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He craved to feel your soft hair through his fingertips, gently coercing you into dreams. It hurt so much that he could see you, but he couldn’t have you.

Turning to face away from him, you once again shrivelled into a ball. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want any of this. You just wanted to be left alone. But the dip in the bed behind you told you that wasn’t an option right now, muscles tensing on instinct.

he didn’t ask for permission this time as gentle fingers gripped your shirt, dragging up to reveal your brutalised back. If you could see his expression, you might have even been afraid. Darkness shrouded his face, teeth grit in utter hatred. A muscle in his jaw twitching from the effort of clamping his mouth so tightly.

His first touch felt like you’d been shocked by the static that built up on the bed clothes. The damp cool gliding across the welts and bruises across your back. Balling your hands into fists, you refused to make any sound. Still having the mindset of not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing you in pain. It was a mindset you didn’t think would leave you for a while.

Levi worked in silence, allowing you to settle and almost relax after a while. You wanted to trust him, but you didn’t. Not really. However, right now, you trusted him not to hurt you further. Simply content to relish in the way he soothed the pain. It didn’t come naturally. Every time he pressed too hard it took all your strength not to lunge for his throat, but he would stop upon hearing your sharp intake of breath, waiting for you to settle before continuing.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, you finally broke it with a question that had been budding in your mind.

“Why are you doing this?” your voice came out a rasped whisper, almost as if you hadn’t used your vocal chords for weeks. You were sure he wasn’t going to answer, opting instead to simply continue to clean your bruises. Another blanket of quiet had settled over the two of you before he responded.

“I don’t know,” he lied. Levi wasn’t sure why he lied. Honestly, he thought it was obvious enough. He still cared about you. So fucking much. It burned him to see you in so much pain. He’d never felt the mind numbing fury he felt when he saw what they’d done to you.

You weren’t really happy with the answer. If anything, it simply gave you more questions. But you were too tired to press for more. Almost too tired to notice when he’d stopped. Pulling your grimy shirt back down to your waist, you felt the mattress rise as he stood. You didn’t turn. You couldn’t turn. After the night you’d had, the exhaustion from the last 24 hours finally catching up on you.

Noticing how you were almost already asleep, Levi decided to throw caution to the wind.

You felt a soft caress through your dirt ridden hair, the action sending a pleasant buzz through your system. It was an action so familiar to the both of you, you wondered why you kept flinching away from his touch when all it did was gently drain you of energy.

“Sleep.”

You didn’t have time to contemplate his tone before the comforting nothingness claimed you.

꧁ꨄ꧂

Levi hadn’t been this angry in a long, long time. Sure, he’d been annoyed. When a solider made a stupid mistake or when a cadet didn’t know how to clean properly. But he hadn’t been this furious in years.

Maybe since the deaths of Isobel and Farlan.

It was obvious when Levi was in a bad mood. Sweeping through the headquarters like a storm. Cadets could almost feel his presence before they saw him, swiftly making themselves busy as he paid no attention to any of them. He had one goal in mind. One destination. And he didn’t even knock when he got there.

“Out. Now.” it wasn’t an order to disobey. When he opened the door to Erwin’s office, revealing a small meeting, Levi didn’t think twice to dismiss them, even if they were his superiors.

“Levi, what’s—”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll all leave the room for the next half an hour. Maybe longer depending on how this conversation goes,” his swirling eyes met Erwin’s and he swore he could detect the slightest fear in the man’s gaze.

Good.

He should be afraid.

Without so much as a mutter of goodbyes, the squad leaders and section commanders all dispersed, leaving the Captain alone with the Commander.

Erwin was the first to break the heavy silence.

“I’m assuming this is about Raven?” his voice didn’t waver, seeming to have regained his composure from the initial shock. But Levi wasn’t here for a dainty conversation. The unbridled rage pulsing through his bloodstream clouded his vision, almost seeing red.

“Did you know?”

“Levi—”

“Did. You. Know?” Levi hardly ever raised his voice. Usually it was only out in the field or on a mission, and that was only because it was easier to communicate that way. Keeping his bored, flat tones when slicing open the nape of a titan didn’t seem possible.

Erwin pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep, defeated sigh.

“Yes. I knew. But Levi, you have to understand—”

“I don’t have to understand jackshit. Don’t you think she’s been through enough? She’s led a life being treated like an animal and now you’re allowing her to be beaten like one?”

“It’s necessary, Levi.”

“It’s barbaric!” Erwin had never heard such venom in his voice. Not even when he vowed to kill him all those years ago. He’d seen Levi’s rage. Witnessed it from afar. The way he tore through flesh like it was paper.

Never did he think he would be on the receiving end. Leaning forward, the blonde folded his arms against the desk, clearly conflicted.

“I know this is a difficult subject for you. You two grew up in the same environment, it would only be natural for you to care for her,” the conniving bastard. Levi borderline snarled at the statement. He did care for you. Deeply. But Erwin didn’t need to know that.

“But please listen. As I mentioned before, ties between the Military Police and the Survey Corps are taut. Any discord between us would cause them to snap. I already tightened them further by not allowing them to execute her publicly. I thought if she joined the Scouts instead, not only would we gain an asset, but she would also be able to survive. That didn’t sit well with Niles. He wants her to pay for what she’s done. If not by death, then by various other methods. This was the only way to keep both parties happy, Levi. Trust me,” Levi was starting to lose what trust he had in the man.

Whilst yes, his explanation made sense, it still didn’t sweeten the blow. How long would this go on for? Would they take you everyday, or just some days? How badly would they hurt you?

As if able to read his mind through his knife-like glare, Erwin continued.

“It’s only for this week. Whilst she’s in her cell. They don’t have permission to permanently damage her, only—”

“Only break her ribs and crack her sternum. Yeah, I saw,” he responded bitterly, folding his arms as he leant against the door. Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck them.

Levi had never been so conflicted. Whilst the sight of you, beaten and broken, had shattered him, he also knew it was for your own good. It was this, or death.

He didn’t like the second option much.

But the memory of what they had done had burned into his skull. Running his fingers down your prominent, bruised spine. So fragile, but so goddamn strong. Muscles spread disproportionately about your abdomen and shoulders. Your stomach was concave for fuck sakes. And they were still beating the shit out of you.

It made him wonder. If he wasn’t so lucky…

Would he have received the same treatment?

Would he have been thrown in a cell and tortured for a week?

He doubted it.

Erwin waited for Levi to gather his thoughts. Waited for him to say whatever he was going to say next. He had expected Levi to find out. Had expected the man to have some sort of reaction, but nothing quite to this extent. Maybe there really was something deeper between you and him that Levi was keeping to himself.

“So this will continue for a whole damn week?” Levi asked, almost exasperated, running a hand through his obsidian locks. This was a nightmare. All of it. Nobody deserves this treatment. Not even Kenny, but especially not you.

It was Erwin’s slow nod that had his stomach dropping.

“Yes,” he replied quietly. “This will continue for the whole week.”

That was all Levi needed to hear. Whether it was right or wrong, he was powerless to stop it. Turning on his heel and heading back down the halls to his office, he tried to push the images of your broken body and spirit from his mind. Maybe he was hoping you were the same bright eyed, mischievous woman you were before he lost you ten years ago. How had so much changed since then?

How much had you changed so much since then?

He no longer saw that spark of life in your eyes. No longer able to bask in your genuine smile.

If he hadn’t seen so many young, hopeful souls shattered by the paralysing fear of facing a titan, or the desperate heartache of losing a loved one, he’d be surprised.

But he wasn’t. Not at all. Who knows what you have had to do to survive? Who knows just how much of yourself you’d had to sacrifice to get where you are now. But he wouldn’t accept that you were gone.

He would never accept that.

But from the looks of you, only a small fragment of your true self remained. Levi thought he was over being hurt by the changes in people he somewhat cared about.

Maybe he was wrong.

꧁ꨄ꧂

The week was gruelling. Taken from your cell at night and being subjected to both physical and mental torture was one of the toughest things you’ve faced. It was brutal, having to fortify both your mind and body nightly against the blows from the MPs. Sometimes it would change. Sometimes the original four switched out. Sometimes they had an observer. But every time was horrific.

You were sure you’d be dead by now if Levi didn’t visit daily to soothe your broken and cracked bones. If he didn’t ask his monotonous questions, all of which you either responded to with something sarcastic, or silence.

Very few times you actually gave a real answer.

Unlike this time.

“How did you get that scar?” It was always the question he started with. Always wanting to know what happened to you during the time he was away, and that scar down your right eye.

“Don’t you ever get tired of asking that question?” you huffed, tucking your elbows beneath your head.

“Don’t you ever get tired of not answering it?” since you’d seen him everyday since you arrived, you were beginning to relearn all the tells you knew he had, but had changed over time. For example, this smallest lilt in his voice when he found something amusing. He waited for your body to stop twitching as you laughed silently, before resuming the treatment of the damp cloth.

“Not really, it’s fun listening to you get more and more frustrated.”

“As charming as ever, Raven.”

You didn’t know how you felt about him using your alias rather than your name. You knew you’d asked him to, or rather, harshly told him to, but he’d used your actual name a few times since then. But you didn’t want to ask, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable.

You let the quiet blanket the two of you, debating whether or not to answer. You’d refused him everyday, but as more time passed, the more you remembered just how much you’d loved him.

“There was a rival gang in the neighbourhood next to ours. Always fighting us for territory or supplies. Honestly, I wanted them wiped out, but Prongs insisted that would make us far too many powerful enemies,” Levi had paused as you started the exposition, genuinely surprised you’d actually decided to give him a full answer, rather that the usual “I entered a sword headbutting contest” or something equally as ridiculous.

“We were at each other’s throats for years, never really landing a solid hit on the other’s gang, until the bastard managed to take one of my Shadows, Diablo, alive. I owed those people everything. They took me in when you—” you managed to stop yourself, but not fast enough for Levi to avoid feeling the gut punching guilt he felt whenever you accidentally mentioned him leaving. You really didn’t mean to, you were just used to talking more openly about it.

“Uh, sorry. Yeah, they took me in, so I owed them a lot. Plus, I’d known them for years by now. I trusted them and they trusted me. I wasn’t about to abandon her,” Levi could hear your conviction and resolve in the cadence of your voice, and silently wondered when you’d become so strong. He’d almost forgotten he was supposed to be treating you badly damaged back, until you hissed slightly. Looking down, he realised he’d pressed a little too hard with the cloth against your tender skin.

“Shit, sorry.”

“‘S’fine. Just concentrate, yeah?” despite your condition, you still had it in you to crack cocky jokes. Levi had half the mind to swat the back of your head with his cloth, but he decided to be merciful.

You left it a beat before you continued.

“Anyway, I didn’t have a choice. But it turns out, all the creepy bastard wanted to do was to make sure everyone knew I wasn’t untouchable. Then maybe we’d stop having smaller gangs ally with us. I let him scar my face, and in return he gave us Diablo back, completely unharmed. It was really fucking weird now that I think about it,” Levi pondered this for a moment, before another question popped into his head.

“What happened to him?”

“Who?”

“The creepy guy, idiot.”

“Call me an idiot again, I fucking dare you.”

“What will you do? You can hardly stand.”

“I don’t need to stand to beat your sorry ass.”

Shit, he’d missed this. This playful banter between the two of you. He’d missed it so goddamn much.

“He found one of my blades stuck in his throat pretty soon after,” Levi grunted in approval, a small smile bloomed across his face at the thought.

Good.

Creepy son-of-a-bitch.

The two of you continued in a comfortable silence for a short while, before your slightly mischievous voice cut through it again.

“Okay, my turn,” you sounded far too nonchalant for his liking, Levi narrowing his gaze to the back of your head.

“Your turn?”

“You’ve been asking me questions for the last few days, and I haven’t asked you one once,” if Levi didn’t know better, he’d say you were almost pouting. He was tempted to turn your head to check, but it seemed you still weren’t entirely comfortable with the whole being touched thing.

He hadn’t asked you about that yet.

“Alright, alright. One question.”

“How come you get countless and I only get one?”

“Call it a Captain’s privilege,”

“Pffft, Captain my ass,”

“Just ask your stupid question.”

You laughed at his feigned frustrated tone, knowing he was loving this as much as you were. You allowed yourself to think about how you wanted to phrase this.

“Are they still here with you? Farlan and Isobel?” you had been slightly hesitant to ask this, since he hadn’t mentioned them once. You didn’t know them personally, only seeing them fleetingly when Levi would usher you into his room, or having sparing conversation with them when Viper sold them that ODM. And judging by his pained silence, you now feared his answer.

“Yes and no,” your question had definitely caught him off guard. He didn’t even think you remembered them, so for you to ask after them was a little out of the blue. Hence why he opted to mimic your response from a few days ago.

You had clearly caught on.

“The hell does that mean?”

Levi realised he probably couldn’t tend to your back and tell this story at the same time. He was going to need all his strength to suppress the torrent of emotions he knew he was about to unlock. Sensing his change of tone, you slowly shifted so you were sitting next to him, making sure you didn’t move too quickly or awkwardly so as to not irritate your painful back.

You searched his features in the silence, partially hidden by the bangs you used to love running your hands through. You couldn’t help but wonder whether or not they were as soft as they used to be.

“It was my fault,” he admitted quietly. You hated seeing Levi like this. You’d only seen him like this once before, when Kenny abandoned him. You vowed you would never let him feel like this again as long as you were by his side.

This is what happens when you’re separated.

“What was your fault?” you gently prompted, not wanting to push him, but rather wanting to let him know that you were willing to listen.

“It was our first expedition. I was naive, agreeing to let them come with us, rather than the original plan which was for me to go alone. Raven, the reason I— the reason we left, was because we were recruited for a job, and killing Erwin Smith was part of that. But none of us knew what to expect beyond the walls. We’d trained but, we didn’t know what to expect when facing an actual titan,” you didn’t press further when he took pauses or longer breaths. You were happy he was comfortable enough with you now to even tell you this. “Everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly, and it wasn’t long before it all went to shit. I lost sight of them when the storm hit, losing them in the fog. I was completely powerless to stop an Abnormal. Shit, I didn’t even know it had passed me. I just saw bodies and limbs everywhere and knew I had to turn back. By the time I got there, it was too late. They were both gone,” Levi’s fist clenched into a ball, taking his focus away from the pain in his chest to the one in his palm. He didn’t even realise his eyes were closed until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He stiffened under your touch, not quite able to believe how far the two of you had come in such a short amount of time.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Levi,” he didn’t really understand what you were apologising for, or why you felt the need. Afterall, it was him who left you.

“I vowed after that day I wouldn’t have any regrets. Some jackass said that if I did, their deaths wouldn’t mean anything. But I knew I would always have one. I knew I would always regret leaving you behind,” Levi looked to you through his bangs, an expression of guilt etched into his hardened face. You forgave him at that moment. You forgave him for everything.

“I’m here now, aren’t I? And whilst I may not be the same girl you left behind, I still have her memories,” your hand slid from its position on his shoulder to rest over his heart, feeling it flutter within his sturdy ribcage.

Levi faintly wondered if he was dreaming. If you could feel his heart rate increase with every touch.

“That’s why you said yes and no, isn’t it? Because they’re not physically here, but they are here,” Levi could do nothing but nod, his eyes trained on your face like a hawk. He wanted permission. Begged for it through his dark, swirling eyes. Screamed for it in the way his eyes flickered to your lips, your face so close he could smell that scent of freshly baked bread you’d always carried with you, even beneath all the filth. A few centimetres further and you would have what you’d wanted for ten long years. What you both have wanted.

“You sound ridiculous,”

“Your fault,” he could feel the flutter of your breath against his face, wishing nothing more than for you to close the distance.

Levi slowly brought his hand from his lap, his palm rising to cup your cheek.

It didn’t even get close before you flinched, eyes darting to his raised hand.

And just like that, all the tension dissolved. As if you hadn’t been busy getting lost within the storm that were his irises. Levi pulled back, as if he himself had been struck.

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking,” he rose from his position next to you, wanting nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole.

How could he be so damn selfish? It was obvious you couldn’t do anything like that right now. Maybe not ever. And he was getting way ahead of himself. You had already said the girl who loved him was dead, he couldn’t even think how or why he would assume just because your body was present, your mind was as well. Just because he was willing, why would you be willing as well?

Except you were.

So. Fucking. Willing.

And you cursed yourself for these instinctive reactions. Every sudden movement had your mind flashing back to training. Back to Viper’s brutal learning methods. It wasn’t even that much longer after Levi left you were made the Raven. After Viper’s death, it was almost instantaneous. But that didn’t stop those seven months of brutal punishments to leave a permanent scar on your psyche. You wished you could find your voice to reassure him that you’d get over this.

But you couldn’t.

And Levi was once again the first to speak.

“I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow Raven—”

“(Y/N),” you corrected him. After countless times of him calling you by your alias, you didn’t think you could stand it anymore. Levi raised his brow, seemingly a little confused by your interruption. “I’m not The Raven anymore. Technically that title belongs to Prongs now. So it’s just (Y/N),” despite the awkwardness of your recent encounter, you still felt that familiar warmth blossom in your chest at his softened smile, and quietly wonder if anyone else ever saw him smile this much.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, (Y/N),” you returned his expression, before lying back down on your side. This was your last night in your cell, before you’d be free to join the Scouts. You silently scoffed at the irony of that statement, but nothing could quell your small candle of hope as you listened to Levi’s footsteps get quieter and quieter. Maybe things weren’t so shit up here after all.

꧁ꨄ꧂

“You know, Raven, I’m going to miss our little nighttime meetings,” another harsh blow to your stomach sent you reeling, eyes screwed shut in both pain and defiance. They were trying everything they could to break you tonight. Blood running freely down your abdomen. Fresh bruises now blossoming over the wilted petals of previous nights.

Still you refused to break. Solid walls of spite had erected around your mind, and they wouldn’t be cracked or broken. Not by anything. So you took it. You took your punishment, only opening your mouth to hurl obscene insults or vile curses in their direction. Mocking the way they struck, laughing at their lack of strength. It only resulted in harsher blows, but it was worth seeing the frustration on their faces when you didn’t scream in agony.

“You know who you remind me of like this? I only made the connection a few nights ago. Strung up and beaten like your good-for-nothing father,”

That struck a chord in you. Your eyes flew open, staring at the ground in horror. This is what had happened to him? They had taken him and beaten him? Was he still alive? Was he here somewhere?

The man, who you’d dubbed Dirt, answered all your questions with his next jab.

“A shame he only lasted a few days. You on the other hand… you’re much more fun to play with,” a feral grin sliced through his face as he circled you, drawing back to land three excrutiating blows against your lower back. You grit your teeth, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You didn’t think you had a heart to shatter. You didn’t think any of it remained for it to be broken again.

The MPs had taken two father figures from you.

That grin still adorned Dirt’s face as he went to swing the metal bat again, only to be interrupted by the door behind you opening. Dirt’s eyes narrowed, before whoever it was seemed to please him. God you couldn’t wait for the day where you tore that venomous smile right off his fucking face.

“Captain Ackerman. To what do we owe the pleasure?” you froze. What the hell was he doing here? Why did he always have to arrive during the moments where you really didn’t want him to see you.

But you weren’t expecting to feel a kernel of hope as he spoke.

You weren’t expecting the small smile that etched into your sweat slickened face.

“I was sent to observe. Since she’ll be joining the Survey Corps, I’m here to ensure you don’t break her,” Levi sounded as bored as ever, and you almost huffed a laugh.

Dirt scoffed, in irritation that he wouldn’t get to sever your spine with brute force.

“Very well. However, I must ask you to stand back. She swings like a stallion’s cock sometimes,” If it weren’t directed at you, you would have laughed at the comment. In any other situation, it would have been rather funny.

Just not this one.

Levi had never felt so sick. As soon as he walked in, seeing you strung up like that, helplessly, he had to force down the instinct to rip every one of these torturous bastards to ribbons. He’d never had to have such a tight hold on his emotions in his life, because if that hold slipped…

This would become a blood bath.

“Anyway Raven, where were we?” he asked, though the question was rhetorical. You knew he remembered. He was just trying to provoke a response out of you. But knowing Levi was here gave you a strength you weren’t expecting.

Looking up through your hair, you shot a glare through the thick, matted strands.

“Choke on your own blood, fuckface,” you spat, kicking weakly towards him. It wasn’t the show of defiance you’d wanted, but it seemed to get the message across. You were prepared for whatever consequences there would be for such a demonstration.

The repercussions came immediately. Roughly digging his fingers into your chin, Dirt forced you head up to look at him, his face a picture of mock amusement.

Levi’s jaw clenched.

“Come now Raven. Not trying to impress Captain Levi now, are you?” your eyes flickered over to Levi, his expression unreadable, grey hues trained on the two of you. A rumble of laughter echoed around the chamber as Dirt took in your spiteful expression. “Now I’m left wondering, how somebody like you could come from somebody like your pathetic father. How somebody so defiant, so fucking strong,” —he harshly jabbed at your stomach with the hilt of his bat— “Could be the daughter of somebody so weak,”

“Shut the fuck up,” you rasp, hot fury surging through your veins. How fucking dare he? How dare he insult your father this way. He was a good man. An honest man. He did nothing wrong. Nothing to warrant his or your mother’s death.

“Hm. No, I think I’ll keep talking. This might finally break you.”

“I’ll fucking KILL YOU,” the hook keeping your arms above your head creaked as you thrashed, trying to free yourself to wrap your hands around his goddamn throat.

“You should have heard his cries. His pathetic whimpers as we carved into his flesh. They were… amusing.” No. This wouldn’t be your downfall. You refused. This wasn’t it. You would not be broken by this.

“At least tell me what he died for. At least tell me why you took him, you shit-eating pig!” you spat viciously, trying once again to get free. It was infuriating more than anything. You had so many questions, never knowing why your parents had been killed. Why you came back to your house in disarray, crimson staining the floorboards as your mother’s blood drained from the gash in her throat. Your father, nowhere to be found.

Though he managed to keep his expression neutral, Levi thought back to your father. For the short time he knew him, he was a kind man. He did what he could for the people around him, always feeding those who looked starving. He was convinced that was where you got your compassion from. Why the hell would they take him and torture him?

“Why? He didn’t tell you? Interesting. Your father knew the location of The Nest long before you became our problem. You thought it was a coincidence Viper just happened to take you in? Please, this job was enjoyable enough, don’t make me laugh with your naivety as well,”

“You’re lying. My father was a baker. He was a good man. He wasn’t involved in our criminal shit!”

“Have you noticed a pattern in your life, Raven? Have you noticed how we tried everything to prevent you from falling down this path?” your jaw flickered at Dirt’s tone, mocking you as if they had done you a service.

“We thought your father would introduce you to a life of crime, so we got rid of him for you. When you fell into the care of Viper; well, we got rid of him for you as well,” his smile was snake-like as flashes from that night plagued your mind. Pressed up against the wall as your mentor was savagely dealt with. Begging at them. Screaming at them to stop. To let him go. Only for them to raise a rifle to his head, and paint the wall with his blood.

Dirt imitated a gun with his fingers, putting them up to your forehead.

“Bang.”

Slowly, you stopped thrashing, though the hatred in your veins didn’t cool. You simmered silently, raising your eyes once again. No tears. No sorrow. Nothing but feigned indifference flickered in the low light.

Dirt looked at you for a moment, eyebrows creasing in irritation as he stepped back, twirling the bad in his hands before repeatedly cracking it against your empty stomach. Levi only just managed to control his breathing as he watched helplessly, flinching subtly as every blow connected with your too-skinny body. Clearly Dirt was taking out some intense frustration. He’d just managed to compose himself when the bastard’s eyes turned to him. That fucking smile poisoned his features as he extended the handle of the weapon.

“Captain Levi. She killed a few of your men, did she not? Why don’t you see if you can break the whore?” You almost scoffed in amusement. Levi wouldn’t do that. Not to you. Not after everything the two of you had been through.

You’d finally found each other again.

You were so sure.

You were so sure of yourself.

You were so sure of him.

You’d rekindled that trust over the last week.

You’d rekindled something you thought was dead.

You were so sure.

Until he took the handle.

And the white hot knife of betrayal twisted into your gut once again.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Shit.

The weight of the bat felt ten times heavier than anything he’s ever held in his life. The weight of what he was about to do.

Fuck.

As excruciating as this was to watch, he knew it was ten times worse for you. He knew every blow, every crack, was undoing hours of hard work soothing your aches and bruises. Each thud against your body sent jolts of electricity through him. Nerve ends alight with adrenaline, heart beating as if he was about to fight every single one of these bastards just to get them away from you.

Still you have not broken. He couldn’t pinpoint the slight warmth in his chest, couldn’t comprehend what it was. Was he impressed? Surprised?

Proud…?

Levi wasn’t sure if the look of soul shattering betrayal in your eyes was worth it as his hands gripped the cool metal, slightly slickened with your blood.

He would explain it to you.

He would.

Once you were back in your cell, he would tell you why he did it.

But for now, his glare only darkened as he stepped forward. He couldn’t stand the expression on your face. Confused bewilderment, as if trying to work out what he was thinking.

Levi begged you to stop. Stop looking at him like that. Stop trying to work him out because not even he knew if this was the right thing to do.

It was almost a relief when your wide eyes clouded with heartbreaking realisation and acceptance.

A hiss escaped your lips at the first crack. Somehow, this felt more painful than anything those pitiful soldiers could do. Your eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched so hard you were afraid it would shatter into a million pieces.

Each blow felt so precise. So measured and controlled. It stung your heart more than anything else. You’d been betrayed. Again. For the second time in a week. Betrayed by the two people you’d ever loved. Scarlett, who’d picked you up when you were sure nobody else could. Who nursed your broken bones and your broken soul.

And by the first man who ever held your heart.

And truthfully, still did.

Was that all this last week had been?

A ploy just to fuck with you. To earn your trust only to immediately shatter you once again? To break your spirit? Granted, nobody knew the nature of your relationship between you and Levi, but that didn’t matter. The man you loved had just stabbed you in the back.

Again.

So much had happened in the last week. So much had been brought to the surface. It would take years to unpack it all, not that you had any intention of doing that. You just wanted it all gone. To bury it with your fathers. To never think about it again.

You were dragged from your thoughts by a shock of agony sparking up your spine, stemming from your lower back. It was Dirt’s favourite place to attack. Whenever he thought you were being too feisty, too aggressive. He would land as many blows to your lower back as he saw fit.

Admittedly, you doubted Levi knew you’d been snapping back spitefully all session before he arrived, but that didn’t quell the raging fire of hatred as your lips parted without your permission.

A broken cry of anguished agony wracked from your chest, chilling the air of the humid chamber.

Levi froze, horror flashing across his usually schooled features.

He’d broken you.

Levi had broken you.

And with it, any bond he’d managed to salvage over the last week. Any bridge he’d started to rebuild now came crashing down around him.

That one well placed crack had ripped away at your resolve, exposing the tired, hurt, beaten girl beneath.

The room seemed to have stilled. All falling into quiet awe at what had just happened. A slow clap split the stagnant air as Dirt walked up from where he was leaning against the wall. Levi was tempted to turn the bat on him, but he found himself unable to move.

“Your reputation precedes you, Captain. Striking her lower back like that after leaving it to simmer? Genius! We should have asked you to join us earlier,” Dirt cackled in delight as he produced a knife from his pocket. Reaching up, he easily sliced through the ropes binding your hands.

Stone rose up to greet your body as you fell uselessly to the ground, legs too weak to hold you.

“Oh dear. Are you dead? Maybe you and your father had more in common that I originally thought,”

“Enough.” Dirt’s jeering was interrupted by the no-bullshit tones of Levi, causing the soldier to whirl around. He’d finally managed to find his voice, once again reining himself in.

“But Captain Levi, Sir, she’s The Raven. Don’t you think she deserves some extra time with us tonight?”

“If you don’t leave now I’ll make sure it’s you who won’t be able to walk. Go,” you couldn’t tell if this was a blessing or a curse. If he was an angel or a demon.

Actually no, scratch that.

He was a demon, and this was a curse.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to move as you heard busy footsteps around you, assuming the four horsemen were gathering their effects.

“I do hope you make her crawl back to her cell, Captain. We all know your reputation for cleanliness. It would be a shame to dirty your hands touching this filthy whore,” Dirt drawled one more savage insult, before you heard his echoing steps get further and further away. You hoped the day would never come where you had to see his face again.

The silence in the room now was suffocating. You could both feel the emotions radiating off each other now the MPs were gone. He could feel your loathing, and you could feel his disgust. Or what you thought was disgust. What you assumed was disgust.

How could he not be disgusted? He must be. To do what he just did. You didn’t understand why he would come down everyday and help you if he felt such hatred towards you.

No, that’s a lie.

You did understand.

But that truth hurt so much more than anything else tonight.

It had sowed the seed of doubt in your mind. You knew you weren’t a good person. In fact, to most soldiers and nobles you were a devil. But you’d always clung onto the hope that everything you did was to help people. You stole medicine, you slit the throats of rapists, you provided weapons to those who didn’t have enough to fend for themselves.

There was a small part of you that truly believed you were doing good.

That small part had just been crushed, along with several bones.

Gathering what little strength you had, you extended a limp arm in front of you. Fuck it, you weren’t going to sleep here on a floor soiled by your own sweat, blood and saliva.

You would crawl if you had to.

“(Y/N)...” all he wanted to do was hold you. All he’d wanted to do since he’d found you again was hold you. He’d been so close yesterday, but he’d fucked that up.

Now he was sure you’d never willingly let him hold you again. The bat fell from his hand as if he’d realised it was covered in poison, heart clenching at the way you instinctively threw your arms above your head, terrified of some other attack.

You hated how his voice carried so much comfort. Hated how it soothed your raging mind. God you wanted nothing more than to rip his fucking tongue out and make sure he never spoke to you like that again.

A gentle hand landed on your shoulder, forcing you to stop.

“Get… get the fuck… off me… Get the fuck off me,” you couldn’t fight back as he tucked his arms under your legs and upper back, wincing as he lifted you into his grip. “Don’t… Don’t fucking touch me,” there was no strength left in you to push against him as he carried you back, but that didn’t stop you from weakly hitting the arms that held you.

You didn’t understand. One moment he was savagely beating you, and the next he was cradling you against his chest, holding you close as he took you to your cell.

Laying you down, he hoped you understood why he did what he did. It was a fool’s hope, he knew.

He realised you definitely didn’t understand when you started fighting back.

With a sudden surge of strength, you lunged for him. It was a weak attack, and you didn’t really know what you were trying to achieve as you threw yourself towards him with a cry of anguished rage, but you also didn’t care.

“I fucking trusted you,” you spat in between your flailing limbs. It really didn’t take long for Levi to pin your arms either side of your head, hovering over your body.

“(Y/N), stop,” He tightened his grip on your wrists as you struggled against his hold. It would have been a real test of strength for both of you had you not spent the last week having the life beaten out of you. You were weaker than you’d ever been, and he was taking advantage.

“I was right the first time. You don’t get to call me that. You don’t ever get to call me that. You sick, twisted BASTARD. So that was why you lied to me. That was why you didn’t tell me why you were helping me. You fucking coward, is that all you were doing? Convincing me I was safe with you? Tricking me into thinking you still actually cared about me you filthy fucking LIAR,” you barked a mirthless laugh, baring your teeth in a visceral snarl. “I swear to you Levi, I will not fucking stop until my knife is buried your goddamn THROAT!” you struggled again, twisting as much as you could beneath him, trying to free your arms, your hands, anything that could help you take him down.

He deserved this. He knew he did. Levi looked into the burning betrayal in your eyes and knew he deserved this. He would take every verbal blow you threw at him because he knew he deserved it. But he had to explain. He didn’t care. You could hurl whatever you wanted at him, but he wouldn’t leave until he had the chance to explain himself.

Then he would never see you again.

If that’s what you wanted.

“Just calm down, for a minute, please,” you hadn’t heard him beg like that in a very, very long time. Shit, you fucking hated what it did to you. In this position, your wrists held above your head, his arms caging you in, his legs either side of your hips...

The room suddenly felt far too warm.

“What could you possibly have to say to me? I fucking trusted you. You disgusting son-of-a-bitch. I can’t believe I actually thought—“

Levi finally lost his temper.

“What? You thought what? That just because we found each other again we’d play happy families? Grow the fuck up, Raven,” he spat your alias, finally releasing all the fury he’d pent up. He knew this was a mistake. None of this was your fault. He’d been angry with how you’d been treated. Utterly beside himself at Erwin.

And you were taking the fall for it.

“I didn’t lie to you, I didn’t have a fucking choice. If anyone saw me treat you any differently, they would start to question it. They would question why I was showing pity to a criminal. The Raven, no less. And I can’t—”

“Oh I’m sorry, I would hate to ruin your reputation, Captain,” you struck back with just as much venom. Just as much fury.

“Let me finish. I can’t let them get to you anymore than they already have. It was either them or—”

“Because I’m just so import—” you almost cried out as the grip on your wrists tightened, knowing they would leave yet another bruise on your body.

“Let. Me. Finish.” Levi narrowed his eyes, returning the glare you were holding on him and not continuing until you yielded, finally looking away and clamping your mouth shut. “It was either them or me. I could let them continue to beat the shit out of you mercilessly, or I could do it myself. I could try and make it better. I couldn’t fucking watch that shit anymore. I couldn’t fucking stand it. Those filthy bastards laying their dirty hands on you. Hurting you. Shit, you were half dead when I walked in. I was scared you were for a moment. Terrified they were just beating a corpse. But you’re so much stronger than I ever gave you credit for. They never fucking broke you. And they never will. Because if they touch you again, if they fucking look at you, I will go the the ends of the goddamn earth and tear them apart, because I care about you,” Levi hadn’t noticed he was panting. He hadn’t noticed the tears slipping down your cheeks. He didn’t think his self hatred could sink any deeper, but now he’d made you cry silent tears.

Loosening his grip on your wrists, he looked at you as though he’d been responsible for your murder.

“So, it was mercy? That’s what’s considered merciful up here?” you couldn’t really believe it. Twice in two days Levi had spoken more to you than you thought he ever did back when you belonged to each other. You didn’t think you’d ever sounded so small. So vulnerable. “Let me ask you this, Levi. Was it merciful on me, or merciful on you? Because you sure as hell didn’t make things better for me,” despite the quieter volume, your voice was still harsh.

But you had to know.

You wanted nothing more than to pull him in and thread your hands through his hair. To feel his body against yours. For his heartbeat to lull you to sleep. But you had to know whether he did this for you, or himself.

You understood now. You really did. And put in the same situation, you didn’t think you’d do any differently.

“Honestly…? Merciful to me. I couldn't bear it. I tried. I tried so fucking hard. But I couldn’t let them hurt you anymore,” his voice was no louder than a choked, guilt ridden whisper.

That’s all you needed to hear. Slipping your wrists free of his hands, you reached up. Cupping the sides of his face, you brought him down to you, since you couldn’t exactly sit up and go to him.

As soon as your lips returned home to his, you couldn’t stop the few tears from escaping your closed eyes.

Levi’s own eyes widened, and he was suddenly convinced he was dead. Was this actually happening? After everything he’s just done, everything he’s just said.

You forgave him?

When your tongue gently skirted his bottom lip, he decided contemplating forgiveness was something for later. Terrified of hurting you further, he rested his weight on his elbows, finally closing his eyes. He’d wanted this for so long. Since he laid eyes on you for the first time in ten years, he’d wanted nothing more than to envelop your mouth with his own.

With your eyes closed, you didn’t mind when his hand came up to gently caress the apple of your cheek. You didn’t mind when you opened your lips for his tongue to hesitantly slip in and explore your mouth, that slick muscle moving against yours. You didn’t mind when his hand travelled down to cup the side of your neck, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss.

Neither of you wanted to break away, having waited far too long for this moment. You reveled in the groan he emitted down your throat as your left hand found its way to his undercut, gently scratching and caressing in desperation. You hadn’t heard that sound in so long and you instantly craved more.

Levi’s eyes rolled back into his skull behind his closed lids, feeling your hands in his hair. God, he didn’t want to fuck you in a cell, but your hands and tongue were making it difficult for him to control himself.

He was the first to pull back, instantly missing the warmth of your mouth.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, looking down into your eyes. You could see the swirling confusion in those sterling orbs as they flickered in the low light. You could see the arousal in his dark pupils. Feel it against your inner thigh. You wanted to take him right here and now, but not only did you acknowledge the fact you were literally in a prison cell…

You weren’t sure you were ready. Not yet. Not after everything.

“Levi… if you had done that for my sake, I would have shattered both your kneecaps,” you earned yourself a gentle laugh, his thumb coming up to smooth down your eyebrow. “But you didn’t. I know you feel selfish, and I know you hate yourself for it, but I also know that it was either that, or you beat them to death with that goddamn bat. I know you, Levi. You haven’t changed much yourself,” your left hand came back, softly carding through those ebony bangs.

Levi felt like he could fly. Felt as though you’d returned the wings he’d lost when he thought he’d never see you again.

(Y/N), I want to apolo—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

With that, you stretched up to capture his mouth again, instantly feeling like you’d come back home. You didn’t care about the surge of pain coursing through your abdomen and back. That’s what he was to you.

He was home.

You felt his length twitch in his constraints as both your hands found purchase in his hair, gently tugging at the black strands.

“Fuck…” he breathed into your mouth, his hips bucking involuntarily as you sucked his lower lip between your teeth.

You kept having to consciously remind yourself that you are in fact in a dank, filthy cell. And enveloping him between you increasingly slick folds was wildly inappropriate.

Levi thought it was entirely unfair how you were managing to drag whines and moans from him with nothing but your fingers and teeth. So he decided it was his turn to give something back.

His hand travelled down your body, almost instinctively finding the crease in your thighs. He swallowed his own groan of ecstasy as his knuckles grazed his arousal, opting instead to focus on the way your hips rose to meet the pads of his fingers, gently rubbing your swollen, clothed clit. His circular motions drawing out those small whimpers he’d craved to hear.

“Mmn, L-Levi... ACK, fuck!” your moan of pleasure turned into a small cry of pain as your abs contracted, sending yet another lightning bolt through your system. Levi withdrew his hand immediately, eyes instantly clearing and recognising your signs of discomfort.

“Shit (Y/N), your back,” you felt your heart swell at his concern, though internally cursed yourself.

“‘S’fine,” you insisted, rising up once again to grasp his lips with yours, only to be met with thin air and you ex(?) lover looking down at you.

“No, it’s not. C’mere,” Levi sighed and lifted himself off you, careful not to cause you any further damage. He looked for permission before gently turning you on your side, as if your tongue hadn’t been down his throat less than thirty seconds ago. He cursed his erection, finding himself a little hindered by it as he walked over to the faucet, allowing himself a few moments reprieve before removing the handkerchief from his pocket and running it under the tap.

Though the mirror was cracked, he could still see his slightly swollen lips, distorted against the spider webbing fractures. Could still see the mark you’d left on his face. Shit, he wished for those marks to be left elsewhere. His mind wandered back to the way you used to settle between his thighs, teasing him until you got him to crack. He loved the way you could coerce broken pleas from his throat. Adored the black-blue bites you left on the inside of his thighs, before your warmth enveloped him. Your flexible muscle flicking up and down his sensitive length, running over that prominent vein he hadn’t felt you caress in too long. He missed feeling the vibrations of your chuckle when he begged for you to let him cum. When he felt his balls tighten with release, and yet you denied him still.

But most of all he missed tasting you. He missed the way your arousal freely leaked onto his tongue. He missed the way your hips rose to meet his fingers, that breathy gasp when he found your hidden spot. The begs and cries you made when you wanted him to let you cum. When you whined for his dick to replace his fingers. Fuck, he missed the way your thighs locked his head between them as he brought you to climax with nothing but his tongue flicking over you little, sensitive button. Over, and over, and over again.

“Having trouble?” you grinned from your position on the sorry excuse for a mattress. You’d managed to turn yourself over to watch him, disregarding any agony you felt. You wouldn’t miss this for the world. You wouldn’t miss seeing Levi all riled up and unable to focus simply because of the administrations with your mouth.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, turning the faucet off and ringing out the cloth in the sink. You chuckled at his tone and his predicament, loving every second of it. Though you couldn’t miss the small glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Oi, turn back ‘round. ‘Need to get to your back,”

“I bet you do,”

“(Y/N)...” he warned, with no real malice in his tone. If this was any other man, you would have lunged at them for taking that tone with you. But this was Levi. Your Levi. You knew he would never hurt you. Not unless absolutely necessary.

Case and point: hitting you with a bat to avoid a murder charge.

Begrudgingly, you tore your eyes from his face, haphazardly twisting on the mattress to face away from him.

“Hm, good girl,” Levi purred, eyes gleaming at the way your thighs clenched in reaction. But any spark of arousal was swiftly extinguished, when your body twitched away from his as he took his seat behind you.

You clenched your eyes shut, hating yourself for the reaction you couldn’t control. You didn’t blame Viper for your now primal fear. You knew he was just teaching you what you needed to know, but he had no fatherly experience, and possibly caused more harm than good.

“‘M’ sorry, it’s not you, I promise. I just—”

“No. No apologising. It’s not your fault,” you nodded, not trusting your voice not to crack if you spoke up now.

Levi thought hard about how he wanted to do this without causing any more reaction from you. Attempting to keep his mind from wandering too far, he tried to understand what made you comfortable enough to bring him onto your mouth. To gently tug on his lower lip. To thread your hands through his hair and--

“I have an idea… (Y/N), watch what I’m doing,” you did as he asked, turning your neck as much as you could to watch the movements of his hand. You tensed as his palm hovered over your side. But when you didn’t feel anything, you unscrewed one tightly shut eye, peering at him curiously.

“(Y/N), can you raise your body for me, just to reach my hand?” this might actually work. Levi had been wracking his brains for a way for you to feel comfortable again with touch.

Hesitantly, you slowly raised your body to meet his fingers, almost freezing as you felt no reaction. You didn’t tense, you didn’t instantly balk under his touch.

You hadn’t cried in years, and yet throughout the course of this long, long night, you had cried twice, the corners of your lashes growing damp as a tear slipped down the side of your face.

Growing increasingly concerned by your lack of response, Levi was about to move his hand from your side, but was immediately stopped by your own fingers covering his.

“Don’t. Stay. Don’t move away,” his heart burned at your broken plea, his worried expression softening in slight relief.

“I won’t. (Y/N), I’m not going to touch you without your permission. Ever. But, if you’re comfortable with it, we can do this. If you’re happy with this,” Levi gently moved his thumb against the fabric of your shirt, caressing your side. Your choked laugh of happy disbelief caused his small smile to broaden ever so slightly.

“Yes. Yes i’m happy with this,” still having trouble believing this was truly happening, you closed your eyes in bliss, allowing a few more tears to escape.

“Okay, I’m going to move your shirt up, alright?” your heart sung at his sincerity, nodding silently once again as you felt the fabric of your shirt bunch up ever so carefully. You loved how he always made you feel so precious. Nothing was precious in the Underground, but somehow he always made you feel worth diamonds and gold. You’d forgotten what that was like, until the damp cloth once again soothed your aching welts, chasing away the throbs of pain.

Those spears of guilt once again plunged into Levi’s heart as he saw what they had done to you. What he’d done to you. You were always so forgiving when it came to him. You always have been. He could lock himself in his room for days, not speak to you for hours on end and you would always be there to hold him when the pressure finally cracked. Always there to soothe him when he opened up after long weeks of isolation. When those memories of his mother dragged up again. When the day Kenny left forced him to hide away until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You always forgave him.

And could always sense what he was thinking.

He came back to the present when your hand squeezed his, as if you knew where his mind had taken him.

“It’s okay, Levi,” your soft reassurance broke his heart.

“I should be saying that to you,”

“Go on then,” you retorted, not even trying to hide the mischief in your voice

Levi chuckled, moving his hand from under yours to stroke your hair.

“It’s okay, (Y/N),”

“I feel thoroughly reassured,”

“Tch, shut up brat,” god, at this point your heart could have been a choir. Singing once again at the soft amusement gently lacing his tone. But you internally cringed as fingers threaded through your grimy hair, reaching up to move it away.

“Levi, don’t. It’s fucking filthy,”

“So’s your face but I recall sucking on it a few moments ago,”

“Levi!” you couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He was never one to make such jokes. But you couldn’t deny you loved it. Loved his low, breathy laugh at your indignant call of his name.

“What? Am I wrong?” you couldn’t see his slightly cheeky smirk behind you. Or the way one brow raised in feigned curiosity.

“Well no, but—”

“Didn’t think so.”

“God you’re insufferable. Anyone would think you’re— OW!” you turned to look back at him in mock anger. He didn’t actually hurt you, and by looking at your swiftly disintegrating expresion, Levi was able to decipher you were just fucking with him. Rolling his eyes, he continued his administration with the cloth, watching fondly as you settled back down.

You only spoke again when that hand in your hair started moving.

“Levi, seriously, it’s gross. Just focus on my back,” when he didn’t reply, you once again twisted back to look at him, unable to decipher the expression on his face.

“Stay here,”

“Like I’m in any condition to move, asshole,”

“Tch, don’t be difficult. I’ll be back in a minute,” with a final caress of your head, Levi chucked the cloth back into the sink before standing to his feet. You were a bit of a sorry sight, lying on your side, shirt ridden up to reveal your bruised, still bloodied back. He’d managed to gently scrub off most of the crimson staining your skin, but he wanted to provide you with just a little more comfort, if he could.

You didn’t even try to escape when he left the door open. Too tired to move. Your limbs felt like lead everytime you attempted to shift, exhaustion clinging to your bones like shackles. You didn’t know how long you waited, but you felt yourself start to drift in and out of consciousness, unable to help yourself marvel at how easy it would be to slip into a deep sleep. Your mind was far too heavy to sift through the lake of emotions you’d found yourself submerged in. Just as you were about to succumb to the call of rest, your faultless alert system brought you back to consciousness, adrenaline injected into your veins as you shot upright at the sound of footsteps.

“Calm down, it’s just me,” your brittle nerves settled at the sound of his calming voice, heart leaping when you saw what he carried in his arms.

Levi had brought everything he thought he would need. A small metal basin containing a small flannel, a wash-cloth, a small cup, the shower soap and hair conditioner from his own quarters and a large towel to spare the mattress of the water. Kicking the cell door almost closed with his foot, Levi crossed to the sink once again, setting out the contents on the cracked porcelain before filling the basin.

He left the faucet running, turning back to you with the town folded on his arm.

“Gonna need you to move if we want to set this down,” you raised a suggestive eyebrow, mouth pulling into a small smirk. Levi rolled his eyes. “Not like that, brat. Unless you want to sleep on a damp mattress. It’s up to you, really,” the amused spark in his eye betrayed his neutral, blank face as you gently shimmied down the bed, making a space for him to set the towel down.

You watched as he removed his jacket, mouth watering ever so slightly as his shirt clung to his back, unable to tear your eyes away from the movement of his muscles. They had certainly developed well.

“Oi, stop ogling,” he smirked to you over his shoulder, earning a sly grin from you in response.

“Can’t help it,” you chimed, eyes flicking to his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves. Fuck, if only you weren’t in a jail cell. Or utterly filthy. Or just not ready for that yet.

If only you didn’t have a thousand things stopping you from pushing him against the wall and engulfing his cock in down your throat.

But for now, you just had to settle with undressing and fucking him with your eyes. Something that clearly didn’t go unnoticed, if the way he writhed slightly under your pinning gaze was anything to go by.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Levi tried to steer his thoughts away from his length stiffening once again. Fuck, the way you were staring at him, he was starting to feel hot beneath his shirt, despite the naturally cool temperature of the room. Your heated chuckle only fueled the flames.

“Aw, why? Are you hard?” you teased, raking your eyes up and down his figure, lingering on the small tent in his crotch. You shifted slightly, almost groaning as the mattress below you rubbed against your swollen folds.

“Tch, obviously. And I’m not going to deal with it in this filthy prison cell, so don’t make it worse brat,” Levi marvelled at your laugh. A proper, head thrown back laugh. He couldn’t stop the fond smile spreading across his face at the sight.

“Alright alright, I’ll stop eye-fuckinig you,” you managed to say, after regaining some sort of composure.

“You’re filthy,”

“Isn’t that why you’re about to bathe me?” you tilted your head slightly, watching him lift the basin from the sink after turning off the faucet. He didn’t deem your comment worthy of a response, opting instead to look back at you with a blank, deadpan expression. Tucking everything else under his arm, Levi returned back to your side. He thought for a moment about how he wanted to do this before, wedging the water basin between his legs.

“Lie back, place your head on my lap. Gonna’ wash your hair,” he instructed, busying himself with getting the small, brown bottle of hair soap. But he paused upon sensing your hesitation. Looking back to you, he searched your face, before slowly bringing his hand up.

You shied away, closing your eyes instinctively, almost bracing yourself for the contact that never came.

“Hey, not gonna touch you without permission, remember?” you opened your eyes to see his hand hovering next to your cheek. He was waiting for your next move, and you could see the slight hopeful spark in his eye.

So slowly, you tilted your head enough to gently nuzzle into his palm, your own hand coming up to keep him against your face.

Levi smoothed the skin under your eye with his thumb, trying his damndest not to let any tears well up in his eyes.

Unbeknownst to him, you were attempting to do the same. Not wanting him to see you cry for the third goddamn time tonight. But it became impossible when he said something you didn’t know you needed to hear.

“I missed you so much, firefly,” your breath hitched in your throat at the old nickname. He’d only ever use it in the softest moments in the Underground. Stroking your hair whilst lying in his bed. Staying up and keeping you company when you’d shoot awake from a nightmare. He was never one for nicknames, so one day when he, out of the blue, called you his firefly;

you’d almost cried.

Your eyes widened, hand gently squeezing his own to ground yourself. You let out something halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I missed you too. So, so much,” you hardly had to move forward before your face was nestled in the crook of his neck, his arms slowly tucking you against his body. “I missed you so much,” you whispered again.

Levi didn’t think he’d ever been this happy, at least not for a long, long time. Ecstatic you felt comfortable enough to let him hold you. Though he was usually so good at keeping his feelings to himself, so much had happened over the last week, he felt the walls to his emotional dam cracking ever so slightly, a few tears lining his closed eyes. He could feel the collar of his shirt dampen as you shed silent tears, his thumb rubbing small circles against your back.

Levi held you like this for what felt like hours. Content to just be in each other’s arms once again. In reality, it had only been a few minutes before he gently shifted you so the back of your head rested against his lap.

“Never known you to be such a cry-baby,” he lightly teased, gathering what he could of your hair and soaking it within the basin still wedged between his knees.

“I’m not. I haven’t cried in years. Literally. Probably since Viper’s—” you stopped yourself, not expecting the casual statement to hurt quite as much as it did. “Viper’s death,” you finished quietly, eyes avoiding any direct contact with his own.

Levi took note of your tone change, reaching for the hair soap. He was only vaguely aware of the relationship between you and the old Nest leader. Finding out through those vile MPs.

“Want to talk about it?” The tone of his question matched yours as he lathered the gel into your now cleaner locks to make sure the grime and grease was properly dealt with.

“Honestly? Not yet. Maybe not ever. I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to anyone about it. Not even Prongs, or Wolf, and they were his Shadows before mine,” you fell silent for a moment, before looking back to him. “How did you do it? How did you just… leave everything behind?”

Levi sighed at the innocence of your question. The raw guilt he knew you were feeling. Knowing you were up here, safe, warm, comfortable, whilst so many people down there were still suffering. Still dying from easily preventable illnesses.

“I didn’t. Not really. I still find myself thinking back to those poor sods down there. But I couldn’t think about it for too long, because I would find myself thinking back to you,” his hand stroked the top of your now damp forehead, smoothing down the wet locks of your hair.

The basin sloshed slightly as you nodded, disheartened by the fact that this feeling of suffocating guilt would probably never leave you. Levi saw this in your face. He saw the exact same swirl of emotions he felt when he knew he would never return.

But you’d left behind so much more than he did. You had a trusted group. A family who would only know what happened to you through the words of that young girl.

“They’ll be safe, (Y/N). He may be an asshole sometimes, but I trust Erwin. He wouldn’t break his word,” running his hands through your soaked hair, Levi gently teased the knots out with his fingers, easily gliding through the now freed strands.

His reassurance calmed your worries. Levi hardly trusted anyone, you only ever knew him to trust Isobel, Farlan and yourself. This Erwin guy must have really made an impression.

Reaching back to the small flannel he’d brought down with him, he began drying your hair, setting the basin to one side. You didn’t think you’d ever felt this pampered. This well looked after. You thought you could certainly get used to it. Returning your thoughts to the conversation, you exhaled a sigh.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… My job was to take care of them. My job was to stop something like this from happening. Our entire operation was compromised because my shitty partner couldn’t get over some grudge she had against a boy she’d never met,” you poked his chest as he rolled his eyes, looking down at you with a brow raised.

“So it’s my fault?”

“I didn’t say that,”

“You implied it,”

“Oh don’t be so sensitive,”

“I wasn’t the one who cheated,”

You almost sat bolt upright at that, if it weren’t for him anticipating the movement. What did he mean ‘cheat’? You didn’t cheat. You would never cheat. Loyalty ran through your veins like blood, and if you weren’t so incredulous you would have spotted the smallest hint of mischief in his steely eyes.

“Wh— Cheat? I didn’t cheat. What makes you think that?” your genuine concern broke his heart, and he almost felt bad for teasing you like this.

Almost.

Taking your face in both his hands, Levi failed to suppress the fugitive smirk on his face.

“We technically never broke up, brat,” you breathed a sigh of relief, before turning back to scowl at him, tempted to lightly smack the back of his head.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that, asshole,” your scowl held no heat, too relieved that he was just being pedantic rather than actually implying you would ever be disloyal. But your glare melted away at the rumble of a chuckle emitting from his chest. You rolled your eyes, trying your best to feign annoyance and failing miserably.  

Removing the small towel from your now damp hair, Levi deemed it dry enough for you to sleep on without catching a cold.

“There. Think you can do the rest yourself? I don’t wanna… make you uncomfortable or anything,” it was your turn for your heart to break, his consideration for your comfort and wellbeing always seemed to be his top priority. You took his hand in yours, gently stroking your thumb over his knuckles.

“You’ve done more than enough,” earnest gratitude swam in your eyes and it was all Levi could do not to stoop down and kiss you.

Instead, he stayed put for a little while longer, stealing all the seconds he could. He’d realised, with you joining the Survey Corps, you two wouldn’t be able to do this anymore. The company you’d both enjoyed for the past week would be ripped away by expeditions, training and paperwork.

So he greedily took as much time as the two of you could spare, before you would inevitably have to part ways.

“I have to go, (Y/N),” Levi whispered, although every part of him was longing to stay, especially when your face slowly fell in realisation.

“I know,” you tried to mask your melancholy with a gentle smile, but your voice betrayed you, breaking slightly as you spoke. Neither of you wanted to be the one to move. Neither of you wanted to be the first to burst the protective bubble of familiarity you both knew you wouldn’t feel again for a long, long time.

But to save him from doing it himself, you were the one to shift, allowing him to rise from the bed.

“I’ll uh, leave all this here and collect it early in the morning,” Levi shifted slightly awkwardly on his feet, running a hand through his hair. You nodded, adjusting yourself carefully. Your midsection didn’t hurt as much, more of an echoing throb, but you were still cautious nonetheless.

“Right, yeah. Probably a good idea, before anyone sees,” you shrugged, avoiding having to look at his face. You knew it would break both of you if you’d asked whether there was any chance of him staying.

Just for a little while longer.

“I’ll see you soon… Raven,” you felt your soul crack as he replaced your name with your alias. You knew it was right. You knew it was for the best. But that wouldn’t stop every fiber of your being shattering.

Levi hated how you said nothing as he turned to leave. He pretended not to notice your heartbreak as he deliberately called you Raven. He suppressed the urge to pick you up and take you with him. To carry you to his bed and cage you in his arms as you both fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

He didn’t know your prolonged silence was because you were gathering your courage. Silently arguing with yourself over what was right and what was wrong until you stopped him by calling his name.

“Levi…” There was no turning back now. You took a breath, finally raising your eyes to meet his now on the other side of the bars. “I—” love you.

You immediately stopped yourself, finding those three words caught in your throat. You couldn’t say them. Shit, you couldn’t say them.

You were a coward.

“Thank you,”

Levi stayed searching your face. He knew. He knew that wasn’t what you wanted to say. Because that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He let loose a breath he didn’t know he was holding, giving you one last look of badly masked longing, before turning away.

“Training starts tomorrow,” though the words themselves were cold, his tone was laced with mourning as his footsteps echoed out of earshot, leaving you completely and utterly alone.

Levi had managed all but three steps into the hallway before his name was called by an irritatingly familiar voice.

“Ah, Levi. Good. My office. Now, if you’re not busy,” Erwin had a way of saying ‘if you’re not busy’ that sounded like he was really saying ‘there is absolutely no debate in this, you could be bleeding out and missing an arm and I would still expect you in my office within the next five minutes’. Levi knew he didn’t exactly have a choice.

“Sure. Let me make some tea and I’ll be right there,” he knew he’d made a mistake. The look in Erwin’s cerulean eyes told him that the tall blonde had figured something out. Something dangerous that could compromise his relationship with you.

Actually, he’d probably figured out he had a relationship with you.

Shit…

He was in so much trouble.

[mightymorphingayagenda]

cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!

then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here,  x

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.” 

Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.  

“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.  

Humourless. 

And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.  

“This is the part where you-“ 

“Shhh.” 

A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.  

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.  

In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.  

Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.  

She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.  

The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.  

It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.  

Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.  

It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.  

Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.  

Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.  

Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.  

“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. “If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”  

Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.  

“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.  

“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.” 

Cue phase two of the plan.  

Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.  

Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative. 

“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.” 

“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.” 

Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.  

He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.  

“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”  

“Is that a threat?” 

“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.” 

Eris said nothing.  

“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued.  “To do as you’re told.” 

She gave him strict instructions.  Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me.  Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.   

“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.” 

She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.  

Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.  

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.  

And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle:  a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.  

She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.  

Who’s your daddy, now?  

- 

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.  

They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.  

Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.  

“Damn it,”  she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.  

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway… 

“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.  

She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…  

“Ugh,” she said again, louder.  Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time. 

Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.  

“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?” 

He meowed again.  

Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.  

“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.  

Cassian’s jacket.  

Uhg.  

Now she was thinking about him again.  

Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.  

He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.  

She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”. 

He purred.  

Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath.  Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him.  The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.  

Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.  

The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.  

Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.  

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.  

Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автома́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.  

Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.  

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.  

Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.  

She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.  

Not a man. A boy.  

A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.  

Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.  

Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex.  Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet.  In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.  

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.  

But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it. 

Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.  

She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her. 

Her screaming.  

Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body.  What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.  

It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.  

And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.  

It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles.  And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.  

Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.   

And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even.  In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.  

A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.  

Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.  

Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues. 

No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.  

And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.  

Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.  

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” 

 Her mother’s last words.  

 Ten numbers.  

 Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door.  All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.  

 “три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.  

 Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.  

 Like a phone number.  

 No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough.  Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.  

 A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.  

 “Здравствуйте.” 

Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.  

Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.  

“Who is this?”  

Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?   

“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-” 

The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.  

 A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.  

What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.  

Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.  

Go down for murder.  

Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body.  How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.  

 Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly.  Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.  

 Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers.  The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.  

 “If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”  

 “You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?” 

 “Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.” 

 “Woof,” Nesta had said dryly. 

 “Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”

 “You offering to adopt me?” 

 “I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.” 

Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.  

 “But you ever want job, you call me.” 

 Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.  

 Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.  

In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.  

She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.  

And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice.  Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.  

Until Feyre had moved to the city.  

 Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics,  selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit.  Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.  

 At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.  

 Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner. 

 Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.  

 Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.  

 Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.  

 The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.  

 Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.  

 Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring.  A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings. 

 If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain. 

 It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done.  Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.  

 She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.   

That and the fact they were really very good.  

Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.  

In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly.  Sinking deeper into the basin.  

A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-  

Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.  

Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.  

“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.  

“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.   

Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.   

“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.” 

“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.  

“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.  

“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”  

If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully. 

It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.  

“You told me to give him a chance.”  

“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?” 

Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.   

Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.  

“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on- 

“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?” 

“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”  

“Ever heard of the third date rule?” 

“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?” 

Feyre sighed.  

“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-” 

“So why did you send him my way?” 

Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.  

“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes.  

“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked. 

Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.  

“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.” 

It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.  

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.  

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.  

“Well I’ve been smoking.” 

“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.” 

“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.” 

“He only smokes them on special occasions.” 

“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?” 

“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.” 

“Oh so you did hear me?” 

“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”  

She hung up.  

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.  

When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.  

It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.  

Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.  

But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.  

Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.  

Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.  

What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and  sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client.  An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could.  Because it was just easier.  

Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.  

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.  

Fuck.  

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.  

Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot;  but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.  

Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong. 

She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.  

A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living! 

Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.  

But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.  

 — 

 Cassian had ignored her calls.  

All three.  

Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.  

Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator.  Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.   

Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy.  She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.  

Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.  

Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.  

It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.   

“All work and no play?”  

Cassian looked up from his desk.  

“I can fix that,” she said.  

He’d never looked more handsome.  

Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.  

He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.  

It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.  

“What are you doing here?”  

Rude.  

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.  

“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.  

“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.” 

She turned to find him watching her.  

His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.  

Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.  

“You’re still upset about that?”  

“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.” 

“Oh really?” 

“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“ 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.   

She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.  

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.” 

“You don’t have a clue what I want.” 

“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly. 

The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.  

It was all very conflicting.  

“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.  

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.   

“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again.  “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.” 

The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.   

“You’re right,” she said.  

Cassian blinked.  

Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.” 

The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.  

Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike.  “Your emergency, of course. Which was?” 

“Nothing to do with you.”  

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.   

“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”  

“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.  

But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.  

“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.  

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.   

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.  

“Shit.” 

His head fell into those large hands.   

“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up.  So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.  

“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.  

“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.” 

“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.  

Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.  

Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.  

“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?” 

She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.” 

“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.” 

Nesta slid of the desk.  

“Go on,” she instructed.  

“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.” 

Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.  

“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.  

“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.  

“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.  

“I can tell.” 

She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.  

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”  

Cassian swallowed.  

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.   

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.  

“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?” 

“If you say please.” 

“Please don’t screw around with me.” 

Nesta faltered.  

Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.  

“I’m really into you,” he admitted.  “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.” 

The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.  

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.  

“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”  

She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.  

Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.   

Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.  

“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion.  “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.” 

She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.  

“Nesta-“ 

“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.” 

“Someone could come back-“ 

“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.” 

His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.  

“Nesta-” 

She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders. 

“I want you,” she purred again.  

He might have tried to breath.  And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.  

“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.” 

His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.  

“You want me,” he breathed.  

She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.  

The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously. 

“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.   

“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.  

“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.  

His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.  

“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.” 

“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.  

She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter. 

“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…” 

“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.  

“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.” 

“And I’m saying you could be in me.” 

She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.  

The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over.  The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.  

“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.” 

“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.  

“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout. 

“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.  

The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.  

Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.  

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.  

“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.  

“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.” 

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.   

Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.  

“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.  

“Yes, yes, please.” 

“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.” 

Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze,  wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.  

The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair. 

“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.  

And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.  

“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.  

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.” 

“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.  

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.   

His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.  

“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.  

The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.  

“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.  

“More,” she demanded. 

It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.   

She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him.  Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.  

“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.  

He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.  

“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.  

“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.  

“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.  

“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.” 

“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”  

His words sent her over the edge.  

Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.  

Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.  

Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders.  Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.  

Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.  

“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.  

“Then get on your knees.” 

Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.  

“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.  

“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again.  “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”  

His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.  

Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.  

Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.  

“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.  

“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.  

He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.  

In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.  

Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.  

She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.  

“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.  

Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.  

The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.  

Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.  

Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.  

“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.  

His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.  

His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.  

“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.  

“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.  

“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.  

Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.  

“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.  

She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.  

Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.  

He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.  

She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.  

“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.  

He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.  

Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.  

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.  

“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.  

Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.  

“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.  

“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.” 

“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.  

Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.  

“Down boy,” she purred.  

“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.  

“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.  

“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.  

And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.  

Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.  

“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly. 

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.” 

Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.  

“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.  

She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.  

“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.” 

“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby” 

Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.  

“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.  

She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.   

Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth.  Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.  

“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.” 

Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew.  His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.   

“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.  

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.  

“Cassian,” she keened.  

She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.  

Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.   

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.  

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.  

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.  

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.  

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.  

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.  

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.  

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.  

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”  

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles.  Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.  

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips. 

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.  

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.  

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.  

“Let me take care of you.” 

“Cassian.” 

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there.  “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.” 

Nesta smiled.  

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.” 

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.  

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.  

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.   

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.  

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.  

It was so good.  

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him.  And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl.  Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.  

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.  

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,”  She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.  

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.  

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit. 

Nesta whined softly.  

“Cassian…more…” 

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.  

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.” 

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.   

“Oh!” 

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.” 

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.  

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.” 

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.  

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”  

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.  

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.  

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.  

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.  

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.” 

She turned her gaze to him.  

“Shame.” 

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.  

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.  

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.  

Cassian grinned.  

“You like Italian?”  

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.  

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.  

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”  

 “Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”  

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.” 

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.  

“Lethal,” he whispered.  

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”  

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.  

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.  

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.  

  Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair. 

Their second date had been incredible.  

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.  

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.  

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.  

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.  

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.  

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.  

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.  

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.  

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.  

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child. 

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.  

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.  

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.  

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.  

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.  

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.  

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.  

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.   

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.  

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”  

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.  

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?” 

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.  

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying.  Which off course only made him like her more.  

“What? Make you blush like a-” 

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them-  like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?” 

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”  

“Says the military man.” 

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.” 

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.  

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.  

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.  

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.  

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”  

“That was so a line!”  

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.” 

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.  

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive.  “Because I’d love to take your top off.”  

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.  

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”  

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.  

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.  

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.” 

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.  

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.  

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.  

“What would you rather we talk about?”  

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.  

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.  

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute.  It reminded you that you were alive.  

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.  

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.  

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.  

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-  

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore.  Tame Impala playing from his pocket.  

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.  

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.  

“Well you’re the only one getting it.” 

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.  

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.” 

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.  

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.  

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.  

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.  

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.  

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly,  hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.  

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.  

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.” 

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.  

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.  

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.  

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.  

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.  

“Yes please.” 

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower- 

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.  

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.  

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.  

“What are you doing?”  

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did.  Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.  

“Congratulations.” 

Cassian grinned.  

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”  

 “Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.  

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.  

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.  

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.  

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.  

“Please do.” 

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.  

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.” 

He pulled back abruptly.  

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?” 

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.  

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.” 

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-” 

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.  

“But I-” 

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.  

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.  

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.” 

“More romantic than that sentence?”  

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.” 

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.” 

“How have you already failed?” 

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.  

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.” 

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.  

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.” 

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.  

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.  

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf. 

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.  

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.   

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.  

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.  

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.  

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.  

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.  

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.  

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.  

“Did you decline my call?” 

“Yup.” 

“Bastard.” 

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.  

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.  

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”  

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.” 

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.  

“That why you’re calling?” 

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?” 

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation.  “Yeah, I’m free.” 

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday. 

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.  

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-” 

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?” 

Shit.  

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.  

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.  

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait.  In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.  

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.  

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-” 

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.” 

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.  

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.  

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-” 

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.  

“Fine, your stropping-” 

“Fuck off.” 

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.  

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.” 

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.  

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.  

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.” 

“Hang on a minute-” 

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.  

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.  

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.” 

“Alright, alright Don.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.  

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.” 

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?” 

Cassian sighed heavily.  

“This a secure line?” 

“Always”. 

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.” 

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.  

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?” 

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”  

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.” 

“Lucien?” 

“Turns out the kid’s his.” 

“Fucking hell.” 

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.” 

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.   

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?” 

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.” 

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-” 

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.” 

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.  

Rhys went silent again.  

“We could always just kill Eris.” 

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.  

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.  

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-” 

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.” 

“Dick.” 

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.  

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-” 

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.” 

“I’m fucking Persian!” 

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.  

“A fanabla!”  

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.” 

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.” 

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-” 

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.” 

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?” 

“If I said yes would you come back to us?” 

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.” 

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.” 

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.” 

“Nesta’s no Feyre.” 

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.  

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.” 

“See you then.” 

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[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (4)

(Y’all ready to read the next update??? Enjoy part four of this fic and if you’re interested, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called the Journal Entries. It’s just little journal snippets from the two dorks that I decided to write for fun :D)

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

Chapter 4: Get to Know You

Marinette slipped on her white, non-flour-covered leather jacket and pushed her pigtails back so they wouldn’t be tucked into her outfit. She then smoothed out her pink dress with a smile, admiring the black flowers that she’d stitched along the bottom. This dress had been one of her stress-relieving projects, but it turned out quite well, in her opinion.

Once Papa had finished teaching her friends how to fold the dough, he put their croissants into the fridge to chill them and instructed everyone to go upstairs and wash up. Marinette dutifully took them up to her room where her personal bathroom was and taught them how to use the shower, but when she tried to lead one of them to her parent’s bathroom as well, they insisted that she take a shower there herself. 

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we forced the ladies to wait on us?” Claude had said light-heartedly, though she could tell he meant it. Allegra’s smirk as she walked in the bathroom to take a shower first was proof of that. 

The notion had warmed Marinette’s heart, coaxing a giggle from her each time she thought about it. It might be hard to see sometimes, but Claude, Allan, and Felix truly were a considerate and chivalrous group of boys. 

Now, She’s finished her shower in her parent’s bathroom and gone back up to her bedroom, where Allegra, Claude, and Allan had been patiently waiting. Allegra was nice and clean again, wearing the long, purple shirt and black leggings that Marinette had given her, and Claude appeared to have just exited the shower, his damp hair sticking to his face and dripping across his borrowed, black and blue “O.K” shirt. Allan was still covered in flour.

Allegra smiled at Marinette from her spot on the chaise as she re-braided her long, golden blonde hair. “Thanks for the extra clothes, Mari! These are amazing.”

“Yeah!” Claude agreed enthusiastically, holding out his with a grin. “This shirt is awesome!”

Marinette glanced down to hide her blush. “I-It’s the least I could do.”

“We still appreciate it.” Allan replied.

“Oh!” Marinette said, suddenly thinking about the fact that Allan was still covered in flour. “Allan, do you want to use Maman’s shower? You don’t have to stand around waiting for Felix.”

That who she assumed was occupying the shower, anyway. The water was still running, and everyone but Felix was present. 

Allan waved a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be getting a shower soon if Felix would hurry up.”

Marinette chuckled at Allan’s obvious call to Felix, even more so when Felix shouted back from the bathroom, “You’re the one that let me go first!”

“I didn’t know you would take a day and a half!” 

“That’s still your fault then, isn’t it?” Felix shot back.

Allan scoffed and crossed his arms, causing Marinette to offer her parent’s shower again out of guilt. She had been the one to throw flour on him, after all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

The bathroom door swung open, effectively cutting Marinette off, and Felix stepped out with one hand on his hip and the other hand on the towel that was draped across his head. He shot Allan a glare, practically growling the words, “There. I’m out. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.” Allan responded sarcastically.

Marinette might have been concerned about the growing conflict had she not been focused on Felix’s outfit. Or rather, how well it suited him. The black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that she’d given him, along with the plaid green, button-up shirt she’d provided to go underneath, clung to his waist, revealing his surprisingly slender figure. The dark grey jeans he wore in place of his dress pants didn’t fit the outfit exactly, but they worked well enough, and Marinette eagerly started taking mental notes for future adjustments.

Allan grabbed his clothes and walked into the bathroom, while Felix glared daggers at him until the bathroom door closed. 

“Woah~” Allegra crowed, easily breaking the tension. “You should wear casual outfits more often, Felix. They really suit you.”

Claude smirked. “No kidding. I swear you’ve worn the same suit for the whole two years we’ve known.”

Felix turned his glare to Claude with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worn plenty of suits, each one made differently.”

Allegra snorted. “That wasn’t.. That was not the point, Felix.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, the barest hint of confusion finding its way to his features, and Marinette took that opportunity to speak up.

“How’s the outfit? Does it fit alright?” She asked. Hopefully she can find the original measurements for the outfit if it does fit fine, because Felix was most likely going to become a regular customer. Maybe he wouldn’t hire her for actual commissions, but she might end up making something for him on impulse. (as you do)

Felix caught her eye, his glare slowly fading as he registered her question.

“The fabric is extremely comfortable, and the clothes fit perfectly.” He said after a moment. “You said you made these?”

She nodded. “With my sewing machine. I was thinking of putting a green paw print on the shirt too, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Felix hummed, idly pulling his towel from on top of his head to around his shoulders. “I see. Thank you for lending them to me.”

Marinette blinked, suddenly finding herself captivated by the way his hair fell across his face. Still being damp, various strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away. This brought her attention to his face, which, for some reason, she hadn’t quite noticed before. The defined jawline, the subtle-yet-there cheek bones, the pointed nose- all of his features were sharp. Even his eyes held a silver tint to them that reminded her of steel. 

These observations dragged her to one, rather important revelation: Felix Culpa was actually a fairly handsome person.

“Marinette?” Felix said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

A rush of heat swarmed her cheeks, and Marinette straightened. “W-what? I mean yes! Yeah, I’m totally fine, I.. yes.”

“Hey, speaking of clothes!” Claude piped up, graciously saving Marinette from her own awkwardness. “How’s my prince costume going?”

Marinette twirled around in her rolling chair and grabbed for her sketching notebook. A distraction was definitely something she needed right now.

“I’ve got a few different ideas, but you need to come tell which one you like best.” She explained as she flipped open the notebook.

Claude hopped up from the stray chest he’d been sitting on and practically bounced over to her seat. She let him scan each page, smiling when he started humming “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s”.

“I can only pick one?! But they’re all so good!” Claude remarked, almost exasperated.

Marinette chuckled. “Well.. I guess I can make all of them for you, but you at least need to choose which one I start on.”

Claude gasped. “You mean you’re going to make all of these for me?”

“It’s going to take a month or so to get them all done.” She warned. “But-”

Claude scooped her into a bone-crushing hug, briefly reminding her of her father. “Thank you, Mari! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Marinette laughed and gave him a light pat on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

Her smile widened as Claude eagerly grabbed the notebook and ran back to his designated chest to look through the drawing again. It was nice to see someone who was also enthusiastic about fashion. She’d gotten tired of talking to people who simply didn’t understand the hype of creating unique styles of clothing. 

“You know he’s never going to leave you alone now, right?” Felix commented next to her.

Marinette offered him a glance as she said, “I think I can live with that.”

Felix shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She smiled at that. Felix may be striking, but that didn’t have to change anything. Lots of people were striking. And lots of people remained friends despite that.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, seeming to remember something, “Where do you want me to put my clothes? They’re still in the bathroom because of Allan, but..”

“Uhm.. I think Maman said she was going to wash them.” Marinette answered. “She wanted to try to get them clean before supper for all of you.”

“Ah, supper.” Claude cut in, heaving a jokingly wistful sigh. “I can’t wait for that. If your mom’s croissants can taste that heavenly, then her full meals must be amazing.”

He sunk against the chest for emphasis, not realizing that there was a gap between the chest and the wall. The sudden weight threw the chest off balance, and it tipped forward, causing Claude to get jerked backwards. He flailed his arms briefly and yelped before crashing to the floor. The front of the chest hit the ground as well, and the impact popped it open, scattering various objects across the floor.

“Oh, Claude!”

“Are you okay?” 

The girls rushed to his side to help him up, but Felix shot him a flat look.

“First the kitchen and now her bedroom.” He said curtly. “Should we tear up the living room next? Or perhaps the dining room has more fragile items?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “Felix, can you at least try to be sympathetic.”

“I am being sympathetic. Marinette doesn’t have the money to replace things at the drop of a hat like we do. It’s rude to behave so recklessly in her home.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix, not sure whether to find his words sweet or offensive. “Trust me, it’s fine. This chest is old anyway.”

Felix’s frown told her that he didn’t agree on the matter, but before he could argue further, the bathroom door swung open again.

“What happened?” Allan asked, his hair still dripping wet. “I heard the crash. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Claude groaned in response. He was sitting up now and rubbing his head as Allegra switched between scolding and coddling.

Allan sighed with relief. “Oh, good. You can’t hurt something that’s not there.”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled at the comment. “Allan, how is your outfit? Do I need to make any adjustments?”

Allan glanced down at his clothes. She’d given him a maroon shirt with a blue heartbeat line in the center, a black and blue shirt to go underneath, and a pair of black jeans. He didn’t appear to be wearing the second shirt, though.

“Oh, they fit great.” He said, twisted his torso a bit to get a better feel for the new clothes. “I didn’t have time to put on the second shirt, though. I heard the crash and panicked.”

Marinette offered him a smile. “That’s fine. I can just put it back in the closet.”

Allan nodded and looked down at the mess. “So Claude spilled this chest?”

“Yeah, he was being an idiot.” Allegra remarked as she picked up one of the trinkets. “You know. Nothing new.”

“Wow. can you guys lay off for two seconds?” Claude huffed. He reached forward to pick up one of the objects as well, curiosity overtaking his annoyance. “What is all of this stuff, anyway?”

Marinette glanced at the miscellaneous objects to check- she had several trunks that acted as ‘junk drawers’ -and immediately cringed when she recognized a black hat with rainbow colors stitched along the bottom.

“Oh..” It was Adrien’s gift chest. She’d almost forgotten that she had it. “They’re, um.. They’re just crafts, really.”

“Just crafts?” Claude repeated, holding up a crocheted Ladybug doll. “These are awesome!”

Marinette watched them for a moment. “...do you want them?”

The group looked up in shock, and Marinette quickly added, “Y-You don’t have to take them! I’ve just.. Uh.. they’re like junk? I mean, not junk, but this is my junk chest.. Sort of. I’ve just been meaning to get rid of them. So if you want them, you can have them.” 

Allegra frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like you put a lot of effort into these.”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. Take whatever you want.”

Although hesitant at first, the group continued to look through the gifts, and little by little, they started to take some. A smile came to Marinette’s lips as she watched the pile of Adrien junk dwindle. She had spent a lot of time on making the presents, but there was no way she’d be giving them to Adrien now. So what was the point of keeping them in her room? To serve as a mocking reminder of how blind she had been while loving him? No thanks.

By the time they were done, the chest only had half the gifts it used to, and Marinette quickly decided that she would donate the leftovers once she got the chance. 

“Thanks for the stuff, Mari!” Claude said cheerfully, his hands full of various objects.

Allegra nodded, holding a few things herself. “Yeah, you really do spoil us.”

“Which is saying something, considering we’re rich.” Allan teased, pocketing the two items that he’d decided to snatch. 

Marinette chuckled. “You’re helping me more than I am you.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom to grab the boys’ old clothes. “I’m gonna bring these down to Maman, but feel free to look around until I get back.”

The group voiced their agreements, and Marinette climbed down the trapdoor ladder with the pile of clothes in hand, feeling like another weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Getting rid of Adrien’s gifts was one more step towards happiness, and she couldn’t wait to keep walking.

~~~~~~

One can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom. How clean they were, whether they were sentimental, which things they found important- a bedroom could quite literally be considered a box in which someone stored their entire personality. That’s why Felix had been anticipating this part of the visit. Someone can be a master manipulator, but their room would always show their true selves. And it only took one look for Felix to know..

Marinette really loved the color pink.

Seriously, she had it everywhere. The walls, the furniture, the carpet- How was she not sick of the color by now? Felix was sick of it, and he’d only been there for about twenty minutes!

Pushing the pink thought aside, he continued poking around her room. Marinette had gone downstairs to pass his clothes off to her mother, so that gave him a bit of time to inspect the space unsupervised. Not that he was planning on doing anything scandalous. It merely gave him the opportunity of observing Marinette’s room on his own terms.

When she told him that her room was up in the attic, he’d been understandably shocked. The attic didn’t sound like a spacious place to sleep, let alone work on homework and other personal things. Seeing it now, though, Felix realized that that wasn’t the case. The attic was actually quite open. There was a desk, a closet, various chests, a bathroom, and she still had a good portion of the room empty. He wondered if that was thanks to the original size of the room or thanks to Marinette’s resourcefulness.

Her cleaning style wasn’t too bad, either. Don’t get him wrong, there were things scattered everywhere, but it was a specific type of scattered, like an organized chaos. He had a feeling that she knew where most of her necessities were. 

Felix moved to her desk, where most of the mess was focused. There were papers, sewing needles, scraps of fabric, and pencils spread across the surface. Her interest in fashion certainly shined through, as most of the papers were filled with various sketches and measurements. He found that admirable. When someone usually speaks of their ‘dream job’, they speak of it as a fantasy, one that they never intend to fully pursue, but Marinette was obviously reaching as high as she could to grasp her goal. She even had a mannequin in her room.

“Marinette’s room is so cool!” Claude exclaimed from the loft up top. “She even has a balcony!”

Felix glanced upwards, briefly setting the papers he’d been studying aside. There’s a balcony upstairs? He didn’t recall seeing a balcony on the way in.

“Claude, you have a balcony.” Allegra reminded him with an amused smile.

“Yeah, but mine only extends from the side of the building.” Claude defended. “This one’s on the roof!”

Ah, so that’s why Felix hadn’t seen it.

Allan frowned. “Really? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“It’s got a rail.” 

“Oh, okay. That’s fine then.”

Allegra chuckled as she brushed her hands against the hat on Marinette’s mannequin. “Marinette’s room is pretty neat, though.”

“I think it’s just Marinette who’s cool.” Allan remarked.

Allegra and Claude heartily agreed, and Felix nodded. “Cool” probably wouldn’t be the exact word that he’d use to describe her, but overall, it wasn’t far off.

“Can you believe we’ve only known her for a week?” Claude asked as he climbed down to their level. “It feels like we’ve known her forever already.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just how she is.” Allegra smiled. “She draws you in and makes you feel like family.”

“Her parents are the same way.” Allan said. “You can really tell where she gets it from.”

“Where who gets what from?” 

Felix, along with the rest of the group, turned to the trapdoor, where Marinette was standing about halfway through. She didn’t have the clothes anymore, but she did have a tray of drinks.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Allegra said dismissively. “What are those?”

Marinette set the tray on the ground long enough to climb through and close the trapdoor as she explained, “Maman and Papa thought you guys might be thirsty, so she sent me up with a bunch of different drinks to choose from.”

“Sweet!” Claude grinned, swiftly walking over in case she needed help. “Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

Marinette smiled and turned the tray to reveal a deep red can of soda. “Yep! I know it’s your favorite.”

“You truly are a blessing.” Claude replied, grabbing the soda off of the tray.

Marinette giggled and brought the tray forward for the rest of them to pick. Allegra chose a pepsi, while Allan snagged a coke, and Felix grabbed the slim cup of coffee that sat to the side.

He took a sip of it, enjoying the warmth of the bitter liquid. It didn’t escape his notice that Marinette had brought up all of their preferred drinks. She even got his coffee right (Black with three sugars). 

Despite how scatter-brained she could be, Marinette still paid attention to details, which was impressive. Felix didn’t know anyone else who could space out during an entire conversation, yet remember the exact type of drink everyone ordered during lunch.

“So what do you guys want to do now? We still have about half an hour before supper is finished.” Marinette asked, setting the tray aside. 

Allan shrugged. “What do you have?”

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, we have board games, card games, Mecha Strike 3-”

“Mecha Strike 3?” Claude perked up. “Yes, please!”

Marinette laughed. “Is everyone else okay with that?”

“Sounds great.” Allan smiled.

Allegra shrugged. “I’m fine with it.” 

Felix, being satisfied with his inspection for now, sat down on the chaise. “I’ll watch.”

The rest of the group huddled around Marinette’s computer while she turned it on, and after a bit of debating, they decided on ‘winner faces next player’ and started with Allan and Claude. Felix watched the first two games, just long enough to see Marinette cream Allan, before reverting back to his studious ways. He scanned the bedroom again, hoping to catch something new, when his gaze landed on the trunk that Claude had tipped over earlier. With everyone bustling around it, Felix hadn’t gotten a chance to sift through it, but now that they were occupied with Marinette’s game..

Felix shifted in his seat and re-opened the chest. It was only half full, as opposed to its previously overflowing contents, but that didn’t bother him. There were still plenty of things inside, such as shirts, figurines, hats, and other things. He pulled out a jacket and turned it in his hands, admiring the handiwork. The hood, along with the cuffs of the sleeves and zipper were pitch black, but the rest of the jacket was a deep red, save for the black spots that littered it. “Miraculous” was written on the back in cursive as well. Was this supposed to be based off of the Parisian superhero Ladybug? Why would she want to get rid of this? At the very least, she could make a profit by selling it.

What did she use to make this? The material is so soft.. Felix thought as he unzipped the jacket. It was completely black on the inside, save for some tiny, golden lettering near the section wear the pocket would be.

“To: Adrien

From: Marinette”

Felix frowned. How strange. Why would Marinette be giving away things that she made specifically for someone else? He dug through the chest some more, this time looking for names, and what he found was shocking. 

Almost every gift had the name ‘Adrien’ on it somewhere, whether it be a card or stitching or marker. Some gifts didn’t have a name, but at that point, Felix felt it was safe to assume that everything in the chest was supposed to be for this ‘Adrien’ person. 

That begged the question, though: Who was Adrien? And why would she create so many gifts for him just to give them away?

A small card stitched on the ear of a stuffed cat gave him his answer.

“Dear Adrien, 

Happy 19th birthday! It’s officially been five years since we’ve known each other. Isn’t that crazy? Anyway, I just wanted to say happy birthday (even though I’ve already said it) and that I’m really happy we got to meet. Enjoy the cat!

With all my love, Marinette”

Felix glanced up at Marinette, who was blissfully ignorant of his findings as she defeated Claude for the second time at Mecha Strike 3. Did she intend to use all of these as birthday presents? How many gifts were in there? Did she expect this person to have the same interests twenty years from now? He couldn’t decide if this level of planning was due to over-thinking or just plain obsession. Maybe both.

“Hey, Felix!” 

Felix flinched at the sudden call of his name, weirdly feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of some crime. He looked up to see Claude waving a controller at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” The brunette asked.

“Talk to me when you have chess.” Felix replied shortly, going back to the chest. He had hoped that seeing Marinette’s room would provide more answers to her life, but it only issued more questions. Did she have this amount of gifts for all of her friends or was Adrien special? If he was special, what way would it be? Was he possibly an ex-lover? She dated him for a while, and they had a recent falling out, which was why she was getting rid of the gifts. That would make sense.

“He just wants to talk.”

Her words from last week resurfaced in his mind. The person who chased her that day was the only one she reacted bitterly towards. Was Adrien trying to get back together with her? 

Was he the reason she left her old school in the first place?

My, my Dupain-Cheng. Felix thought. Aren’t you just full of secrets?

Tag List:  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

all gone, all gone, all gone

part 4: well, no, i don't feel lighter

my crackfic is back, y'all!! and here to break my 3rd-chapter curse, in which every fic i've ever written ever, i've given up after exactly the 3rd chapter. hopefully the amnesia fic and the 5+1 can follow suit. i wanted to post something for thomastair week/alastair appreciation day, and this doesn't fully fit but i have too many WIPs and this was the closest thing. I've written most of part 5, which has some great thomastair action, so maybe i'll try to post that tonight as well

content warnings: suicide attempt, magical manipulation, implications of domestic violence

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist | AO3

They will never help you. Not even your sister takes your side, not in many months, years even. Do you think they would take you back now, like this? They preferred you floating dead in the Thames than fighting beside them even before I got my hands on you. They would use you and discard you in seconds. You are nothing to them, you never had been. Do you think your own mother would take you back knowing what you’ve done?

Alastair was clean again, free again. Those were the first words Belial had said to him after giving him a second chance. They repeated in his head now, deep in battle with the people he’d betrayed, the people who would betray him without hesitation. The people he should hold no loyalty towards.

But something else played in his head as well: a memory. He was 11, maybe 12, his sister slightly younger. They were playing hide and seek in the forest beyond Cirenworth. Alastair knew it was because his father was drunk and angry, and his mother had told him to get his sister out of the house. He was worried that she would get hurt attempting to calm him down, but Cordelia wasn’t. She was happy, she was laughing. She had no idea that anything could be wrong. She was elated for her brother to be playing with her. She wanted to run around and pick berries and eat them next to the lake a mile from their house.

He held tightly to the memory, as if it were a street he was sprinting down and if he made a single turn, he would never be able to find it again. It was the last thing he thought of before Belial returned to him, and it was a message he easily understood: this was the reason he was loyal to her, even when she betrayed him.

He had been so focused on his anger, his death wish, all of his own pain and heartbreak that he’d lost sight of what had sustained him all of his years: his sister. He survived on the knowledge that whatever happened to him, whatever abysmal fate was before him, his sister could have better. She deserved better. He could give it to her in whatever way possible.

He’d become distracted in his own pain, and Belial had preyed on that. Now, Alastair understood. It didn’t matter if Belial killed him or if he was sent away to the Basilias to waste away for the rest of his days or if he was stripped of his marks and never allowed to see his family again as long as Cordelia walked away in one piece.

Belial twirled Cortana in the air. “Good thing we have another Carstairs to wield it. Take care of her.” The blade flew into Alastair’s grasp. Cordelia winced and Lucie shrieked, charging towards Belial. They locked each other in a battle of magicks, but she wouldn’t last long, not against a Prince of Hell.

Alastair thought back to that memory, to the sound of her shrieks of laughter, of the flashes of deep, dark red hair between the trees as he chased her. He would rather die a thousand agonizing deaths than hurt her again. His mind told him that it was illogical, but he knew that it was correct. “You always wanted to be a hero, isn’t that what you said?” She looked hurt and confused, but more than anything, terrified. She needed to understand. There was only so much he could do; she needed to believe. “Do you believe you are a merciful hero?”

Realization flickered in her eyes of that memory from many years ago. “I try to be.”

Alastair couldn’t throw a sword and expect it to land safely in Cordelia’s grasp and without any demonic interception, nor did he wish to be within slashing distance of his sister with Belial in his head. Instead, he threw the sword upward.

Cordelia held out her hand and the blade flew into it, just as it had back in Devon. It fit firmly into Cordelia’s grasp just as Lucie collapsed.

“What-” Belial began. Alastair felt himself lifted into the air by an invisible hand around his neck. “-did you do?” Before he could answer, Cordelia started to move forward. The grip around his throat tightened and he couldn’t stop the strangled sound that followed. “Move another inch and I’ll snap his pretty little neck,” he warned. Cordelia froze.

“You should- have killed me-” Alastair choked out. “After Thomas.”

“You tricked me.”

“You wanted me- to give up. Should have known- I’m a talented- actor.” He could feel himself getting lightheaded attempting to speak, sacrificing the little air that he was still able to breathe.

“You think you’re so brilliant-”

“No. You’re- a fool. You- miscalculated.” He heard a shout down the corridor. If Cordelia was still holding Cortana when James arrived, there would be no way for Belial to win. Now was his only chance.

He heard a shriek as he flew through the air, colliding with a brick wall in a sickening crunch. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground. He opened his eyes just in time to watch Belial disintegrate at Cortana’s blade.

The world was blurry, and everything hurt. His body, but also - him. He was free. He was dying, but he was free.

Each breath hurt more and more, and he could taste blood in his mouth. He had at least several broken bones and a concussion, in addition to broken ribs and any internal injuries. He attempted to sit up but the bit of effort made his vision go black. Perhaps more than a concussion.

Suddenly, his sister's face was above him. "Stay with me," she begged. "Please, I need you. Please, hold on. Everything will be okay. We'll get you to the Institute and they will heal you and then we will figure out the rest. Please, I need you. I'm so sorry. I love you. I can't do this without you. Please, hold on, for me."

She should not be apologizing, he thought. I was the one who left her.

He tried. He tried to hold on. He had brief memories of the carriage riding, slipping in and out of consciousness.

Stay with me, she repeated.

I will, he tried to tell her, but no words came.

Then, he saw nothingness. The emptiness with which he was so familiar.

Then, he woke. He was in the infirmary. His whole body ached. He felt his stomach lurch as he remembered all that had happened the past two weeks.

Cordelia was sitting in a daze, not fully asleep, but not fully awake.

"I suppose this whole ordeal means that I am either very hard to kill or very bad at dying," he said weakly, startling her out of her stupor.

She glared at him. "Don't joke about such things! I would smack you were you not injured. I still might yet." She hurried to him and embraced him tightly. His body ached at her pull but he did not comment.

"How long has it been?"

"Three days since the fight."

"Is Lucie okay?"

She nodded. "It took her a bit to recover, but she's alright. There were other injuries, but somehow we all made it out in one piece."

"I'm so sorry, Cordelia," he said quietly.

"Shh, don't start that. It's alright. I just-" Her breath hitched for a moment. "I wish I had been able to see how much pain you were in. I wish I could have helped."

He shook his head. "No, I wouldn't have accepted it." He reached to cup her face in his hand but realized that his wrists were bound to restraints. Of course. He'd worked for Belial. He'd carried out unspeakable deeds for him. He'd kidnapped Thomas, even if he had freed him as well.

"They- they said they had to, that until you woke and they could assess the situation it would be necessary. I-"

"It's okay," he told her. "I understand."

"What are you going to tell them? About how... about what happened with Belial?"

He exhaled. "The truth. I will simply tell them the truth."

* * *

The Consul was apprehensive about allowing Alastair to take the Mortal Sword so soon after waking from his injuries, but he insisted that he would not speak without it. He only wanted to do this once. She reluctantly agreed, bringing the sword to the infirmary, along with the Inquisitor, the head of the Institute, and Sophie Lightwood as witness. He was unsure of how she’d gotten involved, but her presence somehow terrified him and soothed him at the same time. Cordelia was allowed to stay as well, as long as she did not interfere with the questioning.

The Mortal Sword burned through his body, aggravating his many wounds, but he’d felt worse. He answered their questions, explaining how Belial had held him over the Thames, threatening to drop him into the river as he brokered a deal with him. He conveniently left out the part that preceded. He attempted to describe what it was like to be under Belial’s spell, under his curse. He told them that he never wanted to hurt anyone. It was the truth, even under Belial’s influence.

“Thank you, Alastair. We’re almost finished,” Will told him. Alastair was unsure why he was asking the questions, he was sure that was meant to be the task of the Inquisitor, but whatever Will had done to earn the privilege, it seemed like he regretted it now. He was simply too empathetic. “Please allow me to clarify a few details. Belial, using Jesse Blackthorn’s body, pushed you off of Tower Bridge?”

Alastair grimaced, his answer burning in the back of his throat. He had hoped they would overlook this part. “No.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was already over the edge of the bridge.”

“I don’t understand.”

Alastair looked over to Cordelia who seemed ready to jump in on his behalf, though they both knew she was not allowed. “I- I jumped,” he confessed, relief washing over him, though he did not know if it was because of the sword. “I attempted to kill myself, but Belial stopped me.”

The Consul and Will Herondale looked at him in shock. Sophie Lightwood appeared guilty, but he had no idea what for. The Inquisitor was indifferent.

Will attempted to speak, the pain breaking through his eyes, but could not. The Consul stepped in instead. “I see. Is there any other information relevant to this ordeal?”

He was about to respond when Sophie spoke up. “What did Belial tell you about Barbara?” Ah, he realized. That was why she was here. That was why she was guilty.

“Sophie!” the Consul scolded.

“Mrs. Lightwood, that is entirely-” The Inquisitor began, but it was not a question Alastair was opposed to answering.

“Nothing,” he told her. “But I overheard him speaking to Tatiana. He called Barbara’s death his gift to her.”

Sophie’s solemn expression did not hold the surprise of the Consul’s or Will’s. Alastair was merely confirming what she already knew.

The Consul nudged Will forward to take the sword back from Alastair. “I believe we’re finished here. We will discuss the matter and return to you shortly.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Will put away the Mortal Sword and they left the room, Sophie casting an apologetic glance back at him. The silence stayed between him and Cordelia as they waited. He believed before that if he could skirt around the truth, there was a chance he would walk free, even if he did not deserve it. Now, knowing that they knew the full truth, his stomach twisted at the thought of their decision.

Cordelia looked pale, and he knew she was thinking something similar. “I’m going to go get some water,” she said finally. It wasn’t even a convincing lie.

“Cordelia, what are you doing?”

She didn’t answer as she left the infirmary.

if any of this seems unrealistic, i don't care! i made this mess and i can deus ex machina it if i want to!!!

taglist (ask to be +/-, this is a different taglist than most of my content because of the triggers): @jem-nasium @littlx-songbxrd @fortheloveofthecarstairs @cant-think-of-anything @shadowrunner2000 @writeforjordelia @jurdan-my-beloved

Part 5

[mctherofdragons]

In the Afterglow | 3 | F.W.

moodboard by @minty-malfoy​.

Summary: The reader is married to George Weasley, and for all intents and purposes, he is the perfect husband. But, despite her best efforts to resist, Fred presents temptation she never knew she’d fall for.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem! Reader; George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Alternate Universe: No Voldemort AU

Rating: Mature, Future Chapters will Feature Explicit Content

Trigger Warnings: ANGST,  mentions of extramarital affairs, cheating, mentions of infertility/miscarriage, mentions of sex, cussing,  i think that’s it 

Author’s Note: I have to give a HUGE shout out to @starlightweasley because oh my gosh, she has been my sounding board for SO many ideas for this fic and i’m so thankful for that. I hope you all love this chapter, but I will say it’s a bit of a filler. Chapter 4 will be much more in depth and have action between the reader and Fred (including fluff). Also, please note the TWs for infertility and miscarriage, which were not TWs in previous chapters. XO. PS: If your name is in bold, i couldn’t tag you. 

Taglist: @oh-for-merlins-sake @sunflowernarry @vivianweasley @haf-the-trash-panda @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @msmarklee1213 @n3ssm0nique @satellitespidey  @michaylahpfan27  @girl22334 @starlightweasley @minty-malfoy @theweasleytwinsgirl @louist-pics @pigwidgexn @snehkaaay @slytherinbth @laurrrtyyy 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

December 25th. 

The Weasleys didn’t have all the money in the world for a lavish Christmas, but somehow, it was better to celebrate in their simple way. You sat on the sofa, your legs tucked beneath you comfortably. Taking a small sip of your hot cocoa, you watched as George stoked the fireplace. 

“Happy Christmas, y/n,” Molly said as she entered, opening her arms wide. You gave her a warm hug, feeling the happiness simply radiating off of her. But inside, your stomach was in knots. Last night’s kiss with Fred was still fresh in your mind. He, on the other hand, was still sleeping. 

You watched as Albus played on the floor with his new toys, looking over as George sat next to you. “Maybe next year...we’ll have another little Weasley on the way?,” Molly gave you a wink and you forced a smile. George put his arm around you. It made you feel ill. 

“Mum,” George sighed. “You know we’re trying.” “Ah, well, getting there is half the fun I always say,” Arthur chuckled, sitting down with his cup of coffee. 

“Arthur Weasley!,” Molly gasped. Again, the room filled with laughter. You snuggled further down into the sofa, glad to be distracted by the marshmallows swirling around in your mug. 

_______________________

5 years earlier, November. 

Gryffindor had won again, in no small part thanks to the Weasley twins. You took off running, your robes catching the wind behind you. You were practically bolting toward the twins as fast as you could. For a moment, Fred found himself smiling, allowing his mind to think you were running toward him. His forlorn face wasn’t apparent to you as you leaped immediately into George’s arms. You practically knocked George over as he twirled you around. 

He laughed, taking in the scent of your perfume. “Hi, poppet,” he laughed, setting you down. 

“My favorite beater,” you giggled, giving him a playful kiss. Leaning forward, you stood up on your tippy-toes to give his nose a little kiss. His whisper met your ear and you giggled. Fred had heard it, though, and he was sure George wasn’t even trying to be quiet. 

“C’mon up to my room, love,” he whispered. Then he turned to his twin. “Hey, Fred, make yourself busy for a while, eh?”

George grabbed your hand and you took off toward Gryffindor tower, your stomach bursting with excitement for some alone time with George. Fred felt his stomach sink, jealousy brewing somewhere deep within him. He threw his broom down, eliciting a shocked look from the keeper next to him. 

____________________________

Fred came down the stairs eventually. His red hair was tousled and you couldn’t help but bite your lip. You caught yourself quickly, snuggling in closer to George. 

“Mornin, all. Happy Christmas, mum,” Fred gave Molly a little kiss on the forehead, heading over to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

“Well now that Fred has decided to arise from his slumber, we should get around to opening the rest of our presents, yes?” Ginny seemed annoyed with her brother, but that was not too unusual. 

Fred sat down on the floor, busying himself with sipping his coffee. Neither of you dared to look at one another. It occurred to you that maybe last night had been a dream, but then you felt the tiny rug burn on your lower back and knew it was real. Your sweater had lifted up while on the carpet with Fred, giving you a small scrape. 

Everyone busied themselves with opening their presents. Molly practically cried over every gift her children got her, including a framed photo of everyone from last Christmas. Meanwhile, George and Fred had gotten each other expensive bottles of whiskey, nearly dying in laughter that they both got the same thing for one another. 

Finally, George handed you a small black box and your heart fluttered. “For you, princess,” he grinned, giving you a small kiss. Something behind his eyes still felt distant, but you pushed your doubts away. You opened it up slowly, revealing a stunning vintage locket. It was eighteen karat gold and engraved with floral detail. It was no doubt madly expensive. It was stunning, the lights from the Christmas tree glinting off of its surface. You clicked the locket open, feeling yourself tear up at a picture of you both from your school days. 

“Oh,” you put your hand over your heart. George took the necklace from you and turned you around, fastening the clasp for you. Once he was back in front of you, he pulled him into a kiss. “I love it, George.” 

“Again, happy Christmas, love,” he gave your hand a squeeze. But you found yourself reaching up to touch the cold medal around your neck, secretly wishing a photo of Fred was inside. 

You looked up and caught eyes with the other twin. You stared for a moment, his brown eyes burrowing deep into yours. Fred broke his gaze. “I need a moment,” he mumbled, quickly rushing outside. 

“What’s got his goat?,” Ron said, stuffing a cookie into his mouth. Everyone shrugged, except for you. You felt your heart crack just a bit as you looked at the door which had just swung shut.

“I’ll go check on him,” you offered. No one suspected anything, of course. You were always kind to Fred. Each member of the family had assumed Fred was just stressed about the shop, as was usual, and needed some calming down. 

You headed out the back door, rounding the corner behind the Burrow. Fred was leaned against the small shed out back, tears streaming down his face. He saw you and buried his face into one of his hands, his other arm pulled across his abdomen. 

“Go back inside, y/n,” he sighed, using the sleeve of his sweater to wipe his eyes. 

You dared to step forward, moving his hand away. “Fred.”

“Please, go back inside,” he gently moved you away from him. 

But you pushed your luck again, stepping forward. He spun you around, kissing you with your back pressed against the cool wood of the shack. “Go back inside,” he repeated, the clouds of his breath floating up into the freezing air. A few tears remained on his cheeks, but they’d know somewhat rubbed off onto your cheeks. The winter breeze stung as it met the dampness. You kissed him again, and nothing about it was soft. When you and Fred kissed, it was as if you’d completely devour one another given the chance. Close was never close enough. He cupped your face in his hands, his forehead pressed tight to yours, your noses touching. “Go. Inside,” Fred repeated finally, and you slipped beneath his arms to head back toward the door. 

“You’d best come in before they start to worry,” you said quietly, thankful you had decided against wearing lipstick that day. 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･

December 28th. 

George sat across from Fred, counting that day’s deposit. Fred had poured them both glasses of the whiskey from Christmas. This was something they occasionally enjoyed, basking in the happiness of just being brothers together. Usually, they talked about nothing in particular. World quidditch scores, or the latest movie they’d watched. But today, George seemed tenser. Fred hadn’t admitted it out loud, but he was partially nervous that George had suspected something. 

Fred tipped the bottle to top off his glass, taking a strong sip as George placed the deposit into the lockbox. He took his own swig, setting down his glass as he looked at his twin. 

“She’s driving me bloody mad, Fred,” he said finally, shaking his head. Fred raised an eyebrow, realizing George was about to start ranting about you. 

“Is that right?,” Fred adjusted his shirt a bit, undoing the top button. He was already nervous for what was to come, knowing any ill word against you would make his anger spark. 

“I mean, fuck, we’ve been trying for months now to get pregnant and she can’t. I know it isn’t her fault but, hell, it sucks, you know?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Fred said quietly, swirling his ice cubes around in his drink as he moved his glass. 

“And don’t even get me started on her being piss poor in bed, lately, neither,” George slammed back what was left of his whisky. He filled up his glass halfway again. 

Fred felt his blood pressure hit the ceiling as if someone had set a Whiz Bang off in his brain. 

“Ya know, I haven’t told anyone this, but she did get pregnant, a few months ago.” “How do you mean?” “Well, you know it….came away,” George frowned, feeling his throat get tight. “I just, ever since then, Fred. She doesn’t want to try anymore. I...I hate to admit this but, I’ve been...feeling less in love with her lately.” 

Fred stayed quiet, unable to form a coherent sentence that wouldn’t give himself away. You were perfect to him, and imagining you curled up on a bathroom floor, experiencing profound loss, broke his spirit. 

“It’ll all work out,” Fred gave George a friendly pat on the back. “C’mon, lets go down to the pub for a few with the boys, eh?” “Sure.” 

Fred left the conversation there, forbidding himself to venture any further. Two can keep a secret, but he tended to be rubbish at it.

He felt his phone buzz and he pulled it out of his pocket, smiling down at the screen. Your name had popped up with a short text message. 

Miss you. Meet tonight someplace?

[paarthursass-writes]

for the fanfic ask game: 😂 ❤️ 💕

😂 What’s the funniest comment someone has left on a fic of yours?

I am blessed with so many funny people in the comments of my fics, to be honest. BUT I have to say the one that made me cackle the LOUDEST was on Chapter 6 of 'not in death, but just in sleep,'

" Maybe Alfi could try smuggling some Ritalin into Herbie's next meal, then he might get 5 minutes of rest "

Genuinely made me guffaw. Like, yes, they just need to wait a hundred years or so so Herbert can get an ADHD diagnosis and then everything about him makes so much more sense. God bless.

❤️ Who is your favorite character to write for and why?

I'll give a "one character per fandom" answer for this one.

I'm sure it's no surprise (considering I RPed him for so many years) that when it comes to the Cat Returns, the Baron of course was my favorite to write. Admittedly I didn't write much for the other characters outside of occasionally Muta and Toto (I think? It's been a while admittedly), but I got SUCH a kick out of writing Baron. I loved all of the contrasting aspects of his character; how intelligent, adaptable, and perceptive he was with how OBLIVIOUS he could be in the next second. How he often felt like he was the "only rational" person in the Bureau (with how Muta and Toto so often got into their spats) vs how incredibly impulsive and dramatic he could be in other times. I love digging into characters who have those layers within them.

I also do have a special place in my heart for dark!verse Baron. How I initially wrote him to be "evil" Baron, but evidently the Baron's integrity was still too great and I couldn't erase that part of his character completely. He was just Baron but 10x more emotionally constipated and broody. It was so much fun. I loved writing for that verse SO MUCH.

For Tanz der Vampire, it's a little hard for me to pick one character. What I love so much about the cast in that show is how absolutely unhinged ALL of the characters are. Every single person in that show has something wrong with them and it's so much fun.

But, I will say, Herbert probably takes the crown for this one. He's so flighty, and even just writing him when he's not the POV character can be so much fun because Herbert is so often in his own world. I joked that at the beginning of 'not in death,' Alfred was still living in a horror/mystery/heist genre, while Herbert was in a teen romcom. He can be SO BAD at reading the room sometimes and he's SO SPOILED but he's also SUCH a romantic and such a sweetie but then he can be so MEAN if he doesn't like a person, too. Again it's about the CONTRAST, it's about the DICHOTOMY of the character. Herbert's also very fun because he can jump from one extreme to the next. He can wail and cry about how unfair things are but then at the drop of a pin he'll smiling and giggling and twirling his hair. I sometimes don't fully know how Herbert will react in certain scenes, and I just have to let the flow of the conversation dictate what Herbert does and says, and that kind of unpredictability is really fun for me.

💕 What is the WIP that you are most excited about?

I don't usually have multiple WIPs going at the same time, though this time I guess I technically do. 'Dancing on Knives' isn't shelved yet, and I do have a TDV post-canon one-shot that I'm playing around with, but the one I'm most excited for is definitely 'No Change of Heart.'

When I first started thinking about doing a Beauty and the Beast AU for TDV, I had two options in front of me: one where Herbert was the Beast, and one where Alfred was the Beast. I had pretty solid ideas for both routes, but the one where Herbert became the Beast excited me the most as I thought more and more about it. Figuring out how the curse would effect Koukol and Krolock too really intrigued me, as did exploring what would happen to the surrounding area if Krolock were "out of commission" for a long time. I also got VERY excited when I realized I could incorporate the "Prince appearing in Beauty's dreams every night to implore her to love the Beast" aspect of the original fairy tale, seeing as Herbert canonically can affect Alfred's dreams. A lot of things fell into place for this AU as I started to think about it, and I'm very excited to share where it's going with people!

[allsassnoclass]

unmute: 2011

Hello friends here is chapter 1 of unmute, aka the off-screen prequel!

Fic tumblr masterpost

Read on AO3

warnings for this chapter: there is one mention of alcohol and there is one slight instance of homophobia (a microaggression)

thank you to bella @clumsyclifford for reading this over for me

Luke first meets Ashton on a normal Friday afternoon.  They’re in Luke’s garage to give Michael’s granny flat a break, the door open to let the spring breeze in to occasionally ruffle their fringes.  They’re messing around with a blink-182 song just for the heck of it when a bike skids to a stop on the sidewalk.  Luke doesn’t even notice at first, too caught up in positioning his fingers correctly on the fretboard and getting the words right, but once they finish singing someone outside starts clapping and Luke startles bad enough that his cheeks immediately feel like they’re on fire.

“Wow, you guys are really good!” the cutest boy that Luke has ever seen says.  Even from this distance, Luke thinks he can make out dimples at the corner of his smile.

“Thanks, mate!” Calum says.  The cute boy gives a thumbs up and pedals away, and Luke tries to trade the embarrassment of being caught singing with the boys unexpectedly for the pleasant burning of the compliment instead.

It happens again the next week.  The boy comes to a stop on his bike at the end of Luke’s driveway, and Luke notices him right away this time.  He sends a small smile as he finishes the chorus and the boy beams, bopping his head along.  When the final chord fades away, he claps, compliments them again, and then is off.

“Huh,” Michael says as the boy bikes away.

“What?” Luke asks.

“I’m pretty sure we’re Facebook friends.  We met at a party.  His name’s Ashton.”

“Invite him in next time, then,” Luke says.  It ends up being futile, because Michael’s parents let them back in the granny flat after that and there’s no more practicing in Luke’s garage following school.

-/-

He runs into the cute boy again unexpectedly at the movie theater.

It’s embarrassing, because Luke had just been minding his own business waiting for popcorn and hoping that he doesn’t see anyone he knows when a few boys from his school spot him.  Normally this would be fine, but Luke just got a haircut that he hates and he’s wearing his really dorky glasses, and these boys aren’t exactly bullies but they’re also not the nicest.

“Hey, Hemmings, how are you going to be a rockstar with those glasses?” one of them says, and the rest snicker, and Luke can feel himself closing in on himself instead of putting on his thick skin and acting like that doesn’t bother him.

“Maybe he’s trying to be a trendsetter,” one of the others says, glancing at him quickly.  The boys scoff and Luke knows that he should say something, but he’s desperately hoping that Jack appears from where he ran off to the bathroom instead.

“Popcorn for the guy in the awesome green glasses,” someone says, voice strong and melodic, and when Luke turns it’s not Jack that’s come to his rescue but the cute boy, fringe sweeping across bright eyes and tan skin, wearing the uniform of the movie theater and holding out a tub of popcorn across the counter.

“Thanks,” he says, stepping forward to take it, and the boy smiles widely at him.

Luke had been right.  He does have dimples.  And straight teeth.  And his eyes are hazel.  His name tag says Ashton, so Michael wasn’t lying about having met him before.  Luke wonders what he was doing when this party took place.

“Don’t listen to them,” Ashton says.  “With a voice like yours, they’ll be eating their words soon.”

“I hope so,” Luke says, and then, because Michael says they have to advertise the band better, “I’m in a band.  We’re called 5 Seconds of Summer, if you ever want to look us up.”

“I’ll do that,” Ashton says.  “I’ll admit I’ve been disappointed when I bike by that house and you guys aren’t practicing.”

Luke’s heart does an excited little twirl at that, because Ashton seems genuine.  Luke knows that the band is okay, otherwise he wouldn’t have put anything out on YouTube or let Michael and Calum invade his channel, but it’s nice to hear it from someone who isn’t an immediate family member.

“We’re practicing at Michael’s now,” Luke says.  “Maybe--”

He stops, because that’s a silly idea.

“What?” Ashton asks, tiling his head slightly.

“Well, we haven’t done any official gigs yet so I can’t invite you to those, but it might be good to play for someone else who’s not related to us, if you wanted to sit in on a practice or something.  But you don’t have to!  It’d probably be weird and I don’t know if Michael and Calum would be okay with it, although neither of them minded you watching from the driveway…” he trails off, chewing his lip.

“I’d love that!” Ashton says enthusiastically, startling Luke out of the unfortunate swirl of thoughts centering around how awful it is that he’s still so awkward.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says.  “If your bandmates are okay with it, of course, but I’d like that a lot.”

“Oh.  Cool.”

Luke is trying to figure out if he should give Ashton his number, or ask for his, or how to go about coordinating this when the popcorn is snatched from his hands.

“Come on, Luke,” Jack says.  “Movie’s starting.”

He doesn’t wait for him, just sets off for the theater, and Luke scrambles to orient himself and follow.

“I’ll have Michael message you on Facebook!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing out a wave.  Ashton calls back a confirmation and returns the wave and then goes right back to smiling at the next customer and preparing concessions.

“Who was that?” Jack asks once they take their seats, thankfully before the previews have started.

“His name’s Ashton.  He likes the band.”

“Wow, a fan,” Jack says without the proper amount of enthusiasm Luke thinks being in a band that has real fans out in the world should warrant.  Luke elbows him and snatches the popcorn bucket, but not before Jack grabs a handful to stuff in his mouth.

Luke rolls his eyes and settles in for the movie.  When they leave afterwards he looks for Ashton, but doesn’t see him behind the concession counter.

-/-

Their next rehearsal dissolves pretty quickly into Michael and Calum playing video games while Luke pretends to do his homework instead of watch them.  He has a few assignments that need to get turned in to keep his grades up to his mum’s standard, but Michael and Calum are loud and vibrant and very, very distracting.  Luke is laying on the floor to avoid any stray elbows that get thrown, but he can’t let his guard down just in case.  As such, he’s done exactly half of a math problem.

When there’s a quiet moment he clears his throat and says “Hey, you guys remember Ashton?”

“The guy who was watching from the driveway?” Calum asks.

“Ashton from the party?” Michael adds.

“Yeah,” Luke says.  “I ran into him at the movie theater.  I think we should invite him to sit in on some practices.”

“Why?” Michael frowns.  Luke shrugs.

“It’ll be good to play in front of an audience, even if it’s just one person.  He seems cool and he likes the band.”

“Are we ready for that?” Calum asks.  Luke shrugs again.

“We already put out stuff on YouTube.  How much different can it be?”

“Yeah, but we mess up a lot before we upload the videos,” Michael says.  He looks at Luke critically, squinting in a way that makes Luke want to retreat like a turtle, except he can’t even effectively do that because it’s spring and he’s in a t-shirt.  Then Michael grins, wide and teasing.  “Does he really like the band, or do you just have a crush on him?”

Luke feels a blush flare up on his face, the type that stings.  

“Fuck you, I’m not gay!” he says, and a voice inside his head screams liar!  He stamps it down viciously.

He isn’t gay.  He might be bi, but that’s not relevant right now and he’s not going to make it relevant for a while, not when he doesn’t have to.  All of the boys at their school are tools, so it’s not like he’s going to have the chance to explore that side of himself here, anyway.

Maybe if the band actually goes somewhere he will.  But then again, maybe having a bi member would hurt them.  Maybe he’ll end up keeping this between him and the poster of All Time Low in his room forever.

Either way, it’s not relevant right now.  Luke likes flirting with girls and holding their hands and the few dry kisses he’s had, so he’s just going to focus on that.

“Aw, you do have a crush,” Michael says, catapulting him back to the real world, and his tone is teasing but it still makes Luke panic.  It’s not even true, because Ashton is super cute and he seems nice but that’s not-- Luke’s not trying to get to know him because of that.

“Are you jealous?” Luke asks, switching tactics because the more he fights against them the more Michael and Calum will clamp down on this line of teasing like dogs sinking their teeth into a particularly good bone.  Michael wrinkles his nose and recoils.

“Ew.”

And yeah, that stings a little, too.

Calum gets a look on his face that typically means he’s up to no good.

“I think I need to meet this Ashton guy,” he says.  “See if he’s any good for our little Lukey.”  He reaches over to ruffle his hair and Luke swats his hand away, which leads to a small tussle that ends in half of the pages of Luke’s textbook getting folded over.

“Fuck you guys,” Luke says once he has Calum in something resembling a headlock, a little out of breath but triumphant.  “He just seems cool.  I don’t have any cool friends and thought it’d be nice.”

“Hey,” Calum complains, then jabs him with his elbow and escapes.

“He says he’s free on Saturday,” Michael says, looking at his phone.  “I don’t want him at our practices until I know he’s okay, so we’re going bowling.”

“No one who goes bowling is cool,” Calum says.

“Shut up, Calum,” Michael says, then begins the next round of their game with no warning, leaving Calum scrambling to get ready.  Luke huffs a laugh and tries to get his textbook back to rights, even though he knows he won’t be getting any more homework done today.

-/-

On Saturday, Luke feels inexplicably nervous.

He shouldn’t, because Ashton isn’t special.  He’s just a guy that they met and now are going to hang out with a little.  Luke has already botched one conversation with him and survived, and he’ll have Michael and Calum with him this time for backup.  Besides, if it turns out that Ashton is awful they simply won’t ever invite him over.  If it turns out that he’s not, Luke could have a new friend.

He has friends.  He’s not an outcast at school or anything, and Michael and Calum are amazing most of the time, so it’s not like he’s hurting for friends.  Still, another one would be nice, and he really does think it could be good to get an outside perspective on their music.

His mum drops him off in front of the bowling alley where Michael is already waiting, running a hand through his fringe in a way that makes Luke think he might be a little nervous, too, which is unfortunate because Michael is typically the most boisterous out of them and Luke was counting on him to drag him through this if it starts to go sour.  When necessary, Michael is really good at muscling through uncomfortable situations for the sake of Luke or Calum.

“Call me when you’re done,” his mum says.  “Have fun.”

“Thanks,” he says distractedly, already partially out of the car.  Michael immediately brightens when he sees him.

“Hi,” he says.  Luke waves and jogs over.  “Cal’s going to be a little late and I have no fucking clue when Ashton’s going to show up.”

Oh no.  What if Ashton doesn’t want to come in general?  What if he changed his mind and doesn’t think the band or Luke are hot shit? Then not only will Luke be sad, but Michael and Calum will never let him live it down.

“Mate, you look like you’re going to be sick,” Michael frowns.  “Don’t barf on me.  Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Luke says.  “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“It was your idea,” Michael says slowly.

“Yeah.  Maybe it was bad.”

“Luke, he’s just some guy.  It’s not like we’re proposing marriage.  It’s not like he might join the band or anything.  Relax.”  He knocks their shoulders together, throwing Luke off-balance and then catching him with a hand on his arm when he doesn’t bounce back right away.  Luke shrugs him off.

“I know that,” he says.

“So why are you being weird?”

He’s about to try to muster up an answer when someone calls their names.  Luke whips around fast enough that Micheal has to steady him again, but Ashton either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he continues steadily walking towards them and his smile doesn’t waver.  Luke waves and hopes that that negates the fact that he just almost tripped over his own feet.

“Hey,” Michael says when he’s close enough.  “How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” Ashton says.  He rocks on his heels when he comes to a stop, and Luke feels inexplicably nervous again.  It’s different from seeing him with a driveway or movie theater counter between them.  Here there’s no distance or buffer, just Luke and Michael and Ashton.

At least his shirt is a pretty ugly purple.  No one can be too intimidating when wearing a shirt like that.

They exchange pleasantries until Michael suggests they go inside and get themselves sorted while they wait for Calum to show up.  They step into the air-conditioning and Luke immediately feels more at ease.  He loves bowling alleys.  He loves the gaudy carpet and the loud music and the weird lights and the funny shoes and the stacks of neon bowling balls by the lanes.  He especially loves this particular alley because he can pinpoint the carpet stain where he spilled his coke while here with his family then didn’t tell anyone so it had time to set before it got cleaned, or the lane they used when Calum broke one of the bumpers because he doesn’t like bowling without them but threw the ball too hard.

“Can I tell you something?” Ashton asks while Michael is paying for the lane rental and getting shoes, leaning close to be heard over the music and crash of pins being knocked down in the background.  He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets and a little smile on his face, and Luke is instantly convinced that he’d probably let Ashton say whatever he wants and hang off his every word.

“Sure,” Luke says.

“I’m shit at bowling.  I don’t remember the last time I actually played.”

“It’s okay.  Calum is, too,” Luke says.  “That’ll make him like you.  We’re not using the bumpers, though.”

Ashton frowns.

“Do you usually?”

Luke gets called up to the shoe rental before he can respond.  While he’s kicking off his sneakers Calum arrives, prompting another flurry of greetings and introductions and small talk, then they finally all head to their lane and can begin the game.

Ashton is not nearly as bad at bowling as he had implied.  He’s not great, and Luke is glad that the only real competition he has to worry about is Michael, but Calum still decidedly comes in last for their first round.  He vows to take Ashton down for the second, which isn’t likely, but Luke likes the teasing it prompts between them.

Conversation flows naturally with none of the awkward pauses or weird adjustments that Luke had been preparing himself for.  Honestly, it’s extremely easy to get along with Ashton.  He fits into their little group seamlessly, cracking jokes and asking questions and keeping up with their topic changes like he’s been doing it for years.  Luke’s not sure if he’s stopped smiling the entire time they’re bowling, and his smile is great.  It takes over his entire face, wide and infectious, and Luke has to remind himself to stop staring multiple times.

It’s still not a crush, but Ashton is cute, okay?  It’s an objective fact.  Luke is allowed to notice cute people without having a crush on them.

After their time at their lane is up, Luke’s stomach grumbles and convinces them all to stop by the Macca’s next door before they have to call their parents.  Luke wants to order one of everything on the menu, but he settles for some chicken nuggets and hot chips.  All of them get a large fry, so Luke is pretty sure he’s going to get to eat Calum’s leftovers since he won’t have to fight Michael for them, anyway.

“So Ashton,” Michael says once they’re sitting.  “Luke says you’re a fan of the band.”

“Yeah, you guys are pretty good,” he says, then pops some chips in his mouth.

“Do you play drums?” Calum asks around his own mouthful of burger.  “‘Cause that’d be convenient.”

“No, I wish,” Ashton says ruefully.  “I’m not very musical.  My forte is visual art.”

“Really?” Luke asks.  “Like, drawing and painting and stuff?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says, straightening up.  “I want to study it after school.  I actually really want to go to college in America for it.  I’ve been looking at places with scholarships for international students.  They don’t start their school years until September, so I could work full time for most of the year to save up since I graduate in December.”

“Wow,” Michael says.

“That’s cool,” Luke says, because yeah, wow.  Luke can’t imagine leaving behind everyone he knows to go to a different hemisphere, but Ashton seems excited for it, eyes shining.  He must really love art.

“If you guys ever make it to America, hit me up,” he says.  “I’ll be in the front row at your show.”

“When,” Michael corrects.  Ashton grins at him.

They manage to almost finish their meal before Ashton gets a text from his mum requesting him home.  As soon as he’s gone Michael turns to the other two, fast enough that Luke’s a little worried he’ll get whiplash.

“That shirt is fucking ugly.”

Luke and Calum dissolve into laughter.

“What?  Am I wrong?” Michael asks.

“No, it’s ugly,” Calum says around giggles.  Luke nods around his own laughter and Michael leans back in his chair, satisfied.

“Besides that I like him, though,” he says.  Luke feels warmth blossom inexplicably inside him, pleased on Ashton’s behalf.

“Me too,” Calum says.

“Yeah, me three,” Luke says.  Michael nods decisively and Luke’s heart starts beating a little bit faster in anticipation of their next band practice.

-/-

When Ashton arrives for the next band practice, Michael, Calum, and Luke are all playing Fifa in the granny flat.  Michael’s mum must let him in, because one moment Luke is in the zone and the next there’s a prickle of awareness giving him goosebumps and Ashton is there, existing in his periphery.

“Hey Ashton,” he says, not breaking eye contact with the screen.  Michael and Calum ganged up on him for this round and Luke is determined not to lose.

"Hey," Ashton says.  "What're you guys doing?"

"Fifa!" Michael says in his best sports-announcer voice.  Calum scores a goal and crows right before the game ends, throwing his hands up.  Luke considers throwing his controller but settles for a very loud groan and scrubbing his hands over his face instead before taking his first good look at Ashton of the day.

He's not wearing the ugly purple shirt, but rather a green v-neck that hugs the tops of his arms and ensures Luke can see his collarbones.  Luke tries not to make it obvious that he's looking at Ashton's muscles, following the line of his arms down to bracelets knotted around his wrists and a black book in his hands.

"You can join Luke's team," Calum says.  "He sucks though, fair warning."

"Hey!  I do not!"  He tries to smack Calum, but he has to reach over Michael to do it, which means both of them shove him away and he almost topples over.

"I don't play Fifa," Ashton says.

"What," Michael squawks.  Luke stares incredulously, but Ashton just shrugs and adjusts his fringe before flopping down on the ottoman.

"I don't really like Fifa.  I'm not big on video games in general, but Fifa isn't one of the ones I play."

"We can't be friends anymore," Michael sighs dramatically, falling backwards with an arm over his eyes like a fainting maiden.  Luke pokes his stomach to make him jolt.  "How can you not like Fifa?"

Ashton shrugs again.

"I just don't."

"You're lucky you're not actually in the band," Calum says, brandishing his controller.  "This would be grounds to kick you out."

"It's true," Luke says.  "The only band rule is that everyone must like Fifa.  That's why we haven't replaced Michael yet."

"Hey!  There wouldn't be a band without me!"

Michael tackles Luke to the ground, knocking the wind out of him with an oof.  He flails, but Michael digs his fingers into his side, making him shriek.

"Ashton!  Calum!  Help!"

Ashton sighs, then turns to Calum, who shrugs.

"I'm not getting involved in that."

"Betrayal!" Luke calls between giggles, uselessly kicking at Michael but unable to make satisfying contact.  Michael finally relents once Luke feels like his lungs are about to burst from the lack of a good inhale.  He pants on the floor for a few more moments, then heaves himself to sitting and runs his fingers through his hair to set it back to rights.  Ashton gives him a wry smile.  Luke ducks his head, cheeks still flushed from the tickling.

"Is this how band practice usually starts?" Ashton asks.

"Only when Luke's being annoying," Michael huffs.  Luke flips him off.

"Well, we do usually start with Fifa, yeah," Calum says.  "Sometimes we just hang out instead of practicing, which is probably why we're still kinda shit."

"Hey," Luke says.

"Yeah, hey," Michael frowns.  "Don't shit-talk the band."

"You guys do it all the time!"

"Not in front of a guest," Michael says, gesturing at Ashton.  "Besides, we're never going to make it out of Sydney if you keep believing we're bad."

"I didn't say we were bad, I said we're kinda shit.  You can be a good band and still be kinda shit."

Luke frowns, but Michael launches into a quick rebuttal before he can and Luke decides to stop following.  He glances at Ashton and shrugs.  Ashton smiles, pressing his lips together in a way that Luke hopes means he's holding back a laugh instead of being uncomfortable.  His eyes are dancing too much for it to be a bad thing, though, so Luke returns his smile full force.

It's nice to have someone else here for when Michael and Calum go off on their tangents.  Luke never feels left out or anything, but sometimes it's obvious that they have their own language and dynamic bred from years of history that Luke is still catching up on.  They all understand each other in different little, intricate ways, but it's nice to have someone to share his own secret smiles with when the others are in their own world instead of him staring off into space and waiting for them to jump to a conversation he can be involved in.

Ashton drums his fingers against the black notebook in his lap, drawing Luke's full attention to it while the others squabble in the background.

"Hey, what's that?" he asks.

"This?" Ashton asks, holding it up.  It's a hardcover, with thick black loops binding it together.  Luke nods.  "It's my sketchbook.  I figured it'd be better to have something to do than just stare at you guys while you practice."

"Can I see?" Luke asks eagerly.  Ashton pulls the book closer to his chest, a small subconscious movement, smile cracking with nervousness at the edges.

"Not yet.  I'll show you when I have something good, though."

Luke deflates, but nods.

"They're unfinished," Ashton explains.  "They're messy.  I don't try very hard with my sketches, and I want your first impression of my art to be a good one.  Sorry."

"It's okay," Luke says.  "I get it."

Luke doesn't point out that showing him the sketchbook would probably be like Ashton sitting in on a practice, because maybe Ashton’s not there with him yet.  He wants to reach that level, though.  He wants to sit on Ashton's bed and leaf through his art with him, letting Ashton explain what he wants and drawing his own ideas from moments of silence.

"Hey," Michael says, clapping his hands a few times.  "Are we going to practice or what?"

Luke rolls his eyes, because he wasn't the one arguing with Calum about whether their band is bad or shitty, but goes to get his guitar anyway.  He takes him time tuning it, waiting for the others to get ready as well, and Ashton gets comfortable, lounging back.  They bicker a bit about what song they want to do, but not as much as usual because Luke made them all talk about it at lunch so they don't look like fools in front of Ashton, although it's probably much too late for that, and the first play-through is always a little rough, but it's fine.  Ashton's gaze is a gentle weight on his shoulders, and Luke smiles while he sings.

-/-

Luke waits anxiously by the door, glancing out the window every so often to see if he can spot Ashton making his way up the block to Michael's house on his bike.  He's coming straight from work, and they delayed practice a bit today so that he could be there for it.  They've started factoring Ashton's schedule into their practices a bit more, and Luke likes it.  It's maybe not as productive, but band practices feel better when all four of them are there.  Having Ashton sitting in the corner bent over his sketchbook or, in more dire cases, doing homework and revising for exams puts Luke more at ease, and even though he claims not to be musical he has good suggestions for dividing up parts of songs and is willing to tell them when they can do better.

He always phrases it that way, too.  Not "that wasn't good," but "you guys can do better."  Luke likes that he has standards for them.  He likes how sure he is that the band is worth something.

"Luke, sit down," Michael says, picking up another piece of pizza and trying not to lose all of his toppings on the way to his mouth.  "Waiting for him isn't going to make him appear faster."

"I'm too excited to sit," he says, snagging another piece of pizza for himself.  They're supposed to leave some for Ashton, just to be polite, but at the rate they're going that won't happen unless Ashton pulls up right now.

"I still can't believe it," Calum says, awestruck.

"Me neither," he says.

"I can't believe they said yes," Michael confesses.  "I hoped they would, obviously, but I wasn't sure if they would like the YouTube videos."

"This is big," Luke says.  "Like, this could be life-changing."

"Yeah, you said that earlier," Calum says.

"Because it's true."

The doorbell rings and Luke scrambles to standing, basically sprinting to the door to answer before anyone else and effectively cutting off the rest of the conversation.  He throws the door open wide, greeting Ashton with an exuberant smile that he tiredly returns.  He's always a little tired after a shift, shoulders slumped and everything worn at the edges, but Luke's glad that he still comes over when invited.  Luke likes to think that they rejuvenate him a little.

"Hi," he beams.

"Hey," Ashton says.  "You're in a good mood."

"Hey Ashton!" Calum calls from inside.  "There's one piece of pizza for you if you want it before Luke or Michael take it!"

"Oh," Ashton says, perking up.  Luke steps aside to let him in and follows him to the main room.

"Pizza?" Ashton asks, sinking to the floor and taking the offered piece while Luke takes a spot next to him.  "What's the occasion?"

Michael, Calum, and Luke exchange giddy looks, excitement palpable in the air until Luke can't take it anymore and blurts, "We have a gig!"

Ashton freezes, looking at all three of them before one of his signature grins splits his face.

"No fucking way!" he exclaims.  "Seriously?  Where?  When?  Holy shit, congrats!"

"December third at the Annandale Hotel," Michael says.  He's practically vibrating.  Luke thinks the three of them are probably holding enough energy to power a small city right now.

"A real gig," Ashton breathes.  "I'll be there, obviously."

"Obviously," Luke repeats.  "We can't do our first official gig without our biggest fan."  Ashton gives Luke a smile, the type that makes something warm blossom in Luke's stomach.

"Do you know what you're going to play yet?" Ashton asks.

"No, we just found out today," Calum says.  "We were going to try to make the setlist tonight."

"And we still need to find a drummer," Michael says.  Ashton hums.

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

They all shake their heads.  The Drummer Issue, as it has been officially dubbed by the band, is becoming a bigger and bigger thorn in their sides.  They feel good as a three-piece, but you can't play a gig without a drummer.  Michael fills in on percussion sometimes when they really need it, but he likes guitar much better and it's a little late to make him learn how to be a proper drummer when they don't even have a kit to use.

"I might be able to help," Ashton says.  "One of my friends plays drums.  He's not looking to join a band or anything, but he's a quick learner and could probably play at the Annandale at least if you don't have someone more permanent by then."

"Who is he?" Michael asks, reaching for the laptop they upload all of their covers on.  "Pull up his Facebook."

He elbows his way between Luke and Ashton so he can lean over Ashton’s shoulder and Luke scoots over to Calum instead, content to munch on his pizza and leave them to do whatever internet-stalking Michael deems appropriate.  Michael's approval is the hardest one to get in the band, so if he thinks the guy looks good they'll probably end up using him, and Ashton's recommendation carries a lot of weight.

"A real gig," Calum says reverently, staring at his pizza like it's the greatest gift in the world.  Luke knocks their shoulders together and continues leaning against him while the other two talk.

A real gig.  Luke has always put a lot of weight into being in a band, but there's something more official about it now.  They're a real band, not just a band to themselves and a handful of people on YouTube, but to people who will see their name on the marquee and everyone who enters through the doors that night.  5 Seconds of Summer is going to get a chance to play in front of a real crowd, not just Ashton.  This is the start of something huge, he can feel it.

If he had to pick anyone in the world to share this moment with, he’d pick the three people in this room right now.  Luke leans his head against Calum’s shoulder and lets himself imagine the possibilities.

-/-

The night before they're meant to perform at the Annandale, Luke can't sleep.  He tosses and turns, trying to find a comfortable position and failing, flipping his pillow over to the cool side and readjusting his covers and still staring uselessly at the ceiling.  The clock on his side table reads 3:43, red letters blinking mockingly at him as every second ticks by.  He sighs, turning back to look at his ceiling.

He could try to text Michael or Calum, but he doesn’t want them to know how anxious he is, stomach already tied in knots with over twelve hours before the performance.  They might be dealing with their own nerves and he doesn’t need to add to them, or they might be fine and think he’s being stupid.  He could keep laying here, but the longer he does that the more he starts thinking about how everything could go wrong.

What if he forgets the words?  What if his voice cracks?  What if he doesn’t tune his guitar properly and everyone cringes at the first strum?  What if he loses all of his picks?  What if a string breaks?  What if no one even shows up and it’s just the three of them and Ashton’s mellow drummer friend playing to an empty room and then no one lets them do a gig ever again?

He could try texting Ashton.  He might not even be awake, but if he does reply he’d probably say something reassuring that would have Luke’s shoulders unclenching and quiet his racing mind.  Ashton is good at stuff like that, but he doesn’t say things unless he means them.  If he tells Luke that things are going to be alright, things are probably going to be alright.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the brightness.

Luke: U up?

He cringes when he realizes how much that sounds like a come-on.  Whatever, it’s not like Ashton expects him to be doing that, so hopefully he’ll brush it off.

He’s about to try willing himself to sleep again when his phone lights up.

Ashton: yeah whats up

Luke: nothn whats up w u

Ashton: nothing lol. u excited 4 tmrw?

This is his chance.  Ashton has given him a clear opening and all Luke has to do is tell him that the thought of going out onstage is giving him a stomach ache and he’s going to die if he doesn’t get to sleep soon.  Ashton might think he’s silly and dramatic and a baby, but if Luke works himself up any more over this he’s not going to be able to look at his guitar tomorrow, let alone pick it up, and he needs to be able to do that.  He can’t let the band down.

Luke: scared

Ashton: y? u guys r going to kill it!

Luke: what if i suck

Ashton: u dont ur a rockstar! i have gd taste in bands u deserve this opportunity& will be awesome

Luke: what if im not

Ashton: its ur first gig youll only get better frm here uv put in 2 much work 2 b scared u will be amazing

Luke: what if no 1 shows up

Ashton: ill b there! u can play 2 me ppl will come

Luke takes a deep breath.  Ashton’s probably right.  This is their first gig, and he seems convinced that there will be others.  Even if they bomb tomorrow or it’s only Ashton in the crowd, they can bounce back.  They’ve put a lot of work into the band, and he can’t let one shitty performance define them, especially when he doesn’t even know if it’s going to be shitty yet.  Ashton seems to think they’ll be alright, and Ashton is usually trustworthy.

Luke: thx

Ashton: no prob :)

Luke looks at his clock again and wonders if this will be enough to let him sleep, but something niggles at his mind.

Luke: y r u awake rn?

Outside, one lone car drives down the street.  Luke tries to imagine himself in the center of some big city like New York or Los Angeles instead of a suburb outside of Sydney.  He tries to imagine Ashton at a college town in the United States, living in a dormitory with all his friends and staying out late regardless of if he has classes in the morning.

Ashton: cant sleep sketching instead

He sends a picture with it and Luke waits patiently for the image to load.  When it finally does, he's greeted with a horizontal photo of Ashton's sketchbook, yellow light from a lamp barely illuminating the page.  It must be the scene outside Ashton's window, an empty street with houses lining the pavement and a rough sketch of a streetlight at the end of the block.  It's just graphite against creamy white paper, but Luke wishes he were seeing it in person so he could trace his finger over the lines.  They're rushed, but confident and bold.  Ashton has shaded most of the page to give the illusion of nighttime, and Luke imagines him sitting at his window, glancing up every-so-often for reference as he recreates what he can see on paper.

Luke: wow ur really good!

Ashton: <3 ty

Luke bites his lip, trying to figure out something else to say.  After a few minutes of silence, Ashton texts first.

Ashton: get some sleep luke. see u tmrw

His stomach sinks, but it’s probably for the best.  He’d keep talking to Ashton all night if he could, but he needs to sleep.  He has a gig tomorrow.

Luke: gn

He puts his phone down and lays back in bed, taking a deep breath.  To avoid thinking more about tomorrow, he tries to imagine what other creations could be in Ashton's sketchbook, black lines drawing themselves on the blank canvas of his mind until he finally falls asleep.

-/-

Luke paces anxiously as well as he can in the cramped “backstage” space.  They're about to begin the set, and it's just as nerve-wracking as he thought it was going to be.  Ashton's drummer friend is a picture of calm, twirling his sticks with a bored frown, but Michael and Calum are both jittery, too.  Calum is picking nervously at the bass he's holding, about to make his official debut as a bass player, and Michael keeps tapping his foot restlessly.

There's a few people here.  A group of girls is huddled by the stage waiting for them to start and Luke is supremely grateful that they showed up, but it brings up a new set of anxieties.  They're playing original songs for the first time, and it's one thing to be able to sing a cover, but it's another to present people with new material and ask them to like it.  They can't let these fans down, no matter how tiny the crowd might be.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and Luke digs it out.

Ashton: break a leg rockstar :)

Luke doesn't have time to reply before the lights are dimming, the crowd is cheering, and he's following Michael onstage.

The show is amazing.

Like, objectively it's probably not, but Luke has the time of his life anyway.  He's shaky and nervous for the first minute, then he actually looks up and sees Ashton standing off to the side with a camera in hand, million-watt smile on his face, and suddenly things are easy.  They mess up and they're awkward and they give it everything they've got.  The crowd is small but mighty, the music is messy but sincere, and Luke starts to figure out how to be a rockstar on a tiny stage in a hotel in Sydney, Michael and Calum blossoming into their own stars next to him.

He tears up a little during "Everything I Want," which should probably be super embarrassing, but mostly he's just happy.  He can't believe people came.  He can't believe this is real and not a dream.  He can't believe he's lucky enough to do this with his two best friends.  It's only up from here, and Luke already feels like he's on top of the world.

When they take their bows and exit the stage, Luke is buzzing.  He pulls the other two into a hug, the kind that’s so fierce it feels like he’s suffocating, and they all laugh and cheer and maybe Luke cries a little bit again.  He tearily thanks their drummer, who looks marginally less bored now that the show has actually been played, and accepts hugs from his parents and pats on the back from his brothers.  He talks to a few of the fans that have lingered and even signs his first autograph, which is insane to think about.

When he finally has a spare moment, he finds Ashton and throws his arms around him.

"Hey!  Amazing job!" Ashton says in his ear, holding him just as securely.  Luke tucks his face in his shoulder and squeezes.

"I thought you wanted to be in the front row," Luke says once he makes himself let go.

"I figured I'd let the other fans get a chance.  I have a front row seat at every practice, so it only seemed fair.  I got some good pictures, though."

He holds up his camera and Luke brightens even more, if possible.  He feels like he's glowing brighter than the stage lights already.  He feels like he's probably glowing more than all of the stage lights in all of the big stadiums around the world combined.

"Can I see?" he asks.  Ashton doesn't get a chance to answer before Michael and Calum appear in an enthusiastic, all-encompassing storm, pulling both of them out of their corner because Karen promised to buy pizza in celebration and both of them were too nervous to eat before and are starving now.  Luke is, too, and he tugs Ashton to follow them out to the cars.

"Wait, shouldn't this just be band and family?" Ashton says, dragging his feet.

"Don't be stupid," Michael says, taking his other hand and helping Luke pull him forward.

"Yeah, you're basically part of the band," Calum says.  "As much as our temp drummer, anyway, and Mum invited him along."

Ashton's drummer friend declines, so it's just them and their families.  Ashton sits sandwiched between Luke and Calum and Luke's mum jokes about that side of the table needing four pizzas just for themselves.  When the adrenaline finally wears off part way through the meal, Luke slumps against Ashton's side and sighs contentedly.

He's pretty sure this is the best day of his life.

-/-

Ashton graduates in mid-December.  Luke texts him a quick congratulations, but they don't see each other until a few days after.  The band decided they need to celebrate (or maybe they just want the excuse to get ice cream along with the usual pizza), but Ashton spends a few days hanging out with friends from school and his family.  Luke thinks it's ridiculous that they have to wait almost an entire week to see him, but they decide to all stay over at Michael's when they do, so Luke can't pout too much.

They pick Ashton up instead of making him bike over, which they make a big deal out of as his graduation present.  They leave the passenger seat open for him, at least, so he doesn't have to squish into the back, and he graciously thanks them with a lofty voice, like a king talking to his royal subjects.  They make a big deal out of ordering Ashton's favorite pizza, too, which is just one of their usual orders, then grab some chips and pass around goon and put in Iron Man, because Ashton wants to watch the Marvel movies and Michael has all five of them.  The wine goes down easy in the way cheap wine usually does, and soon Luke has a pleasant buzz, enjoying the way the room fuzzes at the edges from his place squished between Michael and Calum on the sofa.  Ashton is alone in the arm chair, and Luke wishes he were squished in here with them, too.

Calum dozes off first, so after Iron Man 2 they set up blankets and sleeping bags.  Michael claims the couch because it's his house, so Luke watches Thor from the floor, propped against the front of the couch so he can see the TV better, Calum on one side and Ashton on the other.  Calum falls asleep again quickly, and near the end of the movie Michael starts breathing deeply, the kind of breathing that's close to a snore.  During the credits Luke blinks at Ashton and finds him already looking back.

"Hey," Ashton says.  "Want to watch Captain America?"

Luke nods.  Ashton carefully picks his way over to the TV, crouching to exchange the DVDs.  Backlit by the screen, Luke can see the way his hair is starting to get slightly wavy at the ends now, hours and hours since he last straightened it for the flat-iron fringe they all sport.  Luke wonders what his natural hair is like.  He likes that he's going to get to see it in the morning, but that also means that Ashton is going to see his bedhead, too.

"Hey," Luke says quietly when Ashton returns.  "The others are asleep."

Ashton glances at them, then grins.  "Do you have a marker?"

They give Calum a mustache, which is hard because the smell of the marker right under his nose keeps making him shift, then giggle their way through drawing a dick on Michael's cheek.  Ashton clamps a hand over Luke's mouth at one point when Michael hums and moves, and both of them hold their breath until he settles again, smacking his lips.

"Shhhh," Ashton says in his ear.  Luke shivers at the proximity, then nods.  Ashton moves his hand, so they continue to give Michael a few more doodle-tattoos before deeming themselves done and returning to their sleeping bags.

"They're going to hate us in the morning," Luke giggles.  Ashton snickers next to him, and they turn back to the movie.  It holds Luke's attention for the beginning, but now that he's aware of it, Ashton's presence as the only other one awake takes up the room.  Luke hears his huffs of laughter and every rustle of his sleeping bag hidden between the dialogue and backing soundtrack.  When he grins, it's still bright even though the TV is the only thing illuminating the room.  It creates weird shadows on his face, valleys of black amidst the blue-lighted highlights, but it doesn't make him look strange or unfamiliar.  If anything, it assures Luke that he'd be able to recognize Ashton in any context.  He’s not the artist out of the two of them, but he wonders if he’d be able to draw Ashton from memory.

"Are you going to miss us when you're in America?" Luke asks.

Ashton drags his attention away from the movie to look at him again.

"Yeah, of course.  You guys are some of my best friends."  Luke tries not to show how happy that makes him.  Sometimes he thinks that Ashton must thing that they're all stupid and immature kids.  Ashton has graduated and has plans for his life and takes care of his family.  Luke draws dicks on his friend's faces when they fall asleep.

"You're one of my best friends, too," he says.  "I'm really glad you talked to me at the movies."

"I'm glad you invited me to go bowling."

"It was technically Michael who did that," Luke says, ducking his head.

"No," Ashton says with a small smile.  "He sent the message, but I know you told him to."

Luke hums and settles deeper into his blanket.

"Are you going to miss me when your band makes it big and you're on tour all the time?" Ashton asks.

"Yeah.  I think I'm going to miss you a lot."

Luke can already feel the phantom pain deep in his chest where he's going to miss him.  He once again wishes there was some way for Ashton to stay with them without sacrificing his own dreams.  It's strange; he's so excited for the band to take off, but now that it's a real possibility that their dreams are coming true and they'll move on to bigger and better things, it hurts a little.

Well, it hurts to think of leaving his family, and it hurts to think of Ashton leaving him.

"Besides, you're the one who's getting out of here,” he says.  “5sos has still only played one gig."

"You're going to be huge," Ashton says.  He states it calmly, like an accepted fact.  It's in the same way he'd say that the sky is blue.  "You'll get out of here and get to see the whole world a thousand times over."

Luke nods, curling into his blanket a little more.  On screen, Steve asks Bucky if he's ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death.  Bucky says, Hell no.  That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight... I'm following him.

"Are you scared of leaving?" he asks quietly.  Ashton stays silent for a long time.  Luke watches him blink in the dim light, eyes toward the TV but too still to be watching it.

"I'm more scared of being stuck here forever," he confesses eventually.  "I love Australia, but... I don't want to turn into my mum, and I don't know how to prevent that unless I get out of here.  I love my family, I really do.  You know that, right?"  Luke nods.  "I love them, and I feel like I've always been taking care of them.  Even just wanting to leave is selfish, but filling out the applications for the schools was awful.  I felt so guilty, but... I don't know.  Australia has a great art scene that I probably should focus on instead, but I keep thinking about America.  If I don't go, I'm going to spend the rest of my life regretting it."

Ashton traces a thread on his blanket.  Luke wants to take his hand.

"I don't think it's selfish," Luke says.  "You can't let your entire life be determined by them.  They understand, right?"

"Mum does," Ashton says.  "I don't think Lauren and Harry get why I want to go so far away."

He sighs.  It feels heavy in the darkness.

"It doesn't matter yet, anyway.  It depends on if I even get into any of the schools I applied for and if we have the money.  I've been saving as much as I can, but it might not be enough.  America is so fucking expensive."

"You'll get there," Luke says.  "If our band is going somewhere, you definitely will, too."

Ashton shoots him a grateful smile.  Luke wants to tuck it in his pocket.  He's already saving pieces of Ashton in preparation of when they'll be halfway around the world from each other.

"Next year will be good for us," Ashton says.  "2012 is going to be a big breakthrough for us both."

"Yeah," Luke says.  "I believe you."

They watch the rest of the movie in silence.  When the credits roll, Luke realizes that Ashton fell asleep while he was distracted by the story, eyes closed peacefully next to him.  It’s strange to see him so relaxed and still, like some sort of marble statue.  He rarely stops moving when he’s awake, but here all of the stress lines he carries with him are smoothed out.  Luke didn’t know that they were there, but now the absence of them is obvious.

The movie menu screen reappears, loud music and bright colors startling him.  He grabs the remote and turns off the TV, plunging the room into darkness.  He tries to get comfortable, tossing and turning a bit on the floor and adjusting his blanket a few times, then closes his eyes.  Sleep doesn’t come easy, and he stays awake for a long time listening to Ashton, Calum, and Michael breathing.

[raz-b-rose]

The Secrets we Keep

This was my first Daminette fic, and by far my longest right now. I am posting the whole thing here but I’ll include a link.

 It is 15490 words, hope you enjoy. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737908/chapters/51857641

________________________________________________________________

Damian isn't sure how his life had come to this. If you had asked him 2 years ago; heck even just 6 months ago, he would have denied ever wanting to be this close to another person. Alas here he is sitting across from a beautiful woman, dinner picked away at as they talk into the night. Yes Damian Wayne never thought that he would want to in the company of Marinette Dupain-Chang especially after their initial meeting.

She had come to class late, fashionably so, and he had swore at the time the professor was trying to make his life a living hell by assigning her as his partner. She was clumsy, easily flustered and chaos walking. He thought that there was no way she was going to contribute anything productive to this project. Her English was impeccable, however, so perhaps she had some discipline.

They agreed to meet for coffee later that week to go over each others notes and make a plan. Damian had made everything that week, wanting to just cut out the middleman and waiting to see what she contributed. He arrived to the coffee shop 5 minutes early, expecting to have to wait on her again, but she was already set up in the corner, 2 cups of coffee on the table in front of her. 

Her hair was down today, the midnight color almost looking blue in the sunlight. She held herself with confidence as she took a folder out of her bag, separating the contents into two piles. Not wanting to be caught observing the approaches the table. 

“Ms. Dupain-Chang. I wasn’t expecting you to be here early.” Damian wasn't sure what to make of the situation. 

“Marinette.” She gives him that disapproving look that women seem to have mastered. He just stared at her in confusion. 

“What?” He sounds as coherent as Todd. 

“My name is Marinette, and just because I was late the first day doesn't mean i’m always late.” The way she says the last part leads him to believe that she was stretching the truth a little and was in fact, late often. He doesn’t call her on it however.  

“My apologies. May I sit down?” 

“Of course!” She giggles, her smile reaching all the way to her eyes. As Damian take his seat, Marinette hands him one of the cups. “You didn’t strike me as a coffee drinker, so I got you some green tea.” She becomes flustered once again, almost embarrassed. She doesn't quite meet my gaze. 

“Lucky for you, your intuition was correct.” That forces her eyes to mine, and all he sees in those sky blue eyes is triumph. Almost like she is having a small ah ha moment. 

“So I was thinking that we could split the work into five different sections for each of us, breaking it down further to one section a week so we still get it done by the time its due without it, what's the word,” She pauses her tirade trying to remember her English. Marinette was becoming very nervous. She hoped this man wouldn't think she was bossy or overbearing.

“Ah yes impending! Impending our other assignments.” 

Damian can't help but feel the whiplash of his initial assessment of Marinette. She was beyond organized, and her work ethic rivaled that of Drakes. Which was saying something. 

“Damian?” She looks at him in concern, going so far as to grab his hand. That shocks him into action. 

“I feel that I must apologize. Due to your chaotic nature earlier this week, I did not take you for a reliable partner and completed the project.” Damian watches as her eyes widen, her mouth open in a cute o shape. Then she laughed. Not a cute giggle, but a full belly laugh. 

“Then I must apologize as well. Due to your standoffish nature, I did not take you as a reliable partner and also finished the project already.” She gasps when she is able to breathe again. Damian feels like he is being mocked.

But he can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. “This meeting was nothing more than to humor each other then.”

“I have a proposition,” She has a mischievous glint to her eyes, Damian can't help but be influenced by the sight, He leans forward, elbows on the table. 

“What would that be Marinette?”

“We do the project together, scrapping what we already did.”

“Why would we do that?”

“Uh a clean slate obviously,” She seems nervous again, her earlier show of intensity gone. He can't help but feel confused and frustrated at her constant change in demeanor. 

“A clean slate?”

“Yeah like, we get to know each other properly. No assumptions.” Damian pretends to think a moment, watching her from his peripheral. She starts to squirm in her seat. She pulls on the sleeves of her sweater, then she plays with her hair, then she rubs her hands together. 

“Ok” He decided she had suffered enough. She perks up instantly, and Damian questions his own sanity at agreeing. She quickly hands him a packet, explaining every last detail. He contributes to the planning as well, their drinks soon empty then time for his next class approaching. 

“Same time next week?” She asks hopefully.

“Yes. See you in class.” Damian leaves the coffee shop feeling content and confident. Marinette would be a valuable partner. 

They continued to meet for the next five weeks at the same coffee shop, on their last meet up until the project was to be presented later that week, Damian couldn't help but feel disappointed that their weekly meetups were coming to an end. Marinette's presence was a breath of fresh air compared to his nightly activities and the drone of the other occupants of the college campus. 

She had found ways to make him laugh more than once, a feat in and of itself, and she never seemed turned off by his abrasive or abrupt nature. Rather she encouraged him to speak his mind, and in doing so Damian learned how to curb his words for the appropriate situations. 

He would find himself fixing his appearance before leaving for each meetup. He would tell himself and anyone else that it was not to get a compliment from her, but rather because he is Wayne, and a Wayne is to be presentable at all times. 

Even now he runs gel through his hair, satisfied when it stands at an appropriate angle. He turns his face inspecting for any missed spots from shaving. His green eyes stare back at him in satisfaction. An appropriate look for a Wayne he thinks to himself. 

Unbeknownst to either of them, Marinette is doing the same thing on campus in one of the bathrooms. She fixes her hair for what feels like the hundredth time, and inspects her makeup for any blemishes. She cant help the girlish squeal that escapes her lips, bouncing on her toes a little. Marinette twirls in her dress, satisfied with the finished product and hurries to the coffee shop. 

Damian enters last like normal, Marinette determined to fix her tardy image. Damian sits down across from her, taking the tea she already bought before he can speak she has already barreled into the last minute details of the project. Damian is content and listen to her passionately plan and finalize. 

“Want to get lunch tomorrow?” She stops her tirade in shock, blue eyes searching green ones. Damian now just wants to smash his head into a wall, why did he say such a thing? He may not have seen Brown or Grayson for a few months now, but they must have rubbed off on him for him to thoroughly shove his foot into his mouth in such a way. 

“That sounds like fun.  Where and when?” She smiles that smile that even Superman would combust under. 

“Uh, I don’t know, it was a spontaneous idea.” He mumbled, embarrassed at even using the word. 

“Oh spontaneous huh? That's not like you Damian.” Her teasing increasing alongside Damian’s reddening face. “You’re always such a planner.”

“Yeah, yeah. Where would you like to go?” He tried to wave of his embarrassment, staring at a stain on the ceiling. 

“How about I think about it and give you a text?” She dropped her teasing tone, turning her attention away from Damian and back to the papers, littering the table. If he hadn't been so flustered himself, he would have seen her hands tremble. 

“Sounds like a reasonable plan. 12 o’clock?” 

“Sounds perfect, I’m out of class by 11:30.”

“Is everything set for the presentation?” Damian tries to bring the conversation back to the reason for their sitting in the coffee shop to being with. 

“Yes,” She giggles, “here you go,” 

“Thank you, Marinette.” Damian offers her one of his rare smiles. She swears her heart stops then and there. Damian was good looking, but he increased his attractiveness by a hundred when he smiled. 

How she managed to keep it together while in the coffee shop she’ll never know. All her years as Ladybug maybe? She waves to Damian outside the shop before squatting to the ground. She grips her face, her cold hands a welcomed relief to her very, very warm face. She doesn't care that she's in public, she squeals in excitement, the rush intoxicating. Damian had asked her to lunch, a date? She sure hoped so. 

“Damian?” He jumps out of his thoughts. Marinette smirking at him, “Where did you go silly?” He narrows his eyes at her. He was not silly, the farthest thing from it. 

“I was simply thinking about how I actually tolerate your company.” He tries to sound disinterested, but Marinette knows him well enough by now that such tricks wont work on her. 

“Is that so? What about my company is so enjoyable?” 

“I didn’t use that word.”

“No but it's what you meant.” She grins cheekily back at him, thankfully the check comes at that moment, leaving her to focus on gathering her things. He noticed her trying to slip bills to the waitress, however Damian gets the bills back and slips them back into her purse. 

The walk back to her apartment is quiet and tranquil, like the snow falling around them. She is hugging his arm, trying to steal what little warmth he has to offer. If Damian learned anything about Marinette these last few months, its that she did not handle the cold well, and that she did not pick a good city to move to. It was winter almost nine months out of the year. 

They stop outside her apartment, Damian waiting patiently for her to enter safely before leaving. She lingers outside with him, taking his hands on her own. Damian looks at her in confusion, watching as she looks up at him. Snowflakes dust her hair and eyes lashes. The lamp light making her eyes look darker than normal. She searches his eyes, licking her lips. He tilts his head, trying to read her thoughts through her expressions. 

She slowly raises herself up onto her tip toes and gently touches her lips to his own. His eyes widen in surprise, mouth opening slightly. She stiffens, eyes opening in horror, falling back she takes in his face. He looks horrified at her kiss. He isn't, just caught off guard, but she doesn't know that. 

“I sorry,” she starts to stammer, her accent growing heavy with panic, “Mine think brain, no, I thought, au revoir!” Marinette is then making a mad dash to the door, almost slipping in the process, but in a true Marinete fashion manages to catch herself and continue to escape with Marinette patented moves. 

Damian reaches out for her, but she is already dashing up the stairs, out of site. Not really sure what he himself feels, and not wanting to make things worse, he leaves. He elects not to go on patrol that night, after all his head wasn't where is need to be safe. He doesn’t sleep much that night. 

After all, what did Damian feel for the young woman? She was beautiful, that much is certain, he may have never been seeking out a relationship before, but he wasn't blind. She was passionate and fiery. She sought the good in everyone, giving more than she takes. She never put Damian down for his behavior, especially when he himself was in the wrong. She was patient and kind, talking him through everything. She made him actually feel proud to be Damian Wayne; That even though he was deeply flawed, she still wanted to be around him. She wanted to kiss him. 

Kissing meant, love, or at least a deep care and like for another person. That is what everyone had told him since he came to live with Bruce. Marinette did not seem like the person to not follow through with that thinking. And on that note, Damian finds himself desiring to see her and kiss her again. He did after all enjoy Marinette's company, immensely.

The next day he doesn't see her around campus, or in their only shared class. He worries, but also thinks of Cass, and how she would do this when she got emotional too. Damian is sure he will see her again tomorrow and they can talk about them and move past this awkward mess. 

She does not show up the next day. She has yet to respond to any calls or texts. By day three Damian has had enough and marches out of class, the stares doing nothing to him. He realizes when he gets to her apartment, he doesn't have a plan. She could not be home for all he knows. 

Knocking he waits for her to open the door, he can hear shuffling on the other side, relieved to find that she is home. She opens to door in a daze, Damian smiles at her. She looked like crap. Her hair was a rats nest, she’d obviously had been crying and hasn't been sleeping well. She looked absolutely beautiful. Normal. 

She tries to slam the door in his face, however, Damian is faster, the hand and foot keeping the door open. “Damian I could have hurt you!” of course that is the first thing she says to him. 

“I have had worse. Please stop hiding from me. I enjoy your company too much to go without it this long.” He hopes she gets what he's trying to say, because Damian Wayne is not a love sick sap. She gives him a hopeful look, stepping aside to let him into the apartment. 

“You enjoy my company huh?” She tries to act coy, but nerves are coming off her in waves suffocate her intentions. Damian steps right next to her, cupping her face in his hand. 

“Yeah. You Are addicting.” She snorts at him. 

“I’m sorry” She whispers, looking at him the same way she did three nights ago. 

“What for?” he whispered back.

“Kissing you.”

“That's not the apology I was expecting.” Damian then gives Marinette a look she has never seen before, it is one of hurt. Rejection. 

“I’m sorry for ignoring you,” She steps closer, hand gripping his jacket. “I was embarrassed and thought you hated me. I thought I ruined everything.” His stare is intense, she feels as though her soul is out for Damian to see. 

“Don’t ignore me again please.” His tone is gentle, something that anyone who knew Damian had never heard before. He rubs his thumb under her eyes as more tears start to fall. “I’m not mad, I just missed you and hate being ignored.”

“I won't do that ever again.”

“Good. Now promise me just one more thing.” He waits for her eyes to open, head leaning into his touch.

“Yes?”

“Let me kiss you when ever I feel like it?” He meant it to me an order, but it came out as a question. Her laugh sounds broken but healed at the same time. 

“Damian. Is that your way of asking me out?” she's back to whispering again as she once more raises herself up onto her tiptoes. 

“I guess it is.” He whispers back, his second kiss returned in full this time. She removes her death grip on his jacket, wrapping her arms around his neck. His moves his arms to her waist, lifting her off the ground, spinning them in victory. 

“I really do like you Marinette. I’m sorry that my reaction wasn’t what you were expecting.” His forehead his against hers, taking in her presence in his arms. 

“I misread the mood,” She groans, clearly still embarrassed.

“How would you feel if I told you that was my first kiss?” He chuckles as she only groans some more. 

“Unfortunate that your first kiss is with me,” He can’t tell if she is joking your not. He sets her down, lifting her chin up to meet her eyes, searching them, trying to find a hint of a joke. There is none. He kisses her once more before speaking.

“I don’t feel like that and neither should you. I like your kisses.”

“How can you know that I kiss well, after all, I’m the only person you’ve kissed.” She pouts.

“I just know.” He says pulling her in for another kiss. They both melt into that one, no longer tense or uncertain. Content in each other's presence, relaxed and happy. 

They had been dating for over a year when disaster struck. His family found out about Marinette. His very intrusive, needs the answers to everything, the definition of privacy is unknown, family. 

They had just finished a nice dinner date after a performance at the theater, when the worst of all of his family happened upon them. Jason Todd. And no, Damien does not mean the worst because of his methods. No the worst possible person because Todd does not know when to keep his mouth shut. 

See Jason had noticed them leaving the theater, and out of ‘spite’ decided not to call out to Damian, but rather follow them back to Marinette's place. Jason waited outside for almost two hours before Damian exited the building, preparing himself for a night of crime fighting. 

“Hey Demion. Who’s the chick?” Damian froze, slowly meeting Jason's gaze across the street. He looked like a toddler that had been caught stealing from the cookie jar. 

Jason pushes himself off the wall, meeting Damian on the other side, both of them walking to Wayne Tower together. Jason was not patient so he refused to wait for Damians answer.

“Com’on, tell me. Who is she?”

“She is none of your concern.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Damian tries not to show a reaction to the word, but his fist clenches and his shoulders straighten. “When were you going to tell us?” 

“She is none of your concern.” He repeats, hoping that just this once, Jason will give up. He does not.

“How did you meet? Is she nice or a demon like you? Wait why did I ask that, why would a nice girl ever go out with you.” Jason laughs loudly, but doesnt miss Damians growl or the death glare he sends his way. 

“Oh protective already are we,” Jason tsks, “Careful, girls these days don't like the whole ‘night in shining armor’ thing”

“Will you just shut up?”

“Nope. I have questions for days.”

Damian’s scowl from when he was ten slowly starts to morph back into place, the look more terrifying now that his baby fat has thinned out and his features are much sharper now. It does nothing against Jason however.

“She’s tiny,must be cute when you guys kiss. Ya’know, with how tall you are.” His scowl only deepens. “Oh I bet she not very experienced huh?” Jason suggests with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP ALREADY?” Damian's face is beat red, his fists fully clenched now. However Jason is only getting started, this is the most entertained he’s been for months.

“A girl that cute must have a cute name right? Let me guess, Jessica. No, Hannah. Oh wait I got it, Lily.”

“Her name is Marinette! She’s French!” Jason just grins in victory. After all anyone knows if you annoy Demion long enough, he will tell you exactly what you want to know. 

“Ah French uh? But she looks Asian.”

“Are you serious Todd?” Damian sounds disgusted, “You of all people should know not to judge a person's nation by how they look.” 

"My bad, you’re right.” 

“Of course I’m right.”

“You’re not right in keeping her a secret.” Jason drops all annoying brother pretenses, getting serious. “When were you going to tell us? How long have you been seeing her?”

“Not long. And I didn’t want to tell you guys yet for this very reason.”

“We were all going to react the way I did no matter when you told us.” Damian begrudgingly agrees that Todd has a point. His family was annoying like that after all.

“You should bring her for dinner this weekend, everyone will be at the Manor,” Jason holds open the lobby doors for Damian, both waving to the receptionist, before heading to the private elevator. 

“I will ask her Todd, but that's it.”

“Good enough for me, after all she won't refuse.”

“Who won't refuse?” Damian groans as the elevator doors open to the secret basement. Tim finishing suiting up, 3 cups of coffee already empty on the table beside him. 

Damian tries to say ‘no one’, but Jason is already slapping his hand over his mouth ensuring his silence long enough. 

“Demion here has a girlfriend that he didn't tell anyone about. He said he would bring her to dinner this weekend.”

Bruce walks in as Jason finishes speaking, his face showing obvious surprise at his youngest not only being in a relationship, but willing to bring her to the manor. 

“I said I would ask her, there is no guarantee!” Damian shouts, pushing Jason aside, angrily getting suited up for the night. 

“Please inform me as soon as you can Master Damian so I can make the appropriate accommodations.” Alfred speaks up from the giant monitor on the wall. Damian just grips the table in defeat, head hanging low. 

“So what's she like Damian?” Tim finally speaks again, hovering on his left. “Is she smart? Talented? Oh I know you must find the damsel in distress trope attractive.” 

“Drake you have two seconds to back away from me before I put a hole through your face,” 

“That's a hard no,” Tim mutters backing away, “What can you tell us?”

“That she is not your concern,” Damian groans for the third time that night. 

“Of course she is our concern, we have to make sure she checks out. Safe for the family.” The ‘safe for you’ hang in the air between them. 

“Her name is Marinette and she is French. That's all the information I got.”

“That's a good amount to work with” Tim excitedly stars tapping away, obviously working on building a profile. 

“Don’t you dare run a background check on her.” Bruce has silently been watching his sons interact, finally stepping in at Damian's order.

“Why not Damian?”

“Because it is not necessary, and I value her privacy, like all of you should,” He looks into Tim's eyes the longest. “I know enough without a background check.” 

“How long have you known her,” Tim snips, perturb at being stopped at investigating. It's what he is good at and it's what he enjoys. 

“Long enough, leave it be. You all know about her now. That should be enough.”

“But its not-”

“Just be a normal family for once!” All the men stop at Damian's outburst, “Get to know her like normal people. No background checks, no staking out, just leave her alone.” With that He marches over to the street exit, leaving his Father and Brother standing in shock. 

The following morning, Damian meets Marinette outside her apartment, silence filling the air as they walk to class. He glances down at her, smiling a soft bittersweet smile. It was nice while it lasted, having her all to himself. 

“My family found out about us.” She doesn’t find this news as troublesome as he did.

“I didn't know they were unaware.” Marinette chooses her words carefully, after all she is unsure how she feels about being a secret girlfriend. A secret girlfriend for a year. 

“It’s not that I wanted to keep you a secret,” Damian noticed her rise in emotion, “It’s that my family does not understand the definition of privacy very well, and I didn't want you to be overwhelmed with their overeager nature. 

She finds the notion that Damians family was nothing like him a hilarious concept. On the other hand, she finds it hard to laugh in the moment. If they invaded privacy the way he says, she has too many secrets that were not hers to share at this moment. Concerning indeed. 

“Well, if it is ok with you,” she pulls them to a stop, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I am not comfortable to meet your family. Yet.” Unable to stop himself, Damian kisses her dizzy, falling more in love with this woman by the second.

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.” He gasps out

“Oh, I think I have an idea,” She chuckles, “I will let you know when I am ready. Deal?”

“The best deal I have ever made in my life,” He deadpans. She laughs while pulling them back to walking, both hearts lighter. Damians with not having to share her yet. Marinettes with the extended time to get her affairs in order. She reaches up to her earrings, rubbing them in concern. 

Damian all but struts into wayne tower later that night, gleeful to break the news that Marinette didn't want to meet them. 

Jason and Tim were talking to Dick on the monitor when Damian entered, obviously arguing about Damian and his love life. 

"Let Damian have this you two. He deserves the respect." 

"But-" Tim starts only to be cut off with Damian clapping him on the shoulder. 

"Listen to Grayson." 

"Hey Damian. Congrats on the girl, nice to see you finally living like a normal human being" he jests

“Thank you Grayson. It's nice to see someone respecting privacy around here.” 

“You just gotta wait until this weekend Timmy, a chance to practice your patience” Grayson tries to placate the quickly growing in agitation Tim. 

“Actually, She isn't ready to meet you guys, so she won't be coming this weekend.” Damian feels smug watching their faces morph from confusion into hurt. 

And with that Damian moves to get ready, leaving them to process the reality of not getting to meet Marinette. 

"I know where she lives, let's go Tim" Jason starts to the elevator, forgetting his already in costume. 

"Jason. Tim. Stop." Bruce enters, her Batman glare on. "If Damian is serious about Marinette, and she about him, then we need to respect their wishes. She could be a part of our family and we do not need to give her the wrong idea" 

"Thank you Father. Now let's go, there was chatter yesterday that Penguin is up to something." 

The boys begrudgingly get ready, each leaving the basement on their own time. Tim and Jason exchange a look. They won't meet her yet, but they are totally going to research her. 

Everything came to a head for Damian and Marinette however a few weeks later. They were enjoying a relaxing afternoon class free in her apartment. Damian was reading on her couch while she hemmed a dress on the floor in the corner.

Her phone rang from the counter top, Marinette scrambling to get to it in time. "Maman!" She exclaims in French, giving Damian a smile, before focusing on her call. 

"Oh no no." She laughs, “I have been a good girl.” Damian can’t help but smile at listening to her. 

“How are you Maman?” 

“Well I hope the delivery gets finished on time.” Marinette’s stomach turns as she watches the back of Damians head. She now leans against the counter.  

“Hows Papa?” Damian notices her pause, glancing behind him to see her face twisted in worry. He sets his book down, getting up to see whats wrong. Marinette just holds a finger up to him. ‘One moment’ she mouths. 

“Huh uh. What?” Her brows furrow further. “Ok Maman, I’ll be there soon.” 

“What's wrong Habibti?” Instead of going to Damian she runs to her bedroom, blindly packing a bag. 

“My Grandfather is not doing well. The doctors says he doesn't have long. I have to fly home. I don't know how long I will be gone.” She glances at Damian sadly, “Sorry I have to cancel all our plans.”

“Hey don’t say that, your family needs you. This is out of your control.”

“Thank you Chéri,” She kisses him softly before closing her bag.

“Would you like me to take you to the airport?” Damian follows her out of the apartment, holding her bag while she locks the door. 

“No I’ll be ok. I would like time to prepare myself.” 

“Please call me when you land, I need to know you’re safe.” He helps her flag down a cab. 

“Of course Chéri,” They share one last kiss before Marinette climbs into the back seat. “See you soon.”

“See you soon.” Damian watched as the cab pulled away from the curb, the emotion of worry overtaking him. He had felt concern for his own well being before, but never for another person this personally. Especially Marinette's grandfather. It was an odd experience. 

Damian decided he might as well go get some training in with the free afternoon he has. AS soon as he entered the Manor, his phone rang, caller ID informing him it was Drake. 

“Yes Drake?”

“I found something troubling, I need you at the manor,” Tim hesitates before adding, “Please.”

“Lucky for you I am already here.” Damian hangs up before heading to the cave entrance. 

He is surprised to see Drake and Todd in the cave, along with Grayson. Damian narrows his eyes at each of them before finally noticing what they had pulled up on the computer. It was a complete profile on Marinette. Damian felt his blood pressure rise. 

“What did I tell you guys about-!” 

“We know but just stop and listen, you will be thanking us in a few minutes.” Jason places a hand on his shoulder. 

“What do you mean I will be thanking you?” Damian all but snarls, “What did you do?”

“Just listen to this,” Tim starts pulling up an audio file, “It’s a good thing you haven’t been dating this girl for very long.” Before Damian can get another word in Tim presses play. 

“Maman!” Marinette's voice exclaims, the sound normally music to his ears, but now he just feels dread.

“Are you alone Ladybug?” The voice does not belong to Marinette's mother, or rather can’t, Damian has never talked to the woman. This voice is young, strong and serious. 

“Oh no,no” Marinette's voice laughs, “I have been a good girl.” Dread sets in further. 

“Understood.”

“How are you Maman?”

“It’s time Ladybug.”

“Well I hope the delivery gets finished on time”

“We are waiting at the temple. The situation is dire.”

“How’s Papa?”

“We have purchased tickets for you already. Chat Noir will meet you in the UK. You will then take a flight to Tibet.”

“Huh uh. What?” Her voice now takes on a more serious note. He had been sitting across from her while she had this coded conversation. Damian felt like a fool. 

“Viperion will then meet you in the village Dangquka to escort you the rest of the way.”

“Ok Maman, I'll be there soon” 

Dick watches as Damian starts to lose his balance, quickly moving a chair behind him to collapse into. Damian just stares at the computer screen, gripping his face this one hand, his other fist clenched.

“I knew something was up every time she declined to meet us so I started investigating. Her background check came back clean, so I bugged her phone.”

“Just stop talking Drake.” Damian all but whispers, that stops Tim in his tracks.

“Wow she had you whipped, and you guys didn't know each other that long.” Jason mutters 

“I think knowing her for almost two years is quite a long time Todd.” Damian didn't have the energy to even get loud. 

“Wha? Two years? But how?” Tim’s voice starts to tremble. He feels terrible. He didn't know they had been together that long. 

“You guys just assumed because you only found out about us a few weeks ago, that must have been we started dating. I never told you how long we had been together.”

“Damian are you ok?” Dick finally spoke, his tone gentle and quiet. No judgment, just concern. 

“Am I ok?” Damian laughs, “AM I OK?” Damian had finally processed everything, he jumps out of the chair marching up to Tim.

“Whoa Damian calm down!” Dick springs into action.

“No! Do you realize what you took from me Drake. DO YOU?” He points his finger into his face.  

“Damian I didn't know-”

“No you just couldn't mind your own business!” Damian takes a deep breath, “She is my normal. She treats me like a normal person and with respect. She is kind to everyone she meets, and is the most patient person I have ever met. 

Damian glances at her picture still plastered on the monitor. Her eyes reflect everything he just said about her. Just from this picture you can see how much joy she brings to the world. She is so beautiful and Damian for the life of him can’t imagine her being some sort of spy. Or assassin his mind supplies, remembering how the caller had mentioned a temple. 

“Would you rather have been kept in the dark if it meant keeping that sense of normalcy.” Todd speaks, his eyes narrowed, “We were only trying to help.”

“If you really want to help then you two are going with me to get to the bottom of this.” Damian marches past the three men, and out of the cave, ignoring the question. 

“You two suck.” Dick says quietly. “You’re lucky I'm in town to cover for you.” With that he also makes his exit, leaving the last two to only stare at the ground. 

Dick finds Damian in the sparring room, obliterating dummies with his sword. He patiently waits for him to acknowledge his presence. Damian pauses, using his shirt to wipe the first drops of sweat from his face. 

“What do you want?”

“Want to spar?” Damian is bewildered, but he doesn't dwell on it. He has to let out his aggression somehow. 

“You had nothing to do with this mess.”

“So, you need a sparring partner.” Dick takes off his shirt and shoes, meeting Damian on the mat. “Plus sparing has always helped clear your head.”

Dick doesn't wait but goes straight for the attack, kicking high. Damian easily evades, spinning around with a kick of his own. They continue to exchange blows in quick succession, slowly only between pieces of conversation. 

“She was the first person who really saw me.” Damian grunts as he throws Dick over his shoulder, “And the first girl I have ever liked.” 

Dick spins himself back into a standing position, hands at the ready for the next attack. “Do you love her?” The question doesn't catch Damian off guard like he thought it would.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever lied to her about Robin activities.” Dick jabs quickly at Damian's shoulders. 

“Never, I just have never told her details.” He dances away from the punches, swinging out with a roundhouse kick. “Told her I have a night job. That I help Father with work and that I workout often.”

“What did you tell her when you got shot three months ago?”Grayson manages to get a hold on Damians shift, pinning him to the ground. But his does not hold him, after all Damian needs to keep moving to sort through everything.

“I didn’t tell her that. I didn’t want to worry her.”

“Impressive.” Damian gets a choke hold on Dick, tangling their legs together. “Let me ask you this. What if she does the same thing and that's why she lied to you?”

That causes Damian to pause long enough with his choke hold for Grayson to throw him over his shoulder. He lays on the mat, staring at the ceiling, working through that thinking.

“That would be the best outcome to all this.”

“And the worst?”

“She is the opposite and I got played like a fool.” Damian picks himself up, walking to the end of the mat signaling the end of the sparring match.

“Are you going to follow her or wait until she gets back?”

“Follow. What reason would she have to tell me the truth the second time?” he bends to gather his things.

“Do you fully distrust her now?”

Damian pauses, “Maybe, I don’t know. I just don't want to be caught off guard this time. Plus I already told them they are taking me.”

“Better get a move on if you want to beat her there.” He rubs Damian's head affectionately. Damian grins at Dick. 

“Thank you Dick, I really needed that.” 

“Go get her Tiger” With that Dick smacks his back before leaving the gym, calling for Alfred. Yes Damian thought, time to go find out what is really going on. 

And so Jason and Tim had the most uncomfortable flight of their life, not looking forward to the flight back should things turn out even worse than they are now. Damian stayed silent the whole way, only staring out the window or flipping through his phone. 

To say Bruce was unhappy with all three boys needing to leave the city was an understatement. Thankfully Dick was there to lighten the load and the blow. The sound of a ringing phone pulled Damian from whatever he was thinking about. He felt like he was going to break his phone he was gripping it so hard. He answers on the last ring.

“Marinette.” It’s all he can bring himself to say. 

“Damian! I thought I was going to miss you,” She laughs, “It must be pretty late there.”

“Oh yea totally. How was your flight?” 

“It was smooth, here safe and sound.”

“Paris right?” He asks, even though he knows that she isn't there, Damian is wondering to see how far she will go to lie to him.

“That's where my parents are,” she laughs again. It wasn't a direct answer. It wasn't an answer at all. Damian wasn't sure what to make of the misleading statement. It was almost like she didn't want to outright lie to him. 

“I gotta go Chéri, I'll let you know when my flight back is so you can pick me up. I probably won't be close to my phone this week but I’ll text when I can ok?”

“Of course Habibti.” Damian pauses but figures he should go for it and say it at least once before this come to an end. “Love you, see you soon.” He quickly hangs up, not waiting for a response. He doesn't want to hear it back if she doesn't really mean it. He goes back to staring out the window, ignoring the boys staring at him. 

Meanwhile Marinette stares at her phone in shock, the blush overcoming her face matched with a beating heart. With a shaky smile she turns to Adrian behind her, waiting to board the next plane with her. 

“What's with that look?” He teases, looking over her shoulder at her phone. “Oh who's that, he's quite the looker.”

“That would be my boyfriend,” She giggles walking to board the plane. “You know that silly.”

“Yes, but I have never seen a picture. What's got you all gooey inside anyway?”

“He said ‘I love you’,” Marinette mumbles, throwing her bag into an overhead. 

“Ohh serious then.”

“It will be when I get back, after all I’ll finally be able to tell him everything. I hate lying.”

“I know bug, and I’m sorry this is a bittersweet moment.” He takes her hand

“Me too. I wish it didn't have to happen this way.” 

On the other plane the reds exchange a look before closing off the back of the plane, giving themselves a physical wall between them and Damian. 

“He said ‘I love you’” Tim groans, “I really messed this up.”

“Yes but your heart was in the right place. We will find out the truth soon enough.” 

“I hope I was wrong about her.”

“What else could the truth be. She’s obviously apart of something shady. It’s just a matter of what and how bad” 

“Why would you think that? What evidence is there that its something bad?”

“Don't be ignorant Tim. No one takes phone calls like that when they don't have something to hide.”

“Yeah but-”

“You feel guilty, I get it, but don’t let that cloud your logic. Something is going on and we are going to find out what.”

Tim sits silently the rest of the way, electing to focus on flying and not let his emotional thoughts distract him. After all, this was just another investigation. Only this time it was Damian's girlfriend. Too late, he was emotionally involved. He had to make this right or better somehow. 

“We’re here” Jason starts to land the plane in a clearing a few miles outside the village Marinette was due to arrive in a few hours time. Opening the divider, they find Damian asleep, a picture of Marinette pulled up on his phone. 

“Let's pretend we didn't see anything. Follow his lead and get some sleep too. How long until she lands?”

“Ten more hours,” Tim answers glancing up from his device. 

“Eight hours it is, night” Jason plops down into a chair, pulling his hood over his eyes. 

“Night.” Tim goes back to the cockpit, trying to get sleep but as always, it doesn't come easy. Deciding not to waste precious hours on staring at the ceiling, he pulls up his report on Marinette looking for anything that could clue them into what she's into. 

She wasn’t a model student but she wasn’t a delinquent either. Her attendance record improved as she grew up. She was involved in many different design contests and has had high profile clients requesting commissions. She was class representative for three years, zealously completing all projects and activities for her class with perfection. 

She was a busy girl but never without time for her friends, family, and her neighborhood. Everything this girl did didn’t reflect the contents of the phone call at all. She had also never been to Tibet before. At least not that Tim had found. She had never been outside France before entering Gotham University. 

So what was she doing all the way out here? And with who. The mysterious caller had mentioned two individuals besides herself. No amount of searching through aliases had Tim found anything on a Chat Noir, Viperion or even Marinette's code name, Ladybug.

“Time to go.” Tim jumps at Damian's voice, glancing behind him only to watch his retreating back out of the jet. Jason stands waiting for him at the end of the ramp, both hurrying to catch up with Damian. 

The village of Dangquka was small, only taking up a small portion of the valley. The place almost looked sad, filled with sparse beige grass and barren mountains. The boys settled themselves into a cliffside, queuing up their binocular setting in their respective masks, watching for the girls' arrival. 

“She’s almost here,” Tim says, his phone showing Marinette location as it travels quickly towards the town. They watch as an off road jeep pulls into the village, all the villagers gathering around. Marinette climbs out, a blond man following after from the driver's seat. She starts to greet all the villagers, obviously familiar with them. Damian zones in on a man that doesn't look like he belongs in the village. 

His hair is dyed and his look screams rocker, even of his attire is more appropriate for the setting he’s in. Damian's hand obliterates the rock he's using to support himself as he watches the man pull Marinette into a hug, going so far as to bend his head into her neck. They stay that was for a minute before the blond man pulls them apart, motioning to the jeep. Marinette nods, taking the second boys hand and pulling him towards the jeep, climbing into the back seat with him. 

She’s not just lying to me. She’s a femme fatale. Using me for some sick game, before she returns to her real boyfriend. Boyfriends? It doesn't matter. Damian's thoughts start to spiral before Jason picks him up with his collar. 

“Come on lover boy, we have to follow them up the mountain.” And so they do, for eight hours. The sun had long since set, when they climb over a ridge and all gape at the temple settled at the base of a mountain, at the edge of a cliff. Damian is the first to pull himself together, quickly zoning in on the entrance. At the top of the stairs stand three women and one lone man, surrounded by what look like male and female monks. 

Marinette climbs out of the vehicle, all the monks dropping to a bow at her appearance. The boys stand behind her on either side as she ascends the stairs. For the sake of tradition, Marinette does not shy away from the attention, but holds her head high. She has a duty to perform. 

At the top she pulls the three women in for a hug, relishing the contact. She pulls back to take the hand of the man. He smiles at her, giving her hand a tight squeeze before an older man steps forward, bowing to escort her inside. 

“Drake.”

“Already on it, we will have sound and video in five.”

“How does no one know about this place?” Jason grumbles

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Right then the sound from the temple kicks in, all silencing to hear everything. Tim holds the tablet out, everyone's eyes glued to the screen. 

“It’s a blessing you made it when you did Marinette, he only has a few minutes left, the Kwami have done all they could.”

“That is good to hear, I will see him now.” Marinette enters a large chamber, quickly approaching the bed in the center, an older man struggling to breath lying upon it. He is surrounded by what look like many animal themed faires.

“Master Fu, I’m here.”

“Marinette, I am so thankful I got to see you one last time, especially to bestow the title upon you in person.”

“I know we have talked about this before Master but please reconsider. There is still time to choose one of the monks instead.”

Fu only breathes deeply, too tired to shake his head. 

“I met someone. Please Master, just this once let me have this.”

“I am sorry Marinette but my choice is made.” Marinette starts to cry, her grip on his hand tightening. 

“I do not want this curse,” She whispers. 

“Do not call such an honor a curse Marinette. You were chosen for this and I ask that you humor this old man and accept your duty.” Fu tries to sound harsh.

“It is a curse, you are just lucky you do not have to go long without your memories.” Marinette then looks ashamed. “I apologize Master, that was harsh of me.”

“Do not apologize for stating a truth Marinette,” Fu chuckles, “I do not have long left to live.”

“Does not make what I said any less insensitive.” She adjusts her weight, tucking her legs under her. She waits patiently with a bowed head as the man gathers the last of his strength. 

“I, Supreme Guardian Fu, relinquish my title to Marinette Dupain-Chang. That she will be the next Guardian of the Miracle Box until she passes the title onto another.” When Fu finishes speaking there is a bright flash of light and all the fairy like creatures disappear. They watch as Marinette reaches up to her ears. That's when Damian notices that the earrings that Marinette never took off were gone. 

“Hello young lady, why are you crying?” The boys watch in horror as the man no longer recognized Marinette. She just smiled kindly, brushing her hand across his face. 

“No reason, you must be tired, why don’t you rest?”

“Yes that sounds nice,” And with that the man passed away. Marinette wipes the last of her tears away before standing and exiting the room. Outside wait the three women from earlier as well as two young female monks.

“Come Mistress, we must get you ready for the ceremony.” The monks take her hands, leading her further down the hall. 

“How are you Marinette?” The first girl to speak is a brunette, her hair wavy and short, the orange dye blending well with her skin tone.

“I am doing well Alya, you?”

“Great. My magazine just took off in Paris. Sales are good so far.”

“That’s wonderful to hear.” She smiles her trademark smile, before sitting down for the younger girls to start her makeup and hair. 

“I hear you are doing more than well,” The second woman speaks. She is a blonde, clothes obviously designer. “What's this I hear about a boyfriend?”

“Chloe” Marinette whines in embarrassment.

“What it's not my fault you didn't tell me. So what's his name? Do you have a picture?” Marinette just rolls her eyes before gesturing to her purse, leaving the girl to grab her phone. She whistles when she sees Damien's picture. The boy flushing as his brother snicker. 

“His name is Damian.”

“How long?” The final girl joins in, her Japanese features beautiful and holding herself with confidence.

“Over a year of dating and almost two and knowing each other.” The girls a coo at that, even the Japanese girl. The other girls look almost uncomfortable at the relaxed atmosphere. Marinette notices, reaching up to stop the girls from working. 

“Loosen up girls, no need to be so formal.” 

“But tradition says that we are to be respectful to you Mistress.”

“Yes and to not speak out of turn. You are Supreme Guardian now” 

“Please call me Marinette, and I don’t like these stuffy traditions. So don’t stress yourselves on my account.”

“Ok” They both sound slightly more relaxed but do not join in the the friends chatter. 

“So why didn’t you bring Damian with you?” Alya asks, casually eating a platter of fruit.

“Because he doesn’t know.” All the girls look at her in shock. 

“What” They all but yell. Damien narrows his eyes, focusing heavily on the conversation. 

“Even if I had been allowed, how do you bring up this!?” She waves to the room around her, obviously meaning the temple as a whole. Damian's breath catches. She didn't have a choice in lying to him.

“Easy,” the Japanese girl starts, “You just say ‘Babe I’m being raised to be a leader of a super ancient and secret organization that guards magical jewelry.” 

“Wow Kagami I didn’t know you had been hanging out with Adrian again” Marinette says dryly. 

Damian falls back on his butt, shaking in relief. The truth wasn't even in the ballpark of what his mind was thinking. Magic. Of course he wouldn't have considered such a possibility due to his limited contact with it. 

“It's the truth though,” Chloe chimes in, it can’t be that hard. She glances at the girls working on Marinette, electing to enact her new found tact and not to speak ill of the dead. After all, it was clear that Fu had forbidden Marinette from telling anymore people about the Order. Instead she says, “Now that you’re in charge are you going to tell him?”

“Yes. As soon as I get back. I don’t like lying.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That my grandfather was passing in Paris,” She sounds so ashamed, One of the girls smacking her hand as she tried to touch her face. 

“Well I think the only thing you lied about was where you are if that makes you feel better-”

“It doesn’t,” 

“-And technically Fu was like a grandfather to you. He had been training you since you were a child.” Chole continued as though she had never been interrupted. 

She just pouts, closing her eyes for the girl to finish applying her makeup. She sighs in relief moving quickly to apply the red eye shadow and make the elaborate eyeliner wings.  

“Well going back to Damian, how serious is it?”

“Uh-” Damian holds his breath, “I like to think serious, after all he did say-” She grows quiet at the end, raising her shoulders to hide herself. 

"What was that?" Alya and Chloe grin mischievously leaning in close.

"He told me he loved me when I called him earlier" Marinette manages to get out, unable to hide the joy on her face.

"Please hold still, I'm almost done" the girl tries to sound respectful but she's obviously frustrated. 

"Sorry" 

"You said you think it's serious. That means you love him back yes?" Kagami asks. Marinette only sighs happily, doing her best to let the girls finish working on her. 

"Well you both have great genes, your kids will look killer" It takes all Marinette's self control to not react to Chloe's teasing. You can tell how embarrassed she is by the statement from her shaking hands and red face. 

"Done, time to change clothes." Marinette stands up and starts to undress. Damian's hand shoots out, slamming the tablet down against the rock face. 

"What never seen her naked before" Jason teases.

"Whether or not I have is not your business and you two heathens don't need to watch a girl change without her knowledge you perverts" 

"Ya' know Tim, I don't think he's ever seen her naked." Jason grins leaning down on Damian.

"I think you're right. Baby steps though, she his his first girlfriend" 

"it's been long enough though that he should have by now" 

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Damian swats Jason off him, listening to see when he could bring visuals back up. 

Marinette moved when needed as the girls put layer upon layer on her kimono, the lightweight fabric quickly weighing more together.

"Done ready to see yourself," Alya and Kagami pull her up to a mirror, standing beside her as she took in her appearance. 

Her red eye shadow spread out to make it look like she was wearing a mask, the eye liner dramatic and making her eyes look more serious then she felt. Her lips were a pale red except for the center, which was a solid red line. The blue of her eyes, oddly not clashing with her makeup or clothes. The kimono was varying shades of red, black, dark purple, and dark blue. He hair was decorated with ornaments and beaded intricately, her braid cascading down her back. 

"Wow, impressive guys. I don't even look like the same person" 

"Mistress, it is time for everyone to gather." Each girl gives her a hug before leaving the room. Marinette takes a deep breath, stealing herself before marching out of the room. 

She is escorted by the young woman before they leave her side to join the crowd gathered in the great hall. The boys turn the tablet right side up again, right as she walks in, past a large group of people. 

Tim squints at the screen and starts mumbling to himself. Damian just glares at him before watching Marinette take a seat on not a throne but a very large cushion. Her back is straight as she bows her head and in return the room bows to her. Four people step forward, each holding a cup. 

"Supreme Guardian. I offer this potion of health, that you may stay strong for the Order." 

"Thank you. I gladly accept." She drinks before bowing again, the man retaking his place in the crowd. 

"Supreme Guardian, I offer this potion of wisdom, that you may lead us with confidence. 

"Thank you. I gladly accept" 

"Supreme Guardian, I offer this potion of fortitude, that you may protect the Order."

"Thank you. I gladly accept" her gaze hardens as the final man steps forward. 

"Supreme Guardian, I offer this potion of longevity, that you may lead the Order for many years to come." Marinette pauses as she takes hold of the cup, murmurs stirring as she does not accept or drink. 

"Thank you, but I will decline the potion of longevity. For now." The murmurs turned to outrage, Marinette patiently waiting for the room to quiet. 

"Ah ha! Star Wars." Tim exclaims, the boys looking at him in confusion. "Her outfit, she looks like she's Queen Amidala" 

Jason just nods in agreement while Damian turns back to the commotion building within the temple. Damian watched at Marinette's friends exchange looks of amusement and concern. The younger monks gently quiet down the older ones, whispering to listen and hear what she has to say. Finally the room quieted enough for Mariniette to be heard.

“I mean no disrespect. I understand the importance of tradition. However I am not on my own, the decision of extended life is a serious one and one I plan to discuss with my boyfriend.” The angry muttering starts to return at the mention of Damian. 

“Boyfriend!?” A man yells, “How dare the this Supreme Guardian trample our traditions. Did Fu teach you nothing?” Marinette only narrows her eyes. Her lips are but a thin line now. 

“You should revoke the title, Fu must have been confused to have chosen you.” A woman spoke this time. Damian feels his own blood start to boil, he can only imagine how Marinette must be feeling at this moment. If what he heard was correct, Marinette had been coming here most of her life. These people must be like family. But then Damian remembers what family truly means, and it's not only blood. He glanced to the men beside him, thankful for their presence in his youth and now. But he wasn't about to tell them that.  

Marinette stands, hands folded in front of her and she stood in front of the man first. She bowed deeply, he takes a step back in shock. “I apologize but I did not want this position. I begged Fu to reconsider many times, but he would not.” She stands, meeting his gaze head on, “But my memories are too important to me to revoke the title.” She then walks to the woman who spoke up. She takes her hands in her own, gently squeezing. 

“Fu was a wise man, just stubborn in his ways, much like many of you,” Her face his kind, but her words are hard like steel, “I will not allow you to speak ill of him.” She retakes her seat, “After all we both partook of the potion of wisdom, so perhaps I am not as foolish as you all believe.” She quips, looking satisfied with herself. 

The room was dead silent except for the blonde man and woman struggling not to laugh alongside the redhead. Slowly everyone looked very proud of their new Supreme Guardian. “I am not out to destroy tradition, but to renew it and bring it into a new season. Change is good for the soul, and makes things stronger.” Marinette smiles gently at everyone, her warmth overtaking the room. 

Damian can’t help but let his mouth hang open watching his girl tackle the room in a much stronger way than he would have. “You sure can pick em” Jason whispers next to him, almost like he’s afraid to break the spell. Damian can only nod, still in awe of this woman who decided to be his partner. 

“Now tradition also says that as Supreme Guardian, I am to protect the identities of any holders of the Miraculous. With my goal to bring the Order into the new age, I feel it's important to function more as a collective than as a -” Marinette pauses to choose her words carefully, “group only lead by me, or a Supreme Guardian in general.”

“What do you mean?”

“Secrecy is still important, and magic protects us against a lot of things, but I feel as though we could be doing more for the world. That we shouldnt hide in the shadows as much. The world needs help, and if our magic can provide that then I think we should.”

“I wonder what their magic is? Do you think it has anything to do with those fairy things earlier?”

“I think Marinette is about to show us.” They watch as a hexagonal box is brought before Marinette. It is solid, there are no cracks along it to allude to any opening at all. It is painted with Chinese symbols in a deep red. With a wave of her hand the box spins, a new compartment opening with each spin until the top disappears altogether revealing what the boys could only assume was the magical jewelry. She takes a pair of spotted earrings from the top, after the last one is put in there was a flash of pink light revealing a small red creature. 

“Hello again Tikki.” The creature, Tikki, flies up to Marinette's face, careful of her make up as she gives her the best hug she can. 

“You look beautiful Marinette!” 

“Thank you Tikki,” Marinette can’t help but laugh, “Shall we continue?”

“Yes my Guardian.” Tikki does her own little bow before floating over Marinette left shoulder, sending a small wave to the occupants of the room. Next Marinette grabs the ring that had sat in the box next to the earrings. 

“Adrien Agreste. Please come forward.” The blonde man walks to her, bowing before her. 

“In the past you were the holder of the Cat Miraculous. You were given responsibility over destruction. Do you desire to continue your responsibility of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Cat.”

“Supreme Guardian, I decline your offer to hold the cat miraculous.” Marinette only smiles kindly at him. 

“I thank you for your service and wish you well on your journey.” Adrian turns to walk away, but Marinette stops him. “Would you like one last goodbye?” Adrian doesn't look surprised at her kindness but takes the ring. In a flash of green light a small black creature that resembles a cat appears. 

“Thank you for everything Plagg, I hope to see you again someday.” Plagg only sniff, obviously trying to appear unbothered with the goodbye. 

“Knowing sweet cheeks over here, you only need to ask to say hello.” Adrian chuckles

“I will keep that in mind, so long Plagg.” and with that he removes the ring, Plagg disappearing once again. Adrian walks away feeling confident in his decision, he enjoyed his time with Plagg but he had other desires for the future, and being a superhero isn't one of them. 

Marinette replaces the ring before taking out a necklace that looks like a fox tail. “Alya Césaire. Please come forward.” Alya also bows before Marinette, sending her a nervous smile. 

“In the past you were the holder of the Fox Miraculous. You were given responsibility over illusion. Do you desire to continue your responsibility of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Fox.”

“I must decline, Supreme Guardian,” she rushes to add, mentally scolding herself for messing up, “your offer to hold the fox miraculous again.”

“I thank you for your service and wish you well on your journey. Would you like to say goodbye?”

“Trixx and I said our goodbyes long ago, I thank you for the offer though.” Alay struggles to speak so formally, after all this is the same girl who once wondered if a pan was hot and touched it with her bare hand. 

“Very well.” Marinette places the necklace back and pulls out a comb with a bee along the top. Before she can speak, Chloe is already standing in front of her, someone coughs behind her and with an exaggerated sigh she bows quickly to Marinette, holding out her hand. Marinette's lips quirk upward, the laugh barely contained. 

“Chloe Bourgeois, in the past you were the holder of the Bee Miraculous. You were given responsibility over Subjection. Do you desire to continue your position of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Bee.”

“Obviously, now let me see Pollen,” Chloe shrinks under Marinette's stare, but only a little, “please” Marinette relents, handing her the comb. Chloe puts the comb in her hair, at the base of her ponytail. With a flash of yellow light a creature resembling a bee appears, her large black eyes alight with laughter. 

“My Queen, I know you are eager but you must be respectful.”

“Yeah yeah,” Pollen hugs her face much like Tikki did Marinettes. With a flick of her fingers over the comb Chloe is enveloped in a bright light. When the light clears, Chloe is now sporting a mostly black outfit with narrow dark yellow stripes throughout. She has long translucent wings along her back and antenna atop her head. Her mask is all black and what look like enforced gloves with spikes along the knuckles on her hands. She walks to stand behind Marinette. 

“Nino Lahiffe. Please come forward.” The young man comes forward, but not before giving Alya’s hand a squeeze. 

“In the past you were the holder of the Turtle Miraculous. You were given responsibility over protection. Do you desire to continue your responsibility of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Turtle.”

“I’m sorry my- huh Supreme Guardian Ma’am, I decline the offer of yours, and Wayzz and I are, like, totally good.” Nino stumbles through his response, but very little embarrassed the laid back man anymore. Marinette can’t keep a small giggle from escaping. 

“I thank you for your service and wish you well on your journey.” 

“That was a train wreck,” Tim and Jason mutter at the same time. 

“Kagami Tsurugi. Please come forward.” Kagami commands the most respect by far as she marches forward, bowing deeply before standing at attention in front of Marinette. 

“In the past you were the holder of the Dragon Miraculous. You were given responsibility over Elements. Do you desire to continue your responsibility of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Dragon.”

“I humbly accept your offer Supreme Guardian.” Kagami bows once more before taking the choker necklace. This time the flash of light is red, leading to the appearance of Longg the Dragon. There are no exchanges of pleasantries as she fastens the choker. Running her fingers along the bead in the center she also transforms. 

She is wearing what looks like a red, black and gold bodysuit, the design flowing all over her body. The top she is wearing looks like a kimono, the hem just above her knees. On her hip rests a katana, her mask red and black trimmed with gold, blending with the horns that now adorn her head. She joins Chole behind Marinette. 

“Luka Couffaine. Please come forward.” The final man steps forward, the one from the village. Damian can’t help but glare in distaste. 

“In the past you were the holder of the Snake Miraculous. You were given responsibility over time. Do you desire to continue your responsibility of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Snake.”

“I gladly accept Supreme Guardian.” He takes a bangle that looks like a coiled snake. With a flash of teal light, the snake creature appears.

“Welcome back young wielder.” he slithers as he bows to Luka and Marinette. The same as the girls, Luka runs his fingers over the bangle, and is left transformed in a teal light. He now has a hood that melds with his loose fitting suit, the pattern of a snakes head on top. He has a whip resting on his hip, attached to a belt. The dark teal of his clothes melding well with his black boots and mask. His eyes took on a more snake like appearance. 

“Now that we have selected holders for tonight, I will call an end to the ceremony. I will be leaving in the morning.” The crowd grows restless again. “I have a life outside the temple, but I will continue to follow through on my duties from afar. I will take Kaalki with me for emergencies and will stay in contact with the holders.”

“And the box?” Someone shouts from the crowd. 

“Will stay in your capable hands, as you are all guardians. I look forward to our next meeting” She takes a pair of glasses from the box before waving over it, sealing it once more. She stands once again to bow before leaving the room, her three protectors following. Tikki sits neatly in her hair, enjoying being close to her once again. Damian watches and Tim recalls the drone, leaving the occupants unaware of the intruders for now. He is unsure if Marinette will tell all of them. 

“We better get a move on if you want to be back in Gotham to pick her up from the airport.” Tim starts working his way back down the mountain before stopping and looking back at the boys. “Could we just call the jet here?”

“And risk them hearing or seeing it? No, get a move on, we have a long hike ahead of us.” Jason laughs, pulling ahead of Tim, who grumbles but accepts his fate. And a long hike it was, when they finally get back to the jet, all of them are ready to drop from exhaustion. 

“Who wants to start flying so we can use autopilot?” Jason groans, dropping into a seat. 

“I will, I have a lot of thinking to do anyway.” Damian marches into the cockpit and closing it off from the rest of the plane. 

“I haven't had coffee in almost 48 hours, this sucks?” Tim all but collapsed on the floor of the jet. 

“Get sleep like a normal person then” Jason quips, throwing a pillow from the overhead at Tim before turning in himself. Tim stayed on the floor, grabbing the pillow and curling in on himself, it brain finally crashing. 

Damian starts the plane, taking them back to Gotham. Once he reaches the proper altitude for autopilot a call comes in from the Batcave, revealing one Nightwing. “Hey there kid, I see you’re on your way back. How did it go?” Damian just gives a tired sigh, Dicks concern sky rockets.

“She is now a leader of a secret organization the protects magical jewelry, and the last leader forbade her from telling me about it and that's why she stretched the truth. My normal isn’t so normal after all” Dick can only whistle in disbelief. 

“That's tough, obviously you’re going to tell her everything?”

“I have too. This whole mess started with secrets, I’m not leaving anything out.” Dick smiles at Damian. He is so proud of his growth and maturity. 

“She is lucky to have you.”

“I'll be lucky to still have her after this is all over.” He groans rubbing his face in exhaustion. “I have to tell her everything.” Damian gives his a pointed look, Dick can only nod in agreement. 

“Bruce will understand. If she’s the leaders of something that secret even we didn’t know about it, she knows how to keep a secret. After all the whole family knows her secret too, only fair.” 

Damian sits quietly for a moment, glancing behind him before continuing, “I’m scared Dick. I’m so scared of losing her. I feel like I really messed up.”

“I really wish I could be certain for you, but I can’t. Just tell her everything and the pieces will fall into place. Every couple goes through a rough patch. Yours is just crazy.” 

“I’m going to try and get some sleep now. See you in a few hours.” Dick gives a wave before signing off. Back in the cave, Bruce steps out of the shadows, still in his gear as well. 

“He has grown so much.” 

“He sure has,” Dick turns to face him, “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“You seem certain that she isn’t going to kill him.” Bruce looks grim. His youngest is very serious about this girl, and the last thing he wants is for them to end it. Damian has worked so hard and deserves happiness. 

“Call it my great intuition when it comes to romance” Dick winks at Bruce before walking back up to the manor. Bruce just grunts, still thinking about Damian. He really hoped that it does all work out, but the pessimist in him can’t help but think the worse.

Marinette wakes up in the morning, watching the sunrise over the Tibetan mountains. The sight leaves her feeling excited and refreshed. A new day, a new journey, and new goals. She hoped Damian understood and didn’t leave her for keeping all this a secret. She sighed thinking of the man back home, waiting for her to return believing she was in Paris, not Tibet. She hugged herself against the sudden chill from the mountains. 

Damian was everything she wanted. He was straightforward and level headed. He always had something interesting to say and she loved listening to him talk about a variety of subjects. His sense of humor was quiet like himself, and she just felt so balanced when she was around him. He grounded her, keeping her thoughts from spiraling into crazy town. 

Tikki came into her field of vision, smiling at her holder. She may not have wanted to be Supreme Guardian, but she will do great things for the Order, she just knew it. “What are you thinking about Marinette?”

“Damian. How much I love him. I am so scared that when I finally tell him, he won't be able to take it.” Her smile slides off her face being replaced with worry.

“Just tell him everything. I don’t believe he will leave you!” Tikki squeaks, flying around the room. Marinette laughs at her optimism, moving to get dressed for the day. “You guys are a great match”

“I don’t doubt you Tikki.” Marinette pulls her sweater over her head before putting the rose gold glasses on, Kaalki joining Tikki in the air. “Damien has helped with my spiralling, and normally I would be thinking the worst possible scenarios right now.” Marineete laughs before moving to finish packing her bag, “But no more of that! Only positive thoughts now!” 

Exiting the room, Marinette waves to others walking through the halls, like she always has, but now they hesitantly wave back. The air thick with apprehension, and it frustrated Marinette to no end. By the time she reached the front steps, she was put out and ready to be back in Gotham, where no one knew her as ‘Supreme Guardian’. Where she was just Marinette. 

Alya, Adrien, and Nino were waiting for her on the steps, Chole, Kagami and Luka waiting by the door for their orders. Marinette smiled and chirped good morning, each of them returning the sentiment. She turns to her three holders, smiling while performing her business for the day. 

“Kagami, I have worked with you on the running's of the temple, are you able to stay for the next few months to ensure everything gets up and running?”

“Yes Mari, it won't be a problem.” 

“Thank you Mi,” Marinette's spirits lift at the nickname, thankful that nothing has changed with her friends. She turns to Luka next. 

“Luka I am tasking you with establishing relations between ourselves and the Justice League,” His eyes widen in surprise, “It is time they knew and perhaps we can offer assistance while working within the UN’s laws.” 

“That is a very important job Mari, are you sure I am the right person for the job?”

“You have a level head on your shoulders Luka, and you have always been the most diplomatic out of all of us.” Luka smiles at the compliment.

“Very well, I will come visit when I have an update. I want to meet Damian as well.” Marinette scowls in embarrassment before returning Luka's smile. 

“What do you need from me Mari?” Chole is practically vibrating, her eyes alight with desire and eagerness. 

“Chloe, I need you find worthy holders for the temple. It is time to expand. I trust your judgment and for you to train them.”

“Me?” Chole stammers, tears gathering in her eyes. Chole had done a lot of growing up over the years, and she wished she had been quick to leave behind her childish and immoral attitude but change did take time. Everyone had been nothing but supportive and encouraging throughout her transformation. 

And Marinette wanted her to handle such a delicate task. What is she chose wrong? What is she was the reason for the temple's destruction? What if, what if? Marineete quickly pulls her into a hug, whispering encouragement in her ear, Chole is quick to grab onto her sweater, the tears coming faster now. 

“I could really screw this up Mari-”

“I don’t believe that for a second, I know you are the perfect one for this job.”

“But what if I-”

“Chole.” Marinette pulls back to smile at the woman, their eyes searching each other, before both becoming a matching hard gaze of determination. 

“Of course Mari, I will visit with a report as well.” She gives a little salute, enticing a giggle from everyone present, before whipping her tears. 

“I’ll see you all later, and good luck.” With that Mari descends the staircase, the three turning into the temple, the heavy doors closing behind them. The start of a new era, Marinette thinks fondly to herself, ready to be home. “Let's get to Paris everyone.” With a flick of her fingers, she transforms, and opens the portal, Nino and Adrien ribbing each other as they walked through, Alya only rolling her eyes before following, Marinette looks back one last time at the majestic temple, before stepping through herself, finally glad to actually be in Paris as she said she was.

Damian finds himself anxiously waiting for Marinette to tell him when she would be coming home. He missed her desperately, and really needed to have this conversation with her. But right now he just really missed having her in his arms, her laugh, her kisses, their cuddle sessions on her couch. He really missed his Habibti. 

His phone started to ring, with trembling hands his goes to pick it up, only to almost drop it multiple times, finally answer on the last ring.

“There you go again, making me think I was going to miss you,” Her voice was refreshing, a drink for a dying man. Damian now feels the nerves of seeing her again, he can feel his heart pounding and the flows of adrenaline starting. Damian scowls, this isn't a battle, just a simple phone call with his girlfriend.

“I was so excited to hear your voice I almost dropped my phone.” Damian had started being more honest with his feelings a few months in, Marinette affect on him an unknown welcomed change. 

“Awe, well lucky for you I am boarding the plane now, I’ll be home in eight hours.”

“I’ll be waiting”

“See you soon.” She pauses on the line, “I love you Damian” She breathes out, the sound making Damians heart goes wild, and the guilt in his gut come back with a vengeance. 

“I love you too” With that Damian hangs up, and drops his head into his hands. Eight hours alone with his thoughts, and emotions. He starts to cry, fear over taking him. Damian could face down Killer Croc, he could jump from skyscraper to skyscraper without flinching. He knew the consequences if anything went wrong in those situations. A respectful fear of the known.

But this. Telling Marinette how he didn't trust her, followed her and betrayed her in such a way. That scared him like never before. He couldn’t even begin to plan how this would go, how she would react, how his life would be afterwards. He felt sick to his stomach, all his muscles clenching around his organs, pulling his spiraling mind into the mess.

Dick knocked on his door, entering quietly, finding a red eyed Damian staring at the wall, his hands clenched tightly in front of his face. He simply sat beside him, offering an encouraging pat on the back, patiently waiting for him to initiate. He didn’t have anywhere to be, Kori understood the importance of him staying in Gotham awhile longer. 

“I have never felt this kind of fear before.” Damian whispers, he unclenches his hands, trembling however his eyes do not move from the wall. “I can’t lose her Dick. Look at me now, how could I survive without her.” He chokes up, the thought of her leaving and hating him too much. 

“Tell me the qualities you like about her.” All tension leaves Damian, his eyes losing the frantic fear and taking on a soft love. 

“She is fierce and strong. She brings so much joy and beauty to this world. Her mind is like no other, always thinking and planning. She takes any opportunity presented to care for others.” 

“Does she seem like the kind of person to just walk out without resolving issues?”

“No, but she did hide from me one time after a misunderstanding.”

“But you guys were able to talk it out?”

“Yea she said she would never ignore me again.”

“Is she someone who goes back on her word?”

“Never.” Damian is angry at Dick for suggesting such a thing. Dick only smiles at Damian and pats him on the back, standing to leave. 

“Then trust what you know about her, what you value in her. Everything will be fine Damian.” He only nodes, back to staring at the wall, but less tense then he when Dick first entered the room. Everything would be fine. 

Damian now stand in the airport, he stands perfectly still despite the bundle of nerves racking his insides. He sees her before she sees him, her attention is on her phone, a small frown pulling at her lips, the new glasses on her face making her only cuter. 

He quickly walks to her, she looks up at him surprised when he immediately pulls her close. She melts into the hug, his strong arms resulting to her. She giggles as he refuses to let go for another two minutes, her protest finally being headed when he steps back, taking her bag in one hand and her small hand in the other. 

“Missed you too dork.” Marinette giggles, she glances at him, but his doesn’t look at her. He only gives her a strained smile, leading them back to his car. Marinette doesn’t think anything of it until the car ride is al silent as the walk through the airport. 

“Anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Marinette's heart freezes for a moment when Damian tenses, hands tightening around the steering wheel. She starts to feel like something is wrong, Damian was hiding something. 

“Huh, not really.” He mumbles, eyes never leaving the road. Marinette starts to panic, his behavior setting her on edge. Now Marinette, I’m sure it’s nothing bad. No spiraling. She takes a deep breath. You’re imagining things, nothing is wrong. 

The car ride continues in silence, Marinette staring out the window, trying to get a grip on her emotions and keeping herself from coming up with outlandish theories for Damian's attitude. She glances at him, the wrinkles in his face showing how truly on edge he was. No, Marinette tells herself, something is wrong. 

“What's wrong Damian?” Again he stiffens, she watches as he swallowed thickly, adams apple betraying his nerves. She narrows her eyes, watching as he starts to sweat. He opens and closes his mouth multiple times before speaking. 

“I made a mistake.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he pulls over, Marinette's apartment building looming in front of them. “We can talk inside.” He quickly gets out of the car, Marinette scrambling to catch up.

Ok so he made a mistake. It probably isn't that bad. He probably spilled something on my sketchbook, or he messed up the dress I was working on, or he met someone and- nope don't finish that thought Marinette. This is Damain we are talking about. Whatever his mistake was, it's not that bad. 

She catches up to Damian as he is unlocking the door, dropping her bag right away and taking a seat on her couch. She joins him, staring out the large windows, enjoying the view while she waits for him to start speaking. Or at least she was trying to. Her hands are trembling as she plays with the fingers, trying to remain calm. 

“You don’t deserve me” Is all he says, and those simple words break open the dam holding back Marinette's irrational emotional state. The tears start small, before they are quickly falling off her chin and into her hands. She couldn’t believe he would do such a thing, it was the only explanation to everything. Damian cheated on her. 

The sudden I love you, the jittery behavior, unable to meet her eyes. Guilt radiated off him in waves, the awareness of the emotion suffocating her now. It all makes sense. She was in shock, she was only gone a week. Was their relationship that fragile, it's a good thing she hadn’t told him anything yet. She feels her heart harden. She will not trust so easy again. 

“This is all Tim’s fault, just so you know. I-” He glanced at her now, dread filling him as he sees her crying, Damian had never seen her cry before now. He was not sure what to do. 

“How is Tim at fault for you cheating on me?” She chokes out, now looking angry and confused. Damian joins in on the confusion.

“What are you talking about Marinette? I have never cheated on you” Now he's panicked. Where had she gotten such an idea?

“But you said,” She starts, her sentences breaking up with her shuddering breaths, “that you made a mistake, that I don’t deserve you. You are giving off so much guilt!” She stands, Damian leaning back from the angry woman in front of him. “Explain what the hell is going on right now!

“Tim bugged your phone because he was suspicious of you. We followed you to Tibet and we saw everything at the temple.” Damian spits everything out as quickly as he can, seeing Marinette angry at him for the first time scaring him. 

Her face morphs between confusion, anger, shock, and understand before she settles on shock. She retakes her seat on the couch, Damian scoots closer taking her hand in his own. “He did what to my phone?”

“He bugged it. They were trying to protect me, stupidly, and when they played the recording of your call I didn’t know what to think. I thought you were like an assassin or something.” She snorts at that. If only she knew.

“How did Tim do that?” Damian looks deep into her eyes, he finds himself getting lost but finally knows how to answer her. His family deserved this after the breach of privacy they did to Marinette.

“He is Red Robin. I told him to not do a background check on you, but he did anyway and needed to find the reason you didn’t want to meet the family. You could say paranoia is a family trait.” Marinette smiles softly, taking Damian's face in her hand.

“Ironic that two people with important secrets find each other.” The looks she gives him is one of understanding and love. She is taking this too well.

“Why aren’t you angry with me?” He chokes out, “Why are you taking my lack of trust in you so well?” 

“You thought I was an assassin Damian,” He scowls at her teasing grin, “and I was going to tell you anyway.”

“But-”

“Nope, I forgive you. After all I did lie to you. I should be the one apologizing.”

“You weren’t allowed to tell me, I can’t hold that against you.” Her eyes widen in surprise, her mouth making a cute o shape. 

“How did you know that?”

“We had a drone enter the temple so we could see and hear what was going on.” Damian hesitates a moment but continued, “I was afraid to see what was going on. I didn't want it to be like the temple I crew up in.” He shouldn’t have said that. 

“What temple Damian?” 

“Please understand why I haven’t told you this before,” He can’t back down now. He hasn’t lied to her yet, and he isn’t going to start now. 

“It can’t be that bad Damian.” She sounds so understanding and reassuring, squeezing his hands before smiling at him.

“You would probably wish I had cheated on you.” She looks more apprehensive now, but stays firm. “I was raised by the league of assassins,” understanding shines in her eyes.

“At the age of eight, as a right of passage of sorts I had to complete a mission.” Damian starts to feel sick, telling her this. Surely she will run for the hills once he tells her this. “I was assigned to assasinate, murder, a man. I didn’t know his name, or why the league needed him dead. Just that I had to do it, and I didn’t want to disappoint my Mother and Grandfather.”

Damian avoided looking at her, resigning himself for her to leave and never talk to him again. She takes her hands out of his, the action hurting but Damian Understands, he wouldn’t want to touch a murder either. Once again Marinette surprises him, by climbing into his lap. She takes his face in her hands, staring deeply into his eyes, using her thumbs to wipe away his tears.  

“I love you Damian Wayne. Skeletons and all.” She kisses him firmly, trying to put all her emotions into the kiss, trying to make him understand the love she has for him. She smiles into the kiss as he wraps his arms around her slim frame. He deepens the kiss, accepting all her love, relieved to be blessed by Marinette’s beautiful soul. An Afreet such as himself didn’t deserve the touch of one as pure and genuine as her. 

“I don’t deserve you.” Damian whispers, his words thick with emotion as he tried not to cry. 

“If anyone deserves love and kindness its you Damian. And I’m never going to stop giving you that.” Damian holds her tighter, head resting on her shoulder while hers on his head. This moment right here, He wanted it to continue forever. She didn’t run and He wasn’t going to lose her now. 

“Marry me.” She pushes back on his shoulders, giving herself a clear view of his face. “Marry me and stay by my side forever. Let me return all your kindness for the rest of my life. Let me love you and cherish you. Let me be your husband Marinette, Habibti.”

She starts to cry again, but Damian doesn’t panic this time because there is a bright Marinette smile accompanying the tears. “Yes. Marry me and let me shower you with the love you deserve. I am going to never let you go.” She squeals as Damian stands, spinning her around the room, kissing her face and neck as they dance with each other around the apartment. 

“I like that promise.” They kissed once more, lost in each other's devotion. Both content with no more secrets, and the love found in each other. Damian cherishing a love he had never known and Marinette cherishing freedom in following her heart. Both making decisions for themselves for what feels like the first time. A decision to be happy. 

Part Two

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 45 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Aiden’s jealousy worsened, and Bianca invited Courtney to lunch.

This Chapter: Courtney, Adore and Violet all receive unexpected invitations.

***

It was kind of amazing. How Courtney could be sitting across from one of the most influential, powerful women in New York and feel so...well, comfortable. She knew that any sane person would feel horribly intimidated in this situation, but Bianca just kept on making her laugh so much, it was like she forgot to be nervous. Or...well, she wasn’t exactly not nervous, but it was a fluttery kind of excited nervous, curling pleasantly in her abdomen as they bantered back and forth.

“So...what class are you taking later?” Bianca asked, stirring her latte.

“It’s a street jazz class at BDC,” Courtney replied.

“BDC?” Bianca raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it stands for Broadway Dance Cen-”

“Yeah, I know what BDC is, I’m not a moron,” Bianca interrupted, and Courtney bit back a laugh, finding her abrasive style somehow endearing. “I just didn’t realize you were a dancer.”

“Oh. I’m not really. I just uh...want to get into music. Eventually. Like, pop music. When I got to New York, I went on a bunch of auditions, and I realized that my dance background was nowhere near strong enough to be competitive-” Courtney stopped abruptly. Was she saying too much? As nice as Bianca was, she was also one of Fame’s best friends.

Bianca didn’t seem concerned though, simply listening, nodding, a soft smile on her face. She really was so beautiful. Courtney’s heart hammered a bit faster.

“Do you mind...um...not telling Miss Fame about that? I don’t want her to think I’m not committed. I just, feel like she’d disapprove, and I really need that job, so-”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Bianca’s smile deepened, dark eyes shining.

“Thanks.” Courtney smiled back as the waitress set down their food, relieved.

“So how’d you end up at Galactica, anyway? It’s not exactly a direct path from there to being a pop star.”

“Uh, it’s kind of a long story. I was applying for like, any job that would let me stay in the country, and when I saw the opening with Miss Fame, I was thrilled. And then Adore and I were at this club, and we ran into Violet, and...I guess she kind of put in a good word for me.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have expected that,” Bianca mused.

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just… Violet’s always seemed a bit...uptight as fuck?”

Courtney had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud, explaining, “She takes her work very seriously.”

“Oh yeah?” One of Bianca’s brows raised a little, challenging. “Do you?”

“Of course! I’m so lucky to have that job, a million girls would kill to be in my shoes. And Miss Fame, you know, she’s a great boss.” Courtney blinked at Bianca, watching her muffle a laugh with her hand. “What?”

“No, nothing. You’re just cute when you lie.”

That fluttery feeling was back in Courtney’s belly, stronger than ever, as she insisted, “I’m not lying! She’s great! You’re her best friend, you should know-”

“Exactly. I’m her best friend. That’s how I know you’re lying.” Bianca bit down on a sweet potato fry, eyes twinkling.

“Okay, maybe she’s a little…”

“Yes?”

“Well, she’s not the easiest boss, or the most predictable, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a good one.” Courtney crossed her arms, a pretend little pout on her lips.

“Fair enough.”

And with that particular landmine safely side-stepped, Courtney let out a relieved sigh.

“Hey, uh, here’s a question. Do you have any Thanksgiving plans? I know you’re not American, so-”

“Really, what gave that away?” Courtney asked, lashes fluttering.

“Lucky guess,” Bianca laughed. “Anyway, Adore and I usually go home to New Orleans. But my sister Liz is going through a divorce and she’s apparently just an absolute cunt to anyone who dares even look at her. So we decided to stay in town and avoid that nightmare altogether.”

“That’s nice. Very supportive.”

“Hey, I’m paying for her attorney,” Bianca defended herself, and Courtney laughed. Of course she was paying for her sister’s divorce attorney; she was quickly proving to be one of the most generous people Courtney’d ever met. “But yeah, so...would you have any interest in joining us?”

“Really?”

“Sure. I know Adore would love to have you there,” Bianca said quickly, and after a moment of hesitation, added, “And hey, I’d like to encourage her to hang out with people who read. So, you know, win win.”

Courtney bit her lip, Bianca’s sarcastic deflection as she folded up a napkin in her hands making the whole thing painfully cute.

“No pressure, I just, uh...wanted you to know you’re welcome.”

“I would love to,” Courtney said, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the invite, knowing that this was a holiday people spent with family. “I should warn you though, I just went vegan.”

“Oh shit, invite rescinded.”

Courtney giggled, twirling a lock of her hair. “I know, I've already lost 3 friends over it. And I think I’m on very thin ice with Adore. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s no big deal. I actually eat a lot of vegan food, even tried it myself for a few years,” Bianca said. “I am a lesbian, after all.”

Courtney leaned forward, intrigued. “Is that like a thing?”

“Oh yeah,” Bianca nodded.

“Why do you think that is?” Courtney asked, lifting her glass to her lips, trying to find the straw without looking.

Bianca thought for a moment and then said, “Well...part of it is probably just lefty-feminist politics. And then of course there’s the purely unscientific belief that a plant-based diet makes your pussy taste amazing.”

Courtney choked, spitting out some of her smoothie, cheeks flushing hotly.

A mischievous smile spread across Bianca’s face as she handed over some napkins. She looked both terribly amused and a bit proud of herself.

“Sorry,” Courtney sputtered, wiping up the mess. “I was...not prepared for that.”

“I hope I didn’t destroy your innocence,” Bianca said, voice soft and teasing.

“I’m not that fragile. I’ve been Adore’s best friend for 4 years, remember?” Courtney reminded her.

“Right.”

As Courtney set down the napkins, she looked up and caught Bianca’s eyes again, both of them breaking out into matching grins. She couldn’t quite explain the way her heart thumped faster every time they looked at each other--all she knew was that looking into Bianca’s warm brown eyes, she felt better than she had in months.

***

“Fame?”

Patrick toed his shoes off, resisting the urge to dump his tennis bag by the door. He played tennis every other Saturday morning, tennis and his occasional swims the only form of exercise he had ever found bearable, even though Fame had tried to get him turned into yoga more times than he could count.

Patrick waited for a second, either expecting his wife or his dog to come down to greet him, but neither happened, instead,  all he could hear was the faint sound of the TV.

“Fame? Darling?”

Patrick put his bag down, vowing to himself that he’d remember to come back and pick it up, before he made his way into their townhouse.

He found her in the living room. Fame was sitting on the couch in a silk robe, the TV on, the curtains drawn, Charles' head resting on her lap.

“Did you have fun?”

“We finished 5 sets.” Patrick smiled, Fame not actually asking how he had done at tennis, the rules of the game on the long list of things she didn’t care about, though she had shown up to watch him play, the shorts apparently making it worth it. He walked over to the couch, sitting down and leaning in to give his wife a kiss on the cheek, when he felt Fame’s hand on his face, blocking him.

“Don’t-” Fame turned her head, pulling herself away from her show as she looked at Patrick through her fingers. “I just had my skin done, and I refuse to let you mess up my microneedling.”

“Ah. Glad it’s not a chemical peel month.” Fame always looked absolutely insane after those, her skin flaking off. It was rather disgusting, and he tried not to be around for those, seeing your wife shed like a lizard weirdly enough rarely doing wonders for a sex life.

“Shut up.”

Patrick grinned, and Fame smiled as she pushed him back, Patrick settling in on the couch so Fame could snuggle up against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “And what are we watching?”

“Snapped.”

Patrick had to hide a snort, Fame absolutely devouring any and all true crime media. When she’d first gotten addicted to that particular show, all about women who murdered their partners, he’d wonder if she was trying to tell him something. Her response when he’d asked, “Keep asking questions like that and you’ll find out,” had made him burst out laughing, his wife’s sardonic, grisly sense of humor one of the things he loved the most about her, only coming out in rare instances but always a delightful surprise. Almost as surprising as her porcelain chicken collection.

“Your bag better not be flung anywhere.”

Ah.

Busted.

***

Katya hummed to herself as she was setting the table, a bottle of wine for Trixie and sparkling water for her chilling in the fridge.

Trixie was locked up in their bedroom, working away on the cost predictions for the Spring prêt-à-porter collection, sweating over numbers and doing everything he could to make sure everything was running smoothly.

He had promised her to come out for dinner, so Katya had arranged a surprise, a gigantic order of Chipotle on its way.

“Hey Katya?”

Katya looked up from where she had been folding the napkin, to see Pearl leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. She was wearing a pair of drop-crotch sweats and a sleeveless jersey tied up around her midriff, certainly not her typical going-out clothes. Was it possible that she was staying in? On a Saturday?

“Everything okay?”

Pearl gave a slow, unconvincing nod, walking forward a few steps.

“Are you sure about that?”

“How did you know that you wanted to be with Trixie forever?”

Katya paused, the napkin still in her hand as she considered Pearl’s question. Normally, she would have made a joke about Trixie’s luscious butt, but judging from Pearl’s face, this wasn’t the time.

“I honestly…still don’t know.”

“Please,” Pearl sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Katya smiled. Pearl and Trixie had been friends for forever, but they didn’t become best friends until after Katya and Trixie had started dating, Pearl moving in with Trixie while she was in rehab for that final time. “I liked being single. I liked having little whirlwind romantic flings and then going back to starfishing across the bed when they were over.”

Pearl laughed, shaking her head, and Katya declared a small victory for making her crack a smile.

“If I’d been single forever, I’d have been perfectly fine.”

Maybe not perfectly fine, but Pearl didn’t need to know that, the things Katya had done before Trixie came into her life not really things she was particularly proud of.

“I liked being free.” Katya shrugged, trying it out.

“Mmmh?”

Bingo.

Katya hid a smirk, Pearl straightening up the moment freedom had been mentioned.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Pearl was struggling in her relationship with Adore, that her friend was probably freaking out about being with someone for any extended amount of time, since Katya had never seen Pearl do anything like what she doing now, long-term relationships not really the Liaison brand.

“But I met Trix, and I like him more than freedom. Or, well, that’s not really accurate. Actually…” Katya sat down beside Pearl. “The truth is, I feel my freest when I’m with him. Knowing that he’s in my corner. But I mean, knowing for sure? I just don’t think certainty is in my nature. Luckily, it’s in his. That’s why we’re a good team.”

“Yeah. That makes sense. You guys are a good team.” Pearl sighed.

“Do you feel like you guys are a good team?” Katya asked carefully.

“Sometimes. I mean...we’re a lot alike. Maybe too much alike. I dunno.” Pearl avoided Katya’s gaze.

“Here’s a question...are you happier with her, or without her?” Katya asked.

“I...don’t know.”

Katya reached for Pearl’s hand. “Pearl, listen. I like Adore, a lot actually. I think she’s sweet and beautiful and funny and she obviously cares about you so much. But I also think that stringing her along when you’re feeling like this...it’s not fair to either of you.”

“I just don’t want to give up so fast!” Pearl exclaimed. “I always do that. I promised myself that I would actually try this time.”

“Well, then maybe you just need to be reminded of why you got together in the first place.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Also...now I don’t want to sound like I’m preaching here,” Katya began.

“No, it’s fine. I asked for your opinion,” Pearl said.

“Well...in my experience...it’s really hard to maintain any kind of real relationship--friendship, romantic, whatever--if you prioritize your ego over the other person’s feelings.”

Pearl blinked at her for a few seconds, letting the comment sink in, before dropping her head to the table with a soft, “fuck…”

Katya chuckled and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. “You’ll be alright.”

***

“Drink drink drink drink drink drink drink drink YEAHHHHHHH!” The girls cheered as Adore finished her beer and slammed the empty glass down on the table.

Adore laughed, wiping her mouth, looking around at the group. Originally, when Courtney had introduced her to these girls years ago as “my sorority sisters,” she was picturing stuck-up, prissy little spoiled brats, who would judge her and never accept her - the punk rock lesbian who walked around in bare feet and no bra most of the time.

She was pleasantly surprised when they ended up being fun, and mostly turned their Mean Girls Judgement on others, or each other. Somehow Adore became the untouchable and beloved mascot of the group, the cool, alternative one who gave them all street cred. Tyra loved her because they were both from the South, both from big families and both of them possessed deeply developed bullshit detectors. Tati enjoyed doing shots with her and wreaking havoc (and was good for a sloppy drunken makeout session at least a few times a year) and Morgan - well, Morgan was kind of a cunt, but in the very best way. It was part of her charm, and, as she explained it, part of her Scottish heritage.

This night out with her friends was exactly what she needed to take her mind off her current relationship drama. She’d only spoken to Pearl once since their fight the other day, and it was tense, Pearl claiming to be running into a meeting. After that, nothing. No messages, no calls--she still wasn’t 100% sure where things stood between them.

Adore turned to Courtney, who absentmindedly stirred her drink with a straw, staring into space. She’d already noticed a bit of a change in her mood from a week ago - there was definitely something lighter about her. Still, quiet wistfulness wasn’t her general M.O. in a club - usually she was the first one on the dance floor. Adore nudged her gently with a hip.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Courtney turned to her with a little smile, green eyes soft.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course! I always have fun with you,” she said, wrapping her arms around Adore’s waist and cuddling closer, laying a head on her shoulder.

Adore pressed the kiss to the top of her head before asking the other question on her mind, “So...um...what’s going on with you and my sister?”

Courtney’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I heard you hung out today…and that you’re joining us for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh. Right. No, I just ran into her by chance.”

“Where the hell are you hanging out, where you run into someone like that?” Morgan asked. “The fuckin’ SoHo house?”

“It was a bookstore.”

“Ugh, smart bitch.”

“And like…she bought me lunch because she knows I’m poor,” Courtney explained, “and since you guys will be in town and I don’t have family here, she just asked if I wanted to come.”

“Oh yeah, no big deal,” Tyra cut in, “She just took you on a date and then invited you to a family holiday…”

“It wasn’t a date!” Courtney said, laughing. “It was really all just very casual. She was just being nice.”

“Being nice for no reason. Sounds like Bianca alright,” Adore said, one eyebrow raised, and Courtney giggled again, shrugging.

“Maybe she’s nicer than you think.”

“Listen, Courtney, I’m glad you’re gonna be there because I love you. But just...you know, my sister is very...uh…”

“Yeah?”

“No, she’s great. Like, she’s the best. But…” Adore trailed off, grabbing a shot from the round Morgan was setting on the table and tossing it back.

It felt weird to be having this conversation. Did she really need to warn Courtney about Bianca? After all, B had joked about hitting on her before but never actually done anything. And what would she even say? ‘My sister is very good at charming the pants off every girl who catches her attention--especially the blondes’? ‘Beware the dimples’? She was certain that Bianca would never make a move on someone who didn’t want it, so...why not just leave it alone?

“You know what? Nevermind. Whose phone is that?” Adore felt her pocket, realizing that the out of control buzzing was her own phone--hopefully not her sister being an impatient cunt about Courtney’s number.

PEARL: Hey. I’m sorry about how I acted on Thursday.

PEARL: And yesterday

PEARL: There’s a warehouse party in Brooklyn tomorrow

PEARL: At the navy yard. Wanna go?

PEARL: It’s right by Grimaldi’s…

PEARL: Best pizza in NY

PEARL: My treat

ADORE: So you like pizza again, huh?

PEARL: It’s my favorite ;)

ADORE: Lol, okay, I’m in. <3

Adore looked back up at her friends, grinning at the group. “Let’s go dance!”

***

Sutan wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t, because that would be ridiculous.

Sutan took a sip of his coffee, watching people walk by the cafe he was sitting at. It was a surprisingly sunny Saturday for October, the air crisp and fresh. He had already waited for 20 minutes, Violet once again late, but Sutan had asked for a chocolate croissant with his first cup of coffee, his girlfriend's time management skills surprisingly terrible.

Sutan was planning to invite Violet to Aspen with him, Raja and Raven for their annual ski trip. It was a tradition of theirs, Raja and he owning a cabin together that they visited every year. He wasn’t a brilliant skier, but he liked the mountain air, the sense of freedom, and of being disconnected while out on the slopes.

He had thought about inviting Violet along for weeks, Raven needling him about whether or not Violet would be coming with him.

Sutan wanted Violet to join them. Wanted to see her all dressed up in winter wear, wanted to teach her how to ski and have drinks by the fire in the evening.

There was just the teeny tiny insignificant detail, that the last time he had asked someone to come with him and Raja to Aspen, it had been a terrible time.

He didn’t hate Kahmora, at least not any more, their divorce lasting longer than their marriage, but he still felt a sense of dread every time he visited L.A. - which was why he avoided the city as much as he could, Kahmora thankfully relocating once they severed ties.

Violet wasn’t Kahmora though, actually, they were as different as day and night.

“Hey.”

Sutan turned his head to see Violet come walking towards him, her coat closely around her, her new bag in hand, and Sutan was glad he had splurged for the largest model Dior made, the purse already stuffed.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Violet pressed a kiss against his cheek, sliding in on the other side of the table, her dress brushing against him. “Have you eaten?”

“I was waiting for you.”

Violet didn’t need to know that he already finished a chocolate croissant, that sin between him and his trainer.

“Ah,” Violet looked guilty for a second, brushing a bit of her hair behind her ear, her earring of the day a tiny golden hook. “Sorry, I was at work and time just flew by-”

“Work?” Sutan twisted his wrist, taking a peek at his Rolex. “It’s 10:33 on a Saturday?”

“I went in at 6.” Violet picked the menu up, the fact that she tried to pretend that she wasn’t going to order avocado on rye kind of cute. “I know I have to turn my dress over to tailoring sooner or later-”

“But you want to finish as much as you can?” Sutan smiled, emptying his coffee cup. “Of course.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” Sutan held up his hands in defense. “Promise.” He couldn’t help but sneak a peek at Violet’s right hand, her fingertips thankfully not the raw red points he had helped wrap and put ice on. “It’s just very dedicated-”

“This is my first chance to get an actual piece on the runway. It has to be perfect-” Violet was cut off as the waiter came over, Sutan hiding a grin as she ordered avocado on rye, his second breakfast a plate of scrambled eggs and salmon.

“Speaking of perfect.” Sutan moved his chair while the waiter walked away, his stomach tied up in a knot. “I was wondering, if…”

“Yes?” Violet tilted her head, clearly listening, her brow eyes resting on his face.

“If you’d like...” Sutan had no idea why this was so hard, “to come to Aspen with Raja, Raven and I in January?”

“What?” Violet looked genuinely confused.

“Raja and I own a cabin, and-”

“Like, in Colorado? Like Aspen Aspen? Like posh skiing Aspen?”

“Yes?” Sutan lifted a brow. “Do you know any other Aspen?”

“No, but I-” Violet bit her lip, her white teeth sinking into it. “I don’t know how to ski?”

“Oh,” Sutan laughed, the admission not at all what he had expected. “Well, lovely eyes.” Sutan smiled. “I can promise you, that that is not a problem.”

[sugarcoated-eloquence]

Foreboding (Targets: Part 2)

A/N: Hello, hello! Welcome to the shitshow, aka my blog. This is part two of a potential 4/5 part series that I am co-writing with the lovely @sweetestrequiems. Click here for Part 1. Each chapter is focused on a different queen or issue related to the queens. This specific chapter is Catherine Parr centric, but the other queens are all very present. 

Please note the following ships are canon in this fic’s universe: Parrlyn, Aramour

{Trigger warnings: anxiety, mention of blood, slight violence}

I should also note some passages are written in German and Spanish and should be google searched to better comprehend the story. 

Taglist: @sweetestrequiems, @theatergirl06, @silverpetals97, @six-fragile-dreams, @patdfobmcr-yt, @frogs-in-clogs, @mindless-pidgeon

Other than that..... enjoy! Below the cut.

It would not stop.

The constant feeling like something would go wrong.

Katherine Howard could not tell if it was the anxiety, or if it was something else. She physically felt okay, and everything seemed fine, but for the life of her, the girl could not put her finger on that bad feeling. Being so lost in her thoughts, Howard was found, brows furrowed, staring down at her food, rather than eating it. Of course, this raised concerns with her cousin, Anne Boleyn, and Jane Seymour. Boleyn’s face began to reflect the concern when she raised an eyebrow. Seymour had more of a sad-looking face, but nonetheless, the worry was quite present.

“Katherine?”

“Hey, Kitty… you okay?”

The two voices snapped Howard out of her trance. She looked up, shaking her head seconds after her attention went to the two women. “Yeah, yeah! Just had something come across my mind is all. I’m fine, really. Guess I’m just getting the typical pre-show jitters everyone gets,” which wasn’t a lie, either. But, Katherine did feel a pang of guilt in having to be dishonest with Jane and Anne. Howard was one of the Queens who always got some pre-show anxiety, alongside Catherine of Aragon– (much to everyone’s surprise)– and Boleyn. It wasn’t a rare occasion, though, considering they had just about an hour before they had to head to the theatre. It wouldn’t seem like much now, but this feeling Katherine Howard was having was not a good one.

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During the matinee, Katherine could not shake off that constant thought.

But she was not alone. The feeling had begun to haunt her cousin Anne.

Anne Boleyn’s eyes began to glance around the audience, knowing that Katherine was in the middle of delivering the roast of the century to Jane, Catherine Parr, and Anna of Cleves. A certain man had caught her eye up in the upper level; the second row in the left Circle Slip of the Arts Theatre, to be more precise. Something about that blond hair. And cold, blue eyes. Something about the way he was leaning on the railing while he sat began to bother Anne. Her attention snapped right back to the show when she heard Katherine say, “I can’t even begin to think of how I could compete with you all. Oh wait, like this!” to signal the start of All You Wanna Do. But even with her focus on the show, Boleyn’s glances kept going back up to that strange man.

“I think we can all agree I’m the ten amongst these threes!”

What about him bothered Anne Boleyn so much? She did not know. 

Was it his face? No, he seemed to be fairly attractive. Was it the way he stared at all of them? Possibly, since he seemed to be rather uncomfortable when Aragon brought up Leviticus and Mary in No Way. He also looked disgusted during Boleyn’s spotlight in Don’t Lose Ur Head. He looked very, very abhorred with Haus of Holbein and Anna of Cleves. But his eyes when Katherine Howard was singing screamed danger, and Anne could see it. Her frequent glancing that first day saw him tense up upon a few lines:

“Tall, large, Henry the Eighth. 

Supreme Head of the Church of England. 

Globally revered, although you wouldn’t know it from the look of that beard.”

And the end of All You Wanna Do, as far as Anne could tell from where she was on the stage, had him gripping the railing tightly. Was anger the reason he furrowed his eyebrows, or something else? The distance was not helping her much. Overall, she was picking up a few assumptions just from the one matinee show. This guy was either a historian that pretty much agreed with Henry VIII’s horrible decisions in life, or someone the Queens knew personally. What Anne decided to think though, was the former. Maybe this guy was just a historian and unimpressed with the show, right?

That first show could have not ended sooner. But as the lights on the stage went somewhat dim to allow the six ladies to exit, Anne Boleyn paused and allowed the others to go in front of her. She kept her gaze on that very man, and watched him stand up, turn around, and head on out of the seating area. The fact that she was the last one to leave concerned Cleves a bit. Right before she could even reach the dressing room, the queen in red put a hand on the green queen’s shoulder. “Moment mal, Anne. Was stört dich? Du hast anscheinend nicht dein gewohntes Lächeln am Ende der Show gehabt,” the German gently gave the shoulder a squeeze. Boleyn found herself sighing. “What’s going on? You normally smile and you were barely holding one up today by the end of the show,” Cleves made herself translate what she had previously said. 

“I don’t know, honestly. I guess I thought I saw someone that Maggie knew in the audience. It was weird. I’m normally not out of it either. Anyways, if Aragon took the couch, she’s going to regret it. It’s my nap time,” the cheeky grin came back to the ruby lips. A nod from Cleves, and the two were well on their way to the dressing room. Was Aragon on the couch? Absolutely. And Anne 100% kicked her off of it just so she could lay down and sleep after she changed back into her comfortable clothes. No space buns, no makeup– just a giant hoodie and some sweatpants. 

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The other dressing room was a little more lively for a good while.

Katherine Howard was up on her feet, bouncing around with energy. Catherine Parr had decided to join her this afternoon. What were the two doing while Jane Seymour took the time to answer some tweets and messages? Dancing. The two ladies were dancing, which was almost the catalyst for Jane setting her phone down and joining them. In fact, she just wanted in on the fun. The three danced around for maybe half an hour, before a yawning Katherine Howard took to the couch to take a nap herself. Parr and Seymour stayed awake, with Parr looking for her notebook and Seymour going back to the tweets and messages.

“Cathy, look at this,” tapping her counterpart on the shoulder, the blonde woman moved her phone to be between them both. “It’s us with our kids!” If there was one thing Jane Seymour loved about the fans they had, it was all of the fanart of them with their kids. A smile was brought to Catherine Parr’s face as she looked up to meet Jane’s eyes. “If there’s one thing I have always appreciated, it’s that they know we aren’t the only Tudors that kicked some serious ass.” The laugh both of them shared was quiet, as to not wake Katherine up from her post-show nap. 

The calligraphy pen twirled around Parr’s fingers for a solid minute or so before she finally began to write. Each queen had their thing to do post-matinee if it was a two-show day.

Catherine Parr wrote notes about her performances.

Jane Seymour responded to fans. And to as many of them as possible, too!

Both of the Beheaded Cousins slept their time away.

Anna of Cleves did various things, such as meditate and listen to music.

Catherine of Aragon normally left the dressing room to find a quiet spot in the theatre’s backstage to pray.

This normal routine was going to be shaken up a little too much. So much that Boleyn and Howard were too tense to take their usual between show naps.

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The same seat every damn time.

Who the hell was this guy?

And why was he now looking so bitter towards Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard?

Three weeks since the mystery man had first caught Boleyn’s eyes in the middle of a performance. But now it was a pattern. Two night shows and a matinee, and always on the exact same nights. Exact same seat, exact same everything. This was starting to piss Boleyn off, and scare Howard. He looked at them with more than just malicious intent in his eyes, to the point that Katherine sometimes blanked on her lines. It was to the point when Anne was singing, she’d put more emphasis on “Hold up, let me tell you how it went down.” just to spite him. This historian guy, or whoever he truly was, did not settle well with the cousins.

But on the night of a Sunday performance, the Queens all got a rude awakening they were not ready for. And the two to be given the first wave were none other than the Beheaded Cousins themselves:

Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard.

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This tension was so chilling that it even caused Anne to fumble a few of her lines. Even the infamous “Yeah, I read.” was not the usual confident, snarky remark it usually was. Having made eye contact with the mystery man while trying to deliver the line was definitely part of it, and for a moment there was a stiff awkwardness in the air. They’d recover quickly, of course, but the general consensus between the group was that something was wrong, and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. 

The man quickly left, before the end of bows, and somehow located an usher and told him he was an old friend of the girls’. The girls weren’t too akin to refusing to meet people, so immediately after stagedooring and meeting fans, they all headed backstage to meet whoever had requested a personal meet and greet. Kit’s the first through the door and she stops dead in her tracks. Those eyes. They were the same bright blue eyes that she saw in her dreams at night, the same eyes she stared into right before… well… 

She swallows, backing up a little. Anne comes crashing through the door, chaos embodied, and happily dances around for a moment before noticing the anxiety seething from Howard’s small frame. “What’s wrong, love?” Kit simply points to the man, and Anne’s heart drops to her stomach as well. She too, can’t look away from those crystal eyes. The blond hair. The everything. 

Anne can barely talk above a whisper could even tell it was him would make the situation less real. Maybe it wasn’t, maybe he was just another person. One can hope, but no luck there, Anne. She can feel Kit shaking, and reaches to take her hand, letting out a shaky breath and considering shouting for Parr. 

The others trickle in quickly after, the ‘mystery man’ still just staring at the two cousins with ferocious intensity. The last to enter, though, is Jane Seymour. The metaphorical mother of the group, the caretaker, any other synonym you can think of. Jane is never one to cast judgement. She walks in, and despite the obvious tension, says a polite hello to the man. He simply nods in response. 

Parr joins Anne at the hip, whispering to her. “Is he what’s got you all rattled, love?” Anne lets out a small nod. “It’s him.” 

That statement reaches Jane’s ears and immediately her demeanor changes. She stands up a little straighter, setting her microphone down on the dressing room’s main table, and just looks at him. She moves a little closer, pushing the other girls behind her, and she can only say one thing. 

“...Henry?”

He steps forward, and while the other girls move back, Jane stays planted to her spot. He smiles, trying to turn on the charm, reaching for her hands. “The one I truly lov—” He’s cut off by a slap. Yes, Jane Seymour just slapped a man. He brings a hand up to his red cheek, eye showing that it indeed, hurt. Cleves stifles a laugh.

“Don’t ever associate that word with me. You don’t know what love is.” A few tears well up in the blonde’s eyes, but refuses to let them fall. Not for him. “Love isn’t keeping your wife from holding her newborn child!” Her voice breaks slightly, but she takes a deep breath, centering herself. 

“You all look so different.” The scruffy voice chimes, and immediately Kit visibly tenses up. She, unlike Jane, is unable to hold the tears in. Though they flow silently, they flow heavily. “There’s no need to cry, Katherine… or should I say ‘Kitty’, now?” 

“Don’t speak to her. You do not have permission to do that.” Jane moves to block his view, but he simply repositions himself. Anne elects to go in for a dig. The devilish smirk returns, though small, and she gives Kit’s hand a squeeze before moving a tiny step forward. 

“You know, mate, if you’re still having trouble… you know, with your little friend, we can get you a prescription for Viagra. Or Cialis, plenty of options.” She emphasizes ‘little’ by using her thumb and pointer finger to indicate his size. It makes Kit smile a little. The silence in the air was broken by a stifled laughter. That had to be the funniest thing Cleves ever heard Boleyn say outside of the wit written in the script. Aragon gave her a nudge, but even she agreed with the sentiment.

The blond man, finally revealed as the reincarnated Henry VIII, just narrowed his eyes. “How funny, laughter coming from someone who couldn’t perform.” Anne’s smirk went away, as she looked back towards Cleves with a hurt expression. Cleves’ grin was gone, with gritted teeth behind a closed mouth replacing it. Aragon let out a sigh. “That’s low for the man who so easily says he believes–”

“Catalina, don’t even get me started on you either.”

Not a single comment from Catherine Parr. She just stood there, feeling herself drift between a rational mind and pure impulse. Did this guy just come back to insult them, and get a second wind to take Katherine? Oh no, that was not happening. She saw it all, too. Jane’s reddening face from holding back the tears, Cleves’ rather tame anger, Aragon’s scowl… Kit’s pale face from the fear, and Anne being powerless. Jane Seymour honestly, had lost her mind way before Catherine Parr did in this scenario, but… there was always going to be a breaking point for the quiet one.

“So you and your whore cousin think you can just slander my name like that? I’d have you both back at the scaffold in front of the Tower if I had–”

“Scaffolds don’t exist anymore, you twat,” Boleyn hissed under her breath. 

“Enough, Henry.”

This was where Parr had enough. The other Queens gave a glance at their surviving counterpart, who wasn’t even looking up at him. She was staring at the floor, but for now. “Cathy, you should probably not… y’know, say anything,” Boleyn barely managed to get that sentence out, considering the crushing feeling she had inside of her chest. All that got as a response was a laugh.

“The survivor, Catherine Parr. Tell me then, my love, are you just as stubborn as you were back then?” He got every other one to crack, but little did he know that he would be the one about to shatter like glass. “Because you should’ve been the one to meet an untimely fate like your counterparts here. Of course, new body means a second chance at being able to–”

Henry stops when he sees Parr’s shoulders shake a little. She’s… laughing?

That’s why she was looking down. When she did look up, one saw her smile shining on like a light. Safe to say, Catherine Parr was about to tear someone apart. “You’ve still got quite a loud mouth for an old man. Tell me, did you ever finally learn to take care of yourself, you bobolyne? Thinking you have any right to talk to the mother of not only your damned son, but also the woman who was loyal to you for twenty four years?! And even better, the one you so graciously called your sister after your marriage? You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”

Jane felt a little insulted that she had to take a jab at Edward, but had the feeling it was necessary considering the situation. Hopefully Parr would apologize for it later on.

“Okay, okay… fair. Not bad, Parr. But why do those two get to wear shiny chokers while the rest of you have crowns? Does it further emphasize my point that Anne Boleyn’s just a hell of a tempting woman and that Katherine Howard–”

The smile from Parr’s face faded. The anger was present and everyone was mortified to see someone so quiet speaking up like she was. With vitriol in her voice, Catherine Parr officially lost her temper. 

“You KNOW exactly what the fuck happened, Henry.”

Aragon felt herself go to cover Katherine’s ears as her goddaughter began to lose her composure. “You KNOW why they have to wear those. You know damn well the crimes you fucking committed against them both, especially Katherine! She was a child, Henry! A fucking child who got manipulated and used! I want to hear nothing from your mouth, you snoutband! You have nothing to defend yourself with!”

Wiping a tear or two away, Jane Seymour began to lean into Anna of Cleves for some form of comfort. Even the German was surprised to be hearing the resentment coming out of such a powerful and rather cool-tempered woman. Just as Henry went to open his mouth, he stopped.

“Oh no, no sir! You have no right to talk here! Anne Boleyn lost her head over what, your delusions that she was out and about with men when you were just going around like you weren’t married? And because of that, she has to struggle to change her name? Are you actually insane or some shit?” The northern accent Parr had was thick. She was angry, and her voice said it for her if her facial expression did not. “Jane Seymour never got to hold Edward because you took him straight away for his christening. And she had to sit there, alone, in bed! Suffering through illness until she died without saying goodbye to her baby boy!”

Boleyn goes pale. Where did this anger even come from? She had no idea, but Parr was scaring her.

“My damn godmother was near a saint with all of the bullshit she had to put up with! Twenty four fucking years, and it wasn’t Anne who ruined the marriage. It was YOU. Aragon did some insanely remarkable things despite how you treated her! And Cleves! You just decide to take Cleves and humiliate her because she wasn’t beautiful enough for you? You’re an absolute wandought, Henry! You brought a Spanish lady and a German lady out of their comfort zones all because you didn’t know how to use your damn brain!”

At this point, Aragon had managed to sneak off into the dressing room, with Cleves now being the one to hold Howard. Boleyn was now hugging Seymour, actually terrified of not just Henry, but Parr.

Henry began to go pale. He was not going to recover from this.

“Who am I missing… let’s see, Katherine Howard? No, I got her. Anne Boleyn? Also got her. Jane Seymour? Check. Anna of Cleves? Check. Catherine of Aragon? Oh, yeah, her too. Would you look at that… I’m the only one left. Surprise surprise, the fucking survivor surviving again and this time, she gets to give it to you the exact way she wants to.”

“Cathy–”

“Shut up you lot. My turn to finally talk.”

A flinch from the group. Aragon had to take glances in and out of the dressing room.

“Oh wow, Catherine Parr. The survivor. The one who draws lines in arbitrary places, blah blah! She had two other husbands, what good could have she done being a Tudor queen? I DIDN’T TAKE ANY OF YOUR BULLSHIT IS WHAT I DID. Those books that everyone rumoured a woman was writing? Surprise, you tallowcatch! It was me! I’m the famed author of Tudor history. And I published under my own name once your pitiful body finally died. That can’t be that bad, Cathy. What a sad excuse for a sob story, right?”

Katherine Howard began to tremble more than she already was in Anna of Cleves’ arms. Catherine Parr made herself stand face to face with Henry.

“Ah, right, because she survived she deserves the backing vocals. WELL GUESS WHAT, HENRY? I’M HERE TO STAY. I HAD TO GIVE UP MY LIFE, MY LOVE, AND WHATEVER ELSE I WAS DOING TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR SORRY ASS. You might have forced these women into submission but no, I am not going to submit to some sad old man. You took away their rights, you took away their children… and poor Katherine…” A laugh. “You took poor Katherine’s childhood. You turned her into a disgraced whore. She is not and will never be one. She is a victim of your bullshit.”

“Catherine, my love–”

“No excuses now, Henry. I’m through. Your love ran cold years ago. And call me love one more damn time. See what happens.”

“My love–”

The weight of the sleeves helped Parr send her fist flying into his face. He stumbled back, feeling a warm sensation drip from his nose. Blood. He… was bleeding? “You actually got the nerve to punch an English King? You’re a mad woman, Parr. I’ll have you thrown on that scaffold just how–” A second punch, and this time, there was an audible crack of sorts.

“You wear a crown, but you’re no king. You’re a disgrace to human life, Henry. And this is for all of the women you hurt, manipulated, abused… and killed,” a lunge forward. The third strike was to his jaw, and the fourth was a solid kick to the chest with her heel being the first thing to make impact. Henry, having been taken by surprise from every hit, stumbled right back into a pair of men. Shaking her fist off, some of the blood ended up getting on the floor, and part of it remained on her hands. 

“I’ll be back, Catherine! Mark my damn words! Let go of me, you imbeciles!”

“Like hell you’ll be back!”

And just as she took a step forward, Aragon went to hold on to one of her arms. “Someone help me hold her back!” Aragon needed the help. Parr was under such a fit of rage she was dragging her godmother across the hallway. Seymour had to let go of Boleyn to try and hold on to Parr’s other arm. She slowed down, but still had enough adrenaline surging through her to keep going. Cleves just gave Howard a gentle kiss on the cheek before running over to help the other two ladies. No arms? No problem. She just held on to one of Parr’s legs.

Boleyn pulled her cousin into a tight hug, feeling a shaky exhale leave her body. “Kitty? Kitty, are you okay?” Just a nod. Howard was terrified to open her mouth after seeing the ungodly wrath unfold before her eyes. “I-Is… she mad at us, Annie?” Quiet and almost inaudible. The poor girl was terrified to even talk out of fear that Parr was not just angry at Henry, but at them too.

“Catherine Parr, what in God’s name has gotten into you?” Aragon furrows her eyebrows. “This is not you. What is going on? Talk to me, please.”

Anne reaches to take Kit’s hand. “She’s… upset. Not at us, I promise.” Anne had to admit, all of the ferocity coming from Parr scared her a little bit. The yelling reminded her a little of when Henry first stormed in and accused her. Of course, she would set it aside, but it was scary in the moment. She looks in Kit’s eyes, which are now full of tears, sighing and pulling her into another tight hug and rubbing her back. “It’s okay, babes… He’s gonna go away and we will be okay, I promise. The girls aren’t gonna let him get to us.” Kit just buries her face into Anne’s shoulder and lets out the remainder of what she wouldn’t let out in front of Henry. Thank goodness the men had taken him into another room until the police arrived. 

Anne pulls out of the hug for a moment and then walks Kit outside. “You look absolutely knackered, love… maybe we should head home as soon as all of this is over. Do you wanna change into something else? C’mon.” They both decide to change, but do so in the staff bathroom rather than in the dressing room. On the off chance Henry was able to see into the dressing room, they didn’t want him to see anything. Anne also thought a door with a lock was the safest. 

Once they finish hanging up their costumes, the two settle into the couch, and just hold each other. Anne hums a little of La Vie en Rose, and quickly, Kit falls asleep. Anne doesn’t mind. They were all done with the day, it had already put them through the ringer. 

There’s an apparent veil of exhaustion amongst all of the women, except Parr.

Sure, Henry had been apprehended at this point and he was stuck with his hands cuffed behind his back, but that didn’t stop him from being inches away from Parr’s face with a very devious smile. “I’ll be back, Catherine. And you six will have to deal with me all over again. Especially Kat–”

“Like hell you are!”

Catherine Parr broke her left arm free from Catherine of Aragon’s grip, and her right arm from Jane Seymour’s. The right hand took a vice-like grip on his shirt collar before her left fist came swinging at full power, and thensome since the weight of the costume added force. That impact had a very, very nasty sound to it. Even Cleves flinched at it, soon seeing the blond man fall straight to the floor with a bloody face. “Get anywhere near us and I will have you laying your head on a prison bench just how you made poor Katherine and Anne lay down as you murdered them!”

The officers picked up the unconscious Henry, and kindly thanked Jane, Anna, and Aragon for their cooperation. Parr however, got a warning, but that was about it.

Giving it a moment, knowing they would be out of earshot at this point, Parr releases a rather annoyed grumble. “He’ll fucking pay for his crimes against all of you. I swear on my life he will rot in a prison cell for what he did. If he thinks he can just show up out of nowhere and come back here to take us for fools, he’s wrong,” she almost hissed at the end. The thickness of her accent was making Aragon concerned, since to see someone as rational as her goddaughter be in such a state was a rare experience. Cleves and Seymour both looked up with mortified faces. Ever seen revenge personified as human? No? Now you have.

And her name was Catherine Parr.

“What in heaven was that?” Maggie asks, getting up and peeking out into the hallway. A small laugh. The thud was actually loud enough to wake the cousins, and they both get up, confused a little, and sleepily walk to join her at the door frame. Anne rubs her eyes and yawns, looking at Henry, now being pulled up by two police men. 

She glances to Parr, and then to Henry, and upon sight of Parr’s hands, she lets out a small, startled gasp. His blood was actually on her knuckles. Probably mixed with her own, if her knuckles had bust. Kit has a similar reaction, coupled with hiding behind Anne at the sight of the wicked man. “Cathy… let me help you get cleaned up. Mags, can you grab the first aid kit out of my backpack?” 

“Let’s just go home, first.” Parr says, a little cold, while watching an officer take Henry away. She wanted to watch up until he was inside of the car, so she could ensure he was going away for good. The other officer asks her a few questions about the situation, and she tells him everything that happened, down to the fact that they would be filing a restraining order, and that Henry was not allowed to see their show again. 

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The six women had gone home after waiting… maybe an extra ten minutes after Parr finished talking to the police officer. The car was dead silent on the ride back to the house, too.

“I’m actually mad about the fact that he’s actually attractive now,” Boleyn rolls her eyes as she walks in after Seymour. “I’m kidding, obvs. But how is he alive? We’ve been free for… who knows how long now and he comes back? What did he want, anyways?” Seymour turned to face Boleyn, giving the brunette a gentle pat on the head. “It sounded like revenge, but I think Cathy has the actual answer to that. We can talk to her when she’s a lot calmer, though… she’s very…”

“Upset, angry… name it, I am probably feeling it.”

“We all are, love…” Anne goes to her, gently taking her hands, looking at them carefully. One’s very busted up, and the blood has now dried and solidified. “Let me clean you up, c’mon.” She motions to the kitchen, and the two head in there, Parr sitting on the counter while Anne gets the first aid kit out. “I’m not ashamed of what I did today.” Parr stares at the floor, expecting some sort of lecture or argument to happen, but it doesn’t.

“You protected me. That’s all I could ever want.” Anne kisses her quickly on the cheek before pouring some hydrogen peroxide on a gauze cloth. Before she starts to press it to Cathy’s knuckles, she looks the girl straight in the eyes. “Don’t be mad for how much this is going to hurt, please.” 

While those two work on that, the other girls drop their bags next to the door and slump into the chairs around the kitchen table, an apparent awkwardness in the air. Jane is the first to speak, and it’s absolutely filled with regret and apology. “Ladies, I am so sorry I lost my cool today. I shouldn’t have gotten so ‘up in arms.’ He just… I never…” She’s tearing up a little, and Kit offers a hand for her to squeeze as she tries to work through her words. She takes a deep breath, brushing some of her blonde hair out of her face. 

“I never got to tell him all of that. All of the resentment.”

Cathy grumbles from the counter, agreeing with her statement. “He sure got a taste of all of my resentment.” Her cheeks were reddening, and Anne doesn’t know what else to do past wrapping the girl’s knuckles, so she lays a kiss on them, hoping that will calm her down. “Shhh… no need to get worked up over that toff, not again.” Her hand goes to hold Parr’s face. “Let’s be happy, okay?” 

“Jane, we all had every right to react the way we did. Even Cathy had a right to bash his ugly face in.” Kit nods reassuringly, and the other queens mumble words of agreement, Anne and Parr silently making their way over to the table. Something about Parr’s energy was off, but the queens wouldn’t question it for the time being. They were all rattled, it didn’t take much to see it. 

“I just feel that as the mother of the group, I reacted rather rashly. I think–” She has to hold back some tears. “I think I should’ve composed myself.” This ends with the ladies all essentially tackling Jane with a group hug, even Parr, though not really seeming to want to participate. It was getting late, anyways, and it was almost time for her to begin her nightly writing. It would help.  

Anne clears her throat. “I think you did perfectly, Jane. He’s an absolute tosser for thinking he could face all six of us at once.” Kit laughs in agreement, and the two head upstairs. Parr quickly dismisses herself, Aragon trailing quickly behind after giving Jane a tight hug. 

Cleves takes Jane’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Gute Nacht, Jane. Versuche nicht zu viel darüber nachzudenken.” Jane sighs. “Still don’t speak German, love.”

“Try not to think too much about it.”

“Catherine,” Aragon knocks on the open door, furrowing her eyebrows. “Mija, what got into you today? That isn’t you. Where… where did you even go?” A sharp look from the sixth wife to the first, before it softened up. It eventually became more of a look of shame as Parr’s eyes went to the bandaged hand. She really did do a number on herself, but that blond haired Tudor nightmare deserved it. She wasn’t wrong, was she? Or, had her morality become such an ambiguous grey area that maybe it was wrong for her to have sucker punched the man who beheaded Katherine Howard so unfairly.

The shameful eyes look up, seeing Aragon’s concern despite the slight scowl. “I’m sorry, Lina. I… no se. Yo lo vi y... Me congelé. Es como si todo el sentido racional dejara mi cuerpo y me quedara con impulso. Lo juro, no... siempre así. Tu lo sabes! Aunque asusté a todos, no?” The hurt in her voice was evident. Parr knew she became the morally ambiguous of the group, which was normally not the good thing. Aragon’s expression lightened up just a little as she approached her goddaughter, and pulled her into a side hug. “Sucede, amor. Pero no te enfades tanto con alguien tan horrible. Seguimos amándote, y siempre nos preocuparemos por ti. Ninguna de nosotras te tiene miedo, y eso te lo prometo.”

Those last words gave Catherine Parr just a little bit of hope. Catherine of Aragon gave one last hug to the woman before heading on out the door, but not without “Don’t stay up late.” being the last thing she said to the sixth wife. 

Kit and Anne stand in the hallway, chatting before going to their rooms, which were across from each other. “Lock your window, Annie, please.” It’s evident that Kit is still very worried about Henry figuring out where they live or figuring out how to get in. Anne nods, despite the fact that they lived on the second floor.. “Of course.” The girls hug and in a matter of seconds, they are both behind their respective closed doors. 

Kit leans against the door for a moment after closing it, but not locking it, and a few silent tears fall before she starts to change into her pajamas. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” She mumbles to herself, turning on her string lights and turning off the main light of the room. She debates what kind of music to listen to, mulling over it for a few minutes before turning on some classical. It was different, but it would work. 

Anne, on the other hand, immediately goes to lock her window and pull the shades closed, which was slightly saddening because she did enjoy looking at the night sky before she fell asleep. She sits on the edge of her bed for a moment, deep in thought about Cathy. She had to admit, the girl she saw today was one she had never seen before, and one she was pretty afraid of seeing again. That fire, while endearing… shook Anne a little. She has to force herself to shake off the thought that anger immediately translates to a person being anything remotely similar to Henry. 

“Right, then… bed it is.” Anne shuts off her lights and lays down, picturing that starry sky in her own mind. It would do. 

Jane settles in with the current book she was reading, a copy of Pride and Prejudice. A story of true love, one could say, and the text was actually helping to calm the blonde down about the events of the day. Aragon peeks in for a moment, and Jane gives her a soft smile, an unspoken agreement that they would be okay.

Though it seemed as if everyone was settling down, Catherine Parr had a storm bigger than a hurricane brewing inside. 

––––––––––

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Catherine Parr let that be the only sound to fill the silence. Normally, it would be music or something, but not tonight.

The calligraphy pen in her hands danced around her fingers, barely having touched the pages of the open notebook. Her vision was still blurred, much to her own surprise. Wrath was a powerful thing, and to have something take over the body for an amount of time would lead to consequences later in the night. In her case, it was a very horrid case of insomnia. While she dealt with insomnia most nights, she had the slightest feeling this was not the typical time to go to bed at 2 in the morning case. The pen began to slow down in her hand, and she held it still for the first time that whole night.

“It’s not the first time you write about how you feel, Cathy. It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine.”

It was not fine.

No matter how many times she told herself it would be fine, she could never believe it. Catherine Parr saw her hand shake, just the slightest, every time she wrote. Every memory from the last few hours was hazy, but simultaneously at the forefront of her mind. The usually clean lines of her penmanship were just the bit off from the feelings. Word after word, the anger began to flow onto the pages like water flowing down a river’s stream. So shaky, and so violent were the movements of Parr’s wrist. In comparison to the surprisingly smooth transition from thought to thought, her actions made her look a little crazed. One could even say she looked oddly desperate to finish writing.

Almost as if she was running out of time.

She was a writer in her past life. An author, really. The woman wrote books, psalms, meditations… name it, she probably has a manuscript of it somewhere. But this? This was not her. This frantic drive to write and write until the pages could take no more and the ink began to go through them was not Catherine Parr. In a way, it was almost symbolic. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

There it was again. The ticking of the clock.

Time was no longer a relevant thing for Parr. She just let the time go on.

Last she could remember, it was midnight. But nay, the clock spoke otherwise. A glance at it revealed it to be four in the morning. Her hand and wrist were cramped up, and the tears that she felt falling were drying on her face. The pages had become full of nonsensical phrases, mostly a result of the anger still in her system. But that anger began to fade from anger into a depression.

Why couldn’t she be stronger?

Why didn’t she do enough at the moment?

The pain finally struck her heart. Silence began to be her worst enemy, and something she thought she’d never do is what she did. Parr slams her hands on the desk, crying out, almost as if it were a scream or cry for help. The scream was enough to wake up Catherine of Aragon in an instant. A second and third one woke Jane Seymour and Anna of Cleves up. The fourth one got to Anne Boleyn. In a worried hurry, Aragon got out of bed and ran down the stairs to get to the door before almost ramming it down with her own body.

“Cathy? Mija, what’s the–… Cathy?”

What she saw was a torn woman in front of her. Her bandaged hand had a little blood seeping through the ends. Some of the curls were sticking to her face, and her eyes were all puffy and red. Aragon gently pulled Parr up and into a tight embrace. “Escúchame. Todo está bien, Cathy. Estamos en la casa.” Normally, Aragon had a commanding nature that gave off the feeling of someone being safeguarded behind a wall, but this was one of those moments she was willing to let her wall down. Parr’s grip tightened, with the tears coming back and rushing in like an ocean’s grey waves.

Catherine learned just a smidge of Spanish for her godmother. Enough to get by with a conversation or two, but she was not fluent in any way. “Duele, Lina,” a sniffle. “Todo esto duele y no hice lo suficiente para ayudar.” And there was something about her goddaughter using Spanish in such a defeated manner that made Aragon crack a little on the inside. Her own eyes were welling up with tears as she looked to the door.

Seymour, Cleves, and Boleyn.

All three of them with wide eyes and fairly concerned expressions. But it was Anne who saw the tears forming in Aragon’s eyes and threatening to spill. The two lock eyes and it takes everything in Anne to not crack too. She gives Aragon a look that says, ‘Let me try.’ Lina nods and gives Cathy’s hand a small squeeze, and Anne goes and kneels on the floor in front of her. 

The other three stand in the hallway, knowing it was probably best to give the two a moment. “Did that not wake Kitty?” Cleves pauses, and then points in the general direction of Howard’s room, loud classical music streaming through her closed door. 

Anne takes Parr’s hands. “Cathy, please talk to me… please, love.” It takes Parr a moment to look into Boleyn’s eyes, which are also filled with tears at this point. “It kills me to see you hurting.” A hand goes to wipe some tears from Parr’s cheeks. It lingers there, cupping her cheek, Anne’s thumb reflexively going back and forth to wipe more tears as they fall. 

“It kills me to see you hurting.” Her statement is coupled with a small voice crack, and not one that you would usually find endearing. This was out of pure sadness and anger. She sighs. “I should’ve done more.” She looks at the floor, past Boleyn, though her head is now resting on the girl’s hand. 

“He’s the one that deserves to be on a scaffold!” She starts to sob again, leaning forward, and Anne catches her, in a sense. Shaking with anger, she lets it out, nearly soaking Anne’s shirt in a matter of seconds. “He deserves to die! Why is he here?” Her breathing becomes slightly erratic, heaving breaths joining in with shallow sobs. 

The three in the hallway silently elect to let the two work through it. It really seemed as if Anne was the only one who was going to be able to get her to calm down, even if only a fraction. Aragon lingers for a moment, and then decides finally to go back to her room, leaving the door open in case anyone needed anything. Jane does the same, but reads for a few minutes before going back to sleep. 

Anne isn’t sure what to do, so she stands both of them up, having to support Parr a little, and just holds her, swaying back and forth slowly. “Shh… babe… he doesn’t deserve your tears…” Anne, you preach this, yet you’re a mess too. Albeit, a mess because Cathy is crying, but a mess nonetheless. “He… he’s getting his karma. He has to watch us thrive. And he can’t do a damned thing to us. We’re untouchable.” She was also telling herself this. 

Parr nods quietly, latching on to Anne even more, as if letting her go would mean she’d disappear into thin air. Though she hadn’t actually said it, she knew she loved Anne. More than anything, and if punching Henry in the face was what she had to do to protect her, she’d do it every day for the rest of her life. 

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” She speaks softly, voice scratchy as a result of the outburst. It was nearing five o’clock at this point, but it didn’t matter. With no hesitation, Anne replies with a simple “Of course,”  pulling away slightly to look Parr in the eyes. Those tired, red eyes, still wet with tears formed over a man who didn’t matter one bit. Not in this moment, he didn’t. 

The two make their way to Boleyn’s room, a twin bed being the only place for them, but it would be plenty of space. Anne lays down first, patting the small space next to her for Parr to join. It’s almost as if they’re out as soon as they cover up. 

Kit sleeps through all of this. Perhaps it’s the music blaring from her speakers, or the exhaustion from the events of the day, but it’s the first night the girl doesn’t wake up screaming. The other queens are really surprised to see her downstairs in the morning, looking well rested and pouring herself a cup of tea, seemingly fine. “G’morning.” She yawns, and the others just kind of look at each other as if reality has shifted. “Where are Cathy and Annie?” 

“In bed, still.” 

“Ja.” 

“I should check on them.” Kit says, setting her tea down. Cleves joins her, cringing a little when Kit knocks awfully loudly on the door and pushes it open. “Halt die Klappe, Kit…” Kit turns and looks at her, a puzzled look on her face. Cleves rolls her eyes jokingly, and then whispers again. “You’re too loud.” 

The sight upon opening the door is a combination of comedic and sweet. Parr is absolutely sprawled out on top of Anne, snoring loudly and taking up most of the bed. One of her hands is on Anne’s cheek, as if she had fallen asleep holding the girl’s face. Anne is awake, quietly scrolling through TikTok with headphones in. She looks at the two in the doorframe and smiles, looking down at Parr. ‘We’re okay.’ She mouths, and Jane and Aragon peek in, a small laugh coming from the Spanish queen. It warmed her heart to see the two all bundled up and Parr seemingly at peace, even if only for a moment. 

Parr makes a small noise and shifts, essentially pulling Anne closer and wrapping a leg around her. The ladies all smile, electing to leave the two alone. It was evident that everything would be okay, at least for now. Anne kisses Cathy on the forehead, letting out a happy sigh. Parr subconsciously replies with a small snore, and the two stay there, safe in each other's arms, for most of the day. 

A couple hours seem to pass and it’s about… noon, when Parr starts stirring. Anne notices this, and begins to smile. At least she was waking up. However, things were not going to go to plan, because in comparison to Anne, Catherine was a whole lot taller, and took up just a bit more space. Thinking for a moment she was still in her room, Parr went to try and roll to the other side of the bed, but immediately woke up at not having anything underneath her. A loud enough thudding noise got everyone’s attention.

The other four queens almost immediately ran to the doorframe, and Anne was sitting up.

In typical Boleyn fashion, she was laughing.

Parr on the other hand, was not very happy. “Ow…” Looking up, she just sees the green queen essentially laying back down because of the laughter, and a glance to the doorway reveals four others holding back laughter. “Oh haha, funny that Cathy Parr fell off a bed now is it?”

Through the laughter, Boleyn responds.

“It’s marvelous, love!”

[foreverfangirlalways]

The Astronomer and The Florist (Chapter 15)

Chapter 15 Title: Royality Wedding

Summery: Patton and Roman’s Wedding Day

Ships: Analogical & Royality

Warning: Nervousness, mild panic, tears

-let me know if I need to add more warnings-

( HAPPY BIRTHDAY to @thefingergunsgirl​! I hope you enjoy this fluffy Royality Wedding (can you spot the part where your fic inspired me?)  and a special thank you to all my friends who did wedding planning with me, especially @kawaiikat54​ and @five-falseh00ds-ph0nated​ for shopping with me )

*here is a collage of the wedding*

<the wonderful and fabulous @franticfandomfanatic​ drew Roman in his wedding dress, and I just had Link it! The picture is fabulous and exactly how I envisioned Roman looking in his dress! https://franticfandomfanatic.tumblr.com/post/621142753920860161/i-drew-something-from-foreverfangirlalways>

—-

*BEEP BEEP BEEP* Whack!

Patton sat up and stared at Virgil. “Did you just whack me and my alarm clock at the same time?”

Virgil grinned, and raised the pillow over his head again. “Yep! And I’m about to do it again if you don’t get up within the next 5 seconds. It’s your wedding day!”

Patton lunged and tackled Virgil in a hug, and Virgil fell to the ground. “Oh my gosh I am getting married today! Common Virgil! We have to go get dressed! And eat! And go to the Venue!”

Patton started dragging Virgil and he busted out laughing. “Well hopefully not in that order, and Patton, this is my house! Stop dragging me, I know where we are going!”

-_-_-_-

Meanwhile, Roman woke up a slight different way.

“Oof!”

Logan glared at an excited Roman.

“You have five seconds to get off me and tell me why you deigned to wake me by jumping on me, or Patton will find himself a widow very early.”

“Logan, Logan, Logan!” Roman said, bouncing off Logan and spinning around the room. “I’m getting married today! No time for sleep, we have to get ready! We have to be at the Venue in 4 hours! There’s so much to do! Let’s go!”

Roman started pulling Logan, and Logan just sighed, exasperated but with a fond look on his face.

“Just because this is your house doesn’t mean you get to drag me everywhere! Now, the makeup artist will be here in an hour, so let’s go ahead and eat breakfast while we can.

-_-_-_-

Once everyone was ready and fed, they all headed to the Venue. Roman and Logan stayed in the Bridal Suite, and Patton and Virgil were in the Groom’s Suite.

“Roman! If you get water on that dress I will kill you!”

“Logan, it’s water! And my dress! Now stop delaying and go get dressed!”

Logan crossed his arms, and Roman glared. “Do not test me, I will go Bridezilla on you. Now go. Get. Dressed.”

Logan scoffed, but went to go dressed. Roman let out a victory whoop, and Logan grinned at finally getting Roman to calm down.

-_-_-_-

“Patton, I don’t know about this. How did I let you talk me into this? This was a bad idea, I look-“

“Finish that sentence and I will physically fight you! I’m sure you look wonderful! Now let me see!”

Virgil walked out from behind the changing screen, and Patton squealed.

“You look awesome! I love it! Ooo! Spin spin spin!”

Virgil smiled at Patton’s begging and did a little twirl.

“Ah! I love it! This was a great idea! You look adorable in your blue skirt, and the red vest was a good choice!”

Virgil looked at his vest and smiled. “Yeah, Logan suggest that wear matching but opposite outfits. He picked out the vests. Roman got the skirts.”

Patton laughed, grabbed Virgil’s hand. “Holy shit, I’m getting married in 30 minutes!”

Virgil stared open mouthed. “You just cursed. And yes you are! You look amazing! Baby blue is definitely your color, and I love the bow tie!”

Patton giggled and took a bow. “I’m gonna be Roman’s Prince Charming!”

The door open and the new person smirked. “I’m glad you said that, because I can make a fabulous dramatic entrance now.”

The man with a bright yellow shirt and black suit walked over and and kneeled in front of Patton.

“The esteemed groom Roman asked that I present the most handsome prince in the world with his final gift to you before you are to get married.”

They all looked down at the blue crown that was sitting atop a decorative pillow.

Virgil asked “So Janus, how much did he pay you to say exactly those words?” at the same time Patton clasped his hands together and squealed.

“Aww! That’s so sweet! And cute! And I love it! Please tell him I love it and can’t wait to see him in the one I sent him!”

Virgil and Janus stared. “The one you...?”

“Yeah! While you were changing I sent Remus to Roman with a tiara I bought him. I thought it could be his ‘something new’!”

Janus laughed and Virgil shook his head in amusement. “Y’all are too perfect for eachother. Janus, since you are already here, I need your help. Common, time for finishing touches!”

-_-_-_-

“Alright Roman. You are dressed, hair styled, makeup done... I think you are ready. How do you feel?”

“I feel great Logan! A little nervous, but I look prefect!”

“Ohh, do you now?” Ask a man standing in the doorway. Logan narrowed his eyes and Roman rolled his.

“Yes, and my dress already has the perfect amount of red. So for the last time Remus, I am not putting fake blood all over myself for my wedding!”

Remus scoffed. “Who said anything about FAKE blood? And also, that’s not what that is about. Don’t worry Logan, I’m not going to try anything again, so no need for a glare. I came to bring you this.”

Remus held a tiara up from behind his back. Roman gasped and Logan chuckled.

“Patton gave it to me, telling me to give it to you and say some love speech that sums up to be ‘I love you and you are gonna look hot in this’ more or less.”

Logan laughed. “While I am sure that is not what Patton said, I know that if anyone had any doubts that y’all are perfect for eachother, the fact that you both secretly got crowns for eachother is all the proof they would need.”

Roman beamed and Remus set the tiara upon his head. “It’s almost time for me to walk you down the aisle little bro, are you ready?”

“Yes,”Roman said while nodding. “I’m marring the love of my life with my best friend by my side and my brother giving me away. I can’t wait!”

10 minutes later Logan and Virgil walked to their spots, and Patton was standing next to the officiator.

The opening notes of ‘I See The Light’ from Tangled are heard, and everyone stands up. Roman walks down the aisle, arm in arm with Remus.

Patton is bouncing on the balls of his feet, using all of his willpower to not rush to Roman and profess his love right then.

Remus walked Roman all the way up to Patton and clasped their hands together.

“Listen Pattycakes, you make Roman cry even a single tear of sorrow, I will make sure you push up some lovely daisies.”

Remus than pat Patton on the head and walked over to sit by Janus. Patton looked unnerved but Roman just shook his head and smiled.

“Well then! I believe that is my cue to start the ceremony!”

Everyone chuckled at Emile’s words. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to bare witness to the union of Roman Royal and Patton Hart. If anyone has a problem with this union, then I don’t know why you came to their wedding.”

Everyone chuckled again, and the grooms shook their heads lightheartedly.

“Now, I have been told that the grooms have written their own vows for eachother? Roman, you may go first.”

Roman smiled and squeezed Patton’s hand.

“Patton Morales Hart, ever since you sat beside me at the movie theater and cussed out Hans in ice cream flavors, I knew you were the one for me. You are sweet and gentle, but will also threaten people and chase people around with a weaponized tennis racket. You are my favorite sight to see, and the best thing to wake up too. You are my soulmate and help me be the best person I can be. I love you and can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” Roman then put the ring on Patton’s finger and kissed his hand.

Roman started crying about midway through his vows, but he never let his voice waver and powered on. Patton had a few tears streaming down his face and smiled brightly.

“Patton, you may now try and top Roman’s vows. Good luck!”

Light laughter was heard all throughout the crowd, and then Patton opened his mouth.

“Roman Cretivies Royal, I would first like to say congratulations on your nuptials!”

Roman huffed a laugh and shook his head, smile never dimming.

“In all seriousness, I knew I wanted to marry you from the moment you offered to take me out for ice cream after watching Frozen and proceeded to tell me how I should be treated like a true prince, and to always tell the Han’s that I will ‘kick their rocky road.’ There is no one else I want to dance around the kitchen with, embarrass our friends with, or make bets over how fast said friends will get together with. By the way, you still owe me ten bucks.

But I will let you keep the money in exchange for your undying love and support, because you have always had mine. I am so excited to spend every day making you feel as special as you have made me feel. We have been great boyfriends, and now we get to be fabulous husbands.”

Patton places the ring on Romans hand and bows. “A gorgeous ring for a gorgeous guy.”

At this point there wasn’t a dry eye for a two mile radius. Not being able to hold back, Roman pulled Patton into a rib-cracking embrace.

“Of course you have my love and support, now let’s officially become husbands!”

Emile clapped his hands. “Alright! Roman, do you take Patton to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do!”

“And Patton,  do you take Roman to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do!”

“Perfect! By the power vested in me, you may now kiss the groom!”

Roman dipped Patton into a kiss, and then Patton spun Roman around.

“It is my honor to intrude to you, Roman and Patton Royalhart!”

Everyone cheered, and no one stopped smiling for the rest of the day.

Patton booped icing on Roman’s nose.

Logan and Virgil both gave embarrassing but adorable toasts.

Roman glided across the dance floor with Patton for the first dance, and then with Remus for the brother brother dance.

Patton friendly intimidated Logan when Virgil caught the bouquet.

Logan places a flower from the bouquet behind Virgil’s ear.

Virgil kissed Logan after a slow dance, and Patton and Roman then dragged them to go take pictures at the photo booth.

After the night was over, Roman and Patton were sent off to the airport in a limo, to head to their honeymoon destination.

Virgil and Logan went home, changed into pajamas, and fell asleep cuddling.

Taglist-

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